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Chapter Eight
Posted on Monday, 3 September 2007
I think it's so groovy now
That people are finally getting together
I thinks it's wonderful and how
That people are finally getting together
Reach out in the darkness
Reach out in the darkness
Reach out in the darkness
And you may find a friend
~ Reach Out of the Darkness by Jim Post, 1968
Women! What was it with them?
The more interesting half of the world's population belonged to a secret society that declared itself off limits to the other half. They met underground, in ladies' rooms across the nation, and they weren't fooling men about what they really did when they embarked en masse to freshen up. It had nothing to do with the call of nature; it was all about talking. When women couldn't hit a powder room, they received regular updates from their compatriots via cell phones. Passing glances and quick nods were an unspoken language that transcended cultures. When all else failed, they went telepathic. The mental rhythm of their intuitive drums kept them connected.
And, the funny thing about it, despite men's exclusion from this charmed circle, women still expected them to completely and unequivocally understand their innermost thoughts, feelings, and *gasp* desires. To be sure, without needing to be prompted, they'd explain themselves in an outpouring of emotional discourse that made perfect sense only to other women. But for men, it was like walking blind through a minefield. You were bound to trip up and the inevitable explosion could generate fallout that would last for weeks.
Women.
Delarango gave his head a manly shake. His was the reasonable sex. The rational sex. The no-nonsense sex. When forced to do so, men expressed their thoughts and ideas in a clear, organized manner. When a man said what he thought, a man meant what he said. And, he said it in 20 words or less. He quoted a famous, fictional professor to the empty room, ‘Why can't a woman be more like a man?'
In fact, that was the last thing he'd want. The system, he believed, had been set up pretty well. Balance in the Universe existed between the sexes; their differences created their own form of harmony, sort of a yin-yang kind of a thing.
Now, while he contemplated some of the more pleasing aspects that were unique to women, he watched the first day of the new year fight valiantly against a determined cold front. The currents shifted and the first sky of the year, a pale winter offering, appeared. The invitation to go outside was tempting and, as he sized up the chance of more rain, by habit he reached up to the shelf for his glasses and put them on. The world became fuzzy and vague. He pulled them off again and, while congratulating himself on his decision to finally have laser eye surgery, he saw the razor-sharp figure of Elizabeth, with Hook by her side, bundled up and walking down the road.
He watched until they disappeared around a turn guarded by a detachment of oaks and thought more about women. Particular women. Bennet women. The three of them were certainly something. If Elizabeth was to be believed, her mother's priorities were out of balance and she had acted with little regard for her daughters' wishes when she'd sold him the land. But Delarango's conscience was clean; although he'd made the purchase for very personal reasons, he looked at it judiciously in terms of the deal. He hadn't twisted Mrs. Bennet's arm; his money had with a quiet firm grasp. But the decision to either accept his offer or walk away had always rested with her. Despite having created the situation, Delarango wasn't accountable for how the mother had treated her daughters over the land sale.
Elizabeth's sister Jane had polished social skills and a cosmopolitan style. Good at small talk, she'd said all the right things about the latest trends in interior design, international destinations and the stock market. But, she seemed to hover over Elizabeth. The word ‘overbearing' came to mind. Before, during and after dinner, she worked overtime promoting her sister.
And then there was Elizabeth, his unusual neighbor, an elusive puzzle not yet solved.
After months of her humorless posturing and silent disapproval, they'd met face to face for the first time while she fretted over the ridiculous mailbox his designer erected. It fell over and he couldn't have been happier. She wouldn't listen when he said just to leave it. He was late that day so he'd taken his mail and took off. The next few times they met, before he could acknowledge her, she got huffy and retreated to her weather-beaten house. You could almost see the trail of fire in her wake. Eventually he discovered she blamed him for her behavior. He didn't initiate a conversation so he was rude. Why couldn't she say hello first? What happened to that sexual equality business from forty some-odd years ago? There was a big bru-ha-ha about it at the time. Surely news of bra burning had made the rounds of the current sisterhood.
Never slow on the uptake, Delarango had decided to steer clear of Elizabeth Bennet. But she crossed paths with him again, shattering the peace of an unsuspecting night, and that time she had no problem finding her voice. She'd startled the bejezus out of him when she emerged from the shadows. Her soliloquy began as a slow drip of ire and then spilled over into a flashflood of raw anger. Friendly fire it was not. He had no idea what hit him and suspected that's just the way she wanted it. Elizabeth cleared up any lingering doubt about what she thought of him and anything associated with him. This was particularly ironic when she didn't even know him.
Women.
After that night a stalemate ensued. Any chance of neighborly discourse between them had been lost -- until Jane stepped in and created the perfect chance to turn the situation around. His strategy in accepting her dinner invitation had been to share a low-key evening with the sisters that would rectify the past encounters with Elizabeth and establish cordial relations. Kissinger he wasn't; he had realistic expectations. If he could just wipe away the look of disdain that was forever etched across her face and get her to speak in a normal tone of voice, he would call that progress.
That night, amongst the Bennet family knick-knacks, Jane cooked, Elizabeth kept her distance and he made an unexpected discovery that went against everything he'd learned through years of experience and a few hard knocks. It happened in an instant and added an unknown dimension to the entire affair. He found Elizabeth attractive!
Jane had stressed that the invitation was from both of them, but within the first 5 minutes of his arrival he knew that was a whopper of a lie. The vibrations coming from Elizabeth hadn't been good ones. Unperturbed, Delarango always faced a challenge. Over the rim of his glass, as the sanguine liquid reflected upon his face, he took her in and while the strength and independence she displayed was more combative than congenial, those were traits that charmed him. That alone wasn't enough, though. With the disclosure about her burning some lawyer's letter, the passionate way Elizabeth expressed her feelings revved his engines. It was when she expressed her feelings about the land though that Delarango understood something deep inside her because it was inside of him too. They connected, although she didn't know it.
He marked Elizabeth as potential and new possibilities opened up for the evening - and possibly beyond.
From his vantage -- a man's view of the world -- he figured the current state of their relationship could be easily rectified by a simple conversation. Clear the air, 1-2-3, and that would be that. Thinking without benefit of a woman's viewpoint, Delarango failed to appreciate the seriousness of the situation. He was the source that fuelled Elizabeth's less-than-eloquent outbursts but it never registered with him.
He'd wanted to move beyond the nonsense about The House and get to know her better. She'd had other plans, like going a few rounds with him and mixed it up through most of the meal. Delarango's attraction waned. Confidence was one thing; belligerence was something else. Different points of view made the conversation flow; accusations and blame killed it. Delarango found it a tough stretch to imagine Elizabeth's kind of aggression as sexual tension. Nothing that Jane had said swayed him. Disappointed, he wrote her off as a fiery she-devil and abandoned the possibility of taking it any further with her.
