Mr. Popularity

By Lisa L

Beginning, Section II

Chapter One

Posted on Tuesday, 5 December 2006

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes
Oh, look out you rock and rollers
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

~ Changes, David Bowie, 1972

The woman leaned her arms against the stout railing, a safeguard crafted by proficient hands from generations past, and looked at the night shades of the ocean, the clouds, the sky. She'd missed her favorite time of day, when the sun sunk in the west; she was so late leaving work tonight that she'd not even caught a glimpse of the sunset on her drive home. It would have been spectacular from up here, with vivid colors from the retreating storm clouds multiplied against the ocean.

She slipped on the night and let it caress her like a clingy satin evening gown. Soft and sensuous. Her slender hand raised her glass up for another sip of her wine as she listened to the still of the May evening. With a tilt of her head, she waited for the wind's whistle to snake up the canyon or the muted, distant shore break to crash over her. Eventually, the crickets pierced the inky night. They were her only neighbors, residing in the scrub that surrounded her hilltop home.

But all that was about to change. Delicate features creased in annoyance as her concentration shifted to her right and a source of great displeasure commanded her attention: the angular outline of The House.

A year ago only wide open space had been there. Now, it was God's Country defiled. Actually, God didn't have much to do with it these days. Paid for in full by her savvy great-grandfather, the land had been void of anything other than the summer house, already built when he purchased the parcel. For decades it remained as it had always been. Pristine. Sweeping. Gaping down to the sea.

The sharp angles of the superstructure next door barged back in on her thoughts. Built much too close to her property, the offensive edifice was out of sync with everything: the landscape, the lifestyle, the locals. Make that local. Elizabeth was flying solo up here on the hill, on borrowed time though, thanks to The House. She was rubbing shoulders with the product of a creative mind gone mad. Its grand design took on monstrous proportions in the dark, looming large as if it might swallow up her more humble abode in one architecturally-innovative gulp.

She dared it to try.

Looking around for Hook, she saw the gate on the far side of her hot tub ajar. He'd opened it again and gone out for a wander. Just as she called for him, the rendition of a Motown great alerted her to an incoming call. Elizabeth answered her cell phone before it went to voicemail and listened to the latest from her elder sister. Eventually she reciprocated with her news from work, claiming bragger's rights to the intelligence of a Harbor seal she'd nurse back to health.

'Radar's nearly mended. Once his weight's back up, we'll be able to release him. He's eating more fish than my bucket will hold.' At the mention of fish, Elizabeth smelled the ends of her hair and wrinkled her nose, 'I need to shower.'

'You haven't showered yet?

Hook had returned and settled against her leg. She gave soft his ears a massage. "Late day. I've only been home about 20 minutes.'

'You didn't skip dinner again, did you?'

'Nope. I had a deluxe chicken bacon cheese burger. Gotta love the drive thru.'

'Don't tell me you're lounging around on your nice couches before you've washed all that gunk off?' spoken like the true city girl she was. Elizabeth's sister left the confines of San Francisco and ventured to far-flung locales only if 5-star comforts were pre-paid and confirmed in writing. She'd experienced Peru, Botswana, and India from a sanitized distance. Pictures from her vacations showed Jane in air-conditioned cars, restaurants or hotel rooms, perfectly made-up, dressed head-to-toe in her crisp, clean trademark white, looking ready to sail into Macy's instead of exploring exotic terrain.

'Actually, I'm having a glass of Pinot Grigio on the deck. Hook doesn't care what I smell like.' Her dog had no reaction to his name; Hook only looked up when she stopped her massage.

After a pause, her sister said, 'So, I'm waiting.'

'For what?'

'Your weekly rant. If you're out on the deck, you're staring at The House. Have your new neighbors moved in?'

'The House still isn't finished. I saw carpet and tile delivered a couple of weeks ago. Enough to fill a warehouse or, in this case, a triple car garage. It'll take a month to fit it out.'

'Haven't they been building for an awfully long time now? It seems like you've been...talking...about the construction for ages.'

'Go ahead and say what you really mean: complaining. I have every right, Jane. Would you like me to rehash what I've had to put up with for the last,' she paused and did a mental count, 'eight months?'

'No, please, let's not revisit all of that. Let me just say, The House is almost finished and it's time for you to move on and get back to some normalcy with your routine -- and your attitude.'

'Nothing will ever be normal here again.' She added a familiar lament, 'I'm not alone anymore.'

'It's called civilization. Get used to it.'

'My opinion's been disregarded. My feelings have been violated. I'm going to kill Mom.' When Elizabeth had discovered her mother sold a section of family land to outsiders, the woman who brought her into the world had been penciled in at the top of her hit list. The land hadn't even been on the market; the mysterious buyer had appeared almost as if by magic. 'She sold out my privacy for a few measly dollars.'

'At least get your figures right. Two point four mil is not a few or measly.'

'Can you imagine? Have you got her to tell you what she's done with the money?'

'All I know is, besides her appointments with Dr. Collins, who sounds like a cross between her spiritual advisor and the town gossip, she's paid off her mortgage and set up trust funds so all the grandkids will be able to go to college and buy houses. Never mind she doesn't have any grandkids yet.'

'Speaking of houses, what do you think the chances are that they built The House but don't plan to live in it?' The only thing Elizabeth and Jane knew for certain, via their mother, was it was purchased by a company located in Los Angeles.

'Not a hope in hell.'

'Maybe it's just a weekender.'

'From your description, it sounds like its big enough to be a corporate retreat or a rehab center.'

'God, I hope not. Why did you have to say that? How could I enjoy a relaxing drink outside if I've got recovering alcoholics with their faces pressed against the windows, salivating at my glass of wine?'

Her sister laughed, 'Or if you're ducking paint balls while middle management plays war games in the name of workplace bonding. Calm down. Better still, have another glass and go take a shower. I've got to go. Speaking of your favorite person, we're meeting her for Szechuan.'

'At Lotus Garden?' It was Elizabeth's favorite restaurant; real Chinese without up market pretense. Downsides came with her location 100 miles south of the best city in America; not being able to pop into Chinatown after work was one of them.

'Yes, and I'm late. She's bringing her latest and we're under threat of punctuality and our best behavior.'

'What's this one's name?'

'Does it really matter?'

'Well, call me this weekend and fill me in on him. And, tell my favorite brother-in-law hello.'

Elizabeth disconnected the call and browsed through selections to change her ringtone. Omni-present, The House stood grim and unwavering, mocking her. In a fusion of what she'd coined "Cubist meets Cape Cod", the end result of The House had been hard to picture from the beginning. It started with surveying and group consultations on the sloping land, as all parties involved in the construction carefully insured the structure about to be erected didn't take a tumble into the sea. Then the days of serious attention to deep, noisy drilling followed and on it went. Once the walls had been enclosed, the hillside appeared littered with building blocks from a giant toddler. With charcoal-colored paint, white window trim, and metal roofing, it officially became the oddest looking house in Monterey County, a stark collection of boxes with no apparent rhyme or reason to their placement. The unconventional design must have come with a hefty price tag. The owner had to be a loony tune. Elizabeth was unimpressed.

Every time she mulled it over - and she mulled with some frequency - a slant of injury and injustice cozied up for a little snuggle. They led to a generally grouchy outlook out of character for Elizabeth. As much as she hated the idea, for the hundredth time since the hard-hatted workers had broken ground on the site, she let thoughts of moving into town go round her head. A cute shuttered bungalow for her and Hook, in an established neighborhood with severe restrictions on redevelopment, could be theirs. People called her crazy for living here. They tossed around words like remote, dangerous, and dull. They said ocean views could be seen from lookout points. But, she'd never taken much notice of what people had to say. This was her private party up on the hill.

Well, it had been.

The moon ducked behind the clouds and darkness distorted perspectives of the structure next door. The House looked close enough to reach out and touch. She counted the windows dressed in their new white frames. There were 18 along the back alone, all divided by neat checker-boarded panes. As she walked to the end of her deck to close the gate, the moon returned and the light caught on the paned windows. Her heart jumped as a figure appeared to move in the closest one. She wasn't ready for strangers next door. They'd be the only people for miles. A sense of dread crawled over her. The window received her undivided attention until she was reassured it was nothing more than a trick of the clouds crossing in front of the moon. Her heart stilled and she stood in motionless assessment of the monstrosity that clashed with the natural beauty of the hillside. Eventually, the moonlight retreated again. Elizabeth turned to go inside and in doing so, missed a silhouette moving carefully from room to room, pausing at the various windows to take in the view of the coastline, the hillside, and the woman on the deck next door.

The day dawned yellow in Elizabeth's house. Because there were none, drapes were never drawn across the lofty windows of the erstwhile summer house. Seclusion had its perks and complete privacy was one of them. Perched on her hillside, she engaged in a variety of activities on her deck, weather permitting, without threat of observation. Morning coffee, afternoon sun bakes, twilight hot tub sessions, and shared evening interludes on top of the patio table -- all in the buff or pretty damn close to it -- without a worry she'd be seen. The only chance to spy on her, and any company she might have, would be from a stakeout in the rugged chaparral or an anchorage out in the Pacific. Good quality binoculars would be required for either and if someone wanted to go to all that trouble, she hoped they enjoyed the show.

But, that was before The House. Now, all the windows would have to be dressed. She couldn't face it yet so a sheet had been recruited as a temporary measure to keep prying eyes out of her bedroom.

With The House came the workmen; and they came early. Like every other day, Elizabeth didn't have to get out of bed to know they'd arrived. Pearl Jam and power saws had replaced her alarm clock months ago. The heavy sound of engines gunning up the dirt road was followed in quick succession by men, and a few women, starting their work day. She didn't mind getting up early, in fact her job required it, but she liked to do it her way, in measured degrees of re-entering the world. During the work week, activity at The House made that impossible.

She turned on her side and came face to face with Hook, graced with one black-patched eye, just like a pirate. He smiled when he saw her eyes open and, after nudging her with his nose, disappeared through the doorway. Elizabeth got up and slipped on shorts and a tee shirt, resenting the need to dress for a shot of espresso. After starting her morning brew, she let Hook out through the deck's sliding door and watched him make for the gate. He effortlessly unlatched it and bounded down the stairs.

The party was already in full swing next door. Two men, tanned and shirtless, banged away on a section of the metal roof. Another touched up trim paint. Inside, men could be seen scurrying in all directions, like worker ants with one mission in life. As she checked out the males ŕ la mode, the one perk in this dismal affair of house-building, she heard Hook's bark above the music and the drilling and hammering. It was his happy bark; the construction workers must be playing with him again.

'Morning, Elizabeth!'

The greeting came from a man replacing a glass panel in the railing along one of the many decks, a friendly guy whose name she'd forgotten. She smoothed it over with a simple, 'Happy Friday.'

'Where's your coffee?'

'Brewing.' The name of his buddy, who'd been with him once, came to her. 'What are you and Kyle going to do over the long weekend?'

He stopped to talk to her. 'Well, we were going down to Mexico until Kyle got fired. Now he's gone to San Jose to look for work. I guess I'll just hang around here.'

'What happened?'

'Steve fired a bunch of guys.' Elizabeth knew Steve, the foreman on the site. He'd introduced himself the first week work had begun, and made several apologies over the course of the construction for various inconveniences afforded to her. Elizabeth began to reassess her opinion of the foreman when her nameless acquaintance continued, 'He's got a lot of pressure on him. The House is behind schedule. It should've been finished in March. The owners have some kind of big deadline to meet but they keep changing their minds about things. And every time something gets changed, we have to rip something out and redo it. Or wait for new materials to be delivered. But they expect us to keep on schedule.'

'I can't believe he'd fire people for that. It's not their fault.'

'Well, what happened was, he fired everyone who went surfing Monday morning. It's always been, if the surf's good, we're there. Sometimes we go and work a half day. It was never been a problem before. Until this job. I've heard the owner is a real --'

'John!' Steve stood on the slope looking up at him, 'As soon as you finish there, check the panels at the patio off the kitchen.'

'I already checked them.'

'Check them again.'

John, who had now been identified, gave her a half-smile that had nothing to do with being happy and went back to work while Steve walked off without so much as a hello to Elizabeth. She retreated inside, speculating about the people moving in next door. They sounded like demanding flip-floppers blaming delays from their whims on the poor workmen. What was wrong with a morning of surfing if you didn't expect to get paid?

When she returned, cup in hand, John had disappeared. Contrary to all hope, The House was still there. It was worse than simply one tasteless home on the hill. Crowded together where no crowds existed, it was right next to her house and then there was nothing else in either direction. The placement was comical, or would have been if it wasn't so distressful to Elizabeth. The land her mother had sold was close to two acres. It was beyond reason why the owners had built The House right against hers.

She sensed her blood pressure surging. Putting it down to her nameless enemy instead of the strength of her caffeine jolt, she was about to call for Hook when her phone discharged a musical salute to Nazis in the spring. After quick consultations with the caller, plans for a second cup were abandoned. Her morning schedule had just been thrown into disarray. Instead of heading off to her charges at the Institute, she was on her way to rescue a dolphin.

The Oceanus Rescue and Rehabilitation Institute cradled a small bay carved out of California's central coast. Born from the exceptional mind of Mark Wieggoché, she was his only child. He'd nurtured her from conception and through her floundering infancy to watch her mature into one of the country's foremost centers for injured and stranded marine life. The road to success had its potholes but, as a formidable contender for recognition and acclaim, Dr. Wieggoché had no qualms about doing whatever it took to keep the Institute on course and moving forward. Its gains of prestige and stature within the field were proof enough of his determination and now, as the Institute was about to celebrate her 25th birthday, she showed no signs of advancing years; she experienced regular upgrades and only a few months ago had some cosmetic work to keep up appearances.

Bent over her keyboard, Elizabeth paused. After spending the better part of the day assisting in the rescue of a Right whale dolphin that had been stranded upriver, she'd just opened her research about Southern sea otters and sat studying the picture of one lounging amongst the kelp beds. She didn't hear Dr. Wiegghocé enter her office as she reached for a Tootsie Roll. He hovered quietly behind her before he spoke.

'Would you like some news?'

She swiveled her chair around and their eyes met, immediately triggering the camaraderie he favored her with. 'Is it good?'

Every program, every rescued animal, every inch of the institute received hands-on attention from Dr. Wiegghocé. As did his employees. He used his highly acclaimed reputation, inside connections and at times less honorable means to get his pick of best and brightest. His criteria for employment extended beyond academic achievement; Dr. Wiegghocé had the foresight to understand that enthusiasm and hard work could carry people much further than simple book smarts. Graduate students scrambled for the chance to show him what they were made of in order to nab one of the Institute's prized internships. Elizabeth's passion had caught his eye.

He glanced out the window, taking time with his announcement, his attention on a lone albatross making lazy circles in the sky. 'It's about your sea otters.'

He didn't have to say anymore. Working in conjunction with several centers worldwide, ORRI intended to take the lead in establishing a breeding and release program for Southern sea otters. For close to two years, Dr. Wiegghocé had been soliciting grants from any sources that would listen -- federal agencies, state departments, private businesses -- to find funding for the breeding program. It was vital for the survival of the species, whose numbers were dwindling. Elizabeth had chosen to earn her PhD by specializing in the depletion of their population and the good doctor had designed the project for his most passionate employee. Its mention flipped Elizabeth's switch. She crossed her leg and jiggled her foot, waiting for him to continue.

'I got an email today from SRH.' Seamus Richter Hoffmann. Huge German Corporation. Known to dole out a handful of grants every few years. Preferably for environmental causes. Very selective. 'Their board voted yesterday.'

The laces on Elizabeth's boot tapped against leather. 'Uh huh....'

'It was close, 7 to 5.'

Elizabeth's foot jiggled faster and her chair began to roll sideways. She set her feet squarely on the floor. 'For God's sake, do we have the money or not?'

Wiegghocé turned to her. Blue eyes twinkled under heavy brows. He answered with a smile, 'I've been at it all morning, crunching numbers with what they've committed to us. I---'

He got no further. Elizabeth's enthusiasm sent her flying into his arms. She hugged him tightly and bubbled over. She paced the room as they shot ideas back and forth. Overcome with excitement, she hugged him again. And Mark Wiegghocé, eminent marine biologist, experienced businessman and above all opportunist, made no attempt to pull away from her.

Chapter Two

Posted on Thursday, 14 December 2006

Oh, mercy, mercy me.
Ah, things ain't what they used to be.
What about this over crowded land?
How much more abuse from man can she stand?

~ Mercy Mercy Me, Marvin Gaye, 1971

At the old wooden sign marking Bennet Ranch Road, Elizabeth eased off the paved highway and rolled to a stop by her mailbox. It still lacked a companion. Maybe her new neighbors didn't get conventional mail. She tossed envelopes and the local throwaway paper onto the seat and began the last leg of her drive home, up the dirt road that ended at her house. The bouncy ride was anything but unpleasant. Her '58 GMC pickup, with battle scars from its years of service, was made to drive through the surrounding acres of rural ranch land. Elizabeth never tired of it. With the interstate cutting inland several miles south at San Ramona, the world zipped past this sleepy stretch of forgotten California coast at 70 miles per hour. Acquired as far back as the nineteenth century in some cases, the expansive tracts of land had always been privately owned and, apart from the unfortunate digression of Elizabeth's mother, monetary incentives had not succeeded in parceling them off to developers.

Bennet Ranch Road progressed unhurriedly through oak clusters and open spaces. As Elizabeth drove, the remains of her work day faded away and she lost herself in the chaos of late season wildflowers. As a familiar grove appeared and the blanket of color changed from yellow and orange to a patchwork of purple, there was an out of place glint on the road ahead. It tore her away from nature's handiwork. A double take confirmed that a sleek silver car was barreling down on her at an alarming speed. The driver was either unaware they were sharing the back road or had a lack of concern for the truck in the middle of it. Definitely not in the mood to play chicken with a road warrior, Elizabeth had to turn the wheel sharply to avoid the oncoming car. Her old pickup came to an abrupt stop against a dirt embankment as the silver bullet whizzed by.

In the rearview mirror, she saw taillights flash through the settling dust. Instinct to stick it to the idiot behind the wheel kicked in. Elizabeth gathered up her indignity to hurtle at the rogue driver but before her feet hit the ground, the car pulled away and cheated her out of issuing a verbal lashing. She stood in the middle of the road feeling completely helpless. Impatience for all things intrusive bubbled and boiled inside Elizabeth before surfacing like a Seawolf class submarine. With the heel of her boot, she pulverized a clump of wildflowers growing along the edge of the road. It didn't make her feel any better.

She stared in the direction the speeding car had vanished. She'd never seen it before. It was definitely not the type a construction worker could afford. And, anyone from around here would know better than to drive like that. She jumped to the obvious conclusion. The only other people who had any business up here would be her new neighbors. They had nearly run her off the road! If everyone in LA drove like that, it was no wonder road rage was as prolific as Beverly Hills liposuction.

The fields of flowers had lost their charm. Elizabeth hopped back into her truck, anxious to get home. Eventually, she reached the dead end at the summer house where the gentle hillside descended to the Pacific. After hellos had been said and Hook had his obligatory respite amongst the undergrowth, Elizabeth peeled off her fishy work clothes and took a shower. Padding around in fluffy slippers and well-worn jeans, her outlook reclaimed a more positive path. She turned to a stack of mail while meals were consumed, saving pizza coupons and allocating a pest control voucher to the throw away pile. The electricity bill was shoved aside unopened. A thin envelope, embossed in the upper left-hand corner, caught her eye. From a law firm. As she turned it over and over, taking in the feel of the expensive paper, she did some inner searching in case she'd forgotten about anyone she'd ploughed into recently on the highway. Maybe someone she didn't know had left her a bundle because no one she knew had recently moved on to the next life.

The return address in Los Angeles registered with her. L.A. It meant only one thing to her these days. The new neighbors. A lawsuit from the owners of The House?!

She shredded the envelope to get to the heart of the matter. After a quick scan, she slowed and re-read the paragraphs more thoroughly. When she was done, she stared expressionless out a full-length window into the ocean. Then, Elizabeth erupted.

The letter flew towards the ceiling. 'Of all the nerve!'

She gestured dramatically, 'I was here first. Buy the family's land and then get rid of them. Pick them off so the place is all yours. Never in my life have I ever seen such a calculating, manipulative, scheming ploy. Can you imagine?'

Hook sniffed the letter, resting by a floor lamp, and jumped back when Elizabeth snatched it up. She read it again.

Dear Ms. Bennet,

With the completion of construction on 1A of what is commonly known as Bennet Ranch, Monterey County expected within the coming month, imminent changes to the lifestyle you have enjoyed will occur. When our client takes possession, there will be necessary adjustments to be made that may not be to your liking. To that end, for the convenience of both parties, our client is prepared to assist you with relocation.

She broke off to demand of Hook, 'Can you believe this bull?'

Each point made in the letter extracted a boisterous response from her. 'Sub-let your property - as if it's on the market. Reasonable amount - ha, that's a laugh. Additional compensation for moving expenses - give me a break. If this offer is unacceptable, we would be open to a counter offer - counter offer over my dead body. I wonder if they can see this counter offer through the L.A. smog?' Elizabeth faced south and displayed a lone finger considered highly offensive. She continued to mutter for some time before she came to her senses and grabbed her cell phone.

When Jane answered, she came straight to the point, which was as clear as a therapeutic mud bath. 'They're trying to push me out.'

'Of the Institute?'

'Of course not! Here, at my home.'

'Are you talking about how close The House is to your property line? That's last years' news.'

'Just listen to this.' Elizabeth read her letter, spreading liberal sarcasm wherever she deemed it appropriate.

'Actually, that's not a bad offer. What do you think?'

'What do I think? What do you think I think?

Referring to her highly-charged state, Jane observed, 'Elizabeth, you need to take it down a few notches.'

'But Jane, they're trying to get rid of me! Then, when no one lives here, they'll catch Mom, Mrs. Pushover 1987, in her perpetually vulnerable state and grab some more land! It's easy pickings with her.'

'Maybe now's a good time to think about joining the rest of the world, at least the portion of it living in San Ramona. After all, the nightlife's not exactly rip-roaring in you neck of the woods. You come home from work, you clean up and you're so far away from everything that you never stick your big toe out the door. Since you broke up with--'

'No, no, nonononono. Not going there.' She wouldn't let Jane analyze her last relationship.

'You don't go out to meet anyone or join in anything to circulate. I think the isolation is affecting your judgment.'

'Jane! I'm with people every day, all day and the day can be very long.'

'Don't you mean wet, smelly animals?'

'Mark wouldn't appreciate you calling him that.'

'Mark? Are you talking about Dr. Wiegghocé?'

'Yes...'

'When did he become Mark?'

'Last year.'

'About the time you broke up with-'

'Jane...'

'Fine, it's none of my business anyway except he's your boss, which should be taboo right there, he's way too old for you, that's the yuck factor, and I never really liked him, which represents my gifted insight.'

'Don't try and connect the dots. There aren't any.'

Veering back to her original point, Jane kept the ball rolling, 'What did you do last weekend?'

'I did my laundry. I worked on my otter research. I made a great batch of chili.'

'Translation: you opened a can of Hormel's.' When Elizabeth didn't respond, she asked, 'Did you see another living, breathing human?'

'I shopped for window coverings.'

'In the flesh or online, Elizabeth?'

After a long pause, she said, 'I'm not answering that. And, what difference does it make anyway? I called you about an attack on me and you've turned it all around.'

Jane's next remark was full of sisterly concern. 'No I haven't. I simply took the opportunity to point out some things that you conveniently avoid on a regular basis. Someday you're going to wake up, middle-aged and lonely, and wonder why you've got no one to cuddle up to but a slimy sea otter.'

They hadn't had such a direct exchange about this particular subject before. It cut painfully close to issues Elizabeth didn't want to explore. 'I'm not ready yet, Jane. Something will make me want to get back out there, but it hasn't happened yet.'

Her sister knew when to back off. 'Alright, let's get back to the letter. From a practical point, if you took the offer, the monthly fee they'd pay would more than cover any rent you'd have in town. Heck, it might cover a mortgage payment. You'd come out way ahead financially by having someone subsidize the purchase of a home. It's a sweet deal.'

'You just don't get it, do you?'

'I get that you're stubborn.'

'But, they're trying to prejudice me into moving by paying me off. They're people with no morals or concern about anyone but themselves.'

'Who's being prejudiced, Elizabeth? You don't even know them to make that judgment. Do you like The House?'

'You know I don't.'

'Is it the source of recurring distress?'

'Yes.'

'Does the thought of people living in it, yards away from you and your deck, repulse you?'

'Of course.'

'Then, take the money and move.'

'I'm not moving. I'll never move. And, let me tell you something,' she waved the letter around, 'They'd better not expect to exchange friendly hellos or favorite recipes with me.'

'Somehow dear, I don't think that's going to happen.'

Elizabeth had no intention of answering the letter. It was dispatched to the fireplace, and even though the late spring night she'd received it on was pleasantly warm she built a fine blaze and burned it. The reflection of the flames licked the oak panels of the house and lit up her face. As satisfying as it was to watch the letter turn to cinders, the exercise did nothing to vanquish the resentment she felt at the invasion of her entire lifestyle. She felt like crying but relented, judging it was stereotypically female. But, she was more than ready to wallow in some self pity. She spent a good portion of that evening lolling in a mix of anger and loathing from her one-sided analysis of her new neighbor's character and how it had been inflicted on her.

Two weeks later, Elizabeth worked a half day only to come home and find her road clogged. Vehicles of every type were parked helter skelter and it was impossible to get closer than 50 yards away from her place. She parked at the end of the line, behind an up market deli's van. Halfway to her house, she met the delivery woman trudging towards her carrying an oversized white bag.

When she was close enough, Elizabeth asked, 'I parked behind you. Do you have enough room to get out?'

'Yeah, I think so.' The overweight woman paused to get her breath. 'Fair warning. When you get to The House, steer clear of the stick woman with the lips. You should be able to hear her screaming from here.'

'Huh?'

'All hell's broke lose inside because the carpet in the master bedroom isn't the right shade. It's not going to photograph right. You'd think the rotation of the earth was going to come to a grinding halt because they'd installed Medieval Pewter instead of Quaker Gray. Heck, it looked great to me.' Confidentially, she added, 'And really, with a husband who looks like that, why would you be worried about the color of the carpet when you were in the bedroom?'

Elizabeth didn't attempt to answer that question. 'I'm not going to The House. I live next door.'

'To that woman? My condolences. Have you had lunch? ' Before Elizabeth could respond, a bag was pressed into her hand. 'Here, take theirs.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah, it'll just go to waste. It's Croque-Provencal for two.'

'Why didn't they want it?'

'Stick woman stopped shouting at the carpet company long enough to shout at me. I've been told that because good ol' Myrna feeds her goats anything she's got lying around, that's not an organic diet, so the goat cheese is inconsumable.' The exasperated woman shook her head. 'Why didn't they ask when they ordered? Now I've got to go all the way back to the shop for Salade d'Onglet. If the hanger steak is anything other than grass-fed USDA certified beef, free from herbicides, pesticides or any other thing-a-sides, I'm not going to tell them.'

'Well, thanks for the lunch,' she said to the woman, who continued on to her van.

Elizabeth walked through her carport and up to the door. A notice tucked behind the screen slowed her progress. She plucked it out, read it, narrowed her eyes and looked at The House, before she unlocked the door and went in. Hook quickly diverted his enthusiastic hello to the smells emanating from the white bag. While Elizabeth put it on the counter he sat down, striving to be all things perfect to qualify for a handout. He was out of luck. Elizabeth forgot about the bag due to the message left for her by Caltrans. They were coming in two days time to honor her by paving her road. She was advised have her vehicle down at the main road by 6 am or she would not be able to get it out. Her road would not be accessible again until after 4 pm the following day.

She was outraged, an easy state to get her into these days. She wasn't going to take this lying down. She'd just have herself a little talk with Caltrans. About her dirt road, her wishes and her rights. If they didn't want to sort it out through reasonable discussion, she'd resort to yelling the loudest, since those folks were the ones who generally got what they wanted.

With a robust cadence, she shook the floorboards on her way to get the phone book. Too upset to find the listing, she finally realized it was printed on the notice. Before she could dial, her mobile phone exploded with the 1812 Overture.

'What?!'

'Hey, what's wrong?'

'Five minutes.' Elizabeth hung up on her sister and dialed Caltrans. After a futile exchange with the operator, she left a message for the district administrator to call her. Then, she called Jane back.

'It's me.'

'What's going on?'

By now, Elizabeth had pulled out her free lunch. While she filled her sister in on the latest plot her new neighbors had hatched against her, she munched on grilled eggplant with assorted veggies, sun dried tomato aioli and the infamous "non-organic" goat cheese.

