Read Online The Magic Circle by Katherine Neville - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katherine Neville
Ads: Link
purple and yellow hibiscus all over it. Jersey was in a chic French suit, that particular shade of ice blue that was her trademark when she was on the stage because it matched her eyes. I hoped no one would notice our lapse in protocol.
“Mrs. Behn,” the man addressed Jersey, “I hope you don’t mind waiting a few more minutes? The president would like to be here for the ceremony.”
He didn’t mean the president, of course, but a former president: the one Jersey called the Peanut Farmer, whom she’d performed for when he himself was in the White House.
“Hell no,” said Jersey. “I don’t mind waiting if Sam doesn’t!”
Then she laughed, and I got another waft. Though I couldn’t see the man’s eyes behind those glasses, I noticed that his mouth tightened into a thin line. I stared at him in stony silence.
The helicopter was coming down across the road, settling on the Crissy Field landing strip beside the bay. Two dark-paned cars had driven out to meet it and collect our distinguished guest.
“Mrs. Behn,” the shaded one went on sotto voce , as if in a spy movie, “I’m instructed to tell you that the president, acting in behalf of our current administration, has arranged this morning’s agenda. Although your son, as a civilian adviser, was not technically a member of the military, his death took place while he was performing a service for—I should say, rather, operating in an advisory capacity to the military. Our government therefore plans to honor him appropriately. There will be a small ceremony; a military band will play; then the deceased will be given the seventeen-gun salute in farewell. After that, the president plans to present to you the Distinguished Service Medal.”
“What for?” said Jersey. “I ain’t the one who died, sugar.”
The ceremony did not go exactly as planned.
After it was over, Augustus and Grace retired to their suite atop the Mark Hopkins on Nob Hill, sending a message that they were “expecting me” to join them for dinner. Since it was just lunchtime, I took Jersey to the Buena Vista to drink her lunch. We found a wooden table at the front windows, overlooking the wharves and the bay.
“Ariel, honey, I’m really sorry about what happened,” said Jersey, tossing down her first glass of Scotch as if it were milk.
“Sorry doesn’t help,” I said, repeating a line of hers from my childhood when I’d done something wrong. “I’m having dinner with Augustus and Grace tonight. What the hell am I supposed to say to them?”
“Fuck them,” said Jersey, looking at me with those famous icy blue eyes, which seemed surprisingly clear, given her recent dietary habits. “Tell them that I was startled by the guns. It’s true. I was startled by those damned guns going off in my ear.”
“You knew they were going to give a seventeen-gun salute,” I pointed out. “I was there when the security agent told you. You were as drunk as a skunk. That’s why you fell into the grave—good God—in front of all those people!”
Jersey looked up at me in injured pride, and I glared back.
But all at once I felt it coming over me, and I just couldn’t help myself. I started laughing. First Jersey’s expression changed to surprise; then she started laughing, too. We laughed until tears were streaming down our faces. We laughed until we could no longer catch our breath. We were choking with laughter and holding our sides at the thought of my mother sprawled, ass up, six feet down in a hole in the ground, before they even had a chance to lower the coffin.
“Right in front of the Peanut Farmer and everything,” Jersey practically screamed, and this set us off on another peal.
“Right in front of Augustus and Grace,” I gasped between hysterical sobs.
It took a long time to run down, but at last we subsided into moans and chuckles. I wiped my tears with my napkin and leaned back with a sigh, holding my stomach, which was raw from laughter.
“I wish Sam could
“Mrs. Behn,” the man addressed Jersey, “I hope you don’t mind waiting a few more minutes? The president would like to be here for the ceremony.”
He didn’t mean the president, of course, but a former president: the one Jersey called the Peanut Farmer, whom she’d performed for when he himself was in the White House.
“Hell no,” said Jersey. “I don’t mind waiting if Sam doesn’t!”
Then she laughed, and I got another waft. Though I couldn’t see the man’s eyes behind those glasses, I noticed that his mouth tightened into a thin line. I stared at him in stony silence.
The helicopter was coming down across the road, settling on the Crissy Field landing strip beside the bay. Two dark-paned cars had driven out to meet it and collect our distinguished guest.
“Mrs. Behn,” the shaded one went on sotto voce , as if in a spy movie, “I’m instructed to tell you that the president, acting in behalf of our current administration, has arranged this morning’s agenda. Although your son, as a civilian adviser, was not technically a member of the military, his death took place while he was performing a service for—I should say, rather, operating in an advisory capacity to the military. Our government therefore plans to honor him appropriately. There will be a small ceremony; a military band will play; then the deceased will be given the seventeen-gun salute in farewell. After that, the president plans to present to you the Distinguished Service Medal.”
“What for?” said Jersey. “I ain’t the one who died, sugar.”
The ceremony did not go exactly as planned.
After it was over, Augustus and Grace retired to their suite atop the Mark Hopkins on Nob Hill, sending a message that they were “expecting me” to join them for dinner. Since it was just lunchtime, I took Jersey to the Buena Vista to drink her lunch. We found a wooden table at the front windows, overlooking the wharves and the bay.
“Ariel, honey, I’m really sorry about what happened,” said Jersey, tossing down her first glass of Scotch as if it were milk.
“Sorry doesn’t help,” I said, repeating a line of hers from my childhood when I’d done something wrong. “I’m having dinner with Augustus and Grace tonight. What the hell am I supposed to say to them?”
“Fuck them,” said Jersey, looking at me with those famous icy blue eyes, which seemed surprisingly clear, given her recent dietary habits. “Tell them that I was startled by the guns. It’s true. I was startled by those damned guns going off in my ear.”
“You knew they were going to give a seventeen-gun salute,” I pointed out. “I was there when the security agent told you. You were as drunk as a skunk. That’s why you fell into the grave—good God—in front of all those people!”
Jersey looked up at me in injured pride, and I glared back.
But all at once I felt it coming over me, and I just couldn’t help myself. I started laughing. First Jersey’s expression changed to surprise; then she started laughing, too. We laughed until tears were streaming down our faces. We laughed until we could no longer catch our breath. We were choking with laughter and holding our sides at the thought of my mother sprawled, ass up, six feet down in a hole in the ground, before they even had a chance to lower the coffin.
“Right in front of the Peanut Farmer and everything,” Jersey practically screamed, and this set us off on another peal.
“Right in front of Augustus and Grace,” I gasped between hysterical sobs.
It took a long time to run down, but at last we subsided into moans and chuckles. I wiped my tears with my napkin and leaned back with a sigh, holding my stomach, which was raw from laughter.
“I wish Sam could
Similar Books
