BLACK Is the New Black

by Russell Blake

  “Only two people live here?” she asked. The home sat on a double lot that stretched far down the hill.

  “I know. They fell in love with it when they saw it and had to have it. They’re very impulsive like that.”

  “More like a hotel than a house.”

  “With none of the positives. Come on. Might as well get this over with,” he said. They moved to the trunk and retrieved their bags, which Black carried to the front door.

  “Do you hear that?” Sylvia asked, her head cocked, a puzzled expression on her face. A rhythmic thumping sound drifted from down the hill, below the house.

  “I do. But I have no idea what it is,” Black said, equally mystified.

  He rang the doorbell and regarded the exterior of the oversized dwelling, noting that its wooden shingles could use some maintenance, and wondered how long it had been since anyone had performed any. Knowing his parents, not since they’d bought it.

  The front door creaked open and Black’s mother, Spring, stood gazing at them, clad in some sort of a tie-dyed shift, her pink-sock-sheathed feet ensconced in obligatory Birkenstock sandals, her untamed gray hair cascading over her shoulders like a wild animal had taken up residence on her head.

  “Artemus! You made it! Let me take a look at you. And Sylvie! Welcome!”

  “It’s Sylvia, Mom.”

  “Well, of course it is. Artemus. Have you put some weight on?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, that’s what happens as you get older. You’ll see. Gravity has its way with you.”

  Black hugged her, determined to ignore her snipes. “I’m pretty sure gravity doesn’t have to do with gaining weight except in a measurement sense.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Black,” Sylvia said as the older woman embraced her in turn. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Please. It’s Spring.”

  “What’s that noise? Did Dad start a band?” Black asked, the pounding louder inside the house.

  “Oh, no, silly. It’s Chakra’s drum circle, out in back. They get together once a month. It’s a male bonding thing. Polyrhythmic. Cleansing. Trance inducing – a way of connecting to a higher power.”

  “It sounds like a bunch of chimps beating on a hollow log.”

  “It’s not about what it sounds like.”

  “Then what’s it about?”

  “The experience of being part of the circle.”

  “Huh. And what do you accomplish, banging on drums in a circle? What’s produced besides noise pollution?”

  “It’s different for everyone. Stress relief. Letting go of anger and negative emotions. Finding your inner rhythm…”

  “Why can’t it stay inner? I thought living in the hills was all about peace and tranquility.”

  “Not on drum circle day.”

  Spring led them into the expansive living room area, furnished with hand carved pieces made by a friend of theirs who lived in a trailer and spent months making chairs and couches from driftwood. Outside, a dozen older men were pounding away at their various instruments, each with its own timbre and tonal characteristic. Black and Sylvia watched in amusement, and Black turned to his mother.

  “Wait a minute. That guy next to Dad looks kind of familiar. That’s not Larry Elli–”

  “Oh, Larry’s a hoot. He owns some technology company. Very funny guy. But he can go on and on about sailing. It’s a big thing for him. Everyone else kind of plays along,” Spring said. “Let’s go upstairs to the family room. It’ll be quieter there.”

  “And is that Michael Milk–”

  “They don’t like to use last names. Everyone calls him Mikey. Or the Mikester.”

  The din receded as they climbed the wide stairs to the upper floor, where a massive family room separated three guest rooms. Black tossed their bags into the largest of them and returned to where Sylvia was sitting with Spring on an overstuffed couch made from a patchwork of different colored fabrics, admiring some photographs on the bookcase of Spring and Chakra standing among pine trees.

  “Where’s that?” he asked, taking a seat on a beanbag chair that was easily ten years older than he was.

  “Oh, that’s up in Mendocino. We went to a retreat there about three months ago and absolutely adored the energy in the place. It’s a magical area.”

  “I’ve been there. It’s mainly redwoods and rednecks,” Black added helpfully.

  “Not anymore. It had an almost holy feeling to it.”

  “Holy?”

