The Art of You Part 4

Loving the Rockabilly style...

Loving the Rockabilly style…

 

 

 

 

 

For dinner, I went for a different look than earlier in hopes I wouldn’t be recognized. I spent time brushing on foundation to make my skin youthful and creamy, a dab of blush, a dusting of powder, attention to my eyes with shadow and liner, my treasured falsies topped off with mascara and penciled brows. I applied the stay put red lipstick I so loved and pinned a flower in my hair above my right ear. Satisfied, I shrugged into some slim fitting jeans, pumps and a red checkered shirt that I tied around my middle.

Digging through my bag, I found some pearl clip-on earrings and a choker along with my white sunglasses. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I left the apartment.

Just minutes later I walked through the doors that would lead me to the amazing aroma of cheese and chili powder. I could taste it already and my mouth watered like crazy. The host asked if I was waiting for anyone and I shook my head and smiled at him.

“Just one then?” he asked with a thick Spanish accent.

“I’m afraid the lady will not be staying. Darling! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” that man’s voice said behind me as he grabbed my arm.

Perhaps the panic on my face showed and perhaps not. I didn’t have time to evaluate the host’s expression before I was pulled out of the restaurant and back out onto the main street. When clear of the double doors, I halted and ripped my body back out of his clutches.

“What do you think you are doing?” I demanded with hands on my hips.

“My apologies, Miss Kramer, but I am to deliver you elsewhere,” he replied cool and calm as ever.

“Yeah, well I don’t think so. I have no idea who you are, but I don’t know you and I’m going nowhere with you. Now back off, I’m hungry. You are coming between a starved woman and her food. I would suggest you just leave me alone,” I sassed him.

The man chuckled at my attitude and ran a hand through his dark hair. “So sorry, but I think you really need to come with me.”

And with that, he reached out and grabbed my arm again. “It will all go much easier if you don’t cause a scene, Miss.”

“I will not go with you and not struggle. You aren’t going to kill me without a fight!” I bellowed at him.

There were some strange looks from the people walking by us. The man nodded politely at them. “Play practice, everything is fine, folks.”

And they believed him! They all smiled and nodded with stars in their eyes as they beheld an “actress”. Then, he guided me away and into his fancy black car.

Once he had shoved me in there and closed the door, I frantically tried the handle to open my door but it wouldn’t open. Growling in frustration at the invention of child locks, I tried the automatic windows that did nothing.

The man slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. The engine was near to silent and I tried the window again.

“Please stop,” he said as though I was insulting him.

I glanced up at him looked at me through the rear view mirror. “This is how women come up missing or dead! They are bullied into cars by strange men!” I fired out.

He simply shook his head and laughed as though I were trying to be funny.

The car lurched forward and took a short spin not too far the other direction from where I was staying. I knew this place! It was a historical hotel that had been around for an impossibly long time, Shore Lodge.

The man pulled into the lot and parked, coming around to let me out. Grabbing my arm quite snugly again, he led me to the door where we were shown to the dining area of The Narrows. I was held all the more tightly until we came upon a table overlooking the lake. The fading light of day was dissolving into shades of mandarin and teal through the windows.

I flicked my gaze to the lone person at the table and my mouth fell open.

Jack Harrington was staring me down as the sun was setting in this small mountain town. An uncomfortable heat flushed my face and despite the use of it, my deodorant was useless. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest and my mouth went instantly dry. What did he want with me?

Waving his glass of wine in the air, he smiled and said, “I like the Rockabilly look. Suits you well. Please, have a chair.”

I could feel the shakes coming on and the man holding my arm peeled his fingers away from my sweating skin. Jack merely nodded to the man and he left. Timidly, I sat and set my bag on the floor, then folded my hands neatly in my lap.

“You look like an artist,” Jack grumbled.

“What does that mean?” I piped up indignantly.

A waiter in a smart looking uniform came to the table. “Drink, ma’am?”

“Water,” I replied not looking at the man.

“Please bring an extra glass just in case,” Jack said to him breaking eye contact with me.

Jack cleared his throat. “What I mean is, you have that creative flair that is evident in how you decorate yourself.”

I could tell he was a tad uncomfortable sitting there with me. All the other tables were empty around us…within earshot, that is.

I sat back in my chair and folded my arms over my chest.

“Look. I asked my employee to bring you here to discuss a thing or two,” Jack said running his index finger over the rim of his wine glass.

