Larkspur Dreams

Eleven


Everett tried hard not to stare. But Lark stood there with her hair departing in several directions, none of which seemed to be the right ones. And her dress appeared soiled. A lone tear rolled down her cheek. He couldn’t stand her distress a moment longer.

Within an instant, Everett came through the doorway and stood in front of her. He was close enough to feel Lark’s breath on his face. I barely know her. Would she want me to comfort her? She didn’t seem to object to his nearness, so he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped away her tears. Her skin felt so soft and her expression so appealing and feminine, he wanted to kiss her. But he didn’t want to ruin the moment. “You must really love your duck,” Everett said.

“You saw that?” Lark took a step back.

Everett slowly nodded.

“So what did you see, exactly?”

“Only what happened in your backyard. I heard you yell, ‘Picasso! You scalawag!’ And then something about him ruining your date with me.’”

Lark let out a tiny moan. “You could hear that?”

“Well, I was in my office, and I looked down when I heard a commotion.” He smiled.

“Oh, well.” Lark shrugged. “What can I say?”

“I would have come to your aid, but you already had him secured in his pen,” Everett said. “Hey, you know, I thought I heard a megaphone earlier, too. Did you actually use one of those things to call him in?”

Lark nodded.

“I guess it worked.” Everett noticed her blush again. He wouldn’t want to take advantage of her in such a fragile moment, so he stepped back. “Would you still like to go to the party?”

Lark blew her nose into his handkerchief, sounding like a dainty foghorn. “If you don’t mind me cleaning up and changing.”

“Everyone’s always late to these things.” Everett hoped to make her feel at ease.

Lark sniffled. “I guess we could come in fashionably late then.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Lark started to hand him his handkerchief back and then stopped. “Guess I’d better wash this first.” She hurried off into another part of the house. After a few seconds, she peeked back around the corner. “Please, make yourself at home.”

Everett could feel his Palm Pilot in the pocket of his tux, even though he’d promised himself to keep it at home. Must have picked it up without thinking. Surely he could have disengaged himself from his world for a few hours. Guess not.

He glanced around the room at all the paintings. Lark had her signature at the bottom of many of them. Everett studied a wedding scene, which appeared to be set in the Ozark Mountains. A bride and her groom kissed in front of a quaint chapel with all the wedding party gazing on in delight. He was amazed at how much joy and laughter filled her paintings.

Then he took note of a still life of fruit. Incredible! It looked so visually accurate, it seemed as if he could reach in and remove one of the apples. Lark had an amazing talent. It made him think of his sister, Greta. He shook his head and moved on.

Lark had some prints of the masters on display as well as her own. He recognized the Mona Lisa. The woman certainly had an interesting expression. In fact, it reminded him just a bit of Larkspur’s winsome smile.

The living room was also full of family photos. He walked over to the fireplace and picked up a framed photo off the mantle. In the picture Lark seemed to be in her late teens, and she stood between an older couple. Had to be her parents. She had her mother’s eyes and her father’s light, olive skin. Lark appeared cheery then, as well. Maybe even more so. Her parents held her in a close hug as if she were a treasure. Anyone could tell they loved each other very much. He wondered if Lark’s parents lived in Eureka Springs and if she visited with them a lot.

Everett looked at his watch. He thought it was a shame on one of his rare evenings out he’d be forced to share his date with a crowd of people, some of whom would be strangers. The minute they’d see the dazzling Lark, they’d be slinking over for introductions. And then Zeta would want to have her chunk of Lark’s time.

Funny how life changes. Only a few days ago, he would have cooked up ways to avoid Lark and, well, all of humanity in general. But something felt different inside him. Something had willingly shifted, yet he also felt the uneasy kind of mental jostling that tends to drive a numbers-junkie toward the edge. But then maybe he’d forgotten that the view outside his precise perimeters was far more interesting. Without thinking, his hand went to his heart. He just hoped Lark came with a survival guide.

