"You'll see he has no busts of family," Sage said. "I believe I'm quoting Anthony fairly accurately when I say that he says the only family he makes claim to is the family of great minds. I'm sure there's no offense meant, by the way, Michael."
"Oh no! Who am I to be offended? I agree with him."
At the end of the hall Sage pushed at a point on the mahogany paneling, and an invisible door opened to them. They stepped through the doorway.
Tina, Millie and Michael openly and silently gawked at the library before them. A three-story, forty-by-thirty foot room with thousands and thousands of books on all walls, little wrought iron stairways running up the walls, wrought iron cat-walks around the walls, deep cavernous red over-stuffed furniture scattered about like flotsam, floor and table lamps with beaded shades and potted palms everywhere like jetsam, giant tables with giant atlases spread out on them, and a mahogany parquet floor with dense red and green oriental carpets.
The door they came through, heavy with bookshelves on the back side, closed behind them, invisibly, silently.
The four of them moved quietly into the room, carrying their mulled wine. To their left was a cozy and crackling fire. Over the mantle hung a life-sized canvas of a beautiful, but aloof woman astride a black fine-boned, high-strung Arabian horse. In front of them, hand reaching up and petting the horse's mane, but looking out pensively across the library was a stunning, huge-eyed girl, blonde animate hair caught forever, buoyed up in a breeze.
"Oh! Sage!" Tina said reverently, eyes transfixed.
"My, my" Michael whispered.
"I can't believe he put it
here
, when he knows how I love this room."
"But it's beautiful," Millie said.
"It used to belong to my Aunt Vicky. I sent it to Anthony a couple of weeks ago."
Sage moved across the room and sat with her back to the painting, sipping her wine.
"Well, I don't understand," Millie said.
In hushed tones, Tina told Michael and Millie about the recent death of Sage's aunt.
The three of them came over to Sage, pulling chairs close to her.
"I'm sorry, Sage," Michael said. "We were clods."
Sage looked up from her wine, tears in her eyes. "No, you didn't know. But Anthony does, that's what surprises me. The painting was done when I was thirteen, I was still mourning my parents death. I've never liked it because of that. Aunt Vicky, however, was always very fond of it. Anthony had it commissioned as a present for her. She always had it in her room. But since the accident, I really couldn't stand it. I gave it back to him. I don't understand why he would hang it in my favorite room...."
Michael reached over and patted her shoulder. "I'm sure he didn't mean to hurt you. Let's try sipping our mood-changing wine for the time-being."
At that moment a great door opposite the fireplace slid open and Anthony entered.
"I guess I know where you can be found," he said, eyes bright on Sage. He took in the painting behind them. "Oh, no Sage. I'm sorry! That painting... I expressly told Robert to make sure it came down before tonight. What an over-sight! I'll have a word or two with Robert."
"Please, no, Anthony. It doesn't matter," Sage rose in dismay. "He has so much to take care of and worry about without trying to remember to take down some painting in a remote room. You see, I just sit with my back to it with my wonderful friends."
"It's just..it's the only painting I have of you," Anthony said apologetically.
""It's all right, Anthony, really. We're sitting here, sipping the wonderful mulled wine, taking in the ambience...."
"Yes, yes," they all chorused, "We're having a wonderful time."
"Good! Well, you can come back later, but right now, I've got the orchestra all ready to do a set of Strauss waltzes. I need you."
"Waltz? Of course!" Sage rose, clearly happy. "come on everyone, I love to waltz!"
"Not I," Michael said.
"Why not?"
"I've never waltzed."
"That's not an excuse that holds up around here," Sage said. "Tina is an excellent teacher. What about you, Millie?"
"No, my experience is pretty much disco-limited."
"Fine," Anthony said happily. "Two new waltz recruits!" He grabbed Sage's hand and hurried her toward the door.
"Anthony loves a waltz and won't take no for an answer," Sage called giggling over her shoulder.
Michael, Millie and Tina looked at one another. Tina stood up. "Ya gotta do what ya gotta do. Seriously though, the fun is about to begin. You won't know until you've tried."
