Baiting & Fishing Page 6

  He wandered around the room, studying the prizes. He was not surprised to learn the Auxiliary had obtained donations from many, many local businesses. He placed bids on several items. He placed a really low-ball bid on a tennis racket and four lessons at a country club. He had always wanted to learn to play tennis. He didn't think he would win that one, but it was worth a shot.

  He put in a medium-low bid on a set of pots and pans from an upscale kitchen store. He didn't cook, but his housekeeper was a fabulous cook who frequently stocked his fridge with leftovers from meals she prepared for her family. He had recently overheard her talking on the phone to her daughter lamenting about the abominable condition of her cookware. If he won the cookware, he'd give it to her as a gift. She'd have new pots and pans, and he'd probably get more leftovers than ever. That's what he would consider a win-win situation.

  The best prize of all was a lifetime membership to the gym where he belonged. He knew that the lifetime membership went for $4500. The annual membership was $700. He had been a member of that same gym for almost 20 years. He thought they should give him a lifetime membership for free after all those years of loyalty. He put in a $2500 bid on the membership, and thought he had a pretty good shot at it because there were only a couple of other cards in the bowl. He looked around the room. He was probably the only person in the room who didn't belong to a country club. He believed the two cards already in the bowl were decoys. Twenty-five hundred dollars was a lot to fork over all at once, but the money would go to charity. He would get a gym membership he would have paid for anyway. The gym had already made plenty of money on him; he did not feel bad about trying to get the lifetime membership for cheap. He walked away chuckling.

  Lunch would be served in a few minutes. He had promised Victoria he would get something from the bar also, since Marina Jack was donating 100% of the bar proceeds to the charity. He ordered a draft beer, and soon realized he was the only one in the place drinking beer. Everybody else was drinking wine or fancy cocktails. He sighed and felt like a yutz.

  He stood off to the side scanning the room for familiar faces. There were a lot of faces he recognized from photos in the paper or the TV news, but he did not see one person he knew personally, other than the editor-in-chief of the paper. He steered clear of her to avoid questions he didn't want to answer.

  He did not see Marcella Wilson. He assumed she would show up fashionably late.

  Next he searched among the workers to see if he could identify Victoria. He had seen a very old photo of her, but did not know what she looked like now. It did not take long for him to find her. She was standing near the buffet line having a rather intense conversation with the manager of Marina Jack. Apparently, Victoria was not happy with either the setup of the buffet or the fact that lunch was late in being served. Probably both. She never raised her voice nor did she appear use strong language. He could tell from the look on the man's face, however, that she was giving him an ass-chewing the like of which he probably hadn't experienced since boot camp. Just for an instant, Victoria looked in Ray's direction and their eyes met. Her eyes twinkled. He had to turn away to keep from laughing. The next time he dared to look at her, she was finished with her tirade; the manager looked as though he might pass out at any second, and she was wearing a satisfied Cheshire Cat-like look. Ray was a little surprised she wasn't rubbing her hands together.

  Soon after that, she took her place at the head of the buffet line with some of the other old battle-axes from the Auxiliary and the Commodore of the Yacht Club, to greet the guests as they lined up for the feed. When it was his turn to greet them, Ray held out his hand to Victoria. He tried not to make too much eye contact as he said, “Ray Bailey from the Times. This is a very nice affair and will do some great things in our community. Here's my card. I plan to file a report on the fund-raiser. Please let me know how much money you raise and what projects you plan to fund with the proceeds.”

  Victoria took the card and smiled warmly, but a little vaguely, “Thank you for coming Mr. Bailey. We will appreciate the publicity.” She introduced him to the Commodore, and they motioned him toward the buffet, inviting him to enjoy his lunch. He filled his plate and found a seat in the shadow of a large plant off in a corner of the restaurant. He could see almost the entire room. He did not think very many people would notice him. The food was excellent, which was to be expected.

  The Marina Jack restaurant was a Sarasota landmark. He had eaten there regularly until about twenty years ago when the prices started to rise. He had sneaked a glance at the regular menu on his way in and caught his breath. One dinner in that place could cost more than he typically spent on food for an entire week. Since the lunch was free, thanks to Victoria's complementary ticket, he tucked in and enjoyed the scallops and shrimp, and then went back for seconds.

  While he was filling his plate the second time, he lost his seat to a young couple, obviously tourists, who were very wrapped up in each other. They were probably honeymooners who came to have lunch at the restaurant and got roped into buying a ticket to the fund raiser. He decided to go outside, but before he made it to the door, he saw Victoria and some of the other Auxiliary ladies forming up a receiving line at the front door. He hung back for a second and then saw Marcella Wilson and a couple of other women parading up the walk. They walked in with Marcella in the rear. Victoria and her welcoming committee greeted Marcella's entourage, and then turned to welcome The Lady herself.

  Victoria was cool. Marcella was cooler. Ray wanted to laugh. Victoria was probably 75, with beautiful silver-gray hair. She was the classic Steel Magnolia: a tiny woman not more than 5'0” in heels, weighing perhaps 90 pounds fully clothed. Marcella Wilson was in her 50's, and statuesque. Once again he had the feeling she was not one of the nouveau riche women who overran Sarasota in the wintertime. She was tall and graceful where Victoria was tiny and birdlike, but both appeared to be cut from the same cloth. They greeted each other as more-or-less equals, taking into account Victoria's greater age and stature as a pillar of the community.

