Chapter the Second

Lincolns and Cadillacs, along with the occasional vintage luxury car began rolling up to the Palm Terrace country club at precisely 11:15 am, Friday morning. The Orange County Senior’s Guild was a loose federation formed mainly from the more exclusive retirement communities in the area. Anyone over the age of 55 who could afford the membership dues was more than welcome, and thus the Guild was peopled by rich and (in some cases) formerly famous Californians. The faded celebrities had long ago resigned their laurels, and were content with comfortable obscurity, happy enough to rub elbows with the lesser known of Orange County. For without exception they all had at least one cause for common ground- that of advanced age. Together they commiserated through each illness, shook their heads over the sad state of the world in general and how it wasn’t like our day, planned day-trips and cruises, and enjoyed games of bingo, shuffle-board, and bunko.

Ingrid was something of a fixture there, though most everyone had forgotten her small claim to fame. As one of the eldest members, she could remember when most of the others had joined.

She rolled up to the front door, and the valet smiled to see her coming. She still drove her 1949 Packard, though it’d been completely refurbished more than once. It carried many memories, and she’d never seen another car she felt served her purposed as well.

“Good Morning Miss Delaney!”

“Good Morning Michael. Lovely to see you again.”

She entered the banquet hall and was making her way toward her usual corner, when Crispin launched himself into her path and commandeered her elbow.

“There you are my dear! I’ve been positively fretting! Jolly good luck you’ve arrived before Edith. And now, let me look at you…”

“Get off me Crispin, you parasite!” hissed Ingrid cordially. “I will not have any part in your little-”
“Really darling, you might have tried a bit harder. Dressed up a bit more you know. It doesn’t look as if you’re half trying.”
“I’m not trying at all!” she stated, attempting to loosen his surprisingly tight grip.
“T’any rate, I‘ve come prepared. Allow me.” and before she could stop him, Crispin had clapped a small bunch of African violets to the lapel of Ingrid’s blouse.

She yanked her arm free, turning sharply to make her escape and in doing so nearly collided with the lovely Edith Baker.

“Why hello! I don’t believe we‘ve been formally introduced!” said Edith graciously. Crispin took his cue with an alacrity that did him credit. “Edith, this is my friend Miss Ingrid Delaney- you know, the novelist. Ingrid, Mrs. Edith Baker. There, you’ve met. You’ll be great friends I'm sure. And how are you this morning Edith?”
“Just right as rain- what lovely violets! You know, I just adore violets.” she tittered a bit, and Crispin made the most of this small opening.

“Well, how strange you should mention that! Ingrid’s just potty about her vi’s aren’t you dear? Of course you are. Novelists always are you know. I never forget to bring her a bunch when we’re out together. It’s been that way since the old days.” He drew Ingrid’s reluctant hand through his arm and patted it gently. “Well my dear, we’d best find a table. Would you care to join us, young lady?” he put an extra twinkle into the “young lady” and Edith giggled.

“Oh Mr. St. James, you really are a card. Well, if you don’t mind…”
Crispin offered his other arm with the utmost gentility.
“Don’t mention it my dear, don’t mention it. Ingrid’s always starved for company, and being her dearest friend I try to accommodate her every whim, don‘t I Ingrid dear? I tell you, it’s been wonderful having her to look after since my sainted Helene passed on.”

Crispin shone like a morning star all through brunch. He shepherded his two charges to their tables with a masterly air, drawing out their chairs with a charming flourish rarely seen in this day and age. As he seated each lady, he bowed slightly, and practically clicked his heels. When he attempted to place Ingrid’s napkin in her lap, she ungratefully stabbed his hand with a salad fork. Edith seemed oblivious to all but Crispin, and did not notice how unusually silent his companion was.

However, Crispin saw to it that his ‘date’ was never neglected. His solicitude was overwhelming. “How are you enjoying the salad dear? Is the dressing too tart for you? Are you warm enough?Or too cold. Perhaps you feel a draught? Your water glass is nearly empty, shall I call the waiter to fill it?”

He knew Ingrid well enough not to expect a reply, and simply went on to the next topic of conversation. Edith seemed very much impressed, and said as much to Crispin. “Gentlemen like you were rare in our day Mr. St. James. Where on earth did you learn to be so civilized?”

“Well ma’am, I make it a point to keep only the best of company. Ladies like you always have a civilizing effect.” And he managed a courtly bow from a seated position, something he’d practiced endlessly before perfecting.

“Oh come now Mr. St. James. I’ve heard plenty about your relations on the other side of the pond. I’m sure you must have picked up a thing or two over there.”

