“Likewise,” I said, and closed the door so she wouldn’t see me giggling. Could anyone be more obvious? Surely she was hoping to get me to say something complimentary about her to Mr. Dolan. I’d have to remind her that the one with the most influence on him was Mrs. Winston, but more important, after knowing Ken Dolan for only a few hours, I could easily predict that he would never involve himself seriously with a woman like her. I wouldn’t be the one to tell her, but something told me I wouldn’t have to.
I hurried into the bathroom to shower. I would take only five minutes. She could take all day if she liked.
It wouldn’t make any difference if winning Ken Dolan’s affection through his aunt’s recommendation was her sole purpose this night or any night.
At least for a little while, it was a relief to think about the sorry state of someone else’s life instead of my own.
But I knew that wasn’t something I could do for long. Every crawling shadow outside my bedroom window was ready to remind me.
And they would.
6
I could see that Mrs. Winston and Mrs. McGruder were surprised that Naomi Addison was not the last guest to arrive at the dinner table. Apparently, that was her modus operandi. She thought it was important to make a grand entrance, but that night she obviously wanted to have the seat next to me. Mrs. Winston sat at the head of the table, and she had placed me to her right, across from Jim Lamb on her left. He had just gotten up to pull out my chair for me when Naomi arrived.
“Good evening, everyone,” Naomi sang, and she waited for Jim Lamb to pull out her chair, too.
“Thank you, Jim,” she said. “And where’s our Mr. Brady? On another road trip?”
“Right here,” we heard.
Martin Brady sauntered in, wearing the sort of wide, deep smile on his round, plump face that Daddy used to call synthetic. “For some people,” Daddy had said during one of his lectures at dinner, “a smile is almost a part of their uniform, especially salesmen. The secret is to look into their eyes. Do they look like they are lit by sunshine or neon bulbs? Is it the smile of a mannequin or a man?”
I supposed that for the rest of my life, however long that would be now, I would rely on the fruits of Daddy’s wisdom, which he handed out to us so freely and eagerly. I would never forget how happy it made him to see us listening so attentively and absorbing everything he said so eagerly. We had the hunger because we instinctively understood that there were all kinds of starvation. We would always have a thirst for knowledge, especially the knowledge that Daddy eagerly imparted to us about people.
When you thought about it, understanding people was probably the most challenging of all things to understand. You could read and study science and math. There were rules applying to them that were true today, yesterday, and tomorrow, but people were often too unpredictable. Whom had I met other than us who could quickly adjust to someone’s mood, taste, and inclinations? We were blessed with insights and perceptions. We could see through false faces, feel quickened heartbeats, and seize upon the fears people possessed. These were powers I wanted to keep, but could I do that and give up that which was our true essence?
“Don’t fret, Mrs. Addison. I’m here for you,” Mr. Brady continued, somewhat boisterously. I glanced at Mrs. Winston and saw her displeasure. You didn’t have to be one of us to read the way Mrs. Winston felt and thought about something. The way she would twist her lips, raise her eyebrows, tweak her earlobes, or narrow her eyes spoke volumes to me. She was one of those people Daddy had said were born with a layer of medieval armor. They were impervious to criticism and couldn’t care less what other people thought of their opinions or reactions.
“I love their arrogance,” Daddy had said. “They have the blood of royalty—rich, thick with history, and sprinkled with what makes something eternal and true.”
I think Martin Brady was making his entrance the same boisterous way he usually did because he didn’t know I was there. The moment his eyes fell on me, his smile softened, now with more curiosity than his artificial salutation.
“Well, now, who have we here?” he asked.
Mrs. Winston was the first to reply. I had the feeling no one would have dared step on her doing the introductions anyway. “Our newest tenant,” she began. “Lorelei Patio. She began work today at Dolan’s Plumbing Supply. Ken Dolan’s personal secretary,” she added, sounding proud.
“Oh. Welcome, Lorelei. I’m Martin Brady,” he said, and offered his hand. I started to rise. “No, don’t get up. If anyone should rise, it should be me.”
“You’re standing, Mr. Brady,” Mrs. Winston said dryly. “Unless you mean to lift off the floor.”
Martin Brady roared with laughter, but it sounded like an old-fashioned laugh track. “So I am, so I am. Naomi,” he said, nodding at her. From the way he looked from me to her, I could sense that he was wondering how she took to having me next door to her, sharing the bathroom.
“Hello, Martin. I’ve already welcomed Lorelei. She’s a breath of fresh air, don’t you think?”
“Sure is,” he said, sitting next to Jim and across from her.
“Don’t hog the television, then,” Naomi told him. “The younger guests don’t want to fall asleep watching the business network.”
“Heaven forbid,” Martin said, winking at me. “How you doing, Jim?” he asked, unfolding his napkin to place it on his lap. “Catch any of those girls smoking or anything lately?”
“We don’t have those problems at the Adams School, Mr. Brady. I told you so,” he added, looking to me as if he were afraid I would think he worked in some slum school full of troubled teenage girls whose faces, stomachs, and ears were dotted with piercings and whose necks and arms boasted tattoos.
Martin Brady laughed robustly, this time with a little more authenticity. He was a good twenty pounds overweight at five feet eight or nine, with a dark brown receding hairline. The crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes seemed etched into his skin with a package-cutting tool, deep, thin, and dark. There was a real scar just under the left side of his jaw.
“Looks like a really special dinner tonight, Mrs. Winston,” he told her.
“In honor of our new tenant,” she replied, and Mrs. McGruder began to serve.