Author's Note: YouTube: Upton Pyne, Bernardsville, NJ, to tour a home like the Preston's.
As I climbed the grand staircase, winding up two flights, I couldn't help staring up at the stained glass skylight. The intricate style was Grecian, I thought, or maybe Roman. I had only seen works of art like this in world class museums. I couldn't imagine living with a house like this.
As I came to the top of the stairs, there was a foyer area the full width of this wing of the house. Tucked away on the far end of the foyer sat a wooden bench with a padded seat, obviously antique. A long, narrow, three-pained stained glass window was set high overhead, providing light for reading. It seemed this bench was for the wait staff, always nearby to serve guests. Ram was dressed somewhere between a valet and a butler, his shirt crisp and white, his suit immaculate but casual. The butt of his gun was barely hidden. He nodded to me, but didn't move. He was standing guard. I assumed professional wait staff would be doing the actual work of taking care of the guests.
As I followed the ladies down the long hall lined with photographs and yet more fine furnishings, we passed rooms with open doors. The guest bedrooms were larger than my entire apartment. Most of the beds were four poster with scroll work and hand carved head and food boards. Each room had it's own bath. This wing of the house was like a fine hotel. Each of the ladies names had been printed in green calligraphy with a floral border on handmade rag paper infused with flower petals. The name was draped like a scrolled ribbon across a wreath of fresh flowers hung on the door. My room was next to last on the left. When I peeked in, I noticed a door joining my room to the last room. The ribbon on that door read "Meredith", aka Mrs. Juniak. Our bags had been delivered to our rooms when we arrived. At the first mention of this, my heart gave a little flutter of anxiety. I hadn't packed a bag. But then I took a deep breath and relaxed. Ranger always took care of these types of details for me. I was pretty sure there would be a bag waiting in my room.
We followed Betsy to the parlor at the very end of the hall. Apparently there were more activities planned before we retired. The Mahogany carved double doors with a pyramid of crown molding were opened for us by two female attendants dressed in modest French maid outfits. This room was Old World elegant. It was made for entertaining. There was a grand piano in a nook off to the side. Behind it stood a wall of built in bookshelves with diamond-paned glass doors. This was a room for fine art and educated conversation. It was also rich with history and tradition. The bay windows were floor to ceiling. The drapes were 19th Century, faded by time to the muted red of a robin's breast, marbled with cream, and ornamented with red tassels. There was gold inlaid in the oversized crown molding which featured urns and bowls of grapes and plumed birds. The gold mirrors topped with eagles stood at least seven feet tall. China clocks hung on the walls. The furnishings were made for lounging about 200 years ago, all Mahogany with white cushions and littered with pillows that mimicked the colors of the draperies. There were several large area rugs covering the wood floor in the sitting area.
We were each directed to our assigned seats by Betsy. I was seated beside Mrs. Juniak on the loveseat, facing the double doors. On the matching long sofa across from us sat Violet Otto, MaryAnn Wagoner, and Solange Blanchard. Betsy Preston took her place beside us a in a wing chair, commanding our attention. She nodded to the two maids, and they closed the doors, standing attentively inside the room on either side.
"I am so excited to show you what I have planned for tonight," Betsy began. I now noticed that the wooden sculpture-like piece of modern art she was standing beside was actually a display easel for a painting. The picture was draped by a red cloth with red fringe. I hadn't noticed it right off because it matched the rest of the decor. "As most of your know, I am a consultant for the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I recently had the good fortune to meet Gabriele Leva, an up and coming artist whose medium is digital portraiture. Tonight, you will be her subjects."
She dramatically whipped away the scarf to reveal a stunning framed portrait of herself that was absolutely surreal. Betsy was a beautiful woman in a Washington business woman kind of way. Her body was tone like she had a club membership. She dressed conservatively. Her dark blonde hair was layered short and smart. Her makeup was minimal. But the portrait revealed another woman entirely. Her hair was blowing in an unseen wind, as was her light pink dress. The feel of the piece was reminiscent of the 40's, like the painting Christina's World by Andrew Wyeth. The background was the Jefferson Memorial with cherry blossoms in full bloom. It wasn't a photograph. It was like something snatched out of time. That was it. It seemed timeless...like the past and present were one and inseparable.
