Cat on the Scent

            Her demeanor changed completely in the company of women. Her voice, straightforward, was not harsh but certainly not music to female ears. She looked her friends straight in the eye. She said what was on her mind. She never once dropped a shoulder or slightly turned her body to make a woman appear larger.

            Her women friends giggled when she’d switch gears the second a man entered the room. Her profound falsity, although a subject of amusement to most and disgust to a few, did not make women mistrust her. Each woman, even Harry, knew why women performed as Sarah performed. It was an unequal world.

            Beauty, short-lived, was a weapon to secure food, clothing, shelter, and status. Few women could stand alone and live well. They had to be attached to a breadwinner.

            Although bright, Sarah was essentially afraid of the world, afraid she couldn’t move in it on her own at the level she desired. She wasn’t wrong. Few women have as much power or money as Sir H. Vane-Tempest.

            She’d hit the jackpot. It was simple, really. She studied where the rich played. Since it was easier to get to Florida from Connecticut than to some other places like Aspen, she showed up, fresh out of school, then carefully edged closer and closer to the good parties.

            She had also been careful not to do something stupid, like sleep with the wrong man or take a job in a clothing shop. That would diminish her mystery. She’d attend polo matches at Royal Palm Polo Club in Boca Raton. She’d watch, alone, hoping to catch a man’s eye or that of an older woman needing an extra for a party. Usually men were needed as extras, but occasionally a young woman was needed to pep up an older visiting gentleman.

            One Sunday at Wellington, west of Palm Beach, she happened to be standing near a string of ponies. The groom, called away by another groom needing help to catch a runaway, left a pile of polo mallets on the ground. They were organized by length and whippiness of shaft.

            Sir H. Vane-Tempest thundered up. “Manuel, 51 green.”

            Sarah reached into the pile of 51’s, having the presence of mind to grab the one with green tape carefully placed where the shaft meets the head. H. Vane noticed immediately that Manuel had been changed by the good fairy into one of the most beautiful young women he had ever beheld.

            The rest, as they say, was history. An expensive divorce from Wife Number One—who was, after all, showing wear and tear—soon followed.

            That was seven years ago. Soon, very soon, actually, Sarah would be showing wear and tear herself.

            Had someone whispered in her ear, as she walked down the aisle, that the price of marriage would be high, she would never have believed it. Lured by surface glamor, she didn’t recognize the price was herself. She had lost herself. Once she realized it, she panicked. Such women seek solace in religion, booze, drugs, charitable work, children, and of course, other men.

            When she walked through Archie Ingram’s office door on Friday she closed the door behind her. She had made a point of never going to his office or calling him at the office.

            “Did you shoot H.?”

            “No.”

            “Why not?”

            “I’d never do such a thing. You know that.”

            “Wish you would,” she said in jest, throwing her purse on the desk.

            He seized her by the waist, drawing her to him.

            She didn’t resist. She kissed him, starting with the cleft in his chin. “I haven’t seen you for two long weeks.”

            Once the frantic mingling of body fluids was over, they had time to review their predicament. A black cloud seemed to follow Archie wherever he moved. As for her, glad though she was that Archie was out of his house, Sarah would never leave her husband. That was what she told Archie. Poor Archie cried.

            “It’s not that bad.” She ran her fingers through his hair.

            “It’s not that good.”

            “H. is a vindictive, combative man. He’d stop at nothing to ruin you. Discretion is the better part of valor.” She sighed. “He’s old. He’s not as vigilant as he once was where I’m concerned, probably because his testosterone level has dropped. All will be well.”

            Blinking back the tears, Archie moaned, “I hate that bastard. I hate him because he’s smarter than I am and I hate him because he has you.”

            “He has me in body only, not in soul,” she quietly said.

            “Maybe.” He frowned, for as much as he loved her, he was learning to distrust her. “But he knew I’d fall for the Teotan plan. The money is good. More money than I could dream of in my job. It wasn’t until that meeting in Crozet, the one where Harry’s cat jumped on the table, that I realized I had the most to lose. H., Blair, and Tommy risk far less than I do but their profit is higher!”

            She smoothed her hair. “Arch, you’ll clear a good two million and possibly more. I can’t see what you have to lose.”

            “My reputation. My political career. I’ll never be governor.”

            “Ah.” She hadn’t realized his ambition reached that high. “Other men have overcome scandal.”

            “This is Virginia,” he snapped.

            “Well, yes, there is that. Do you really think you could vault from the county commission to Richmond?”