More Lipstick Chronicles

by Emily Carmichael

  Great, Dana thought. This was what she was reduced to, being a pass into a club for a barely interested guy. Robyn chose that unfortunate moment to stick her head into the office and tell her that Elyssa wanted to see some of her ideas for the Valentine’s Day line.

  Dana let off a bit of steam. “Aaaargh! Doesn’t anyone in this frigging company ever knock? How am I supposed to concentrate on work if everyone feels free to just walk in?”

  Robyn drew back as if Dana had hit her. “But Elyssa—”

  “Just go! Tell Elyssa she’ll be the first person to hear about my ideas, when I have some.”

  “Fine!” Robyn snapped in a hurt voice.

  “Fine!” Dana repeated, guilt at her behavior making her feel even worse.

  It took less than ten minutes for Dana to receive a summons to Elyssa’s office. It was definitely a summons, not an invitation. Robyn delivered it by phone in a flat, business-like voice.

  Elyssa would have her drawers in a knot, Dana was sure of it. She didn’t like prima donna behavior, she didn’t sit still for staff tantrums and Dana had once overheard her tell Alix that if she wanted to suffer from PMS, she’d better do it on her own time, not Allheart’s. As she crossed the hall to Elyssa’s office, Dana wondered just how much trouble she’d gotten herself into. What would she do if Elyssa fired her? Maybe get a real job and please her parents. Maybe live in a garret and try to write the Great American Novel. Maybe just shoot herself.

  She knocked on the executive’s door.

  “Come,” Elyssa invited from the seat of power. She looked up from reading a brochure when Dana walked in. The rest of the staff was also there, Dana noticed. Carole and Alix sat on the cushy leather couch. Robyn perched on the corner of Elyssa’s desk, a somewhat sulky look on her face. All her comrades, her friends, the people she had used as her emotional punching bags, regarded her grimly.

  I’ve been summoned to my own lynching, Dana thought with a wince.

  “Dana,” Elyssa greeted her in a deceptively soft voice.

  “Elyssa.” Dana wondered if she should just cry mea culpa and invite them to stretch her on the rack. “So, okay. I’ve been a bitch.” She grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

  The boss tapped a pen on her desk blotter as if she was considering her options. “You have been a bitch.”

  Ouch. It was one thing to admit it, quite another to hear it on a friend’s lips—especially when that friend was your boss.

  “You know I don’t tolerate such foolishness in this office.”

  Here it came.

  “If you were a clerk or an intern, your butt would have been out of here—days ago.”

  Dana held her breath.

  “But since you’re the best writer in the greeting card business—and a friend—I’m not going to show you the door.”

  Dana released her breath. “Thank you.”

  “Yet.”

  Oops.

  “This is an intervention,” Carole said cheerfully.

  “Kind of like Alcoholics Anonymous,” Robyn chimed in with relish.

  “We want to help you return to normal,” Alix said.

  “And stop yelling at perfectly innocent people.” This from Robyn, with a pout.

  “And quit thundering through the office, spitting bullets.” Carole was really getting into it now.

  “And show your happy, creative, productive face around here much more often,” Elyssa said. She handed Dana a manila envelope. “This has a plane ticket to Phoenix, Arizona, along with a confirmation number for a stress and meditation workshop from December 27 through December 30. Also directions how to find the Gardens of Oak Creek Conference Center and Resort, where this thing is going to be held.”

  Dana looked at Alix and silently mouthed, “You didn’t!” Alix confessed with a lifted brow and wicked smile.

  “If you need more time there, you can take a few days of vacation. The office is going to be closed from Christmas through New Year’s Day, anyway.”

  “Elyssa . . .”

  “Yes?” Dana’s boss regarded her as a high school principal might eye a troublesome teenager.

  Dana had never been quite so humiliated or embarrassed. An intervention, indeed, as if crankiness was an addiction like cocaine or booze. She felt as though she were being hustled off to the Betty Ford Center.

