'Tony?" she asked. "Any chance you'd be interested
in seeing someone's Hot Wheels collection?"
"Depends." Tony grinned after examining the card.
"Is this a 'get out of jail free' card?"
Molly laughed guiltily and then told the amused toy
appraiser how she’d almost gotten a speeding ticket. Tony amiably agreed to
call the trooper during a coffee break.
Frank led Molly around another barrier of white exhibit
walls to an empty space with a lectern where a man and woman were bent in deep
concentration over an open book.
"Jessica? Borris? This is Molly Appleby from
Collector's
Weekly
." Frank introduced them, and then turned his head away to
sneeze. "Ohhhhh," he moaned, digging a wad of tissues out of his
pants pocket "That book must be
filled
with dust." He turned
to Molly, his eyes watering, "I'll just leave you here. I can't handle
more than a few seconds in the book area." And with a loud honk into the
tissue, Frank scurried away.
Borris had a square jaw and a Roman nose and bore a strong
resemblance to a bust of Julius Caesar. He ran a hand through a thick mane of
snow-white hair and shook his head quizzically. "Barely qualifies as a
man, that one. Don't know how he found himself in this business with all those
allergies."
Jessica, a short, chic-looking woman with cropped, spiky
gray hair, a hooked nose, and deep brown eyes, fingered the amber beads of her
vintage necklace. She swatted Borris playfully on the arm. "Borris, what
will Molly think of us? Don't mind him." Grinning at Molly, she pointed at
her partner, and then at the book on the lectern. "He's just disappointed
that these botanicals aren't hand-painted."
Molly leaned over to examine a bookplate detailing the
medicinal uses of lavender. "It's still lovely," she offered, but
Borris made a very Caesar-like dismissal with the flick of his wide hand and
turned his dignified shoulders away to dig for another book from a pile at his
feet.
Jessica turned to Molly. "You have an unusual name for
this day and age. Kind of old-fashioned. Is there a story behind it?"
"Not a good one," Molly laughed. "My parents
were on their way home from a camping trip in the Smoky Mountains. The car
broke down in this little two-horse town. I was conceived in a roadside hotel
named The Molly Arms. This was a big surprise to my mom, who liked neither
camping nor kids. My parents didn't stay together long after that night, but I
guess the name stuck with her, even though my dad didn't."
"Sounds like a story I can relate to," Jessica
said bitterly. "Your mom was probably better off raising you alone."
Molly shifted, uncomfortable with the subject of her
parents' infinitesimal marriage. "So are you the jewelry appraiser?"
she asked, hoping to turn the conversation back to matters at hand.
"Sure am," Jessica said proudly. "I come from
a long line of Jewish jewelry experts. I'll be opening the show with a
marvelous set of vintage cat's eye pieces. A ring, necklace, and earrings. A
local dealer has had them on display for months with no luck getting them sold,
and she's hoping that getting the set on TV will help them sell."
"That's nice of you." Molly approved of antique
people helping one another out. In fact, she liked both Jessica and Borris
immediately. "Are the rest of the appraisers around here?"
"No," Borris answered. "They've already
knocked off for dinner. We're all supposed to meet at the Mexican place down
the street. Want to join us?"
"Sure. I love margaritas," Molly said, happy to be
included as another member of the show instead of an outsider. She often felt
alienated when she was interviewing the close-knit groups of dealers exhibiting
at shows.
Borris beamed. "Finally, a woman I can drink with!
Jessica here is strictly a Perrier gal. I always feel like the poster child for
A.A. when I eat out with her."
"Not for A. A. You're the poster child for crotchety,
old bibliophiles," Jessica teased.
"Let's go." Borris ignored Jessica's jibe, though
Molly could see the pair had a comfortable camaraderie that usually only
developed between two people who have been friends for a long time.
As Borris bent to retrieve a book from the floor, Jessica
reached down at the same time to grab her purse. Their heads collided with a
resounding thud.
"Ow!" Jessica cried as she rubbed her temple.
"Ow yourself." Borris smiled, touching his own
forehead. "You'd better stop abusing me. You're treating me like Victoria
treats Frank whenever he starts complaining about his allergies."
