“CATCH,” ANNE SAID on approaching my campsite the following morning and tossing what appeared to be a credit card in my direction.
I caught the rectangular piece of plastic and turned it in my hand. “What’s this?”
Anne held up another card, grinning like an actor in an ad for a vacation rental. “Your room key.”
“My...? What are you up to now?”
“I reserved two bungalow rooms at the Big Sur Lodge for tonight and made reservations for dinner, so hurry and gather your stuff.”
I crossed my arms in explain-please fashion.
Anne eyed my clothing: a fleece shirt, baggy nylon pants, and sturdy hiking boots. “Since we’re going to the gallery tonight, I figured you’d like to take a proper shower and dress up a bit.”
I looked down at my outfit, not quite the height of urban chic. “As you well know, I didn’t come prepared for gallivanting around town. So, what do you suggest I wear?”
Anne sized me up, her hand cupping her chin, her index finger tapping her cheek. “Looks like we’re about the same size, so I’ll lend you something of mine.”
One look at her flamboyant skirt and gauzy blouse and I rolled my eyes. “Oh goody. Can’t wait.”
Anne’s grin widened. “Trust me, you’ll look fabulous.”
“It would be nice to take a leisurely shower,” I admitted. “And French braid my hair and put on some makeup. That is, if I remember how.”
“I’m sure it’ll come back to you,” Anne said. “Let’s go.”
I retrieved my as-yet-unused makeup case from the cargo hold of the Jeep, rumbled through my suitcase for some underwear, and was about to leap into Anne’s Volvo, when I remembered promising Holly that she could watch my tent.
“What’s up?” Anne asked, noticing my hesitation.
“I have to leave a note for my tent sitter that I’ll be gone.”
Anne rubbed the back of her neck. “Tent sitter?”
The puzzled look on her face lightened my step. For once, I wasn’t the one asking questions. “Be right back.”
~~~
“I passed on the fireplace rooms since we won’t be spending much time here,” Anne said as we walked toward the Lodge bungalows with our overnight bags. “No phones, televisions, or alarm clocks either.”
“Maybe I’ll treat myself to a long soak in the tub instead of taking a shower,” I said.
Anne checked her watch. “You’ve got two hours. I’ll meet you at four o’clock sharp. That’ll give us time for a glass of wine before dinner.”
“Which means no nap,” I said, longing to crash out on a soft bed with fresh, clean sheets for an hour or two after my bath.
Anne went on as if she hadn’t heard me, “I left an evening dress with a matching cardigan and sandals in your closet. Go make yourself beautiful.”
Evening dress, right. “You’re so bossy.”
“A prerequisite for being a good caregiver,” Anne said. “Anyway, I’m fitting right into your plans.”
“You make it sound like I’m using you.”
“Actually, no. You’re allowing yourself to receive the gifts being offered. And believe me, that’s a big step for most people. Simply put, you’re a pretty sharp gal.” Anne spun around and headed for the cabin next door. “See you at four.”
The spacious room had its own deck and, just as Anne had predicted, no electronic gadgets to distract from the restful atmosphere. The comforter and shams on the bed looked like homemade quilts with diamond patterns in greens, browns, and rusts. White wainscoting stretched halfway up the wall, the rest of which was painted a soft beige. The brown oak shutters covering the windows would block out the sunlight come morning. A nice change.
As I took this all in, part of my mind fretted over what kind of bohemian outfit I would find hanging in the closet? At first glance, I liked what I saw, at least as far as color and texture were concerned. The sleeveless column dress was made of some kind of taupe metallic with a lace overlay on the front bodice. The matching cardigan had lace-detailing on the scalloped sleeves and hem. Shine and lace; what a combination.
I slipped on the taupe sandals. A bit tight, but at this point, I wasn’t complaining. On the dresser lay a matching purse and pearl dangle-hoop earrings. Anne had thought of everything.
A long soak in the tub no longer appealed to me. Anxious to get into that dress, I would shower instead.
Promptly at four, I opened the door and nearly collided with Anne—a transformed Anne—in a swingy shift dress of black mesh over a tan lining, with silky bubble appliqués on the hemline. The neckline was high, and a silky bow drooped over her left shoulder.
“Wow!” I said. “Black, with no wild stripes or flowers.”
She fluttered her lashes and curtsied like royalty. “I didn’t want you to think I was an inflexible, obsessive, compulsive, schizoid loner, who focused only on one narrow point of interest to the point of paranoia. So, I wore my ‘bubble-duty’ dress.”
