boss today.” Jim shrugged into his coat, pulled out his gloves. “And today’s what we’ve got.”
FOUR
I N DEALINGS WITH HER MOTHER — AND TESS ALWAYS thought of contacts with Louella as dealings—Tess prepped herself with a dose of extra-strength Excedrin. There would be a headache, she knew, so why chase the pain?
She chose mid-morning, knowing it was the only time of day she would be likely to find Louella at home in her Bel Air condo. By noon she would be out and about, having her hair done, or her nails, indulging in a facial or a shopping spree.
By four, Louella would be at her club, Louella’s, joking with the bartender or regaling the waitresses with tales of her life and loves as a Vegas showgirl.
Tess did her very best to avoid Louella’s. Though the condo didn’t make her much happier.
It was a lovely little stucco in California Spanish with a tiled roof, graceful shrubbery. It could, and should, have been a small showplace. But as Tess had said on more than one occasion, Louella Mercy could make Buckingham Palace tacky.
When she arrived, promptly at eleven, she tried to ignorewhat Louella cheerfully called her lawn art. The lawn jockey with the big, stupid grin, the rearing plaster lions, the glowing blue moonball on its concrete pedestal, and the fountain of the serene-faced girl pouring water from the mouth of a rather startled-looking carp.
Flowers grew in profusion, in wild, clashing colors that seared the eyes. There was no rhyme or reason to the arrangement, no plot or plan. Whatever plants caught Louella’s eye had been plunked down wherever Louella’s whim had dictated. And, Tess mused, she had a lot of whims.
Standing amid a bed of scarlet and orange impatiens was the newest addition, the headless torso of the goddess Nike. Tess shook her head and rang the bell that played the first bump-and-grind bars of “The Stripper.”
Louella opened the door herself and enfolded her daughter in draping silks, heavy perfume, and the candy scent of discount cosmetics. Louella never stepped beyond her own bedroom door in less than full makeup.
She was a tall woman, lushly built, with mile-long legs that still could—and did—execute a high kick. The natural color of her hair had been forgotten long ago. It had been blond for years, as brassy a tone as Louella’s huge laugh, and worn big, in a teased and lacquered style admired by TV evangelists. She had a striking face despite the troweled-on layers of base and powder and blush, with strong bones and full lips, slicked now with high-gloss red. Her eyes were baby blue, as was the shadow that decorated their lids, with the brows above them mercilessly plucked and stenciled into dark, thin brackets.
As always, Tess was struck with conflicting waves of love and puzzlement. “Mom.” Her lips curved as she returned the embrace, and her eyes rolled as the two yapping Pomeranians her mother adored set up an ear-piercing din in their excitement at having company.
“Back from the Wild West, are you?” Louella’s East Texas twang had the resonance of plucked banjo strings. She kissed Tess on the cheek, then rubbed away the smear of lipstick with a spit-dampened finger. “Well, come tellme all about it. They sent the old bastard off in proper style, I hope.”
“It was . . . interesting.”
“I’ll bet. Let’s have us some coffee, honey. It’s Carmine’s morning off, so we’ll have to fend for ourselves.”
“I’ll make it.” She preferred brewing the coffee herself to facing her mother’s studly houseboy. Tess tried not to imagine what other services the man provided Louella.
She moved through the living area, decorated in scarlets and golds, into a kitchen so white it was like being snow-blinded. As usual, there wasn’t a crumb out of place. Whatever else Carmine did during his daily duties, he was tidy as a nun.
“Got some coffee cake around here, too. I’m hungry as a bear.” With her dogs scrambling around her feet,
FOUR
I N DEALINGS WITH HER MOTHER — AND TESS ALWAYS thought of contacts with Louella as dealings—Tess prepped herself with a dose of extra-strength Excedrin. There would be a headache, she knew, so why chase the pain?
She chose mid-morning, knowing it was the only time of day she would be likely to find Louella at home in her Bel Air condo. By noon she would be out and about, having her hair done, or her nails, indulging in a facial or a shopping spree.
By four, Louella would be at her club, Louella’s, joking with the bartender or regaling the waitresses with tales of her life and loves as a Vegas showgirl.
Tess did her very best to avoid Louella’s. Though the condo didn’t make her much happier.
It was a lovely little stucco in California Spanish with a tiled roof, graceful shrubbery. It could, and should, have been a small showplace. But as Tess had said on more than one occasion, Louella Mercy could make Buckingham Palace tacky.
When she arrived, promptly at eleven, she tried to ignorewhat Louella cheerfully called her lawn art. The lawn jockey with the big, stupid grin, the rearing plaster lions, the glowing blue moonball on its concrete pedestal, and the fountain of the serene-faced girl pouring water from the mouth of a rather startled-looking carp.
Flowers grew in profusion, in wild, clashing colors that seared the eyes. There was no rhyme or reason to the arrangement, no plot or plan. Whatever plants caught Louella’s eye had been plunked down wherever Louella’s whim had dictated. And, Tess mused, she had a lot of whims.
Standing amid a bed of scarlet and orange impatiens was the newest addition, the headless torso of the goddess Nike. Tess shook her head and rang the bell that played the first bump-and-grind bars of “The Stripper.”
Louella opened the door herself and enfolded her daughter in draping silks, heavy perfume, and the candy scent of discount cosmetics. Louella never stepped beyond her own bedroom door in less than full makeup.
She was a tall woman, lushly built, with mile-long legs that still could—and did—execute a high kick. The natural color of her hair had been forgotten long ago. It had been blond for years, as brassy a tone as Louella’s huge laugh, and worn big, in a teased and lacquered style admired by TV evangelists. She had a striking face despite the troweled-on layers of base and powder and blush, with strong bones and full lips, slicked now with high-gloss red. Her eyes were baby blue, as was the shadow that decorated their lids, with the brows above them mercilessly plucked and stenciled into dark, thin brackets.
As always, Tess was struck with conflicting waves of love and puzzlement. “Mom.” Her lips curved as she returned the embrace, and her eyes rolled as the two yapping Pomeranians her mother adored set up an ear-piercing din in their excitement at having company.
“Back from the Wild West, are you?” Louella’s East Texas twang had the resonance of plucked banjo strings. She kissed Tess on the cheek, then rubbed away the smear of lipstick with a spit-dampened finger. “Well, come tellme all about it. They sent the old bastard off in proper style, I hope.”
“It was . . . interesting.”
“I’ll bet. Let’s have us some coffee, honey. It’s Carmine’s morning off, so we’ll have to fend for ourselves.”
“I’ll make it.” She preferred brewing the coffee herself to facing her mother’s studly houseboy. Tess tried not to imagine what other services the man provided Louella.
She moved through the living area, decorated in scarlets and golds, into a kitchen so white it was like being snow-blinded. As usual, there wasn’t a crumb out of place. Whatever else Carmine did during his daily duties, he was tidy as a nun.
“Got some coffee cake around here, too. I’m hungry as a bear.” With her dogs scrambling around her feet,
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