The Governor's Sons (32 page)

Trina and Joan walked toward a blue satin settee near the corner of the living room and sat down.

Trina, now widowed as well, said, “I don’t get out much in the evenings nowadays, since I moved to my new apartment, but I certainly didn’t want to miss seeing Heath.
 
And Joan,” she glanced toward the dining room, “you still know how to throw quite the beautiful party.”

A gold lame cloth covered the long dining room table and an elegant floral centerpiece adorned with gold satin ribbons sat in the center.
 
Tall beeswax candles stood on either side in ornate golden candle-holders, and hors d’oeuvres were spread from one end of the table to the other.

Miss Joan waved her hand.
 
“Oh, Trina, not I like used to.
 
I haven’t had one since November.”

“Oh, for Ash’s re-election!
 
That was a lovely celebration.”

“It was—and the country club did all the work.” Joan smiled.
 
“As long as I have a small affair, just for friends and family, like this one for Heath, I can manage here at the house.”

Trina looked toward Mikki who stood a short distance away talking to JoBeth and Leigh Ann.
 
“That Mikki—she’s such a stunning thing.”

Mikki’s dress was an off the shoulder jade green.
 
Her hair was down and pulled away from her face.
 
It tumbled in cascading curls like a waterfall down her back.

Trina turned to Joan.
 
“So, how long have she and Heath been married now?”

“Over 20 years.”

Trina playfully smacked Joan’s knee. “And you said it wouldn’t last.”

Wishful thinking, Miss Joan thought.
 
“I suppose I was wrong.”

“Both of your sons have been very fortunate in love,” Miss Trina sighed, “unlike my Lillian Ann.
 
Joan, if only she’d only listened to me, I could have stopped her from making a mistake when she married that first husband.”

“We can teach our children everything,” Joan shook her head in disgust, “but common sense.
 
Everyone knew something wasn’t right about him.”

“Yes, everyone
but
Lillian Ann!”
 
Trina leaned close to Joan and whispered.
 
“But I never thought he’d beat her—and drive her to drink.”

“Trina, at least she was happy with her second husband.”
  
Joan patted her friend’s plump hand.
 
An 18 carat gold cocktail ring with a spray of thirty diamond chips was shoved on Trina’s chubby ring finger.

“She was.” Trina smiled.
 
“Even though he was closer to my age than hers.
 
Lots of people still think she married him for his money.”
 
Trina pulled the neckline of her dress a little higher to support her ample bosom.
 
“But she didn’t need his money and she could’ve cared less about it.”

“I know, Trina.
 
She was just happy to be with someone who adored her.”

“They were together 18 happy years, and when he died, she was crushed. And then came along ‘that thing’ she’s married to now.”
 
Again, Trina leaned toward Joan.
 
“Joan, you’d think she’d care that people say she’s old enough to be his mother, but she doesn’t seem the least bit concerned.”

“Trina, perhaps she really does love him.”

“Well, he doesn’t love her.
 
All he does is spend her money!
 
Joan, if Lillian Ann could’ve married Ash—”

“Oh, Trina, that’s ancient history.” Joan laughed.
 
“And you know, I tried to push things between them, but—”

“I know, I know,” Trina exhaled.
 
“Unrequited love.
 
But the sad thing is, Joan,
  
I don’t think Lillian Ann’s ever completely gotten over Ash.”
 
Trina’s gaze wandered to a tall Oriental vase standing on the floor near the settee.
 
As her eyes met Joan’s again, she asked, “Joan, did you ever notice how much her first husband resembled Ash?
 
And even ‘that gigolo’ of hers now looks a little like him.
 
The auburn hair, the good looks—”

“Trina, you’re imagining things.
 
But you know, dear, Lillian Ann was my first choice for a daughter-in-law.
 
Who would’ve thought that busboy’s daughter would end up marrying my son?” Joan said snidely.

“Tyree Stokes certainly became much more than the busboy he was in the college dining hall.”

Joan sighed, hearing the doorbell ring.
 
“I suppose so.”
 
She turned her attention to the door while the butler opened it.
 
“Speak of the devil.” Joan watched as Esmee and Tyree stepped inside.
 
“Excuse me, Trina.” She stood up, taking a deep breath.
 
“But I must go and—greet my guests.”

“Joan!” Tyree’s voice boomed across the foyer and into the living room as his lumbering frame slowly advanced upon her.

In old age, the robust stride of Tyree’s youth had been replaced by an easy going stroll. Esmee’s wrinkled hand was attached to the crook of his arm. Barely reaching her husband’s shoulder, she precariously teetered alongside him in two inch heels.
 
Her peacock blue dress accentuated her brightly dyed hair.
 
Miss Joan was convinced that Esmee used the vivid red hair color to detract from the liver spots she tried to conceal under her face powder.

“Come on over here, you beautiful thing, you!”
 
Tyree crushed Miss Joan in a bear hug once he caught up to her in the living room.

He’s loud, he’s vulgar, Miss Joan thought, stiffly disentangling herself from his arms.
 
When Esmee’d
 
married him, she’d called him a diamond in the rough.
 
But they’d been married over 50 years and she still hadn’t finished the polishing job!

“Why, Tyree,” Joan said, “it’s—good to see you, too.”

Jovial and good humored, Tyree was a big man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest.
 
Although his hairline receded, he still had short waves of thick silver hair.
 
However, he reminded Joan of a gorilla.
 
Through the years at the country club pool, she’d seen his hairy body on more occasions than she cared to remember.

“Joan,” Esmee said sweetly as she embraced her, “you do look absolutely beautiful, as you always do.”

“Why, thank you Esmee, dear,” Joan said.
 
“I’m so glad you and Tyree could come, and I do hope you enjoy yourselves.”
 
