“Ho! Ho! Ho!" he suddenly bellowed. There was a soft clatter of plastic utensils as several startled party-goers lost their grips on forks and spoons. "This looks more like a wake than a holiday party. Ah, life in the suburbs. Ever exciting.”
He gazed around for a moment, then noticed Jane at the kitchen door. He called across the room, "You must be Mrs. Jeffry. Thanks for inviting us to your happy little home." He flung himself into Jane's favorite chair, the squashy, overstuffed one that was so comfortable that she considered sitting in it as going back to the womb. It was where she sat to watch television, to play with her laptop, to do double-crostics. Her chair had been violated.
“I didn't," Jane muttered.
“What was that? Speak up, honey.”
Jane balled her fists as she felt a flush flood her face and she turned away. She headed for the guest bathroom in the little hall leading to the garage, considering the possibility that she could just keep going. Get in the car, drive away, and come back later. Instead, she shut herself in the bathroom for a few quiet minutes of rage. But training eventually overcame emotions. Jane's father was in the State Department and she'd grown up all over the world. And she'd been told, practically from birth, that the host or hostess must be polite to guests — no matter what. No running away or hiding in bathrooms. As a child and teenager, she'd attended various dinners her parents gave that included sheep's eyeballs, petrified codfish, and eating on the floor of a tent with the sound of wild animals just outside. Lance King was only marginally more revolting than any of those.
She emerged and found herself face-to-face with Mel.
“I've been looking all over for you, Janey," he said. "What's wrong? You look upset.”
“Probably because I am."
“It's not my mother, is it?" he asked, looking suddenly wary.
Jane managed to laugh. "No." She almost added, "Not this time," but resisted the temptation. "It's that jerk Lance King."
“He's here?"
“Here? Of course. How could you have missed him?”
Mel put his arm around her and walked her slowly back through the kitchen. Jane noticed that the volume of the party had gone back up to normal. "He must have left. Thank goodness. Maybe Ginger arranged for that airplane crash after all.”
By the time she finished explaining who Ginger was and what she meant, Jane felt considerably better. "Thanks for listening," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I'm going to go enjoy my own party.”
Jane, the diplomat's daughter, made her rounds, making sure she welcomed everyone individually and cordially. At ten minutes toeight, Lance King reappeared with his television makeup and the fake beard back in place. Ginger helped shuffle people out of the way of the electrical cords and lighting stands and at one minute to eight, held up one hand and stared at her watch.
When her hand dropped, Lance King smiled broadly and looked into the camera with a lizard-like smile. "A neighborhood block party in celebration of the holidays. What could be more fun? More innocent? Nice people and good food. But is there a dark underbelly to this happy, if not to say smug, suburban life? Tune in to the late news and find out.”
The television lighting went off and there was a moment of dead silence. Lance King pulled off his beard, looked around the room, and strode out of the house, laughing.
Nine ;·.
There was a long, frigid moment of silence as '· Lance King walked out the front door, slamming the door behind himself.
Then Billy Joe Johnson, who had mistakenly assumed this was a costume party and was dressed as a rotund snowman, said, "Who is that guy and why's he being so darned nasty?”
Fairy Princess Tiffany said, "He must be a television person. What with the cameras and all. Wonder if we'll all be on the news." She apparently had paid no attention at all to the content of his broadcast.
Somebody muttered, "The bastard." Jane thought the remark came from one of Lance's own crew, but couldn't be sure.
Ginger, her long face flushed and blotchy, grabbed Jane's arm. "I'm so sorry. And if it helps any — which I know it won't — I'm unemployed as of this moment. Voluntarily!"
“What peculiar behavior," a woman from the mock Tudor house at the far end of the block said, setting her plate on an end table and rising."I'm certainly not planning to be here when he returns to make another distasteful display. Jane, where's my coat?”
A half dozen or so of the guests departed in a mob. None of them looked frightened especially, only disgusted. Jane helped find coats and saw them off with broken apologies, trying to make everyone understand that she had most assuredly not invited Lance King to the party. She was even good-hearted enough to refrain from mentioning that this was all Julie Newton's fault.
As she watched them leave, she said, "Mel, can I get a police officer at the door to keep him from coming back into my house?"
“Janey, calm down.”
Her eyes filled with tears of fury and frustration. "I'll hire a private security guard then. I wonder how you find one on short notice.”
She felt something tugging her sleeve. "Mrs. Jeffry," Pet said, "I should go home soon.”
Jane put her hand on Pet's thin little shoulder. "Yes, dear." She spotted Todd bounding up the stairs. "Todd, put on your coat and boots. Pet needs to be walked home."
“Mom! It's just down the block a couple hous—"
“Todd," Jane said in a low, menacing tone that made his eyes widen.
“Oh… okay. Right away.”
Jane left Mel to see the children off and watch for Todd's return while she went back to the kitchen to look for a phone book. She was quite serious about hiring someone to keep Lance away. She'd toss his television equipment out in the front yard so she couldn't be accused of stealing anything from him.
She heard muffled sobbing and followed the sound to the little bathroom next to the kitchen. "Julie? Is that you? Come out here right now and let me beat you about the head," Jane said firmly.
The door opened a crack and Julie peered out with one eye. "Oh, Jane—" she wailed, suddenly opening the door and flinging herself into Jane's arms. "I'm so, so sorry. He's so horrible. I had no idea. What can I do? How can I ever, ever make this up to you?"
“By sitting down with the phone book right now and hiring a security firm to get over here right now and keep him from coming back into my house," Jane said, disentangling herself from Julie's embrace. "And you're paying for it."
“Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you. I'll do that," Julie babbled between sniffles and hiccups.
“There's a phone and phone book upstairs in my bedroom.”
Julie hurried to do as she was told.
Shelley came into the kitchen a second later. "Thank God you're here, Jane. I've been looking for you. I was afraid you were out looking for him with an Uzi."
“None of my Uzis are oiled. Or primed. Whatever. I don't really know what an Uzi is, come to think of it. But right now I wouldn't mind acquiring one.”
Mel entered the room as she was speaking. "Jane, that's not really funny.”
“Mel, none of this is funny!”
He knew when the river of affection was running at full flood the wrong way. "No, it's not. I'm sorry.”
She sighed. It wasn't his fault. "Is Todd back?”
Mel nodded. "Yes, all your chicks are home and safe in spite of all the traffic. The street looks like there's a parade going on with all the gawkers at the Johnsons' house.”