by Ann Crystal
Later that same week.
My friend, Brenda and I were walking from the restaurant where she worked as a pastry cook. At least three times a week I would drop by and read at one of the French style cafe tables until Brenda clocked out, then we would walk the six blocks back to my grandmother's house.
"Please," I sighed when Brenda tried for the umpteenth attempt to talk me out of moving. "It's about four hundred miles away, not four thousand. I'll visit so often that you'll wonder if I really did leave town."
"Oh please," Brenda whined, "You'll spend every last dime of each and every paycheck on art supplies, which won't leave you enough to pay for a tank of gas let alone a round trip ticket to visit."
I swallowed a laugh when I realized that she was only half joking. The warmth of the summertime afternoon was cooling as the evening hours crept in the shadows along with a sweet and subtle breeze.
My grandmother did not live in the suburbs, nor was she a city dweller. Grandmother Hilda's neighborhood was at the city's fingertips. Brenda and I strolled a busy street, littered on each side with restaurants, little stores, veterinary clinics, hookah shops, and nightclubs. There were a few vacant shops, which were protected by security gates. It was a decent neighborhood, safe as just about any neighborhood could hope to be.
There was a mixture of scents that always tickled my nose when I walked that path, a sweet cinnamon smell when we passed a bakery, replaced with the spicy meat of the taco place, then the chlorine smell of the pool shop. Of course, there was always the interference of the pungent stink of exhaust.
I ignored the collection of businesses, which was not my usual trait. Instead, my eyes were on the people, those who also walked along the sidewalk at that moment, those who waited at bus stops, and those who rushed by in their cars, SUVs, and trucks.
My mind weighed Brenda's theory, about my never returning to visit. It was exactly what I had chimed to my grandmother, yet it felt different while out walking along one of the city's many sidewalks.
For the slightest instant, I wished that there was a way to say farewell to, The City of Angels in the same way I hugged my friends good-by.
"Look." Brenda slapped my shoulder, with a little more force than necessary. "A new shop."
We paused as I turned to face the store of Brenda's interest. It had a beautiful showcase of stained glass windows that depicted scenes of guardian angels and children. Double iron doors were closed and seemed sealed shut.
"How did we miss the remodeling of this place." I wondered aloud.
"I don't know." Brenda smiled, "Lets snoop."
"The place is probably some kind of bar." I said as Brenda tried to first pull open the doors and then pushed against them. "Brenda look." Nearly blended with the black of the left door were engraved letters.
Entrance By Reservation Only.
"We'll check it out online and make a reservation if it-" I was interrupted when Brenda turned to face me with stern set eyes. "What?"
"You've forgotten that you're leaving town," Brenda's words were bitter and snipped, "Sometimes it can take months to get into a popular place, and this place probably started taking reservations before it even opened for business." The last of her words came out a bit sloppy and her eyes began to water. "Months!" She stormed off at a pace that told me to hold back and give her a little time to calm down.
I had known Brenda since we were fourteen, I had been her maid of honor, and had become her official baby-sitter when she brought twins into the world. When I had made the decision to leave town, I had never even considered the friend who was more like a sister.
There was a flicker of light behind those stained-glass windows of the new place Brenda had discovered. It made me wonder if the depiction of angels was a hint that the place was some form of church, even while it was hard to believe that any church would work off a reservation system. Just as I was about to walk away, my eyes spotted more engraved words on the second door.
Where Angels Dwell.
The right door clicked, crackled, and squeaked as it was pulled inward. In a scary movie, I always found it hard to believe that anyone would really enter an unknown building after its doors magically unlocked themselves.
Instead of stepping away, I inched forward as the music of songbirds swirled out to greet my ears.
"Hello?" I called, while my curiosity drew me into the doorway where I slipped through the opening. "Hello?"
I had expected to see the person who had opened the door, but the room was empty. Maybe empty was the wrong word, because the room was filled with a forest of fruit trees.
The average shop along this street was probably four hundred to a thousand square feet, what I had just stumbled into was more of an open space that seemed endless. River rock formed the walls of each side of the room, I could see the first stars of the evening sky instead of a ceiling, and the floors were covered with weeds and wildflowers. There was an abundance of fragrance, all natural and inviting. The few that caught my attention were the sweet smell of roses, the clean scent of tomatoes, the tangy teasing fragrance of orange, and the ambience of rosemary.
"Oh my," I gasped.
"Hi there." greeted a masculine voice.
I spun around as a man came from behind an orange tree, which had an abundance of fruit that weighed down the branches like heavy ornaments. He was a rather tall man, with long legs and arms. He was clean shaven, had unkempt hair, wore light blue jeans with a tucked-in tan shirt, and wore brown sandals.
"Orange?" The man held up a fruit.
I shook my head to say no, "What is this place?"
"A restaurant." He answered.
