Roo

Chapter 8

"Now is that any way to greet your mother?"

Mel tightened the belt around her dressing gown and mustered a smile before clasping her mother's outstretched gloved hands and kissing her once, dryly, on each cheek. "I wasn't expectin' you."

Julia dropped her beaded clutch in a chair and proceeded to peel off her gloves - every other manicured finger of her hands sported a gemstone ring. "Well, perhaps if you owned a telephone, my arrival might not have been such a nasty surprise."

"Mama, I implied no such a thing. I'm delighted you're here for a visit. Really. You look wonderful."

Janice had to agree: Julia Pappas was, quite plainly, an older reflection of her daughter, although Mel was taller by a head. Simple math suggested Julia might be as old as 50, yet a combination of vanity, diet and heredity had given her the appearance of a much younger woman. Two Mel's, Janice mused, indulging in the comparison. I've had fantasies like this. Her eyes moved from Julia to Mel, who was regarding her with kind exasperation. "What?"

Mel had the presence of mind to admonish her lover in a language other than English. "Schließen Sie Ihren Mund, hon. Sie werden Fliegen fangen." Close your mouth, hon. You'll catch flies.

Julia shrugged out of the chinchilla and let it fall unchecked to the hardwood floor. "It is like lookin' in a mirror, isn't it?"

Janice stiffened while Mel's hands fluttered nervously at her lips as she cringed and muttered, "sheisse."

Julia circled her daughter with the predatory grace of a shark, pausing at her ear to whisper, "I think the word you're lookin' for, darlin', is oops."

Janice gulped, audibly. "You speak German."

"Speak, no. Understand, yes," corrected Julia, savoring Janice's discomfiture. "We once had a housekeeper from Frankfurt with a penchant for mutterin' under her breath."

"Her name was Renate, mama, and she was from Frankenau, not Frankfurt."

"Frankfurt, Frankenau, does it really matter? Anyway, as I was about to say, she took a particular likin' to Melinda, who, with her gift for linguistics was soon speakin' German like a native. Many a time I'd come across the two of them, heads together, conversin' in whispers. I picked up the language as a means of self-defense."

"Touché," quipped Mel. As she pulled the towel from her head, she winked at her lover. "There was somethin' very familiar about that kick in the pants." She felt Janice's hand, warm and reassuring at the small of her back and turned at the contact.

"You must be very sensitive, sweetheart," said Janice, sotto vocce, "to be able to tell one from another."

"Mama," Mel said, tugging Janice along by the hand as she fell back into a musical drawl. "Mama, this is Janice."

"Introductions are hardly needed, Melinda, unless of course, you are livin' with more than one woman."

Janice cringed. Ooh, Mama has claws. She gave Mel's hand a squeeze, releasing it before bending to retrieve the discarded chinchilla. Conjuring up an air of breezy indifference, she asked, "How was your flight?"

Mel slung the damp towel over her shoulder and raked her fingers through her hair. "Mama doesn't fly."

"Flyin' is for birds and angels." In the same tone of voice one might use to refute the existence of Santa Claus, Julia proclaimed, "I don't believe in airplanes."

"I didn't know the subject was up for debate," quipped Janice as she followed Julia's retreating form with her eyes.

Julia settled on a club chair turned to the darkened fireplace and crossed long, shapely legs. "Lucius takes me wherever I need to go."

Janice raised an eyebrow and absently threaded her fingers through the fur draped across her arm. "Lucius?"

"Lucius Jerome," Mel volunteered. "He's been Mama's driver for more years than I've been alive. You made that long drive from Beaufort today? Where's Lucius now?"

"On his way home to Beaufort, I suppose." She shook down one of the silk sleeves of her Neiman Marcus original, revealing a platinum wristwatch. "I told him to leave my bags on the porch if I wasn't out directly."

"How many minutes in a directly, Mama?" Mel stalked angrily to the front door.

"Melinda, if you open that door in nothin' more than your dressin' gown, you are not my child."

Mel stopped at the door, her back to Julia, like a wall. The silence was deafening. Adopting the unfamiliar role of peacemaker, Janice, with a grin that was not so much hopeful as labored said, "How's about I get those bags for you? Last time I checked I was no one's daughter." Without waiting for a response, she nudged Mel aside and swung open the heavy door. Faithful to his instructions, the driver had placed a medium-sized steamer trunk, a small overnight bag and a matching hat box at the edge of the porch. All three bags were covered in a fine dusting of snow, luminous in the streetlights. Around her, the wind gusted, shaking the bare trees hard enough to snap brittle limbs. "Lovely," Janice muttered, shivering as she stepped out to retrieve the luggage.

Inside the flat, the mood was equally chilly. From her seat across the room Julia was watching her daughter, the tilt of her head bird-like, as if something had only this moment occurred to her. "Are you angry with me, Melinda?"

A grim retort fired down off of Mel's cerebrum, but she held it back. Instead, she turned her eyes to the ceiling and growled deeply from the back of her throat.

"I heard that. Your daddy, God rest his soul, was a growler, too."

Mel turned slowly, a look of studied insolence about her. "Well, at least I come by it honestly."

Julia retorted, "We can only hope the similarities end there."

"Ding! Ding! Ladies, to your corners, please," Janice quipped as she shut the door and dropped the overnight bag at her feet. Julia's gaze, whipped upon her at breakneck speed, was dangerous. In contrast, Mel's expression was acutely apologetic. Janice's heart went out to her. A scant five minutes since arriving on their doorstep, it was apparent that Julia Pappas made it a practice to say exactly what was on her mind. Roosevelt might have approved. Janice Covington was not impressed in the least.

