Glossed and Found

by India Ink

  I thought for a moment, then an image came to mind, and I matched the name with the face. “I know who you’re talking about. I went to last month’s meeting with Auntie and met her there. She seems a little frail, doesn’t she?”

  Barb nodded. “Yes, she is. Sadly, she inherited her father’s heart condition, and she also has rheumatoid arthritis, but she does more than most of the women I know who are half her age.” She glanced at the price tag on the dress and let out a low whistle. “Man, I hope you have more places to wear this than just the Gala. For these prices, we should be attending balls every month!”

  “Go change, if you’ve decided on that one, and let’s find some shoes to match these gowns.” I pushed her toward the door, and she laughingly headed back to her dressing room. I took another look at the price. Barb was right; the dress was outrageously expensive, but even though the thought crossed my mind that I could wear it to Killian’s Christmas party in Seattle, I decided against rationalizing. There was no rationale for a dress that cost that much except that I loved it, I could afford it, and I wanted it.

  We scoured the shoe stores and came up with glitzy sandals, then spent a quick ten minutes drifting through the aquarium. I tapped lightly on the glass of the octopus tank, watching as the cephalopod swam over to my summons, its tentacles rippling in the water.

  “Hey there,” I said, whispering to it. “How are you doing? Like it in there, or do you wish you were out in the open water?” Every time I came to the aquarium, I’d stop and spend some time with Ivan, as I’d taken to calling him. He fascinated me, appearing pensive as he watched from his watery world. I’d studied a bit about octopuses and their brethren, and knew just how intelligent they had tested out, and I’d finally admitted that I wanted one for myself. I was researching just what upkeep it would require.

  I hadn’t sprung that bit of news on Aunt Florence yet, but considering that we already had eight cats, three dogs, and Hoffman, our rooster, who took up residence in the utility room and often joined us for an evening of Forensics Files, I didn’t see why she would object.

  Barb returned after a stint watching the jellyfish. She had a personal grudge against the creatures, and every time I dragged her to the aquarium, she held a staring match with them while I meandered around and said hi to the various tank dwellers.

  She sighed. “I guess I’d better get home and face Mama K’s wrath. Damn it. I’ve never been good enough, and never will. If she’s not harping on the fact that we actually chose to remain child-free, then she’s bitching about Dorian’s decision to stay in the United States. It’s going to be a long visit, Persia. I may need a few sanity breaks.”

  I put my arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Honey, any time you need to catch your breath, just give me a call, and we’ll take off and go get coffee or lunch or even just a walk down by the lighthouse.”

  With a resigned wave, she headed to her car. I watched until she made it, then pulled out my keys and jogged the distance to mine. Thank God I didn’t have the in-law problems Barb did, because my temper wasn’t all that under control, and I wouldn’t put up with crap from anybody. If Mama Konstantinos was my mother-in-law, I’d be locked up in no time.

  By the time I pulled in the driveway to Moss Rose Cottage, it was full-on dark. Auntie would be waiting dinner for me; we ate late most days, usually around seven thirty or eight. I noticed two other cars in the driveway and smiled. Killian and Kane were here. My boyfriend and Auntie’s beau. It had seemed odd at first to see Auntie cavorting with a man, but within a few weeks I’d fallen for the Hawaiian who had brought a spark of romantic joy to my aunt’s heart. Long ago, his twin brother and Auntie had been engaged, but tragedy intervened. Now, time had come full circle, and Kane was wooing my aunt.

  Moss Rose Cottage was a huge old three-story Victorian that had been built well over one hundred years ago by a Captain Bentley, a Navy officer who retired with his family to Port Samanish Island before the turn of the twentieth century. His spirit still walked the halls. Auntie and I had both felt and heard him around since we first moved in when I was ten years old. Occasionally a doorknob would turn, or footsteps would sound in the attic, but we were never afraid; in fact, we always had the feeling that the Cap’n, as we called him, was watching over us.

