Sketches - A Short Story in short chapters

Chapter One
Now Ending

There was a moment where Drew was aware that he would be hit in the head with the arrow. He had just enough to time to see the bow and watch the two fingers release the projectile. Every thing else happened too quickly for him to react. He stood still and accepted his fate.

The rubber sucker tip smacked against his forehead and the missile bounced away and to the left.

“Awww, it never works like the movies!” Neville Ellison had a strange and annoying drawl. Drew looked at his roommate and the choice to get rid off him was cemented. No more breaks, death if necessary, but more likely he would just demand that he pay his half of the expenses for the last three months. He decided not to react.

Neville bent over to retrieve his toy and Drew stomped the arrow flat, narrowly missing his hand.

“Awww, I just got that! They only gave me three of those! You owe me!” Neville held out his hand. Drew couldn’t believe the timing. He pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket and placed it in Neville’s outstretched hand. He had just calculated the money owed minutes ago and was trying to concoct an appropriate plan to make the moocher pay him the total. This kind of thing only happened in the movies.

“Awww, eighteen hundred and thirty six dollars?”

“And nineteen cents, N.E. I need you to pay up now or split today.” Drew had started to call his roommate N.E. just days after they moved in together. Neville thought that it was sign of endearment, a clever use of his initials. Drew secretly meant “necessary evil” when he used those letters.

Two weeks after they had signed the lease, N.E. had lost his job. It was evidently a string of jobs lost as he went off on quixotic quests for the best concert ever. Now he would have to go on a quest for someone else to mooch off of. Three months after N.E. had last paid rent and expenses, Drew took a look at his dwindling savings and decided to invest in a new lock. The locksmith could be here in an hour. Neville had to out of the apartment before then.

Chapter Two
Way to Go

“Thanks Dad. I think I’ll be alright.” Drew spoke into the phone as he lay back on the freshly cleaned couch observing the freshly cleaned apartment. Neville hadn’t been gone thirty-six hours yet and already the place had a completely different feel. Drew had called his father to give him the update in a moment of rest from his herculean cleaning labors. James Summer’s voice came through from his home in the Chicago suburbs.

“Just for fun I’m going to send a couple hundred dollars your way. I had a good week and Sheila is out of town so I won’t have anyone to spend the bonus on.” His voice was deep and friendly just like you would expect from a salesman.

Drew smiled, “Thanks dad. How is Sheila anyway? She spending the night yet?” It had been seven years since his mother’s death and in all that time his father had been unable, unwilling really, to get serious about anyone.

Sheila had moved in next door to them just as Drew was making his plans to move to California. When James and Drew first met Sheila, he saw that look in his father’s eyes. He sat down with his dad and gave him the reverse facts of life. Mom is gone, we miss her, you’re still here, you have needs, go for it.

James wasn’t entirely comfortable with his son talking so frankly, but he did ask Sheila out the next day. That had been nearly a year ago. Drew could tell by the silence that his dad still was not comfortable with the topic, but he could also tell that Sheila was indeed spending the night. “Way to go dad!” He let his voice draw out a bit and let go a chuckle.

“Right, well, I should be going anyway,” James was clearing his throat and hemming and hawing as he squirmed. Drew found it funny. He and his father had always been very open about relationships and the reality of what went on between boys and girls while Drew was growing up. Drew had never expected him to be prudish when it came to his own needs. “It’s, uh, it’s two hours later here and I’ve got to go to bed, uh, get some sleep that is and well… thanks for calling son. If you need any help at all just call.”

“I know dad, thanks. Love ya.”

“I love you too Drew. Goodnight.”

Chapter Three
Three for Two

When he met the twins, he of course had that male thing that almost all boys have run through his mind. When he learned they were triplets he of course lost the use of his brain for a short time. April, May and June had tumbled down the stairs at the back of their house giggling and laughing and looking every bit the epitome of California girls, tanned and lean and wearing short shorts and tees and tennis shoes without socks, their blond hair pulled back in pony tails or braids. They smiled and waved at Drew as he sat with his sketch book on his deck.

He had first met April and May when he was returning from the grocery store. He’d been riding his bike and they pulled up alongside him on theirs. They had been laughing. It seemed like they were always laughing.

“You’re the boy from next door.”

“You live upstairs at the back.”

They spoke in tandem as they wove looping circles around him. He wasn’t in a hurry. The day was cool, though the sun was hot. Living near the ocean was like that and Drew wondered why everyone didn’t live here.

“The other one is gone. Did you kick him out?”

“We’re glad if you did. We didn’t like him.”

Drew smiled. He really couldn’t help it. He had broken up with his girlfriend months before moving from Illinois and had not had a date or anything even close since his arrival. Too busy was his excuse.

“You’re shy.”

“You’re cute.”

“I’m April.”

“I’m May.”

“Our parents were from the seventies.”

“What’s your name?”

Drew was smiling, just watching them move and listening to them talk. “My name’s Drew, Drew Summers. I haven’t seen you before, have I?” It was not the smartest thing he’d ever said; maybe they wouldn’t notice.

“How would we know if you’d ever seen us?”

“We’ve seen you!”

“We were on vay-kay. Saw you move in before we left.”

“Saw the other one move in too. Don’t see him now.”

“Yeah, well, we didn’t quite see eye to eye on things, like paying the bills.” Drew kept peddling straight and steady. He wasn’t in a hurry, but there were a few frozen things in the basket that might thaw if he didn’t keep moving. “You must have been gone a long time on vacation.”

“Europe.”

“Grand Tour.”

“For three months? That must’ve been fun.” Drew had a strong desire to get to some of the museums in Europe, but also had a strong desire to make a name for himself as an artist. For some reason he felt that California was the place to be to grow his skills and talents in the direction he wanted to go.

“Cathedrals.”

“Museums.”

“Restaurants.”

“Hotels.”

“Trains.”

“Planes.”

“The best part was the beaches.”

“The Mediterranean. Felt like home.”

“Where you from?”

“You’re tanner now.”

Drew was a little uncomfortable that these two really cute girls had observed so much about him. He was a little flattered too. How had he missed them? “I’m from the Midwest. Illinois actually. Near Chicago.”

“Was it nice?”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes, it was great, except for the winters. I went to the school of the Art Institute in downtown Chicago and it can be pretty brutal in January and February and March.”

“And now you’re here!”

“In sunny California!”

“With April!” said May.

“And May!” said April.

They laughed again and sped off. Their voices trailed over their shoulders. “We’ll see you at home!” The two girls turned off on a side street and disappeared from his view.

Obviously twins, Drew thought, and obviously they liked him. There was a practical side to him and it kicked in now. No matter what, he knew he couldn’t date two girls at once. He just couldn’t.

There was a boy side to Drew and it kicked in at the same time. Twins! And so his internal dialogue started. How do I tell them apart? Why do you want to? They deserve a chance to be individuals. They’re Twins! This went on for the rest of the way home. He imagined that he had little angel Drew on one shoulder and little devil Drew on the other, just like the old Donald Duck cartoons. As he rolled to a stop in the alley behind his apartment he saw the girl's bikes parked next to a third; pink, yellow and blue. As he gathered his bags to carry them upstairs he met June.

The next few minutes were a chattery blur. April and May introduced him to the third sister. Born a few minutes apart, they were named in order. April was the first born. Next was May and June came last and in reality was always lagging a bit behind her more energetic “older” sisters. Now they all helped him carry his groceries into his apartment.

Drew generally considered himself lucky. When he had decided to move away from the Chicago winters he had gone online and found a place just four blocks from the ocean in Huntington Beach. The locals had banded together and officially claimed the title of “Surf City” for themselves and Drew liked the idea of living in a beach community. He had found Neville through a roommate wanted ad on Craig’s List and together they went ahead with the lease. Something had told Drew to keep the lease in his name and that had proven to be the right decision. The problem was that he had budgeted for a year at half the rent. His father had given him a gift of money just before he left and so that alleviated the burden for a while, but Drew knew shortly after arriving that a job was in his future before he got rich selling his paintings. A gallery right on Pacific Coast Highway, what the locals called PCH, was hiring and so he had a job in art. Not quite what he was looking for, but it kept him connected.

