by Thomas, Thea
"Please, no, Anthony. It doesn't matter," Sage rose in dismay. "He has so much to take care of and worry about without trying to remember to take down some painting in a remote room. You see, I just sit with my back to it with my wonderful friends."
"It's just..it's the only painting I have of you," Anthony said apologetically.
""It's all right, Anthony, really. We're sitting here, sipping the wonderful mulled wine, taking in the ambience...."
"Yes, yes," they all chorused, "We're having a wonderful time."
"Good! Well, you can come back later, but right now, I've got the orchestra all ready to do a set of Strauss waltzes. I need you."
"Waltz? Of course!" Sage rose, clearly happy. "come on everyone, I love to waltz!"
"Not I," Michael said.
"Why not?"
"I've never waltzed."
"That's not an excuse that holds up around here," Sage said. "Tina is an excellent teacher. What about you, Millie?"
"No, my experience is pretty much disco-limited."
"Fine," Anthony said happily. "Two new waltz recruits!" He grabbed Sage's hand and hurried her toward the door.
"Anthony loves a waltz and won't take no for an answer," Sage called giggling over her shoulder.
Michael, Millie and Tina looked at one another. Tina stood up. "Ya gotta do what ya gotta do. Seriously though, the fun is about to begin. You won't know until you've tried."
On the dance floor that had been constructed for the party, Michael, Millie and Tina watched Anthony and Sage dance solo to "The Blue Danube."
"How pretty they are!" Millie said. "Look at them, Michael, look how they move, how graceful, how beautiful! They look like they should be on top of a music box!"
When the music stopped, everyone applauded. Anthony beamed.
"Thank you, everyone, for coming to the party. I also want to thank my partner, Sage Elgin for coming tonight at my special request. As some of you know, she has recently had great misfortune in her life, and I want her to know how much she honors me by coming to my home. I've given this party expressly for her, to let her know she has friends who love and cherish her."
Mortified, Sage hoped to shrink under the parquet flooring while everyone applauded and cried here, here. She looked around and saw her neighbors, and business men with their wives and Tina and Michael and even Millie, a new acquaintance, and saw real, true caring in their faces. She saw that Tina was shedding a tear and she put her self-consciousness on hold to silently give thanks to all the blessings her life held, to the people who cared about her. And she felt herself pull out of that dark place she had been in for the last two months.
Anthony kissed Sage's finger tips, then said, "Now, everybody waltz! I need a man to initiate Millie Watson into ballroom dancing."
Millie cringed. "How embarrassing," she muttered through gritted teeth to Michael. But she was instantly flocked with half-a-dozen men. "Oh, maybe this isn't so bad after all," she exclaimed as she was swept onto the dance floor.
"I suppose that's the last I'll see of her," Michael said.
"Never mind." Tina took his hand and pulled him onto the floor. "We have our own work to do!"
Hours later, after many pairs of shoes had been kicked off by the dancers, Sage sank into a chair by the side of the dance floor, then noticed that she'd sat next to Michael, who sat with his back to the dance floor, eyes closed, tapping out the rhythm of the music on a wine glass.
"Are you a waltz convert yet?" she asked.
Michael opened his eyes and sat up.
"Convert is a strong word. Appreciator is more accurate."
"Millie seems to be enjoying herself. Have you danced with her at all tonight?"
"Nope. Couldn't get next to her. Well, this was a big night for her. I'm glad it turned out so well. I suppose I'll have to listen to her talk about this party every day for weeks, but it's nice to see her happy. She comes from a pretty meager background."
"Umm." They see each other every day, Sage thought. Meager background, but she is dressed very well, so they must live together. "How was Tina, as a teacher?"
"Great, she's truly great. I think I can at least fake this dance. Uncle Anthony's right, it is fun. I mercifully let Tina go, we kept getting cut in on."
Sage looked over the dance floor for her friend, finally spotted her, eyes glowing, dancing with an attractive man whose face, but not his name, was familiar to Sage. She didn't see Millie at all. She spotted Anthony dancing with the dowager princess.
