Phoenix Fire (3 page)

Chapter Four

Myrena Wimsley inspected her flower world. It was a magnificent bright blur of color from its wide curving top rim down some one hundred terraced yards to the bottom edge that followed briefly the winding private road up to her estate.

Myrena Wimsley’s estate stood alone on its own small mountain in northeast Phoenix. The three hundred sixty-degree vista was unparalleled in the entire ‘Valley of the Sun,’ though the Wrigley Mansion could claim that distinction as well. The house itself was a rambling two-story edifice of stone and wood, some ten thousand square feet of elegance, so much of it now not used. The house spilled over in spots off the mountaintop and down gentle slopes, the manicured land, including the flower field, reinforced along its sides with complicated girding of the earth.

Myrena had walked the meandering path down and back among her flowers, inspecting for rain damage. She stood now on the large flagstone terrace just above the resplendent rows of color, taking in the sweep of it all, a wistful smile upon her lovely time-chiseled face. The view was always new to her no matter how many times she saw it. Some random fleeting thoughts from the past came to her as she stood staring over her beautiful acres … mostly of a daughter lost to her years ago. The sun made her squint, gave her matriarchal countenance an even greater pose of power. There was no damage to the flowers from the recent rain storms, just as her gardener, Pancho, said.

Myrena was a small woman and her all-gray hair was bundled on top of her head in a tightly wound ball. Her eyes were a keen brown, and her lips were thin with age wrinkles. Her nose, a short upward pointing stub, had a peculiar flair, a near constant twitching. The angular and wrinkled character was there in her face, beguiling and impenetrable. At her age she was still a very striking lady. In her younger years her face would have held captive many anxious males.

She sighed and sat on an elaborate chaise lounge next to the rounded slab of colored stone that was the terrace table. She sat sipping straight from a small carafe of iced tea. The sun lulled her, and she sank into thought. She looked out across the hazy valley below her, watching cars moving like ants in all directions along busy freeways and artery roads. The cars were going to destinations, each vehicle conveying a story of someone's life. She thought of her own life, and a sad nostalgia momentarily rose within her.

“Oh, John,” she muttered softly, “it's been such a long trip in mortal terms, yet a speck we are in the total scheme of things.” Her words were taken by a gentle zephyr to the valley below. “It cannot be too long, my dearest, before I join you … Oh, I pray to be with you again in eternity.”

She soon stopped her whispered thoughts and succumbed to a lazy, silent musing.

How long did she have? she wondered. The doctor was candid but vague about her cancer. The exploratory surgery revealed a slow spread within her body. The doctor was concerned because of its proximity to her stomach. He did not recommend further surgery and he precluded chemo because of its terrible side effects. The doctor felt that she might possibly live for years, or, more likely, about twelve months. He prescribed medication that would have some minimal control on the cancer's spreading and pills which would fight the pain. He told her that the pain would be an on and off thing in her remaining time, increasing in its intensity toward the end. The pills would eventually have to be replaced with injections. The doctor was straightforward in answering her questions as he knew she would want him to be.

Myrena was strangely unaffected by the doctor's announcement, but, then, this was the essence of her character. From some spot in her marvelous genetic networking Myrena all of her life was able to keep perspective in the direst of situations. It would be in keeping and appropriate that she face her own mortality with prosaic calm. Whatever joy could possibly come from the news of her own death lay in the promise of her reunion with John. This thought would sustain her throughout the ensuing days and months.

Her thoughts went to the boys, Carlton and Jason. For most of their lives Myrena was more mother than grandmother. She spent, since the death of their parents, most of her time caring for the boys, consciously nudging and directing them toward manhood with high principles and purpose.

Myrena smiled, pursed her lips, and sipped her iced tea. She looked off into the distant horizon and whispered aloud once more. “Did a pretty good job, too, especially with Jason.”

Then a frown replaced her smile. She was not able to reach Carlton in the same way she reached Jason. There was something within Carlton akin to acute selfishness. He was now a man but he still acted so much like a small boy, somehow cheated and deprived.