I gave my best rendition of a wolf whistle. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
“You should see me in my nurse uniform.”
“I can imagine,” I said. And surprisingly I could. I’d always compared nurses to angels anyway.
She lifted her hair from her ears.
“Diamonds,” I said, “and they’re not even shaped like moons and stars.”
Anne looked me over and clucked in approval. “How do you like the dress I picked out for you?”
I twirled, feeling like a princess. “I couldn’t have done a better job of it myself.”
“You look fantastic,” she said. “Especially with your hair French braided like that.”
“I feel fantastic.”
Anne linked her arm through mine. “Then let’s make this a night to remember.”
~~~
“You’re spoiling me for camping,” I said as the Big Sur Lodge host escorted us to our table. “I may not want to go back to sleeping in my tent.”
“Well, I’m sure you can get the room for as long as you like,” Anne said.
“Don’t tempt me,” I said, though I knew I wouldn’t do it. I’d come here to get closer to nature, to my mother, and to myself, and I wouldn’t accomplish that under a comfortable roof with every convenience at my fingertips. I wouldn’t be able to smell the fragrance of decomposing foliage mixed in with the woody and piney scents from the tall canopies of trees. I wouldn’t be able to feel and absorb the warm energy of the sun or the soft breezes on my skin. I wouldn’t be able to sense the enormity of the space around me.
“What kind of wine would you like?” Anne asked after we were seated. The question took me back to Carmel Valley, where Morgan had asked me the same question. A picture of his green eyes and dimpled smile filled all the space in my mind, and I fought back tears.
Anne cleared her throat. “How about a local wine?”
I stared at the wine list through blurry eyes. The first selection was Morgan Sauvignon Blanc. I blinked. Held up the list. Jabbed at it with my finger. “Anne, look.”
“‘Rich melon and pineapple, lovely balance, crisp, and fresh,’” Anne read from beneath the wine selection. “Hey, isn’t Morgan your boyfriend’s name?” Her eyes danced with apparent pleasure at the serendipitous discovery. “So, for you it’s ‘Morgan Sauvignon Blanc’ and for me ‘Storrs from the Santa Cruz Mountains.’”
Over Anne’s Sautéed Filet of Salmon and Linguini and my Chicken and Portobello Mushrooms, we talked and laughed, and, finally, after thoroughly stuffing myself, I said, “Thanks, Anne. This was a fantastic idea.”
“Visa, MasterCard, and American Express accepted,” she said. “I paid for the rooms, you pay for dinner.”
I laughed. “Sounds like I got the better deal.”
“Tell me that after you’ve paid for breakfast,” Anne said.
~~~
“It brings back such incredible, if not happy, memories,” Anne said as we entered the art gallery. “The fussing to look sensational, the expensive gowns, the shiny and tamed hair, fake nails, fake smiles, and then, the terrible disillusionment as the evening progresses. The only fire I see is in the eyes of the caterers and the artists. These functions are never what they appear to be.”
I studied the crowd, trying to visualize it from Anne’s point of view. Sure enough, many of the glamorously dressed guests appeared to be standing around, looking for something to do. They eyed the caterers as if the distraction of food and drink offered a way to occupy—and satisfy—their empty hands and minds.
A blonde woman, wearing a shimmering red gown that flowed like lava, had her eyes focused on the door. Was she waiting for someone, or planning her escape? Two men stood nearby, tuxedoed and manicured, joking with each other, while observing the shimmering blonde. An overweight woman, escorted by an equally overweight man, held a miniscule plate mounded with hors d’oeuvres.
“I haven’t yet missed being rich,” Anne said.
I reeled in my wayward thoughts and brought my attention back to my friend. “You never said anything about being rich.”
She ignored me, which meant she wasn’t sharing, so I said, “From where I come from, everyone wants to be rich. An evening like this is part of the fantasy.” Again, I studied the crowd and, this time, locked onto a tall, broad-shouldered man, accompanied by a slim woman bearing the intangible charisma of a model. “Can you believe it? It’s the Harley Guy. In a Tux.”
Anne’s attention, however, was focused elsewhere. “Oh, oh, it’s the gallery curator. I should’ve warned you...”
A man in a slim-fitting suit and drainpipe pants danced toward us, arms wide. “Anne darling!”
Anne grinned and gave him a friendly hug. “Alfonso, it’s so good to see you.”
