Adirondack Audacity (28 page)

Ella, Ella, my mia bella, my Cinderella,
How appropriate you lost a shoe last night. I’m sorry
Prince Charming was unable to return the original one
but please accept this humble pair as a replacement. I
can’t wait to see you tonight.

“
Oh, my,” I silently hand the card over to Lani. I’ve
heard of being swept off your feet, I thought it was a
figure of speech, until now. I couldn’t find my feet if I
wanted too. I’m not of this world, I feel like I’m walking
on clouds.

Lani looks over at me, her eyes huge saucers in her
face as she shakes the card in front of my face. “This guy
is good,
real
good.”

“
Pinch me. No seriously, pinch me, I must be
dreaming. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to real
people.”

“Pinch me first,” Lani says. “Most people don’t even
know people this kind of thing happens too.”
“I’m almost afraid to open the last box. This is
already too much.” I pick up the package and gently
shake, the motion reveals no clues. “I can’t wait, the
suspense is killing me.” I raise my eyebrows in delicious
anticipation.
“Open it, open it.” Lani commands.
Larger and slightly heavier than the first box, no
obvious clues to be found, I can only speculate on its
contents. “With all this talk about Prince Charming, I’m
afraid a magical castle will appear complete with a moat
and turrets.” I say with a laugh, slipping the box from its
sheath of paper. “What would Cinderella do without a
castle?”
Opening the box, I push the tissue paper aside and
reveal the shining gleam of something leather winking up
from its nestled cocoon. “Ohhh…….” Awe causes me to
catch my breath in a gasp. “Cowboy boots.” Not just any
cowboy boots, but intricately tooled leather pieces that
only loosely resemble the clumsy boots worn by frontier
cowboys. These boots, a work of art fashioned in leather,
graceful and elegant. From the top of the curved calf to
the finely molded heel, swirls of stitching over colored
leather, made to accentuate a woman’s feminine foot in
supple leather, soft enough for a baby to wear.
“They’re exquisite.” Lani says in awe. “Here, try one
on.” She hands me a boot. “How did he remember your
foot size?”
“I have no idea. But I think his assistant, Juls, is
very
good at her job.” I slip my foot into a perfectly sized
boot. “I’m beginning to think this man has super-hero
seduction charms, do they teach this stuff in Hollywood
hot guy school or is he just incredibly sweet.”
Wow
. I sit
back fanning myself with the unopened card, feeling a
warm glow cloak my body at the mere thought of him.
“I’m completely lost. He had me the minute his hand
touched mine last night.” I look over to see Lani holding
a boot in one hand and a
Monolo
the other. “I can see
you’re not going to be any help keeping me grounded. If
your eyes bug out any farther you’ll be mistaken for an
alien.”
“He had me with the flowers.” Lani says with a
deprecating shrug. “What does this card say?”

Dear Elle: These boots come with the invitation to join me at my
ranch this weekend. Please say yes. Mi casa es su casa. My house is
not a home without you. Come home to me, Elle.

“
Ohhh,
it’s the castle,” I moan, falling back into the
chair cushion.
“Let me see that,” Lani snatches the card from my
hand; her eyes quickly scan the handwriting. “Oh dear
God, it is the castle.”
With a dubious look in my direction, her eyes roam
up and down, assessing my appearance, causing me to cry
out, “
What
!” in self-defense. “I don’t look that bad, do
I?”
She shakes her head in disgust, “I can only hope he is
coming to pick you up in a coach pulled by an old, slow
pony, driven by a blind coachman who gets lost on the
way. Even then I’m not sure there is enough time.” She
stands up pulling me to my feet. “First, we start with the
wardrobe,” she rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath,
“And that old stretched-out sweatshirt isn’t going to get
you laid.”
Hmm…
I muse to myself and smugly shrug my
shoulders
…seemed to work this morning………
.

Topping
Lani’s list of essentials for a romantic
evening, in bold print, was something about a push up
bra being critical. Hey, I have breasts……just not big
ones.

And……
because the art of seduction sometimes
requires
more
than high heels, boobs and a good
personality, the secret path to a man’s heart is often
through his stomach……so when you combine a nice set
of boobs atop a pair of high heels, throw in some
food……. you can’t go wrong, it’s female magic.

Unfortunately, I can’t cook…...
Julia Childs, I’m not.
Maybe if I had more French blood in me. As a working
mom, I relied on frozen entrees complemented with salad
from a bag and frozen vegetables. Hosting a dinner party
sent me into a panic for weeks. Then I learned a little
trick, meet the caterer at the back door, transfer the food
onto my own serving dishes and china,
voila,
instant
dinner party. Took Jack years to figure out why I was
such a fantastic cook on special occasions, but a lousy
one on weekdays. In my defense, I do have a few dishes I
can whip up to impress the unsuspecting, but if Vic wants
more than two meals, I’m screwed. Remind me to google
catering/Los Angeles/delivery/fast!

