Adirondack Audacity (20 page)

Lani invited me for a visit this month, hoping to fill
the empty gap in my summer. I have a few weeks before
I need to return home and help my son, Trey, pack for
college and start the new school year. The last sweet
days of summer spent with my daughter. And…….I will
meet her new fiancé. Is my daughter old enough to have
a fiancée? I’m a widow?!
Damn…
I want to pinch myself
asking if this is some kind of sick joke. I take out a
compact mirror from my purse and check for new
wrinkles. It’s becoming a compulsive habit. I don’t look
that
old……blue eyes stare back at me, a nose inherited
from my father, coppery blonde hair from my mother,
currently maintained with a
little help
from my
hairdresser. At five foot-seven inches, my figure could
be described as athletic more than voluptuous. I wanted
voluptuous, God said no. I have great teeth and hair;
attributes for a good horse. I’m thinking men like me for
my smile and easy going nature……. Jack said it was my
great ass.

The sky stewards are preparing to serve lunch, thank
goodness, another glass of wine without food, means
walking off the plane under my own accord in four inch
stilettos…. highly doubtful. High heel shoes and
excessive wine consumption do not make for graceful
exits.

The last thing I need is to meet Lani’s fiancé, drunk.
They say first impressions are lasting. Another glass of
wine and I’ll never be allowed to babysit the
grandchildren. Okay, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Jason’s
from the Midwest, wholesome, family values
and all that. At least I wouldn’t be boring. Although
sometimes boring can be good…..and then
again…sometimes not. Children prefer their parents fade
into the background opposed to…..being the center of
attention. To this day, my daughter has not forgiven me
for the time I brought cow bells to her championship
soccer game. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The
other moms loved it, my daughter…..not so much. It
didn’t help I painted our large white poodle, blue and
gold, the school colors. The paint turned out to be
permanent, and the damn dog was the talk of the town
for the next month.

“Excuse me, are you ready for lunch?” The
flight
breaks into my reverie by setting down an artfully
arranged Caesar salad on a pale peach placemat. Steaming
hot bread sticks in a small wicker basket covered with a
matching plaid napkin are placed next to plate.

