The Compass Rose

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

Wrenna slowly came back to herself as Bill smoothly and efficiently threw together a rough and ready lunch. (Although I really hope this is the first and last time that canned soup and The Compass Rose are ever mentioned in the same breath together, she thought to herself ruefully. It would never do to get a reputation for bad soup. Years in Europe had taught her that lesson. Soup, when made correctly and with imagination, could warm both heart and soul. It was a celebration of nature’s bounty. With a little smile she made a mental note that Bill would have to be taught the rudiments of making a perfect vegetable stock before too many more days passed by. Otherwise their relationship might come to a bitter end before it started.)

With Bill away in the kitchen and Maureen bringing in drinks and silverware, Wrenna had leisure to study Harve Piscatorious more closely. She decided that he made her nervous. There was too much energy confined within his wiry frame, she told herself. It was as though he only pretended to be a grown-up; as though some kind of sly and cheerful boy lurked just below the weathered skin and the mischievously twinkling eyes. Oh yes, she had noticed those.

It was not that he was precisely handsome, though his looks were pleasing enough. The thing about him that had caught her attention was radiated from within. His was a face full of stories. If she looked at him closely (which she could do only when he was flirting with Maureen or good-naturedly haranguing Bill) she could imagine that his bluff exterior was nothing more than a wall that held back floodtides of memory and experience.

For a moment his glance met hers, and she turned her head away with a guilty blush. Not before she had the chance to notice a wink that passed so quickly she could almost believe it had been an illusion. He knows I’ve seen him, she thought to herself. Now it is for him to decide whether he will be wary of me, or whether he will show me, someday, the depths behind those eyes.

The path of her ruminations shocked her. She put it down to the strange state of mind she had been in since her faint. Three times in the past month. I suppose I ought to see a doctor, but surely everything will start to fall into place once The Compass Rose is open and I can get used to some kind of normal routine again. It’s just stress...nothing more.

Bill handed her a steaming bowl of...well...something liquid. "Here you are, Miss Mallory," he said. "The first meal on your own official dinnerware."

Wren smiled at him. He looked so proud of himself! It was, she had to admit, rather endearing. Bill, from what she had seen of him thus far, had grown up into a very capable, very good-natured man who could easily accommodate himself to any occasion. He had done the best anyone could have with the few things she had in the kitchen, and he had done it without any help from her at all. There was something hugely appealing about knowing there was someone she could rely on if she had to, at least for the next few days. She refused to think further ahead than that. Life had taught her that you had to stand on your own two feet when push came to shove. It was nice, from time to time, to lean against someone else’s strength until you got your wind back. But in the end, you had to be able to withstand the hard knocks without help.

But does that mean also that you must live your life alone?

Without knowing why she was doing it, she raised her eyes to Harve. It seems to work for him. But who knows what he really feels? Inside, he might feel as lonely as I do sometimes. Though of course, he does have his boat to talk to.

Again she had to turn her face away to avoid being caught staring so rudely. The man had offered to supply The Compass Rose with fresh fish, and she had the feeling no better fish would be found on the Central Coast than the ones Harve would provide. She had no rational basis for the feeling. It just was there. Harve made her feel confidence, even though she had wanted to empty a bowl of cold chowder over his head for the greater part of her acquaintance with him thus far. She wondered if she would ever understand this strange state of affairs. She wondered if it even mattered. After all, she would still have the fish.


"Getting back to your kind offer, Harve," she ventured between sips of soup. "I would very much like to take you up on it. The Compass Rose won’t be officially open for over a week though, so we won’t need any deliveries until then. We’ve got some time to work out the details. When would you be free to come by and talk things over?"

She did her best to appear businesslike. Not the easiest thing with mermaid-like hair spilling down to her waist and eyes that still did not correctly focus.

Harve considered for a moment as he chewed on a prodigiously large bite of sandwich.

"I have to be away for a week," he said finally, taking a sip of cold beer. "But when I come back, I’ll tie Nash up at your dock and ring her bell. How does that sound?"

Wren blinked, but did her best not to appear disconcerted by the slightly unorthodox methods employed by her new seafood supplier. Nash. I'll have to ask him about the origins of that name. Nashanabe. What language is that, anyway?

"I will...listen for your bell then, Mr. Piscatorious." Wren said with a smile. She turned to look at Bill and Maureen, both of whom seemed similarly amused by their newfound partner. Nothing official had been said yet, but it was clear to Wren, at least, that the four of them were united in a common cause: the success of The Compass Rose.

"Maureen," she said suddenly, raising her eyes to the face of the lovely woman across from her, "I understand you are looking for a job. After lunch, let’s have a walk somewhere nice and discuss it, shall we? I have to scout out a decent place for a picnic anyway. And pick up some fresh clams...."

She lifted her eyes to Bill and winked, as though to say I have not forgotten those clam fritters, you know. And you’re not getting frozen ones from the grocery store either!

"I’d love to, " said Maureen, "as long as you feel you’re up to it. But it doesn’t have to be today. I can easily come back when it’s more convenient."

"I think you should rest before tonight, Wren" said Bill. "I can run out for whatever you think you need for the picnic. I’ve got the layout of the town pretty well squared away in my head again after this morning."

"Nonsense," said Wren, standing up and starting to gather empty plates and bowls in a well-balanced stack. "A good cook always chooses her own ingredients. The fresh air will do me good anyway."

"I’m off then," said Harve suddenly, almost the instant Wren had taken his plate. "See you in a week, Miss Mallory. Try to stay upright and conscious if at all possible. And remember...."

"I’ll be listening for the bell," said Wrenna, and winked.

 

[AngelicVixxxen]

Calla

The monster was invisible, but very, very close. Calla could feel his hot, rancid breath on her face and flailed her arms outward in an attempt to stave off the inevitable. Something wet and slimy dripped onto her arm and although she couldn't see that which terrorized her, she could clearly picture it licking its chops... its pointed fangs glistening as they tried to sample her tender flesh.

With her heart pounding madly and its beat echoing loudly in her ears, Calla’s vision suddenly cleared and she could see! She could see the hideous demon! "Aaaaahhhhhhhhh!" The scream died in her throat as she stared into the all-seeing, all-knowing eyes... one brown and one blue. Blade!!!

Gasping, Calla sprang up in the recliner, snapping it into its upright position and almost catapulting herself out the window.

"What a repulsive dream... and, speaking of repulsive, you need to get your teeth cleaned as soon as possible!"

She glanced at her watch and calculated that she had been asleep for only an hour, which was a good thing considering how much she had on her agenda. The first seven items on the To Do list were only the ones she had thought of immediately... she knew she could add at least another 25 with no problem. It’s definitely time to go out into the air and do something productive or I'll sleep the afternoon away.

After showering and donning a bright red sundress and matching short-sleeved jacket, she loaded into the car a huge pot of the seafood bounty she had prepared earlier in the day. Lastly, she let Blade out for a quick run and then had the unpleasant task of leaving him alone.

"Sorry, boy, but you can't go everywhere with me. When Wrenna opens the restaurant you won't be allowed in there, so you'd better get used to it now."

Of course he didn't understand a word she said and whined pathetically as she locked the door on him. 'Quiet!" All was silent and she could envision him staring miserably at the door wondering what he had done wrong. I've got to start getting out more without my dog!

