Treed

by Virginia Arthur

  “Yes, of course you do,” Maybelline said, feeling stupid.

  “Tanya Walker,” she said holding out her hand.

  “I’ve been remiss in not introducing myself. I’m so sorry about what’s happened, the gun shots. That anyone could get hurt from this…and now—” Maybelline looked at the bough.

  “You’re just trying to save our tree. There are assholes everywhere. Sometimes things don’t go according to the plan,” she laughed. “They don’t know either. I need to tell them now.”

  “Know what?” Maybelline asked.

  “About their Pa Pa…so seeing her up there, well, chokes me up. It’s poignant, the circle completing itself and all that.”

  “What do you mean?” Maybelline asked but the sheriff was on a new mission—get the kids down.

  “Mrs. Walker, we’ll let ‘em stay up there until nightfall but no more. No one in the tree. Somebody is going to get hurt,” he scolded.

  “Somebody already been hurt!” Tamara yelled, pointing down at the amputated limb. Following her lead, the other kids chimed in.

  “There is one person that can go in that tree any damn time she wants to and that’s me. I own this land. I own that tree. You can’t possibly arrest me if I climb it.”

  Tamara’s mother let out a laugh. After the Sheriff chewed on the side of his mouth for a second, he commented, “this is true. You can do whatever you want but we take no responsibility for what might happen. First gunshots, now this—”

  “Amputation,” Maybelline finished. “It’s no different than if someone cut off one of our arms.”

  “What are you going to do?” Monty Cross asked the sheriff.

  “We’re questioning Tank, his people, other people, but we have real murders going on in this city so sorry folks! We can’t assign someone to stand by this tree 24/7—”

  “Not that it would do any good!” Oak replied. “Why in the hell do you think we’re here?”

  Frustrated, the sheriff threw up his hands. “You know what folks? Have at it. You stay here as long as you want. Ask her,” he said pointing to Maybelline, “and if somebody gets hurt…I know we can’t stand here all day. As you might imagine, we have other things to do.” Scanning all the faces, as if recording them in his head, he and his cohort walked back to their patrol cars and left.

  By nightfall, everyone was out of the tree and most of the people had left aside from Monty Cross who saying nothing, attached himself to them, assumed the position as if he was a member of their tribe, listening in—to do what? They had to install Oakelline in the tree, get on with it…They didn’t totally trust him. Oak told Monty to leave, Monty suspiciously asking why. Only when Maybelline turned on some fake crying, crumbling into Oak’s arms did Monty slip away or at least they couldn’t see him anymore.

  Maybelline was concerned Oak would be recognized. Of course he and Joni had already thought of this. The Acorn Gang could be deterred by improvising a bit on the sheriff’s spiel: if they climbed the tree they would be arrested and prosecuted through the juvenile court system meaning not only detention but delays in getting their driver’s licenses, maybe even up to three years. It was complete bullshit but owing to how important a driver’s license is to budding teenagers, sure to work. Maybelline laughed at that one. Regarding any new recruits, none of them were likely to even recognize them all that well “and even if they do, Oak looks so much like you, he may be able to pull it off far away and up close,” Joni argued though none of them wanted to test this. With that settled, more or less, they had to get Maybelline to Napa; it was going to be a long night.

  In order to prep, Oak and Joni met Maybelline at her hotel room. After the three of them held their own little party, downing a bottle of wine and a six pack of “Dead Tree Ale”, by some sort of miracle, Oakelline was re-installed on the platform by 1 a.m. It looked like they were going to pull it, something off, Maybelline thought as she wo-manned her look-out position under the tree. Like real criminals, she was wearing a dark stocking cap, her hair stuffed under it. She heard Joni and Oak arguing over her head, this time about whether he should take the wig off to go to sleep. Oak’s rationale was his head would be in the sleeping bag. Solely for the sake of getting Joni down the tree and into the van, he donned the wig. “24/7 Michael” she heard Joni admonish. “24/7”.

