Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

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librarian_7
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Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

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Okay, it's Wednesday, and time for a new chapter...once again, no copyright infringement is intended. This is all just for fun. Honest.


Taos
Chapter 2

Dinner with an Artist


Sarah wore her most sophisticated ensemble to dinner that night. Even though she’d been told that life on the ranch was very casual, her mother had insisted she pack one or two “nice” outfits, just in case. She tilted her head back and forth, surveying herself in the mirror. She didn’t want to look like it mattered too much, meeting a famous artist. But she didn’t want to look like a silly schoolgirl, either. She settled on a silver-embroidered, cashmere, cap-sleeved sweater with a mandarin collar, paired with a black silk print circle skirt and a broad black patent leather belt. She pivoted once again, checking for the fourth time that her seams were straight, even though that was something that had been drilled into her until it was second nature. She leaned forward, eyeing her makeup critically. Her lipstick was all right for now, and she slipped her compact and a tube of lipstick into the pocket of her skirt. She wondered if this was how warriors felt, once they’d donned their armor; she definitely had a feeling of going forward into battle.

She sighed, smiled at her reflection, and headed downstairs to dinner.

The warm August day had tempered into a chilly evening. In the New Mexico high desert, cool evenings were the rule, although the thick adobe walls of the hacienda held the heat from the sun, and kept the interior warm through the hours of darkness. Nonetheless, it was the custom for the fire to be lit in the dining room, inside the rounded kiva fireplace that dominated one end of the long room. Even in the light summer ensemble she was wearing, Sarah found the room a bit stifling, although this was clearly not the case for others. Close to the fireplace, in a leather armchair usually reserved for Betty’s father, a spare figure sat, a colorful shawl around her shoulders covering the mannish khaki clothing that she wore. Her weathered face seemed ageless, and as she looked up to see the newcomers, Sarah thought the old woman’s dark, piercing eyes could see straight through to her soul.

Betty’s mother, usually a no-nonsense woman, as absorbed in the running of the rancho as her husband, fluttered over. “Sarah dear,” she said brightly, “do come and let me introduce you to our guests.”

Sarah had been so struck by the appearance of Miss O’Keeffe, for she had recognized the artist instantly, that she had failed to notice the other two strangers in the room. The man was stooped and squat, in late middle age. With the arrogance of youth, Sarah reckoned him to be about 70, although had she been honest, she might have put him closer to a weathered 55. The woman with him was taller, slender and graceful. She might have been 40, 50, or younger or older. But her timelessness had a different quality than Miss O’Keeffe’s. She seemed permanently suspended in some pleasant state where youth had fled, but middle age had made few depredations upon her beauty. She smiled at Sarah.

“Yes, well,” Betty’s mother went on. “Miss O’Keeffe, let me introduce Sarah Whitley to you. She’s here visiting us from New York. Sarah, this is Georgia O’Keeffe.”

“How do you do?” Sarah asked. She began to extend her hand, but noticed that, for whatever reason, Miss O’Keeffe had not put hers out. She was able to turn the gesture into an unobtrusive smoothing of her skirt, silently thanking her stars for her mother’s insistence on those finishing school courses. “I’m a great admirer of your work, ma’am,” she added.

The visitor looked the young woman up and down, and Sarah had the impression her bright eyes missed nothing. “Are you an artist?” she said, without preamble.

“No, ma’am,” Sarah replied, “but I do try to appreciate it.”

Miss O’Keeffe nodded shortly, and turned her attention back to the fire. Apparently, Sarah thought, young people who were not artists were not worthy of especial notice. Betty had joined the group by this time, and called out a greeting to Miss O’Keeffe, but the artist did not respond, beyond a nod of her head. Betty seemed unfazed, which told Sarah this was O’Keeffe’s normal behavior. She supposed, if one were famous enough, one could get away with a lot of lapses in courtesy. She’d observed it enough in her father’s business associates, but with them, she just put it down to being, well, businessmen, like her father. It seemed a bit more grating, in someone who ought to be a standard-bearer for culture.

“Teresa, Jozef,” Betty’s mother continued, “this is Sarah. Sarah, these are the Bakoses, who came up from Santa Fe for the weekend.”

