FLIGHT FROM OBSESSION - CHAPTER EIGHT

Late the next afternoon Abby received a surprise call, “Hello, this is Abby,” she answer.

“This is Mrs. Tanaka,” her caller said, “I hope that I am not disturbing you.”

“Of course not, Mrs. Tanaka.  There’s nothing wrong, is there?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, “My daughter, Danni, has an interview for a job at the Seagull Inn.”

“Why that’s terrific, Mrs. Tanaka.”

“My daughter-in-law thinks it is a great opportunity, too.  I’m calling for your opinion about the Inn and Mrs. Danelli.”

“Tessie is my best friend, Mrs. Tanaka, so I’m not very objective about this,” Abby said truthfully.

“Sherri said that you two were close,” Mrs. Tanaka said.  “I am worried about Danni’s safety.  Danni seems to think she would be safer at the Inn than in the Mall where she is alone in the evening.”

“Well, that’s probably true.  I don’t even go to the Mall alone if it is too late,” Abby admitted.

“And you think she would be protected at the Inn,” Mrs. Tanaka asked, “Even with liquor being served?”

“Mrs. Tanaka, I helped find dependable students for Tessie through the student employment office on campus.  I wouldn’t have done that if I thought any of the young people would be in any danger,” Abby said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Cavanaugh, being a parent is such a worrisome thing these days.”

“Have Ken and Sherri been to the Inn for dinner, yet. She asked.

“Yes, they went for their anniversary, and they too think it would be safe for Danni.”

“Oh how nice,” Abby said, “I had dinner there last night with a friend and it was marvelous, you and Mr. Tanaka will have to have dinner there.”

Mrs. Tanaka laughed merrily, “It is not easy to get Mr. Tanaka out; he is a homebody.”

Abby laughed too.

“I will take no more of your time, Mrs. Cavanaugh, and I thank you for the information.”

“I’m glad to help, Mrs. Tanaka, good bye.”

Well, well, Abby thought, Tessie is a fast worker.  I hope it all works out well.

The phone rang again as soon as it hit the cradle, “Hello?”

“Hey, pretty lady.”

“Hi, Blackie, problems with our plans for Sunday?”

“No, I just called to make sure you hadn’t forgotten”

“Not likely, Blackie, I haven’t been to an art show in ages.  I’m looking forward to it.”

“Is eight o’clock too early?  We’ll stop for brunch around eleven.”

“Perfect, Blackie,” she answered.

“Good night,” he said and broke the connection.

Abby really was ready.  She had shopped for a new dress for the occasion and already had a wide brimmed hat to wear..  The simple sheath dress resembled a water color in deep moss green, dappled with splashes of muted orange. She had managed to find gloves in a small boutique near the campus to finish off the outfit.  Abby had forgotten how much fun it was to shop and wear new clothes. 

Sunday morning she was so excited she was waiting for Blackie when he pulled up at exactly eight o’clock.  He took her hand as she walked down the steps.

“An, little flower, you’re beautiful.” He pulled her close to his side and kissed her on the tip of her nose then kept her snuggled close until they reached the car and he helped her in.

“Let me put the top up,” he said.

“Not if you have someplace to put the hat.  I like the top down.”

He took the hat and placed it in the small boot then walked around to the driver’s side.  He looked so handsome in his blazer and slacks, she was glad she had dressed for the occasion.

She knew her eyes and added color gave away her excitement but today she didn’t care.  She was going to an art show, escorted by the handsome Dr. Jordan and she was just going to enjoy herself and maybe even flirt a little.  He always made her feel so female.

He grinned across at her and started the car, “Are you sure you don’t want the top up, the wind makes it hard to talk,” he warned. 

“We’ll talk at brunch,” she said, “Let’s just enjoy being out of town and free from all of our obligations.  The day is a joy unto itself.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he smiled and backed out of the driveway. 

He drove fast but carefully so Abby relaxed and enjoyed the scenery passing by their oasis of calm.  She felt his presence easily enough without talk.  They caught each other’s eye and grinned like kids playing hooky from school.  It was a pleasant ride and she was surprised when he slowed and began to negotiate the streets of a small town.

“Hungry?” he asked.

She noticed that the lines in his face had smoothed as they moved away from his constant responsibilities.

“Starved,” she said, “And not a bit shy about it, when it comes to food I have the appetite of a lumberjack.”

“Good,” he gave her a big lewd wink, “I like women with big appetites.”

“Is this a restaurant?” she asked.

“It’s a mansion built in the mid-eighteen hundreds and converted into a restaurant.  A couple I’m acquainted with own it.  They restored as much of the original house as they could while converting it into a restaurant.  I think you’ll be impress with the restoration and the food,” he said.

A stout lady with an Australian accent greeted them and gave Blackie a big hug as they walked in the door.

“Abby, this is Ada Claycomb our hostess and she restored this great house.  Her husband, Jack, is the chef and a ship’s carpenter.”

“This house is a marvel, Mrs. Claycomb, can I poke around a bit?” she asked.

“Oh, aren’t you the one, come along dear and I’ll give you a quick tour before I get busy.”

