David made the decision to back off a little from Nadia in New York, and then again on the plane, and once more this morning in San Francisco. He felt like the pendulum in a mantel clock swinging back and forth between guilt because Nadia was Sadie’s friend and the pleasure of feeling alive and operating on all cylinders again. He just wished his damn feelings had picked out someone more appropriate.
He sat in the kitchen, still in his jogging clothes, finishing his breakfast and tea as he thought about his marriage, and now, this new, unexpected attraction.
We men are such simple creature he thought to himself. Sadie avoided social events because her career forced her to be around crowds of people so much of the time; but when they had to attend certain parties, she would wear ‘some little thing’ and flirt outrageously with him all evening. He grew to enjoy the game and began to treat it like a dance, sometimes a tango, sometimes a waltz but always sexier because they knew each other so intimately. His thirst for Sadie had never been quenched.
They were friends as well as lovers and when he was stuck with a story Sadie could ask just the right questions to clarify the conflict and revitalize him. He hadn’t had a good idea or written anything useful since she died, except the checks for cancer research, he thought, grimly. Nadia came in from the guest room as he was performing this appraisal.
He smiled, “Good morning, did you sleep well,” he asked?
“Like a baby,” she said. “Do you think I really need to go to a psychiatrist?” she asked.
“I’d feel better if you talked everything through,” he said, “Don’t bury garbage, Nadia, It comes back to haunt you.”
“All right,” she agreed.
David grinned, “Why are you being so damned docile,” he asked?
“You and Warren believed in me. You flew all the way to New York for me.”
“Nadia, if Sadie were alive, she would have sent me after you.”
“Yes, she would have. If Sadie were still alive she would be helping me. You and Warren would be her cheering section.”
He agreed, “Yes everything would be different.”
“And, everything would be different if Anders was still alive.” She said.
“Back to square one,” Warren said, overhearing, as he entered the kitchen.
“You missed breakfast, Nadia. Can I show you where things are,” Warren asked.
She got up; playfully grumbling, about whatever happened to her guest status.
David had a pencil and legal tablet in hand, “We need to shop today.”
She rolled her eyes and did a Groucho Marx, eyebrow imitation.
David was mesmerized by her ability to function completely outside of her talent and beauty. Those props were accessories to her ego. She was an enigma, he thought to himself.
“What do I need today,” she asked as she toasted bread and made coffee?
“Do you have clothes for moving, gardening and painting,” he asked?
Several answers appeared to flit through her eyes, for the most part irreverent, but she said, “No.”
“I think a mall for casual clothes,” she added.
“I’ll take you to the mall,” Warren volunteered, “and lunch.”
“Tomorrow we see a therapist in the morning and my attorney’s in the afternoon,” David said.
She turned toward him and sighed, “O.K., business first.”
David grinned, “Men are verbs,” he said.
“And women,” she asked.
“I still haven’t a clue,” he answered.
“You got women pretty well in your fiction,” she said.
“Ahhh, the spy novels. They kept us in shoes and socks.”
“Who was your model, for the women,” she asked.
He smiled, “Sadie of course, and a little bit of Jean Kirkpatrick, a little bit of Diane Feinstein, a few others,” he shrugged.
“I’m not asking for verification, David, but it’s said you worked in intelligence for several years.”
“It is said,” he agreed, “Helps to sell spy novels.”
She still didn’t believe he bribed his way into her room. She believed he somehow cracked the card devices.
After breakfast Warren took her to the mall. She bought tons of new clothes, all casual working attire. Leggings and tunics, denim pants and shorts with casual tops, man tailored shirts, and lovely, comfortable shoes. When they got home, she had fun taking everything out of shopping bags and folding them in neat stacks.
David knocked while she was playing with her new clothes and suggested one more shopping stop for the day, but refused to tell her where he was taking her.
She leaned back in the Mustang, apparently feeling less guilt about the accident and less worry about the law suit filed against her by her in-laws. She was in a new city starting a new life.
When David parked her eyes widened with excitement. They were in front of a huge art supply store. She was out of the car and selecting brushes in minutes. David enjoyed pushing the cart as she filled it with brushes, tubes of color, paper and odds and ends necessary for painting. She soon had the cart filled to over flowing and danced happily to the checkout stand.
David; pleased his idea had given her so much pleasure, found room for everything in the Mustang.
He suggested dinner at a little jazz club he knew that served southern style food.
She agreed, happily clutching a shopping bag that she wouldn’t surrender to the trunk.
David drove to the Fillmore and found parking. He took her arm and they went into the small club. It was packed but they soon had a table and the musicians all nodded to David. Sadie and David had been frequent customers.
When they took a break David bought the band a drink and they stopped by the table to say hi and thanks. Nadia greeted them each with knowledgeable, personal comments on their phrasing or on their part in a particular song.
In a few minutes someone in the band recognized her and started asking her to sing. She was gracious with them and said not tonight but that she would be back soon to sing a couple of songs with the band.