From that night onwards Delarango found himself deliberately avoiding any chance to run into Elizabeth. Unaccustomed to tip-toeing around, he resented this encroachment upon his lifestyle, the result of another's cranky disposition. In this particular case though, Elizabeth out of sight did not mean Elizabeth out of mind. The intensity of her feelings and how she looked when she expressed herself crept up upon him as a misty memory much like fog enveloped the Bay Bridge. He wondered about her while he worked, ironically experiencing one of his most creative periods. Starting in the early morning when he had good light on the eastern side of The House, Delarango completed a mobile of gigantic proportions applying tens of thousands of cancelled postage stamps to hanging, rotating cylinders. The result was a sunscape in constant motion to be viewed from below. In the evenings, while he imagined his next door neighbor devising elaborate plots of retaliation against him, he was able to complete the first draft of a Mexican cookbook, choosing recipes and coordinating a schedule to test each one by making them himself. Within a short space of time, he finished an enormous amount of work, thrilled with his productivity and his emergence unscathed from any plans Elizabeth might have made to do him in.
He'd had no intention of getting involved with her beyond his chance reflections. She'd been deleted to his recycle bin, marked for a permanent adios when she went and did what her sex lived for: she made an inexplicable change of course. Unpredictable and very womanly.
He'd been shocked to find that while he was in Los Angeles she'd come over with pasta and apologies. Against the backdrop of a fierce-sounding windstorm, her upbeat message-in-the-box became subdued when she figured out he wasn't home. His discovery of her gesture left him curious. Was it a mad moment for her or had he been right before when he thought there was something about her he should get to know better? Not without a little trepidation, he went over to her place armed with wine. If it turned into another disaster at least he'd be humming along moderately numbed until he could escape.
The pleasantries of last night faced off with all his previously conceived notions about her. Gone was the woman in the grips of perpetual PMS, replaced by a sane, sensible version you might want to take to an environmental fundraiser or a concert in the park. Her buoyant disposition did nothing to make light of what she saw as the poor form of her past behavior. It blew his past impressions of her out of the water, and for a moment he questioned whether this was same person sharing her veggie burger. But, there was that crooked eyebrow and the dog's unwavering loyalty. Neither of those was easily duplicated. It was her all right.
Elizabeth Bennet. He'd been sure that cupcake wasn't done all the way through.
And, to be perfectly frank, she might not be. One thing she said stuck with him: the realization she'd acted like the kind of person she always detested was a frightening wake-up call. She told him one of the hardest things she had ever done was to be honest enough with herself to accept the way she had reacted. He believed her disclosures and the sincerity of her apologies. Clearly Ms. Bennet had gone through some sort of an emotional watershed. She had a stack of self-help books to attest to that.
The episode opened a door previously unseen and Delarango now found himself facing his part in Elizabeth's misery. Her behavior, easily dismissed as female emotional over-reaction, was deflected back to him. Now that he knew Elizabeth better, her experiences with The House and her feelings with the changes it had created came to life and he was left to evaluate what part he'd played in the whole thing. Regardless to what degree Delarango might accept responsibility, it was too early to tell where she was really coming from. He was sure he'd never entirely figure her out anyway; women didn't have any intention of letting men do that. If they did, the game would be over.
He wanted to believe what he saw last night was the real woman. Buried inside him, an attraction still existed and, like claps of thunder on a clear night, he'd been unexpectedly jolted by it throughout their evening -- when she spoke, when she moved, when she quietly responded to him. Under the circumstances, it was an unexplainable appeal that was unadvisable to pursue. Still, if things were actually different, maybe he could resurrect the possibility of a relationship with her. Maybe. But, no longer a naive young man, the prudent and wise Delarango geared his approach with a healthy dose of caution. He wasn't going to fall into a trap disguised with remorse and forgiveness.
Elizabeth Bennet. The woman next door could be playing with a few pieces missing from her monopoly set.
The wind picked up and the bare-branched oaks braced against it. Just like a description he recalled in one of Mama Gertie's journals. She was probably the Bennet he knew best. A stalwart figure in an emerging time, her journals testified to her position as matriarch of the family. She drew Delarango into the past with simple, descriptive writing and entertained with acerbic wit. The ranch came alive with life in the thirties as she sketched the defining time of the place. Her offhand notes, meant as a record of personal experiences, provided him with clues to his own questions. But, Mama Gertie's journals had only taken him so far. The rest was left to Delarango. He suspected she'd find the drama of this latest chapter in the ranch's history highly absorbing.
It hadn't taken long for clutter to build up in The House. From the time he'd moved in -- gradually -- like a slow rising tide, things had begun to gather under foot, in every corner, and in places where furniture was meant to be. Now, Delarango was up to here in stuff. Today he was downstairs in a room where all the bits and pieces with nowhere else to go had landed, making no headway in shifting things from one temporary spot to another. His garage was full of everything ordered for the downstairs rooms but couldn't go in the downstairs rooms because they weren't finished yet. It was time to call for backup and put an end to all this. He grabbed the phone and dialed Cerise, his designer based on the East Coast. He got her voice message.
‘Hi, it's Rick,' and, just in case she knew five different Ricks that might be calling, he added, ‘Delarango. About the lower floors, uh, they need to be finished within three weeks. I've got houseguests coming the first of the month. They need to be repainted in the right color. Did we ever get the missing pieces for the chairs in the home theatre? And, my mailbox still hasn't been replaced. My mail's being delivered into a box and it gets wet and blows away. Can you get me something that looks like a regular mailbox and get it up this week? Thanks.'
He missed it when she returned his call and retrieved her message a few hours later. Her voice, gravelly as if she'd had too many cigarettes with her mint juleps, resonated in his ear as she picked off points with precision.
‘Rick-honey! We didn't re-paint because you'd been thinkin' about making two of the rooms into one. You were supposed to get back with me on that. If the issue's resolved, and I think,' whenever Cerise pronounced a long ‘i', she drew it out with her Southern twang, ‘you should leave them as they are, we can move forward. The paint color was Champagne Cocktail. I'll call Steve and have him get it repainted this week. Go online and look at your files -- confirm everything tonight! And, no darlin', I will not let you get out of the faux fireplace mantle. Everything'll be all whopper-jawed if it's excluded. Besides, the stone matches the inlay in the wet bar. Do you want that pair of vases I showed you from Martin's gallery. We can get them cheap, he's desperate to get his money out of them. And, Rick-honey, we had those chairs replaced!'
Cerise then slowed down to about 80 mph, ‘I'm workin' under a deadline here. I'll get this all arranged and come in for the weekend before the first. You have my word it'll be finished for your guests. And, speakin' of guests, now that the house is livable, I don't suppose you could put me up when I come out? I'll be your test guest and,' her voice dropped an octave, ‘leave it up to you what you'd like to test. I'm pretty open,' before she adopted her normal voice,' I've got a fabulous tan and new cheek implants, very Joan Crawford-ish. Let's talk by Friday. Bye.'