Sarah moved forward and shook hands with the couple. Teresa’s hand was warm and inviting, the skin as smooth as Sarah’s own. Mr. Bakos had rougher hands, stained here and there with paint and pigments.

Sarah noticed that, and smiled. “You must be the artist in the family then,” she said.

Bakos laughed. He had a good laugh, a friendly laugh. Sarah liked him at once for it. “That’s right,” he said in a softly accented English. “My Teresa, she keeps the roof over our heads and the lights on, with her gallery. I stay in my studio and paint.” He tossed an affectionate warm glance at his wife, and she smiled serenely back at him.

“Jozef is a very fine artist,” Teresa said. “I’m sure you’d appreciate his work.”

Sarah nodded. “I’d love to see it.”

Betty chimed in, “I’ll be bringing Sarah down to Santa Fe next week to catch the train—will Three Graces be open?”

“In August? It’s the height of tourist season. We’re always open.” Teresa laughed. “I feel guilty even taking the weekend away, but I wanted to see some artists up here in Taos, so I can call it a business trip.”

A little more conversation, and Mrs. Wells called the family and guests to the dinner table.

Forty-five minutes later, Sarah had to admit she was largely disappointed. She’d known that the Wells’s dinner conversation usually revolved around ranch business, of course, but she’d imagined their distinguished visitor might change the direction, at least a bit. She’d wracked her brain, trying to think of some clever, or at least semi-intelligent, question to ask Miss O’Keeffe, to get the discussion away from drought and local politics.

The opportunity never arose, and she gradually drifted into a quiet conversation with Betty. They’d had plenty of opportunity to talk, the last few days, but they never seemed to run short of topics. Tonight, as they chatted, Betty noticed that Sarah seemed distracted and restless. “Trust me,” she said, correctly divining the source of Sarah’s preoccupation, “once Daddy starts anyone off on the subject of the evils of state politics, even Miss O’Keeffe, they’re going to be talking about that for the rest of the evening.”

Sarah shook her head, with a little frown. “It’s such a wasted opportunity. I mean, when will I ever get a chance again to talk to Georgia O’Keeffe?”

Her friend shrugged. “Breakfast? You know she’s going to be here all weekend, right?”

“Yes, but – I don’t know. I just feel like, sometimes you have chance encounters, you just meet somebody out of the blue, and it changes your whole life. You know what I mean? I feel – I feel like I’ve been waiting for something like that, for my whole life.” She paused, looking a little embarrassed. “I guess it’s just silly. That’s what my father would say, anyway.”

Betty gave her a sidelong look. “You know,” she said, “I think I know someone you ought to talk to.”

“About what?” Sarah asked.

Her friend shrugged. “Fate. Destiny. The future.”

Sarah regarded her skeptically. “Are you talking about a fortune-teller?” Even as she said it, she felt a forbidden thrill of anticipation. Her father, as much as he loved her, had been strict. And for a ruthless New York businessman, the only things he believed in were the ones he could see and touch. He’d banned fairy tales and fantasy from her nursery early on, preferring her to read stories about what he called “real” boys and girls.

Betty grinned. “Yep,” she said. “Madame Sosostris. That’s not her real name, of course. She came to Taos with her husband, years ago—some Russian artist. There was quite the circle, back then. I’m not clear what happened to the husband, but I’m pretty sure he died. Anyway, she stayed in town, and someone dubbed her Sosostris, when they found out she could tell fortunes. I think she thinks we’re all idiots, but she gives good advice. Why not see what she has to say?”

Sarah bit her lower lip. “If my father ever found out, I’d be in so much trouble.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell him!” Betty laughed, and it was so infectious that Sarah joined in.

“Okay, okay,” she acquiesced. “Where does this lady live?”

Teresa leaned over. “Pardon me for eavesdropping, Betty, but I couldn’t help overhearing. Are you saying Zozo is still practicing her witchcraft up here?”

Betty look surprised. “Aunt Teresa! You know Mme. Sosotris?”

“Oh, honey,” Teresa laughed, “I knew her back when she was Gladys Schmidt, just here from Peoria. And her husband, Orlov, was about as Russian as I am. But, he was a good painter, regardless of what he wanted to call himself. Probably still is, although I haven’t heard anything about him lately.”

“And here I thought she was a widow. That’s what she tells people.” Betty giggled.

