When Venus Fell

  “Years of law-enforcement training and high-tech investigative practice combined with instinctive deduction skills,” he deadpanned. He turned to Ebb, who was red-faced. “Your boys have orange spray paint on their fingers. And they stashed the empty cans in their four-wheelers.”

  “I’ll kill ’em,” she said.

  “Let’s see your hair, Sis,” Ella said gently. “Come on—it’s only hair.”

  “Not even real hair, for the most part,” Ruth noted.

  “Maybe it can be fixed,” Isabel mused.

  “Ebb can fix any kind of hair damage,” Flo soothed. “She’s got everything in the world out in her truck.” Ebb operated an informal mobile beauty-and-barber salon, upon request.

  “Can she fix this?” I challenged dully. I pulled the towel off. Flo shrieked. Ella and Isabel gasped. Min put a supportive hand on my shoulder.

  The central section of my hair was bright orange from the top of my head to the ends of my braids. The paint had penetrated all the way to my scalp on top. Farther down, the spray paint had combined with my synthetic weave to glue my braids into a fist-thick mess.

  “Nothing’s going to get this stuff out of my hair,” I said with stony control—my only hope of holding back tears of rage and embarrassment. “Ebb, get your electric clippers. You’re going to shave my head.”

  She clutched her chest. “Oh, Lord, I’d sooner cut my heart out.”

  “Cutting out hearts comes later, when I get my hands on Bobby Jim and Wally Roy. But my hair is”—I took a deep breath—“beyond saving.” I wrapped the towel around my head with the melodrama of a coroner shielding the squeamish from a horrifying corpse. “Shave it.”

  Ebb was the only one I allowed to witness the process—one big-haired pro to another. We sat in Min’s bedroom. I stared at myself in a mirror over the dresser when the deed was done. “I look like a fuzzy peach,” I said.

  Ebb wailed, “I feel like I just tore up a masterpiece and throwed it out the window.”

  I made a tight turban from a dark silk scarf of Min’s, then anchored it with a softball hat of Kelly’s. Sporting the Hightower Highlanders logo but feeling naked, I walked numbly into the big, friendly den of the family wing.

  Everyone tried not to stare, but they couldn’t help it. Ella covered her mouth and left the room, Carter following her anxiously.

  “You look, well, you look fine,” Gib lied.

  I stared at Bobby Jim and Wally Roy, who had been herded into the room to wait for me. They were teary and terrified. Ebb whacked both of them on the fanny. As if the words had been knocked loose, Bobby Jim spouted, “I’m sorry, ma’am, for paintin’ your hair.” Wally Roy echoed the sentiment precisely.

  “They’ll pay for you to get some new hair wove onto yours as soon as yours grows out enough,” Ebb assured me.

  “That won’t be necessary.” I held the boys’ gazes with intensity. “Why did you do it? That’s what I want to know. Did you think it was funny?”

  “We—” one began. Then halted. The other chimed, “I dunno,” and stopped. They fixed their eyes on the carpeted floor.

  “You don’t have to buy me some new hair. But you do have to answer my question. Why did you do it?”

  “Granny told us to!” Bobby Jim blurted.

  “Big mouth!” Wally Roy shouted, and punched him in the head.

  FeeMolly.

  FeeMolly gave no ground, refused to apologize, and looked as if she’d spray-paint me herself if I crossed her path. “I showed your true colors,” she snarled, and then she turned to lumber out of the den. But Olivia stopped her with a raised hand. The silence was heavy. FeeMolly stared at her with obvious concern. Olivia wrote on a notepad then handed it to Bea. Bea motioned for Gib, who walked over and read the note.

  “I agree,” he said to Olivia. “Min?”

  Min read the note. Her eyes sad and her face drawn, she nodded. “If you’d just apologize to Venus,” she said to FeeMolly.

  FeeMolly drew herself up, all three hundred pounds in stacked defiance. “I’d a-ruther die.”

  Bea scanned Olivia’s message then nodded. “You’ve insulted Herself with your meanness against one who’s done you no harm,” she told Fee-Molly. “You’ll be leaving Herself’s employ.”