“Yes, thank you, it looks delicious.”
“Would you care for another glass of wine?” She’s an
attractive, middle aged woman with short brunette hair
spiked with highlights of auburn, giving her a youthful
athletic appearance.
“Yes, thank you, just a small glass.” I smile at her,
liking the look of her short hair. Maybe I should cut my
hair and go for that buff, toned female jock look.
Unfortunately, Jack would rise up out of the lake where
his ashes are scattered and haunt me. He loved my long
hair, never allowing me to cut it. So I never did and it
seems sacrilegious to his memory to do so now.
The flight attendant returns with my wine, her name
is Annette. She leans over to set down the glass and asks,
“Are you enjoying the flight?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m on my way to see my daughter
in Los Angeles.” I slide the silverware from the confines
of the napkin, placing it neatly on my lap.
“Oh, what fun, my daughter lives outside of San
Francisco. We always have the best time shopping,
dining, sightseeing, or taking a morning jog in the park.
I’m sure you’ll have a blast.”
“I’m really looking forward to it.” I say,
companionably leaning back to take a sip of the chilled
Chardonnay. “I’ve never been to L.A., and I can’t wait to
see her house. It’s a mission style bungalow she
remodeled with her fiancé. And I finally get to meet the
fiancé.”
“A new fiancé you haven’t even met? That should be
interesting.”
“I’ve spoken with him on the phone several times.
She’s known him for quite a while as a friend and then
after six months of dating, they’re engaged.”
“That is fast. But when you find true love, I always
say, grab it with both hands.” Annette re-corks the wine,
placing it in an ice bucket. “Does she have any adventures
planned while you’re visiting? Not that anything could
top a new fiancé.” She sits down in the seat next to me,
and relaxes for a moment as we chat.
Warming to the subject, I can’t help confiding.
“Actually, a movie premier. Lani was the assistant
costume designer on the movie set of
FireBrand
. And
when the head costume designer was unable to attend the
premier and after party, she gave Lani her tickets. So Lani
called and asked me to go with her. Who could resist
such an invitation?” I shrug my shoulders in delicious
anticipation. “She picked my dress out from the
wardrobe of the costume design department. It sounds so
glamorous.”
“What!!
FireBrand?
The new movie with that hunky
Spanish guy, wait a sec.”
Annette jumps to her feet, walks down the aisle to the
magazine rack and selects a glossy issue of
People
magazine. “I knew I had seen something on him and the
movie. Look! A full cover story. His name is Esteban
Diago. Before this movie he had a few supporting roles in
major films. He was a big deal down in Latin America,
but now he is “all the buzz” around Hollywood.” She
makes quotation marks with her fingers, “This will
probably be the first of many starring roles for him. He’s
from somewhere in South America, don’t you think he is
the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen. He was
married to Sophia Delong and I think they have a child.
He doesn’t go in for all the publicity stuff, supposedly the
quiet type. I’m surprised to see the full magazine spread,
must be PR hype for the movie.” She gushes, a flush of
excitement causing her cheeks to glow. “I would
love
to
go the premier just to have the opportunity to rub elbows
and
maybe
a little something else against him; if you get
my drift?”
I laugh in amusement over her bawdy confession and
pick up the magazine for closer inspection…..and for a
second I think my heart stops.
“Oh my
God!
” My breath escapes through lips
gone white.
“What?” asks Annette in alarm, “Are you okay? You
look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
If she only knew…………I stare at the cover of the
magazine. My breath coming in short panting gasps,
prickles of shock run up my spine while my fingers trace
the outline of Esteban Diago’s face.
“Are you all right? Annette touches my arm in
concern for my health….. or sanity, not sure which
worries her the most.
“I’m sorry, this Diago looks…..he looks….” I shake
my head to clear my thoughts, peering at the magazine
picture closely and then laugh with a chagrined
expression on my face…mistaken identity. I notice
Annette looking strangely at me and hasten to explain.
“He looks like an old boyfriend of mine.” Pointing at the
picture, I explain, “But the nose and cheekbones, the
overall look of his face, very different. And Diago has no
hair, or very little. His hair is blonde and close shaven,
and he has a beard. The person I was thinking of had
black hair, and lots of it.” I look up at Annette with a
shaky smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, but the
person I was thinking of, well, it couldn’t be him.” I
dismiss the likeness to Vic with a depreciating laugh.
“You dated someone who looked like this?” She asks,
holding up the magazine for a closer look, then peers
back at me in disbelief.
“Yes! It was many years ago.” I reply almost
defensively. I can look hot, it takes a little work, but I can
do it. I actually thought I looked pretty hot now. Okay,
I’m not a fabulous cook. I don’t always balance my
checking account to the penny, and I never wear a watch
which means, I’m perpetually late. I’ve learned to live
with these shortcomings, but I always thought once in a
while I could look really hot. Well, maybe not
really
hot…just hot. Fine then tepid….but above average. Who
am I kidding?
“Well, I can tell you,” Annette says with a knowing
wink and an evil lift of her eyebrow. “I wouldn’t mind
slipping this one under the sheets for a night of play.”
Chuckling over her honesty, I look at the dark handsome
face smiling up from the cover of the magazine. “He is
some kind of delicious, isn’t he?” I add my own leering
wink and suggestive eyebrow wiggle, enjoying our bit of
girl banter.
“Yes, madam, I’m going to leave you with this
magazine, so you can do a little
research. Y
ou’re going to
see him in the flesh. Who knows what might happen?
He’s in his forties, so it wouldn’t be like robbing the
cradle, apparently he loves the ladies. He is plastered all
over the tabloids with a different woman each week.” she
says gleefully rubbing her hands together. “Men with
experience are sooo much better.”
“Why you dirty, old lady,” I tease her in mock retort.
“Like a fine wine, darling, women……. and
some
men,
improve with age. The Europeans feel a woman hasn’t
reached her peak until her forties. Honey, we’re just
beginning to live. My grandmother lived to ninety-three; I
could live for another fortythree years.” She places her
hands on her hips and gives a saucy wiggle. “And I don’t
intend to live them as a nun. And neither should you, I
don’t see any wedding band on that hand holding you
back.” With a saucy tip of her head, she pats my arm,
