She’d already surprised me plenty for one day. I didn’t think I could handle another. Anyway, I doubted she could come up with anything that would affect me as deeply as a gift from Holly.
An envelope addressed to me lay propped against my pillow. I opened it and withdrew the folded sheet of paper inside. A letter, plus, five ten-dollar-bills.
Deer Mrjure,
I am sory I coodnt wotch the tent.
Mommy sed we had to leve.
Hear iz yor mune. I did not ern it.
Luv,Holly
PS I mis u.
I stared at the letter, picturing Holly toiling over the words. By the looks of her spelling, it must have taken her a while to write as much as she did. I fingered the money I’d given her for watching my tent. Sweetie, why didn’t you keep it? Heavens knows, you could’ve used it.
I crossed myself and again prayed for her safety. Holly was a strong little girl with two older brothers and a mother at her side; but sometimes having the support of one’s family isn’t enough.
While I unpacked my Jeep and tidied up my campsite, I continued to fret. What if Social Services separated Holly from her family, in spite of Anne’s assurances? What if she was lonely and afraid?
It would take a hell of a surprise from Anne to rescue me from my conscience, a horrible oppressor, with no capacity for reason.
Twenty-One
“YOU WANT TO TAKE ME DANCING?” I asked.
“You’ll love it,” Anne said. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” She smiled as I imagined her smiling when about to administer a tetanus shot. It’ll only sting for a little while, and just think, it’s for your own good.
I backed up a step. “I don’t think so.” Next, she’d be circling my campfire, playing the tambourine and swirling her skirt in a torso-undulating gypsy dance, like Esmerelda in the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
“Anyway, that’s not the surprise,” she said.
“Surprise?” What else did she have up her sleeve?
She hesitated for what seemed like a full minute before continuing, kind of like dangling a worm in front of a starving fish.
I surveyed my campsite, looking for something to clean up, something to do, anything rather than take the bait.
Finally, she took mercy. “Your sister’s here.”
I thought my heart would stop, instead of performing wild gypsy moves in my throat. It was about time.
While stuck in a cave in the Los Padres National Forest, thinking we may not live another day, Veronica had promised that, once we got out of there, she’d help me figure out what our mother wanted. “I think we’d make a great team,” she assured me. Ha, some team, showing up at our point of rendezvous twenty-two days late. “Veronica?”
Anne chuckled. “Do you have any other sisters?”
“No, but—”
“She showed up the day after you left for your workshop at the Esalen Institute. Good thing you’d already told me about her or I would’ve freaked out when I ran into her at the Lodge. She booked one of the bungalow room. And, therefore, so did we.”
Again? I sat down, so I wouldn’t fall down.
“I figured you’d want to be close to her.”
Anne functioned like a whirlwind, changing directions without notice, sweeping up all in her path. But this wasn’t how I’d conditioned myself to operate, which required a sense of control, of balance, of stability. I took several deep breaths, waiting for my brain to thaw and kick into gear.
“You also need a decent place to shower and dress.”
My neural-control center was still out of whack, quite a handicap in my current situation. Good thing I was sitting down. “And I suppose I’ll be wearing another ensemble out of your anti-minimalist wardrobe.”
Anne’s bracelets glistened and jingled as she swung her arms wide. “All taken care of.”
My mind whirled as I realized I wasn’t getting out of this. Of all things—dancing. “Where’s Veronica now?”
“Who knows? She’s not as predictable as you are.”
I grinned. “Isn’t she something?”
“If you didn’t look exactly alike, I’d never believe you were sisters. She dresses like a vamp, for God’s sake.”
“She likes red,” I defended.
“And black leather and boots.”
“She’s got style. Just like you.”
“So, who am I to judge, right?” Anne said, followed by a put-upon sigh.
“You’re both too awesome for words,” I said, and meant it.