'What exactly do you have against paved roads?'

'We've gotten along fine without them for decades. Why change things now?'

'If I remember, when we were little, Daddy tried to get them to pave that road.'

'I'm sure he didn't. Daddy and I always thought alike.'

'I think he did and they wouldn't do it because it was on private land.'

'If that's the case they were smart. We don't need a paved road here.'

'Elizabeth, you know what I think?'

'No, and from the tone of your voice, I can tell I'm not going to want to know.'

'No matter what your new neighbors do, you're not going to like it. You're predisposed to dislike them.'

'Oh yeah? Well, wait until I tell you what happened.' Elizabeth filled her sister in on the carpet tantrum.

'Building can be really stressful. Remember how whacked out I got when we remodeled the bathroom last year? And look at yourself and what The House has done to you! Maybe the woman next door is a bitch, maybe the husband and wife are unreasonable people that will be horrible neighbors. But, since you burned the letter from the lawyers, you're stuck with them. Judge them for yourself, though. Why not go next door, introduce yourself, thank them for lunch, and check on the carpet!?'

'Pffffttt!' At that moment, Elizabeth looked out the window. 'Hang on, what's this!?!'

With the phoned glued to her ear, she went out on the deck and looked over at The House, or more precisely at the narrow space between her house and The House. A trench had been dug while she'd been gone and workmen were busy filling it in. They were on the fourth row of concrete blocks rising to the sky. Her neighbors were building a fence.

'What's what?' Jane asked.

Elizabeth ignored her sister's question and hung over the side of the railing directly above the workmen. 'What are you doing?'

Two faces looked up at her. Eventually, one stated the obvious, 'Building a fence.'

'I haven't approved this.' The workmen shrugged their shoulders and went back to work. 'How high is it going to be?'

'Seven feet.'

Jane cut in, 'What's going on?'

'They're building a fence. Right next to my house! Don't I have to approve that?'

'I don't think so, unless it's on your property.'

'That does it! I'll call you back.'

'Take ten deep breaths and don't say anything--' She cut Jane off and tossed her phone on the couch before she tromped back out the front door with Hook at her heels.

She was just in time to see her neighbors leaving. There was no mistaking stick woman. Thin enough to have lost all her curves - except the fake ones up top - her lips were as big and bright as a mandarin orange. A man who towered over the silver bullet closed the passenger door for her and rounded the back of the car to fold himself into the driver's seat. The door closed and his window lowered. While waiting for a truck to move out of the way, he scanned the commotion from behind sunglasses, lingering in the direction a crane lowering a mature Mexican Blue palm into place and finally coming to a stop at Elizabeth. She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them and launched herself in his direction. If he thought she was coming over to address him, he certainly didn't care. The truck cleared a path and the man shot the silver bullet down the hill, about as mindful of the car crunch along the road as he had been of Elizabeth's truck the other day.

Elizabeth saw a harassed-looking Steve try to slip by her unnoticed. Over her dead body was he getting away. She cornered him by a palate of fence blocks and started in. 'Steve, when did they decide to build a fence?'

Steve didn't look her in the eye. He didn't even answer her. The crane swinging the palm around nearly hit an eave of The House. He yelled some very colorful instructions to the operator.

Elizabeth stuck her face in his line of vision, 'When did they decide to build a fence?'

His tired eyes met hers. 'It was always in the plans.'

'Can they do that without telling me?'

'As long as the plans have been approved, and they have.'

'I'm surprised about that because it sure doesn't fit with a county that embraces all things in harmony with the environment.'

'You'll like it better when it's been painted.'

'Painted?'

'Charcoal, to match The House.'

'A black fence?!?! They must have bought off the inspector to get that passed.'

'Are you suggesting someone was bribed?'

'What do you think?'

Steve stated flatly, 'What I think doesn't matter. I just work for them, I don't have to like them, uh, it.'

Elizabeth glanced towards the space between her house and The House. 'A solid seven-foot high black wall is overkill. They're building a fortress.'

'It's only like that next to your house. The other sides are metal grillwork so the views are unobstructed.'

'Are you saying that building the block fence has nothing to do with keeping the mountain lions out? They're just trying to block their view of me? Well, isn't that a shame. The fence isn't high enough for that. They've got three stories of outside patios across the back of The House.'

'Yes, but eucalyptus grows pretty fast. It won't take any time for them to reach 30 feet.'

Her eyebrows scrunched together. 'Eucalyptus?'

Right on cue, two open-bed trucks rumbled up and Steve pointed to their leafy cargo, 'A thick stand of them planted along the length of the block fence.' He left her to ponder that while he went to direct traffic along the narrow road.

As the clock closed in on midnight, under a weak moon, Elizabeth walked down the dirt road to move her truck. The latest developments had left her feeling fractious. Instead of blowing off unproductive steam, she'd spent the afternoon channeling her energy to something useful. She'd started a list of every change perpetrated against her since construction on The House began. The task was meant to be a therapeutic outlet, but a feeling of general morose still hung over her.

It was the cocktail of night air and dominating quiet that lightened her outlook. With evidence of the frantic action of the day gone and the road emptied, Bennet Ranch was unchanged again. Elizabeth could pretend the last year never happened. And nothing could contradict that until she looked back to the construction zone that engulfed The House. So, she didn't face that way. When she reached her truck, she leaned against it and drank in the moon.

Just when Elizabeth was well into symbiotic balance with the lunar rotation and fresh fields, a man-made source of light barged into her Zen zone. Make that two. A pair of headlights cut across the road followed closely by a car. One she'd never seen before. This was a nondescript sedan.

It stopped alongside the neighbor's new driveway and the driver hopped out. Elizabeth could see he wore a military uniform. The back door was opened and another man in snappish dress stepped out. He carried a large satchel. The driver returned to wait in the front seat while the visitor walked to the front door, disappearing from Elizabeth's view. She watched for the porch light to come on or lights to go on inside, but all remained dark. There were no signs of life in The House.

Elizabeth continued to turn it over in her mind while she refilled Hook's water bowl. Talk about weird. It was kind of late for someone to be dropping by, wasn't it? Had she not seen the car stop next door, she would never have known they had a visitor. She locked the doors, a new task only recently added to her routine, and thought that she hadn't known that the owners were even there full time. There never seemed to be signs of life around once the construction crews left. Maybe they'd been staying there already without her knowing. That gave her a creepy feeling. She checked the battery of her mobile, absently scrolled through ringtones, and calculated how long it took to drive into San Ramona where safety in numbers, approximately 8,000 of them, lay waiting. She made her choice, Thriller, and turned off the light.

Chapter Three

Posted on Monday, 25 December 2006

Day after day
Alone on a hill
The man with the foolish grin
Is keeping perfectly still
But nobody wants to know him
They can see that he's just a fool
And he never gives an answer
But the fool on the hill

~ Fool On The Hill, John Lennon and Paul McCartney, 1967 Caltrans had done a first-rate job erasing any traces of the dirt road, making a smooth transition from the highway to the new pavement. It irked Elizabeth. She didn't see asphalt as an advantage only as another change belched up from a bottomless pit of unwelcome changes. She could hardly stay ahead of them. They constantly nipped at her heels these days.

She pulled up next to her mailbox, now dwarfed by an officious piece of work, done in charcoal with white trim that was her neighbors' excuse for a mail receptacle. It matched The House perfectly. The obnoxious boxes were multiplying.

Presented with the perfect opportunity to get to know her neighbors better, she weighed up taking a peek into their world by rummaging through their mail. After all, these people were blank slates. She could be living next door to anyone. Butcher, baker, axe murderer, the possibilities were endless.

She inched out of her window, stretched past her box, and touched the replicated handle of a miniature front door. But there she stopped short. It might be construed as a federal offense subject to a $10,000 fine and stiff jail time. Elizabeth had never been the sort to run foul of the law, but the stress and frustration of weeks - months -- of everything she'd put up with threatened to unduly influence her. After all, this was Bennet land and these people were outsiders building their big black fences and sneaking around in the dark.

It was all rather sinister and she had a right to know about them.

Her hand wavered uncertainly by the tiny door when it swung open on its own and mail poured out, scattering envelopes across the asphalt. Elizabeth wiggled back inside the truck and flung her door open. It smashed right into the side of the fancy box. The entire black and white affair began to wobble on its support before it settled at a decided angle.

Appalled, Elizabeth gathered up the letters being nudged towards the main road by an inconvenient breeze. She sorted them into a neat pile and stuffed them back inside. Then, she pulled the box back into an upright position, let go, and watched it lean even more precariously towards the ground. As it went into tilt mode, the door swung open and mail began to slide out again. She slammed the door and went back to work trying to shore up the support. Shifting some dirt against it didn't work so Elizabeth hunted around for some rocks she could pile around the sides.

While bent over to fetch a pair of nice sized ones, she heard the downshift of an engine much more sophisticated than hers. She stood up, rock in each hand, as the silver bullet came purring to stop behind her truck. Fully flustered, Elizabeth approached the car as a tinted window glided downwards.

She noticed his hands first, one gripping the wheel, the other resting on the door. Large and well-proportioned with uniform nails that appeared to have regular attention by a manicurist. His hands were perfect, or would be with a little wear and tear on them. Up close, his features looked to be chiseled from travertine: a sublime profile in warm tones, flawed only by a stony expression.

Despite this, Elizabeth pronounced him handsome and this only flustered her more. The trials and tribulations he'd put her through were temporarily forgotten. The stuff that got her blood racing in the presence of a good-looking man kicked in. She bumbled through a white lie to explain her two hands full of rocks.

'Hi. I'm your next-door-neighbor. While I was getting my mail, I noticed that your mailbox was falling over. I was going to try and prop it back up for you.'

His reaction was concealed behind his sunglasses. Thinking he was studying his damaged mailbox, she turned towards it and, as if on cue, it creaked over even further. The door swung open and the mail threatened to fall out again. Elizabeth dropped the rocks and grabbed for it. Like a sinking ship before its death plunge into the deep, the mailbox creaked and hovered and then fell over. A cloud of dirt rose.

As the cause of its demise, guilt prodded Elizabeth to try and stand it back up. Her neighbor's voice, laced with acerbic authority, stopped her in her tracks.

'Don't bother, please. I'll have my---' At that moment, the breeze reawakened, sending that certain smell that clung to Elizabeth at the end of the workday in his direction. It arrested him mid-sentence. An odd look crossed his face, evident even without benefit of seeing his eyes. Elizabeth sensed his attention had shifted and that he was watching her from behind his sunglasses. She broke the awkward pause by handing him his mail.

'Thank you,' he said coolly as she watched one superb hand take it. Confirming that lingering roadside was not on his agenda, he rolled his window back up and pulled away.

As he drove off up the hill, he left her standing there, wondering about his eyes. Even though he was handsome, he wasn't necessarily an attractive man. Eyes told the truth about that but she hadn't seen into his to probe what really lay inside of him.

Attractive? Inner self?? Elizabeth was shocked that she'd slipped so effortlessly into a forgiving frame of mind with the intruder from LA. Simply because he was good looking! It was an unforgivable digression. She went through a check list of everything she already knew about him. It confirmed the man was about as appealing as a steamy mound of garbage trucking to the dump. She should've grabbed the moment and given him some of his own back.

He deserved a thorough grilling. She should have asked him how the road really got paved.

He deserved a traffic citation. She should have brought up road safety and quoted the California Driver's Handbook.

He deserved to be brought down a peg or two. She should have advised him that bribery was best left to lobbyists and politicians, or mothers who were desperate for the cooperation of their toddlers.

His whole attitude was rude as hell. He hadn't even introduced himself. Her first hand experience qualified her now to label the guy presumptuous, sneaky and generally undesirable. Elizabeth couldn't wait to tell Jane just how right she'd been all along. Even better, she could call him by name. At least by his last name.

Delarango. It sounded like a truck tough enough to take hard driving by a hard-working man.

When Elizabeth coasted into her carport, she didn't notice the latest progress to The House. It wasn't until she went back out after dinner to get some CDs she'd left in the truck that she spotted the finished front gardens. In the twilight, strategically placed lighting underscored their completion. At varied elevations healthy grass, variegated pebbles and trickling water competed for attention. Artistic finesse led her eye to each focal point. A stone figure. The Mexican Blue palm. Some waxy purple thing. Elizabeth inched to the edge of her drive and saw running water rippling ponds framed by lush plants. A perfectly planned setting. A first rate effort. She would have been disappointed by anything less.

In the middle of this botanical handiwork appeared an entity the neighbors hadn't counted on. Hook. Elizabeth heard the rustle of plants and the soft crunch of pebbles. She saw his head bob from between some bushes before it disappeared. She whisper-shouted to him but he didn't come. Lapping started. And stopped. And started again. He was drinking from one of the ponds. She scanned all around but couldn't see him and suddenly there he was in the spotlight by the palm. She used her 'you're in big trouble' voice to call to him again. He looked at her as he raised his leg and marked the trunk. By rights the Mexican Blue palm was his now. Elizabeth needed to get him out of there before he left any other housewarming gifts.

'Hook! Come. Here.'

He stared at her, and then at a rippling pond. Just as she was about to go drag him home, he came over with a spring in his step, clearly thrilled with his new garden. She lifted his dripping muzzle and set some ground rules, 'No Hook, no! Do not go over there.'

Elizabeth retrieved her CDs and started for the house when the bushes next door rustled again. She quietly closed the door of the truck. Her right hand firmly gripped Hook's collar and she pulled him back out of the light. From the shadows, a tall figure could be seen walking about. He moved with measured care, inspecting here and there, eventually stepping out into the open. With the spotlights lights slicing the garden in sections, he stood in the sapphire blue of early evening, his face obscured from Elizabeth. He held something in his hand, the same impeccable one that took the mail, tossing it up and catching it like a kid with a baseball, as he moved over to the palm.

She didn't want to talk to her neighbor and this was her cue to escape. Elizabeth crept towards her door, pulling a resisting Hook with her. He'd spotted Delarango and wanted to meet the new guy next door. He whined and tugged and tried to worm his way free while Elizabeth scolded and tugged and tried to hang on to him.

Delarango turned towards the sounds. He took a few steps in their direction and moved into the light. Gone was the distant man from the car; even from where Elizabeth stood, the contented expression lent an entirely different air to his appearance. He was at ease in the setting and it showed. He actually looked friendly.

Elizabeth was unmoved since this was contrary to everything she already knew about him.

All she wanted to do was go back inside, so she stepped out in the open and faced him. She decided direct eye contact was the way to go and made it a point to say everything on her mind optically. She silently relayed her message, especially the part about her never moving and waited for his response.

His head inclined and a light from his garden shone in his eyes. He dropped what he was tossing. It was left where it landed as he shaded his eyes and looked right at her. But, he didn't say a word. If the guy chose to avoid talking to her, she could play that game, too. And, she'd had enough.

'Come on. In the house.' She tugged on Hook's collar, turned on her heel and led him inside without a glance back at Delarango.

Elizabeth had been through two clerks and a supervisor before the head of Building and Planning came over to greet her. Tucked under his arm was a bulky bundle of blueprints and papers pertaining to Bennet Ranch. As he sat them on the counter, he introduced himself, 'Hello, Ms. Bennet. I'm Ed Gardiner. I understand you're looking for some answers.'

She decided to start all over from the beginning. 'Yes. Is there some sort of law that makes it compulsory to advise your next door neighbors when you build a fence?'

'Well normally nope, not if you follow the codes in place. However, if you want to make any variances, then yep, it is possible you might have to.'

'I'd like to know if the fence that's been built next door to me meets building code or regulations or whatever you call it.'

Ed shuffled through his paper trail and paused at a neat clipped stack. He flipped through the sheets and told her, 'Yep, it certainly does.' He cited the stages of approval the plans had gone through and the inspection date of the fence.

'What's the height limit for residential fencing?'

'Six feet,' he answered confidently.

'Well, the fence my neighbors have built is just over seven feet. Now, why wasn't my approval necessary to have the fence built that high?'

"Like I said, it might be necessary to get the a-okay from your neighbors. Then again, there could be gray areas involved.'

'Does my case have gray areas?'

'Yep. You see, this land -- yours -- Bennet Ranch and other parcels in the area, aren't zoned residential so even though you've subdivided a parcel with approval for a residential dwelling, it's not residential. It's zoned rural and that's a whole different kettle of fish.'

'So Ed, what's the height limit for fencing in rural areas?'

'It's discretionary.'

'By that, I guess you don't mean my discretion.'

'Nope, it's up to the city council that has jurisdiction to decide.'

'Did the council decide, Ed?'

He looked through the papers. 'Yep, they sure did Ms. Bennet. On March 15. The vote was unanimous.'

'Ed?'

'Yep?'

'There's not a thing I can do about this, is there?'

''Fraid not Ms. Bennet.'

Elizabeth was going to take her cue and make a graceful exit, when she remembered another little matter. She decided as long as she was crashing she might as well go down in flames.

'Could you tell me why my private road was paved by Caltrans? I'd never even contacted them about it.' Elizabeth had no illusions that her neighbors were behind it all, but she wanted to hear it, with all due respect to Ed Gardiner, from the horse's mouth.

Her question baffled Ed. He spent some time looking through his paperwork and eventually went to the information highway. His eyes brightened when he found what he was looking for at Caltrans' website. 'Here it is. Yep, it's simple enough Ms Bennet. Since there's more than one residence on the road, an agreement was needed by the owners of all the properties that border onto it regarding private upkeep and maintenance. Since no agreement was in place, Caltrans took over jurisdiction. Calle de Oro is considered a public road now and must meet the standards of any public road. You're real lucky you didn't have to pay to pave it yourself. As long as that road is, it would have cost you a pretty penny.'

Elizabeth stopped listening when he said Calle de Oro. Not only had her road been paved, now Caltans thought they should rename it. This was where she drew the line in the sand.

'The name of the road is Bennet Ranch Road.'

'Hmmm.' He re-checked the website and referred to paper notes, 'Nope, not according to what it says here ... and here.'

'Ed, my family's been there for generations. It's been called that forever.'

'According to Caltrans, the road never had a name.'

'There's been a sign at the turn off the highway since I can remember that says Bennet Ranch Road.'

'Well, did you ever register it officially?' Elizabeth looked crestfallen. 'You should've registered it officially, Ms. Bennet.'

More to herself than to Ed, Elizabeth asked, 'How did it get the name Calle de Oro?'

'Anyone can submit a name for a road.' Ed looked at the monitor again. 'Here, the council meeting on April 8 approved the motion and referred it to Caltrans the next day.'

'Ed, can you tell me who made the motion?'

'Sure can. A Mr. Delarango did.'

Afterwards, when she was ensconced in the well-worn seat of her truck, Elizabeth couldn't remember if she'd thanked Ed Gardiner for the information. He'd walked her out on his way to lunch and they'd paused at a new bronze sculpture in the courtyard. Designed to be viewed from any angle, its "in the round" presentation emphasised the psychological realism of its Modern Classic design. All Elizabeth knew was it reminded her of a pack of dogs fighting over a giant pretzel. Ed said he'd heard it portrayed man's eternal conflict between good and evil. When Elizabeth questioned the quality of the piece, Ed indicated to a tasteful plaque mounted nearby. Proclaiming to all that stopped to read was the inscription:

Donated to the City of San Ramona
March 1, 2006
by F. R. Delarango

'Well, what coincidence!' Elizabeth turned up her nose as she walked around the slick bit of tit for tat. 'I think Delarango came out on the better end of it all with his new road.'

'Mr. Delarango sculpted it just for the courtyard.'

'Huh?'

Ed chuckled, 'He spent a lot of time out here tryin' to get a feel for where it was going to go.'

'Ed?'

'And he made sure it was turned just the right way when they trucked her in and set her down.'

'Ed?!'

'Yep, Ms. Bennet?'

'Delarango made this?'

'Sure did.' Elizabeth looked at Ed for his take on it all. He succinctly surmised, 'No one can argue, it's a high falutin' thing.'

'Jane, I swear, I'm an a vortex, stuck in some weird universe that's pretty close to ours until anything to do with The House comes up. Then I might as well not exist, because anything I say or do -- or want -- is totally irrelevant. It's like my mouth is moving but no one hears me. Or they just don't care. Or I don't have enough money to influence them to care. It's a sympathy-less world.'

'There's no such word.'

'Did I tell you I can expect a new street sign? Whoop-tee-do. Maybe we can crack a bottle of bubbly over it. Make an afternoon of it with some fireworks, speeches, awards. Don't be disappointed, but the Biggest Jerk of the Year is going to Mr. De La Rango.'

'Listen to yourself. You've lost your grip when it comes to The House and its owners. Lizzy, you need to regroup and move on. This isn't going to go away.'

'Jane, you know I've never been great when it comes to change.'

'But, this disruption to your life is dominating your time and messing with your sanity. You say you want to stay. Okay, I respect that, but if you stay you need to be able to let it go. And I don't hear that from you.'

'Come on now, with what I've had to put up with you can't blame me --'

'I don't blame you. Now, if you want to blame someone..."

'I'd better not get in the same room with Mom again.'

'I wouldn't worry. She's avoiding you.'

'It's no wonder. I've been put through hell because of her.'

'For your own peace of mind, you have to let it go.'

'There are too many 'its'. Wait, I'll get my list. Let me read them to you and then you tell me if I'm taking this too far.'

'You've made a list? Of what's happened since this began last year? Now, I will say that you've gone over the edge.'

'I have not.'

'With all due respect honey, you need a big time out. What about that business trip?'

'It's in a couple of weeks.' She'd already outlined the six-day, two city tour to Jane, highlighting her meetings with government representatives in Washington and a marine rehabilitation center in South Carolina. Now that ORRI had the funding, they could move forward with the groundbreaking program for the Southern sea otters. Elizabeth's job was to get the word out, try and shore up more monetary support, and examine a prototype program in place in South Carolina.

'Take some extra time. Use some vacation days and forget about everything. Get back to who you really are because we've lost Elizabeth somewhere over this last year and I'd really like to have her back.'

The day before she left for the nation's capital, Elizabeth took Hook for a walk in the hills. The tawny grasses and stately oaks, so typical of great portions of the California landscape, drew them further and further from their house, crossing over one invisible property line after another.

The height of summer meant shorts, a floppy hat and a pack with water and sunscreen. As per the usual routine, Hook bounded ahead to explore and waited for Elizabeth to catch up only to take a big lead again. Sticks were thrown, bushes were sniffed and the occasional boulder was sat on. They passed old wells and even the remains of a crumbled house from another era.

The hike proceeded along on a splendid note until their peace was interrupted by an intruder. The infamous intruder on the hill. The man least likely to make it onto Elizabeth's Christmas card list. Delarango.

He wandered through a field downhill from Elizabeth and Hook. Clad in Bermuda shorts and topsiders, he looked lost, like he should be cruising along a fashionable strand of beachfront restaurants instead of sailing though rural brush. From her perch, she saw him walk to one spot, look around and then move to another locale just like the last one and do the same thing. Someone needed to teach Delarango how to hike because he didn't get it.

Hook's reaction to their neighbor was three-phased: first he stared, then he barked and finally he ran flat out for Delarango, gathering speed as he went downhill and passing him before he could slow down and make a u-turn.

He greeted Hook like a long lost fiend. Elizabeth was certain this show was for her benefit, although exactly why Delarango was pretending to like Hook wasn't clear at this point. Mostly likely, he wanted something and this was a means to getting it. With sunlight flashing on his sunglasses, his attention diverted to her. He continued to pat Hook while they gawked at each other. And he didn't say a word. Delarango was doing it again.

It had been a long day and Elizabeth still had a lot to do to get ready to leave. She called once for Hook and struck out in the opposite direction, disappearing over the ridge of the hill. Hook joined her and the rest of the way home she tried, and failed, to understand her neighbor's behavior.

That night, Elizabeth had to run Hook over to San Ramona. He was so excited about taking a ride in the truck and she felt like a first class heel knowing at the end of the line he was going to be left at a work colleague's house. He'd jumped into the cab when Elizabeth opened the door and claimed the passenger seat, eager to get going. Once she'd loaded his gear in the back, Elizabeth started up and began to back out of the carport.

At the same time, her neighbor's garage door opened, spilling light across their driveway. The silver bullet pulled out, head first, and went down the drive. The cars kept going and Elizabeth's tail end inched out into the road at the same time the bullet nosed onto the asphalt.

Both vehicles stopped and engines idled as drivers sized each other up. At least, Elizabeth's experience told her that was the case. It was impossible to see what the other driver was doing since the bullet's tinted windows made that impossible at this time of night.

This was getting them nowhere, so Elizabeth backed further out into the road. Her neighbor had the same idea and as she went backward, the bullet went forward. Both vehicles tried to occupy the same spot on the narrow road.

Precision engineering won out and the bullet swung effortlessly around Elizabeth's truck, paused alongside her and then jetted away before her old truck could even think about engaging its elderly gears.

It defined her entire relationship with Delarango. He was always one step ahead of her.

Delarango. It sounded like a cowboy's favorite tobacco for chewin' and spittin' on the range.

Chapter Four

Posted on Tuesday, 9 January 2007

Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

~ Blowin' In The Wind, Bob Dylan, 1962

A shiny new street sign welcomed Elizabeth home from her east coast trip. It took pride of place at the corner where the wooden Bennet Ranch Road sign had stood for years. The headlights from her truck caught the reflective surface and identified Calle de Oro. She made a slow pass like a true rubbernecker.

During her two weeks away, Elizabeth had immersed herself in work and play. She'd done her thing in DC and South Carolina. In representing the Institute for the first time, she'd put herself forward as the face of ORRI. It felt great and she was grateful to Mark for trusting her with the role. She'd traveled on to Florida for days of uninterrupted sun baking on a stretch of panhandle sand. Never mind there was a shark alert that kept everyone but the totally oblivious from entering the water. And, never mind Mark called her ump-teen times a day to talk about the project. Most of all, never mind The House. It had been 3000+ miles away.

What she'd confirmed by removing herself from the immediate proximity of her woes was that life existed outside her little cranny on the California coast. Elizabeth faced what Jane pointed out: she'd overblown what had been going on for the last year. She needed to turn things around. This time away was the first step. She didn't plan to stop there.

With Hook still at the babysitter's, it was a quiet homecoming. She unpacked, started a load of laundry, and heated a can of soup. Just before 9 pm she was out on her deck cupping a mug that sent waves of steam upwards. Warmth from the day had diminished. The July night was full of brisk air and the sweet scent of dried grasses, mellowed in the thick of the summer, riding on the wind. Elizabeth was glad she'd put on her navy track suit. Its fleecy feel was just right for the night.

Turning her recliner away from The House, Elizabeth settled in and toasted her recovery with a sip of minestrone. Time slipped by, as did a ship on the horizon, and her mug grew cold. She replaced it with a glass of her favorite Pinot Grigio, and returned to the balcony.

The last day of her vacation took on elements of the melancholy as it drew to a close. She was ready to get back to work and yet, something felt unfinished. Habit took her to the gate at the end of the deck to check that it was secure. The fence below looked like a big, fat black marker had slashed the hillside. Eucalyptus peeped over its top. Amongst the multitude of windows and doors of The House, heavy drapes softened a single shining light. So, the owners did have electricity. Elizabeth speculated. Maybe Delarango fell asleep with the light on. You'd think his wife would shut it off for him. They should have the drapes open. She couldn't imagine building a house in such a location and not wanting to take advantage of the views. That got Elizabeth going about arranging her own window coverings and she got lost in alternatives.

She considered the window again, wondering if behind it was the room with the carpet trouble, when she was jolted back to the present with one of those terror-sweat moments. Something moved on Delarango's balcony. The one with the lighted window. It was so unexpected that it scared her.

As her heart rate slowed back down, Elizabeth locked in on the dark void waiting for a repeat. She concentrated so hard that spots began to appear before her. Her hand squeezed the railing when she saw it again. Either Delarango or the missus was taking some evening air. Maybe they both were, maybe they were.... Elizabeth refused to go any further about what they might be up to under the cover of darkness. She silently gave them credit for getting up to whatever with the great view and was about to turn to go in when the man himself appeared, sans spouse.

He had presence, there was no denying it. Even his eyesore of a house didn't downplay his initial impression. Silhouetted against the lighted window, Elizabeth pinned that Latin macho man stereotype onto him. To her, he was the looming enormity of The House come to life: imposing, dominant, imperious and completely out of place on her hill.

He leaned against his railing, looked out to sea and occasionally sipped from a wine glass of his own. Apparently content with his pricey view, he passed a good long while there. Elizabeth watched him watching the sea and belatedly realized she was spying on her neighbor. Before she could look away, Delarango turned 90 degrees to his left and made Elizabeth the object of his reflection.