Now he had a two bedroom apartment with a questionable view of the Pacific at an angle from his balcony, ignoring all the electric and phone lines hanging from the poles, and three of the cutest girls he had met in a long time helping him put food away. Life was good for a young man of twenty three.

“Hey, you’re an artist!”

“A painter!”

“You’re good!”

The triplets had all crowded into his studio. It was really his bedroom from when he had first arrived, but after Neville left he started sleeping in the second bedroom. This left him room to spread his work out.

“Can we look at your sketchbook?”

“Do you ever sketch people?”

“Would you like to sketch us?”

They all started talking at once. “Yes, yes, sketch us! Paint us!” They began striking animated poses, making dramatic and exaggerated faces and hand gestures. Then the laughing started. Drew was smiling and watching his new friends. Something swept over him and he knew that was what they would be, simply friends. Conversation settled around them and the girls started to ask what he’d done since his arrival and where he’d been and who had he met and it was all he could do to keep up with the questions.

Disneyland and Long Beach Aquarium and the Surf Museum and yes he’d gone to L.A. a few times and down to San Diego and a couple of beaches along the way, Crystal Cove and yes Swami’s, just to paint and get used to the light, and yes he got the yearly pass and he’d eaten a few times at Sugar Shack and Wahoo’s and he had found Café Enchante over on Orange Street and Ruby’s restaurant at the end of the pier and no not Chimayo’s, well he didn’t have anyone to go with and it didn’t seem like a place you go by yourself and not Duke’s either, but he met some people and went to Fred’s, but mostly he just worked and walked along the beach so far and did they know the Pierside Gallery on PCH and yes, by the cinema and no he hadn’t seen many movies since he came out and yes they could all go sometime and he’d love to meet some of their friends and yes their family too.

June pulled out her cell phone and in a couple of seconds had made the arrangements with her mother and they all agreed to go right away and start dinner so that mom could finish up at her office and the three tumbled out of his apartment and down his steps and into the house next door after making certain that he would be there at 7:00 for dinner. Drew thought that seven was kind of late, but whatever. And he sat back down and realized how big his apartment actually was. And how empty.

That first dinner was an energetic affair and Drew was quickly able to tell the triplets apart. They were not exact physical matches for each other really, just very similar. They purposely dressed alike and wore their hair the same longish, ponytailed way. The thing was, they were very different personalities and Drew was a good observer. One thing that he did observe was that June paid him a little closer attention then April and May.

The girl’s parents were pleasant and open and welcomed Drew warmly, as if he was an old friend and they hadn’t seen him for a long time. Drew was at that awkward stage in life when you don’t automatically call people Mr. and Mrs., but you also don’t feel free to call them by their first names. The ‘trips’, as their parents called them, introduced their parents as mom and dad, but didn’t give names. Charles Gold took Drew’s hand and relieved the tension by saying, “Hi Drew. Good to meet you. Call me Charlie. This is my partner in life, Heather. Hope you like good cookin’. The trips went all out looks like from the mess in the kitchen. Even opened some wine for us adults.” Drew heard the girls mutter lowly and in a strange form of harmony, “Daaaaaaadd!”

It had occurred to him that they might be under 21. It now occurred to him that they might be quite a ways under 21. June looked at Drew out of the corner of her eyes and blushed.

“Sometimes they introduce themselves as ‘Ocean and Feather’.” May informed Drew as she carried a large steaming dish of pasta past him into the dining room. Her tone was teasing and scolding and not entirely disapproving.

Heather shook Drew’s hand and he looked into her eyes, light grey and bright. “I’m pleased to meet our new neighbor. Those names were ‘chosen names’ from the days when we lived in the commune and the girls are embarrassed by their parents’ past. Be careful with the sauce, April! Use a hot pad!”

May had set the pasta on the table and quickly returned to the kitchen area, just in time to help her mother catch the hot bowl of alfredo sauce that a barehanded April was dropping. May and Heather moved with efficiency and synchronicity, as if they had long practiced catching hot dishes and pushing burned hands under cooling water.

June walked by with a plate of steaming meatballs. She smiled up at Drew as she passed and brushed her shoulder against his chest. The hallway was narrow, but not that narrow.

Chapter Four
Relativity

He called the boy “coyote”.

The child never whined or cried. Drew held his nephew’s hand as they walked through the park. Jimmy squirmed and pulled and pushed with his two stubby legs against Drew’s long left leg. He wormed and fussed and bent and contorted and did just about everything he could to get free. Any minute now Drew felt Jimmy would start gnawing at his own wrist to get loose. Just like a coyote caught in a trap.

Sally called to them now, her face aglow with the sight of the mermaid Ariel sitting in her grotto. Kids were lining up to talk with the mermaid and she wanted to be one of them. Drew’s sister Karen had come to visit with her two kids and they had decided a day at Disneyland would be a way to keep them happy. Today was their third day at Disney and the children were indeed very happy.

Especially Jimmy, as he won the battle and broke free of Drew’s grasp. He did not run off, at least not far. He had come face to knee with Goofy and now the little boy stood looking up and up at the character. Karen signaled a switch time and she went after her son while Drew went to wait in line with his niece.

Growing up, Karen and Drew had often fantasized about seeing their favorite characters and going to the “Mouse’s house”. It had never been in the family budget to travel so far. Now they were able to live their childhood dream vicariously through her kids. The kids were having trouble keeping up.

Karen’s divorce had been a shock at first. It had always seemed that she and James were good together. Somewhere along the way though, they had grown up differently. James didn’t understand it at first, but came to accept the idea when he realized that he would still be part of the family. He had offered to send the kids out with their mother to visit Uncle Drew.

After Drew had moved, the children had missed him terribly. They had always been close and Drew was a good uncle, spoiling them, having ice cream before dinner with them, letting them stay awake too late and all the other things uncles were supposed to do. He had always told them stories of Uncle Walt and the children believed they really had an Uncle who had built Disneyland just for them.

It was a way they learned to share. While the park waited for them to arrive it stayed open so other people could have fun too. Upon their arrival, Sally had taken on the role of official greeter, welcoming people to her Uncle Walt’s park and telling them many interesting things and places to visit. For the most part everyone she spoke with was very entertained. Sally was a born communicator and she was very enthusiastic about this topic, adding snippets of songs and little dance steps from her favorite movies as she directed her guests to see Winnie the Pooh’s ride or Snow White’s ride.

By day three Sally was starting to wonder about the whole story. It was a common thing to be teased by Uncle Drew. In fact when the question was asked, “How do you know when Uncle Drew is teasing?” she knew to answer, “Because his lips are moving.”

Now the sidelong glances were becoming more noticeable and Drew knew he was going to have to answer for six years of moving lips. Ariel beckoned and all was safe and happy for the moment as Sally approached cautiously.

“Hello Ariel,” she started very solemnly. “My name is Sally and Uncle Walt is my uncle.” She held out her little hand, still slightly pudgy from the baby years.

Ariel graciously leaned forward and took Sally’s hand. “Why Uncle Walt is my uncle too!” the mermaid exclaimed. “He is a lot of people’s uncle in fact, but I am so glad to meet you. We must be nieces together!” Sally’s eyes went huge at the prospect of being related to Ariel. Slowly she turned to look at Uncle Drew in astonishment. Could he have been not teasing?

Drew was happy at the way that had gone and Sally spent another few friendly minutes with Ariel. When she left she turned to the little girl behind her and introduced her to Ariel as if they had grown up together. In a way that is exactly what they had done.

“Uncle Drew, where is Uncle Walt?” Sally had a vague notion of death. Drew had been the one to address the topic when one of her early playmates was accidentally killed. He had been very straight about the subject and did not resort to any feel good stories like, now she is an angel and lives with god or now she can play with Sparky, who was the neighbor’s dog that had gotten hit by a car. He had told her that Camille was gone now and would not come back. He told her the truth about dying and death. She had taken it better than her parents had.

“Uncle Walt died a long time ago, sweetheart.” Drew rarely knelt down to talk to the kids and he never spoke down to them or used baby talk. He always treated them as if they were equals. Now he sat on a nearby bench and pulled Sally close. Triton was in the center of a fountain that splashed merrily. In the distance a statue of Walt and Mickey looked out over the park. He pointed that direction.