  Set on thirty acres of gardens and orchards, the house was situated across the road from the inlet. We could open the curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows stretching along one entire wall of the living room and watch the ocean crashing as the waves swept the currents in and out of the bay, ebbing with the tides that ruled the shoreline. This was the only home I’d really ever known.

  When I was four, my father brought me back from Iran after Mother died and dropped me on Auntie’s doorstep in Seattle. He then absconded after giving her full guardian-ship over me. I grew up traveling the world. At five, I stood at the foot of the pyramids in Giza, and then flew to the UK to gaze silently at the standing stones that encircled Stonehenge. At six, I learned to eat croissants for breakfast at the outdoor sidewalk cafés in Paris. Then Auntie took me to Rome, where I grappled with the beauty of Michelangelo’s work at Saint Peter’s Basilica. Old women wrapped in black shawls would chuck my chin and hand me yeasty rolls as we wandered through the markets for breakfast and lunch.

  Over the next three years, I navigated the throngs of Tokyo where my height—even as a child—made me stand out as a gaijin. I gazed upon the fabled Taj Mahal and memorized the royal love story that inspired the building of it. Frightened by the noise and the beggars, I pressed close to Auntie’s side in the crowded streets of Calcutta. With Eva, my nanny and tutor, along for the ride, we crisscrossed the world. She cracked the whip over my studies, and I learned geography via experience far better than most adults did through books.

  But on the day I turned ten, Aunt Florence decided it was time to settle me in one place, so she bought Moss Rose Cottage, and we moved in. She continued to travel for awhile, leaving me with Eva during her trips, but the moment we first walked through the door, I knew I was home.

  I hoisted my shopping bags and swimsuit tote and headed for the porch. Illuminated by soft lights to guide friends and family to our door through the rain-soaked nights, Moss Rose Cottage beckoned me in, and I knew in the depths of my heart that, no matter where I journeyed, this house would always be the one place I would call home.

  From the Pages of Persia’s Journal

  Intoxication Oil #3

  Ronnie Jenks wanted something that would make her smell delicious. Since she can handle rich, creamy scents, I came up with a wintertime version of my original Intoxication Oil. Simple and yet elegant, the scent is yummy enough to make any woman smell like dessert—and to pass muster at any holiday gala.

  We talked about other ways in which she could make herself stand out, since she’s in the boyfriend-hunting club. I mentioned that while she’s a lovely woman, she often carries herself as though she’s embarrassed of something. Ronnie’s never had a lot of self-esteem, and it shows. So I gave her a few pointers.

  Walk with your head held high. Not nose in the air, but proud of your accomplishments, of your strengths. Don’t stare at the ground, don’t roll your shoulders forward to hide your figure. Be happy to be the woman you are, rather than wishing you were the woman you aren’t. Everyone has something special and wonderful they can call their own; find what your unique strengths are and emphasize them.

  When you greet someone, don’t be a wilting violet. Take their hand firmly in yours. Smile and say hello in a clear voice. Don’t mumble, don’t focus on what they might be thinking of you. Most often, people are more concerned about their own lives rather than noticing whether you’re a few pounds heavier than you were last year or that you aren’t wearing a trendy outfit. The best way to invite criticism is to start ridiculing yourself.

  Remember, people will treat you like you treat yourself. Respect yourself, and they’ll take their cues from you.

  Be a good lis
tener. People like to feel as though they matter. Nothing invites conversation more quickly than asking about somebody else’s life.

  If you’re not sure of party etiquette, buy an up-to-date book about good manners and study it. These books aren’t bibles, but they can help you steer clear of making a major faux pas.

  Blend and store this oil (as with all oils) in a small, dark bottle. You will need a bottle and stopper or lid, an eyedropper, and the following:

  ¼ oz. almond or apricot kernel oil (a good unscented

  base)

  25 drops peach oil

  25 drops musk oil

  10 drops vanilla oil

  3 drops clove oil

  OPTIONAL:

  2 dried cloves

  A small piece of garnet (you can use chips off a

  gemstone chip necklace)

  Using an eyedropper, add each fragrance oil to the almond oil, gently swirling after each addition to blend the scent. After adding all the oils, cap and shake gently. At this time, add the cloves and garnets to the bottle for added energy, if so desired.

