The Opium Equation Page 3

  Robert tensed and I thought for a moment that this was the time he was going to let out all those pent up emotions. His face was snow white; his already thin lips were bloodless. He opened his mouth several times, but when he realized nothing was going to come out, he grabbed his coat and hurried from the room.

  “You bitch,” spat Darcy. “I used to think you were cool. I admired you. But you’re totally fake. I hope you die a thousand deaths!”

  Darcy had a good thing going, but then emotion welled up in her eyes and she, too, stormed out. Never one to enjoy an argument, Hank quickly followed. Through the open door I saw Jon frowning in at us, but I shook my head and he shrugged back, letting me handle it.

  As all but one other member of the class had already run out the door, Glenda could see that if she didn’t leave soon, there would be no one left to witness her grand exit, so she dramatically gathered her things and swept herself from the room.

  Maybe if I’d known it was the last time I’d see her alive, I would have gone after her. Then again, maybe not.

  4

  OKEY-DOKEY THEN. I FORCED MYSELF to turn my attention to Carole, who made up the entire remainder of my class. Our time was almost up, and trying to continue at this point was useless. I apologized for the loss of class time, and reminded her that we would be back in the saddle again next week. Of them all, I thought Carole had been least disturbed by the incident. In fact, she seemed to be amused by the unusual turn of events. Her amber eyes had danced throughout the messy scene. Being married to a country music superstar must be an unconventional life, so maybe she came up against emotional incidents all the time. If so, she had my sympathy, for this was the kind of stuff I had no wish to handle.

  Alone at last. I closed the office door, sank into the good chair Glenda had so recently occupied, closed my eyes, and allowed myself a huge sigh. We Irish people are big on sighing. It helps diffuse all the emotionally draining confrontations we seem to have.

  I told myself that I’d trade a thousand clients like Glenda for one ditsy client like Agnes in a heartbeat. Agnes’s motives were pure; she just wanted to help. Come to think of it, Glenda’s motives were pure as well, because when you broke it down, Glenda was a very simple person. Glenda was all Glenda ever cared about. I had forgotten that and had considered myself her friend.

  Glenda, I knew now, had no friends, only adversaries that she sometimes used to her advantage. And if the adversary happened along the way to think that friendship was included in the deal, well, then someone was going to be disappointed. I’d dealt with disappointment before and surely would again. Losing a friend you never had was not the end of the world. The problem now, I thought, was to keep Glenda from becoming my enemy and I wasn’t quite sure how to do that.

  I opened the old wooden door that led from the office to the barn and found Darcy stomping up and down the aisle. Her short body had not yet lost all its baby fat and the layers of winter clothes made her look as round as a cartoon kid. I took one look at her and pointed her in the direction of stall number four.

  A tall, black ten-year-old gelding with irregular white spots across his body inhabited that stall. Petey always had the ability to calm Darcy down, and vice versa. I’d found Petey for Darcy four years ago, when she first started training with me. Their temperaments were perfect for each other, and the years of hard work and play had forged a very strong bond.

  Petey was also a real ham. He liked to hold the end of a cotton lead rope in his mouth and “lead” himself down the aisle. In the crossties Petey flapped his lips together in pleasure when Darcy groomed him, but wouldn’t “flap” for anyone else. He whinnied when he heard her car and, if he was in the pasture, ran to the gate to see her. It was a big deal for a horse to choose to leave the security of his pasture mates––and his food––to spend time with a human. Horses always feel safer in numbers. Petey, however, left his equine friends for Darcy all the time.

  I could see Darcy’s facial muscles relax as she opened Petey’s stall door, and I knew that in a few minutes she’d be fine. That made me glad; I loved that kid like a sister.

  I turned to find Robert directly in front of me. Jon once commented that Robert was so thin he’d have to stand up twice to cast a shadow. Looking at Robert now, I knew Jon’s assessment was accurate. Additionally, Robert wasn’t much taller than my five-foot-six. Seen straight on, Robert’s long, narrow nose had an odd bump halfway down, as if it might have been broken at one time and hadn’t healed properly. A small gold hoop adorned his left ear.

