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Ruffling Feathers Chapter 6 - Midsummer Madness
"Did you know that mead is actually an aphrodisiac?" Paul Donovan took a sip from his glass and looked into Amy Hutchins's dark blue eyes sparkling at him over her glass. Like I need one, Paul thought. Instead of speaking his mind, however, he went with the more prosaic first-date response. "Really? How interesting." "There's that word again. Let's see...my car is 'interesting,' my sister Lisa is 'interesting,' and now your assessment of the magical qualities of this lovely, light, refreshing glass of honey wine, the most appropriate drink for a summer solstice party, is deemed, by you, to be merely 'interesting.'" Amy pursed her lips and shook her head in mock sadness. "Okay, what am I supposed to say?" Paul laughed. "Any less conventional reply would get me into trouble. And let's just go through the items you catalogued...your car really is interesting. I'd never ridden in an electric car before. And what did you call it, an EV1?" "A GM EV1." "And that demonstration of zero to sixty in under nine seconds was truly...um...interesting." Paul's face crinkled as he grinned. "Do journalists always get perks like free cars for a year?" "Only the ones with the potential to write about them and open up the Colorado market..." "Amy, honey, over here." A big barrel-chested man of about sixty interrupted Amy's defense of her comp car and waved Amy and Paul across the street to his booth. He wrapped his arm around Amy and gave her a generous kiss on the cheek. "I see you found a glass of the good stuff for you and your friend," the man stuck out his hand for Paul to shake. "Tom Thompson here." Paul introduced himself, and then allowed Amy to do the honors. "Tom is Piñon's honey man. He has a good, strong apiary, despite all the trouble we've had with declining bee populations. He's about to open our first meadery," Amy said with pride. "Tom and I have been tuning his recipes for almost a year, and this one is the best. Don't you think so, Paul?" "Well, I have nothing to compare it to...but I assume it will prove to have strong characteristics." Tom winked at Amy and spoke in a hush to Paul, "Has Amy been feeding you that drivel about mead being an aphrodisiac? My boy, it's all rot. That magic hocus-pocus these girls dream up is just to look cute. My mead is healthful, sir. No funny business about it. It helps the digestion and clears your system of toxins. Now, sir, do you suffer from allergies?" Paul replied that he didn't, as far as he knew. Tom was disappointed, "You're young yet. Some allergies don't develop until middle age sets in. You start eating my honey and drinking this here mead, and you'll build up all the immunities you need to combat local pollens." Paul assured him that he would change his diet directly. "Now, I'll not let you young'uns go until I've given my girl here her birthday present." Tom pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his overalls and took out a piece of paper. "Painting," he said, sticking the paper under Amy's nose, "Can you believe I drew painting?" Amy explained to Paul that this year Annie Edgerton had organized a lottery of house-projects that her friends could draw from to give Amy for her birthday. Tom had gotten himself onto the crew that was going to paint her house, that is, if Amy ever settled on a color. "Your birthday is really today?" Paul asked. Amy nodded. "My father always said I was his 'child of light' because I was born on the summer solstice. The date on my birth certificate and my real birthday, the solstice, don't always coincide exactly, but this year they do. And it's a kick to celebrate my birthday here at our town's biggest festival. It's a fund-raiser, you know." "Your birthday?" "No," she grinned again. "I'm not that crass. This midsummer festival is how Piñon raises money for youth sports. Annie puts on a totally awesome bash and people from all over come here to spend their money on Renaissance revelry. Then we spend that money on ball fields and equipment for the soccer and baseball leagues." As Amy and Paul wandered the three blocks of Piñon's downtown, nibbling on delicacies from the food booths and watching the street performers, he felt a glow slowly permeate his body. Perhaps it was the light but heady glass of mead; perhaps it was the proximity of the equally intoxicating woman by his side teasing him, gently touching his arm and pointing out novelties and amusements, smiling into his eyes. Whatever the cause, Paul felt surrounded by magic and warmth. Amy had picked him up promptly at seven. He had opened his door to a vision of loveliness. She was wearing a dress of the creamiest yellow gauze that swirled around her legs and hugged her womanly curves enticingly. Her chestnut curls, swept off her face and cascading down her back, were sprinkled with the tiniest blue flowers. The woman he was with tonight was a far cry from the professional journalist