Not being able to see if there was any oncoming traffic... something else that would have to be remedied soon... she cautiously nosed the 1980 Chevy Caprice onto the road and hoped that it wouldn't stall. Listening to the coughing, choking and wheezing, she fervently prayed to the ‘God of Cars with Over 250,000 Miles Logged on Them’ that it would be permitted to perform its duties for at least another week because she desperately needed her wheels. Oh my God, that's something else! I must ask Wren if I can borrow her car one morning to get my license. Or maybe it would be better for her to drive me there... in which case I'll have to explain my sudden departure from sanity when I bought this car!

Said beast suddenly shifted into purring mode, probably pretending it was a de Tomaso Pantera, and Calla breathed a sigh of relief and patted the battered dashboard.

"That's right, sweetie... we all have big dreams, so just keep holding yours close to your hot little engine."

She had wanted a nondescript car that wouldn't attract undue attention, but its boat-like dimensions and its advanced age had proven to be an unwelcome magnet several times. She knew she couldn't chance taking it out on the highway again in case it collapsed, but she would have to make one last trip... sometime, somewhere... to 'retire' it quietly and secretly. Still, she was rather attached to it as it had served in her flight for freedom and she really hoped there might be a use for it in town, maybe for beginning drivers to practice with… or as a moving billboard for The Compass Rose. She grinned at the thought of Wren’s expression if the latter were suggested.

After quick stops at the vet's to make a teeth-cleaning appointment for Blade and no other reason... really! and at the market to pick up three lush tropical plants in beautiful decorated pots that Wren could place in either her loft or the restaurant, Calla pulled into the parking lot at The Compass Rose. With heavy pot of ‘bounty’ in hand she made her way to the front door, noticing as she passed the window that Wrenna was not alone… her friend, Bill, was with her, as was an attractive woman she had never seen before.

She smiled at them all and hugged her sister with one arm, balancing the pot precariously on her hip.

“Hi, Wrenna!” she exclaimed happily, kissing her cheek. “I brought some of my seafood bounty for you to try and thought you might like to add it to the menu if you enjoy it. It will keep nicely in the fridge until tomorrow if you have plans for dinner tonight.” She made her way into the kitchen and tucked it away.

“Nice to see you again, Bill.” She shook his hand firmly, wondering if he had spent the night and hoping that the thought wasn’t visible on her face.

She looked questioningly at the other woman and then back at Wrenna.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Calla, my mind was elsewhere. This is Maureen Catlin who, as I understand it, is going to help me with The Compass Rose. Maureen, this is my sister, Calla.”

Calla shook hands with Maureen, instantly liking her warm, friendly demeanor. “Pleased to meet you… and congratulations on becoming part of Wrenna’s dream. I’m sure you’ll be a very welcome addition!”

She turned back to her sister with a look of concern. “Is everything all right, Wrenna? You look a bit frazzled.”

“Oh, I’m fine now, Calla,” she answered, shaking her head ruefully, “although I must admit that it’s been quite a day!” At this, she rolled her eyes and then continued, “I was just about to go over some plans with Maureen… do you mind terribly?”

Knowing how busy Wrenna was, Calla was quick to reassure her.

“That’s okay, Wren, I have plans myself. But before I go,” she looked over a Bill, “I wonder if you could give me a hand. I bought some plants for Wren and stuffed them into my car so well that I fear I won’t be able to get them out without wounding them.”

“Sure, I’d be glad to,” Bill said, volunteering his services quickly and bringing another smile to Calla’s face. She liked this man, this childhood friend of Wren’s, liked him even without knowing anything about him… and for Wren’s sake she hoped that that he’d like to make Spyglass Cove his home.

She waved goodbye to the two women and led the way to her car… feeling that there was a very interesting, and no doubt funny, story about the day’s happenings to listen to the next time she had some alone time with her sister.

 

[Huntress]

Maureen

Maureen felt a bit dazed by the quicksilver pace of the day so far. Fire trucks, sirens, swooning women, sardonic sea captains! She glanced at her watch while Wrenna and Bill cleaned up the lunch dishes. It was only 2:00 p.m.! Events were whizzing by at such a furious rate, she wondered if it was only a matter of time before she too fell to the floor in an untidy heap.

“Nonsense. You’re made of heartier stock than that; you’ve never once fainted in your life, Mo. Gad! Now you just stop all that romantic clap-trap. Besides, it would take four men to get you up those stairs.”

Shaking her head to silence the annoyingly caustic inner voice, which frequently sounded a lot like her grandmother’s, Maureen rose and walked to the window again. Harve was sauntering down the jetty toward his boat and loosing the moorings, preparing to cast off. She envied the freedom he enjoyed. No earthly chattel to hold him, nothing but his ship and the siren call of the ocean. A deep sigh escaped her as the momentary fantasy of living as Harve did collapsed like a soap bubble hitting asphalt. The idea of being at sea did nothing for her except dredge up painful memories.

Richard’s company had leased a forty seven foot sail boat for a couple of years ostensibly so they could entertain clients with a tour of the bay when they were in town. The boat seldom left it’s slip since San Francisco summers were notoriously cold and the “boys” preferred sitting in the warmth and comfort of cabin drinking expensive wines and watching sporting events on the satellite link. The magnificent craft became a glorified bar and tax write-off for the corporation.

The few times they’d taken it out, she was usually aboard playing “hostess” to some paunchy, cigar puffing concrete magnate. Inevitably, the water was very rough and Richard, in some ill-conceived attempt to prove his virility, had taken the boat out well past the Golden Gate where the sea was even more turbulent. Frankly she’d been so afraid that they’d capsize, Maureen figured she’d been a damned good sport for having just kept her mouth shut and her white knuckles on the railing instead of around Richard’s throat. Even now, she felt incredibly angry at his constant need to take unnecessary risks, gambling with their future and fortune just to prove what a big man he was. ”Bloody hell. Why couldn’t he just be content with the status quo? Why did he have to push the envelope so hard?”

None of that mattered now that he was gone. She had a relatively clean canvas upon which to create a new life painting and all the ghosts of the past would just have to remain there while she chose her palette. ”Not this time, Richard. This time it’s my choice, my life, my .”

“Hi, Wrenna!”

The sound of a lively new voice put an end to her sullen reverie. Maureen turned to see a pretty, dark-haired woman enter the door holding a huge kettle on her hip and beaming at Wrenna. As the two exchanged a kiss and pleasantries, Maureen noted their resemblance; similar build, long dark hair, and doe-like eyes, each with more than a little sadness lurking behind those brown pools. As introductions were made, the reason for their physical similarities became clear; she was Wrenna’s sister, Calla.

Calla’s handshake was as warm and welcoming as her smile.

“Pleased to meet you… and congratulations on becoming part of Wrenna’s dream. I’m sure you’ll be a very welcome addition!”

Maureen was a mildly surprised by Calla’s statement since she’d only agreed to take a walk with Wrenna and discuss the possibility of a job. Discretion being the better part of valor, she said nothing and instead returned Calla’s smile, watching her and Wrenna as they continued to talk.