Delarango listened to the message once more with a hand covering his scrunched up face. He'd hoped that this would never come up. From the outset, he'd picked up signals that he interpreted as a willingness on Cerise's part to be more than professional colleagues. Her address -- Rick-honey -- wasn't suggestive, just annoying. But, the way she leaned into him, the way she pursed her bright, engorged lips and talked just to him, and especially the way she took particular care with his bedroom décor. Sometimes he wondered if the finished product was what he wanted for himself or what Cerise wanted for her dream bedroom. Well, she could keep dreaming. Actually, there had been one unfortunate night when matters had come perilously close to going too far. It was over a year ago, early in their collaboration on The House, and Delarango almost let himself go in a moment he wouldn't define so much as weak as empty. The patron saint for resisting physical temptations or saving souls from grave mistakes -- whoever it was -- had watched over him that night. A shining beacon of clarity descended from above and re-established a healthy perspective before any compromises of virtue occurred. He'd never been so happy to wake up alone as he had been on that grey Manhattan morning-after.
Instantly preoccupied with finding a way to keep her from staying at The House, he neglected to notice she hadn't said a word about his mailbox.
After three days Delarango couldn't find a plausible excuse to book her into the Marriott Suites. When she called him back he voiced some apprehension about there being enough space, along with his other guests, a concern she quickly extinguished by pointing out he had seven furnished bedrooms. That was when he heard himself cheerfully confirming she could bunk in her favorite guest room. Cerise peppered the rest of the conversation with double entendres and Delarango decided he would never be able to look at his pool table the same way again. He hung up with Rick-honey ringing in his head.
He had that sinking feeling that he'd been right. It appeared that Cerise might not be looking at things the same way he was. She was coming back to haunt him like that 80's TV cliché, a power-woman who thought padded everything was better: hair, lips, breasts, shoulders -- and now apparently cheekbones -- and who was hell-bent on having it her way. He planned to run plenty of interference with his aunt and his globe-trotting cousin Brian being there. Delarango had talked to Brian the day before but the connection kept fading out and he could only guess where he might be calling from.
‘If something changes and you can't pick her up, I'll find a way to get down there.'
‘I should be fine. I'm scheduled to fly into El Toro the night before and *cr-fzzzzzt-ck* until the following Wednesday.'
‘You mean the government is actually going to do without you for a few days?'
‘I'm trying to stay under the radar so it doesn't get rescheduled. *ccccr-ffffzzz-ttt-ckkkk* forward to it. I can use a break. Give me a comfy recliner and the remote and I'll be in heaven.'
‘I'm doing my best to get the home theatre finished.'
‘You've got a home theatre? I can't even remember what your place looks like.'
‘Well, you need to come when its daylight and stay for more than an hour instead of racing over in between flights at some ungodly hour.'
‘Aw, come on, what have you got to do in the middle of the night except sleep?'
‘I'm not about to tell you.'
‘You don't have to, remember I was the one who taught you everything you know about *crrrr-fzz-ttttt-cccck* and *cr-fzzzt-ccck*.' Delarango thought this the perfect time to change the subject back to their aunt. He asked how she was doing. ‘Better.'
‘Does she still need the walker?'
‘No. I saw her before I flew out last week and she seems completely recovered until she realizes you know it, and then she has an immediate relapse. You'd *cccc-rrrr-fzzzt-ck* or she'll have you waiting on her like a hospital orderly.'
‘You're talking about a 65 year-old woman here.'
‘*ccrrr-fff-zzz-ttt-ck* And, I think she's almost 70, but don't *crrrrrr-fzztt-ckk-kkk-kkk* or you're sunk.'
Delarango laughed, ‘By the way, my interior designer will be here, just for a couple of days.'
‘*ccc-ccc-crrr-ffzzzzztt-ckk*' who's so top-heavy a light breeze would knock her off-balance? Good job! *cccccc-rrrr-rr-rr-fzzzt-ck*'
‘Be kind, Brian.'
‘I am! Since when are *ccccr-fzzzzzt-ck* a bad thing?!'
Delarango tried to think when they might be and couldn't come up with anything. The connection dropped out a moment later. He stared at the phone thinking maybe the two of them, Brian and Cerise, would take to each other and he could be cast aside like her old bras that were too small for her.
When Delarango decided to buy Mrs. Bennet's land, he fulfilled one of his life goals -- the important kind that made it onto that list of things to accomplish before you die. He would never leave Southern California for good, but he chose to make his first year a sabbatical from life down south to work uninterrupted on projects he didn't have time for while running the company full time. Within the first six months though, two trips down to LA had been necessary to iron out transitional wrinkles within the company. He combined the second one with the Christmas holidays, but he baffled friends and family when he rushed off on the 31st to get back to The House. For reasons he didn't want to explain, Delarango had it in his head that The House was where he would spend the auspicious night -- turning over a new year in a new place. His own private christening of sorts. Determined to fulfill his plans, he only came to terms with the fact that his would be a party for one when he was halfway back home. A solo evening would be novel; as it turned out, he had a much better night than expected.
New Years' Eve crept into his thoughts quite regularly but he hadn't seen his neighbor since then until one evening when they both turned into Calle de Oro at the same time. Elizabeth was in front and she was taking it easy on the drive. His headlights shone on the tailgate of her old truck, lighting up an ancient California license plate. He liked the truck but didn't see it as very practical for a daily work commute. Downshifting, he wondered if she had to drive this slow all the way to work. Eventually, they pulled into their respective drives and he went over before she opened her door. She smiled at him through the window.
‘Hi,' he said when she got out and quickly caught his breath, unable to continue. Sturgeon, flounder or cod, the smell of whatever fish she'd been in contact with clung to her like icing on a cake. Memories of the day at the mailbox returned.
‘Hi Rick, how are things with you?'
‘Not bad,' he cleared his throat. Standing back while she got out, he appreciated the classic body design before him and asked about the truck. ‘What year GMC is this?'
‘Fifty-eight.'
‘Very distinctive. Are you going to restore it?'
‘I can't see why. It wouldn't be worth the money it would take.'
‘Don't you know anything about classic cars? I figured that was why you were driving it.'
‘I'm driving it because a couple of years ago my 4-wheel drive had a major breakdown and I wasn't going to pay the repair costs.'
‘Who'd you buy this from?' He ran his hand along a sculpted fender.
‘I didn't buy it. It's been here as long as I can remember.' She admitted somewhat reluctantly, ‘It's another connection I have to the ranch. I know it's sentimental and silly, but -'
‘No, it's not. I understand how you feel. You are taking care of it, aren't you?' She adopted a blank expression. ‘Do you have it serviced regularly and check the oil and water in between?'
‘Oh that, sure.' He appraised her and she continued, ‘In fact, I'm going to take it in to my guy this week. It's time for a check-up.'
‘A tune up.'
She bit her lip, ‘Yeah, that's right.'