Teresa shrugged. “No harm if she says so. It’s not easy to tell people your husband left you for a burlesque queen.” She fixed Betty with a stern eye. “I shouldn’t have said anything, but I’m sure you would never do anything to damage an old woman’s dignity, now would you?”

“Give me a little credit, Aunt Teresa,” Betty protested. “But I am going to take Sarah to see her. She really does tell fortunes, you know.”

“Zozo always did have a level head on her shoulders,” Teresa said. She glanced at Sarah. “She might give you some good advice, at that,” adding, with a twinkle in her eye that took years off her age, “and if you get a chance, tell her I said hello.”

& & &

After the warmth of the dining room, the breeze across the patio, dipping playfully into the courtyard of the hacienda, was chilly. Sarah instinctively crossed her arms across her chest, wondering why Rob had insisted they step outside.

She couldn’t fault his attentiveness, however: almost at once, he whipped off the jacket he’d worn to dinner, and slung it around her shoulders in a practiced move. “Sorry,” he said with a wry smile. “I forget you’re not used to the temperature changes at night. The high desert is beautiful after dark, but the temperature drops fast.”

“Yes,” she said, “I’ve noticed. It’s rather startling. Certainly a lot different from home.” She pulled his jacket a little closer.

“I expect everything’s different about New Mexico,” Rob said. “It is certainly a far cry from Manhattan.”

Sarah looked up, into the glittering vault of the night sky. “I hadn’t expected the nights here to be so glorious,” she said. “I can see the Milky Way.”

Beside her, Rob nodded. “When I was at Harvard, I always felt a little claustrophobic. The night sky seemed empty.”

“I can understand that, if you grew up here,” Sarah said. “I mean, it’s not the first time I’ve seen the Milky Way. But that wasn’t in Manhattan.”

“Oh?”

Sarah smiled. “When I was younger,” she said, “we took the Queen Mary from New York to London. It wasn’t too long after the war, and Daddy had business in England. Of course, he really wanted to fly, but Mama talked him into taking an ocean liner instead, and taking the family.” She laughed. “At that age, I thought it was really quite the adventure.”

“I expect it was.”

“Well, after the first day or so, really it was a little dull. But Mama did take me for walks around the deck after dinner, and I can remember the stars. When you’re out in the middle of the ocean there’s really nothing to block the starlight.”

“Yeah,” Rob said. “I guess that’s the way it is here. We’re far enough from town that the lights are not a problem.”

“Even during the day, the sky’s pretty impressive,” Sarah said. “There really ought to be a color called New Mexico blue.”

“You should’ve said that to Miss O’Keeffe,” he commented. “That’s the kind of thing she’d appreciate.”

“You know, I feel like maybe I can understand her art a lot better after coming here – seeing this landscape.” She shrugged. “Not so much getting to meet her, you understand, but seeing the landscape. You can’t really comprehend her inspiration, until you’ve seen this,” she gestured.

They looked out into the night, silent for a few moments. Sarah heard Rob take a deep breath, as though he were steeling himself. He turned to face her. “I did ask you out here for a reason,” he said.

Sarah had a momentary panic. He was about to make a declaration of some sort. She knew he was interested in her, but they’d only met a week ago. What was she going to tell him? Then, she chuckled to herself. Since when had she become so self-important, that she just assumed that any young man would fall in love with her immediately upon meeting her? Really.

“Is everything all right?” Rob asked. He was looking at her quizzically.

“Yes, yes. I’m fine. I just – a silly thought struck me, that’s all.”

Rob nodded, although his expression told her he didn’t understand at all. “Anyway,” he said, “what I wanted to ask you about – it won’t be much of anything, compared to New York, – but there’s a dance in town tomorrow night. I was hoping you would permit me to be your escort.”
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

Post by Lilly »

I love this second chapter. It's wonderful to be inside Sarah's head. It brings me back to that age -- finally out of childhood, but not nearly as sophisticated as one imagines. I felt her awkwardness in meeting Georgia O'Keefe and the disappointment she had in in not being able to connect with the artist. She so wanted to make an impression. But, the real gem of insight here is this:
“Yes, but – I don’t know. I just feel like, sometimes you have chance encounters, you just meet somebody out of the blue, and it changes your whole life. You know what I mean? I feel – I feel like I’ve been waiting for something like that, for my whole life.”
Kind of makes you believe in destiny. :heart:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