  I’d noticed before that Robert walked silently. He could appear out of nowhere and vanish just as abruptly. Maybe it was a technique he’d learned in nursing school. Floor Walking 101. It might work in a hospital, I thought, but in the barn it was a bit disturbing.

  “I, well … I wanted to say something,” he said.

  “All right.” We walked toward the now brightened outdoors, passing the stall of Agnes’s (possibly psychic) prize mare, AT’s Sally Blue. Sally stuck her mottled red head into the aisle and I gave her a friendly pat. Psychic or not, it was easy for me to love a horse who so readily loved me back.

  Once outside Robert gave the briefest of smiles. “I just wanted you to know that I never liked Glenda and I know that the horses didn’t either.”

  “The horses? What do you mean, Robert?” I asked, turning toward the house. The magical sunlit fairyland I had so enjoyed a short hour ago was now gone, melted by the sun that earlier had given it its glory. What a day this was turning out to be. All I wanted now was a cup of hot chocolate and some peace and quiet.

  Robert stopped my musing by staring earnestly into my eyes. “The horses are always tense when Glenda is around. Haven’t you noticed, especially with Sally Blue? When Glenda is in the barn the horses rustle around in their stalls more. And in lessons they are always watching her. It’s like the horses are uneasy because they don’t know what to expect from her. And they’re right. You taught us that animals, and horses in particular, pick up on things that have been educated and civilized out of humans, and you’re right. So it’s good for all of us that she’s gone and I just wanted to say I hope you don’t try to bring her back into the class. She’s an evil person. The further away she is from everyone the better.”

  I sighed and said, “Robert, I think some things were meant to be, and for now, I think Glenda and Hill Henley are meant to work together. If that’s the case, we won’t be seeing much of her.”

  He gave what passed for another smile and nodded. Then he walked soundlessly toward his car without a word of farewell. He was strange, that one.

  Ahead of me, the van from the gas company headed down the driveway. They must have arrived after my students had. Jon had probably let the technician into the house. Hopefully this meant my damaged furnace been revived from Hank’s morning shower.

  To my left, Glenda’s Fairbanks loomed, looking cold and pale and unfeeling, its shadows creating grotesque patterns on the melting ice. I shuddered and half walked, half ran, to my kitchen to indulge myself in a thick, rich comforting mug of hot chocolate.

  Cat’s Horse Tip #3

  “Horses hear and smell things that humans physically can’t.”

  5

  AFTER A QUICK LUNCH I TOOK a long time to think about my disastrous morning. To be honest, I have never dealt well with disasters. Add confrontations and arguments to that list. My grandma always claimed the Irish way was to avoid problems, so I come by my aversion honestly.

  At least the furnace still worked and the house didn’t smell too bad. Well, okay, I’m lying to myself. The house still smelled like pig doo-doo after it had baked a while in the sun. Maybe by nightfall the odor would be gone. Thinking tends to tire me out, so I grabbed a catnap and woke suddenly after about an hour with the perfect plan to deal with Glenda.

  Pulling from my purse a crumpled business card with a hand-drawn map on the back, I ran a wide tooth comb through my tangled mop of mouse-brown curls, started up the truck
and headed for Music Row. It was an easy twenty-five minute drive with little traffic along the way. I took the Demonbreun exit off I-40, drove past the row of renovated buildings that now housed several of Nashville’s most popular places to “eat, drink, and be merry,” navigated the new circular roundabout with the controversial nude sculpture, and finally hooked a left on 18th Avenue South.

  Reading the map on the back of the card, I found the house a few blocks down, but had to drive past and double back in the alley behind it to find parking. That was okay, because Adam’s office was located in the back of the house, second floor, accessed by a set of rickety black metal stairs. Under the stairs three yellow daffodils were bravely blooming through the bleak winter sun. Some years there were scores of early spring flowers tucked away in corners throughout Middle Tennessee. These were the first I’d seen this year.