“I like to think that somehow we go on after we die, Sally. Sometimes it is the things we do or the people we know that go on and we get remembered by them. Look all around and you will see Uncle Walt. He loved people and he liked to see them happy. He especially liked to see children happy and so here we are, happy in Uncle Walt’s park.”

“But Mickey is alive.” It was one of Sally’s statement questions. In other words, will Mickey Mouse one day die?

“Mickey is not real in the way that you and I and Uncle Walt are real. You’ll understand more as you get older, but all our friends here are characters. That doesn’t make them any less friendly to us or change how we feel about them.”

“I saw Ariel’s zipper.” In other words, she knew that Ariel was a costume and what should she do with that knowledge?

“But did you like Ariel?” It was the teaching moment and Drew loved to see Sally’s face as she went into thinking mode.

“She said Uncle Walt was her uncle too, so maybe I am a character too.” Sally’s final logic statement gave her a few more years of time to believe the magic and Drew was happy with that.

Jimmy and Karen came back just then and lunch was decided upon. Over near the Winnie the Pooh section there was a nice little faux timbered place overlooking Tom Sawyer Island. The Mark Twain steamboat would come around periodically. The kids could wave at the passengers and enjoy a kid’s meal and talk about the day in a quiet shady spot before resuming the rides. Today they were actually going over to the island and Jimmy was very excited about that. They had told him they would go after lunch and ever since breakfast he had been hungry for lunch. There were pirates on the island and he wanted to see them up close in the worst way.

During the meal, James called to check on things and Karen wandered off to talk in private. When she returned the kids were vigorously shaking their shoes out as if they had been filled with sand or pebbles.

“We’re shakin’ the tickles out!” Jimmy laughed as he informed his mother of the why of his actions.

“We took our shoes off to give them a rest and Uncle Drew tickled the bottoms so we would get tickled when we put ‘em on.” Sally was faintly disapproving of the situation. She did not like to have her feet tickled. Her sides yes, her chin yes, but no feet! Karen shook her head slowly wondering where her brother came up with this stuff.

Just then a slight breeze kicked up and the tall trees moved gently. “The trees are making wind!” the children yelled excitedly. Somewhere in her mind Karen knew that there were a lot of strange things floating in their minds that came from Uncle Drew’s peculiar world view.

Chapter Five
Karen

Karen loved her brother, despite his goofiness. She was practical, like their mother had been. Drew inherited none of that. She had been four when he was announced as on the way. Five and three months old and she had a new plaything. Drew had never really minded being played with and dressed up by his sister. It never occurred to him that it wasn’t normal, until he was five years old and went out to play with his friends in the outfit that Karen had dressed him in. It took him some time to live down the incident, but it never occurred to him to be mad at her. She wouldn’t allow it anyway.

They lived close all their lives, emotionally and physically. When she had left for college it was just a short drive from home in Crystal Lake to DeKalb, Illinois for visits. From that time on Drew was well used to college life and well suited to roommate lifestyle. He had visited on his own fairly often and the year that she stayed at school through the summer he had spent two full months with her.

He had been a bit of a mascot at first and was adopted by all her friends. This caused him some dismay for he had young romantic feelings for several of her roommates. He did achieve a few mild make-out sessions, but only later, when he was attending art school, did it occur to him that they might have been pity sessions. Still, the experiences served him well and he was well liked by the girls he dated in high school.

Karen never went into her field of education. Partly because she just wasn’t interested in marine biology by the time she graduated, but mostly because Sally was on the way. James and Karen had become an item in her junior year. He was a senior and planned on going for a master’s degree. One year into the program he was a father to be and soon thereafter a husband. Practical Karen had insisted they get real jobs and a real home for the first couple of years at least and then came James Jr.

James Sr. took a full time job with the company that he had worked for during summer breaks doing cabinet making and installation. He was good at it, better than his boss, and soon struck out on his own. Within a short time they had built the business up nicely, hiring skilled workers and laborers to do much of the work. James found himself in charge and in the office day and night and unhappy. It was a long way from geology and rocks and open air archeology digs. As the business grew more successful the outdoor lifestyle that he loved got farther away. Happiness got farther away.

In his own way James was also practical. When Karen offered to take on the business of running the company to give him the chance to return to school and finish his degree, he said no. Time had passed and the passion that he felt for field work had slipped away. It was then that they realized that other passions had also slipped away.

James was a good father. Karen was a good mother. They separated, but agreed to remain in close proximity. The children had questions from time to time, but mommy and daddy were happy and they lived in houses that were free of emotional tension. Sally’s friend Camille had died while her own parents argued. James and Karen always knew where their children were. Even the coyote. Recently, Karen confided in Drew, they had actually been romantic with each other.

“Way to go, Kar’,” Drew spread the words, out creating more syllables than actually existed. “You and James, Dad and Sheila. It’s all ‘very groovy baby. Yea-ah!’” He finished with a moderate Austin Power’s impersonation.

“Dad and Sheila? Way to go dad!” Karen had grieved deeply at the death of their mother. Graduation from college, her marriage, Sally’s birth, all of these things happened just a year after Jonnie Summers passed away. It had been difficult for Karen to find joy in any of the events that should have been amongst the happiest in a young person’s life. The burden was increased as she tried to shield those around her from her true feelings. Drew had been the only one that she really opened up to and together they had cried through their grief. “What about you? Any romance on your horizon? What’s with the triplets?”

“Too young. Very cute and very tempting, but I’ve passed that point where I can ethically date someone still in their first year of college. Almost in their first year of college, anyway.”

“Little Junie likes you. A lot.” Karen was teasing him and he knew it, but it was hard not to rise to the bait.

“She is special, not really like the other two, slower, more my pace you know? She seems more mature sometimes, but I think she’s just quieter…I don’t know…they are just too…”
“Young?” Karen was smiling and in full on teasing mode now, but she was too practical to let it go for long. “You were younger than that when you were chasing my roommates.”

“Yeah, but…” Drew was clearly torn between the cuteness factor and the maturity quotient of June. Karen didn’t let up.

“Yeahbuts come at Easter time. Don’t let her hang out there, little brother. My friends didn’t let you hang. They said yes or no, but never maybe.” Drew remembered a time with two of Karen’s friends, Paula and Laura, when ‘maybe’ was definitely on the table. They had been drinking some cheap wine and were fairly merciless with a young man’s fancy. But she was right. Besides that one time, everyone had played fair and he knew that he was not going to date a college girl.

“Just talk to her about it, that’s all I’m saying.”

Chapter Six
Harvest

Harvie did not mean to fall in love with a first kiss. Harvie did not mean to fall in love at all. Harvie was apart from such things. This was a complication. Harvie did not desire to have, be, experience, or deal with complications. Now she was in love. For the second time, only this time it was different. This time was…different.

Harvie cried all night. She knew she would never experience this feeling of falling in love with a first kiss ever again. Harvie rarely had cried in her life. Even as a baby, she had been unusually quiet. She had cried over a relationship only once before. Her first night of passion had been magical and marvelous. Her partner Alain had been everything she dreamed of and more and the evening had been perfect without planning. She wept at the realization that she would never have that experience a second time.

These were not tears of sadness, not truly. They were tears of gratitude in a way, recognition of an event, a milestone within her life. They were a way of completing the releasing of a part of her history. They were a signal of motion as much as emotion.

She had loved Alain, but it was not the love that two people feel for each other that lasts a lifetime. It was the love of two people in the moment. She had been in France at the time. Harvie and her friends had gone to Europe to do the “Grand Tour” to celebrate their early graduation from the university. There had been four when they started in February, but after three months Harvie was the only one left with any stamina for travel. Though her parents had great reservations about their first born being alone in Paris, they really had little say in the matter. Harvie was determined to make her own way. Her mother would say that she was born making her own way and there was a great deal of truth in that statement.

Alain was French, but his family had traveled extensively all through his childhood. He had been educated through tutors supplied by the various diplomatic embassies where his father served and when it had come time to attend an institution of higher education he had chosen UCLA in the USA. Harvie had also been at UCLA, though they had not met there. Alain had graduated just as she had entered and had been on his own in Europe for three years before settling down in Paris. They had met in front of the Musée de Orsay in the early summer. It was not long before they shared his quarters. The relationship lasted until winter began. Harvie stayed until just after Christmas.

