kindest thing written about it was that it was ‘old fashioned.’ One reviewer wrote of her, I have it here, ‘This is the ultimate, we hope, movie about the girl-next-door who should have stayed there—next door.’”
“Nasty, nasty. Some of these reviewers will say anything to be quoted.”
“And then there’s Duncan, aged twenty one. He just graduated from Vanderbilt University at the bottom of his class. He likes racing cars, playing at being a mechanic. It is said he is to be a candidate for a Master’s degree in Business Administration next fall, but no one seems to know where.”
“The old man wants him to be able to take over and run the shop.”
“On the other hand, he’s paid his entrance fee to several car races throughout next year. He races something called ‘The Mirror Car,’ of which several versions have been made.”
“Has he ever won a race?”
“Yes. One. In Utah. A five thousand dollar purse.”
“That should pay expenses.”
“At least for the nitrogas.”
“It sounds as if they’re all having fun.”
“Does it?”
“Spending money anyway.”
“Mister Fletcher, is there a story here, on Radliegh, his family, something?”
“You’re wondering why I asked you to do this research, Andy.”
“I mean, you’re nowhere near Georgia.”
“Keep your research on tap. One never knows.”
“By the way, Mister Fletcher, that kid who worked with you on that story about The Tribe? Jack Faoni?”
“What about him?”
“He left here a couple of days ago.”
“Where do you suppose he went?”
“He said he was going to North Carolina for lunch.”
Smiling, Fletch asked, “What’s so perplexing about that? Everyone gets hungry.”
“He didn’t even have a car.”
“Well, Andy,” Fletch said. “Some lunches are worth going out of your way for. Thanks for your work, my good man. I’ll practice ’Git Along Little Dogies’ so I can sing it for you next time. In the key of Lee Marvin.”
He switched off the phone.
On her bed in the back of the van, Crystal asked, “Isn’t Vindemia where you said Jack was going?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s he doing there?”
“Visiting the girl young Chester Radliegh intends to marry, I guess.”
“Sounds risky.”
“He has his guitar,” Fletch said. “‘Music soothes the savage beast.’”
“Radliegh,” Crystal said after the van had gone another ten miles. “First he creates the perfect mirror, then he tries to create the perfect image. The first was scientifically possible—”
“And the second,” Fletch said, “is a goose’s chase.”
7
“I’m as old as water, and just as weak.”
The very old woman in the sunbonnet had only glanced up at Jack as he came along the shady side of the swimming pool. She was on her knees on the lawn removing the very few weeds from the azalea border. She dug into the soil with bare fingers. She had no gardening tools. At first he thought she was talking to the plants.
“Plants; weeds,” she continued muttering at the soil: “Just like children.” She pinched a dead leaf off an azalea. “Nurture some plants beautifully, give them everything they want and need, and some of them just curl up ugly. Beat some weeds to death and they just keep popping up, growing, proliferating. If we had genuine respect for character, we’d cultivate weeds and send the plants to mulch.” She sat back on her heels and looked up at where Jack stood, looking down at her. “Hello.”
“Hello, Ma’am.”
“Are you a weed, or a plant?”
Jack said, “I think I’m a weed.”
“That’s good. You look strong and resilient enough to be a weed, that you do. You’re new here. I’m Mrs. Houston.”
“Sorry, Ma’am. I don’t recognize your name.”
“Mother of Amalie Radliegh, Mrs. Radliegh. Grandmother to most of the big brats around here, great- grandmother to most of the little brats. I call the little brats, Amy’s brats, ‘The Sudden Seven.’ I looked away for a moment and there they were.”
“Maybe they’re weeds,” Jack offered.
“That would be nice. But I doubt it. Here at Vindemia she has them each bedded in rich nutrients and waters them daily, here at the pool. Weeds don’t need as much as they have.”
“Weeds can stand some good treatment, too,” Jack said.
“I’m not so sure.”
“I’ve had some,” he said. “I’m still a weed.”
“Looks like you’ve had some good nutrients, anyway.” The old lady’s blue eyes were looking at Jack as if she would know him in a minute. “What’s your name?”
“Jack.”
“Are you quick and nimble?”
“For a weed.”
“Yes. I believe you are. Now I’m not supposed to be messing up the garden this way, I know that. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
“But one has to do something. One can’t just sit around all day and night being waited on hand and foot. At least I can’t. One loses touch with oneself if one doesn’t do work of some kind, some time. Don’t you agree?”
“I suppose I would.”
“I don’t even want to go to heaven,” Mrs. Houston said as she dug her fingers into the soil, “unless they have some work for me to do there.”
“Is Vindemia pretty close to heaven?” Jack asked.
“All these people here dragging themselves from swimming pool to tennis court to gymnasium to the stables worrying about their figures, their skin tone, the shine of their hair. Do you know they don’t even saddle their own horses?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“And do you think they’re happy? Not a bit of it. Not one of them. You never heard such a chorus of complaining, weeping. I say to them, ‘Make your own bed, get your own breakfast, saddle your own horse, clean your own car, go start a garden of your own: you’ll feel better.’ What do they complain about? That they’re not allowed to be themselves.” Mrs. Houston raised a soil-encrusted index finger to Jack. “I suspect they don’t know who themselves are. Everything Chester asks them to do, expects them to do, they think is unfair. They think doing their duty is unfair! You know what my daughter says?”
“I’ve never met the lady.”
“She asks, ‘Why do I have to talk to the cook once a week? Why do I ever have to talk to the housekeeper? Why do I have to be at Chester’s elbow every time he entertains all those boring people?’ Can you believe that? I say, ‘Because it’s your job, daughter.’ She says, ‘But sometimes I don’t feel like being nice to people. It can be inconvenient.’ I tried to tell her that everything in life costs. Being Chester Radliegh’s wife, living here, costs. She’s got to pay the price, whatever it is, just like everybody else on this earth. She’s got to do her duty. Extending herself to people important to him is little enough to pay for all she has.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Houston,” Jack said. “I’m expected at Doctor Radliegh’s secretary’s office in a few minutes.”