  I sat in my truck for a few minutes before I got up the nerve to knock on Adam’s office door. It was silly, really, because I hardly knew the man. On the other hand, I thought my feelings were justified, because what I knew I didn’t like. Adam had moved here from California last summer and I’d run into him at a few neighborhood parties. There was something about him. Too much ego. Too much cool. But he did say if I ever needed anything he’d be glad to help. So here I was.

  I climbed the stairs to a small porch and knocked on an imposing metal door. I heard a few scuffled movements inside and then the door cracked opened.

  “Why, Cat,” he said. “How wonderful to see you! Please, please come in.”

  Adam’s office was quite upscale for someone who had just embarked upon a songwriting career. Although it consisted of a single room about the size of an average living room, Adam’s aunt had had the room “done” as a welcome-to-Nashville gift for her only nephew. Thick black carpeting sank under the weight of my feet. What looked an awful lot like polished oak paneling––and probably was––lined the walls, while a heavy beveled-glass coffee table sat in the far corner. It was surrounded by a plush black leather couch and matching chairs.

  Next to the door was a brass coat rack, a combination refrigerator and microwave, and a black four-drawer filing cabinet. Straight ahead was a modern black desk with a laptop, and one of those nifty machines that phones, faxes, prints and would probably do your laundry if you knew how to program it. To my right was an impressive looking stereo/TV/DVD unit with speakers spread throughout the room. Most songwriters would give anything to have a writing room like this.

  “Excuse my attire,” Adam said, indicating his disordered clothes. His starched jeans were rumpled and spattered with mud, his long sleeved T-shirt partially untucked, his spit-and-polish loafers scuffed and streaked with dirt. “I pulled over on I-40, just by the 440 split to check a tire I thought was low and a semi came by and splattered me with road sludge.”

  The mussed clothing did nothing to diminish Adam’s rugged good looks. His dark blonde locks were attractively disheveled, his six-foot-one body, if a bit on the thin side, was well proportioned, and his face reminded me of a young Robert Redford. He invited me to sit on the leather couch, and I did.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I said. “I can come back another time if this isn’t convenient. On second thought, maybe I’d better do that. It was rude of me to stop by without calling first.”

  Being around Adam always made me babble. I couldn’t figure out if it was his money, his good looks, or his infamous family tree, but I just couldn’t relax around him.

  “No, no. Oh, please stay, Cat. I’m so glad you’ve finally come to visit,” said Adam. Then his nose twitched. “Do you smell something?”

  I flushed beet red. Hank’s mutant urine vapors must have attached themselves to my clothes and hair. Can I just die of embarrassment right here and now?

  “Uh. No. I don’t smell a thing.” I began twitching my own nose in an exaggerated manner, followed by equally exaggerated shrugging, as if to prove any odd smell must be his imagination. Probably I should have showered before I headed over here, but I was so determined to find a solution to the Glenda situation that when one presented itself after my nap, I dived right in without thinking. Fact is, not thinking tends to be a habit of mine.

  Adam gave one final, uncertain sniff, then said, “You know, I said to my aunt just the other day, ‘I need to call Cat, it’s been weeks since I’ve seen her.’ And here you are.”

  “Well, Adam, that’s why I’m here.”

  He laughed, but the light had gone out of his eyes, “I … I see. You’re here because my aunt sent you.”

  “Oh, no,” I protested. “I’m here, well, let me just dive in on this. There was a nasty scene at the barn this morning. I’m not sure what to do about it so I came to you because the source of the trouble was your Aunt Glenda.”

  Adam Dupree rubbed a weary hand over his face and paced the small room as I nervously explained what had happened. “I don’t care if she goes to Hill. I couldn’t work with her anyway, under the circumstances,” I concluded. “But I also don’t want her to spread false rumors about me, my horses, my clients, or my stable. I just want her to go her way and leave me alone. No hard feelings.”

  “I’m sorry she embarrassed you,” he said, sitting on the arm of one of the matching chairs. “But if you want her to keep the rumor mill from rumbling, you have to make Aunt Glenda think it’s in her best interests to keep quiet.”

  “I’d love to, but how do I do that?”

