Mind Over Mind (13 page)

She thought she heard Joshua mutter, “His timing stinks, anyway,” as she hastened to the door, and she had to pause to wipe the smirk off her face before she opened it. “Good evening, Randall.”

He wore an expensive white suit and carried a long box tied with a red ribbon. No one was bothering with casual tonight. “Good evening, Sachiko. Roses for a rose of a hostess.” He presented her with the box.

“Well, this is my night for flowers. Come in.” She backed away and turned just as she had for Joshua, but if the dragon had any effect on Randall Malachai, he didn’t show it. Instead, he focused on Joshua. “Ah, our young intern, and early! Hoping to impress our hostess, are we?”

Joshua didn’t rise to the bait. Or perhaps he did, for he glanced at the two-dozen long-stemmed roses in the box Sachiko had opened and set on the counter. “Nice flowers, sir.”

Sachiko was glad she was busy pulling out her stepladder—it meant that she had her face in the closet.
Now, boys…
“Randall, there’s a bottle of Gemini chilling in the pail. If you’d like, do the honors and help yourself to a glass. I’ll just be a minute; I need to grab another vase.”

“Want help?” Joshua asked.

She was about to refuse when the doorbell rang. “All right, then. There’s a tall vase lying on its side in the cupboard above the fridge. If it needs dusting, give it a swipe with the dishrag?”

“Will do.”

She swept past Malachai, pretending to be oblivious to the irritation she could tell he was pretending not to feel.

Guests arrived quickly, and Sachiko set them to work bringing dishes of tantalizingly aromatic food to the table while she arranged the roses in a tall crystal vase. She’d prepared antipasto and bruschetta for appetizers, cabbage soup, roasted vegetables, eggplant stuffed with pine nuts, and two kinds of pasta—one with shrimp and one with a meat juice glaze. There were also two platters. One was tuna steaks with flavorful bread crust topping, and the other contained braised beef.

She handed Joshua a long match to light the candles on the already-set table. Her table was an old, sturdy antique that, with all its leaves in, stretched from her dining area well into the living room and was set with full place settings for ten. The china was a simple design of white with a frosted green edge. The glasses, however, were a stunning combination of green glass with pewter handles carved in medieval and fantasy themes: kings and queens, dragons and fairies. Although no more than two seemed to match exactly, they did run in roughly three different sizes and one of each size stood guard at each plate. Each plate had a tag with a person’s name on it.

Joshua found his and stared, bemused, at the complex table setting.

“You do know which fork is for what?” Dr. Hoffman muttered teasingly to Joshua as he set a large steaming bowl of linguini on the table.

Actually, the three different glasses had him a little baffled, and there was more silverware set out beside each plate than he had ever seen in his life. He whispered back. “Don’t worry. Just follow my lead.” Hoffman laughed.

Edith went around the table filling the large goblets with water. That shed some light on the mystery of the glasses, at least. “Sachiko, the table settings are amazing,” she said.

“Thanks.” Sachiko brought another bottle of wine from the refrigerator and motioned for everyone to find their seats. “The china and silverware are actually hand-me-downs from my dad’s restaurant, but the glasses I pick up at King’s Faire and Renaissance Festivals around the coast.”

Randall sat at one end of the table, with Sachiko at the other. Joshua was to her right, with a lady he didn’t know on his right and her husband on her other side. They introduced themselves as Grace and Brent Fletcher, friends of Sachiko’s from their motorcycle club. Brent, a large, graying man with a huge handlebar mustache, was an orthodontist. Grace had blonde highlights in her brown hair, and sold real estate. She also had a tattoo: a double heart with their names and a date. Brent, she explained, had one as well; they’d done them together on their honeymoon to cement their vows.

Across from Joshua sat Dr. Hoffman (Myles) and his wife Brenda. She was pouring soda into one of her husband’s glasses, teasing him that she drew the line at feeding him, so he’d better figure out which fork to use, and fast. Then she caught Joshua’s eye and winked.

“So, did you get these glasses to match your tattoo, or visa-versa?” Hoffman asked archly. His wife smacked him with her napkin, but asked, “Dear, your tattoo is just so elaborate. If you don’t mind my asking, how much did it cost?”

Sachiko ignored the first question, but grinned with mischief as she answered the second: “A tennis bracelet.”

