The Merchant of Menace

in the trust I set up for you with your dad's life insurance money to spring for an extra year if you want.”

Mike went upstairs with what Jane imagined was a little bit of a spring in his step. He returned to the kitchen with the catalog open. He was laughing to himself.

“Here's a good one. 'The History of Armor: From Leather to Kevlar.' '

“Sign up for it,' Jane said, dumping the broccoli stems in the pot of water that was now at the boil.

“Omigawd!' Mike exclaimed. 'How aboutthis one: 'Mortuary Science: Chemistry, Cosmetics, and Counseling.' I can't believe it.'

“I sure hope that's not something you'd take and want to blab about at home. Although it would probably go over great in a dorm.”

Mike found courses in gender bias in the military, an art class called 'Color and Psychology,' a history class titled 'Catherine the Great: Was She?', a course in flower arranging ('Flower arranging?' Jane exclaimed. 'Are there parents actually paying for their kids to take that?'), and several revolting-sounding premed courses.

“Mom, you're great!' Mike finally said. 'Even if I don't take any of this stuff, you've sure made me feel a lot better.' He bounced off to his room, still flipping through the course catalog.

Am I great? Jane wondered. No, probably not. But she was doing her best and if her best was just making her son feel better about himself, that wasn't too shabby an accomplishment. And who could tell — it might turn out that Mike would actually want to be a mortician, or an armor-maker.

She tossed the broccoli flowerettes into the steamer sitting over the boiling stems and started the white sauce.

Seven

Jane went on checking off items on her oh-so? efficient list. By three o'clock she was feeling that hosting the caroling party was no big deal and with a little organizational effort, she could entertain more often. Possibly quite spectacularly.

She managed to put out of her mind the many other times she'd believed herself to be highly organized only to discover that she'd omitted some vital consideration. Once, with a houseful of people, several of whom had occasion to use the bathroom, she'd run out of toilet paper. Another time she prepared to start the coffee for a party as the first guest arrived and realized the coffee can contained only a few disgusting crumbs. On both these occasions Shelley had bailed her out.

But this time, she truly believed she was prepared for anything that could happen.

She was wrong.

At quarter after three, Mel called. 'I've just picked my mom up from the airport and she's dying to meet you,' he said. 'Is this a good time?”

Jane had never really wanted to meet Mel's mother. He always spoke of her very fondly and Jane could find no specific fault with what she'd heard about Addie VanDyne. It just amounted to a vague uneasiness.

But she said, 'It's a perfect time. I don't have to put the potato casseroles in until—' She consulted her list. ' — five-fifteen.”

This didn't make much sense to Mel, but he didn't question her. 'I think we may have a slight problem,' he said. 'I'll tell you about it when we get there.”

In her current cocky mood, the concept of a slight problem didn't trouble Jane. She was Woman, she could cope. Little problems were mere trivialities: She quickly threw together a big green salad. This was marked as a four o'clock job, but it probably wouldn't wilt too badly if done a bit early. She glanced out the window while tearing lettuce and noticed that it had begun to snow again. Big, fluffy white flakes that were quickly covering the ground, but melting on the street. If it didn't get a lot colder and glaze over, the snow would be nice, adding a very traditional Christmas touch to the party.

She refreshed her hair and makeup, changed into a fresh blouse and slacks because she'd inexplicably gotten tomato juice and seeds all over herself. They ought to be here any minute, she thought as she sat down in the living room to wait, idly flipping through a holiday crafts magazine while she tried to remember what she knew about Mel's family and why she had a sense that she and Addie weren't going to be on exactly the same wavelength. Mel didn't talk about his relations very often. His father had died young and his mother, if Jane was remembering right, had started an escort service in Atlanta. Not that kind of escort service, he'd hastily explained. A real one, driving visiting celebrities and rich business types around town. Ted Turner's television network had been God's gift to her. She invested in a limo and did the driving herself at first, then as she became more successful, she purchased more cars and hired drivers. She had eventually expanded the service to a number of Southern cities, franchising the business and traveling frequently to keep a close eye on the efficiency, courtesy, and driving skills of the drivers and the manner in which the home offices were run.

An admirable woman, Jane had thought. But now that she was about to meet Mel's mother, she had a few uncomfortable second thoughts. Jane herself had been widowed with young children and hadn't done anything nearly so impressive or financially aggressive. Thanks to life and mortgage insurance, and her own and her late husband's investment in his family's small chain of pharmacies, the profit from which hadn't died with him, she'd been able to be a stay-at-home, full-time mother. She had no regrets. Raising her children was a job that was both challenging and important to her and she felt she'd done it fairly well so far.

And her contribution to the outside world was substantial as well. She volunteered for a great many worthwhile endeavors. Once a week she drove a group of blind children to their special school that had no bus service. She served, albeit unwillingly, on the PTA board and had often allowed herself to be dragooned into being a room mother. She worked for her church and several charities and had served on the fundraising committees for a number of civic groups. But all of that might well appear pretty inconsequential to a woman who had started a highly successful business from scratch.

She heard Mel's red MG pull into the driveway — she had to get that pothole at the end of it fixed soon or his little car would disappear into it someday. She had visions of firemen lowering rope ladders into the hole. She opened the front door to greet them.

The snow was getting heavier and Mel introduced his mother while they crowded into the house, shaking snowflakes from hair and shoulders. 'Mom, this is Jane Jeffry. Jane, my mother, Addie VanDyne.”

Jane was stunned. The woman hardly looked more than a couple years older than Jane herself. She had masses of curly dark hair; a valentine-shaped face without a single wrinkle that Jane could see; small, sparkling white teeth and big china-blue eyes. She was — well, there was no other word cute, in a very expensive, sophisticated way. She wore a black cashmere coat, black patent boots, and the same elegant black gloves Jane had wanted to get Shelley for Christmas but simply couldn't afford. As Addie Van-Dyne shed her coat, she revealed a slubbed silk princess-line suit that precisely matched her eyes and did wonders for her perfect figure. She even had a dimple, just like Mel's, which en? hanced the impression that she might just be a slightly older sister instead of his mother.

Jane wanted to run away and burn her own khaki slacks and plaid shirt.

She hung up their coats and indicated they were to make themselves comfortable in the living room. As she closed the closet door, she noticed there was an unfamiliar suitcase sitting in the hall. Mel must have brought it in. Dear God, Addie VanDyne hadn't brought them presents, had she? This possibility had never crossed Jane's mind. She'd prepared for the visit with a nice bottle of perfume and an elegant little atomizer in an Erte-like design which was wrapped in fancy red foil for Mel's mother, but that was all.

Jane had coffee and tea ready to put into the antique, but somewhat shabby, slightly dented silver service that had been a wedding present from her grandmother, and she'd arranged a plate of cookies — good ones, not the deformed elves. She filled the tray and took it into the living room.

“I thought you might like a little snack after your trip, Mrs. VanDyne. We're having quite a big dinner later.”

She expected Mel's mom to insist on being called Addie, but instead she said, 'How thoughtful, Mrs. Jeffry.' Was there a little emphasis on the 'Mrs.' or did Jane only imagine it?

Jane asked a few inane questions about Mrs. VanDyne's flight to which she got pleasant, innocuous replies. Mel tried to help. 'Mom, tell Jane about the man with the dog in a carrier,' he said rather desperately.