Ingrid snorted loudly, and Crispin swiveled round, offering a monogrammed hanky and saying “Poor old Ingrid’s got a slight cold, haven’t you dear?” He patted her on the back, and turned to face Edith again pronouncing in his most casual air, “Well, I don’t know what that lot has been telling you about me, but I must confess to being nothing more than the product of my upbringing.” Edith’s eyes widened a bit, as she took this to be confirmation of the lofty rumors that Crispin allowed to circulate so freely.

The conversation drifted on from there, Edith attempting to learn more about Crispin’s “connections”, and Crispin, whose favorite topic was invariably himself, finally left poor Ingrid in peace.

Thankful for a lull in the irritating attentions, Ingrid amused herself by observing the other Orange County Senior’s Guilders present. Fred Waring and Gil Anderson were there, glowering at Crispin from across the room. The entire ladies bridge club had also arrived, and Ingrid longed to join them. However she knew that wherever she went, Crispin was bound to follow. Her attention returned to her dining companions when Edith uttered a small shriek of glee, and said “Oh Mr. St. James, really?!”

Ingrid looked up, wondering what fantastic stretch of reality Crispin had just completed, and found Edith’s attention centered on her. “Oh, Miss Delaney, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were the Miss Ingrid Delaney. The authoress of “Hildegarde’s Whim”! Why I read those books as a girl and loved them so! What an honor to meet you of all people!”

Ingrid absolutely hated to be reminded of her first success. She’d always been morbidly ashamed of it. Fortunately she was spared a reply by the irrepressible Crispin.

“Yes, yes, Ingrid wrote it, and all the sequels. But she’s dashed modest you know, dashed modest. Doesn’t like to be praised, though she takes it well enough. She’s currently working on my memoirs. A collaborative effort of course.”
“Your memoirs Mr. St. James?”
“Yes” echoed Ingrid coldly. “Your memoirs?”
“Yes, I thought I’d leave behind something for my dear grandchildren to remember me by. They’re so bally fond of me, and I of them. I simply dote on the little darlings. Have I shown you their photographs? No? Allow me.” And he produced his billfold, stuffed to the gills with family pictures. He spent some time oohing and ahhing over them with Edith, who had no grandchildren and obviously would have liked some.

When they’d finished he tucked the billfold away and laid the finishing touches on his master plan.

“It’s so wonderful to see a woman of` true maternal feeling Edith. The kiddies have missed their grandmother terribly. Sad really. Ah well. I want to leave them some fond memories, so I’ve commissioned Ingrid here to help me. Being an actor in the 30’s and 40’s was a unique experience, and I’m sure they’ll enjoy reading all about their grandpa’s theatrical escapades. Hollywood was a far different place back then you know.”

To wide-eyed Edith Baker, born and raised in a small Texas farming community, this man had now become an object of great interest and admiration. She was entirely under his spell. Crispin monologed about the good old days, name dropping shamelessly ("Oh, and when Claudette Colbert said that I just..". and "You should have HEARD what Mae West once told me about Greta Garbo!"), until Ingrid decided she’d heard enough.

“Speaking of your memoirs Crispin, they really aren’t going to write themselves. I’d best be going.”

Ingrid rose and bid a cordial farewell to Edith who gabbled on about “Hildegarde’s Whim” for some time before allowing her to leave. Crispin, still in the role of devoted escort parted from Edith with a great show of reluctance, professing himself impatient for their next meeting. She returned the sentiment enthusiastically enough, and seemed very sorry to see him go.

Ingrid set off for the door impatient to be gone before the Entertainment Committee presented their plans for this year's Guild trip to Catalina Island, and was somewhat surprised that Crispin actually followed her.

“Aren‘t you going to call for your car?” she asked, while waiting for the valet to pull round in her beloved Packard.

“Dashed odd you should mention that old bean. I meant to tell you- Eddie dropped me here. Said he didn’t have time to pick me up again. I suppose that means I’ll have to get a ride from you.”

“Thus completing the farce by having Edith see you hand me into my car and drive off into the sunshine. I admit it Cris, you won. But I must say, you’re an awful pest when you're chasing a woman- and I'm not even the one you're after. Why can't you just be happy manipulating your way into unsuspecting widow's fortunes and leave me out of it?"

The Packard rolled up, and Crispin flung open the passenger door with a grand flourish.

"Because old girl, where's the fun if I've nobody to share it with? Besides, the only thing better than meddling in your love life is using you to further my own."

"Crispin, you know very well that I have not had a love life in decades! And I have never discussed any portion of it with you!"

Her incorrigible escort carefully pulled away from the entrance, waving madly to Edith who was just leaving as well.

"Well my dear, someday you will have, and I hope that since I have been so open in my affairs, you will extend me the same courtesy."

Ingrid sighed and decided, not for the first time, that Crispin was quite seniel at last.

"You're delusional Crispin St. James. You ought to have your vitamin levels checked."