by Ted Clifton
“Perfect,” Jerry said. “Maybe she has bigger fish to fry. It’ll be nice if irritating you isn’t her number one priority, anymore. As far as I know, everything’s set and ready to go. If anything, I think everyone’s eager to get this over with. It’s been more trouble than it’s worth.” He was still annoyed that Anna had upset Cindy as much as she had.
“One good thing that’ll come from this,” Cindy said, “is the contact with the caterer. Carla Hitchens is the owner, and she’s supposed to be one of the best in Santa Fe. She’s also been a chef at several well-known restaurants located here. I’ve been working with her on the tapas-based menu for the reception, and it sounds delicious. She assures me that if someone’s hungry enough for a full meal, there’ll be plenty for them, while others can treat it as just appetizers. We’ve also been talking about having a light dinner catered here on a regular basis when we have a full slate of guests. Her prices are so reasonable, I think we could toss it in as a bonus to our guests. So, maybe a Thursday evening dinner here, on the house. She would have her people set it up as a buffet, so we wouldn’t need to hire servers. I think it would be a real plus.”
“I like that. Maybe we can do that the week after the art people leave.”
“Sure. I think we’ve got twelve guests that Thursday, so we can give it a try. I’ll put together some announcements about it, and email them to the guests who’re going to be with us that day. Free food—who could complain?” Cindy seemed a lot more relaxed now that she would be getting a break from Anna.
“Any idea why the star of the show is on a different schedule?” Jerry was mostly just making conversation—he didn’t care that much.
“None. I asked Taylor when we should expect her. He hemmed and hawed and ended up saying he didn’t know. I bet that’s why Anna is busy with something else rather than bugging us. Not having her star attraction at the opening could be a real problem.”
“This is just a wild guess, but I bet Anna’s driven her nuts with this show, just like she was doing to you. And she decided that the fewest days dealing with Anna, the better.”
“Yeah, could be. I know it’s silly, but I actually feel kind of sorry for Anna. I get the impression that she’s not normally like this. For some reason, she’s acting like this one show is life or death for her.”
“Bobby, why don’t you come down to Santa Fe for the show? You can stay where we are staying. How ’bout it?”
“I’d love to, Ilse, but we have the rollout of our new game going on. This is a huge deal for my company. I don’t think it’d look right if I wasn’t around.”
Ilse pouted, but she knew he was right. “You’re right, of course. But I don’t like it.”
“Didn’t you say there was a show in LA a couple weeks after this one? How about we plan that I go to that one—okay?” He was trying to please her, as best he could. He still had a lot of questions about this budding relationship.
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
“Haven’t you been ignoring a lot of calls? Is that a good idea?”
Ilse almost snapped at him. She really didn’t like to be questioned about anything. “No, it’s not a good idea. Mostly it’s my mother, or the very annoying Santa Fe gallery owner. I’ll call them both in a little bit, and tell them I’m not dead, and make sure they know that I’ll be in Santa Fe in time for the big show. It’s really strange. When we used to talk about having success selling our art, it was like a dream. Now there are plenty of buyers, and it’s awful. I don’t want to suck up to buyers, or goddamned hangers-on like Anna. They drive me nuts, acting like they’re just as important as the people who do the work—two-faced, money-hungry leeches. But I get my money through them, and I want the money as much as they do.” She laughed at herself. “Sounds like I’m the horrible one.”
“Hey, you’re the temperamental artist. You have a right to be a little difficult.”
They laughed, and decided to stay in bed and let the outside world do without them a little bit longer. Ilse would have liked nothing better than to stay with Bobby and never deal with her mother or Anna and her ilk ever again. But she knew that before she could even think about that, she needed to deal with this show, and sell as many paintings as possible. She wanted to be left alone, but she also wanted plenty of money in her bank account.
Bobby, meanwhile, knowing it was totally irrational, had decided to go to Santa Fe with Ilse, after all. All he had to do now was to call in his most trustworthy manager and ask her to pinch-hit for him. Of course, that meant he’d also have to explain his inexplicable behavior somehow, without once admitting he was in love.