  In the stunned moment that followed, even FeeMolly blinked in amazement and turned dark red.

  “No,” I said quickly. Everyone looked at me. FeeMolly and I traded brittle stares. “I don’t give a damn about getting an apology from you,” I said. “You wouldn’t mean it and it wouldn’t mean anything to me. Keep your job. You can’t scare me off. I won’t let you.”

  “You crazy,” FeeMolly growled. But she spat in her palm then thrust it out. After contemplating her silent surrender for a moment I spat in mine. We shook. It was slimy. She tried to break my fingers, I think. I dug my thumbnail into her knuckle. I caught Gib, Olivia, and the others looking at me with troubled expressions.

  But I’d saved FeeMolly’s maniacal hide, and I’d pointed out once again that I didn’t need charity from Camerons. I think FeeMolly knew it, too. She waddled out of the room, cursing under her breath, but with deep sighs of relief.

  “Granny’s been bested,” Wally Roy said in an awed voice.

  But my hair was the loser.

  Twenty-three

  Late that night I sat naked in front of the cottage’s bathroom mirror, crying.

  I heard someone drive into my yard, peered out a window, and saw Gib getting out of the jeep. He carried a bottle in one hand. When I opened the door I was safely ensconced in a head scarf, with sunglasses over my eyes, my robe belted securely around me, and Allegra perched in my arms defensively. Gib stared at me. “Excuse me,” he said, “I’m looking for Nellie, but I’ve obviously come to the house of the Invisible Cat Woman.”

  “The less anyone can see of me at the moment, the better. I wish I were invisible.”

  “I’m glad I decided to check on you while a few inches of skin still show.” He held up the bottle. It was a dusty flask of brandy from the Hall’s cellar. “This is the best hooch in the county since Camerons stopped making their own. I thought you might at least like to sip the good stuff while you scream and tear out your—well, never mind.”

  Tear out my hair. “Too late,” I deadpanned.

  Gib walked past me to the kitchen, opened the brandy, poured a large amount into a glass he took from a cabinet, and handed it to me. Allegra leaped aside and disappeared into the bedroom, popping her tail. I took a deep, reckless swallow from the glass. Fine brandy went into my blood like a hot bath. “I’m going to get drunk twice in the same day,” I said dizzily. “What next? I’ve lost my sister, my career, my RV, and now my hair. I don’t have much left to donate to the Cameron cause.”

  “How about yourself?”

  “You’re not getting that tonight.”

  “I meant your loyalty. Your enthusiasm. Your trust.”

  “I’m already working like a dog for this family.”

  “Only because you’re stuck here with Ella. Whatever you do, you do for Ella’s sake.”

  “That’s right. But you get the same result, either way. So don’t look a gift Arinelli in the mouth.” I took another swallow of brandy. My face burned with humiliation. “So why did you come here? Were you afraid I’d hang myself with my chopped-off braids? Not to worry. Take a long, hard look at me. I’m a survivor.”

  He scowled. “Right now I suspect that underneath that scarf you look like an onion with a fungus.”

  He was right. Miserable, I set my empty glass on the counter, wandered over to a couch, then sat down, hugging myself. Gib watched me a second, then sat down beside me. “Will you let your hair grow out the natural color?” he asked.

  “I suppose.”

  “I hope you do. I didn’t like the yellow cornrows.”

  “Look, I wasn’t all that fond of them myself.” I gestured toward my head. “But for years Ella and I tried so hard to disguise who we were.”

&n
bsp; “As Golwat says, it’s time you let people re-COG-no-size you.”

  “I don’t want to be re-COG-no-sized. I felt safer with that fake hair on my head.”

  He reached out slowly. I froze. He removed my sunglasses. My eyes were swollen and red. He slid a fingertip under my turbanlike scarf and tugged gently. It slid off. So there I was—my head shaved, my face puffy and distorted. I sagged with defeat for letting him expose me without any fight at all. “I re-COG-no-size you,” Gib said gently. “Hello, Venus.”

  I leaned toward him gratefully. I couldn’t help it. “You shouldn’t have come here tonight. I’m not capable of dealing with you.”