He gave her that same blank stare he had the night Hook had christened his palm tree. And when she'd watched him aimlessly wander in the hills. Why did he never acknowledge her presence? In this instance, with a relatively narrow space separating them, it was awkward to remain standoffish. Never mind that this was exactly what Elizabeth had done to him, Delarango received no leeway for his behavior.

Enough was enough. If this guy couldn't find his manners, at least Elizabeth could point out he needed to look around for them. She cracked the icy stretch of silence that had separated them for weeks. 'Are you just going to stand there and look at me?'

He seemed to zero in on her voice before he offered a cagey reply, 'I don't have a chair to sit on.'

'Well, that seems to be the only thing you've forgotten to bring up the hill.'

'Did saying hello go out of style around here?' he asked as he moved towards the corner of his balcony, closer to Elizabeth.

'Shouldn't I be the one asking that?' He was hard to see in the cover of darkness. Elizabeth wished she could make him out better, she'd like to have a good long look into his eyes.

'I don't think so. You're the one who started this conversation.'

'You've been standing there for ages without saying a word. What else am I going to do?'

'Say hello maybe?'

'You're off your rocker if you think I want to say hello to you.'

Through the darkness, she thought she detected a smile from Delarango. 'Maybe you should call me perceptive instead Ms. Bennet, because I get the idea I bother you. You are Ms. Bennet, aren't you?''

Elizabeth answered him indirectly, 'How do you know my name?'

'When I purchased my land, it was mentioned the owner's daughter lived in the old house.'

'That's right Delarango. I've lived up here for a long time and I'm not going anywhere.' She saw no reason to be subtle.

His response was hardly what she'd expected. 'I can see why. It's an exceptional spot.'

But, Delarango could never understand what this land really meant to someone whose family had preserved its beauty for generations. 'You don't know anything about this land.'

'Why do you say that?'

He was the interloper, the guy from the city who'd come in through the back door and scarred his two acre parcel with that perversion called The House. 'How could you? You just came in, plunked down your check and bought our land and built your ...house. Your history here is about as old as this wine.'

'Wine can't be judged solely on how long it's been around. What are you drinking?'

'Pinot Grigio.'

'So, the age of your wine has nothing to do with its quality. But, it is too bad.'

'About what?"

'That you're not drinking a red. You're not getting the health benefits from anti-oxidants. There's resveratrol and phenol present in the skin of black grapes.' He inclined his glass, 'Drinking red wine can protect against coronary disease. There are proven reduced rates of cancer, diabetes, and liver problems as well. Your glass of white wine doesn't give you that.'

As far as Elizabeth could tell, the only thing that was a shame was that she had to listen to this. Before she could tell him she really didn't care, he continued.

'Look!'

Delarango's head tipped back and Elizabeth followed his lead, but she couldn't see anything. 'What? There's nothing there.'

He seemed to size her up. 'Have you been here so long that you don't see them anymore? The stars have been shining down on this hillside since way before we made our marks on it. They bear witness to events that we'll never know. Our time here is just one wink from them.'

How could Delarango talk about Bennet Ranch as if he actually had a connection with it? How could he have such a laisser-faire attitude about taking possession of the place? It was time to take this guy down.

'Who are you to assume that I take for granted the beauty that surrounds us? Every day that I wake up, I look out my window and see unspoiled beauty. Or at least I used to, until your house blocked a good portion of my view. And now that I have to buy drapes, I won't even get little bits of beauty anymore. You've really done it with coming in and buying your land and building this bunch of boxes so close to me.'

The exchange did nothing to support the state of mind she'd returned home with. Opening peace talks this was not. But, she couldn't stop.

'You know what? I hate eucalyptus. And black is my least favorite color. And you need to learn how to drive.' She took a breath before adding the last one, 'And there's nothing wrong with my liver.'

Delarango contemplated her homily before he replied, 'Actually, black isn't a color, it absorbs all colors and reflects none.'

Her nature dictated she get in the last word of the night. 'Just what planet are you from, Delarango?'

Delarango. It sounded like a randy bandito in an Italian western.

'Elizabeth, have you picked up this month's copy of Architectural Genius?'

'Have you ever seen me with a copy?'

'Maybe you should get this month's.'

'Why?'

'You know, I'm really tempted to tell you, but I'd hate to ruin a great surprise.'

'This has to do with The House, doesn't it?' Her sister didn't answer. 'Doesn't it, Jane? Jane?'

The supermarket she usually went to didn't have a copy of AG. She had to go to The Superstore -- a combination market, dry cleaners, sushi bar, hair-extension salon and drive-thru car wash. Finding it wasn't easy, it took five minutes just to locate the magazines. Lined up, ready for purchase, were publications to please even the most discerning of readers. She spotted AG in all its glossy, full-color glory and pulled it out. The cover featured a converted barn in Minnesota. She flipped to the index and saw it halfway down the listings. In a box was a picture of a bunch of boxes. Charcoal with white trimmed windows. Next to it, some misguided person had written a description of The House using words like innovative, ground-breaking and masterpiece. Elizabeth shook her head in disagreement as she found the 10-page spread and began to read.

She made some fascinating discoveries.

Delarango's full name was Francisco Ricardo Delarango, but he liked to be called Rick. If the article was to be believed, just about everyone in the Unites States except Elizabeth knew him by his first name. It turned out he ran a family business that was more accurately described as a huge corporation. They made "the most popular brand of Mexican foodstuffs in the USA".

But, back to The House. It had been conceived by the latest darling of east coast architecture. The nit-wit's claim to fame was fashioning raw, modernistic twists from tried and tested original themes. Americana gone crazy. But wait, he wasn't alone in his defamation of tradition. Delarango had contributed as well, marking it his first foray into the world of architecture. The magazine congratulated the men on an excellent collaboration. When the text turned to the interior of the home, focus shifted to some designer who was also supposed to be a household name. She sure wasn't in Elizabeth's house.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and decided not to read anymore. Jane could fill her in on anything of vital importance she'd missed. She left the magazine in the comic book section.

Wandering out down another aisle -- chosen purely at random -- she came across the Mexican food section. Delarango's brand was familiar, but because it wasn't sold under the family name she didn't know how people connected him with it. Stylish packaging set it apart from the other brands and it seemed to dominate the shelves. Elizabeth stopped counting the products on offer under his label when she got to 17. She picked out a large jar of his blazing salsa and turned it around. Sandwiched between the nutritional information and the bar code was a message from the owner. A sketch of his face aimed to persuade consumers that he was just a regular Joe. Elizabeth stared at the drawing, unusual for two reasons. First, he was smiling. Second, he didn't have sunglasses on. Finally, a glimpse of his eyes! They looked beady but that might have been because the drawing was only about a half an inch big. Alongside his portrait, a money back guarantee of satisfaction was offered by Rick Delarango.

Each year, Jane and Elizabeth swapped visits. Elizabeth fit in time to drive to San Francisco whenever she could get away from ORRI; Jane usually came to the ranch over Memorial Day weekend, but this May having just returned from traveling in Sri Lanka, doing ten days on the Ceylon Tea Trails, and she was too pooped to make it. Since this was the first time they'd gotten together since her trip, Jane's gift from abroad, loose leaf fancy Orange Pekoe tea, was tasted for the first time. The teapot sat on the serving bar that separated the kitchen from the large, lodge-like main room of the house.

Even though they spoke almost daily, there'd been plenty of catch-up talk. More details about Elizabeth's jaunt to the east coast, updates on her sea otters, and consultations about the drapes. They'd also fit in some chat about happenings at the ranch. Like The House. It was Jane's first time to see it in its finished state. Or to catch a glimpse of its owners. The elusive wife and the lead-footed husband.

'Have you talked to them?'

Elizabeth skipped over the less-positive aspects of her interaction with Delarango. 'I had a little chat with him the night I got home from my trip. I'm trying to make a new start.'

'That's good. What did you talk about?'

'Oh, wine and the stars.'

'Great. Congenial topics that can't get you into trouble. Keep it up.'

Conversation switched to food. Jane vowed that, while she was staying at the ranch, the menu would consist of good quality meals. Since the only way food like that would appear at Elizabeth's house was to order it in or hire a personal chef, Jane was named chef cuisinier du Ranch Bennet. For the umpteenth time, her house guest offered to hit the Farmer's Market for all the fresh produce. Elizabeth looked her sister over. Attired in jeans, a t-shirt and moccasins, all as white as virgin snow, she imagined Jane trudging through the dirt field the market traded from and rejected the idea again.

'Let me. Besides, I thought you wanted to answer some emails. You'll be too busy for that when I get back with all the stuff.' Despite its location, this was the Cadillac of farmers' markets and while Elizabeth dressed, Jane gave her specific instructions about how to pick a ripe casaba melon and why the grapeseed oil couldn't be substituted. Elizabeth declared her shopping competency while she pulled on her boots.

'Just because I don't cook, doesn't mean I can't follow a list.'

'Well, be sure you do, and call me if you have any questions.'

On her way out, Elizabeth spotted Delarango's garage door open, the one closest to her carport. As she strained her neck to get a view of what he had inside, Rick rounded the corner and headed straight for her.

Today, he was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and his hair was slightly in disarray. As a female, she had a duty to her sex to acknowledge palatable men and Delarango looked Saturday morning yummy. "Looked" was the operative word. Here was a perfect example of how looks could be deceiving. She was over his eye-catching exterior. He didn't fluster her like he had the day at the mailbox. Let him push stick woman's buttons.

She'd kept him at a distance since their bantering exchange on the balcony. Delarango just wasn't the kind of guy she was interested in knowing any better and Elizabeth highly suspected his wife fell into that category as well. Regardless of what she knew about her neighbors, apparently they were here to stay and like she'd told Jane, Elizabeth appreciated she needed to turn a new leaf with them. Exchanges like the other night weren't the way to go about it, but superficial antics were exactly why she didn't want neighbors. Bottom line, she didn't want the obligation of saying "Hi", "Merry Christmas", or "How's the new hemorrhoid medication working?"

Delarango's attention was focused on a mug in his hand and he advanced full speed ahead until he was a scant few feet from his neighbor. There he paused to inspect the contents of his cup. Happy with what he saw, he raised his head for a sip and spotted Elizabeth. Their unexpected meeting clearly caught him unaware. He choked.

As he recovered, he screwed up his eyes. Elizabeth suspected it wasn't from the sunlight but because he realized his challenging next-door neighbor was smack dab in front of him. Since she was in a hurry, she decided to make it easy on him.

With forced friendliness, she ventured, 'Morning Delarango. Enjoying your coffee?'

'Good morning, Ms. Bennet. Actually, it's green tea.'

'Green tea?!' There could be no mistaking what she thought of that.

'Yeah. Japanese studies indicate that it can lower the odds of dementia. Researchers have found that older adults who drank two or more cups of green tea per day were about half as likely to show cognitive impairment as those who drank ...' Their eyes met; his were squinting, hers were gazing over. 'Umm, I like green tea.'

'Terrific, well, I'd better get going. I'm already late for the best stuff at the Farmer's Market.' Elizabeth hopped in her truck before he could say anything else and backed out. She saw him still standing on the drive, sipping his green tea as she drove down the road.

She hadn't been at the market five minutes before her phone rang. It was Jane, making changes to the menu. She wanted her to pick up some edamame. Edamame was identified as green soybeans. When Elizabeth questioned the likelihood of green soybeans being available, Jane swore there'd be no problem finding them. Before she hung up she also added kale and brown rice to the list.

'Do you still want me to get the jasmine rice, then?'

'Yes, get them both!'

Just when Elizabeth had located the elusive soybeans, Jane phoned again, asking if Elizabeth would like some sort of berries for dessert and breakfast. When Elizabeth professed no particular preference, Jane rattled off blueberries, blackberries, strawberries, raspberries, and cherries. And oat bran.

'And, will you pick up some wildflower honey?'

Elizabeth hung up thinking this trip to the market was going to cost her a small fortune.

Jane called three more times before she got home to make additions to the shopping list. When she arrived, Elizabeth muscled open the screen door with her elbow and lugged in a box heaped with goodies. As she made for the kitchen counter, over the fruits and vegetables, she looked out past the sliding door. To the balcony. Where Jane, in all her marmoreal glory, stood. With her attention directed towards The House. With her mouth moving. And her laughter pealing across the span of the black fence.

Jane was making nice with the neighbors! Oh Jane, you traitor.

Jane heard the box thud onto the counter. She waved and indicated that Elizabeth should come outside. Elizabeth chose to unpack the box. She'd just covered the counter's surface with her bounty when Jane came in.

'Did you get everything?'

'I think so.'

'Do the berries look good?'

'I think so.'

'Are you upset with me?'

'I think so.'

'Why?'

'Who were you talking to, him or her?'

'Rick.'

'When did he become Rick?'

'When he introduced himself. You don't call him Delarango to his face, do you?' Elizabeth didn't answer. 'Are you mad at me for talking to him? That would be incredibly childish and not at all in keeping with the newfound neighborly disposition you told me you've adopted.'

'I'm not mad at you. But, do you have to be so nice? Smiling and laughing? Detached and indifferent would have been better.' It was Jane's turn to say nothing. 'How long were you out there?'

'Oh, not that long.' Jane washed out the teapot and started to rifle through a cabinet. 'Don't you have any green tea?'

Elizabeth shook the kale at her. 'I knew it.'

'What?'

'Rick the nut case was talking to you about healthy food, wasn't he?'

'So what?' Jane was still determined to find some green tea and had taken all of Elizabeth's coffee supplies out of the cabinet in case some was stuck in the back. "And, he's not a nut case. He's very interesting. He has such a wide range of talents. Did you know he has had his work exhibited at the Fisher Museum?'

'Come on, USC only displays famous, talented artists in their museum. Not a Mexican food manufacturer. I've seen his sculpture, remember?'

'Oh, Lizzy, while I'm here, you'll have to take me to see it!'

'You're hopeless, you know that?'

'Well, I do know something you don't.'

After a lengthy silence, Elizabeth bit, 'What?'

'There is no Mrs. Delarango.'

'Yes there is, I saw her.'

'Well, you may have seen someone, but she wasn't Mrs. Delarango.'

'So, they aren't married.'

'No Lizzy, you don't get it. He's unattached, single, on the market.'

'Then, who's the stick with blow up boobs?'

'I don't know, but this certainly changes the dynamics up here on the hill.'

'Alright Jane, I'll eat your food, I'll let you pick out my drapes, but if you don't wipe that look off your face right now, I'm taking you to the airport.'

'He seems like a nice man, Lizzy.'

'He's out for what he wants.'

'He's very convenient."

'He's a trespasser, Jane.'

'He's absolutely gorgeous, which by the way, I can't believe you didn't mention.'

'Delarango's not my cup of tea,' Elizabeth said as she took the pot away from Jane.

'Well, he doesn't have to be your 'cup of tea' to have dinner with him.'

Elizabeth gaped in disbelief and whispered, 'What have you done?'

'I figured since I'm cooking anyway and he's over there all alone, he might as well join us.'

'You should have told me I couldn't leave you here alone. I'm not going to be hungry tonight. Better tell him there's been a change of plans and you're not cooking.'

'Don't be silly. Like I said, he's interesting and---'

'I heard you the first time.'

'You can get to know him better and put some of these issues from the past year behind you. Isn't that what you want? Maybe we'll get an invitation over to his place. After the write-up in Architectural Genius, I'm dying to see it.'

'I can't believe you have me eating dinner with Delarango.' Elizabeth complained. ''Delarango. Don't you think it sounds like a brand of men's briefs at the bottom of the laundry hamper?'

Continued In Next Section

© 2006, 2007, 2008 Copyright held by the author.

Mr. Popularity ~ Section II

By Lisa L

Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter Five

Walk out!
Girl, don't you walk out,
we've got things to say.
Talk out!
Let's have a talk out,
and things'll be O.K.
Girl, I don't wanna fight.
I'm a little bit wrong.
You're a little bit right.
I said, "Girl, you know that it's true.
It's a little bit me.
It's a little bit you."

~ A Little Bit Me, A Little Bit You, Neil Diamond, 1967

'Look at him, Jane.'

Elizabeth's excuse for being in the kitchen was to help with dinner, an unbelievably see-through pretext for the inexperienced cook. She'd done nothing more than rinse the kale twice and ruin Jane's salad dressing. In fact, she was trying to avoid one on one time with their guest. Delarango had been there a good fifteen minutes and, except for a half-hearted greeting, she'd backed off and let Jane do the talking.

She sipped her red wine, his contribution, and didn't feel any better for drinking it. Over the rim of her glass she brooded, 'What could he possibly find so interesting in those old photos? He doesn't even know anyone in them.'

Her house was a time capsule with contributions and cast-offs representing the best and worst of Bennet taste and sensibility. The oldest were a pair of cherry wood Mission chairs hugging a braided rag rug that circled in an explosion of color. Marginal pieces included a horseshoe shaped coffee table, picked up on a road trip through the Southwest, and a lamp influenced by old time fashion sporting a ruffled brown shade on a milk-glass base. Under Hook's friendly escort, Delarango had been pouring over a wall of framed family photographs that captured events at the ranch from as far back as the 1920's.

As Jane tossed her green soybean salad, silk sleeves fluttering like the wings of a white peacock butterfly, she reminded her sister, 'Remember, this is your chance to smooth things over and get on a good footing with him.' When Elizabeth finally nodded in agreement, Jane turned her attention to their guest, 'What do you think of our family photos, Rick?'

'You're lucky to have them.'

'Our great-grandmother, Mama Gertie, was a diligent writer. She chronicled the time she spent here. From her efforts, we have a combination historical record, family album and stream of consciousness journal. She was a great fan of Virginia Woolf and Henry Miller.'

'Which one is she?' he asked, scanning the rows of photos on the paneled wall.

'The one on your right, with the women down at the beach. She's the tallest, wearing a bathing cap.'

One of the few things that could entice Elizabeth to join the conversation was a discussion of her infamous great-grandmother. They'd always been compared as similar in looks. When Elizabeth was little, her grandmother predicted she would possess the same temperament as Mama Gertie. Elizabeth found this a great compliment. She thought of her as a trailblazer, a forward-thinking, modern, no-nonsense woman.

She told Delarango, 'There's another of her sitting in a rattan chair out on the deck. In the pants and the cardigan.'

He studied the images in both photos and squinted back at her. 'You look a lot alike. There's definitely a resemblance.'

'I've been told we have similar personalities, too. She was a no nonsense woman. She was headstrong and didn't let things get in her way.'

'Is that a book she's holding, Elizabeth?' Her face screwed up when he said her name. He'd learned it from Jane.

'It's not a book, Rick, it's one of her journals. Look on the shelf.'

Delarango diverted his attention to the bookcases that shared space with the photos. It showcased favorite books from generations of Bennets, works consumed at the ranch over the decades. Amongst the choices across the top shelf were several of Mama Gertie's dog-eared Virginia Woolf titles, Cannery Row, Steinbeck's masterpiece about the local area, and eyebrow-raising works for their times including Ulysses, and The Tropic of Cancer. Her personal journals were there too, and Delarango easily spotted the one in the photo. He pulled out a worn leather volume embossed across the front with "1934" and cautiously turned the yellowed pages as he sat on one of the few contributions Elizabeth had added to the house, a new couch.

Hook lounged at his feet while he had an unhurried look through. 'Do you feel closely connected to the ranch?'

This guy's as thick as the extra chunky salsa he makes. Here he was encapsulated in a time warp of questionable Bennet decoration, staring at a plethora of family photos stretching back for generations, standing in a house so old that it could only still be standing for sentimental reasons, and he asks if she feels connected to it? Boy, he didn't get it. Or, maybe he had some other motive for asking. Like another offer to move ready for her to sign on the dotted line. Oh, Delarango was smooth. And, unbelievable. And, she was about to eat vegetarian stir fry with him!

She talked over Jane, who launched into a courteous answer, to clearly state her position, 'Papa Joe came out to California and, on the way to San Francisco, saw this land. He risked everything to buy it and worked for years to pay it off. The ranch is so much a part of me that if someone were to try and take it away, it would be like cutting off my arm. If I had to leave here, you might as well rip my heart out because it would stop beating and I would die!' That was as close to announcing her position over a bullhorn as she could get. It should squelch any ideas he had of trying to buy her out again. He had to have gotten that message.

The room was quiet after her outburst. Jane let the silence wash away some of her sister's heartfelt, if overemotional, speech before she once again offered her honest perspective, 'As I was about to say, I understand the significance of the property being our family's heritage but I don't think of it as anything more than a vacation home. The only reason I come here now is to see Elizabeth. If she didn't live here, I would never come.'

'Jane! How can you say that about our legacy?'

'I just see it differently. I'm not as emotional as you.'

'I can't believe you really feel that way.' It was tantamount to defecting to the other side.

'That doesn't mean I condone the way Mom went about it all. That was way out of line but, if she called us all together about selling the ranch and buying beachfront on Kauai, I know how I'd vote.'

'But that wasn't Papa Joe's intent. He meant for it to belong to our family.'

'Elizabeth, you can't possibly know that. Maybe if Papa Joe had traveled to Kauai, he'd have sold the ranch and bought there.'

'I don't believe that. And, don't you care that you'll leave me homeless?'

'Lizzy, it was a hypothetical example. Don't get upset.' The doors to the deck were open and a gust curled through in a poor attempt to lighten the air.

Maybe Jane needed to hear this as much as Delarango. 'If this land didn't belong to our family, I wouldn't care where I lived. I'd live out of my truck on the side of the road.' Elizabeth switched her focus to their guest, practically daring him to wade in, mention anything to do with his part in all of this, and have his head cut off in the process.

'I admire your passion,' he told her. She clicked her tongue against her teeth before he continued. 'And I share your viewpoint about the connection with the land. For me, if I'm going to own something, I want to feel that there is a reason for it besides the financial investment. It needs to be a part of me in some way.'

'If you really feel that way, then why did you make me that offer? You should have known that I wouldn't take it.'

'What offer are you talking about?'

She shot Jane disbelieving look and answered, 'Last May? Lawyers in LA, a moving offer, compensation, dinero?? Does this ring any bells?'

'I don't know anything about that. It wouldn't have been from me.'

'Oh please, it had to have been from you. There's no one else my mother's been stupid enough to sell any land to but you.'

'What was the firm's name?'

'I don't remember.'

'Would you mind showing me the letter?'

'I don't have it anymore.'

From the kitchen, Jane piped up, 'She burned it!'

'Did you really?' Delarango looked at her a little differently, lingering over her with an expression she couldn't interpret. He appeared not to be bothered at all with the direction in the conversation. He dropped it as easily as he built evil dwellings and walked into the kitchen to give Jane a compliment about the menu. Hook followed him and Elizabeth was left on her own to eye the fireplace and wish that amongst the ashes there was just one bit of the letter left intact. It didn't matter. After all, who was he kidding? She knew it was from him!

Dinner was to be consumed out in the September night, under the watchful supervision of The House. As Elizabeth gathered serving dishes to carry to the deck, Jane leaned in as she breezed past, 'You're sounding a little antagonistic towards Rick, Lizzy. Try and tone it down, huh?'

Elizabeth deliberately took a seat with The House behind her, Delarango sat opposite her and Jane staked out the buffer zone in between.

Delarango made a big to-do about Jane's cooking, especially the soybean salad. While they were eating, Jane did all she could to keep the conversational drift going in a convivial direction. She asked Rick about his artistic forays and Elizabeth was treated to tales of how Delarango's painting was included in an exhibit at USC's Fisher Museum, how Delarango had been a contributing author to an anthology of Principles of Leadership and Personal Achievement in Business Excellence, how Delarango had collaborated on the design of The House, and how impressed Jane was with Delarango. She couldn't stand it any longer.

'I saw your sculpture at the city council offices.'

'You did? I'd be interested to hear what you thought of it.'

'It reminded me of a pack of rabid Dobermans.'

Neither missed it when Jane loudly inhaled but Delarango's full attention never wavered from Elizabeth. Ever since he'd arrived on the hill, she'd felt invisible around him. He deliberately didn't speak to her. He didn't even seem to see her. Now the recipient of his exclusive appraisal, she wished he'd go back to ignoring her. She squirmed and picked at her tofu and kale.

'That's not a bad interpretation, Elizabeth. Raging, uncontrollable beasts is an excellent depiction of evil. That's the nucleus of the subject and I'm glad I was able to express my meaning to you. The work represents man's eternal conflict between good and evil.'

'That's what Ed told me.'

'Who's Ed?'

She looked sideways at him, 'Never mind.'

In the kitchen, as they prepared a tray of dessert bowls filled with berries and homemade yoghurt, Jane scolded Elizabeth, 'You're not trying, you know.'

'How much do you want to bet he's making this stuff up? Who could possibly be accomplished in such a variety of things? And at his age? He's not some old man that's been at it for decades.'

Jane glanced out to the deck, 'He's definitely not some old man. Have you noticed how his green shirt enhances his eyes?'

'Green doesn't enhance brown eyes.' Elizabeth's wish had finally been answered tonight when Delarango arrived and handed her the wine. With no obstacles to limit her view, he set a pair of dusky brown ones directly upon her. With that kind of unobstructed view, she grudgingly admitted they rounded out his overall gold star looks.

'So, you noticed them?'

His eyes had nothing to do with what was going on here. She pressured Jane, 'There's nothing we know about him that's been above board and honest. And, what kind of help are you? You're so easily influenced. You've taken up as head cheerleader for Delarango's team. Don't expect me to fall into place behind you.'

'You're exaggerating. And slipping back into the state of mind you've been stuck in for the last year. I'm just trying to make up for your lack of graciousness towards our guest. Now, pull yourself together!'

As she set the spoons and napkins on the tray, Elizabeth advised, 'Jane, someone has to remain objective here.'

When they returned, Jane blithely switched the subject of the conversation to Elizabeth, bringing her occupation out of the closet, mentioning her recent business trip and her sea otter project.

It looked like a light bulb switched on over Delarango's head, 'So, you're around marine mammals at work?'

'I used to be every day. Now I spend most of my time in my office. The sea otters have priority and I'm devoted almost exclusively to that program's development.'

'That's very impressive, Elizabeth. When do you expect to have it up and running?'

'I don't know.' Things weren't moving along fast enough to suit her. The majority of the funding hadn't been released yet. 'I'm just getting everything lined up, waiting for the word to go from Mark.'

'Is Mark your boss?'

At the introduction of Mark, Elizabeth let her guard down and gushed, 'Yes, Dr. Mark Wieggoché. He established ORRI back in 1980. He's a genius, really, he's built the place up from nothing into one of the most prestigious centers for marine rehab.' Elizabeth spoke at some length about the facility and Mark, she couldn't talk about one without other, and left no doubt of her admiration for Mark Wieggoché's years of work.

'And now that he's helped Elizabeth with her sea otters, she's going to be a pioneer in the field. It's pretty exciting, even for someone like me who doesn't know a seal from a walrus.'

'Well, he sounds like he can get things done.'

'He can. Not only is he brilliant, he's powerfully persuasive. His efforts are why we have the funding for the sea otter program. He can talk anyone into anything. Last Christmas, he got me to work a 24 hour shift so everyone with families could have the day off. I still don't know how he did that!'

'That doesn't sound ethical. I hope he doesn't do that too often,' Delarango ventured.

If anyone asked, Elizabeth would swear the sun rose and set with Mark Wieggoché. She took umbrage at Delarango's remark and considered it further proof of the poor character she judged him to have. Sidetracked from her scathing analysis of him during the praise-fest of her boss, she veered back onto her path of neighbor bashing, lying in wait for her next opportunity.

Jane presented the perfect one when she asked him, 'What do you think seeing your house from this angle?'

He glanced fondly towards his property, something he'd done more than once while they'd been outside. 'It's like sitting in the passenger seat of your own car.'

'Speaking of cars Delarango,' Elizabeth reverted back to calling him by his last name, 'do you have a valid driver's license?'

Delarango didn't seem to notice that Jane closed her eyes and mouthed an expletive. His polite answer belied that anything was out-of-line with such an enquiry.

'Yes I do.' They faced off across seasonal berries and when Elizabeth didn't respond, he asked, 'Why are you asking me that?'

'Well, seeing that you've run me into a ditch, that you don't know a thing about safe speed limits on a road like this,' she gestured off in the distance, 'or anything about yielding the right-of-way, I figured you might have had it revoked for too many infractions.'

Jane tried to diffuse the hostility Elizabeth was determined to escalate, 'I don't recall seeing any speed posted on Calle de Oro.'

She inadvertently opened the file on another contentious matter. Elizabeth practically demanded of Delarango, 'And, why did you go and name the road Calle de Oro?'

'Because it didn't have a name.'

'It certainly did have a name. It's been Bennet Ranch Road since Papa Joe bought this place.'

