93
a gingerbread cookie embroidered on her apron. “How
does Carl feel about wearing Hansel’s lederhosen?”
“He loves it,” Arlene declared as a knock could be
heard on the door.
“We’re decent,” Judith called out.
Carl stuck his head in. “I hate lederhosen. Why
couldn’t I wear pants?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your legs, Carl,” Arlene retorted. “Just don’t walk like you’re knockkneed. And don’t forget your hat with the feather.”
The women joined the men, who had been changing
in Joe’s den. Judith thought Carl looked cute in his
Hansel outfit. With his round face and ruddy cheeks,
Joe made a presentable, if aging, choirboy. And Bill
certainly looked like Donald Duck. He couldn’t appear
otherwise, since he had his head in place along with
the rest of his costume.
“Quack, quack,” said Bill.
“Yes, you look terrific,” Renie replied, giving Bill’s
bill a tweak.
“You understood that?” Judith asked in surprise.
“Of course,” Renie answered. “Bill and I have been
married so long we can communicate in any language.”
Downstairs, Cathy was pounding at the back door.
Arlene let her daughter in. It was a tight squeeze, the
panda suit being very round and very wide.
“The head ruined my hair,” Cathy complained, batting at her blond locks with the hand that didn’t hold
the head itself. “This thing is hot. And now it’s wet
from the rain. I smell like a sheep, not a panda.”
“What does a panda smell like?” Renie inquired in
a musing tone.
94
Mary Daheim
“Not as bad as I do,” Cathy complained.
“Now, dear,” Arlene soothed, “we all have to suffer
for love.” She gave Carl a sharp glance. “Think of what
I’ve had to put up with over the years.”
“Stick it in the oven, Gretel,” Carl shot back.
Bill waddled over to the cupboards by the work
area. “Quack, quacky, quack?” He addressed Renie.
“In here,” Renie replied, opening a cupboard underneath the counter. “Judith has four kinds of cocoa. You
choose.”
“Quack,” Bill said, pointing to the German chocolate brand, then to a row of cereal boxes on the bottom
shelf. “Quack,” he said, indicating the Cheerios.
“Quack,” he continued, tapping the Grape-Nuts.
“Quack,” he concluded, nudging a box of bran.
Renie placed her Daisy Duck head on the counter.
“You should have had your evening snack at home,”
she said in mild reproach. “I’ll have to heat the cocoa
in the microwave. All the burners are in use.”
“Quack,” said Bill.
Judith shook her head. She’d never understood how
her cousin, who was usually so fractious, could wait on
Bill hand and foot. At least some of the time. But
Renie was equally willing to spoil their children. It
seemed out of character, and therefore illogical. And
logic was the cornerstone of Judith’s thought
processes.
Bill had finished his snack and the final preparations
were being made when the first of the limos arrived
back at Hillside Manor. Judith went to the door.
The wind and rain seemed to blow the trio inside.
As Cleopatra, Ellie Linn was shivering with the cold,
despite the black cloak that hung from her shoulders.
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95
“T-t-this awful weather!” she cried. “I’m g-g-going
t-t-to catch pneumonia!” She burst into hysterical
laughter and fled into the downstairs bathroom.
“That’s how she handles adversity.” Winifred
sneered. “The silly twit.” In her nun’s habit, Winifred
moved closer to Bruno. She seemed to be holding him
up as he stumbled through the entry hall. “Scotch,
quickly!” she cried. “Mr. Zepf isn’t feeling well.”
The liquor bottles that the guests had brought with
them were on the makeshift bar in the front parlor, but
Bruno’s favorite Scotch remained on the old-fashioned
washstand that served as a smaller bar in the dining
room. Judith grabbed the bottle and a glass, rushed to
the kitchen to get ice, and hurried back to the living
room, where Bruno was now slumped on one of the
sofas. His flowing robes and burnoose from Khartoum
sagged along with the rest of him.
“My God,” he whispered as Winifred took the drink
from Judith and raised it to his lips. “I’m ruined.” He
took a deep sip from the proffered glass, then raised his
white-robed arms as if invoking the gods of filmdom.
“The Gasman had everything to please audiences—
sex, violence, art—even a small cuddly dog.”
Chips Madigan paused in his path across the room.
“I told you to leave the chimpanzee in. Chimps are always good.”
“Chimps are a desperation measure,” Bruno muttered as Chips moved on. “He’s a director, he knows
that. My God, think of the money we wasted on the TV
advertising budget alone!”
The cell phone in Winifred’s lap rang. She picked it
up, but had difficulty getting the earpiece under her
wimple. “Best here,” she finally said. Then she low- 96
Mary Daheim
ered her eyes and her voice. “Yes . . . yes . . . we
know . . . morons . . . imbeciles . . . philistines . . .
yes . . . I’ll contact them first thing tomorrow, before
we leave for the airport . . . yes, have an ambulance
waiting . . . good.” She clicked off and suddenly
looked up at Judith. “What are you waiting for? Mr.
Zepf has his drink.”
“I wondered if there was anything else I could get
for him,” Judith said as a small man in a matador’s suit
of lights and a large woman dressed like Carmen in Act
IV of the opera entered the living room. “Is he ill?”
“Yes,” Winifred replied tersely, then caught sight of
the new arrivals. “Oh, damn! I must speak to Morris
and Eugenia.” Her gaze softened. “Mrs. Flynn, would
you sit with Mr. Zepf for just a moment?”
“Of course,” Judith replied, and perched on the edge
of the sofa.
A deep groan was coming from somewhere in the
folds of the burnoose. “It’s plague! It’s devastation!
It’s . . . the end.”
“Goodness,” Judith said. “Do you need a doctor?”
Bruno pushed the folds of his robes aside and
looked at Judith with bleary eyes. “It’s the critics. We
flew them in from all over the world. Those damnable
thickheaded critics. They hate The Gasman. Every one
of them so far has trashed the picture. And how they
ate at the masked ball! They savage me, then they gobble up everything but the silverware!”
Judith tried to think of something positive to say.
“What about the audience? Sometimes, I’ve heard,
critics may hate a movie, but audiences adore it.”
Bruno’s head fell back against the sofa. “They
walked out. The theater was less than half full after the
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97
intermission. We should have barred the doors. Oh, my
God, what’s to become of me?”
Ellie entered the living room with great caution, as
if she expected someone to hand her a poisonous asp.