His busy gaze settled on me. I could almost hear a “bleep,” as if he were scanning my bar code: age, nationality, income. “Welcome, welcome,” he said. “I’m so glad you could come. Have you seen our fine new sculpture? It’s brilliant, quite brilliant.” He winked at Anne and motioned for a waiter. “How about a glass of bubbly to celebrate our new discovery?”
Next thing I knew I was holding a flute of champagne.
“You simply must take a look at our fine new sculpture,” he said, prodding me forward with a light hand to my back. “It symbolizes the flow of life, with its ups and downs, its joys, and its heartaches.”
We paused in front of a table on which rotated a multi-colored piece that looked eerily familiar.
“Notice the shades of red,” the curator continued, “burnt red, symbolizing our mother earth; crimson and salmon, symbolizing fire, sunlight, and emotion; ruby, symbolizing the flow of blood in our veins...”
My mouth opened, and I turned to Anne.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Where in God’s name is he coming up with all this crap?” I whispered back.
Anne patted my shoulder. “That’s the beauty of art, hon, especially this piece. Every time I see it, I see something new, as if it changes with my mood. All I know is that it makes me happy. It’s as if you sent positive feelings or thoughts into the piece and they’re flowing back to the observer. That’s why it’s so valuable. How can you put a price on happiness?”
Anne turned her attention back to the curator, who showed no offense at our rude whispers. “I do appreciate you displaying the sculpture in your lovely gallery. I understand that including a piece at such late notice isn’t your usual policy.”
Alfonso waved ringed fingers. “We were fortunate to discover this talented artist hidden within our midst. She was inspired by the gods, I’m sure.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and that Anne was part of it.
“Will she be in attendance tonight?” Alfonso asked. “She’s a real mystery. Everyone’s waiting.”
Anne looked at me, and I shook my head. “Afraid not,” Anne said. “She’s shy about displaying her work.”
The pressure around my throat became painful and my body began to shake, so I looked for a place to sit.
Alfonso appeared to deflate in disappointment. “One of our patrons has made a generous offer on it already.”
“It’s not for sale,” I said, annoyed at this smooth-talking man, with his streaked and spiked hair.
Anne tried to shush me, but it was too late. Alfonso had heard me and turned my way.
“Do you know her?” he asked, one perfected groomed eyebrow raised.
Anne piped in, “The artist expressed a deep reluctance in parting with her work at this time.”
“Yes, yes, so you mentioned when you dropped it off,” Alfonso said. “But money talks, you know. And I mean lots of money.” His eyes brightened at the prospect, probably counting on a sizable commission. He winked at me. “We have ways to put on the pressure, you know. That’s one of my jobs.”
Anne pinched me before I could respond. “This is all new to my friend here.”
Alfonso rubbed the tips of his fingers together. “I’m acquainted with many wealthy and influential people.” Again, his eyes scanned over me as though adding up the cost of my gown: $400, ka-ching; pearl earrings: $500, ka-ching; good hair stylist, flawless makeup: ka-ching, ka-ching; no wedding ring. Good. Easier to manipulate.
I gave myself a mental shake. I was being unfair. He was just doing his job, talking up the sculpture. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t know it was mine.
“It was so nice to see you again,” Anne said, looking over his shoulder as if she’d spotted someone in the crowd.
“Oh yes, yes, I must go. Enjoy.” Several air-kisses aimed our way and then the thin, wiry, sales-machine hurried off to make another contact. “Harriet, darling,” he called before disappearing into the crowd.
“Alfonso is very successful at what he does,” Anne said, “and is actually a nice guy.”
Should I be angry or grateful? I couldn’t decide. Anne had deftly taken the decision out of my hands.
“Be right back,” she said, doing her own disappearing act, which gave me the opportunity to wander about the gallery on my own. I handed my half-empty flute of champagne to a passing waiter and meandered with no set destination, too upset to take notice of the fine exhibitions. That is, until I sighted the glass vase I’d admired on my previous visit.
“What do you think?” asked a woman from behind me. It sounded like Harley Guy’s girlfriend, Claudia.
“I can’t describe how I feel,” I said without turning. “How about you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who’s the artist?”
She didn’t answer.
All looks and no brains. “See how the forms are floating inside the vase walls?” I asked.
“They were sculptured by air while the piece was being blown,” she said.
So, she knew something about art after all. “They appear to be moving.”