"I have always been taken by Lady Bird Johnson's 'Society for a More Beautiful National Capital'," Betsy explained. "I asked Gabriele to design this image based on that ideal. The world once again sees Washington as a decaying city. I would like to pick up where Lady Bird left off, not by planting flowers, but making the pride of our great nation accessible to the people again. I'm not saying the security measures being taken in Washington are inappropriate, but they are unfortunate."
Betsy paused, giving us all a chance to study the portrait, which appeared to be a painting rather than a photograph of any kind, before continuing. "During the late 1800's, Congress and the US Bureau of Engraving and Printing decided to use money and silver certificates to showcase great works of art, commissioned to bring fine art to the common man." She picked up a stack of collectors quality paper money vacuum sealed in clear plastic and handed them around. We were looking down at the genuine article, history in our hands. These were five's and one's printed with "History Instructing Youth" and "Electricity Presenting Light to the World", and other classical works of art. "Throughout our nation's history, there have been those who have promoted the fine arts to lift the spirit of our nation and motivate us to new heights. It is my intention to do the same, not only to preserve the past, but to forge ahead. I propose a campaign with bold vision for the future, urging our nation towards unity and cooperation, reminding our leaders what this country stands for. United, this nation can survive any attack, conquer any foe, and stand as a proud beacon of hope for the world."
"Here, here," Mrs. Juniak cheered in agreement.
I wrinkled my brow. It was a great speech, and an awesome work of art, but I wasn't sure Betsy had actually said anything that would unify Congress. I was thinking that would take more than CGI. That would take a miracle.
Betsy was flushed with excitement, oblivious to my critical opinion. "I give you, Gabriele Leva," she announced. With a sweeping gesture of her hand, the maids opened the double doors and a young lady with long brown hair hanging straight to her waist walked in. Her pants suit was smart and tailored. Her confident stride told me she was moneyed as well, and this was how she chose to spend her free time. She wasn't working for money. There was no sign of stress in her smile. I could only imagine what that was like. There was plenty of stress in my smile. I stole a glance at Mrs. Juniak, trying to remember that I was on the job and not actually a guest at this party.
Introductions were made by Betsy. The governor's wife was introduced first, as she was the guest of honor.
I wasn't surprised when the introductions went around the circle away from me. I couldn't imagine how Betsy was going to introduce me. I braced myself not to react at all. I would not be caught dead with an injured look on my face, I decided. I put on a pleasant smile, and focused on keeping it frozen. I was on the job. This was about keeping Mrs. Juniak safe. I could not afford to take things personally. Anything I did or said would reflect on Ranger. He was counting on me. Time to be a professional.
Violet Otto, a dear constituent whose support was greatly appreciated. MaryAnn Wagoner, a model who had starred in some of SoPhine's famous commercials in Europe before meeting and marrying her husband. Solange Blanchard, former Miss New Jersey. And Stephanie Plum, wife of millionaire entrepreneur Carlos Manoso and close personal friend and distant cousin to the Governor and his wife.
I was floored. I smiled graciously at Betsy, and nodded acknowledgement to Gabriele. This was no time to mentally address my shock at learning that Ranger was a millionaire. Not that it was a complete surprise, but the idea that I was now considered his wife, and by extension worth a million dollars, was incomprehensible. I decided to skip over that part and worry about it later.
Gabriele pressed a button on the wall, and a large movie screen descended from the ceiling behind her. It continued all the way to the floor.
"If you would be so kind," Betsy said to Mrs. Juniak. Mrs. Juniak rose slowly to her feet and followed Gabriele to the screen. The spoke in whispered tones for a moment, then Gabriele posed Mrs. Juniak in front of the blank screen. After making a quick sketch and making some notes on an artists pad on a nearby table, Gabriele picked up a professional camera and took about 10 photos. Mrs. Juniak returned to her seat and Violet took her turn.
