Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) (31 page)

“How does Lumière know about them?” I inquired.

“I told them,” Camille replied matter-of-factly.

Our food arrived and we set about enjoying it, chatting lightly between bites. We barely talked about her offer. But I knew both Oscar and I had plenty of questions we would like answered.

The waiter came to clear the table and suggested a light passion fruit sherbet that would marry well with a flute of champagne. It was Camille’s call and a quick one, indeed. She told the waiter we were game.

“I believe you still have questions to ask. And perhaps you need clarification on some of the details of my proposal?” she asked once the waiter left.

Oscar and I exchanged a glance, and I nodded imperceptibly to give him the go-ahead. He cleared his throat before launching the first round.

“I have a life in New York, a partner, and a mortgage. There is nothing I’d like to do more than trade cold New York winters for sunny Miami year-round. But I have to think this over and ask my partner for his opinion. It’s only fair, considering he’s moved once for me already. It’s a matter of respect. I can’t do otherwise.

“I’m willing to try my best and make this move as long as you give me plenty of time to settle everything back home and as long as my partner agrees to come with me.”

“Certainly,” Camille agreed. “I’ve asked you here today with plenty of advance time. I’m not ready to set things in motion until the New Year, even if everything goes smoothly. But, I must admit, I want to secure both your and Porzia’s collaboration in this project before I even start. I won’t do it unless you two say yes.” She looked at me.

“I’m inclined to do it,” I told her, “as long as you don’t mind where I’m living and I get the freedom of traveling as I please.”

“Planning on moving across the globe?” she asked. Her tone was only half joking.

“Perhaps,” I said in the same tone.

“Back to Europe?”

“No.”

“Australia? Porzia?” Oscar asked with a bit of surprise in his voice.

“I wish I knew,” I said sincerely. “But I won’t for a while. Just like you, I have to discuss it with someone.”
A someone in the middle of the outback desert chasing sunsets.

“Well . . . at least we’ve set foundations,” Camille said, not in the least discouraged by our answers.

Dessert and champagne arrived, and we toasted to doing our best to make
Scoop
happen.

We returned to
A’ la Carte
headquarters where Camille gave us each copies of the project outline and contracts. We agreed to stay in touch and to keep her posted on our progress. By the time we finished working out the details, all our questions had been satisfied. It was time for us to take leave. Camille said good-bye and thanked us for coming down; Helen escorted us downstairs to the limousine. A perfect example of absolute discretion, she simply told us it was a pleasure to have seen us and waved us off.

In the limo heading to the airport Oscar and I had a chance to talk freely.

“That was quite a shock. Don’t you think?”

I nodded. “Totally unexpected.”

“I wonder why us. I wonder why now. I wonder what prompted her idea.” He looked at me. “I mean, I thought her position at
A’ la Carte
satisfied her ambition.”

“I guess she wants to do something new. Fresh. Inebriating. That’s why she’s asking
us
to help.”

“So. You’ve pretty much decided you’re gonna do it, right?” he asked me.

“Right.”

“I haven’t decided yet. I mean, if I were alone and didn’t have to worry about Joel, I would have said yes right then and there. But I have someone else I need to think about.”

“I’m sure once you discuss it with him you’ll both come to the right decision.”

“By the way, the Aunt Delilah article was fantastic. I loved the pictures, too.”

“Thanks. It was great fun.”

“I can think of several photographers we could engage—”

“You’re doing what I was doing earlier.”

“And what is that?”

“Trying to reach the shore while the wave is still crashing.”

“I know. It’s impossible not to.” His piercing black eyes held my gaze. “It’s an addictive creative process. A challenge and a push to our best buttons.”

“I agree with you. Camille Weir is good at getting what she wants and making it look like we’re doing her a favor.”

*

I boarded the plane and flew home following the curve of the sun dipping low behind the horizon. I worked on my laptop writing Oscar’s piece on Chez le Chat, but my mind kept on going back to the day’s events.

The flight took less time than expected; thanks to strong tail winds we landed in Pensacola almost half an hour ahead of schedule. I couldn’t wait to get home and change out of the blue silk dress. I must admit it had remained fresh and wrinkle-free throughout the day.