“It’s the light at play. The piece is transparent, but thick, so patterns of light develop inside, as well as on the surface.”
I turned to face her, impressed by her knowledge. I had misjudged her.
Claudia’s gaze remained fixed on the vase. “This piece was created for visual delight.”
“That’s a relief,” I said. “I’d hate to think someone would actually put flowers into it.”
Claudia’s silence encouraged me to add.
“I wonder what the artist was thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking, just feeling.”
“You?”
She looked me straight in the eye. “Yes.”
I liked that. She had a sense of humor. Claudia an artist? Yeah, right. I gave her an I-wasn’t-born-yesterday smile, and she smiled back.
“Hey, Marjorie.” It was Anne.
“Sorry, Claudia, I gotta go.”
When I reached her side, Anne said, “So, you met the artist. Nice surprise, huh.?”
“What artist?”
“Claudia Moore. I just found out that she’s the one who crafted that magnificent glass vase you so admired.”
I looked over at Claudia and caught her smile. I shook my head and waved. My mistake. There was hope for her after all.
“Her boyfriend made the offer for your statue.”
It took a moment for Anne’s words to sink in. Boyfriend? Offer? “You’re kidding, right?”
Anne grabbed a flute of champagne off the tray carried by a passing waiter and replaced it with an empty one. “Nope.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me.”
The sculpture represented an entry to my heart. And that entry wasn’t for sale. “Did you tell the Mr. Living-Out-Loud Harley Guy that it wasn’t available for purchase?”
She took a gulp of champagne and sighed in satisfaction. “Yep.”
I looked around for Cecil, but he was hidden from view. “What did he say?”
“He wanted to know how I knew,” Anne said, toasting me with her empty glass.
I grabbed Anne’s arm as if warding off what I sensed was coming next. “You didn’t tell him I was the artist, did you?”
“Hush. Here he comes.”
“No, you hush.” I released her arm and turned toward the exit, my heart beating in telltale fashion. Low, dull, quick. “You can either join me, or I’m calling a taxi.”
Anne followed me out the door and pulled out her keys.
I grabbed them out of her hands. She’d had several glasses of champagne after all.
She tried to grab them back. No go.
I clenched my teeth until my jaw hurt. What else could go wrong? Was it too much to ask for a little peace and quiet?
I unlocked the doors, took the driver’s seat, waited for Anne to get in, then steered the Volvo onto Highway 1.
“I knew you could only be pushed so far,” she said.
Darn right. I got all dolled up like some metallic princess, shine and lace, pearls and sandals. For what? The curator’s words still rubbed me raw. “Have you seen our fine sculpture? It symbolizes the flow of life...” Blah, blah, blah. Not that he was entirely wrong. I had similar theories as to what the sculpture symbolized.
Maybe it wasn’t a freak accident that this piece of clay affected people the way it did. But then Harley Guy, of all people, had to go and put in an offer to buy it. The only highlight of the evening had been meeting the creator of the glass vase. Who would have known?
“What will it take for you to forgive me?” Anne asked, her voice wobbly from either emotion or drink.
I was driving too fast and took my foot off the gas. “For now, I’d appreciate it if you’d just stop looking at me.”
“All righty,” she said, and then turned on the radio and started singing along with Aretha Franklin, the queen of soul, “Chain, chain, chain; chain of fools.”
I sighed. Anger solved nothing. Anne was a good friend, and although she got carried away at times, she had my best interests at heart. If I hadn’t believed that from day one, I wouldn’t have allowed her to lead me around like an organ-grinder’s wharf monkey.
It wasn’t until we were parked in front of the Big Sur Lodge that Anne announced, “I’d like to make this up to you.”
Giving her the most gracious smile I could manage under the circumstances, I pulled the key out of the ignition and got out of the car. “It’s okay, Anne, by morning I’ll have forgotten about the whole thing.”
Anne slammed her door and came around to my side for the keys. “I doubt that, but at least let me take you out for your birthday.”
That got my attention. “How’d you know it was my birthday?”
She studied the keys I was holding as if they had turned into lucky charms. “Adam told me.”
I pulled in my breath, followed by a choked groan. Adam knew things he shouldn’t. And somehow it involved my mother.
“We could dress up again,” Anne said. “And go out for a nice, quiet lunch.”
My anger dissipated at her uncertain expression. She was a good friend. I dropped the keys into her hand. “I’ll let you know over breakfast.”