~~~
Veronica wasn’t in her room at the Lodge, which didn’t surprise me. She’d show up when she was ready, and not a minute before. Life was never dull with her around. I was almost afraid to contemplate what it would be like with Anne added to the mix.
Spread out on my bed was an outfit I would never have chosen for myself and, as a result, would never have felt so thrilled about wearing. After a quick shower and some primping with my makeup and hair, I slipped into this dream-of-a-dress, and while twirling in front of the mirror, I began to suspect that it hadn’t come out of Anne’s wardrobe at all. Gold polyester and spandex fringed with loops of metallic thread just wasn’t her style. The dress was also short and tight. Talk about vampy.
I searched for pantyhose to wear underneath, but found none. Guess the idea was for my legs to go bare. What was Anne trying to accomplish with this uncharacteristic transformation? She couldn’t change me inside. Could she?
I slipped into the gold sandals, with their delicately braided straps, and clasped on the gold Cleopatra-style necklace and hoop earrings Anne had provided. A soft misting of her Coco Chanel perfume, and I was ready to go. Good thing Anne would be there to protect me, because this outfit screamed trouble, the kind I’d spent a lifetime trying to avoid.
~~~
The minute we entered the lobby of the River Inn, I knew something wasn’t right. For one thing, the admission was pricey. And then I noticed the crowd. The place was packed. The heavy rhythm of drums and something that sounded like wailing pervaded the air. It filled every nook and cranny in the room and vibrated through my body in a way that seemed primal. I wanted to ask Anne what the hell was going on, but the drumming, wailing, and chanting made conversation difficult. Some woman wearing a Las Vegas-style headdress was dancing with a sword! “Jeez,” I said, ready to run for my life.
Anne grabbed my hand. “Oh no, you don’t.”
“No wonder Veronica didn’t show,” I shouted. “She probably knew where you were taking me and wanted no part of it.”
Before Anne could respond, another dancer leapt from out of nowhere and grabbed my free hand. Anne whooped and gave me an enthusiastic shove. Next thing I knew, I was part of some crazy dance routine, fringed dress and all.
Other guests joined in, so I was hardly alone, but that didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, I was seething. Anne had tricked me. Instead of spending a quiet evening with my sister, I was whirling around with a bunch of crazies, and that persistent drumming was doing funny things to my head. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was on drugs.
“Now this is magick,” Anne called out as she joined me on the dance floor. “Do you feel the kinship? Do you feel the high? These dancers are like shamans, taking us to an alternate world.”
“I’m going to kill you when we get out of here,” I yelled.
She shrieked with laughter, arms and hips swaying. “Let loose, girl. Forget yourself. Enter the flow state.”
I saw visions of my mother, her stiff upper lip, her stern brow. Hadn’t I told her to loosen up not all that long ago? I was being tested. Again. “Okay, smarty-pants. Just watch me now.”
What followed on my part was undignified. If my mother had seen me, she would’ve disowned me for sure, and Cliff, my ex-fiancé, would’ve been convinced I’d lost my mind. But Morgan, sweet Morgan, would’ve been delighted. He once told me that he would love to watch me dance and
sing. If only he could see me now.
I felt as if I were part of a mass consciousness, not unlike the group-mind experience I’d participated in at the Esalen Institute. Something that had been dormant inside of me was finding a release. A resurrection of sorts, another path to The Source. My hair was wet and plastered to my neck. The room smelled like sweat and cologne. And I loved it.
“Art can save your life,” Anne screamed above the ruckus.
“Yes,” I screamed back. The music had entered me, accelerating my pulse by adding a pulse of its own. My hips undulated like a belly dancer, my arms swayed over my head, rhythmic as snakes. Life was good. Life was sweet. I was out of control.
So was Anne.
We were having one hell of a time. That is, until someone nudged me and muttered in a voice laced with sarcasm, “My eyes are deceiving me.”
Great. Cecil, of all people. I smiled and graced him with my back.
“Nice ass,” he said.