  Exhausted, buzzed, he was anxious to settle into his sleeping bag in the cool summer night within the arm boughs of his old friend, get away from the feuding female. Looking out to the stars above, he felt like he was home again and even as he heard Joni sniping at Maybelline (“what the fuck is it now?”), gave way to a slumber of the Gods.

  “Oak? Oak?” Joni softly called from the base of the tree, having thought of something else to tell him.

  “He’s asleep,” Maybelline observed.

  “Or ignoring us.”

  “Can you blame him?”

  Under a waxing gibbous moon, Joni and Maybelline left for Napa in the van. As planned, Maybelline parked her Jeep near the tree, chocked full of supplies for Oakelline who now had the key. Joni had insisted Maybelline withdraw a wad of cash (“at least $500”) from an ATM since she couldn’t use her credit cards. After dropping Maybelline off at a hotel near the wine train station, the plan was for Joni to head back to Berkeley where she hoped some very significant documents were waiting for her in the mail.

  Within a few minutes on the road, Maybelline’s chin dropped to her chest causing some momentary panic on Joni’s part that Maybelline was dead. Pushing on her shoulder, Joni was relieved when Maybelline let out an incoherent growl. En route to the “Wine Train” via 12S Joni saw a sign that said “Health and Wellness Retreat” with a big arrow. Glancing at Maybelline, practically comatose against the window, Joni made a U-turn. She turned down the road and followed the signs that led to a placid and tranquil complex of white adobe buildings. A sign screamed “Welcome to the Health and Wellness Retreat!!!!”. The parking lot was nearly full. Exhausted yet wired, Joni got out of the van and stumbling a little, pulled on one of the doors into the place. It opened. The lobby was empty, quiet. “Hello?” she tentatively called out. Within seconds an older man was walking towards her, obviously annoyed.

  “You take getting here late to a whole new level,” he snapped. “Name?”

  Name? Name? FUCK! Panic.

  “I’m so sorry. It’s my moth, grandmother. She wasn’t feeling well so we waited. Thank you so much.”

  “Name?”

  “She didn’t pre-register. She just saw it earlier today in the—”

  “Name?” he asked again, grabbing a clipboard from behind a counter.

  Joni drew a blank then panicking, responded with “Milli—” (no, this is too obvious) then her mother’s name popped into her head and what came out was “Maggot”.

  “What?” the old guy asked. “Maggot?”

  “Magggg-ar-et,” Joni corrected.

  “Margaret? the old guy’s face was getting red.

  “Yes, I’m sorry. Margaret. I’m tired.”

  “LAST name?”

  “Last name,” Joni repeated.

  He stared at her with a look that could precede a strangling.

  For some reason, she couldn’t get off the “M’s”.

  “Ma-bu-li—”

  “Margaret Mabuli,” he confirmed. “Where is she?”

  “Out in the car, asleep. I’ll go get her. There is room then?”

  “We got two singles left. They’re more expensive but owing to the time…She can register in the morning.”

  “Not an issue, the cost of the room,” Joni replied, thanking God even as she was not sure there was one.

  “Room 112. Down the hall.”

  “Maybelline? Maybelline?” Joni gently shook her. Maybelline responded with a mumble then another growl.

  “Wake UP,” Joni shook her again. Finally Maybelline’s eyes opened.

  “Where are we?”

  “You’re
attending a health and wellness retreat for a few days. You don’t need to go on the wine train. Ask if they have an acupuncturist for your shoulder. It may help.”

  “I’m what?”

  “Please, just come with me. You can or cannot wear the wig. It’s up to you. I doubt anyone will recognize you here.”

  Joni grabbed Maybelline’s suitcase and her bag, still trying to explain to Maybelline where they were.

  “I just saw it on the way. They’re getting your room ready.”

  “Who are they?”

  “I don’t know but it looks like a nice place, they seem like nice people. It may be good for you. It’s been so crazy these past few weeks.”

  “Not the wine train? Why not the wine train?”