What could she have done differently? She treated them both equally, certainly in the beginning, careful not to over dote on them or to push them farther than they could comfortably go. From the start, Jason had shown the will, the tenacity, the precocious cerebration that could thrill her so. Carlton, on the other hand, two years older than Jason, had shown early on a hard resentment and a callous disregard for anyone but himself. He was to become obsessive, constantly negative, dwelling on the tragedy of his parents' untimely deaths as though their demise was a premeditated event. In short, he was a spoiled brat, this in spite of the fact that she worked so hard to preclude such behavior.

She could fault herself, she supposed, for she at some point gravitated almost exclusively to Jason. She had rationalized finally that Jason needed her much more than Carlton, simply because Jason showed the potential for greatness and Carlton showed every indication that he would always seek attention through tantrums and negative actions.

Poor John, when he was alive, he tried so hard with Carlton, at least, within his limited time and space. It was so easy to bond with Jason but, with Carlton, John felt himself a failure. He worried about the boy right up to the time of his stroke and subsequent death. Carlton occupied so many of their bedtime chats. John's death had hurt both boys. However, Carlton seemed to veer farther away and use his grandfather's passing as yet another personal and selfish disclaimer.

Myrena felt a pang of sadness as she thought of her own death, not for herself but for Carlton. Even now, approaching age forty, he still came to her for 'dumping.' What would he do when she was gone? To whom would he go for his venting? Luckily, Carlton did have his one positive passion, his work. Somehow, he made it through law school and he was now a corporate tax attorney. He worked hard at his job and was considered one of the best in his field. Unfortunately, his people skills were so hopelessly lacking that he had very few good and reliable acquaintances. Friends, he had none, unless it was grandmother Myrena.

She smiled again at another distinction between the two boys. Jason called her 'Grandma' and Carlton called her 'Grandmother.'

Lately, Carlton came to her for some substantial loans. He called them loans, but she would never see a repayment. However, she would never want repayment unless it came as a sign of him facing his responsibility, and, as a sign that he was trying to be a man of good character. Mostly, she worried about his sudden need for so much money. His corporate salary was surely quite large. He mentioned needing the loans for some timely investments, but she was wary of his real reasons.

Carlton was an unusual study. He was tall, good looking, successful in his chosen profession but an enormous bust in his personal life. He tried marriage once but it was doomed to failure. He was able to destroy his relationships quickly and it was never his fault that caused the terminations. So, he lived a life of near neurotic negation.

Myrena loved her oldest grandson but she did not like him very much. She wished that he could change but held little hope that he would.

Jason was the polar opposite of Carlton, and Myrena loved him in a special way. She also liked this handsome grandson. She liked being with him, talking to him, watching the ordered way he did his thinking and how he lived his life. He was all that she could want in a grandson, though he felt more like a son.

Myrena drank again from her carafe of iced tea. She thought of how she should handle the matter of her estate. Oh, she knew how to handle it. It was already handled. It would all go to Jason, except for the house which she would leave to Carlton.

What she really had as a concern was how to handle her death, that is, whether or not to tell Jason and Carlton about her cancer. The conclusion came rather quickly: she could think of no compelling reason to tell either of her grandsons. It was not a question of being dishonest with them. Revealing her terminal condition would simply bring unnecessary and unwanted attention. Carlton would use the news to further his tragic persona, Of course, in his way, Carlton loved her, and, somehow, in the atavistic dimness of time, he was cursed with an abiding self-annihilation. Jason would be crushed by the news in a deeply personal way, not outwardly in a showy guise of sentimentality.

Myrena did not wish either of her grandsons to suffer in a prolonged fashion with the news of her condition. So, she would say nothing.

The warm sun made her lazy and she reclined in the chaise for some long moments, pleasantly floating on the opiate fringes of half sleep. Despite the gravity of her recent medical prognosis, she felt somehow satiated and at peace.

Her life was full and relatively free from pain, emotionally and physically. Yes, she had agonized about the untimely deaths of her only daughter and son-in-law, about Carlton, the death of John, but, on balance, her life was joyfully full and exciting. Jason and Carlton had helped fill the lonely gaps through the years since John's passing, particularly Jason. Jason excelled at everything he attempted but, above all, he was endowed with an amazing selflessness of character, with remarkable patience and perseverance, with a maturity and wisdom beyond his years, and with a dark Grecian beauty. Jason was not a child to be easily spoiled for he had an innate sense of pride and humility. Dear sweet John had often chided her on showing too much favoritism on one boy over the other. She knew that she did, but it did not concern her. She felt that it must be naturally ordained for her to feel a special simpatico for Jason. She supposed that it was a matter of loving both grandsons, just liking one more than the other.

