She combed her damp hair with her fingers, twisting it into curls so that they would dry in ringlets. I should have gone over to meet him this week, she thought. Then I wouldn’t be feeling this jittery.
But the usual one hundred and one things had come up—there was a lot that still needed doing around the house alone—and almost before she’d known it, it was late Saturday afternoon and time to get ready to go. What if he asked her what she was going to do now that she didn’t have to work eight-to-four in the government anymore?
She didn’t know herself, but it always sounded awkward and somehow self-indulgent when she tried to explain that she was going to use the time that the Wintario money had given her to find out just what it was that she wanted to do with her life. Finding oneself had so many weird connotations in the eighties. It sounded so…Woodstock. Never mind that she was part of that whole Woodstock generation.
She sighed. And of course that might make things awkward as well. According to Ali, he was about ten years older than her. What if he made a pass? What if they couldn’t find anything in common? What if—
“Mom, what’re you doing?”
She looked up to find her daughter standing in the doorway, arms akimbo. Frankie smiled ruefully, feeling like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar.
Ali shook her head. “What’re you so nervous about? He’s just a regular guy.”
“Who says I’m nervous?”
“I do. Look at you. Are you going like that?”
Frankie stood up and did a little pirouette. “What do you think?”
“Well, you’re certainly going to make an impression.” Ali ducked as her mother grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it at her. “You want me to help you pick something out?” she asked, sticking her head back in.
“Why not?”
Ali went to the closet and rummaged through the hangers until she came up with a dress. “How about this?”
It was a black evening dress, mid-calf and snug in the bust, with shoestring straps. Frankie shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know…” she said.
“C’mon. It looks great on you. You can wear that Sarah Clothes jacket of yours over top if you’re feeling modest.” She handed her mother the shift and went to the dresser looking for a slip and pantyhose. “Do you still have that rhinestone choker with the single pearl?” she asked.
“Are you matchmaking?” Frankie asked.
“Jeez. Get serious, mom.”
Frankie shrugged and studied herself in the mirror. She looked good. A little dressy, perhaps, but it was fun after being such a scruff, especially these past few weeks.
“Shoes,” she said.
“I’ll get them. Maybe you should wear your walking shoes up, though. The road’s not exactly a sidewalk.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It was sort of fun having someone else make the decisions, Frankie decided. She gave herself a last quick once-over in the mirror, then hurried after Ali who was impatiently waiting for her in the hall.
“You’re looking nice yourself,” she said as she followed Ali down the stairs.
“Yeah, well, it’s a dinner, you know? I don’t want Tony to think I can’t look like a lady when I want to.”
“Oh, I doubt he’ll think that after tonight.”
Ali was wearing a loose print dress that was gathered at the waist. Over her shoulders she had a pale rose shawl that matched the flowers on her dress. She looked very nice, Frankie thought, and then a motherly worry arose. Oh, I hope she’s not getting a crush on this fellow.
“Mom? Are you coming?”
“I’m halfway there already—what’s keeping you?”
Ali grinned. “Do you have room for this in your purse?” She held up a cassette.
“Sure. What is it?”
“Just some music that I wanted to play for Tony tonight.”
Frankie stashed it away in her purse. “Well, Ms. Treasure,” she said. “Are you ready?”
Ali rolled her eyes and led the way outside.
* * *
Tony Garonne was nothing like Frankie had expected. There was a sense of Old World charm about him that was vaguely at odds with the easy familiarity of his speech patterns. He was wearing a tailored suit, which made Frankie relieved that she’d worn the black evening dress, and smiled broadly as he opened the door.
“Ladies,” he said. “You look sensational. C’mon in and make yourselves at home.”
Now it was Ali’s turn to feel shy. Frankie held out her hand. “Frankie Treasure,” she said. “Ali’s told me a lot about you.”
“Nothing good, I’ll bet,” he replied as he took her hand. “Tony Garonne. How’d you like a little tour of the place before we eat?”
“I’d love it. This is a beautiful house.”
“Yeah, well it’s what I’ve got, you know, so I do what I can with it. Hey, what’s the matter, Ali? You got no hello for me today?”
Ali nodded. “Hello, Tony.”
Valenti gave Frankie a wink and ushered them inside. The first floor was mostly all one room. A tall stone hearth took up one wall, on another a picture window overlooked the front yard. The furnishings were simple, but expensive. Two couches faced the front window at angles, a coffee table between them. Rugs that appeared to be Navajo weavings gleamed on the hardwood floors. A third wall was taken up with a stereo console and a wall-mounted television. The cabinet under the stereo was filled with LPs and video cassettes. A long counter divided the kitchen from the rest of the room. Beside it was a small nook with a table and four chairs.
“There’s my bedroom, a guest room and the washroom upstairs,” Valenti said. “Go take a look if you like. I just got a couple of things to finish up in the kitchen.”
“This is beautiful,” Frankie said. She crossed the room to look at a watercolor that hung over the stereo. It showed a county road overhung with trees, heavily boughed and green. Very much a Lanark County scene. Frankie fell in love with it on the spot.