Delarango knelt down and examined her hubcaps, ‘Thanks again for dinner the other night.'
She came closer and brought her fish fragrance with her, ‘Did I set your healthy diet back a few notches?'
‘With the onion rings? Life's too short not to enjoy things you like. I try to keep a good balance but I'm not obsessive.'
Her eyes brightened with doubt. Before she could challenge him, a whimper from the other side of Elizabeth's door called her over to release Hook from his daytime prison. He greeted them both and took off across the road into the field.
‘So what have you been up to?' She sounded like she really wanted to know. He told her about what he'd been working on. ‘Twirling stamps? I can't picture it.'
‘You're welcome to come over and have a look at it any time. In fact, you'll have to be sure and come around while my cousin's here next weekend. He's bringing my aunt up. She's all alone and comes to stay with me off and on.'
‘Thank you, I'd like that.'
An idea struck him, ‘I don't have your number, do I? It's just you and me up here. It would be a good idea to have it.' Delarango took out his phone and added her to his contacts.
She fingered the ends of her hair and suggested, ‘Maybe I could take yours, too.' After she punched him in, she said, ‘Well, I should go in and shower. I smell like fish.'
Delarango grinned, ‘I don't smell anything.'
‘Let me tell you something,' she leaned in closer and counseled Delarango while he held his breath, ‘you're a lousy liar, but thanks.'
He gave a short, deep laugh and didn't contradict her. Hook came trotting up and that was their cue to say goodnight. Delarango crossed to his yard and noticed that the dog was right in step with him.
‘Come here Hook,' Elizabeth called. He completely ignored her and wagged his tail at Delarango.
‘Don't you want to go home?' Delarango stopped and asked him. Hook lay down on a lush section of lawn in reply. ‘He wants to stay with me!'
The air was crisp and fresh and carried away Elizabeth's fishy smell when she came over. Stars winked and the sound of distant silence on their remote section of the hill swallowed them up. The rest of the world faded into the background. Life beyond this one tiny spot could have stopped and they wouldn't have known.
She softly admonished her dog but he hid behind Delarango, peaking around the side of a long leg, and wouldn't budge.
‘Go ahead and take your shower. He can stay with me.'
‘Are you sure?'
‘Yeah, come down to the back when you're done. I'll leave the gate open.'
He lit the garden, so when Elizabeth returned she would have a golden pathway to lead her to where he and Hook relaxed. Delarango had been out all day and putting his feet up felt good. They sat in silent companionship, Hook settled next to him, vigilantly scanning the perimeter. The dog detected his owner's presence first and alerted Delarango when his tail thumped the concrete.
‘Hi!' Delarango got up and walked over. Fresh out of the shower, her cheeks were flushed and her hair slightly damp. The gentle scent of citrus floated his way. Her clothes seemed a little lightweight for the cold night. ‘You warm enough?'
‘I'm fine. Where's Hook?'
Delarango indicated to the grouping of chairs on a raised section of patio where a lumpy form with a waggly tail was ensconced. He followed Elizabeth over and sat down as she knelt by Hook. She greeted him with loving pet owner language that Delarango couldn't remember hearing since he was young, when his mother spoke to the family's pair of Basset Hounds.
It had a comfortable familiarity to it. After a moment, she perched on the edge of a chair and Hook rested his head on her leg. The splash of a waterfall, unseen in the darkness, was all that could be heard until Elizabeth made a weighty reflection, ‘It's funny how things can change.'
‘What do you mean?'
‘Oh, nothing in particular and everything in general.'
‘Nothing stays the same. Sometimes change is for the best even though we may not know it at the time.'
‘We aren't able to see beyond what we don't want to happen.' She was looking far out over the sea and said in a wistful way, ‘As if there's someone guiding us who knows us better than we do ourselves, leading us in the direction we should go.'
Delarango asked the obvious, ‘Do you mean God or a god?'
‘I suppose so.'
He saw the moon as it emerged from behind a bank of lacy clouds. It poised low on the horizon, so low that the ocean waves might splash its parched surface with salty water. ‘Do you believe in God?'
‘Yes,' she glanced sideways at him, ‘Do you?'
‘You're talking to a card-carrying Catholic.'
‘That didn't answer my question,' she pursued.
‘Yes, I do, although my inner beliefs of what I believe God to be have changed.'
A fleeting look passed between them before she asked, ‘And, how does that fit in with your religious upbringing?'
That was an unanswered question that Delarango had grappled with for a long while. ‘I'd like to think that there's room for personal interpretation. What about you?'
‘I have my beliefs, they are quite personal and I don't like to join in with large crowds to proclaim them.'
He felt he'd overstepped, ‘I'm sorry.'
‘Oh, I don't mean this conversation. I'm happy to talk to you. I meant I resist anyone, whether it's my family, a political party, or a religious group telling me how I should think or what I should believe.'
‘Somehow, that doesn't surprise me,' he observed.
‘Doesn't it?' She considered him at length before giving him a tiny smile. ‘Given our history, I suppose it wouldn't.'
‘We've had an unusual beginning.'
Elizabeth rubbed her arms, looked down at Hook and hurriedly added, almost as if he wasn't supposed to hear her, ‘I'm glad you want to be friends.' With that she stood up, ‘Well, I'd better go inside. It is kind of cold out here.'
She announced to Hook that they were going home. The dog rolled on his side and laid his head on the pavement. A verbal reprimand brought him reluctantly to his feet. Delarango stood up too and, as Elizabeth walked up the path, Hook stopped next to him in a last defiant gesture. She turned back and used a stern voice to bring him to her side. Her dog ambled ever so slowly over to her.
With her face cloaked by the winter night, Delarango heard Elizabeth say, ‘I think he's taken with you.' Then their darkened forms, Hooks and hers, slipped away.
Chapter Nine
Posted on Tuesday, 18 December 2007
Papa-oom-mow-mow
Papa-oom-mow-mow
Baba, baba, baba-whoo
Papa-oom-mow-mow
Papa-oom-mow-mow
Baba, baba, baba-whooooo!
Baba, baba, baba-whoooooooooo!
Ooooo-oooo-ooo-whoooooo
~ Papa-Oom-Mow-Mow, Carl White, Alan Frazier, Sonny Harris, Turner Wilson Jr, 1962
‘Con cuidado,' Delarango's aunt cautioned about her bags, ‘carefully. Just set them over....there.' She gestured with her cane to an open space between the closet and the bathroom and took in the room while her nephew set them down.
‘ Gracias, Francisco. The room, it has a balcony?' She parted the drapes and peeked around them, her raven black hair, artfully arranged atop her head, hidden behind textured silk. Far below, the shore break gently lapped the coastline. ‘What a spectacular view! I think you spent too much for it.'
The slender woman turned back to her nephew, shrewdly appraising him as if he were about to confess to naughty deeds and be sent to the corner. ‘Tia Contessa, you know exactly how much I paid. You asked me when I bought the land.'