  “For it to work, you need to march right over there and confront her, just as she did you. Firmness is one of the few things she respects, but you’ll have to grovel a little, too. Tell her you admire the courage it took to make such a decision and that you realize you are not worthy of her time. Wish her well. But you’ve got to play it just right. End it by making her think it was her idea to leave you alone.”

  I took in his words of encouragement, but Adam’s expression left me dubious about any success for my mission.

  “You mean just go over to Fairbanks and ring the doorbell and barge in?” Glenda was notorious both for her privacy and her formality. One didn’t just barge in on the diva.

  Adam stared at me without saying anything. Then he raised one eyebrow. At least his nose was no longer twitching.

  “I guess you’re right,” I sighed. “But I’m just not good at that sort of thing, confrontations and all.”

  “All you have to do,” he told me, “is look her straight in the eye. Don’t waiver. Don’t back off. She abhors people who are weak. Stand up to her. She won’t give you an inch, but she’ll listen.”

  It was a task much easier said than done.

  6

  NOW THAT I HAD MADE UP my mind to deal with Glenda, I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. I decided to drive straight from Music Row to Fairbanks. I was just ahead of the rush hour traffic, but it was windy and almost dark by the time I turned off River Road onto the paved drive of the stately antebellum home. When I got out of the truck I noticed the air was still damp from the morning’s sleet. If the wind kept up, it was going to be a cold and miserable night.

  As I started toward the steps I tripped on something soggy and fell, scraping the heel of my right hand as I landed in a damp puddle. Great. I’m going to intimidate the hell out of Glenda looking like this. Wind tangled hair. Pants soaking wet. Bloody hand. Oh right, and no lip gloss. I hadn’t put any makeup on today. Imagine that.

  I rolled out of the puddle and sat there in Glenda’s wet driveway, as the emotions of the day washed over me. I don’t know why I allowed Glenda get to me. Maybe it was the celebrity. Don’t we all treat celebrities a little differently? With Nashville being the country music capital of the world, we bumped into our share of the rich and famous at the Waffle House, grocery store, or even Walmart. And you find that, just like regular folk, some are nice and some you wouldn’t walk across the street for. So what was it about Glenda that turned me into a quivering pile of jelly? Why could I not “cowgirl up” and stand my
ground with her?

  I pondered the question as I stared at the object that tripped me. I thought I’d tripped over a rag that had been carelessly left near the steps, but when I reached out to move the object away from my rubber muck boot, I saw it was a baseball cap. Or had been. Now it was splattered with a dark, sticky substance and the bill was partially torn off. There was an Atlanta Braves logo above the torn bill, and Bubba Henley had worn a cap like that just this morning.

  I scrambled up the steps, ran across the deep porch, and pounded frantically with my uninjured fist on the massive seventeenth-century slab of wood that served as Glenda’s front door. She’d had the door imported from a castle in England and had to enlarge the door frame to accommodate it. At the time, Hill had been horrified at the break from traditional Southern architecture. Guess he’d gotten over it.

  “Glenda,” I shouted above the wind. “Glenda, are you home?” I switched from pounding on the door, which was beginning to hurt my fist, to sinking my finger into the doorbell. The door was so thick, I couldn’t hear if the doorbell was working or not.

  “Glenda, please come to the door. It’s Cat. It’s important.”

  The house remained as dark and silent as when I’d arrived.

  I took the cap and hurried around the right side of Fairbanks. Then I crawled through Glenda’s pristine, white post-and-rail fence to the Henley farm. This reeked of one of Bubba’s pranks, but I had to make sure it wasn’t something far more serious.

  “Bubba,” I shouted as I banged on the metal trailer door. “Bubba! Hill! Open up.” Around me the wind swirled a fine mist from the river. I banged some more, then I jiggled the doorknob and the flimsy door swung open.

  Inside, the place had that deserted feel, that emptiness when you get home and know deep down that no one is there, not even the cat. I flipped the light switch next to the door. Nothing. Hill must have forgotten to pay his electric bill. I hadn’t thought to bring a flashlight, but there was still enough light outside for me to peer into the dim interior.