“I don’t know what you are talking about…” I tried to laugh it all off.

“What I am talking about is the way you show up everywhere I go and take pictures of me and my kids while we are trying to enjoy ourselves out of the spotlight. I deal with your kind all the time, believe it or not. There wouldn’t be a single photo of me to be found if it weren’t for people like you who steal every private moment from me,” he complained and then sipped his glass.

“For your information, Mr. Harrington, I came up here to take some beautiful shots of the wilderness. It wasn’t my fault that you photo bombed a lot of my pictures. I’m not following you, but you are sure having me followed. I have every right to take pictures of what I find interesting,” came my volley.

He cracked a smile. It was just a glimpse of one, but the lines around his mouth deepened just a bit. “You have a lot of spirit, Miss Kramer, I will give you that. All I want from you is the card that sits in your camera there. You have photos of my kids that I don’t want anyone else to have access to. They didn’t have a choice in their life and it is my job to protect them.”

I heard little else after my name. “Have you completely checked me out? Are you kidding me? That’s how the two of you know my name, isn’t it?”

His look turned apologetic. “Welcome to my world, Ruby. Now, I will take the card.”

I stood up. Where was that glass of water? Grabbing my bag, I held it up in the air and shook it Jack’s direction. “This is paying my mortgage this month and the month before and the month before that. I would never give it over to you, but I won’t sell your shots. That’s the best I can do for you.”

With that, I stormed away expecting his henchman to grab me and tie me to the chair until I relented. But no one chased me down and I even looked back to see Jack casually sip his wine as he watched me leave and place a cell phone to his head.

I couldn’t believe what I had done. For once in my life I had stood up for myself. That one moment showed me I didn’t need to be the push over I had spent my life being. Just because he has money doesn’t mean I am his doormat, I reasoned with myself. And I agreed.

It was significantly cooler out when I burst through the doors and into the parking lot headed for the sidewalk. I was still starving and bound for Chapala’s again when all I saw was a bright pair of headlights blinding me. I froze and shaded my eyes as the grill tagged my legs and I screamed out loud, my body rolling over the hood and smashing into the windshield. The car screeched to a stop and I rolled back down over the hood and onto the asphalt where everything went black…like ripping the cord to the television from the wall.

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The Art of You Part1

Sunset on McCall

Sunset on McCall

So, I have refrained from writing anything for a while now. However, I had this crazy dream last night! So, I woke up and recorded some main ideas on my phone’s note pad. After work, I came home and decided to put some thoughts down or I would just go nuts. That’s what happens when you are a writer. The story chooses you, not the other way around. So without going into detail about my dream, I am posting this beginning part before I go work on my school work. Should be pretty interesting! (The places are real, the people are fiction. FYI.)

The Art of You Part 1

I’m Ruby.

I’m a girl from a small town in a small state but I love the big city and I love the ocean. I love looking at the world through a camera lens and showing people that magic does exist all around us everyday…you just haven’t seen it through my eyes yet. I love everything about the past and being a lady as my grandmothers were.

I love pin curls and fingerwaves, saddle shoes and crazy English hats. I march to the beat of my own drum, you might say. I cherish my Hollywood haircut and adore my tattoos.

More than anything, I love my kids. My sons have taught me to love and hurt, but they have brought me laughter and life’s lessons that I had hoped to spare them of. I’m the middle aged widow of a man that changed my life. He taught me one of the greatest lessons of all…to love myself as much as he did. I’m okay with being different now.

I’m a starving artist that makes my living with my camera, selling my perceptions of the world to those who fall in love with my eye and my flair. That’s right…I have flair. No, not little buttons pinned to my clothes, but a personality that is all mine and a way of thinking that defies modern ways. I’m a victim of days that have been gone for a long time and yet I crave the happiness that the images of yesterday bestow upon me.

I firmly believe I got in the wrong line in Heaven. I should have been born in the Middle Ages…or perhaps the roaring 20s…or even the hopping 50s! Here in the 21st century, I’m considered strange when I walk in the store with red lips, black and white hound’s tooth pants and a red sweater all topped with black pumps. I hear the snickers from young girls as I walk by and I snicker back at their baggy pajamas and slippers they wear to the grocery store. These girls aren’t maturing into women. They are simply a robotic by-product of our modern, lazy society.

