Chantelle gave me a grin. "I was thinking more along the lines of aggressive like a pit bull."
Aunt Millie was engaged in spirited conversation on the other side of the room. There was much hand waving, and then my aunt returned to us. "You're right. They're women." She glared across the room at one butch lesbian who, hands on hips, glared right back.
My heart sank, as it often did when I was with my aunt. "What did you say to her?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"That butch lesbian seems upset with you."
Ignoring this, Aunt Millie asked plaintively, "What has someone got to do to get a drink around here?"
"Aunt, you don't drink."
"I'm drinking tonight."
"Don't look now," said Chantelle, "but she's coming over."
I covered my eyes. "My Aunt Millie's going end up in a fight in a lesbian bar. Now I really can't go home again."
The butch woman had nearly reached us. She was older than I'd thought, and her short, dark hair was streaked with gray. She wore mostly black leather, plus a chain or two for embellishment, and had one of those strong, striking faces that are hard to forget.
"My aunt didn't mean-"
Her eyes on Aunt Millie, she said to me, "Excuse me. I'm not talking to you." She had a hoarse, too-many-cigarettes voice.
Chantelle, bless her, was poised to intervene, when the woman said to Aunt Millie, "May I have the pleasure of this dance?"
The evening went off well. Chantelle enjoyed herself, Aunt Millie certainly did, and I was fine, until I had an encounter that convinced me Aunt Millie's philosophy (if something bad can happen, it will) had something to it.
I was chatting with Chantelle at the bar while Aunt Millie was dancing up a storm on the floor, when something made me look toward the door. I clutched Chantelle's arm. "Leaping lizards! That's Tami Eckholdt!"
"Who?"
"She mustn't see me."
"Too late," said Chantelle. "She's making a beeline for you. Just who is this woman?"
Tami was bubbling with delight. "Kylie! I didn't expect to see you here!" Her brief gold lame shorts and strapless black top displayed her muscular body to advantage. She seemed a little unsteady on her feet. Drugs? Alcohol? Or, dreadful thought, enthusiasm for my conquest? Yerks!
Tami's expression hardened as she took in Chantelle, who, bless her, was leaning against me with a possessive hand on my shoulder. "And this is…?"
"My girlfriend, Chantelle," I said, with a strong emphasis on girlfriend. "Alf knows," I added hastily. "He understands."
"Alf?" said Chantelle.
"I'll explain later," I said.
Alarmingly, a speculative smile had appeared on Tami's face. "I wouldn't have pegged him for a three-way kind of guy, but hey! Why not?"
As Tami was short, I was able to look hopefully over her head. "Surely you're not alone tonight, Tami?"
"I've come alone, but I don't intend to leave alone," said Tami, raising goose bumps on my skin as she stroked my arm.
"Hands off," said Chantelle.
Tami bounced on her toes, sizing up Chantelle. I had a horrifying vision of Tami seizing Chantelle and tossing her over the bar. The mirror would break, bottles would shatter, all in slow motion, in the appropriate movie fashion. It was my duty to shield Chantelle with my body. Surely Tami wouldn't throw me over the bar. That would be no way to win my love. Love! I shuddered.
"Later, sweetheart," Tami said, I'm not sure to which one of us. "I'll see you later."
"Where did she come from?" Chantelle asked, watching Tami swagger toward a knot of women at the other end of the bar. "She looks familiar. Is she in the industry?"
"Lamb White."
"Lamb White! She's a lesbian!"
"In the closet. Deep."
Chantelle nodded slowly. "I guess."
I was praying Tami would hook up with someone much more promising than me and wouldn't notice as Chantelle, Aunt Millie, and I slipped away. Fat chance.
"You're leaving?" she said, materializing by my side.
"It appears so."
Tami raked Chantelle with a contemptuous glance. "I'll see you tomorrow, when you're not otherwise engaged."
"Tomorrow?" I said faintly.
"At the gala dinner. I've arranged it so we'll be sitting together." Meaningful smile. "Until then…"
Nineteen
On Saturday morning I called Aunt Millie, hoping her strenuous time at Claudene's would have dampened her enthusiasm for shopping. No such luck. I was to pick her up and take her to Beverly Hills immediately.
Shopping with Aunt Millie was a life challenge that up to this point I'd been able to avoid, so I wasn't quite prepared for the experience. I soon found nothing much was required of me, other than to follow in Aunt Millie's wake.
She shopped like a small tank, mowing down obsequious or haughty salespeople alike. We did Rodeo Drive, up one side and down the other. Aunt Millie proclaimed it, "Unbelievably overrated!"
Then we moved on to the Wilshire Boulevard department stores. Here Aunt Millie fell in love with Neiman Marcus. We had a light lunch in their restaurant, then my aunt hit the evening wear department.
"May ah help Modom?"
Aunt Millie gazed suspiciously at the superthin saleswoman. "Modom?"
"Yairs. May ah help Modom?"
Aunt Millie gave a cackle of laughter. "I don't know about Modom, but you can help me."
"Yairs," said the saleswoman, not at all amused.
My feet were hurting and my temper fraying, when, praise be, my aunt found an outfit she deemed satisfactory. It was red and sparkly, with a scoop neckline and a sort of floating train affair.
"It's made for Modom," breathed the saleswoman, clasping her hands in counterfeit joy. "The color suits Modom so."
If you'd asked me to pick something absolutely unsuitable for my aunt, this would have been it. However, Aunt Millie was smitten, and only staggered a little when she spied the discreet price tag.
I took Aunt Millie back to her hotel to rest up for the evening and went home to call Alf. When I told him Aunt Millie was definitely coming to the gala, he gave a muffled cry of pain. "She'll be sitting at our table?"
"Of course she will, Alf. She's Brother Owen's guest."
"Kylie, love, please do me a favor. I'm begging you, mate. Begging you. Don't make me chauffeur Millie Haggety to the gala tonight. It's my driving, see. That's the bone of contention between us."
"You had a collision?"
"Not exactly. See, it happened outside the family do at Christmas last. Vehicles everywhere, you understand. The Hartnidges are a big family. I was just parking under a gum tree by the gate, when I somehow ran over Millie Haggety's foot. She should have got out of the way, of course, but she didn't."
"You crushed my aunt's foot?"
Come to think, I dimly remembered hearing something about this but had paid little attention, as to hear her tell it, Aunt Millie's life was a series of near disasters brought about by a malignant fate.
"It wasn't serious," Alf assured me. "Muddy, soft ground. Nothing broken. She only limped for a few months."
"That's a relief. Not permanently crippled then?"
Oblivious to my sarcasm, Alf went on, "But she's holding a grudge against me. Impalpable, she is."
"I think you mean implacable."
"Yeah, that too."
I agreed I'd pick up my aunt and we would all meet at the table of honor at the gala. "Alf, promise me you won't get into a blue with Aunt Millie." I could just imagine the two of them yelling at each other in the middle of the assembled socialite multitude.
"Fair crack of the whip, Kylie! If there's a blue, it'll be Millie Haggety what started it."
Knowing Ariana was going to be at the gala, I took special care with my appearance. My new hairdo was holding up well, and I chose a simple black dress that was cut to flare a little when I moved. Looking at myself in the full-length mirror I'd attached to the back of my bedroom door, I had to admit I didn't look too bad.