She led them down the hall and they peeked into her bedroom. Godiva tried not to gasp, taking in the huge room decorated entirely in red and black velvet, complete with a quilted spread, tufted headboard, flocked wallpaper and a genuine velvet painting of Elvis.
When Belle flung open the door to the guest room, Caesar’s jaw dropped in amazement. A gold leafed, bejeweled four-poster bed sat atop a broad platform in the center of the room. The metallic gold bedspread, highlighted by rhinestone-studded side curtains, glinted in the light of the crystal chandeliers sparkling over the ornate nightstands. The entire place reeked of a heavy musk scent.
“My goodness, Belle,” Godiva said. “Where did you ever find this bedroom set? It’s like something out of a movie.” Then she thought,
porno movie!
“This furniture is the one thing I kept from my place of business before I retired,” Belle answered.
Caesar began to sniffle and cough slowly escalating to a believable sneezing fit. He pulled out a handkerchief and held it in front of his face, alternately hacking and sneezing. “Belle, my dear,” he said, “it is so sweet of you to offer this wonderful room to us, but I must be allergic to your delightful perfume. It’s such a beautiful room. Godiva, I’m so sorry to disappoint you darling, but my allergies...”
They made a graceful exit before the aroma of musk asphyxiated them all.
SIX
A light drizzle hung in the air as Goldie’s 1987 Subaru station wagon, with her husband Red at the wheel, pulled up in front of the Thane Ore House. A hand lettered placard, “Closed for Private Party”, was tacked over the Gold Rush style lettering “Salmon, Halibut, Ribs”, on the wooden signboard. They piled out of the car like five circus clowns emerging from a gaily painted Volkswagen.
Godiva shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re still driving this thing, it looks like it has a serious case of mange.”
“Yeah, I guess it does have a ‘Juneau body’,” Goldie said apologetically as she smoothed down a piece of duct tape on the left front fender. “A little rust here and there, but it still runs good.”
“Yes indeed,” Red added, “trusty Old Paint makes it up the hill every time. No need to get anything fancy in this town.”
Godiva wobbled around the gravel parking lot in her Italian high-heeled boots. She plucked at the sleeves of Goldie’s peasant blouse. “Speaking of fancy, I sure do feel
fancy
in these rags of yours. Boy, it’s a good thing nobody knows me around here.” Her borrowed skirt and vest looked like remnants of a crocheted tablecloth.
“I think you look positively charming, my dear.” Caesar put his arm around her shoulder and pecked her cheek. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for myself,” he continued, trying to tuck Red’s extra large plaid shirt into oversized Levis cinched at the waist with his own gold-buckled Gucci belt.
Chili turned her face toward the sky and tiny droplets settled on her nose. “Wow, it’s not raining! What a great day for Grandma’s party.”
“Not raining? What do you call this?” Caesar held out his damp sleeve.
Red laughed heartily. “Just a heavy mist, old boy. Certainly doesn’t qualify as rain.” He gave the wussy Californian a manly slap on the back.
As they started down the trail toward the Ore House, a tour bus with a banner taped to the side that said, “Belle’s Salmon Bake, Climb Aboard” pulled up behind them. Goldie whispered to her sister, “Belle wanted to make sure all the folks she invited from the Glory Hole Soup Kitchen had a way to get here.”
Godiva surveyed the passengers as they got off the bus. “I guess I’m dressed just right for this crowd,” she mumbled.
A huge man—or maybe it was a woman—wearing floppy red high-tops and a Mohawk stumbled off the bus. Then a Lincoln Town Car with Alaska license plate Number One zipped in and parked beside the bus.
“Hey, cool. It’s Governor Pickle and his wife, Emily.” Chili waved to them.
The governor was all smiles. He even shook the hands of folks who probably didn’t vote. His wife caught sight of the Peppers and extended her arms.
“Goldie, Red, how good to see you!” She turned and did a double-take. “And you must be the sister who writes that entertaining column.” She clasped Godiva’s hand.
Then the governor’s wife called out, “Chili dear!” took a few steps and gave her a big bear hug. “I can’t believe it! A television star. Is this your fabulous Chef Romano?” She held out her hand for a polite shake.
“You certainly made a good choice for your assistant, Romano.” The Governor joined his wife. “Chili’s quite the little chef, you know. She helped our kitchen staff make thousands of hors d’oeuvres for the Christmas open house. Everybody raved about them.”
