UNGODLY INTRUSIONS

Ungodly Intrusions Part One Spring 2018 Inch by inch I conquered the inner terrain I was born with. Bit by bit I reclaimed the swamp on which I languished. I gave birth to my infinite being, but I had to wrench me out of me with forceps. —Fernando Pessoa The Book of Disquiet Chapter One Mrs. Lambert’s charity ball was underway. Through the crush, waiters circulated, lofting trays laden with white wine, champagne and cunning little delectables—each new item expertly color-balanced, layered or sliced—not so much food as its rarified essence. Covering the event for the Goldmont Sun, Oregon’s fourth oldest newspaper, Nora Stanfell edged through the crowd trailed by her photographer, Jack Spitzer. Every time Nora stopped, Jack scarfed, grabbing quick bites and gulping champagne. Summoned forward, he’d wipe his hands on his thighs and aim his camera at a smiling couple or grouping of strangers willing to come together for a picture for the lifestyle section. Before moving on, Nora always checked to make sure she had the names right and maybe get a comment to weave into the story. Working their way through the party, Nora detected muted emanations of interest from some of the men, but she pretended not to notice. As usual, she’d worn her dark-green cocktail dress, purchased from a local resale shop. A red enamel bracelet trimmed in gold adorned her right wrist. The only good piece she possessed, the bracelet had been borrowed from a friend a long time ago and never returned. A twenty-something blonde came into view. About the same age as Nora, she was dressed in a red gown, strapless, plunging and slit high on her thigh. She didn’t have a nametag; there was no place to stick it. “A weekend in dullsville, how wonderful,” she pouted and swiped a peek-a-boo lock of hair from her eye. “I can’t believe Brad dragged me here.” “It’s business,” her companion replied in a matter-of-fact voice. He was wearing a tux but without the tie, and his nametag was upside down. “The Lamberts have money, and we need it. Museums don’t build themselves.” “Oh that,” the blonde said. “It’s an ego trip. One more thing you guys can slap your name on. When we get back, Brad promised me a new car. I’m thinking a Porsche.” “Get a white one.” Her companion perked up slightly. “Blondes in white cars look amazing.” Not on my list, Nora decided. Probably part of the Portland contingent. Busy with her notebook, she’d gone a half-dozen steps before she realized she’d lost her photographer. Backtracking, she found Jack, gazing at the spot the blonde and her companion had vacated. “Sorry, Jack,” Nora said drily, lightly touching his upper arm, “she’s taken.” “Yeah, Nor, I know, but can’t a guy dream?” “All he wants. Just hang in there.” She smiled encouragingly. “We’re almost done.” By 10:30, they were. Nora stood in the entryway, double checking to make sure she’d gotten everyone on her list while Jack fiddled with his camera. “Well, that was fun,” he said, looking up. His face was very round, and when he smiled his eyes crinkled into tiny slits buried in his chubby cheeks. Recently he’d begun shaving his head to compensate for a severely receding hairline which solved one problem while accentuating the others. “Was it that bad?” Nora asked, looking to make sure no one was in earshot. “They’re just people.” “People with money and all the stuff money can buy,” Jack corrected her. “They’ve got it. We want it. It’s not complicated.” Nora sensed the yearning in his voice. He’s still thinking about that blonde, she thought, letting her attention drift through the archway toward the party. She needed to go back and say goodnight to the Lamberts. It might be a good idea to bring Jack with her. Mrs. Lambert might want more photos. No, better skip it, she decided, remembering Mrs. Lambert’s look of suppressed astonishment when Nora had introduced Jack. She turned in time to see him pointing his camera in her direction. “Hey,” she called out, shielding her face. “Just checking.” He lowered the camera, with a jokey grin, adding, “You’re in luck. It looks like some of the pictures are in focus and hardly anyone’s head is cut off.” “And am I in any of them, with or without my head?” Nora asked, not trying to hide her annoyance. “No, of course not.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, Nor, I’m sure,” he replied, a touch of exasperation in her voice. “Why would I take your picture? I know you don’t like it.” “All right.” Nora allowed herself to be mollified. “But remember, I need all your in-focus, heads-intact photos by nine tomorrow morning.” Tomorrow was Saturday, but the party was important, and the paper wanted to feature it in the Sunday edition. “I don’t know, Nor. Nine’s pretty early,” Jack teased. Nora wasn’t worried. He wouldn’t let her down. They’d worked together before, and he’d never blown an assignment or missed a deadline. “Well, at least you got a free meal out of it,” she bantered back. “Free meal? Is that what you’re calling it? I’m not even sure it was food.” Patting his stomach, he added, “I have a big investment here.” And getting bigger all the time, Nora thought but didn’t say it. Jack was the only one she knew who wouldn’t need to stuff a pillow in his shirt to play Santa at the Sun’s Christmas party, not that anyone would ask him after last year’s party. “Well, that’s it for now,” she said instead. “Remember, 9 a.m. tomorrow.” “Right.” Bending down, he tucked his camera in his bag then hoisted the bag to his shoulder. “Okay, kiddo, I’m out of here.” He sauntered to the door. His hand on the doorknob, he hesitated and turned toward her. Light from a ceiling fixture slanted across his face, leaving the rest of him in shadow, making it almost seem like his head was floating.