  “Elyssa, Alix already offered me her place at the workshop, and—”

  “This isn’t an offer, Dana.”

  Dana flinched at the tone. The boss really was torqued. The soul of courtesy and good business manners, Elyssa never interrupted someone unless steam was about to explode from her ears. “Okay, it isn’t an offer,” Dana continued cautiously. Very cautiously. After all, she did really like her job. And her stock options weren’t yet vested. “Then it’s a ... a ...”

  “Consider it a job requirement,” Elyssa told her with a tight smile. “We are all very concerned for you, Dana. We want you to take this time to do some thinking, relax, enjoy a different environment and then come back to work a new woman. Or rather, the old woman. The old Dana that we all know and love.”

  Dana knew when she was beat. She might as well go out and start trying on cowboy boots. Arizona, indeed! She took the envelope from Elyssa’s hand. “I could have bought my own plane ticket,” she said with a sullen pout.

  Elyssa raised a brow. “Not if I fired you, you couldn’t.”

  Dana grimaced.

  “You have ten days before you leave to come up with some sparkling Valentine’s Day copy. Alix has some cute ideas on the graphics. Get together with her and turn out something wonderful, will you?” As if nothing unusual had occurred, Elyssa was right back to business.

  “Okay, then.” Dana backed toward the door. Everyone was still looking at her as though she might at any moment release a toxic gas. She exited the office without another word.

  As Dana left, Robyn chortled. “Okay! She’s gone. Let’s look at the brochure again.”

  The others gathered around Elyssa’s desk as she once again spread out the glossy four-color brochure. There in front of them was a photo of the Gardens of Oak Creek, the majestic red rocks of Sedona and an articulate summary of the goals and benefits of the seminar. Best of all, on the back was a picture of Kieran, the guru himself, along with an impressive résumé.

  “Now that is hot stuff,” Robyn declared.

  “Very hot,” Alix agreed. “Almost makes me wish I were still going.”

  “Maybe we should have told Dana this guy isn’t exactly an ancient graybeard on a mountaintop.”

  Robyn giggled. “Nah! Let her be surprised.”

  Eleven days later, Dana wound along a narrow road in her rented VW Beetle. One hand held the steering wheel. Her other hand wrestled with the map of Sedona that she’d picked up at the visitor center in town. There was no such thing as a straight road in this whole benighted state, even in town. And where she was now was definitely not in town. She had hoped this resort would at least have easy access to the boutiques, art galleries and Native American craft shops that made up the bulk of Sedona’s businesses, but she had left the shops behind and now was headed toward the wide open spaces. She expected the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly to ride from behind one of the rocky bluffs any minute.

  Finally she found her turn-off. A small sign announced the entrance to the Gardens of Oak Creek. The driveway was a narrow gravel road. On either side was the most lush vegetation she’d seen since boarding her flight at Ronald Reagan National Airport. Vine-covered fences sheltered a profusion of late-blooming flowers and neatly tilled fallow vegetable gardens. Through the greenery she spotted red-wood benches shaded by trees, some still bearing leaves. Fishponds, a little fountain and a picturesque little wooden bridge spanning a trickle of a creek completed the bucolic scene. On the right, a broad path led down to Oak Creek—or at least Dana assumed it was Oak Creek, given that every business she’d passed in Sedona seemed to be Oak Creek this or Oak Creek that. Sun glinted off quiet water, beckoning the wan
derer to rest and meditate by its cool green pools.

  And aren’t I just the philosophical one? Dana interrupted her own observations cynically. She’d better watch out or she’d board the flight back to Washington wearing hippie beads and flowers in her hair.

  A quarter-mile down the driveway the conference center appeared. There were three buildings, all similar in their pueblo-style architecture. Earth-tone stucco walls matched the reddish color of the bluffs that towered above the valley. Well-tended flower gardens, still in bloom, softened their unadorned lines. A sign pointed the way to the registration area, so Dana parked there. Several other cars were parked in front, including a Mercedes sport convertible and a Jag. Dana parked next to the Jag. The contrast between the sleek sports model and her homey little Beetle made her smile.

