The Table - Part 3
Read Part 1, then Read Part 2!
A siamese peeked from behind the thick brocade drapes in Noreen's picture window. He rubbed against the glass, then jumped away. I wasn't sure which way to go. Two side paths framed the house, each leading to a latched iron gate. I chose the left side, the one closest to the garage. I'm not sure why. My stomach lurched a bit, tried to send me a Be Careful There Might Be Celebrities Lurking message, so I moved slowly, quietly, didn't slap the marble paving stones with my flip flops.
I tried to steal glances in the two front windows as I passed through the side gate, but thick curtains and blinds covered each one. I kept my ears open, too, but I only heard the ocean wind. The side of the house stood close to a stockade fence marking the property border. A black spider missing one leg crawled along the stucco ridges. There wasn't much room to move. There wasn't a side door, either. I must have taken the wrong side path, I reasoned, and debated whether to turn around and try again or follow the spider toward the back yard. I chose the spider.
One small window accented the rear corner of the house, set high into the wall, just above my head. I stood on tiptoes and peered inside, into a dark laundry room. The door to the rest of the house was ajar, and beyond the washer and dryer and two baskets of dirty cloth I could see soft yellow light, the left side of a crystal chandelier, a mahogany bookcase filled with leather-bound books, and the edge of a dining room table. Shadows lurched across the wall, broke the rainbow patterns cast by the chandelier, and I briefly saw one lone slacks-clad foot and black patent leather shoe dart into view. The window was slightly raised, and I inhaled as deep as I could but only smelled fabric-softening dryer sheets. I dropped from my toes to my heels and waited a moment. The spider continued scaling the stucco and slipped inside the window. Good luck, spider, I whispered. I wish you could return and tell me what's inside. Good luck.
I walked to the backyard, turned right, and knocked on the sliding patio doors. Nothing unusual here, I thought. Typical So Cal backyard with plumeria clusters and birds of paradise, a swatch of clean sod, a small koi pond with one fat orange carp blowing bubbles, a view of the beach and lagoon only hampered by the cylindrical rise of the power plant, an expensive set of redwood-accented outdoor furniture. Nothing strange or personal, no garden gnomes or steel sculptures of modern art. No one answered my knock so I hit the door again, this time a bit harder, louder. A minute later the door slid open and a Latina I didn't recognize motioned me inside a small living space filled with overstuffed chairs and a leather loveseat. A few standard beach-side prints graced the walls - a sketch of my downtown, a watercolor of the beach at sunset done in purples and yellows, and a Justin Coopersmith lithograph. I could smell garlic and braised meat.
"Are you Birdie?" She wore her hair short and spiky, with gold highlights along the tips, and a tight black cocktail dress. She spoke with the accent of someone from Mexico City. I estimated her age to be twenty-five, her air to be intellectual, sophisticated. She walked on three-inch silver stilettos but I still towered over her by a few inches.
"My name is Trini, nice to meet you." We shook hands, and I felt her chunky silver rings before I saw them. "Noreen is busy at the moment, but she is expecting your delivery. I have a check for you, please sit down for a moment while I get it."
I didn't sit. I stood and waited, watched Trini open a door, then close it behind her, heard her clip toward the middle of the house. The door didn't latch closed, however, and a fat siamese pushed it opened, snuck into my room to check out the visitor. I stooped to scratch him as he arched against my bare legs, and as I rubbed my fingers into the space between his ears, I swiveled my head and froze.
The room beyond the room beyond the room was visible - my secret spider room! A long ebony and brass Art Deco table filled the center of the space, set with simple mismatched Art Deco chairs and three elegant place settings of fine china and Irish linen. The chandelier was larger than I thought. It hung low, vibrated each time someone moved. No one sat at the table. I heard voices, clinking glasses, the sound of pouring liquid, and surmised some drinking was occurring stage right. I edged closer for a better look, but Trini returned, check in hand, and closed the door tight behind her. She shot me a warning glance.
"You'll have to leave now, Birdie. Noreen is busy and doesn't have time to greet you." She hustled me out the door, quickly, her brows furrowed together in a stressed look as if I had seen her commit a murder. She waved goodbye and locked the patio door.
To Be Continued...
7:17:22 AM 
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