So, the acknowledgment of her own death was an unremarkable sublimation. Her life was rich and full. She was more than ready to die and, while she was not an overly religious person, she had an almost devout belief that John awaited her beyond that dark curtain of death.

Suddenly, a pain deep in her gut brought her upright on the chaise lounge. Myrena's beautiful, weathered face contorted and her thin arms wrapped her narrow waist. She reached for the metal box next to the stone table and pushed a button. She could hear the staccato buzz through the cream colored box.

Soon, a voice boomed, “Yes, Mrs. Wimsley. Do you need me?” It was Wardley, her chief attendant in the large house above her.

“Yes, Wardley.” She hesitated as another burning spasm ripped through her lower back. “Please bring my medication, and I will need your assistance in my return to the house.”

“Yes, madam, right away.” There was a real familial concern in Wardley's voice.

Wardley Rosskamp was part of the Wimsley family for seventeen years. His loyalty never wavered and his service to the family was rendered with genuine care and respect. There was self-pride in every duty he performed.

His ruddy cherubic face now grew taut in a knowing grimace, and his ample paunch seemed to shudder with his inner tremors of concern.

With a sense of dread and urgency Wardley went to his longtime friend and employer. There was a heaviness in his heart and a vague mist upon his soul.

Chapter Five

Jason debated within himself on which restaurant to take Jenny. The El Chorro won out. The food there was excellent and it was quaint and romantic.

He fussed more than usual over his dressing preparations. When he finally narrowed his choices down to suit and sports coat, he chose the navy blue blazer. His selection of shirt was a pale blue silk to be worn open collar. Highly creased Tan slacks competed the ensemble.

He seldom shaved twice in one day but he made an exception. He even smiled at himself in the mirror at his over caution not to nick and the special care he took with his hair. He was amused with his school boy nervousness and the near exquisite sense of anticipation as the time drew close to date time. He felt silly, yet, he was not displeased with his inner stirrings. It was so long, if ever, that he experienced these feelings.

While it was true he had only seen the lady once, it was a rather extraordinary 'once.' He saw her still body clad only in running shorts and top. The rain was showering down, his lips quivering on her own. Maybe his inner stirrings would be altered when he saw her all dressed up. Maybe he would be disappointed. Perhaps the shock of the lightning event, its severity, caused him to overreact to their meeting. Sharing a near death experience with someone could perhaps produce a false set of feelings. Maybe she was not as attractive as he thought. Maybe neither of them would find the initial feelings worthy of further nurturing.

Still, he could not stop the tingles within him. Besides, there was more than her looks involved in his preoccupation with their singular meeting. There was something special about her, an aura, some essence, that captured his attention. There was something in the eyes, a magical kind of quick awareness when they first looked at each other. Was it kismet? He was back to fate and serendipity. Some strange and indefinable elixir had gotten into his system to jumble his thoughts to such an extent.

What if she did not like what she saw? All dressed up, maybe he was no real bargain. After all, she only saw him in his damp running togs, his hair plastered to his forehead, unshaven, his abrasive lips touching hers.

Hey, he was excited! No amount of thinking would diminish his high spirits. There was indeed something there. He was wired with his thinking about the encounter. Yes, something transpired between them on that rain-soaked pavement, and he was anxious to find out if the event was as monumental as he felt it might be. He only knew that these feelings came to him honestly with no comparative past. It was as though a fateful promise was to be fulfilled. He knew that this was an instance when he must listen to his heart and not to his mind.

*****

Jenny began her preening and primping early. She was immensely excited with the evening's possibilities. She was also very nervous. While she was aggressive in her work at the ad agency and in her business contacts, she found herself more timid and awkward in personal relationships. She hoped she would be able to sustain herself in conversation and poise with the handsome man who helped save her life.