‘And The House was free?' She poked through some drawers, appraised the rug, ignored the occasional chair and ended up perched on the edge of the bed testing the mattress.
Delarango smiled. Having his aunt around was the best way to keep him on his toes. ‘The files on The House are in my office. Let me know if you want to go over them before lunch, or after.'
‘Don't be silly,' she softened as she looked around, ‘¿El cuarto no es muy grande?
‘No, this isn't the biggest guest room but it's the only one that has a tub in the bathroom. You can choose another if you'd like.'
‘This is very nice,' She paused and then squared off with him. ‘I'm only saying, you paid a fortune to move all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere!'
‘I have a next-door neighbor.'
‘¡Dios Mio! Why did you build La Casa so close to that awful place?' On the way from the airport, she'd been enjoying the rural drive along Calle de Oro until the two houses came into view, when she completely ignored The House to exclaim about Elizabeth's place which, snuggled next to his, could be mistaken for a tumbledown shack.
‘I didn't have a choice.'
She waved her cane, ‘You had a choice. You could have stayed in Los Angeles!'
Delarango didn't have to look at his watch to know the best time to bail out of a conversation with his aunt, ‘Should I leave you to freshen up while I go check on lunch?'
‘You ignore me?'
‘Te amo.' He kissed the top of her head. Their entire conversation had been in Spanish. His bilingual aunt refused to speak English anymore; people who weren't well acquainted with her assumed she didn't know it. ‘And, I'm taking care of you by making sure you're well-nourished.'
‘Hi!' They both turned to Brian, who'd appeared in the doorway.
‘Your timing's perfect. I'm going to see about lunch.'
‘Do you want me to help you unpack?' Brian offered to Tia Contessa. He liked to rattle his aunt's cage and chose to speak only in English to her. Delarango left them in a dysfunctional two-language argument, with Brian lecturing her about taking care with her new hip and his aunt protesting -- everything! Delarango descended the stairs to their fading squabble.
‘Would you let me do that for you?'
‘¡Hables in espaňol!'
‘Give me those and I'll hang them up.'
‘No es necesario. ¡Vas Brian, vas!'
‘I'm not going to go. I want to help you.'
‘No quiero su ayuda. ¿Tienes un problema de oido?'
‘My hearing's just fine.'
The last thing Delarango heard his aunt say was something he worried would become a recurring theme throughout her visit. ‘If you want to help, go convince Francisco to come back to Los Angeles.'
‘Is that your neighbor?'
It was late. Delarango and Brian had moved inside to a cavernous empty room off the patio. They'd brought their chairs in with them. Over the last of their coffee talk had dwindled away and they perused the dying embers in the abandoned fire pit, the fine mist that had moved them indoors and the figure of a woman next door, just visible between the branches of Delarango's eucalyptus. She rapidly removed laundry off a drying rack on her deck. A dog approached her then moved their way and stood at the gate at the end of the deck, looking over towards The House and wagging its tail.
‘One more time! Is that your neighbor?'
Delarango had been staring past the trees. While he'd scrutinized Elizabeth, spotlighted in porch light yellow, he'd missed his cousin's question -- twice. Eventually, it dawned on Delarango that he'd dropped the ball. His voice echoed through the room, ‘Yes, that's Hook. I think he's a pure bred border collie'
‘I've always said to anyone who'd listen that you should be doing stand up.' They exchanged glances before Delarango let Elizabeth recapture his attention. Brian shot him another question, ‘You must have met her?'
He exhaled, ‘Uh huh.'
‘And?'
‘She's...' he fumbled for a description as his mind raced through possibilities, ‘what am I looking for?
Brain continued to watch Elizabeth, ‘Hot? Taken? Please don't say not attracted to men!'
‘I was going to say she's a marine biologist. She works with seals and dolphins and otters at a rescue center.'
‘Good! Intelligent and attractive. What's her name?'
‘Elizabeth Bennet.'
Brian was used to cutting a swath through governmental bureaucracy every day and now he headed straight for the heart of the matter, ‘Here's the crunch question: how much has Elizabeth Bennet taught you about biology?'
‘We don't know each other that well.'
‘Do you want to know her better?' When Delarango didn't respond, he prodded, ‘Or not?'
‘As usual, you're just teeming with information.' Delarango remained stalwart, a word he'd always liked but never seemed to have an opportunity to use. Brian continued, ‘Don't let anyone kid you, you'd never make a living as a paid informant.'
Delarango grinned into his coffee mug and drank the last lukewarm swallow. Just when it seemed their conversation should be buried, he brought it back to life, ‘What was the question?'
‘Never mind.'
‘Ask me again.'
‘Forget it.'
‘I can't figure her out.'
‘Do you need to?'
‘Well, yeah Brian, I do!'
‘Why? Because she's the only game in town?' Brian received a definitive non-verbal answer. ‘No, I guess I didn't need to ask that. But thanks, now I have an answer to my question.'
‘And that would be...?'
‘You're interested.'
‘Or frustrated.'
‘I thought you knew what to do about that!'
‘I'm working on it.'
They saw Elizabeth go inside. Her dog stayed glued to the gate, staring over at The House until, apparently, she called for him to come inside. When her light was extinguished, Delarango set his mug next to the chair and stood up, ready to call it a night. As they walked upstairs, Brian observed, ‘You could've fooled me. I don't see you doing much of anything.'
‘You don't know what's been going on around here.'
‘Well my astute powers of observation tell me that, on a perfectly good weekend night, neither of you has a thing to do. You're on one side of the fence and she's on the other. So, I think I can safely say that not too much has been going on around here.'
‘I have my reasons for taking things slow.'
‘Careful how slow you go or you may end up going in reverse.'
They reached the top floor and parted, going in separate directions to their rooms. Delarango reached for the door handle and offered, ‘I planned to invite her over while you were here.'
‘I'm here for three days not three months!'
His cousin's implications rang in Delarango's ears long after he extinguished the light. He'd long since moved past thinking Elizabeth might be a head case but he was still left wondering about the unpredictability of her emotions. A woman whose reactions were all over the map was a woman you didn't ask to dance.
Elizabeth Bennet. Her packaging suggested a quality product, but without a full list of ingredients available to this consumer, more research was required. She wasn't FRD approved.
Things went into full swing on Friday and all of a sudden it was crowded in The House. Cerise arrived the night before with her new assistant in tow. Bud, a hulking guy who'd played linebacker in college, graduated with honors in Traditional Design of Indigenous Cultures of the Pacific Islands. They took up two guest rooms. Along with Brian, Tia Contessa and himself, five of his bedrooms were occupied. Delarango had thought it extravagant at the time to design The House with seven bedrooms; now he wondered it he'd been too conservative. In case of an emergency, he was down to only two.
His housekeeper was scheduled to come every day while he had company and to bring her husband, who'd been a cook at the Holiday Inn until forced to retire because of deposits on his knees. All together, including the home theater system techie who'd roared up bright and early; eight people were under his roof this morning.
