by Carsen Taite
Within about twenty minutes Greer pulled into the parking lot on the west side of the bridge. She straightened her cap and looked in the rearview mirror. She was dusty from the drive. No one would mistake her for a rock star, which is exactly what she wanted. She climbed out of her car and walked through the parking lot. A small group of tourists clustered around the open tailgate of a pickup. When Greer looked closer, she could see a short, round Native American woman stoically exchanging wrapped smudge sticks and turquoise trinkets for dollar bills. Greer used to have a whole box of handmade trinkets, rings, bracelets, and fetishes purchased from roadside stands like this one. She wondered how much money the tribal vendor made and if it was worth the hours spent creating these one-of-a-kind pieces tourists haggled over. When the cluster of tourists finally moved on, she approached the pickup.
Greer looked at the simple blanket spread across the tailgate. The large number of items still remaining told her everything she needed to know about tourist traffic on the bridge that day. She was surprised at the variety of items and guessed the selection included items from various members of her pueblo. Greer spotted a group of fetishes. “Zuni?” The woman nodded. Greer recalled the Zuni Pueblo was a couple of hundred miles south and wondered if she had traveled for the day to sell her wares. “May I handle?” She nodded again. Greer carefully selected a small bear crafted from onyx. She was surprised at the level of detail, from the inlaid turquoise heart line to the intricate bundle of gemstones secured on the bear’s back. Usually roadside vendors carried the simpler designs. The fetish in her hand was worthy of the finest Santa Fe galleries. Greer searched her memory but couldn’t recall the various meanings assigned to each design feature. She started to ask, but before she could get the words out of her mouth, the woman plucked the bear from her hand and replaced it with a different fetish.
“The wolf is better for you.”
“It is?”
“Yes.”
Greer looked at the fetish in her hand, which in her opinion didn’t really look like a wolf. She studied the detailed alabaster carving, including the onyx arrowhead and tiny amethyst nuggets that were secured to the wolf’s back with a thin strip of leather. The piece was unique and Greer appreciated the use of materials other than the usual turquoise and coral present in much of the Southwestern art outside of exclusive galleries.
“Are you the artist?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Do you want to know what it means?”
Greer was going to buy the fetish no matter what she said. It was a beautiful piece and likely to be a bargain in this not very busy parking lot, but she didn’t want to be rude, so she nodded. She knew the artist wasn’t going to quote her a price until she was ready.
“The wolf is a teacher. Pathfinder. You,” she pointed at Greer, “you have lost your way. The wolf. He will help you find the right path.” She held up the fetish and pointed out the arrowhead. “See this? Arrowhead will give you safe journey. The purple stones are amethyst. Healing.” She finished her presentation by closing Greer’s palm around the carving.
Greer pulled a wad of cash from her pocket but the woman vigorously shook her head. “It’s for you.”
“And it’s beautiful. I’m happy to pay for it.”
“No. It is for you.” She smiled. The first real expression Greer had seen her share. “You can buy something else, though, if you want.”
Greer returned the smile and purchased a couple of bracelets. She handed over the bracelets to be wrapped, but she slid the fetish into her pocket. Bag of bracelets in hand, Greer walked the trail to the bridge.
The Rio Grande River Gorge Bridge was a cantilever truss bridge, the fifth highest in the U.S. Greer knew from high school field trips that the drop from the bridge to the bottom of the gorge was close to seven hundred feet, but the number alone was meaningless. She paused at the overlook before entering the bridge, and looked down. The view made the height seem every bit as significant as it was. No one would survive a fall. Rafters looked like ants, and the smashed-up automobile on the wall of the gorge was a sharp testament to the relentless terrain. Until you reached the edge of the gorge, it looked as if the desert terrain stretched for miles to the nearest mountain range. Greer idly wondered if, before it was discovered and a bridge was built, explorers heading west had plunged to their deaths, having no idea the ground would open up in their path. It sure looked like giant hands had pulled the earth apart and poured a stream of water in, enough to cover the ground at the bottom, but not enough to break a fall.