Vincent drove to the Inn, feeling a little melancholy. He was in love, and it scared the hell out of him. At the same time, he felt even more afraid for Nancy—his track record with women wasn’t very good. If he was her chance for a better life, that was a bad sign. He thought about ways he might improve. But somehow, he just kept coming back to the same bottom line; he was just too flawed for anyone to rely on. He’d been alone, apart from a few short-term girlfriends here and there, for a long time now. It was his comfort zone. It wasn’t in his nature to be particularly empathetic. He’d survived emotionally by worrying about one person, and just one—himself. Now he was thinking about Nancy and her feelings more than his own. And it made him nervous.
“Vincent, glad I caught you,” Jerry greeted him. “Here’s the schedule for tomorrow for picking up the guests. It’s the art-show people, but without the artist—she’s somewhere else. We’re not sure what that means, but her mother and business manager are coming in tomorrow. Any conflicts?”
“No, no problem, Jerry. I’ll be there, and bring ’em back alive. Need anything else while I’m in Albuquerque?”
“No. I think we’re all set. The reception will be on Friday. Hey, you should ask Nancy if she wants to come. I have no idea what this art looks like, but my guess is it’ll be a little unusual. So far, everyone we’ve had contact with for this shindig is a little strange. But, on the plus side, the food will be from Hitchens Catering, and according to Cindy, they’re by far the best in Santa Fe—worth the price of admission all by themselves. Nancy might even know Carla Hitchens.”
“Thanks, I’ll ask her. I have no idea what she might think about an avant-garde art show, but I know she’ll want to see what the caterer’s serving. Cindy doing a little better now?”
“Yeah. Looks like the artist is missing, so Anna has more important matters to worry about than harassing Cindy. So, we’re back to being happy.”
“Best way to be. Best way to be.” Vincent headed down the hallway to his room.
Jerry watched him go, thinking he seemed sad.
Responsibility. Relationships. Connections. For me, at least, all that shit has meant mostly one thing—pain. Why am I doing this? I’m old enough to know better. Was never able to connect with anyone after my big downfall, losing everything, including my beautiful wife. You can’t be hurt again if you never get into another relationship. Everything since then has been casual. I could walk away from each person—I never let them matter much to me. But this is different. And not good. I need a good murder case to get my mind off of this stuff. Murder and mayhem! That’s where I belong—not in an intimate conversation with someone I love.
Vincent stood at the airport gate holding the small sign Cindy had made that said, “Guests of Blue Door Inn,” waiting for his passengers. Cindy was always planning ahead and organizing things, even when it wasn’t strictly necessary—the thought made him smile. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. The passengers began deplaning.
The flight had come in from New York, so it hadn’t been a short trip. But by appearances, many of the passengers had been traveling all night from somewhere else before boarding that flight. None of them looked happy to be in Albuquerque. Soon, two of the least pleased among them approached Vincent.
“We are Bente Smit and Jensen, your guests.” The man’s speech pattern seemed German or angry or
disgusted or all three. Whatever it was, beneath his words lay a definite sense of superiority in dealing with a lowly van driver. Of course, with Vincent and his huge size, even a king might tread lightly. Not Jensen, though. “Here are our claim checks. We will find a restaurant to have some refreshments before we travel. Once you gather our things and are ready to depart, find us.” He and Smit headed toward a coffee shop.
Vincent considered just leaving with their luggage, but decided he owed Jerry and Cindy better than that—and maybe there would an opportunity later to punch Jensen in his smug face—so he went to pick up the luggage, and there was a lot of it. It took him two trips, with a cart, between baggage claim and the van to get everything loaded. As it turned out, it was a good thing he was only picking up the two passengers for now. The van was packed almost full. He headed back up to the coffee shop to retrieve the human part of his load. As he approached, he could see they were having a heated conversation. Other customers were staring, but they were speaking in something other than English, so whatever they were saying—although loud—was still private. Vincent hurried over before the staff could decide to call security.
