Voodoo Queen
Rumors floating around since my 30th class reunion are providing plenty of fodder for my stint as Master of Ceremony at the 50th. My agent, however, is adamant. “Any references to your classmates will put you in the center of a minefield. There will be lawsuits. It’ll be a public relation’s nightmare!”
Last October Marilyn invited me to MC. Her flattery was profusive. “The reunion committee asked for you. Felt your latest book release would be a great draw.” Without pausing, she moved closer to the truth. “Besides, I wouldn’t mind seeing you again. How long has it been?” Her voice contained that same flirtatious twang she used in high school.
As Janice doesn’t much care for class reunions, I responded, “I’ll have to get back to you. I need to clear it with Janice.”
At that moment Janice happened to be passing my office door on her way to the kitchen. Popping her head in, “What does Marilyn want you to ask me?”
“She wants us to attend my 50th. She has asked me to be the MC.”
“Sure! Why not.” As I stared in utter disbelief, her smile broadened. I was dumbfounded. Janice finally broke my silence with laughter, “Well, aren’t you going to tell her we’ll be there?”
I needed more than a moment to recover. Far too quickly, I responded, “I guess you’re right, Marilyn! It is time for me to reminisce with old friends.” Spoken so rapidly, I didn’t even realize what I had committed to until it was over.
Even though she was quick to accept, “Great! I’ll…”
I was quicker. “My agent’s calling on the other line. I’ll get back to you as the date draws near.”
It has now been nine months since I committed. Despite her abhorrence to the limelight, Janice is still committed to accompanying me. As she enters the kitchen on this summer morning, I stand to announce the usual. “I’m heading to the post office to get the mail.”
“Okay! Will you be stopping by Bernie’s to have coffee with the boys?”
“That’s my plan.”
The short walk to the post office is refreshing in the cool morning air. It will be blazing hot later. On entering the post office, Marty is his immutable self. Laughter and jokes bounce off every wall. Seeing me, he reaches under the counter to bring up a postcard. Waving it higjh in air, he offers me unwanted press. “Hey Will, this dang thing’s gummed up every scanner from here to Boston. Your friend Pam must be trying to rival that Trump guy for unforgettable invitations.”
Our class secretary always wants her notices to be standouts. However, her actions usually have unforeseen consequences. God bless her. Her heart is always in the right place. But like Marilyn’s sales pitch last fall, Pam’s hold-the-date postcard is a “catch twenty-two.”
“My friend, Pam? Where’d that come from?”
“Couldn’t help but read her invite. She eulogized you.”
“You sure you’re not confusing your words?” The mystery writer in me races to unravel his clue.
“Nope! COO’s ready to kill the lot of you.”
I smile politely. “Who’s COO?”
“Post Office lingo for Chief Operating Officer. When the Great Lakes District Managers began complaining about her postcard, a new ruling came down. ‘No more magnetic postcards!’”
“Thanks! It’s good to know Pam is making us infamous!”
“She sure is!” He laughs loud and hearty for all in line. I am out of there in no time at all.
As I enter Bernie’s Café, the idlers are enjoying much banter. It concerns the new postal ruling. George is first to act.
“Hey, Will! I hear tell the federal government has a wanted poster out for your class secretary.” That’s George! Always the first to act. Similar comments come fast and furious.
“Yeah, I’ll bet she’ll have plenty of great ideas for advertising your next book!”
“Wish I knew someone helpful like Pam!”
These start a greater barrage of witty comments and bursts of laughter. All are directed at my upcoming role as MC.
Returning home, their voices and laughter seem to ring out as I enter the front door. The telephone is ringing incessantly. Janice is about to pick up the hall receiver. Glancing up, she pauses to throw me a smile and a cheery, “It’s been ringing off the hook ever since you left for the post office.”
Looking down at caller ID, her voice shows little surprise. “It’s Pam!” Seeing something akin to fear crossing my face, “Do you want me to say you’re not home?”
