Camino del Monte Sol, ch 4 (with OBTS) -- PG-13

[librarian_7]

Author’s Note: This story is a collaboration between OnceBitTwiceShy and myself for Champagne Challenge #128: Reader/Writer II. OBTS provided the idea of Josef visiting Santa Fe in the 1920’s, and running into…well, you’ll have to read the story. The settings are as accurate as I can make them, having been in Santa Fe myself many times, and also using various resources on the City Different, as they call it, and its inhabitants back in the ‘20s. While I could find no record of a hotel located in Sena Plaza, such a place does exist, and who knows? It could have housed a small hotel at one time. The artists’ colony, and their compound on Camino del Monte Sol, are documented. There will be a thread with a set of pictures and links to places, costumes, cars, posted after most chapters. My thanks to OBTS not only for the idea, but for her encouragement and input as the story progressed. I don’t own Josef, or any of the historical locations and personages mentioned in the story. Any errors or misrepresentations of fact are mine.


Camino del Monte Sol



IV. Camino del Monte Sol

Dorothea sighed, holding onto the broad brim of her red hat, her wide embroidered sleeve falling away from her wrist. She thought about taking it off and holding it in her lap, but then she’d just worry about what the wind in the open windows of the Mercedes was doing to her hair. “It’s such a beautiful afternoon. I wish we could have the top down,” she said, trying to ignore Stephen’s sidelong look. “I know, I know; it’s not possible, but still. It’s just beautiful out. The aspens, the pines, I don’t even know what these trees are, but I love them.”

Stephen laughed. “I know, sweetheart. Tell you what, how about if sometime while we’re here, we take a moonlight drive? I’ll put the top down, then.”

“Oh, that would be lovely. I’m sure the aspens are gorgeous at night. But—” her voice became wistful, “will you bring everybody, or just you and me?”

He reached over and slipped a hand under the hem of her skirt to caress her thigh just above her rolled white stocking, making her squirm on the broad seat. “I think, just you and me.”

“The others will be jealous.”

“Well, let them. I would have brought Patrice this afternoon, but she doesn’t know how to read a map,” Stephen replied, his eyes watching the uneven dirt road. “And Lou Lou is lucky I didn’t use a certain piece of blue silk to tie her to the bed.”

“You aren’t really mad at her about that, are you?” Dorothea asked. She knew Stephen was very particular about his attire, although he seemed a little more fierce than usual over this necktie.

“Do you know how much a good necktie costs, these days?” he growled.

“Can’t it be pressed, or something?”

“Yes,” he conceded, “but they’re never quite the same.” He paused, squinting through his sunglasses in the golden light of the late afternoon. “Anyway, speaking of reading maps, where are we supposed to turn?”

Dorothea glanced down at the map in her lap. “Bishop’s Lodge Road. We’re almost back into town.”

Stephen shook his head. “Ah, there just wasn’t much out this way. Nothing suitable for what I have in mind, at any rate.”

“What do you have in mind, Stephen?” she asked, intrigued. They’d spent two hours cruising back roads, and occasionally stopping to consult maps, or just look out at various vistas of mountain scenery, but he’d never divulged his intent.

“I’ll let you know when it’s ready for public announcement. It’s just an idea, so far. Just an idea.” He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to her, but she was not unaccustomed to that.

“Hmmm, interesting,” she replied. “I can’t imagine you living out here, so it’s not like you’re going to be moving.” She held up a white gloved hand as though to halt another evasion. “I know, I know, you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Stephen glanced over at her. “You look strictly edible, when you’re curious,” he said with a grin.

Dorothea accepted the subject change. She’d been with him long enough to know when he was done talking about a topic. “That’s sweet of you to say, Stephen.” She laughed. “Transparent, but very sweet.”

Stephen shifted the Mercedes smoothly into a lower gear, as he approached a corner. “Do you have that city map, sweetheart? We’re looking for Camino del Monte Sol.”