  “You’re safe. Can you accept that just for once, or do you want me to leave?” He smoothed his bad hand over my head, which was splotched with orange on top, the skin itself stained a bright pumpkin hue. “It amazes me that you’ve never pulled away from the sight or the feel of my hand. Even now.”

  I sighed. “I’m surprised you want to touch me. I’ve never felt uglier in my life.”

  “It’s a good thing I have a strong stomach.” I managed to laugh, but the drink had already gotten to me, and sleepy fatigue was starting to intrude. Gib slipped one arm around me. I buried my face in the crook of his neck. “You don’t care about me so you don’t care what I look like,” I murmured.

  “That’s right, I don’t give a damn,” he confirmed in a gruff whisper.

  “Good.” I fell asleep in his arms, amazed at my sudden contentment.

  He was gone when I woke up on the couch the next morning. I felt like Sally Field at the Academy Awards. He liked me. He really liked me.

  I bathed, dressed in a long wool skirt and thick sweater, wound a paisley scarf around my head, and set out walking. I took the road from my cottage to the Waterfall Lodge. Long bands of cold morning light filtered through the leafless woods. My breath clouded the air in silver puffs.

  When I reached the lodge the jeep was out front but there was no sound, no sign of Gib being inside. The waterfall gurgled and splashed melodically; the air in the shady glen was damp and clear gray, open to interpretation—the color of rain. I couldn’t see a light through Gib’s curtains, or rather, the quilts he’d tacked over the windows on the inside. I gingerly stepped up on the porch and thumbtacked a bulky white envelope to the heavy frame door.

  He opened the door as I finished forcing the pin into the hard wooden surface.

  We studied each other awkwardly. He was in a half-buttoned flannel shirt and old jeans. He held an open copy of a Beethoven biography in his left hand. “This is not for effect,” he said, nodding toward the book. “I was really reading it. Trying to understand what you see in his music.”

  “I … brought you a tape.” My attention distracted by the fine, dark chest hair that showed between his open shirtfront, I gestured vaguely toward the envelope tacked to his door. He pulled the envelope down and read the note printed on it.

  These are some of my original compositions. I record them on my keyboard and use my synthesizer to expand the orchestral effect. I just thought you might like them.

  His quiet, intent gaze turned to me. “Ella told me you write music,” he said. “She said you have hundreds of songs. Compositions. Whatever you call them. Songs and arrangements. She told me. But she also said you never let anyone listen to them. Not even her. Why me?”

  “The tape is a thank-you gift, for last night. Your kindness. Your brandy. For loaning me your shoulder to rest my bristly orange head on.” Silence. He watched me, and I watched him. His door still stood open. I glimpsed dark log walls. “Interesting place,” I said. “You’ve seen mine. How about letting me see yours?”

  “I can’t invite you inside this lodge, Nellie. Or to be frank about it, I won’t invite you inside. We need to stop this flirtation business before it goes any further. And I say that being fully aware that I started it, last night.”

  Startled—humiliated, because he’d seen obvious intentions I didn’t want to admit myself—I retreated to the yard. He caught up with me easily and we both halted. “What did you expect?” he asked. “Did you come here to offer yourself to me?”

  I could have died. Disappeared into a puff of overblown, self-certain, feminine vapors. I hurt beyond measure. “The least you could do is pretend you care. Live up to your gallant reputation. It was hard for me to come here.”

  “If you think it’s easy for me to turn you away you don’t have any idea what’s going on inside me right now.”

  I stared at him. “Then, why—”

  “I don’t want to wake up every morning wondering whether it’s the last time you’ll sleep in my arms. Worrying that you’ll leave. I need permanent people in my life. I need to count on a woman for the long run.”

  “How can I promise you I’ll stay? I believe with every breath in my body that my sister’s marriage is headed for trouble sooner or later, and there won’t be any place for us here, then. We won’t be family anymore. Because there’s no doubt in my mind that blood is always thicker than water with Camerons.”

  “You still don’t have a clue, do you? You don’t really trust me or anyone else here. And you’re convinced I’ll betray you. Me and everything I represent.”