in the business suit he had lunched with last week, the jogger in baggy sweats on the Piñon trail, or the torch singer in basic black who had invaded his soul. This woman was a veritable earth goddess, a Demeter come to bless the growing fields and ensure a bountiful harvest. A Demeter in a red sports car... Richard Clayton always described Amy as mercurial, and Paul was coming to understand why. She seemed a curious amalgam of the ancient and the modern. She seemed connected to the earth in the most fundamental way, yet she embraced technology with enthusiasm. Not a trace of makeup on her clear creamy skin, the roses in her cheeks were due entirely to health and sporadic modesty. Her hands were inelegant—they dug in the soil and pulled weeds without the benefit of gloves, they typed endlessly, they chopped herbs and kneaded bread, they caressed a beloved. When Amy had first suggested they go together to a street party, Paul was skeptical that a throng of people was the best place in which to enjoy Amy's company. Now that they were here, he didn't question her wisdom. She guided him from booth to booth, introducing him to her friends, welcoming him into her private little kingdom. He was surprised at how warmly the people treated him. He expected to be viewed with suspicion, an outsider intruding. Instead, with Amy as his chaperone, he moved quickly to the inner circle. "So what do you think of Colorado?" was one of the first questions Amy posed to Paul. He paused. He figured his answer to this seemingly innocuous question would make or break the evening. Dave Landry told him of the run-ins Carol had with Amy at the Hurst wedding because of Carol's big-city snobbery. "It's very...blue." Amy stopped and looked at Paul for what felt like an eternity. "Good answer," she proclaimed from beneath furrowed brows. She looked at him again as if trying to figure him out, and said, "Very perceptive. It's all this sky—and then the darker blue fringe of the mountains, layer upon layer until they dissolve upwards into the 'wild blue yonder.' Last year, I went to The Global Conference on Indigenous Wisdom and Healing and met a Hopi woman who described the world as a bowl. And it's true...especially if you stand on the high mesas in the southwest. The sky is a blue bowl above you, and the cradle of the earth spreads out below you through the valleys growing corn and beans and squash until they meet the indigo mountains that rim the bowl." She stopped, and blushed. "But I ramble on while you're probably thinking 'what kind of a new-age freak did I agree to spend an evening with?'" "Quite the opposite. I was just congratulating myself on actually making an answer that met with your approval." Her answering smile was all the reward he wanted...for now. "Shall we head to the green for the play," Amy asked. "Lisa and her friends are doing Pyramus and Thisby. You know, from A Midsummer Night's Dream. Lisa is playing Thisby this year." "Is that why she shaved her head?" Paul joked, "So that she would be more believable as a man playing the part of a woman?" As he hoped, Amy laughed and then graced him with another smile and a pat on the sleeve as they headed for the makeshift theatre set up in the town park. "That's as good a reason as Jenn or I have come up with. But don't you think the body suit with the chain mail was a bit much? Not a look I should adopt?" Her brow shot up as she dangled the provocative question in front of him. "Oh, I don't know," he replied in kind. " I think you would look pretty good in such an outfit—you could even dispense with the body suit, if you ask me." "I'll stick to yellow and blue, thank you," she blushed. "I've been meaning to ask you, why are so many women wearing yellow and blue tonight?" "For fertility. Yellow and blue are very special colors for the summer solstice...and I thought you were an educated man." "I'm learning a lot tonight." The play was a hoot. College students camping it up as the workmen from A Midsummer Night's Dream. As the play ended and the last bit of twilight faded into the mountains on the western horizon, the park lit up with fairy lights—small white Christmas lights draped around every bush and tree—and fairy music—madrigal singers warming up the crowd before the dance bands took over. "Ames!" Amy looked up, a dismayed look darting across her face as she nodded to the two men walking towards them. "What's this?" said a tall, disheveled man who looked like he'd just walked home from Woodstock. He coldly looked Paul up and down, "Sleeping with the enemy?" "I don't have any enemies, Denny." Amy replied frostily, despite a returning blush. "Greg won't like to hear that his old lady is stepping out on him," the other man said menacingly. Dressed in Desert Storm fatigues with a buzz cut, he wore the chip on his shoulder with swaggering pride. "Yeah, Duke and Greg don't like the smell of things in Piñon," continued Denny. "They're coming home and then we ain't taking shit from