Serving the late night partygoers was lucrative, but I thought it was a dangerous job. The bar seemed sleazy and featured exotic dancers, which probably didn’t attract the most savory clientele.
I wouldn’t want Elsbeth to set foot in that place. Call me a chauvinist, but I didn’t like the idea of other guys leering at my wife in a skimpy outfit.
Lana was cut from an entirely different cloth than Elsbeth. Having grown up in Spanish Harlem, New York, she’d lasted through the tenth grade until her guardian grandmother passed away. After the house was sold, she migrated up the coast to Boston with a bad-tempered boyfriend who stole most of her money and blew it on drugs. When he’d been caught in a raid he was jailed, and she’d been left to fend for herself. But she worked hard to earn more, and was doing quite well in her current job.
The El Dorado had been looking for feisty waitresses who could handle the riotous drinking crowds, and Lana had managed to impress them with her strong personality and take-no-prisoners attitude.
She plopped down on the stuffed chair beside us, peering at us with bleary eyes. “Anything look familiar?”
Valerie released a long, tired sigh. “Not yet. I even wonder if this is my stuff,” she said with a hitch in her voice.
More than ever, Valerie reminded me of an ethereal being. Her violet eyes shimmered with disappointment, tears close to the surface. Her delicate, oval-shaped face, framed by tendrils of curls, glowed amber under the light of the table lamp.
Although I realized it was fanciful on my part, she seemed to hover, rather than sit, on the couch. I smiled inwardly, realizing how ridiculous my thoughts were, and then suddenly, a memory flashed before me. She reminded me of a character in one of my childhood books, a story of a fairy who rescued a gnome from a terrible fate. The book had been filled with large, colorful illustrations.
Except for the gossamer wings and sparkling gold dust, Valerie’s face and hair were very similar to the heroine in the book. Overcome with nostalgia, I loosed an insipid smile at her.
Lana looked at me suspiciously. “Better watch it, LeGarde. Your wife will get jealous.”
I snapped out of my reverie. Sputtering, I stood up and walked to the window. “Shut up, Lana.”
Lana ticked me off, but she was right. Elsbeth did have a fierce jealous streak. Although I admired Valerie as I would a lovely painting or an exotic bird, I wasn’t attracted to her as a woman. Even if I had found her sexually attractive, my loyalty to Elsbeth would have squashed the feelings. I was quite certain of that.
For the first time, Valerie spoke in more than a scared-little-girl voice. “I don’t want to cause any trouble,” she said evenly, looking back and forth between us. “Maybe I should go.” She quickly packed the scattered items into the guitar case.
Lana narrowed her eyes, sitting back in the deep chair with her legs crossed and her black mini-skirt stretched taut across her hips. The red silky blouse was unbuttoned down to the third button to reveal her ample cleavage. She claimed the level of tips she got rose proportionally with the number of buttons she left unfastened.
“Oh, stop, girl,” Lana said in a sudden burst of kindness. “You can stay here. Matter of fact, it’s silly for Byron to sleep in my room. He’s so annoying, and he snores. Why don’t you just bunk with me until you get on your feet, huh? I’ve got an extra bed in my room, anyway. Long as you keep to yourself, and don’t mind me sleeping odd hours, it’ll be okay.”
I was stunned.
Valerie hesitated for a moment. Her hand hovered over the skirt she had just dropped into the case. She looked down. “Are you sure?”
Lana got up, sat beside the girl, and slid an arm around her shoulders. “Yeah. Come on. Let’s see if we can find you some clean clothes that might fit, huh? We’ll make up the other bed and get you situated. And we can throw your stuff in the washer, too.”
“Okay,” Valerie said. A slow smile slid onto her lips.
Without hesitation, they rose. The flower child and the steamy cocktail waitress disappeared into the bedroom.
Chapter 7
The next morning, Sunday, Elsbeth and I offered to take Valerie for a walk through the park and to treat her to breakfast at the diner. We’d hoped a stroll in what might be familiar territory might spark a memory.