“No, I’ll take it. Postponing the inevitable won’t bring relief.”
Accepting the receiver and punching the lite button, I vow to keep it simple. “Hi, Pam.”
True to form, she begins in the middle. “Well, what do you think? Great, huh?”
“What are you referring to?”
“Didn’t you get your invite?”
“I did. Perhaps you were a little zealous on my role as emcee.”
“No, No. Not that! I mean the theme. A Magnetic Reunion on a magnetic postcard. Get it?” Her cheery voice makes any rejoinder useless.
I mute my sarcasm with comforting, “Nicely done.”
“Thanks! I suspect you already know my play-on-words might make a great intro to one of your novels. Feel free to use it without giving me any credit!”
As she laughs, I envision a collection of magnetic oddities jockeying for position on her refrigerator. To stave off additional advice, “I appreciate your offer.”
Receiving my acceptance positively, she moves directly into her agenda. “Hey, do you think any more will go missing?”
“If you’re referring to those guys who dumped their wives during the last two reunions, no I don’t. I figure they were just running away from something. People often look for the right moment to make an exit. The second pair probably just imitated their friends from the previous reunion. As I recall, they were all close friends in high school.”
“That sounds more like a hunch from one of your book detectives!”
As her laughter contradicts my thinking, “Well, I’m not going to speculate any further. Maybe we can talk about this later. Janice and I are just about to sit down for lunch.” My pleading glance sends Janice into the kitchen.
Pam is in no hurry to end the conversation. “Sure. I was just checking to see if you needed any more emceeing ideas.”
“Thanks! You know me. I am always looking for good ideas, but right now Janice is ready for us to sit down to lunch.”
“Okay. I’ll call later.” Before I can respond, she clicks off.
Upon entering the kitchen, Janice comforts me with a warm hug. “Maybe lunchtime will give you a few minutes of peace.”
As I sit down to await a bowl of her famous vegetable-chicken soup, I pick up the morning paper. Turning to the obits, I go quiet. Janice is quick to notice. “Something get your attention?”
“Yeah. Remember Jim, our neighbor who retired to Haiti?”
“Sure. He and Tina were a lot of fun.”
“He died.”
“I can’t say that wasn’t expected. Didn’t he go there hoping some experimental drug would give him a miraculous cure?”
“No, No! That’s not what I’m thinking. Haiti is where those first two classmates jumped ship during the twenty-fifth-class reunion cruise.” Before I can speculate further, Ma Bell again nags. “I’ve got to turn that ringer down.”
“You’ve made that comment a million times.” We both laugh.
Caller ID shows ‘unknown,’ so I decide to have a little fun with some salesperson. Taking on my butler’s role, I use my deepest and most sobering voice. “Good afternoon. You have reached the Fletcher residence. To whom do you wish to speak?”
“Hi, Will.”
“Oh, Marilyn! Sorry. I’ve had too many unwanted calls this morning.” Before she can begin, I ask, “You ever been to Pam’s?”
“Yes! And yes, her refrigerator is covered with magnetic oddities. I sometimes wonder if she arranges them to convey a secret message. Hey, that might be a good way to begin your next murder mystery.”
“Come on! Not you, too?”
“Just teasing.”
“Well don’t. The postmaster let me have it this morning. Pam’s magnetic invites are sticking to every scanner from here to Boston. The Albert Lea post office had to hand-cancel all three hundred and fifty-two invites. Everywhere they go, they trap mail between themselves and the scanner’s metal sides.” This image causes us to laugh as we did while dating in high school.
After more small talk, she gets around to the reason for calling. “What say we get together for cokes at Gold’s after the reunion dance? Reminisce a bit.”
“That’s still three months off, let me check with Janice to see when she wants to return home.” Using Janice as my excuse always gives plenty of time to think through ramifications before etching something in stone. Following our Friday night high school dances, Marilyn and I often held intimate conversations in Gold’s back booth. We chose that booth because of its access to the alley parking lot.