"The cooks and bakers use what organically grows here to make their masterpieces," a woman explained as she walked out from behind an overgrown rosemary bush. "You should really try the orange sponge cake." She was dressed in light blue jeans, a tan spaghetti-strap blouse, and tan sandals. Her brown hair was long and held a shine. "Just plain yummy," she said.
"Oh, I don't have a reservation." I admitted with some hesitation.
"Join us," said the woman, "Three of our friends are waiting for us, and there is always an extra seat available here."
"Thank you, but I wouldn't want to intrude," I backed toward the entrance.
"Nonsense," the man spoke as he started to peel the orange, and I paused as its scent watered my mouth. "You'll give us something new to talk about."
In a scary movie, I always found it hard to believe that anyone would really follow complete strangers into the unknown.
Somehow, it was the orange that I followed. The fragrance wrapped around me and led me forward, through trees and vines, bushes and plants until we came to a small clearing that had iron tables with chairs made of wood that were decorated on the backs with doll-like etchings.
There were enough tables and chairs to accommodate a few dozen people, yet they were all empty except for one table, where a man and two women were seated.
"Hi, hello, hi." I greeted as I sunk into the chair that had been gestured for me to take. I was a little disappointed that it was a rather plain chair, without a doll etched into its back, nor the slightest of decoration.
"My name is Hank," said the man with the orange, who was seated to my left.
"Lilac." Said the woman who had invited me, she sat to my right and turned to the woman beside her. "This is Meage, she doesn't speak much."
The woman wore a beige vest over a purple sweater, and was really more of a girl, her face was round with dark hair that she pulled back into one long braid. Meage greeted me with a gentle smile and a wave of her right hand before she turned to the woman seated next to her.
"I am Rebecca," said a woman who was older in her years, with grayish blond hair that was styled long, and came down over her shoulders where it hid the beige lace of her brown, long sleeved blouse.
"Walter." The man seated between Rebecca and Hank wore a gray suit that matched his long gray hair and beard. He leaned forward when he greeted me and nodded
his head.
I smiled at everyone at the table when I realized that they waited for me to introduce myself.
"My name is Vienna." I said, "Thank you for inviting me to join you, I mean this place is amazing." I glanced around. "And I think a little impossible."
"Sometimes, what seems impossible is really just a complicated possible." Hank laid out his orange slices on the table, arranged in a circle to form the petals of a flower. "Sometimes."
A bird, a large hawk-like bird glided down to the table and snatched up an orange slice. I nearly slid off my chair as the bird then flew over my shoulder, the feathers of his brown wings tickled my left cheek as he flapped past me.
"Friend of yours?" I asked Hank when no one else reacted to the orange thief.
"One of many." Hank answered before he tossed an orange slice into his mouth.
I giggled, "Really?"
Hank smiled but did not give an answer.
The bird had taken my attention, at least that was what I told myself when our bare table was suddenly blanketed by an arrangement of desserts. The other tables were still vacant, and whomever had served was out of sight.
A slice of savory goodness sat before me, an orange glaze drizzled over a slice of vanilla sponge cake that smelled sweet and tart.
"So, you're leaving town?" Rebecca asked just before she indulged in her own sweet treat, which was a banana split with an assortment of nuts crushed on top.
"How-" I had just picked up a hematite-colored fork when Rebecca asked her question.
"Oh, we overheard your little spat with your friend." Lilac explained, after she had bit into a strawberry from her bowl of fresh fruit that was mixed in whipped cream.
"Right, alright." I nodded but was unsure what to say. "Yeah, I mean my grandmother wants to move back to her home town and I've always loved the place so..." I looked at my slice of cake, which waited on a clay plate that was stained deep green.
In a fantasy movie, it is a rule to never eat the food offered by fairies. Feast on the food of the fairies and forever be trapped in their land. I looked around, to the chairs etched with dolls as my mind recalled that my chair had yet to be decorated.
"My friend is not always so dramatic," I said as I slid my fork back onto the table, "She's just-"
"Pregnant." Lilac said, "At least, that's what Meage says."
Meage had not said a word, she had been indulging in her upside-down fruitcake that was coated in what looked like maple syrup.
"It is Meage's gift to know about such things," Walter sipped at his milk shake before he continued. "She is never wrong about such things."
I picked up the fork and cut into my slice of cake, which apart of me still believed would turn me into a wood etching. The vanilla cake nearly melted in my mouth while the orange drizzle ignited my taste-buds with the pure juice of an overly ripe orange.
"My God!" I chuckled, "I could swear that this is the birthday cake my grandmother always makes for me."
"Master Chef always knows what we crave." Rebecca licked at her spoon, then smiled as though she dared me to question about who the, Master Chef was.
But I had other things on my mind. If Brenda was pregnant, it would explain the sudden mood swing since she had been a complete monster when expecting her twins.