On the dance floor that had been constructed for the party, Michael, Millie and Tina watched Anthony and Sage dance solo to "The Blue Danube."
"How pretty they are!" Millie said. "Look at them, Michael, look how they move, how graceful, how beautiful! They look like they should be on top of a music box!"
When the music stopped, everyone applauded. Anthony beamed.
"Thank you, everyone, for coming to the party. I also want to thank my partner, Sage Elgin for coming tonight at my special request. As some of you know, she has recently had great misfortune in her life, and I want her to know how much she honors me by coming to my home. I've given this party expressly for her, to let her know she has friends who love and cherish her."
Mortified, Sage hoped to shrink under the parquet flooring while everyone applauded and cried here, here. She looked around and saw her neighbors, and business men with their wives and Tina and Michael and even Millie, a new acquaintance, and saw real, true caring in their faces. She saw that Tina was shedding a tear and she put her self-consciousness on hold to silently give thanks to all the blessings her life held, to the people who cared about her. And she felt herself pull out of that dark place she had been in for the last two months.
Anthony kissed Sage's finger tips, then said, "Now, everybody waltz! I need a man to initiate Millie Watson into ballroom dancing."
Millie cringed. "How embarrassing," she muttered through gritted teeth to Michael. But she was instantly flocked with half-a-dozen men. "Oh, maybe this isn't so bad after all," she exclaimed as she was swept onto the dance floor.
"I suppose that's the last I'll see of her," Michael said.
"Never mind." Tina took his hand and pulled him onto the floor. "We have our own work to do!"
Hours later, after many pairs of shoes had been kicked off by the dancers, Sage sank into a chair by the side of the dance floor, then noticed that she'd sat next to Michael, who sat with his back to the dance floor, eyes closed, tapping out the rhythm of the music on a wine glass.
"Are you a waltz convert yet?" she asked.
Michael opened his eyes and sat up.
"Convert is a strong word. Appreciator is more accurate."
"Millie seems to be enjoying herself. Have you danced with her at all tonight?"
"Nope. Couldn't get next to her. Well, this was a big night for her. I'm glad it turned out so well. I suppose I'll have to listen to her talk about this party every day for weeks, but it's nice to see her happy. She comes from a pretty meager background."
"Umm." They see each other every day, Sage thought. Meager background, but she is dressed very well, so they must live together. "How was Tina, as a teacher?"
"Great, she's truly great. I think I can at least fake this dance. Uncle Anthony's right, it
is
fun. I mercifully let Tina go, we kept getting cut in on."
Sage looked over the dance floor for her friend, finally spotted her, eyes glowing, dancing with an attractive man whose face, but not his name, was familiar to Sage. She didn't see Millie at all. She spotted Anthony dancing with the dowager princess.
"A pretty good party," Michael said, leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes again.
"Yes," Sage agreed, taking a surreptitious glance at the lovely plane of Michael's cheekbone, his strong yet boyish mouth, wondering how Millie could spend even a minute away from him. "A lovely party."
Chapter 7
Michael lived in a two story, two bedroom plus den, two-and-a-half bath condo in Irvine. A nice enough place. At least he finally lived alone, was close to work, and had a two stall garage to work on his vintage cars. He told himself that his life was everything a man could hope for. Women clearly found him attractive, he had an excellent job, and he had a nice place to live.
Then why, he wondered, this particular Sunday evening, did he feel so hollow, so aimless, so lonely? Not exactly unhappy, but definitely not happy. Empty. He'd spent his entire life learning things he could put to practical use. But of what use was practical use if he lived his life alone, if he couldn't find someone who had goals of her own and who wanted to share goals with someone in her life? A woman who knew what it was to pursue an interest.
He hated it when people said people were "types," but his experience lately seemed to fall into two "types" of women. One was the ambitious, focused, career-oriented woman, which was fine, but why did they seem so cold? There was one such woman in his immediate work environment. Because of his natural shyness, he rarely spoke to her.
One Friday in February he wished her a happy Valentine's day. She growled that it wasn't Valentine's day. He felt it unnecessary to point out that Valentine's day was the next day. The next week he received a memo that he'd been written up for sexual harassment because of this exchange.
