“That’s not what you should be concerned with,” Evalena said. “What should worry you is do you love him to the point he’s dissipating a bond you carried on with someone else through the barrier of death? Or is he a teacher along your path? And if so, why? What lesson is Gabe teaching you?”
“Evalena, I love him.” I bowed my head.
“He leads by example, Porzia. Beware.”
*
Instead of answers, I had gotten myself tangled up deeper in questions. Don’t they say when in quicksand, be still? And there I was kicking up a storm.
A true storm had gathered up from the horizon and was working its way to shore, looming over me like an impending guillotine. I could taste salt in the wind picking up speed around me when I said good-bye to Evalena and walked to my car. Around me, arthritic pines and a few frayed palms still stood, forlorn and defeated by the continuous attacks from the ocean’s strong winds. They bent, sway-backed, all the way down to the ground, resigned to their fate. Still, they struggled to live on. Amazing when, doubtful of our course of action, we suddenly scout our surroundings and label nature’s regular occurrences with the official title of signs meant purposefully for us. Not that I have anything against such trees, but was I actually trying to read omens and draw strength from crippled pines?
The first drops of rain hit my windshield as I slammed the car door shut. By the time I sped across the Gulf Breeze Bridge, the storm had surged, chasing me like the pressure of wasted time. With my windshield wipers dancing wildly in front of me, I thought of Gabe up above the rain. I was glad at least one of us was away from such bad weather.
I wondered if someday we’d both be above the storm.
*
The blinking of my answering machine greeted me like a mad heartbeat. Under the wet ball cap, my hair had turned a sticky mess. My clothes clung to my skin. I peeled layers away and hit the play button.
Benedetta’s voice came on. She sounded sad and strained. Her trip to Savannah had been cancelled and she wanted to know if by any chance I wanted to get drunk. Merda! So early in the morning? It didn’t sound good. I wondered what had happened to Jason as I speed-dialed her number.
No answer. Where could she be in such awful weather?
The following voice was Helen’s, executive assistant to Camille Weir, A’ la Carte’s editor in chief in Miami. Camille had something serious to discuss with me and wondered if I could squeeze in a visit to Miami by the end of the week; the magazine would cover all expenses. My instincts told me I had better check this one out. What could be so important to require my physical presence? I put the rest of the messages on hold and called her back. I told Helen I would fly down and to send me the info. In a grateful tone she told me an envelope would arrive by morning.
Right after I hung up, the phone rang again.
Oscar, from Gusto.
Chirping joyfully, he asked me for a piece on Chez le Chat.
We ended up chatting for quite a while. He’d been summoned by Camille as well and was keeping his visit hush-hush. But, as he lightly put it, even if she is the competition, more importantly, she’s an icon in the business. Simply put, you don’t say no to Camille Weir. I told him I couldn’t wait to pinch him in Miami and he laughed, quipping something about birdcages that I didn’t quite get. The doorbell was ringing as we said good-bye.
*
Benedetta stood in front of me with Eros on a leash, both soaking wet, her glasses fogged up, and with the saddest look plastered on her face like an obituary notice. She looked like a dunking clown after the show. I hugged her and dragged them in. She sighed and took a seat in the kitchen. Eros hid under the table.
As I put on the teakettle my mind scoped any possible reason why she would look so upset. I tried my best to keep quiet and give her the time she needed. I found two mugs, the loose chamomile jar, honey, and teaspoons. Finally, I sat myself in front of her. I watched her use my gingham kitchen towel to wipe her glasses clean.
Silence unfolded, disturbed only by the hard rain tumbling against the roof.
“It’s over,” she blurted and began to sob uncontrollably into the kitchen towel.
“Why?”
“Delilah did the spell and I was right. He got spooked.”
“What?”
“Accused me of witchcraft.”
Peridot and Eros both sensed her distress and rushed into one another trying to console her. I, on the other hand, struggled to suppress my anger. I physically seethed.
