Adirondack Audacity (31 page)

“Just let me straighten up a bit
; put the dirty dishes in
the sink and the food in the refrigerator.”
“Not a good idea,” he says with an ominous tone to
his voice.
“Bang ,bang, bang…….
comes the sound of pounding
on the back door, followed by Bridget’s bright green eyes
peeking through the curtains. Attila the Hun would have
made less noise. “Yoohoo, are ye in there. Can I come
in? Are you decent?”
“Come in,” Vic calls out, walking over to open the
door. “And as you can see, we are more than decent.”
His voice sounds disappointed, looking at our fleece and
jean clad bodies, not an inch of flesh showing.
“Well, I would hope you’d be up and about. It’s
almost ten o’clock. Half the day is gone.” She fusses
good-naturedly, heading for the coffeepot and stops, a
stunned expression on her face. “I….see….you had your
breakfast….” Her eyes travel over the countertop and
stove, taking in the dripping pancake batter, spilled coffee
grounds, and pan of half burnt bacon. “Oh my Lord in
heaven,” she crosses herself. “It looks like you were
very……hungry.” She trails off weakly. Scratching her
head with one hand, surveying the damage, she offers, “It
must be difficult, cooking in a strange kitchen……not
knowing where things are kept.” With an ill-concealed
hump,
she reaches for the apron hanging on a peg near the
back door.
Yeah,
that’s the reason, I mentally groan.
“Bridget, let me help you clean up.” I start picking up
the egg carton and milk, heading toward the refrigerator.
Smack,
the sound of a spatula hitting the countertop
causes me to jump.
Holy shit!
She’s pissed!
“Don’t you dare touch a dirty dish in this house!” she
glares at me over the top of the spatula, wielding it like an
assault weapon. “It’s one thing for you to be mucking
around in
my
kitchen, cooking for Mr. Vic and all, but
don’t you go and think you’ll be putting me out of me job
and start cleaning up.
I
clean this house.
Understood?!”
“Yes, of course, I just want to help.”
“I don’t be needing your help. Do I look like a feeble
old woman who can’t be keeping up with her chores.”
She glowers at me.
“No, no, absolutely not!” I think I just cowered.
chicken.
“Good, then we understand each other. You can
help cook and care for Mr. Vic, but I do the cleaning in
this house.”
“Yes, yes, understood, and I appreciated the note
with instructions for cooking breakfast. It was helpful.” I
start twisting a lank of hair around my finger and offer
lamely, “I don’t cook much.”
“Really,” Bridget says dryly, looking over the kitchen,
hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t have guessed.” She shakes
her head and rolls her eyes. “Go on now, get out of my
hair and let me be doing my job.”
“
Told you
.” Vic hisses in my ear, as we escape out the
back door, pots and pans rattling and banging in the
kitchen behind us. “Don’t worry;; her bark is worse than
her bite.”
I’m beginning to think she has the bite of a maneating Bengal tiger.
…
“Where are we going?” I ask. He squeezes my hand in
response, leading me down a flagstone path towards the
stable area, stopping before a large adobe barn. Except
for the heavy timbers supporting the barn-like structure,
the architecture and color scheme match the main house.
A driveway of hard packed gravel leads from the main
entrance of the house and loops back around to the
stable. Through the open top half of the stall doors,
comes the sound of horses munching hay and hoofs
stamping against wooden floors. A huge black horse
sticks his head out, and nickers to Vic.
“Hey, Diablo, you greedy devil, I’ll bring you a carrot
later.” Vic calls out to the horse, walking to a door on the
far end of the barn. The horse whines in protest.
The building appears to be divided into three
sections. Vic points out that the barn contains a stable for
the horses, a small apartment for Ike and the rear of the
building is for his office and tack room. Inside the tack
room, saddles of polished leather hang from tack racks
mounted on the walls. Bridles and halters along with lead
ropes fill the empty spaces. The scent of leather, saddle
soap, horses and hay permeates the air. I’ve always loved
the smell of a horse barn.
A staircase in the tack room leads to the upper level.
Vic puts a hand on my back and propels me up the steps.
At the top he pauses, taking a key from his pocket,
unlocking the door, steering me into a huge vaulted
room. A loft. A bank of windows showers the room in
sunlight with a magnificent view of rolling hills stretching
across the valley. Several easels with art projects in
various stages of completion stand next to the windows.