After exchanging more pleasantries, Esmee and Tyree walked off to mingle.
 
As they did, Joan glanced toward the door.

The butler had just opened it for Lillian Ann and husband number three.
 
Joan chided herself for drawing a complete blank on his name.
 
Trina always referred to him as “that thing” or “that gigolo,” and now Miss Joan couldn’t remember the man’s name at all.

As she strode toward them, Joan tried to keep a pleasant smile affixed to her face, but looking at Trina’s daughter made this much too difficult.
 
The closer she came to Lillian Ann, the sadder she felt for her.
 
At one time she’d been such a lovely girl, but she’d led a tumultuous life, and now her looks told the story.

Lillian Ann tried to conceal the bumpy bulges of her middle aged spread and alcoholic flab by encasing herself like a sausage into an all in one girdle.
 
Her clothes, however, hardly flattered her figure.
 
Tonight she’d worn a hot pink dress trimmed with a thick fringe of feathers.
 
It was more appropriate for a 25 year old, and the loud color appeared to explode on her tightly cased body.

In Miss Joan’s opinion, Lillian Ann had painted her pale skin with entirely too much makeup.
 
She’d piled green eye shadow heavily on her lids, and glued thick false eyelashes to the edges.
 
Liberally applied pancake makeup had settled into the wrinkles on her face, creasing it like a roadmap, and chain smoking had caused tiny lines to crimp the perimeter of her lips, allowing hot pink lipstick to bleed into them.

In addition to her poorly applied makeup, her hair was even worse.
 
Once a beautiful strawberry blond, she now dyed her hair an artificial orangish gold to cover the gray.

Joan took a deep breath as she approached Lillian Ann for a hug.
 
“Good evening, dear,” she said.
 
“How—lovely you look.”

****

By 9:00 all the guests had arrived and chatted pleasantly over food, wine and punch.
 
When Charlene had first seen Lillian Ann at the party, she’d decided that she’d talk to her about Ash’s past love.
 
But at the time, she’d just needed to think of a way to bring it up indirectly.
 
Now that she had, Charlene set off to find her.

Lillian Ann wasn’t in the living room, so Charlene checked the dining room.
 
There, she saw Lillian Ann take a glass of Chablis from a Negro waiter in a white coat.

“Lillian Ann.” Charlene smiled a she strode toward her.
 
Lillian glanced at her briefly, then dropped her eyes to a tray of cocktail sausages.
 
“May I—talk to you for a few moments?”

Looking at Charlene, Lillian Ann downed half her wine in one gulp, then guzzled the rest.
 
She placed her glass on the waiter’s tray as he passed by again.
 
For several seconds, Lillian Ann said nothing.
 
While taking a long drag from the long stem of her black cigarette holder, she only glared at Charlene.

Ash had told Charlene that Lillian Ann was jealous of her.
 
Now Charlene felt self conscious under the scrutiny of Lillian Ann’s disdainful gaze.

Charlene had married Ash and she’d managed to stay trim and youthful looking.
 
Tonight, her hair was piled high in curls, with a few wispy tendrils dangling at the sides, and her chiffon dress, a toga style ensemble the color of pale pink rose petals, fit like a sheath.

Lillian Ann blew a stream of smoke directly into Charlene’s face before averting her lips to change its direction.
 
Charlene coughed.

“Sorry,” Lillian Ann said.
 
“So, you want to talk to me?
 
About what?”

Charlene looked around cautiously.
 
“Perhaps we could—step outside.”

A wicked smile crept to Lillian Ann’s lips.
 
“Of course.”

They strode through the French doors of the dining room that led to a garden in the backyard.
 
A few other guests mingled outdoors, so Charlene led Lillian Ann to a secluded spot beneath a large magnolia tree.

“Well?” Lillian Ann blew smoke toward Charlene again, though not directly in her face this time.

Charlene backed away, waving her hand to scatter the deadly fumes of the rolling white stream.
 
“I—uh—like your dress.
 
And—um—I was just hoping—that you could help me with something.”

“What could I possibly help
you
with, Charlene?”

“Well—I’m planning a surprise birthday party for Ash,” Charlene lied.
 
“And I just wanted to make sure I included everyone who’s been close to him through the years.”
 
Charlene wondered if she sounded at all believable.
 
She’d never been a good liar.
 
“I’ve already talked to Heath and Mother Kroth, but I—uh—just wanted to know—from you—as a friend from his younger days—if I’ve missed anyone.”

“Hmmm,” Lillian Ann sighed.
 
She rattled off a half dozen names before Charlene stopped her.

“You know, I think I’ve included all those friends.
 
Now, could you tell me—I mean—I didn’t want to ask Heath or my mother-in-law—but, are any of those people kin to Ash’s…”
 
Charlene wasn’t sure how to go on.

“Kin to Ash’s what?” Lillian Ann asked impatiently.

“His—girlfriend—the one that died.”

“Girlfriend? ‘The one that died?’
 
What on earth are you talking about, Charlene?”

Charlene forced a smile.
 
“He mentioned her briefly once, before we were married.
 
He was—very much in love with her—but…”

Lillian Ann looked at Charlene oddly as she inhaled the last of her cigarette.
 
“I don’t recall him being in love with a girl that died.” With each word, smoke escaped from her lips.
 
She reminded Charlene of a painted dragon.

“You don’t?” Charlene asked.

Lillian Ann crossed her arms as though being challenged.
 
“No.”

“Well—maybe he met her while away at school.”

“Perhaps,” Lillian Ann said, “but Joy Hope is a small town.
 
Everyone would have known something about that.
 
If he’d been so in love, I’m sure he would’ve brought her home to visit.”