“Pretty pathetic, eh?” she said. “And he was raised by a voodouienne.” She sniffled and blew her nose in the kitchen towel.
“Oh, Cristo!”
“You should say ‘Oh, Goddess’!”
I leaped off my chair to kneel and hugged her, squishing cat and dog, letting her cry against my shoulder.
“I called you, then decided I didn’t want to be alone and drove straight here.” She looked at me over the edge of red-rimmed eyes filled with the wet debris of a devastated heart.
Peridot meowed from between us, and we shifted so he could jump off her lap.
The teakettle whistled and I got up to make us some chamomile tea. I added honey and a drop of lemon juice, then handed Benedetta a steaming cup. She thanked me, looking a bit better. At least the crying had stopped. We sipped our tea in silence and then I told her she should stay with me for the night.
“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“No worries.”
Benedetta took a long, silent look around. “He’s gone back?”
I nodded, not trusting my own voice.
“Oh, merda! I’m sorry. How selfish of me to just puke all my stuff on you and you’re dealing with your own load.”
“Do you still wanna get drunk?” I glanced at the clock. Way past noon. We could have a drink. Or two.
“No, thanks,” Benedetta declined, cracking a small smile. “I’d rather do something else.”
I thought about it for a few seconds and then got up.
“Vieni—,” I called her, extending my right hand to pull her off her chair. We walked into the living room where I dug out some old Italian comedies.
We spent the afternoon watching silly movies on TV. We ordered pizza and listened to heavy rain ricocheting off the roof. She fell asleep, her immaculate, vulva-peach-painted toes curled up on my sofa. I brought a blanket out for her and told Eros if he wanted to it would be OK for him to sleep with her. He seemed to understand me, for he jumped on the blanket and settled behind Bene’s curled knees. I removed her glasses and tousled her hair goodnight.
I had just barely had a chance to walk back into my bedroom when the phone rang. I wondered if I should just let the answering machine pick up. I really didn’t feel like talking to anyone, but it would ring several more times before the machine answered, and Benedetta was asleep in the other room.
“Hello?” I sat on my bed. Unconsciously, I began to rub my feet. My mother told me once I used to do this every time it was raining outside and I had to get ready for crib. Not bed yet—crib.
“Porzia.” Gabe’s voice, tired and distant, reached my ears.
“Hey!” Oh! He’d made it safe and sound.
“I’m home, luv. I miss you.”
“You’re OK?”
“Yes. Knackered, but OK.”
“How was the trip?”
“Long. I didn’t sleep at all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too. But it must be nice to be home.”
“What’s going on, Porzia? You sound upset.”
“Benedetta. Her love adventure got nipped in the bud.”
“How come? Where is she now?”
I took a deep breath “She’s here, asleep on the couch. He didn’t believe in magic.”
“Not everyone does.”
“Do you, Gabe?”
“Only the kind I’m capable of, Porzia,” he sighed, exhausted. “Luv, I’d talk to you until the end of the world, but I need to go catch some sleep. I stopped by the shop on my way home. We’re so bloody busy with the Australian Safari we’re working hard to fit it all in before the start. I really wish I could race it. It’s bloody hard to see everybody get ready. The excitement is absolutely contagious. Gomi hasn’t been sleeping for the last three days. He’s chewing some strange root, telling everybody that’s how he keeps his energy going.” His last few words slurred, thick with sleep. “I’m rambling and I should really get going to bed, Porzia.”
“OK, Gabe. Thanks for calling and letting me know you made it safe.”
My heart bled for him.
“Yeah! I’ll ring you once I feel human again.” He laughed softly. “Have I ever felt human?” he asked almost to himself.
“OK, Gabe. Sweet dreams.”
“Not without you, luv.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Porzia.” The phone went dead.
