cheeks. It would be a perfect night to drive along the back roads outside of town, enjoying the smell of cedars, hearing the early summer sound of crickets in the grass. That’s the way I like to experience nature, whizzing by me on either side of a paved road.
Instead, Dougal ignored my instructions to keep his hands on the bars and relax his body to the rhythm of the bike. He sat rigidly upright and gripped my waist. There might as well be a 165-pound block of cement on the seat behind me. He wouldn’t shut up, either.
“I can’t do this, Bliss. Take me home. Do you hear me, turn this thing around now. It was a bad idea. I’ll have to think of some other way to pollinate my Thor. Maybe I’ll call Glory and try and set something up another way.” Since we were barely moving, I heard every word in painful clarity.
“Not a chance. We’re almost there, and you’ll live through it.”
“I don’t care. I want to go back home. I’ve changed my mind about the whole thing. Just turn around!”
A lone vehicle passed us and, as it glided by, I saw the familiar squat shape of a silver Volkswagen Beetle convertible. So the Belcourts were taking a night tour of the more upscale part of town. If they were looking at real estate in this district, they wouldn’t be interested in the Barrister property. I wasn’t disappointed, since the idea of a commission from a sale was a non-starter from the day Elaine handed me the listing.
With Dougal whining in my ear like a neurotic mosquito, I drove through Glory’s open wrought-iron gates and parked as close to the limestone steps as possible. Still, getting Dougal off the bike and up those steps to the front door was another challenge, and I ended up giving him a sharp kick on the calf to get him started. Thank God, Pan opened the door immediately. I shoved Dougal in ahead of me and stripped him of the helmet.
Pan and Dougal gazed at one another wordlessly while I divested myself of helmet and leather jacket, astonished to find I was still dressed in my black silk pantsuit. Not much protection if I dropped the bike on the way home.
Five minutes later, Glory and Dougal were squaring off in the middle of the Persian rug, standing six feet apart. Pan and I sat on one of the cream leather couches with a large bowl of popcorn between us, both of us reaching into the bowl without taking our eyes off the combatants. Simon had been fussed and cooed over by Glory for just under fifteen seconds, then tossed onto the teak coffee table. Simon squawked in protest but uttered no profanities. Yet. I slipped a magazine under his tail feathers just in time.
Hands on slim hips, shoulders back and head high in full battle mode, Glory was the spitting image of Joan of Arc’s evil twin. She wore a slinky pink tunic over matching wide-legged trousers. Pink toenails peeped out from three-inch gold sandals. Dougal, on the other hand, was still pasty and sweaty from his terrorizing minute-and-a-half ride. His buzzed hair was getting long on top, and I made a mental note to trim it, barbering being another of the personal services I provided.
Even before the agoraphobia, I doubted Dougal was a match for the hot-tempered Glory, but now I wouldn’t have bet a loonie on his chances. The thousand dollars was fading away like mist at sunrise. I jammed another handful of popcorn into my mouth and tried to make peace with that fact. But it didn’t work. I wanted that money.
“Okay, start talking and make it fast. You have two minutes to make your case, and then you can get out of my house.” Glory looked at her jewel-studded watch, tapped a shapely foot, and glared at Dougal.
Hold on. I was under the impression that I had already blackmailed Glory into co-operating with Dougal’s absurd pollinating scheme. But it appeared she thought the blackmail covered talking to Dougal only and not actually agreeing to the pollination swap. Watching Dougal’s mouth impotently open and close, struck dumb by his ex-wife’s fury, I believed a quick intervention was in order.
I stood up and walked around behind Dougal. Once I knew Glory could see me, I mimed a smoking action and winked at her. She got the message. Her eyeballs turned red as Satan’s ass, and I turned away before I burst into flames. I poured two glasses of white wine and gave one to Pan. I decided I better find that list of ladies who wanted their houses cleaned on Wednesday mornings.
Her chest heaving with rage, Glory again addressed Dougal. “Well? Are you deaf? I said start talking.”
“I wish I was deaf. Then I couldn’t hear you screech like Simon when he wants a cracker.” Ah, good, Dougal had found his voice.
“Listen, you worm. Just tell me what you want or Pan will toss you out on your pointy, stupid head. You and your backstabbing nitwit of a cousin.”
The diminutive Pan paused with the wineglass halfway to his mouth, looking a bit concerned that he could shortly be called upon to bodily throw us out the door. “As you wish, Miss.”
Glory looked at the two of us. “Are you drinking my Riesling?”
“The popcorn made us thirsty,” I said, and took another swig in case she took the glass away from me. Pan upended his own wineglass and poured the contents down his throat.
“Okay, Glory, here’s the deal.” Dougal managed to pull himself together, looking less pasty and sweaty by the minute. “We both have an Amorphophallus titanum. Both plants appear to be ready to flower. This is an historic moment, and if we can put aside our differences, we can cross-pollinate these magnificent specimens. Best case scenario is that both Titans will produce tubers, but there’s a good chance that at least one will. We share the tubers equally, no matter which one reproduces. How about it? Just think, Sif and Thor can give us lots of little ones.”
Pan and I looked at each other. Good grief, whatever would they name the babies?
As soon as Dougal started talking about tubers, Glory’s red eyes turned bottle green with envy. The woman was an emotional chameleon. Dougal knew he had her hooked and moved in to close the deal.
“You won’t even have to see me. As soon as the plants are ready, Bliss will transport the pollen between our houses. I’ll pollinate Thor, and I’ll show Bliss how to pollinate Sif.”
Dougal looked every inch the expert botanist.
“Never mind Bliss.” Glory spared me one brief, scornful glance. “Just supply the pollen. I’ll do it myself. Or Pan will. And if Sif does flower, Pan can collect her pollen and send it over to Thor.”
Beside me, Pan stirred uneasily. Probably not a plant biology major.
“Great. Now I just need to see Sif and take a few measurements.” From his pocket, Dougal produced a carpenter’s measuring tape. His eyes shone and he seemed willing, even eager, to make the trip to Glory’s greenhouse. Next stop in his recovery: Shoppers Drug Mart to pick up his own medications.
I glanced at Glory, wondering how she was going to get around Dougal seeing her pot plants. No problem, it seemed.
“Uh uh,” she told Dougal. “Tell Pan what you want and he’ll do it. Bliss can go with him to help. You stay here and cogitate on your sins, which are many if you recall. If you open your mouth even once, you can wait outside on the front steps.”
Take that, you agoraphobic.
Dougal gave us some directions on measurements, then whipped out a small digital camera and gave it to me with instructions to take a few overall shots plus several close-ups of the spathe.
“And don’t, whatever you do, touch the Titan. It’s so
