(Note: OK, so not quite back on track. Thanks for your patience and enjoy the newest entry!)
Well, I was definitely right about one thing – that awkward evening at the NYAC, combined with that warm late Spring afternoon on Lila Finley’s terrace did change my life forever, although not quite in the way I expected. After our initial meeting, Lila and I agreed to meet once a week to talk about her preferences. The strange thing was that her preferences seemed to change every time we met. That’s not necessarily unusual. Plenty of my clients have been very indecisive about what they want. But as I came to observe more of Lila Finley, it was clear she was a woman who knew what she wanted, and was accustomed to getting it. However, when it came to her funeral arrangement, she couldn’t seem to make a decision and stick to it. One week she wanted a ceremony in the country. The next week it was to be in the city. First she wanted a small, intimate gathering with only her closest friends and family. Then she wanted a huge affair with foreign dignitaries and press coverage.
I think maybe it was that last one that made me suspicious. Not the foreign dignitaries, because she certainly knew enough of them from her charity work. No, it was the desire for press coverage that gave me pause. Lila was no stranger to the media – she had been dealing with it from the moment she had appeared on the social scene as a young bride. But she never invited it. That’s why it seemed so shocking that she would want media coverage of her funeral (privately I knew the media would cover it anyway, given her standing, but that was beside the point). The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if there weren’t something else going on. Did Lila have some kind of ulterior motive in hiring me?
If Lila did have an ulterior motive, I could not imagine what it might be. And, since I found I quite enjoyed our Saturday meetings, I decided to put my suspicions out of my mind. Of course, there was one thing I couldn’t quite manage to put out of my mind, and one warm June afternoon, I found it, or rather, him, glaring at me while shading his marvelous green eyes against the hot sun with a rather well-shaped hand.
“Miss Fellowes,” Michael Rhodes said, with more than a trace of irritation in his voice. “What are you doing here?”
I bristled a bit at the tone and glared right back. “I am here at your grandmother’s request, Mr. Rhodes. You haven’t forgotten that she engaged my services have you?”
“No, but since she’s not here, I don’t see why you are.”
OK, so he had a point. It was a little odd for me to be there without Lila. But, seriously, did he think I was going steal the Monet? Besides, I wasn’t alone in the apartment. Elena was around somewhere.
“Lila had an appointment,” I said. “She asked me to wait for her.”
“I see.” Michael seemed like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. Instead he sat down abruptly and pulled one of the papers I was working on toward him.
“Help yourself,” I muttered. If he heard me, he didn’t respond to the comment.
“Guest list?” he asked.
“Yes. There have been some changes from last week.” There are changes every week, I thought resignedly. It will change again next week, I’m sure.
Michael perused the list in silence, and then he gave a slight chuckle. What could possibly be funny about the guest list for his grandmother’s funeral? My surprise must have shown on my face because he said, “I’m sorry Miss Fellowes. It’s just that, I am quite confident a few of the people on this list will be gone long before my grandmother. In fact, maybe you should keep a copy of this for your own purposes.”
I stood up angrily and made to leave the table, but he jumped up quickly and blocked my way. “Don’t,” he said, keeping step with me as I tried to dodge around him. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear.”
I stopped dodging, since I was sure it looked pretty ridiculous. “That’s a change,” I said, simply. I sat back down, since there didn’t seem to be anything else to do.
Michael sat as well. “I guess it is.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot, Miss Fellowes. I’m a bit protective of my grandmother, is all.”
Oh, that’s all? Well, then, insulting me and my profession is perfectly all right, then isn’t it? I opened my mouth to say something caustic. I have no idea what. I’m sure I would have thought of something. But just then Lila walked out onto the balcony and both of stood, pretending we had not just been arguing.
“Midge, dear, what brings you here?” Lila cried, hugging her grandson tightly. I tried, unsuccessfully, to smother a laugh at the disgruntled look on Michael’s face at the nickname. The disgruntled look became another glare as he turned to look at me as he released his grandmother.
“I thought you might want to go out for lunch, Grams,” he said. “I had forgotten about your Saturday appointments with Miss Fellowes.”
Lila sighed. “Honestly, Mi-Michael,” she said, catching herself in time. “I never raised you to be so stuffy. Her name is Francie.” She turned to me with a warm smile, and embraced me as well, as had become her habit lately. I saw Michael’s eyebrows fly up at the sight, and could not resist returning the hug just a little more enthusiastically than normal. “Thank you for waiting, Francie,” she added with a smile. “The Opera Guild is a bunch of catty old bats, and I’m afraid their gossip ran a little long this morning.”
Michael and I both laughed at this, and Lila’s smile widened. “Well, Grams, I’ll leave you two to your work,” Michael said, as he made to leave. “We’ll have lunch another time.”
