Canyon Road (15 page)

"Yet another plus."

"Oh, yeah, I remember the motorcycle gang," Tina said, getting in the passenger side of the car.

"Me too," Sage said, remembering the motorcycle gang. Remembering Michael. That night seemed long ago and far away. Her life had changed so much since then. She dropped Tina off at her apartment. "I'll pick you up Thursday at six-thirty."

"Okay!" Tina gathered her books and bag and got out. "Don't study too hard."

"I don't know any other way," Sage answered.

Michael. It's not as if she'd not thought of him recently. She thought of him every day. Then quickly pushed her mind to other thoughts. But she hadn't thought of the first time she saw him in some while.

Ever since she'd gotten back from Jamaica over a month ago, Dahlia's advice had stuck in her mind. But she couldn't figure out how to make a move on it. Everything seemed contrived to make her think about Michael, while at the same time, everything contrived not to let her see him or talk with him.

She saw Millie a couple of days a week, she frequently talked with or went over to Anthony's. Michael was mentioned casually in passing by both. But he was never around. She knew he'd gone to San Francisco on business right after she got back from Jamaica. But she didn't even know if he was there or had returned.

She gave it up to the Powers that oversee such things and threw herself into her studies. Fortunately, she loved studying.

................................................................
* *
Thursday night after class, Tina ran up to her at her car, breathless and all aglow. "I don't need a ride home tonight, I'm going to do my cooking class homework with John."

"I know you thought I'd never ask, but who's John?" Sage shifted her pile of books from the crook of one arm to the other.

"He's a chef... in my cooking class. He's incredible!" Tina gushed.

"A chef in a first year cooking class?"

"He has to have the credits for a new job he just got. Oh, Sage! This time it's really something. I can just tell – as long as I don't blow it. He said he noticed me the first night of class. He said my hair is very sensual. He said that chefs are sensually oriented. He said that it's his belief that anyone with a heightened sense of taste has heightened other senses as well.

"Then he said... and you know a guy doesn't say this if he's just coming on, he said that although he loved my hair, he only 'likes' my face and body. He said I'll be perfect when he's managed to put a few pounds on me!"

Sage gave her friend a hug with her free arm. "Have fun. Call me tomorrow and let me know how it all went."

"I will!"

Tina didn't call for two days, and when she did, she sounded lethargic and far away. "John and I have been working on some of those Cajun recipes I brought back from Jamaica. I'm in a stupor."

Sage tried to envision her friend chubby.

"And in love?" she asked.

"Yes, we're in a complete wallow of stuporous exotic food and love."

"Stop!" Sage protested, laughing. "I can only take so much. Remember, I'm your spinster friend."

"I'm so happy."

"And I'm happy you're happy
."

Tina giggled. "Johnny's tickling me. Okay, back to work. I'll call you, Sage."

"I won't hold my breath. But please do send me a wedding invitation."

"You know I will!"

After Sage hung up, she wondered if she wasn't just a tad envious. She felt truly happy for her friend, but she also suddenly felt empty and lonely.

"Get back to your studying," she reminded herself.

And so for the rest of the week-end, she kept occupied with her "ologies" and gardening.

Monday morning as she looked over her calendar, she noticed Anthony's birthday was just three weeks away. It would be a pleasant diversion to plan a party for him, not to mention how much he deserved it considering how selflessly he'd given of himself and his resources in the recent past.

She'd give an elegant party near the ocean, for about forty people. The Ritz-Carlton would be perfect.

The three of them, Anthony and Aunt Vicky and she, used to go there for dinner or to listen to the chamber music, sipping a beverage, watching the ocean. She knew Anthony loved the Ritz-Carlton. She spent the morning making out a tentative guest list and menu.

She thought perhaps Tina and John might like to help. Maybe, if they helped cater the party, they could get some college credit.

She then called a small handful of the people on her guest list to ask their opinions of her party plans. She had to leave messages for the first two people she called. But the dowager princess was always home, unless she was abroad or at a party. She loved every bit of Sage's party plan and said she'd help in any way, from cooking to bringing her portable disc-jockey studio.