There is a place on the map of the United States, a very small dot that is called Nampa, Idaho. My home is small, a bungalow style with three small bedrooms and a single bathroom. My youngest son, ready to turn 18 years old and my adopted son almost 15, are all that remain at home from our gigantic family of nine. I rarely see the others or the grandchildren. Family just doesn’t quite mean the same thing these days. People are so wrapped up in their own opinion so often that there leaves little room for things like love and loyalty. Respect is a thing of the past and the only time you hear “yes, sir” is in the military. Forgiveness is a long word that no one seems to know the definition of anymore. It has become such a give-it-to-me-now society that the only person in their view is themselves. How did we fail this generation so badly? Surely the extinction of the spanking didn’t do this. Maybe single parent households that rip through the world like an epidemic have helped?

I am to blame for my part in that. I asked for the divorce from my first husband. He begged me to stay more than once and I still turned my back. Now, I can feel the grudge my children hold whether they know it or not. Then I married into a large established family of five more kids over my four. I was the enemy there, perceived as trying to be a mother when there was already a mother in their life. I was given no credit for just holding it together since there were many times that I wished I would just fall completely apart. Perhaps then I wouldn’t care as much as I did.

Eventually, my smoldering, broken heart cooled and steeled against people. I stepped out onto the stage of life as me, having stripped off the layers that were false fronts and an effort to just fit in with others around me. When my husband died, I merely shut off. I mean powered down until I felt nothing. I wandered aimlessly through my life, always walking, always looking, always listening but never living or moving or seeing or hearing.

Photography melted out of the picture for a long while. I saw no beauty out there anymore. I didn’t care to stir up feelings with images for others. I detested posing families and watching them smile in unison while mine was shattered by death. It wasn’t until the collection notices started arriving and threats were made to levy my bank account that I finally blinked.

My fourth grandchild arrived in February. This was the first one I had any chance of knowing and having a relationship with. I loved my other three, but they weren’t exactly “mine”. In my heart, I was Grandma and I didn’t want it any other way. Once my husband passed, it seemed I became invisible. It was difficult at best to be a figure the children knew since they lived a state away from me. Money was tight for all parties so Facetime gatherings were the closest thing to giving those sweet babies kisses.

This new baby, a little girl with light eyes like her mother and red hair like her dad entered the world. She was the first child of my own blood to grace the world and I cried when I first held her and marveled at her beauty. She made my heart beat again. The world came at me fast and furiously…the magic returned. I wanted to see the things differently for that little baby.

That’s when I picked up my camera again. One day, I would be able to sit down with my photos and show her all the places I went and recorded so she would know them as I did.

So it came to be summer, hot in the valley but cool in the mountains. My favorite place to go for picture taking was a smaller dot on the map: McCall, Idaho. The weather blew in and blew out at such a pace that the same scenery never looked the same. Early in the summer, the tall grasses were deep green and sprinkled with tiny pink and purple flowers. The river was high, gushing and frothing in the beds, the spray creating little rainbows in the bright sunshine.

McCall is a mountain town that parents a ski resort and the Payette Lake that attract tourists year round. It’s a diamond in the world of Mother Nature with the vivid blue skies and tall creaking firs. The smell of warm dirt and pine needles makes me smile and the slight curling of a campfire makes me long for days when we would gather as a family in the state park.

The drive up from the valley is long and winding. If you venture up between Thursday and Saturday, the roads are littered with slow moving campers or people in convertibles enjoying the scenery. You can’t blame them for that. I had been up and down those roads enough that the scenery was noise. I wanted to get up the mountain and just be there. I didn’t care to follow at 20 miles under the speed limit and spend the whole day driving.

In light of knowing this, I decided I would leave the boys home and take a much needed road trip to my favorite place, renting a studio over the lake for a week. I packed my little car with my suitcase, threw on some shades and took off after hugging my sons. I set my camera bag on the passenger’s seat and gave it a pat and a smile. Without wanting to waste another moment, I made my way out of Nampa that Wednesday morning and on toward the highway that would take me up to paradise.

The invisible bands loosened from around my chest with every mile traveled away from home. Soon, I was singing to the radio…the local doo wop station. I was tapping my fingers against the steering wheel and bouncing on the brakes to the beat at the stop lights.

The highway was slightly congested and I had to step on the gas a few times to pass a car with the oncoming traffic lane. My heart thundered in my ears and my face grew warm every time I did it. It was more of a thrill than I had allowed myself to experience in three years. It made me laugh out loud a time or two.