“Nonsense. It’s hard enough to get you away from the office, Michael. You are here, and I would love to have lunch with you.”
I took this as my cue, and I began to gather my things. “We can reschedule, then, Lila,” I offered. “Just give me a call.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Francie,” Lila said, with a frown. “You’ll join us, of course. We can discuss the guest list just as well over lunch.” She took my arm and began to lead me off the balcony, Michael trailing behind. “Honestly,” she added, “you’d think the two of you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as each other!”
I risked a quick look over my shoulder, and my eyes met Michael’s. He raised a single eyebrow, and I quickly looked away again and turned my attention to Lila’s conversation.
Lunch was … awkward. Michael was polite, but reserved. It was clear he still didn’t trust me. I tried to keep the conversation professional, attempting to address the guest list issues, but Lila kept diverting the conversation to other topics. The more I tried to steer us back to business, the deeper the frown on Michael’s face. I wanted to believe it was simply that he was uncomfortable with the topic, but I sensed it was something else entirely.
Finally, as we stood to leave, he suddenly leaned close to me, and whispered, “You’re very single-minded, aren’t you? Always back to the matter at hand. If you ask me, it’s a bit cold.”
“I didn’t ask you,” I hissed back.
“What’s that, dears?” Lila asked, turning away from her conversation with the maître d’.
“Nothing, Grams,” Michael lied smoothly. “I was just telling Miss Fellowes that I would go out and hail a cab for her.”
“Jeffrey will take her home,” Lila said.
“I’ll walk,” I said at the same time.
“You can’t walk. It’s twenty blocks,” Michael pointed out.
“Yes, but it’s a beautiful afternoon,” I insisted, suddenly wanting to get far away from him. “It’ll be a nice walk.”
Lila looked doubtful. “Are you sure, Francie?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Thank you for lunch. I’ll see you next week, unless you need anything between now and then.” I gave Lila a quick peck on the cheek, gave a curt nod to Michael, and hurried out the door, not stopping to look back.
It was a beautiful afternoon, and the walk did give me a chance to clear my head a bit. I couldn’t believe that I let Michael get to me the way he did. I knew how low his opinion of me was, so why did it surprise me when he expressed that poor opinion? And, why did I care? Just because he was handsome and had those ridiculously compelling green eyes? There were plenty of good-looking men in New York. Michael Rhodes was nothing special. It was just that I was going through a bit of a dry spell, that was all. I just needed a night out – meet new people, distract my mind, maybe get a little drunk.
OK, so “a little drunk” is a bit of an understatement. I convinced Tamsin to go to a few clubs that night, and I’m not entirely sure how I got home (I assume Tamsin’s driver had something to do with it). All I know is that I woke up Sunday … afternoon with a raging headache, and three cocktail napkins with phone numbers for Andrew, Lyle and John. With a groan, I crumpled the napkins and tossed them in the trash – or near the trash, anyway. A little later, I found Roxie shredding them, but didn’t have the energy to care. I pretty much lay like a lump on the sofa all afternoon, and it was already getting dark when the phone rang, the sound jarring me as if the 4 train had just run through my living room.
I had no intention of talking to anyone, but when I looked at the caller ID, I saw that it was Lila Finley, so I picked up. “Hello?” I mumbled.
“Hi Francie, I’m sorry to bother you,” came Lila’s strong, cheerful voice. “Is this a bad time?”
“No, not at all,” I lied, trying to get my voice to sound as bright, and failing miserably.
“Are you sure? You sound … tired.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” I sat up on the sofa, as if to prove to her that I was OK (yes, I know she couldn’t see me). “What can I do for you?”
“Well, dear, it’s a bit awkward, and you must feel free to tell me no.”
As if. “What can I do for you?” I asked.
“I was supposed to attend a luncheon for Sloan Kettering at The Pierre tomorrow with a dear friend, George McGowan. But George has just called and said he can’t make it. Some kind of stomach bug, I believe. I don’t suppose you would be interested in accompanying me? I know it’s a cause close to your heart.”
It was. The doctors at Memorial Sloan Kettering had done everything they could to save my mother and, even though in the end, they were unsuccessful, I had always been grateful for everything they did for her. “I would be honored to join you,” I said, really quite touched that she had thought of me.
“Wonderful! I’ll have Jeffrey pick you up at 10:30.”
I knew better than to protest the offer of a ride this time. First of all, it would seem very ungrateful. And second, I knew very well one did not walk to a charity luncheon!
The luncheon at The Pierre turned out to be the first of many events I attended with Lila as the summer progressed. I don’t know quite how it happened, but soon I was Lila’s regular companion, attending 2-3 events per week. It did occur to me to wonder why Lila was including me so actively in her social calendar, but I decided she was just being nice. She had known my mother, and wanted to be kind to her daughter.