Alain wanted her to stay forever. She wanted him to return to California where it was warm. He had a business to run. She had a life to lead. His business was in Paris. Her life was not one of cold, wet weather.

Harvie rarely spoke. She could be quite vociferous when called upon and eloquent as well. She arrived at her parent’s door quietly at the beginning of the year and had remained quiet.

“Poor June,” she thought. Her littlest sister had a crush on Drew and now Harvie had fallen in love with him. She was certain that Drew had also fallen in love with her. She did not desire complications in her life. She loved June the most of all the triplets. They were the most alike.

Though she now lived at her parent’s home, Harvest Gold kept to herself and her own room. She worked and paid rent and bought her own car and insurance and in general was on her own, except that she stayed close to her family. She took trips and vacations on her own and when the family had gone to Europe this last year she had declined the invitation to join them.

She knew that two young men had moved in next door. In fact Harvie knew most everything that happened in and around town. She was observant and friendly and people naturally shared information and stories with her. She took walks and noticed patterns and cars and mail deliveries and flowers beds that were cared for and trees that went untrimmed. She listened to conversations outside her windows from her third floor bedroom. She did not spy on people. She simply paid attention.

Harvest rode her bike early in the morning and arrived at her job before her co-workers. She operated behind the scenes at the Hyatt reception area, taking care of details regarding conventions and large events. She was good with people and kept calm in the face of any myriad number of things that could and did go wrong in and about wedding receptions and anniversary parties and class reunions and whatever other reason humans found to gather together. She was quiet and efficient and quite beautiful.

Any number of offers to go on dates came in by any number of means of communication each week. Harvie was polite, but straight forward. The answer was always a solid “No, thank you.” For a short while the boys in the hotel thought she might be gay. She also refused offers from other women and so became a mystery to many and a challenge to some. The answer was still the same.

She had seen the locksmith arrive late in the afternoon that Neville left. She had seen Neville on the pier two days later. He had asked her out. “No, thank you.” And he had moved on, smiling pleasantly. She believed that he did not know they had been neighbors.

That evening she heard “Ruby, My Dear” by Thelonious Monk playing from the apartment next door. It puzzled her for a moment and she thought that perhaps both of the boys had moved out. She had previously only heard the sounds of Grateful Dead and Phish and String Cheese Incident and the like, coming from that vicinity.

It wasn’t that the music was loud. It was the acoustics between the two buildings. In the town of Huntington Beach the real estate was at a premium and the houses were placed very close together. Center courtyards sometimes amplified noises from nearby.

She was also carefully attuned to this music. “Round Lights” was next and it was followed by “Everything Happens to Me.” Someone was playing “Alone in San Francisco”, her favorite Monk album. “‘Round about Midnight at the Café Bohemia” from Kenny Dorham came on next and was followed by Miles Davis “Kind of Blue”. Someone was a jazz fan. Someone had the same taste in jazz as Harvie did. It went on through the night. She lay awake for a time listening and wondering.

The next morning she left for work early and the music was still going. The garbage can was full and several bags of beer cans and wine bottles were set out for the recyclers. Old pizza boxes, potato chip and Doritos bags, snack food debris and candy wrappers were prominent. The music continued and was more modern, Pat Metheny maybe, but from down in the alley she couldn’t quite tell. Whoever it was had turned the volume down somewhere in the night, after she had fallen asleep. She paused a moment fussing unnecessarily with her back pack and iPod as she surreptitiously looked for more clues to the puzzle. They did not come readily. Two weeks later and the music continued to be interesting and varied and there was even a Grateful Dead song here and there.

The trash returned to normal and she saw that the person who lived there shopped at Trader Joe’s and purchased the same things as before. It looked like one boy had left and the other was left to clean up after him.

The triplets returned and regaled her with tales of Europe for about a week before they began regaling her with tales of town. It was then that she learned of Drew’s existence in earnest, especially from June who noticed every little thing about him. Harvie had an event at the hotel the first night he was invited to dinner and somehow found excuses to be absent from other Drew related gatherings, even the time that his sister and her children were invited to dinner. She would have to meet him eventually, if only to threaten him with dire consequences in the event that he treated June poorly.

She knew what he looked like. She had seen him sideways out of her window and at a glance from the upper deck and noticed him one day at Trader Joe’s and also at Blockbuster. Each time she recognized him first and made herself unobtrusive. She did not know why exactly. It was a feeling, an intuition actually. She was not hiding. She was observing. He rented a couple of action films she noted, but also spent quite a bit of time in the foreign film section. He rented ‘Blue’, ‘White’ and ‘Red’, the trilogy by Krzysztof Kieslowski. She had written a paper on those films in college. She loved those films.

They met when Nancine Frie, the owner of the Pierside Gallery, brought him to the Hyatt. She wanted him to establish a display of his artwork there. They came together to meet with the director of events, Harvie’s boss, who was at lunch at the time, having conveniently forgotten the appointment as he often did. Harvie had yet to return from her lunch break and so failed to cover for him.

Nancine went off to find him, fire in her eyes. She hated to be blown off and Roger Dietz had done this to her before. She left Drew alone in the office.

Drew was standing up and looking carefully at a large quartz crystal that was part of the décor when Harvie returned. Harvie opened the door expecting to find no one.

Drew was not tall, but tallish. He had bright blue eyes and rather random hair, longish, but without direction. He was dressed neatly, but would never make the cover of GQ. Harvie did not care for GQ styled guys.

Harvie was tallish and willowy. Well, perhaps she was a bit too ample in certain areas to be considered willowy, but she was trim and slim where it counted. And muscular. She had long hair that piled out from the top of her head to spread across her shoulders and cascading down her back a ways in golden and auburn waves and curls. Her eyes were a deep brown and they now met bright blue.

Together they would always say that they knew in an instant that they were in love. There is always the prerequisite time that goes on while each one figures out that the other feels the same way, however.

She attended dinner that night with her family and surprised Drew. He had not known who she was that day at the hotel. She had looked at his portfolio critically and appraised his work with professional sounding terms and accepted his submission on the spot. Her boss would give her grief later, but she knew that he would have told her to take care of things anyway. Drew signed the contract knowing that Nancine would give him grief later for not looking at the fine print or reviewing things with her, but this was what they had come here for.

Harvie sat quietly across from Drew and watched as June passed him potatoes and corn and biscuits that she had made and poured him some water and served him some ice cream.

Harvie quietly fumed. To be fair, Drew did not ask for this attention and in fact several times said, “No, thank you,” to her. It just irked Harvie that her little sister would try so hard to please a boy that she would act in such a subservient manner.

The next day June was very quiet around everyone, moreso than usual. When Harvest got home that evening June was waiting for her behind the house by the garage door. It was not a dramatic moment or anything, though June was close to tears. As the story unfolded, it sounded like Drew had done a good job in letting her down and she still liked him. They would be friends and in the end it was ‘all good’, as the trips would say.

It still angered Harvie. Especially when June said that she could tell that Drew really liked Harvie. She resolved to have it out with the boy. Breaking her sister’s heart on the hopes that he might have a chance with her? No way!

Then June dropped the other shoe. June said she could tell that Harvie really liked Drew as well and she was just happy that one of them got to be with him. June gave her sister a kiss then and said that Drew would be coming home in the next couple of minutes and maybe they should take a walk together and talk a while and good luck, oh here he comes now!

June skipped off looking much younger than her years. Harvie was stunned and felt a little trapped. Was she angry? Hurt? Happy? What was this feeling? She did not want to betray June, but had June just given her permission to date Drew? Did she want to date Drew? It had all happened very fast and she did not have time to digest the situation. Up until that moment she was not fully aware of her own feelings towards Drew. A lightning bolt had passed between them that day in the office, but she had been in denial. She would never admit that later on, but it was true.

“Oh, hi!” A scratchy noise came up behind her as Drew’s bicycle tires rolled to a stop. He hopped off and walked over to Harvie. “I just wanted to say thank you, for the contract, that is. Nancine said that was the fastest deal she ever made with Hyatt. I mean, I know I’m not getting paid or anything, but it is exposure and who knows, maybe I will sell something.” She stared at him for a moment trying to come up with a strategy. How should she deal with this situation? Nothing seemed to be the right thing to do. All she knew was that June had told her to take a walk with him.