It was evident that the two were close from the tender way they looked at each other, the concerned tone of Calla’s voice as she asked after Wrenna’s health. Maureen found herself envying their devotion. She’d never found that deep connection in her marriage or within her family and it was a bond she found at once mysterious and mundane. She felt a hint of it from time to time; today while she and Bill and Harve laughed together. Yet, it eluded her grasp, only ever glimpsing, never quite finding a way to inhabit that place of warmth and affection for more than an instant. Perhaps between the Mallory sisters and her landladies, she’d find a key that would open a door in her heart and allow her to discover what true intimacy could be.

As Calla exited with Bill in tow, Maureen looked at Wrenna expectantly.

“I’m ready when you are. Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Wrenna nodded and smiled, saying, “Just let me get this wild mane under control and I’ll be right with you.”

She rapidly combed her fingers through the shining mass of hair and expertly twisted into a chignon at the nape of her neck, pinning it securely in place.

“There. Done. Shall we go?”

Maureen nodded as she picked up her purse and sweater and walked out the door with Wrenna, suddenly feeling completely at a lost for words and very self-conscious.

"Wonderful start you're off to, Mo. Laugh yourself silly with total strangers then boss them around and when push comes to shove you get tongue-tied!"

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

"It’s clear to me that you possess the knack of handling emergencies," said Wrenna to Maureen with a smile. They were sitting on an elongated patio parallel to the sea, each one with a dish of sorbet and a glass of mineral water. The Mermaid Plaza, so-named for the bronze statue of a long-haired and supple-tailed sea-girl sitting on a rock out front, was a nest of little shops and cafés that Wren had delighted in since childhood. She had frequently been settled in the lap of the mermaid by her father, and told that one day she would be just as beautiful. The prophecy had not, she thought wryly, come true. That was not the mermaid’s fault, of course, and Wrenna’s love for the Mermaid Plaza with its serpentine rows of shops and stalls had never diminished. Without hesitation she had invited Maureen there for a quiet talk in the afternoon sun. After all the bustle and noise of The Compass Rose, an al fresco pick-me-up with gull-song for accompaniment had seemed to be just the thing to rejuvenate her.

She had ordered three different types of sorbet, raspberry and lemon and peach, just as she had always done. It tasted much the same as it had during her childhood, but the scoops were smaller than she remembered. They also now somehow cost $1.50 each. As she twirled her spoon absently in the dish before her, Wren lifted her head and looked out to sea. She could just see Nashanabe in the distance by now; Harve had wasted no time in leaving his landfall at her dock.

"We can dare to hope that most days at The Compass Rose will be less eventful than today; but then again –" Wrenna shrugged and smiled. She liked Maureen from what she had seen of her thus far. The woman was sturdy and stable as well as very attractive and elegant. She was someone who could probably be relied upon to keep her cool (if today was any indication). She was intelligent, but did not, Wrenna sensed, always say everything she was thinking. This was a good trait. When dealing with people – customers especially – it was not often possible to say exactly what you thought. It was doubtful that anyone much worse than Harve would ever come in to order grilled fish or bouillabaisse, and Maureen had conducted herself superbly with him. She had a sense of humour and an attractive air of self assurance that could, in Wren's experience, usually be counted on to warm even the most stony countenance into a smile.

Bill had briefed her quickly on the job history he had managed to extract from Maureen during brief interludes in the action of the afternoon. (Wren had been deeply touched by his having taken the trouble to more or less interview Maureen on her behalf. He had also convinced her, if she had not been convinced before, that he really knew his stuff. She could hardly leave the restaurant in better hands when....Stop it, Wren! Stop it now! This is the beginning. This is the unfolding of your dream. Why on earth are you already thinking about leaving it?)

Wrenna let the raspberry sorbet melt slowly on her tongue and brought her thoughts firmly back to Maureen. She was not, of course, someone who had spent her whole life working in restaurants. (Bill had told her this too. His interview had been pretty thorough, considering the distractions of Harve, Mendoza, the Fire Brigade and the tourists in search of fish.) Nor did she probably want to stay on in one forever. For the moment though, it seemed to Wren that Maureen would suit the requirements of The Compass Rose admirably. Her intuition alone was probably worth the price of hiring her on. She was quick-witted and kept her eyes open. Both were qualities that would be needed in abundance as the new restaurant began to feel the stresses of its grand opening. Fernando and Timmy, though exceptional chefs, were temperamental as divas. Wren rolled her eyes heavenwards as she contemplated their weekend arrival. They would need a buffer between themselves and the troupe of young servers to be hired on next.

Maureen could be that buffer.

"It seems to me, Maureen, that a woman of your experience and temperament would be wasted in a run-of-the-mill minimum wage waitress job. I would like to offer you the position of head of serving staff. That means that you will be responsible for scheduling and problem-solving, along with waiting tables as needed. I know it’s a tall order, and the salary is not enough to buy you a private yacht. But I think you might enjoy it."

Maureen hesitated a moment. Wrenna was not sure she could translate the play of emotions on the woman’s fair-skinned but radiant face. With a smile, she wrote down a figure on the back of the cheque for their sorbets and pushed it over the table to Maureen. It was not a huge hourly wage, but it was not the minimum either. And there would certainly be tips; usually quite nice ones in places like this. People on holiday tended to be in a generous mood.

"This is what I can offer you. If you think it’s worth your while, I would love to have you as part of our team." Again she smiled, and looked out over the ocean, giving Maureen time to think. Harve’s boat was over the horizon now. She could not see it, even as a distant speck. "I have to get to the fish market before it closes for the afternoon, and then I have to make those clam fritters I promised Bill for the picnic tonight. How about getting back to me tomorrow with your decision? If you don’t have time to stop by The Compass Rose again, you can just ring me on the phone. It’s hooked up, and there’s an answering machine, of course. I can give you my card with the number...." Wrenna opened a silver card case with a very Victorian looking engraving on it. It was of a wren, surrounded by a garland of flowers. She had found it in an antique market years ago and it was one of her prize possessions.

Maureen asked to have a closer look at the card case. Wrenna saw the smile of pure pleasure that crossed her face as she held it carefully in her hands and studied it as one would study a work of art. This pleased Wrenna. It was clear that Maureen appreciated beauty. She also knew the value of fine things, and treated them with care.

"I’m an incurable romantic,” Wren whispered, and then laughed. "It’s foolish, I know...but life is so much more beautiful that way. Don’t you think?"

 

[artful]

J. W.

Mendoza stayed quite a while. We had a few more beers, sitting outside in a couple of weathered chairs, and watched the dispersion of the crowd that had gathered on The Rose's parking lot. The afternoon sun was hanging low above the distant horizon, and I was beginning to mellow out a bit. Amazing I thought, what a couple of beers could do for a fella'.

Mendoza, as always, wanted me to do a couple of his favorite songs. Not one to pass up an opportunity to stroke "Jenny", when I had guzzled a couple of beers, allowed him to easily twist my arm. I would only be able to do a few,as I could feel the beginnings of a slight rumble in my belly echoing, ~food-food I need food SOON~!

He insisted we go the short distance to The Rose, and sit on the front porch, where the sound would reverberate better than sitting in the open.Giving me an excuse to peer in the windows, and satisfy my tempered curiousity, I agreed. Carrying the battered case with 'Jenny' snuggled tight inside, Mendoza carried what was left of the beer, and we struck out.