He put his arm around Chili’s shoulder. “Saw you on TV, young lady, you looked damn good! Never thought you’d catch ol’ Willy Pickle watching a cooking show, but your grandma made me promise. And you know, if Belle says do it, you do it.”
A crusty old fellow walked up the path from the beach below the Ore House, his knee-high rubber boots turned down to his ankles, Brillo pad hair bristling out from under a cap with a “Salty Dawg Charters” logo. “Well, if it ain’t the Pickles and the Peppers! All you guys need fer a perfect appetizer’s a little Herring, and here I is!” He turned to Caesar and held out a sandpaper hand. “Name’s Herring, the wife calls me Stanley, but everyone else calls me Salty—Salty Herring, get it?” He pumped Caesar’s hand.
“Ah, yes, Salty Herring, very catchy. Call me Caesar.” He smiled broadly and gestured toward Godiva. “And allow me to introduce you to this lovely lady.”
Salty did a double-take. “Well, one of ’em’s Goldie, but now ya got me goin’. I ’spect this one here must be that twin from Californie. Belle tol’ me all about ya.” He tipped his hat. “Good ta meetcha, Missy.” Godiva reluctantly took his outstretched hand.
They all headed to the Ore House to look for the birthday girl. Behind the big barn of a building, they found her presiding over the bank of outdoor grills where fresh salmon and halibut sent out luscious aromas. Caesar headed straight for the barbeques. Within minutes he was engaged in lively conversation with the chefs, checking out what the locals were doing at the grills and asking questions about the sauces and seasonings.
Belle bounded toward them like an oversized St. Bernard puppy swathed in a bright red dress with dazzling marine life swimming across her bosom and bottom. “Darlings! Isn’t it a fabulous day?” she sung out in a booming alto. “Willy, Emily, I’m so glad you could come.” She bussed their cheeks. “Godiva, looks like you already lost your beau to the lure of the salmon.” She nodded in Caesar’s direction.
“Salty, you old scumbag, now don’t you try flirting with these beautiful women. Your wife’s over there by the lemonade…got her eye on you.” She scurried around like a hen gathering her chicks. “Come on, come on, grab some plates, fill ’em up. Mingle.” And in a twinkling, she was gone, dragging the Pickles with her.
Godiva felt the presence of someone close at her elbow and turned to find herself level with a set of confused eyes. The meek little woman was wearing four threadbare coats, one on top of the other. She looked from twin to twin. “Are you both Goldie? I see double lots of times, ya know…”
“It’s all right, Ella, you’re not seeing things. This is my twin sister Godiva. We look alike.” Goldie turned the Coat Lady around and pointed to the tables full of food. “Go find a plate and fill it up. Get a nice big piece of cake, too.” As Ella drifted away, Goldie explained how this bewildered little street person wore the coats summer and winter, carrying her closet on her back.
“Belle sure does know some oddballs—” Godiva began, but Goldie cut her off.
“Everybody’s odd in one way or another, Sis. Most of the Glory Hole folks, if they were rich, would be called eccentric. Given enough money, they might even be in politics or something.” She sighed. “But people like the Coat Lady, and Red Shoes, and Jack, over there, just don’t have that luxury.”
Godiva followed her glance across two tables to Jack and his bedraggled dog. Jack wore a cape made of plastic bags over his clothes. The dog, an Australian Shepherd crossed with something, sat on the bench beside his master, delicately sharing a plate of salmon and potato salad.
Red led the twins over to a group of raucous fishermen who were debating the fate of the salmon industry. A burly fellow with unruly blond hair shouted to Red, “Hey, Cap’n, I hope you don’t serve any of that farmed salmon on your ship. If ya do, I might have to shoot ya!”
“Tell you what, Tommy…” Red shook the man’s hand as they came face to face. “The Empress Line tried to put that crap on the menu, but I told ’em I wouldn’t sail the ship to Alaska unless they let me serve the real thing.”
“Red, my boy,” an old salt with four missing teeth and three missing fingers chimed in, “you are truly a fisherman’s friend. And you have a lovely wife to boot, or is it two wives you have now?” He looked from Goldie to Godiva.
“Haw, haw.” A big guy with a face like cottonwood bark slapped his leg, and some of the dried fish scales covering his overalls flew into the air like little silver snowflakes. He said to his mates, “See, the Cap’n here has it all figgered out. Ya get yerself two wimmin what looks alike an’ ya never have to remember which is which, ya jus’ calls ’em both Honey.”
