CATHEDRAL by Patrick Sean Lee (novels to improve english .txt) 📖

deal of irritation in her voice. “Ten, maybe.”

“Or eleven, maybe?” I ask.

“I don’t really know! Maybe.”

“Why don’t you try getting up at, say, eight?”

“For what ungodly reason? Nobody gets up at eight! Maaatty…it sounds like you’re taking her side over mine!”

She’s right. Maria is the best housekeeper money can buy. “Try eight. That gives you two hours to get out of her way.”

“Oh! You’re impossible! Eight. I’m barely getting to sleep by then.”

I’m betting that’s the truth. Or maybe just getting home.

“What else?”

“You need to come home, Matty.”

“Why? I’ve only been here a couple of days. I’m writing.”

“You need to handle all of this! I can’t.”

“All of what? Just get up earlier, and stay out of the bedroom when Maria is cleaning. What’s so hard about that?”

“She’s a pain…and I’m out of money.” Allison says the last part sheepishly. Now it’s clear.

“What? Your credit card has a ten thousand dollar limit, for Christ sake! How can you be out of money?”

“I just am. Can you just call Visa, then, and tell them to take some money out of your bank account or something. I have to buy clothes and…all that. You want me to look nice don’t you, Matty?”

“No! How did you max out a ten thousand dollar card? What the hell have you been buying? I know you had at least four thousand on it when I left.” This woman doesn’t know the value of four dollars let alone four thousand. Call Visa! She’s insane.

“I hired a caterer, sort of. That was expensive. And like I said, new outfits. They’re not cheap.”

“A caterer for what?”

“A little party. I was lonesome. I wanted to have some friends over; go swimming and have some food and drinks—you know. And my new bikini! It cost over three hundred! Can you believe that, Matt? It’s crazy!”

“You’re crazy, Ally. Quit shopping on Rodeo Drive…and go visit your friends, for crying out loud.” I’m tempted to hang up, but I decide to rip her. “How much did the damned party run? What kind of party?”

“It was…I don’t know. A lot, I think. I was just lonely without you. Just some friends. I’m out of money, sweetie. Please put a little money on the card…please! I promise I won’t spend it on anything obscene. I’ll get up at eight, or eight-thirty, and I’ll stay out of Maria’s way, I swear it.”

I’m going to put her in my book. No, no, no. I’m just angry and there’s no reason to ruin a beautiful story with someone as feckless as she is. Sylvia is brilliant compared to Allison.

“Allison. Do you have friends you can stay with?”

“Why? I have our bedroom, and a house, and a pool. I don’t need to go stay with friends, silly. I’m perfectly, perfectly happy right where I am. Perfectly!”

“I want you to be out of my house by the time I get home at the end of the month. And I’m not putting any more money on your card. When you go, leave it.”

“What? But why would you tell me to…oh, silly! You’re just angry. I promise I’ll be better. I mean, I can get by, I suppose, without charging anything. I’m sorry, that was silly of me.” Her voice is kittenish, and I can see her full lips pouting clearly, right through the phone. If I were there she’d have my pants half-off already…and I’d probably already have gone online and paid the entire bill. But I’m here, and I’m thinking of Isabella, who, I’m certain without having to inquire, knows at all times where her credit limit is and budgets the money to keep it in low orbit. Allison has stroked me for the last time. This is such a providential call.

“No, Allison. Just pack your clothes and your jewelry, and whatever else you have that I’ve paid for, and leave. I don’t want you there when I get home.”

That was easy.

Allison says nothing again. I’m sure she’s stumbling with the idea that just maybe she might actually have to leave. That shouldn’t be a great problem, though. She knows at least a dozen horny, wealthy men who’d take her in in a heartbeat. That I’m sure of. Eight of them were probably at her little party. I simply hang up.

 

The Unexpected Absence of the King...and Queen

Isabella

 

My God, it looks like a blizzard is bearing down on us. I am standing outside the bathroom door with a towel around my wet hair, another wrapped around my body, mostly to keep the chill seeping in through the window off me. I turn my gaze from the swirl of white outside to the door ten feet away to my right. The door, of course, is shut. Did I bother to lock it when I came in half an hour ago? I smile. Yeah, right. Who would walk in on me? Bernie? Gertie? Never Charlie…I don’t think he sets foot in the lodge. I think. Matthew? Wherever he is concerning me, I can’t imagine he would just waltz in without knocking. No, he’s interested I know, but he doesn’t hit me as any kind of voyeur.

It’s supremely quiet until the clank of hot water hitting the radiator beneath the window signals the beginning of warm, radiant heat.

I remember during our second summer here when Sammie and giggling Caroline snuck me down into the steep-stepped, dark and dangerous cellar for an expedition. The wine room far off to the right behind a closed wooden door. We explored that room only for a minute, not knowing or caring at our age that people actually collected the stuff.

