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Ruffling
Feathers
"Don't look now, but the family from Hell just walked in." Despite her sister's admonition, Jenn Hutchins craned her neck ever so slightly to see the bar's entrance. There they were—the Landrys...from Chicago, as the maid-of-honor had reminded everyone throughout the longest wedding rehearsal on record. Jenn rested her hand on Amy's and warned, "Now be civil. I don't want to be fired from the best gig in Piñon." Amy Hutchins rolled her eyes. "I'm not that much of a Colorado hick. Besides, Annie would never fire us," she shrugged. "Look at her!” Amy said, turning her attention back to the maid-of-honor. “Such a queen bee—you’d think she was the bride. Her poor, sweet brother looks positively done in. Oh Lord, Kris's run into them and now they're headed our way." Amy turned and flashed her brightest smile as maid-of-honor Carol Landry, brother Dave, and sister Leila with her faithful groom, the indefatigable Rob Hurst, followed Kris Cox through the crowded bar to Amy and Jenn. "Hello again." Carol Landry cooed. "May we join you?" "Oh, please," Jenn answered, slipping her chair closer to Amy's and kicking her sister’s shin to remind her to hold her tongue. "We thought we'd have a drink and sample the local night life. The rehearsal dinner was so tense—we had to escape." Carol explained. Carol's brother Dave pulled up a chair next to Jenn—no surprise as Jenn was fifty times prettier than anyone else in the bar. Okay, fifty times prettier than anyone else on the planet, but that was Amy's impartial view. Practically perfect in every way, Jenn was romance-novel beautiful—impossibly long legs, honey-blond and lightly tanned, toned figure—Baywatch eat your heart out! She was also sweet, gentle, and funny in a maddeningly wholesome way. To round out the picture, she taught kindergarten by day and worked weddings on the weekend. Somehow, she was still single at thirty-one despite a long string of boyfriends. “Mind if I smoke” Carol asked, pulling a pack from her purse and crossing her legs, Rosalind Russell style. “This is Boulder County,” Amy countered. “Everyone cares if you smoke, especially the guy who owns this place. He’ll get shut down if he lets you light up.” Carol’s sigh told the tale of the downtrodden. “Ah yes, the health police rule here, don’t they. You know,” she added, popping a pretzel into her mouth to keep it occupied in lieu of a cigarette, “My boss calls your little community ‘The People’s Republic of Piñon.’” Amy chose this moment to take a quick trip to the bar to ask their waitress for another round. She figured if she didn’t, she’d say something incredibly rude to Carol Landry as she was sniggering over her last bon mot and really, truly get fired from the best gig in Piñon. By the time she returned to the table, Dave Landry had Jenn deep in twenty questions…the kind of questions men ask when sizing up date potential. "So do you play for an orchestra as well as the quartet?" "Oh no, Amy won't let me." Jenn demurely replied, winking at her sister. "She says that I'm to save my best stuff for her. We're doing your sister’s reception as well the ceremony. From string quartet in the chapel to swing band on the rooftops—or whatever it is Queen Anne commissions us to do for her clients." " Queen Anne? You mean Annie Edgerton?" Jenn nodded. "Annie Edgerton is Piñon's answer to the royal family. 'Queen Anne' we call her. Kris, Amy, my brother Martin, and I have been doing Queen Anne's Lace weddings for three years now. The best are when she flies us to exotic wedding spots to lend Colorado class to someone else's special moments, but local weddings are fun too.” She batted her eyes knowingly. “You get to meet such interesting people." Perhaps it was her soft, teasing smile, or maybe it was just the thought of exotic spots featuring Jenn Hutchins in a bikini, but Dave Landry no longer looked beat. And it looked like he didn’t need to ask any more questions either. Now it was Jenn's turn. "So, how long will you be visiting Piñon?" "I live here now. Just bought a house on Lincoln Avenue and moved in last week." "So how does our sleepy little college town rate the likes of a Chicago lawyer?" "How did you know I was a lawyer?" "Everyone who moves to Colorado from Chicago is a lawyer. I don't know why it is, but I'm right, aren't I?" "Right on the money." Dave leaned toward Jenn. "Your sleepy little town just happens to be the new headquarters of the Donovan Foundation and the new site of our software engineering division. I head up the legal staff and..." Amy, who had been enduring small talk with Carol, turned sharply on Dave. “You're responsible for that monstrosity they're putting up on Second Avenue?" "Amy, please, not now." Jenn's voice tightened to a high