'Not according to Caltrans. They had no record of any name for it.'

'Why didn't you come and ask me about it?'

'Because if there was no name for the road, you'd have already known, having been here before me.'

'Well, I didn't know it.'

'She found out when she went to check about the height of your fence.' Apparently, it was too tempting to remain on the sidelines, but every time Jane joined in, she seemed to make things worse.

'What?' Revelations about Elizabeth's activities were opening Delarango's attractive brown eyes. He was getting more than he bargained for with his invitation to dinner.

'That's right,' Elizabeth crossed her arms, 'I went into San Ramona to see if your fence was built too high.'

Brows rose and furrowed. Delarango asked, 'Was it?'

'No, but if it was, I was going to make you tear it down.'

'I'm sure you would have tried.' Something that sounded very much like a challenge slipped into Delarango's reply. It set off a flurry of an exchange.

'That's when I found out you changed the name of the road.'

'I didn't change anything. There was no name for the road.'

'What about the sign?'

'That old sign that was down by the mailboxes? That indicated the turn to Bennet Ranch.'

'No, it didn't. It identified the name of the road. You should have come and asked me first, Delarango.'

Delarango seemed to be trying hard not to lose his cool. 'Well, you should have come and asked me about the fence, Elizabeth. As far as the name of the road goes, I thought a long time about it and picked a very good one.'

'Lizzy, if it's not Bennet Ranch Road, Calle de Oro is nice.' With an unappreciative look from her sister that said to pipe down, Jane took a big mouthful of yoghurt.

'If you'd asked me, then it could have officially been named Bennet Ranch Road. That has significance. Calle de Oro means squat!'

'You say that from only one perspective!'

'You want to talk about limited perspectives? Have another look at The House.' Delarango seemed momentarily confused by Elizabeth's nickname for his residence. He looked over the old summer house. 'Not my house, your house!'

After he had a quick glance at his black boxes huddled across the way, she made her point, 'That hulking spectacle has caused me to take in your perspective on what constitutes a house for the last year. Never mind that I think it's probably what Picasso would have come up with if he'd designed a house-'

He pointedly interrupted her, 'Comparing any talent I might have with Picasso is not an insult, Elizabeth.'

'-after consuming a few bottles of your precious red wine.'

'Oh?' It was a frosty, one syllable response.

She wasn't deterred. 'Your perspective has become my perspective whether I like it or not! Why did you have to build it so close to my place? You bought two acres- '

'Actually, it's one point eight five-'.

'Okay, fine. Why didn't you give me some breathing space with your one point eight five acres? Better still, why didn't you buy land in Santa Barbara?'

Elizabeth was practically shouting. She'd risen from her seat and emphasized the picturesque coastal town she'd much rather see Delarango living in by hitting her palm against the table. The bowls shook, Jane jumped, and he leaned back in his chair to candidly appraise her. Even in the limited light she saw his color darken. He looked at her just like he had earlier. Differently.

Hovering above him, she refused to feel embarrassed about what she'd said. Let him look. He can think whatever he wants about me. She'd shed her baggage and felt better for it. Elizabeth was hitting aces from her side of the court.

And, she robbed him of his chance to return service and rack up some points of his own by gathering up the dishes and stamping into the kitchen. As she scrubbed and dried, and saw Jane talking earnestly to him, her euphoria evaporated. By the time she'd put the last bowl away, she knew she really didn't feel any better at all.

What had she achieved? Nothing. He was a defiant bastard that couldn't even apologize for the mess he'd made. What had changed? Nada. He was going to skulk around in The House until time immortal. He was here to stay. Even when she won, she lost with Delarango.

Delarango. It sounded like the number 6 combo plate at Lupe's Taco Pit.

He didn't stay much longer. Jane followed him inside and they went over to the bookcases, talking low and perusing the shelves. Before Elizabeth could say anything about it, Jane had helped him pick a few of Mama Gertie's journals to take home and read. Souvenirs in hand, as he walked past the counter he made a concerted effort to end the evening on a polite note, 'Thanks very much for dinner, Elizabeth.'

From the other side, her standard polite reply slipped out, ridiculous under the circumstances, 'Your welcome, Delarango,'

Once he was gone, Jane got a glass of water, downed three aspirins and propped her elbows on the kitchen counter. She rubbed the tender spots of her temples as she stood side by side with her sister. 'Sometimes you amaze me.'

'I don't suppose that's meant as a compliment.' Eventually she asked, 'It was pretty bad, huh?'

'How bad do you think it was?'

'As bad as when I tripped up the stairs at Fisherman's Wharf on prom night and broke my ankle?'

'At least you knew your ankle would heal and there wouldn't be any scars. You know, there are two things that you could offer to redeem yourself: an explanation and an apology.' Jane slipped on an optimistic outlook, although it sounded forced, 'You can/could move forward from there. Now that you've got this all out of your system, I'm sure Rick will improve as you get to know him better.'

'Jane, you still don't get it. I'm not at fault here. I'm not to blame. I don't want to get to know him any better. I don't like him. He's a bragger. He's a manipulator. He's dishonest.' After a moment's thought, she added, 'And, I hope he builds another road just to avoid driving me off of Calle de Oro again.'

Before she could go on, Captain Kirk interrupted and instructed his helmsman, 'Warp factor 5, Mr. Sulu!'

Elizabeth reached to answer her mobile. It was her brother-in-law, calling on her phone because Jane had switched hers off. She turned it over to her and plonked herself on a couch.

It was late. Weariness weighed Elizabeth down. She felt like she needed to sleep for a week but she couldn't free herself from her thoughts. She chose a remedy that always worked when she couldn't unwind. Leaving Jane talking on the phone, she called for Hook, pulled on a heavy cable knit sweater and headed out the door.

Completely out of character, lights blazed next door. Maybe Delarango had indigestion and was looking for antacid tablets. Hook looked up at her, questioning whether she was going to lead him next door, over to the rippling ponds he favoured. She deliberately walked the other way, following the sliver of a new moon down the paved road, until she came to a path she knew well.

Autumn wasn't officially here, but the late night had hints of its impending arrival and Elizabeth wrapped her sweater tightly around her as she stepped off the road. She never worried about walking in the hills like this with Hook; he was alert to other animals. If something was out there, he'd let her know and they'd turn tail and head back home. Sometimes, he wouldn't even venture out the door if he sensed a threat close by. Tonight he sniffed liberally and sensed no danger. But he detected a presence.

With a bark and a bounce, Hook dashed off over an open field. Elizabeth lost sight of him in the darkness but that didn't matter. What she heard explained everything.

'Hey boy, what are you doing? Does Elizabeth know you're out?'

Delarango. Obviously, he couldn't see her either in the thick veil of the night.

Elizabeth followed his voice and he slowly materialised under the midnight sky. She found herself sharing a vast field guarded by an abandoned apple orchard. The wooded stand shielded the world away, as if it didn't exist beyond the trees. A whim of nature created the private place. Its existence was secure only until dawn lit the hillside.

'Yes, I know he's out. What are you doing? Do you want to be a midnight snack for a mountain lion?'

'That would solve a lot of your problems.'

The secluded atmosphere did nothing to soften Elizabeth mood, 'Well, we can just leave you out here to await your fate.'

'What is it exactly that makes you dislike me so? I understand you didn't want a house built here. Why didn't you tell your mother?'

Elizabeth tugged her sweater tighter, 'My mother didn't tell us she wanted to sell off a portion of the ranch. One day I saw surveyors from the deck and I called her about it. We had words, lots of words, over several weeks. The last time we spoke was when she told me she'd signed the papers.'

'Your mother's shortcomings have nothing to do with me. She certainly wasn't cheated. She got above the value of the land.'

'That's the only plus out of all of this.' The insinuation to Delarango's unwelcome presence left him silent so Elizabeth continued on, demanding more than asking, 'Have you really done all those things? The painting, the writing, all the creative stuff?'

'Why do you think I'd make it up?' The intimate setting unknowingly influenced the pair to close the distance between them. Scarcely an arm's length separated them. With Elizabeth's frame of mind, it was like vinegar and water.

'Come on Delarango, I wasn't born yesterday. It's very unlikely you've mastered all those things and run your Mexican food factory.'

'I don't care whether you believe me or not.'

'And, just why did you move here? Aren't you out of your element?'

Delarango seemed in no hurry to answer her. He took a step away, which still left him close, and eventually said, 'I wanted to get away from running my business on a day to day basis. I was looking for a certain place and when I came here, I knew this was it.'

'But, the land wasn't for sale.'

'Everything has a price. Your mother heard hers and that's why she sold.'

This brought more brooding silence and as they stood in the concealed clearing, the night wrapped them even closer. He bent down to pet Hook and Elizabeth stole a look at him. His hair had fallen loose over his forehead and a 12 o'clock shadow brushed his face. His packaging was something to admire but not something to be swayed by.

'You know, even though I've put up with all kinds of crap from your house and your blatant disregard for my position as a resident here, I think the thing that has pissed me off more than anything is that you kept ignoring me. I could be standing right in front of you and you never said a word. It happened over and over again. Why were you so rude?'

Delarango stood up. His eyes were black now, and they pulled her in and held her fast. Without a word, he took his answer out of his pocket and held it in his hand for some time, as if it were a closely guarded secret. Then, he revealed what he had by slipping on a pair of glasses. And still he said nothing; he just looked at her with that same expression she was unable to read.

Chapter Six

Oh, Great Googamooga,
Can't you hear me talking to you
Just a ball of confusion
That's what the world is today, hey

~ Ball Of Confusion, Barrett Strong and Norman Whitfield, 1970

On Friday morning of the first week after what had already become known as Black Saturday, due to events at the now infamous soirée, Elizabeth was exhausted. She'd not slept well. Her mind raced and her tired body couldn't find rest. Nothing was worse than tossing and turning and hearing Hook snore peacefully.

The huge release from dumping her pent up frustrations all over Delarango had caused Elizabeth's emotions to peak and come out on the other side. But the other side wasn't as sunny as she expected. The residual effects of her rant still clung to her. They were like barnacles stuck in the hull of her conscience.

She tossed and turned and went over - and over - their conversations. Maybe she was wrong. To a degree. About certain things. It seemed there was little doubt she entirely misread that Delarango had ignored her. When he'd pulled out his glasses and put them on, she recalled all the times he'd squinted at her. The man was near-sighted. In the poor light, at a distance, he couldn't see her. She grudgingly gave him that one.

But, she didn't know why he denied he tried to buy her off the hill. She firmly believed that he should have discussed the naming of the road with her. She still wanted to know why in the world he built The House so close to hers. And, what was this about slandering Mark's business ethics?

As dawn broke on the other side of her new drapes, she looked at Hook and grimaced as she recalled her rabid Doberman remark. And her assessment of Delarango's driving skills. And her drunk Picasso remark. Her insight crystallized and she understood that he probably didn't have a very good impression of her.

Jane didn't know she wrestled with such thoughts. Elizabeth chose to keep a steely façade when it came to discussing anything Delarango. While Elizabeth orchestrated her movements all week to avoid him, Jane managed to tour The House and was treated to Delarango's premium brand of baked corn chips and guacamole.

Delarango. It sounded like a grubby, good-for-nothin' desperado sneering out from a wanted poster. If only she could get rid of him by turning him in to the law and collecting the reward. [I was rotflmao here!]

She had the day off. Jane needed to get to the airport by noon. To try and combat her fatigue, Elizabeth took Hook for a walk before they were due to leave. When she came back, she noticed Jane's bag wasn't packed. She wasn't ready to go. She was peeling an orange, slowly eating each section. Elizabeth observed, 'You don't look like someone set to fly home.'

'I'm not.'

'Well, you'd better get on with it. Your plane leaves in an hour. Hurry up.' Elizabeth went around Jane and reached for an energy drink out of the fridge.

'I've decided to stay for a while longer.'

Intuition kicked in, that inexplicable force that could set off sirens and flashing red lights. Elizabeth immediately became wary, 'Well that's great, but why?'

Jane was straightforward about the business at hand. After throwing away her orange peel and washing her hands, she said, 'Lizzy, you're having difficulty adjusting to all these changes in your life. There's nothing wrong with needing time to accept them, but after a year, if you haven't been able to resolve it on your own, you need to get help.'

Elizabeth thought she hadn't heard her sister right, 'Hmmm?'

'It's time for an intervention. I need you to listen and not say a word.'

'Oh, please Jane---'

'Quiet!'

'Jane,---'

'Sit down!' Elizabeth's eyes widened as she sank onto a bamboo bar stool. 'You're in denial. You aren't acknowledging your own part in all this. You aren't aware that you need help with your problem. I'm closer to you than anyone and I have to do the right thing.'

Jane spent the next 15 minutes highlighting the events of the past year, always focusing on Elizabeth's reactions and her inability to understand, adjust or forgive, and silencing her sister when she tried to interrupt. 'We're not going to get anywhere if you don't let me do the talking. You'll have your turn in a minute.'

She mentioned Elizabeth's trip back east and her professed desire to establish a new relationship with Delarango upon her return, only to blast him with her pent up hostilities once she had him in her sights. As Jane leapt from point to point, Elizabeth began to crack. 'I just want my life back to what it was.'

They went back and forth. Elizabeth never got the last word in and found herself verbally cornered. Through watery eyes she looked at her sister, 'Jane, I'm so confused.'

'There's help out there to get you through this.'

She waffled, 'Oh, I just don't know.'

They talked some more and eventually Elizabeth came around and admitted to Jane she was wrong to have gone after Delarango the way she did. She gave Jane a peek into the dark place she'd been inhabiting, 'I honestly couldn't control myself. Once I started in on him, I had to keep going. Sort of like a shark chasing a blood trail.'

Jane repeated, 'You need some professional help.'

Elizabeth didn't put two and two together straight away. 'That might be something to consider.'

'You know this is not normal, especially for you?' You're always the one who lights up a room and who's upbeat and positive.'

'I am, aren't I?' she posed meekly.

'Yes. So, you agree you're in a crisis?'

Elizabeth nodded. She wondered how long it had been since her cheerful self had been replaced by a cynical one. More than that, when was the last time she'd woken up to thoughts other than The House and the man connected to it? Too long. She reflected back on her regrets from this morning and nodded at Jane again.

'Great, grab your purse, I'm taking you for treatment now.'

'Treatment?' Now she got what Jane meant about taking a trip to see a professional.

'Yes, that's the most important part of the intervention. I talk, you listen, you go to treatment. I've made an appointment with a doctor. He's expecting us.'

'Now? But I haven't had lunch yet.'

Jane went to the kitchen, grabbed an apple and banana out of the new fruit bowl, and handed them to her sister. She took the energy drink out of her hand. 'Come on, now.'

Jane got her moving and walked right on her heels all the way to the truck. They both stood at the driver's door.

'Give me your keys.'

'I'm having problems adjusting not driving.'

'Lizzy! This is how it works with an intervention. You can't take care of yourself. I have to drive you or it's not an intervention anymore.' She held out her hand and Elizabeth reluctantly dropped the keys into it. They got down to the main road and Jane hung a right.

'Where are we going?'

'San Ramona.'

'Then, you're going the wrong way.' Jane executed a u-turn while Elizabeth got a case of nerves. 'Where in San Ramona?'

'Do you know where Jimbo's All Day Buffet is?'

'Yeah, is the office close to that?'

'No, that's where the doctor is.'

'What!?' Elizabeth put her foot down, 'I'm not going to see a doctor who works out of an all you can eat diner!'

'It's just a central place to meet. He's from out of town.'

'Which town?'

'San Francisco.'

'Why would he come all the way here to see me?'

'He's doing this as a favor.'

'Why?'

'Because he was asked.'

'I ask people a lot of things that they don't do, Jane.'

'He's a friend.'

'I didn't know you had any friends who were therapists.'

'I don't'

'Then, whose friend is he?'

Jane's admission followed a long pause, 'Mom's.'

'Turn the car around!'

'I will not.' Jane gripped the steering wheel tightly.

Elizabeth would have turned the car back around if she'd been driving. Restricted in her options, all she could do was offer her opinion based on the kind of company her mother kept. 'This is going to be a complete waste of time.'

They pulled into a crowded parking lot of a building done up like a log cabin with a snow covered roof. Jimbo, Elizabeth assumed, was the fiberglass giant in a red checkered shirt guarding the front doors. Someone had taken a hunk out of one of his ears and hacked off his kneecaps. He was one tough mountain man, still smiling despite his losses.

'I've heard of this place,' Elizabeth mulled.

'Really? That's good.'

'Actually, it's not.'

They went in, and once her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she stood stunned at the scene before her. Everywhere she looked seniors scavenged the buffet bars and consumed voluminous plates of food at numbered picnic benches. They crossed the sawdust-covered floors in a great circular migration. Tables, buffet bars, tables. Then, the cycle was repeated. Tables, bathrooms, buffet bars, tables. It was a social scene as crowded as the Serengeti. Clearly, this was where it was happening in San Ramona if you were part of the over 60 crowd. [OMG, am I happy I don't live there! LOL]

From over in a corner, a man stood up at his table and gestured to them. Elizabeth rightly assumed this was the doctor they'd come to meet as he was the only one in the place, besides the staff, who wouldn't have been a card-carrying member of the AARP.* Nothing about his appearance, he was dressed in a lightweight turtleneck and casual slacks, gave any indication of his professional individuality.

'Hello, Ms. Bennet,' he stretched his hand out to Jane.

'Hello Dr. Collins. I'm Jane. This is Elizabeth.' She cleared up their identities.

'Ah, the patient.' He inclined his head towards her and Elizabeth saw an earphone protruding from his left ear. 'Hello! I was waiting for you.'

'Well, we got here as fast as we could,' Elizabeth said and then, when he began talking to the velveteen curtains, she realized Dr. Collins had answered a call. Jane giggled behind his back.

'I hate those phones,' Elizabeth mouthed to her.

They sat down at Table 16 and eventually Collins did whatever he had to do to disconnect the call. He said nothing else, merely inspected Elizabeth in a non-committal fashion. The patient felt obligated to speak. 'This is my first intervention.'

'We are here today for you, Elizabeth. This is your, time. I hope you've come prepared to listen with an open mind.' He smiled into space and asked, 'You got my information?'

'No, I don't have anything, do you Jane?' But Collins was off again, talking to the voice in his ear.

While he spoke, the waiter arrived and ran through the multitude of offerings at Jimbo's. Apparently, the $8.95 price also included bottomless drinks. Elizabeth's eyes lit up as he set large, empty glasses in front of them. All things considered, ordering a martini to rival the size of Lake Tahoe seemed to be just the ticket about now. She rejected the idea when she saw the look on Jane's face. It was as if she could read her mind sometimes. 'I'll have a diet Pepsi.'

The doctor concluded his call in time to order a drink and, at the waiter's invitation, looked towards the salad bar. So did Jane, who declared, 'Start without me, I'll be right back.'

'Jane! Is this an intervention or have we come for a cheap lunch?'

'Sorry Lizzy, but I'm hungry.'

'Why did you have me eat that fruit?'

'Because you need to concentrate on your therapy, not BBQ ribs.'

Dr. Collins couldn't take his eyes off the mountains of food. He rose from his seat, 'I'll only be a moment Elizabeth and then we can begin.'

The waiter arrived, flashing an "I like big tips" grin as he filled their glasses. Elizabeth sat flipping her knife end over end while Jane and the doctor filled their plates. She eyed the Chinese bar and considered rebellion. But her hunger had vanished. Once they returned and settled in, Dr. Collins managed between bites of shrimp and Swedish meatballs, 'Now, Jane has told me about your problem, but I'd like to hear about it from you.'

He put down his fork, poised a pen over a small pad of paper, and waited for her to begin. She launched into her story, jumping back and forth from point to point, finally ending with the image of what it was like to have her view replaced with the unsightly edifice of The House.

Dr. Collins' first question addressed this, 'Have you always disliked boxes?'

'I don't dislike boxes.'

'Do you have some sort of phobia for the color black?'

'Black isn't a color. It absorbs all colors and reflects none.' He scribbled on his pad when she said this and Elizabeth felt compelled to explain, 'I don't particularly like black, certainly not on a house.'

Wearing stretchy white pants and a matching jacket, Jane volunteered, 'I don't like black either.'

'Please Mrs. Bingley, remain an observer if you will.' He returned to Elizabeth, 'But, you dislike the architectural style of this house which, by your own admission, is a group of boxes painted black.'

'That's a reflection of the owner's bad taste.'

'Ah, the owner. Perhaps now would be a good time to explore his part in all of this.' Dr. Collins cast a stealthy eye at the pasta bar. Its lure was too great and he interrupted Elizabeth, just as she was about to begin, with a raised hand, 'If you'll just hold that thought, I'll be right back.'

He retreated to wait his turn at the end of a long line of patient plate-holders. Elizabeth leaned across to Jane, 'Have you completely lost your mind? What could you possibly have been thinking meeting at this place? His mind is full of how much food he can pack in.'

'I think he's jumped in and really started to get into the heart of it all. And, we do have to eat if we're taking up a table.' Jane glanced in the doctor's direction and back to her sister, offering an apology as she rose, 'Sorry, I'll only be a sec.'

Jane trotted over to the pasta bar and conferred with Dr. Collins. They both returned with heaping plates of colorful sauces and imaginatively shaped noodles. The doctor picked up a laden fork. It hovered threateningly at his mouth while he instructed his patient, 'Alright, now let's hear about this man.' Then, he devoured the oversized bite.

'Delarango?'

He mumbled affirmatively, 'Yes, would you describe him for me?'

Elizabeth bit her lip in thought and answered, 'Well, he's very tall, has a hint of olive in his complexion, thick dark hair with a little bit of a wave - just the length that's long but not too long, very large hands he takes good care of, a classic Greek profile, although I don't think he's Greek, and he needs glasses.'

Jane couldn't help but toss in her two cents, 'He has a wonderful voice, doesn't he Lizzy? Deep and confident without being overbearing.'

'Tell me about the other night,' Collins coaxed.

'Well, we had a few moments.' Jane cleared her throat and Elizabeth elaborated more fully on events from last Saturday, giving the doctor important as well as irrelevant details of the conversations that night. She ended with the talk she and Jane had about his shirt.

With a mouth full of linguini and clam sauce, Collins hit one into left field with his next question, 'What shade of green was his shirt?'

Jane jumped in, 'Sort of emerald.'

A large group of buffet migrants shuffled behind Elizabeth. One from the herd knocked her in the head with an elbow and either didn't notice or didn't think it was worthwhile to stop long enough to apologize. Already testy from the food and phone interruptions, Elizabeth snapped, 'Jane, eat your pasta!'

Her patience lost with her well-meaning sister, the good doctor and the proceedings in general, she continued, 'It was peacock but what difference does any of this make? The shade of his shirt, his voice, that fact he's drop-dead gorgeous has nothing to do with anything.'

'Ah! I can see we need to implement some relaxation techniques. Here's an excellent tool.' Collins' nostrils flared with a huge intake of air. 'Deep cleansing breath. It does wonders. You try.'

He smiled encouragingly at Elizabeth. She creased her brows at a speck of oregano stuck to his tooth and would have given the doctor some specific instructions on what to do with his over-inflated counsel but for Jane, who was also encouraging her by sucking in air through 'O' shaped lips glowing in the sheer, dimensional shine of Crystal Coral gloss. Elizabeth gave in and took a dainty breath. Dr. Collins smiled at her and indulged in another together before he finished, 'You need to get out of these destructive negative-thinking habits. Let the situation resolve by itself.'

Then, Dr. Collins smoothly explained the method to his madness. 'How you described Mr. Delarango has absolutely everything to do with it. You named all his physical features that appeal to you and did not offer any examples about how he behaved, how he acted, or what you thought of it. It wasn't until I questioned you about the other night that you told me. My educated guess is, despite a real distaste for him due to events you've experienced, you're attracted to him. I'd also put my reputation on the line,' he summed up, with a tone of voice that indicating he was quite pleased with himself, 'by concluding that a degree of sexual tension exists between the two of you.'

Sex! With Delarango? Elizabeth's eyes practically popped out of her head.

'I'd like to ascertain how serious it is,' Collins told her.

'That's ridiculous!' Elizabeth refuted the doctor. She visually implored Jane to back her up. Jane just shrugged. Intimacy with her neighbor? Consensual nookie in The House? Consensual...she mused. Sensual, sensuously, sensuousness, sensuosity! She shook herself free from those thoughts and felt compelled to state her position, 'I have never - ever - had any thoughts of that nature towards Delarango.'

'Consciously.'

'Or unconsciously,' she insisted.

'But Lizzy, if they were unconscious, how would you know you had them?'

'Jane, he told you to be quiet!' She addressed Dr. Collins, 'Look, I'm not interested in Delarango.'

'That's for us to ascertain, now isn't it Elizabeth?' He put down his fork and looked directly at her. 'And, nothing good can ever come between the two of you if you can't move past the resentment you have for him. Good afternoon, Dr. Collins here.'

He'd taken another call. Elizabeth told the ceiling, 'I don't believe this. Any of this.'

Dr. Collins didn't seem to notice her frustration with his tableside manner. He made quick work of his latest call and continued, 'So, let's address your hostility of late. Whether or not he deserves any portion of it, it appears you've projected all your aggressive tendencies onto this Mr. Delarango.'

'But, he's been responsible for everything that's changed at the ranch! He even changed the name of the road to Calle de Oro.'

'You don't like the name?'

'No, of course I don't.'

He jotted some more on his pad and asked, 'Is it that the name is in Spanish? Many Californians don't recognize the cultural heritage we have with our neighbors to the south.'

Elizabeth shook her head.

'Perhaps you actually do like it, but refuse to admit it because Mr. Delarango chose it? We may have some control issues here too, Mrs. Bingley.'

Jane shared a concerned air with the doctor while they both scrutinized Elizabeth.

'This has nothing to do with control. I already told you, the road had always been called Bennet Ranch Road. Calle de Oro means nothing.'

'To you.'

'That's right, to me.'

'Control,' the doctor confirmed. He went on, 'Maybe it means something to him. Have you considered that there is another person who is responsible for the changes in your life?'

Everyone knew to whom he referred. 'Of course.'

'It appears that you haven't made any effort to come to terms with your mother's part in this.'

This was unfortunately true. Jane nodded.

Dr. Collins pushed his plate away and, no longer under the influence of a mediocre meal, began to sound much more credible. 'Elizabeth,' he began, 'all situations we face in life can be classified into two categories: things we can change and things we can't. When you have no control over a situation, sitting and worrying and getting angry won't make any difference to the outcome.'

'The key to moving on is forgiveness--of self and others. You must forgive yourself for the way you've acted. You must forgive your mother for her part in this and you must forgive your neighbor for his.'

He put it all back on her. Elizabeth looked guilty.

'Forgiveness is a two way street. If you really want to resolve this, you need to clear your conscience by apologizing to Mr. Delarango.' Elizabeth dropped her head into her hands. While she'd kicked around that very notion during her sleeplessness - some sort of general 'if my conduct on Saturday night overstepped acceptable dining conventions, I am sorry' speech - hearing it said out loud made it very real. Her stomach roiled. Collins continued, 'But, Elizabeth, it must be genuine. Don't do it until you're ready. You'll known when its time. Have you ever heard of reframing?'

Thinking he'd taken yet another call, she remained buried in her hands and didn't reply.

He repeated, 'Elizabeth? Have you ever heard of reframing?'

Apparently, this was meant for her. She looked at him through spread fingers, 'Well, it usually involves new wood, glass and matt boards!'

Humor was apparently not his strong suit. Dr. Collins appeared confused.

'Chronic stress makes us vulnerable to negative suggestion. Reframing is a technique used to change the way we look at things in order to feel better about them. This exercise helps you to learn to focus on positives. The key is to recognize that there are many ways to interpret the same situation. It involves three simple steps,' he ticked them off on his fingers. 'First, accentuate the positive. Second, eliminate the negative. Finally - the most important - latch on to the affirmative.'

'And don't mess with Mr. In Between,' Elizabeth sang as she perked back up and twirled her finger.' From their blank looks, Jane and the doctor did not find her jokes amusing. She sobered up and said, 'Sorry.'

'You have nothing to apologize for. Remember this time is for you and what you can get out of it.' He paused before taking off in another direction, 'I'm not going to extend myself any further for this cause unless clear parameters are set.'

'I just want my life back,' Elizabeth explained.

'You may very well think that but I couldn't possibly comment.'

'Isn't that what you're here for?'

Collins tapped on his ear phone, indicating he was once again talking to someone else. Elizabeth drummed her fingers on the table while he finished. Then he told her the first thing that she could really latch on to, 'You've always had your life Elizabeth, it's up to you what you choose to do with it.'