Clamoring up the steps, I set the scarred and travel worn case on edge, cupped both hands around my face to cut the reflected glare,and looked inside. The jumbled mess of furniture and miscellaneous boxes scattered about, told me Sally would be serving me meals, at least for a couple more days.

My curiousity satisfied, I turned and struck a deal with Mendoza right away. He favored Waylon Jennings, while my top man was Merle Haggard. I would do the first one for him, the second one for me, and a third one from Hank Williams Sr.,... his choice of course.

I was shocked at how my voice sounded so loudly, against the now quiet and almost empty parking lot of The Rose, as I started singing the first song. I struggled on the Waylon Jennings song, all the way through. The high pitched, strained delivery of his words on most songs, were difficult for me to do with much success, but I kept trying.

Mendoza, urging me to do better said, "C'mon J. W., break out the volume,you are holdin' back on me!" and I knew he was right, so, closing my eyes, I let Merle come out natural and smooth, just the way most of his songs were.

Nowadays, my voice would come and go without warning. Sometimes it cracked and broke, right when it shouldn't. A too silent whisper of a lyric barely breathed, to jump alarmingly quick,to a forced guttural utterance of words yet to be deciphered, by any code known to man. Somehow,... Merle came out well on this attempt, he would have been proud to hear how close I was to "getting it right".

Just as I was finishing up the end of 'Swinging Doors', Mendoza said in a muffled voice, "Uh oh, ...I knew I had stayed too late J. W., shheeeeitt, thats my boss coming back!"

 

[Huntress]

The dreaded Lit database gremlin...

strikes again! This time with a double post... sorry folks. <blush>

 

[Huntress]

Maureen

As they sat in the warm afternoon sun near the bronze mermaid eating their sorbets, Maureen listened thoughtfully as Wrenna offered her the head waitress position, wrote the salary on the back of their receipt and pushed it across the table to her.

"This is what I can offer you. If you think it’s worth your while, I would love to have you as part of our team."

Maureen read the number and her heart skipped a beat. It was a generous amount considering the woman knew next to nothing about her or her previous experience and the restaurant hadn’t even opened. She looked up from the slip of paper at Wrenna’s profile trying to come up with an eloquent response. Instead, she found herself distracted by a sense of joyful bewilderment. What a strange turn of events to actually be in a position of having something she wanted land right in her lap! This was definitely not a situation she was accustomed to and it left her momentarily speechless. She was grateful for Wrenna’s acceptance of her silence as they sat together finishing their sorbets in the shifting, lacy patterns of golden light cast by the sun and the ubiquitous blue gum leaves.

She was relieved when Wrenna suggested she call the restaurant tomorrow with her decision and produced a beautiful sterling silver card case engraved with a small bird surrounded by a wreath of intricately wrought flowers. Opening it, she extracted a business card and gave it to Maureen, who was immediately captivated by the exquisite box.

“Oh! What a lovely case. May I look at it?”

Her interest seemed to please Wrenna; she lifted the small silver box admiring the detail and craftsmanship, smiling in recognition of the wren and it’s link to the woman across the table from her. Romantic it certainly was and Wrenna was also right about beauty’s influence on one’s life. The cottage she’d just rented epitomized that theory. And so did Spyglass Cove. Here in this place, with its open, rough coastline beaten by the cold Pacific and surrounded by the contained splendor of the little garden, she would begin to create herself anew, filling the empty pockets of her spirit with color, light, texture, form and freedom.

Her life had been empty of such inspiration in San Francisco even though she and Richard had lived in a fashionable area of the city where painted ladies were the dominant style of architecture. Despite the amazing rainbow hues and intricate shapes of the Victorians and Queen Anne’s, she was constantly aware of the tall concrete skyscrapers; gaunt grey skeletons and garish stucco facades half a mile off which mutilated the skyline with their imposing, graceless silhouettes. There were days when they seemed to be gloomy sentinels, particularly on days when Richard was selfish or exceptionally demanding of her time and energy for one of his pet projects, that kept her imprisoned within the jagged walls of the citadel.

“Yes, Wrenna. I couldn’t agree with you more. Life is pretty darned empty without beauty,” she replied with a grin, putting the case into Wrenna's palm. “I came to Spyglass Cove thinking I’d be able to find my way back to something I lost a long time ago. I believe I’ve just stumbled upon the second clue to it’s whereabouts. I’d be delighted to take you up on your offer. And you’ll have to trust me on this one but I can’t imagine what I’d do with a private yacht except scuttle it out of sheer pity.”

She was gifted with one of Wrenna’s most charming features; slight dimples which appeared on either side of her mouth when it lifted in a broad smile.

“That’s music to my ears, Maureen. I’m so pleased. You know the restaurant won’t open for another week or so and there are a number of items on my “to do” list that I’d like to ask you to help with…” her sentence trailed off as she looked questioningly at Maureen.

“I’m game. I’ve never been able to resist a challenge. Would you mind if I came along with you to the fish market? It would be great to become more familiar with the amenities of my new home and we can discuss what you have in mind as we walk.”

Wrenna agreed and together they hurried to the wharf, as closing time was not far off. It took a little while, but they finally managed to locate a sufficient number of Pismo clams that met her stringent criteria for freshness and quality. What really impressed Maureen was Wrenna’s skillful bargaining technique. This particular species was no longer common and the vendor was asking a hefty price. Somehow, Wrenna managed to haggle the cost down to half the original amount. A truly astonishing feat! On second thought, it really wasn’t that surprising. She’d personally witnessed the woman’s amazing gift of language this very morning as she told Harve off. Maureen ducked her head to hide the grin that she couldn’t suppress at the memory of Wrenna verbally boxing the captain’s ears. It just would not do to have the boss think she was snickering at her only minutes after having been hired!

They made a few more purchases before heading back to the Compass Rose. On the way, Wrenna told Maureen a little about herself, the restaurant in Europe, coming home to the states, her dream of having her own place and how the Rose was it’s fulfillment. She mentioned her grandmother and her quilts and that she, too, lived in Spyglass Cove. Maureen’s eyes lit up as she heard “quilts” betraying her avid interest. One day when she became better acquainted with Wrenna, she’d ask to meet Mrs. McCardle. When that happened it would be the third milestone in her search.

As they approached the restaurant, a deep voice could be heard singing, And I've got swinging doors... a jukebox... and a barstool…And my new home has a flashing neon sign... Stop by and see me anytime you want to... 'Cause I'm always here at home till closing time… Yeah, I'm always here at home… 'till closing time!

“Say, whoever he is, he’s not bad,” Maureen commented. She gazed over at Wrenna to see if her taste in country music was something she shared and was stunned to see a scowl crease her pretty brow. “What is it? What’s wrong, Wrenna?”

There were two men seated on the Rose’s front porch, a bearded fellow with a guitar and his compadre, who definitely looked as though he’d been caught red-handed doing something he oughtn’t.

“Oooo... She’s going to let them have it with both barrels judging by that storm cloud on her face. Those two are going to wish they were a hundred miles away from here by the time Wrenna gets through with them…”

 

[Huntress]

<----------- Bump ------------>

 

[Nashanabe]

even those who mean the best can make mistakes

*

 

[photographer]

Harvey

Harve swiftly and efficiently cast off and slowly motored away from the compass Rose, heading for the first of his many (jealously guarded) fishing spots.