I ignored him. Talk about an ass.
Finally, Anne and I took a break.
“Water,” she moaned as she headed for the bar.
I lagged behind her, my face and body moist with sweat, as if I’d just stepped out of a sauna. A tall cold glass of water, and I’d be ready to call it quits for the night.
I thrilled to the sound of tinkling ice cubes as Anne handed me a frosty glass of water, and I gulped it down as if I’d just spent a week crawling through the desert. “Did you see who was here?” I managed through iced lips.
“Yeah,” Anne said after guzzling down her water. “We’re caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.”
Adrenalin coursed through me as if I were preparing for a race. “Let’s see if we can make it out of here without running into him.”
Anne grabbed my glass and set it on the bar next to hers. “Not so fast, hon. It took some doing on my part to get you here, so I’m not about to let Mr. Charming chase you off. Let’s give the dance floor another try.”
As luck would have it, Cecil blocked our path. “Well, if it isn’t Cinderella and her fairy godmother.”
“Eat doo-doo,” Anne said, her tone saccharine sweet.
Cecil eyed us with the killer instinct of a prizefighter seeing his opponent on the ropes. “Quite the erotic dancers.”
I thought Anne would punch him, but instead she gave her body a little shake. “I’m the floor sample, baby, want a demonstration?”
He turned on her as if eager for a verbal boxing match. “More like a floor show.”
“Um,” she said, looking him up and down. “That could be arranged, too.”
My mouth didn’t quite gape open, but did a close enough rendition to show my surprise. What had gotten into her?
Cecil’s eyes brightened, and not in a good way. “You’re not such a fuddy-duddy after all.”
“Hardly,” Anne said, taking a step closer.
They stood eyeball-to-eyeball, prepared to land beat-to-the-punch blows until one or the other threw in the towel, but then, thank goodness, Claudia appeared. “What’s the holdup, honey?”
Saved by the bell.
I sighed in relief, but not Anne. She looked disappointed, as if someone had just swiped her favorite toy. Oddly enough, so did Cecil.
I looked at Claudia.
She shrugged.
Nothing was as it seemed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
ANNE AND I HAD FINISHED our breakfast at the Big Sur Lodge restaurant, yet the chair I’d reserved for Veronica in case she showed up stood empty. I pushed away my plate and checked my watch. We’d been here for an hour. Where was she?
Wanting to see my sister again had taken such a strong hold over me that I could think of little else. We’d met for the first time three and a half months ago in Carmel Valley and had parted soon after. Which meant we had a lifetime of catching up to do. I needed to ask her a zillion questions, darn it, discover how we were alike, how we were different.
Anne placed her hand over mine and gave it a squeeze. “Why don’t you call her and see what she’s up to?”
“No way. She’d consider it prying, and our relationship is still too fragile for that.”
“Okay then, how about we go pick up your sculpture at the gallery?”
I grabbed my napkin and dabbed my eyes. “Sure, why not?”
Anything to get my mind off my sister. And the empty chair.
~~~
Alfonso looked at us, wide-eyed. “We sold the sculpture. I thought you knew.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” I said.
His gaze darted from Anne to me and back to Anne. “It brought an outstanding price.”
An outstanding price? Was this man crazy? “I don’t care what it brought. We want it back.”
“That would be impossible, Ms. Veil.”
“And why’s that?” I asked. Art galleries didn’t screw up like this, did they? They had their reputation to think of, let alone getting sued.
“It has already been picked up by the buyer.”
“So? Call him and tell him to return it.”
Alfonso took a step back, bumping into the counter behind him. “It wasn’t a he.”
Sometimes we need enemies in our lives to snap us out of our comfort zone. When we get tired of people pushing us around and rendering us voiceless, we rise up with decisive action to begin the process of maturation and growth. At least, that’s what I hoped was going on. “Who cares? Get it back.”
Anne cleared her throat and gave me a warning glance. “This is highly irregular, Alfonso.”