“Sun Mountain Road? Really? That doesn’t sound like your kind of place,” Dorothea said with a sidelong glance at him.

“Ha, ha,” he said. “Where is it?”

“Ummm.” She turned the piece of paper in her hand, squinting at the unfamiliar street names. “Oh, here we go. We’re on the right track. Keep going forward til you hit Paseo de Peralta, and then make a left.” She paused. “So what’s on Camino del Monte Sol?”

“Some friends of mine live there.”

“Friends? As in—”

“Artists. I met them last night, at La Fonda. They invited me to see their studios. I thought you’d find it interesting.

“Studios? My goodness, that sounds fascinating. I used to paint, you know.” She grabbed the door frame as the Mercedes hit a rut and lurched. Even going slow, in town, it was a rough ride.

Stephen nodded. “I need you to help me scout these fellows out, see if they’re any good.”

“I’m no expert, but I’ll do what I can.”

A few more turns along narrow, cottonwood-shaded streets, and they were there. Someone, Ellis, perhaps, had told him last night that the locals called them “five little nuts in five mud huts,” but from the outside, Stephen thought the compound was actually well built. The wall was high enough to keep out casual intruders, but not so high as to be forbidding. The gate stood open today, though. He found a shaded spot off the narrow street to park the Mercedes. The neighborhood seemed quiet; he supposed it wouldn’t come to any harm, but he gave the hood a reassuring pat as he walked around to get the car door for Thea.

Offering her his arm, he walked inside the gate, calling out “Hello! Hello!”

Bakos was the one who greeted him, appearing in the doorway of one of the houses, a bunch of paint brushes in one hand, and a turpentine-soaked rag in the other. Stephen fought to keep from wrinkling his nose at the smell. “Kostan,” Bakos said, “good to see you. I thought you might turn up this afternoon.” He smiled a welcome at Dorothea, and beckoned them in. “And I see you brought a friend. Wonderful.”

Stephen patted her hand. “Yes, she’s very interested in art, and I promised her she’d get to meet some real artists.”

Bakos made a short bow. “Pleased to meet you, Miss—”

“Jones,” Dorothea answered.

“Miss Jones, any friend of Kostan’s is welcome here,” he said, taking in her Russian-style white dress, the hem and sleeves covered in elaborate deep borders of red embroidery, the artfully tied sash belting it in at the hip. She looked like an illustration from a fashion magazine; all she needed was a borzoi by her side.

“I’m pleased to hear that.”

“You’re bringing her to the gallery tonight, aren’t you, Kostan?” Bakos asked. “We can always use another pretty girl around the place.”

“The gallery? Oh, right,” Stephen replied, shoving his free hand into his trouser pocket. “Yes, I am. And a couple of other guests as well.”

“Splendid, splendid. But first, you must want to see the studios.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Stephen was playing the hearty patron of the arts role a bit heavily, Dorothea thought, but he seemed to know what he was doing. Bakos was certainly preening under the attention.

“Well, Ellis isn’t back from Chimayo yet, although I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you took a look around. I don’t know what the hell Mruk’s up to,” Bakos said, and with a glance at Dorothea, continued, “pardon my language, Miss Jones. Nash is working this afternoon, he’s right over there. And of course, you must come and see my studio, if you wish.”

Dorothea looked around the artists’ compound with great interest. She’d never seen such a place before. It was a far cry from the farm country of Wisconsin where she grew up, or what she’d known since she came to Los Angeles, first to go to college, and then to provide—she blushed a little—what she provided for Stephen. It had not prepared her for this.

The locals might call them mud huts, but they were really quite nice adobe houses, with generous deep-set windows and graceful, flowing lines. While perhaps not large, they were at least relatively spacious. She supposed with artists, they’d want more room for painting than they did for other purposes. Three of the five were two-storied, giving the compound as a whole almost the look of a medieval castle. In the open area in the middle, several cottonwoods provided shade, and rough, worn tables set out under them attested to the space as something frequently used by all the inhabitants. The only things that marred the simplicity of the adobe were the wires for electrical drops. Well, at least they had lights, she thought, and wondered if they cooked with gas, or if the piñon scent of the smoke in the air was from cooking fires in woodstoves. While she was growing up, her mother had cooked with a wood stove, and it was not something she would ever want to go back to herself. The place was quiet, though. In the road, she could hear children playing and singing, but within the compound, all was peaceful.