When it was my turn, Gabriele whispered, "Tell me how you would like to be remembered." I suspected from Betsy's portrait that we would be asked what we would like to accomplish with our lives. I guess that was just another way of phrasing the question.
Without thinking, I blurted out, "I always wanted to be Wonder Woman."
Gabriele smiled. "You would like to be remembered as a super hero?" she asked, as if she finally had something juicy to work with.
"Well, yes and no. Please don't paint me with a gold tiara and a lasso," I begged.
"How do you spend your time?" she asked. "What are your specific interests?"
"I'm actually a fugitive apprehension agent," I told her. "A bounty hunter."
"You mean, you literally fight crime and bring the evil doers to justice?"
"Yes," I said, "Although, it's not all that glamorous. It usually involves being rolled in garbage and getting shot at."
"But, why do you do this if you're married to a millionaire?" she asked, surprised.
"He does it too," I told her. "That's what we do."
"Together?" she asked, her eyebrows coming together in thought.
"Yes. He's a super hero too."
"Which one?"
"He's Batman," I whispered.
"Wonder Woman and Batman," she mused. "I could see that," she said, looking up at the ceiling, her artist's eye already at work.
"Please don't paint me in the light from the Bat Signal," I begged.
"Don't worry. It will be very tasteful," she promised.
Unpinning a few more strands of hair around my face, she turned on a small hurricane fan and pointed it in my direction. She posed me facing my left, arms slightly back, head held high, took five shots Then she turned me to face mostly forward, my right hand fisted down by my side, my left in a fist at chest level away from by body, the diamond glinting in the light. I stood strong, channeling my inner Wonder Woman. She took five more shots. Then she turned off the fan and pinned my hair back into place, seeming satisfied.
When I returned to my seat, I had everyone's attention. No one else got the wind blown treatment.
"What was that all about?" Violet wanted to know.
"Don't know. She didn't say," I told them.
Gabriele was already hard at work at the laptop on the table when we were excused to our rooms to change and freshen up.
"Change?" I whispered to Mrs. Juniak as we walked out together.
"Into your pajamas, Dear," she whispered. "We'll be called back in about twenty or thirty minutes."
We paused at her doorway. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to let you out of my sight," I confessed. "I know the rooms are joined, but maybe I should search your room first."
"The young man in the hall has already searched it," she assured me. We both glanced down the hall at Ram. He nodded to us.
"That's good, because I've really got to go," I whispered.
"Me too," she whispered urgently.
"Once you're dressed, open the joining door, and I'll keep you company until they're ready for us," I told her.
Mrs. Juniak nodded, and disappeared into her room. I took one last look at Ram, and headed for my own bathroom.
After taking care of business and checking the state of my hair and makeup, which was amazingly intact thanks to Clara, I went in search of my overnight bag. It was sitting on a changing stool on the wall opposite my four poster bed. I had expected a fashion bag. What I got was a shiny black, rock-hard piece of luggage on wheels. The brand was Heys with a lion crest logo. It kind of looked like a small refrigerator, or a space pod. I had to assume this was fashionable to the uber-wealthy, but it wasn't doing much for me. I had been hoping for Gucci.
I popped it open and found a set of silk pajamas the same color as my dress, with velvety black tatting across the bodice and in a long triangle on the 3/4 sleeves from the elbow down and on the outside of the 3/4 pants from the knee down. I slipped out of my dress, removed the gun holster from my thigh, and slipped into my pajamas. This wasn't Sears quality silk. The material was so soft and the color so deep, I felt like a queen. There was also a matching set of slippers, which were actually substantial. They were Mary Janes, with an elastic strap over the top of my foot holding them firmly in place, and a rubber sole. I could run and jump in this stunning outfit, if I had to. I left my jewelry on, and carefully folded my dress, placing it in the bag with my dress shoes. I had no idea what to do about my gun. I couldn't wear it with this outfit. I thought about putting it in the bag, but the bag didn't lock. I could try to hide it. I looked around the room, but worried that I might forget about it. I decided to tip-toe out and hand it off to Ram.
