Delivery

A parking agent is looking at Victoria’s illegally parked car and filling out a ticket for it. I wait for them to finish while I happily sit on a marble flowerbed that decorates the shopping center entrance, kicking my legs out like a child. As soon as the agent is gone, I saunter to the car, yank the ticket, crumple it into a ball and toss it, hoping for more bad karma, and just maybe, an eventual warrant for the owner of this lovely car.

I toss the gift into the passenger seat, replace the torn envelope, drop the top, and proceed to the next phase of the mission.

With the help of some mild speeding, I arrive in Penelope’s neighborhood in fifteen minutes. It’s a neighborhood that is tucked away between a couple old oak groves and a lake. You could drive past it everyday without knowing there are houses back there, let alone expensive ones. I drive around the curves, appreciating that every house looks well constructed, each a different style. I pull up to Penelope’s house and park in her driveway. The house is two stories with stucco walls and wrought iron scrollwork a couple well placed arches give the house an Italian villa vibe. No villa is complete without a roundabout driveway and some tall columnar shrubs to block the view of the neighbors’ houses. Stepping out of the Maserati into this miniature Italian scene I feel like I’m actually in Europe, that or in L.A. about to shoot a porno.

I walk to the front door carrying the gift and card. I hit the doorbell. The _ding-dong _echoes through the entry. A tiny woman in her sixties answers the door after eyeballing me and the car behind me.

“Hello?” She asks.

“Hello. You must be Penelope. I am Victoria’s assistant, Warren. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I extend my hand. She permits a perfunctory handshake, but it does not include a smile.

“Pleasure,” she returns. “Is Vikki with you?” She squints at the car to make out any figures inside.

“No, I’m afraid she is stuck at work... staying busy. She did ask me to deliver this to you though.” I hold the gift in the middle of the open threshold. She looks at it for a moment, then instead of taking it, she does an about-face and walks through the foyer and into a large living room. She points at a side table, her summer shawl floating behind her like a bat wing.

I suddenly realize that I am to follow. I close the door, kick off my shoes and set the gift on the table indicated. “It’s a beautiful home you have here.” She ignores my complement.

She opens the refrigerator. “Can I interest you in an ice tea? Mimosa? Bloody mary?”

“An iced tea would be fine, thank you.”

“Fine? Of course it’s fine. What do you really want? I’ll have what you’re having.”

I give her a genuine smile. “Okay then, a bloody mary would be great. I haven’t had one in a while.”

“That’s the spirit.” She pulls out a mason jar of spiced tomato juice from the refrigerator with pickle spears and a large baggie full of skewered meats and cheeses. They are ready in no time.

I take a sip and am really impressed. “That might be the best I’ve ever had!”

“After forty years of practice, I’d hope so.”

“So, Warren, Victoria has told me a bit about you...”

I keep sipping my bloody mary, feeling more and more like I’ve gotten tangled in a spiderweb.