After Marilyn finishes her reunion business and hangs up, the telephone rings again. It is Reg, my best friend since middle school. In high school, we did all the guy things together: double dating, exchanging info on girls, cars, and homework. As a doctor, he has made quite a name for himself by rushing here and there to assist in world disasters.
Before I can say ‘Hello,’ he gets to the point, “I see you’re going to the reunion!”
“Yup.”
“You haven’t shown up for one since our first. What gives?”
“Thought I’d hazard a second try.”
“Pam seems to think you’ll be a real draw.”
“Pam always gets carried away.”
“Tell me, what does Marilyn think?”
Reg is known for being blunt. “Why are you asking? Besides, how did you know I just got off the phone with her?”
He laughs. “Did she say anything about those guys who went missing at the twenty-fifth?” Before I can answer he continues, ” Did you know two of their boys showed up at our thirtieth?”
Trying to be casual. “So?”
“You just don’t want to believe something bad happened to those guys. I wouldn’t blame Marilyn if she didn’t mention it. Probably wants to keep you in the dark.”
Actually Marilyn did share with me her concerns about their abrupt departures, but I say nothing to Reg. I want to keep him talking. From previous conversations, he needs to get it all out before we can just kid around and enjoy our visit.
“A week after our twenty-fifth, I tried asking questions. It’s was as if no one remembered anything. Eventually my questioning began to make me look like some kind of wacko. Only Marilyn was willing to talk to me. Now I know why. She was monitoring my investigations. She is probably the one who started the rumor about me being a nut case.”
“You’re sounding like one of my dime-store detectives – paranoid.”
As I follow with a friendly laugh, he pauses, allowing me to continue. “You need to be more specific. I know you have referred to those guys in your letters. Perhaps your thoughts can give me a couple ideas for my reunion talk.”
Immediately Reg’s voice shows stress. I’ve hit a nerve and he jumps right in, “After those two guys went missing during our twenty-fifth, their sons showed up at our thirtieth. They were the spitting images of their dads. No one knows who invited them.”
“I don’t know where they got their invites, but I should hope they’d have some of their dad’s physical characteristics.”
“No, no. You don’t get it.”
“That’s why I’m listening. I would really love to know how all those rumors got started.”
“After their boys showed up at our thirtieth, two more dads went missing. Their spouses took it hard. During our fortieth, all four grandsons showed up. Each was the spitting image of their granddad from forty years earlier. I’d like to know who invited them, and where were their dads? I asked Marilyn. She oversaw ticket sales. She just laughed and changed the subject.”
“Reg, I don’t know anything about that.”
“Well, I do! And, I want you to know! At the thirtieth, when I asked Lowell and Dean’s boys what happened to their fathers, they looked at me as if I were crazy. When I stared back, Lowell’s boy folded. ‘He’s around somewhere. You ask him.’
“He was hiding a smirk. When I didn’t respond, he adds, ‘Dad told me of the time you guys dumped Bruce headfirst into Miss Dolly’s tall waste basket? Dad said she was a real babe, but that your actions didn’t impress her.’ With that, both laughed just like their dads had thirty years earlier.”
“Come on, Reg. Every guy had a crush on Dolly.”
“Yeah, well nobody’s seen those dads since the twenty-fifth and thirtieth reunions, yet all four of their grandsons show up at the fortieth. I believe Marilyn invited them.”
“You know me. My agent tells me to stay far away from rumors!” When he does not respond, “Look, I know you left a message for me, and that you have concerns about my emceeing. I am sorry I didn’t get back to you. I don’t really see a problem.”
“You don’t get it!”
“I’m trying to understand. Marilyn thinks the rumors funny. She asked me to capitalize on them while emceeing. Figures it might get a few laughs. Is that why you’re so upset?”
“No. Those first two guys were your track buddies, right? You still keep in touch with them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They stopped writing.”
“When?”
“After the twenty-fifth.”
“I knew it.”
