A Garden of Vipers

CHAPTER 12

As I crossed the ballroom in the dark, a drink in each hand, the podium turned white with spotlight, signaling the business side of the affair. I returned to the table as the general manager took the dais. He droned industry jargon for twenty minutes: ratings points, targeted growth analysis, revenue streams, optimized asset utilization, and so forth. He was followed by three heads of something-or-other. Finally the GM reclaimed the microphone, burbled a few more comments, then swept his hand toward the Kincannon suburb.

“…cornerstones of our station and community, ladies and gentlemen, the Kincannons…”

The family members smiled and waved. Buck Kincannon elevated from his seat. A balcony spotlight centered on him, and I figured it had been aimed beforehand. The crowd applauded Kincannon like it had applauded everyone, solid, polite; then, after a few seconds, the applause started to wane.

A voice yelled, “Speech.”

Several men at a front table stood, hands clapping, calling for words from Kincannon. Folks at adjoining tables followed, checking side to side as they rose, concertgoers uncertain whether the music deserved a standing ovation, but everyone else seemed to think so. Applause thundered from the front table. They reminded me of cheerleaders in tuxedoes. Or, less politely, shills.

Dani stood and pounded her palms together. Kincannon took the dais with a laugh line, apologizing for disturbing “everyone’s reason for being here: free food and drinks,” then segued into more business-speak. To my untrained ear, it seemed fifty percent jargon, fifty percent bullshit; the trick, perhaps, to discern which was which. Or perhaps it didn’t matter.

After several minutes, Kincannon reverted to English.

“…nowhere is professionalism more evident than in the news department. No news team won more awards in Alabama last year than Channel 14 Action News…”

Applause from the audience at large.

“We’ve heard from some of those fine folks this evening, but there’s someone else who needs to say a few words. I’m talking about the hard-charging investigative spark of the team…”

“I didn’t expect this,” Dani said, touching at her hair. “How do I look, Carson?”

“Like you. Only dressier.”

“…gives me great pleasure to introduce a present star and future superstar of Clarity Broadcasting Corporation, a woman with more in her future than she knows…”

Dani grinned, shook her head.

“…I give you DeeDee Danbury.”

Kincannon lifted his arms wide, the Pope blessing St. Peter’s Square.

“Come on up, DeeDee.”

Applause rang out as Dani jogged to the dais. Buck Kincannon extended his arms and she walked into them, his wide hand rubbing her bare back. They traded smiles and a few words and Dani stepped to the microphone as Kincannon moved back a step, but still in her light.

She cleared her throat and mimed opening an envelope, blowing into it, reaching inside. The crowd went silent, wondering what she was doing.

Dani plucked an invisible card from the invisible envelope, held it distant as if to better see the words.

“And the winner in the category of best employer is…Clarity Broadcasting Network!”

The crowd laughed, applauded, whistled. I clapped hesitantly, fighting the notion that I’d seen her pander to the audience, to her employer. I felt embarrassment, but didn’t know for whom. Then I realized I was as naive to the ways of broadcasting as I was to the rental of formal wear. This is what they must do at these bashes, I thought. Kiss ass and march in rhythm. Relax.

Dani’s speech took two minutes. It was humorous. Smooth. Rich in praise to Clarity Broadcasting and the Kincannon family. Like her allusion to the Academy Awards, it seemed more act than sincerity.

Kincannon grabbed the mike, yelled, “Let’s hear it for our own beautiful DeeDee Danbury!” He waved his hands in a bring it on motion. Again led by the group at the front table, the audience jumped to its feet as if Dani were a figure skater who’d just completed a quintuple something-or-other.

The soiree broke up at eleven. Since Dani’s effusive blessing by ownership, she’d been surrounded by sudden friends. Outside, I waited as she chatted with others, enjoying the limelight. With little to do, I wandered in the warm night. I stepped around the corner and saw Racine and Nelson Kincannon and their wives waiting for transportation. It was a service entrance and I figured people like the Kincannons didn’t queue with the riffraff.

