Much Ado About Mother (11 page)

CHAPTER 12

VIRGINIA

V
irginia was surprised by how quickly she got into the swing of life in Venice. She was able to buckle Lizzy into her Baby Jogger stroller (although, as Erinn pointed out, this was completely misnamed since clearly the baby wasn't jogging) and Piquant into his harness and could head out the door in a matter of minutes. She loved walking out and seeing the beach and the glistening ocean as soon as she was on the porch. And Venice was such a little neighborhood! As she started down the Beach Walk, Donell, the sage salesman who put out his potpourri rain or shine, an enormous man in a beret and flowing caftan, waved to her with one hand. With the other he cradled a phone to his ear. He hung up quickly as she went by and shouted out to her.

“Hey, Mama Bear! Oh, I mean Mama Wolf!”

He let out a smoker's laugh, part hack and part guffaw. Virginia smiled at him.

“The booth smells lovely, as always,” she said.

He reached out with a bunch of sage tied with raffia.

“For you, sweet lady. A gift.”

Virginia took the sage and smelled it.

“Thank you, Donell.”

“Where are you goin' this mornin'?” he asked. “Just grabbin' some sunshine?”

“No,” Virginia said, tucking the sage into one of the many pockets in the Baby Jogger, possibly never to be seen again. “I'm going to Mr. Clancy's Courtyard.”

“Oh, not that damn tree again! Your son-in-law is just a pain in my ass about that tree.”

“Eric? He's just trying to help.”

“I just don't want any trouble. I have enough trouble selling sage without some sort of coup goin' down.”

“I would imagine a coup would only help business, Donell,” Virginia said. “If people feel strongly that the tree has intrinsic value, they'll come see it. And even if they don't care at all, they'll still come see it just because of all the hubbub. It's win-win for you.”

“Yeah,” said Donell, “well, maybe they'll declare me a national treasure—I'm the only three-hundred-and-fifty-pound Hawaiian in the area. Now that would really help my business.”

“Maybe you'll be next,” Virginia said. Then she added, “If it makes you feel any better, it's a local designation . . . not national.”

She headed down the Beach Walk until she was standing in front of Mr. Clancy's Courtyard, half a block and a world away from the Bun. While her daughter's tearoom had a look that would have been more compatible with the buildings on the Eastern Seaboard, with its wide porch and whitewashed façade, Mr. Clancy's was a cluster of individual brick cottages lining an L-shaped cement courtyard. An archway curved over the courtyard, joining the two buildings in the front. She didn't like walking under the archway, which was also made of brick. Curved brick in earthquake-prone California? Not the best idea on the books, in Virginia's mind.

She bumped the Jogger up the three cement stairs and entered the courtyard. There stood The Tree. She was hoping that in time The Tree would grow on her. But no. The twisted trunk and shabby branches looked just as ugly as on the day she first saw it. It was so large, customers heading into the various shops had to climb around it. And it completely obscured the shops in the back, including that sweet Rio's dance studio. She felt a better solution might be to uproot the tree and send it to Montana or some such state where it would have room to spread out. It was obviously trying to take up more than its allotted space. But if some of the merchants felt compelled to save it, she'd do what she could to help out. Unofficially, of course.

Christopher and Bernard's art gallery was one of the first shops in the courtyard. Christopher came out, carrying a large easel.

He set up the easel among his other offerings: woodwork, beadwork, stained glass; you name it, if it was art, Christopher or his uncle dabbled in it.

“Hey, Virginia!” he said, putting a large painting on the easel and facing it toward the sidewalk. He leaned over and waved at Lizzy. “Hi, Lizzy.”

Virginia was quietly happy that everyone already seemed to know her—and even appeared to think of Lizzy and herself as a unit.

Virginia studied the picture. It was a familiar subject for the local artists: the Santa Monica Pier as seen from Muscle Beach. But Christopher had added an interesting perspective. Most of the painting was soft and impressionistic, but the pier, which was in sharp focus, was seen through the long green fingers of a palm frond.