One is an oil painting, another a charcoal study, and the
third, a water color. Dominating the center of the room is
a circular bed placed directly under a skylight; covered
with a comforter of midnight blue embossed with
patterns of stars and planets. Deep piles of pillows rest in
the middle of the bed, to be tossed about in any or all
directions, depending on the whim of the sleeper. A vast
sofa covered in a woodsy plaid sits at an angle to the
windows. On the far wall a black granite bar completes a
minikitchen. As I walk around, I’m awestruck….again.
“Oh my ……..what is this place?” I breathe;; pausing
to run my hand along the plush fabric of the sofa.
“Well,” Vic explains, holding out his hands, “It’s my
gallery, studio, darkroom, and observatory, all under one
roof.” he points to a telescope by the window. “It’s my
sanctuary, I come here to create and unwind. I keep it
locked, no one is allowed in. Not that there is any reason
to keep anyone out, I just like the idea of my own private
world. I let Bridget in a few times a year to clean, other
than that it’s my space.”
He points to a series of oil paintings on the wall, “I’ve
had the occasional invitation to present my work in a few
galleries across the country, even before the movie thing
started, which is very gratifying.”
“It’s impressive. I’ve forgotten how artistic you are.” I
turn three hundred and sixty degrees……and that’s when
I see them. In the back corner of the loft…….are several
pictures, portraits actually………hanging by invisible
wire, as if floating in the air…………and all of them are
of me….
Nude
! There I am….bare assed naked, wearing
nothing but my birthday suit and a few daisies. Blackeyed Susans to be exact, artfully placed to prevent the
pictures from being x-rated, yet at the same time, very
provocative. The only color in the dim corner of the loft
is the brilliant yellow of the daisies waving against a blue
sky…and the amount of exposed flesh on my body. The
air leaves my lungs in a
whoosh……
I feel
faint…..somewhat nauseous….and yet slightly
complemented at the same time, as I stare at the pictures
in horror and envy………because…...
damn, I looked good
back then.
But secondly and the more important question
is…
what the hell is my naked ass doing hanging from his ceiling!!
“
What
is this?” I venture cautiously. I had never seen
the pictures. I knew they existed, but o
h, my God. H
ow
many people have seen them? My stomach churns in
dread. I clutch his arm so hard; the blood throbs in my
fingertips.
“Remember our picnic that last day in the
Adirondacks. Well, this is some of my best work. I won a
citation for lighting effects in this series of photographs.
My ex-wife, on the other hand, wasn’t so fond of them,
accused me using the gallery showings as a means of
flaunting my old girlfriend in her face. She always had a
jealous streak. When Sophia enters a room, she holds
reign like a queen, leaving other women to fade into the
background.”
I can’t speak. All I can do is gaze up at the portraits.
My face staring back at me, a bubble of disbelief rising
inside me. Bridget’s…….
daisy girl………..
my face flushes
at the thought of her seeing me like this……so
young…..so in love………and so naked.
“How many people have seen these pictures?” My
voice comes out as a squeak…….
oh, God.
“Gosh, I don’t know, thousands. And that one
there,” he points to a smaller one in the far corner, “is the
back cover for a
Thirsty Mad Dogs
album, huge hit.”
I groan in mortification. The album cover of a heavy
metal rock band…….it just gets better.
“What? Elle, you still don’t get how beautiful you
are?” Vic looks slightly mystified. “I don’t understand;; I
was the envy of every man who saw those pictures, and
half the women.”
“Because they knew you screwed her!” I hissed at
him. “I look like a horny playboy bunny let out for a
romp in the meadow. Those pictures were private, Vic,
not for the whole world to see.”
“I guess,” he shrugs sheepishly. “I thought you died,
so I took my grief to the dark room and set out to show
the world how beautiful you were.”
Well, when you put it like that, how is a girl to
argue………he thinks I’m beautiful……okay, it was a
while ago, but still, he thinks I’m beautiful. That doesn’t
get him off the hook for exposing my naked butt for
anyone to see.
“That was the last time we were together.” He tries
diffusing my anger with memories of that afternoon
overlooking the lake, how we were so in love that
nothing else in the world mattered. To have such
innocence again.
“Seems like ages ago, doesn’t it?” I muse.
“Yes and no, sometimes it seems like yesterday.”