  Carrying Maybelline’s bags, Joni escorted her into the lobby where grumpy was waiting. After walking them to the room and handing Joni the key card, he disappeared. A set of clean towels sat on a double-sized bed. On top of the towels was a schedule of some kind. Joni picked it up. The retreat was being hosted by a local hospital with a long list of sponsors. Quickly reading through it, she didn’t see words like “peyote”, “group tripping”, “clothing optional”, “re-birthing”, “reflective touching”, “drumming”, “sweat lodge”, etc. One section of the schedule read, “Just For Seniors”. Topics included diet, vitamins, osteoporosis, exercise, mental health topics, sex after 60 (hmm)… She was relieved.

  “It looks great,” she said while Maybelline shuffled into the bathroom. After helping Maybelline into bed, assuring her it was not some kind of institution for the indigent or insane and she WOULD be back to get her on Sunday afternoon, Joni practically ran out of the place. Pleased with how canny and ingenious she could be, especially under pressure, not to mention in a state of exhaustion, it took ten miles before she realized she forgot to tell Maybelline her alias. She pulled over and called Maybelline’s’ cell phone. Glad she grabbed an extra flyer, she called the number on it asking them to deliver a message to “Margaret Mabuli” first thing in the morning, the message being, “check the messages on your cell ASAP.”

  Once reaching her mother’s house, she collapsed on the couch. Though in a deep sleep, her brain replayed her last argument with Oak, evoking subconscious feelings of intense sadness so that when she woke up, her face was wet with tears.

  Chapter 19

  Maybelline woke to very assertive knocking that for a moment, threw her into a state of complete disorientation. Looking around the room, she looked down to see how she was dressed (because she couldn’t remember). When she was almost all there, deciding she was decent enough in her cotton pajamas, she opened the door to see an elderly man who identified himself as a “volunteer” shove his head through the half opened doorway.

  “Ya’ don’t want to miss registration. You’re missing registration and you need to pay still. Do you need the schedule of sessions? We have a more detailed one,” he said, jamming it into her hand.

  “Ah, oh, what? Sure,” Maybelline answered, still not quite sure what was going on.

  “You only have about 20 minutes left,” he nagged. Then he was gone then he was back again.

  “Oh, and yeah. You have this.” He shoved a piece of paper in her hand and left.

  She listened to the message from Joni: “Your name is Margaret Mabuli. Okay? Margaret Mabuli. M-A-B-U-L-I-E. And don’t ask. It just came out this way. I was tired.” She paused. “It seems to me you can just use your real life…no need for the wig either. Maybe change the name of your husband, his occupation, where you live…but you should be okay there. In fact, I hope you really enjoy it. Can take a break. We’ll call you of course. I’ll see you Sunday around 2:00. Try to rest, relax. If they have acupuncture, get your shoulder done. We…okay. See you soon.”

  Maybelline felt annoyed, hoodwinked, gypped. She wanted to go on the damn wine train! What the hell was this place and who in the hell was that old crackpot? She stared at the schedule. There were all the standard things one would expect at a ‘health and wellness’ retreat: healthy diet, vitamins, exercise…one of the sessions was on grief, “Dealing With the Loss of a Loved One”. She would take that one. There was no acupuncture. There was no need to attend the “Sex after 60”. Another said, “Dare to be Daring!!! Living Your Life to Its Fullest in Middle Age and Beyond!!!” All the exclamation points!!! Okay!!!!!!!! And what the hell was “beyond”? “Beyond” when you need to wear diapers and have to get around with a walker, though dying is a pretty daring thing to do. She thought of Millicent who definitely died a ‘daring’ death…She didn’t feel like she had to sign up for that one. She scanned the list for any events that might include wine, after all, it was Napa County!!!!! Flipping it over, she saw the word “Mixer” for Saturday night and letting out a sigh, read, “featuring some of Napa Valley’s finest wines”. Now she could settle down, relax, maybe even stop worrying about Oak, the idea that a 31 year old man was sitting in a tree dressed like her, trying to talk like her…the situation was ridiculous.

  Dressing quickly, she found her way to the registration table. The old goat was obviously watching, waiting for her, hovering.

  “It’s different,” he said.

  “What’s different?” Maybelline asked.