"Those two really don't seem to get along," Molly
observed.
"Don't get along? That's a polite way of saying they'd
like to strangle one another at least once a day," said Jessica
laughingly.
"Someday, one of them will figure out a way to bump the
other one off," Borris jested, making a goofy slashing motion across his
throat
"But they're just coworkers," Molly mused.
"How did they grow to dislike one another so much?"
"As someone who's survived a horrible marriage and a
very
nasty betrayal which led to divorce, I'll give you a simple answer," Jessica
said as she opened the front door leading outside and gestured for Molly to
pass through. "Their dislike does not stem from the fact that they're
coworkers. There's absolutely no competition between them as host and
appraiser. They want to kill one another for the best reason of all.” She
paused, breathing in the crisp evening air. "They're married. And marriage
is no Disney fairy tale. Trust me,
all
married people fantasize about
murder.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Above all, keep a sharp look-out for signs of attack by
fungi and woodworm. Train jour nose to differentiate between the dusty and the
musty.
—The Illustrated Guide to Furniture Repair and
Restoration
Once Jessica and Borris discovered that Molly was also
staying at Traveller, they insisted on driving her to Casa 'Rita, the Mexican
restaurant where the head appraisers were gathering for a casual dinner. Borris
was clearly looking forward to having a margarita partner.
"We need to take advantage of Jessica's sobriety,"
Borris said, holding the rental car door open for Molly. "She'll drive us
both home."
"I still can't believe it," Molly was saying as
Borris turned onto Broad Street and drove past one strip mall after another. He
closely tailgated a Jeep Wrangler whose upside-down bumper sticker read,
If
you can read this, please turn me over
. Clutching the door handle
nervously, Molly looked out the window and continued, "Victoria and Frank
are married? I mean, they don't exactly strike me as a well-matched pair."
"I'll explain everything to you, dear,"' said
Jessica, settling into her storytelling mode. "Victoria Sterling was
formally Vicky Jiminski. She was a waitress at this place called The Terrapin
Diner and lived in a run-down apartment complex on the outskirts of Baltimore.
Back then—we're talking about ten years ago—Frank owned a successful antique
shop in Baltimore and another in Alexandria, just south of D.C. He was having
unbelievable success as a furniture dealer and soon developed a reputation on
the East Coast for being an expert in his field."
"Victoria knew nothing about antiques," Borris
continued as Jessica took a swig from her water bottle. "But she knew
Frank had money. He used to stop at The Terrapin because he loved their catfish
platter. Vicky often waited on him and was shrewd enough to realize that Frank
had the potential to provide her with a comfortable life."
"Vicky has always been a looker." Jessica regained
command of the story. "With her tight skirts and long legs, it was easy
for her to exert her charms on wimpy, oversensitive Frank and, of course, he
was bowled over. It didn't hurt that she was ten years younger either. They got
married after two months of dating and then he quickly began transforming his
new bride. Vicky the waitress had her hair done, was attired in a new wardrobe
of designer clothes, and was given speech and acting lessons. And just like
that, she became the Ms. Victoria Sterling we know and love today."
That's why her clothes are so frumpy and mismatched, Molly
thought. Victoria's never known what stylish clothes are. She just buys
clothing with the highest price tags.
"How did she ever get on TV?" Molly asked.
Jessica snorted. "Frank knew some people on the local
network who gave her a spot hosting a home makeover show. Trouble is,
Victoria's attractive, but she isn't too knowledgeable about decorating or
antiques. Still, she's a fast learner, can memorize her lines instantly, and
has a decent sense of timing and delivery. And let's face it, she has the right
look for our show—that conservative, slightly dowdy elegance that people find
nonthreatening and familiar."
"How do you guys know all this stuff? Wouldn't Victoria
want to conceal her background?" Molly asked.
"Nah," said Borris. "One night she was two
sheets to the wind and told us the whole story. She even confided that she and
Frank have separate bedrooms at home, not that we wanted to know about
that
."
"I asked why she stayed married to a man she obviously
didn’t love," added Jessica as they pulled into the parking lot of another
strip mall behind a white convertible with cowhide seat covers and a bumper
sticker that read,
Save a cow, eat a vegetarian
. "Victoria said
that she liked her lifestyle and had no interest in sex, so Frank was the
perfect husband."
