L'Affaire Rizaveta - Part III

(Finally - the much-awaited [dreaded?] Part Three. I'll admit it's been written to...finish, rather than to tell a good story, but such as it is....here it is - the concluding part!)

Down in South Midgard, near the headquarters of the Midgard Electricity Department, inside one of the narrow lanes that are so typical of the old City (in the suburbs they are so narrow as to deserve to be called ‘tunnels’ rather than ‘lanes’, lies the abode of that divine creature known as Ariel. The building, like so many other of its ilk, is rather stodgy and ancient, having stood from colonial times as a testament to the olden days when hansom cabs strode down the streets of Midgard and one could go to an opera at the opera. It’s a quiet neighbourhood, very respectable, very staid, home to old families with loads of money stashed away in five-per-cent government bonds. The small two-roomer on the first floor where Ariel lived was, therefore, an exception in more ways than one. For one thing, it was occupied by someone who did not have any money stashed away in five-percent government bonds. In fact, Ariel had no money whatsoever, whether in government bonds or in other securities of any sort or description. The other thing that made her house an exception was that it was, every so often, the venue for a delightful evening’s entertainment. It was amazing what she could do in the little space she had available to do it with. But she did, somehow – the lights shone brightly, the little chandelier – imitation crystal – filled the living room with its soft light, the lanterns in the windows lit up the street outside with their cheery luminescence. The little refrigerator in the bedroom always seemed to be full of succulent desserts and fine wine. The Grand Piano in the living room always seemed to sing out the most beautiful tunes, and above all, there was the beautiful hostess – always smiling, flitting from group to group (when she wasn’t playing on the piano, that is), and making sure everything was ‘just-so’.

And thus it was on that fateful day when we – Artemius, Fatty and I – threw a party to celebrate Korchell’s return to his homeland. That we had to do something for him was obvious – it was one of those things you feel obliged to do even if you really don’t want to. Deciding to host it at Ariel’s was the next logical step – she just did it so well, and ever since she heard Korchell’s father was a high-ranking Tax Official who had made a pretty bundle in the scam of ’99, she was quite determined to get to know him.

We had invited everyone we thought he knew from our old North Midgard days, and that came to a fair number of people. Rizaveta had been invited too, and the operative news from our point of view was that she and Sid were having relationship issues. Sid, being the colossal ass that he was, had gotten himself embroiled with Maurie Piddlewiddy (old Colonel Piddlewiddy’s eldest, who had an inheritance of two flats in Midgard) and Rizaveta, tearful and heart-broken, had told him she couldn’t carry on a mute spectator to his lovemaking to the young Maurie. This had been a remarkably stupid move on Sid’s part, since Maurie had promptly turned her favours on to Artemius (Sid, like so many other men are to so many other women, was only charming to her as long as he was Someone Else’s Boyfriend) leaving Sid rather in the lurch.

Korchell had learned of this from the first time we met him after his return at a coffee-shop near the eastern docks, and his reaction had been one of unrestrained joy. In fact, he had upset a table, two chairs, and a pot of coffee in one graceful swoop of his hand.

“I don’t see what earthly good it does YOU,” pointed out Artemius, “It’s not like you could ever muster up the courage to speak to her anyway.”

“But I will!” Korchell had exclaimed with a whoop of joy, “I will now! I finally can tell her how I feel about her! How Sid is like a worthless piece of roadkill compared to me! Finally! But where will I meet her? Jormund, you must set it up! You must find some way for me to meet her so I can lay my feelings before her.”

Which explains why Rizaveta had been invited too. What exactly Ariel had told her when she called her, I did not know at the time, since Riz certainly can’t have known Korchell well enough to expect an invitation, but she had agreed to come nonetheless. Artemius, Fatty, his fiancée Glowrina, and I arrived at Ariel’s at about six in the evening to find the room adjoining her bedroom (which served as Ariel’s boudoir, a living-room, ante-chamber, parlour and study), spic and span as it always was before a party. Glasses had been cleaned and polished and placed at strategic locations around the room. Elegant little candles, bowls and other such bric-bracs had been placed on delightful little wooden tables. The vases in the windows were bedecked with blooming flowers, but even they weren’t as bright as the eyes of the gracious hostess, who opened the door to us.