I sat there for a moment, then wandered into the bathroom and took a long, warm shower, trying to wash away all the sadness of the day. I braided my wet hair and went to bed after checking on Benedetta. She was deeply asleep on the couch. Eros gave me a reassuring look. OK, buddy, I know she’s in good paws. I’ll leave her to you.
*
The following morning, while Benedetta still slept cuddled on the sofa, Gerome brought me a pile of mail.
Peridot followed me around puffed up thrice his normal size to protect me from the beast still asleep on the couch with Bene. I made an espresso and walked to my desk to sort through the bundle, starting with Helen’s thick envelope. I glanced at a round-trip ticket to Miami set to leave Pensacola first thing the following morning and returning the same evening. A business trip with no time scheduled to play around in sunny Miami. Helen had outlined a detailed itinerary, down to the limousine pickup and return to the airport—including a lunch break at Lumière, Camille’s favorite restaurant in South Beach. She suggested an appropriate change of clothes.
Two copies of the issue of A’ la Carte with my article were included as well. The front cover featured the Jourdains and their dogs with a background of stark vines. I remembered when Desmond took the photo; the massive brick porch of Umeracha blurred on the right, while a field of bare vines gently sloped up a hill to the left.
“Umeracha Expands Their Award-Winning Portfolio with Shiraz,” the headline announced.
An envelope fell off the magazine as I leafed through its pages. With increasing curiosity I opened it and found a handwritten note from Camille Weir. Grateful for the excellent article, she congratulated me on my spirit and resilience for putting up with Desmond and hoped I would like the spread and article layout. In her editorial she mentioned my article, as she always does, with the magazine’s main features, describing me as the up and coming, talented young writer the Jourdains had specifically requested. She went on to announce the impending release of what I described as strong wine laced with the eternity of Australian soil, traditional French harvesting methods, and phantom American oak barrels.
I smiled at my own words.
She had included copies of Desmond’s photos—even those that hadn’t made the cut. Apparently, he’d been stressing everyone out wanting to make sure I would get them. She concluded by asking me to get in touch with Helen for future assignments and, thanking me again, signed her note.
I looked at the pictures and had to admit that, even if a colossal pain in the ass, Desmond is one of the best photographers in the business. I loved the shots he’d taken of everybody around the fireplace, like a family gathered for a holiday. My eyes fell on Gabe standing tall right next to Clark, his muscular arm on my shoulder. My own eyes sparkled, alive with the gratitude I felt about their cozy hospitality (not to mention Gabe’s arm wrapped around me).
Lost in the memories, Benedetta’s voice startled me back into the present.
“Got anything to eat?”
“Buongiorno to you too.” I stood and motioned for her to follow me to the kitchen where I patted a cushion of one of the table’s chairs and invited her to sit. She plopped down, yawned, and rubbed her sleepy eyes.
I quickly got some toast going and washed and refilled the Moka. Just as I was switching the stove on for another round of espresso, the phone rang. I answered, keeping an eye on the coffee. Despite Eros’s proximity, Peridot stood by the phone looking like a sleepwalker. He made me smile. It must be Evalena.
“Hi, Evalena!”
“You’re getting better.” I could feel her smile.
“My cat is—or has always been.” Peridot blinked at me languidly.
“How are you, hon?”
“I’m fine, Evalena.”
I took the brewed coffee off the stove and poured just enough to wet two teaspoons of sugar I had in a cup. Beating the espresso with the sugar, I made my thick cream base and then added the rest of the steaming coffee.
“Come down for lunch. We’ll chat.”
“Sounds great! Maybe in a little while?” I asked, glancing at Bene. I had an idea.
“Sure. I’ll be home.”
We made arrangements to see one another later and hung up.
I handed Bene a plate of toast and a shot of creamy espresso and sat down in front of her.
“So?”
“So what?” she countered, buttering a piece of toast and looking at me. “Why did you ask which was my favorite fairy tale when we got back from Georgia?”