David was happy. “You are very good with musicians. Fantastic, actually,” he said.
“You can’t create a good song without them,” she insisted, “My voice is just another instrument in the group.”
She was looking at the menu, frowning, “What kind of food is this,” she looked at David?
“Welcome to down home, southern comfort food, or ‘Nawleens style cooking,” he laughed, “Take your pick.”
She took her glasses out and started carefully reviewing the menu.
“Amos is the Chef here unless he quit again,” David volunteered.
“Why didn’t you tell me to have a mint julep,” she asked, deadpan serious.
“Didn’t figure you for a veranda and parasol type,” he teased.
“I’m going to plunge right in,” she said, pretending to lick her chops, “Blackened catfish fingers and fried green tomatoes to start then shrimp gumbo. For supper, skillet fried chicken with greens and yummy corn on the cob,” she closed the menu with finality.
“I love finger food,” she said, delicately shaking out her linen napkin.
He was grinning ear to ear, “Sounds good to me,” he laughed and put his menu down.
“This is fun, David, and thanks for the artist supply stop.”
“No problem, Nadia, tomorrow’s going to be heavy so I thought tonight a little fun was in order.”
“I’m not looking forward to the lawyers or the doctor,” she said, “I don’t want to burden the kids with Anders’ driving record. They’re going to be angry that it will all come out.”
“Just remember that his record wouldn’t have come out at all if it weren’t for your in-laws,” he reminded her, “You’re just protecting yourself from their litigation.”
“There is still some guilt about Anders too,” she said, “The doctor is probably a good idea.”
“Are the phone calls still taboo?” David asked.
“Anders knew how I felt about Sadie; he was fond of her too. I don’t know what upset him so much about the calls.” she shook her head.
“Did you explain that I was in the room with Sadie while we talked?” he asked.
“I was in the same room with Anders much of the time we talked, David, so it doesn’t really make much sense.”
Their appetizers arrived and the waiter asked if they would like another drink.
“Ice tea for me,” Nadia requested.
“Bring a pitcher, please, unsweetened,” David added.
She was already savoring the crunchy catfish and enjoying every bite.
When the waiter came back with the pitcher of ice tea, Nadia said, “Please tell Amos that everything is delicious.”
Their main course was delivered by the man, himself. Amos supervised the service of their entree with a great deal of fanfare. He hugged David and kissed Nadia’s hand.
Speaking in French he welcomed the beautiful, talented Nadia Marcussen to San Francisco with all of the pomp of a mayor handing over the keys to the city.
She was as gracious with the chef as she had been with the musicians, “Thank you so much for making me feel at home, here, Amos.”
He walked back to his kitchen beaming.
Nadia was an old hand with fans; David decided and didn’t get nervous or upset with them.
“Your father was a musician wasn’t he David?”
“He was at Stanford getting his masters in music theory and conducting when he met my mother.”
“And it was love at first sight?” she asked him, as she marveled over the chicken
.
“Maybe for her,” he said, “I think he decided he had found the goose that laid the golden egg,” David said.
She raised her eyebrows, “Poor boy marries rich girl?”
“She lived in a big house with servants and she had the Warren name,” David said, “He didn’t have anything. He was a competent but uninspired musician.”
“What happened,” she asked, folding her napkin and sitting back to sip the last of the tea.
“They separated and he went back to Europe.
She died when I was two and they shipped me off to him in Italy where he was conducting a small opera house orchestra.”
“You didn’t have a good relationship?” she questioned.
“We didn’t have a relationship,” David answered, “A few of his lady friends were helpful but I never really had a home. For the most part, he just ignored me.”
“But you were the scion of a wealthy, old California family,” she said.
“And having me gave him a little control over some of that money,” David said, “I didn’t know until much later that there was money or family.”
After ordering coffee and brandy he went on. “I made friends with the musicians and singers and played with the kids in the streets. When I got old enough I worked to buy a second hand guitar and a camera.”
“Sadie said you moved around a lot,” Nadia said.
He smiled, “We lived in different cities in Italy, Spain, Portugal and one summer in France with a very wealthy lady. I learned to speak Italian, Spanish, Portuguese a little French,” he shrugged.
“Is he still alive?” she asked.
“No, he died several years ago.”
David sipped his brandy and continued, “When I got to be a teenager, I’d take off every summer with a Euro pass and explore Europe.”
“Sadie said you walked the mountains with a backpack and visited the small villages, getting a real understanding of the rural mountain areas.”
“Yes, I liked the country people; many hadn’t been far from their village during their entire lifetime except for the men who were drafted.”
When he paused she watched emotions cross his face and then he went on, “When I was sixteen I went to an attorney. Luckily he was honest and after a while I learned the whole story and found out I already had paid in full tuition to Stanford with a living allowance.”
He laughed and said; “It’s getting late and the next chapter is “wet back” in America, stay tuned.”