She was meticulous in her clothing selection, choosing a recently purchased two-piece outfit of mauve, with a gray blouse and a necklace of pearls. When she looked at her image in the large wall mirror she was not displeased.

She did her shoulder length blonde hair in a high full fluff and it spilled down over her ears in gleaming wavelets. She used very little makeup, just a touch of soft lip gloss, gentle dabs of rouge on her cheeks, dark pencil liner on her brows, and understated use of mascara on her lashes.

She looked again at her image, smiled, and gave a 'thumbs up' and cross-eyed sneer into the mirror. She then put on some Vivaldi classical guitar tapes by one of the Romero brothers and waited for Jason Prince.

She heard the doorbell just a few minutes before 7:00 PM and was happy to note that her date appeared one that honored a time commitment. When Jenny opened the front door of her apartment and stared into Jason Prince's blue eyes, she could feel her heartbeat quicken. She sensed the rouge on her cheeks had gone deeper in its color. She felt that she had perhaps underrated this man's total image.

*****

Now seated at a corner table of the El Chorro Restaurant, sipping cocktails before dinner, they found their conversation easy and unforced.

“It's truly remarkable,” Jason said with a soft smile, “One would never know that you had recently wrestled with a lightning bolt. You are quite lovely tonight.” He toyed with the toothpick holding the olive in his martini, his eyes locked on Jenny.

“Thank you, kind sir. It wasn't much of a wrestling match, however … pretty one-sided. It's still difficult for me to believe that it happened. I've never fainted in my life, never passed out, and to have an abrupt loss of consciousness is an amazing thing. The body is quite a machine. Have you ever been unconscious?” Jenny's eyes sparkled as she spoke, and the soft lights of the restaurant added an extra glow to her presence.

Jason chuckled lightly. “There are those who might think I spend much of my days in a state of unconsciousness. But, no, I haven't. The nearest that I've come to blacking out, I suppose, was on a golf course a few years back. It was during the summer and the temperature was well over one hundred degrees. No question, it was a bit nuts to be playing golf on an Arizona desert when the sun and heat were so intense. Some of us were golf addicts in those days and felt we could handle just about any kind of weather on a golf course --- rain, hail, heat, didn't matter.

“Our group was walking the course that day. Can you believe that? Walking eighteen holes! Crazy! Anyway, I had neglected pouring water into my overheated body. As I walked up the seventeenth fairway I became very dizzy and very nearly fell on my face. Dropped my golf bag and sat on it while my playing partners got some water in me. It took a few hours getting back to normal.

“That's the closest I've come to blacking out. That's the last time my body needs were neglected. I was cautioned so many times to keep putting water in the body while playing golf on hot days, even when there was no thirst. Just got too careless and unmindful of my environment.” Jason smiled and sipped his martini.

“Something strange happened to me during my lightning blackout.” Jenny paused, took a quick sip from her rum and coke, and had a thoughtful look on her face. “Hope you don't think I'm weird but, well, you know, I've heard all my life about people having 'out of body' experiences during stressful situations. You know, like, serious heart surgery, or, a near fatal car accident, or, my jogging experience. Well, it happened to me. There was this bright light and I was a part of it somehow, and it just seemed to be pulling me off and away toward some wondrous and magnificent brilliance. It seemed compelling, safe, and I wanted to go further into that bright void.

“Then, sounds fragmented the lovely light, and, for a moment, just before coming back to my consciousness, I hovered briefly just above my body. I saw me lying there on the wet pavement. I saw you and the others. It was so real!” Jenny smiled and puckered her lips. “Sounds pretty dumb, huh?”

“No, it doesn't sound dumb at all. Later, when you thought about that experience, did it frighten you very much?”

“No. Actually, it had the opposite effect. You could say, really, it renewed my faith. It's like, well, like there is no fear of death so much anymore. It was like the experience gave me a glimpse of what death might be about, like, it's not a scary thing but a positive thing, an expanding kind of thing.” Suddenly, Jenny broke into a wide grin. “My goodness! It sounds really wacko just listening to my own words.”

“No, no, it's interesting. Death is not the sort of topic that people like to talk about a lot. For the young, and we qualify, we sort of adopt an attitude like we're going to live forever. Death cannot touch us. The older we get, I'm sure our mortality becomes more and more real for us. Your experience, your dream, whatever it was, may indeed have been some kind of message. I'm thinking that you should find comfort in an event like that.”