E
very reunion with my cat is an event worth recording; a tear-jerking scene typical of the kind of movie where the heroine runs through green meadows, wild flowers blooming all around her, losing her straw hat to the wind a second before the camera zooms in on the valiant hero riding up on a white charger. Finally home after having proved his honor in some sort of Augean task, he sweeps her off her feet, reunited forever; enemies dueled, wars fought, deadly demons and witches finally trapped in the roots of ancient trees, until the next fool comes along playing a flute and trips, unleashing hell once again.

No matter if it’s only for a day or an entire week, Peridot dives into spastic fits of joy every time I return. I’m always afraid he’s going to die on me, overjoyed.

I finally managed to make it into the bedroom with Peridot tucked in the curve of my right elbow, carrying my bag with my left hand. I tossed him on the bed, stripped, and went to take a shower. He followed me to the bathroom and perched himself on the toilet seat, his purring so loud I could hear him through the thunder of warm water pelting my tired body. Like a desert flower, my skin welcomed the therapeutic drumming. It drank and drank and drank some more, gaining strength and life with every drop until I switched the shower jet to steam and sat on the tiled step. I breathed in slowly, relaxing, allowing the day’s events to become opportunities to welcome and embrace.

I don’t know how much time elapsed, but when I slid the shower door open, the bathroom had filled with steam and Peridot had fallen asleep, curled into a fur ball on the toilet seat, only his tail hanging loose halfway to the floor. I wrapped a towel around my body and walked to the kitchen for a glass of Galestro, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the hardwood floors. I checked the phone for messages and ended up with disappointment. Gabe hadn’t called. I walked around drinking the chilled wine, making sure everything was as I had left it in the morning. I watered my herbs on the several window boxes I have; the basil smelled particularly strong in the evening breeze.

I had forgotten to retrieve my mail, and shrouded by darkness, I ran downstairs with just the towel on. I hugged the oleander on my way back up. Too enervated to bother with the mail, I barely glanced at it before tossing it on my desk and went to brush my teeth. I braided my hair and climbed into bed exhausted, scooting Peridot away from my pillow. He meowed a feeble protest and plopped himself right into the curve of my neck as soon as I switched off the light.

*

The following morning, refreshed, I went for a long run. It was still early enough that I breathed brisk air and not the dripping heat that marked a higher sun.

The path I chose follows a ridge through a lush forest of dwarf pines. I usually park my car at the park entrance and run the entire course of about five miles. The wood stretches along a pristine beach. I love the blue waters sparkling through the fragrant branches. Halfway through the path is a small opening where a lighthouse stands proud. Often, during the summer, I have to zigzag around meandering tourists.

At the end of the trail there is a marina where small boats lie at patient anchor and doze, lulled by the smooth waters. Once at the marina, I turn around, cutting a path down the virgin dunes, leaving the only footprints around for miles as I reach the beach and run back with waves lapping at my feet. It’s an experience I wouldn’t trade for a five-star meal.

After stretching for a few minutes, I climbed back in my car and headed home.

The blinking of my answering machine welcomed me as I kicked the sneakers off my drenched feet. I hit the play button and Helen’s voice came on. She thanked me for making the trip and hoped that I got home all safe and sound, and that the night might have brought me sound advice. I knew it for what it was: her gentle reminder that Camille does not like to wait.

Benedetta’s voice followed, wondering where the hell I could be at such an early hour and to please call her back, she had the day off.

I finished sorting through the mail and found an envelope from
Grape Expectations
. It held a detailed contract for the Oregon assignment with approximate dates set a few days ahead, a pretty hefty budget, and a phone number to call to confirm acceptance of the assignment. I tried the number and got a busy signal. I decided to jump in the shower and try again later.

The doorbell rang and Peridot zoomed by me to hide under the bed as I toweled my hair dry. I wondered who it could be to scare the cat like that. I put on my robe and went to the door, tying the belt around my waist as I walked. I peeked from the front window and saw Benedetta at my doorstep with Eros. I guess he didn’t like the burdening sadness of their last visit; when she saw me looking at her she smiled and her dog barked.

“Hi! You’re home!”

I opened the door. “Yes, come in.”

Her dog slipped in and leaned forward to lick me. I let him nibble at my hand even though I had just taken a shower.