“Blackie, go back to the kitchen and pester Jack while I show your young lady around,” Ada said.

She turned to Abby, “Call me Ada, dear, that’s my name.  You’ve caught the doctor’s eye, I see.”

“We’re just friends, Ada, and please call me Abby.”

Ada just smiled at her and led her off on a whirlwind tour of the beautifully restored gold rush mansion.  Abby told her about her home in Trinity Cove as they toured Ada’s mansion.  Fifteen minutes later when they reached their starting point Ada poked her head into the kitchen.

“What have you done with Blackie, Jack?” she asked.

“Side patio, love,” he said.

“Good,” Ada said, “You’ll love the flowers there Abby and it’s very romantic.”

Blackie stood as Ada led Abby to a side porch that was converted into a secluded, garden dining area. 

“Here you go dear, back safe and sound with your young man.  It looks like the waiter has already been here with drinks,” she bustled off to her hostess position at the front entrance.

Blackie settled her into her chair, “How did you like the house?” he asked.

She sighed and took a sip of her drink, “The house is beautiful and Ada is a bit like being picked up by the wind and carried away.  I didn’t know if I would ever make it back to Kansas.”

“Ada is a bit of a force, isn’t she?” Blackie grinned.

“This drink is good, does it have champagne in it?” Abby asked.

“Don’t drink any more than you want,” he said, “I ordered ice tea if that’s alright with you.  We don’t get to order breakfast though, it seems that Jack is inspired today.”

“Ice tea sounds good but this is tasty too,” she looked around, “It’s a beautiful little garden area.”

“Oh look, humming birds,” Abby was delighted with the whole morning.

“You are easy to please, Little Flower,” Blackie said.

“It’s been a perfect day,” she told Blackie, noticing that he looked younger and more relaxed than usual, “You need to get away more,” she commented.

“I need a free spirit like you to release me from all the cares in the cove and the hospital,” he said.

“We haven’t been hiking for a while,” she said, “Not since we found the brave little flower.”

“You’ve been dating Cliff,” he said quietly.

“That didn’t mean we couldn’t go hiking,” she said.

“Man is territorial, Abby,” he said as brunch was served.

Abby was glad they were interrupted because she didn’t know quite what to make of his statement, “Oh yummy, eggs rancheros, one of my favorites,” she said.

He took her hands and gave thanks for the food and safe drive that morning and asked for protection for the rest of the day.

They finished every morsel and had bowls of fresh fruit with a light yogurt dressing for dessert. She wondered where he would take her for dinner and decided to let it be a surprise.

They were soon on their way south again in contented silence with occasional smiling glances. The freeway became more congested as they neared Sacramento and Blackie took an exit and maneuvered the streets with skill until they reached a neighborhood lined with art galleries, restaurants and high end stores.

“Posh,” she noted.

“Yes, I suppose it is, but it has its bohemian side too.  There are lofts, bookstores and coffee houses in the neighborhood for the working classes of the art world,” he said.

“Ah, the young struggling artists you mean,” she laughed as he went to retrieve her hat from the boot.  He held her little hand mirror as she settled the hat at just the right angle and then he took her arm and led her into the gallery.  It was mostly glass and light to best display the art work with scattered seating arrangements for those who wanted to chat.

She was immediately absorbed.  The art was even better than Blackie’s photographs could show. The works were large chunks of natural material that appeared to be acid etched and color enhanced.  The art appealed to the inner spirit of anyone who understood the significance of culture’s influence on each of us.   

She found herself in a conversation with someone next to her who seemed well trained in art and anthropology.  She hadn’t looked up she was so taken with the work before her.

Finally, he said, “You’re Blackie’s friend, aren’t you?”

She turned toward him, “I’m sorry, I’m Abby Cavanaugh,” she reached out to shake his hand and then she realized that he was the artist from the picture in the brochure.

“Good heavens, you’re the artist and you’ve been kind enough to listen to me babble on about your work,” she said.

“It’s a pleasure to hear informed compliments, Mrs. Cavanaugh, and a pleasure to speak to a knowledgeable anthropologist.”

“Mr. Raintree, I’m honored to meet you. Your work is marvelous and your knowledge of anthropology is expert,” she said.

“Only my minor in college.  May I call you, Abby?” Just call me Raintree, everyone else does.”

“Of course,” she said, “Blackie is here somewhere.”

“Yes, I’ve spoken with him while you were busy.  I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your father’s articles.  He grasped the essence of culture’s effect on the human animal like no other scientist could.”

“And as you have expressed in your work, Raintree, as no other artist could,” she said. 

“You’re being too kind, dear lady.”

“Not kind, Raintree,” she said. “Affectionate; because, in that, you remind me of my father,” she said.

He took her hand and then said with an affectionate smile, “Let me show you something that Blackie has been looking at that might be suitable for Harvest Hill.” He took her hand and led her to a large exhibit.

Blackie was there and he grinned at her, “I see that you’re enjoying yourself and that you’ve met the artist.”