“That’s by this guy named David Armstrong,” Valenti explained. “I got it at a gallery in Ottawa. Local guy, apparently. And this”—he pointed to another watercolor, this time a winter landscape—“is by a lady that lives just up the road toward Calabogie—name of Tomilyn Douglas.”
“It’s lovely.”
“Yeah. I got a couple more of hers upstairs. Check ’em out while I get the last of this cheese sliced.”
Frankie glanced at Ali, who was entranced by the size of Valenti’s television screen.
“Look at the size of it,” Ali said. “It’d be just like watching something in a movie theatre.”
“We could watch something later if you like,” Valenti called from the kitchen area.
“That’d be great,” Ali said, her sudden shyness wearing away. “C’mon, Mom. Let’s go look at the upstairs.”
More motherly concerns, she supposed as she followed Ali up the stairs. There was a Richard Gill clay sculpture of a tree in the hall going up, as well as another Douglas watercolor—a barnyard scene in muted browns, grays and greens. The two upstairs rooms were both large and, again, tastefully furnished. But no books, Frankie thought. Lots of magazines lying around. People, Life, Newsweek.
“Some place, huh, mom? Wow. Look at this.”
Frankie turned away from a Bateman print to look at the little soft-sculptured gnome that was standing on the dresser in the guest room. There was a dusty-rose business card beside it that said “Fabric Art by MaryAnn Harris.” Frankie smiled at the expression on the little gnome’s face.
“I got that up at Andrew Dickson’s,” Valenti said from the doorway. “It’s a little craft place up in Pakenham. You been up there yet?”
Frankie shook her head.
“You should check it out sometime. They’ve got a gallery upstairs that showcases different artists and craftspeople every month.”
“Once we get settled in and the last of Ali’s exams are over, we’ll be doing lots of exploring,” Frankie said. “Right now, ever
ything’s still so hectic. But it’s starting to come together.”
“Takes time.”
“You’re not kidding. This is a lovely place you have here, Mr. Garonne.”
“Tony.”
“Tony,” Frankie repeated. “There are so many beautiful things.”
“Well, I can’t do anything like that myself, but I like to support those who can. Sort of like a patrono, you know what I’m trying to say?”
Frankie nodded. Actually, the house was almost like a gallery. It was so neat and tidy, and all the art was displayed in a professional manner, complete with the business card for the gnome. She also felt from Valenti’s enthusiasm that he really did appreciate what he had here. It wasn’t just for show. Or if it was for show, the show was for himself. With the money she had now, she could do as much herself. Though she’d have to be careful not to go too wild. The money wasn’t going to last forever.
“So who’s ready for dinner?” Valenti asked.
* * *
The meal was a great success, consisting of antipasti, spaghetti with clam sauce and garlic bread, washed down with a white Italian wine. Frankie began to relax; their host didn’t seem inclined to pry. The conversation had been comfortably pleasant throughout the meal. In fact, Frankie realized later, while Tony hadn’t asked a lot of potentially awkward questions, he hadn’t offered much on his own background either. Maybe they all had skeletons in their closets, she thought. As far as she was concerned, they could just stay there.
By the time they retired to the living room, she was on her third glass of wine and feeling a nice light buzz. Valenti shooed them away from the dishes. “They’ll give me something to do in the morning, you know?” Frankie and Ali commandeered one couch, leaving the other for Valenti, who paused as he walked by the stereo.
“Maybe some music?” he asked.
“Great,” Frankie said.
Ali sat up. “I brought a tape,” she said as she reached for her mother’s purse. She rummaged around in it until she came up with the cassette, which she handed to Valenti.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It’s a surprise. Something I taped up last night. Go ahead and put it on.”
The sun had set and the room was lit only by one floor lamp over by the stereo. The night beyond the window was the black dark that only a country night can be. Nothing but tape hiss came from the speakers at first. Then slowly the sound of crickets and frogs, the whirr of a June bug could be heard.
After a few moments, Frankie turned to her daughter. “Ali, what—”
“Shhh. Listen.”
And then it came, a low breath of sound that whispered from the speakers. Frankie regarded her daughter curiously, but Ali was watching Valenti. He stiffened with surprise at the first hint of the distant piping. Ali thought he was going to say something, but instead he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes, hands behind his head.
He knows something, Ali thought. She was eager to ask him about it right away—what was it, who was it, where was it coming from?—but she settled back as well, determined to be patient. They could talk when the cassette was over.
Frankie was puzzled by both Tony’s and her own daughter’s reactions to this odd cassette that Ali had taped. It sounded like one of those “Environments” records that were so popular in the seventies. The sound of rain falling. Dusk on a lakeshore. Morning in the desert. Then she heard the music and that started to remind her of Paul Horn’s Inside, only this wasn’t the sound of a flute. Too breathy. It didn’t even sound real in a way….
She leaned back against the couch herself, feeling a little woozy. When she closed her eyes, sparks danced in her vision. She’d never had much tolerance for alcohol, but the high she was feeling now didn’t seem related to what she’d consumed. It was like doing mushrooms, she thought, surprised herself at how clearly she could remember that sensation since her days of psychedelia had been a good sixteen, seventeen years ago. Mescaline. MDA—though its rushes had been stronger than what she was feeling now. This was lighter, a floating sensation, just like—
The cassette machine suddenly clicked off at the end of the tape and she sat up, startled. She reached for her wine glass, then thought better of it. Her head was still buzzing.