I quietly turned the door knob and slipped down the hall. Ram eyed me nervously, expecting trouble when he saw the gun in my hand. He went for his own gun, crouching low. Two of the maids on the bench behind him started to panic.
"No, no, no!" I whispered, waiving him off, and gesturing for him to stand up.
"What's happening?" he asked, breathless.
"Nothing. I don't have room in this outfit for a gun, and I don't want to leave it lying around," I told him. "Can you hold it for me?"
Ram was deer in the headlights. Ranger obviously hadn't briefed him on what to do in this scenario.
"Uh, okay," he finally agreed. He took the gun from me, slipping it into the back of his waist band under his jacket.
"Thanks," I said, then tiptoed back to my room and quietly closed the door.
"Where were you?" Mrs. Juniak asked from the interior door. She looked a little pale.
"Just checking in with Ram. Everything's fine," I assured her.
"I was so scared. I opened the door, and your door was open, and you weren't here," she complained.
"I'm so sorry," I told her. "It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't," she snapped, going back into her own room, taking a seat in an overstuffed chair.
"That's a lovely outfit," I told her, trying to smooth things over. She was wearing a lavender set of silk pajamas with a brocade robe, which complimented her silver hair. Her slippers were similar to mine, in case she needed to be taken from the house in this outfit, I reasoned.
She smiled at me, but her fear was still showing. "I'm so glad Carlos finally proposed. Can I see?"
I walked over and held out my hand for her inspection. She put on her glasses, which always hung from a chain around her neck. She took my hand in both of hers, moving it back and forth to watch the deep blue gem sparkle in the light.
"Stunning," she declared. "I was concerned. He purchased it on such short notice. But Georgio always has an exquisite selection of stones set aside in his personal collection."
"Georgio?" I asked.
"Yes. He's a jeweler, one of the very best. He's a client of your husband's. His story is rather tragic, involving a warlord in Africa that I refuse to name."
"Oh," I said, pulling my hand back. "I hadn't thought about that." I was so excited to be getting married, and getting dressed up, I never gave a second thought to where the diamonds had come from.
"Not to worry," she smiled. "Georgio only deals in man made diamonds these days."
"Man made?" I asked, touching the necklace I'd purchased at Macy's. I wasn't sure whether those diamonds were man made or blood diamonds.
"A real diamond doesn't have the stunning clarity and consistent color that yours does. And because it's engineered to be perfect, the cut is flawless." She smiled at my confusion. I wasn't sure how to feel. "Did you know that pearls were once considered more valuable than diamonds?"
I shook my head, taking a seat beside her.
"They were valuable because pearl divers often died. They would hold their breath, dive to the ocean floor, locate a bed of oysters, and start prying open the shells. The temptation to open just one more in hopes of finding a pearl would cost them their lives. They would search until their air ran out, unable to make it to the surface. The smart ones had a rope tied to their foot. Someone in the boat would keep count for them and pull them up in time. But many of those partnerships ended in bloodshed or murder. It's the risk and danger that makes jewels valuable. Sometimes there's risk and danger in wearing them publicly. Sometimes, if they're rare enough, it's impossible to keep them for very long." She leaned forward. "Some men are like that," she whispered.
I nodded, understanding her at last.
"My advice is to treasure every day like it's your last," she said, her voice giving away a trace of fear. She was worried about both our husbands.
"I will," I promised.
"You'd think I'd be used to this by now. Guess I'd better get comfortable with the idea of armed escorts. Joe's got no intention of retiring anytime soon. If I'd had any idea how out of hand things were going to get, I never would have agreed to help him run for Mayor," she said with regret. "I should have listened to my father."
"How did you meet?" I wondered. I was sensing Mrs. Juniak was from old money, and I knew darn well Joe Juniak was far from it.