Reassured by the dowager's enthusiasm, Sage screwed up her courage and dialed the number she had for Michael. Her dreams of him had subsided some, although not entirely. And, of course, Dahlia's serious proclamation never seemed to lose its intensity. But she became even more un-nerved when the phone was answered by the Micro Silicon company switchboard. She didn't realize that the only number she had for Michael was his work number. After asking for him by name, a phone rang several times, then she heard Michael's abstracted hello.

"Hello, Michael, this is Sage Elgin. Sorry to bother you at work. I didn't realize that the only number I have for you is your work number."

"Yes?"

Even more non-plussed by his coolness, she plunged on. "I'm planning a birthday party for Anthony three weeks from Friday at, I thought, the Ritz-Carlton. I'm just calling a few of the people on my tentative guest list to see how that suits everyone."

"Sounds fine, Sage, but why are you asking me? I don't even know the Ritz-Carlton."

"Oh...I didn't realize. I thought the Ritz-Carlton would be nice because it's on the ocean, and has very nice facilities. I don't feel up to having it at my place since I have no staff. And I'm asking you because you're his closest relative and I want to make sure the date doesn't conflict with your schedule. I want to be sure you'll be there."

"It sounds fine to me, Sage. Sounds like a very nice thing for you to do."

"So you'll be there?"

There was a long, and to Sage, a peculiar silence from the other end.

"I ought to, oughtn't I? I've no schedule conflict. But I have to say Sage, that I feel... I feel I have to talk with you about something beforehand."

Now it was Sage's turn for the long, silent pause. "Of course, Michael. Anytime. Can you give me a clue as to the subject?"

"It's... it's complicated. In fact, I need some time to think it through. This is Monday, how about Wednesday evening?"

"Okay. I have a class from seven to nine, shall I meet you somewhere in your neck of the woods after class?"

"That'd be very convenient... I usually get home from work around seven or seven-thirty. Perhaps you wouldn't mind coming to my condo."

"Okay."

Michael gave her his address and cell phone number. Sage was left to puzzle for two days what he could possibly have to talk with her about.

....................................................................
* *
Sage could hardly pay the least bit of attention in class on Wednesday night, and now she pressed the doorbell at Michael's condo, curious and nervous.

"Hi," he said, ushering her in. "How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"You look great," they both said at the same moment, then laughed.

"Well, you do!" Michael insisted. "Would you care for anything?"

"I'd love a glass of water. I always feel so dehydrated after class."

"Water coming right up. Please, make yourself comfortable." Michael gestured to the sofa.

Sage took in the room as she moved it to the sofa. Nice. Clean. A bit spartan, but a couple of elegant paintings on the wall. Nice furniture.

Michael returned and handed her a tall glass of ice water.

"What class were you in this evening?" He asked politely, but not sitting. His hovering made Sage yet more nervous.

"My worst... statistics."

"Statistics! What's your major?"

"Anthropology. I... my father was an anthropologist. Anyway, I don't want to get into my personal... ahm... not when you have an urgent subject. What is it you wanted to talk with me about?"

Sage turned her huge blue eyes up to him.

"Yes... well, ah..." Michael paced to the patio sliding door, looked out at the dark yard. "Ah... boy, I'm having more trouble with this than I expected. It suddenly seems to me I should keep my mouth shut. I dislike meddlers and I'm beginning to feel very much like one at this moment."

Sage said nothing, closely watching his discomfort, entirely mystified.

"I design computer chips...."

"Yes."

"A few weeks ago I got sent up north to work on one that's in production. So I was near San Francisco. Do you remember my Aunt Alison?"

Confused, Sage's brow furrowed. "Yes, Michael, I do, with affection."

"Yes. Good. Me too. With affection. So I... I looked her up."

"Wonderful! How is she?"

"She's very well. Beautiful, hasn't aged a bit and sweeter than ever. She's become an artist of some repute and has done some nice work. At least, I liked it. I guess that's what everyone always says about art... 'I know what I like.' "

"I'm glad you've shared this with me, Michael," Sage said, friendly yet ever more mystified.

