J. Jance: Failure to appear

What the hell else could I do?

After that initial meeting, I didn't hang around Live Oak Farm for very long. I didn't have a hell of a lot more to say. Not only that, it was close to six when I was supposed to meet Alexis and her friend. Besides, I didn't feel particularly welcome, especially since nobody bothered to invite me inside where dinner was about to be served to the motley group of boarders. I eventually grasped the none-too-subtle message that, without prior arrangement, food was not available for unexpected, drop-by guests. Not that I was particularly hungry. Finding out that your unmarried daughter is pregnant works as a natural and amazingly effective appetite suppressant.

I still didn't understand Marjorie Connors' place in the scheme of things, but she seemed to call the shots in addition to running a very tight ship as far as meals were concerned. Saying he was glad to meet me but that he had to get ready for the Green Show, Jeremy hurried into the house and left me alone with Kelly.

"Whatever that is," I muttered disagreeably behind him.

"The Green Show? It's sort of a pre-show entertainment," Kelly explained, "outside, in the courtyard. Jeremy's in both Majestic and Shrew, but he's also a very talented musician."

"Really. What does he play?"

"Lots of things," she answered proudly. "His specialty is the krummhorn."

The what? I had no idea what a krummhorn was, and I regretted asking. I didn't want to know. Why couldn't Jeremy be the kind of upright young man who slaved away over an IBMPC?

Kelly appeared embarrassed that I wasn't invited to dinner. She attempted to apologize. "If we had known earlier you would be here, Marjorie could have set an extra place."

Knowing Marjorie, that struck me as a narrow escape. "Don't worry about it," I said. "I'm meeting a friend for dinner, then we're seeing a play, Romeo and Juliet."

"You were lucky to get tickets this late," Kelly said. "How did you manage that?"

"My friend took care of it," I said.

"Who's your friend? Someone connected with the Festival?"

Which brought me right back to Alexis Downey and the problem I had been worrying about since before we left Seattle-what exactly should I tell Kelly about Alexis and vice versa? Admittedly, with Kelly standing there unmarried and more than slightly pregnant, the dynamics of the situation were much different from what I had anticipated. Still, I wasn't wild about telling my daughter that Alexis was this great gal and that we were down here in Ashland shacking up for the weekend at a local bed-and-breakfast.

Sexual revolution be damned, there are some things fathers don't say to their unmarried eighteen-year-old daughters, pregnant or not.

"Alex isn't directly connected with the Festival," I replied carefully, "although she knows plenty of people who are. I'll introduce you tomorrow morning. Can you come to breakfast?"

Kelly shook her head. "No, I work in the mornings, but I'm free in the afternoon. Tomorrow's Shrew, so I don't have to take care of Amber until tomorrow night." She snapped her fingers. "Darn. I should have introduced you to Tanya."

"Who's she?"

"Tanya Dunseth, Amber's mother. You must have seen her when the van pulled up. She's the one with all the red hair, just like Amber's. You'll see her tonight. She's Juliet at the Bowmer, and Kate in Shrew."

"I saw her go into the house," I said, "but don't worry about missing introductions. There'll be plenty of time to meet later on. Do you want us to come here and pick you up?"

"No. Jeremy works the backstage tour in the morning. We'll ride into town together. We can meet you outside the ticket office at noon. Do you know where that is?"

"No," I answered, "but I'm sure Alex does."

"Oh," Kelly said. "Well, I guess I'll go in to dinner."

She started away from me, moving slowly and ponderously up the stairs toward the back door. "What time is the wedding?" I asked. "Am I invited?"

Kelly stopped and stared down at her feet, although over that lump of belly I doubt she could see them. "Two-thirty," she answered quietly. "It has to be Monday. That's the only day the theaters are dark. Otherwise, our friends couldn't come. And yes, you're invited."

She had given me the smallest of openings. Naturally, I charged in with all cannons blazing.

"What about your mother?" I demanded hotly. "Don't you think she'd like to come, too? And what about Dave? What about your brother? Doesn't your family deserve the same kind of consideration as your friends from the theaters?"

Kelly's sorrowful gaze met mine while her eyes filled with tears. Without another word, she turned and fled up the steps, darting into the house. The screen door slammed shut behind her.

End of conversation. Just because she's always led me around by the nose doesn't mean we communicate. She bolted into the house in tears, while I marched back to my car. Marjorie Connors was lying in wait for me on the front porch.

"I said no bullying," Marjorie declared sternly.

"There wasn't any," I said, all the while wondering, What's with this broad? Who gave her the right to tell me how to treat my own daughter? "In case you didn't notice, Kelly was delighted to see me."

"That was before she came inside crying," Marjorie countered.

"Look, Mrs. Connors, I merely suggested that Kelly might want to consider inviting her own mother to this shotgun wedding of hers the day after tomorrow. That doesn't exactly constitute child abuse."

"It upset her."

"What are you, her self-appointed protector?"

The woman was annoying me, and I expect the feeling was mutual. Once more her violet eyes turned stormy gray.

"Don't come around here again, Mr. Beaumont. See Kelly in town if you have to. If I find you lurking on my property, I'll have you arrested for trespass."

I left without further comment. There wasn't any point. Marjorie Connors obviously had a huge attitude as far as men were concerned, although, oddly enough, Jeremy Cartwright seemed to get along with her just fine.

As I turned the Porsche around and headed into town, I realized some things in this world don't make any sense. The situation at Live Oak Farm definitely counted as one of life's imponderables.

Despite my previous misgivings, I had no trouble finding the Mark Anthony Hotel. It really was the tallest building in town. And it wasn't diffi-cult finding Alex and her friend Denver, either. They were seated at a window table. Alex waved and smiled as I walked up. What I did have trouble with was turning left and going into the dining room when I really wanted to turn right and disappear into the bar.

For the first time in months, I wanted a drink. I wanted ten drinks.

"How are things?" Alex asked brightly.

"Fine," I returned with as much phony sincerity as I could muster. I must have pulled it off because Alex breezed ahead with introductions.

"Denver Holloway," she said, "this is the man I was telling you about, J.P. Beaumont. Everybody calls him Beau."

Denver put down her cigarette and held out a plump hand. She was a wide woman in her mid-to-late-forties. Her dark, wavy hair was worn in a short, neatly trimmed bob with a thick fringe of bangs. Enormous brown eyes peered out from behind huge tortoiseshell glasses.

"Dinky," she said with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm not, but that's what all my friends call me just the same."

I sat down.

"Dinky's directing the play we're seeing tonight," Alex continued enthusiastically. "Romeo and Juliet set in the Deep South in the sixties."

"In the South?" I asked. "As in southern United States?"

Dinky grinned and nodded. "Why not?"

"How can you do that?" I objected. "Doesn't it take place somewhere in Italy?"

"Where it was set when Shakespeare wrote it is immaterial," Dinky Holloway informed me. "It's a love story about two star-crossed young lovers caught in the middle of a blood feud. We don't change dialogue. Setting comes primarily through costumes and stage business. Have you ever seen Romeo produced before?"