Several guests laughed, but Randall looked disgusted. “You mean you hocked your diamonds to purchase a tattoo?”

“Oh, no. It was a straight-across trade. He also painted my Hawg, so it was a good deal. Everyone ready?”

They began with a moment of silence for those who wished to pray, then Sachiko announced the rules: first names only, no discussing work. After the sodas finished their rounds, the wine was passed around; Joshua was offered and accepted a little in his glass. Everyone was praising it, and Sachiko explained that it came from Newport Vineyards. Apparently, the soil and climate of Newport was quite similar to Bordeaux, France. Joshua took a careful sip. It tasted strong and spicy, but overall he couldn’t tell much difference between it and the stuff they used in church. He set it aside in favor of a Diet Coke. The food, however, was incredible. He’d guessed she was a good cook by the lunches she brought in, but when faced with delectable dishes hot from the stove…It was several minutes before he joined in any conversation.

“I remember when I used to eat like that,” Myles sighed theatrically.

“You still do. You just show it now,” his wife retorted. “Joshua, did I hear correctly that you’re from Colorado? What a wonderful state. I’ve always wanted to visit. Do you ski?”

“Umm-hmm.” He swallowed the last of his
melanzane a beccafico
and took a sip of water. “My dad has part of his practice up in Vail, so we do a lot of snowboarding there. And I cross-country ski on our ranch.”

“You have a ranch? How exciting! Do you have a lot of cattle?”

Joshua laughed. “Not really. We let it out to other ranchers in the area for their herds. In return, they take care of our horses and pay us enough to cover taxes. My great-great-grandfather and a couple of his buddies claimed it during the silver rush of the 1870s and 80s, but they never had much luck. He bought them out when they moved on north.”

“So he never found anything?”

“Just enough for this.” Joshua held up his hand. On his third finger, he wore a simple silver band.

Sachiko took his hand and pulled it closer to look. The band was old, and thinned in some spots. Any pattern was long since rubbed off. “I’d wondered about this. That’s all he found?”

“Yup. Just enough to make two rings. This one was his; the other he gave to my great-great-grandmother when he proposed.”

“How romantic.” She smiled, and for a moment, that smile was just for him. He was very sorry when she pulled her hand away.

“And how is it that a black man in the end of the nineteenth century would be able to purchase such a vast tract of land?” Randall asked with friendly interest.

It was a question often asked of his great-great-grandfather, and later of his grandfather and father; Joshua had the story memorized. “Luck and brains.” He told how his great-great-grandfather, a cowboy for the Texas “beef barons,” herded cows from Young County, Texas, up to Cheyenne, Wyoming. He’d risen up in the ranks until he was entrusted with the company payroll, something that wasn’t all that unusual even for a black man of that time. A pretty barmaid caused him to stick around Pueblo one year after the company had done exceptionally well, and he won a worthless claim in Westcliffe in a game of poker, so he started a small homestead, where he searched for silver. Nonetheless, he kept “running the bulls” most of the year. Gradually, he was able to buy out his neighbors as they used up their resources in a futile search for wealth. When he found that little bit of silver, he took it as a sign he should settle down, so he had a couple of rings made, married the girl, and lived happier than he’d ever imagined.

The conversation turned to other subjects then, and soon the food was eaten, and people were pushing away from the table with contented sighs. Sachiko quickly organized volunteers to clear and shorten the table and set out the desserts—
biscotti regina, dolce delle Monache
, and brownies—and plates, plus another bottle of wine, as well as carafes of coffee and hot water for tea. In the meantime, those who needed to set up props for their portion of the entertainment set to work doing so. A couple of people who protested that they didn’t have any talent were told, “You ate my food; you pay my price,” and directed to the long table behind the couch, where they would find a small stack of books of jokes and poetry and a list of karaoke songs.

Everyone drew numbers to determine order of performance. Joshua was last, so he loaded up his plate with goodies, poured a cup of coffee, and found a spot on the floor near the pillow Sachiko had set down for herself. Since she would want easy access to the kitchen, she had picked a spot that was in the back of the room and to one side, which suited Joshua fine. When everyone was focused on the show in front of them, he might be able to lean back and casually touch her arm. Their legs had “accidentally” brushed a couple of times during dinner, and the feeling had been electric. When Sachiko came in with her coffee cup, she slipped out of her shoes and sat gracefully on the cushion, her legs folded beneath her. She was obviously comfortable with sitting on the floor. She gave him the briefest of glances, but it was enough.