"I'm a horrible friend," I spat more to myself, "Brenda's been acting weird and I just assumed it was because I'm moving away."
Lilac laughed, "You're a friend, not the baby's father."
"Just assure her that friendship is never measured by distance." Walter added.
For the next three hours, we all fell into a natural flow of chit-chat with topics that ranged from gardening techniques to world history. After a while, I wondered if I had crashed a gathering of art historians. The way Rebecca spoke, it was almost easy to believe that she had personally met some of the greatest artist of past centuries.
We walked off our desserts with a stroll, which eventually lead us back to the entrance.
"Thanks for allowing me to crash your party," I said as I moved closer to the iron doors, "I had a terrific time." I retrieved my wallet, "How much do I-"
"Compliments of the house," Lilac interrupted, "Although, we do ask for one favor."
I shrugged my shoulders, "Alright." I expected a request for referrals or possibly for me to post an online review.
"The night before you move from the city," Lilac said, "You and your grandmother should give a farewell toast to the city."
"You see," Walter said, "A city is just as alive and conscious as those who dwell within the city's boundaries."
"But no one hardly ever says good-by when they leave," Rebecca added.
With a nod of my head, I considered what it was that they asked for. It did not seem like much of a favor, or even a fair-trade, although it did seem a little crazy.
"What?" Hank snickered, "You'd think we'd ask you to become a wood etching or something."
One by one they drifted back into their forest, and for a moment I wanted to follow as if it were a choice to become one of them. Whomever they were.
The late hour meant that my grandmother was no doubt worried, and as I stepped out onto the sidewalk I was surprised to see how many people wandered the neighborhood after dark.
"Vienna?" Luke Aston called out from my right, the curly haired Australian man who owned an antique shop a few doors down. "Did you just come out from..." He marched toward me, "No, you couldn't have. But I swear that I..."
I turned around as Luke reached behind me, where I expected him to grasp the door handle of the restaurant, Where Angels Dwell. Instead, I watched as he tugged at a security gate that was pulled in front of the darkened windows of a vacant shop. The stain glass windows were gone, along with the iron doors I had just exited from.
"I was leaning against the gate thinking," I told Luke Aston when he gawked at me, "The night must be playing tricks on your eyes."
"Yeah," Luke nodded, but still seemed unconvinced. "Yeah."
"How long has this place been empty?" I whispered.
"Oh, about four months." Luke then suddenly clapped his hands together, "Oh, wait here."
Before I could respond he ran off, and left me to stare at the shop where I had just spent the last three and a half hours in fairy tale land. I tried to recall what the place had once been, but it was a store that I must have never took an interest in.
"I thought of you," said Aston when he returned. "Of course." With a smile, he held up a twelve by sixteen-inch watercolor painting.
My face must have been laughable, because Luke chuckled as he released the painting into my grasp.
Centered in a garden was an iron table that sat on an abundance of wild flowers and weeds, which was in a clearing of a forest of fruit trees. A table where Angels were seated on wooden chairs. Marvelous wings of white, sea green, brown, sky blue, and gold were worn proudly by the members of the same party that I had just spent the last few hours with. Lilac, Rebecca, Meage, Walter, and Hank who had a bird in his mayhem of hair.
"Forty-five dollars," Luke said.
"Sold." I tore my eyes away from the painting, "And if you find any other pieces like this, please-"
"Already ahead of you," Luke interrupted, "Your grandmother told me the town that you two are moving to, and I've already calculated what shipping costs will be for items small, large, and in between." He smiled, "No, I'm serious." He added when I laughed.
My grandmother's house was carpenter-style, painted green with white trim and brick accents.
Brenda was waiting on my grandmother's porch when I returned home. Her husband's blue wagon was parked at the curb in front, which meant that he was inside enjoying some of my grandmother's homemade apple cider.
"Where have you been?" Brenda asked without looking at me. "Luke Aston." She said when I held up the painting for her to see.
"Why didn't you tell me that you were pregnant?" I spat without much thought.
"How did-" She gasped.
"Woman intuition." I quickly lied, "I'm not leaving the planet, Brenda. Then again, I'd like to believe that we could still be best friends even if I was leaving for Jupiter."
She sniffled in response.
"Come on," I held out my free hand to her, "Let’s go in and tell your hubby to go home so that we can wallow on some TV."
Brenda tilted her head, "Alright," with a smile she then grabbed hold of my hand. "But I'm choosing the TV program."
As we entered the house, I glanced over my shoulder and up to the night sky where the moon was only a quarter full and the stars twinkled.
"Goodnight." I whispered.
A faint breeze swept by with the pleasant scent of orange.
Two months later my grandmother, cousin Anthony, and I gave our farewell toast to, The City of Angels.
Thank you for reading, I hope that you have enjoyed.