Everett puttered around a bookshelf, noting the dust on the shelves and the rows of children’s books. He pulled a few books out until he found one Lark had illustrated. In a Giddy Pickle. Intriguing title. He studied the cover and then the drawings inside. There could be no doubt; she had a God-given talent.

Lark stepped out from her bedroom and sort of swished toward him in a long dress.

Everett’s hand went right back to his heart. “Oh, wow.”

Once in front of him, Lark grasped the sides of her dress and swirled around in a circle.

She is a vision as they say. A beautiful apparition in blue. He wasn’t even sure he could describe the radiance of the color of her dress, so he just stared for a moment as he tried to think of what to say. “Your gown. It looks like the wings of a butterfly. You know the iridescent. . .dust stuff?” Oh brother. Maybe I should have just used an old standby. “You look beautiful,” Everett said with all the sincerity he could surrender. It must have been the right words because a lovely smile started on Lark’s lips and then lit up her whole face.

“And you look very handsome in your tux,” Lark said.

“Thank you. I rarely use it.” He held up Lark’s book in his hands. “This is brilliant.”

“Thanks.” She bit her lower lip and said no more.

“Do you have a coat?”

“Yes. It would be nice to wear it for a change.” Lark opened the hall closet, and she handed him a black, velvet cape. Once he’d wrapped the softness around her shoulders, he wanted to hold her close, but he kept telling himself timing was everything. He stepped away to safer ground and cleared his throat again. At this rate, his throat would be sore in ten minutes.

There would be a hug and maybe a kiss or two if all went well. He hoped it would. Not just for the kiss, but because he could already feel some kind of emotional free fall coming on by just looking into those gloriously impish, brown eyes of hers. He couldn’t tell for sure what he felt, but if he had any hopes of a parachute nearby with the words common sense written on it, he was hopelessly out of luck.

With his hand guiding Lark at the small of her back, he walked her out to his new sedan.

“Thanks for having your car right here and all warmed up,” Lark said. “That’s nice.”

Hmm. She noticed. As he tucked her and her frothy gown into the passenger side of his sedan, he noticed her perfume again. What police squad would ever need tear gas? They could just hose the criminals down with this stuff, and every last one of them would be incapacitated. Should I say that? Naw.

Everett scooted in under the wheel and settled into the leather seat. He gazed at her and smiled. She was such a pleasure to look at it was hard to stop himself from staring.

“I was noticing your CD selection,” Lark said. “I love piano jazz. Maybe it’s the kind of music you should take up if you start taking piano lessons.”

“Piano lessons?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I took a few when I was a kid. But I don’t play.”

Lark turned toward him. “But did you like it?”

Everett couldn’t remember ever thinking about it. At least not for a long time. He’d locked those experiences away with his other family memories. “It was all right.” He recalled his teacher, Mrs. Musgrove, bragging on how fast he’d caught on. “No, I guess it was more than just all right. My mind enjoyed figuring out the mystery of it.” He laughed. “That’s the way I saw all those black and white keys. Like a grand puzzle to be mastered. And when I did, people seemed to enjoy it.”

Lark touched his arm. “So you took pleasure in it.”

Everett thought again for a moment. “I did. But I guess my approach didn’t have much bravura.” He backed out onto Whispering Lane and headed toward downtown.

“Oh, but people who are good at math can also be wonderful musicians.”

“I’ve heard that somewhere before.” Oh, yeah. Mrs. Musgrove. Everett flipped on his signal light. “So do you feel the same way about the guitar? Like it’s a brainteaser?” He couldn’t believe he was talking music. Pretty artsy for a left-brain guy like me.

“No, not really.” Lark shook her head. “I thought it was a good way to communicate what I felt in here.” She pointed to her heart.

Everett liked the way she expressed herself. “So do you like all kinds of music?” he asked as he maneuvered through the winding streets, still marveling at the way the homes hugged the sides of the cliffs.

“Yes,” Lark said. “But mostly I love Christian rock.”

“So I noticed.” Everett grinned at her.

Lark’s head went down in a cute act of contrition. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Well, my music was just as loud,” Everett said. “By the way, you have talent. Why didn’t you pursue a music career?”