The waiter came with a relish tray, bread sticks, left menus, and took our second cocktail order.

After the waiter left the table, Jenny changed the subject. “So, what wakeful dreams do you chase, Mister Prince? It seems I should know more about the man who has taken some fairly personal liberties with my body. For which, of course, I'm eternally grateful.” She gave him another soft smile.

“You are entitled, yes. I'm mostly a real estate developer/investor type. You might say, I dream real estate projects. It's something I love to do, something for which I thank my grandmother and my late grandfather. They had a part in the early growth and development of Phoenix and the east valley.”

“Oh, are you related to the Princes in Tempe?”

“Yes. My father was the son of Manville Prince who donated land and helped in the early funding of Arizona State University and the Tempe area. My grandfather was John Wimsley. He and Grandma Myrena raised me and my brother.” Jason noticed Jenny's questioning look. “My parents died in an automobile accident when I was still in grade school. My grandparents raised my brother and me.”

“Wimsley? The same Wimsleys of Park Central, Biltmore, Scottsdale Ranch?”

“Yes. My grandfather had a hand in the development of those and other projects.”

“I'm impressed! Very! I've heard people talk of your grandparents all my life. They are really a significant part of the valley's history. You must be very proud.” Jenny's eyes glowed with genuine appreciation.

“I am very proud of my grandparents. I've been very fortunate to have had their guidance and love in my life.”

Before Jason could go on, the waiter came to take their dinner orders. The El Chorro was noted for its menu selections, particularly the prime rib. After a brief consultation with Jenny, Jason ordered the prime rib for both of them, along with baked potatoes, Caesar Salads, and escargots. During their escargots the waiter brought a carafe of the house Cabernet.

The couple dined while three gentlemen in tuxedos strolled and played soothing violins in the background. Jason and Jenny talked easily about their lives, past and present, sipping their wine, feeling the inner glow of complete satiety.

After dinner, Jason took Jenny to the Skylight Room to listen to the piano styling of Bib Torrini, a longtime favorite of the valley's night wanderers. There, high atop a downtown bank building, Bib's melodic ballads and show tunes added to the magic of their evening. They sipped cappuccino and requested their favorite songs. They were mellow in a way they would not have believed possible. They watched the people around them, some in various stages of inebriation, some attempting to perform vocals in accompaniment with the artist, some surprisingly good, some woefully unaware of their off-key performances.

It was all so good. For both of them, it was a night far exceeding their expectations. For Jason Prince, he felt a comfort level with Jenny that belied his usual cautious and cool demeanor in the social arena. For Jenny Mason, she, too, was much more open and less timid in her conversation and in her observations. The Skylight Room provided the perfect setting for completing their magical evening together.

Only when they stood on the threshold of Jenny's apartment did some of the awkwardness return to them. Each was conscious of the special bonding that had occurred during their evening and each was careful not to spoil the mood. Neither would make a careless move at this point. They kissed at the portal, a long, tender, clinging, without urgency, both knowing that on a future evening there would be so much more. There was time and they would build for those very special moments.

“It's been a beautiful evening, Jason, one I shall never forget. Thank you.” Her words were whispered in a contented sigh.

“We must do it again soon,” he whispered back. Then, conscious of the triteness of his words, he added, “I want very much to see you again, Jenny Mason. It has been pure enchantment.”

“Please call soon,” was her final whisper.

His hand gently touched her hair as their eyes lingered in the moment. “Soon,” he said, “Very soon.”

Then he was gone, and Jenny was alone.

Long into the night on her bed she listened to the nocturnal sounds around her, watching the frantic light dances of the distant stars. The moon was full and the distant mountain peaks were majestically illuminated and silently recorded all movement and thought. His face was there, strong and vital, his azure eyes sparkling, his lips parting and inviting, just below a brilliant white halo of the moon.

Just seconds before she gave way to sleep, she thought about the swiftness with which one's life could be altered. She could not imagine being very thankful to a streak of lightning, but, oh, she was. For some reason her mind conjured up an image of brightly serene butterflies and an enormous bowl of jellybeans.