He was hull down on the horizon, running 'in the green' when he was joined by an exuberant school of dolphins, surfing the bow wave, heads turned to one side to look up at Harve as if to say, "Thanks for the fun, Cap'n"

Harve couldn't resist. Stripping naked he fastened a safety belt around his waist, attached to a lengthy piece of rope which was in turn firmly attached to Nashanabe, and dived overboard to join the dolphins.

It was a dangerous stunt, the only person on board the boat, which was travelling under power, had gone overboard. If the rope should break, Harve would be the only spectator as Nashanabe cruised serenely out of sight!

But he had peformed this particular example of total insanity many times in the past, without mishap. He and the dolphins surfed and swam together, Harve being dragged rather unceremoniously through the water, rather than gracefully swimming, for an hour or so, thoroughly enjoying themselves.

Characteristically, when they felt they had been with him long enough, and with cheerful chirps and whistles, the dolphins bade him farewell and effortlessly out-paced Nashabae as they headed off to who knows where.

Harve was now faced with the task of dragging himself along the rope (thoughtfully knotted at strategic intervals) to reboard the boat.

Soon after his interlude with the 'sea people', Harve slowed and dropped a few lines, sitting back and relaxing for a while as he trolled the waters for fish.

Two hours later, with a substantial catch of Pacific Salmon, Harve pulled the lines and began a long, slow turn to head back to shore.

"See? It's Harve's Magic, old girl. That's what it is! Harve's Magic"

Nashanabe tossed in the swell, appearing to agree with his exuberance at catching such fine fish.

"Now, let's head back, my lovely, and show that lady with the long hair what we can do ..... what was her name? ........ Lark? ........... Dove? Damn! It was something to do with birds ....... or was it cats? ............ or flowers?

No matter - she'll probably fall down in a dead faint anyway, and never realise that I don't know what the hell her name is!"

Nashanabe settled into an easy rhythm as she sliced her way through the swells of the Pacific, showing to anyone who could see just why Harve loved her so much, she may be an antique, but she was built by true craftsmen who knew the ocean, knew all about timber and could draw a fair-line with skill.

"What it is, Nashanabe, my love, is a fatal and magnetic attraction for members of the opposite sex. That's what Harve's Magic is all about!"

Harve laughed out loud, joyously and loudly,

"All these lovely women who just swoon at the very sight of the handsome, witty and charming sea captain. Harvey Piscatorious!"

Nashanabe bucked through a larger than normal swell, tossing her bows.

"OK! OK! So it was only one who actually swooned. But the other one was close to it, you know. I can tell. I know these things. Just you wait and see, you old darling, just you wait and see!"

Harve, chuckling, danced around the cramped wheelhouse, looking forward to seeing the owner of the Compass Rose again, not in the slightest bit concerned at the fact that he had entirely forgotten her name.

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

In Europe, as Wrenna reminded herself, it was not at all unusual for musicians to set themselves up in front of shops or cafés, and sing for the passers-by (usually with a basket or even an old upturned hat in which to collect donations). If she looked at it in that light, she might be able to forgive Mendoza for his appropriation of the two Adirondack chairs on her front patio for himself and...whoever that was sitting beside him, strumming at a battered guitar. She noted that the seabirds who usually perched on her railings were now flying high overhead, wheeling in circles with raucous cries of what she could only imagine to be indignation.

The two men were surrounded with beer cans. Wrenna brought her temper under control with an effort, and looked at Maureen to see how she was reacting to the scene before them. It was hard to tell, but she looked more amused than anything else. There was a distinct twinkle in her eyes.

Mendoza looked seriously worried. He had slumped down in his wooden chair and was avoiding her eyes, clearly not at all certain that his much-vaunted male charisma was likely to get him out of this latest escapade with his job still intact.

His companion, on the other hand, had not so much as looked up to see who was approaching. His mind was clearly on his music, and he went on singing with a soulful intensity that Wrenna had to admire. He was not a particularly handsome man, in a traditional sense. He was as battered as his guitar case, as scuffed as his cowboy boots. But...and this was the part that gave Wrenna pause...with all that, there was something about him that was intrinsically right. He looked like he belonged just where he sat. On my property, scaring my potential customers away. In the words of dear old Nana, this is a pretty kettle of fish!

Of course, he had a face that had clearly seen every honky-tonk between here and Baja. The crinkled skin around his eyes bore witness to too many hours spent in smoky backrooms late into the night; too many highways traversed when only the moon was keeping watch, too many cups of coffee drunk at greasy spoon diners in the middle of nowhere . The tips of his fingers were stained yellow with a lifetime of cigarettes, but there was a certain tenderness in the way he stroked music from his guitar. And yes, the word that came into her mind as she watched him was...stroked.

"Mr. Mendoza, I thought you were gone for the day?" she said, and watched with secret amusement as a deep flush spread slowly over his craggy face, not stopping until it had reached his neck. "Si, Boss, but then I see my friend here. And he ask me to leesten to heem sing." (From the look that passed between the two men, Wrenna got the distinct impression that Mendoza’s account of what had come to pass was probably not very accurate.)

"And drink beer," put in Wrenna with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She did her best to fight this annoying tendency of hers to see the funny side of everything. It would never do to let Mendoza think she was in sympathy with his doings. He was one of those men for whom the phrase "give him an inch and he’ll take it a mile" had been coined.

From the corner of her eye she noticed that the other man, the "friend," was still thoughtfully strumming his guitar, though he had stopped singing. He was looking from her to Maureen in a way that could only be described as appraisingly. In spite of herself, Wrenna blushed, and took a step away, concentrating her attention on Mendoza. She had the strangest apprehension that, peg leg aside, Mendoza might just turn out to be the tamer of the two men.

"And who exactly is your friend, Mr. Mendoza, if I may be so bold?" Maureen asked, folding her arms, and giving Wrenna a wink. Wrenna was instantly grateful to the other woman for thinking to ask for this bit of information. After all, I need to know whose name to give to the police when the time comes. I am not sure why, but somehow I have the feeling that this man is going to be trouble. Big trouble.

With a shock she heard Calla’s voice suddenly drifting through her mind like the ghost of a song. Wrenna, honey, loosen up. Trouble isn’t always a bad thing.

 

[Sigurd]

Carlos Mendoza

Fire was all around him.

Carlos turned around with just enough time to avoid the collapsing mainsail. The fighting was furious as the din of clashed swords struck each other with cold and cruel tone. Looking across the gangplank to the other ship he found her there as always; his mysterious pirate queen.

Carlos could only always recognize her form as she stood within bright and concealing rays of the afternoon sun. She was slender and tall, with long flowing hair which was black in the halo of the flaming sphere though Carlos could not determine if this also was not perhaps an illusion as well.

Fire begin to consume the main deck and forced Carlos to dive into the ocean. As he brought himself back to the surface the cold waters of the Pacific he looked toward the ship of the pirate queen. Standing at the Wheel she saluted him silently, pointing her cutlass toward him as her ship sailed into the distance...Carlos felt his arms begin to tire, and his legs as he slowly submitted to his other mistress, the sea, and fell into the darkness of her embrace.

"No!"