"My father was a senator, many years ago, like his father. My father left office following a failed assassination attempt. The shooter missed and security caught him. He was arrested and sent to jail. But my father was done with politics. The governor had to appoint a replacement for his last six months in office. It was so embarrassing. Father took us to Paris, where he and Mother lived out their days. My sister married the French Ambassador to Spain. With no one else left to carry on my grandfather's wishes, I took up the burden myself and returned to Trenton. I joined the local societies and found all was forgiven after so many years. I married and divorced twice, which was unheard of in my family. I was quite the disgrace. I met Joe when he was police chief. I had been held at knife point by a man in the ladies room at Trenton Central High School. I was visiting with the Historical Society. It's one of the most at-risk historical monuments in Trenton. He took my purse and fled after telling me what he thought of me. I was shocked and frightened, but also angry. I marched straight into Joe's office and let loose. I refused to sit. I railed at him for at least five minutes. When I was finished, he got up, came around the desk, and just put his arms around me, and I fell apart. I had been so scared, and he knew it. I cried on his shoulder, and he never judged me. He took me to dinner at a place called Marsilio's."
I nodded. Bobby V. ran things at Marsilio's. He was kind of a scary old guy with wavy silver hair and a fistful of rings. You just knew Bobby V was old school mob.
"We were never apart after that. Joe made me feel safe, I guess, in a way that I'd never needed before. We both loved and served the same city, but my Trenton was very different from Joe's Trenton. We started thinking that, together, we could better represent all the people. I gave Joe's career a little social push, and within months, he was Police Commissioner. We married, and he was getting to know my friends, and I was getting to know his. A few years later, he started talking about running for Mayor. It seemed like maybe thing were working out the way they were supposed to, so I financed his campaign. That's about the time Joe introduced me to Carlos. When it came time for Joe to run for Governor, he didn't need my help. He raised the funds himself, with the help of his promoters. And I've been along for the ride ever since."
"You love him," I said, smiling.
"I do love him," she said. "I guess I'm concerned that I've lost control of things. I'm concerned for his safety. From this vantage point, I can see that my father had his reasons for removing us from harm's way. If we had children, I wouldn't want them to be exposed to these things. Joe was better prepared for the ugly underbelly of politics than I was. I had a loftier vision of things," she admitted sheepishly. "I'm so glad Joe has Carlos on his side. I sleep better at night knowing he's only minutes away," she said, her fingers unconsciously caressing a large ivory cameo pendant hanging heavily around her neck.
"A panic button?" I asked.
"What?" She glanced down, realizing she was touching it. "Oh, yes."
"It signals Ranger directly?"
"Ranger and Rangeman, simultaneously." She looked worried. "I never hesitated to use it before. But now, knowing I'll be taking him from you," she said with feeling, "I'm wondering if he shouldn't assign us to someone else."
"Ranger's the best," I said. "He won't give the honor to anyone else. Don't ask him to."
"You're so kind," she said, smiling though tears at me.
There was a knock at the door. "Five minutes," one of the maids called out.
"Time's up," Mrs. Juniak said, rising to her feet and wiping her eyes, checking herself in the mirror by the door.
We returned to the parlor. Everyone admired everyone else's evening wear until Betsy took charge once again.
"Since the men are downstairs playing poker, we're going to play a cards too." She produced a rather thin deck of playing cards. "We're going to play Cards and Stories. She shuffled the cards and dealt each of us a card. Taking one of herself, she sat, and we each looked at our card.
"I'll start," she said, showing us a two. "I must tell you two secrets. Numbered cards can be about anything, but it's got to be recent, true, and juicy. If you draw a Jester, you have to tell about a time you made a fool of yourself. A Jack, you must tell about a boy from your school days. A Queen, something your mother never found out about. A King, you have to tell about the most amorous adventure you've ever had with your man." She gestured downstairs, making it clear she was referring to the men downstairs.