“I agree,” he said. “However, the buyer said she was a personal friend of yours.”
“Friend? We don’t know anyone from around here. Anyway, it wasn’t for sale.”
“What’s her name?” Anne asked, her voice calm. I wanted to kick her.
“Claudia Moore, a fellow artist. I saw Ms. Veil speaking to her during the exhibit of her glasswork, therefore, the assumption that—”
“What did she pay for it?” Anne asked.
The curator beamed. “Ten thousand dollars.”
“That little witch,” I said.
“Hey, watch who you’re calling witch,” Anne said.
I paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching my hands. I hadn’t realized until then how much the sculpture meant to me. This glob of glazed clay, which had cost me little in time and effort, embodied a passion that had been suffocating inside of me and had finally broken free. “What’s her address?”
“That’s private information—” Alfonso began before I cut him off.
“Anne, call the cops.”
“No, wait,” he said. “I’ll look it up.”
~~~
It was a straight shot up Highway 1 to Monterey. We’d left Big Sur behind and were nearing Carmel. Hands gripped on the steering wheel, I felt back in control.
“She did it for Cecil,” Anne said.
“That’s what I was thinking. I doubt Claudia would’ve taken my sculpture on her own.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anne turn toward me. “Why are you defending her? You don’t even like her.”
“Because she’s an artist,” I said. “Unlike Cecil, she knows it’s not about possession.”
Anne fiddled with her bracelets until they spun around her wrist like mini roulette wheels, but made no comment.
As we passed Carmel Valley Road, I looked into my rear-view mirror, wishing I could go back in time, if only for a while. I had so many precious memories of the three weeks I’d spent in Carmel Valley with Morgan, Joshua, Veronica, and Ben. I’d felt more alive during those dangerous and confusing weeks than I’d ever felt before. Or since. How is it that some memories stay forever etched in our minds, to recall at a moment's notice, triggered by a sight, a sound, a smell, while others fade away like dreams? Often, though not always, the etched memories hold special significance, highlighting as they do particular e
xhilarations or fears, turning points in our lives—Morgan plucking a dandelion and holding it to my nose. Joshua grinning at me from an upper branch of an oak tree. But that doesn't explain the mind's ability to keep these memories so vivid, so fresh, as if hard-wired into our cells, memories that we share with our children, take to our graves.
Anne lowered the window a crack. Cool air gushed in. “Cecil’s missing the point. He wants to own what the sculpture depicts. You rendered something invisible, visible, Marjorie. You used your hands to transform something mysterious into something tangible. Maybe that’s what Cecil wants to own.”
“Now, it sounds like you’re defending him,” I said.
“Just trying to understand.”
I took the Munras exit to Fisherman’s Wharf, then swung into the parking lot entrance, retrieved a parking ticket, and pulled into a space facing the water. A gust of air, scented with seaweed and fish, greeted us like an over-zealous host as we stepped out of the Jeep. My hair whipped about my face as I locked the doors and jammed the keys into the pocket of my windbreaker. “Wonder how much one of those yachts costs.”
“If you have to ask, you can’t afford one,” Anne said.
I released a slow breath and shook my head. “If a man with that kind of money still needs more...”
“It’s called Defiance,” Anne said.
“What is?”
“Cecil’s yacht. The name should be displayed on its exterior.”
I could understand calling a yacht Defiance to denote defying the dangers of the sea, but my guess was that Cecil’s definition implied open disregard, contempt, and disobedience. “What kind of man are we dealing with?”
“A man darn proud of himself for making it big by resisting rules and authority,” Anne said. “But there seems to be a spiritual vacuum in his perfect world.”
We took the long ramp to the marina docks. It didn’t take long to locate the mega-yacht with ‘Defiance’ written on its bow in swirling blue script. “There it is!”
“Three decks,” Anne said. “Quite impressive.”
Between Darkness and Dawn Page 18