  Spring nodded. “Enchanted. We’re thinking about opening a getaway there of our own. Something far from civilization.”

  “A getaway? For what?”

  “Drumming. Dancing. Yoga. Meditation.”

  “Isn’t that kind of what Berkeley’s been built on?”

  “We want something remote.”

  “Ah. I see. Sort of a place for the two of you to camp out?”

  “Something like that.”

  Spring chatted about the neighbors and her work with the local pet shelter and how expensive tea had gotten over the last year, Sylvia listening attentively as Black sneaked glances at his watch, already restless, dreading when the conversation would inevitably turn to him. His mother was nothing if not predictable, and she didn’t disappoint.

  “And you, Artemus? How’s your company going?”

  “Great. I’ve got a big case right now. That’s why we’re here. I’ve got a fashion shoot near Lake Tahoe tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, my. A fashion shoot! I thought you were a detective. When did you become a photographer?”

  “I’m not a photographer, Mom.”

  “Spring,” she corrected. “Well, with the extra pounds, you’re not modeling, so what are you doing there if not taking pictures?”

  “I’m handling security for the shoot.”

  “Like, as a guard? Do they make you wear a uniform?”

  “No. I’m directing their security efforts.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so happy for you. I know half the people with kids in Hollywood say their children want to be directors. I can’t wait to tell the girls.”

  “That’s a different kind of director. Hey, did I tell you that Sylvia sold a bunch of paintings the other day?” Black asked, changing the subject. He knew his mother had a chronically short attention span – probably a function of too much marijuana.

  “Did you! That’s fabulous. Is there really a business in that?” Spring asked.

  “There can be. But the sales are few and far between some months,” Sylvia said.

  “Well, look at the two of you. An artist and a director. What exciting lives you lead. And Artemus. Didn’t you tell me you were in Mexico? I read about the cartel shootings there and was so afraid for you.”

  “Like I said. I was already home when I told you I’d gone. So there was nothing to stress over.”

  “Still. A mother worries.”

  Black nodded. Of course she does. Never mind there was nothing to worry about, and the place in Mexico he went had far lower crime rates than their own town, much less L.A. Rather than bait her, he let her continue, determined to put a brave face on the visit even as his stomach churned with bile.

  “What’s that?” Sylvia asked, pointing to a metal-topped glass tube on a steel base.

  “That? It’s a lava lamp,” Spring said.

  “A lava lamp?” Sylvia repeated, unsure that she’d understood the words.

  “Yes. They were really big back in the sixties. What a fabulous time that was. Anyway, here, let me show you how it works.” Spring stood and moved to the lamp and switched it on. Long gelatinous tendrils of color drifted languorously through a clear, viscous fluid. “This one oscillates and blinks. I designed it with one of my friends.”

  “You designed that? Why?” Black blurted, almost afraid to ask.

  “You know me, I get bored. And I was thinking back to when we first arrived in Berkeley and I met Chakra. We had a lava lamp in our room. In fact, Artemus, you were conc
eived near that lamp. There are a lot of good memories for me involving lava lamps.”

  Black didn’t want to hear any more. “Mostly, though, people sat around staring at them when they were whacked out of their skulls on acid. Their popularity faded as that population eventually had to stop doing drugs every day and go out and get a job,” he explained to Sylvia, ignoring her warning look. “Everywhere except Berkeley, that is.”

  “Anyway, I teamed up with a friend of mine who’s a sculptor, and we made a few of these lamps. I have Ruth selling them down at her store, and so far, they’re doing okay.”

  “Wait – you started a company to make these?” Black asked.

  “Not really a company. He’s making them as time permits, more as a hobby than anything.”

  “Didn’t your last hobby…wasn’t that the candle business?” Sylvia asked.

  “Right. But that’s gone now, so I wanted to keep busy. Between that and the retreat…”

  Dawning awareness registered on Black’s face. “Mom. Tell me you didn’t buy a piece of land up in the middle of nowhere.”