She walked along the bridge and leaned closer to the edge. The last week’s headlines smeared her reputation in a way she had never experienced, and she knew this was just the beginning. She’d gone from harmless rowdy playgirl to drug-addicted, homicidal predator in less than a day. Now they were saying she was a heartless bitch, and all because she was finally trying to live her life below the radar. They didn’t know anything about her. She was no stranger to being maligned by the press, but for the first time in her life she cared what everyone said and thought about her. She was trying to reconnect with her family, and she had finally found a woman who was interested in her, and not because she was a superstar.
It wasn’t like Ainsley made a choice. She didn’t know who she was kissing.
The thought stopped her cold. Greer had savored the knowledge Ainsley liked her for who she really was, but the truth was Ainsley didn’t know her at all. All Ainsley knew was a scruffy redhead named Tray, who seemed shy because she rarely answered a question directly. Greer wasn’t anything like Tray. She was bold and brassy, not meek and mild. She might be scruffy in real life, but it was designer scruff, not hand-me-downs from her cousin. Greer knew she had done more than change her looks since she left Chicago. At least when it came to Ainsley, Greer felt like she had become a completely different person. So, what are you going to do about it? Tray would shuffle away in embarrassment over the cluster, but Greer would call Ainsley out and see where things stood. She looked deep into the canyon gorge and considered her choices. Maybe it’s time for Ainsley to meet Greer Davis.
Chapter Fourteen
“There’s a woman at the front desk who says she knows you. She insists you handle her accommodations personally.”
Ainsley was startled. This was the first time Drew had spoken to her since she’d sneaked into the hotel the day before. Ainsley wondered if the scowl on Drew’s face was for her or the pesky customer at the front desk. Drew clearly thought one of them was a bitch. Probably me. She started to ask if Drew had asked more questions to find out who the woman was before disturbing her, but the deepening scowl kept her quiet. Ainsley had avoided any contact with the lobby since her arrival. The guys who slacked through their bellman duties actually made decent bouncers and had escorted numerous clever reporters disguised as tourists from the premises. Ainsley figured the press would become more clever with every passing hour, so she chose to stay behind the scenes for a while. Her mind churned to formulate an excuse for making Drew handle whatever it was this guest wanted, but Drew’s expression made it clear she should deal with the situation herself if she wanted a chance at Drew’s respect. Ainsley stood and walked to the door, but couldn’t resist a parting comment. “I didn’t know she was your cousin, and I had absolutely no idea she was the infamous Greer Davis.”
“And if you did?”
“I would have sent her packing.”
For the first time since they met, Drew gave Ainsley a big smile. She opened the door and said, “I’ll walk ahead to make sure the coast is clear.”
Ainsley didn’t have time to wonder about the abrupt change in Drew’s attitude. She could already hear a familiar voice haranguing the front desk clerk. “Look, I know she’s here, so you can stop pretending. She’s working here, and I wasn’t under the impression it was undercover, though she’s not above going there. If you get my drift.”
Ainsley interrupted her laughter at her own joke. �
�Dammit, Melanie. What are you doing here?”
Melanie Faraday, complete with luggage, couldn’t have looked more out of place. She, like Ainsley, was dressed in an expensive tailored suit and designer heels. She looked like she was used to being waited on, and her tapping foot demanded service. “Waiting for you, silly. And a room. Who does someone have to know around here to get some attention?”
Ainsley glanced around the lobby and noted the stares. “Apparently you’re doing splendidly in the attention-getting department all on your own.” She pulled Melanie to the side of the front desk. “In case you haven’t heard, we’ve had a little bit of excitement around here.” She took a deep breath and was about to ask again what she was doing in Santa Fe, of all places, but Melanie launched in.
“I did hear. Everyone heard. Why else would I be here? To check on you, of course. Are you seriously involved with Greer Davis?”
Ainsley ignored the expectant expression on Melanie’s face as she struggled to find an answer to her sister’s question. Even as Ainsley’s rational, intelligent mind sent the word “no” to her lips, memories surged in and halted her response. Tray dressed in ragged jeans and a Cubs sweatshirt; Tray smacking her with a kiss midflight; Tray wet from the bath and their sex play. All day yesterday she had held out hope Tray would call and offer some plausible explanation for her identity issues. The call never came. Ainsley realized she needed to face the truth. Sweet, vulnerable Tray didn’t exist, but thoughtless, heartless Greer was alive and well. Ainsley was glad to be rid of her. The last woman Greer had romanced in a hotel room was dead.