“Evalena said our favorite choice is an archetype of the women we are.”
Benedetta smirked. “Of course . . . The Ugly Duckling.”
“Bene! What’s going on with you?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, sneaking two fingers under her lenses, and rubbed her eyes again. “You know,” she began, “after my accident I had to deal with a lot of fear.” She sat back and looked at me with grief-stricken eyes. “I had to learn to live with it. I mourned my ability to take my safety for granted and slowly took baby steps into this new, unfamiliar territory of ordinary tasks now mutated into potential dangers and perils.
“When they locked my assailant in jail, I relaxed but still dreaded the day he would be free. Eros and my beliefs have helped a great deal, but as I told you in Savannah, I’m a mere solitary practitioner. I’m learning to face the eventuality that I may confront him again, and I am trying to understand how to deal with that particular situation or any other similar and dangerous ones.”
She sighed and I had a feeling I knew where this was going. “A life with The Craft, a choice that not many understand nor appreciate, allows me to be free, but in order to deal with my fears I am feared.”
I leaned forward and took her hand. “Benedetta . . . you can’t doubt who you are just because of Jason.”
“I know. Remember how he insisted it was just an ordinary fungus? But where did the fungus come from? Where do our fears come from, Porzia? He’s always been scared of his mother’s Santeria ways and he’s boarded the door shut on magic.” A look of determination cracked the surface of her wretched features. “I mourn the fearless girl I used to be before I almost died. But this renewed inner strength sprouts from mystical, ancient beliefs that I have embraced and now honor. I shed my old identity and recreated this Benedetta from such enormous loss . . . I would never have made it. I would never have been able to help Delilah! Or scare that freak that tried to sell us voodoo tickets if it weren’t for my belief in the Goddess. I have come such a long way and now, at last, I respect myself again.” She sighed. “What I’m trying to explain here, Porzia, is that we’re changing. As women we’re honoring our true selves and we are taking risks; we’re paying a price that I believe is worth it. Even if i
t means the Jasons of this world will refuse us. I only wish it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
I nodded somberly. “I feel it.”
“I know you do. You’re manifesting your own renewal. You wouldn’t have embarked on this soul mate quest otherwise.”
Later that evening, making a mental note of the time, I gave Gabe a call. After several rings his answering machine picked up.
I left him a brief message to let him know I was trying to reach him, hung up, and then dialed his work number.
Clark answered.
In an extremely distressed voice, he told me Gabe had decided on the spur of the moment to jump in a vehicle with Gomi and follow the ute they were sponsoring in the Australian Safari—literally. He told me Gabe hadn’t called me because he knew it would have been the middle of the night for me and that although he doubted he would have a signal so far in the outback, he would call as soon as he got a chance. Clark concluded by saying that I shouldn’t worry—he was worrying enough already. Something is his words held my smile back. I asked him how long Gabe planned to be gone. Clark said he thought it would probably be the better part of a week. He told me that because of unseasonable rain in the desert things were heating up. I imagined a muddy Gabe grinning from ear to ear as he pushed a sport utility vehicle stuck in sludge.
I tried to comfort Clark and thanked him before I hung up to try Gabe’s cell phone, but I had no luck, not even his voice mail.
So, his fever was still brewing . . .
*
I drove across the Gulf Breeze Bridge to Evalena’s house thinking that Benedetta had ended up giving me guidance.
She and Rex still lived at her jolly yellow bungalow in Gulf Breeze. Hurricane Erin had wiped away the connecting road from Pensacola Beach to Navarre Beach, and reconstruction was taking forever. How tired they must be of waiting.
I parked my car by a chubby blue hydrangea and walked up the porch to knock on the door. Evalena answered promptly, her hands green with bits of chopped up parsley. She pushed the screen door open with her elbow. “Come on in, honey. I’m making couscous.” She smiled at me. “I would hug you but I’m sure you don’t want parsley all over you.”
Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series) Page 30