“That’s some recording,” Valenti said softly.
“You’ve heard it before, haven’t you?” Ali asked. “Not this tape, but the music.”
“Sure. Lots of times.”
“Where’s it coming from?”
Valenti made a motion with his hand. “Back there, in the bush somewhere. I mostly hear it in the spring or summer, so I figure it’s got to be a cottager who’s got himself some kind of flute. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
Ali shook her head. “No, it’s not just pretty. It’s magical. There’s something…otherworldly about it. Something really spacey.”
Frankie found herself nodding, then studied her daughter. Had Ali started experimenting with drugs? God, she hoped not.
“Well, yeah,” Valenti said. “It’s different, sure. But I don’t know about magic.” Still, thoughts of the strange girl who’d dropped out of a tree to sit beside him earlier in the week rose to the top of his mind. The eyes in that thin face—they’d just grabbed him and made him sit still in his place until they were ready to let him go. And then the stag…and the way the music made him feel…Maybe he didn’t know about magic, but he knew about weird.
“Don’t you feel something inside you when you hear it?” Ali asked.
Valenti shrugged. “I suppose…”
“Maybe we should be going,” Frankie said. “It’s getting on to ten-thirty.”
Ali looked from her mother to Valenti, then nodded. “Okay,” she said without much enthusiasm.
“We’ll talk about it some more—next time you come up,” Valenti said.
That made Ali feel better. When Valenti took the cassette from the machine and went to give it to her, she shook her head.
“No. You can keep it for a while if you want.”
Valenti smiled, a curious look touching his eyes for a moment. “That’s great,” he said. “Listen, do you want some company going down the road…?”
“Maybe halfway,” Frankie said. “Just so’s the boogieman doesn’t nab us.”
“Okay,” Valenti said. “I’ll just change my coat.”
* * *
“Ali?”
Frankie stood in the doorway to her daughter’s room and looked in. Ali was sitting on her bed wearing the long T-shirt that passed for a nightie in the summer months. She looked up at her mother’s voice.
“Hi, Mom. What’s up?”
“I was just wondering. This business with the tape…?”
“Well, I know you didn’t hear the music the night I saw the deer in the backyard. When I heard it again last night, I taped it. I wanted to see if you and Tony’d feel the same kinds of things I did when I heard it. You see—you’re going to think I’m crazy—but there’s something secret about that music, only I don’t know what it is.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “It just makes me feel, oh, I don’t know. Alive, I guess. Am I making sense?”
“I suppose,” Frankie said. She was about to go to her own room, when she paused. “You haven’t been trying drugs at all, have you? You know, marijuana or…?”
Ali shook her head. “Come on, Mom. I might hear weird things in music, but I’m not that dumb.”
Not like I was, Frankie thought.
“What makes you think I’d do dope anyway?” Ali wanted to know.
“Nothing,” Frankie said. “It’s just one of those things that mothers are supposed to worry about—didn’t you know that?”
“You can’t fool me. I think you just like to worry.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Ali watched her mother go down the hall to her own room, then slowly returned to sit on her bed. She looked out the window into the night. What’s out there? she wondered. What’s really out there? Had she just been r
eading too many fantasy books?
Although there’d been no answer tonight, she was determined to find one.
* * *
Much the same train of thought was going through Valenti’s mind as he followed the road back home. He’d never thought of taping the music like Ali had. But then, he’d seen the wild girl in the trees behind Ali’s house—seen her right up close. Maybe if we put what we know together, we’ll come up with something, he thought.
He wondered if the wild girl was watching him from the trees alongside the road right now. There was no warning tickle in the nape of his neck, but he had the feeling that this girl could be standing right smack in front of him and he wouldn’t see her until she wanted to be seen.
“But I’m going to find you,” he said softly before he went into the house and closed the door on what was left of the night. “Just you wait and see.”
* * *
Invisible in the shadows of the side of his house, a small figure stirred. A smile touched her fox-thin features. She was drawn to the girl who lived in the dark man’s house, but she was drawn to this man as well. There was a fire in them both. When they heard the music, it reflected back from them twice as strong. And tonight—hearing Tommy’s music coming from both Wold Hill and inside this man’s house at the same time!
She remembered seeing the girl with her little machine in hand before. Her curly hair tumbled against itself under her hat as she nodded. She had to get a machine like that and learn how to work it. She hugged herself in anticipation of how surprised Lewis would be when she made the machine work its enchanted mimickry for him. Wouldn’t his eyes go big!
Giving Valenti’s windows a last considering look, she scampered off into the forest, heading for the dark man’s house.
10
It was two months after he ran across the piece in the Star before Earl Shaw finally had a chance to go looking for his ex. He’d been seeing to the financing of a deal he was setting up for another Colombia-Miami run, and while he knew where he could get backers, he’d rather put the bread up himself.