She faced Melanie squarely. “No, I’m not involved with Greer Davis, but I don’t want to talk about it here.” She swept her hand in the air. “If you seriously want a room, I’ll get you one. We can talk when I’m not working.”
“You’re such a stick in the mud, Ain. After all, I came all this way to see you.”
“Totally wasn’t necessary.”
“Whatever.” Melanie huffed. “I’ll take a room now.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
They looked up to find Drew standing in front of them. Ainsley wondered how much of their conversation Drew had heard. She was still trying to sort out Drew’s odd reaction earlier, but she wasn’t entirely convinced dissing her cousin was prudent to their already tenuous professional relationship.
Melanie handed Drew her bag. “Finally, someone who cares about making people happy.” She tapped her foot until Drew got the hint and led her to the elevator. Ainsley watched them go, wondering about the real reason for Melanie’s impromptu cross-country visit.
*
Greer looked at the blinking envelope on the screen of her new cell phone. She had completely forgotten she had renewed contact with the outside world, but apparently no one else had. When she had returned from the gorge the night before, she had suffered from a strange combination of anticipation and exhaustion. She had considered driving directly to Ainsley’s hotel and declaring her feelings, but she had convinced herself to spend the night in hopes the media frenzy might die down a bit. Now it was almost noon and she was ready to hit the road. When she climbed in her car, she heard a low buzzing from the glove compartment and discovered the forgotten cell phone.
She flipped open the cell phone and punched the power button. The parade of messages was overwhelming.
“Greer, It’s your Uncle Clayton. Rick Seavers, came by looking for you. I promised him I’d pass along the message he was here, so now you know. If you want my opinion he’s not worth the price of a phone call. I threw him out on his ear. Give us a call and I’ll tell you what he had to say for himself.”
“Greer, baby, it’s Rick. Where the hell are you? Your uncle’s a mean sonofabitch. Practically tossed me off the place with his bare hands. I don’t have a clue what I did to offend him, but when I mentioned all this publicity you’re getting will sell more records, he came unglued. Call me, rock star. We’ll figure out damage control.”
“Hey, doll, it’s Ethan. Leave it to you to have an adventure without me. I saw you on the Internet in a hot lip lock with a smokin’ babe and I thought to myself, man, she works fast. I think your red hair is working wonders for you. I called Rick to check on you and he acted kinda weird. He gave me this number and asked if I could convince you to call him. Are you okay, sweetie? We have our midseason break soon. If you need me I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Oh, but you still have to make up for the whole Charlie Trotter’s episode.”
The last message was from Drew:
“I don’t want to talk to you, but Mom and Dad are worried sick. Could you find it within yourself to have a shred of decency and give them a call to let them know you’re okay?”
Greer clicked the phone shut. Fuck you, Drew. Greer didn’t need to be reminded how much Drew resented her. Drew had reminded her at every turn. As she drove the familiar road from Taos back to Tesuque, she wondered when their relationship had taken a wrong turn. Until she’d arrived in town a week ago, she hadn’t talked to Drew in weeks. Well, make that months. Greer scrunched her brow. It might even have been a year. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time she had been to visit. Although she considered the Lancers her primary family, she had probably missed dozens of holidays, birthdays, and anniversaries. No wonder Drew acted like she was the prodigal daughter. No one had called to tell her Clayton had cancer. Greer realized she had been acting like an ass. She had some serious groveling in her future. First on the list was the person who had suffered the most from her recently antics. She dug the wolf fetish from her pocket and nestled it into a groove on her dash. She pointed the Vette in the direction of the arrowhead. Show me the right path.
*
Drew’s change in attitude was refreshing. In a twenty-four-hour period she had gone from sullen to civil. Whatever the reason, Ainsley had one less obstacle to getting her own work done. If Drew would start working with instead of against her, her plans to implement all the changes necessary to bring the Lancer up to Steel standards would have a better chance of success.