Betsy thought for a second, trying to remember her well-rehearsed answers. "One, I once had a wardrobe malfunction in the Hamptons. Jayme Upton caught it on film, and I had to pay her $5,000 in cash before she'd delete the picture from her camera."
Solange and MaryAnn didn't seem at all surprised. I would have punched Jayme and taken her camera, but, remembering Ranger's advice to speak as little as possible, I decided not to voice my opinion.
"Two, I caught Quincy and Jayme in the lady's at Per Se three weeks ago. He wasn't interested tonight because he's already sampled that menu."
Everyone laughed. Apparently no one liked Jayme Upton.
Mrs. Juniak showed her card. A Queen.
"My mother never found out that I drove my father home from my graduation party. He was so nervous, he was sitting outside in the car sipping from a bottle of Cognac he'd taken from his office. He was asleep when I found him. I hadn't had much to drink, and it had been hours, so I took the keys. What could he say? We should have called a cab, but it was late. I didn't have a license then. The next day, he enrolled me in driving school so I could get my license. He told Mother it was a graduation present. It was our secret."
Everyone smiled at such a sweet story.
Violet showed her card. It was a Joker.
"I have to tell about making a fool of myself," she said, her voice wavering voice tinged with anger. "When I was much younger, I was very attractive, if I do say so myself. I had a number of handsome men at my beck and call. And I guess I should have been satisfied. But I wanted this other fella. He was tall with dark hair, and very handsome. Oh, so handsome," she remembered. "He was new in town, back from the war. He was something of a local hero. All the girls wanted him. I'd flirted with him a number of times, sometimes quite shamelessly, but he always made some excuse. I felt somewhat slighted. Men didn't turn me down. I'd seen him with other girls. He wasn't queer or anything like that. So, I was determined to land him.
"This one night, I decided I was going to do something to impress him. I don't remember why, but I bet him that I could get this other fella to do whatever I wanted. I'd had a couple drinks. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe that he'd be jealous, or he'd realize he'd better get a move on or some other guy was gonna snatch me up. We were in this dance hall, and I went up to this other fella, and started talking to him, and got him out on the dance floor. I knew this guy could really swing it. I was showing off all my best moves and lots of leg. Everyone was watching us. Then a slow song came on, and before you knew it, I had this poor guy in a state. And he was putty in my hands. He'd say or do anything I ask him to. Get me a drink. Fan me. Dance with an unattractive girl I pointed out to him." She looked guilty at this point. "While he was dancing with the ugly girl, I went back over to the first fella, the really handsome one, and I asked him what he thought about that. He said, 'About what?'. I said, 'I know you were watching. If I don't interest you, then what does?'. He said, 'Why would I be interested in a woman with something to prove, when I can have a woman with nothing to prove?' Then he got up and walked out alone. Well, I was floored. I was used to getting my way with men. I wasn't letting this go. So, I ran with my ticket to the coat check to get my coat but it was getting late and the attendant was busy in the back, if you know what I mean. I finally jumped the counter and got the coat myself. I forgot all about the other guy. Now he's on my tail, asking where I was going. I just ignored him and ran outside. My war hero was standing with some other guys in the parking lot. His back was to me, but his friends saw me chasing after him and started laughing and making rude comments. He was laughing. I could tell he was laughing, and he was looking down at the ground, shaking his head as if I embarrassed him. I got so mad. I ran at him and shoved him hard in the back, almost knocking him down. Now, the guy I was dancing with thinks he needs to defend my honor. It's six to one, but he's rolling up his sleeves, determined to impress me. So, now the tables are turned, so to speak. He takes a swing. I screamed, 'Not his face!', and everyone just freezes and looks at me. I'm nearly hysterical. A second ago I wanted to kill this guy myself. Now, I'm worried my defender will mess up his good looks. Not that there was much chance of that. 'Take her home,' the war hero says to my defender. At this point, I'm absolutely humiliated. I brought it on myself, I guess. We still spoke on occasion, but he was never attentive to me after that. He stayed single for years. Eventually, he did get married, to this no-account plain Jane. I don't know. Maybe he needed to be the good looking one in a relationship," she laughed mirthlessly. "They say a woman never forgets the men she could have had; a man, the women he couldn't. But for me, I never forgot the man I couldn't have."