His persistence is beginning to annoy me. “Marilyn said she personally talked with those guys and their grandsons at the fortieth. She remarked how much the grandsons resembled their grandfathers. She felt it no different than her daughter and granddaughter looking a lot like her. Parents and grandparents love it when their children, or grandchildren, look like them.”
“True, but answer me this. Why can I no longer find street addresses for those four guys and Marilyn? Why only P.O. Boxes? I did some online searches. Nothing showed up but P.O. Boxes and internet addresses. Want to hazard a guess as to where they all live?”
“No.”
“Big cities: New York, San Fran, Miami, New Orleans. Something’s not right.”
“Reg, your evidence is circumstantial. I lived in New York for fifteen years.”
“Don’t give me detective story answers.”
“Hey, you’re getting testy! What exactly are you asking of me?”
“Those four guys are the ones who set Wally and me up during Phy. Ed. I never told you about that because it happened while you were away at that boy’s school. When you returned, those guys became your track buddies. I just let it go. However, at the fortieth, those memories came flooding back as I headed across the dance floor to talk to their grandsons. When they saw me coming, they took off like the four winds. Guess whom they were surrounding?”
“Marilyn?”
“No! Marilyn’s granddaughter. She didn’t run at all. She’s a bold one. Her voice and mannerisms were exactly those of the eighteen-year-old Marilyn I remember. Even that didn’t bother me as much as the granddaughter’s insights. They were memories I would expect of a person who walked the halls with us.”
“Are you trying to tell me the grandchild is actually Marilyn?”
“You got it. She kept asking questions about you. Wanted to know how to get you to come to the next reunion.”
“You’re telling me the granddaughter encouraged you to let her know how to get me to come to the fiftieth?”
“You got it. At first, I thought it funny. ‘Tell your grandmother to invite him to MC.’ That really perked her up. Immediately she changed the subject by talking about why her mother named her Marilyn.”
“So?”
“You don’t think that strange?”
“No. Lots of kids are named after their grandparents.”
“Look, I know I sound crazy! But these grandchildren mimic the voices and behaviors of their grandparents from forty years earlier. They know secrets only someone who walked the halls would know.
“When I caught up with Dean’s grandson a second time and started questioning him, he spouted, ‘Granddad says you’re a jerk just like you were in high school.’ I looked at him in disbelief. It was the same voice I had heard forty years earlier. Then he adds, ‘Man, your crazier than Gibson!’”
“You mean that pervert psych teacher?”
“Yeah. How did he know about Gibson? That’s not the type of thing Grandparents usually share with their grandchildren! Later, when I met Marilyn’s granddaughter in the dessert line, she let slip what happened between you and Marilyn at the sweetheart dance. I never told anyone. Not even Paula. Have you?”
“No. Not even Janice.”
“When I reacted, she said, ‘Come on Reg, you know grandmothers share sweet moments with their granddaughters.’ Don’t you see? She called me Reg.”
“Look, people tend to act at class reunions like they did in high school. Maybe those grandkids picked up things from their grandparents while riding to the reunion. Maybe they were having fun with you, trying to act like reincarnations of their grandparents. Maybe they wanted to see if they could fool you.”
“Okay, then how do you explain this? Lowell disappeared at the 25th. His grandson shows up at the fortieth saying, ‘Grandpa got called out of town but is coming to the Saturday dance.’ I looked all over during the dance. So did Mike and Denny. We never found him. Caught up with his son again at the Sunday brunch. This time he says, ‘Oh, granddad got an emergency call. Said he wasn’t sure if he would even get here.’ Well, Dean never did show up!”
As I feel a need to know more about the original disappearances, “Wasn’t the twenty-fifth a cruise hosted by Marilyn and her late husband?”
“Yeah! She didn’t look a day over eighteen at that reunion.”
“Must have made her husband proud.”
“I suppose. Still, he was a queer one. Always lurking around corners as if looking for something. Called himself Doctor Youngman. No one ever did find out what kind of doctor he was.”