"A pretty good party," Michael said, leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes again.
"Yes," Sage agreed, taking a surreptitious glance at the lovely plane of Michael's cheekbone, his strong yet boyish mouth, wondering how Millie could spend even a minute away from him. "A lovely party."
Chapter 7
Michael lived in a two story, two bedroom plus den, two-and-a-half bath condo in Irvine. A nice enough place. At least he finally lived alone, was close to work, and had a two stall garage to work on his vintage cars. He told himself that his life was everything a man could hope for. Women clearly found him attractive, he had an excellent job, and he had a nice place to live.
Then why, he wondered, this particular Sunday evening, did he feel so hollow, so aimless, so lonely? Not exactly unhappy, but definitely not happy. Empty. He'd spent his entire life learning things he could put to practical use. But of what use was practical use if he lived his life alone, if he couldn't find someone who had goals of her own and who wanted to share goals with someone in her life? A woman who knew what it was to pursue an interest.
He hated it when people said people were "types," but his experience lately seemed to fall into two "types" of women. One was the ambitious, focused, career-oriented woman, which was fine, but why did they seem so cold? There was one such woman in his immediate work environment. Because of his natural shyness, he rarely spoke to her.
One Friday in February he wished her a happy Valentine's day. She growled that it wasn't Valentine's day. He felt it unnecessary to point out that Valentine's day was the next day. The next week he received a memo that he'd been written up for sexual harassment because of this exchange.
The other type of woman went over-board the other direction. They didn't care what they did or could do, they just talked about getting married, and how giving themselves up completely to a man to make him happy would make them happy. He wanted to ask them how could this phantom man be happy if there was nothing to talk about between them?
Well, and then there were the playgirls, but they didn't even make it to his list.
He reassured himself there was another kind of woman. His ideal woman. He just hadn't met her yet.
Unbidden, Sage came into his mind. Which type was she? Probably the second type, on the road to making his Uncle Anthony happy. Although clearly intelligent and interesting, she'd allow her intelligence and her interests to take second place to making his uncle happy.
Michael went into the garage and surveyed the disemboweled carburetor of the MGA. It needed another rebuild kit, something had been wrong with one of the gaskets of the previous rebuild kit. When he put it together, he thought it looked too thin. So he couldn't do anything on the MGA until the kit came. The Audi, "old reliable," didn't need any work done on it.
He went back into the house, into his den-made-library and picked up the most recent book he'd gotten on gold-mining and gold-panning.
He settled into his comfortably upholstered, dark-grey wing-backed chair, propped his feet up on the matching hassock and began reading. The chapter was about the gold discovered in Scotland, and after a few minutes he found his mind wandering. Maybe, he thought, he should quit. Drop everything and go to Scotland, become a bearded hunter of gold and never be heard from again. Some part of him wanted that more than anything. It wasn't that he desired to become rich. He came from a wealthy family who would support him if he did nothing, and he had both skill and talent enough as a computer chip designer to make exce
llent money. As long as he stayed where chips were designed.
Gold-panning was hard work, it took skill, knowledge, and intuition. But he loved the for complete freedom of living in nature.
He put the book down and stalked about his study. He needed to do something. He thought of Millie. Maybe she'd play some racquetball. She was a good partner, she kept him on his toes.
Millie answered the phone in an un-Millie-like quiet voice.
"What's the matter with you? Are you sick?"
"Heartsick," Millie answered.
"On, no, not another sob story! Millie, when are you going to learn how to get these guys to treat you right?"
"It's easy for you to say, Michael, but you just don't understand what it is to be a plain woman... you're a beautiful man, the world was made for you."
"Oh please, Millie, you're cute and personable. We've had this discussion before."
"I know,"
"Right now I want to do something, I don't want to think, I just want to work out some aggressions."
"Ah, burgeoning testosterone," Millie said.
"I just thought you might want to play some racquetball."