When they were in the car and on the way home with Nadia’s new paint supplies, she said, “One question, what is a wet back?”
He laughed and said, “A derogatory, slang expression for Mexican’s who swam the Rio Grande and entered this country illegally.”
She rolled her eyes, “So they called you, wetback?”
“Among other things; because I had a slight accent by then, even though English was my native tongue and America my country of birth. It went like that until I learned how to catch an American football and became a gridiron hero,” he answered.
“Should we just leave everything in the car?” he asked as they pulled into the garage.
She looked down her nose at him like his fourth grade teacher at the American school.
Warren came down and soon everything was upstairs in her guest room. She thanked them both at her door and said good night.
The next morning Nadia came into the kitchen looking very professional in a grey pinstriped skirt and blazer with a crisp white blouse and dark grey accessories.
“Good morning,” Warren said, juggling two pans and the toaster oven, “You made breakfast call today.”
She smiled and asked, “Is David up yet?”
“Still out jogging,” Warren told her, “Are you nervous about today?”
She slumped in her chair, “I wonder if I should be more apprehensive about the doctor or the lawyers?” she asked him.
“Hell, just remember how much you’re going to be paying them and you’ll forget to be nervous,” Warren filled two plates, handing them to Nadia.
He filled two cups with coffee and came around and sat next to her at the table.
“This looks great, Warren, if I don’t get my own place soon I’ll have to join Weight Watchers,” but that didn’t keep her from digging in.
David came in smiling and asked, “What’s for breakfast?”
“Vegetable frittata and strawberries with yogurt,” Warren said, “Your tea should be ready,” he added.
“Yum, Warren, its perfect,” Nadia said and got up to pour more coffee for Warren and herself.
“You two do very well for yourselves,” Nadia said.
“Would you believe my first junior high English essay was about the farmer’s market papa and went to every week?” Warren said. “I had to beat up an eighth grader because he didn’t think it was very manly.”
David laughed, “He came home with a slight black eye and scraped up knuckles.”
“Couldn’t play my guitar for a week,” Warren griped.
“You both play guitar, don’t you?” Nadia asked.
“I play a little,” Warren said, “Papa plays guitar, mandolin, and classical and jazz piano.”
“Maybe we’ll play a little tonight,” David said to Warren, “and talk Nadia into singing.”
“Will see how today goes,” she said, “I’m a nervous wreck this morning.”
David drove Nadia to Berkeley for her appointment with the psychiatrist; near enough to the apartment for Nadia to keep her own appointments when she moved to the rental.
While Nadia was in the doctor’s office David drove around aimlessly and worried about how it was going. After an hour he cruised back by the office and she was just exiting the building.
He pulled over and she got into the car.
“Whew,” she let out a deep breath, “that was grueling.”
David raised his eyebrows, “Are you going back?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so,” she said, “At least for a while.”
“Lunch?” he asked, not wanting to increase the pressure she was feeling already.
“I’ll just have tea or something if you’re hungry,” she answered.
“I’m not, let’s head back to the city for our appointment with the attorneys,” David said.
The secretary welcomed them by name and led them to a conference room where two well-tailored, manicured, attorneys’; who probably belonged to the same plush gym, rose to greet them.
After introductions and pleasantries, the eldest said, “Mrs. Marcussen, with the information we have; I’m assuming, the case will be resolved as soon as we file for a dismissal. Your husband’s driving record is even worse than the preliminary investigators reported.
“Does the record have to become public?” she asked.
“It will be documented in the papers we file,” he responded and turned to his younger version, “John Paul has something to add.”
“Mrs. Marcussen,” he asked gently, “Were you aware that there was a woman with your husband when he had the accident?”
She looked at David, her eyes large and unbelieving, “What are you saying?”
Her eyes darted back and forth between the men, frowning and nodding her head in denial, she started to rise.
David rose and went to stand behind Nadia, hands on her shoulders, “Gentlemen, are you saying that Anders was involved with this woman?”
“Mr. Fleming,...David,” John Paul said, “the record shows clearly that he was involved, including setting her up in an apartment and being quite generous with gifts.”
“Thank you,” David said, “could you fax a copy of everything to my number and leave us for a moment?” David asked.
They glanced at each other and quickly gathered their files quietly closing the heavy door behind them.
David moved his chair over in front of her chair. He took her wringing hands in his own and felt her whole body trembling. She scooted forward and put her head on his chest.
“This is a shock Nadia, for now just breathe deeply, it will calm your body,” he began to breathe audibly to show her. “Slowly and deeply, Nadia,” he said.
“Take your time and when you’re ready we’ll walk out of here and take the elevator to the parking garage.”
She was still frowning and shaking her head in denial; rising she put her hand in his and took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders she nodded that she was ready.
He used his handkerchief to tidy her face and opened the door. They walked out of the building and drove home to Russian Hill.
Copyright May 2013 karenmaceanruig
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