To say that she looked pretty would be understating the case. She was positively resplendent. Diamond earrings sparkled on her ears. Her hair flowed down her shoulders in clinging ringlets. A pair of crystal hairpins adorned her hair near the temples. A silver necklace with a gold pendant (the one thing she wore that I had bought for her) graced her neck. A very expensive-looking gown slipped over her shoulders into a dangerously low neckline and sheer, shimmerring folds of white silk. Her bare arms were adorned with gold armlets. Rings set with stones (I'm sure Fatty could have named each one, but these things are well beyond your ordinary sea-sepent's knowledge), glittered on her fingers. Her shoes were the most gorgeous black stilettos imaginable. She gave her unfathomable smile at the rest of us, who had all been rendered – I should more rightly say ‘knocked’ – speechless by her appearance.

“There you all are!” she said, “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to get here. Come in, come in! Everyone will be here soon!”

Sure enough, it wasn’t long before people started streaming in. There were the three guys named Jiggs, all of whom worked in stockbrokers’ firms, there was Annish, who had a lingerie showroom in the suburbs, Bantu, who claimed his real name was M'urtagh (but it was really Bantu all along) and all the rest of the gang. Rizaveta stepped in a little later. She was not accompanied by Sid, but we were not spared the latter’s whining presence for long, as he turned up shortly after, dressed in a bright yellow shirt under a sequined coat. By the time Korchell showed up, (the last to arrive, as becomes a Guest of Honour), the party was well underway. Drinks (strictly non-alcoholic, given the composition of the guest list) were in everyone’s hand, the lights were dimmed, and Ariel was playing the Moonlight Sonata on the Piano. She’s a good singer too, and invariably does sing at these occasions, but there’s no dispute on what she’s really good at. She’s a pianist of rare talent, and could probably make a living doing it if she chose to. As her fingers flew over the ivories, CJ Riddler, the buxom lass from the flat above, assumed the duties of replenishing glasses and serving the starters.

Korchell Jorkell hadn’t really changed much since our college days. He had been, then, a muscular runt, and he remained a muscular runt. He had discovered a ‘mean streak’ in California (or so he said) and accordingly he dressed in a style that he deemed was very ‘street’. A tiny but noticeable gold earring dangled from his right ear. His far-too-loose shirt had a hood. A large gold chain hung around his neck, which had a pendant that comprised the words 'Bad Ass’ written in a font inspired by that of the AC/DC logo. His pants were slung on so tight that he must have been in agonies every time he took a stride. And yet, though this was a far cry from the smartly-turned out Korchell who used to be the first person in and out of Accounts class in college, there was no escaping his essential Jorkellism.

He was greeted at the door by Artemius and Fatty, who deftly led him around the room, avoiding Rixaveta and Sid, introducing him to one and all, until he came to the piano, where Ariel and I were warbling Johnny and June’s “Jackson”. We trailed off as he approached, and I shook his hand with a smile. Then Ariel turned to face him and held out a hand. The poor fellow looked as if he’d seen an apparition. She was looking, as I’ve said before, extraordinarily beautiful. Playing the piano had left her looking a little flushed from the exertion. Korchell was making gurgling noises, as if he had swallowed a fish the wrong way. Artemius gave him a gentle kick on his calves and Fatty poked him in the ribs, startling him into taking her hand and mumbling something that sounded like the dying breath of a salamander.

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Mr Jorkell,” said Ariel, turning a winsome smile upon his moonlike face, “I’ve heard ever so much about you from the boys. You are even more striking than they had told me you were!”

This wasn’t exactly untrue – the word ‘striking’ can have several meanings.

“I..err…I…whaddiidoo,” he said, reaching a new level of coherence for the evening.

“I’m Ariel,” she continued, getting up. In her heels, she stood about a head taller than him. Let’s just say he was taking in a vantage view of her cleavage without having to alter the direction of his gaze by a single degree. I noted, to my considerable disgust, that he seemed to enjoy the said view considerably. His pants seemed to get rather more uncomfortable, if the grimaces he now began to give while awkwardly moving his feet was any indication.

About five minutes later, I decided I had seen enough. Korchell leaned over the piano while she sang "When you say nothing at all” at him.

“Why the hell is she flirting with him?” I turned to Fatty savagely.

“Oh fiddlesticks, Jormund, she flirts with everyone, but we both know she’s crazy about you. It’s just that she has urges she can’t deny,” replied Fenderis.

I leaped backward two feet and crashed into CJ Riddler, who spilled a platter of French fries onto the floor.

“Fenderis! What are YOU doing here?”

The tall, lean wolf put on an expression of wounded pride.“Why, Jormund! You hurt me! You sound as though I weren’t welcome.”

“You’re not! Who invited you? This is a party for friends and acquaintances of” – I gesticulated in the direction of Korchell, who was now drooling as Ariel sang “I drove all night” – “that viper over there!”