All of us nodded, identifying with at least some part of that story.
"So, what happened with the guy who defended you?" I asked.
"He's downstairs playing poker," she smiled ruefully. "I can still get him to do what I want, most of the time."
I grinned at her. "See, it all worked out."
"Yes," she answered, smiling back at me like there was more to the story than she was telling.
MaryAnn had drawn a three.
"Let's see," she began. "Quentin and Buffy stayed with us in Majorca a few months ago. I think he likes getting caught. He was indiscreet with an actress we all know."
Heads nodded. I wasn't sure what actress she was referring to, but it seemed everyone else did. I wondered if could be Katrina.
"Two, and I know I shouldn't say it, but SoPhine might not be 'so fine' for the next six months or so, so steer clear."
We all exchanged looks, but no one asked. I also noticed that MaryAnn's words were slightly slurred.
"Three, I'm pretty sure that the guy down the hall has a gun."
Betsy laughed, and the other ladies joined in a beat later. "Okay, Solange, you're next."
Solange showed her card. An ace.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" she asked.
"Oh, that's a fun card. You have to tell about your greatest moment."
Solange looked around. "I was crowned Miss New Jersey," she said, lamely.
"We all know that. Tell us something more recent," Betsy prompted.
Solange blanched, realizing it had been years since she was a beauty queen, and now, she was mistress of the month, and everyone knew it.
"Pass," she said, tossing her hair back as if to warn Betsy not to push it.
"Stephanie?" Betsy said, looking hopefully to me, a fake smile plastered to her face.
I showed my card. The King.
"Oh, good!" MaryAnn gushed. "Tell us about that man," she said, breathlessly.
"Yes, do tell," Violet said.
"My, he is gorgeous," Betsy gushed. "How did you meet?"
"Uh, uh," Solange interrupted. "I don't care how you met. You're supposed to tell about his...finer qualities," she teased.
"That's my husband," I reminded Solange with a warning tone.
"Yes, of course," she said, backing down.
"Tell us something," Betsy pleaded.
"Ok. Ranger, is, well...he's very private," I stammered, not sure what to say, knowing that Rangeman was listening in.
"Ranger?" Violet asked.
"That's what I call him. Ranger. That's his street name."
"What do you mean, street name?" Solange asked.
"Well, it's like a nickname," I explained.
"Is that man down the hall one of his employees?" Violet asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Does he have a gun?" MaryAnn asked.
I hesitated, glancing to Betsy for help. She shook her head ever so slightly. "Uh, I don't think so," I answered unconvincingly.
"I hope he does," MaryAnn said.
"Me too," Mrs. Juniak agreed.
"You're getting off the subject. Tell us about the most romantic encounter you've ever had with Ranger," Solange insisted.
"This one time, we were in Hawaii," I started, no sure where I was going with it.
"Yes?" MaryAnn was sitting forward now in anticipation.
"We had walked down the beach to one of those hidden coves. Tide was in, and the water was calm. Full moon."
"And?" Solange gestured for me to continue.
"We went for a swim," I said innocently.
"Come on. Give us more than that," Solange complained, rolling her eyes. "Tell us what you did to drive him crazy."
"Well, before we walked down the beach, I spilled a pineapple drink down my front. He was helping me get cleaned up before we went back to the hotel."
"And he licked it all off, right?" Solange guessed.
"Just some of it," I said, wincing.
"Was it a candle light dinner?" Mrs. Juniak asked.
"There were tiki torches," I said truthfully.
"And little umbrellas in the drinks," MaryAnn decided, rolling her eyes. "How boring."
"What did you love about that night?" Mrs. Juniak asked.
"I loved that he was in Hawaii with me, when I knew he could have stayed here working. He dropped everything when I called, and was on a plane in 20 minutes. He gave me his undivided attention. And for a workaholic like Ranger, that's making love."