Stephen released her from his arm to wander as she wished. She took that as a signal to let him go his own way. She must’ve looked a little helpless, as Mr. Bakos, as he’d been introduced, gestured to her and said, “Come into my studio. I don’t have many works on hand, at the moment, but you’re welcome to look at what’s there.”

“Thank you. A very interesting thing…” Stephen heard her saying as they moved away. He thought she’d have Bakos charmed in short order.

He intended to look around pretty thoroughly. Not that he cared too much about how these artists lived; it was the results that he was interested in. Casually he made his way in the direction Bakos had indicated Ellis’s studio laid. It would be instructive to see how the man worked. The empty studio did seem indicative of Ellis’s method. All around the walls, black and white photographs of landscape views were pinned, haphazardly, to a thin wooden strip obviously set into the wall for that purpose. Completed and half-completed canvasses leaned against the walls as well. Stephen was struck by their realism.

Back in the courtyard, he found Dorothea and Bakos engaged in a desultory conversation about the local art scene. She appeared to be soaking in information as fast as she could, and he was pleased. He knew she’d been the right choice, this afternoon.

He reclaimed her arm, and turned in the direction of Nash’s house.

Another blue doorway. It would seem that even artists were not immune to the prevailing local superstition. Stephen knocked, and received a gruff and muffled, “Come,” in response. The door opened on a moderately sized room with warm adobe walls and the usual kiva fireplace in the corner. On three sides, large windows were set into deep-walled recesses, so that at almost any time during the day, the place would be flooded with natural light. At one side, ahead of Stephen, with his back to the door, Willard Nash stood, at work on a canvas, his shoulders hunched in concentration.

On a low, draped dais at the back of the room, Therésa posed, arranged in a position of thoughtfulness, leaning back, weight supported on her hands, her legs drawn up before her, head turned so that her dark hair curtained her eyes. She was quite nude. Nash, barking at Reza not to move, made another stroke or two on his painting before sparing them a glance. He turned at length, and gave the visitors a smile, although Stephen thought his look at Thea was more appreciative that strictly necessary. “Kostan!” he exclaimed. “It’s good to see you here. Reza, why didn’t you say something? Take a break.”

At that, the model looked up and, seeming unembarrassed by her nudity, gave Stephen a long, slow smile. “I’m so pleased to see you again,” she said.

“Likewise,” he replied.

She unfolded from the pose a little stiffly, stepping down from the dais to avail herself of a red silk kimono tossed carelessly on a nearby stool. She slipped it on and belted it, flipping her dark hair out from beneath the collar to cover the dragon embroidered on the back. “Thank god you stopped in,” she said, pouting in Nash’s direction. “He’s a slavedriver.”

“Well, at least he keeps his studio warm,” Stephen replied with a smile. “I’ve known some artists who were too poor to keep the fire burning. Now, that’s suffering for art, Señorita Razor.”

“It gets cool enough in here.” She paused, shaking her head. “And please, don’t remind me of last night. It was bad enough waking up this moring, without knowing everyone remembers my folly.”

“Ah, but when a lady adopts such an outré and memorable nickname, she must expect gentlemen to take notice,” Stephen replied smoothly.

Reza laughed a little nervously and drifted over, to where Dorothea was examining a few pictures on the wall. “I’m Reza,” she said. “You’re a friend of Stephen’s?”

“Yes.”

“A girlfriend?”

“No, just a friend.” She sent a helpless look at Stephen, but he wasn’t helping. If anything he seemed to be enjoying the awkward silences that separated every statement, every question and answer.

“Yes, Stephen struck me as the type who’d have a lot of friends.”