"It sounds great, if you don't mind that I'm in a man-hating mood."
"You won't remember it after fifteen minutes on the court. Clean out all the poisons and you'll feel like a winner... even when I beat you."
"Hah! We'll see about that. Woodbridge Courts?"
"Yeah," Michael said, unbuttoning his shirt, feeling better already. "Meet you there."
On the racquetball court Michael rooted Millie on, "Yeah, Millie, that's it, give it to him, whoever he is."
"I am!" she answered, whacking the ball. "That so-and-so!"
Michael lost the ball, laughing. "That so-and-so? Do people actually say that?"
"I didn't want to use strong language in front of a gentleman. You can be sure I've called him worse in the last few days."
"Hit this ball some more. You're still angry."
They battled out another game, gave up the notion of keeping score and just took out their frustrations on the ball.
"Okay," Michael said, "that's enough of this stuff. I think I've gotten the exercise I needed."
"And I even worked out some of my man-hating," Millie agreed. "Although not all. I really do feel better. It's surprising."
"No it's not. Fresh oxygen in your blood pumping into your head will make you feel better every time. It's just like dusting, clears out the cobwebs."
"Hmm. Cobwebs. I may not be super bright, but I'm not so slow that spiders make nests in my head."
"Of course not. Let's go get some pizza."
"Yeah. Pizza sounds great."
In the dark interior of the rowdy pizza parlor, Michael sat across from Millie and studied her. Her color was high and it made her look particularly charming. But there was still a cast of worry or sadness – or both – in her eyes.
"Okay pal, friend of mine, tell me the story," Michael said.
"Aww...."
"I'm sorry! It was out of your mind, wasn't it? And I reminded you."
"No, not really. But why should I bring us both down?"
"My idea is to bring you up!"
"The only way you could make me utterly and unbelievably happy is not in the cards. You're way out of my league, you made that perfectly clear to me with your interest in that incredible beauty with the strange name."
"I guess you mean Sage."
"I guess I do. I guess you do too."
"We're supposed to be talking about you, Millie!"
"Me. I'm so boring. Sooo boring. No wonder nobody loves me, cherishes me. I know, you care about me, but...."
"Why are you so awful about yourself?"
"I'd love to be able to say I'm gorgeous and wonderful and a really good catch. But facts is facts. I'm not. And so, I get toyed with. Do you remember the man I was dancing with at Anthony's party?"
"Which one?! You were swamped."
"However it may have seemed to you, I began with this guy and ended up with this guy. I thought he was wonderful. Of course, I'm not used to men doting on me the way he did."
"Michael, your pizza is ready," an intercom blared.
"Hold that thought, Millie," Michael stood. "I'll be right back." He soon returned carrying a gigantic pizza, warm bread aroma enveloping them in their cozy booth. "Sustenance!" Without ceremony, Michael pulled cheese-dripping slices of pizza onto plates for Millie and himself. "Continue – so you're not used to men behaving like this still nameless man...."
"Bill. Bill-the-louse. Yeah. He's attractive, but in a sort-of untrustworthy way. You say to yourself, is this guy actually slimy, or are his eyes just deep-set and he can't help that? Turns out, both points are true. He's Sage's attorney and he was only friendly to me because he saw me hanging around with her. He thought I was a personal friend of hers."
"He said that?"
"Pretty much. After he'd taken me out to dinner a couple times he started in on me about when I was going to see her and I said I didn't know. After a couple of other... ahm, social events, he continued nagging me about her. I finally told him I hardly knew her. Then he got mean, and quite frankly, really weird." Millie shuddered. "He never even called me after that."
Michael shook his head, consternation furrowing his brow. Something deeply troubled him, something beyond even what Millie just told him. "This gives me a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. Clearly the best part of your story is the fact that you got rid of him."
Millie nodded, while sadness continued to cloud her pixie features. "I know you're right. But I got so involved so fast. He just doted on me. Or so it seemed. And then to realize that all he said and all he did was simply flat-out lies – how can anyone be so entirely deceitful? How can a person live with themselves, knowing they've hurt someone else like that?"
