Kristin Ashe: Disorderly Attachments Part 22

When it was my turn to order, I could only say, "Ice water." When the girl asked if I had any special requests, I couldn't tell if she'd laced the question with facetiousness, but I answered politely, "Extra ice, please." I added two blueberry m.u.f.fins to the order and threw in a generous tip.

Mistake number two occurred when I asked Patty what she'd brought. She'd carted in two tote bags the size of small suitcases. Across several tables, she dumped mouse pads, caps, golf b.a.l.l.s, computer screen brushes, business card holders, pens, watches, umbrellas and travel mugs. Customer appreciation gifts, as she called them.

To view the trinkets as gifts was a stretch, but I did take a liking to the miniature "magic answer ball." In sixth grade, my friend Trish had owned a full-size version of this interactive, pseudopsychic device, and we'd spent hours posing questions.

As an adult, I once again felt its pull, and I shook the ball.

Is Destiny having an affair with Carolyn O'Keefe?

Chalk it up to fate or poor workmanship on the Chinese import, but no definitive answer surfaced, only "yes" and "no" floating in a clump.

My attention snapped back to Patty after she unpacked brochures, flyers, screen shots of compet.i.tors' Web pages, catalogs and fact sheets. Among the stacks, she'd included a photo of herself for the bio page.

When I came across it, I almost exclaimed. Either the photo was twenty years old, or she'd brought a snapshot of her daughter.

I delicately broached the subject. "This one would work, but do you have a more recent picture?"

Patty's cheeks reddened. "Do I need one?"

I fumbled. "You've changed the color of your hair and your gla.s.ses." From blonde to black, tiny silver frames to ma.s.sive black ones.

"Should I have a new photo taken?"

"Either that or leave it off."

"Off."

"Okay," I agreed, noticing she was wearing the same dress as she had on in the photo. A purple sundress, similar to the one she'd worn to the chamber meeting. Evidently, she didn't possess much range in fashion, but who was I to talk?

I had on a variation of my networking outfit, too, this time green pants, not khaki, and a blue top, not burgundy. My loafers with no socks hadn't changed, and I'd carried a legal pad, pen and calculator into the Starbucks in my hands, no need for a purse or briefcase.

I shuffled through Patty's materials, and we began to work on her Web site.

After we covered content, navigation, page layout and links, she offered to give my name to other chamber members in need of Web site content. "I'll refer so much business, you won't have to attend any more chamber meetings."

"One was enough," I said emphatically.

"That government speaker was ridiculous! Shirley must have owed the mayor a favor."

Capitalizing on the nasty tone Patty had employed, I said, "You're not fond of Shirley Ba.s.sett?"

"I was at one time. She'd deny it, but we went on a date years ago, when we both lived in Phoenix."

"How did that go?" I said neutrally.

"Not well. She couldn't stop talking about her lover, Carolyn. They were in a trial separation, which didn't last long, a week or ten days, something like that. Unfortunately, they decided to give it another try."

"Which put an end to your relationship with Shirley?"

"Indeed, but whooee, it wasn't easy letting go," Patty said, an enchanted look in her eyes. "I was physically attracted to her, that's for sure, like an explosive chemical reaction. Usually, I prefer women on the higher end of the butch scale. I've dated an electrician, a plumber, a master carpenter and a landscape architect."

"Your house and yard must be in good shape."

She matched my smile. "You could say that."

"How long had Shirley and Carolyn been in a relationship when you went on your date?"

"At least ten years. G.o.d, time flies when you're getting old. That means they've been together twenty years by now. Shirley must be as demented as Carolyn."

"What do you mean?"

"Carolyn O'Keefe's infatuations are legendary in the women's community in Phoenix. Name a pretty lesbian, and the doctor has stalked her," Patty said, breaking off a fraction of her m.u.f.fin. For more than two hours, she'd taken maddeningly small pieces of sugar and crumbs, most as tiny as pinheads, and placed them on her tongue. Presumably, they dissolved, because I never saw her chew.

I adopted a puzzled expression. "Stalked?"

"That might be too strong a word. Or maybe not." She added in a confidential whisper, "I shouldn't gossip, but it's so entertaining."

"Feel free. I don't know any of these people anyway."

That was all the permission Patty Ossorio needed.

With zeal, she recounted incident after incident, and the pattern was always the same. Carolyn O'Keefe would approach women in a professional capacity and offer to mentor them. They'd be flattered by the attention and drawn to her power, and before long, Carolyn would convince herself that the women were s.e.xually attracted to her. None was, and when the targets became aware of Carolyn's obsession and tried to end the relationship, Carolyn's creativity kicked in.

Take Judith and Sue, for example, two in a long line of Carolyn's attempted conquests.

After Judith rejected Carolyn's advances, Carolyn arranged for her business line to be disconnected while she was on vacation in Europe, causing her to lose the most lucrative client in her educational consulting firm.

With Sue, Carolyn's revenge was even more clever. After the middle-school teacher threatened to report her for s.e.xual hara.s.sment, Carolyn placed an ad in the local newspaper, offering free plants for the taking at Sue's home address. When Sue returned from an out-of-town school trip Carolyn had sent her on, she found her front yard stripped bare of the xeriscaping she'd spent years cultivating.