“Oh, he does.” Dorothea’s smile was a masterpiece of quiet malice. Reza might have some experience with catty sniping, but she’d never been at a vampire club in Los Angeles, and the skills Thea had picked up were going to serve her well, she thought, in all kinds of social situations. When Stephen joined them, after a few words with Nash, slipping one arm around Dorothea’s waist, she made a point to lean away, to be aloof.

“What do you think of all this?” he asked, indicating the paintings.

“I like them. I’d love to see some of the others’ artwork, too.”

Stephen pulled out his gold, antique pocketwatch and looked at the time. “I expect I’d better get you back to the hotel, if you’re going to be ready for that gallery opening tonight.”

“Yes. I promised Lou Lou I’d help trim her hair.”

“Ah, well, anything to keep the peace, I suppose,” Stephen said. Despite the intimate, domestic banter, Dorothea couldn’t help noticing that Stephen’s real attention was on Therésa , and the woman in red, preening was all too well aware of it. Yes, it was time to go.

[jen]

Fabulous.

Stephan is just drawn to Razor. No two ways about it.

The wonderful ambiance you have set here continues to flavor events.

Delightful chapter!

Thank you!

Jenna

[allegrita]

Ooh, I love Dorothea. Girl's got some skillz. And Josef, I mean, Stephen, obviously appreciates her as well. Reza is definitely a fascinating woman, but I think our vamp would do well to remember to appreciate what he's got.

I love the fact that he really was mad about the crumpled necktie!

[NightAir]

Stephen carefully evaluates and plans each move ahead of time. Still, he certainly isn't adverse to mixing business and pleasure. He seems to be enjoying the tense moments between Dorothea and Reza. But then, Josef - I mean Stephen - does love awkward.

[darkstarrising]

Ah, Stephen hasn't quite found what he's looking for in a location, but he may have found something he wasn't looking for in Reza...subtle, she's not, in her interest in Stephen and Thea isn't liking it.

“Oh, he does.” Dorothea’s smile was a masterpiece of quiet malice. Reza might have some experience with catty sniping, but she’d never been at a vampire club in Los Angeles, and the skills Thea had picked up were going to serve her well, she thought, in all kinds of social situations. When Stephen joined them, after a few words with Nash, slipping one arm around Dorothea’s waist, she made a point to lean away, to be aloof.

The beauty of your writing, in addition to the lush descriptions, is the manner in which you capture emotions so concisely. In four little sentences, you convey so much - the tension between the two women, Stephen's mild amusement of it all and thinking Reza isn't any match for Thea. Thea may be a willing freshie, but she's still a woman with some affection for her vampire, and she isn't above being miffed.

I wonder how Stephen is going to soothe her ruffled feathers.

Truly enjoying the story, and looking forward to see if Stephen finds what he's looking for at Camino del Monte Sol.

[moonlight_vixen]

Something told me that Razor's next "entrance" would be something to remember! I love how Stephen gets a kick out of the tense moments between Razor and Dorothea.

I can't wait to see what happens next!

[tucutecats]

lush,sensuous,deliciously wonderful, Joseph ,stephan ,whatever name you use,you have him down to perfection

[francis]

I just love the way you paint Stephen here. He's mad about a necktie, loves his car, appreciates women and plays patron of the arts like a role he wants to win the Oscars for.
Dorothea is a great woman. Stephen should really appreciate her more, not give her something to worry about like his affection towards Reza. There might be a catfight in the future, huh?
Love the ambiance and the atmosphere.

[cassysj]

I love Dorathea! There are going to be sparks between Razor and the girls I feel it.

[librarian_7]

Thanks so much for the comments! OBTS and I are really pleased with the reception our story is getting, and there's much more to come.

And if you think Reza doesn't care much for Thea, consider, she doesn't even know about Patrice and Louise yet!

Another chapter will be coming soon...

Lucky

[RangerCM]

Yep, that going to be quite the moment when she meets the other freshies.