nobody." "You tell 'em, brother," the mercenary growled. Paul was debating whether to jump in or just let Amy handle things. It was her town and these were her friends, such as they were, so he played it smart and remained awkwardly silent. Amy took advantage of the pause. "Good evening, boys. It's been a real pleasure. Now you just mosey along and cause trouble somewhere else because I'm not biting tonight." Amy rested her hand inside Paul's arm and steered him towards the dance pavilion. After a few minutes, she said quietly, "Sorry I didn't introduce you, but they're not exactly the toast of Piñon. They seem to think their job is to get under my skin. They're identical twins, believe it or not. The Dierks boys. The guy in tie-dye with the dreadlocks is Denny, and his Rambo brother is Carter. Their hero, Colonel Duke Simpson, is an ex-Marine who was in Vietnam. He and the Dierks boys and another friend of mine, Greg Hansen, like to act like they're some sort of A-team. They're harmless, really, but it gets old after awhile." Amy stopped short and gasped, "Good Lord, they're square dancing. You're really going to think you're in Hicksville now, and if I'm not mistaken, Lady Jane has enticed Dave Landry out there." Amy laughed as she watched her sister patiently trying to instruct Dave through some 'round yo' pardners' and 'dosey does.' "Dave is nothing if not congenial." "This qualifies him for sainthood." "I've heard that any savage can dance..." "Then go find a savage to be Jenn's partner, because poor Dave has two left feet..." They collapsed into chairs that skirted the dance pavilion and sighed in unison. "Ice cream?" he inquired. "Please...chocolate," she replied. "Chocolate's an aphrodisiac, you know..." he countered. "Um...interesting," they both laughed. While Paul was hunting down ice cream, Amy watched Jenn and Dave square dancing. He was getting the hang of it. Jenn looked totally happy, and dangerously close to letting herself fall in love. This one better not break her heart, Amy thought fiercely. How can someone as beautiful and sweet as Jenn keep on ending up with losers? "She's too cool. He'll never know she's got a thing for him if she doesn't show it." Amy looked up to see her old friend Kris Cox sit down next to her. Kris had followed Amy's gaze and her comment was about Jenn and Dave Landry. "By 'show it' you mean sleep with him, don't you?" "This is like their tenth date in two weeks, right? I would assume that Jenn has already sailed under that bridge." "Okay, so what do you mean by showing him she's got a thing for him?" "I don't know—you think if I knew I'd be thirty-one and still single?" Amy didn't feel like dissecting Jenn's dating style one more time with Kris, so she changed the subject. "Kris, we ran into Denny and Carter tonight. In fact, just now. They talked like Duke and Greg were coming back and they were starting up again." "Amy, those guys are seriously delusional. Besides you wrote Greg the brush-off letter, so what's the big deal? He's history, sweet cheeks. Look, you are with a major hottie tonight. Don't blow it and get all sentimental over a guy's who's zero compared to Paul Donovan. If I were you, I'd show Paul that he's the one." "Even if I don't know that much about him?" "Get real, girl. This man is cooking for you. If you don't know that, you're the only one in the state who doesn't. He's rich. He's to die for. Cut loose, girl friend." Fortunately, Amy noticed Paul returning with enough time to quiet Kris's enthusiasm. Kris, ever the romantic, discreetly melted into the shadows after giving Paul a once-over with her eyes. By the time Amy and Paul had licked the last drop of their chocolate ice cream cones, the dj had mercifully shifted from hoe-down to retro and disco filled the night air. "Do you boogie?" Amy asked. Paul answered by grabbing her hand and twirling her under his arm as he led her out to the floor. Breathless and sweaty, Amy and Paul exited the dance floor when the dj announced it was time for the macarena. Amy rolled her eyes, and Paul laughed as they agreed to sit this one out. "Good evening, Amy," came a voice from the shadows. Amy's smile froze. She wasn't ready for this particular scenario yet, but she valiantly took a deep breath and replied, "Oh...hi Dad. I didn't know you were coming here tonight." As Amy hugged her father, Paul saw her bite her lip and a pensive look stole across her face. She turned to Paul and introduced him to Ed Hutchins. Paul was used to meeting adversaries in all walks of life. As head of Donovan Industries, he had faced many a ruthless competitor and corrupt politician and he felt perfectly comfortable in battling with them. But the look in Ed Hutchins's eye was different from anything he had encountered before. Cold, wary—Paul wasn't sure whether paternal concern or something else was behind the look Ed gave him. "I knew your father," was Ed's opening salvo. "He had me arrested once." A pause. "Damnedest thing, he had the bail