“How are you?” Benedetta asked me, stepping inside.

“
Bene
, Bene—” I shut the door giggling at my own pun.
Gabe must be right,
I thought,
I am a goof.

She knelt to unleash Eros, and he sniffed the floor around her feet. We heard and felt Peridot’s tail poof up like a static antenna. The hissing from the bedroom reached hair-raising intensity and turned into a throaty growl. Eros ignored him.

Benedetta handed me a brown paper bag. “I brought bagels.”

“Great! I have cream cheese and salmon.”

She followed me to the kitchen. “Capers, too?”

I nodded. “But of course.”

Her face disappeared inside the fridge. I fetched plates and glasses to set the table, humming a catchy tune. I poured orange juice and toasted the bagels while she collected the cream cheese, salmon, and capers. As we ate, I told her about my trip to Miami and waited for an answer. She just kept on chewing pensively. Suddenly she stopped and inspected her bagel. “What’s this?”

“What do you mean?”

She made a face. “It’s a blueberry bagel.”

“Blueberry?”

“Yes. Look.” She split open her bagel and shoved the top half under my nose.

My vision blurred with blue spots.

I inspected my own bagel. “Mine isn’t.”

She sighed. “I asked for whole wheat and nuts, not blueberry.”

“I bet it’s yummy with the salmon,” I laughed.

“Heavenly.” She reached for another bagel and inspected it closely. Satisfied, she spread cheese on it and added salmon and capers. Her chewing resumed.

“So?”

“So what?” she asked.

“What do you think?”

“Much better without the blueberries.”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I was asking.”

“Oh! You mean about the Miami job offer.”

“Right,” I said with a hint of impatience.

She began to pick capers off her bagel, eating them one by one. “I think you should go for it, but tell her you might move to Australia first. And if that’s not a problem then you have nothing to worry about.”

“What about covering assignments from such a distance?”

“You mean to travel from there?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t seem to mind jumping on planes from here, Porzia.” She found another caper. “You’re making the step longer than the leg. You don’t even know if this Oscar fellow is going to accept or not. You ought to stop the mental jerking off until you know more.” She sank her teeth into her bagel and squinted at me.

“I think you’re right. It’s not that I am really concerned about it yet, but it’s a tempting offer indeed.”

“Have you discussed compensation yet?”

“She said she’d double whatever I get paid for my articles with
A’ la Carte
.”

Impressed, Bene whistled softly and Eros ran up. “That ought to cover the extra dough you’d have to fork over to travel. Especially if you end up moving to Australia. How’s that going anyway?”

“I talked to him a few days back. He and his head mechanic are following a vehicle they’re sponsoring in the Australian Safari. They were in the middle of the desert, somewhere by Ayers Rock.” “That’s pretty cool.” She frowned. “He’s driving?”

“No. They have a different driver.” I took a bite of my own bagel and chewed for a while. “Bene—after what you were telling me the other day, I think you should meet Evalena.”

“What for?” She dropped the last caper. It tumbled on the place mat and rolled somewhere off the table. I almost expected it to hit the floor with the impact of a cannonball. Eros ignored it.

“Why not?” I countered.

“Why at all? I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She looked skeptical and afraid, just like me at the beginning of my endeavor. Evalena’s fame is renowned in mystical circles. This could be compared to an ancient visit to the Oracle of Delphi, minus the cryptic divination. Evalena’s visions are pure and crystal clear—and not for everybody.

“But I’m glad you did,” I said. “I was afraid to see her, too, for my past life regression. But now I’m grateful. It opened up avenues I would have never explored on my own.”

“We’re not walking the same path. I don’t need a past life regression.” Benedetta’s fragility spilled through her quivering lips.

I pursued nonetheless. “I know that. But I think you should at least speak to her. It might help you see things more clearly.”

It took some persuasion, but Benedetta finally agreed. Somewhat reluctantly, she took Eros and left me to make arrangements. I phoned Evalena and asked if she might be available for dinner. Apologizing for the short notice, I quickly explained the situation. I told her Benedetta was quite distressed. She understood the importance of the matter and agreed to come over around seven that evening. She told me she would bring wine. I sincerely feel for those without an Evalena in their life.