Goldie shook her head. “Andy, you’re going to give my sister a bad impression of Alaska fishermen.” She scanned the group. “Listen up, gentlemen, this is Godiva, she’s very influential. Her boyfriend is that famous TV Chef over there.” She gestured toward the barbeques. “So behave yourselves and maybe you’ll get a plug for wild salmon on his next show.”
A clean-shaven member of the rag tag gathering held up his hand, pinkie in the air, “
Saumon Savage
, is what he’ll call it. He’s the guy from
Flirting With Food
, isn’t he? I saw your daughter on his show, Goldie. I couldn’t believe it. A couple of years ago Chili was in my marine biology class at J-D High. She was one of my best students.”
A quiet man in a frayed green slicker got off the bench beside the fishermen and presented himself to Godiva. “Say, I know who you are.” A beer bottle dangled from his hand. “You’re that gal that writes the newspaper column, I saw your picture in the
Fishwrapper
. You give people advice, don’t you?”
“Yes! You’ve seen my column?” Godiva seemed surprised that he could read.
“Rudy told me Goldie’s sister was coming to town. You two really look alike, but you didn’t have me fooled.”
“Oh?”
He pointed to her feet. “Goldie would never wear damn fool shoes like that to a salmon bake.” The other fishermen guffawed and pointed at the inappropriate footwear.
The quiet man looked down at his own beat up rubber boots, took Godiva’s arm and gently pulled her away from the cluster of rowdy men. He had a pronounced limp. “Um, ya know, Miss G.O.D., I was actually thinkin’ of writin’ you a letter.” He looked over his shoulder to see if the others were listening but they were complaining to Red and Goldie about the low salmon prices this year.
“Are you having trouble with a lost lover, Mr., um...”
“Taku, everybody jus’ calls me Taku.” He looked at his boots again. “Nope, it ain’t exactly a lost love, more like a lost boat. I suppose you could say I lost everything I love, though, since I lost the boat. Busted up my leg so I can’t fish, lost the boat so I got no place to live. Lucky for me I got some nice friends. Rudy buys me a drink or two, Belle finds me a bit o’ work to do now and then and pays me way too much, this angel named Mimi lets me sleep in her storeroom, and the folks at the Glory Hole feed me real good.”
“So, what were you going to write me about?”
“Y’see, I feel like my life is over.” Godiva judged him to be 45 at the most. “I wonder if it makes sense to go back to Bellingham and try to find my family. Maybe my Mom’s still alive, or my Aunt Bea… Maybe my sister would take me in. Is it a stupid idea? To want to die where you were born? Maybe they’d just be pissed at me for not contacting them. I reckon it’s been twenty years.”
Godiva fought the urge to give the poor soul a hug. “Taku, you know what I think? I think you need to sober up and stop feeling sorry for yourself. So what if you can’t fish any more? Your mind still works, your hands still work, and your legs seem to get you around. There are a hundred things you can do to feel useful. Go over there.” She pointed toward the bright glow of Belle’s red dress. “Give Belle a big hug and ask her to help you find a steady job.”
Taku responded to the suggestion by swigging down the rest of his beer. He mumbled something unintelligible as he left Godiva and headed for the ice chest to get another.
The drizzle was quickly turning to rain. Godiva dragged Goldie inside where the Crabgrass Revival Band belted out a bluegrass tune. She heaved a sigh of relief when Emily Pickle waved to her and introduced her around to a group of the social elite. The hot topics of conversation were the Juneau Jumpers’ Championship and the young priest’s murder.
SEVEN
The sun went down at midnight with Belle’s salmon bake still in full swing. Rudy didn’t get there until after eight o’clock, when he closed the Silver Spoon. The shipment of wayward samovars had finally arrived late that afternoon.
By two in the morning, the last of the revelers headed home and Red’s ship pulled out of the harbor.
The next morning, while the others slept off the effects of the party, Goldie sat at her hundred-year-old round oak table sipping a cup of ginkgo biloba tea. Feeling a bit groggy from less than four hours sleep, she took a few more sips, hoping the blend would sharpen her mind. It wasn’t working.
She definitely didn’t look forward to unpacking the crate of Russian antiques this morning, but she agreed to meet Rudy at seven to inventory the items before opening the shop.
She pictured Rudy, in his little apartment above the Silver Spoon, buttoning on his suspenders and straightening his bow tie right about now. He would head down the back stairs and over to the City Café for a cup of java and the breakfast special just as he did every morning. That gave her about 45 minutes to get her butt in gear.