“Well, um, like I said, thanks.” He had just gone all Midwestern ‘aw, shucks’ on her and she realized that she had just been staring at him. “Want to go for a walk?” She blurted it out. He had been turning away and moving towards the stairs. He looked back at her and blinked a couple of times.

“Um, sure,” he said dubiously. “Pier?”

“Sure,” she agreed. It was a public place and she felt safe going there. The thought occurred to her that she wouldn’t say or do anything foolish in public. Dimly she wondered what she might do in private.

The sun was close to the horizon when they reached the end of the pier. It was late in the season and few tourists were in attendance. Just some local fisherman and some others out for a bit of ocean side exercise.

“I think I need to tell you something,” he had begun. They had made some small talk while they walked the four blocks to the beach, just background things like work and jobs and career and weather. They had gotten across PCH and he took a deep breath and started. He spoke of June and how much he liked her and the dilemma of age versus cuteness and the responsibility he felt and how he had spoken to her just that day about relationships and being honest and Harvie listened keenly to it all. She watched his face peripherally and watched his hands swirl around as he spoke.

Earnest was the word for Drew. He was earnest and Harvie smiled.

“Thank you,” she said, not knowing exactly why she was thanking him.

“You’re welcome,” he said, not knowing what she was welcome to exactly.

It was the one thing they would disagree on in later years. The sunset was beautiful. Clouds lay low near the horizon and the sun turned orange and red as it sank through them and into the water just past Catalina Island. Just before it disappeared, a pod of four dolphins surfaced just to the north. He would say that she reached for him and she would say that he reached for her. It was only a moment after the day ended that they fell in love with a first kiss.

There would be things to work out, things that they would have to learn about each other, quirks and oddities, habits and patterns, but it was love and it was a complication and Harvest Gold and Drew Summers would be together for a great many years after that sunset.

“Poor June,” thought Harvie, “I hope one day she will have as good a first kiss as this.”

Chapter Seven
Deals

Drew wasn’t convinced he should trust this man. He was tall and slender, painfully so, though dapperly dressed in a white suit with red shirt. His tie was somehow iridescent and pulled the attention of Drew’s eyes away from his face. It was an impression really, that this man, this stranger, had a goatee. What did they call it? A Van Dyke. The random thought crossed his mind; did Dick Van Dyke have a beard that style?

Van Dyke was talking again. “I would like to have you display your art in my home for one of my soirees.” Had he really used the word soiree? “It will be a great opportunity for you to gain some exposure to people who really count in this world of art.”

Drew forced himself to look at the man’s face. Van Dyke had long arching eyebrows, slim, narrow eyes that glinted, a long thin nose and yes, a van dyke. His hair was long and pulled back tightly to his head. From head on Drew could not tell if it was ponytailed, but assumed so. A reddish color, but fading to a silvery gray, thin and thinning in front, his hairstyle gave him a sleek, slick, aerodynamic look. Van Dyke twirled his moustache.

Drew was very quiet. Just moments before the man had arrived, Drew had been reading a letter. One of his works had been accepted for the cover of a magazine. No pay, just acclaim and possible fame, but it was a gig of sorts. Drew had read the letter twice and then said, “I’ll be damned!”

It was at that precise moment that Van Dyke had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, looking quite devilish. He spoke again.

“Are you hearing me young man? I am inviting you to be seen by the upper echelons of the art world. I do not do this for just anyone. I look for quality. My reputation depends upon it. Many artists would sell their soul to meet me.” Drew’s stomach growled.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself? I assume that people recognize me, but that may just be ego on my part.” Van Dyke’s voice was smooth and cultured and held some type of accent, vaguely European. Not quite French, but definitely not Spanish or Italian and softer than German or, or what did it matter? Here was a devilishly dapper man offering Drew an opportunity and he was getting hung up on appearances. He didn’t even believe in the devil, did he?

“Please, allow me to introduce myself.” Drew gulped. If Van Dyke claimed he was a man of wealth and taste next, there was no deal. “My name is Van Richards.” Drew’s stomach gurgled again. Lunch was not currently in his budget. “Perhaps you’ll allow me to alleviate some of the starving portion of the artist?”

Really, Van Richards the famous collector, agent, critic, haunter of galleries and attics and finder of lost masterpieces, here talking to him? Wait, Richards, nickname Dick, Van Dick, Dick Van, no, it was all too funny.

“I’m certain that with my wealth we can find something that will appeal to your tastes.” That took some of the humor away. “Come along then. I’ll square it with Nancine and she’ll cover your shift at the gallery until we return.” Nancine had been standing just out of earshot and leaning forward just into earshot. She was trying to be inconspicuous. Drew had the sudden epiphany that when they returned from lunch Nancine would have already raised the prices on all his works hanging in the gallery.

“May I borrow our young protégé, Nancine? I need to convince him to display with me it seems.” Richards turned back to Drew. “Lunch is alright with you? Chimayo’s right across the highway, my treat?”

“Yes,” Drew found his voice far back in his brain and struggled to make them connect. The last thing he had said aloud was the whole “damned” thing. He hadn’t shaken the idea that he might be selling his soul, but his logic was kicking back in. At the very least he’d get a free lunch out of it.

“Excellent! Of course there’s no such thing as a free lunch you know.” Richards smiled devilishly and twirled his moustache as they walked out of the gallery into the sunny California day. Drew wondered if he even had a soul.

Chapter Eight
Desert

“You need to make something of yourself.” Michelle Elliot turned her Mercedes into the long driveway. “You need to follow my example.” She spoke to her son without looking at him. “You need to…” Neville heard her voice fade away as the music in his head gained volume. Michelle Elliot could go on for a while about what Neville needed to do and never notice that he had gone off to a concert in his mind. He didn’t even have to make the positive noises that he did with his father. Yes sir, no sir, I understand sir, and soon enough the lecture would end, but with his mom, that is with his mother, she really did not need him to participate to feel that she had been effective.

They curved past the saguaro cactus and into the wide circle in front of the house, that is, estate. It was built in the style of an old mission with large, tall doors with iron bars across the windows. The doors opened as Raphael came out to take their luggage. In Neville’s case it was meager and rather road worn and there was a slight musty odor emanating from one end. He slung his pack over his own shoulder and smiled at Raph’. Michelle Elliot had gotten out of the car and was striding to the house answering her cell phone. Neville hadn’t noticed what the final thing was that he needed to do, but he turned the sound of the Grateful Dead down in his own head and greeted Raphael.

“Hey man! How’s it going? You look great! How’s Elena and the kids?” Neville was truly happy to see the older man.

“Ah, young master Neville! It is good to see you also, but I am thinking that your mother does not share this opinion, no?” Raphael lifted four of the six heavy leather suitcases from the pristine trunk of the Mercedes. Neville grabbed the other two himself.

“How long was she gone this time? A week?”

“Only four days. Just to get you from wherever you called from. It was not a police station again, was it? Elena was worried for you. I was worried for you!” Raphael was scolding him, but he had a smile on his face as he spoke.

Bright desert sun streamed into the high wide windows and lit the adobe walls with a warm yellow glow. A fountain splashed and performed in the center of the floor just inside the doorway. A large fan slowly stirred the air in the high ceiling of the foyer. Raphael led the way into the house and together they climbed the wide spiral staircase to the second floor. A walk down wooden floored hallways led them to Neville’s room, at least to the room that he had been assigned.

There was little about it that could be said to be personal. It was more along the lines of a hotel room. If it wasn’t for his bookshelf, stocked with his own selection of books and the abundance of CD’s in the cabinet, it could have been any room in any first class, high quality, five star luxury palace in the world.

“You will find your clothes and personal items are in the closet. Elena takes good care for you even when you are not here. Some things though you will not find. You should not leave such things around for others to find and perhaps get troubled by, eh?” Raphael mimicked the act of smoking a pipe and Neville knew that he would never see his stash again. “Leave your used clothing in the basket in the bathroom. My Elena will see to it that you are taken care of while you are here as well.”

Raphael had set his four pieces of luggage outside the door and now picked up the two the Neville had been carrying and exited to make the delivery to Michelle Elliot’s suite of rooms.