The other type of woman went over-board the other direction. They didn't care what they did or could do, they just talked about getting married, and how giving themselves up completely to a man to make him happy would make them happy. He wanted to ask them how could this phantom man be happy if there was nothing to talk about between them?
Well, and then there were the playgirls, but they didn't even make it to his list.
He reassured himself there was another kind of woman. His ideal woman. He just hadn't met her yet.
Unbidden, Sage came into his mind. Which type was she? Probably the second type, on the road to making his Uncle Anthony happy. Although clearly intelligent and interesting, she'd allow her intelligence and her interests to take second place to making his uncle happy.
Michael went into the garage and surveyed the disemboweled carburetor of the MGA. It needed another rebuild kit, something had been wrong with one of the gaskets of the previous rebuild kit. When he put it together, he thought it looked too thin. So he couldn't do anything on the MGA until the kit came. The Audi, "old reliable," didn't need any work done on it.
He went back into the house, into his den-made-library and picked up the most recent book he'd gotten on gold-mining and gold-panning.
He settled into his comfortably upholstered, dark-grey wing-backed chair, propped his feet up on the matching hassock and began reading. The chapter was about the gold discovered in Scotland, and after a few minutes he found his mind wandering. Maybe, he thought, he should quit. Drop everything and go to Scotland, become a bearded hunter of gold and never be heard from again. Some part of him wanted that more than anything. It wasn't that he desired to become rich. He came from a wealthy family who would support him if he did nothing, and he had both skill and talent enough as a computer chip designer to make excellent money. As long as he stayed where chips were designed.
Gold-panning was hard work, it took skill, knowledge, and intuition. But he loved the for complete freedom of living in nature.
He put the book down and stalked about his study. He needed to
do
something. He thought of Millie. Maybe she'd play some racquetball. She was a good partner, she kept him on his toes.
Millie answered the phone in an un-Millie-like quiet voice.
"What's the matter with you? Are you sick?"
"Heartsick," Millie answered.
"On, no, not another sob story! Millie, when are you going to learn how to get these guys to treat you right?"
"It's easy for you to say, Michael, but you just don't understand what it is to be a plain woman... you're a beautiful man, the world was made for you."
"Oh please, Millie, you're cute and personable. We've had this discussion before."
"I know,"
"Right now I want to do something, I don't want to think, I just want to work out some aggressions."
"Ah, burgeoning testosterone," Millie said.
"I just thought you might want to play some racquetball."
"It sounds great, if you don't mind that I'm in a man-hating mood."
"You won't remember it after fifteen minutes on the court. Clean out all the poisons and you'll feel like a winner... even when I beat you."
"Hah! We'll see about that. Woodbridge Courts?"
"Yeah," Michael said, unbuttoning his shirt, feeling better already. "Meet you there."
On the racquetball court Michael rooted Millie on, "Yeah, Millie, that's it, give it to him, whoever he is."
"I am!" she answered, whacking the ball. "That so-and-so!"
Michael lost the ball, laughing. "That so-and-so? Do people actually
say
that?"
"I didn't want to use strong language in front of a gentleman. You can be sure I've called him worse in the last few days."
"Hit this ball some more. You're still angry."
They battled out another game, gave up the notion of keeping score and just took out their frustrations on the ball.
"Okay," Michael said, "that's enough of this stuff. I think I've gotten the exercise I needed."
"And I even worked out some of my man-hating," Millie agreed. "Although not all. I really do feel better. It's surprising."
"No it's not. Fresh oxygen in your blood pumping into your head will make you feel better every time. It's just like dusting, clears out the cobwebs."
"Hmm. Cobwebs. I may not be super bright, but I'm not so slow that spiders make nests in my head."
"Of course not. Let's go get some pizza."
"Yeah. Pizza sounds great."
In the dark interior of the rowdy pizza parlor, Michael sat across from Millie and studied her. Her color was high and it made her look particularly charming. But there was still a cast of worry or sadness – or both – in her eyes.