"Wow," Solange whispered, sounding jealous.
MaryAnn just nodded, looking teary-eyed. She hadn't had her husband's undivided attention in a long time, I guessed.
I caught a venomous look from Violet at this point, which surprised me. I thought we had hit it off earlier. I remembered Ranger's warning that one of the ladies who warmed to me early may turn on me later. I guessed it was true.
"We're ready," Gabriele announced.
"Here we go," Betsy said excitedly, turning her chair to face the screen as one of the maids dimmed the lights.
Mrs. Juniak's image appeared. She was depicted standing on a round, stone balcony at some social event, with Paris at night in the background. The moon was full as it approached the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Leafy foliage of the foreground made the portrait pop like it was 3-D, with Mrs. Juniak in the middle-ground, casually holding a glass of wine. She looked right at home and so sophisticated. The effect was astounding. The portrait seemed so real, yet not real at all. It was like a dream.
"Amazing," Mrs. Juniak gasped.
Everyone agreed, it was very flattering.
The next image appeared. Violet, with her wrinkled skin draped in loose-fitting clothing, was standing beside a WWII fighter. On the side of the plane was painted a gorgeous brunette, similar to the one on the Memphis Belle. The impression was that Violet had been that girl - the girl left behind that all the men dreamed about getting back to. The propeller blades were used to create the foreground for the 3-D effect, with the hangars in the background.
"Very good," Betsy cheered.
The next image was MaryAnn. I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Her arms were raised, as if she were a ballerina standing on the tips of her toes. Her eyes were closed She seemed to be asleep, surrounded by thousands of flowers. Again, that 3-D effect gave the illusion that MaryAnn was in the middle-ground. This was a fantasy more than a portrait. Then I realized she could be Ophelia lying in the water. Only the color and floating feeling of the flowers around her suggested water.
No one knew what to say to this, so there was silence until the next image appeared.
Solange appeared to be in the center of a masquerade party. The faces of everyone around her were covered by beautiful porcelain masks. The colors were blue, green, pink, and gold on black with balls of light reflecting from shiny surfaces. Solange seemed to be the only one exposed as she stood there in her little black dress, her porcelain mask on a gold rod held away and to the side of her face. Her expression was surprisingly demure. The mask provided the foreground, and a palatial staircase in the background provided depth.
"That says so much," MaryAnn commented. It didn't sound like a compliment.
I held my breath. I was next.
My image appeared in the guise of Blind Justice, except my eyes were open. I stood on a black rock jutting out from a rocky seashore. A spray of white foam hung in the air around me, providing the fore-ground. There was a sword in my right hand, held loosely by my side, and in my fist, a set of scales, also in the foreground. On one scale was a bright light, like a flame. On the other, a large gray feather. The feather appeared to be heavier than the flame. My shoes were entirely missing. My feet were bare. The dress had been altered to make it appear more classical. The sky behind me was the same breathtaking image I'd seen hours earlier in the garden. Gabriele must have been watching the sunset too and captured it with her camera. It was the very same sky, except the dusty rose of the sunset had been amplified and the blue green sky brightened several shades. Dark storm clouds were approaching from the left, with a magnificent lightning bolt connecting with the water, providing a very dramatic backdrop. My jewels glowed with the light from the scales, as did my bright blue eyes, which Gabriele seemed to have enhanced as my best feature. The silver blade was edged with gold. The image of an American Eagle formed the golden hilt, making me think of Wonder Woman's sword.
I was speechless. The image appeared larger than life on the twelve foot screen, and it screamed "super hero".
All eyes turned slowly from the screen to me.
"It's remarkable," Betsy stammered.
"Seriously?" MaryAnn asked.
"That's how you want to be remembered?" Solange asked, giving me a wary look.
I nodded slowly. "Yes," I realized. "Exactly like that." A crime fighter of mythic proportions.
I glanced warily over at Violet.
"Well," she said, her voice trembling. "It seems you've got something to prove after all."