Elsbeth fussed over our guest, brushing Valerie’s great mass of copper red hair until it shone. Loose strands flew towards the ceiling from static. Elsbeth kept wetting the brush to make them settle down. Finally, she twisted two small braids from the sides and fastened them in the back.
Even though I figured they were the same age, my wife mothered the girl obsessively, choosing an embroidered white peasant blouse from her own closet, and exchanging the tight black pants that Lana had given Valerie with our guest’s own freshly laundered bellbottoms. Valerie slid into her comfortable moccasins, and once again looked the perfect part of the flower child.
Elsbeth chose a pair of comfortable chino slacks and my blue denim shirt, which she tied in a knot at her waist. Valerie insisted that Elsbeth wear her handmade apple seed necklace, and then suggested Elsbeth release her low ponytail to wear her dark, curly hair loose on her shoulders. She plucked a yellow flower from our centerpiece and tucked it behind Elsbeth’s ear.
In my boring tradition, I wore my usual navy blue tee shirt with a pair of cutoffs and sandals.
Outside now, Elsbeth held Valerie’s hand, pulling her briskly along the paved pathways, where legions of pigeons scattered at our feet. As if sharing her favorite city with relatives, she pointed to the pond. “Those are the swan boats, Valerie. Maybe we can take you on a ride later.”
“They’re nice,” Valerie said, as if seeing them for the first time, which was crazy, since we found her on the bench overlooking the pond yesterday.
“Let’s cut through this way,” I said.
A large group of hippies sat on blankets, passing what appeared to be more than cigarettes between them. My suspicions were confirmed when I smelled the sickly sweet odor of pot drifting through the crowd. Someone had hooked up a stereo system to the outlets near a small utility building, and “I Feel Free,” from Cream was blasting over the park. A dozen girls danced along the edges of the group, holding hands, twirling, and laughing.
I hoped one of them might recognize Valerie.
A dark-haired, bearded man greeted us with two fingers spread in the universal symbol for peace. “Love rules,” he said. “Grab a piece of earth. Join us.”
All three of us flashed the peace symbol back to him.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
Elsbeth, Valerie, and I sank to the grass at the base of a massive oak, whose trunk stretched eight feet across and provided a comfortable backrest.
The bass rhythm of the music pounded in my body, reverberating through me. Oddly enough, I liked it.
To our right, a beardless guy about our age tossed his long, white-blond hair. A flower was attached to a small ponytail hanging over the rest of his loose-flowing locks.
I looked in surprise at his fingernails. Long and painted royal blue, they matched his satin Nehru jacket he wore over a pair of white bellbottoms.
His companion—a petite, plump gal with dark frizzy hair—sported blue granny glasses. She smiled readily and seemed really into the music, as evidenced by her two pigtails flapping to the beat. She wore a yellow paisley kaftan layered with chunky medallions, and her feet were bare.
The girl smiled at Valerie and Elsbeth. “Wanna dance, ladies?”
Valerie looked at Elsbeth as if for permission.
Elsbeth jumped up without hesitation and pulled Valerie with her.
Their new friend grinned. “Heav-yyyyy. My name’s Alice. And yours?”
Elsbeth introduced us to Alice, and she in turn introduced her blond friend, David. I relaxed against the tree trunk and exchanged a fleeting smile with David. Elsbeth knew I wasn’t much of a dancer, particularly since it usually ended up with me making a fool of myself in public.
They began to whirl and twirl as a threesome. At first, Valerie seemed hesitant, but soon she captured the rhythm and fell into a natural, flowing set of moves. Elsbeth was in her element, enjoying the sun, the music, and the company. I watched her lead the trio around the group, and realized she did this purposefully, hoping someone would recognize Valerie.
David scooted toward me and held out a reefer. “Wanna hit?” he said in a lilting voice.
Okay, so I hate smoke of any kind, and although I know it’s not cool, I especially despise the revolting smell of marijuana. I can’t help it. It makes me sick.
“Thanks, man,” I said, trying to sound hip. “I’m into the natural high. You know, music is my thing.”
He nodded sagely. “That’s cool, man. I respect that. What kind of music are you into?”
I hesitated. I wanted to say Chopin, but I didn’t. “Baez. Tom Rush. Peter, Paul and Mary.”