"I imagine, my dear little Millie, that he has no clue that he's hurt you. He sounds almost sociopathic. You know, they type of person incapable of empathy – good at getting people to do what he wants, but cannot even grasp the notion that they may have thoughts, feelings and desires of their own."
Millie nodded. "Yes, Michael, exactly. It's as if you know him. Well, he just ought to be struck mute so he can't do that anymore, that's what I think."
"Sounds like the perfect punishment. I can't shake how dark the mental image of this guy is to me. I wonder why Sage has such a questionable character for an attorney?"
"Yeah. I wondered too. She seems nice and honest, so why would she employ someone really shifty? And she's smart, wouldn't she know he's a crook? Maybe I'm not being fair," Millie took a second piece of pizza. "Maybe he's okay as an attorney, but lousy in a relationship. But my instincts say, 'this guy is trouble.' "
"I'm going with your instincts," Michael said leaning back. "When it comes to women's instincts, I stand in awe. You know you're better off without this guy, Millie, so cut your losses, take your heart back, and move on."
"If only my instincts would kick in sooner! Except for with you Michael. The moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were good-hearted. I've never been wrong about that. Like today, I needed someone to talk with, to help me get back in focus, so much. And here you are, calling me up, making me exercise, feeding me."
"That's what friends are for, my little pizza eater," Michael said, giving her a wink.
Chapter 8
Sage thrashed through Aunt Vicky's massive walnut desk, trying to sort out the paperwork she'd need for the impeding appointment with Bill Rattnor, wondering which part of the chore she hated more – finding out how much more I'm in debt Aunt Vicky's estate was, or having to be alone with Bill Rattnor, whom she viscerally disliked. And, she knew, that feeling was clearly mutual.
"What is your bookkeeping system, Aunt Vicky? Oriental carpets under 'P,' along with alcohol, cars and horses." She found a cover sheet in the middle of the file. All that was on it were the words: "Miscellaneous Pleasures."
"Ah! I get it, 'P' is for pleasure."
She stuffed the documents regarding carpets, alcohol, cars and horses under the cover sheet and returned the file to its place when the front door chimes reverberated through the house.
"Ish! There he is." She stepped into a pair of heels, then let Bill in and led him to Victoria's office. She had the fleeting thought that one did not invite the vampire into one's home.
"How are you, Sage?" he asked in a sinuous, too-familiar voice as they walked down the hall.
She could feel his dark eyes on her while she moved to sit behind the desk. "Please, Mr. Rattnor, have a seat. I've been well, thank you."
"That's good." He continued to stare at her. "You were fairly out of sorts."
Sage closed her eyes and gathered herself. Everything that came out of this man's mouth and his whole entire presence crawled under her skin and laid little eggs of revulsion.
"Out of sorts, Mr. Rattnor? I didn't have the flu...."
"Sorry," he said, sounding more insincere than ever, "I always seem to express myself poorly when I'm around you. You're such a stickler for words. Your Aunt Victoria never seemed to care what I said, as long as I did my job."
You don't like me, I don't like you, Sage thought. So let's get on with business and get this over with. She slid open the desk drawer and pulled out the file that she'd compiled. "I've been going through files." She noted him shift uneasily out of the corner of her eye. As she thumbed through the paper work, she continued, "and, although Aunt Vicky had an unorthodox method of filing, I've gotten the gist of it. What I'm getting at is, there are several things I cannot find any trace of at all. For example," she turned her attention back to Rattnor, matching him stare for stare. "I can't find a single trace of the Petrol-Fill papers. Not anything."
Bill shrank ever so slightly from her gaze. Maybe, she thought, I can get the upper hand with this snake.
But the snake quickly hooded his eyes, and stared her down. "Don't worry your pretty blonde tresses about such things," he all but hissed. "Why would you bother with this stuff? You've got better things to do. Places to go, things to see, men to go out with."