Delarango had been awakened several times during the night by his neighbor. She occupied his dreams. With only frustrating fragments from his slumber, snapshots of Elizabeth materialized from the darkness, always at his doorstep pressing the blue button and talking through the speaker, either on a mercy mission with a five-course meal or aggressively demanding the return of Mama Gertie's journals. There was more but it lay just beyond his grasp. Falling back asleep proved difficult. He put it down to coffee before bed, not willing to admit a developing a weakness for Elizabeth.
The entire business caused to him oversleep. While he shook off the weariness of a restless night, he could hear the unusual sounds of Others in The House.
The rubbery tread of his housekeeper going past his door and down the hallway.
Clunking on the stairs that was either Brian or Bud.
The front door slamming, followed by hollow bootsteps of the technician.
The slap-slappity-slap of Cerise's open back mules resounding across the expansive living area.
And, his housekeeper's rubbery tread coming back up the hallway.
Finally making it downstairs, Delarango heard a shuffle in his kitchen -- thunk-shoop thunk-shoop.
‘Good morning Mr. Rick. Would you like your tea?' A compact man with a white cloth apron tied around his waist beamed up at him. Delarango looked over the breakfast spread on his polished cement worktop, a well-organized array, and knew he'd made the right choice in having his housekeeper's husband take over the kitchen this weekend. ‘Morning Carlos. Wow, this looks great, really nice job. Ah yes, thanks to the tea.'
The cook pulled himself up to his full height and thunk-shooped over with a cup.
‘Hey! The technician's here.' Brian announced as he came in. He turned to Carlos, ‘Andre would like another burrito, this one with salsa verde and double cheese. I might go for another one too, same for me thanks!'
Delarango had just popped a chuck of melon into his mouth. Before he could chew and swallow and ask why Andre the technician was eating his burritos instead of connecting the entertainment system -- an interruption came slappity-slapping into his kitchen.
‘Good mornin' Rick-honey. Man, this kitchen fits you even better'n those jeans you're wearin!' The kitchen and dining area -- a spacious, inviting environment -- flowed into the living space on the main floor. Cerise stood in the center of it all, taking in more than her decorating handiwork when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her assistant tromping past a 10-foot couch carrying a stone carving. ‘Bud! Take that back downstairs.'
‘You just told me you wanted it up here!' He stopped and repositioned the heavy item cradled in his arms.
‘Well, now I'm tellin' you I want it back downstairs!'
Amidst the commotion, Tia Contessa had come into the kitchen from the entrance behind them. As was her habit indoors, she was barefoot -- running silent -- in contrast to the noisy ways of all the others. They didn't hear her approach from behind. Cerise swept her arm in the direction Bud should backpeddle, and bumped Tia Contessa up the side of the head.
The decorator's eyes popped out and her inflated lips formed a plump ‘O'. Then she rallied to apologize in a loud, slow delivery meant to aid Delarango's aunt in comprehending her, ‘I'm so sorry, Ma'am! Are you okay?'
Her hair was perfect but Tia Contessa patted it back into place anyway. As she did, she advised her nephew, ‘Wherever you got this woman from, send her back.' The night before, after Cerise had worked the room to meet Brian and his aunt, Tia Contessa had deadpanned that Delarango's decorator sounded like she'd been forced to watch Gone With the Wind too many times as a child. She also pointed out that Cerise resembled an alien from Area 5 -- except her lips -- which she swore were about to burst and spray Restylyn on anyone within a 15 foot range.
‘We went over this already,' he told her in Spanish, ‘she's here for the weekend and then she's gone.'
‘I'm willing to pay. How much could UPS cost?'
Delarango changed the subject to one his aunt wouldn't want to pursue, ‘Your hip must be better. You don't have your cane this morning.'
His aunt didn't reply, instead engineering a credible limp on her way over to the counter where a rapid-paced exchange began with Carlos about the meals for the rest of the day. Her questions had him thunk-shooping his way around the kitchen to check for ingredients while Brian protested that Carlos should finish his burrito order first.
‘I didn't see her there. Is she all right?' Cerise was saying. ‘I feel awful.'
‘She's fine. She says not to worry about it.' Delarango received a stony stare from his aunt.
‘Oh, good! In that case, I need you downstairs.' She linked her arm though his to lead him away, ‘We have some decisions to make. Have you been thinkin' about your studio?'
‘There's nothing to think about.' Delarango tried to casually remove his arm from her grasp. She held on like it was the last pair of Jimmy Choos off the sale rack.
‘I have a couple of ideas -- nothin' big -- just to make the room more functional.'
‘I told you I didn't want you in there.'
‘You didn't say anything about standin' in the doorway!'
He disentangled his arm and repeated his position, ‘I don't want my studio touched.'
She whispered conspiratorially, ‘It could use a little organization. An aesthetically pleasing environment would make you work better.'
‘You don't know anything about the way I work.'
‘So, help me to understand.'
‘You're not touching my studio, Cerise.'
Tia Contessa interjected with her take on things, ‘¡Ella me recuerda una mula!'
Brian chuckled, Delarango shook his head and Carlos the cook wisely pretended he didn't hear the comparison to a mule. It all went right over Cerise's head since she didn't understand a word of Spanish. ‘Won't you even consider my ideas?'
‘No.'
‘You'll be sorry.' she mock-pouted.
Just then Bud returned and barged in to ask, ‘Did you discuss the weaving?'
Delarango looked blankly between Cerise and Bud.
Cerise attempted to dismiss him, ‘Not yet, Bud.'
‘Now might be a good time.'
‘No Bud,' she hissed under her breath.
"What are the two of you talking about?' Delarango asked.
Before Cerise could stop him, Bud jumped in, ‘I thought some hand-woven wall coverings might work very well in the downstairs area. The indigenous islanders from Tonga have an elaborate design that I can picture bringing your walls life.'
‘Bud!'
‘Or possibly the simpler pattern that the Fijians are known for would be the way to go.'
‘I think that Mr. Delarango --'
‘If you have some dried fronds -- preferably from the cocos nucifera -- I can put together a couple of samples in no time.' He emphasized, ‘Now might be a good time.'
Cerise was clearly annoyed, ‘Why are you repeatin' yourself?'
‘Well,' Bud's brow wrinkled, ‘I was setting the carving down and it sort of slipped out of my hands.'
‘Sorta?! You'd better be more specific...and fast.'
‘It dinged the wall.'
‘Which wall?'
‘The fireplace wall in the game room.'
‘How bad is it?'
‘Well, it's a funny thing. Drywall crumbles away with just the slightest ding.'
Cerise began slinging a heap of abuse at her giant assistant. Without so much as a parting word to those assembled in the kitchen, she slappity-slapped off with Bud following behind, looking very much like a prisoner being led to the gallows.