I leaned against a lamp a hundred feet distant and watched, just me and the Kincannons. No one in the family spoke to anyone else, their eyes flat and expressionless. It was like the show was over, everyone could turn off their faces and go home. Racine Kincannon was drinking, glasses in both hands.

Nelson said something. I couldn’t hear what. Racine spun, threw one of the drinks in his brother’s face. Racine threw the other drink on the ground, grabbed his brother’s lapels, pushed him away hard. The wives stepped a dozen feet away and looked into the night sky, bored. The two men seemed about to square off when I heard a voice like broken glass.

“Stop it, now!”

Maylene Kincannon exploded from the building like a rodeo bull from a gate, Buck Kincannon at her side. She thundered up, finger jabbing, tongue lashing. I heard the anger, but not the words. Her two squabbling sons looked at their feet. The wives remained turned away, like nothing was happening.

Then Buck Kincannon leaned toward his mother, said something. Whatever it was didn’t agree with her. She slapped his face so hard it sounded like a gunshot. No one else seemed to notice or care.

A black stretch limo rolled into view. The family grouped together as the chauffeur emerged to open the doors. The black beast pulled from the curb. I saw an impenetrably dark window roll down. A male face, contorted in anger, yelled, “Get a life, asshole.”

The curtain fell.

It was almost midnight when our driver returned us to Dani’s, the night drenched with haze and lit by moon glow, the air perfumed with dogwood and magnolia. Arms linked, we walked to the porch as a night bird sang from the eaves. She shook her keys free of her purse, opened the door. The cool, clean air felt good after sharing the exhalations of three hundred others for two hours. I looked at her phone, a red LED blinking.

“You’ve got a message.”

She went to the kitchen to rattle the lock at the back door, the habitual checks of a woman living alone. “Probably Laurel Hollings twitting me for the speech. He does that kind of thing when he’s had a few. Punch it on while I look out back.”

I heard the kitchen door open, the screen slam, as she went out to check the back porch door. I tossed my jacket into a chair, walked to the phone, pressed MESSAGE.

“It was great to see you this evening, dear DeeDee. I meant everything I said about the bright future. And by the way, that red dress was fantastic. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Four hours earlier I wouldn’t have recognized the voice. But now I did.

Buck Kincannon.

I closed my eyes and wondered what to do, then diddled with the reset button on the phone. Dani returned a minute later. I stood in front of the hall mirror, fiddling with the button on the vest.

“Crap,” I snarled.

“What?”

“The button’s snagged. Wrapped in a thread.”

She looked at the phone, the display blinking like it had never been touched.

“You didn’t check the phone?” she asked.

I glared at the button. “If I tear the damn button off they’ll probably charge me thirty bucks. There still scissors in the bathroom?”

She nodded and I hustled to the john, closed the door. I stood in the dark with my racing heart as she checked her message. My straining ears caught Buck Kincannon’s voice again roaming through Dani’s house.

It was a business call, I told myself; Buck Kincannon was the capo di tutti capo of the Kincannon family and Clarity Broadcasting. He probably called all the station’s speech givers, made them feel part of the team. It was just business.

I returned a couple minutes later, vest in hand. Dani was in the kitchen moving dishes from the dishwasher to her shelves.

“Can’t that wait until tomorrow?” I asked.

She shrugged; put on a smile. “Just felt like doing something. Excess energy or whatever.”

“The message, was it your jokester from the station?”

Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine; she turned and slid a dish into place, spoke into the cupboard. “Nothing important. A friend wanting to talk when I have a chance.”

That night we lay in her bed, but neither made motions toward making love. Lightning flashed at the windows and filled the room with shadows, but rain never came. Just past dawn I arose without waking her, penciled a note explaining that I had a busy day, and fled into a day already breathless with heat.