“I would have loved to, but I decided long ago there were only so many hours in a life. There just wasn’t enough time to do everything well. Or even two things well enough to do them professionally.”

“You’re right about life having a limited number of hours.” Perhaps it’s why he guarded his time so cautiously. Or rabidly as he overheard someone say at a meeting once. “Thank you for sharing some of those hours with me.” Everett saw Lark do the lighting up thing again, and it energized him. With other women, he’d never said anything charming, but then again, maybe he just hadn’t been motivated. Until now. He slipped a CD into the player. Piano music swirled around them like a soft breeze. “I can tell you like art,” Everett said. “I guess you chose well. How did you get started?”

“Well, I got an assignment right after I graduated from the University of Arkansas, and the book became so successful, I kept getting more and more work. They were all in watercolors, which I enjoy. And then I’ve also supplemented my income with a trust fund as well as some of my other investments. It’s worked well. . .so far.”

“What do you mean?” Everett asked.

“I don’t have as much work as I used to, so I need to make some choices.”

“Career choices?” He wanted to study her expression but felt he’d better keep his eyes on the road.

“Yes. I’ve been painting with oils for a long time now. That’s my true passion. I nearly have enough pieces for a show. But I just need more time before I let someone see them. I mean someone from a gallery, that is. Change is always a little scary.” Lark smiled but without her usual enthusiasm.

“That doesn’t really sound like you.” Did he know her well enough to say those kinds of things? “The oil paintings I saw in your office and living room are extraordinary.” Just as you are, he wanted to add, but thought it might sound too cheesy. “I’m not an artist, but I think you should share your gift with the world.”

Lark looked at him as if he’d said something shocking. “I can’t believe what you just said. It’s the same thing my best friend told me.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I guess I should listen. It’s true, I would be free to follow my own vision rather than follow someone’s text. Although illustrating has been good work.” She fingered her pearl bracelet.

Everett wondered if the pearls were a gift from her biker friend.

“I’d love to know all about your mom and dad,” Lark said.

Everett could tell she wasn’t just making obligatory date conversation, but he would have given up his whole CD collection if Lark hadn’t asked that one question. He generally didn’t go out with a woman more than once or twice, so it rarely came up.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” Lark licked her lips. “I understand.”

Everett doubted Lark could identify with his situation, but he felt it was good of her to let it go. He mulled over Lark’s question again while he listened quietly to the music. He had to admit, her question had been a sincere one, and he suddenly felt compelled to give her an answer. “My parents and sister died some years ago. Car accident. Icy roads.” He switched the music off.

Silence filled the car. Everett knew why people shouldn’t talk about such topics. What could be accomplished by dredging up misery? The pain needed to stay buried.

Lark reached out and touched his arm. “That’s how I lost my parents, too.”

“Really? What? I mean, did I hear you right?” Everett asked. Oh brother. He’d lost all his smooth conversation skills.

“My dad sold insurance here. He never made a fortune, but people loved him. And my mom and I were best friends. We always laughed a lot and sang songs together. Until a drunk driver snatched them away from me. The two great loves of my life gone instantly.”

Everett swallowed hard. He’d had no idea. “I’m very sorry, Lark.” Maybe she really did understand. At least about the loss.

“I miss them.” Lark stared out the window.

Perhaps she expected his sad story in return. But if timing were everything, this wasn’t it. In fact, he couldn’t be certain the time would ever be right.

She smiled. “But I know where my parents are. So I try to do as they would do: grieve a little and live at lot.” Lark laughed. “Believe me, that is so my mother.” She shook her head and smiled as if she were remembering them again.

Everett tried not to grimace. How could she be so glib about it? Or had she simply made peace with the circumstances? He breathed a sigh of relief when the hotel came into view.

“I’ve been to The Majestic a few times over the years,” Lark said. “The hotel was built in 1887, but I think it’s still so lovely. Just like the whole area. Did you know we’re called Little Switzerland of America, and that we’re—” She chuckled. “Sorry, I get carried away.”