“You still haven’t convinced me nothing out of the ordinary has happened.”
“Why aren’t you asking me for details about the cruise?”
“You’re the one who’s concerned. I just want to prepare for my fiftieth talk.”
“Do you even want to know about Lowell and Dean jumping ship in Haiti?” There is something enticing in Reg’s question. For the past fifteen minutes, he has been jumping around anxiously, telling me random bits and pieces. This is the Reggie I remember from high school. He did this when stressed. However, ninety-nine percent of the time his concerns were justified.
Abruptly he changes the subject. “Maybe it’s those native dancers you want to know about?” His joke and laughter break the tension.
“I thought the last time you mentioned them, you told me it was more like a ‘love dance to lure men away from their wives’?”
“Don’t remind me. Paula is still mad.”
“Hey, who wouldn’t love living on some Caribbean Island and being waited hand and foot by a beautiful woman?”
“There’s more to it. Don’t you remember our junior prom at the Moonlight Bay Casino? You loved that place. You were the one who showed me the trapdoor between the floor joists just above the deep-water pilings. He pauses and then, “How did you find out about that trapdoor?”
“You’re asking after all these years? You must be wanting to re-live the good old days?”
“Maybe.”
As our laughter settles, I again tell him. “I was just pulling in after a late-night paddle. You remember how silent we liked to paddle on dark evenings?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, that evening was no different. I just pretended to be sneaking in. As I approached, I could hear old man Taggert’s son bragging about something hidden between the dance floor joists. You know me. A couple days later, I went looking for what he was talking about. Imagine my surprise when I found that trapdoor.
“After the Casino closed that night, and everyone had gone home, I came back and crawled in through it. You know the rest, I found myself in the walls between the girl’s and boys’ bathrooms.”
“Yeah! That’s where I found out how much Paula liked me. And that’s where you found out that Marilyn kept a diary on her dates. She was not such a hot item after Ralph broke into her locker and stole it. He had a real racket going selling thirty second peeks for a dollar.”
“Get to the point.”
“Our thirtieth reunion dance was there, so I asked Paula to visit around while I took care of some business. I went down and got into a boat so I could get to the trapdoor. I waited in the wall for what seemed an eternity. Finally, Marilyn’s daughter came into the girl’s lav. After checking each stall to make sure no one was there, she opened the door to let in Lowell and Dean’s boys.
After she locked it, they began talking about giving jujus to Dittmar and Gene as it was the night of the full moon. Maybe you don’t realize it, but Marilyn set our twenty-fifth, fortieth, and now our fiftieth reunions for weekends of a full moon?”
“So what?”
“You think that’s just a coincidence?”
Taking a deep breath, I pause so Reg can take a moment to fully understand the claim he is making. It only serves to rev him up. “During their conversation, Lowell began asking about using Dr. Youngman’s juju. Marilyn screamed, ‘Don’t you ever mention that again! It’s for someone special.’ I believe she means you. You’re the only one I know who is closely connected to that gang of five!”
“There are dozens of guys who fit Marilyn’s special category.”
“Yeah, like the characters in your detective stories! What about those kids running away at the fortieth, yelling, “Bring Will next time?”
“Let me get this straight. You believe classmates are disappearing at reunions and reappearing as eighteen-year-olds, and that Marilyn is behind it?”
“Go online and read the newspaper obits and police accounts. When you’re done, I’ll send you the originals. I saved them all. The online copies are not even close to the originals. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to hide the truth.”
“It all sounds like great material for a murder mystery. Are you asking me to write one based on your info?”
“Be funny if you want!” He pauses to take another deep breath before his next declaration. “You’re going to the reunion no matter what I say!” After another pause, the burning question burst out. “Do you still have feelings for Marilyn?”
Ignoring his comment, “Look, Reg, she told me you and Paula broke off contact with her after the fortieth. I’m sorry. You are the best friend a guy could have. However, you now sound like my mother after her fortieth wedding anniversary cruise. I never believed her story for a moment. She claimed a cabin boy brought my dad to some voodoo doctor who bewitched him.