Thus began, over profiteroles and espresso torte, thirty minutes of quality Elizabeth time, punctuated by Collins' breaking off only twice in mid-sentence to redirect his conversation to callers.

He ended their time with a long-winded questionnaire about diet and stress. 'Do you experience migraines, lack of energy, insomnia? Do you have skin problems, hair loss or bleeding gums? Are you regular?' Collins asked her about her sugar intake and fretted over her abused adrenaline glands. He touched upon her salt consumption and fussed over her blood pressure. He recommended a comprehensive physical exam and a radical diet overhaul.

'That's been my goal for the last week,' Jane injected into the conversation.

'I had no idea my diet could be so deadly.'

'Do as I say, Elizabeth,' Dr. Collins advised.

She watched him spoon tapioca pudding into his mouth. Definitely not as he does!

They came the end of their session. After Jane paid the bill and they stood to leave, Dr. Collins was inspired to lead them in one final motivational tool. The good doctor extended plump hands to Elizabeth and Jane, whose faces were the essence of bewilderment.

'Let's join together for some parting inspiration.' The quickest way to get out of Jimbo's was to go along with him. They followed his lead and bowed their heads, Elizabeth sending up her own prayer that no one in the restaurant knew her.

Collins began, 'Now, repeat after me. God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.'

He paused patiently until they recited, 'God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change...'

'Courage to change the things I can.'

'Courage to change the things I can...'

'And the wisdom to know the difference.'

'And the wisdom to know the difference.'

Elizabeth left under a smattering of stares from the diners, some of whom had paused their midday food intake long enough to watch the curious events at Table 16. She was armed with pamphlets on nutrition and its relationship to her mental health, a ten-point chart to make it through the day with a positive perspective, the number to a 24 hour stress management hotline and a new way to breathe.

Dr. Collins offered a final parting encouragement over a parking lot full of sensibly priced, midsized cars, 'Remember Elizabeth, it's a waste of energy to worry about events over which we have no control, and to deny any attraction you might have.'

At the beginning of the drive home, Jane made a point of praising Dr. Collins and probing Elizabeth for her thoughts on it all. But Elizabeth didn't feel like talking. Jane left her alone to mull things over. She thought about stress. She thought about how much 'bad fats', trans fatty acids and saturated fats, were coursing through her body. Enough to implode her. She thought about eliminating the negative. And she thought about Mr. In Between, Delarango, who had become the man of the hour this afternoon. She had no doubt that Collins had aimed in entirely the wrong direction when he targeted her feelings for him as romantic. It was impossible. Delarango? What a joke.

Delarango. The De La Raaaango! It sounded like a 60's dance craze, the latest in-thing for a teenybopper shindig, danced wildly for a few months before it was dethroned by the Hanky Panky.

* AARP: American Association of Retired Persons

Chapter Seven

Posted on Saturday, 2 June 2007

When I woke up this morning
You were on my mind
And you were on my mind
I got troubles, whoa-whoa
I got worries, whoa-whoa
I got wounds to bind

~ You Were On My Mind, Sylvia Fricker, 1965

The wind had turned with autumn's departure and chilly blasts, easily mistaken for Arctic bellows, roared off the sea and up the hillside. It whipped the tufts of long, dry grasses into an agitated state and moaned a lonely cry across the ranch. A doleful whistle threaded through a tiny space in the old sliding doors that extended along the length of Elizabeth's deck.

Before a cheery fire Hook lay at her feet with his head between his paws. His eyes flicked towards the doors whenever they rattled and shook. Elizabeth reclined in one of the Mission chairs with a handmade quilt tucked around her. On a table by her elbow was a mug with green tea pooled at the bottom. A weighty bestseller, `How to Live Long Through Good Nutrition: The Essential Guide to Healthy Living', rested on her lap and all the information from Dr. Collins cluttered the floor, along with a mountain of her own sourced from Internet sites and the local library. Elizabeth knew much of it by heart, having spent the weeks since the intervention at Jimbo's trying to apply it to her daily life. It was an exercise in self-sacrifice when it came to avoiding some of her favorite foods. It was one in self-healing when it came to coping with stress and looking at life from a different perspective. She'd taken hug steps to accentuate the positive and made significant changes in her outlook towards health, tolerance of others and what it meant to forgive and forget. The `forget part' was possibly the hardest of all, especially given the view through the open drapes.

Ultimately the Elizabeth of old, the one who'd been M.I.A. for the last year, was back. A little bruised and a little wiser, but back just the same. And overtly cognizant of how very un-Elizabeth-like she'd been. She'd over-reacted to events and over-dramatized the effects they'd had upon her. And the dinner! The empathy she felt towards Delarango maxed out whenever she revisited that night. If she felt this way, how must her victim feel?

As always, this led Elizabeth to what had become known as The Delarango Question. It was not so much of a question as it was an assessment of the dynamics brewing between her and the gentleman next door. There was no way she could accept Dr. Collins' assertion that she was attracted to him. She didn't identify any feelings - deep or superficial - that told her she wanted Delarango for a long weekend, an invigorating night, or even a speedy 30 minutes. He was attractive, no problem admitting that, all you had to do was take him in and unless you'd just crawled out from under a rock on an undiscovered continent that was obvious. But, Elizabeth liked to think she was deeper than that when it came to who she decided to fancy. She didn't know Delarango, and she knew zippo-zero about him except what little she learned through a slick magazine article, some fancy food packaging, his self-proclamations and Jane's second-hand tidbits.

Still, she'd come to understand that people didn't always recognize their real feelings. But, facing the possibility that she might subconsciously want Delarango for more than a good tamale recipe was too much to grapple with right now.

Delarango. The Delarangos. It sounded like the whole Charro team, dressed in their silver-studded jackets, mounted on sleek horses prancing down Colorado Boulevard on New Years' morning. Feliz Ańo Nuevo!

Now, Elizabeth focused on her apology. The doctor had predicted she'd know when the time was right. But so far, all she'd come up with was empty a bunch of empty excuses to avoid the inevitable. Since Jimbo's, she'd done nothing but duck for cover whenever the risk of contact with her neighbor seemed imminent. Guarded eyes shifted towards the sliding doors. Outside, mere yards away was The House, with Delarango doing who-knows-what inside: painting, writing, cooking, micro-managing his food empire from hundreds of miles away. She'd spotted him numerous times. And avoided him just as many.

Her newly enlightened self-awareness led her to one clear-cut fact: she was chicken. Every time she came close to making direct contact, her bravado popped and she was left a deflated, rubbery shell of doubt. If she didn't change her approach, she'd never accidentally-on-purpose bump into him and get past this apology business!

Maybe tonight she'd taken strength from the forces of nature roaring outside because this time she wrestled with her reluctance and won, finally formulating a speech to testify to her newfound knowledge and attitude. It touched upon every point that should be addressed. Elizabeth's confidence grew with her progress until, rallying her enthusiasm, she got up and paced the floor, deftly stepping over Hook as she went back and forth experimenting with her delivery style: Honest and conciliatory; sincere and contrite; direct and assured. She settled on positive and genuine. The most important aspect of it was she really meant what she was going to say. She went to bed fully prepared to speak to him the next morning. It would be a new start to their relationship.

In the morning Delarango's sprinklers automatically came alive, watering his lawn with showery precision. It was the first thing Elizabeth heard. Over time, a strange transformation had occurred without her realizing it. The House - and the presence of its owner - had woven into the fabric of her daily life, making routine and predictable events next door go hand in hand with hers, so that one happening without the other came to mean that something was missing.

When Hook was slow to come back inside - a friendly exchange with Delarango would have occurred.

Dusk fell - like clockwork Delarango's drapes were routinely pulled shut.

Returning from work - light from the stained glass porch light next door cut through the night.

Late night on the deck - one by one lights inside The House were extinguished until only a solitary one continued to shine in the top middle window.

So this morning she didn't think twice about the soft sound of sprinklers waking her up. Her apology was her first thought. The fragile speech had shattered during the night and pieces of it floated around inside her head like space debris circling Earth. As she let Hook out, she quickly put it all back in place and steeled her faltering will which, during the night, had inched her back towards the Chicken Zone. If she was going to get through this, a prepared mental state was crucial so she poured coffee and began to run through the speech as she waited for Hook. He was back before she'd started on a second rehearsal. She recruited him as her audience and received tail-wagging approval. This buoyed Elizabeth's confidence and spurred her into action. As soon as it was practical, she pulled the drapes and stepped out onto the deck, half expecting Delarango to be waiting for her across the narrow divide.

He wasn't. Just like last night, it was cold and windy. Except for the iridescent patterns excess water from the sprinklers left on Delarango's concrete, there were no signs of life at The House. Her momentary disappointment didn't diminish her enthusiasm though and Elizabeth left for work with one eye on the rear-view mirror, looking forward to getting back home to hunt down Delarango.

After work, when she crested the last rise of Calle de Oro and approached her carport, Elizabeth appraised her surroundings. Something was out of place. She quickly identified a black patch where there was usually a warm beacon from Delarango's porch light. So, Delarango had an absent-mindedness about him. She tucked away this tidbit of knowledge and as she parked, picturing him mad scientist-like in his kitchen-slash-laboratory, knee deep in bubbling sauces, scribbling notes on the results of his latest concoction, too busy to even notice that night had fallen.

A novel idea struck her. To hell with trying to invent an "unexpected" meeting to apologize; she could go over, ring the bell and initiate contact. That would be much better than a devised meeting of the neighbors. He would know she was there for exactly one purpose: to confess her regrets and begin anew. It was such a good idea, she found herself halfway across his drive, finger out ready to punch his doorbell before she came to an abrupt halt. First, she needed to wash away the eau de fish that clung to her.

Her hellos to Hook were short and as shampoo rinsed away down her face and shoulders, another idea came to her that surpassed the initial genius of her new plan. Capuliatu in crudo, or Spaghetti with Fresh Tomato was penciled in on tonight's menu. She could make it for two. Delarango would appreciate the healthy benefits from the Mediterranean meal and she could demonstrate he'd been an influence on her new way of eating. She could even take over a conversation booster, `The Essential Guide to Healthy Living'; it would be a double whammy since Delarango was into nutrition and books.

Top heavy in her towel turban, she left all the ingredients to marinate and went to finish getting dressed. Tonight the wardrobe road was full of potholes. Nothing looked good. All her jeans seemed baggy and none of her tops did the right thing in the right places. Elizabeth wasted 20 minutes choosing a grey sweater with a daring neckline. In the middle of applying finishing strokes of mascara, she abruptly stopped. A close inspection revealed her eyebrows weren't symmetrical. She leaned into the mirror and wiggled them one at a time. They were seriously askew. The right one curved while the left one sort of angled en route. Elizabeth couldn't believe she'd never noticed it before. It was so obvious and strange looking! She tried to fluff them up to hide the difference. She frowned. While she rummaged through a drawer for her tweezers, the clock reminded her she couldn't dawdle, so she gave up after adding a dash of lipstick and turned away. Maybe her deformity would garner some pity from Delarango.

With a great batch of Capuliatu in crudo resting on top of the volumous book of health, she headed for the door and didn't go five steps before she sat it all down to wipe her sweaty hands. Nerves had kicked in. She ran through her apology one more time, then picked everything up and went next door.

The House had one of those over-sized doors, something a goliath could enter through without stooping. Elizabeth fumbled in the darkness and with her elbow pressed the doorbell, part of an elaborate communication system mounted on the wall. While she waited, the wind had its own ideas of what her hair should look like and took action. With her arms full there was little she could do to counter its effects. As she tried to flip her hair from her face without any hands, she remembered her eyebrows. To compensate for their deficiencies, she tried to even them out by raising and holding up the right one. It made her look like half of her face was surprised. She was about to press the doorbell again when the speaker crackled to life.

`Hi!' she offered, hugging the wall to stay out of the wind.

`Hello!'

`It's Elizabeth from next door.' She looked up, expecting the porch light to come on with her arrival.

`This is Rick.'

`I know that! Hey, I've been wanting to talk to you.'

`I can't come to the door right now.'

`Oh, you have to! I've brought dinner over. Are you hungry?'

'Press and hold down the blue button and leave me a message. I'll get back to you as soon as can.'

`Rick!” Elizabeth began, trying not to make any judgments about his attitude. She pushed the blue button, `Rick, did you hear me say I've brought dinner over? I made something I knew you'd like. A healthy Mediterranean dish. All we need is some of your red wine!

She released the button and waited for his response. When he didn't say anything more, she pushed it again. 'It's dark out here. You didn't turn your porch light on. Rick? Aren't you going to answer the door?'

Apparently he wasn't.

'Rick listen, I wanted to apologize about your mailbox and about insulting your accomplishments and especially about dinner the other night, but not through a speaker. Please, just come to the door for a minute. Then, if you don't want to talk to me anymore you can eat your spaghetti alone. Rick?!'

She rang the bell again and the speaker crackled, 'Hello!'

She was about to answer again when he continued on, “This is Rick. I can't come to the door right now. Press and hold down the blue button and leave me a message. I'll get back to you as soon as can.'

`Rick! Are you in there?' she asked, forgetting to press and hold the blue button. She leaned against The House, in the dark, in the cold, with her platter of spaghetti quickly losing its steam. Once she accepted Delarango wasn't going to come to the door, she let her eyebrow drop in disappointment before she stumbled back home in the wind.

Delarango. It sounded like a wannabe artiste who probably spent waaaaay too much time sniffing the paint thinner.

As she turned away from the driving rain, Elizabeth chuckled to herself. Only fools and dedicated employees would be out on a day like this. She wryly thought they may be one and the same. Once again, she was pulling 24-hour Christmas duties -solo- at ORRI. She was the warm body to handle feeding schedules and emergencies. It seemed like the right thing to do. She'd offered after a blatant hint and a nice Christmas gift from Mark, a $50 grocery store gift card which was nice compared to last year's gift of a cheese and meat platter pre-packaged in Des Moines.

With her fellow employees in their warm homes that smelled of pine trees and roasted dinners, and Mark off for a few weeks in Napa where he'd bought into a vineyard, Elizabeth slogged along with buckets of fish to Mercy and Mild's enclosure. The refrigeration unit for the sea lions, on the fritz for almost a month, should have been fixed by now but remained out of commission. Their meals had to be hauled over from the large old facilities that housed a number of other ORRI residents.

She set down the heavy buckets and wiped water from her face. The gray sky blended with the horizon and it was difficult to pinpoint where it stopped and the sea began. A sudden gust roughly pushed her. She picked up her buckets and hurried around the corner and into the sea lions' den. Ready for dinner, they barked approvingly when they saw the buckets. Elizabeth cleaned out their enclosure and played with them, squirting them with the hose. She repeated this general theme for several hours until Christmas dinner had been served throughout the Institute.

Back in her office, she watched the afternoon dissolve into chaos with bits of debris flying though the air as the storm gained intensity. Inside was cozy enough with her space heater and a package of rice cakes. She looked at the wilted mistletoe hanging from the light. Its red bow sagged. On his last day at work, Mark had tried one more time to get her under it. He'd reminded her that the funding for the sea otters would be in place after the first of the year and suggested that he deserved a reward for his hard work. Elizabeth tactfully demurred. In any other circumstance she would blindly follow his lead. Mark was a dynamic man - full of energy, canny and upbeat. He looked and acted much younger than she suspected he was. She wasn't sure of his age, but a review of his history could zero in on a pretty good guess. Elizabeth was possibly his biggest fan, but she couldn't get past the age gap to think about a personal relationship with him. The kind of admiration that Mark was encouraging just wasn't there.

As Elizabeth crunched on her rice snack, she decided it was just as well Jane was in Vanuatu for the holidays; she didn't have to test her healthy diet commitment with the temptation of a lot of once-a-year treats. This way, spending Christmas and New Years alone, was really a help for her. None of that artery-clogging stuff this year, she could just sit and prop her rubber boots onto the edge of the desk and munch away on another dry cake. No one to open a bunch of gifts with or swap stories about Christmases past. Yep, she could just sit and watch the weather run amok. She was lucky she didn't have the after-dinner mess to clean up. That was always the worst part of the day. The crowded kitchen had ten different conversations going at once. Nope, she could just sit here all alone, look at the cards she'd taped to the wall, and play with her phone.

Her last call had been to Jane before she'd left for her tropical paradise. She checked her voice mail; the only two there she'd already picked up, both from Mark wishing her a Merry Christmas. She navigated to her contacts and deleted three she couldn't place. She tested her ring volume. "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" pierced the quiet office with its poignant melody. She tested it again and again - da-da-da da dada dada daa-da - singing the lyrics to herself until it was time to restock the refrigerators with frozen fish from the freezers.

When she stepped outside, leaning into the gale to keep from being knocked backwards, she half-sang the final line of the carol, 'And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.'

It was carried away on the wind.

December 25th might be Elizabeth's marathon work day but New Year's Eve and Day weren't. She popped in for a couple of hours the last morning of the year before she checked out until January 2nd. On her drive home Jane called from a million miles away. She was watching the sunrise tomorrow, New Year's Day, since she was on the other side of the International Date Line.

'Happy New Year!'

'Why are you whispering?' Elizabeth asked.

'I'm the only one up.'

'How was your New Year's Eve?'

'Festive! Full of raunchy dancing and French champagne.'

'You don't like to dance.'

'No, but the local men do and let me tell you how hot they are gyrating to a primitive beat in nothing but sarongs.'

'How hot are they?'

'Hot enough to keep me sizzling all night!'

'Wicked, wicked.'

'I will say I used the situation to the best of my advantage.'

'And my brother-in-law's.'

'Most definitely! What are you doing tonight?' Silence gave Jane her answer. 'Weren't you invited out?'

Elizabeth usually had a New Year's Eve fling with friends from University. 'Young families seem to have priority this year.'

'Oh.'

'I don't want to go out anyway. The weather's been bad and I've got things to do.'

'Okay.' Jane didn't sound convinced. 'Maybe Mr. Delarango will be throwing a bash and invite you over. Oh, that's right, someone hasn't apologized yet, unless you want to tell me something I don't know.'

'He's still gone. I finally get my act together and he vanishes.'

'It's ironic that you're complaining about his absence. You've wanted him gone since before he moved in.'

'I know, but now I'm ready to apologize.'

'Look, Rick will be back, sometime. After building that mansion he wouldn't just abandon it.'

'You don't think so?'

'Well, I don't know...'

'But, you just said...'

'I know what I just said. What I meant was, he'd have to at least deal with moving his things out.'

'So, you think he's left to live back in L.A.'

'I don't know. It would appear he has business in other places to be gone for so long.'

'That's L.A. He could have a company move his things out and never come back.'

'Yes, he could. But we don't know that's what's going on.'

'Well we don't know it's not. And Jane, if he doesn't come back, I'll never see him again!'

'Don't get so worked up. We don't know anything.'

'But, it's this not knowing that's bugging me. If he doesn't come back so I can apologize, I'll never forgive him.'

'I know.' Jane paused and quickly added, 'Oh, I've got to go. Breakfast is being laid out on the terrace.'

'By a man in a sarong?'

'Not sure. I can only see a brown chest. I ought to go check if he's wearing anything down below. Maybe they have a custom in Vanuatu that I don't know about! Try and have a good night Lizzy.'

Elizabeth spent the afternoon working on her sea otter project. Time slipped by and it was dark before she took a break. She let Hook out and had a peek in the fridge to see about dinner. She'd forgotten she needed to food shop. Salad was an option but she wanted something warm and filling. Going all the way back to the market in San Ramona was out of the question so she decided to live a little and order from a roadhouse cafe a few miles down the road. She found their take out menu; they had a veggie burger so she ordered it along with a jumbo side of onion rings.

She thought it rather pitiful to be working on New Year's Eve so instead she read the news headlines. The lead story about the high price of gasoline had a linked article about ethanol where she learned about corn hoarding to keep ethanol prices high. That linked to an article about how expensive corn tortillas had become in Mexico because of the hoarded corn, all of which led her to forget that Hook was out. She went to the door to find him sauntering up apparently unperturbed about the inclement weather. She went back to the PC and continued, thinking about corn tortillas and Mexican food and people who made money from it and that, of course, led her to Delarango.

And Elizabeth did something she never thought she would do. She googled him.

Business links, art links, links that had to do with a charity he founded, and his company's website. Several sites in Spanish, one that, from what Elizabeth could tell, was nothing more than chatting about the attributes of well-known or successful Latinos. Delarango had his own topic and pictures were linked. Elizabeth got lost looking at Delarango in a suit, in a starched white button-down Oxford, with glasses, without glasses and, her personal favorite, tanned in faded blue denim with the sleeves rolled up. Intriguingly dark in the photo - his skin, his hair, his eyes - the picture also portrayed an element of the unknown about him, the enigmatic Delarango. Dr. Collin's theory resurfaced but she was too hungry to think about it. She left Delarango up on her screen to go call the cafe just as their delivery person knocked on her door. Elizabeth grabbed her wallet and rummaged through, looking for something besides a twenty.

'Hi, do you have change?' she asked as she opened the door.

'I might but I left my wallet at home.'

The answer from the other side of the threshold pierced her somewhere way down deep inside. She lifted her head and found herself in a dead stare with Delarango. The alive and kicking version. The situation knocked her of balance and she uttered the obvious into those dark eyes. 'You're not the delivery guy.'

'Well, I have this,' he said, holding her gaze and a bottle of red, 'so you could call me the delivery guy.'

Elizabeth smiled uncertainly and lost her voice.

'I got your message and was wondering if you still had that spaghetti.'

She shook her head and managed, 'That was from weeks ago.'

'I've been gone.' They appraised each other as Delarango continued, 'Well, if you haven't eaten, I'm not going to let you start on this. Who knows where that might lead.'

He said it lightly, politely, without any hint that it was meant other than to keep the conversation flowing. But Elizabeth tried to read deeper into it, wondering if he was referring to the dinner. Maybe that was his way of alluding to it. Then he added, 'Unless you're in the mood just to see where it does lead.'

Elizabeth scrutinized him more closely. Maybe he meant something else all together. Before she could decide, the delivery guy arrived with her order. He didn't have change so she bought a very expensive burger. Delicious smells filled the doorway. Fate had handed her a belated Christmas gift. This was what she'd been hoping for. Pulling herself together, she didn't think twice. 'Do you like onion rings?'

'I love onion rings. Have you ever had them with an award-winning Merlot?'

There was never any doubt about inviting him in. She stood aside to let him pass and found herself riveted to some great-fitting black jeans or possibly what was inside the jeans. She knew this was her moment and she tried to retrieve her apology but watching Delarango as he walked into the house was a distraction. In the meantime he'd asked her a question she'd missed.

'Sorry?'

With Hook shadowing him, he was making his way to the PC where marine mammal reference material laid open, 'How's your sea otter project coming?'

The monitor! A surge of terror jolted her when she remembered Delarango in faded denim reproduced in high pixel resolution looking out across the room. As she tried to remember if her screen saver was set, she practically screamed, 'Rick!'

Man and beast stopped in their tracks.

'Watch out, I've got extension cords going everywhere.' The extension cords weren't anywhere near him; Delarango looked around for them which distracted him from looking at the PC monitor long enough for Elizabeth to coax him into the kitchen to open the wine. She left him uncorking on the pretense of lighting a fire, detouring on the way to the PC to shut it off. She exhaled in relief when his picture vanished.

Elizabeth made a salad and over dinner shared everything except her apology. Things were going so well; they were getting along as if she'd never gone for his jugular like a hungry lioness. She couldn't seem to fit the apology into the cautious dance of reacquaintance they performed. Then, about an hour into his visit, Delarango gave her the chance.

They sat on the floor, close enough to the fire to feel the heat on their faces, sharing the last of the wine. Several times when they'd been talking, she caught herself drifting off in appreciation of his outward appearance. Tonight he looked just about as fetching as he did in the faded denim picture. She reminded herself she wasn't the type to pick a man based on his looks, at least not his looks. Hook had laid claim to him, never leaving his side even after the onion rings were gone. Now Hook's head rested against his leg. As he stroked the length of the dog's back, Delarango asked, 'So, why do you need to apologize about my mailbox?'

Elizabeth looked like she'd mistakenly walked into a crowded men's room. 'Look, the night's been really nice. Do we need to mess it up by talking about your mailbox?'

'I doubt there's anything you could say that would be that upsetting.'

'Really?'

'Try me.'

She decided to take a leap; if she'd thought more about it she might never get it out. 'The day I met you at the mailboxes I was trying to prop yours back up.'

'It was falling over.'

'That's right but it wasn't falling over until I hit it with the door of my truck.' Her confession had his full attention. 'I accidentally hit it when I was trying to get out of the truck to catch your mail. The door had opened and it was falling out.'

'So while you were being neighborly and trying to help me you accidentally knocked the mailbox over? I think I can live with that.'

'But I didn't tell you that I was the one that did it, and that wasn't right. I'll be happy to pay for the repairs.'

'Are you happy you got it off your chest, umm, so to speak?'

She nodded, acknowledging that was the whole story and nothing but the story. Actually, the truth lay somewhere in between but she didn't need to go there.

'Then that's all the payment I need.'

Delarango wouldn't listen to any more talk about it. He was so gracious and easy-going that Elizabeth just sort of slipped into talking about the last year and how she'd turned into another person.

`It never occurred to me that someone else would live up here. It's been just me for so long and it happened so fast that I never had a chance to get used to the idea before everything changed. I didn't react well.' She played with the end of Hook's tail. `Every little thing just set me off and my attitude took a dive. I would like to apologize for that.'

She didn't know whether it was that Delarango was astute and understood how much she needed to tell him the things she did or that he was too polite to interrupt, but Elizabeth made most of the points she outlined with him listening quietly. Her speech wasn't delivered like she'd planned; it evolved into a dialogue that acted as a bridge of understanding between the two of them. Too far to cross in just one short interlude, nevertheless, the way to establish friendly relations was identified; the course was marked. She still had questions for Delarango, but not to be asked tonight.

He didn't stay late; he'd driven up from L.A. that day and was tired. An afterthought made him pause after their goodbye. He stood half-shadowed and the light defined the contours of his face. Looking down at her with a frank expression, he added, `Thanks very much for dinner, Elizabeth. Again.'

They were the exact same parting words that he'd used before, at the end of that fateful dinner they'd never forget, but the way he said them tonight conveyed an entirely different meaning. She closed the door behind him and let the warmth of contentment spread over her.

So happy with herself and how things had gone, Elizabeth was on a bit of a high so she wrapped up in a quilt and went out onto the deck. The wind had blown away all the clouds and the stars celebrated up above. She couldn't recall the last time she felt so untroubled. She watched them for a while until their light became the same light she'd just seen in Delarango's eyes. They held her fast and wouldn't let go.

Before she went inside she glanced over to The House, just in time to see one solitary light, shinning in the top middle window, go out.

Continued In Next Section

© 2006, 2007, 2008 Copyright held by the author.

Mr. Popularity ~ Section III

By Lisa L

Previous Section, Section III, Next Section

Chapter Eight

Posted on Monday, 3 September 2007

I think it's so groovy now
That people are finally getting together
I thinks it's wonderful and how
That people are finally getting together
Reach out in the darkness
Reach out in the darkness
Reach out in the darkness
And you may find a friend

~ Reach Out of the Darkness by Jim Post, 1968

Women! What was it with them?

The more interesting half of the world's population belonged to a secret society that declared itself off limits to the other half. They met underground, in ladies' rooms across the nation, and they weren't fooling men about what they really did when they embarked en masse to freshen up. It had nothing to do with the call of nature; it was all about talking. When women couldn't hit a powder room, they received regular updates from their compatriots via cell phones. Passing glances and quick nods were an unspoken language that transcended cultures. When all else failed, they went telepathic. The mental rhythm of their intuitive drums kept them connected.

And, the funny thing about it, despite men's exclusion from this charmed circle, women still expected them to completely and unequivocally understand their innermost thoughts, feelings, and *gasp* desires. To be sure, without needing to be prompted, they'd explain themselves in an outpouring of emotional discourse that made perfect sense only to other women. But for men, it was like walking blind through a minefield. You were bound to trip up and the inevitable explosion could generate fallout that would last for weeks.

Women.

Delarango gave his head a manly shake. His was the reasonable sex. The rational sex. The no-nonsense sex. When forced to do so, men expressed their thoughts and ideas in a clear, organized manner. When a man said what he thought, a man meant what he said. And, he said it in 20 words or less. He quoted a famous, fictional professor to the empty room, `Why can't a woman be more like a man?'

In fact, that was the last thing he'd want. The system, he believed, had been set up pretty well. Balance in the Universe existed between the sexes; their differences created their own form of harmony, sort of a yin-yang kind of a thing.