set so high it took me forty-eight hours to get out. Longest I'd ever been in the clink." "Dad, please..." Amy's voice was strained. "You know, sins of the fathers, and all that..." "Seems your boyfriend here is happy to follow in his father's footsteps," Ed continued quietly. "Have you asked him who he sold his water rights and that South Park land to yet?" "Dr. Hutchins..." Paul began. "Dad?" Amy's eyes were tense, ready to fill with tears if her father persisted in quizzing Paul. Ed took the hint. "No, no. This isn't the time or place. If I've a bone to pick with you, we'll fight it out fair just like I've always done, not at some damned party." Ed Hutchins patted his daughter's shoulder. "Don't cry, sweetie. It's your birthday and here I am acting like a stupid ass son-of-bitch again. And I almost forgot, I drew a slip out of Annie's basket and I get to rewire your house. I'll probably blow the both of us to kingdom come, but I'll give it a try." Ed pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped Amy's eyes as she smiled through her tears at her father. Then he hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks. He stepped back, then reached over and tugged one of her ears, "Remember, honey-girl, don't believe a word this man says." With that, Ed stuck his hands in his pockets and walked off into the night leaving Amy and Paul with a silence neither one of them knew how to break. "Amy..." "No, Paul, don't talk just yet. Come with me, I want to show you something." She took his hand in hers and led him across the broad expanse of lawn to where the trees defined the perimeter of the park. "What time is it?' she asked. "Nine thirty-nine." "Then we have a few minutes—a full moon means that sunset and moonrise are coincident, and the sun set over an hour ago." "Do you always track sunset and moonrise?" "Not always, though I like to know what phase we're in. I'm so happy we have a full moon tonight because I wanted to show you what I did last year." Amy stopped walking. "Here's the bench, now have a seat." Amy sat down next to Paul and then looked back across the park to the lights of the dance pavilion. "I'm sorry my father was rude to you." She paused and then continued before Paul could cut in, "When I was a little girl, he used to take me with his poli-sci classes on field trips to protest Rocky Flats when they were still making triggers for nuclear bombs. The truth is, he doesn't think you've told me the whole story about what's going on with the Douglas County water project. He thinks something's missing—and that makes him suspicious" "He's right. You don't know the whole story." "So who did you sell the water and land to?" "Is this an interview?" Paul's voice tightened as a wave of disappointment washed over him. His evening with Amy had been going so well. He had almost been able to forget that it would be his only evening with her; he had almost been able to forget what Special Agent Dennis Brown had on his agenda for tomorrow. "I'm sorry. But I believe in telling the truth, just like my dad believes in playing fair and playing straight," Amy blithely went on. "As long as we all know where we stand..." "I haven't lied to you." "Holding back is equivalent to lying." Before Paul could formulate a reply that could possibly salvage the evening, the moon crested the tops of the trees, bathing them in soft, silvery light. In front of them, a ghostly garden shimmered in the moonlight. "They're white perennials that I planted last year. I read about an all-white garden in a book once, and I wanted to see whether it was as wonderful as it sounded." "It is wonderful," Paul said softly as he reached out and touched her cheek with his fingers. "Paul, it's midsummer night, when magic reigns and the veil between truth and disguise gets all tangled up and mischief happens. Please, to keep me sane, tell me one true thing." She faced him in the moonlight with her white flowers soaking up moonrays and bouncing them back out into the world. "Just one true thing to ward off midsummer madness..." Paul stood silently. His jaw clenching as his mind raced. He wanted to tell her everything, the whole convoluted mess of intrigue and suspicion, but he knew that he couldn't. Instead he wrapped an arm around her waist and softly kissed her lower lip, then the corner of her mouth, then her eyelids. As her arms found his neck and her hands his hair, his lips found hers, full and soft and tender, and the sounds of silence engulfed them. Seconds later, they were ripped apart by an explosion that shook the ground and deadened all other sounds. As Amy staggered to regain her balance, every siren in Boulder County went off simultaneously. Paul's eyes looked in horror toward the flames of the fire that now eclipsed the moon. "That's my building..." he yelled as he began jogging, then running, toward Second Avenue where the new Donovan Foundation building had been nearing completion.
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