“The van is loaded and ready to go, sir.”
Jensen glared at Vincent for interrupting, but the woman smiled. She seemed to appreciate the interruption. There was no conversation on the drive to Santa Fe. Vincent tried a few pleasantries, like, “How was your trip?” and, “Is this your first time in the U.S.?” He got mostly grunts, so he drove the rest of the way in silence.
When they arrived at the Inn, Bente Smit seemed to respond to Cindy’s cheerfulness, and went with her to see her room. Jensen remained unfriendly. Once he had his key and his luggage was taken to his room, he shut the door abruptly, saying he didn’t want to be disturbed.
“My goodness. Vincent, did you do something to that man on the drive?” Jerry was smiling.
“No. Probably should have. He and the lady are not happy with one another. I get that something isn’t going well in their world. But that guy is a pain in the butt.” Van driver or not, there was no reason for him to take shit from a self-important twit like Jensen.
“Well, sorry if they were rude. Maybe it was just the long flight, although that’s no excuse. Glad we don’t have any other guests yet for them to afflict with their grumpiness.”
Cindy came into the kitchen. “Here’s the story. Bente Smit is Ilse De Vries’s mother. As we’ve already heard, Ilse made separate travel plans. At this point, they haven’t heard from her, for several days. Jensen thinks the whole event should be canceled, but Smit says Ilse would never miss this show. The threat of canceling has Anna upset, and she’s threatening to sue everyone. She and Jensen had a big argument yesterday about who would pay the expenses if it’s canceled. These are large paintings, so having them shipped here is very expensive, and then there are all the other costs directly to do with the show. And, reputations are on the line. There are already buyers in town for the event, so it’ll be devastating to Ilse and Anna if the show doesn’t happen. So, at the moment, no one’s happy, plus Bente is worried about her daughter. Ilse’s prone to acting up, so it’s not unusual. But even so, her mother’s very upset that they haven’t heard from her.”
Jerry spoke up. “We did have our inspection by the gallery’s business manager while you were gone. He said everything looked great to him—gave us a thumbs-up. He was even polite.”
“Yeah.” Cindy smiled. “He said the menu and setting up the tent in the back all sounded perfect. Very nice man. Not sure how he fits with this crowd.”
Their new guests stayed behind closed doors most of the day, only asking for tea and sandwiches, which Cindy had taken to their rooms. The Inn didn’t actually offer room service, but it didn’t seem worth arguing about.
The afternoon was busy for everyone, what with the tent, rental chairs, and tables being delivered and set up. The paintings would be delivered the next day—the day of the reception. Everything seemed to be in place, and preparations were beginning to create an air of excitement. But, still—no artist.
The remaining guests, mostly buyers, checked in. They behaved well and were very complimentary about the Inn. It was nice to have guests who weren’t perpetually dissatisfied.
That evening, Taylor, the business manager, came by to pick up Smit and Jensen to take them to Santa Fe for dinner—however, there was no sign of Anna. There was an obvious tension in the air, and Vincent decided to retire early.
Cindy and Jerry had way too much wine, enjoyed some lovemaking, and forgot about the Inn. They were happy, and that was what mattered.
The day began in a heavy, damp fog. Vincent stood outside having coffee, admiring the dense mist and the way it made everything seem alien. He loved this kind of weather, shrouding the whole wooded area in mystery. Jerry walked up beside him, holding his own cup of joe.
“Better hope this clears off soon, or Cindy will be in a panic.”
“Yeah. Mother Nature better not mess with this reception, or your lovely wife will be on the warpath.”
Jerry chuckled. “Funny. You know, we don’t have to run this place at all. But we decided we’d be happier if we had things to do. Now, I’m not so sure.”
“Dealing with people, in almost any way, is going to have its challenges. But it does seem like you guys have had more than your share, so far.”
They both smiled, and headed inside to the kitchen, which was filled with wonderful aromas. Mary and Mariana were both working diligently, getting organized to start baking new breakfast goodies.
