The Green Lace Corset

by Jill G. Hall

  Thai ran to the door, and Anne let him out. At least she didn’t have to go to the museum until tomorrow and had the day to herself. She poured herself some coffee, crawled back into bed, and wrote in her journal: In my dream, a small blond girl filled with guilt had on the corset.

  Anne could relate to that guilt. The dream pictures in her mind were blurry, but she jotted them down:

  Lake, cabin, oaks, meadow = like that place up above Flagstaff where I saw the deer.

  That was all she could recall. She scrolled through her travel pictures for the deer photo. As soon as she’d snapped it, the doe had bounded away. It had large eyes, tall, pointy ears, and a white-tufted tail. Anne made a mental note to print the photo out to use in a collage later.

  After Sylvia had seen a deer on her first trip to Arizona, she’d said to Anne, “Those big eyes were healing. I felt as if the doe knew what a hard time I was going through.”

  To honor Sylvia, Anne had been determined to see one on her own trip. There must have been a lot more wildlife in the 1960s, because Anne had to hike out into the mountains for an hour before she spotted one. The doe had stopped and gazed into Anne’s eyes, as if posing for the photo, and she understood what Sylvia had meant. Perhaps deer were Sylvia’s spirit animals.

  Anne pulled her copy of Animal-Speak, by Ted Andrews, from her bookshelf and read: A spirit animal helps guide or protect a person on a journey and whose characteristics that person shares or embodies.

  Anne flipped to the index, found the page for deer, and read:

  Meanings associated with the deer:

  Gentleness

  Move through life and obstacles with grace

  In touch with inner child, innocence

  Sensitive and intuitive

  Vigilance, ability to change directions quickly

  In touch with life’s mysteries

  That sounded like Sylvia. Even though she probably hadn’t been aware of the spirit-animal concept, she could still have had one without naming it. But then, Sylvia had always talked about how much she loved her beagle-basset, Lucy—maybe Lucy had been Sylvia’s spirit animal too. You could have more than one, couldn’t you?

  Anne was certain the great blue heron was her spirit animal. Every time she saw one in Michigan, her heart soared. At the lake, she always watched and waited for one to fly over, or maybe even land and preen nearby. Perhaps Thai was another of Anne’s spirit animals, and that was why the cat kept trying to hang out with her. Or it could be because Anne kept feeding it?

  She reread the information about the dream again and pretended the girl lived in Arizona in 1885. Anne googled “Arizona 1885” and wrote notes in her journal:

  What would life have been like in 1885 in Arizona?

  It wasn’t even a state until 1912. The city of Flagstaff was founded in 1881. In 1882, the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad

  (later the Santa Fe) arrived and assured the community’s growth.

  Main population: lumber, ranching, railroad workers.

  She kept going down the rabbit hole, discovering more information about Flagstaff life in the olden days. This sparked a big question, and she brainstormed in her journal:

  What would life have been like in Flagstaff about the time trains came through?

  No running water—pumps, windmills, outhouses

  No cars or airplanes; no bicoastal romances

  No electricity

  No computers

  No TV

  No telephones—texting, Facebook, Instagram, cell phone cameras

  No cell phone camera! That had become her favorite form of technology.

  Anne imagined going under a black hood to take photographs with the big-box camera on a tripod. In college, she had learned how to develop pictures in a darkroom, using harsh chemicals, and her boyfriend had kissed her in there.

  On the other hand, life would have been a lot simpler in 1885. What would the advantages have been?

  No air, water, noise, or light pollution

  No GMOs or pesticides

  More time with friends and loved ones

  She scrolled through Pinterest photos and pictured herself in a bonnet, modest long dress, and lace-up boots. Perhaps she could do a series incorporating her Southwest experiences, personal pics, and vintage photo inspirations.

  Late that afternoon, she lounged in a hot bath, fantasizing about her upcoming date with Sergio. She thought about his honeysuckle scent, his deep, dark eyes when he looked at her, his long, curly hair. Uh-oh. Maybe she needed to cancel. No, she was an adult and could resist him. Besides, her remorse about her disgusting behavior two nights before would keep her from jumping into bed with someone else so soon.