Neville closed the door with a nudge of his toe. He was barefoot and had been for most of the trip from California to Arizona. He had slipped a ragged pair of flip flops on only when they had stopped for a meal. No shoes, no service kind of places. No dives for grilled cheese for his mom, that is, mother. Now that he was at his mother’s estate he would be constantly harangued to put on shoes, nice ones, and better pants, try these chinos and this is a nice shirt, the one without pictures of people richer than you because you squander your money, that is, my money, on tee shirts that cost way too much, and on and on.

He walked over to the side table by the bed and pulled the top drawer out all the way. The tape was pulled loose and the Ziploc freezer bag was gone. “Awww!”

He found his incense in the second drawer and lit a stick of Nag Champa. Carrying the smoking incense into the bathroom he pulled of his clothes and stepped into the shower. He had to admit, this was the best shower in the world. Hot water sprayed from four heads and steam quickly filled the marble tiled room. He soaped up and rinsed off several times before reaching for the shampoo. Herbal Essence, just what he loved. He wasted way too much of it as he lathered, rinsed and repeated several times before reaching for the conditioner.

Neville had good hair. All the girls loved it and wished that they had hair his color, his length, his thickness, his curls, and all the time they would comb their fingers through his hair and he would just smile. Neville had a good smile and the girls loved that too. In fact, girls just loved Neville.

He was cute and funny and never said anything really bad about anyone. He remembered people from wherever he met them and from before kindergarten. He wasn’t particularly faithful or loyal, but that was part of his charm and image. He spoke of Kerouac and Dharma Bumming with a vague sort of authority, as he traveled from concert venue to music fests in the middle of fields. He hobnobbed with the band members and they all liked him and remembered him and invited him backstage. Which ever girl or girls were with him at the time got to be backstage passed as well and all the girls loved him for it. And when the concert was over Neville hit the road and followed the tour or went off to find a new band, depending on his mood.

He carried books by the Dalai Lama and Alan Watts. He read books with titles like the Art of Peace or Dhammapada. He easily quoted passages from Thomas Merton’s “Thoughts on Solitude”. People were impressed without really knowing why and he never mentioned his degree in world religions and he never mentioned that he graduated from his university at the age of nineteen.

He never mentioned that strange feeling that he always had, that feeling of being lonely when he was with a lot of people.

He toweled off with thick heavy towels and walked to his walk-in closet in the nude. Inside he found his old jeans neatly pressed and hanging from their frayed legs in clip hangers. His concert tees were neatly pressed and folded and stored in what appeared to be color coded order, reds to oranges to yellows and on through the spectrum. He took a few of them out and wadded them into balls, tossing them towards the bed through the open door. Only one actually made it the considerable distance. The rest lay on the floor. Neville didn’t do neat.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He unzipped a pocket in his backpack and reached deep inside. A little fold untwisted and his hand slid farther in until his fingertips touched a ziplock bag. Out emerged a neatly wrapped supply of a particular botanical element. Wrapped neatly within the main baggie were implements to package the herb and create fire. Neville deftly separated a supply, rolled and sparked a neat cylinder and inhaled deeply. He walked over to the wide patio windows and stepped out onto the three by six foot deck. He did not bother to put any clothing on; the small area was designed for privacy. He stretched out on a reclining chair and let the warm desert sun soak into his body.

It had not been trouble with the police. Nor had it been a lack of funds. He was not being chased by anyone that was suspect to the law. He was not in trouble of any kind. He was just lost.

He inhaled deeply and held the smoke in his lungs. It was not a bad life, he thought. In the future he would inherit a good sum of money. Currently he had a large trust fund he had received from his grandfather on his sixteenth birthday. His dad had helped him invest much of it and watched over it for him. Neville didn’t think of it as his father watching over a son so much as he felt he was another client of L and L Financial Services. As long as he kept track of his debit card he would be okay. He never even gave a thought to what he spent or where. Concert tickets, travel and food was about it when he was on the road. New CD’s and the latest portable player when he was at his mom’s drew money out of his account. After that the occasional book or magazine, but even then he just didn’t read like he had when he was a kid.

He’d tried a few times to get his own place. It just did not work out. He knew it was his own fault most of the time and he knew that he owed some back rent to that kid in California. That guy even had it worked out to the penny! Talk about anal retentive. Still, he should maybe write him a check or something.

Another puff and he watched the sunlight play across the land behind the estate. Shadows moved and lengthened and the afternoon wore on as he just sat still. It was like a constantly morphing painting and Neville relaxed into the moments. Dimly he had the idea that this would be alright to just sit still for the rest of his life. Dimly he wondered if anyone would ever know if he vanished into the hills or even into thin air. From somewhere far away he heard the phone ring by his bedside. Who could possibly be calling him here?

He reached for his matches and lit another cigarette.

Chapter Nine
Mickey


Michelle looked at her face in the rearview mirror. She pressed a well used speed dial number and automatically adjusted the wireless device that was always attached to her ear, hidden beneath a thick mane of blonde hair. Many times she was on the phone and people around her thought she was talking to herself. She never noticed.

“Dr. Yuen’s office. How can I help you?” The voice was pleasant and melodious. Michelle recognized the voice as Jim Yuen’s office girl, worker, assistant, whatever, Hilda or Heidi or some such German name.

“I need an appointment with Dr. Yuen. It’s important. I think he made my lips too puffy. I’ll be in town tomorrow afternoon late, so how about first thing Thursday morning.” Michelle made it a statement, not a question.

A barely perceptible silent pause on the other end of the line and then Dr. Yuen’s office manager Gretchen replied, “Dr. Yuen will be at the hospital on Thursday and is not available for appointments, Mrs. Phillips-Elliot. Perhaps he can see you for a consultation on Friday at 3:00?” Gretchen made the statement a question knowing how this would all play out.

“I didn’t ask for a consultation! I asked for an appointment. He needs to fix what he messed up!” Michelle fumed for a moment and then said, “Nevermind, I’ll call him on his private phone!” She hung up with a careful stab of her manicured fore finger. Brilliant red nails tapped impatiently on the leather wrapped steering wheel of the Mercedes Benz blah, blah, blah. Custom colored sky blue, the auto picked up speed as she raced across the desert. The road was straight and relatively empty and the digital speedometer read 117 MPH.

It had been a bad idea to get emotionally and physically involved with her plastic surgeon, but the upside to their breakup was she had easy access to him in case of cosmetic emergencies. She was tempted to call and leave a message, but she didn’t want to talk to his recording. He would be just about on the 6th hole at this time of the day and she knew he did not answer his phone all day long on Tuesdays. She did not understand how he could just ignore incoming calls. How can you not answer a phone, she wondered. She pressed another speed dial number and started giving instructions to her assistant Gail at the office. Gail was good, excellent in fact. She anticipated everything her boss had asked for and then some. She had even handled a client’s buyer remorse phone call late last night and helped him renegotiate a better percentage rate for the closing on his estate. Michelle sold real estate, with the accent on the second word. Gail calmed her boss down and quickly changed her mood.

They chatted a while and when Michelle hung up she began mentally shopping for an appropriate gift for Gail. They had been together for so long and Michelle knew she would be lost without her. Gail had really devoted her life to Michelle and the company. She had been well rewarded, true, but she was more than an employee and deserved something special.

A deep noise from the back seat startled Michelle. She had forgotten that Neville was in the car. She had driven all the way out to Orange County just to pick him up. Well, the truth was, she had put off picking him up until she had lined up several meetings with prospective clients that direction. She had actually gotten three solid leads and received a return call just that morning as they were eating breakfast. Another noise, a yawn this time, reminded her that Neville was still there and would probably want to stop somewhere for lunch. She checked with her navigational system to see what was available nearby that wasn’t a truck stop or some horrible mom and pop lunch counter thing. She wanted a bathroom and it had better be clean and private.

A few minutes later they roared into a small town that had a listing for a Zagat rated restaurant. Michelle tried to ignore Neville’s appearance as they were seated. She ordered a glass of wine from the list and a specialty salad without even looking at the waiter. Neville had to look at the menu for a few moments. She pressed the buttons to send a text message. ‘Nev w me Az frm Ca’ she typed, then paused and changed it to ‘Nevill w me Az frm Ca’. Best to amuse him with his precious ‘L’s’. Best to let him know where his son was.