Grace, who had protested her lack of talent and was subsequently drafted by Dr. Malachai to be his magician’s assistant, had drawn the first slot, so they opened the show. He turned out to be pretty adept at sleight-of-hand, though Joshua’s favorite “sleight-of-hand” came when Randall announced his “fiery finale” and had Grace dim the lights. Sachiko shifted position just enough that their fingers touched, and she spent the duration of the trick tracing lazy designs on his hand. Even though he was staring at the makeshift stage the entire time, he had no idea what the candle trick was and didn’t even realize it was over until Sachiko pulled her hand away to applaud and Grace turned the lights back on.

Randall graciously directed applause toward Grace, took a bow himself, then quickly packed his gear and stowed it near the door. Then he pulled up a dining room chair right behind Joshua and Sachiko, forcing them to abandon their private entertainment and pay attention to the acts the others had prepared. A couple of people read poems. Dr. Jody Weaver claimed to be too awful at telling jokes or singing to take a turn, but was finally coaxed to the front. Embarrassment made her scar stand out fierce and red while she told a funny and touching story about how she had come to own a large orange tabby cat named Belle. Afterward she sat down, shaking but smiling. “I hate getting up in front of people,” she said.

Monique, who was in the choir at her Baptist church, sang “Amazing Grace.” Grace’s husband told dentist jokes, “Thus ensuring,” he said, “that I’m never asked to provide entertainment again.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Myles Hoffman countered. “My turn’s next, and you haven’t heard anything yet!”

Myles’ act was to take suggestions from the audience and construct incredibly horrible puns. Within five minutes, he had everyone groaning, and when Randall criticized his awkward combination of cheerleaders and cults (he’d finally come up with the Hoo-Ra Girls) and he replied, “Well, religious jokes are so hard to work into a convert-sation,” he was forced off the stage.

“I think that leaves you, Josh,” Sachiko said.

“And may you be better than the last act!” Danny, an accountant and another of Sachiko’s biker friends, added as Joshua moved his keyboard into place.

“Anything’s better than the last act,” Brenda added. When her husband feigned heartbreak, she gave him a playful shove. “The real question is: Are you good enough to drive the memory of those awful puns from our minds, dear?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Joshua played a few notes, warming up his fingers. He adjusted the volume, then asked, “Anything in particular?”

“Oh, my! What do you know?” Monique asked.

“Try me. I’m in a band at home. We’ve played at proms, churches, quinceañeras, even the State Fair.”

“Quit bragging and sing one of your favorites,” Sachiko called out, so he picked Ricky Martin’s “Shebang.” Encouraged by the applause, he sang another current song, then a third. When he paused, a couple of people cried, “more, more!” so again, he asked for requests.

“Do you know anything other than love songs?” Randall asked.

Joshua blinked. He hadn’t thought about the content of the songs, just sang whatever had come to mind. Now he paused, changed the settings on the keyboard to a country-western theme and started with a twang, “Oh, Lord, it’s hard to be humble—”

“Self-love song!” Myles shouted over the laughter.

“Ow! You’re right!” He changed the settings again, this time to woodwinds and flutes and Native American drums. “My best friend Rique is our lead singer and songwriter,” he explained as he let his fingers play over the keys, filling the room with the mysterious, haunting tones that always made him think of the prairie and buffalo. “He’s Mexican and Pojoaque Pueblo Indian, and very into his heritage: the sounds, the themes, the struggle of tradition and lore with modern myth and contemporary society. Anyway, this summer, he’s working at the Pojoaque Pueblo in Santa Fe and writing music based on their songs and stories, and the challenges they face balancing old and new. He just sent me this one a couple of days ago…” He sang a ballad about a young dancer: Tired of what he feels is the hypocrisy of performing ceremonial dances for photo-mad tourists, he leaves home and disappears into the desert, where he stumbles upon an ancient ruin. He sleeps there and is haunted by dreams of his ancestors, who urge him to go home, take up the dance, and keep their memory alive.