Part 9 (1/2)
Chapter Nine.
TOTE BAG IN HAND, I MADE IT BACK TO THE HOTEL IN record time.
Good thing, too.
Otherwise, when I stepped into the lobby, I wouldn't have seen Gloria Winston race into the nearby ladies' room. If I didn't know better, I could have sworn she was sobbing.
Of course, that wasn't possible. I knew this deep down inside because deep down inside, I knew Gloria was the most well-adjusted and composed person in the world. That didn't stop me from automatically following her.
Which meant I was doubly surprised when I found Gloria standing in front of the mirror, both her hands clutching the faux-granite countertop and her shoulders heaving.
”Oh my gosh. Gloria, what's wrong?” I set my tote bag on the floor so that I could put an arm around her. No easy thing considering that Gloria towers over me and is just as wide as she is tall. ”Something terrible happened. Don't tell me. Not another murder?”
”N... n... no.” The word was barely audible, what with her sniffing and sobbing. ”Oh, Josie, no one was supposed to see me like this. I'm so... so embarra.s.sed.”
”Well, don't be.” Warm and fuzzy Gloria is not. That didn't mean she didn't deserve a little consolation. I pulled her into a hug.
Gloria's whole body shook like a gra.s.s skirt on a hula dancer, and I kept my arms around her until I felt her breathing slow and her sobs quiet. ”Now...” I plucked a couple tissues from the box on the nearby counter and handed them to her. ”Tell me what happened.”
The tip of Gloria's nose was an unattractive shade of red. ”It's s... stupid.”
”Not if it's got you this upset.”
She sniffled, wiped her nose, and reached for another tissue. ”It's the judging, I'm afraid.”
I groaned. ”What went wrong? No, don't tell me. Not yet. Just know that whatever it was, I'll take full responsibility. The committee shouldn't take the rap. This is my conference, and I have to step up and face the music, especially when things go wrong. Please, please don't think any of it is your fault.”
Gloria sniffed a little more, and when two ladies came into the room, laughing and chatting, she turned her back so they wouldn't see her swollen eyes. It was obvious she didn't want to talk when she knew they might hear, so I grabbed my tote and led the way out of the ladies' room and into the coffee shop on the other side of the lobby. It was late afternoon, and the place was nearly empty. I slipped into a seat at the table farthest from the door and facing that way so Gloria would have her back to whoever might come into the coffee shop, and when the waiter arrived, I told him we needed two gla.s.ses of water and two pots of tea. Settled, I patted the table as a signal to Gloria to sit down.
She did. Even as she mumbled, ”I'm so embarra.s.sed.”
”Yeah, you said that.” I tried to keep things light, figuring it would help her regain her composure. ”But you haven't told me why.”
Our water came, and Gloria finished off her gla.s.s in three long guzzles. Chin down, she glanced up at me through the coating of mascara on her spa.r.s.e eyelashes. ”Measles,” she said, and the tears started all over again. ”And now you know what a fool I am.”
The light dawned.
Measles, see, are what we b.u.t.ton collectors call the little red circle stickers that are put on the plastic sleeves that hold compet.i.tion trays when one of the b.u.t.tons on the tray is not appropriate to the category. One measle disqualifies the entire tray from compet.i.tion.
”You mean you-” I wasn't sure how to say it without insulting Gloria, but really, it was hard to fathom. Gloria was an expert and meticulous about her compet.i.tion trays. ”One of your trays was disqualified?”
Tears streaming over her cheeks, Gloria nodded. She slipped the paper napkin off the table and touched it to her eyes. ”Can you believe it? The category was ivory b.u.t.tons, and I could have sworn every single b.u.t.ton on that tray of mine met the criteria.” Her gla.s.s was empty so she reached for my water and took a gulp. ”Well, I guess that's what I get for being so sure of myself and entering a category I've never attempted before. You know me, Josie, when it comes to moonglows and realistics-”
”There's n.o.body who knows more.”
”Well.” Gloria hung her head. ”Maybe there's n.o.body who used to know more. These days... Well, maybe I'm losing it.”
I sat back and laughed. ”Not a chance. You're the sharpest-”
”What?” Gloria's head came up, and her eyes narrowed. ”Old lady? Is that what you were going to say?”
I had seen her be cold, and even rude, but I'd never seen Gloria angry, and I chalked it up to how upset she was. ”I was going to say you're one of the sharpest b.u.t.ton collectors I've ever met,” I said. ”Gloria, no one thinks you're old.”
