FOOL’S GOLD: NINE

  

I didn’t have time to go shopping for a dress. I didn’t think my jeans and black sweater, or my new leggings and florescent pink t-shirt, would be appropriate attire for a fundraising gala for the arts.

It was less than thirty minutes before Daniella said we had to leave. Daniella hadn’t been allowed back into her suite, but her luggage was cleared and returned to her, so she had moved into the room of a performer she knew with an extra bed in a different hotel. I hadn’t thought about asking her to borrow a dress until she was already gone.

Twenty-five minutes.

I eyed the stranger’s suitcase. It couldn’t hurt to take a closer look inside. The woman who owned this vintage suitcase had taken good care of it, and she’d taken good care of the contents of the suitcase as well. At least ten carefully folded 1960s-style dresses lay before me. I didn’t recognize any of the names on the labels, but these were stylish clothes. A polka-dot polyester dress, a gingham dress suit, a tennis outfit…. I could never pull off any of these.

But what about this one? I pulled out a gorgeous black dress with embroidered white details. It was a little big for me, but not too bad. It came with a dainty white belt that cinched the waist. This might just work.

I had black high heels with me. At my height, they’re my standard shoes, so I’d worn these stilettos on the flight. I slipped into the dress and stepped into my shoes. I glanced at my scruffy messenger bag lying on the bed. It wouldn’t do. The open suitcase lay next to my bag. A shiny white clutch made of vinyl was tucked into the side of the suitcase.

A knock sounded at my door.

“Jaya,” Daniella’s voice called through the door. “Clayton felt bad for us with the theft so he’s sent a car to take us to the party. It’s waiting.”

No time to worry about taking the clutch. I grabbed it with my wallet and phone, and was out the door.

Downstairs, a gold Bentley waited to escort us to the castle. Astrid was already in the back when Daniella and I climbed inside the plush seats. She wore a strapless red dress that went down to her ankles with a slit that went up to her thigh. Her long blond hair fell over her bare shoulders with a hint of curl.

“Your dress is the wrong size,” Astrid said to me.

“Long story,” I said.

“Astrid is a model,” Daniella said. Aside from redness of her eyes giving away she’d been crying, Daniella looked like she could have been a model that night as well. I’d never known her to dress up more formally than jeans and a t-shirt when she wasn’t on stage, but tonight she wore a form-fitting silver dress with gold ankle boots. Her short brown hair was spiked stylishly.

“Used to be,” Astrid corrected Daniella. “I used to be a model.”

“Your outfit,” I said to Daniella. “Publicity for your play?”

“Do you like it?” she asked.

Before I could answer, Astrid cut in, “Nobody will notice you’re wearing gold and silver because of the play, because nobody cares about the play. There are too many performances at the festival. We should have stayed in London.”

  

With that start to the evening, I was relieved the drive to Clayton’s castle took only fifteen minutes. It took longer to drive from my apartment to my university in San Francisco. The castle was just outside of Edinburgh, right off the A7 freeway.

Edinburgh was a northern enough city that the sun was still high in the sky late into the evening, so for the whole drive I had a perfect view of my surroundings from the window of the luxurious back seat. As soon as the chauffer pulled off the freeway, all evidence of the twenty-first century disappeared. We were swallowed up by a grove of evergreen trees. A bright blue river ran along the side of the winding road. The car slowed as the road and river curved. In a clearing of trees, the turret of a castle overlooked the river.

The Bentley turned off the road and drove up a circular drive; the red stone castle came into full view. I relaxed a little. Though it was a castle, it was mansion-sized rather than football-stadium-sized. I gripped the white clutch in my hand and took a deep breath. I might not be able to handle a gala at a castle, but I could handle a party at a mansion.

I couldn’t help shivering while I walked from the car to the castle. It wasn’t my nerves. The fickle Scottish weather had turned the crisp breeze from earlier in the day into a full-blown arctic wind.

Champagne flowed freely as guests milled around the grand room of the castle. Tapestries filled with birds lined two walls. One tapestry featured a phoenix rising out of the flames, the other was a black dragon surrounded by flying pelicans and other winged creatures.

Two winding staircases led from the grand ballroom up to a balcony overlooking the party. In the balcony, a single framed painting stood on an easel. It was this painting that was being used to raise money that evening. A modern painter who critics were praising had painted a scene of Edinburgh Fringe Festival street performers. It was being given away as part of a charity raffle that evening. The cost to enter the raffle was £5,000 per ticket.

I spotted Clayton shortly after arriving. He wore a black tuxedo with gold-colored wingtips and a top hat made of gold cloth. When he saw me, he came over and asked if I was doing a good job forgetting about the theft and distracting Daniella from her anxiety about Izzy. I assured him his party was doing a good job helping us both forget our worries.

Astrid had been swept away by a balding man claiming to be a duke of some sort, and Daniella and I were talking with an elderly couple who’d heard about Daniella’s play and were intrigued. Astrid’s gloomy prediction hadn’t come to pass. They weren’t the first people who had come up to Daniella to ask about her show.

“The chess set in Fool’s Gold is both literal and figurative,” Daniella was telling them. “The play is set in the neighborhood I grew up in. The wrong side of the tracks, as my American friend Jaya here would say. The characters Catriona and Alexis were best friends as kids. Catriona’s father taught her how to play chess when she was a little girl, before he was killed in an industrial accident. Catriona taught Alex how to play, and the two of them grew up with chess as their escape. Even though chess meant the most to Catriona, it was Alex who had the real aptitude for it. She’s the one who was able to make it out of there. She got a scholarship to university, leaving Catriona behind. The title Fool’s Gold is based on the chess term ‘fool’s mate,’ and the gold represents both their friendship and a special chess set they use.”

“That’s nice, dear,” the elderly woman said with a thick brogue. “But what about the theft?”

Daniella’s face fell. News had leaked that the chess set had been stolen, which was turning out to be even better publicity than showing the gold and silver chess set at the Scottish festival in the first place. She smiled and told them the investigation was ongoing. but she hoped they’d enjoy the show.

“Doesn’t anyone care about my play?” she said to me once they’d moved on, downing the last of her third champagne.

“If the news stories get them to come to your play,” I said, “then who cares if that’s the thing that gets them in the door?”

“Oh God,” she said, picking up another champagne from a passing waiter. “What if the police think one of us did this for publicity?”

It wasn’t a crazy idea. But I didn’t have time to respond before Astrid joined us.

“He wasn’t a real duke,” Astrid said. “Can you believe it? He’s only distantly related to one.”

“What about that new guy you said you were seeing?” Daniella asked her.

“What guy?”

“You took a break from rehearsal yesterday morning to call him.”

Astrid stared blankly at Daniella for a few seconds. “Oh yes,” she said. “Him.”

But it was a moment too late. She was lying.