  Garnets promote self-confidence and personal power.

  The cloves will intensify the scent and add a decorative touch. Keep oil in a cool, dark place; if left in the sun it will lose potency. As always, remind customers to avoid eating or drinking this oil, and to keep it out of reach of children and animals.

  Chapter Three

  Killian jumped up the moment I swept through the door and took my bags from me, setting them down on the bench in the foyer. Tall and lean, with short red spiky hair, he was perpetually dressed in black jeans and a turtleneck. He pulled me into his arms, his lips lingering on mine, and I melted into the kiss as he wrapped his arms around my waist. The scent of his cologne left me reeling. Spicy, reminiscent of dark woods on a fiery autumn night, it in-undated my senses, and I wanted to drag him to the sofa, to curl up in front of the roaring fire and make passionate love on the rug in front of the flames.

  He must have caught my mood. “Good to see you, too,” he said, his eyes dancing, twin orbs of laughing blue. “Did you find a dress?”

  I held up the bag. “Yes, I found a dress. And it’s gorgeous. You’d better wear a tuxedo to match.” As I carried my bags into the living room, the aroma of turkey soup and baking powder biscuits drifted in from the kitchen. My stomach rumbled, and I followed my nose to the stove, where Auntie stood, stirring the pot of bubbling broth.

  Kane, a stout man of Hawaiian and Portuguese descent, sat in a chair at the table, looking out over the storm-ridden night. His hair was sleeked back into a salt-and-pepper ponytail, and he had a peaceful look on his face, as if he were exactly where he wanted to be.

  Beauty and Beast, two of our dogs, curled at his feet. Old Pete was asleep in the dog bed, and I could hear Hoffman clucking away in the utility room. Delilah, Auntie’s seventeen-year-old white Persian who was well on her way to a cranky, happy senility, had taken up residence on the counter. She watched Aunt Florence, her ears twitching with every word Auntie said.

  I slipped up behind Auntie and wrapped my arms around her. “Hey you, dinner smells wonderful, and I’m starved.”

  “How did Lisa’s lesson go?” Auntie asked.

  “Not bad, she actually made it over to the bench again and sat down in the water for awhile. Mmm, can I have a bite?” I picked up the soup spoon and dipped it in the pot, tasting the warm trickle of broth as it ran down my throat.

  Auntie slapped my hand. “Stop it, child. Dinner’s almost ready. Kane and Killian already set the table, so go wash your hands, and we’ll eat.”

  I retreated to the downstairs bath and washed my hands and face. Home felt comfortable, and with Killian and Kane here, lively. By the time I returned to the dining room, Auntie had poured the soup into the tureen and the biscuits sat in a cloth-lined basket, golden brown and fluffy. The sweet-cream butter was just the right texture, and as Kane poured our wine—a Sauvignon Blanc—I settled myself next to Killian and unfolded my napkin with a flourish, covering my lap with the linen towel.

  The floor-to-ceiling windows that graced both dining room and living room gave us a perfect view into the dark night. In the backyard, a long row of low-voltage walkway lighting illuminated the path leading to our gardens, while down the hill and across the road from our house I could barely make out the faint swell of waves as they rolled onto the beach that stretched along the eastern coastline of the island.

  Auntie dished up the soup. I took a biscuit and tore it in half, the yeasty scent of fresh-baked bread rising along with the saliva. God help me, if I didn’t get something in my mouth soon I’d be drooling like old Pete when he heard the dog food bag open.

  “How’d your phone call go today?” I glanced at Killian, hoping for good news. Even though Bebe had tanked his company in the late summer, he was already busy drumming up funding to start a new venture. This time Killian wanted to focus solely on skin care products.