Rather than have Ike pick me up, Lani drops me off
at the front entrance to Vic’s house, staying only long
enough to ogle the beautiful Spanish façade and view of
the ocean. As she pulls away, the car stops and she sticks
her head out of the window, hesitating before speaking,
“Ummmm, Mom…..are you wearing underwear?”

“What! Of course
I’m wearing underwear. Why? Are
they showing?” I try peering behind to look at my butt.
“No, just a little panty line, but you might want to get
rid of them.”
“Get rid of them, why?” I sneak another look at my
butt.
“Well……men think it’s sexy when women don’t
wear underwear.”
“Oh, that sounds slutty to me.”
“I’m just trying to help,” she says defensively. “I
know you’ve been out of the dating loop for a while
and……..”
“I know what men like! I was married for like twenty
five years.”
Jeez.
“Yeah, but that was just Dad. Not like going out with
a real guy.”
Right, not a real guy, just the biggest horn dog
around, complete with a set of pilot wings pinned to his
chest. I keep this thought to myself. It’s bad karma to
speak ill of the dead, especially to his daughter.
“I can imagine it’s difficult to date again, being old
and all. I thought I would give you a few hints.” She
shrugs her shoulders, squinting at me over the top of her
sunglasses.
Old and all!
I can’t believe I’m having this
conversation with my daughter. Pointing to the street, I
shout, “Go!” She gives a devilish grin and with a wave of
her hand, she’s gone.
Ungrateful child.
And to think I suffered through
twenty-three hours of labor to bring her into the world.
Still contemplating the question, is it a panties
on….or a panties off night….in creeps the insidious idea
that maybe, just maybe Vic’s a vegetarian. Worse, yet
vegan.
And the fillet mignon in my grocery bag is so
beautiful;; the cow’s mother would stand in line to eat it.
But maybe he doesn’t eat meat. How could I be so stupid
not think of a back-up meal? The whole state of
California is practically vegan. Maybe he eats tofu now?
Bean curd? Anything that ends in the word curd can’t be
good.
Caught up in my thoughts, I jump at the sound of the
garage door opening, followed by the rumble of a
motorcycle. A yellow Harley Davidson motorcycle with
flames painted on the front and back bumpers slowly
inches out onto the driveway. Even in my confused state
of mind, I can’t help but think,
way cool!
The motorcycle
pulls up and Ike cuts the engine, extinguishing the deep
rumbling thunder.
“Wow, hi.”
“Hey,
chica
,” he says, pulling off his helmet and
running a hand through his thick unruly hair. “I didn’t
know what time you were arriving, so I left the side door
open. There are a couple bottles of wine in the
refrigerator and Vic should be home soon. I’m taking off
for a few of days, so the house is yours.”
“Oh, thank you. Please don’t feel you need to leave
on my account.” I protest. “This is your home.”
“Ahhh, yeah, I do.” He laughs and rolls his eyes. He
pushes the bike back onto its kickstand and dismounts.
Holy moly
I always thought cowboys lived out on the
prairies, riding horses, and herding cows. But watching
Ike Adamsen wearing a black leather jacket and chaps
dismount his motorcycle in the setting sun, russet hair
burnished to copper, his tawny skin with a smattering of
freckles, hooded hazel eyes sparkling with
humor….makes me envious of the proper ladies of the
Old West. Just sitting there in their bonnets watching
those cowboys, all long and lean. …..mount and
dismount…in tight butt hugging jeans covered with
leather chaps… leg up….over….. makes you kind of
jealous of the horse.
Giddyap.
This guy is some kind of
handsome. Older than Vic by about ten years, but good
looking in a Robert Redford craggy, outdoorsy kind of
way. Everything about him is autumn; all brown, reds,
gold and bronze. He exudes strength and security, like a
towering oak crowned in the glory of fall. What is it
about the men in California? Is it the sun, the sea air,
closer proximity to the equator…..
wow!
“Ellen?” I look into hazel eyes alight with humor.
Oh…...
I wasn’t paying attention to a word he said.
“Oh, sorry, I was just distracted by
the…..ummmm……….ocean view. The one behind your
back.” I add lamely, pointing to the garage, which blocks
the view of the ocean.
“Sure,” he says, arching his eyebrows at me as he
takes the grocery bag from my hand. “Come on in and I’ll
show you the kitchen.” I follow behind, wondering how
Vic would look in leather chaps. Just the thought makes
my body temperature rise……it must be the close
proximity to the equator….the intense sunlight…lack of
clouds…
whew
…whatever.
“Vic doesn’t cook much,” Ike continues, innocently
unaware of the scrutiny his ass is receiving. “If we eat in,
I usually throw something together. Do you cook?”