Sitting on metal legs the size of Los Angeles far away at the other end of the long, narrow room, the monstrous boiler. I’d never seen one. Neither had Sammy or Caroline. Caroline and I stood in a kind of spooked awe looking at it. Sammy, naturally, walked up to it and placed a hand on the front of it. There was a door with bolts encircling it, and a small glass window just above his hand. Above that, a massive round protrusion, cut in roughly thirds…with a pair of smaller thick-glassed windows on either side of a heavily bolted black strap that made the whole thing look like the face of a beast. A heavy chain dangled in a downward arc just below the thing’s eyes, and pipes ran everywhere from its body.

“What is it?” Caroline asked in a whisper. I shrugged. I had no idea, but it was scary.

“It’s the furnace for this place, I think,” Sammy answered her. "Weird looking."

I blinked over and over, trying to put it into some sort of perspective compared to our furnace in the attic back home. A sleek machine compared to what we stood in front of.

After our initial fear of the silent monster subsided, we walked around it, patting the cold steel for a few minutes until Sammy finally tired of it and said, “Let’s go back to the room where all the wine is. I wanna’ taste some!”

We were all in deep trouble an hour later.

I dry my thick hair, for a minute laughing inwardly at that long-ago incident, running my fingers through the damp strands with one hand. When the job is finished, I have to decide what to wear for dinner in an hour. Something nice, but not over the top.

It’s five o’clock. I can almost smell roast beef through the thick, rag-rug-covered floorboards. I hope I’m wrong, that I’m letting my imagination get the better of me. I peruse the skirts and dresses and tops hanging in the cedar-lined closet. Too Hip-Hop. Why did I pack that? Uhh, no, not the red-checked jumper. Not for tonight.

Screw it. I decide on black tights, knee-high brown boots, and my over-the-thigh gray knit sweater. Maybe the matching knit stocking cap. Not too formal or grungy.

Will he like it?

Purge that thought. Dress warm and comfortable.

I am curious to see what he’ll wear.

 

Twenty minutes later I leave the room. There Matthew stands at his door, just pulling it closed behind him. He hears me and turns his head.

“Isabella…” He freezes, scanning me, his mouth dropping slightly open at the sight of me.

“I…uh…you look stunning.”

It would seem that I chose the right outfit. “Thanks. Warm anyway. Ready for dinner?”

“Yes, yes. I’m starved.”

He doesn’t compliment me any further, just pulls one more time at his door, and then joins me for our second walk today. He looks very nice, but I don’t tell him. He wears tan slacks and a light black sweater under his open sportcoat. GQ. I’ll bet his wardrobe makes mine look totally Appalachian. Probably Ally girl’s does as well.

We walk down the hall, and when we arrive outside Frank and Michael’s silent room, I glance over at it and wonder aloud, “Do you suppose they’re caught somewhere in this blizzard?”

“There’s a good chance of that. God-forbid off the highway at some deserted spot in a ditch where no one will find them for days. Frozen solid, embracing.”

“If they had any brains, they would have stayed down in Denver. Maybe Frank?” I chuckle.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ll bet Michael is afraid of snow,” he says, returning my nasty chuckle.

Down to the dining room we go, and at the last step I am a little surprised. He casually takes hold of my hand and escorts me off it. I smile at his gentlemanliness, unnecessary as it is, and then we head for the door. The ceiling lights are off, but along the hall, the heavy, black iron sconces on the walls glow a warm yellow-orange.

A Bernie or Gertie created romantic atmosphere? What’s up here you guys?

I go in first, Matthew once again being all gentlemanly, holding the door open. The same cozy, dimly lit atmosphere. We take our seats across from one another, and neither of us speaks as we wait for Gertie to burst in with a steaming pot of Irish stew, maybe. Matthew seems nervous for some reason, fiddling with his silverware, his eyes locked on me. We wait.

Gertie finally arrives carrying a lidded, red casserole serving dish, and places it with a smile on the table.

“A Broccoli an’ cheese casserole…for you, Isabella. The mushrooms are fresh. I had to look pretty hard for the recipe, lordy.”

She lifts the lid. The aroma of spices and cheeses and onions drifts to my delighted nose. Now I’m famished! I think Matthew approves of Gertie’s concoction. He’s smiling up at her. The size of the dish, however, catches my eye. It’s much smaller than the usual dinner-for-four that she brings in. Like half the size.

“Frank and Michael?” I ask.

“Oh,” she says, “they phoned a few hours back. They’re stayin' overnight down in the city. You two have to make the best of it all by yourselves tonight.” There is a huge smile on her face following this. Either because now Matthew and I will have to entertain ourselves all alone (as she and Bernie, I'm beginning to think, would like) , or because she’s ecstatic that Michael won’t be in the lodge…or both.

“The snow is coming down harder. I’m relieved they aren’t stranded somewhere,” Matthew says in a comforting tone to her.

“It’s the first hard one o' the Fall. Kind of unexpected, and early. God-a-mighty, ain’t seen