  Marcella afforded Victoria the appropriate level of deference, but not one iota more. Ray found himself enjoying the show. It was an utterly silent and completely dignified battle for dominance between two strong women. Ray was amazed at how few people in the room were aware of the clash of the titans taking place silently under everyone's noses. It only lasted a minute or so, and in Ray's opinion it appeared to end in a draw.

  Ray had been so engrossed in the show that he had sort of stopped in the middle of the hallway leading from the entrance into the restaurant. Too late to get out of the way, he realized that Victoria and Marcella were headed straight toward him. Victoria's face showed mild surprise for about a nanosecond and, then, without missing a beat in her stride, she interrupted the story she was telling Marcella, and steered her in Ray's direction. His first instinct was to bolt, but he had nowhere to go.

  Victoria stopped in front of him and said, “Marcella, I want you to meet Mr. Bailey. He works for the local paper. He is covering this event and intends to do some articles about the dangers of drowning in swimming pools.” She shot him a look and raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. He couldn't decide if he wanted to smack her or laugh. He thought it was actually a great suggestion and he made a mental note to write at least one article on the subject.

  Marcella's handshake was much firmer than he expected. He thought she was the most attractive middle aged lady he had seen in a long time. Her lips were slightly thin, which set her apart from the women with botox lips who all looked like their husbands popped them one on the way to lunch. Her face had a few lines and wrinkles in all the places you would expect them to be in a woman her age, unlike many of the women around town whose unlined faces reminded him of the Joker in the Batman movie. She had applied her makeup with restraint (how very un-Southern of her!). She was slim and seemed to be in good shape but not too muscular.

  He was a “leg” man, but he intentionally checked out her chest. She h
ad ballet-dancer-small breasts. It was all he could do not to laugh. There was so much silicone in the rest of the room he felt sure that if the pier collapsed and the restaurant fell into the harbor, the plastic boobs in the room could keep it afloat. Marcella's entire look was designed to be natural, classy and very neat. It was a lovely package, to be sure. Ray knew enough about Southern women to suspect that Marcella's “totally natural” look was as artificial and time-consuming as the big-haired, painted and surgically enhanced ladies who populated the rest of the room, but he liked it even so.

  Marcella delayed her greeting for a long second. It was obvious she was sizing him up as well. He caught a glimmer of something in her eyes that made him think she was not impressed. That didn't surprise him. What did surprise him was the fact that the look only lasted for a second, and it was followed by what appeared to be a look of genuine interest. She said, “Mr. Bailey. I've read some of your articles. You are a very good writer.”

  “Thank you.”

  She paused for a minute and furrowed her brow, “I don't seem to recall meeting you or seeing your name on any bylines of stories concerning my .... the events ...., um, the Techtron story.”

  He smiled and shook his head, “I write local news for a then-independently-owned paper in a small market. That was a national story. Our paper picked up the stories from the AP and the UPI. I have to confess, I didn't even follow the story.”

  She looked astonished. “I would think that makes you one of the few people in America who didn't.”

  He shrugged and said, “I was working on something else at the time and wasn't paying attention.”

  She laughed. He felt embarrassed. She said, “It's refreshing to meet someone so candid. I hope we shall see each other again.” She turned and sailed toward the buffet. Victoria glanced at him for just an instant. He saw a mixture of amusement and consternation in her eyes.

  He went outside and wandered around the marina, ogling the boats. He didn't envy the rich men of the Yacht Club their fancy, high-maintenance wives, but he sure as hell coveted their boats.

  After a while, he noticed the people inside the restaurant congregating in a clump in the middle of the room. He assumed, correctly, that meant the auction winners were being announced. He went back inside. The grand prize went to one of the Yacht Club members: it was a $10,000 base-model, plain-Jane Rolex watch. As the winner reached out to accept it, his $100,000+ diamond-studded Rolex glittered in the sun. Everybody in the crowd laughed, including the winner himself who shrugged and grinned.

  As he expected, Ray won the gym membership. He paid with a credit card. As he was walking away from the table, Marcella Wilson walked over to him and congratulated him. He chuckled, “Thanks. I've been a member of that gym for 20 years. I would have spent the money anyway, and it was for a good cause. I actually got a heck of a bargain.”

  She looked surprised. “That is odd. Usually the prizes at these things go for more than the retail cost.”

  “Not this one. I think I was the only bidder and I put in a very low bid.”

  “Why do you suppose nobody else bid against you?”

  He waved his arm around the room, “Look at these people. I'm probably the only one who needs to join a gym. The rest are either country-club members or they have fully tricked out gyms in their homes. Probably both.”

  She laughed and said with a sheepish look on her face, “I guess that was a sort of 'let them eat cake' remark.”

  “Maybe, but you're new in town. It might not have been as obvious to you as it was to me. I'm prepared to cut you some slack.”

