Randy White - Black Widow

I’d met Kathleen a couple of years back when she was a research biologist at Mote Marine. We’d had a relationship so intensely physical that the emotional component never caught up. There were always sparks of one kind or another. It made it easier for both of us when she announced she was leaving Florida to cruise the coast of Mexico. Her farewell letter to me was touching but also uncomfortably honest. It was in the fireproof box along with other important papers.

Seeing the Darwin C. brought back memories of the nights I’d spent aboard. It brought back the shape and scent of the woman; the qualities of her intellect; and her lucid, scientist’s view of life. But having the boat moored so close to home also made me jumpy.

Kathleen had arrived unannounced. There are marinas on the islands that are better equipped and easier to access, but she’d chosen Dinkin’s Bay. No accident. Why?

My marina neighbors include a tight little group of women who aren’t shy with their opinions, especially about female outsiders. The ladies had taken me aside at parties; they’d stood on tiptoes to whisper advice in my ear.

Kathleen had reached The Age, they told me. The woman was single, childless, and ready to nest. It didn’t matter how many college degrees Dr. Rhodes had, they said. Didn’t matter that she was bright, independent, and financially set. Maternal drive is a powerful force. It was controlling her behavior and her scruples.

I chided them gently for trivializing their own sex, saying, “You talk like she’s under a primitive spell.” But the lady live-aboards only blinked at me, shaking their heads. How could I be so damn naive?

“Primitive spell” described the transformation perfectly, they said.

No wonder I was jumpy.

I’d taken Kathleen to dinner a couple of times. Went to a concert at Big Arts. But the line that allows old lovers to meet comfortably as friends is a dangerous border. Sex is the only basic human function that can complicate the hell out of a human life.

So I was taking it slow-too slow for Kathleen, although she hadn’t said it.

She would, though. Maybe tonight, if Beryl showed up. Two power-house women at one small marina. How smart was that?

Hmm.

But Kathleen had no claim. And Beryl hadn’t signaled a romantic interest, and probably wouldn’t. So…

I went outside and did pull-ups. Did descending sets 15-14-13-12. .. Did them until I couldn’t do any more. Then I showered, changed into clean khaki shorts, and selected a black guayabera shirt recently purchased in Panama.

Before leaving, I checked myself in the mirror.

So let the two ladies meet. See what happens…

Because of the party, cars lined the shell lane that is the terminus of Tarpon Bay Road, but only a black Mercedes was occupied. Two people, front seat. Female with beehive hair on the passenger side.

I spotted the car while checking for Beryl’s Volvo convertible, but I would’ve noticed anyway. Beryl’s car was parked near the gate. She’d already joined the party. Why hadn’t the couple in the Mercedes?

I kept an eye on them as I exited the boardwalk, aware I was being watched through tinted glass.

The driver’s door opened. A man got out: basketball-tall, early thirties, wire-rimmed glasses, blond hair styled to appear thicker. It was Shay’s fiance, Michael Jonquil.

“Dr. Ford? Have a minute?” As he closed the door, I got a peek at the passenger-his mother.

I replied, “Of course,” but glanced at my watch to let him know I was in a hurry. I don’t like surprises. Michael could have asked Shay for my number. Why hadn’t he called?

“It won’t take long. Do you mind sitting in the car?”

“Why? It’s a nice evening.”

“My mother would like to speak with you.”

“No problem.” I turned and smiled at her silhouette: heavy forehead, small chin. “She can roll down the window.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do.”

I said, “How about my lab? That’s private.”

Jonquil said, “So I’ve heard,” meaning something, I didn’t know what. “But she prefers the car.”

I looked at my watch again. “Well, life’s full of little disappointments. I’ll give you my number, we can arrange a meeting. But if it concerns Shay and it’s important, I guess I could-”

Jonquil gave a private shake of the head, and silenced me with his eyes. He faced the Mercedes, shrugged-I tried-then told me, “I’ll be right back.”

I waited as he leaned into the car and spoke to his mother. I got another quick look at the woman: dark dress, hands on lap, black hair that framed the familiar scowl.

“Sorry about that,” Jonquil said as returned. He sounded relieved, not disappointed. “Mind if we talk? Confidentially, I mean.”

“Confidential as in exclude Shay? Sorry, can’t agree to that.”

“Good for you. Isn’t it irritating how many people say yes automatically? No idea what they’re being asked to keep secret, but it doesn’t matter because their word’s meaningless.” He’d put his hand on my shoulder and turned me so we were walking with our backs to the Mercedes-a politician’s device. “Listen to what I have to say, then decide. Okay?”

I answered, "Okay,” aware of his mild accent when pronouncing Ws and Os. A man who’d spent his summers in Europe speaking French-Swiss.

I listened to Jonquil say how shocking it was, Corey’s overdose. And what a close call for Shay. He regretted not getting to know me better, and looked forward to the two of us hanging out. When he sensed my impatience, he got serious.

“Truth is, I’m glad you didn’t talk to Mother. It’s good for her not to get her way occasionally.”

I said, “If it’s only occasionally, you’re mother has lived an unusual life.”

“You couldn’t be more right. She comes from old money, she and her six sisters. Royal bloodlines-I suspect you know what that means in Europe. On the paternal side, her grandfather was an international industrialist. My own father was a brilliant man, Dr. Ford. I wish you could’ve met him. But the fortune that he… well, let’s say the success my father enjoyed doesn’t compare to mother’s family. My aunts are strong women. They didn’t approve of my father. Some of mother’s family still don’t, even though it’s been two years since he died.”

I said, “Then your engagement to Shay must be quite a shock. Does your mother know Shay’s background?”

“The investigators she hired gave a full report. A father who was a convicted felon. A mother who, as you know, was a…” He hesitated, then left the sentence unfinished. “So of course Mother doesn’t approve. But I think she’s come to admire Shay in her own way.

“Shay’s a leader, and a hell of a good organizer. Mother can’t intimidate Shay-you have no idea how rare that is. But Mother also realizes that politics is a damn tough business. I need a strong wife. So, in a way, she does approve of the marriage. Or did-before the girls had their weekend on Saint Arc.” He let that settle. “Do you care to guess what Mother wants to discuss?”

I said, “I’m a biologist. We’re not supposed to guess-it’s in the handbook they gave us at biologist school.”

He chuckled. “Shay-shay never mentioned you had a sense of humor. But seriously-” He cleared his throat. “Mother’s heard rumors about what the girls did down there. She knows you flew to Saint Arc to make some kind of deal with a man who’s blackmailing them.”

I stopped walking and turned to face Jonquil. “Who would tell her something so ridiculous?”

“It wasn’t me. But Vance Varigono is a fraternity brother of mine. So I know it’s true.”

I smiled; shook my head and waited.

Jonquil maintained eye contact. Pale blue eyes larger because of his glasses, and half a head taller, so I had to look up.