  “The spelling of your last name. Your grand-daughter spelled it M-A-B-U-L-I.” He looked at her suspiciously. “What is “Mabuli” anyway? Never heard that one before.”

  Maybelline pulled in a gulp of air. “She’s, ha, that girl. She has a friend with the same last name. I know…plus she was so tired, rushing me here. I mean to be honest, I couldn’t make up my mind,” Maybelline stuttered while strategically pulling out the wad of cash.

  As he eyed the cash suspiciously, Maybelline decided to develop a sudden bladder problem and provide ‘Mr. Congeniality’ with all the graphic details…This moved the (agonizing) process along. After registering, she had to concede maybe this was better after all if she could just score at least one bottle of wine. She was feeling somewhat contented—when a woman shouted “Maybelline” across the room.

  ********************

  “This came for you,” Joni’s mom said the next morning, handing Joni a legal sized envelope.

  Trying to stay calm, Joni opened it carefully then laid the stapled papers on her lap.

  “I need a cup of coffee first,” she stated just as her mother handed her a large purple mug with a redwood tree on it, full of strong steaming hot coffee.

  At exactly that moment, Roberta Robsen, Sonoma County historian and title agent extraordinaire was

  reading her mail, in it two requests, one from a Laura and Jim Bock, the other from “Darden Enterprises”, both requesting the same information she had just mailed to Joni. Owing that she was leaving for a conference on the other side of the country that day, she set them aside. She would get back to them when she returned.

  ********************

  Horrified, mortified, otherwise ‘fied in every way, Maybelline looked up to see her neighbor calling her name, a woman named Karen. Sometimes they walked in the park together. This was on the level of a national disaster.

  How to run without looking like you’re running became her next criminal challenge as she turned her face away and proceeded to sprint back to her room only to realize, of course, not only did she leave her cell phone in the room, she had locked herself out. Dearly wanting to take the time to call herself despicable names, she put this off, aware that being the owner of a locksmith business called into play yet another criminal skill, this one honed. The door had a typical hotel key-card latch, fairly easy to open. All she needed was a credit card which she soon realized was a no-starter: “excuse me but I can’t go out in the lobby right now because there is someone out there that recognizes me when I am supposed to be up a tree at present so may I borrow one of your credit cards to break into my own room?” It dawned on her she could just wait it out. With money in her pocket, this seemed to be a good time to go scouting
for that blessed bottle of wine so out the back door of the building she went, winding out of the parking lot down the street where after what seemed like an expedition (two miles) she spotted a gas station with a little store where she paid $7 (the lowest price) for a bottle of crappy wine—in Napa, CA.

  Later that day when Karen would inquire if someone named “Maybelline Emmons” was at the retreat, the answer would be no. That name was not on the list.

  The plan worked. She returned a couple hours later with her procurement. The coast was clear, no grump-pot and no Karen. She obtained another key card and slipped back into her room. She opened her suitcase and stared at the black wig with the bangs. It stared back at her. She put it on. She really did look good in it. She ripped it off her head and as she was reaching for her cell phone, it rang.

  “I’m at a “wellness” retreat,” she said to Oak.

  “You’re at a what?”

  “A wellness retreat. Joni saw it on the way.”

  “I’m sorry but she’s pretty smart. She might have—”

  “My neighbor from Santa Barbara is here. She yelled my name out across the room.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yes, holy shit. How are you? I was just going to call you and you called me.”

  “Well, I am your son…It’s out, that I’m you, that you’re in the tree now. It’s working in other words. It’s been busy. A lot of media (sample of the headlines: “Owner of East End Former Squirrel-Mart Parcel Really Up A Tree”; “How to Tree An Old Lady”; “Elderly Woman Takes Up Residence in Old-Growth Oak”; “Old Growth In Old Growth-Who’s Protecting Who?”). It’s all good. I’m staring at one of them right now. They’re trying to zoom in with their cameras. I’m keeping my head down, not talking much though I feel like I have your voice down,” he said in her voice.

  “Yes, sounds exactly like me. What do I do Oak?”