  “You’ve never shown any sign of respecting my family—”

  “I respect you. I respect Ella. You’ve both earned it.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You mean forgive what your father did? Make excuses for him? Hell, no, I’ll never do that. The difference between you and your sister is that she doesn’t demand that the whole world apologize for turning him into a criminal. He made his own choices. Stop defending him and live your own life. You have a home in this valley. All right? I mean that. I want you to stay.”

  “Ella and I don’t belong here,” I said urgently. “We were raised in the city. We’ve spent our whole lives in cities. We have a career in music.”

  “Your sister act was getting you nowhere, and you know it.”

  “At least we were self-sufficient and hardworking, and we were good at our work. Don’t try to make me believe you’ve changed your mind about us. You still want us out of your sight and our money off your conscience. You and Ruth, too—neither of you want any goddamned daughters of Max Arinelli in your family permanently. Admit it. Stop lying to me. Admit it.”

  He regarded me intensely for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he pointed to his jeep. “Get in.”

  “What?”

  “Get in or I’ll put you in it myself.” He meant it. I climbed inside his rust-streaked, knobby-wheeled, kick-ass old vehicle, sat rigidly on the sun-faded upholstery, and stared at him as he slid into the driver’s seat beside me. He deftly mated two raw wires that dangled under the steering wheel. A spark leaped between them, and the jeep started.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “We’re going to have a long talk,” Gib warned. “And there’s only one place to do it.”

  The hot spring gave off a fine mist of steam like a clear soup broth. A meadow was all that separated us from the deep forest. The historical markers stood guard beside the stone gateposts of the valley’s entrance. I glimpsed the paved public road curlicuing through enormous oaks and beeches, but not another human being in sight. Across miles of mountains tangled in forest, God alone knew what kind of wild, hungry eyes watched us.

  Gib got out of the jeep and pointed to the spring. “Let’s go.”

  I eyed him warily as I walked over. He reached out firmly but slowly, gauging my reaction. His hand settled under my elbow. I hissed, “You’re going to throw me in the water?”

  “I’ll show you where to sit down. So you won’t slip on the rocks.” I looked down at gray ledges descending into a clear bottom. Gib then stepped down the natural stairs while I gaped at him. When the water reached his waist he said, “Come on in,” looking up at me and still holding me by the elbow. “The water’s good for what ails you.”

  This was a dare. I stepped onto a
ledge, then down onto another, and slowly sat down. Water as warm as a bath covered me from the breasts down. It had a briny mineral smell but felt like a massage on my back muscles. Even my hands felt soothed. Gib had the gentlemanly good grace to concentrate on my face, at least when I was noticing. “You soak up well,” he said.

  “I could drown in all this wet wool.” I turned away and focused steadily on a bit of soft green moss at the pond’s edge. It was just barely hanging on, like me. “This is a hot tub. I want a tall tequila sunrise with a paper umbrella. If I go back to the Hall dripping wet and say you convinced me to sit in the spring with all my clothes on I’d better smell like I’ve been drinking. That’s the only excuse that’ll make sense.”

  “Go ahead and take your clothes off if that makes you feel better.” Gib settled deeper beside me. “The fewer clothes, the fewer details. Because the Devil’s in the details.”

  “The Devil’s in the details,” I repeated, nodding, “and if you and I have one thing in common it’s that we spend all our time keeping tabs on the Devil.” I sank down in the water up to my neck, then gingerly leaned my turbaned head back on the rounded rock behind me. “Look, let’s stop pretending we misunderstand each other. Whatever you’ve got to say to me, just say it.”

  He looked me straight in the eyes. “Last year? All those girlfriends who came to see me at the hospital? There wasn’t even one who hadn’t been dumped by me. I’d always been in charge. I was the one who called the shots and moved on when I got bored.”

  “Well, you certainly must have left some decent memories behind if they ran to your side when you needed them.”

  “No, they made polite visits to the hospital, but then ran like rabbits when I asked them to marry me.”

  “You did what?”

  “I was drugged to my eyeballs, I was full of tubes and metal pins, and I had nightmares about the sawmill and Simon every goddamned time I closed my eyes. I wanted someone to love me so much she’d stay beside me and keep all that pain away somehow. I must have asked four different women to marry me.”