“Hell, my old man showed up nine years later at her funeral. Even then, he was acting. He had a Bahama Momma back in his motel room. Turns out he married her nine years earlier. Disappearances always have natural explanations.”
“I’m telling you, don’t go.”
“I’m telling you; I’m going! I was wavering before this conversation. Now you’ve talked me into it.”
“I figured this would happen. I’ve saved the best for last. His pause is to get me to ask, “What’s that?” When I don’t, frustration has him blurting it out. “You’re so damn stubborn. You know stress always makes me jump around when explaining difficult things. You know it prevents me from giving a clear, step-by-step, logical explanation. Well, it’s not going to happen this time. I’ve been preparing for this moment since 2010.”
“Okay, persuade me.”
“After Haiti’s big earthquake, I was in the first wave of doctors volunteering to help. What I never told you was that Marilyn was there. I caught sight of her while sewing up a leg wound. When my nurse’s hand began trembling, I looked up to see what was affecting her. She was staring at someone near the far end of the hospital tent. Imagine my shock when I followed her gaze. It was Marilyn. My sewing hand jerked, ripping out a stitch. My patient yelled out in pain.
“Everyone, including Marilyn, looked my way. As soon as our eyes met, she darted out the back exit. She was that beautiful eighteen-year-old we knew so well. I turned to my nurse, ‘I’ve got to catch that woman. Finish up.’ She panicked and grabbed my arm and began shouting, ‘No! No! Very bad! Don’t go!” It drew the attention of everyone.
“’What?’ My rush to follow Marilyn brought terror to the nurse’s face. My loud, demanding question drew stares. Her fear and plaintive cry caused the others to begin scrutinizing me – as if I were some kind of monster. They watched and listened as if to rush me if I accosted her.
“Immediately I went quiet to allow the scene to return to normal. When she saw I was calm, she continued, ‘Voodoo Queen. Married to Witch Doctor. Strong juju.’ All the while she was squeezing my wrist so tightly, my hand become numb.
“When we finished bandaging our patient, I asked her to join me for coffee. It was then she told me an unbelievable story. I know you have been to New Orleans?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever hear of Marie Laveau, The Voodoo Queen? She once lived in New Orleans.”
“Reggie. Don’t expect me to buy into someone’s nonsense.”
“Hear me out! Mademoiselle Clapion, a voodoo practitioner, moved from St. Dominique to New Orleans in 1794. Before leaving, she conceived on the night of the January full moon. Also conceived on St. Dominique’s January full moon, and born on the October full moon, was Jacques Paris. His eyes were crescent shaped, the sign of a witch doctor. Clapion’s daughter, Marie Laveau, bore the half-moon eyes of a Voodoo Queen.
“Jacques was raised on Dominique and brought up to be a witch doctor. When he turned eighteen, his mother told him of Marie. She explained how a marriage to Marie would bring about strong juju. ‘This combination happens only once every thousand years.’ She enticed him further by adding, ‘Joined together, you can stay young for a thousand years.’ He traveled to New Orleans for the sole purpose of marrying Marie.
“Unfortunately, his mother never told him the rest of the story. The Queen’s juju becomes gris-gris when married to a witch doctor. This is the strongest and most powerful of all voodoo. Secondly, the witch doctor’s life becomes dependent on the voodoo queen’s good will. Voodoo queens often turn on their mates like Black Widow spiders do.
“Within a year of their marriage, Jacques disappeared. Although there was no funeral, a death certificate was recorded. Within weeks of the recording, Marie took a new lover, a new witch doctor. She also began traveling with subservients for these gave her even greater powers. The New Orleans people I spoke with claim, ‘Subservients are nothing more than groveling, male escorts who presence gives their queen more energy. ‘Fawning bastards’ is what I call them.”
Although I laugh, it does nothing to slow Reg’s storytelling. His voice shows great fear.