Now, while he contemplated some of the more pleasing aspects that were unique to women, he watched the first day of the new year fight valiantly against a determined cold front. The currents shifted and the first sky of the year, a pale winter offering, appeared. The invitation to go outside was tempting and, as he sized up the chance of more rain, by habit he reached up to the shelf for his glasses and put them on. The world became fuzzy and vague. He pulled them off again and, while congratulating himself on his decision to finally have laser eye surgery, he saw the razor-sharp figure of Elizabeth, with Hook by her side, bundled up and walking down the road.

He watched until they disappeared around a turn guarded by a detachment of oaks and thought more about women. Particular women. Bennet women. The three of them were certainly something. If Elizabeth was to be believed, her mother's priorities were out of balance and she had acted with little regard for her daughters' wishes when she'd sold him the land. But Delarango's conscience was clean; although he'd made the purchase for very personal reasons, he looked at it judiciously in terms of the deal. He hadn't twisted Mrs. Bennet's arm; his money had with a quiet firm grasp. But the decision to either accept his offer or walk away had always rested with her. Despite having created the situation, Delarango wasn't accountable for how the mother had treated her daughters over the land sale.

Elizabeth's sister Jane had polished social skills and a cosmopolitan style. Good at small talk, she'd said all the right things about the latest trends in interior design, international destinations and the stock market. But, she seemed to hover over Elizabeth. The word `overbearing' came to mind. Before, during and after dinner, she worked overtime promoting her sister.

And then there was Elizabeth, his unusual neighbor, an elusive puzzle not yet solved.

After months of her humorless posturing and silent disapproval, they'd met face to face for the first time while she fretted over the ridiculous mailbox his designer erected. It fell over and he couldn't have been happier. She wouldn't listen when he said just to leave it. He was late that day so he'd taken his mail and took off. The next few times they met, before he could acknowledge her, she got huffy and retreated to her weather-beaten house. You could almost see the trail of fire in her wake. Eventually he discovered she blamed him for her behavior. He didn't initiate a conversation so he was rude. Why couldn't she say hello first? What happened to that sexual equality business from forty some-odd years ago? There was a big bru-ha-ha about it at the time. Surely news of bra burning had made the rounds of the current sisterhood.

Never slow on the uptake, Delarango had decided to steer clear of Elizabeth Bennet. But she crossed paths with him again, shattering the peace of an unsuspecting night, and that time she had no problem finding her voice. She'd startled the bejezus out of him when she emerged from the shadows. Her soliloquy began as a slow drip of ire and then spilled over into a flashflood of raw anger. Friendly fire it was not. He had no idea what hit him and suspected that's just the way she wanted it. Elizabeth cleared up any lingering doubt about what she thought of him and anything associated with him. This was particularly ironic when she didn't even know him.

Women.

After that night a stalemate ensued. Any chance of neighborly discourse between them had been lost - until Jane stepped in and created the perfect chance to turn the situation around. His strategy in accepting her dinner invitation had been to share a low-key evening with the sisters that would rectify the past encounters with Elizabeth and establish cordial relations. Kissinger he wasn't; he had realistic expectations. If he could just wipe away the look of disdain that was forever etched across her face and get her to speak in a normal tone of voice, he would call that progress.

That night, amongst the Bennet family knick-knacks, Jane cooked, Elizabeth kept her distance and he made an unexpected discovery that went against everything he'd learned through years of experience and a few hard knocks. It happened in an instant and added an unknown dimension to the entire affair. He found Elizabeth attractive!

Jane had stressed that the invitation was from both of them, but within the first 5 minutes of his arrival he knew that was a whopper of a lie. The vibrations coming from Elizabeth hadn't been good ones. Unperturbed, Delarango always faced a challenge. Over the rim of his glass, as the sanguine liquid reflected upon his face, he took her in and while the strength and independence she displayed was more combative than congenial, those were traits that charmed him. That alone wasn't enough, though. With the disclosure about her burning some lawyer's letter, the passionate way Elizabeth expressed her feelings revved his engines. It was when she expressed her feelings about the land though that Delarango understood something deep inside her because it was inside of him too. They connected, although she didn't know it.

He marked Elizabeth as potential and new possibilities opened up for the evening - and possibly beyond.

From his vantage - a man's view of the world - he figured the current state of their relationship could be easily rectified by a simple conversation. Clear the air, 1-2-3, and that would be that. Thinking without benefit of a woman's viewpoint, Delarango failed to appreciate the seriousness of the situation. He was the source that fuelled Elizabeth's less-than-eloquent outbursts but it never registered with him.

He'd wanted to move beyond the nonsense about The House and get to know her better. She'd had other plans, like going a few rounds with him and mixed it up through most of the meal. Delarango's attraction waned. Confidence was one thing; belligerence was something else. Different points of view made the conversation flow; accusations and blame killed it. Delarango found it a tough stretch to imagine Elizabeth's kind of aggression as sexual tension. Nothing that Jane had said swayed him. Disappointed, he wrote her off as a fiery she-devil and abandoned the possibility of taking it any further with her.

From that night onwards Delarango found himself deliberately avoiding any chance to run into Elizabeth. Unaccustomed to tip-toeing around, he resented this encroachment upon his lifestyle, the result of another's cranky disposition. In this particular case though, Elizabeth out of sight did not mean Elizabeth out of mind. The intensity of her feelings and how she looked when she expressed herself crept up upon him as a misty memory much like fog enveloped the Bay Bridge. He wondered about her while he worked, ironically experiencing one of his most creative periods. Starting in the early morning when he had good light on the eastern side of The House, Delarango completed a mobile of gigantic proportions applying tens of thousands of cancelled postage stamps to hanging, rotating cylinders. The result was a sunscape in constant motion to be viewed from below. In the evenings, while he imagined his next door neighbor devising elaborate plots of retaliation against him, he was able to complete the first draft of a Mexican cookbook, choosing recipes and coordinating a schedule to test each one by making them himself. Within a short space of time, he finished an enormous amount of work, thrilled with his productivity and his emergence unscathed from any plans Elizabeth might have made to do him in.

He'd had no intention of getting involved with her beyond his chance reflections. She'd been deleted to his recycle bin, marked for a permanent adios when she went and did what her sex lived for: she made an inexplicable change of course. Unpredictable and very womanly.

He'd been shocked to find that while he was in Los Angeles she'd come over with pasta and apologies. Against the backdrop of a fierce-sounding windstorm, her upbeat message-in-the-box became subdued when she figured out he wasn't home. His discovery of her gesture left him curious. Was it a mad moment for her or had he been right before when he thought there was something about her he should get to know better? Not without a little trepidation, he went over to her place armed with wine. If it turned into another disaster at least he'd be humming along moderately numbed until he could escape.

The pleasantries of last night faced off with all his previously conceived notions about her. Gone was the woman in the grips of perpetual PMS, replaced by a sane, sensible version you might want to take to an environmental fundraiser or a concert in the park. Her buoyant disposition did nothing to make light of what she saw as the poor form of her past behavior. It blew his past impressions of her out of the water, and for a moment he questioned whether this was same person sharing her veggie burger. But, there was that crooked eyebrow and the dog's unwavering loyalty. Neither of those was easily duplicated. It was her all right.

Elizabeth Bennet. He'd been sure that cupcake wasn't done all the way through.

And, to be perfectly frank, she might not be. One thing she said stuck with him: the realization she'd acted like the kind of person she always detested was a frightening wake-up call. She told him one of the hardest things she had ever done was to be honest enough with herself to accept the way she had reacted. He believed her disclosures and the sincerity of her apologies. Clearly Ms. Bennet had gone through some sort of an emotional watershed. She had a stack of self-help books to attest to that.

The episode opened a door previously unseen and Delarango now found himself facing his part in Elizabeth's misery. Her behavior, easily dismissed as female emotional over-reaction, was deflected back to him. Now that he knew Elizabeth better, her experiences with The House and her feelings with the changes it had created came to life and he was left to evaluate what part he'd played in the whole thing. Regardless to what degree Delarango might accept responsibility, it was too early to tell where she was really coming from. He was sure he'd never entirely figure her out anyway; women didn't have any intention of letting men do that. If they did, the game would be over.

He wanted to believe what he saw last night was the real woman. Buried inside him, an attraction still existed and, like claps of thunder on a clear night, he'd been unexpectedly jolted by it throughout their evening - when she spoke, when she moved, when she quietly responded to him. Under the circumstances, it was an unexplainable appeal that was unadvisable to pursue. Still, if things were actually different, maybe he could resurrect the possibility of a relationship with her. Maybe. But, no longer a naive young man, the prudent and wise Delarango geared his approach with a healthy dose of caution. He wasn't going to fall into a trap disguised with remorse and forgiveness.

Elizabeth Bennet. The woman next door could be playing with a few pieces missing from her monopoly set.

The wind picked up and the bare-branched oaks braced against it. Just like a description he recalled in one of Mama Gertie's journals. She was probably the Bennet he knew best. A stalwart figure in an emerging time, her journals testified to her position as matriarch of the family. She drew Delarango into the past with simple, descriptive writing and entertained with acerbic wit. The ranch came alive with life in the thirties as she sketched the defining time of the place. Her offhand notes, meant as a record of personal experiences, provided him with clues to his own questions. But, Mama Gertie's journals had only taken him so far. The rest was left to Delarango. He suspected she'd find the drama of this latest chapter in the ranch's history highly absorbing.

It hadn't taken long for clutter to build up in The House. From the time he'd moved in - gradually - like a slow rising tide, things had begun to gather under foot, in every corner, and in places where furniture was meant to be. Now, Delarango was up to here in stuff. Today he was downstairs in a room where all the bits and pieces with nowhere else to go had landed, making no headway in shifting things from one temporary spot to another. His garage was full of everything ordered for the downstairs rooms but couldn't go in the downstairs rooms because they weren't finished yet. It was time to call for backup and put an end to all this. He grabbed the phone and dialed Cerise, his designer based on the East Coast. He got her voice message.

`Hi, it's Rick,' and, just in case she knew five different Ricks that might be calling, he added, `Delarango. About the lower floors, uh, they need to be finished within three weeks. I've got houseguests coming the first of the month. They need to be repainted in the right color. Did we ever get the missing pieces for the chairs in the home theatre? And, my mailbox still hasn't been replaced. My mail's being delivered into a box and it gets wet and blows away. Can you get me something that looks like a regular mailbox and get it up this week? Thanks.'

He missed it when she returned his call and retrieved her message a few hours later. Her voice, gravelly as if she'd had too many cigarettes with her mint juleps, resonated in his ear as she picked off points with precision.

`Rick-honey! We didn't re-paint because you'd been thinkin' about making two of the rooms into one. You were supposed to get back with me on that. If the issue's resolved, and I think,' whenever Cerise pronounced a long `i', she drew it out with her Southern twang, `you should leave them as they are, we can move forward. The paint color was Champagne Cocktail. I'll call Steve and have him get it repainted this week. Go online and look at your files - confirm everything tonight! And, no darlin', I will not let you get out of the faux fireplace mantle. Everything'll be all whopper-jawed if it's excluded. Besides, the stone matches the inlay in the wet bar. Do you want that pair of vases I showed you from Martin's gallery. We can get them cheap, he's desperate to get his money out of them. And, Rick-honey, we had those chairs replaced!'

Cerise then slowed down to about 80 mph, `I'm workin' under a deadline here. I'll get this all arranged and come in for the weekend before the first. You have my word it'll be finished for your guests. And, speakin' of guests, now that the house is livable, I don't suppose you could put me up when I come out? I'll be your test guest and,' her voice dropped an octave, `leave it up to you what you'd like to test. I'm pretty open,' before she adopted her normal voice,' I've got a fabulous tan and new cheek implants, very Joan Crawford-ish. Let's talk by Friday. Bye.'

Delarango listened to the message once more with a hand covering his scrunched up face. He'd hoped that this would never come up. From the outset, he'd picked up signals that he interpreted as a willingness on Cerise's part to be more than professional colleagues. Her address - Rick-honey - wasn't suggestive, just annoying. But, the way she leaned into him, the way she pursed her bright, engorged lips and talked just to him, and especially the way she took particular care with his bedroom décor. Sometimes he wondered if the finished product was what he wanted for himself or what Cerise wanted for her dream bedroom. Well, she could keep dreaming. Actually, there had been one unfortunate night when matters had come perilously close to going too far. It was over a year ago, early in their collaboration on The House, and Delarango almost let himself go in a moment he wouldn't define so much as weak as empty. The patron saint for resisting physical temptations or saving souls from grave mistakes - whoever it was - had watched over him that night. A shining beacon of clarity descended from above and re-established a healthy perspective before any compromises of virtue occurred. He'd never been so happy to wake up alone as he had been on that grey Manhattan morning-after.

Instantly preoccupied with finding a way to keep her from staying at The House, he neglected to notice she hadn't said a word about his mailbox.

After three days Delarango couldn't find a plausible excuse to book her into the Marriott Suites. When she called him back he voiced some apprehension about there being enough space, along with his other guests, a concern she quickly extinguished by pointing out he had seven furnished bedrooms. That was when he heard himself cheerfully confirming she could bunk in her favorite guest room. Cerise peppered the rest of the conversation with double entendres and Delarango decided he would never be able to look at his pool table the same way again. He hung up with Rick-honey ringing in his head.

He had that sinking feeling that he'd been right. It appeared that Cerise might not be looking at things the same way he was. She was coming back to haunt him like that 80's TV cliché, a power-woman who thought padded everything was better: hair, lips, breasts, shoulders - and now apparently cheekbones - and who was hell-bent on having it her way. He planned to run plenty of interference with his aunt and his globe-trotting cousin Brian being there. Delarango had talked to Brian the day before but the connection kept fading out and he could only guess where he might be calling from.

`If something changes and you can't pick her up, I'll find a way to get down there.'

`I should be fine. I'm scheduled to fly into El Toro the night before and *cr-fzzzzzt-ck* until the following Wednesday.'

`You mean the government is actually going to do without you for a few days?'

`I'm trying to stay under the radar so it doesn't get rescheduled. *ccccr-ffffzzz-ttt-ckkkk* forward to it. I can use a break. Give me a comfy recliner and the remote and I'll be in heaven.'

`I'm doing my best to get the home theatre finished.'

`You've got a home theatre? I can't even remember what your place looks like.'

`Well, you need to come when its daylight and stay for more than an hour instead of racing over in between flights at some ungodly hour.'

`Aw, come on, what have you got to do in the middle of the night except sleep?'

`I'm not about to tell you.'

`You don't have to, remember I was the one who taught you everything you know about *crrrr-fzz-ttttt-cccck* and *cr-fzzzt-ccck*.' Delarango thought this the perfect time to change the subject back to their aunt. He asked how she was doing. `Better.'

`Does she still need the walker?'

`No. I saw her before I flew out last week and she seems completely recovered until she realizes you know it, and then she has an immediate relapse. You'd *cccc-rrrr-fzzzt-ck* or she'll have you waiting on her like a hospital orderly.'

`You're talking about a 65 year-old woman here.'

`*ccrrr-fff-zzz-ttt-ck* And, I think she's almost 70, but don't *crrrrrr-fzztt-ckk-kkk-kkk* or you're sunk.'

Delarango laughed, `By the way, my interior designer will be here, just for a couple of days.'

`*ccc-ccc-crrr-ffzzzzztt-ckk*' who's so top-heavy a light breeze would knock her off-balance? Good job! *cccccc-rrrr-rr-rr-fzzzt-ck*'

`Be kind, Brian.'

`I am! Since when are *ccccr-fzzzzzt-ck* a bad thing?!'

Delarango tried to think when they might be and couldn't come up with anything. The connection dropped out a moment later. He stared at the phone thinking maybe the two of them, Brian and Cerise, would take to each other and he could be cast aside like her old bras that were too small for her.

When Delarango decided to buy Mrs. Bennet's land, he fulfilled one of his life goals - the important kind that made it onto that list of things to accomplish before you die. He would never leave Southern California for good, but he chose to make his first year a sabbatical from life down south to work uninterrupted on projects he didn't have time for while running the company full time. Within the first six months though, two trips down to LA had been necessary to iron out transitional wrinkles within the company. He combined the second one with the Christmas holidays, but he baffled friends and family when he rushed off on the 31st to get back to The House. For reasons he didn't want to explain, Delarango had it in his head that The House was where he would spend the auspicious night - turning over a new year in a new place. His own private christening of sorts. Determined to fulfill his plans, he only came to terms with the fact that his would be a party for one when he was halfway back home. A solo evening would be novel; as it turned out, he had a much better night than expected.

New Years' Eve crept into his thoughts quite regularly but he hadn't seen his neighbor since then until one evening when they both turned into Calle de Oro at the same time. Elizabeth was in front and she was taking it easy on the drive. His headlights shone on the tailgate of her old truck, lighting up an ancient California license plate. He liked the truck but didn't see it as very practical for a daily work commute. Downshifting, he wondered if she had to drive this slow all the way to work. Eventually, they pulled into their respective drives and he went over before she opened her door. She smiled at him through the window.

`Hi,' he said when she got out and quickly caught his breath, unable to continue. Sturgeon, flounder or cod, the smell of whatever fish she'd been in contact with clung to her like icing on a cake. Memories of the day at the mailbox returned.

`Hi Rick, how are things with you?'

`Not bad,' he cleared his throat. Standing back while she got out, he appreciated the classic body design before him and asked about the truck. `What year GMC is this?'

`Fifty-eight.'

`Very distinctive. Are you going to restore it?'

`I can't see why. It wouldn't be worth the money it would take.'

`Don't you know anything about classic cars? I figured that was why you were driving it.'

`I'm driving it because a couple of years ago my 4-wheel drive had a major breakdown and I wasn't going to pay the repair costs.'

`Who'd you buy this from?' He ran his hand along a sculpted fender.

`I didn't buy it. It's been here as long as I can remember.' She admitted somewhat reluctantly, `It's another connection I have to the ranch. I know it's sentimental and silly, but -'

`No, it's not. I understand how you feel. You are taking care of it, aren't you?' She adopted a blank expression. `Do you have it serviced regularly and check the oil and water in between?'

`Oh that, sure.' He appraised her and she continued, `In fact, I'm going to take it in to my guy this week. It's time for a check-up.'

`A tune up.'

She bit her lip, `Yeah, that's right.'

Delarango knelt down and examined her hubcaps, `Thanks again for dinner the other night.'

She came closer and brought her fish fragrance with her, `Did I set your healthy diet back a few notches?'

`With the onion rings? Life's too short not to enjoy things you like. I try to keep a good balance but I'm not obsessive.'

Her eyes brightened with doubt. Before she could challenge him, a whimper from the other side of Elizabeth's door called her over to release Hook from his daytime prison. He greeted them both and took off across the road into the field.

`So what have you been up to?' She sounded like she really wanted to know. He told her about what he'd been working on. `Twirling stamps? I can't picture it.'

`You're welcome to come over and have a look at it any time. In fact, you'll have to be sure and come around while my cousin's here next weekend. He's bringing my aunt up. She's all alone and comes to stay with me off and on.'

`Thank you, I'd like that.'

An idea struck him, `I don't have your number, do I? It's just you and me up here. It would be a good idea to have it.' Delarango took out his phone and added her to his contacts.

She fingered the ends of her hair and suggested, `Maybe I could take yours, too.' After she punched him in, she said, `Well, I should go in and shower. I smell like fish.'

Delarango grinned, `I don't smell anything.'

`Let me tell you something,' she leaned in closer and counseled Delarango while he held his breath, `you're a lousy liar, but thanks.'

He gave a short, deep laugh and didn't contradict her. Hook came trotting up and that was their cue to say goodnight. Delarango crossed to his yard and noticed that the dog was right in step with him.

`Come here Hook,' Elizabeth called. He completely ignored her and wagged his tail at Delarango.

`Don't you want to go home?' Delarango stopped and asked him. Hook lay down on a lush section of lawn in reply. `He wants to stay with me!'

The air was crisp and fresh and carried away Elizabeth's fishy smell when she came over. Stars winked and the sound of distant silence on their remote section of the hill swallowed them up. The rest of the world faded into the background. Life beyond this one tiny spot could have stopped and they wouldn't have known.

She softly admonished her dog but he hid behind Delarango, peaking around the side of a long leg, and wouldn't budge.

`Go ahead and take your shower. He can stay with me.'

`Are you sure?'

`Yeah, come down to the back when you're done. I'll leave the gate open.'

He lit the garden, so when Elizabeth returned she would have a golden pathway to lead her to where he and Hook relaxed. Delarango had been out all day and putting his feet up felt good. They sat in silent companionship, Hook settled next to him, vigilantly scanning the perimeter. The dog detected his owner's presence first and alerted Delarango when his tail thumped the concrete.

`Hi!' Delarango got up and walked over. Fresh out of the shower, her cheeks were flushed and her hair slightly damp. The gentle scent of citrus floated his way. Her clothes seemed a little lightweight for the cold night. `You warm enough?'

`I'm fine. Where's Hook?'

Delarango indicated to the grouping of chairs on a raised section of patio where a lumpy form with a waggly tail was ensconced. He followed Elizabeth over and sat down as she knelt by Hook. She greeted him with loving pet owner language that Delarango couldn't remember hearing since he was young, when his mother spoke to the family's pair of Basset Hounds.

It had a comfortable familiarity to it. After a moment, she perched on the edge of a chair and Hook rested his head on her leg. The splash of a waterfall, unseen in the darkness, was all that could be heard until Elizabeth made a weighty reflection, `It's funny how things can change.'

`What do you mean?'

`Oh, nothing in particular and everything in general.'

`Nothing stays the same. Sometimes change is for the best even though we may not know it at the time.'

`We aren't able to see beyond what we don't want to happen.' She was looking far out over the sea and said in a wistful way, `As if there's someone guiding us who knows us better than we do ourselves, leading us in the direction we should go.'

Delarango asked the obvious, `Do you mean God or a god?'

`I suppose so.'

He saw the moon as it emerged from behind a bank of lacy clouds. It poised low on the horizon, so low that the ocean waves might splash its parched surface with salty water. `Do you believe in God?'

`Yes,' she glanced sideways at him, `Do you?'

`You're talking to a card-carrying Catholic.'

`That didn't answer my question,' she pursued.

`Yes, I do, although my inner beliefs of what I believe God to be have changed.'

A fleeting look passed between them before she asked, `And, how does that fit in with your religious upbringing?'

That was an unanswered question that Delarango had grappled with for a long while. `I'd like to think that there's room for personal interpretation. What about you?'

`I have my beliefs, they are quite personal and I don't like to join in with large crowds to proclaim them.'

He felt he'd overstepped, `I'm sorry.'

`Oh, I don't mean this conversation. I'm happy to talk to you. I meant I resist anyone, whether it's my family, a political party, or a religious group telling me how I should think or what I should believe.'

`Somehow, that doesn't surprise me,' he observed.

`Doesn't it?' She considered him at length before giving him a tiny smile. `Given our history, I suppose it wouldn't.'

`We've had an unusual beginning.'

Elizabeth rubbed her arms, looked down at Hook and hurriedly added, almost as if he wasn't supposed to hear her, `I'm glad you want to be friends.' With that she stood up, `Well, I'd better go inside. It is kind of cold out here.'

She announced to Hook that they were going home. The dog rolled on his side and laid his head on the pavement. A verbal reprimand brought him reluctantly to his feet. Delarango stood up too and, as Elizabeth walked up the path, Hook stopped next to him in a last defiant gesture. She turned back and used a stern voice to bring him to her side. Her dog ambled ever so slowly over to her.

With her face cloaked by the winter night, Delarango heard Elizabeth say, `I think he's taken with you.' Then their darkened forms, Hooks and hers, slipped away.

Chapter Nine

Posted on Tuesday, 18 December 2007

Papa-oom-mow-mow
Papa-oom-mow-mow
Baba, baba, baba-whoo
Papa-oom-mow-mow
Papa-oom-mow-mow
Baba, baba, baba-whooooo!
Baba, baba, baba-whoooooooooo!
Ooooo-oooo-ooo-whoooooo

~ Papa-Oom-Mow-Mow, Carl White, Alan Frazier, Sonny Harris, Turner Wilson Jr, 1962

`Con cuidado,' Delarango's aunt cautioned about her bags, `carefully. Just set them over….there.' She gestured with her cane to an open space between the closet and the bathroom and took in the room while her nephew set them down.

` Gracias, Francisco. The room, it has a balcony?' She parted the drapes and peeked around them, her raven black hair, artfully arranged atop her head, hidden behind textured silk. Far below, the shore break gently lapped the coastline. `What a spectacular view! I think you spent too much for it.'

The slender woman turned back to her nephew, shrewdly appraising him as if he were about to confess to naughty deeds and be sent to the corner. `Tia Contessa, you know exactly how much I paid. You asked me when I bought the land.'

`And The House was free?' She poked through some drawers, appraised the rug, ignored the occasional chair and ended up perched on the edge of the bed testing the mattress.

Delarango smiled. Having his aunt around was the best way to keep him on his toes. `The files on The House are in my office. Let me know if you want to go over them before lunch, or after.'

`Don't be silly,' she softened as she looked around, `żEl cuarto no es muy grande?

`No, this isn't the biggest guest room but it's the only one that has a tub in the bathroom. You can choose another if you'd like.'

`This is very nice,' She paused and then squared off with him. `I'm only saying, you paid a fortune to move all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere!'

`I have a next-door neighbor.'

`ˇDios Mio! Why did you build La Casa so close to that awful place?' On the way from the airport, she'd been enjoying the rural drive along Calle de Oro until the two houses came into view, when she completely ignored The House to exclaim about Elizabeth's place which, snuggled next to his, could be mistaken for a tumbledown shack.

`I didn't have a choice.'

She waved her cane, `You had a choice. You could have stayed in Los Angeles!'

Delarango didn't have to look at his watch to know the best time to bail out of a conversation with his aunt, `Should I leave you to freshen up while I go check on lunch?'

`You ignore me?'

`Te amo.' He kissed the top of her head. Their entire conversation had been in Spanish. His bilingual aunt refused to speak English anymore; people who weren't well acquainted with her assumed she didn't know it. `And, I'm taking care of you by making sure you're well-nourished.'

`Hi!' They both turned to Brian, who'd appeared in the doorway.

`Your timing's perfect. I'm going to see about lunch.'

`Do you want me to help you unpack?' Brian offered to Tia Contessa. He liked to rattle his aunt's cage and chose to speak only in English to her. Delarango left them in a dysfunctional two-language argument, with Brian lecturing her about taking care with her new hip and his aunt protesting - everything! Delarango descended the stairs to their fading squabble.

`Would you let me do that for you?'

`¡Hables in espaňol!'

`Give me those and I'll hang them up.'

`No es necesario. ¡Vas Brian, vas!'

`I'm not going to go. I want to help you.'

`No quiero su ayuda. ¿Tienes un problema de oido?'

`My hearing's just fine.'

The last thing Delarango heard his aunt say was something he worried would become a recurring theme throughout her visit. `If you want to help, go convince Francisco to come back to Los Angeles.'

`Is that your neighbor?'

It was late. Delarango and Brian had moved inside to a cavernous empty room off the patio. They'd brought their chairs in with them. Over the last of their coffee talk had dwindled away and they perused the dying embers in the abandoned fire pit, the fine mist that had moved them indoors and the figure of a woman next door, just visible between the branches of Delarango's eucalyptus. She rapidly removed laundry off a drying rack on her deck. A dog approached her then moved their way and stood at the gate at the end of the deck, looking over towards The House and wagging its tail.

`One more time! Is that your neighbor?'

Delarango had been staring past the trees. While he'd scrutinized Elizabeth, spotlighted in porch light yellow, he'd missed his cousin's question - twice. Eventually, it dawned on Delarango that he'd dropped the ball. His voice echoed through the room, `Yes, that's Hook. I think he's a pure bred border collie'

`I've always said to anyone who'd listen that you should be doing stand up.' They exchanged glances before Delarango let Elizabeth recapture his attention. Brian shot him another question, `You must have met her?'

He exhaled, `Uh huh.'

`And?'

`She's…' he fumbled for a description as his mind raced through possibilities, `what am I looking for?

Brain continued to watch Elizabeth, `Hot? Taken? Please don't say not attracted to men!'

`I was going to say she's a marine biologist. She works with seals and dolphins and otters at a rescue center.'

`Good! Intelligent and attractive. What's her name?'

`Elizabeth Bennet.'

Brian was used to cutting a swath through governmental bureaucracy every day and now he headed straight for the heart of the matter, `Here's the crunch question: how much has Elizabeth Bennet taught you about biology?'

`We don't know each other that well.'

`Do you want to know her better?' When Delarango didn't respond, he prodded, `Or not?'

`As usual, you're just teeming with information.' Delarango remained stalwart, a word he'd always liked but never seemed to have an opportunity to use. Brian continued, `Don't let anyone kid you, you'd never make a living as a paid informant.'