  But the smile lasted only a moment. What the hell was she doing here? She felt entirely out of her element, a fish out of water. The two-hour drive from Phoenix had taken her through a spectacular kaleidoscope of desert and mountain landscapes, beautiful but harsh. For a girl who loved the soft greens of the east coast, the cry of gulls, the cool, moist caress of salty sea air against her skin and hair, coming to Arizona was like traveling to another planet.

  Not to mention that she had four whole days of New Age mumbo jumbo to endure. What a way to waste precious time off!

  Opening the car door, she unfolded herself from the driver’s seat, climbed out and smoothed the creases from her Diesel jeans and matching denim jacket. Jeans and denim weren’t exactly her day-to-day style, but if she had to spend a week in cowboy land, she might as well dress the part. She refused to stoop to cowboy boots, though. Her Jimmy Choo boots with the kicky three-inch heels were as close to cowboy as she was ever going to get.

  As she stretched stiff muscles and looked around, Dana’s spirits began to lift ever so slightly, boosted by the magnificent setting. The air was beautifully mild. Her cashmere sweater and the denim jacket were plenty warm enough. Mixed scents of roses and evergreens perfumed the air. Her sinuses had miraculously cleared and the headache that had plagued her for a month no longer throbbed at her temples. No snow. No ice. No slush. All around the valley of Oak Creek, natural towers, cathedrals and castles of vermilion rock rose from the greenery in truly majestic splendor. One couldn’t fault the scenery or the climate.

  And speaking of scenery—a resort employee had spotted her arrival and was on his way to assist her. Dana allowed herself a moment’s wicked enjoyment, because this fellow could set any female heart to beating. Tall, broad-shouldered, all-around big without being a bit overdone, he moved with an athlete’s unconscious grace. His jaw was chiseled, his mouth something a woman could dream about. Worn blue jeans, hemp sandals and a homespun-looking tunic seemed to be the uniform of the day. Thick black hair fell in artlessly tousled waves to just past his shoulders and the white of his tunic set off very bronze skin. This guy fit right into the Sedona atmosphere—a New Age hippie. Many of the shops she had driven past hawked personal pendulums, crystals, vortex tours, spiritual healing, even maps to find the nearest alien landing points.

  He smiled when he noticed her looking at him. The smile was open and uncomplicated, a country smile having none of the subtleties and nuances of a big-city smile. Big-city smiles could be wary, flirty, contemptuous, probing, leering, dangerous, cold, dismissing or degrees of all the above. This smile was an honest welcome. It crinkled his eyes and warmed his face. And it was very, very sexy.

  Actually, the whole package was very, very sexy.

  “Hello,” the hunk said. “Welcome to the Gardens of Oak Creek.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Cute car.”

  “Rental,” she admitted, but she was proud of her choice. A Chevy Corsica would have been much too plain, a Lincoln or Cadillac ostentatious, not to mention beyond her budget, but a sunshine-yellow bug was both cute and stylish, more like a fashion accessory than a car. It made a statement about her, and Dana was feeling just insecure enough to need positive statements.

  “How’s it do on hills?”

  “Perks right along.” She handed him the keys. “My luggage is in the trunk. I don’t know my room number. I still have to register.”

  He hesitated a moment before taking the keys, then gave her a lopsided smile that made her bones turn to water. “Okay.”

  “Is registration through here?”

  “Right through those doors over there. You here for the workshop?”

  “I am, sort of.” She let cynicism color her voice. She wouldn’t want anyone to believe that she swallowed this hocus-pocus, even someone who worked at the resort.

  “That’s good.” He lifted her huge suitcase and duffel bag out of the trunk as if they were packed with feathers. “I hope you enjoy it.”

  “I don’t normally go in for this kind of thing, but a few friends got together and gave this to me as a gift.” More like the office staff hog-tied her and dragged her to the airport. “What is that odor?” she asked.