I guess if I had thought about it more, it would have raised my former suspicions about Lila’s motives in hiring me. After all, no one as active as Lila Finley could possibly be so close to death. So, why would she need a funeral planner at this stage? But, the truth is, I enjoyed Lila’s company and, as long as Michael Rhodes didn’t make an appearance (which he rarely did), I was content to accompany her wherever she wished to go.
All of these social gatherings also had a professional benefit, of course. Lila recommended me to everyone, and business really picked up. That’s not to say that the social elite of New York were dropping like flies that summer, but from Lila’s referrals, I received other referrals, and soon friends of friends of friends were requesting me, and I had more business than I could handle.
I guess that’s what caused it, really – the mistake that nearly destroyed my career, I mean. You’ll remember me mentioning it a while back – the Fairfield/Fairfield mix-up. It was my own fault. I can’t entirely blame the driver. Well, I can blame him for smoking pot outside the church while the service was going on inside, but the rest was on me. Except for the resolution. That was – well, you’ll see.
To backtrack slightly, in early August, my business was at its height. In fact, it had become so popular, that I had promoted Keeley to be my assistant planner. I still handled all the major details, and the client meetings, but Keeley had proven to be a master if the minutiae. She credited it to having to juggle two jobs and auditions for most of her adult life. Whatever the reason, she proved invaluable in helping me handle the sudden surge. Keeley was so capable, that I didn’t hesitate to turn to her when I found myself in the unprecedented position of being double-booked.
It didn’t start out that way, but a flood in the basement of the Flynn Funeral Home in Yonkers had necessitated a change of venue for the Marlowe funeral – to Lincoln Park, across town. But, Lincoln Park was booked on our original dates, so we had to move everything up a day. That would have been fine because the Doyle funeral, out of Sisto, in the Bronx, was scheduled for a Thursday burial that week, and the Marlowe funeral was originally scheduled for Saturday. Only one night of the wakes would have overlapped originally. So, moving the second burial up to Friday was not a problem. I could move between the wakes, and Keeley could cover when I wasn’t there. We had a perfect tag-team scenario set up. Until Mr. Doyle informed me that storms over the Atlantic had forced the cancellation of the flight from Dublin that was carrying roughly a dozen mourners – oh, and the body of Kieran Doyle.
Now, I might have convinced the family that the overseas mourners could miss one night of the wake, but pulling off a wake without the deceased was beyond me. And so, the Doyle services were pushed back a day, resulting in two families with exactly the same schedule for services. Keeley insisted she could handle the Doyles, and I trusted that she could, so I focused on the Marlowes. Despite a rough couple of days of rescheduling, everything was now in place. So, what could possibly go wrong?
Mackintosh Marlowe had been a friend of Lila’s husband, so I knew she would be there. I hadn’t counted on Michael attending as well, but he turned up on Thursday morning, escorting his grandmother. I said hello briefly and kept my attention on my work. The brief service at the funeral parlor went smoothly, as did the mass at Annunciation Church. As we were leaving the church, my phone vibrated, so I moved quickly outside to answer the call. It was Keeley, telling me that the Doyles wanted the procession to drive by their old house before going to Gate of Heaven cemetery. I told her that was fine, and not an uncommon request. By the time I had gotten off the phone, Mackintosh Marlowe’s body had been loaded into the hearse and everyone was getting into their cars. I said a few words to the Marlowe family, and got into the Town Car behind their limousine. We had a long drive ahead of us to the cemetery, since the Mrs. Marlowe had requested that the service be in the church where she and her husband had gotten married, but the burial was to be closer to their current home, 40 miles away in Fairfield, Connecticut.
The long procession managed to pretty much stay together through the convoluted side roads of Crestwood and Scarsdale. It was when we approached the entrance for the Hutchison River Parkway that things went wrong. Two cars ahead of me, I saw the hearse begin down the southbound ramp. The limo driver waved a hand at me from his window, and I leaned out and yelled, “Keep going – North!” He proceeded to enter the northbound ramp, and the rest of the procession followed. I frantically dialed the cellphone of the hearse driver, but he didn’t pick up. In retrospect, I suppose I should have had my driver follow him to make sure he turned around, but I assumed he’d quickly realize his mistake, would turn as soon as he was able, and would meet us at the cemetery.
I was wrong. When we got to the cemetery, I spoke with Mrs. Marlowe and told her it was a minor miscommunication and everything would be back on schedule shortly. I advised her and the rest of the guests to stay in their cars, as it was a blistering hot day. Meanwhile, I wore a path in the grass with my pacing as I waited for the driver to show up. I continued to call his cellphone, but he still did not pick up. After about 30 minutes of pacing, I made a turn, and bumped right into Michael Rhodes, who had come up silently behind me. He handed me a bottle of water and waited while I took a grateful gulp.