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Ah the wonders of being young and finding your way in the world. It seems that Sarah might be just what a world-weary vampire of 350 years might need to connect to the world again. :winky:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

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Thanks, Lilly and francis!
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

Post by darkstarrising »

Your descriptions of the New Mexico evening sky make me want to hop a plane and spend some time there :heart:

Sarah's disappointment in Georgia O'Keefe's reaction, or lack thereof, is thoroughly understandable. In Sarah's mind, famous people are supposed to be interesting, and O'Keefe's aloofness puzzles her. You're showing us a young woman who came to New Mexico, very much influenced by her upbringing and finding adventure in a new world. She's already figured out that she shouldn't take herself too seriously:
Since when had she become so self-important, that she just assumed that any young man would fall in love with her immediately upon meeting her? Really.


I can't wait to see what Zozo has to tell her. :hearts:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

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Ah, dsr, there are other adventures for Sarah before that trip to see Madame Zozostris!

For instance, there's this dance...
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

Post by allegrita »

I really like this chapter. We are learning more about Sarah, and discovering that, though she's a bit of an ingenue, she's got depths that we might not have expected. But she's also got a level head on her shoulders. I loved the way she brought herself to earth when she was on the patio with Rob. Although... I think she's got good instincts where he's concerned, too. He's got designs on this girl from New York. It's a good thing she's not as gullible as he hopes she is. :brow:

Your descriptions are so very gorgeous. I can see everything so clearly. You are a wonderful painter with words. I think even Mrs. O'Keeffe would appreciate that! :notworthy:
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

Post by librarian_7 »

Thanks, Alle. I appreciate it.

And, oh, look! It's time for Chapter 3!
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

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I have been swamped lately so I just got around to this. I love this look into Sarah's mind, everything including the impeccable manners.
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

Post by Shadow »

A very interesting continuation of this story. I particularly liked Sarah's introduction to Mrs. O'Keefe, and her dismay that even the artists' dinner conversation ended up fixed on drought and politics. At least she had Betty to talk to, and their conversation was intriguing. Loved Sarah's reaction to the mention of the fortune-teller, how thrilled she was at the thought. The little glimpses we get of her life back in New York seem so oppressive; hard to imagine a childhood with no fairy tales or fantasy at all. No wonder she's so excited at Betty's mention of something that might be rather fantastic.

Lovely description at the end, of the sudden chill in the air and the brilliant night sky.

I've been wondering what year this is set in, and can't quite decide.... we don't know how old Sarah was when she met Josef, do we? I wondered if you had a particular year in mind while writing this.
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

Post by librarian_7 »

Her father mentioned she was 21 when she disappeared, and Josef commented he'd known her about a year before the failed attempt to turn her. That was in 1955--so I'm putting this story a couple of years earlier, in 1953. (Okay, technically more like 18 months, as her diary indicated April, if memory serves.)
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

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Thanks for the timeline, Lucky. When I first started reading this story, for some reason I had the idea that Sarah still had many years to go and a lot of life to live before she met Josef. Then I realized it had to be a shorter time than that, since she was so young when she met him, but I hadn't realized how much shorter! Seeing her so vibrant here makes it harder to know that ....
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Re: Taos, Chapter 2 -- PG-13

Post by HotMicks »

Couldn't sleep, so circling back around to this one before I get too far behind. Now, if I were camping out under this sky you've described here, I doubt it'd be a problem falling asleep. :teeth:

:tent:

So this is not our Jozef? (Since you said there's no vampires in this one... unless, of course, he's known about the cure all this time. :chin: :laugh: )

Gladys Schmidt... :rolling: :rolling: :rolling: I'd have probably changed my name, too. :bulb:

And I like your Sarah... She's quite spirited and perceptive. I can see why Josef notices her in NY.

And I have to say, part of it is her reaction to the dinner conversation. That's exactly how I felt every time we visited my grandfather. Boring, boring dinner conversations about stuff we kids could care less about. :giggle: I would have much rather discussed art too. :yes:

This story is sucking me in... will have to get to Chapter 3 soon! :clapping:
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