19
TEDDY FAY (or Billy Barnett or Ted Shirley, take your pick) regarded himself in the mirror. He wanted to be immediately identifiable to anyone on the crew who had known him for the past weeks, and yet he wanted to disappear into the crowd, if that became necessary. First, he shaved closely, then reapplied his handlebar mustache; then he dressed in faded but starched jeans and a matching denim jacket decorated with a little southwestern silver trim. His shirt was vaguely Western-flavored, open at the throat.
Then he unwrapped his very sharp, auto-release (switchblade) knife and secured it to his right ankle with the heavy rubber band the seller had given him. He pulled on his boots, then made sure the knife was accessible without being visible. He topped it all off with a very expensive new hat from the O’Farrell Hat Company in Santa Fe, well suited to the shape of his head and blocked to perfection, with a curled brim. He checked the mirror again: he was presentable.
Sally called from the bathroom. “You’re taking longer to dress than I am,” she said, “and I’m doing makeup.”
“I”m done,” he said, “are you?”
“Nearly.”
“Nearly doesn’t cut it.”
She stepped out of the bathroom wearing a fringed suede jacket and matching skirt.
“Dale Evans, as I live and breathe!” Teddy said.
“All I need is her horse,” she replied. “What was its name?”
“Buttermilk.”
“I don’t know how you remember all that stuff from old movies.”
“I had a misspent youth,” he replied. “I spent most of it at the movies, later at the pool hall.”
“I like you better without the mustache,” she said.
“What is it the French say, ‘A kiss without a mustache is like a day without sunshine.’”
“The French don’t say that.”
“They do. They also say the same thing about cheese.”
“A kiss without cheese?”
“A meal without cheese.”
“Oh.”
“But don’t worry, the mustache goes when we leave Santa Fe.”
“You’re taking a lot for granted, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Well, you’re coming with me, aren’t you?”
“What would you do if I didn’t?”
“I’d throw a sack over your head and lock you in the trunk of the car.”
She laughed. “Well,” she said, “I guess I don’t have a choice.” She kissed him. “Maybe the French have got something there.”
• • •
ED AND SUSANNAH EAGLE pulled up in front of Dax Baxter’s new house and gave their car to a valet parker. “Well,” Ed said, regarding the house, “the lighting guy did a good job.”
The house stood out against the landscape, which was burned red by the setting sun.
“He did, didn’t he?” Susannah said. “Let’s go check out the inside.”
“After that can we leave?” Ed asked plaintively.
“We’ll see,” she replied. She took his hand and towed him in through a very large set of weathered antique doors. The sounds of a mariachi band came from a corner of the enormous living room.
“The band was predictable, wasn’t it?” Ed asked.
“Shut up and look at this place,” Susannah said.
An enormous fireplace hosted a pile of burning piñon logs, sending out their pungent scent.
“Fit for a medieval castle,” Ed muttered.
“But right in scale with the room,” Susannah said. “It must be thirty by fifty feet.”
“Come to think of it,” Ed said, “I’ve never seen this many sofas in one place, outside a hotel lobby.”
The room was half filled with people in Western outfits and more were arriving.
“They must be casting a musical number in a Roy Rogers movie,” Ed said, looking over the crowd.
They passed through the living room, pausing to shake the hand of an acquaintance here and there.
“There,” Susannah said, pointing to a clot of people surrounding a short, balding man crammed into a cowboy outfit. “That’s Drake Shelbourne, the production designer,” she said. “I have to speak to him.”
Ed allowed himself to be maneuvered through the crowd.
“Susannah!” Shelbourne cried, as if she had come to rescue him.
“Hello, Drake,” Susannah said, leaning down and allowing herself to be kissed on both cheeks. “This place looks fabulous! It’s the only reason we’re here.”
Shelbourne broke up. “Me, too!” Susannah introduced him to her husband.
“I picked him out of the crowd,” Shelbourne said, reaching up to shake his hand. “He’s what, seven feet tall?”
“Only six-foot-eight,” Susannah replied.
Ed sighed and shook the man’s hand. “It was the only way I could get a college basketball scholarship. Nice job on the house, Drake. It was dreadful, before you came along.”
“That’s the God’s truth,” Shelbourne said. “I stripped it to the plaster everywhere. Now it at least looks as if a human being lives here—or maybe a dozen human beings. Check out the patio.” He pointed to another set of double doors across the room.
They moved in that direction, stopping at the bar to acquire refreshments. The patio was large, with a pile of rocks making a water feature, a jazz trio playing, and, in one corner, one of Dan Ostermiller’s wonderful bear sculptures, a bronze of a full-sized animal climbing a tree.
“I saw that at Nedra Matteucci’s gallery,” Ed said, “and I wanted it, but it cost more than my car.”
“You can probably buy it from Dax Baxter for half that after the party. The word is, he’s strapped for cash, and I have a feeling that everything here will be for sale tomorrow.”
• • •
TEDDY AND SALLY made their entrance to the party a few minutes later and had much the same reaction to the house as had the Eagles.
“This place is the size of a sound stage,” Teddy commented.
“I was going to say a high school gymnasium,” Sally replied, “but I’ll buy sound stage.”
They had been there for less than a minute when Teddy spotted the Russian.