“But I’m your own flesh and blood!”

“And I’ll horsewhip your flesh if you don’t get out! What ARE you doing here?”

“I heard there would be food!” he said, with a forlorn expression.

I sighed. It was hard to be angry with the crazy wolf for long. And in this case, at least, he was more to be sympathised with that otherwise. After all, he had made the long journey from his home to Ariel’s flat, and he was going to be disappointed.

“Yes, there’s food, Fenderis, but there’s no meat. It’s all vegetarian.”

He gave a loud yelp.

“Jormund! Do not toy with my feelings here! Are you saying there is no mutton here?”

“No, nor chicken either. Nor veal, ham, pork, duck or grouse.”

He gave another yelp, a bit more muted this time.

“Oh! The injustice of it all! I even got my violin.” He turned and showed me his violin-case. Fenderis was, in fact, a rather good fiddler. The musical gene is surprisingly strong in the Fenris Brood. He and Ariel could, and did, entire classical pieces together.

“Hmmm,” I said, patting his shoulder comfortingly, “why don’t you go over by the piano and strike up a nice country tune to cheer yourself up and – make her stop singing mushy songs to that little runt.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Fatty, who had been silently observing the proceedings, “Why don’t you let Sid loose on Korchell?”

“I shall do just that – if only I knew where to FIND the bastard!” I said, with an evil glint in my eye, and strode over to where Rizaveta was standing, a frown shading her normally bright face.

“Where’s Sid, Riz?” I asked her.

“In Ariel’s bedroom, using the phone. No doubt he’s calling that Piddlewiddy trollop!”

“Who on earth told him he could use Ariel’s phone? Silly ass doesn’t know what’s his and whats not!”

“You’re one to talk!” said Rizaveta archly, “you can’t even keep your girlfriend to yourself. Oh by the way, who’s that little fellow she’s fluttering her lashes at?”

“Why, that’s Korchell Jorkell! Don’t you know him, Riz? He’s the reason we’re having this party. He was in North Midgard with us.”

Riz looked rather puzzled.

“Can’t say I remember, though he does look vaguely familiar. He’s a friend of Sid’s isn’t he? Oh yes, now I remember! He was there the day I first met Sid –sigh – what a happy day that was. Sid was so different from anyone I’d known before. But I guess things change, don’t they?” and she put on such a wistful expression that I almost felt sorry for her.

“That’s Korchell all right,” I replied, taking her arm and leading her to where CJ Riddler had placed the drinks, “do you remember much about him at all? Or Firi and Wild-eye and the rest of the gang?”

She shook her head, taking a glass of fruit punch from the table.

“Only too well. Those were pleasant days, weren’t they, Jormund? D’you remember when you had a little crush on me yourself?”

“It was a very little crush,” I said hastily, “so little as to be negligible. Now why don’t you go chat with old Korchell over there? Cheer you up a bit.”

“I don’t see how, but I’ll go say hello to Ariel at least,” said Rizaveta and started walking towards them.

I made a beeline for the bedroom, catching hold of Artemius along the way. Sure enough, Sid was comfortably leaning back in the bed, phone in hand, talking in his high-pitched breathless whisper.

“Sid, you ass! Get out of that bed and come mingle with the guests!” I yelled.

Artemius was more direct; he leaned forward and yanked the man out of the bed.

“You f#$&*er!!” screamed Sid into the mouthpiece of the phone.

“Maurie won't like being called that,” said Artemius.

Sid’s expression changed into one of pain. It was as if a tractor had run over his foot.

“No, not you, darling!” he mewled into the phone, “I was talking to Artemius! No, I don’t mean to imply you’re my darling. No, I don’t mean to imply you are anything of mine. What? Of course, you’re my friend. Well I meant you’re nothing of mine but my friend. No, you are not my darling. I didn’t mean it in a possessive way. No, you’re not a f#$&*er! I mean, yes of course I know you CAN, I just mean you’re NOT. What was that? Yes, Artemius is here. You want to speak with Artemius? Ok. I’ll wait till you’re done. I’ll be right here.”

Five minutes later, Artemius was carrying on a quite flirtatious conversation with Maurie Piddlewiddy, while Sid waited impatiently, one foot on the other, not quite like Patience on a monument.

I sat on the table, looking over Ariel’s photos – there was a perfectly darling one of her with her mother at Niagara falls when she was six that never failed to bring a tear to the eye. Artemius took the handset out to the mini-balcony at the other end of the room, leaving Sid in perfect agonies of misery.