“You have such an eye, Christopher,” she said.

“Yeah, but he needs to think commercial,” said his uncle, who came out of the shop carrying one of his offerings, a photograph of sorts, since it had been Photoshopped within an inch of its life, of a clown wearing a Venice Beach T-shirt with a hot dog stand in the background.

“Well,” Virginia said, scanning their hodgepodge of offerings, “it looks like, between the two of you, you have something for everybody.”

Christopher bent over to pat Piquant, who growled, which delighted Lizzy. Christopher ruffled Lizzy's hair.

“OK, I'll pat your head instead,” he said.

Virginia was used to Piquant's petulant personality and had ceased to be embarrassed by him. Her sheepish days in New York seemed like years ago.

Although all the merchants in the courtyard had shops, their bread-and-butter sales came from setting up outside on the Beach Walk. One by one the shopkeepers started setting up their wares. Virginia saw a man stick his head out of a corner shop.

“Good morning, Mr. Clancy,” Christopher said tonelessly.

Virginia watched him out of the corner of her eye as he pulled his merchandise onto the sidewalk. Mr. Clancy had long, thick, gray hair and a toned physique for a man of any age, let alone one who must be hovering around seventy. Virginia noticed his artistic, graceful hands. He sold what appeared to be hand-dyed T-shirts, gypsy skirts, and scarves. Not what one would expect from the resident Snidely Whiplash.

Virginia had no idea how any of these people ever made enough money to keep body and soul together. But they all did, especially, she thought, their souls.

She picked Lizzy up out of the Jogger and let her look at all the fabulous offerings. When Suzanna had first announced that she was pregnant, Virginia had had to stifle the urge to say that perhaps Venice Beach was not the greatest area in the country to raise a child. But she was glad she hadn't said anything. Lizzy was not having a conventional baby-hood, but it was sure damned interesting.

Virginia was startled as Suzanna stepped briskly into the courtyard, walking her bike.

“Hi, Mom,” she said.

“Hi, dear. I thought I'd take Lizzy out, give you some time to yourself.”

“That's great!” Suzanna said, looking around the courtyard. “I just thought I'd get a little bike ride in.”

Virginia thought she seemed distracted.

“Well, you go right ahead. I'm just going to talk to the guys about something and then Lizzy and I will meet you at home after your ride.”

Suddenly, from under the brick archway, Rio appeared with two young adults in tow, a sullen-looking boy and a goth girl. He nodded to his fellow shopkeepers and the Wolfs. To Suzanna's surprise, Virginia stopped the little group.

“Hello, Rio,” Virginia said. “Who are your friends?”

Rio and the teenagers stopped in their tracks. Virginia could hear a rush of air escape Suzanna. Virginia knew her daughter was probably embarrassed that Virginia was butting in, but all her years around young adults, especially hostile young adults, had taught her that kids like these were going to need more than dance lessons to make it in this world. They were also going to need manners—and as far as she was concerned, they could start learning them right now.

The boy stared at his feet and the girl glowered out from behind blunt black bangs. She was chewing gum with her mouth open, which Virginia might mention later, but she knew to tread lightly. After all, Rio hadn't asked her to lend a hand.

“Hello, Virginia,” Rio said. “These are my students, Miles and Winnie.”

Neither of the students responded. Virginia passed the handles of the Baby Jogger to Suzanna and stood in front of the students.

“Hello, I'm Virginia.” She offered her hand to the boy, who wore baggy jeans, a white T-shirt, and gauge earrings. He had no choice but to take her hand and look at her. “You must be Miles?”

“I guess,” the boy said in a frosty baritone. He did not crack a smile.

“I like your tattoos,” Virginia said, nodding at the flight of exotic birds that flew up his left arm. “I don't know all the birds, but I think I recognize a Chinese pheasant and a lorikeet.”

“Awesome,” Miles said, forgetting his Mr. Cool composure for a moment and pointing to a blue bird with a long red beak. “This kingfisher is my favorite.”

“He's lovely,” Virginia said.