note. She looked sharply at her sister and shook her head slightly. Dave didn’t miss a beat. "No, Jenn. It's alright,” he said, gently patting her hand. “Now then, Amy, what's wrong with our building?" "It's not the building. It's where it is. Did you know that somebody authorized somebody to bribe our mayor, who happens to be Kris's father, to let some thugs cut down the most beautiful maple tree in Piñon? Do you have any idea how long it takes for a tree to grow in Colorado? Do you know how hard it is to get anything to grow, besides urban sprawl, in Colorado? Thanks to your precious foundation, we are on our way back to being endless prairie." Amy finished. The table sat in shocked silence. God, but I can't stand outsiders coming in and messing things up, Amy thought. Okay, take a breath and apologize. Before Amy could apologize, the lawyer slipped into gear. "Now, Amy, we aren't bad guys. In fact, we're very good guys. Mr. Donovan decided to base The Donovan Foundation here in Piñon for sentimental reasons, and we also decided to move our software division here because of the top-notch engineering department at Courtland and the quality of life in Boulder County. We think newly minted software jocks will welcome the opportunity to stay in Colorado." Now Dave was smiling. "When I tell Mr. Donovan that we've destroyed your tree, I know that he'll do everything in his power..." "Oh, give me a break." Amy laughed good-naturedly. "You lawyers are all alike. Smooth talking operators. I apologize for ranting—trees are my hot button and it's not like I won't have my day in court." Dave looked at Amy with a dawning realization. "You're not the one who's filed the lawsuit...?" "Can we still play at your sister's wedding if she says 'yes'?" Kris piped up from across the table. Ever since she had ushered the wedding party to the table, Kris Cox had barely sat down to talk with them, bopping up and down to refresh drinks and scan the crowd for old friends and new faces. From the outset, it was clear that Dave Landry was interested in Jenn—strike one—and Rob Hurst was going to be married the next day—strike two—so Kris considered her work with this party done and was out trolling for fresh meat for herself and Amy. It didn’t cross her mind to troll for Carol Landry as well. Rosalind Russell was on her own! Dave looked from Kris to Amy to Jenn and back to Kris. He sat back and enjoyed having three pretty women wait for his verdict. He cocked his head. Trained to wait for the right moment, he let the corners of his mouth tilt with satisfaction. Amy threw up her hands. "Okay, okay. I filed the lawsuit,” she admitted. “The judge is going to throw the case out anyway.” “The antics of the Hutchins family are not new to this particular judge,” Kris explained to Dave. Kris and Amy, old friends that they were, did not see eye to eye on civic involvement. Kris would have preferred Amy to keep a lower profile, but that would have been like asking Gandhi not to meditate. “No they’re not, Kris. We all know that,” Amy shot back. Then she turned back to Dave, “But I wanted to get the attention of you Donovan big-wigs and let you know that open space is a big deal here, and trees are a big deal, and small town people don't like to be pushed around by outsiders. If you're going to live in Piñon, you better learn that the smaller the town, the bigger the politics." "Point taken." Dave pushed back his chair, and gallantly bowed to Amy. Hand over heart, he declared, "On behalf of Mr. Donovan and the entire Donovan Foundation and Donovan Industries, I extend my sincere apologies to you personally and to every man, woman, and child in Piñon." Amy threw back her head and laughed while Jenn and Kris applauded their new friend as he sat down. Carol Landry wandered away to order another glass of wine. She had had no part in most of the conversation and was tired of sending unanswered telegraphs that she was bored with the evening. The bride and groom decided to have one more dance. Dave turned back to Jenn with deliberate intensity and renewed twenty questions with vigor. Amy winked at Kris across the table and tugged her ear. Kris shook her head at her old friend who was willing to battle the bad guys and the good guys and any guys that ruffled her feathers. Three sets into the reception, The Royal Court had the hall rocking. Queen Anne—Annie Edgerton, that is—had played it safe with the Chicago newcomers and had given them her classic wedding. Ceremony at the stone chapel and reception at Settler's Hall. Settler's Hall was a gorgeous Painted Lady—a Victorian mansion built with gold mined out of the Colorado hills over a hundred years ago. Now she was a discrete yellow and white, hugged by a huge wrap-around porch, and luscious grounds for wedding parties to rock and roll under the stars. Rather like a big wedding cake, Amy always thought when the band played there. The band, The Royal Court—Amy, Jenn, and Martin Hutchins and Kris Cox—had the party well in hand. Even Carol Landry, maid-of-honor from Hell, couldn't find any sympathizers as she fired off zingers regarding the ‘rustics.’ "Hey, Godiva Girl!" Amy looked down from the bandstand, her eyes widening in delighted recognition at the brown-eyed, handsome man smiling up at her. She blew him a kiss and told the crowd to find another glass of champagne while the band found some air and water. For Richard Clayton, she would cut any set short. "Richard, you good-looking devil." Amy exclaimed as she thew her arms around him. He spun her around and gave her a delicious kiss. "What are you doing here? Don't you know this is a swank party—you can't just crash in." "I was invited to this party, I’ll have you know. Although I missed my flight and didn't make the ceremony..." "Richard, you dog. You missed the ceremony on purpose—I can tell. So, are you with the Hurst party or the Landry party?" Amy asked, mimicking the ushers. "Actually, neither. They all work for my cousin—his foundation, his company…his pleasure." Richard's eyes danced at her. "I get invited to all these Donovan events—and this wedding is a Donovan event, believe me. Donovan employees seem to think I have an inside track with the old man, so I’m always on the invite list." "You're cousin to the elusive Mr. Donovan? I wish I'd known you were so well connected. I might have considered one of those offers you're always sending my way," Amy teased. "Darling, I thought you knew I was a trust-fund baby. If that's all it took to get you away from that awful boyfriend of yours, I would have shared my guilty secret long ago. By the way, you're not still with Greg are you?" Richard looked down his nose at Amy, much like a stern father reading his daughter the riot act. He was acting the comic, but Amy could see an eagerness behind the banter in his eyes. She gritted her teeth and smiled weakly. She liked Richard so much, and she hated hurting him this way all the time. If only he wouldn’t push so. "Guilty as charged,” she said firmly. “And I'm staying that way. He's away now, down in South America skiing for the summer. And he’s not awful, not really.” She reached up and stroked Richard’s cheek tenderly, wishing he wouldn’t look at her quite so earnestly. “Come by for dinner tomorrow and we can catch up." She kissed him again quickly. He pulled her to him and gave her waist a hard squeeze before she jumped back up on the stage. She scribbled her home number and address on a business card and handed it to Richard. She gulped the water Jenn waved at her, lifted the microphone to her lips and asked for requests. "There's nothing The Royal Court doesn't know...so let's go!" Richard stood for a few moments watching Amy, her black sequined dress setting off pale, freckled skin that shone with the lustre of health. Her long curly brown hair swayed enticingly around her hips. Men loved Amy’s hair, thigh-length, thick with chestnut curls, and Richard was no exception. He’d called her ‘Godiva Girl’ since the first day he’d laid eyes on her as a college freshman. As he watched her, his smile was one of pure physical pleasure. Her bare arms were clapping over her head as she flirted with the crowd and got them to their feet, dancing and clapping and laughing and falling in love with each other. Richard sighed and began to turn away when Jenn caught his eye from the keyboard and pursed her lips to send him an air kiss—he waved at her and she smiled back sympathetically. She knew how he felt about Amy and she knew Amy wasn’t going to be falling in love with him any time soon. Too bad he hadn’t pursued Jenn, he mused, she might have loved him back. But then Richard had always liked the grit and earthiness of Amy over the satiny smoothness of Jenn. He steeled himself and moved his eyes from Jenn to Kris Cox, who nodded blandly to him. Last year when he had visited Piñon, for his Courtland class of ’89 reunion, Richard and Kris had found temporary comfort in each other’s arms and beds and had soon regretted it. Amy didn’t know and neither Richard nor Kris wanted her to find out. The female members of The Royal Court suitably scrutinized, Richard wandered off in search of the bar. He found it and a glass of champagne, flirted with the female bartender, and sat down at the head table next to Dave Landry, who was also admiring the pulchritude of three-quarters of the band. "Richard, purely out of scientific curiosity, how is it that you always know the prettiest girls at every function? Not only know, but invariably they're former or even current girlfriends." Richard laughed at this picture of himself. "Dave, in this