"That's not all, though. I was thumbing through a portfolio she had and there was a pencil sketch of you and Uncle Anthony. She had wonderful things to say about you, by the way."

"Did she really? The last time I saw her, I was only a child."

"Nevertheless, she feels you're very special and was happy to hear that you're doing well. But then our conversation turned to your Aunt Victoria."

"Oh?" Sage didn't care for the subtle change in the tone of Michael's voice.

"Aunt Alison didn't know about what happened to her," Michael went on.

"Really? That's surprising. She must still have some friends in common, or read the paper."

"Whatever the case may be, she didn't know. Anyway, the subject of your Aunt Victoria brought up some interesting information."

"What do you mean?"

"I wish I understood why I feel so compelled to tell you about this. In part I seem to need to make amends to my Aunt Alison. Which is ridiculous because these are events that happened when I was a child and lived thousands of miles from here. I couldn't be less involved. And you were a child too. I'm assuming you knew nothing...."

"Please, Michael," Sage interrupted, becoming agitated, "get to the point, or to
some
point!"

"Yes, the point, which is, that after your Aunt Victoria's husband died, she attempted a flirtation with my Uncle Anthony, until she succeeded in seducing him into an affair for several years which eventually led to my Aunt Alison leaving him and divorcing him."

Sage felt her temper rise. She stood up. "Why
is
it everyone feels the compulsion to attack my Aunt Vicky? What ever happened to the notion of not speaking ill of the dead? She's not here to defend herself. She was a strong woman. People always seem to hate strong women, I've noticed. And you, Michael, we're not personal friends, but you've seen the effect castigating my aunt can have on me.
Why
would you communicate Alison's imagined wrongs to me?"

Michael came over to Sage and pulled her down on the sofa beside him.

"Please, Sage, relax." Consternation on his face, in his voice. "I told you, I hate this sort of involvement. I avoid it like a plague. But, for this particular set of circumstances, I'm positive Aunt Alison is not fabricating. You and my uncle obviously have a commitment to one another. It's completely none of my business, but I come to you because you and I are the people who care about the people involved."

"What do you want me to do, Michael?" Sage asked, trying hard to be calm and polite.

"I honestly don't know. But since I saw Aunt Alison, I've been at my wits end. I didn't know how I'd behave, or what I'd say when next I saw you. Then you called. So I've just talked. But, in addition to my concern for my Uncle Anthony and Aunt Alison, wouldn't you be upset if you married him and then sometime later found out he'd had an affair with you aunt. And not only that, but that it was the cause of his divorce?"

"It's not true. You don't strike me as the type to be a gossip-monger, but I've been wrong before." Sage breathed deeply. "Further, you're not only demeaning my aunt, who cannot defend herself, but you're saying awful things about your own uncle, too."

"I know. I know. That's why – it's all why I haven't talked with you. I didn't want to know what I now know. But, I think Aunt Alison still loves Uncle Anthony. I think she never stopped loving him, she just couldn't stand the humiliation."

"I think this whole notion is a fabrication of Alison's," Sage interrupted. "I like her too, Michael, and I don't like to speak badly of her, but it just sounds like a lonely woman's unchecked imagination."

"But why would she leave Uncle Anthony in the first place? And why would he let her leave, and divorce him?"

"I don't know, Michael. I've never pried into Anthony's personal life. What he chooses to tell me, fine. What he does not choose to tell me, that is also fine. Why don't you ask
him
?"

Sage stood up again, this time calm and collected. "He's my friend. Friends have the right to share what they want to share and to withhold what they consider private. I have a boundless respect for Anthony."

"I know that, Sage. I do too."

"He's been a wonderful, dependable friend. Now I'd like to thank him in small measure by giving him a little birthday party. I'm hoping you'll come. You're absence would be very conspicuous, and would hurt Anthony."

"You're right, Sage. I'll be at the party, of course. Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help. Regarding the past, I will respect your opinion and let it rest."