The wine arrived and she held it near her nose and quickly held it away. A second selection was made and tasted and accepted all in the span of two phone calls regarding some property in Montana. Someone wanted to partner on a vacation ranch set-up. Michelle wasn’t clear on who would take a vacation at a ranch, but the numbers were solid and she agreed in principle, but they would have to come down here to sign papers. No way was she going up to the wilderness. Just because she invested in a crazy thing didn’t mean she was crazy enough to spend time there.

Neville had been reading a small book that he’d pulled from somewhere on his person. “What is that? That’s not about drugs is it? I don’t want you reading books about drugs. Just because I did drugs when I was young is no excuse. We didn’t know any better, now we do. Understand? No drugs.” Michelle had read somewhere that a parent should talk openly to their child about drugs and alcohol and she felt that it had gone very well. Maybe she had seen it on TV.

Their food came just then and they ate together in continued silence. Except for the call from an agent in L.A. who was disappointed that she had been so close and hadn’t come to see him and another call from a client in Toronto trying to establish a winter estate in her territory and, as she finished her salad, a third call from a cousin or someone in Florida about a family gathering and had she gotten the invitation and it would be so lovely to see her and Neville if they could make it. Michelle would have to ask Gail about that one. She had no recollection of any family thing.

She waited with a practiced appearance of patience while Neville finished some pasta looking dish while reading his book. Two more calls and they were finally ready to go. “You know, just because you don’t have a schedule or a purpose or a life doesn’t mean I have all day to wait for you.” She was noticing herself in the reflection of the darkened windows of the restaurant and ran a hand across her abdomen and then both hands down her hips. She still looked good, she thought, not quite the twenty year old's figure that she wanted, thanks to giving birth. “You really need to make something of yourself. You need to look at good examples. You need to be more like me and your grandfather. He used to say the same things to me and I didn’t want to listen, but he was right. You should listen to him.” They had arrived at the car and gotten moving. Michelle’s cell phone rang again and she sped off talking while she fastened her safety belt. It did not occur to her that Neville could not talk to her father any longer.

As Neville crawled from the front seat to the back, she called Dr. Yuen’s office again. “I need an appointment for liposuction.”

A few hours later, the Mercedes swept into her long driveway. She was driving too fast and the car slid slightly left and then right before she brought it back under control. A little extra acceleration always worked. A thump from the back seat reminded her that Neville was there.

“Mommmm!!! Slow down a bit. What’s the rush anyway?”

Michelle hated the word ‘mom’, especially when applied to herself. “That’s “Mother”. And the ‘rush’ is to get you back to the estate so you can start to get serious about your life. You need to make something of yourself. You need to follow my example. You need to listen to me and learn from my example. I wasn’t always successful you know…” Somewhere in her mind she knew that Neville had quit listening, but a part of her really wanted him to hear her words so she kept at it as they wound up the long cactus lined drive. It had cost her a small fortune to have all those cactus planted there.

The driveway circled up to the front of the Estate. She had worked long hours with the architect to make certain of the authenticity of the style and yet maintain all the most modern conveniences. A sensor back at the gate alerted the staff that someone was arriving. Like clockwork her man Raphael stepped out of the front portico to assist in welcoming the mistress of the estate. Her phone rang as they pulled to a stop and she answered with a practiced touch as she emerged from the car. A name from the past floated into her ear, a friend from school. There was a reunion being planned. Michelle stopped a moment and then moved quickly into the house. Raphael and Neville knew the way.

A wave of memories washed over her. It had been how long? Really? No, she had not been at the previous reunions. She didn’t actually graduate from that high school remember? Yes, she had had gone off with that Viet Nam guy! They had done well, very well actually. One son. Oh yes, and he’s recently graduated from Northwestern University. He’s doing very well and talking about going into his father’s business. Financial planning actually. No, we separated some time ago. We’re still close friends though. A personal invitation? Even though I didn’t graduate from there? Well, yes I remember the club! Very well in fact! We all used to love to ditch and go to Disneyland. How did we ever get through school with all the times we did that? Really? Only a couple? It seems like so many…well listen, here’s my address. It’s my office really. Yes, real estate. No, it is mine, I own it. Send the information there and I’ll see if my schedule can handle it. Yes thank you! It has! It’s been real nice to hear from you! Tell everyone I said hello. I think about all of you so often! Bye-bye now!

Michelle sat down on the edge of her bed. She did not recall walking up the stairs or down the hall. She did not recall the feelings she was having right now. Her throat felt a little constricted. Her chest was tight. Her breathing was a little short. Her eyes were watering something fierce.

Her keys were in her hand and she looked down at them now. A worn and battered little figure looked back at her. Large eyes, large ears, red pants, yellow shoes and a big smile with open arms. It had been a gift from her father. The only thing she’d ever received that was close to something she had asked for. Every birthday Michelle had asked for the same thing. “Daddy, will you take us all to Disneyland?”

Every year he would reply, “I’ve told you Mickey, call me ‘Father’ and yes, if my schedule allows we can all go to Disneyland.” Jack Phillip’s schedule never did allow for it or anything outside of business for that matter. Theresa, their housekeeper, had facilitated young Michelle’s few trips to Disneyland. She had almost been fired for it when Jack Phillips found out. Misappropriation of household funds, he had yelled. She’s my daughter and I’ll take her to that damned park when I am good and ready, he had yelled. You need to stop fantasizing about everything, Mickey, he had yelled. You need to understand that all this hippie rock and roll music isn’t the real world, he had yelled. You need to pay close attention to the real world and making something of yourself, he had yelled.

On the day of her mother’s funeral, the procession drove past the entrance to Disneyland. Jack Phillips had died two weeks prior to that. Her mother had passed away quietly in the home she had been confined to for nearly forty years. Michelle had not seen either of them for nearly five years before their deaths. Riding in the back of the limousine she had called and left a message for William. And if you see Neville, please let him know as well.


Chapter Ten
Investments

William Elliot looked up from his oak desk. The office on LaSalle Street in Chicago had been his for a very long time. The desk had been the first thing he had purchased. Now oak shelves lined the walls. Plaques and memorabilia sat everywhere on tables and shelves and the occasional odd bit of wall space. Some of it was sports related, but much of it was geared towards toys and knick knacks, the kinds of things you might find in a young boy’s bedroom.

William Elliot was a collector. His favorite things were here in this office. It was where he had spent much of his adult life. After the army, he had taken the right courses at Northwestern University and landed a decent position with an investing firm. A bit of luck had led him, as well as a handful of now wealthy clients, into the computer market very early on. What looked like prescience was in fact frivolity. He had invested in it solely because he was a science fiction fan. Shortly after that he had invested in cellular communications. He now joked that Star Trek made him rich.

He didn’t always feel rich however. He looked up from his oak desk and looked around the room. First editions of science fiction books, many autographed, collector's volumes and sets and old magazines and models from the 1960’s and toys from the 1930’s and autographed photos of actors and actresses and nowhere to be found was a picture of any one remotely related to him. Not his current, soon to be ex,wife. Not his first wife, the mother of his son. Not his son, whom he hadn’t seen in several years. He didn’t even know where Neville had been since graduating from college. A text message from the boy’s mother told him that he was with her in Arizona at the moment, but he knew that wouldn’t last.

Hanging on the wall was a copy of a comic book. It was beat up and ripped and not at all in any shape for a collector to seriously consider it as having any value. It was an Eighty Page Giant, the first Superman Giant published. It contained stories with people named Lex Luthor and Lois Lane and Lana Lang and Lori Lemaris and he loved all of them, as corny as they were. William had carried it with him through hellish months during his time in Viet Nam. It had been his connection to home, rolled up or folded, wrapped in plastic bags in the vain hope of protecting it from the humidity and heat, burn marks in the lower left hand section where bits of shrapnel had hit it.