Molly mumbled, "How romantic."
"Romance is a Hollywood notion," Jessica said
dismissively as she turned off the ignition. Molly saw a flicker of sadness
surface in Borris's eyes as he watched Jessica exit the car.
Inside Casa 'Rita, long tables covered by vinyl cloths
decorated with red chili peppers were crammed in a haphazard pattern on top of
a perspiring terracotta floor. Waitresses, who all seemed to be local college
students, wore tight citrus-colored T-shirts bearing the text,
Milk stinks,
got Margaritas?
Festive piñatas shaped like chili peppers, donkeys, and
sombreros dangled from the ceiling. Jessica was hailed by Tony the Toy Man and
the threesome moved forward to join the other head appraisers.
Molly sat down at the end of a table with Jessica, Borris,
and Tony. She waved to Garrett who was seated next to a middle-aged Asian woman
with glistening, ebony hair and an unlined face. The woman broke off her
conversation, smiled warmly in Molly's direction, and called out, "Hi! I'm
Alicia. I'm art." Alicia gestured to the man seated on her right.
"This is Patrice. He's porcelain."
Patrice turned a bearded face toward Molly and smiled
thinly. He had a prominent nose, sunken eyes, a long chin, and pointy ears.
"My pleasure," he drawled in a French accent. Molly thought he
resembled an elf.
Jessica kneed Molly under the table. "That accent is
totally fake," she whispered. "But it works on TV."
Frank was seated at the other end of the long table, talking
animatedly with a homely-looking woman in her late fifties. Her brown hair,
woven with gray, was falling out of a low bun. She continuously poked at a pair
of owl-like glasses as they slid down her small nose. Next to the owl-lady,
Victoria was taking deep drinks of margarita on the rocks and looking about the
restaurant with her usual indifference.
Borris and Molly ordered frozen grande margaritas, chili con
queso, and sizzling chicken and steak fajitas. Jessica chose a vegetarian
appetizer of bean quesadillas followed by a spinach and cheese enchilada.
"Who is that lady Frank is talking to?" Molly asked
Borris.
"That's Lindsey. She's linens. Kind of ditzy, but a
real doll. Knows her stuff, too."
"There's an empty chair next to Tony. Is anyone else
coming?" Molly asked. "I don't know if I can remember any more
people."
Jessica snickered. "That chair is for Alexandra
Lincoln. She'd prefer a throne, however. She appraises coins, stamps, and
clocks. She'll be fashionably late and make a grand entrance, even in this
setting."
"But her name doesn't have the alliteration everyone
else's does," Molly pointed out.
"No, she refused to play along.
Apparently"—Jessica broke out into a haughty British accent—"she is
from the
Lincolns
of
Lincolnshire
. Her father is a baron. A broke
one, but still, a title is a title. Alexandra said it was insulting to have a
television pseudonym," Jessica said dismissively as she bit off the comer
of a blue tortilla chip. "The rest of us peasants don't mind. A paycheck
is a paycheck. You can call me Penelope Pitstop as long as the money's
good."
Just as their margaritas were delivered, a stunning woman
walked through the front door. Wearing a tailored designer suit in crisp white
with an expensive Gucci bag and matching pumps, the woman tossed a shiny wave
of copper-colored hair professionally streaked with glints of gold over her shoulder.
As most of the men in the restaurant looked in her direction, she turned a
carefully made-up face toward the appraisers. Molly noted the woman's shapely
legs, the alluring sway of her hips as she walked, and the poise of her
movements as she approached Tony and issued him a smile that was not reflected
in her cold eyes.
"Save me a seat?" she asked Tony. Unlike
Garrett's, Alexandra's British accent lacked charm. It simply elevated the air
of condescension about her.
Alexandra turned golden eyes toward Molly and gave her a
queenly nod. Molly felt instantly snubbed. Over the rim of her margarita glass,
Molly watched Alexandra suddenly brighten as she spoke to Garrett.
"She's had a crush on him for years," Jessica
whispered.