“Enjoy L.A., honey, check out Diago for me. Now I need
to collect a few trays, and there’s a very attractive
business man in A-4 who has my name written all over
his weekend agenda.”
I admire her bravado. She’s right, there’s no wedding
band holding me back. I took my rings off as I packed,
placing them in the jewelry box, abandoned, but not
forgotten. Holding up my left hand framed against the
window, I can still see the pale circle against the tan of
my fingers. An echo of my wedding band.
With thoughts of being on the prowl darting through
my mind, I remember the box of pink condoms my
friend, Kat slipped into my purse as she hugged me goodbye at the airport.
“Pink and textured, they’re more fun.” She sang into
my ear as she unzipped my purse slipping the box
discretely to the bottom. Kat never changed, going from
the queen of trouble at camp to a thriving business
woman, managing a chain of liquor stores in the Albany
area. She’s divorced, it was a brief marriage and she had
no children, claims she doesn’t have time for that
shit.
She
along with Emi Jo and Tee came to my house for our
annual girl’s weekend and to see me off on my trip to
California.
“What! Are you crazy!” I gasped in horror. “Get
those things out of my purse. What if someone sees
them? Like my daughter!”
“It’s time you got lucky. Even Jack would say enough
of the Irish wake.” Kat snorts. “You can’t be a nun
forever. A girl has to be prepared these days.”
“Prepared!” I hissed at her. I remember looking over
my shoulder with trepidation, hoping no one was close
enough to hear the conversation. “What about the
security check?”
“They are small and discrete;; they’ll pass right
through.” Emi Jo said. The voice of wisdom. She
married Ben and is now the mother of four children,
adding ten pounds with each child. She exudes happiness
and contentment. Tee left early to get back to New York
City, something about an important deposition at her law
firm that needed immediate attention. She is still pressed,
starched and imbibed with the ambitious vestige of her
former innocent self.
“I don’t want them.” Reaching into my handbag I
tried shoving the offending box back at her.
“Lord only knows, you’re too cautious to have sex
without protection. And I know you’d never buy your
own raincoats, suits, rubbers, oh, whatever they’re called
now. So just leave them in your purse. Look they even
match.” I look down at my pink purse appreciating the
good-natured intent behind the gift. I had planned on
tossing them into the nearest trash can….which I forgot
to do, and now the offending objects are staring up at me
from the depths of my purse.
Shit.
Pink condoms, raincoats, boots … Good God, I
wouldn’t know what to do with them. I repress a snort of
laughter imagining the scene. Oh, here honey, just put
some protection on, as I hand my lover a hot pink
rubber. And what self-respecting man would wear a pink
condom……… a horny one. Maybe Annette can give me
some pointers. A glance over my shoulder shows Annette
flirting with the handsome businessman a few aisles away.
Upon closer inspection, he is kind of cute…..and I’m not
dead. At least not the last time I checked my wrist for a
pulse. Yep, still here.
With a rueful expression I turn my attention to the
cover of
People
magazine.
Damn, Annette is right, that Diago is some kind of
gorgeous and so was the woman hanging off his arm,
looking up into his face with adoration, as if he had just
uttered the most scintillating remark. Vanessa Leason.
Sipping my wine while picking at the salad, I step into
the lives of the star and co-star of
FireBrand
.
I run my hand over the glossy picture of Diago
standing in the foreground of a meteor shower, tracing
the star points etched against the sky. The movie plot
centers on a meteor shower that forces the inhabitants of
earth to seek shelter in the mystical land of
FireBrand.
The Perseid meteor shower in the Adirondacks. The
memories come flooding back in a torrent. The Perseid
meteor shower, a spectacular explosion of stars shooting
across the sky, made even more fabulous in the dark
night of the mountains. Shaking my head, a small smile
plays across my face at the chain of events sparked by this
earthly marvel.
August. The Perseid Meteor Shower and Vic. They go
hand in hand. It’s been a few years since I’ve paid my
summer homage to him, a memorial of our brief love. A
time shut away and sealed in the recesses of my heart.
Yet, once a year I would bring it out, allow it life, light
and air and remember…….Vic laughing, standing on a
mountain boulder framed by the lake, black hair
burnished ebony by the sun.
When Jack and I rented the camp in the Adirondacks,
I’d choose a night in August for my secret ritual. A night
when Jack was away flying somewhere, no guests, my
children asleep, a brief respite of calm amidst the flurry of
guests. On such a night, I’d take out the old moth eaten
sleeping bag, riddled with holes and spread it on the
dock. With reverent hands, I opened a battered scrap
book filled with pictures, pressed flowers, faded letters,
bursting with sketches and watercolors painted by Vic. A
legacy of his artwork.
Pulling on his old team sweatshirt, I swore it still
carried the faint lingering of his scent, impossibly so, as if
his presence joined me on the dock those nights.
The scrapbook opened only once a year, on a
summer night, a sacred bond of fidelity to Jack binds the
lock the rest of the year.
On either side of the album, a sanctuary of balsam
scented candles lined the dock. Shaking out a cigarette
from an old crumbled pack, I’d light it from the candle
flame, and watch the shreds of tobacco catch fire and
glow, inhaling deeply as my body filled with calm.
Psssst,
hissed a beer can as the tab was pulled back, an offering
to the past, wishing the beer and cigarette were instead a
joint, for the blessed anesthesia it would bring to this
bittersweet reunion. Leaning back on that old sleeping
bag, slightly drunk and high on nicotine under the
moonlight, I imagine Vic next to me gazing up into the
stars, taking me into his arms………I still ache for him;;
the loss dulled but never vanished.
The images in the scrapbook pressed upon my mind,
I see the shiny, peeling, scotch tape, no longer strong
enough to keep the wild flowers intact and pressed. The
flattened flowers of the journal entries turned brown,
becoming transparent with age. Time not only discolored
the contents of the scrapbook, but had begun the task of
decaying. The volume filled with remembrances, friends
from camp, faces smiling with eager anticipation of all life
has to offer. Photos pressed and anchored to the pages,
recording a summer, memories too precious to let go.
Without the pictures, I can barely remember what Vic
looks like. I often wonder, nothing happens by accident, I
learned this the hard way. I grew to fear the power of
consequences and found myself powerless to avoid the
treacheries of fate.