Carlos Mendoza pulled himself from his sleep, drenched in cold sweat. Turning his head quickly around he did not see any burning ships or pirates, just his room with the old captain's bed that his father had purchased from a "Decendants of the Buccaneers" swap meet.

"Third time this week...will it ever end?"

Reaching into a drawer in his bedside table he wrote the dream down, detail by every single detail. He meticulously recreated the scene as he had been doing since he was 16. Now 30, it seemed as if the dream would haunt him for the rest of his life. Instance by instance, something was added to the scenario and with it, the dream became more and more vivid.

Once he had completed the entry he crawled out of bed and walked toward the shower, stopping first to look in the mirror. The weariness of many sleepless nights was on his face and his bleary-eyed stare began to scare even him. After a minute of glaring at the frightful apparition within the mirror Carlos groggily cursed himself for letting things become as bad as they had.

You look like hell,Carlos.

He turned the hot water tap slowly and suddenly stopped. Changing his mind, he turned the cold water tap on full and stepped in.

Midway through Carlos’attempt at rejuvenation, he was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. Quickly jumping from the shower he wrapped the towel tightly around him and walked to the door, shivering and leaving puddles on the carpet from both his body and his drenched long brown hair.

Looking through the peephole, he made out a man dressed in a dark blue uniform.

"Damn...."

As Carlos opened the door he was greeted by the officer.

"Pardon me, but are you Carlos Mendoza?"

Carlos nodded as he continued to listen to the officer.

"I'm officer Rodriguez, I'm looking for your father, Manny Mendoza. Do you know where I can find him?"

Carlos had been involved in many of these conversations in the past. His father had been put in jail for more indecent exposure charges than Carlos cared to count. It had been a thorn in Carlos' side, when he worked with his father at the Buccaneer Barbeque. He had quit when his father was fired because he could not stand the shame. Carlos loved his father greatly, but he nonetheless found the old man’s conduct embarrassing.

"Have you checked for him at home? He was supposed to come by later today, but as you can see I just managed to pull myself out of bed."

Rodriguez then told Carlos about his conversation with Barnacle Joe and the charges that were being pressed by a horrified female customer. Carlos had bailed his father out before, but with both of them lacking paychecks now, there was no way to prevent a jail term this time.

"If I see him officer, I will be sure to tell him that you are looking for him," Carlos said politely, holding back his anger for his father's stupidity.

"OK, Carlos. I will try his place again later on. Thank you for your time, have a good day."

Carlos closed the door and dressed quickly. He knew where his father would be. He would be, as he liked to say, "Searching the rocks for mermaids with an old friend." Manny (Manolito, as he was called in town) had spent the last several nights taking about what he felt would be his new catch: his new employer, Ms. Mallory of the Compass Rose. Carlos could hardly believe the old man’s stupidity sometimes. Tossing on a white shirt and jeans, Carlos reached for his leather jacket and motorcycle helmet. Locking the door behind him he headed to his Night Train

I can't help you this time, Dad, not the way I'd like to. But maybe there is a way. Carlos thought to himself as he turned on Pacific Street heading toward the Compass Rose.

OOC:Greetings to everyone at the Compass Rose. Thank you Niamh for allowing me to be part of the cast. I look forward to writing with all the talented writers that you have so skillfully assembled. I was fortunate enough to find myself a Pre-Raphealite avatar after a great deal of searching.

 

[darrenfate]

Peter

Peter lived his nights and days one after another. He had fallen into the same pattern. Today would be different. With all due apologies to Cervantes, today he would sally forth like a knight of old with his trusty pen looking for unsuspecting people to write about. Brandishing his silver Cross pen like a sword, Peter mockingly parried and thrusted in the afternoon sunshine getting as his Hollywood freinds would have said "into" his character. After a few enjoyable minutes of this nonsense he stopped and headed out the door. On to his mission.

Don Quixote he was not, more like Casper the ghost he thought ruefully. People never looked at him, and he walked down the street as if he were invisible. It was like the time he had gone to a conservative old church and inadvertantly sat in the wrong pew. It was "reserved". To say he got the cold shoulder that day from the regular parishioners would be a gross understatement. He felt like that now. To be ignored was one thing, to have that "edge" to it, quite another.

Then he saw them. The beautiful nameless <so far> redhead and the one called "Wrenna". They seemed lost in their conversation so Peter followed them drinking in every detail in his writer's eye. The way they moved, the light breezy laughter all these things lifted his spirits. Not to mention the sexy way their asses swayed! He saw them approach the house and then visibly stiffen. They confronted two men. Wrenna grew wary then angry.

Peter was too far away to hear the words but body language told the whole story. He found an inconspicuous place and leaned against the building. Pulling out his notebook he started to write. The words poured out thick and rich spilling on his paper in no time at all. Why hadn't Peter thought of this before? He had to do this more often! They had to hurry up and open that damn place they called the Compass Rose. If he was inspired like this, he would be eat there every damn day!

 

[artful]

J.W.

It wasn't that J.W. was actually drunk, he had only drank a six pack, the problem was,...the
number was five more than he normally allowed himself at one sitting.

With a slowness, that seemed so natural to him, J.W. raked his eyes over the two women, who had magically appeared before him.

He seemed to know there had been conversation going on, but for the life of him, he couldn't recall what it had been about.

Snapping his eyes back into focus, he recognised the one who was talking to Mendoza, as one of the women he had seen last night, sexually groping
what he NOW knew was her sister.

Though she displayed a dark countenance, J.W. could only envision her, as one who was determined to chart her own course, whether it be business or
pleasure.

The other woman, appearing also to be middle aged, was quite a looker too.

J.W. had a deja vu feeling, that he had indeed, seen this dark haired beauty elsewhere.

Unable to pin it down, he continued lightly strumming 'Jenny', and wondered if she also was a relative.

He thought to himself, "Hell,...maybe she was a lesbian also!"

No sooner had that thought passed through his
mind, than he heard her say,"And who exactly is your friend, Mr. Mendoza, if I may be so bold?"

Seeing her fold her arms, and slyly wink at the other woman, I could feel the subtle, yet firm
pressure being applied to my friends emotional well being.

Leaping to his rescue, I stood up and introduced myself to the pair, remarking to Wrenna, "I almost feel a part of the family, for I chatted at length with your sister,...late last night on the beach."

Wrenna gave me a questioning look, wondering how on earth I had known SHE was the sister, unless,~I could see the revelation and shock spread across her face,...~"Oh my god", I read her expression... "unless he had seen ME in the window last night."
Staring back at her with steely eyed amusement, mirth dancing down to light upon my *knowing* smile, I grinned as she flushed beet red, and stammered, "Very ni..nice to meet you, ahh,...Mr. ...uh..." Just call me J.W. ma'am, all the rest of my friends do.

 

[captainb]

Bill

After helping Calla bring the new plants into the restaurant, Bill had watched her leave, followed shortly by Wren and Maureen. Suddenly alone in the building, he opened a beer and sat on the porch for several minutes, luxuriating in the relative silence. What a day! False fires, fainting females, crusty captains... his scratchy memories of Spyglass Cove had never included anything like this. He had certainly never expected to see such a bounty of attractive women in one place. Not just attractive: enticing. He'd almost made an ass of himself in front of Calla when they parted. "Nice to see you again," he'd said to her, then immediately thought of her silhouette in the window and started to stammer out a revision as to why he said "again," then remembered that they had met before anyway and what he'd said was perfectly normal. She'd cocked an eyebrow at his reaction, then smiled and drove off with a wave, leaving him certain that he'd once again made an idiot of himself. And isn't that what us guys do best? he thought, finishing off his beer.