“What? Yes, all the time.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire
.
The brightly colored kitchen tiles glow in the setting
sun, adding a festive air. A cool breeze comes through the
open French doors bringing the scent of bougainvillea
and ocean.
While short on food items, the “bachelor” kitchen is
stocked with every culinary gadget or tool available to
turn even the lowliest cook into a gourmet chef. ……
and I need all the help I can get. Ike and I inspected the
pantry and found a tablecloth, china, wineglasses and
even taper candles. Standing back with pride, I survey the
small table on the terrace set with a white tablecloth,
china, and candles of assorted sizes. Flowers cut from the
small garden add a touch of color to the romantic setting.
Off in the distance the low rhythmic wash of ocean
waves coupled with the call of seabirds provides all the
acoustics needed for an evening of al fresco dining.
Satisfied with my efforts, I pause to admire the ocean
view, the heat of the day ebbing as the sun begins its slow
descent bringing the promise of a cool evening. As I
stand sipping a glass of chardonnay from the Napa Valley
the tantalizing aroma of dinner cooking in the kitchen
wafts through the French doors.
What to wear for dinner…
had been the question of the
afternoon
……sexy or sophisticated?
Lani ambushed her
wardrobe to create a sophisticated
sexy
beach look. A
snug-fitting coral print dress and the push-up bra…doing
wonders……instant boob job. The dress clings in the
right spots, and floats over the not-so-right spots, falling
just below the knees. A simple pair of silver hoop
earrings add in a few bangle bracelets and, of course, the
locket completes the outfit. Smiling ruefully, I look down
at my choice in footwear. Lani had a fit, but I insisted.
Nothing but the cowboy boots would do. Hey, they
almost match, there is coral thread running through the
stitching….
and
the boots say
yes
to his invitation to the
ranch. And I definitely want to say
yes
to a weekend of
Vic.
Shifting my shoulders to glance at the front door, a
sigh escapes my lips. I’m impatient for his return, yet
anxious. In the light of day will the thrill of our reunion
be dulled by the reality of life? My mind traces back to
the memory of him this morning, his face relaxed in the
innocence of sleep, a thick wave of dark hair falling
across his brow. Am I naive to think I can have him? Me,
Ellen O’Connor, fifth grade teacher from a small
town…..how can I compete with Hollywood?
Taking a sip of wine, I watch the magic of the tides at
work, slowly swallowing the beach until a thin spit of
sand remains. The sinking sun mutes the turquoise blue
sky into a soft mauve, painting the terrace in a wash of
gold. A lone surfer paddles out to catch one last wave
before sunset. The large umbrellas that earlier in the day
scattered across the beach like brightly colored starfish
are packed and gone home. Along with them the
children, buckets and shovels, leaving behind only
sculpted mounds of sand decorated with bits of shells
and beach debris.
Setting down the wine glass, I lean over the railing,
squinting at a bird feeding on the beach, moving up and
down the surf line, feasting on the leftovers from the
ocean and afternoon picnickers. My attention riveted by
the bird.
Holy jumping John James Audubon.
Is that a
Glaucous Gull? Before leaving home, I had made a list of
possible birds in California that I might add to my life list.
New bird sightings……. I remember seeing this
particular gull, it’s rare, not normally found in this part of
California. I can’t be sure without binoculars, but I think
I see the small red dot on its bill. The bird works its way
over to a trash barrel picking at stray crumbs littering the
beach. Maybe if I threw out some food, it might wander
over. I can imagine the lecture from Burt preaching the
evils of feeding wild animals. Just this one time, I
promise. What can it hurt to toss out a little piece of
bread? How often can you add a new bird to your life
list?
I quietly sneak into the kitchen, find a loaf of bread
and dash back outside. So intent on luring in the rare
bird, I don’t notice the other resident gulls perk up at the
sight of a plastic bag full of gull nirvana. An open
invitation, clueless, I start throwing small pieces of bread
in the direction of the Glaucous Gull, and before I can
blink my eyes, I’m in a scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s
movie,
The Birds.
Out of nowhere hundreds of gulls
descend on me, wings flapping, feathers dropping, noisy
raucous calls, the patio littered with them. My beautiful
table has four of them perched on the china plates, the
railing looks like a call back for
Chorus Line.
Two land on
the gutter above my head. I wave my hands to shoo them