Everett pulled under the porte cochere. “No, I just think you love living here.”

“I grew up in the Ozark Valley. It’s truly my home.” Lark touched the window as she gazed beyond the hotel.

He wondered how it felt to have such passion for a place.

A parking attendant suddenly appeared out of nowhere and rushed over to open Lark’s door. When Everett got to her side, he offered his arm, feeling good he hadn’t become a total thug over the years.

Lark circled her arm through his. “Thank you.”

They strolled to the entrance as two doormen opened the massive, beveled-glass doors. Elegance seemed to usher them in as they stepped into the foyer. Expensive tapestries lined the walls, and silk rugs adorned marble floors. Everett felt himself nodding his approval.

Lark gazed upward. “I love chandeliers.”

Everett thought maybe she was trying to drum up some small talk.

Lark’s finger tapped her cheek. “Especially ones like this chandelier.” She pointed upward. “It’s an original Moiré, made of a rare, hand-cut and polished quartz, reminiscent of the rock crystal chandeliers of the sixteenth century.”

Okay. Guess that wasn’t small talk.

“Yes, very nice.” Lark winked at him.

Or is she pulling my leg? He knew he was grinning like a schoolboy, but he couldn’t stop himself. After checking their coats in, he steered Lark toward the banquet room where the party was being held. Everett glanced around, casing the situation. He could smell the usual party smells—people perfumed to the hilt as well as trays of steaming food at the buffet tables. Live jazz and bursts of laughter spilled around the room.

Company parties are always such circuses, Everett thought. One minute people were being pigheaded at departmental meetings and then suddenly jovial at company get-togethers. Guess he’d become a cynic at the ripe old age of thirty-five.

Okay, the big question: Who would run into them first? Oh boy, here comes Marge, the magpie. At least that was the nickname the other women at work used behind her back. But unfortunately Marge had earned it. She never stopped moving her mouth. Marge bounced up to them in her psychedelic dress. Somehow he felt sorry for her, but he hadn’t a clue how to help her.

After the intros, Marge began her spiel. “I love your evening gown, Larkspur. Where did you buy it? Don’t you just love it? It looks so perfect on you. Just like those fairy princess gowns we put on our dolls when we were little. You know, the ones with the billowy chiffon and all the little sparkles. Did you play with dolls, too, Lark?”

Everett felt a little bug-eyed, but Lark listened graciously to the voluminous questions. Eventually, his brain started absorbing the chatter as white noise. The ordeal took exactly eleven minutes.

When Marge was spent, Lark touched the woman’s arm and said, “It’s so nice to have someone ask me questions. Usually at parties people just talk about themselves.”

Marge’s chin did a shake. Was she about to rupture into tears of joy? He couldn’t tell. “No one has ever said that to me before,” she said with her hands gathered up to her heart. “Thank you. . .Lark.”

They moved on through the crowd, leaving behind Lark’s new friend for life—a woman named Marge. He just shook his head in amazement. Oh no. A man named Jamison Peabody moved toward them at an alarming rate. He was the guy at work who caused the fastest clearance of any break room. People ran from him like swimmers fled from jellyfish at the beach. It wasn’t just the odors fermenting on Jamison’s body, but the fact that he could literally corner people in thirty seconds flat. Give or take a few nanoseconds.

This is just great. Jamison lumbered over and stood right in front of them. In fact, so close, he’d burst their spatial bubble. Apparently, Jamison didn’t realize his abdomen extended so far out they were close enough to do a three-way hug. Once they’d entered the point of no return, Everett made the appropriate introductions.

Jamison slimed Lark’s hand with a kiss as he made a slight rap of his heels together and bow of his head.

Lark made no gestures of disgust but instead rose to the occasion and curtsied and smiled.

Jamison looked like he was going to pass out from elation. He added a few chortles, which made him nearly explode out of his cummerbund.

“What do you do at Ozark Consulting?” Lark asked.

Jamison began the tale of his brilliant skills, how he was the mastermind behind the company, the brain of the operation and true pulse of the company. In other words, he was a computer programmer. But Everett could tell from Lark’s questions, she wasn’t just nodding politely at Jamison, she was actually listening.