  “It’s Spring, honey. And don’t worry. Everything always turns out all right. You just need to let the positive energy in. It’s all around you.”

  Black bit back the urge to demand whether she was insane, and instead affected a Buddha-like calm. “I’m sure you’re right. What time does the drum circle finish up?”

  “In a few hours, at dusk. They go at it all day. Very determined. I get a kick out of it.”

  Black changed the subject. “What are we doing for dinner?”

  “Oh, there’s a new macrobiotic place that specializes in organic, non-dairy quiches made with tofu and soy. We figured we could go there as a treat.”

  “Great,” Black said, his smile never fading as he wondered where the nearest store he could get a Snickers bar was.

  “And their wheat grass smoothies are to die for, I hear,” Spring enthused.

  “They don’t happen to put vodka in them, do they?” Black asked.

  “It’s not that kind of place.”

  “Of course not.”

  Dinner turned out to be a misery, with his parents insisting on regaling them about his ex-wife Nina’s latest accomplishments – a sold-out world tour kicking off, a twentieth anniversary release of new material featuring the old band – sans Black, of course, who only wrote every hit they ever had – and a televised New Year’s special on VH1 where Bono, Elton John, and Madonna were slated for guest appearances along with a special surprise performance by the Rolling Stones.

  When they politely inquired about Sylvia’s art there was an uncomfortable pause, and an even longer one when Chakra asked what they had planned for New Year’s Eve – which they hadn’t even discussed, as it was still six weeks away.

  “I don’t know. We’re probably just going to hang around and problem drink, and then go shoot up the neighborhood at midnight,” Black said, wishing a triple shot of Jack would somehow miraculously appear on the table in place of his water glass.

  Spring clapped her hands together. “You should fly to London to see Nina’s show! I know she’d be delighted to see you. We were thinking about it. Just say the word and I’ll book two more seats! Imagine! How fun. New Year’s Eve together as a family!”

  Sylvia and Black exchanged nervous glances. “That’s an idea, Mom. But let me get back to you about it. I have a lot going on, and so does Sylvia.”

  “That’s right. The holidays are a whirlwind for me,” Sylvia agreed.

  Spring squinted at Black. “Is it my imagination, or is your hair getting thinner?”

  “I prefer to think of it as my scalp getting more prominent.”

  Once home in bed, Black’s arm around Sylvia as they snuggled, he shook his head at the night’s events. “I know they don’t mean anything by it, but they drive me nutty. And always talking about Nina. This is the woman who divorced me, cheated on me, and destroyed my musical career. And it doesn’t occur to them I might not want to fly to another country to watch her be adored by millions – with my girlfriend in tow.”

  “You can go alone, if that’s the problem,” Sylvia said.

  “Does it seem that I’m in any way interested in going?”

  She eyed him distrustfully. “You could be faking to see how I react.”

  “Even I’m not that good. I’d rather be dragged behind the Cadillac through broken lava lamps.”

  “While a drum circle plays on.”

  He closed his eyes. “They’re insane.”

  She shifted her head on his chest and closed hers as well.

  “There’s a lot of that going around.”

  Chapter 20

  The road to Lake Tahoe wound through the Sierra Nevada Mountains as they climbed. The Eldorado’s big engine labored as the altitude increased, the air growing thinner and colder as they ascended the pass. Black passed another bus grinding along in the slow lane, on its way from California to the nearby casinos in Reno and Lake Tahoe, and wondered at the number of passengers who chose to travel by that lowbrow method rather than fly.

  Sylvia grabbed his arm and pointed off to the side of the freeway. “Look. A deer.”

  They’d awoken at 5:00 and scarfed down coffee and muffins in the kitchen, peering out into the still dark sky with Spring keeping them company before they hit the road, anxious to get underway. The trip would take three hours if the roads were clear, but Black didn’t want to be late for the shoot, which was scheduled to start at 9:00. He’d spoken with Bill multiple times and was confident that security was as tight as it could get, but still, Daniel had been clear that he expected Black to be there, and since Daniel was paying the freight, he would get what he wanted.