Mel summoned the last of her patience and regarded her mother with polite exasperation. "I can't believe you left that poor man to sit in the cold."

"The Cadillac has a heater, Melinda. It's probably a good deal warmer than this room." She shivered to illustrate her point.

"I like the cold, Mama." Mel approached her mother, her arms folded across her chest. "And before you say anything else, I like the house just as it is."

"I was not castin' aspersions on your interior decoratin'," Julia retorted, her eyes sweeping over the sofa with its mismatched pillows and the Oriental rugs, small islands of color against the hardwood floor. "It's a sweet little apartment. It's very utilitarian."

Mel bristled. "Utilitarian?"

"I meant that as a compliment. It's spartan... almost Japanese in its simplicity."

"It's called Early American Poor." Janice favored her with a grin. "It's all the rage among the working class."

Julia fixed Janice with her gaze. "Now you're being facetious."

"I'll try to restrain myself," replied Janice with absolute sincerity. "So, Julia, how long do you plan to be in DC?"

Julia bristled at the unsolicited use of her Christian name, but squashed her irritation almost at once. Employing a more sympathetic, but less genuine air of hopeful indifference, she replied, "However long you'll have me."

Mel sat down heavily in the nearest chair; suddenly she didn't trust her legs to carry her. "You wanna stay here, with me...with us?"

"If it's not too inconvenient."

"No, not inconvenient," Mel echoed. "But we're not exactly set up for house guests. There's just the one bedroom."

"What about my study?" Janice volunteered, the soul of graciousness.

Did I imagine the perverse note of glee in her voice? Aloud, Mel stammered, "It's very small...the study...it's small." The ambitiously named study barely allowed space for a battered roll top desk, a chair and a daybed. She had never been so happy to have truth, logic and practicality come together in her favor. "You wouldn't be very comfortable, Mama."

Before Julia could either confirm or refute her daughter's claim, Janice volunteered, "Granted it's not the Plaza, but the bed is soft and the sheets are clean. Or, if you'd rather, I could take the study and you and Mel could share -"

"Janice," snapped Mel, getting to her feet. "May I see you for a moment, in the bedroom?" Without waiting for a reply, Mel turned and walked down the hall.

Janice acquiesced, less than enthusiastically. "Sure. Make yourself to home, Julia," she said as she backpedaled towards the bedroom. "We won't be a minute."

Almost before the bedroom door had fully closed behind them, Janice found herself in the rarified position of eyewitness to Mel's apoplexy. "Are you out of your everlovin' mind?" the tall Southerner hissed at her.

"Easy, sweetheart," said Janice, stepping away from the door, forcing Mel to turn to face her. "You want her to hear you?"

"I ain't shared the same bed as my mama since I was four years old! What did you think you were doin' invitin' her to stay?"

"I was trying to be gracious in the face of a crisis," Janice argued, then softly, "I thought you'd appreciate the effort."

"I do! God knows I love you for it. It's not your intentions in question, it's hers." Janice raised an eyebrow, a nonverbal sign of query. "I don't know what she wants from me."

"Jesus, Mel, you're her kid. Why does she have to want anything? You haven't seen one another in almost a year. In all that time, don't you think she missed you?"

Mel rolled her eyes. "Like a dog misses its fleas; it's always so satisfyin' to scratch."

"Now you're just being cynical; we've been spending much too much time together and I didn't think that was possible."

Mel exhaled heavily and squeezing her eyes shut, pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "This is all wrong," she murmured, suspended between tears and frustration. Momentarily, she felt her glasses being pressed into the palm of her hand. "Thank you," she whispered, without opening her eyes.

"It's gonna be okay," crooned Janice, guiding Mel to sit on a corner of the bed they shared. "Just park that lovely keester of yours and take a few deep breaths."

"Keester?"

"Derriere, backside, arse. Breathe,don't talk." Janice used the lull in conversation to shed her dressing gown and pull a pair of wool slacks over her hips. "It's just a visit from your mother," she said as she fastened the buttons. "Not Old Testament pestilence."

"That's very distractin', you know," quipped Mel as her gaze settled on Janice's bare breasts.

"Don't you mean those are very distracting?" She planted a quick peck on Mel's lips before turning to rummage through one of the bureau drawers. She pulled a man's sleeveless undershirt over her head and regarded her lover's miserable reflection in the mirror. "My stupendous Maguffies aside, what do you wanna do?" When no reply was immediately forthcoming, she dropped to her knees and looked into sapphire eyes, magnified slightly through cat-eye lenses. "First thing: I love you. You know that, right?"

Mel sucked a breath of cold air across her teeth and fought back tears with the best smile she could muster. "I know that. I do, Janice, but --"

"Lemme finish," Janice admonished gently, taking Mel's hands in her own. "This is our house, but it's your mother out there. You want her to stay, she stays. You want her outta here? Shoot, I'll roll her into a well-groomed little ball and send her back to Tara with one swift kick. Just say the word."

Mel laughed, snorted and spilled tears out of sheer relief. "Don't tempt me." She removed her glasses and dried her eyes on the sleeve of her gown. "Do you mind very much, Janice? My mama bein' here?"

In response, Janice squeezed Mel's hand gently, ran her thumb up and across the palm; Mel felt it in her toes. "Didn't I just go toe-to-toe with you on this very subject?"

"It's just that I don't think that you're quite prepared for my mama."

Janice's brow furrowed. "You say that like we're about to weather a hurricane or something."

Mel pushed her glasses up on her nose. "Very similar...you board up your windows, pile sandbags on the levy, bring in the lawn furniture..."

Janice got to her feet. "So you're saying..."

Mel's mouth formed into an appealing smile. "Bring in the lawn furniture, yes."

END Chapter 8