“Tall and statuesque, Marie’s light brown skin, high cheekbones, and silky black hair brought her instant charisma. Her goddess-like features never aged. Although a certificate in New Orleans lists her death as October 15, 1881, she practiced Voodoo in Haiti until 1982. During those one hundred years, she went through many lovers and subservients.
“In the late seventies, all that changed. Talking in her sleep, she revealed plans to replace her latest husband. Through research, he found out a new Voodoo Queen is made by using a gris-gris amulet given to a male subservient.
“If the man accepts the amulet in good faith, and places it under his pillow on the night of a full moon, and if it is then stolen and placed under the pillow of an unsuspecting female on that same night, she will become the new Voodoo Queen. The old Voodoo Queen’s body will then return to her true age. If she is old enough, it means instant death.”
“Sounds a bit tricky, Reg.”
“Don’t laugh!”
“Okay!”
“Once the witch doctor found this out, he watched his Voodoo Queen closely as each new moon neared. When she did give an amulet to one of her subservients to place under his pillow, the Witch Doctor followed the man home. His intent was to steal it and place it under the pillow of a fair-skinned girl who flirted with him. He believed she loved him for she was always asking small favors while smiling appreciatively, as a lover might. She used him as she had used so many guys in high school.”
“Look, Reg, I know Marilyn was in Haiti in 1982 because her husband was the ambassador. Your tale is beginning to sound a bit too wacky.”
“Just hear me out!”
“Ok!”
“After spying through an open window and watching the man place it under his pillow, the Witch Doctor immediately rushed to the front door of his house. Banging loudly, he called out, ‘Your mother is ill. Your mother is ill! Come quickly!’
“When the man came to the door, the witch doctor hurriedly told him his mother was dying. After the man rushed away, the witch doctor entered his house and replaced his Voodoo Queen’s carving with a similar one.
“Rushing to the consulate, he found a housekeeper he had previously bribed. She let him into the bedroom of the fair skinned woman, where he placed the amulet under her pillow. It was the night of the July full moon.”
“So, the fair skinned woman is Marilyn?”
“Precisely. The evening of the 1982 July full moon was the last time anyone ever saw the 38-year-old version of Marilyn. In 1987, she hosted our 25th cruise reunion with her new husband. She told everyone she had had a facelift and had lost twenty pounds.”
When Reggie pauses for me to say something, I don’t. Concern now creeps into his voice. He interprets my silence as being unconcerned. “You really haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
I laugh. “Just say you’re coming to protect me.”
“Don’t make fun of me! I promised Paula I would talk with you. She is as concerned as I am. Dittmar and Rita had a good marriage until he went missing during the fortieth. When I called Rita a couple weeks after the reunion, she sounded vague about him being gone. When I reminded her, she got angry; told me she had gotten over his death a year ago.
“I asked how she knew he was dead. Before slamming down the receiver, she screamed, ‘His funeral!’ Two days later, I got a nasty note in a letter and a copy of his death certificate. The certificate was dated June 11, 2000, natural causes. A Haitian physician signed it. You want to explain that? That was two years before the reunion. I still have the copy she sent.”
“Well, I got a letter from Rita too. She discussed his accident, and told me how much he appreciated my friendship. Tell you what. If it will make you feel better, I’ll call you every day during the reunion. Say five. If I don’t call, come looking for me.”
…………………………………………..
Tomorrow is the reunion. Reggie has called five times since his voodoo queen revelation. Each time he adds additional details. Last time he said, “You’ll see! Lowell, Dean, Dittmar, and Gene are just her lackeys.” Because of Reggie’s calls, I have taken to keeping a notebook next to my telephone. I do not want to forget any of his details. He has also given me a couple good emceeing lines.
September 15th
Marilyn has surprised us. After getting our nametags in the old high school gym, we are being escorted across the street to the Lutheran church that sits on the banks of the Bancroft River. I love the placement of this church.
