The Class Menagerie

maternal life-style. He always seemed half-afraid she was going to lose her head and pack him a lunch or drive him to a piano lesson.
    “If it weren’t my own class—“ Mel finally said.
    “No, don’t explain. I didn’t mean to sound snappish. I’m just a little rushed. I’m on my way to the airport in a few minutes and I always have to sort of ‘commune with my soul’ before I tackle the drive.“
    “You’re having visitors?“
    “No, Shelley is. A class reunion. I’ve been drafted to help with the convoy.“
    “How about tonight for the dinner and movie then? You’ll deserve it.“
    “I do hate to keep turning you down, but I really can’t tonight.“ (Oops, did that “really“ give away the earlier lie, she wondered.) “Shelley’s got me booked— or hooked. Any night next week, though. How about Tuesday?“
    Mel agreed that Tuesday fit his schedule, too. This settled, they rang off and Jane poured herself a thermal mug of coffee to take along. With any luck she’d be at the airport a good half hour before anybody arrived. This would allow her to make the drive without worrying about the clock and give her time to get her bearings. The three women she was supposed to pick up were coming in on three different flights and she would have to know where she was going next to keep from missing them.
    She put on a black-and-white plaid skirt and her good black sweater, freshly out of summer storage. It was a good thing it was unusually cool for September. Jane was sick to death of her summer clothes. She hastily applied some makeup, glanced once more at the city map to refresh her memory, and went out to the car.
    During the interval while Jane had been inside the house, Shelley had put something on the front seat of her station wagon. Three modest-sized posterboards with a name on each: Lila Switzer, Susan Morgan, and Avalon Smith. And on the back of each, as a reminder, the airline, flight number, and arrival time of each.
    Trust Shelley to be so organized.
    It was a good thing Jane had allowed herself extra time. She missed bullying her way into the correct exit lane and had to go to the next exit and backtrack. Fortunately she had better luck parking and made it into the airport well ahead of the first flight she was due to meet.
    If only she had some idea whom to look for. She was going to feel a bit silly holding up a placard. She’d asked Shelley for descriptions of the women she was meeting, but Shelley had refused to help. “Jane, it’s been twenty years since I’ve seen them. God only knows what they all look like by now. I’ll fix it so they find you.“
    The first flight was actually a bit early and Jane dutifully held up her “Susan Morgan“ placard as the passengers flowed from the door to the walkway.
    “Why, hello. Who are you?“ an attractively coiffed and tanned woman said to her.
    “I’m Jane Jeffry, Shelley’s neighbor. Are you Ms. Morgan?“
    The woman put a hand with expensively sculpted nails and a number of exceedingly expensive rings on Jane’s arm. “This year I am. Next year, who knows? And please, none of that ‘Ms.’ stuff. Just call me Crispy. Everybody else at the reunion will.“
    “They will?“ Jane asked, smiling. “Why on earth would they do a thing like that?“
    The woman laughed warmly. “Because my maiden name, back in the dark days of my maidenhood, was Susan Crisp. I like you, Jane. I might make you my assistant.“
    “Assistant what?“
    “Tormentor. Oh, this is going to be such fun.“ She rubbed her lovely hands together like a stage villain. “I can’t wait to see everybody. I’ve got about a dozen bags and my hairdresser is crammed into one of them. Where shall I meet you?“
    “My next gate is around the turn down there, first on the left, and the next is at the far end of the same concourse. Can you manage the bags?“
    “My dear, I can manage anything.“ And she sounded as if she could. She went off chuckling to herself. Jane watched her go with a mixture of amusement and alarm. Assistant tormentor? Good God, what had Shelley let herself in for?
    More important, what has she let me in for ?
    As if feeling Jane’s eyes on her, Crispy—halfway down the concourse and drawing a number of admiring looks—turned gracefully on a spiked, lizard-skinned heel, waggled her fingers, and winked conspiratorially.
    The last time Jane had seen an expression like that was when her sister Martha had decided to purchase a high school