  She dried off, wrapped herself in her kimono, and tried to decide what to wear. She picked up the corset and skirt from the floor and considered wearing them again tonight. That would be over the top, especially for the Top of the Mark. The corset would look cool with a pair of black jeans and boots. But she didn’t want Sergio to get the wrong idea. Plus, the outfit smelled of bar and sweat, and it would take forever to get the odor out. She folded the outfit into a bag to drop off at the dry cleaner later.

  She slipped on her favorite green lace dress, her silver shoes, and her black coat. She certainly wouldn’t be inviting Sergio back to her place afterward, but she straightened up her apartment anyway.

  14

  At four o’clock, Anne rode a cable car up California Street to the Mark Hopkins. A few feathery clouds draped the sky. She hoped a beautiful sunset was in store. At the hotel, the man at reception said hello. As she crossed the lobby, heading toward the elevators, the thought of seeing Sergio again filled her with trepidation. Maybe this was a bad idea. She turned around and started back toward the lobby door, but there he was.

  He removed his fedora with a smile. “How nice of you to greet me here, amore mio.”

  Anne’s heart chakra permeated with heat. She was still deeply in love with him. “Hi” was all she could eke out.

  He walked toward her, kissed her cheeks, and led her across the lobby to the bank of elevators. As the doors closed, she stood as far away from him as possible. The spark between them was impossible to ignore, and they stared at each other all the way to the nineteenth floor.

  The Top of the Mark hostess led them to a table overlooking the bay. Sergio pulled out a chair overlooking Grace Cathedral and gestured for Anne to sit. He always gave her the seat with the best view.

  He removed his jacket, draped it carefully on the back of his chair, and sat down across from her. His shoulders looked as if he’d been doing extra workouts. Darn it. Why did he have to be so sexy?

  She wished they could still be together. But his life was in New York and hers was here, and there was no way to make it work. Their early long-distance relationship had been tantalizing and fun, but then, after a year, it had become unrealistic.

  A waitress carrying a tray came by. “Hot mango margaritas are our specialty tonight.”

  “Want one?” Sergio asked Anne.

  “Sounds delish.” After the other night, she’d thought she’d never drink again, but she felt fine now.

  “Okay, we’ll each have one.”

  “Yes, sir.” The waitress sashayed away toward the bar.

  He redid his ponytail. “It’s good to see you. You look healthy.”

  To some women, that might not have sounded like a compliment, but he knew Anne struggled to stay in shape and had been the one who’d gotten her started doing yoga. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to eat well and practicing a lot of yoga.”

  “That makes me happy. It’s all really paying off.” He smiled. “I’m excited about your artist-in-residence opportunity. When will they decide?”

  “I don’t know. They haven’t even scheduled the interviews yet.” She considered telling him about Karl but didn’t want to ruin the evening with negative thoughts.

  The waitress dropped off their drinks. Sergio held up his margarita to Anne. “To us.” />
  What was that supposed to mean? She clinked her glass with his anyway. “There’s no more us,” she blurted out. So much for not ruining the evening.

  He leaned toward her. “That’s not true. We still have our history. No one can ever take that away.”

  “I guess you’re right. Sorry.”

  “I’m taking a ski vacation early next year. I’d love it if you’d join me.”

  “We’re broken up. How can we go on a trip together?”

  “Separate rooms?” He smiled sheepishly.

  “Oh, yeah. That would work really well.”

  “Just think about it.”

  She had always wanted to go skiing. Her klutziness shouldn’t be a problem. He could ride the lifts to the top peaks, and she could take lessons on the bunny slope. When she got tired, she’d hang out in the lodge by the fire, drinking hot toddies in a cute après-ski outfit. Sergio would meet her and think she looked really sexy in it. She considered where she might find a vintage one, then caught herself.

  “As nice as it sounds, I’ll probably need to work.” She took another sip of her margarita.