“Gladys Marlowe is beginning to get worried,” he said. “My grandmother is with her. What’s going on?”
I was too upset to be upset with him, and I blurted out, “I’ve lost the body, and I can’t get a hold of the hearse driver, and this is a total disaster, and I’m ruined!” I turned away in horror after that because I realized I was about to burst into tears. I tried to stave them off by gulping down more water, but that just resulted in me choking, and Michael patting me forcefully on the back.
“I thought you were more professional than this, Francie,” he commented. I opened my mouth to object, but he held up a hand. “Relax,” he ordered. Seriously, he ordered me to relax. And I did, a little. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to tell Gladys what’s going on, but that it’s under control.”
“But it’s not—“
“Then, you’re going to talk to the cemetery administrator and tell him that the burial will not take place until the afternoon.”
“But, they won’t—“
“Then, you’re going to invite everyone to the funeral brunch.”
“But I can’t—“
“Then, when the body has been recovered, you’re going to bring everyone back here for the burial.”
“But, how—“
“And I’ll meet you back here.” Michael turned to walk away, apparently satisfied that everything was under control. I was not nearly so sure.
“Wait – where are you going?” I asked.
Michael turned back slightly. “To find the body.”
And then he was gone, and I was doing everything exactly as he had told me to. Why? Why did I follow so faithfully the instructions of man I couldn’t be in the same room with without arguing? Frankly because I was at a total loss, and he had seemed so sure.
And he was right, damn him. The cemetery administrator and restaurant manager agreed to the change in plans. Granted, a bit of money changed hands – I’m not ashamed to admit it. And the Marlowes were a big name in New York and Connecticut society, so that helped. In fact, the logistical changes were the easy part. Explaining things to the guests was the real challenge. People were thoroughly confused and Mrs. Marlowe was beside herself. But Lila worked her signature charm and soon even had me nearly convinced that this was a minor inconvenience at the worst.
We had been at the restaurant for about an hour or so when my phone rang. It was Michael. “I’ve got your man,” he said succinctly. “We’ll be at the cemetery in half an hour.”
The relief was palpable. I felt like I could breathe for the first time in hours. I whispered in Lila’s ear, and she gave the news to Mrs. Marlowe. Within 20 minutes, we were all loaded back into the cars, and heading back to the cemetery, with the promise that a fresh meal would be waiting for us afterwards.
When we arrived at the cemetery, the casket was already in place at the gravesite. I saw everyone assembled and then drifted to the back of the group. I felt a light touch at my elbow and looked up into Michael’s eyes. He nodded to the line of cars and I followed him, unnoticed by any of the mourners.
“How did you do it?” I asked, once we were out of earshot.
“I got the license plate number from the funeral parlor and then I called a friend of mine in the NY State police. They sent up a chopper and had a look around. They put an alert on the plate number and when your guy hit the EZ Pass on the George Washington Bridge, they got the notification.”
“The GW?”
“Yeah.” Michael shrugged. “They found him driving around Fairfield, New Jersey, looking for Oaklawn Cemetery.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Yeah,” Michael said again. “Listen, Francie, the driver was stoned out of his mind.”
“What? He was fine this morning at the funeral parlor!”
“And at the church?”
“I – he – I don’t know. I got a call after the mass, and I didn’t see him before the procession set out.”
“A costly phone call,” Michael commented.
I wanted to argue. My nerves were so raw, I just wanted to yell and scream at him that it wasn’t my fault. But I couldn’t. Aside from the fact that I actually believed it was my fault – I should have spoken to the driver before leaving the church – I also knew I owed Michael everything that day – possibly, even the future of my career. I knew he hadn’t done it for me. Gladys Marlowe and Lila were friends, and so he had done it for her. So, all I said was, “Thank you.”
Michael simple nodded, and then I thought of something else. “How did you get here from New Jersey so quickly?” I asked.
Michael shrugged. “My friend in the police helicopter loaded Marlowe up and flew here. We landed in town and borrowed a hearse from a local funeral parlor.”
“We?”
“Well, yeah, I wasn’t just going to sit around and wait for a phone call, was I?”
“You mean like I did?” I asked, a bit resentfully.
He looked at me oddly. “From the few words I exchanged with my grandmother, you did everything but sit around. She said you handled everything admirably.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hmm. And I’d expect nothing less from you.”
Really??
Don't forget, you can follow Francie on Twitter @franciefellowes. Please also feel free to check out my website, www.kristenmareecleary.com