It was late afternoon now and Bill felt restless. Too much aimless wandering lately, too much time reliving memories that were not that strong to begin with. We fill in the gaps with what we best imagine, he remembered from one of his psych courses. If you thought too much about it, it was enough to make anyone doubt what they knew. The best solution was to stop trying to make sense of it, and to just let things stew in the subconscious until the mind fit it into a pattern that made sense.

"Fuckin' psych," he muttered. No wonder he hadn't gone near that profession, despite his degree.

He changed into a pair of jean shorts and a t-shirt, picked up his water bottle and made his way back down to the beach, walking barefoot through the cooling sand to the sea cave. This time it was empty, and he slowly entered as his eyes adjusted. It was smaller than he remembered, not a foreboding deep dark cavern but just a hollowed-out chunk of rock that narrowed rather quickly. He found a somewhat comfortable ledge to sit against and stretched his legs in front of him, his feet barely in the thin puddle of water that lay quietly on the sandy floor. The tide was out, and the surf echoed around him in the shadows.

The sound took on a life of its own, and other sounds crept in from the past. He remembered the carnival from his last summer here. The images were mingled with impressions from other fairs and carnivals in his life, but the photograph was a singular event. He and Wren had stuck their faces through a piece of plywood, becoming a mermaid held in the arms of a pirate for the carny's camera. They had gone home with their own copy of the photo and he had looked at it for a long time that night and the next, the first indecipherable sexual feelings welling up in him as he gazed at her pretty face grinning atop that incredibly lush adult body, painted breasts bulging under a thin seaweed bikini top. But his mother was overly protective and he feared what his father would say if he saw the picture. Committing the image to memory, he had carefully torn up the photograph, preferring the secret shame to family ridicule.

Bill shook his head at his younger self's naiveness. Such fear over something so innocent. Wrenna's face swam before him again, now mature and and with knowing eyes. Such eyes, so large and shining, nestled under the mass of soft hair that floated over her shoulders. Unbidden, Calla's face joined his daydream. He saw their similarity, saw the two sisters talk with each other in the Rose, saw their shadows against the upstairs window as they caressed each other. "I'm not a lesbian," she had said. No, Bill thought. Just a woman who loves her sister. He saw both nude bodies turn to him, smiling in invitation, and he encircled both their waists as their warm, soft flesh pressed against his, their hands reaching down to meet as they clasped him firmly...

He looked down at his erection, lying solidly against his thigh under his shorts. "Crap, I need to cool off," he said aloud, and exited the cave to wade into the rolling surf.

Swimming was a welcome distraction, and by the time he dragged himself from the water the sun was a handspan above the horizon. Drying himself off and walking back toward the restaurant gave him time to reflect on what he was doing here, and why he hadn't made plans to move on yet. The indecision was surprising and annoying, and he realized he'd actually enjoyed the brief interview with Maureen. Not only because she was nice to look at and an interview by default put him into a (temporary) position of power, but he'd actually enjoyed the process itself. It all seemed so different from what he knew about restaurants, even knowing that his experience was deep but narrow. What could he really offer the business, he wondered, and was it really a serious interest or only because of this resurrected fantasy about Wren? I could use a good drunk, he thought wryly as he neared the building. Wonder what wine goes well with clam fritters? And what the hell is a fritter anyway?

He rounded the corner in time to hear a bearded man say, "Just call me J.W., ma'am, all the rest of my friends do." The man stood on the porch with Wren and Maureen, with the Mexican (Mendoza?) sitting nearby. The little tabletop was hidden under a pile of beer cans, and an old guitar lay nearby.

"Hello," Bill said as he joined them on the porch. Maureen greeted him and Wren smiled thinly, looking uncomfortably at J.W. He turned to Bill with an easy smile and introduced himself again. As they shook hands, Bill cocked his head. "You drive a van, right?"

"Sure do," said J.W., turning and pointing across the lot to a beat-up cabin nearly hidden among the trees. "Found a better place for it than the parking lot. Although the view isn't quite as good..." This last was said with a glance at Wrenna. Her cheeks flushed and a muscle clenched in her jaw. Instantly, Bill knew that he had seen the women last night too. No wonder he'd parked in the lot!

The sudden throb of a motorcycle cut through the group as the black machine swung into the parking lot. Mendoza quickly stood, seeming agitated as the cycle coughed into silence, the driver looking them over from behind his shadowed helmet.

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

No wonder they call it Spyglass Cove, Wrenna thought to herself as the heat of her blush made its way slowly down from her cheekbones to the tops of her breasts. Everyone in this damned town is a Peeping Tom!

She gave J.W. a look like an expletive and wondered at his lack of decency. Any other man would have pretended not to have seen anything going on between Calla and herself. Her eyes shifted momentarily to Bill as he approached their little group. Well...maybe not. Damn.

Maureen was looking at her a little curiously. Clearly she had no idea what J.W. was talking about, and if Wren had any say-so in the matter, it would stay that way. She had just offered the poor woman a job at the Compass Rose. All she needed now was for Maureen to suspect her motivations!

Now that Bill had returned, she found with a pang that she had missed him. She also noticed, with amusement, that his hair was wet and his jean-shorts were dripping water on the asphalt beneath his bare feet. Had he been swimming? She suddenly wanted to step forward, oblivious to everyone around them, and suck the sea-water from the ends of his hair. Clearly he had been down at the beach without a towel. His skin was still wet, and his T-shirt was plastered against his body.

He was standing a few paces away from the rest of the group, and on pretence of giving him the bag of clams she was carrying, she pressed momentarily close. "Can you put these in the fridge for me, Bill? I have some business to attend to with Mr. Mendoza here, and I don’t want these clams to spoil."

As he took the bag from her she lowered her voice, her mouth so close to his ear that she could smell the tang of the ocean that remained on him after his swim. "Silly. You should have taken a towel down there with you."

"I...did not really expect to go swimming," Bill said, looking strangely abashed. Wrenna started to giggle, though even as she did it she realised he had not said anything particularly funny. Her laughter was the product of sheer high spirits. She liked him. She really did. She liked knowing that she would cook a meal for him tonight, and that they would light a fire on the beach and sit there as they had done so long ago. She felt as she had as a little girl, when there was going to be something special for dessert, like fresh peach pie or strawberry shortcake. The whole afternoon wore the bright tint of anticipation. She wanted to find their old, tentative intimacy again, and shrug it on like a favourite sweater. Maybe it would only be tonight, but tonight it would be hers. It would be like an oasis on the long, empty journey her life had been thus far.

For no good reason, she kissed him on the cheek, scraping the tender flesh of her mouth on the stubble that, since morning, had already roughened his jaw. His skin was cold from the water, lightly pebbled with gooseflesh. Still laughing, she reached out to rub her hands briskly up and down his arms. It was a ruse. She knew it, and he probably did too. She wanted to touch him, and any excuse at this moment was enough.