Rolling into the small town of McCall, I took a deep breath of satisfaction. Too long had I stayed away living in the darkness of grief. I came right through the middle of town and made a left when I ran out of street. Just passed the tiny city center was a house that had the studio apartment above the garage. I pulled into the familiar driveway and slipped the keys into my pocket, humming as I walked to the front door of the house.

The master of the abode answered my ring and handed me the key to the empty residence, just waiting for me to fill some of the space. It was probably 78 degrees there at two o’clock in the afternoon. Quickly, I collected my bag from the back seat of the car and slipped up the steps where I unlocked the door and made myself at home.

I set my bag against the wall beside the door and threw open the drapes that covered the enormous picture window overlooking the blue waters of the lake below. Unlocking the sliding door, I stepped out onto the balcony. In the distance I could hear children’s laughter carrying on the summer air. I could hear dogs barking and waves slashing. There were the sounds of jet skis in the water revving the engine as it jumped haphazardly through the wake of a speed boat pulling a water skier behind. This was summer.

I couldn’t wait any longer. It had become a tradition of sorts to grab an ice cream at Ice Cream Alley when my husband was still alive. We would drop our bags and make our way down there, then sit on the rocks to people watch and bask in the sunshine. So, I shrugged into my backpack that contained my camera and took off down the street. It was only a few blocks away from where I was staying and I got there in no time at all.

Happy they were open, I asked for a cup of Rocky Road, paid the gal, and walked across the street to finish our ritual. I felt naked without him with me. A lump started to form in my throat and sadness tried to claim me. So I ate my ice cream.

“Wish you were here, my love,” I whispered low so no one would hear me. “I hope you are eating an ice cream wherever you are.”

A tear tried to gather in the corner of my eye and I stubbornly wiped it away before it could fall and shoved my sunglasses back on my face to hide the evidence of my weakness.

I watched the kids playing in the sand of the beach. There were babies that started bawling when their parents took them into the cool waters of the winter run off. A chuckle escaped me and I remembered a time when the boys jumped off a dock, made one pass between it and the one beside it and decided it was way too cold to enjoy. I could still see the photos I snapped of each of them when wrapped in their towel, the sun glinting off the drops running down their faces. I smiled a lost and far away smile. That felt so long ago.

To my right, there was a man playing catch with his lab and at my one o’clock there were toddlers playing in the fountain that would shoot out water when they would get close enough. They would shriek and run back, their diapers sagging with the weight of the water. One fell on his rear and I winced, imagining all kinds of issues from tears to explosions, but he just got back up and clapped his chubby little hands ready to go again. I just shook my head and gobbled another bite, random giggles escaping me.

Behind me, school aged kids were jumping from rock to rock and I could hear my husband saying one would slip and break their face open before long. I laughed and nodded my head in agreement. Silly kids…going parkour on the hillside.

Standing, I climbed the slight hill that led to a main sidewalk that stretched around part of the lake. I dumped my cup and spoon in the garbage then took out my beast of a camera. The long lens clicked into place and I aimed toward the sandy shore, depressing the button slightly to bring it all into focus.

A little girl, maybe three or four years old, came walking out of the shallow water, her face beet red as she screamed and screamed. Tears streaked her sun kissed face and her hair stuck to her skin in clumps sending trails of water down her cheeks. I could see her little pearly teeth and then her fingers went into her mouth and I snapped the shutter closed. Such a raw display of honest emotion from her. That little girl summed up how I felt inside and she had no idea. How I wished I could just lose it and cry that way and have it be socially acceptable to do so!

The sun was starting to dip to the horizon a bit and it seemed that more people were flocking to the convenient little strip of sand. A slight breeze was picking up and I could hear flag clips clanging against masts on the boats that still sat in the marina ahead creating a rhythm of song. The beams of light were growing weaker and bounced off the metals of the boats tied up. I pointed my camera and zoomed it in until I could see people walking on the docks. Lucky dogs, I grumbled. It was a man and two teens, a girl and a boy. The man turned his face just so as I was about to pull my lens from them and I gasped in surprise.

“That cannot be…” I said to myself and clicked the shot just to be sure.

I looked again. “Well, I’ll be. That looks just like Jack Harrington. What is he doing out here? This is a long way from Hollywood.”