case, you're wrong, Amy Hutchins categorically refuses to move beyond the ‘just friends’ stage. She has the most god-awful boyfriend that she won’t dump. He’s her blind spot—her single flaw. He's a leach and a leech, and she won't let go of him." "Seriously now, Richard. What do you know about the Hutchins family? Paul thinks they'll be trouble, and Amy has already given us some problems." At this last statement, Richard raised a shaggy eyebrow at Dave and twisted his mouth into a smirk. He exhaled slowly. “What do I know about Amy’s family? You know, Dave, just because my fund is managed by Donovan lawyers, doesn’t mean I’m going to sell out my friends.” Dave displayed no emotion at this so Richard went on, “Aw well, there's no free lunch." He sighed, took his time with a sip of champagne, swirling the glass and examining the bubbles intently. "I know Amy from college. She's passionate about things she cares about—I wish she cared about me." Dave cocked his head patiently, impassively. Getting no reaction, Richard continued. "Her dad is radical chic—he teaches political science at Courtland College and specializes in environmental issues, especially water rights. Paul's right—if anyone's going to protest the dam, Ed Hutchins is going to lead the parade. The mother is flighty—I'm not sure where she lives, but I don't think she's an issue. She divorced Ed years ago, while Amy was still in high school. Amy has two sisters and a brother. Jenn, the oldest, is a dream—'Lady Jane,' Amy calls her—she's part of the band, at the keyboard. She's a cool blonde—does whatever Amy tells her to do." "I met her Friday night in the one and only bar in town. If I’m not mistaken, she’ll make my stay in this godforsaken little town less dull." "Martin is a year younger than Amy. Brilliant physics student but fancies himself an artist. Self-absorbed so no problem." Richard paused as he watched the slender young man at the drums—dressed in black, intense. Martin and Amy—dark and light, ying and yang, both passionate but one inward and the other outward. "And then there's Lisa,” Richard continued. "If Ed Hutchins is radical chic, Lisa is way out there. She's an Earth Firster—hard to tell whether she's a groupie or hard core. She's young—I think Amy said she's going to Courtland, probably just finished her sophomore year. That's it—I'm debriefed. You now have all the facts I know about the dangerous Hutchins family," Richard concluded sarcastically. He drained his champagne glass. "I know you think this is excessive," Dave began, "but Paul needs this project to go through without trouble. We don't want any bad publicity. That's why we're upping the profile on the Foundation. One more thing...tell me about Amy's boyfriend. His dossier has some red flags." "It should. Greg Hansen is an activist too, though I don't think he's a member of an organized group. Likes to rant and rave, but is a coward at heart. You won't see him getting arrested. He agitates, then bugs out. He's a ski instructor, coaches the Courtland ski team, lives off Amy." "What about Amy?” Richard flinched. He picked up his empty champagne glass and drained it of its last few drops. He caught the eye of a passing waiter, deposited the glass on the tray, and nodded for a refill. Dave leaned forward, flexing nervous energy out of his fingers. He drilled his eyes into Richard’s. “Look, she's the one Paul is most concerned about. She's already filed a lawsuit over the tree. Paul wants scenario planning on her. How loud is she going to squawk and will it be loud enough? Will it be too loud?" "She's mercurial. Just when I think I've got her pegged, she's changes course. This wedding band stuff is just a lark. She's good at it though." He looked back up to the bandstand where Amy was comically learning the Texas two-step from the father of the groom. "The other night at the bar she told us that they'd been playing weddings for four, no three, years. Wouldn't think you could make a living doing this." "She's just stretching. Her vocation is journalism. She writes a column. It’s syndicated—On the Earth Beat, she calls it. Carried by most of the Western papers. She usually tells both sides of a story—doesn't advocate spiking trees or setting fires. She blasted the Vail fire in her column, but she does provide a forum and she has a following." Richard stopped. Amy had moved into a love ballad. Her smoky voice filled the night air. Her black cocktail dress, swirly and clingy, shimmered in the moonlight. Richard glanced at Dave—"It's good that Lady Jane has caught your eye because Amy would eat you alive." He paused again, then plunged on hoarsely, "You tell my cousin to watch out if he messes with Amy. I guarantee—she's not going to let him take over Piñon."
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