I spent the rest of the day organizing my assignments and tidying the place up. Never did find the cannonball caper that rolled off the table from Benedetta’s bagel. I called Oscar and left him a message saying that I had the Chez le Chat article underway. Then I called Helen and briefly told her I didn’t have any news yet but that as soon as a decision was made I would notify them. As gracious as ever, Helen told me Camille had sent a parcel, and would I please let her know when I received it?

*

On my way to the farmers’ market to collect fresh ingredients for dinner, moist heat forced me to crank the air conditioning on. I cast a look at the somber sky where the end of summer, in one last, sacrificial effort, must have saved the best for last. Scorching humidity now unleashed a grand finale before leaving center stage to fall. I smelled rain in the air and wondered how long it would take for those heavy clouds gathering on the ocean to crash into the shore. At least the hurricanes had been sparing us . . . well, since Erin.

I parked my car next to an old Buick with Alabama plates. Dean’s Market is the only organic one in the area. I grabbed a basket and headed toward the herb section to inspect fragrant bouquets of basil, chervil, sage, lemongrass, mint, and oregano. I picked a few bundles of basil and moved on to get garlic, organic pine nuts, and walnuts. At the last moment I added a couple of pounds of vine-ripened tomatoes, mozzarella, and Georgia peaches so fragrant I could have eaten one right there. I paid for my groceries and drove to the Awakenings Books and Gifts store where I bought white candles, some frankincense, and a bundle of Native American white sage to smudge.

A few years back I would have never thought of such ways, but frequenting Evalena had opened doors that I’d never have had the courage to peek through on my own. Especially after being raised—eclipsed from it all—by a very pragmatic Joséphine. Thanks to the mystic blood coursing through my veins, Evalena was sure magic would have found me regardless. And it did.

In an herb-infused car, I drove home thinking about how I had become so much more receptive to the metaphysical world. I remembered how doubtful I had been at first. I didn’t feel comfortable to call upon the powers yet and had a strong, queasy feeling this lesson wasn’t going to get much practice time. I somehow knew I would be catapulted, despite my own will, into a burning mosh pit where the only way out would be to summon magic or put my life on the line. I understood now that every woman is a reflection of the divine feminine; every one of us enchanting creatures has the potential.

I had opened a door.

Talking about doors, Gerome had left a parcel on my doorstep. The packing slip told me it was Camille’s. I used a knife to cut the box open and found two bottles of Pinot Gris, the same brand we had enjoyed at Lumière. A short note, handwritten by Camille, accompanied the two bottles.

*

Dear Porzia,

From one wine appreciator to another, I trust you to enjoy this wine as much as I have since my fortunate discovery years ago.

Don’t wait for special occasions to uncork . . . every given day should be celebrated as special.

*

Best regards,

Camille Weir

*

I cleaned up the packaging, made room in the fridge for the two bottles to lie down on the top shelf, and began dinner’s preparation. Peridot poked around, curious about my purchases. I removed the candles and incense from a brown paper bag and dropped it on the floor for his enjoyment. He promptly attacked the bag, sniffing loudly, and finally crawled inside it and fell asleep. Meanwhile, I made a pesto so bright green and fragrant I couldn’t resist a taste.
Perfetto!

I turned the radio on and set the table with cheerful summer plates, a hand-woven bread basket from South America, salt and pepper shakers in the shape of roosters I had found at a secondhand store in France, and generous wine goblets I knew we wouldn’t have a problem filling with a bottle or two of Camille’s Pinot Gris, deliciously chilled.

After a quick shower I changed into a loose sundress with a pattern of orange and red stenciled fish that I love to lounge in. I wrapped my hair in a French twist and moved on to make a
Caprese
salad with the fresh tomatoes and mozzarella I had bought at Dean’s. I sliced the juicy tomatoes and the mozzarella into thin slices and alternated them on a serving platter into a red and white pinwheel. Not able to resist, I ate a slice of mozzarella so creamy and moist it practically melted in my mouth. I sprinkled the appetizing slices with salt and fresh pepper and drizzled olive oil here and there, ending with a few basil leaves I tore with my fingers. Basil easily bruises if cut with a blade. I always use my fingers.