  The tables had filled up with guests by now. They hovered at the windows, taking photos of the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge as a pink sunset ignited above San Francisco’s skyline and fairy-tale lights began to blink below. Grace Cathedral’s rose window glowed with color.

  A waitress lit the candle on their table, and Sergio studied the menu.

  “Careful.” He pointed to Anne’s menu as it dipped toward the flame. He handed her his phone, with the flashlight app on. “Here, use this. Remember Rome?”

  How could she forget the night she had caught a restaurant on fire? She’d never been so embarrassed in her life. As they’d planned their scooter trip for the next day, the map had fallen into the candle, smoke filled the air, and the map caught fire. Sergio grabbed it from her, tossed in on the floor, and stomped on it. The maître d’ had rushed over and sprayed it out with an extinguisher.

  “I’m a-gonna lose a whole night’s business,” the restaurant owner yelled, as the fire alarm shrieked and the guests evacuated.

  “Spiacente.” Sergio gave him a handful of euros as they headed out the door.

  Now, Sergio said, “I’ve never understood why you can’t use GPS, like everyone else.”

  “I like to use the real thing, and besides, I repurpose my used maps in collages.”

  “You sure weren’t able to use that one for art.”

  They both laughed. It hadn’t been funny then. She had been even more embarrassed than she had the time her cell phone went off at the Metropolitan Opera. He’d been pretty pissed about that too.

  She finished her margarita, the color of the sun that had just gone down.

  He reached his hands across the table to take hers, and his eyes softened. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Me too.” She pulled her hands away. “Aren’t you hungry? You’re usually starved.”

  Sergio waved over the waitress. “What do you want?” he asked Anne.

  “No, you go right ahead.” She always had him do it because he was a foodie. “Remember, I’m a pescatarian.”

  “I’d never forget that about you.”

  He looked at the waitress. “We’ll have the olives and baked Camembert.” Sergio pronounced the name of the cheese perfectly—another reason she always wanted him to order.

  “We’ll also have Dungeness crab quesadillas and truffles for dessert, and another round of margaritas.”

  “Not for me, thanks.” Anne handed her glass to the waitress. That one drink had made her dizzy, and she needed to stay sober.

  “Another one won’t hurt. Please join me.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Please. For old times’ sake.”

  She acquiesced. “Okay.”

  The waitress repeated the order and left. Dishes clinked and voices murmured around them. The people at the next table laughed loudly. The waitress dropped off the olives, and Anne and Sergio each popped one into their mouth.

  After they’d finished the quesadillas, the waitress cleared the table and brought over the dessert. Anne closed her eyes and ate a chocolate truffle. The decadence tasted like passion.

  She opened her eyes. There were two more on the plate.

  “Finish them.” Sergio pointed and grinned.

  She knew that he knew chocolate this rich turned her on. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t resist and ate every bite.

  He moved to a chair beside her, swiped a chocolate drip from her bottom lip, and kissed her. “Let’s go to your place,” he whispered. She inhaled the scent of him, wanted to hold on, melt into his arms, and never let go. One night together couldn’t hurt. Tomorrow he’d get on a plane, and she’d return to being an independent woman. She stared into his deep-brown eyes and nodded.

  When they reached her apartment, Thai greeted them at her door.

  “Not tonight.” Anne pushed him away with a foot, and he skittered down the stairs.

  Sergio stepped inside and commanded, “Alexa, play La Traviata.”

  “Here’s La Traviata, act one,” Alexa said, and the opera began.

  “Grazie,” Sergio said to Alexa, as he filled two wine goblets.

  They clinked glasses, then sat on the daybed, drank the wine, and kissed again. Then Anne pushed the coffee table aside tipsily and stood facing Sergio. “Alexa,” she said seductively, and raised her eyebrows at him, “play ‘Do Ya Think I’m Sexy,’ by Rod Stewart.”

  The music started. She raised her arms and starting dancing for Sergio. This was something she’d always wanted to do. She’d really show him how healthy she was. Even though she could be a klutz, she could do this.