”Not now. Not yet. But once word of this gets out...” With one hand, she mashed the paper napkin into a ball. ”I'll be the laughingstock of the conference. Of every conference.”
I doubted it. Though b.u.t.ton collectors can be precise, exacting, and focused on details, I had never known them to be cruel. Except, of course, if it was a b.u.t.ton collector who had killed Thad. Murder, it seemed to me, went even beyond cruel.
”Why don't you just tell me what happened. Something tells me once you put it into words-”
”It will make me feel better?” There was no amus.e.m.e.nt at all in Gloria's rough laugh. ”OK. Yes. You're right. Of course you're right.” She grumbled. ”I'm acting like a prima donna, and you know that's not like me. I suppose I was just caught a little off guard by that measle. d.a.m.n!” She pressed her lips together. ”I was so sure I'd win first place; I swear when I looked through the judged trays and saw that little red mark on mine, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I suppose that's the price of pride, right? Or maybe it's just what I get for falling in love with a b.u.t.ton. You see, the b.u.t.ton that disqualified me...” She traced an invisible pattern over the table with one finger.
”It was a b.u.t.ton I saw at a show in Philadelphia a couple months ago, and I was so taken with it, I did what I've told every b.u.t.ton collector north, south, east, and west never to do. I scooped it right up. The dealer a.s.sured me it was ivory, and I never questioned him. I should have. I should have double- and triple-checked it before I put it on that tray. But I was busy with other things, and the time just sort of got away from me. The judges' remarks-you know, the ones they write on the slip of paper attached to my tray-the remarks said the tray was disqualified because that b.u.t.ton was bone. Bone!” An unbecoming flush raced up her neck and into her cheeks. ”Even a first-time b.u.t.ton collector should be able to tell bone from ivory. And I missed it completely. There's a lesson to be learned. I'm so embarra.s.sed; I could just die!”
With all that had already happened at the conference, I didn't like to hear her talk like that. ”Not to worry,” I said. I resisted the urge to pat Gloria's hand because I didn't want to seem condescending. ”Your name isn't on the tray. No one knows that measle belongs to you.”
”You're right.” She gave me a begrudging smile. ”But if someone asks how my tray did-”
”You can tell them the truth. Not every tray can be a winner.”
”Yours always are.”
Was that jealousy I heard edging Gloria's voice? I decided instantly that my ears were playing tricks on me. Gloria was too matter-of-fact to be the jealous type.
”Oh, come on.” Again, I went for upbeat and hoped I succeeded. Our pots of tea had arrived, and I toyed with the string on my teabag. ”Everybody makes mistakes on their compet.i.tion trays now and again.”
”Not you.”
I scrambled through my memory banks, back to all the compet.i.tions I'd entered over the years, and found comfort telling her, ”There was that time in Kansas City-”
”Kansas City. Hah!” Gloria's jaw was tight. ”That was years ago, Josie. You were just a kid. These days, you'd never make the kind of mistake I made on that tray of ivory b.u.t.tons.”
”Maybe not, but-”
”But you have royally screwed up this conference.” Apparently cheered by the thought, Gloria sat up and her shoulders shot back. She softened the blow of her remark with a smile so genuine, I couldn't take it personally. At least not too personally.
”See?” I harnessed my irritation behind a smile of my own. ”We all make mistakes. I messed up on the scrimshaw b.u.t.tons-”
”And the salads at lunch, remember,” she reminded me. ”And some of the nametags for the cruise, and-”
”The point is...” There's only so much self-reflection any woman can take, and I'd had enough. ”We all make mistakes, Gloria. It's not the end of the world.”
”But if anyone found out... about that bone b.u.t.ton, I mean... my reputation...” She paled and lowered her voice to a whisper. ”I'm a judge at compet.i.tions all over the country. And I'm asked to speak at club meetings and conferences. If word gets out that I'm careless, that I don't know my stuff... Promise me, Josie. Promise me you won't tell anyone about the...” Langston Whitman walked into the coffee shop and called out a h.e.l.lo, and Gloria mouthed the last word. ”Measle.”
I crossed a finger over my heart. ”Your secret is safe with me.”
”Secret?” Langston stopped at our table and put one hand on Gloria's shoulder and one on mine. ”What are you two talking about behind my back?”
”Oh, just girl talk.” Gloria was back to her old self. Which pretty much sent the message that Langston should back off and mind his own business. She pushed back from the table and stood, making sure she kept her head down and her tearstained face turned away from Langston. ”It's getting late,” she said, ”and I'm having dinner with the Colorado club this evening. I think I'll just head back to my room for a little catnap before it's time to go.”