  “We’re in God’s country now, that’s for sure.” Black had given her a running travelogue as they’d driven through gold country on the way to the mountains. He combined what he could remember of the actual history of the area with pure invention, which she seemed not to notice. “Up ahead is Donner Pass. A group of settlers got stuck there during the winter a hundred and fifty years ago, and wound up having to eat each other to make it through to spring. Fortunately, there were some tasty ones in the group.”

  She swatted at him. “Is that true?”

  “We don’t really know how tasty they were. I did hear that they tasted kind of like spam, though.”

  “I honestly think that you’re messing with me most of the time.”

  “I’d like to mess with you most of the time. But sometimes you have a headache.”

  “If we break down, we could just eat your calf. That would last us a few days.”

  “Seems reasonable. I’m not really using that left one much anyway.”

  Sylvia watched the pine forest whizz by. “I wonder how they knew which ones would be tastiest?”

  Black grinned. “Oh, baby, you just know.”

  As they passed the snowline the ground turned white, the first snowfall of the season having hit two weeks before. They went from verdant green to a winter wonderland within the space of twenty minutes, and Sylvia pulled her coat around her as they neared the summit.

  Black turned off at the resort exit and slowed, mindful of ice on the road and not wanting to turn his car into a giant convertible sled. At the end of a long road they approached a guard gate, which was empty as they drove past it – not a great sign from a security standpoint, but also not necessarily indicative of anything but the personnel being on a bathroom break. Once on the resort grounds, they followed a small map Daniel had emailed until they arrived at the staging area for the shoot. It was relatively small compared to Cabo or Vegas, with only five models working and eighteen support staff. All the talent was being provided by Demille, who had flown into Reno the night before and arrived at the shoot early that morning.

  They parked near the wardrobe trailer and stepped out of the car, their breath steaming the air. They made their way to Jeanie, who was on her ever-present radio, listening intently as someone spo
ke between bursts of garbled static. Her eyes widened in recognition and she ended the discussion with a terse instruction, and then held out a gloved hand in greeting.

  “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Black.”

  “The one and only.”

  “Your buddy Bill has been making my life miserable. But he’s thorough, and he definitely works long hours. I have to say I feel better that he’s helping here,” she said.

  “That’s good to hear. Jeanie, this is Sylvia. Sylvia, Jeanie. She runs the show at these shoots. A regular drill sergeant,” Black said.

  “Hardly. More of a gofer and bottle washer than anything,” she replied, shaking Sylvia’s hand while appraising her.

  “How’s it going? What’s on the schedule?” Black asked.

  “They’re setting up a shot over on that far bridge by the edge of the lake. Only one model in that one. Then we go up on the ski slope for a group shot with three, and we round it out with some outside the chalet over there. We already did all the interior shots in the lodge – lots of lounging around in après-ski apparel.”

  “What are they modeling?”

  “Winter garb by a new brand being launched for one of the big snowboarding companies that’s trying to expand and leverage their reputation into winter wear. We did a shot for them a month ago or so in Canada, and they liked it so much they hired us to do another.”

  “Where in Canada?”

  “Banff. Lake Louise.”

  “Nice. You really get around, don’t you?”

  “So far this year I’ve been to eleven countries, with two more to go by year’s end. So yeah, my passport’s pretty full.” Her radio screeched and she held it to her ear. “Will you excuse me?”

  “Sure. Where’s Bill?”

  “I saw him over by the bridge. You want me to find him for you?”

  “No, no need. That’s a long haul. If he’s there, he’s working. I’ll see him when I head over to check things out.”

  Black and Sylvia wandered to the wardrobe trailer, where the staff was working busily to keep the outfits straight. Black gave Sylvia a quick tour and did the same in makeup, where only one model remained – Hailey – the others having already gotten their outdoor faces done. Black introduced Sylvia to Hailey, who seemed typically subdued, and when they left the trailer Sylvia pulled close to Black.