  He winked at me. “Great. In fact, they want to see me Monday morning at eight AM. Which means I’ll take the ferry over to Seattle tomorrow and stay with Michael.” Michael was his stepbrother who worked for Microsoft. He lived in a high-end condo on the Eastside, along with his fiancée. Michael was a good sort, if nerdy.

  “Just make sure you come back,” I murmured, biting into my biscuit. I closed my eyes, reveling in the flood of butter and bread.

  “Persia, did you remind Lisa that she needs to be at the shop on time tomorrow? We won’t have a minute to spare right up until closing time.” Auntie made sure everybody had plenty of soup and then allowed herself to sit and eat.

  I nodded, swallowing before I answered. “I did. She’ll be there. We’re closing at four, right?”

  “Yes, that should give everybody enough time to go home and get ready for the Gala. This year I believe Annabel set the starting time for the dance at eight. That should give us enough time, don’t you think?” Auntie frowned, and I knew she was fretting.

  “That’s plenty, at least for me. I doubt that Tawny will need more than a couple of hours, and Trevor’s a shower-and-shave type of guy. If we lock the door at four PM promptly, we should all do just fine.” I noticed that Kane had brought his slack key guitar with him. I pointed at it. “Does that mean you’re going to treat us to a concert tonight?”

  He winked at Auntie. “If Florence here gives me the word, I might at that.”

  Comfortably full and looking forward to an evening’s relaxation, I let out a long sigh. Just one day to get through, and the Gala would be over, but coming right on its heels would be the Christmas season. We’d already decorated the shop, thank heavens. Evenings like this one were a priceless treat amid the holiday madness.

  A glance out the window told me that the day was shaping up to be stormy. Not unusual weather for around here, but I’d been hoping that we’d manage a dry day for the dance. I opened the sash, letting the chill air flow into the room. It was almost cold enough to snow, I thought, and the rain-soaked breeze carried with it the scent of moss and detritus from the gardens and ravines surrounding our home, as well as the briny scent of the inlet.

  I decided to forgo any stressful workout. My butt still hurt a little, and a day or two of rest would do me fine. I swung through a soothing yoga routine, then spent twenty minutes on the treadmill before slipping into a calf-length black rayon skirt and a short-sleeved V-neck in hunter green. I braided my hair back and slipped on a pair of knee-high suede boots that I’d owned so long that I’d had them resoled twice. They were still in good condition and so comfortable that I dreaded the idea of ever giving them up.

  Auntie had already fixed breakfast by the time I clattered down the stairs. She’d made fruit salad, whole-grain toast, scrambled eggs, and venison patties. Trevor had gone on a hunting trip early in the month and brought down a deer. He gave us some of the meat, and in return, Auntie let him have the nuts off one of the hazelnut trees.

  Neither Kane nor Killian had stayed over, so we were just
two at the breakfast table, not counting the cats milling around the table and the dogs watching our every move. We usually enjoyed our leisurely alone-time meals, but this morning was different. We had work to do, more than we wanted to even think about.

  “Are you stopping off anywhere after work, Imp?” Auntie asked.

  I shook my head. “No, I want to come right home and rest for an hour or so before getting ready.”

  “Then I’ll ride with you today. No sense taking both cars since we’ll both be at the shop all day and we’re coming directly home.” She patted her lips with her napkin and delicately burped. “Whenever you’re ready, child.”

  I polished off the last bite of my toast and grabbed my keys and purse. It was unlike Auntie to ever accept a ride with anybody. She loved her Baby more than she loved most of the people in her life. The two were inseparable.

  “What happened to your car? I mean, I’ll be glad to give you a ride, but you always drive. Is something wrong?”

  She let out a loud sigh, a sheepish look on her face. “I didn’t say anything last night in front of Kane, but did you know that Kyle had the nerve to give me a ticket? Me? I read him the riot act and told him I’d speak to his mother about him if he ever brought up Baby’s needing a muffler again. He agreed to tear up the ticket if I’d take Baby into the shop today, and I finally said yes, just to keep the peace. Someone’s coming out to take her in later this morning.”