Delarango grinned into his coffee mug and drank the last lukewarm swallow. Just when it seemed their conversation should be buried, he brought it back to life, `What was the question?'

`Never mind.'

`Ask me again.'

`Forget it.'

`I can't figure her out.'

`Do you need to?'

`Well, yeah Brian, I do!'

`Why? Because she's the only game in town?' Brian received a definitive non-verbal answer. `No, I guess I didn't need to ask that. But thanks, now I have an answer to my question.'

`And that would be...?'

`You're interested.'

`Or frustrated.'

`I thought you knew what to do about that!'

`I'm working on it.'

They saw Elizabeth go inside. Her dog stayed glued to the gate, staring over at The House until, apparently, she called for him to come inside. When her light was extinguished, Delarango set his mug next to the chair and stood up, ready to call it a night. As they walked upstairs, Brian observed, `You could've fooled me. I don't see you doing much of anything.'

`You don't know what's been going on around here.'

`Well my astute powers of observation tell me that, on a perfectly good weekend night, neither of you has a thing to do. You're on one side of the fence and she's on the other. So, I think I can safely say that not too much has been going on around here.'

`I have my reasons for taking things slow.'

`Careful how slow you go or you may end up going in reverse.'

They reached the top floor and parted, going in separate directions to their rooms. Delarango reached for the door handle and offered, `I planned to invite her over while you were here.'

`I'm here for three days not three months!'

His cousin's implications rang in Delarango's ears long after he extinguished the light. He'd long since moved past thinking Elizabeth might be a head case but he was still left wondering about the unpredictability of her emotions. A woman whose reactions were all over the map was a woman you didn't ask to dance.

Elizabeth Bennet. Her packaging suggested a quality product, but without a full list of ingredients available to this consumer, more research was required. She wasn't FRD approved.

Things went into full swing on Friday and all of a sudden it was crowded in The House. Cerise arrived the night before with her new assistant in tow. Bud, a hulking guy who'd played linebacker in college, graduated with honors in Traditional Design of Indigenous Cultures of the Pacific Islands. They took up two guest rooms. Along with Brian, Tia Contessa and himself, five of his bedrooms were occupied. Delarango had thought it extravagant at the time to design The House with seven bedrooms; now he wondered it he'd been too conservative. In case of an emergency, he was down to only two.

His housekeeper was scheduled to come every day while he had company and to bring her husband, who'd been a cook at the Holiday Inn until forced to retire because of deposits on his knees. All together, including the home theater system techie who'd roared up bright and early; eight people were under his roof this morning.

Delarango had been awakened several times during the night by his neighbor. She occupied his dreams. With only frustrating fragments from his slumber, snapshots of Elizabeth materialized from the darkness, always at his doorstep pressing the blue button and talking through the speaker, either on a mercy mission with a five-course meal or aggressively demanding the return of Mama Gertie's journals. There was more but it lay just beyond his grasp. Falling back asleep proved difficult. He put it down to coffee before bed, not willing to admit a developing a weakness for Elizabeth.

The entire business caused to him oversleep. While he shook off the weariness of a restless night, he could hear the unusual sounds of Others in The House.

The rubbery tread of his housekeeper going past his door and down the hallway.

Clunking on the stairs that was either Brian or Bud.

The front door slamming, followed by hollow bootsteps of the technician.

The slap-slappity-slap of Cerise's open back mules resounding across the expansive living area.

And, his housekeeper's rubbery tread coming back up the hallway.

Finally making it downstairs, Delarango heard a shuffle in his kitchen - thunk-shoop thunk-shoop.

`Good morning Mr. Rick. Would you like your tea?' A compact man with a white cloth apron tied around his waist beamed up at him. Delarango looked over the breakfast spread on his polished cement worktop, a well-organized array, and knew he'd made the right choice in having his housekeeper's husband take over the kitchen this weekend. `Morning Carlos. Wow, this looks great, really nice job. Ah yes, thanks to the tea.'

The cook pulled himself up to his full height and thunk-shooped over with a cup.

`Hey! The technician's here.' Brian announced as he came in. He turned to Carlos, `Andre would like another burrito, this one with salsa verde and double cheese. I might go for another one too, same for me thanks!'

Delarango had just popped a chuck of melon into his mouth. Before he could chew and swallow and ask why Andre the technician was eating his burritos instead of connecting the entertainment system - an interruption came slappity-slapping into his kitchen.

`Good mornin' Rick-honey. Man, this kitchen fits you even better'n those jeans you're wearin!' The kitchen and dining area - a spacious, inviting environment - flowed into the living space on the main floor. Cerise stood in the center of it all, taking in more than her decorating handiwork when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her assistant tromping past a 10-foot couch carrying a stone carving. `Bud! Take that back downstairs.'

`You just told me you wanted it up here!' He stopped and repositioned the heavy item cradled in his arms.

`Well, now I'm tellin' you I want it back downstairs!'

Amidst the commotion, Tia Contessa had come into the kitchen from the entrance behind them. As was her habit indoors, she was barefoot - running silent - in contrast to the noisy ways of all the others. They didn't hear her approach from behind. Cerise swept her arm in the direction Bud should backpeddle, and bumped Tia Contessa up the side of the head.

The decorator's eyes popped out and her inflated lips formed a plump `O'. Then she rallied to apologize in a loud, slow delivery meant to aid Delarango's aunt in comprehending her, `I'm so sorry, Ma'am! Are you okay?'

Her hair was perfect but Tia Contessa patted it back into place anyway. As she did, she advised her nephew, `Wherever you got this woman from, send her back.' The night before, after Cerise had worked the room to meet Brian and his aunt, Tia Contessa had deadpanned that Delarango's decorator sounded like she'd been forced to watch Gone With the Wind too many times as a child. She also pointed out that Cerise resembled an alien from Area 5 - except her lips - which she swore were about to burst and spray Restylyn on anyone within a 15 foot range.

`We went over this already,' he told her in Spanish, `she's here for the weekend and then she's gone.'

`I'm willing to pay. How much could UPS cost?'

Delarango changed the subject to one his aunt wouldn't want to pursue, `Your hip must be better. You don't have your cane this morning.'

His aunt didn't reply, instead engineering a credible limp on her way over to the counter where a rapid-paced exchange began with Carlos about the meals for the rest of the day. Her questions had him thunk-shooping his way around the kitchen to check for ingredients while Brian protested that Carlos should finish his burrito order first.

`I didn't see her there. Is she all right?' Cerise was saying. `I feel awful.'

`She's fine. She says not to worry about it.' Delarango received a stony stare from his aunt.

`Oh, good! In that case, I need you downstairs.' She linked her arm though his to lead him away, `We have some decisions to make. Have you been thinkin' about your studio?'

`There's nothing to think about.' Delarango tried to casually remove his arm from her grasp. She held on like it was the last pair of Jimmy Choos off the sale rack.

`I have a couple of ideas - nothin' big - just to make the room more functional.'

`I told you I didn't want you in there.'

`You didn't say anything about standin' in the doorway!'

He disentangled his arm and repeated his position, `I don't want my studio touched.'

She whispered conspiratorially, `It could use a little organization. An aesthetically pleasing environment would make you work better.'

`You don't know anything about the way I work.'

`So, help me to understand.'

`You're not touching my studio, Cerise.'

Tia Contessa interjected with her take on things, `ˇElla me recuerda una mula!'

Brian chuckled, Delarango shook his head and Carlos the cook wisely pretended he didn't hear the comparison to a mule. It all went right over Cerise's head since she didn't understand a word of Spanish. `Won't you even consider my ideas?'

`No.'

`You'll be sorry.' she mock-pouted.

Just then Bud returned and barged in to ask, `Did you discuss the weaving?'

Delarango looked blankly between Cerise and Bud.

Cerise attempted to dismiss him, `Not yet, Bud.'

`Now might be a good time.'

`No Bud,' she hissed under her breath.

“What are the two of you talking about?' Delarango asked.

Before Cerise could stop him, Bud jumped in, `I thought some hand-woven wall coverings might work very well in the downstairs area. The indigenous islanders from Tonga have an elaborate design that I can picture bringing your walls life.'

`Bud!'

`Or possibly the simpler pattern that the Fijians are known for would be the way to go.'

`I think that Mr. Delarango -'

`If you have some dried fronds - preferably from the cocos nucifera - I can put together a couple of samples in no time.' He emphasized, `Now might be a good time.'

Cerise was clearly annoyed, `Why are you repeatin' yourself?'

`Well,' Bud's brow wrinkled, `I was setting the carving down and it sort of slipped out of my hands.'

`Sorta?! You'd better be more specific...and fast.'

`It dinged the wall.'

`Which wall?'

`The fireplace wall in the game room.'

`How bad is it?'

`Well, it's a funny thing. Drywall crumbles away with just the slightest ding.'

Cerise began slinging a heap of abuse at her giant assistant. Without so much as a parting word to those assembled in the kitchen, she slappity-slapped off with Bud following behind, looking very much like a prisoner being led to the gallows.

While he wasn't any sort of a recluse, Delarango had become used to a blessed solitude in The House and after lunch the assembled crowd and all their quirks encouraged him to escape. He went out the back and circled around to the front to check on the health of his Mexican Blue palm which was neither a native of Tonga nor Fiji. He noticed a disturbance on the surface of the pond and detected a lapping sound to his left. Hook's head popped up from the greenery and he trotted over to greet Delarango. A dripping muzzle spotted his shoes.

`Hi, what are you doing here?'

Elizabeth stepped out from her carport and answered for Hook, `He's being disobedient. Hook, for the last time, come over here!'

This was unexpected. Bells and whistles went off in Delarango's head reminding him of his conversation the night before with Brian. Hook stayed by his side as he crossed his lawn and met her at the property line, `Well, you gotta show him who's the boss, Elizabeth.'

A quick laugh chimed through the air. Dressed in a plum pantsuit, a shade he particularly liked, she looked good. Her hair had a new style, too. Yep, she looked very good. It was Friday afternoon, closer to when she should be coming home than leaving and he wondered what was up. `You look nice.'

`Thank you. I'm on my way to the Institute.'

`Dressed like that?'

`Yeah, no feeding rounds for me today. My boss and I are meeting a representative for Seamus Richter Hoffmann, the source of funding for my sea otters. I'm giving a presentation and we're taking him on a tour. He'll be reporting back to the company directors in Germany.'

While Delarango continued to admire her appearance, `It's all coming together then.'

`Finally. This is the final step before the funds are released. I expected us to be up and running by this time. Their board passed our submission last summer. Mark, my boss Dr. Wiegghocé, has gone through this hundreds of times. He says this is normal and I'm supposed to be patient.'

`It's hard to sit around and wait on others when you're ready to move on something.'

`That's so true. We can't go forward until they release the funds. I'm a little nervous. I'm responsible for everything. This has to go well. It's really important for the Institute.'

`Come on, this is your baby. You're the only person to who could present it. It'll go great and when it's all over you'll want to do it again.' The appreciative expression that appeared on Elizabeth's face changed to one of curiosity. She was distracted by something behind him. Delarango turned and saw his aunt standing at a window looking out over the yard. `That's my aunt. She doesn't miss much.'

Her laughter caught in the air again and danced away like a tune on a Caribbean beach. `What does she think of The House?'

`She thinks it should be a few hundred miles south of here! Why don't you come over tonight? You can meet her.' They looked over and saw Tia Contessa was gone, `And my cousin Brian. Do you speak Spanish?'

Elizabeth didn't get a chance to answer. From around the side of The House Cerise called for Delarango, drawling her pet name for him as she came up the path. It made him feel incredibly uncomfortable but before Delarango could explain about his decorator, Cerise appeared.

`Rick-honey! If I didn't know better, I'd think you were tryin' to -' She saw he wasn't alone and made a beeline for him, picking her way across the lawn with determination. On her travels, the heel of one of her mules stuck fast in the turf and she was forced stop and yank it out. The rest of the journey was executed on tiptoe and she arrived to claim the prized position on Delarango's right.

`Aren't you gonna to introduce me? Never mind. Hi, I'm Cerise Colquitt.' She stuck her hand out and Delarango watched Elizabeth shake it. `You must be here to pick up the carpet samples. They're stacked in the garage for you.'

With all her artificial enhancements, Cerise could look strikingly odd. Now, straining a smile at Elizabeth, Delarango thought he could detect the outline of her new check implants under her skin. He made a deliberate effort not to shudder. As he was about to explain who Elizabeth was, his neighbor took care of it herself.

`I live next door.'

`Oooh! We'd always wondered just who could be livin' there.' “There” was pronounced as if Cerise was holding it at arm's length pinched between two fingers.

`It's a family property.'

`Oh, I see.'

`It's been in my family for generations.'

`Oh, well.'

`It was very handy when I needed a place to live.'

Pseudo-sympathy dripped in Cerise's voice, `You don't have to say nothin' else. Everyone needs help sometime. You're lucky you have somewhere to go and be safe!'

From the confusion on Elizabeth's face, Delarango could tell she didn't read the implications of Cerise's remark. He interjected, `We don't want to keep Elizabeth. She's on her way to a business meeting. So, we'll see you later?'

`I can't. Dinner's part of the agenda.'

He found that truly disappointing. `Where are you going?'

Elizabeth named a premiere establishment, well-known for its celebrity chef and ground-breaking cuisine. Cerise had hinted on a previous trip that she wouldn't protest at all if Delarango wanted to take her there. He told Elizabeth, `I've always wanted to try it, but never had the chance. I hope everything goes well.'

`Thanks. I'd better go. It was nice to meet you, Cerise.'

Cerise's reply was so sugar-coated you might break a tooth on it, `Same here Elizabeth, and if you ever get in a position where you feel like you can re-decorate, let me know. I never back away from a challenge.'

`I'll keep that in mind.'

Cerise spun around to head back to The House and almost fell over Hook, who had crept up next to her. She let out a startled screech and Hook barked back.

`Cute dawg.' She recovered her dignity and began tiptoeing back the way she came.

Delarango was left smiling at Elizabeth. `Tell me how well it went tomorrow, will you?' She nodded and hustled her dog into the house. Delarango lost sight of her when he went down the path to the back of The House but he heard the croaky engine of her truck start up before she drove off.

He considered putting the encounter down to fate and might have, except practicality told him when you lived less than10 yards from someone, the probability of running into them was pretty high.

Elizabeth Bennet. She sparkled like a gemstone. With radiant allure, each facet reflected another fine aspect, suggesting she was a valuable acquisition to treasure. But care needed to be taken. What one might think a truly rare find could be nothing more than a worthless piece of glass.

The day had started early for everyone except Delarango. After dinner, before it could be called late, The House had been set in order and was ready for the next morning. Bud had clunked his way upstairs to read Sumatran poetry, Brian had fallen asleep in one of the home theatre's pliable leather chairs, Tia Contessa was content to retire to her room. And then there was Cerise. Although Delarango hadn't planned on it, her omnipresence annoyed him; her unwanted attention engulfed him to the point he felt like he was drowning. The only way to shake her was to hide in his room - a prospect that went against all he supported and could only be utilized so many times.

Tonight he definitely didn't want to be alone with her. Looking for someplace other than his room to occupy his time, he saw that Elizabeth's truck was parked in her carport. She was back. His cunning side kicked in and, before he could second-guess himself, Delarango snuck next door. He climbed the stairs to Elizabeth's balcony and saw Hook on the deck, looking through the gate, detecting his presence before he appeared.

`Hi boy.' He reached his hand over the top of the gate and patted his friend before he quietly called out, `Hey, Elizabeth, are you back?'

After three calls, when he didn't get an answer, Delarango was about to go home and subject him self to an unpleasant fate when Elizabeth stuck her head out the sliding door, `Hi.'

`Hey, how'd it go?' Changed out of her pantsuit, she was wearing faded denim and a 49ers jersey. She didn't look too upbeat. `Did you come back early?'

`Ah, yeah.'

Something wasn't right. When she didn't offer an explanation he asked, `What happened?'

`It was cancelled.'

`Dinner? If you're hungry I've got more than - '

`Everything,' she said flatly as she came over and opened the gate.

`At the last minute? What happened?'

`I was waiting there and nobody came. I called my boss. His phone was turned off. Finally, he called me and told me the meeting was cancelled.'

`Why?'

`The representative from Seamus Richter Hoffmann couldn't get here. He was held over with other meetings and never flew in.'

`So he's still coming? Tomorrow, or the next day?' She shrugged. It didn't sound right to Delarango. `Your boss didn't show up either?'

`No, he's been out of town and was coming back just for this. When it fell through, he didn't bother.'

`Where is he?'

`North of San Francisco.'

It only took Delarango a second to digest her story. He told her, `Well, if he was coming from that far, he would have had to have left hours before you were due to meet to be there on time. Why didn't he call you sooner?'

Elizabeth sat down on the top of her picnic table and plopped her chin in her hands. `I don't know.'

`I'm really sorry this happened.'

`Finding funding isn't easy. We tried every conceivable source and finally Seamus Richter Hoffmann came through. But, now it seems like maybe they aren't going to come through and we're back at square one after all this time.'

On her face and in her voice, Elizabeth's disappointment was obvious. He sat down on top of the table next to her. The drapes were drawn, the porch light was off and the moon was nowhere to be found. Her profile was dark against dark. `What's you boss like?'

`Amazing.'

Even as low as she felt, she sang his praises, enough so that Delarango knew no one could be that good. They sat quietly with Elizabeth's troubles until she looked towards her sliding door and jumped down. `Bohemian Rhapsody, that's my phone! Be right back.'

She returned promptly and reclaimed the same spot next to him. Her spirits had rebounded somewhat. Another chapter in her story unfolded as she told Delarango that Mark had called to say they would do a recording of her presentation on Monday and get it to SRH for their monthly board meeting. He was emailing her a script he wanted her to memorize. Elizabeth had offered to go in tomorrow - Sunday - to meet with “someone with a camera” to map out how it should be shot.

Instinct, and possibly a mixer of some other primitive reaction, had Delarango disliking Mark. It was an intense feeling that welled within him. He belied what he felt and said, `That's good news.'

`Very. But I'll be a basket case until this is finished.'

From The House, an unlikely interruption occurred, moving them on from talk of the Institute. They heard music and looked over at the balcony with a door ajar. Elizabeth turned to him, apparently expecting an explanation.

`Ah, that would be my aunt.'

`What's she doing?'

`Dancing the flamenco.'

`Really?' she asked incredulously.

`Yeah, but we aren't supposed to know.'

`Why not?'

`Because she recently had hip replacement surgery and she still likes to get the attention of a recovering patient.'

They looked up and over as a bright red skirt flashed between the parted drapes. Along with it was an abundance of tapping and clapping. `How can you miss all that?'

`You can't, but we just pretend. It doesn't hurt anything to let her think she's pulling something over on us.'

`She misses you not being close?'

`It wasn't like I was just around the corner in Los Angeles; she lives in San Diego County.'

`Why didn't you buy land there?'

`I wanted to come here.'

`Why?'

Delarango went for a vague response, `It's nice here.'

`I've been to San Diego County. It's nice there, too.' He heard it in her voice, she wanted him to explain himself. When he didn't, she tried another route, `Why did you build The House where you did?'

`A lot of your family's land can't be built on.'

`I've never heard that before. How do you know?'

`The land's unstable. It's very common for this area. Landowners up and down the coast may not be the flaming conservationists they appear to be with their vast tracks of open land; they simply may not be able to develop it. I surveyed three sections that your mother was willing to sell and this was the only one that could have a structure built on it. My first preference was down at the double turn, on the other side of the road.'

`By the apple orchard?' Her head turned in that direction. When she turned back, her crooked brow was arched, `I don't remember seeing surveyors around there. They probably came while I was at work. I can't imagine The House there.'

`Neither can I. Something entirely different would have been built.'

`Like what?'

`I wanted to build on the spot where the meadow gently rises. The House there would have been built mostly with glass walls following the natural contours of the land. The impression that there were no barriers between nature and a man-made environment was a concept I wanted to pursue.'

`So you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.'

`Exactly,' he said. `Imagine feeling like you were sitting in that meadow when you were in your living room.'

`Umm, the wildflowers are gorgeous in that spot. They'd come right inside.'

`So, although it wasn't my first choice, The House was built here, uh, there.' He pointed to his left.

`Why didn't you build in San Diego?' she asked again.

`I didn't want to.'

`You're not really answering me.' Her eyes shone in the dark. Their intensity made him feel like she could read what was in his mind. He looked away to avoid that possibility. `You could have built anywhere.'

`No, I couldn't Elizabeth.'

`Why not?'

`I just couldn't.'

He said nothing more about it and they drifted off to other topics, including the Mexican food extravaganza at his house earlier tonight. He was chided for straying from his righteous path of nutritional excellence. Delarango never realized he'd appeared that way to her.

`Tonight I was testing recipes for a cookbook. I'm approaching it with the theme of all fresh, natural ingredients.'

``Natural' is a word that pretty loosely used.'

`It's used and abused. You can't rely on its' meaning. Instead, you need to avoid additives and chemicals and anything that keeps your food looking the same six months later.'

`It's not always practical to be able to avoid all that.'

`Not the way people live today. And as long as there's demand, there'll be products made to fill it. There's so much education and information out there but if people don't want to take better care of themselves, you can't force-feed them a healthy diet.'

`Thank you.'

She'd lost him. `For what?'

`For encouraging me to change my eating habits.'

He was pleased, `Did I do that?'

`You did and I cleaned up my act - somewhatt - I still prefer white wine, bread, and chocolate!'

He gently knocked her shoulder with his, `Don't be too hasty with your thanks. Tomorrow there's going to be a kitchen full of Mexican desserts, made from only the finest ingredients, but maybe not falling entirely within the parameters of healthy eating, and I'm inviting you over to taste-test them for me.'

`I don't know anything about Mexican desserts.'

`You know what you like, don't you?' Their shoulders still touched. At the spot where they met, Delarango felt the heat of her body mix with his.

`That I definitely do.'

He challenged the quiet of the evening with his reply, `Then all you have to do is tell me.'

Continued In Next Section

© 2006, 2007, 2008 Copyright held by the author.

Mr. Popularity ~ Section IV

By Lisa L

Previous Section, Section IV

Chapter Ten

Posted on Saturday, 3 May 2008

Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn
Tryin' to find a woman who's never, never, never been born
Standin' on a hill in my mountain of dreams
Telling myself it's not are hard, hard, hard as it seems

~Going To California by Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, 1970

`I understand you work with fish.'

Elizabeth and Cerise were alone in the warehouse-sized living space off of Delarango's kitchen. Elizabeth had accepted his invitation to indulge in desserts and, while her host attended to one that was in the oven, he'd left them in the tantalizing company of cinnamon and orange drifting in from the kitchen.

The woman who'd fed thousands of fish to her charges replied, `I guess you could say that.'

`That must be very interesting,' Cerise said, sounding entirely uninterested. `My favorite fish is mahi-mahi. They're deee-licious.'

`Mahi-mahi is a dolphin fish.'

`A dolphin? Oh, that's impossible. I'm sure eating dolphin is illegal!'

`Dolphins and dolphin fish are two different species.'

`Of course they are! Dolphins don't have those long swords like those mahi-mahi.' As she spoke, she rearranged the order of a row of books across one of Delarango's shelves.

`Swordfish have swords.'

`And dolphins don't!' Cerise said with determination. `Do you work with crabs?'

`Sometimes.'

`Well, if you ever make it to Savannah, I know the best place in all the world to get crab cakes.'

`You know, I don't generally equate the species I'm working with in terms of my dinner.'

Delarango was walking through the kitchen, about to round the corner and join them when their conversation red-lighted him. So did his aunt who, hidden by a cabinet, was leaning against the wall that divided the two rooms.

`What do you think you're doing?' he asked softly. Tia Contessa shushed him and Delarango stood silently reprimanded.

At that moment, Cerise was adjusting the knick knacks on Delarango's shelf and changed the subject as subtly as she re-positioned a battered silver bowl. `So, you livin' all alone over there?'

`Yes.'

`I see.' She began a third degree that was as sweet as honeysuckle hanging in the humid air back home, `No husband?

`No.'

`No boyfriend?'

`No.'

`Ever been married?'

`No.'

`That's odd.'

`Why is that odd?'

`Never having had a husband or a boyfriend - at your age?'

`I didn't say that.'

`Oh now, don't you go defending yourself, there's no need for that. Your life is your business.'

With a slight edge in her voice, Elizabeth concurred, `I'm very well aware of that.'

The word catfight popped into Delarango's head. He was already in Elizabeth's corner as Cerise forged onwards, `So, no ex-husband lurking in your past?'

`I just said that and before you say that's odd again, what about Rick? He's not married.'

`Oh, but I know Rick's been married before. Men like him don't stay single.'

His aunt gazed accusingly at him, `Why didn't you tell me?'

`Don't be silly,' he whispered, `Do you think I'd be able to keep something like that from you?'

`No, no es posible.' She conceded and then referred to his dessert in the oven. `Go check your Capirotada. It smells like it's done.'

`I just checked it.'

`Someone should check it again,' she declared. Delarango knew it wasn't ready. He shot a pointed look at Carlos the cook, who stayed rooted in place chopping vegetables. They all heard Cerise as she continued to hypothesize about Delarango.

`He's probably just “in between”. I suspect he married young, realized his mistake, and got out of it quick before it cost him too much. It's time for him to marry again and he's experienced enough now to know the kind of woman he needs to make it a successful venture.' The subject of Cerise's fantasies found his fictitious past and future plans fascinating. One eye took a look around the corner. He saw Cerise sizing up Elizabeth like they were two cops after the last bear claw. From below, he saw his aunt's dark hair creep forward, trying to take a peek. He gently nudged her back.

`What kind would that be?' Elizabeth asked.

`Rick's got a full plate; whoever he brings on board will have to transition in and out of all the circles he travels in. The arts, finance, business, and of course charity. Versatility is paramount. She'll have to look the part and act the part, especially when it comes to schmoozin'.

`Wow, that's a big order to fill. Let me guess, you're an expert at schmoozing?'

Cerise's puffy lips pursed together and she drawled, `Among other things.'

Something at the end of the bookshelf, sitting next to the borrowed journals of Aunt Gertie, caught Elizabeth's attention and while she kept up her end of the conversation, she went for a closer look. She picked up a worn leather-covered book and it fell open to a yellowed page. Handwritten in flowing Spanish, the ink was faded and blotched.

14 de abril, 1878

El mar se alza desde el tazón

Rocas y una muerte dentada

Alrededor mio las enredaderas

Y el padre de las tres doncellas

Guardan el secreto que fluye en mi tierra

De oro mi tierra

As she scanned the page she told Cerise, `Well, happy hunting.'

Delarango laughed to himself, not seeing what Elizabeth was looking at.

`You misunderstand me. The opportunity has been offered, it's merely a question of me actin' on it.' That diverted Elizabeth's attention from the old leather book.

`Really?' The inflection of her voice changed, subtly lacing her question with more than mere curiosity. Whether it was suspicion, envy, or possibly disappointment, Delarango didn't know. She put the leather book back where she'd found it and zeroed in on Cerise's declaration, `You two appear to have a strictly professional relationship.'

`Well sugar, you just arrived on the scene. Some things aren't paraded around. They just are.'

`What?' Delarango mouthed in disbelief just as his arm was slapped. He saw the damning stare his aunt was giving him.

`How could you let yourself?' she hissed.

Delarango attempted to defend his sanity, `It's not like that.'

`You need to meet a nice girl. From the church. Not that Frankenstein woman.'

He ignored Tia Contessa as Cerise continued to expound, `I try to never get personally involved with my clients. It's bad business.'

`Do you have many single male clients?'

`What's your point?'

Elizabeth bluntly stated it, `Well if they're married male clients they're not -'

`Eligible? What rule book have you been reading? Being married is a technicality easily rectified if need be. I've had experience with that a couple a times.'

`You've broken up marriages?'

Cerise clarified, `I was referring to my marriages - or divorces - whichever way you look at them.'

`How many times have you been married?'

`That depends on how you technical you want to get. Really, it was only two because the middle one was annulled so it doesn't count. So that makes twice. Twice married, twice divorced.'

That didn't surprise Delarango but apparently it horrified his aunt. With a dramatic air, she fanned herself, `ˇDios mío!'

`Quiet!'

`ˇEsa mujer no es católica!' She made the sign of the cross. `Godless heathen!'

`Quiet!' he told her again.

`Your Capirotada is burning.' she whispered for the second time.

`Don't touch it!' he instructed Carlos over his shoulder.

`What temperature do you have it on? I think it's too high.'

`Carlos! Don't move!'

As the mild-mannered cook chopped more furiously, they heard Elizabeth say, `After two or three marriages you must have had enough of it.'