Everett squelched a yawn but caught a point or two of the dialogue. Jamison actually had some good ideas, but his social skills were so misplaced he’d never been able to relate his ideas to anyone of importance. Maybe he could mention Jamison at a meeting or two.

Everett moaned audibly when he saw the infamous Zeta bulldoze toward them through the crowd like a snowplow.

“There you both are,” Zeta said. “With Jamison?”

“Hi. Good to see you,” Lark said. “You know, Jamison was just telling us of his ideas to improve bandwidth on your corporate network. You must be very proud to have such talented people working here.”

Zeta made all sorts of movements with her mouth. First a look of shock, followed by a glimmer of revulsion. After a brief sputter of confusion, she settled on what all big shots liked to land on. Awareness. “Of course, Jamison is very good. I always keep alert of new talent.” Jamison then shook hands with Zeta, said something miraculously quick-witted, and walked away a new man.

Life was full of surprises. At least it was while standing near Lark. Maybe Everett really needed to just buy a ticket and watch from the stands. But for now, his mouth felt like paper. The rough parchment kind. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Root beer, please.” Lark smiled. “Lots of ice.”

“Oh, icy root beer sounds so yummy,” Zeta said. “But I’m afraid I’m dieting. Definition: eating flavored air.”

Zeta released one of her laughs, and Everett willed himself not to cringe. In fact, he decided to take the high road and smile at her.

“Nothing for me.” Zeta shot Everett a cagey look.

“Okay.” He noticed when Zeta opened her mouth, her bright red lipstick stuck to her canine teeth. He decided not to take that one any further in his mind.

Everett tromped away, deliberately straightening his shoulders. Great. I get the evil eye for the kind act of offering a cool beverage. That’s Zeta. The woman who had made his professional life miserable. Definition: to be made exceedingly uncomfortable. Kind of like trying to hug a porcupine.

Somebody he knew said, “Hey. How’s it going?” Everett was about to tell him, but the guy just kept on trucking toward the food tables. Oh, well. What did he expect when he hadn’t spent any real time chewing the fat with these people before?

When Everett had finally made it through the drink line, he stood there for a moment observing Lark from a distance. A few days before he wouldn’t have thought to leave a fellow human being alone with Zeta, but somehow he knew all would be well. Lark could handle herself better than he could. She seemed like some elfin creature from those animated movies he watched as a kid. Lovely. Mischievous. Magical. Maybe he was good at romantic feelings when he had something to work with.

Uh-oh. Why did Zeta look so ecstatic, and why was Lark hugging her again? Zeta appeared to be crying. What in the world was happening over there? Should he barge in, or let the scene play itself out?

Everett took a sip of his cold sparkling water. He wished he could pour it over his head instead. He hadn’t realized until now how exhausted he felt from worrying about losing his biggest client as well as his big salary. “The more one gains, the more one has to lose,” his father used to say. And he certainly had a lot to lose.

But no matter the status of his coffers, he’d had about enough of Zeta. Surely he could express his views without getting fired. Some way to keep her from reducing him to a sniveling fool. He strode toward them as his hot hands gripped the cold glasses. Warning bells went off in his head. The pile of bills at home needing to be paid came into his mind’s eye. You’re a Christian. Don’t say anything rash. Nothing you’ll regret.

The second Everett arrived in their midst, Zeta threw her arms around him. His arms rose in the air to keep the drinks from spilling. The expression on his face must have looked peculiar. He would give a sizable chunk of his income to know exactly what Lark had done.

“I guess I’d better explain,” Zeta said as she disengaged. “I’ve wanted to quit my job for ages. I already had my resignation written, but I just wasn’t quite ready to mail it. All month I’ve had confirmation after confirmation. And now Lark has just given me yet another one. It’s finally time to leave this miserable job and live my dream. So I quit.” Zeta revved up her machine-gunfire laugh again, and Everett thought it was the most inspiring and lyrical sound he’d ever heard.