“Heav-yyyyy. The folk scene, huh?”
I nodded, ridiculously relieved that he didn’t discover I was a square.
These days, the word “heavy” was pronounced with two elongated syllables, and spoken with a near drawl. The term had replaced the “neat” and “keen” of our childhoods, had leapfrogged over the never-so-hip word “groovy,” and was currently used as an acceptable alternate to the word “cool.”
He moved closer. The smell of the smoke made me cringe.
“What else are you into?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Do you experiment?”
I wasn’t sure what he meant and just stared at him.
“I mean,” he said, resting his hand on my knee and massaging it lightly. “Do you experiment with love?”
Suddenly it hit me. The flower in his hair, the blue nails... It was more than cool clothes. The boy was hitting on me.
I pulled away and laughed nervously.
He removed his hand and flicked one eyebrow. “No?”
“Er, sorry. I’m married. That’s my, ah, woman over there. The one with the dark hair.” I pointed to Elsbeth.
His face fell. “Wow. Married, huh? But that’s cool,” he said. “She’s a knockout.”
He took another hit off the reefer and blew the smoke away from me.
“Yeah,” I agreed quickly. “She’s the best. She’s also wild on the keyboards. You should hear her play.”
He watched the three girls dancing around the crowd. “I’ll bet.”
Elsbeth’s dancing caused a thrill of excitement to run through me. Her graceful, supple movements drove me wild. I’d never seen her like this. There was something about the hedonistic environment, the swirl of colors and the heavy pulse of the music, the overpowering sense of freedom as she reeled around in the warm June sunshine that rocked my soul. She looked like a gypsy, dancing in the firelight with her long skirts swirling and her dark eyes flashing.
I stiffened.
Wait. Am I getting high from the smoke?
I shook myself and laughed.
Impossible.
I leaned toward David, pointing at Valerie when she danced past us. “We’re trying to help that girl. She’s had some kind of accident and lost her memory. Have you ever seen her before?”
“That red-headed chick?” He squinted in the sunlight and studied her. “I don’t think so. But if she’s been around here much, there should be cats who’ll recognize her. You could try Cambridge, too. This afternoon. Every Sunday there’s a Love-In on the Commons. Lots of bands. Lots of people.”
“Cool. Thanks.” It was an excellent idea.
The girls finally danced back in our direction and plopped down on the grass beside us, laughing.
Alice scooted back beside David and laid her head in his lap. He stroked her hair and offered her a hit.
“Oh, that was so much fun,” Elsbeth said. The lyrical trill of her voice sent new surges of desire through me. I looked at her with a smoldering expression as she snuggled against me.
“What?” she whispered.
I nuzzled her neck. “I’d like to go home with you right now, Mrs. LeGarde.”
She looked up in mock surprise. “Whatever for, Mr. LeGarde?”
I pulled her toward me, kissing her deeply.
“Oh!” she whispered in a husky voice. “Oh, my. But don’t you want breakfast?”
She shot a glance at Valerie, who had closed her eyes and leaned back against the tree trunk.
“Yeah. I know. We promised. Guess I need a rain check, huh?”
She leaned her head on my chest and sighed happily. “You’ve got it.”
Chapter 8
On the way to the diner, we passed several gatherings of hippies. Occasionally, we stopped to see if they knew Valerie, but didn’t have any luck with the first few attempts.
The last bunch wore grungier clothes and sat in sullen clusters. No music came from them, and they didn’t greet us with “Peace,” or “Free Love,” or, “Welcome, brothers and sisters.”
Elsbeth strode boldly toward them. “Hey guys,” she said. “Do you know our friend, here?”
She passed several boys and girls who shook their heads. The next fellow she asked looked up through bloodshot eyes, gawking at Valerie. “Hey. I know you. Harvard Square, right?”
Valerie stared. “Sorry?”
I stepped forward. “You know her?”
“Sure I do.” He leaned in close to Valerie. “Where’s Clive? He actually let you go?”
Her brow furrowed and her lips thinned. She mumbled to Elsbeth, “I don’t know him.”