`Why heavens no! Marriage is the most sacred, important institution in America and its survival is key to our way of life. Getting married is upholding the values that made this country great. Everyone should do it.'

`As many times as they want?'

`Of course! I was never more fulfilled than when I was married. I want to do it as often as possible.'

`How long were you married?'

`Let's see, once for about two years and the other time was almost three, and then the time that I wasn't really married - that was for ten weeks and five days.'

`So, you've broken your rule for Rick, the one about not getting involved with your clients?'

`No, and I don't need to. The House is officially finished just as soon as Bud's done touchin' up the paint on the wall downstairs. Tonight, we can finally relax and - '

Cerise didn't get to finish the number one entry on her wish list. Brian wandered in, acting as if he had no idea of the lively exchange taking place between the women and making a big to-do over discovering Elizabeth in The House. After a chivalrous introduction, he drafted himself as her escort, whisking her away for a tour. Delarango had planned on doing just that as soon as his Capirotoda was out of the oven but he'd been beaten out by his cousin who, he suspected, had motives other than acquainting Elizabeth with his domestic arrangements. The last thing he wanted was Brian sticking his nose into his personal business with Elizabeth - with Elizabeth!

He hurried to the oven to remove the dessert. Tia Contessa was right behind him. `You've kept it in too long. It's burned. I can smell it.'

Right about now, Rick Delarango was thinking about how perfect the afternoon might be if The House were free of his guests. Immediately he felt guilty for wanting to transport his loved ones to far flung places. At the same time he rejoiced that, by this time tomorrow, thousands of continental miles would separate him from Cerise. On a brighter note, Elizabeth Bennet would still be next door.

Elizabeth Bennet. Mere months ago, he had wanted only to maintain the impenetrable barrier that kept them apart. That wall had rivaled the one in Berlin and, like its counterpart, a groundswell of emotional force had brought it tumbling down. Amidst the crumbled ruins, he marveled at how things could change. And, just like the occupants behind the Berlin Wall, Delarango greeted his liberation with a wary welcome, uncertain about the direction his future should go.

The afternoon shadows stretched across the patio, creeping ever closer to those who sat around the table. Tia Contessa examined the Capirotada on the plate before her. `You're lucky you listened to me. If you'd taken it out when you wanted, it would have been underdone.'

Delarango only smiled pleasantly at his aunt.

`What'd she say?' Delarango knew that question was coming; he'd played translator since Cerise arrived.

`She was complimenting me on my cooking skills,' he politely answered.

He was about to set a portion of the Mexican bread pudding in front of Cerise. She declined, coyly advising as she ran her fingers over the top of his hand that held the plate, `Rick-honey, you're taking such good care of me this weekend and I appreciate all the personal attention. But no more desserts! I'm very strict about what I eat and you know that, you naughty man.'

His gut instinct to jerk his hand away was impossible without flinging Capirotada into someone's lap. Delarango briefly endured her touch while retreating, `This is research though.'

`I have to be very careful about my appearance. You wouldn't want me to go getting all bloated now, would you Rick, honey?' She watched Delarango who watched Elizabeth who watched Cerise. Tia Contessa watched them all.

He chose not to answer her question, fearing it would only encourage her to continue babbling. Instead, he turned to Elizabeth and sat a steaming portion of pudding in front of her. `You're still taste testing for me, aren't you?'

`Of course.'

Delarango took a miniature pitcher of cold, heavy cream off of the tray Carlos held and sat it before her. `Just a little cream over the top.'

`Here, let me do that for you,' Brian offered. He poured a trickle over her serving and beamed at Delarango.

`What's this called again?'

Delarango jumped in before Brian had a chance. `Capirotada.'

The word rolled off his tongue with a smooth Spanish inflection. The late sun spun rich, warm hues that, when they touched his skin made it glow golden. For a brief moment, when all the elements were working in accord, Delarango represented the image of the ideal Latin man. His look, his gallantry, his raw desirability. The picture wasn't lost on the women sitting at the table.

`I'd watch that if I was you.' Some unsolicited advice was directed at Elizabeth, `I know you're not worried about those pounds but that's not just dairy; that's liquid suicide.'

Eyes shifted around the table. It was like somebody missed their cue on a live news broadcast and no one was quite sure who should fill the dead air. Elizabeth did the honors. She relieved Brian of the pitcher, leveled her gaze at Cerise and deliberately poured more cream over her bread pudding. Delarango was sure the Capirotada wasn't the only thing close to being saturated in cream. In an attempt to diffuse the tension, he offered an anecdote, `This recipe was given to my mother by a family friend. She was the first woman Mexican ambassador.'

`The Delarangos are so well-connected,' the interior designer observed. `Was she the ambassador to the United States?'

`No, the Netherlands. Or maybe it was Norway.'

`Era Nicaragua,' his aunt corrected.

`What'd she say?'

Elizabeth answered, `She said it was Nicaragua.'

Cerise dropped another show-stopper, `I didn't know you could be the ambassador of just a city.'

`No digas ni una palabra.' Delarango warned his aunt not to say a word. She acted as if she had no such plan, innocently taking a bite of her pudding while admiring the sunset.

`I didn't know your aunt understood English.' Addressing Elizabeth, Cerise accused, `And, I didn't know you spoke Spanish.'

`Some things aren't paraded around,' Elizabeth smugly replied.

`Touché!' Tia Contessa said under her breath.

`What did she - '

Brian interjected, `My aunt's pleased that Elizabeth understands Spanish.'

`żHabla espańol?' Tia Contessa asked.

`Si,' Elizabeth answered. `żHabla inglés?'

`No.'

`How well do you speak Spanish?' Brian asked.

`Yo estudio en escuela para dos ańos. Yo hablo espańol muy caliente.' Delarango's eyes sparkled at her answer. `What?'

`You tell her Brian.'

`What?' she pressed.

Brian delivered the news, `Your grammar needs some cleaning up but you were doing okay until you said you speak Spanish very hot!'

Delarango noticed the slightest blush dusted her cheeks. `Well, it's been a while.'

`If you don't regularly speak a second language, you can't be expected to retain it.' She looked gratefully to him.

The tactless one in the group added, `Well, now you've got something to do all alone over at your place. You can study your Spanish!'

Ignoring Cerise again, Delarango suggested, `Try the bread pudding.'

Elizabeth took her first taste. `Oh wow, this really nice. The flavors go so well together, the cinnamon and orange, and is there cheese in it?'

Tuning out everyone else, Delarango nodded.

`I think this is my favorite. I could eat this every day.'

`I'm glad you like it.'

Cerise shattered the moment. She lassoed Delarango when he thought he wasn't even in range. Deliberately displaying a panoramic vista of her expensive breasts - a final installment and they'd be paid-in-full - she told him, `Rick-honey, the light's fading. We've got to go through The House and have one final inspection. We've got better things to do than to be working tonight.'

`Where have you been?' His aunt was better at subversive tracking than a spy satellite aimed at Earth. He and Brian had joked about sub-contracting her out to the CIA to make a little extra money on the side. She knew exactly where he'd been, how long he'd been there and probably the number of steps it took to get from The House to Elizabeth's place. A pair of disapproving eyes watched him cross the room.

`Next door.'

`Come. Sit.' She waited expectantly. Experience advised Delarango to just do it and get it over with.

As he claimed a spot not far from her, he said, `I was talking to Elizabeth. Earlier this week she filmed a presentation that was a bid for funding a project. I wanted to know how it went.'

`She's a hard worker, no?'

`Yes, very hard. She's very dedicated to her job.'

`Es bueno. She's a very smart woman, no?'

`Yep, she's a marine biologist, I think.'

`Es bueno. She is a Catholic? żSi?'

`Ah, no, she's not Catholic.' Stony silence followed, conveying a message that could not be misinterpreted. Tia Contessa closed the book on Elizabeth Bennet.

`No es bueno pero no es importante tampoco. She's just your neighbor.' She steered the course of their discussion in the direction she wanted it to go, `Now, I can't believe I haven't shown you these before.'

In his aunt's lap was the bulky photo album that she pulled out each time she saw Delarango. At every viewing, she mentioned new photos to show him, although they all looked suspiciously the same. She had the page opened to a picture of her friend and her two daughters. They were three peas in a pod with identical builds, features and dress sense.

`She's a good girl,' his aunt was saying about one of the daughters, `She goes to Mass twice a week and helps the Padre with the Church accounts. You should have seen her confirmation dress, hand embroidered with Italian lace! It's still talked about to this day.'

`That's the best sales pitch you can come up with? A confirmation dress from 1990?'

`It was a beautiful dress.'

`Not much goes on in your church, does it?'

`She has good family values,' Tia Contessa reconfirmed before referring to her sister, `She volunteers in the soup kitchen run by The Sisters with the Healing Hands.'

He glanced at the photo again, `All that time in the kitchen isn't doing her waistline any good. Maybe she should jog to and from helping the needy.'

`Don't speak that way! God will get you.' Delarango hunched down and looked warily towards heaven. `You make fun now, just wait. God will punish you for mocking Him.'

`I'm not mocking Him, I'm mocking you.' His humor didn't sit well with his aunt. Delarango tried to smooth things over, `I'm sure they're nice. I appreciate your intentions and I know you have my happiness in mind.'

This placated her and she showed him another set of friends posed in front of the massive carved doors of Our Lady of Undying Life. All single women who taught Sunday school, they were more of the same. Delarango couldn't help it, he had to ask, `Aren't there any single women at your parish who stay in shape and have a life outside the Church?'

`You're too picky.'

`No I'm not. I'm discerning. It's an excellent quality.'

`You don't even know these women. You have to meet them first, spend time with them, see how they really are.'

`No, I definitely don't have to do that.'

`They're good girls, the kind you should be meeting for your future. When you take me home, we'll go to Church and you'll see them in person.' When his aunt saw that Delarango wasn't looking at her pictures she slammed the book shut.

He knew what was coming. `Go ahead, say it.'

`You're never going to get married.' It was her recurring theme for the last ten years.

`Who says I need to get married?'

`I do! You need a family and children. Don't you want children?'

`I'd very much like children, some day.'

`You can only have children if you're married,' she lectured then looked at him in distress, `You don't have any children, do you?'

`Of course not. Do you think I'd be able to keep something like that from you?'

`No, no es posible.' She relaxed and picked up where she'd left off, `You need a good woman who will take care of you and your family. But you have to change your attitude.'

`Why? Because I haven't met the right woman yet?'

`How do you know you haven't? She could have already come and gone. You don't let yourself get close enough to find out. You keep una distancia emocional.'

`Now, why would I do that?'

She ticked off some possibilities, `You're afraid of making a mistake, or you're selfish, or you - Mr. Perfectionist - don't think you can live up to the expectations you set for yourself as a husband and a father.'

`This is ridiculous.' Delarango felt uncomfortable and stood up. He'd head down to his studio before dinner and try to get some work done. The upheaval in The House had rerouted his creative flow.

His aunt stopped him as she voiced the mostly likely possibility for his emotional reluctance, `Perhaps you've set your standards so high that no woman could ever fulfill them. And when one especially takes your fancy, you have your excuses in place to walk away.' As he towered over Tia Contessa's slight figure, deeply ensconced in the sofa, a stronger will than his wrestled to be the one to shape his destiny. `Caution in business is wise. But in love, you can't think so much. You have to follow your emotions and let them take you where it will.'

`With a Catholic girl?'

`ˇPor supuesto, sólo con una católica!'

The same day that Brian left, Delarango had a marathon conference call with management of his processing plant in Ontario. A crisis had unfolded. It was serious enough that he was considering driving south to sort out the mess. He barely hung up for the day when he heard his phone. The name of an unexpected caller on the display surprised him.

`Hi, it's Elizabeth,' she said as soon as he picked up. As he raced through possible reasons for her call, he heard an apology. `I'm sorry. If I'm catching you at a bad time just say so.'

Delarango picked up his aunt's brag book of photos, left accidentally-on-purpose opened to pictures of Maria, Maria Theresa and Theresa Maria, more nice women from the Church that his aunt deemed acceptable for his matrimonial consideration. She never stopped trying. He set it aside. `No, I've been on the phone all day but just finished, hopefully. What's up?'

`Oh gosh, never mind. I'm not going to bug you if you're just now getting a break.'

`That's all right, really, what is it?'

`It's the truck. I had to have it towed this morning.' She related its demise, a serious development with long term implications that would be hard on her bank account. Elizabeth reached an agreement with the repair shop whereby the truck would get free board until the parts were found and she could pay for it all in installments. She then unveiled the real reason for her call. `I don't have any way to get home.'

Delarango's fatigue from his workday vanished and he told her, `If you're calling for a ride, I'm happy to come and get you, but you've got a bigger problem. What are you going to do for transportation?'

`Around lunchtime I accepted that I was going to have to buy a car.'

`Too bad I don't have one of my other cars up here. You could use it,' he mused.

`I've been looking online all afternoon.' She named some dealers selling better quality cars in San Ramona. `They all have some form of hybrid in stock.'

Her explanation, informed and environmentally sound, lacked enthusiasm. `You're saying all the right things but you're not selling me. You don't sound like you want to buy any of them.'

`You're right, I don't. I don't want to buy a car. But I have to. And, I refuse to buy what I want: a nice, big half ton. I'm not about to pad the pockets of oils companies any more than I have to.' She slowed down and admitted, `The real problem is I don't know anything about cars- buying them, selling them, fixing them - '

`Maintaining them.'

`You're right, you're absolutely right. See?' She confessed, `They intimidate me.'

`Cars?'

`Car salesmen. I feel like they can spot me a mile away, like there's neon flashing across my forehead: sucker, sucker, sucker!'

Delarango heard himself offer his services. `I can go with you.'

`I only called you for a ride home. I wasn't trying to talk you into go with me to buy a car. Jane said to rent something until next week and she'll come down and help me.'

`What do you want to do?'

`I'd like to go look at some cars tonight.'

Delarango pulled into a convenient space in the empty parking lot of the Oceanus Rescue and Rehabilitation Institute. All the employees and volunteers except Elizabeth appeared to have headed home. Lights burned low in the windows of the buildings clustered on the grounds. Not knowing which he should approach, he eventually found a small sign in a garden bed and followed a path to Administration. The door was unlocked and he stepped into an entry with offices left and right. It appeared that no one was there. Delarango called down the hall for Elizabeth. He got no answer but was startled by a reply from behind.

`Hi!'

A stack of mail was sitting on the end of a counter. At the sound of her voice, he abruptly turned and hit it with his elbow, sending envelopes of various sizes and shapes cascading to the floor. `Wow, I didn't mean to come in as a wrecking crew.'

`Gretel's been off this week. Things have kind of piled up.'

They bent down and gathered the mail, making a haphazard stack back on the counter. She smiled until her eyes shifted to the mail.

`What's this?” In one swift motion, she ripped the end of a padded envelope open and dumped the contents out. She picked up a single sheet and her face darkened as she read. Delarango saw the return address. The sender was a media company, he suspected the one that had produced Elizabeth's presentation. She passed the letter to him and picked up a DVD that had fallen from the envelope. She looked like she wanted to fling it like a Frisbee; instead, she loaded it into a PC at a desk across from them.

Delarango read the letter. It reminded ORRI that an outstanding balance - the full price for the company's services - needed to be paid before the finished DVD would be provided. It was a third a final request for restitution.

`So, what's this they've sent you?' He came and stood behind her just as the DVD began playing on the media player. The production company's owner had a quirky business style; he'd filmed a request for payment to tease ORRI into paying their bill. When his short plea was finished and the screen went black, Delarango ventured, `You told me the Germans had seen your presentation and were impressed.'

She spun around, `That's right, because Mark told me the Germans had seen my presentation and were impressed.'

`And they'd approved your funding.'

`Mark told me they'd approved it.'

`I thought the funds' release was imminent.'

`So did I.' The color had drained from her face. She didn't look well.

`Sit down,' he told her. She eased into the desk's chair and propped her head in her hands. `How long have you worked here?'

Elizabeth said into the desk, `This was my first job after graduate school. I've been here three years.'

`How well do you know this man?'

`Mark is the founder of the Institute. He built this place and made it what it is today. He's a great guy.'

Delarango wasn't sure whose benefit her last sentence was meant for: him or her. It lacked the same conviction Delarango recalled when Elizabeth had praised her boss before. Tonight she sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

`What do you know about him outside of your working environment?'

`Well, I don't know.' All she could come up with was that he wasn't married and had a house north of San Francisco.

`That's it?'

`I know about work. He has a lot of connections in this field.'

`In what way? With universities, scientific communities, other institutes?'

`Yes. He's recruited from my campus for years. That's how I got my job.'

`What else?'

`Rick, ORRI has an excellent reputation.'

`It's not the Institute's reputation I'm questioning.'

She looked up, `Mark Wieggoché is ORRI.'

`All I know is, this guy's playing you. You've got false promises and a letter to prove that. But why? There has to be a reason why he's going to such extremes to lie to you.'

`Lying to me? That's a really serious accusation. This is probably a huge misunderstanding.'

`You deserve an explanation. You're going to have to talk to him - tomorrow.' If it were possible, her face looked even more distraught, `What's the matter?'

`I haven't seen Mark for probably a month, maybe six weeks. Nobody has. We've been in contact, by email mostly, while he's traveling to research an expansion for an aquarium. It's going to be big.'

`Where is he going to get the money for that if he can't get the money to fund your project?'

Elizabeth didn't have an answer for him.

The slippery arm of Mark Wieggoché had reached out from his rock and thrown a damper on their evening. More importantly, the imminent threat of curtailing Elizabeth's long term goals became very real.

Delarango watched her closely. When she thought he'd treated her unfairly, she reacted with demented fury. Now before her was a genuine case of betrayal and deception. He was waiting for her righteous indignation to surface. Her vocal expression of being wronged to sing out. Her volcanic reaction of good old down home anger to explode.

Instead, he got a subdued woman who, as they left, made sure the voice message for the Institute was turned on and the administration office door was locked tight behind them.

The mood had changed and they decided to postpone car shopping until the next day but Delarango insisted on getting Elizabeth some dinner before they went home. They stopped at a cliff side diner that had stood dutifully guarding a majestic view for the better part of a century. She was distracted and downcast, and they stayed only long enough for a quick one-course meal before heading back to his car.

Beyond the diner's lighted windows soared shadowy pines and an empty two-lane road that ribboned down the coast. The natural beauty of the surrounding land was masked by the night but this only enhanced Delarango's appreciation for it.

`Have you been here before?' she asked him.

`No.' The wind rustled the tree tops and whistled through the branches.

`Come have a quick look.' She indicated to a break in the underbrush along the perimeter of the parking lot. They headed for a path that cut through the chaparral. The only light that fell across it came from the moon. Unobstructed views of a venerable sea greeted them and they walked until they came to a bench positioned to take it in. They read each others' minds and sat down.

Delarango felt like he should say something. He propped elbows on long legs and clasping his hands together. `Do you want to talk about it?'

She stared out over the water and shook her head. Okay, he tried and was prepared to honor her wishes and not bring the business up again. That was until he heard The Sniff. Just one to start, loud enough to carry over the distant sound of the ocean breakers. Her hand reached into her purse and came out with a tissue. She dabbed her eyes. She sniffed again.

`He lied to me.'

Delarango was sure she'd just indicated she didn't want to talk.

`I feel so used.' Her voice reminded him of a wounded dove, shocked that some orange-vested hunter had blasted it out of the sky.

As he dug around for something supportive to say, he heard a hitch in her breath followed by a faint feminine sob.

With a wobbly voice, she confided, `Whenever something's bothering me, I go outside and take my troubles to nature. It always heals me. It's the b-best th-th-therapy.' She managed to get it out before launching into a fit of mostly silent tears.

This was uncharted territory for Delarango. He'd been highly successful at avoiding situations like this. He felt a little awkward.

`It al-al-always w-w-w-works.' She choked on her tears and cried louder.

Nature's healing powers had deserted her this time. He did the only thing he could think of that might comfort her: he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and patted her arm. He wasn't sure he ought to have done it and was about to take it back when she relaxed and rested against him and he was left holding a crying, hiccupping woman.

He continued to pat, she continued to hic until a group of teenagers beat a path towards their bench. Elizabeth gave a final sniff, Delarango reclaimed his arm and they stood to go. With a backdrop of loud adolescent chatter, Elizabeth looked up at him. There were new pools of tears forming in her eyes.

`Thank you.'

Delarango suspected her gratitude was about more than her dinner. He was just happy she's stopped crying and wanted to think his superior patting skills had something to do with it. `Hey, it's no problem.'

`No, I really needed someone tonight and you were here for me. I'm glad.'

Later, when he'd dropped Elizabeth off, when his aunt had stopped madly tapping to the beat of her music, and when The House was at rest from the long day, Delarango stood in his studio. Staring around him. A shelf filled with reference books, a counter top littered with a vast assortment of tools. Flipping a paint brush. Twin skylights, oversized sliding doors, a paint-splattered cement floor. Circling the room. He had everything except one thing: the spark to ignite his inspiration. He stopped, staring again, this time at the obvious: he was artistically blocked.

Elizabeth glanced at Delarango and then at the fast approaching salesman who wore a grin so wide it could span the Grand Canyon. `I think he senses an easy mark.'

`For all he knows you do this every year. Remember, you're in charge, not him.'

`I don't even know what to say.'

`You don't usually have a problem voicing your opinion.' He added, `And, you do know what to say, you've been researching.'

When the salesman was a couple of yards from them, Elizabeth took control. `I need to buy a car and take it home tonight. I'm looking at this model right here. If you won't negotiate from the sticker price, tell me now so I can go over to the Honda dealer.'

`Well, hello to you little lady!' Delarango winced at the salesman's poor choice for an opening. `I can get you into that silver one for a heck of a lot less.'

`Huh-uh. I want this blue one.'

`What does your husband think?' He was unknowingly throwing fuel on the fire that was Elizabeth Bennet.

`I'm not—' Delarango was about to define their relationship.

`He's not involved with this. Like I said, this is the car I want.'

`This one here is top of the line. Heck of a lot of extras. It's got pretty much everything,' he said, peering at a window sticker he'd probably memorized.

`I don't have a trade-in and I'm pre-approved for financing. I know how much your dealership paid for this car and what your profit margin is.'

`But, she's top of the line. There's not much room to negotiate. Now, that silver one -'

`You know, the more I think about it, the more that Civic hybrid is growing on me. Come on Rick,' she grabbed his arm, `let's go have another look at it.'

`Hang on, hang on. I didn't say I can't negotiate. Have you driven one of these? They're one heck of a nice ride. Here, have a seat,' He held the door open as Elizabeth got in. `Let me get the keys and you can take it for a test drive.'

He started towards the office and turned to add, `I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere, especially the Honda dealership.'

A short while later, they sat at a desk in a brightly lit showroom, surrounded by expansive glass and polished cars, waiting for the paperwork to materialize from an unknown back room. `Heck of a performance, Ms. Bennet. Very impressive.'

`Thank you.' Elizabeth had been visually caressing a firecracker red twin-cab since they sat down. She turned to Delarango and gave him a long look. He rubbed his stubble.

`You haven't signed yet. Changing your mind isn't a crime.' Her preference for big trucks, expensive gas-guzzlers that took command of the road, was evident all through their shopping escapade.

`Nope. They're giving me a good deal.'

`Correction: you negotiated a good deal.' The salesman came out and in a matter of minutes all the loose ends were tied up and Elizabeth was handed the keys to her new hybrid.

As she walked out the door, the salesman gave Delarango some advice for the henpecked, `Hey buddy, don't let her brow-beat you. Stand up for yourself!'

`Thanks, I'll try to remember that.'

Elizabeth watched as Delarango pulled her new car into the carport. She'd insisted he drive it home, rationalizing that she'd be driving it every day and he should have a chance to try it out. It was a ride, all shiny efficiency; it practically drove itself home. It was everything the old truck wasn't. For all its newness, he could see she wasn't completely satisfied with it parked in her truck's spot. Her face betrayed her. He got out and shut the door. `You don't look happy.'

`No, I'm good.'

`It isn't like you won't have the truck back.'

`That's right. It's just that I'm not used to driving a compact car. I like the feel of the truck.'

`You could have negotiated on that red one.'

He saw a little frown in the corner of her mouth. `It wouldn't have been the same as my old one. I wouldn't have liked that.'

`Or maybe you would have liked it better.'

She looked momentarily stunned by the audacity of his suggestion. `If I was going to make a change, I figured it might as well be a big one. And this is much more practical.'

`Give it some time. I bet you'll be really happy with it.'

`I know you`re right. I'm just not good with change. But, you know all about that.' Lost to her inner thoughts for a moment, she gave him a goofy smile. She'd begun twirling her hair round and round her index finger. `Well, I'd better go.'

`Let me know how you're first day's drive to work is.'

`Sure. Thanks again for all your help.' She still looked like her mind had wandered off as she turned towards her door. Delarango took one last look at her car and leaned over to inspect a spot that might be a scratch. Elizabeth went a few steps, turned back, and rushed up to him. `Thank you again. I can't tell you how much I appreciated having you there - last night and tonight.'

Just as he was straightening up, her hand circled his wrist and she stretched out towards him. He turned to face her and, in the instant it took for her eyes to close, Delarango's world came to a grinding halt. In that millisecond he knew what was coming, and was in the process of conducting a philosophical debate about the pros and cons of such an excursion, when her kiss brushed his lips.

Their warmth sent a heady sensation flowing through him. She hesitated long enough for Delarango to taste what a real kiss from Elizabeth Bennet might be like and then she withdrew, before anything more could happen. But her kiss still vibrated though him. He risked a look at her. With her mouth half-open and her eyes half-closed, Elizabeth gave the impression she was up for more if he was. Her lips were practically begging him to keep going.

Indecisiveness was not an issue for Elizabeth. She closed the small gap that separated them and began again. There was nothing light and breezy about the second kiss. They rapidly descended into an earthy exchange that had Delarango revisiting feelings he'd forgotten he missed until a moment like this brought them all back. With her pressed against him doing what she was doing, he reacted, pulling her closer and into an exchange much more intimate than was wise for his current state of mind. He continued unfettered and free, without any thoughts other than the sheer gratification he got from this unexpected turn of events.

And then, his better judgment kicked in. He broke out in a sweat. Seized by the lingering doubts and uncertainties he couldn't let go of, his stomach sank. Delarango knew he wasn't ready to go where they were headed. So, he gathered his wits, slowly disengaged their lips and let her go. As he collected his thoughts, he verbally stumbled, `I, um, Elizabeth, you -'

`Did I shock you?” she asked playfully. She looked so good with her cheeks flushed and her eyes brightened.

`Do I look shocked?' he asked back as he raked his hand through his hair. God help him, she was still up against him. It wouldn't do. Delarango took a step back as he attempted to compose himself.

She took him in and asked, `You're not the spontaneous type, are you?'

`I can be, when I'm prepared.'

`Maybe it wasn't a very good idea.' She said it like she expected him to contradict her.

`You surprised me, that's all.'

`That's why they call it being spontaneous. Did you like it?'

`I did,' His answer hung there, in serious need of further clarification.

`But…?'

He lied, `I've thought of us as friends.'

`Well, how are you thinking now?'

It was hard for Delarango to concentrate. She got his blood racing so fast he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Thump, thump-thump, thump.

`I think I need a drink.'

`I think I need that translated.'

`It's just that the timing might not be quiet right for this.' Her face dropped as she came to the wrong conclusion. He offered to explain although he had no idea what he was going to say that would justify the way he'd just kissed her.

She started backing away towards the sanctuary of her house. `Oh no, you don't have to explain.'

`Yes I do.'

`No, you don't. You don't have to say a word. I'm sorry. You're involved with someone else and we're just friends.'

`Elizabeth, stop for a second.'

She kept backing up. `I don't know why I kissed you. My circuits were crossed. It must have been misplaced gratitude. It didn't mean anything. Pretend like it didn't happen. I've already forgotten about it. Kiss? What kiss? See?'

She reached her step and tripped over it. Delarango was about to go to her aid when she caught her balance on the door handle.

`I actually do it all the time. Kissing men, that is. I'm known around these parts for it. Ask anyone. People always say, there goes that oddball Elizabeth Bennet, the one who kisses all the men. But, there are so many men and so little time that I only kiss them once, so don't worry, you've had your turn. I won't kiss you again.'

`Elizabeth, wait.'

`No no. I'm going inside now. Going in. Now. Bye.' She managed to turn the knob from behind and slipped inside without letting Hook out. Delarango was stranded in the dark with his lips buzzing, his mind in turmoil and still holding the keys to her new car.

Elizabeth Bennet. She left him dazed and confused.

To Be Continued . . .

© 2006, 2007, 2008 Copyright held by the author.

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