“What’s that amazing smell?” Vincent was always hungry.
“Heating up some leftover banana-blueberry muffins, just for you, Mister Vincent.”
Mary smiled at him. He just might have been her greatest admirer, other than Hector. If Vincent had been the marrying kind, Mary’s name would’ve been at the top of his list—good cooks really are a gift from God.
Cindy entered the room. “Just watched the weather. Suppose to clear up by mid-morning and be a beautiful day. So, the plan is still to use the outdoor serving area for drinks. We’ll need to set up the bar in the gazebo and wipe down all the chairs and tables in the tent.” General Cindy was in charge. It was her event, and she wanted it to go off without a hitch as much as Anna did.
Jerry gave her a happy salute and headed out back to dry off the furniture. After taking a warm muffin, Vincent joined him. Soon Hector arrived to help, and in short order everything was ready at the gazebo. The tent had been erected by the rental people and now, with the white chairs, small tables, and bar, it looked very festive. The atmosphere boosted almost everyone’s mood.
“Oh, it’s so beautiful. We should have weddings here.” Cindy looked like she might actually cry. The men slumped around her, exhausted, not seeming to see what she saw.
Soon delivery people arrived with the three paintings to be exhibited at the reception. The works were large and well crated, and took time to unpack and place on special stands. They dominated the large dining area, which had been cleared of most furniture.
Bente Smit came in just then. It didn’t look like her mood had improved. “Cindy, dear. My daughter or Anna should be here to help set the paintings up. I don’t understand where they are. I’ve tried to call them both, and have not been able to get them. I’m so sorry this is all left up to you. But your place looks so lovely.” She paced in front of the paintings a little, then stood back and looked. “I have never really understood my daughter’s art.” She laughed, more from nerves than humor. “I once asked her if a certain painting was finished. It was a stupid question, since it was at a showing, and she nearly took my head off—said I didn’t understand anything about art.” Bente shook her head. “She was right. I have no idea what’s good or bad. But I’m not a buyer, so I guess it doesn’t really matter if I get it or not.”
Cindy felt sorry for her, but could see how she could be very annoying to any daughter, much less a world-famous one. “Well, I’m sure
your daughter and Anna will be here soon. If we’ve put anything in the wrong spot, it’ll be easy to move. Have you heard from Ilse at all?” She wasn’t being nosy—it was her caring side showing through.
“No. I’m very worried. She often has spells where she avoids me. Says I’m too smothering, or something like that. But just before her biggest show? That does not seem like Ilse at all. She may be young, and she can be irresponsible, but she knows this is not just art. It is also a business, and I can’t believe she would deliberately avoid being here. I’m so worried, I’m thinking about calling the police.”
Cindy hesitated. “I know this is going to sound weird, but our van driver—Vincent, you met him—he used to be a lawyer, and he knows all kinds of stuff about police and things. Would you like to talk to him and see what he thinks you should do?” She was pretty sure Vincent wasn’t going to like that she had butted into this family matter and dragged him in along with her, but she could see that Bente was close to a breakdown, and she wanted to help.
“Oh, thanks, Cindy. But I don’t think so. Dirk has already told me the police wouldn’t do anything. She’s a grown woman, and if she doesn’t want to talk to her mother, that’s not a matter for the police.” Bente chuckled, in a sad way. “It’s not so much that she’s avoiding me, it’s that she’s not here getting this show ready. That’s the part that’s out of character for Ilse.”
“I must admit I’m surprised that Anna hasn’t been down here at least a couple of times this morning. When we were planning everything, she wanted to be involved in every little detail. But suddenly, she’s just disappeared.” Cindy realized she sounded like she was gossiping—which, of course, she was.
“She and Ilse are having a major feud, and I know that both of them are upset about it. I don’t know if it’s just business or something more, though. My daughter told me that Anna has serious financial problems, and that this will be her last show with Anna’s gallery, so there is a lot of tension between them.” Bente looked like she wanted to say more, but didn’t.