Star Trek may have made William Elliot rich, but Superman saved his life. That story wasn’t exactly true, but he told it anyway. The thick comic slowed the shrapnel just enough that it didn’t pass into his vital organs. That was how the tale went. Instead the hot metal simply gave a handful of million dollar wounds. They weren’t really. He would have been sent back to Nam after he had healed, to finish his tour of duty, but the timing had been good. It was 1973 and the Paris Peace Talks had brought the beginning of the end of American involvement. Viet Nam was over and he rotated from a hospital in Sydney stateside to San Diego and then back to the Midwest. He carried the Eighty Page Giant all the way to Viet Nam and back. Two years later he watched the helicopters pulling people out of Saigon from a television in an apartment near Northwestern University in Illinois.

Along the way he met Michelle, too young at the time, but blond and California beautiful. Her father had made a lot of money in real estate in California and she was rebelling against him. She followed William to Illinois.

For his part William had always wanted to marry a girl with two L’s in her name just like Superman’s girlfriends. It was a crazy thing he knew, but somehow that idea had kept him going. He had two L’s in his first and last name. Somehow it seemed important. After some good times at the university and a business degree they married.

In time, Michelle followed in her father’s footsteps and went into the real estate business in Illinois. It turned out she had quite a knack for it and in a fairly short period of time they moved into a very classy house in the suburbs just to the north of Chicago.

Neville grew up in the finest schools, in the finest neighborhood with the finest of foods and furnishings all around him while William and Michelle grew apart. The fact that she had been buying property in Arizona came as a surprise to William. “Didn’t I tell you?” she had asked as she took another business call on her new cell phone. It was at their fifteenth wedding anniversary celebration. Neville was twelve.

It took William nearly a year before he realized that they had not only grown apart, but were physically apart as well. Michelle and Neville had been living in Arizona for almost nine months before he noticed. Business was good and he had to stay on top of things. L and L Financial was doing well and the economy needed constant watching. The divorce papers came and he had no emotion about them.

Neville came and went as he grew up. He also went to Northwestern University and did well though there had been mention about his attendance record. Still, he had graduated and although William could not quite recall his son’s major, he did think that Neville would be a success somehow. It seemed he had only been there a short time. Ah, well, they grew up so fast these days.

It had been a few years since he had seen Neville. Many more since he had spoken with Michelle directly. Brief e-mails and sudden text messages appeared from time to time, mostly business related. Occasionally about their son.

His second wife was named Ellen. The divorce papers were sitting in his in box right now. They’d only been together for a couple of years. He would have to get his lawyer to review them and the pre-nuptial agreement. He knew she was too young for him before they even had their first date.

He reviewed the latest text message from Michelle once more before deleting it. She had picked Neville up in California. Something nudged his memory, a lost conversation, something he had meant to do, a reason he had for something to be done, someone to contact. Something about California.

William Elliot opened the lower left drawer in his desk. He pulled out a tablet of blank paper and a box of pencils. Leaning back in his chair he looked up at the framed comic book and started to doodle pictures of Superman.

Just before he got started he hit speed dial on his phone. Maybe he should check in with Neville.

Chapter Eleven
Three Years Ago

It had been a clear day when he had gotten off of the train. Like happens in Chicago, clear turned to rain quickly. Drew had been carrying his portfolio and looked about for a place to shelter. A well dressed man had just gotten into a taxi, which had begun to pull away from the curb. It stopped suddenly and the door opened again. The man leaned out and shouted over the rolling sound of Midwestern thunder.

“C’mon, get in!” The clouds opened up and Drew didn’t wait. He scrambled into the cab. The man helped him by pulling the large portfolio inwards. It was cramped, but they both were dry as the cabbie pulled away into the slick streets.

“Where to?” the man asked.

“Art Institute,” Drew said, “and thank you!”

“No problem. I have a son about your age. I just hope someone will do the same for him if he needs it.” He looked out the window at the rain slipping across the window. “Why the Art Institute? Are you a student?”

“Yes sir.”

“You know, there’s no money in art. Only for a few.” The man spoke without looking at Drew and without emotion. Drew was silent. His high school counselors had said the same thing. “That’s what my father told me, ‘No money in art’. He told me that comic books would rot my brain too. What’s your name?”

“Drew, sir.” Traffic had increased and the cab had stopped. The rain also increased and there was a loud drumming on the roof. The Loop was dark despite the fact that it was noon.

“Sounds like a good artist name. Are you any good?”

“I’m workin’ on it, sir.” The man smiled.

“Bill, please, call me Bill.” He turned and looked at Drew. “There are more important things than money, Drew, but money is important. Make sure you learn that while you pursue your art. There is no real value to being a starving artist, but being well fed and unfulfilled creatively, well, that’s worse I think.” The cab inched forward and turned onto Michigan Avenue.

“Did you pursue your art sir, Bill?” Drew asked quietly.

“I listened to my father.” Bill released a long sigh and said, “I became my father. And my son became what I wanted to be.”

“That sounds like it is good for your son, sir. Are you proud of him?”

Bill stared ahead at the wipers of the cab. They whipped back and forth in a futile attempt to clear the rain from the windshield. He sighed again. “No. No I have not been proud of my son. He, well, he isn’t balanced, but then neither was I. My father was never proud of me either, even though I did everything he said.” Drew didn’t know what to say. He felt awkward and a little humiliated having been so far off in his question.

“Perhaps it’s time I found some pride for my son. Perhaps it is time for me to find my own art. I’m just not certain what that is at this point in my life.” Drew sat quiet while Bill talked. The man seemed to be in a confessional mood and it was better that Drew said nothing.

“What will you do after school Drew?”

“I’m not certain, sir. I think I would like to be someplace warm.” The rain intensified for a moment and a burst of wind drove sheets across the wide avenue. “Warm and dry.”

It was cramped in the back of the cab with the two men and the wide portfolio in between them. The cab pulled up to the curb and Drew made as if to exit.

“No, no, just sit for a bit. I’ll take care of the extra fare. We’ll wait ‘til it lets up a bit at least.” The cabbie made an affirmative gesture, happy not to have to navigate in the downpour. “Southwest then? California? Arizona?”

“California I think, near L.A. maybe. I’ve got two years to figure it out.” Drew smiled at the prospect.

“L.A. will make you crazy. Everybody’s trying to sell something there. Go south from there a little. North are the artist colonies, but not always warm and dry. Arizona has lots of places for aspiring artists, at least according to my ex. Maybe try Arizona on a break.” Bill reached into the side pocket of his suit coat. “Here. This is my business card. If you decide to go to Arizona I’ll get Michelle to show you around. She loves to play the patron. Matron I guess is the right word, but she’ll never play matronly.” He laughed at his joke and Drew smiled politely, though not getting the humor completely. Bill stopped laughing and sighed again. “I don’t know the last time I laughed.”

The rain slacked off suddenly. Drew took that as a sign to move on. “Thank you for the ride sir, uh, Bill. Do I owe you something for the fare?” Bill looked at Drew with a bit of wonder.

“No, no I’ve got the cab. You make some art, something that people will enjoy. If you ever make a comic book, send me a copy. Autographed!” Not knowing why, Drew smiled at that last statement and Bill joined in.

As the taxi pulled away the cabbie said, “Nice kid. Couldn’t stop calling you ‘sir’ could he?”

“Yeah, nice kid. They don’t all become that polite so soon do they?”

“No sir, not that I’ve seen. But then I’m not so sure that I was that polite at his age. Were you?”

“I was in Viet Nam at his age. Polite wasn’t part of the program.”

The cabbie tapped a small American flag that was mounted on a spring on the dashboard. It bounced back and forth. “Welcome home soldier,” he said quietly.

“Thank you.” Bill sat still as the cab wound its way through the soggy traffic up to a gallery on Rush Street. He was meeting a woman who was too young for him and was probably already seeing someone else. “I’ve got one that age. Haven’t seen him in a while. Not really sure where he is at the moment. Perhaps I should look him up. Give him a call. Tell him that I’m proud of him. Proud that he’s living his life the way he wants to. I don’t agree with it, but it is his choice isn’t it?”

“Yes sir. His choice sir. Perhaps it isn’t too late for you to make a different choice sir. What did you like to do when you were young? What was your art?”

“Me? I liked to sketch. I wonder if I’m still any good at it?”

“You’ll only know if you try sir."

Bill’s phone rang. It was his secretary. Michelle had called. Something about her parents and maybe he should call her back.

© 2007
Please do not reprint in part or whole without prior permission.