He continues, “We could bring out the camera and
recreate the scene for old time’s sake.” H
is hands start
doing that magical thing underneath my blouse, making
my righteous indignation dissolve in the wake of rising
passion….why does he affect me so, I slightly resent how
easily I fall under his spell, how I come unglued at his
touch……I’ve never been considered a prude but with
him, my inhibitions melt away, replaced by reckless
abandon…..a glance around the room reveals no black
eyed Susans or a meadow in sight…..well, I guess we’ll
just have to improvise.
…
Under the oversized skylight of the loft, the rhythmic
melody of rain lulls us into an afternoon of unhurried
lovemaking. Overhead clouds scuttle by, punctuated by
the drum of raindrops on the roof; the sound of horses
stomping below; a perfect afternoon for cuddling and
napping. Contentment purrs in my veins. Curled up in a
warm naked ball, there’s no place in the world I’d rather
be than in this bed. I run my hand down his thigh
marveling in the contrast between smooth skin and sinew
muscle. I pull the soft fleece throw tighter and snuggle
deeper into his embrace, half asleep.
“
Mr. Vic!
” Bridget’s voice screeches over the
intercom system that links the house to the barn.
Generally Vic uses the system, rarely Bridget, as she
respects his privacy when working in the loft.
Jolted from our nap by the urgency in her voice, Vic
groans, “What could she possibly want?”
“Mr. Viccc!” Again, the shrill voice of Bridget shouts
into the intercom as if she were calling from the other
side of the mountain. “Hanna is
here.
Now! She’s heading
to the loft at this very moment. I tried to stall her, but
she’s all worked up over some teenage thing, and insists
on speaking with you, immediately! Do you hear me?!”
“Ohhh, holy shit! Quick, Elle, we got to get you out
of here, fast.” He jumps to his feet pulling on a pair of
faded jeans and a rumbled t-shirt, knocking me off the
bed and onto the floor.
Thump….ouch!
“Come on, come on!” He tosses my jeans at me, and
the rough fabric smacks me in the face. “Shit, shit, shit! I
need time to explain to her.” He sweeps the rest of my
clothes onto the floor as he straightens the comforter.
Hopping on one foot as I hastily attempt to dress, I
can’t help but wonder what happened to the
I love you and
you are the most precious thing in my life?
I scramble around the floor on my knees gathering
my underwear and shirt scattered by his frantic cleaning,
and I hear footstep coming up the steps.
“Dad! Dad! Where are you? I need you!
Daadddy!
”
Vic’s daughter, Hanna comes running up the stairs.
Vic grabs my arm, propels my half-naked body
through a side door out onto the platform of the hayloft.
“Hey! What the hell!” I protest, surrounded by hay
bales, underwear clutched to my naked breasts. The hay
loft is a U-shaped floor following the outline of the
horses’ stalls below, the center of the elevated deck is cut
out so hay can be tossed down next to the stall, leaving
only a very narrow ledge to maneuver around.
“I’m soo sorry; just give me a few minutes. Forgive
me.” He places a quick kiss on my forehead and not
waiting for my forgiveness, slams the door in my face.
I stare at the closed door as his daughter’s voice
vibrates off the loft rafters. “Daddddd!”
Jeez,
she’s a noisy
one.
“Hanna, darling, what are you doing here?” I hear
Vic’s breathless voice through the wall. “I wasn’t
expecting you.”
“You always say I can come anytime I want,” she
whines. “Why are you acting so strange? You look like
you just woke up, what are you doing sleeping in the
afternoon? What a geezer.”
“I worked late last night and was catching up on my
sleep.” He offers the lame excuse.
“Fine then,
whatever,
” Hanna’s voice edged in teenage
contempt. “Mom won’t let me go out with Trevor.”
Feeling only slightly guilty, I press my ear against the
door.
“Why don’t we go in the house? I think Bridget just
made some cookies. We’ll have cookies and milk and
discuss the issue.” I hear Vic opening the door to the
stairway, trying to coax her out. I see a knothole in one of
the wall boards; and shamelessly eavesdrop.
I hastily button my shirt and squat down to watch the
show. Having raised two teenagers I can appreciate the
drama.
“Milk and cookies!” She sputters. “What do you think
I am? Five! I need an answer now! I told Trevor I’d go to
the movies with him and a bunch of his friends. Mom is
acting so lame. You could call, and tell her you’re fine
with me going out with Trevor.”