  “Odor?” He stacked her luggage curbside—enough to last her at least three weeks, probably, but what was a girl to do when she didn’t know exactly what she was walking into? Pack everything, that’s what.

  “Yes, that very . . . uh . . . pungent odor.”

  “Probably the goats.”

  Dana had a sinking feeling. “Goats?”

  With the hint of a smile, he took her arm and guided her toward the other side of the parking area. From there she could see a complex of sheds and pens farther up the valley, but not far enough, apparently. There were also two more stuccoed, pueblo-style buildings a bit smaller than the hotel.

  “Those are the livestock pens up there. We have beautiful Nubian goats, rabbits of all kinds, peacocks, geese, ducks, chickens and pigs.”

  Ee-ii-ee-ii-oh, Dana commented silently. “The animals live in buildings?”

  He laughed. It was a hearty, from-the-chest sort of laugh, and he had the breadth of chest to make it boom. “No. The buildings are dormitories.”

  Vegetable gardens, livestock, dormitories and guys wandering about in long hair and hemp sandals. She had a bad feeling about this.

  “Is this some kind of a commune?” She pictured brain-washing and drugs, sordid rituals, suicide pacts and innocents like herself sucked into the community and forced to stay. “Tell me this isn’t a commune.”

  His expression was oddly gentle. “Do you think communes are bad?”

  “Well . . . no, not really, I suppose.” As usual, when she should have been articulate or clever, she was stumbling over her own tongue. “But there have been some, uh, cases . . . and, well, I thought this was a resort.”

  “The Gardens of Oak Creek is many things, depending on what you need.”

  She definitely didn’t want a commune.

  “We have a resident school here for people who feel the need to immerse themselves in philosophical study or simply retreat from the hectic world for a while. The gardens and livestock provide food for the student community and for the conference and teaching center. In turn, the students care for the gardens and the animals. Many find that communion with the animals brings an inner peace that the outside world can take from us.”

  His smile was still gentle. Not condescending. Not contemptuous. And his eyes—well, a woman could get lost in those eyes. So dark brown they were almost black, deep wells that drew you in, promised warmth, rest, joy.

  Dana caught herself before she fell into those eyes. Next time she needed to work up a soft, cozy, sexy mood to put into Allheart card copy, she would conjure up a memory of this guy. She wondered what he did around here besides carry luggage and charm the female students.

  “Are you a student at the . . . uh . . . up there?” She gestured to the dormitories.

  “Sometimes I stay there awhile.”

  “They let people come and go?”

  He chuckled. “Of course.”

  “Ah.” He had perfect white teeth, she noticed. “This Kieran fellow, the on
e who teaches the workshop, does he own this place?”

  “He is the founder.”

  “So he owns it.”

  “Ownership is more”—he flashed those perfect teeth in a brash grin—“I hesitate to use the word communal, considering. Let’s just say it’s a nonprofit foundation.”

  “He isn’t the type who would stir up a vat of hemlock tea and tell all his . . . uh . . . students to drink up in order to protest the evil of the world, or maybe to liberate everyone to join with some mother ship in outer space, is he?”

  His eyes positively laughed aloud. “Knowing Kieran, I doubt he could cook up anything. Even hemlock tea.”

  She flashed her own set of perfect teeth in a smile. “Good answer. You should be a lawyer, not cleaning up after livestock.”

  “I was a lawyer.”

  “Oops.”

  “No offense taken. I assure you that the goats are much more pleasant to work with than most of my former clients.”

  Oh cripes, Dana thought. The hunk had been a lawyer. Now he carried luggage, talked to goats and wore hemp sandals. Is this my future? she mused facetiously. She could almost hear the Allheart staff moaning: Poor Dana. She was once a genius at the clever quips, but since being brainwashed at that workshop she’s reduced to milking goats and weeding flower beds, and her nails are an absolute mess! It could happen, Dana mused with a private smile. She’d already sunk to wearing jeans and denim jackets. What next? Peasant skirts and Birkenstocks?

  “You’re smiling now,” her lovely bellman said. “That’s good.”