Hot Springs Eternal
Page 23
Karen said, “Yes, Tillie?”
“I’m not trying to compete with Diana, but I hate to think about people missing supper. I understand you folks are vegetarian? I can handle that. Let’s go see what we have in the larder. We’ll take it from there.”
———
Late that afternoon, Diana telephoned Hope Springs from the phone booth in the lobby of the Schooner Inn, a hotel on lower State Street, in downtown Santa Barbara. Karen answered, and Diana told her, “Karen, I won’t be back in time to make dinner tonight. I’m so sorry!”
Karen said, “You don’t have to worry about that, honey. We’ve got it covered.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a long story. Diana, how are you doing? Did the audition go well?”
“I got a new dress! Red.”
“So you got the gig?”
“I don’t know for sure.”
“Do you want the gig, Diana?”
“Karen, what do you think I should do?”
“Go for it, girl. Go for it.”
“I don’t want to leave you in the lurch. Shouldn’t I come back where I belong?”
“You are where you belong,” Karen said.
“But what about Hope Springs? So who will cook?”
“Sing, Diana. We’re not your problem. In fact, don’t worry about us. We don’t have a problem. As I said, we’re covered, for now.”
“You don’t want me to come back?”
“Diana, nobody can cook like you do. I know that. But I also know that nobody can sing the way you do. If the singing doesn’t work out, we’ll all welcome you back to Hope Springs. But for now, you need to give yourself a chance to sing for your supper. And you’ll be with the man you love. The whole community is rooting for you. We all want you and Casey to make it big!”
“Okay,” Diana replied in a tiny voice.
She was still weeping when she reached the third floor of the Schooner Inn, where she found Casey standing at the window, looking out toward the sea. He turned and said, “How did that go? Baby, you’re crying! What’s up?”
Diana shook her head, ducked into the bathroom, grabbed a wad of toilet paper, and blew her nose.
Casey came up behind her, put his arms around her, and whispered, “What?”
“They don’t need me anymore,” she whimpered.
“Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it? Isn’t that what you were worried about?”
“But it would be nice to at least believe I was needed. Casey, you know me. You know I need to know I’m needed. I realize that’s fucked up, but—”
“Diana, I need you.”
“I know, but that’s just so you can play this gig. You don’t need me. You just need a girl singer. What happens when this gig is over? Because it will end, Casey. No gig is forever.”
Casey led her back into the bedroom, where they sat side by side on the edge of the bed. Casey said, “Look at me.”
She looked. Casey was smiling. Damn it, smiling.
“I will never stop needing you, Diana.”
“Never?” She noticed for the first time how blue, how very, very blue, deep, true blue his eyes were.
“Never.”
———
That evening at nine o’clock, in Santa Barbara’s Café Rouge, the new blond singer stood up tall in her new red silk dress. She leaned against the piano, a microphone in her hand and a smile on her face. She discovered she could do this. And she was good at it. She delivered song after song to a room half full of hushed listeners. More and more people drifted into the lounge and quietly took seats and gazed and listened to this new star, who could belt them out like Judy, could bare her soul like Billie, could even improvise like Ella. The more she sang, the more confidence she wielded, and she sang directly to each and every new fan in the room, including and especially that man in the back of the room, that slick Sidney Mitchell, with his big bright teeth shining from the dark as he smiled and nodded, clapped, and raised a thumb to her.
Diana knew she had the audience and she knew she had the gig. Just as she knew she had a piano player and a lover. She had found her life’s work.
———
That same evening at nine o’clock, in the bathhouse at Hope Springs, the yellow people sat and sighed in their hot water again. After a long soak, they rose naked from the water, one by one, dried off and put on robes, and left the bathhouse, after thanking Tillie for a tasty dinner and thanking Nqong for bringing himself, hot water, and joy back to Hope Springs. Young Emily, the last of the staff to say goodnight, knelt in the water and kissed Karen on the cheek, then Tillie on the forehead, and then Nqong on the mouth. The third kiss lasted the longest.
When Emily had left, and the only ones remaining in the bathhouse were the oldest three members of the community, Tillie asked Karen, “Is that young thing somebody I’m going to have to feel jealous about?”
“Not to worry,” Karen assured her. “That’s just Emily.”
“Well, that’s a relief, I guess. How you doing there, Nqong? Been a long, hot day, huh?”
Nqong slowly rose, stretched, and yawned. “I took my last hike up that mountainside this afternoon. Herbert now understands the waterworks. I taught him about caring for the beetles, too, and he says he’ll do that, although he and I both suspect the little blighters can make it without our help. Herbert respects them as I do, and he loves you as I do, too. You’re in good hands, Karen.” He turned to Tillie, smiled, and said, “I’m in good hands, also. Now I need to sleep.” He stepped up out of the bath, dried his long body, donned his robe, and left the bathhouse.
———
Karen and Tillie sat together on the steps of the bathhouse, letting the hot night air dry their skin as they watched Nqong amble barefoot toward the carriage house. Tillie said, “He told me he’s lived in that carriage house before, while he lived down here with your community and taught you all to wear yellow.”
“And long before that, too,” Karen said. “When he was a young boy he lived there with his father and his sister. Tillie, let me say something about our Nqong.”
“Please do.”
“Our Nqong has had a rough and lonely life. He’s an ancient soul. He deserves to live the rest of his life in serenity. I think you’ll be good for him, Matilda Springer. You’ll let him be who he is and let him age at his own pace, and you’ll give him laughter and pleasure every day along the way.”
“I plan to,” Tillie answered. “I promise.”
“You’d better,” Karen said. “Nqong’s had his share of heartbreak, and I don’t want him to have any more of that for the rest of his life. You’re not a heartbreaker, are you, Tillie? I mean with all those marriages you’ve survived?”
Tillie laughed softly. “Those marriages were mistakes. They taught me what I don’t want. I’ve found what I want, and it’s here in this place, with that man and with you.”
“Because if you break that man’s heart and leave me to pick up the pieces, I’ll make you seriously regret it.”
“I can tell you love him too,” Tillie said. She put her arm around Karen’s shoulders, and Karen shuddered with pleasure. “That’s fine by me. Between the two of us, and with the help of your yellow people and his yellow beetles, I think our Nqong will have a beautiful journey into old age.”
———
About the Author
John M. Daniel is the author of more than a dozen published books, including five mystery novels, two of which, The Poet’s Funeral and Hooperman, received starred reviews in Publishers Weekly. He has also worked as a bookseller, a free-lance editor, and a teacher of creative writing. He and his wife, Susan, live in Humboldt County, California, where they are small-press book publishers.
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