  “You are too kind.”

  “No. I'm not.” He let that remark kind of hang there.

  They looked at each other for a second. There didn't seem to be anything else to say, so Ray shook her hand and started to turn away. She put her hand on his arm and said, “I hope you don't think it forward of me, but I'd like to invite you to lunch one day soon. As you pointed out, I'm new here. You have evidently lived here a long time and know the local lore as well or better than anyone. I think that hearing some of those stories would help me become acclimated.”

  He looked her directly in the eyes for a minute and grinned, “You mean you want to know where the bones are buried so you can avoid potential social pitfalls?”

  She shook her head and smiled, “Yes, although I would never put it so bluntly. You're not a Southerner?”

  He scratched his head. That one was a hard question. Technically Florida was in the South, but everybody who spent any time in the Sunshine State knows that the South ends around Jacksonville. Besides, having grown up in the Keys, he always felt he was more of an Islander than a Floridian. He had never been certain he could legitimately call himself a Cracker (although he usually did for lack of a better term); he was pretty sure he was not anything resembling a real Southerner. He shook his head and held his hands out palm up, “I don't know the answer to that. I don't think I qualify as a Southerner. Most certainly not a Southern Gentleman. I'm a Cracker. Worse than that, I'm native son of the Conch Republic.”

  She smiled, “I guess that explains it.”

  While he was wondering what “it” was, she handed him her card and asked him to call her to arrange lunch. He stuck it in his pocket and headed for the door. His little foray into society had just succeeded more magnificently than his wildest imaginings.

  He met Marcella for lunch on Tuesday at Marina Jack. The agenda was to tell her the local stories. He talked. She listened. They both laughed a lot. He asked her a few questions, which she deflected and finessed. He found out absolutely nothing about her. He did, however, manage to set a date for dinner with her in a couple of weeks, upon her return from a trip, the destination of which she did not reveal.

  That meant he had two weeks to find out everything he could about Marcella Wilson. After only a couple of days of intensive research, he realized that well was almost totally dry. He could find no information about her prior to her marriage. Part of the problem was that he did not know her maiden name. Unlike many women, she did not use her maiden name on any of her significant documents. When she married Roland Wilson, she changed her name and all of her identification documents. He could find no reference to her maiden name anywhere. He found that curious.

  He also found it curious that he had such mixed feelings about her. On the one hand, she was a lovely woman. On the other, there was something in her that seemed to bring out a mean streak in him he didn't realize he had. He couldn't figure it out, but he didn't like it.

  And so, he did what he always did when he was conflicted about something, he threw himself into his work, cranking out stories and trolling all his usual haunts for new material.

  Chapter 7

  A few days before his ex-wife was due to arrive in Orlando, she sent him an email confirming her hotel contact information and inviting him to meet her for lunch at the Gaylord Palms Resort on Thursday. He considered canceling the meeting, but he really did want to see her, and something made him reply with the simple message: I'll see you then.

  On the appointed day, he got held up in traffic and arrived at the hotel a few minutes late. Deborah was already seated in the restaurant. The first thing he noticed as he approached the table was that she was extremely thin. She had always been slim and athletic. Now she looked positively gaunt. He tried unsuccessfully to ignore the frightening thoughts that fired off one after another in the back of his mind.

  They chatted for a while. She had advanced to the main news anchor position at the top-rated TV station in Denver. That was actually quite a wonderful accomplishment, but, given what he knew to be her network aspirations, he felt sure she saw it as a career failure. He made some would-be consoling remark about how the networks would be calling soon. She made a face.

  They ordered lunch. He noticed that she merely pushed her food around on her plate. He did not see her take even a bite. Among the bad thoughts kept bubbling up in his mind, first on the list was an eating diso
rder. She was older than the typical anorexic, but her personality fit the profile almost perfectly. He didn't say anything, but he watched her fork as it moved her food around the plate and never once ventured in the direction of her mouth, and his worries boiled over.

  She asked him a lot of questions about his life and career in recent years. He answered truthfully, without too much elaboration. He asked her questions. She answered briefly and with a remarkable degree of disinterest in her own life and career.

  When he had finished eating his lunch, she paid the bill, over his protests. They walked out of the restaurant side-by-side. He noted that he had not received the promised apology. He didn't say anything about that, however, because he felt that they were not finished. She stopped next to the elevator, and said, “I need to talk to you, but I would like to have this part of our conversation in private. We booked a suite with a sitting room. Would you feel terribly uncomfortable if I invited you to my room?”

  For some reason that made him want to cry. Actually, he felt that he would give almost anything for her to invite him to her room ... for real. He was astonished (not to mention appalled with himself) to realize that was true. The emotional impact of that rendered him speechless, so he merely shook his head and followed her to the elevator.

  As he walked into her suite, Ray got the next big jolt of the afternoon. Her husband walked out of the bedroom and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She introduced Ray to Carl Bashears. Carl shook his hand, and looked quickly from Ray to Deborah. She evidently gave him some kind of signal, and he said, “Well, you two have some catching up to do. I think I'll run downstairs to the pool bar for lunch. I'll be back in a little while.”