“One day, I want to get a full peacock on my back,” Miles said.

“So he can be a walking ad for NBC,” the goth girl, who must be Winnie, said.

Virginia found it interesting that Miles didn't take offense.

“That's my twin sister.” Miles nudged his head toward Winnie. “She's just jealous that I'm going to kick her ass at Zumba.”

Winnie smiled at her brother, but returned to her scowl when she looked at Virginia. Virginia decided not to press her luck. One out of two petulant teenagers giving her the time of day was a start.

Rio herded the students toward the back of the courtyard, disappearing behind the tree.

“How is his dance studio doing?” Virginia asked Christopher.

“OK, I guess,” Christopher said. “He keeps to himself, mostly.”

“He's not keeping to himself,” Mr. Clancy said. “You can't see him, because the tree covers his studio like a black cape.”

Christopher and Bernard ignored Mr. Clancy.

“He runs the place on donations so it can't be easy. Bernard and I feed him whenever we can,” Christopher said.

“That's so sweet of you,” Suzanna said.

“I feed him, too,” said Mr. Clancy. “
And
I give him a break on his rent.”

Virginia looked right at Mr. Clancy.

“I guess he has his hands full saving those kids,” she said. “He's probably not keeping score.”

“You know, we can always help with food,” Suzanna said. “We could feed him at the tea shop. Or bring over some biscuits or whatever.. . .”

“Bless your heart, Suzanna!” Virginia said.

Was she missing something? Her daughter sounded out of breath and her cheeks were pink.

Suzanna seemed miles away, looking after Rio. Virginia remembered when Suzanna had taken dance lessons and wondered if she missed them. She noticed that Suzanna still hadn't seemed to catch her breath. She knew that exercise went out the window when you were a new mother.

“Suzanna?” Virginia asked. “You'd better get going if you want a good bike ride before work.”

Suzanna blinked a few times and then pedaled away. Lizzy waved happily as her mother disappeared down the bike path, which thrilled Virginia (even though she would never admit it). Virginia waited until Mr. Clancy went back into his shop.

“I actually came down here for a reason,” Virginia said.

Years of teaching at a university had honed Virginia's skills at getting people's attention without yelling. As if on cue, Bernard and Christopher stopped what they were doing and looked at her.

“We need to take a little field trip. Do some research. You guys up for a field trip to Santa Monica later today?”

“Sure,” Bernard said. “I'll get Donell to keep an eye on the place.”

“Just don't tell him it's about the tree,” Virginia suggested.

She wheeled Lizzy back to the Bun and turned into the Book Nook, where Eric was deep in conversation with a quintessential California girl in tight jeans. The pair was standing over a stack of what appeared to be heavily bound comic books. The girl looked vaguely familiar, but then again, these types of overly processed girls all looked alike to Virginia with their Angelina Jolie lips and Julia Roberts noses. It wasn't until she heard the woman speak that Virginia realized it was Blu Knight, the starlet who was making Erinn's life miserable. Lizzy started fussing and Virginia rocked the Jogger back and forth so she could hear the conversation without being noticed.

“It's a superfun adventure story,” Blu was saying to a nodding Eric. “An artist friend of mine did the drawings and then we self-published it.”

Eric picked up a copy and read the title out loud,
“Superblu and O'Hara?”

Blu's hair bounced as she nodded.

“It's about a lady superhero and a detective who solve crimes,” she said. “I'm Superblu.”

“I would have guessed,” Eric said. “I mean, you don't look Irish.”

Blu smiled at Eric.

“Do you like my costume?” she purred.

Eric shot a quick involuntary glance at her cleavage, than righted his eyes.

“Oh,” he said, “in the graphic novel!”

“I had one made up, so I can do personal appearances once it takes off.”

“Yes, it's very . . . inspiring.”

Blu laughed coyly. Virginia had to admit that it was a pretty little tinkling sound. But it didn't mask the alarm bells that were going off in Virginia's head. This woman could be trouble.

“So,” Blu said, leaning in again. “Can I count on you to sell a couple copies for me?”