While he wasn't any sort of a recluse, Delarango had become used to a blessed solitude in The House and after lunch the assembled crowd and all their quirks encouraged him to escape. He went out the back and circled around to the front to check on the health of his Mexican Blue palm which was neither a native of Tonga nor Fiji. He noticed a disturbance on the surface of the pond and detected a lapping sound to his left. Hook's head popped up from the greenery and he trotted over to greet Delarango. A dripping muzzle spotted his shoes.
‘Hi, what are you doing here?'
Elizabeth stepped out from her carport and answered for Hook, ‘He's being disobedient. Hook, for the last time, come over here!'
This was unexpected. Bells and whistles went off in Delarango's head reminding him of his conversation the night before with Brian. Hook stayed by his side as he crossed his lawn and met her at the property line, ‘Well, you gotta show him who's the boss, Elizabeth.'
A quick laugh chimed through the air. Dressed in a plum pantsuit, a shade he particularly liked, she looked good. Her hair had a new style, too. Yep, she looked very good. It was Friday afternoon, closer to when she should be coming home than leaving and he wondered what was up. ‘You look nice.'
‘Thank you. I'm on my way to the Institute.'
‘Dressed like that?'
‘Yeah, no feeding rounds for me today. My boss and I are meeting a representative for Seamus Richter Hoffmann, the source of funding for my sea otters. I'm giving a presentation and we're taking him on a tour. He'll be reporting back to the company directors in Germany.'
While Delarango continued to admire her appearance, ‘It's all coming together then.'
‘Finally. This is the final step before the funds are released. I expected us to be up and running by this time. Their board passed our submission last summer. Mark, my boss Dr. Wiegghocé, has gone through this hundreds of times. He says this is normal and I'm supposed to be patient.'
‘It's hard to sit around and wait on others when you're ready to move on something.'
‘That's so true. We can't go forward until they release the funds. I'm a little nervous. I'm responsible for everything. This has to go well. It's really important for the Institute.'
‘Come on, this is your baby. You're the only person to who could present it. It'll go great and when it's all over you'll want to do it again.' The appreciative expression that appeared on Elizabeth's face changed to one of curiosity. She was distracted by something behind him. Delarango turned and saw his aunt standing at a window looking out over the yard. ‘That's my aunt. She doesn't miss much.'
Her laughter caught in the air again and danced away like a tune on a Caribbean beach. ‘What does she think of The House?'
‘She thinks it should be a few hundred miles south of here! Why don't you come over tonight? You can meet her.' They looked over and saw Tia Contessa was gone, ‘And my cousin Brian. Do you speak Spanish?'
Elizabeth didn't get a chance to answer. From around the side of The House Cerise called for Delarango, drawling her pet name for him as she came up the path. It made him feel incredibly uncomfortable but before Delarango could explain about his decorator, Cerise appeared.
‘Rick-honey! If I didn't know better, I'd think you were tryin' to --' She saw he wasn't alone and made a beeline for him, picking her way across the lawn with determination. On her travels, the heel of one of her mules stuck fast in the turf and she was forced stop and yank it out. The rest of the journey was executed on tiptoe and she arrived to claim the prized position on Delarango's right.
‘Aren't you gonna to introduce me? Never mind. Hi, I'm Cerise Colquitt.' She stuck her hand out and Delarango watched Elizabeth shake it. ‘You must be here to pick up the carpet samples. They're stacked in the garage for you.'
With all her artificial enhancements, Cerise could look strikingly odd. Now, straining a smile at Elizabeth, Delarango thought he could detect the outline of her new check implants under her skin. He made a deliberate effort not to shudder. As he was about to explain who Elizabeth was, his neighbor took care of it herself.
‘I live next door.'
‘Oooh! We'd always wondered just who could be livin' there.' "There" was pronounced as if Cerise was holding it at arm's length pinched between two fingers.
‘It's a family property.'
‘Oh, I see.'
‘It's been in my family for generations.'
‘Oh, well.'
‘It was very handy when I needed a place to live.'
Pseudo-sympathy dripped in Cerise's voice, ‘You don't have to say nothin' else. Everyone needs help sometime. You're lucky you have somewhere to go and be safe!'
From the confusion on Elizabeth's face, Delarango could tell she didn't read the implications of Cerise's remark. He interjected, ‘We don't want to keep Elizabeth. She's on her way to a business meeting. So, we'll see you later?'
‘I can't. Dinner's part of the agenda.'
He found that truly disappointing. ‘Where are you going?'
Elizabeth named a premiere establishment, well-known for its celebrity chef and ground-breaking cuisine. Cerise had hinted on a previous trip that she wouldn't protest at all if Delarango wanted to take her there. He told Elizabeth, ‘I've always wanted to try it, but never had the chance. I hope everything goes well.'
‘Thanks. I'd better go. It was nice to meet you, Cerise.'
Cerise's reply was so sugar-coated you might break a tooth on it, ‘Same here Elizabeth, and if you ever get in a position where you feel like you can re-decorate, let me know. I never back away from a challenge.'
‘I'll keep that in mind.'
Cerise spun around to head back to The House and almost fell over Hook, who had crept up next to her. She let out a startled screech and Hook barked back.
‘Cute dawg.' She recovered her dignity and began tiptoeing back the way she came.
Delarango was left smiling at Elizabeth. ‘Tell me how well it went tomorrow, will you?' She nodded and hustled her dog into the house. Delarango lost sight of her when he went down the path to the back of The House but he heard the croaky engine of her truck start up before she drove off.
He considered putting the encounter down to fate and might have, except practicality told him when you lived less than10 yards from someone, the probability of running into them was pretty high.
Elizabeth Bennet. She sparkled like a gemstone. With radiant allure, each facet reflected another fine aspect, suggesting she was a valuable acquisition to treasure. But care needed to be taken. What one might think a truly rare find could be nothing more than a worthless piece of glass.
The day had started early for everyone except Delarango. After dinner, before it could be called late, The House had been set in order and was ready for the next morning. Bud had clunked his way upstairs to read Sumatran poetry, Brian had fallen asleep in one of the home theatre's pliable leather chairs, Tia Contessa was content to retire to her room. And then there was Cerise. Although Delarango hadn't planned on it, her omnipresence annoyed him; her unwanted attention engulfed him to the point he felt like he was drowning. The only way to shake her was to hide in his room - a prospect that went against all he supported and could only be utilized so many times.
Tonight he definitely didn't want to be alone with her. Looking for someplace other than his room to occupy his time, he saw that Elizabeth's truck was parked in her carport. She was back. His cunning side kicked in and, before he could second-guess himself, Delarango snuck next door. He climbed the stairs to Elizabeth's balcony and saw Hook on the deck, looking through the gate, detecting his presence before he appeared.
‘Hi boy.' He reached his hand over the top of the gate and patted his friend before he quietly called out, ‘Hey, Elizabeth, are you back?'