There were more women and more stories, but one topped them all.

At its conclusion, I had to excuse myself.

In the restroom, I struggled to regain my composure as I replayed "the airplane banner" tale, until it felt as if it had happened to me.

Five years earlier, during a high school graduation, Carolyn O'Keefe had paid a pilot to fly over a stadium in Phoenix with the following message trailing on a banner: Dear Geri, don't cry. I forgive you. Je t'adore. Joan.

Out of the crowd of 850 students and 5,000 friends, family and faculty, the dig was directed at the high school princ.i.p.al, Geri Cressman. Carolyn had tried to have an affair with Geri and became furious when Geri rejected her in favor of a first-year French teacher, Amy Mercer. Joan, the supposed author of the banner, was Geri's lover of twelve years who'd committed suicide three weeks before graduation, presumably after having found out about Geri's affair with Amy. Carolyn's timing was exquisite. The small airplane appeared on the horizon at the exact moment Geri rose to introduce the first student.

Jesus Christ!

The extent of Carolyn O'Keefe's manipulations made my eyebrows sweat and my legs weaken, and I fought to regain my breath.

When I stumbled back to the table, Patty caught me off-guard with a goofy smile. "Carolyn O'Keefe is coming after someone you know, isn't she?"

I hesitated, caught in the s.p.a.ce between a truth and a lie. "Yes."

"I'm sorry," she said, almost flippantly.

"How did you figure it out?"

"You looked like you'd seen a ghost when you heard the message on the plane's banner."

"I'm not afraid of Carolyn O'Keefe," I said stoutly.

"Have you met her?"

"Yes. I'm a private investigator, and she hired me to follow my lover, Destiny."

"Destiny Greaves, the activist? You're her girlfriend?"

I sat down gingerly. "Yes."

"I didn't know she had a girlfriend."

"She does," I said tensely. "Do you know Destiny?"

"Only by reputation," Patty said, before she did a double take. "You're an investigator? What about my Web site?"

I sighed wearily. "I can write. I owned a marketing company for eighteen years."

"That's good to know," she said without a trace of shame. "Does Carolyn realize Destiny's your girlfriend?"

"No. She gave me ten thousand dollars in cash to find out everything I could about her. Carolyn said she had thirty days to decide whether to have an affair with Destiny."

Patty shook with laughter. "Only Carolyn O'Keefe would give herself a deadline."

"They're attending a conference together in Steamboat Springs, at the end of the month. I guess it's down to"-I paused to calculate-"six days."

Patty's face bunched up. "Destiny Greaves is way too smart and beautiful for Carolyn. You don't have anything to worry about. Why is your girlfriend talking to her at all?"

"Carolyn promised to help Destiny implement gay and lesbian programs in the schools."

"Is your girlfriend ambitious?"

"Extremely."

"To get what she wants, would she sleep with Carolyn?"

Spots started flashing in front of my eyes. I blinked rapidly. "She'd better not."

"Hmm," Patty mused. "I wonder if Shirley knows Carolyn's up to her old tricks again."

"She might," I said, pulling at my eyelids. "She's hovering, too. She gave the Lesbian Community Center an enormous donation, which has to be matched this month. She followed up with a bouquet of flowers, brought to Destiny personally."

"Your girlfriend told you this?"

"I found out through Fran Green, my business partner. She's doing surveillance on Destiny, Shirley and Carolyn."

Patty started, as if someone had woken her up abruptly. "You're having your girlfriend followed?"

"What else am I supposed to do?" I drew in a sharp breath. "At least I'm taking action."

Patty absentmindedly rubbed her cheek. "I wonder what's going through Shirley's mind right about now."

"Could you talk to her?" I said hopefully. "Tell her about the phone line, the plants, the banner."

Patty waved her hand dismissively. "Shirley knows about those already."

"You're sure?"

"The banner anyway. She was in the stadium when it happened, and they moved out of Phoenix a month later."

"She might not know about the other incidents. Couldn't you tell Shirley to confront Carolyn?"

Patty shook her head, sending hair in every direction. "I wouldn't be the right person for that job."

"You told me Carolyn O'Keefe takes revenge on women when they reject her. On whatever matters most to them, that's what you said. We can't let that happen," I pleaded. "Destiny built the Lesbian Community Center from scratch. It's all she knows, all she cares about."

"How wrong you are." Patty snickered. "Carolyn approached you."

The room started spinning. "What?"

"She knows your girlfriend better than you do. She won't attack the Center."

"She won't?" I said in a small voice.

I felt as if I were about to faint.

I put the gla.s.s of ice water to my head, oblivious to the fact that it had no ice or water left in it.

"No," Patty said affably. "Carolyn O'Keefe is coming after you."

Chapter 20.

Carolyn O'Keefe is coming after me.

I was still digesting that thought when I heard a tap on the car window. "Hey, open the door!"

I flicked the electric switch. Somehow I'd arrived at Nell Schwartz's house, and I suppose I'd honked for Flax-because here he was on the street and there was Nell waving from the picture window-but I couldn't recall any of it.

Flax threw his backpack onto the backseat and hopped in front.