away but the swaying bag of bread only entices them
closer. One pecks at my feet.
Ouch!
“Shoo, go away,
shoo,” I yell at them. “What is wrong with you birds?
Didn’t anyone teach you any manners? Shoo means go!”
To scare off a mountain lion or black bear, the idea is to
look intimidating. Stand tall, wave and flap your hands,
make a lot of noise, works like a charm with huge
ferocious predators, with these damn gulls……..not so
much. The more I flap and yell, the more they
come….and come. This is ridiculous. I’m trapped in a
corner by a brazen horde of hungry birds, beady little
eyes watching my every move. My beautiful dinner table
ruined, the terrace floor covered with birds, feathers and
Oh, my God………
I watch in horror as one
unceremoniously flips his butt up, and a white glob of
poop splashes down the side of a wine glass. .
euuuuu
….
That’s it. I’ve got to get out of here. As I prepare to
launch myself into the foray of beaks and feathers, and
battle my way to the house, I hear the sound of Vic’s
voice calling from the front hall. I panic.
I can’t let him see
me like this; I look like an idiot held hostage by a band marauding
of birds.
I’m the nature girl!! But I can’t move; held
paralyzed against the stucco walls by fear, intense
mortification and the insane hope he won’t see me. As I
inch along the wall, I hear the sound of a door closing
followed by the sound of shoes hitting the floor. Vic
hates wearing shoes, sheds them at every opportunity.
“Elle? Ella, Ella, mia bella, where are you?” His voice
calls from the kitchen.
Oh crap and double crap.
Now I’m
really screwed.
“Out here! On the terrace, Vic.” My pulse quickens at
the sound of his voice. The gulls have quieted, their
beady eyes never leaving the bag of bread clutched in my
hand, ready to pounce if I move.
“God, I thought this day would never end, sitting in
one boring meeting after another, missing you.” He stops
short; pausing at the doorway, a bewildered expression on
his face at the sight of dozens of seagulls perched on his
patio. “What the
Fuck
?!” My heart does a flipflop….he’s
a vision of male perfection, wearing only a pair of dark
trousers and looking impossibly cool in a white shirt. And
he’s barefoot.
“Elle?” He calls, tossing his jacket over a rattan chair
by the door. “Are you out there?”
His voice sends the gulls into mass of shrieking,
flapping confusion.
“Yes,” I call out to him, humiliation sweeps through
me. “I’m trapped;; the gulls won’t let me move.”
“What the fuck?” he repeats again. “Hold on,
buttercup, I know how to get rid of them. Damn
nuisance birds.” He disappears from the doorway and
returns with a bullhorn in his hand. He steps out into the
squawking, screaming mass of birds and releases a blast
from the horn. The gulls are momentary stunned by the
noise, a second blast sends them to the sky like a band of
drunken pirates fleeing with their plunder.
“Are you all right?” He turns to me in concern after
chasing the last of the birds away.
“I’m fine.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“They just came?”
“Kind of …”
“They are getting bolder by the day, nothing but a
pack of flying rats.”
Feeling guilty, I hold out the bag of bread, proof of
my crime.
“You fed the seagulls?” he asks, incredulously. I nod
mutely.
“Don’t you know you never, ever feed birds on the
beach, they are nothing but a horde of roving beggars,
ready to attack any stray piece of food and fight each
other to the death for it?”
“No!” I whimper defensively. “I’ve never lived
anywhere near the ocean. I didn’t know how aggressive
they get over food.” And feeling the need to stand up for
the birds, I continue on, “Burt said everyone needs
garbage men and gulls act as nature’s garbage men or
something like that.” I offer lamely, remembering one of
Burt lectures on scavengers. “And I thought I saw a rare
gull, one to add to my bird list.” I choke back a sob. “I’m
so sorry, Vic, I didn’t mean to ruin your house.” I bite my
lip and tears well in my eyes as I survey the damage.
Broken wine glasses lay scattered across the table; flowers
hang in limp disarray, feathers and bird droppings
everywhere. Maybe this isn’t going work, I can’t even put
together a simple dinner.
“Elle, don’t cry.” He whispers, his eyes crinkle with
laughter, taking in my appearance, bag of bread still
clutched in my hand. His body starts shaking with mirth,
a wide grin splits his face, “Oh God, how I’ve missed
you, Klutz-Ellen.” Laughter rumbles from deep within
his chest. “Just let me look at you.” Our eyes meet, hold
for a moment, the breeze does nothing to cool the heat
building between us. A muscle at the corner of his mouth
twitches. “Bella, Bella, mia bella, you look like a goddess
of summer even with feathers and bird poop on your
shoulder.”