  She slowly took off her black velvet coat, walked to the corner, and let it drop to the floor. Sergio’s eyes lit up as she began to strut around the room in her silver shoes, singing the words to the song.

  She stopped, raised her arms, and rotated her hips. Then she leaned over, pulled off her dress, swung it in the air, and tossed it across the room. In her black lace push-up bra and matching panties, she continued to dance. On the next chorus, she unhooked the bra, twirled it over her head, and threw it at Sergio. He caught it with a smile. As the song ended, she pushed him down, climbed on top of him, and kissed him deeply.

  A few hot-and-heavy minutes later, he fumbled in her nightstand drawer.

  “Where are they?” he asked.

  She didn’t want to tell him that in her grief about their breakup, she’d thrown out their condoms. “Their expiration date had passed, so I tossed them.”

  He sat up and stared at her. “But it was a new package.”

  She shrugged and pulled him to her.

  “Are you sure you didn’t use them all?”

  Her one-night stand with Barn was a fuzzy, nightmarish memory that she still wanted to erase.

  “How can you even think that?”

  “You never know.”

  She pulled him onto her and continued kissing him.

  “But . . .” he started.

  She wanted him so much. “It’ll be fine.”

  15

  Before dusk, just when Sally Sue was certain she couldn’t abide the bumpy ride one more minute, the stagecoach stopped at a ramshackle property. Two mangy horses stood in a corral. The cistern was full of bullet holes, fence railings hung off their posts, and a prairie schooner with a torn canvas top tilted on its side. Piles of snow still dotted the soil underneath the oaks.

  Sally Sue hobbled to a tree stump and perched on it. Her body would be sore for ages. The driver and Cliff moved the crates, eight in all, to the back of a wagon. Cliff loaded his saddlebags on the floor in front and handed the man some cash.

  The driver waved as he pulled back down the road. Sally Sue was tempted to run after him, but Cliff wouldn’t let her get far. Her shoulders slumped at the realization that sh
e was now all alone with Cliff.

  He wandered over to the corral, holding out an apple in each hand, and the horses trotted toward him.

  “You pretty girl,” he said to the red one. “We’re gonna get to know each other quite well.” With his hand flat, he offered an apple to her. She swiped it and began chewing.

  With his big head, the spotted horse nudged Cliff, who opened his other hand. “Aren’t you a handsome pinto.”

  The animals’ open mouths revealed huge teeth. Obviously starving, the horses gobbled the fruit, including the core.

  Cliff must really be daft. He talked to horses as if they understood what he was saying.

  Cliff grabbed halters from the back of the wagon, put them on the horses, led them to the wagon, and hitched them up with ease. He took a blanket from a crate, folded it neatly, and laid it on the wooden seat in front. “Milady.” He held out a hand to Sally Sue as if she were the queen of England.

  “No, thanks.” She brushed past him, and on her third try she hoisted herself successfully onto the wagon’s wood seat. He chuckled and climbed in beside her.

  Although the chances were slim, she listened for the sound of horses’ hooves that would signal Sheriff Mack and his posse coming to save her before Cliff carried her even farther away.

  Cliff clicked the reins, and the horses started down the road away from town. She clung to the basket on her lap. Where was he taking her? How far was this homestead? Would he kill her there? Her mind bounced along with the wagon on the rocky path, jumping to all sorts of possible situations. Fear overtook her senses. She could scarcely breathe. For a fleeting moment, she considered leaping off the wagon and rolling down the embankment away from Cliff, but she knew she’d never get far.

  Without another person or even another homestead in sight, they plodded along the lonely road for what seemed like miles. The temperature continued to drop as they rode higher and higher up into the mountains.

  Hoo. Hoo. Hooooo, an owl called. Tall tree shadows shifted, and while the darkness should have made Sally Sue more afraid, the horses’ cadence began to soothe her. She was breathing more easily by the time Cliff turned off the road and onto a trail that ascended steeply.