She picked up the office phone and asked the front desk clerk to locate Paul and ask him to come see her. While she waited for him, she reviewed recent numbers. Apparently Frank knew a good investment when he saw one. The hotel had been booked to capacity the past weekend and for several weeks before. She realized the last few weeks had been chock full of touristy events, but if she could leverage the Steel name with the loyal following the Lancer already had, she might be able to make a smashing success out of this little place. Listen to me. I’ll be gone in a few weeks, never to return. What do I care? She had to admit the mountain views were breathtaking, but she was already feeling suffocated by the smallish tourist town. Tourist trade was always welcome in the hotel industry, but Ainsley was used to more of a balance with the bread and butter of the business travelers. They were in and out with a minimum of fuss. They rarely traveled on their own dime, so they didn’t act like every detail had to be perfect, unlike the family of four who’d spent their nest egg on the trip. Ainsley was all about excellent customer service, but the understated kind. Business travelers to Santa Fe were rare. After all, what business would people have in this out-of-the-way place?
She couldn’t help but smile at her questionable logic. After all, she was here on business. And so were the hordes of national media personnel camped outside the hotel. She wondered what Greer was doing right now. She overheard a couple of the front desk clerks talking about the silly morning news shows. Greer’s appearance in Santa Fe after almost a week of being missing apparently was news worth broadcasting about on three major networks during the prime a.m. slot. It was hard to believe it had only been two days since she and Greer—would she ever get used to using her real name?—since she and Greer greeted the early morning hours with their own special show. Friday night had stretched into Saturday morning with only turn-by-turn climaxes to mark the passage of time. Ainsley had never felt more special, cherished. Greer had been both gent
le and fierce, delivering exactly what Ainsley needed and what she feared. Tender love from a strong lover. Love? No, the feeling they shared hadn’t been love, but she couldn’t conjure another word to describe what she felt when she lay in Greer’s arms. Ainsley didn’t have a benchmark for the feeling. She didn’t want to. The aftereffects of those tender moments with Greer were ripping her up inside. Definitely not worth her time or emotion. Greer had Ainsley convinced the feelings behind her actions were genuine, but Ainsley knew now that Greer’s emotions were a farce. Maybe Greer should go into acting.
Ainsley was startled from her thoughts by the knock on the door. Thinking Paul had finally arrived to work on their project, she called out, “Come in.” She heard the door swing open, and she looked up from the desk. Her breath was sucked dry. She was completely prepared to take on the world, but she was completely unprepared to deal with Greer Davis, standing right in front of her.
*
Greer had driven full throttle directly from Taos to the El Dorado looking for Ainsley, only to be disappointed to learn she was gone. The young couple who answered the door of Ainsley’s room professed to know nothing about a Ms. Faraday having occupied the suite. They seemed alarmed at the camera-toting man in dark sunglasses who popped out of nowhere to flash pictures of Greer as she stood in their doorway. Greer beat a path away from the reporter and made her way to the front desk, where a team of desk clerks steadfastly refused to tell her a thing. After Greer ventured threats, the manager of the hotel came out and asked her to leave. Greer was glad no reporters were in the lobby to catch the exchange, but she had no doubt one of the desk clerks who professed to be so very concerned about their guests’ privacy would sell the story of her outburst or post it on the Internet within the hour. She didn’t have a lot of time to process the thought before she was surrounded at the valet station. The El Dorado might have cleared the lobby of press, but they were still camped in droves outside the hotel. When Greer handed her ticket stub to the valet, she was instantly thronged. Apparently a week out of the public eye had lowered her defenses. The flashing bulbs blinded her and the barrage of questions made her head spin. Where the hell did they park my car, anyway, Spain? The few minutes seemed like forever, but she forced herself to recover. She forced herself to appear relaxed. She smiled for the cameras, waved off questions, and when the Vette finally arrived, she resisted the urge to run over the paparazzi who ran alongside in pursuit. She had driven the streets of Santa Fe as a teenager and not much had changed, at least on this side of town. She used her memory and the power of the Vette to her advantage and finally shook loose the press who pursued her in their own vehicles.