After three calls, when he didn't get an answer, Delarango was about to go home and subject him self to an unpleasant fate when Elizabeth stuck her head out the sliding door, ‘Hi.'
‘Hey, how'd it go?' Changed out of her pantsuit, she was wearing faded denim and a 49ers jersey. She didn't look too upbeat. ‘Did you come back early?'
‘Ah, yeah.'
Something wasn't right. When she didn't offer an explanation he asked, ‘What happened?'
‘It was cancelled.'
‘Dinner? If you're hungry I've got more than -- '
‘Everything,' she said flatly as she came over and opened the gate.
‘At the last minute? What happened?'
‘I was waiting there and nobody came. I called my boss. His phone was turned off. Finally, he called me and told me the meeting was cancelled.'
‘Why?'
‘The representative from Seamus Richter Hoffmann couldn't get here. He was held over with other meetings and never flew in.'
‘So he's still coming? Tomorrow, or the next day?' She shrugged. It didn't sound right to Delarango. ‘Your boss didn't show up either?'
‘No, he's been out of town and was coming back just for this. When it fell through, he didn't bother.'
‘Where is he?'
‘North of San Francisco.'
It only took Delarango a second to digest her story. He told her, ‘Well, if he was coming from that far, he would have had to have left hours before you were due to meet to be there on time. Why didn't he call you sooner?'
Elizabeth sat down on the top of her picnic table and plopped her chin in her hands. ‘I don't know.'
‘I'm really sorry this happened.'
‘Finding funding isn't easy. We tried every conceivable source and finally Seamus Richter Hoffmann came through. But, now it seems like maybe they aren't going to come through and we're back at square one after all this time.'
On her face and in her voice, Elizabeth's disappointment was obvious. He sat down on top of the table next to her. The drapes were drawn, the porch light was off and the moon was nowhere to be found. Her profile was dark against dark. ‘What's you boss like?'
‘Amazing.'
Even as low as she felt, she sang his praises, enough so that Delarango knew no one could be that good. They sat quietly with Elizabeth's troubles until she looked towards her sliding door and jumped down. ‘Bohemian Rhapsody, that's my phone! Be right back.'
She returned promptly and reclaimed the same spot next to him. Her spirits had rebounded somewhat. Another chapter in her story unfolded as she told Delarango that Mark had called to say they would do a recording of her presentation on Monday and get it to SRH for their monthly board meeting. He was emailing her a script he wanted her to memorize. Elizabeth had offered to go in tomorrow -- Sunday -- to meet with "someone with a camera" to map out how it should be shot.
Instinct, and possibly a mixer of some other primitive reaction, had Delarango disliking Mark. It was an intense feeling that welled within him. He belied what he felt and said, ‘That's good news.'
‘Very. But I'll be a basket case until this is finished.'
From The House, an unlikely interruption occurred, moving them on from talk of the Institute. They heard music and looked over at the balcony with a door ajar. Elizabeth turned to him, apparently expecting an explanation.
‘Ah, that would be my aunt.'
‘What's she doing?'
‘Dancing the flamenco.'
‘Really?' she asked incredulously.
‘Yeah, but we aren't supposed to know.'
‘Why not?'
‘Because she recently had hip replacement surgery and she still likes to get the attention of a recovering patient.'
They looked up and over as a bright red skirt flashed between the parted drapes. Along with it was an abundance of tapping and clapping. ‘How can you miss all that?'
‘You can't, but we just pretend. It doesn't hurt anything to let her think she's pulling something over on us.'
‘She misses you not being close?'
‘It wasn't like I was just around the corner in Los Angeles; she lives in San Diego County.'
‘Why didn't you buy land there?'
‘I wanted to come here.'
‘Why?'
Delarango went for a vague response, ‘It's nice here.'
‘I've been to San Diego County. It's nice there, too.' He heard it in her voice, she wanted him to explain himself. When he didn't, she tried another route, ‘Why did you build The House where you did?'
‘A lot of your family's land can't be built on.'
‘I've never heard that before. How do you know?'
‘The land's unstable. It's very common for this area. Landowners up and down the coast may not be the flaming conservationists they appear to be with their vast tracks of open land; they simply may not be able to develop it. I surveyed three sections that your mother was willing to sell and this was the only one that could have a structure built on it. My first preference was down at the double turn, on the other side of the road.'
‘By the apple orchard?' Her head turned in that direction. When she turned back, her crooked brow was arched, ‘I don't remember seeing surveyors around there. They probably came while I was at work. I can't imagine The House there.'
‘Neither can I. Something entirely different would have been built.'
‘Like what?'
‘I wanted to build on the spot where the meadow gently rises. The House there would have been built mostly with glass walls following the natural contours of the land. The impression that there were no barriers between nature and a man-made environment was a concept I wanted to pursue.'
‘So you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.'
‘Exactly,' he said. ‘Imagine feeling like you were sitting in that meadow when you were in your living room.'
‘Umm, the wildflowers are gorgeous in that spot. They'd come right inside.'
‘So, although it wasn't my first choice, The House was built here, uh, there.' He pointed to his left.
‘Why didn't you build in San Diego?' she asked again.
‘I didn't want to.'
‘You're not really answering me.' Her eyes shone in the dark. Their intensity made him feel like she could read what was in his mind. He looked away to avoid that possibility. ‘You could have built anywhere.'
‘No, I couldn't Elizabeth.'
‘Why not?'
‘I just couldn't.'
He said nothing more about it and they drifted off to other topics, including the Mexican food extravaganza at his house earlier tonight. He was chided for straying from his righteous path of nutritional excellence. Delarango never realized he'd appeared that way to her.
‘Tonight I was testing recipes for a cookbook. I'm approaching it with the theme of all fresh, natural ingredients.'
‘‘Natural' is a word that pretty loosely used.'
‘It's used and abused. You can't rely on its' meaning. Instead, you need to avoid additives and chemicals and anything that keeps your food looking the same six months later.'
‘It's not always practical to be able to avoid all that.'
‘Not the way people live today. And as long as there's demand, there'll be products made to fill it. There's so much education and information out there but if people don't want to take better care of themselves, you can't force-feed them a healthy diet.'
‘Thank you.'
She'd lost him. ‘For what?'
‘For encouraging me to change my eating habits.'
He was pleased, ‘Did I do that?'
‘You did and I cleaned up my act -- somewhatt -- I still prefer white wine, bread, and chocolate!'
He gently knocked her shoulder with his, ‘Don't be too hasty with your thanks. Tomorrow there's going to be a kitchen full of Mexican desserts, made from only the finest ingredients, but maybe not falling entirely within the parameters of healthy eating, and I'm inviting you over to taste-test them for me.'
‘I don't know anything about Mexican desserts.'
‘You know what you like, don't you?' Their shoulders still touched. At the spot where they met, Delarango felt the heat of her body mix with his.
‘That I definitely do.'
He challenged the quiet of the evening with his reply, ‘Then all you have to do is tell me.'