I moved closer to him, but the odor of his unwashed body hit me in a wave and I backed up. “Hey. Do you know her name? She’s had an accident, or maybe a bad trip. She can’t remember anything.”
“Wait. I’m confused.” His eyes closed for a few seconds. Finally, he opened them and looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “Huh?”
I repeated the question. “Her name. Do you know it?”
“Oh. Yeah. It’s Valerie. Her name’s Valerie.”
“Valerie what?”
He scratched his greasy hair with a long, dirty fingernail. “Hell, I dunno. Clive always just called her Valerie. I never knew her last name.”
I watched his sickly complexion turn a darker shade of green. His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, and he fell to the ground, scrambling backwards. “Get away,” he screamed. “Leave me alone!” He fixated on something over my shoulder.
I glanced back and saw nothing but blue sky and leaves dancing in the sunlight.
Two of his friends approached. A tall fellow in a long burlap robe said, “That brown acid was lethal. Coupla other guys took it this morning.”
His friend, dressed in an orange African tunic, added, “Yeah. Super bad trips. They both went to the hospital.”
We watched them try to calm the crazed man. Both moved in slow, deliberate motions, but they also seemed unsteady on their feet, with glazed eyes and slurred speech. He jumped up and tried to run. The robed guy tried to hold him, urging him down onto the grass. “Moose. Cool it, man.”
Orange tunic said, “Settle down. It’s just a bad trip. C’mon, man.”
Just as Moose seemed to relax, he wrested away from the monk wannabe and raced toward another tree with multiple low hanging branches. With the alacrity of a young boy, he clambered up the trunk.
Before we could reach him, he crawled forty feet straight up and onto a branch stretching over our heads. The fragile limb swayed back and forth. He cried out again, screeching at some imaginary devil. “Get away from me!” In a sudden move, he swung under the limb, clinging like a monkey.
Why I did this, I still don’t know, but I ran toward the tree and started to climb.
“Gus! Be careful.” Elsbeth watched me, wringing her hands.
The branch Moose hung from swayed directly over a cement fountain, and all I could think of was what would happen to him if he slipped. Not a pretty picture.
“Come on, pal. Get off that limb, it’s not sturdy enough fo
r you.” I urged him while still climbing up, up, up, but he seemed not to hear me.
A pair of mounted policemen cantered toward us. Their horses churned across the grass and clattered up the paved walkway.
I climbed higher, reaching from trunk to branch, finding footholds, and steadily moving toward him.
Moose rocked dangerously above me. “Get away! You’re all vultures. Leave me alone,” he screeched, glaring down at me.
I stopped when I reached his level, afraid to push him into a worse panic if I moved onto the limb where he now perilously swung.
The policemen arrived, looking stern. “What’s going on here?” bellowed the cop on the bay mare. He looked up, following the gaze of the crowd. “Oh, crap.”
Elsbeth briefed them as Moose’s friends scattered in all directions, probably afraid they’d be arrested. Frankly, I was surprised they hadn’t been arrested earlier, hanging out in such public places in their obvious states of drug intoxication.
“You!” The burly policeman on a chestnut gelding called up to me. “Get down. You won’t be able to climb onto that limb, anyway. It’ll snap.”
Moose roared, barely hanging onto the branch. A stiff breeze whipped over the Commons, pushing old newspapers across the grass and lifting the hair and skirts of the women who scurried past us, staring with wide eyes. I hesitated, and wondered if I could talk Moose down from his position. I knew it wasn’t likely, but I had to try.
“Moose!” I shouted over the sound of the rustling leaves. “Can you hear me?”
Hysterical, he screamed, “Go away, demon!”
Elsbeth yelled, “Gus, you need to come down. The cop’s right. There’s no way you’re gonna help him from there.”
I heard the undertone of authority in her voice. It was her no-nonsense, get-over-here tone. She’d spoken to me occasionally in that voice since we were childhood friends.
“Gus!” Elsbeth called again. “They’ve called a ladder truck. It’ll be here in a few minutes.”
A siren wailed in the distance. It sounded as if it were a few blocks away.
Spirit Me Away Page 3