“I say, Sid, you can call Maurie later. Korchell is here!”

His face cleared up like a tankard of beer when placed before Old Feudal.

“Korchell! Is he here?”

“In the flesh. Should be outside”

Sid shot out of the room at a speed reminiscent of his efforts to catch buses back in our college days. I raced after him, and made it into the living-room just in time to see Sid make an open-armed approach at Korchell. The latter did not see Sid, having his back turned to him as he looked at Rizaveta, who was being introduced to him by Ariel. I saw Korchell stretch out his hand to take Rizaveta’s as she smiled her full smile at him. CJ Riddler stood watching them with a pleased smile on her face, completely ignoring Fatty’s request for more Root beer. Fenderis played a romantic Mozart melody. And then Sid, with a war-whoop, leaped on Korchell from behind, attaching himself firmly to the short man’s cheeks with his right hand, even as his left encircled him by the waist.

Now Korchell wasn’t unused to the ambushes of Sid. In his college days he had been quite adept at pre-empting them and getting out of the way. But time had dulled his senses. Years of an easy life in California had blunted those sharp reflexes of his. He crashed to the floor, knocking Rizaveta over. Sid, little deterred, continued to pull his cheek. Ariel screamed from the shock; I stood dazed, Fatty took the opportunity to empty a bowl of cashews into his shirt pockets, Rizaveta appeared to have fainted, and CJ Riddler dropped the tray with a clatter. And still Sid continued to make fawning noises and pull Korchell’s cheeks.

“Oh you’re so CUTE!” he exclaimed.

Fenderis was the first to come to his senses. He put his violin away and strode over to the two fallen men. Taking Sid’s neck in his powerful grasp, he pulled him off Korchell and kicked him heavily on the side of his hip. Another kick to the groin had Sid slumping to the floor. Then he raised the stunned Korchell, who appeared to have difficulty standing. With a resigned look on her face, Ariel put his arms around her neck and led him to the sofa, where she lay him down and asked CJ to get a glass of water.

I went over to Rizaveta’s side and patted her cheek gently. She didn’t look hurt, just a little winded and I raised her head on my knee. Artemius handed over some punch, which I used to sprinkle on her face. Fenderis landed a few more kicks to various parts of Sid's anatomy before quietly grabbing his violin and making an exit from the door.

“I always wanted to kick that snivelly b@#(*&^” the Black Wolf was heard to mutter in German as he left.

Meanwhile I managed to get Rizaveta back to her senses. The first thing she saw was Sid, lying prone on the floor, in as bad a shape as only a sound kicking from one of the most powerful wolves on the planet can put one in. With an alarmed scream she ran to his side and took his head in her arms, kissing him fervently, with many protestations of concern and regret.

The natural consequence of a fracas of this nature is the thinning of numbers. The rest of the guests weren’t long in taking a cue from Fenderis and making hasty exits, until only a groggy Sid and Korchell, a loving Rizaveta, a ministering Ariel, a complacent Fatty and Artemius, completely oblivious of everything, were left in the house. Apart from yours truly, of course.

“You brute!” Rizaveta screamed at Korchell, “You nasty, violent brute!”

Korchell looked nonplussed from her to me.

“You did this to my darling! You beautiful, delicate darling! How could you?” she went on.

“I assure you,” he murmured, “I had nothing to….”

But it was no use. Rizaveta had got it fixed in her head that Korchell had retaliated for Sid’s actions by clobbering him while she was insensible. From cursing Korchell, she moved on to cursing me for letting it happen, and finally to accusing Ariel of setting him up to it. Ariel, never one to take an insult lying down, responded by calling Rizaveta an ‘insignificant bimbo’ which set off another round of name-calling. It finally culminated in Sid and Rizaveta leaving together, on no good terms with the rest of us. Fatty followed them, eagerly taking notes to be used for telling the story of their reconciliation at subsequent evenings at the Capitalist Club or the Socialist Club. A devastated Korchell lay moaning on the sofa. I sighed and sat around for a while, as Ariel tried her best to comfort the lad. Eventually it got late and I dropped off on the table, my face missing the punch bowl by a matter of inches.

I was woken up the next morning when Artemius, havng finally finished his phone conversation, came into the room and shook me awake.

“Jormund, you ass!! Look!” he said.

On the sofa, Korchell Jorkell and the Princess Ariel were comfortably ensconced in what I can only term as a loving embrace.

I shook my head, turned over and went back to sleep. I’d dealt with enough problems for that day. Or that month.