She could tell he was pleased with her appreciation of the artist’s work and her ability to hold her own in this milieu.  Her attention was immediately grabbed by the exhibit he was studying.  The carving on this chunk of natural rock was a close up of three American Indians dancing, then repeated in smaller and smaller renditions going back into the past. The colors looked like a natural part of the stone and the carving looked like a thunderbolt from the sky had fashioned it.

She looked up and asked Raintree, “How will this stand up to the weather?”

Raintree responded, “We’ve been discussing that very point and I’m going to do some research on epoxies that might be an answer.”

“It’s perfect if we can protect it, but it’s a shame to cover the natural surface, it needs to breath,” she said.

“We agree, Little Flower,” Blackie said.

Raintree caught up with her later, “Where did you get your Indian name?” he asked.

She looked startled, “From Blackie, I guess,” she said.

He took her hand, “Enjoy the rest of the show, Little Flower.”

Abby was pleased that she had a tribal name, it was like a Pulitzer Prize to her, something that made her very proud.  She noticed another one of Raintree’s works and wandered off to experience it within herself. 

Later, Abby looked up to notice that it was late afternoon and she looked around the room and finally saw Blackie sitting on a blue settee, feet propped up on an ottoman, and she went over and plopped next to him. 

Blackie reached out and put his arm over her shoulders, “Have you seen enough?” he asked.

“Sorry it got so late,” she apologized.

“Don’t be,” he said, “It’s a pleasure to be with a woman who enjoys art as much as I do and isn’t just interested in the glitz.”

She looked up and saw the champagne, hor’derves, and chit chat at the far end of the gallery, “I guess I haven’t been too social,” she said.  

“Don’t worry, It’s just the society crowd and the critics.  I’m not sure they even like art,” he said, “Raintree is forced to make nice.”    

“How are you feeling?” he asked. 

“My feet hurt and I’m hungry,” she said, “but I had a terrific time and Raintree is a tremendous talent. I could present a whole semester course in anthropology based on his art.”

“Let’s go eat,” Blackie said and helped her to her feet.

They waved to Raintree on the way out of the gallery and Abby turned her hat over to Blackie again and then picked up the shawl she left folded in her seat and Blackie helped her settle it over her shoulders.  When they reached the restaurant he put the top up because it would be too cold driving home late in the day to have it down. He helped Abby out of the car and put her arm through his as they entered the restaurant. 

“Spanish?” she asked.

“Bite your tongue,” he said, “Basque”.

“Oh, what heavenly aromas,” she said, as the waiter led them to their table.

“Yours for the evening,” the waiter said expansively.

“I didn’t know when we would get here and I didn’t want to be rushed,” he said

The waiter brought goblets with lemony ice water and wine for the appetizer course.  He set a steaming tray of appetizers on the table and said, “I’ll be back with your menus.”

Blackie said the blessing and began to help himself from the appetizer tray. 

“I don’t recognize everything,” she said.

“Give it the taste test,” Blackie said, smiling.

She took a small dish with a sautéed prawn that smelled garlicky.  Biting off a taste of prawn she lifted the glass of wine and took a tiny sip. 

  “Perfect complement,” she said, “I’ll have to tell Tessie about this restaurant.”

Soon Abby had tried everything and it all passed the taste test. 

Blackie said, “We’ll have to take a menu back to her.”

 Abby was perusing the menu and having a problem with making decisions.  The cuisine was new to her and everything looked enticing.

“A problem?” the waiter asked as he refilled their water goblets.

“No problem,” Blackie said, “Could you switch us to the same side of the table, we’re going to share?”

“Eh, good,” the waiter said knowing he would receive a bigger tip.

Sitting side by side they consulted with the waiter and made the necessary decisions. Soon they were sharing fish and leek soup, both specialties of the house.  Between courses Abby asked Blackie what he was like as a small boy.

“Ah, you want to know, Black Eagle, the little boy who followed his grandfather everywhere and always wanted to know about the old ways.  He was a little boy who thought he could live in the woods, hunt and fish and someday grow up and kill his bear and become a warrior.”

They finished their entrée and were served a light salad of baby, Bibb lettuce, tomato, cucumber, and cilantro, sprinkled with lemon juice.

“I couldn’t have managed anything heavier,” she said.

“Me too, let’s have coffee and then we’ll think about dessert.”

“Tell me more about Black Eagle,” she asked.

“Black Eagle went to school and he would write his name on his paper and the teacher would change it to Blackie.  Little Black Eagle would throw it away.  He was a stubborn little boy.”

“And your mother?” Abby asked.

“Mother taught me about the white man’s God.  For a long time God and the old ways were confused in my mind but that straightened out as I grew older.”

They sipped coffee quietly and the waiter brought them a sample of the different desserts.  Abby complained about how full she was but picked out a small apricot pastry.”

“What about your father, Blackie, you never talk about him?” Abby asked.

“Not much to say, he was an alcoholic.  My mother worked, he drank, and my sister and I managed.”

 Abby fell asleep on the way home and Blackie woke her up when they reached the cove, walked her to the door, and told her goodnight.

The next day she called him and thanked him for the whole day and said she hadn’t had that much fun in years, “It’s my turn to have you over here or maybe to Tessie’s.”

“I’ll be looking forward to that,” he said, pleased.