The blue dress was silk with long, tapered sleeves defining pipe-cleaner arms and a knee-length hem that revealed brief segments of seamed stocking. Yellow kitten-heeled sandals dangled well above the floor. Red toenails, silver manicure, diamond chips in her earlobes, a pearl necklace dangling from the dress’s high neckline well past the waist of an attenuated torso.
She took a deep breath, said, “Thank you for coming,” braced her hands on the sides of the chair, and took a while easing herself upright and planting her feet. She tottered and I moved toward her but she laughed softly and waved me off.
Inhaling again, she drew herself up.
Maybe five feet tall, including the heels. Despite her attempt to straighten, her back remained humped, her head pitched forward. She swung her arms a few times and announced, “Hup two march.”
No movement at first. Then she began obeying her own command.
I followed her trudge across the porch and into a small living room enlarged by clever layout and natural light. The ceiling was white beams, the floor wide-plank pine burnished the color of old whiskey where it wasn’t concealed by a threadbare lilac-and-olive Persian rug.
A plum-colored mohair chair faced a limestone fireplace. Perpendicular to the hearth, gray velvet love seats faced each other across a black lacquer Chinese table. Silk throw pillows were scattered with a pseudo-randomness that requires care. Petite occasional tables were topped by glass-shaded lamps, one of which sported a dragonfly motif and might have been Tiffany. A floor lamp to the left of the fireplace, its base green enamel, its dome studded with bubbles of red glass and crowned by a faceted red finial the size of a cocktail olive, looked crude by comparison and probably wasn’t.
The scant remaining square footage was taken up by a two-chair dining table and a bare-bones kitchenette. A rear doorway suggested a dim hall.
Thalia Mars settled herself in the mohair chair and motioned me to the left-hand couch. “Thank you for indulging me, Doctor. Something to drink or a snack, perhaps?”
I said, “No, thanks,” just as a soft rap sounded on the front doorframe and a pretty young Filipina in a liver-colored frock entered wheeling a tray on a cart. “Teatime, Miss M. For two, like you asked.”
“Punctual as always, Refugia. Thank you, my dear.”
The tray was set down on the Chinese table. Crustless sandwiches, scones, chocolate wafers, cheese, grapes.
The maid snuck a look at me. “Bon appétit, Miss M.”
“Take a scone for yourself, dear.”
“Oh, no, thank you.”
“Indulge, dear, you’re perfectly trim. Take it from me, darling: Enjoy your appetite while you still have one. I can barely smell or taste, food has become hay and straw.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re fine,” said Refugia.
“Fine, but insensate, dear.” Brown eyes drifted upward. The tiny body swayed. “Sometimes I dream that I can taste mussels in France, tomatoes in Italy. Then I wake up with a tongue made of felt.” Soft laugh. “At least I wake up.”
“Oh, Miss M, you’ll always be okay.”
“Thank you, Refugia. That’s all, for now.”
“When should I come back to collect the tray?”
“Let’s say two hours, dear.”
Stripped of cargo, the cart rattled all the way to the stairs. When silence returned, Thalia Mars said, “Can’t taste tea, either, but I’m diligent about hydration. Would you please pour me a cup, Doctor? One lump but only half full, my wrists aren’t what they used to be. And take something for yourself. If that doesn’t violate a professional regulation.”
“I’m fine, Ms. Mars.”
“Fair enough but would you mind dispensing with half the formality? I promise to stick with ‘Doctor’ but I’d prefer you address me as Thalia. My parents were vaudevillians who had high hopes for me and named me after the comedic muse. To their great disappointment, I rebelled and became an accountant, but I’ve always liked the moniker.”
“Sure, Thalia.”
I poured and handed her the cup. She used both hands to guide it to her lips, lapped like a kitten and smiled over the rim. “Hearing my name on a young man’s lips is rather a kick — was that inappropriate? If it was, please forgive me. I’ve never had a personal experience with a psychologist.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Have I experienced a nervous breakdown?” The smile enlarged. “Not as far as I can tell.”
Slowly, painstakingly, she lowered the cup to the table. “So why have I imposed on you? I suppose honesty’s the best policy, so I’m going to come right out and admit my lack of complete candor over the phone.”
Patting her hair, she crossed her legs at the ankles. “When I said I was aware of your work at the hospital and admired it, that was sincere. However, that’s not why I called you. I became interested in your involvement in... less savory matters.”
I sat there.
“You don’t understand what I’m getting at, Doctor?”
“Why don’t you tell me.”
She reached for the teacup, missed, lost her balance. I took hold of her arm and stabilized her.
“Drat,” she said in a choked voice. “The thing that used to be my body has turned traitor.”
“May I hand you the cup?”
“Seeking permission?” She grinned. “You’re worried I’ll fly off the handle at some perceived slight.”
“Some people prefer doing things for themselves.”
“Old people.”
“All kinds of people.”
Brown eyes aimed at mine. “Yes, please, pour.”
I filled another half cup.
She said, “Done with finesse, Doctor. Is there someone at home for whom you regularly pour—” A hand shot to her lips. “Oops, that was a definite faux pas. Gad, I feel the fool.”
“You’re not being tested, Thalia.”
“Really?” she said. “Are we sure of that?”
“I am.”
“Well,” she said, “that’s kind of you to say — I suppose at this point you’re wondering if I am an utter fizzy-head. Perhaps I should dig up that driver’s license to prove I haven’t fibbed about my age.”
“I’ll take it as fact,” I said. “Though you do look considerably younger.”
“Always have. Not that there are standards for how artifacts are supposed to look. But vanity aside, have you met any other gals of my vintage?”
“I haven’t.”
“I suppose novelty counts for something.” She frowned. “Why am I going on?”
“It’s a new situation, Thalia.”
She stared at her lap. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”
“Why don’t we start with why you think I can help you.”
“Well,” she said, “I’m a big reader, always have been. Always been a fan of the public library. Harder to visit there, now that I don’t drive. Refugia and some of the other infants who work here prod me to give the computer a try. I’m sure it would’ve proved helpful back in the Pleistocene era, when I had a job. But now?” She stuck out her tongue.
I said, “What kind of accounting did you do?”
“Nothing impressive, Doctor. I kept the books for a number of government departments, ended up at the county assessor until I retired.”
“How long has the hotel been your home?”
“A while,” she said. Lifting her cup with both hands, she sipped silently. The pinkie of her right hand extended. Nails perfect, every hair in place. A slight tremor had taken hold of her hands but she managed to put the cup down. “Would you be so kind as to hand me one of those chocolate biscuits?”
I complied and she nibbled twice before shaking her head. “Like eating lint. I used to love chocolate... anyway, how I found you. Sans the library, I have occasional copies of the paper delivered to me by the staff. Mostly when the yen to work a crossword or a Sudoku takes hold.”