Our kick-off is turning out to be quite different than I expected. Tim, our class president, after opening remarks, is asking us to sing, Shall We Gather at the River. His disavows any part of Marilyn’s request accept to say he is honoring her wishes.
Tim, too, has not changed since our high school days. He still does exactly as Marilyn asks. She has yet to arrive. I find her version of this song a bit humorous.
“Shall we gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful, the river? Yes, we’ll frolic at the river, frolic with the ones that we love. There our youthful lives are flowing, and will forever ebb.
Refrain: Yes, we will gather at the river, the beautiful, the beautiful, the river. Gather with our friends at the river that flows to the city of our youth.
“On the margins of the river, we will carry on and on. Yes, we’ll gather at the river; the beautiful, the beautiful, the river. There our new life will begin. Refrain:
“Soon we’ll reach the shining island; soon our journeys will be done. Soon our happy hearts will lift us, marching on as forever more. Refrain:
After singing, we head out the church’s back door. Upon entering the grassy area, a Lei of red and white orchids is being placed around our necks before we walk the red carpet leading into a large tent adjacent to the river. The number on our name tag directs us to our table. Janice and I follow the crowd. Inside the tent, a stringed orchestra plays Moonlight Sonata. Marilyn has really made this party one to remember.
On the end of the tent facing the river, there is no wall. The rows of tables are decked with linen clothes, beautiful China, silverware, candelabras, and flower shaped linen napkins. The whole scene is something of a movie set – real touches of elegance. Marilyn assigned Janice and I to a front of the center table near the podium and the river’s edge.
The lawn leading to the river has several tall cocktail tables. A multitude of waiters and waitresses are offering wines and hors d’oeuvres. Marilyn has again outdone herself. Our fifty-dollar registration fee could not possibly cover these costs.
Accompanying this warm September evening is a gentle breeze, an orchestra, and lawn decorations rising on poles pointing up to the full moon. The allure of it all brings back many fond memories of summer walks along the river. Reg is missing a spectacular evening. The beauty and tranquility are mesmerizing.
After dinner, Janice and I take a stroll on the riverbank path. It is truly a moment for rejoicing in what we experienced in high school, and the gift of our fifty additional years. The choice of dinner wine was particularly good, a 1962 Bordeaux, Chateau Latour – a perfect evening. My talk and MCing went well.
Curiously enough, I have yet to see Marilyn. Her granddaughter is here. She is as lovely as her grandmother was fifty years ago. Presently she is headed our way and stopping to greet us. Holding out a white gloved hand, “You’re Will, right?”
“You look and act remarkably like your grandmother did fifty years ago.”
“Thank you. Grandmother asked me to convey her regrets. Her plane was delayed. She will not land until around two AM. She specifically asked me if I would host you and Janice for part of the evening. Would you mind if I join you for a bit?”
“Not at all!”
Janice’s quick reply surprises me, “Thank you. I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name.
“It’s Marilyn, and I would love to hear more about my grandmother’s high school years. Sometimes I feel that I don’t really know what that part of her life was like.”
“I’m sorry. I never knew your grandmother. I graduated from Murry County high school.” With that, Janice turns to me. “Honey, would you mind if I turned in early? I am a bit tired from the ride and all. Besides, you will feel freer to share memories if I am not around.” Turning to the young woman, “Is that okay, Marilyn? It is Marilyn, right?”
“Yes. And thank you both for being so sweet about my being here. Not everyone feels it appropriate for grandchildren to attend.”
“Are you sure you want to turn in early, Janice?” Her expression tells me to ask no more. “Okay, I’ll catch a ride back to the motel.”
Taking my arm, Marilyn’s granddaughter leads me on a stroll along the banks of the Bancroft. She is truly Marilyn’s double of fifty years ago. I cannot help but comment. “So, you were named after your grandmother?”
“Yes. Our baby pictures look almost identical.”
“You have Marilyn’s smile and charm. I would guess every boy wants to date you just as they did your grandmother.”
“Does that include you?”
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