"I can hardly wait to hear what made you decide to jump in," she murmured with a wink, and then turned her head to face the others again. Bill stood just behind her, and she had to fight herself not to lean back against him; to make contact with his skin. Enough is enough, Wrenna. Maybe what you need to keep you out of mischief is a little time alone before your dinner tonight. Your thoughts are going places that they shouldn’t. Maybe you’re the one who should have taken a cold plunge into the ocean.

"And now, Mr. Mendoza,” she said sternly, both hands on her hips. “I think you have a little explaining to do."

Deliberately she avoided catching the eye of J.W., who had started to strum his guitar again, but whose expression told her he had guessed at least half of what was on her mind.

Before she could go on, however, her voice was drowned out by the sudden arrival of a motorcycle that shot into the parking lot and skidded to a stop just a few feet short of Maureen. Gravel sprayed her ankles and she stepped backwards, reaching out an arm to pull Maureen out of harm's way.

A movement at her side brought her eyes back to Mendoza. He was getting out of his chair, and his agitation showed her that he clearly knew who the newcomer was.

It figures, Wrenna thought to herself wryly. I bet I’ve got half the regulars from the Crimefighters page in my parking lot right now.

Nobody said a word; and then the rider tore off his helmet, shaking back his long black hair.

"Come to spoil my fun again, Carlos?" said Mendoza.

 

[Sigurd]

Carlos

"Have you come to spoil my fun again Carlos?"

Carlos placed his helmet under his arm as he looked to the two dark haired beauties next to the man. Both of them were slender with piercing eyes. The curves of their bodies were much like stones on a shore sculpted by the sea wave; chiseled by nature to a perfect shape. Carlos wrestled back control of his mind back from his male instincts and returned to the task at hand.

"Excuse me for interrupting everyone.” Carlos stopped and looked at the stones around the feet of the dark haired girl “I’m sorry Señora, I didn’t mean to do that!” Carlos cursed himself for making a bad impression at the very beginning, and a bad impression to a woman at that! Once he was finished with his self-abashment, he looked toward Manolito.

“Dad, we need to talk."

"Haven't I taught you any manners Mijo?!" Manolito said in a gruff voice as he began to stand, but his strength waned from the vast consumption of alcohol and he toppled twice before raising himself to a stable stance. After an uncouth belch, he spoke again.

"This...is my son Carlos everyone. The man with the guitar here is my old friend Michael Jacob Wilson, this is my boss Señora Mallory, and her friends... Manolito scratched his forehead as a look of confusion spread over his face.

"I'm sorry, I don't know you..or you." Pointing at the black haired girl and the man next to her.

With that, Manolito slunk back into his chair.

Carlos extended his hand to J.W and Señora Mallory in turn and made his own formal introduction to the others, who he learned were named Bill and Maureen.

In the past years Carlos had tried to concentrate on reading peoples’ faces as they walked by him on the beach, on the street or in a mall. His self-taught craft aided him a few times in his life during late night card games with friends, but it was not for this reason that he attempted to grasp such a skill. No, it was because he was an artist and searched for inspiration in everything that he encountered. Beauty, tragedy, love and sorrow could all be found in a single afternoon by one who was willing just to sit on the beach and watch. Here, in these three, he found much to analyze: pain, fear, excitement and unspoken emotion. Especially in the women, both the raven haired woman named Maureen (who was as interesting as she was attractive) while Ms. Mallory seemed to brim with an intriguing mix of caution, excitement and some emotion that was locked away. But he had not the time to look into this right now. He had something that had to be done before he could look into any curiosities of his own .

"Nice to meet all of you. I beg your forgiveness but I need to have a word with my father. I look forward to perhaps having the chance to speak will all of you later."

Carlos crossed his arms and waited as Manolito rose shakily from his chair and began to follow him. Once far enough away from the crowd so that little of their conversation could be heard, Carlos turned to his father.

"You've done it this time," said Carlos with a stern eye.

Manolito looked up at his son.

"What the hell are you jabbering about? I didn't do anything. You should stay out of your father's business. This fishing hole already has a line in!" said Manolito with a toothy grin.

Carlos lost his temper at the accusation and his voice echoed in the quiet parking lot.

"Go to hell dad!"

Realizing that he was loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear him he corrected his volume and calmed himself down.

"The cops came knocking on my door this morning. Seems a customer or two have pressed charges for your stupidity at the Buccaneer Barbeque!"

Manolito looked at his son in dismay as Carlos continued.

"We don't have the money to bail you out this time and you know it. You have two choices. Go and stay with Margarita (a prostitute that Manolito had met in his earlier years in a brothel in Tijuana and with whom he had maintained close contact), or else go to jail. Either way, your employment at the Compass Rose is not going to happen."

Manolito stomped his foot, and nearly fell over.

"Jesus, can no one appreciate a gesture of affection anymore? Sheeeeiiit." Manolito fell silent for a time and then with a heavy sigh he continued. "Fine, I'm getting out of here. Tell J.W. that I had something that I forgot to do and don't speak a word of this to anyone. Comprende?"

Carlos, closed his eyes for a moment to avoid a vocal explosion toward his father.

"You're not the one calling the shots here. Get out of here and let me do what I have to do. Comprende?"

Manolito glared at his son for a moment attempting to find a retort to his statement, but not since Carlo's childhood had he been successful in staring down those stern and commanding eyes.

"Si, comprendo. Take care Mijo, and no matter what happens to me, I love you."

Carlos turned a wry grin, as he handed his father $20 for a taxi home.

"Yeah, yeah, cut the sentimental shit and get out of here."

Manolito looked to either side of him and made his way to a pay phone just outside the parking lot.

Taking a deep breath, Carlos turned back toward the Compass Rose. He waited for a break between the guitar strumming and the hushed tones before he spoke.

"Again, I apologize, but my father, he...had some things to take care of. J.W, here is my address if you want to get in touch with him, he had to go out of town for a few days." Carlos handed him a business card with a drawing of a mermaid twirling a finger through her hair on a rock with a dragon flying overhead. On the card were the words printed in silver against a black background.

SEA DRAGON
ART AND TATTOOS
"Come let your dreams be seduced"
Carlos Mendoza, Owner
10 Tidal Way, Spyglass Cove


Carlos reached into his pocket and produced more cards.

"I do not know if this would interest any of you or not, but please accept this as a token of our meeting."

Carlos then handed a card to Ms. Mallory, Maureen and Bill. He then turned to the woman his father introduced as Ms. Mallory

"Señora Mallory, could we arrange a time to talk? I have something very important that I need to discuss with you. I'm sure you are busy with the restaurant and if today is not a good day, please just call me at the number on the card whenever you do have time?"

Carlos slowly looked back over to Maureen and found himself being caught in the glance by her own eyes. Quickly averting his eyes he returned them back to Señora Mallory awaiting her answer.

 

[artful]

J.W.

It had been a fortunate move,for me to lay 'Jenny'
down,as I stood to introduce myself to the ladies.
No sooner had I straightened up,than the six beers hit me like six bulls in a rodeo, all at the same time. I managed to make it through the introductions, but only by the skin of my teeth.

I was particularly grateful for the sudden appearance of a man,who seemed to be a rather calm fellow, who introduced himself simply as Bill. Shaking his hand, he asked,"You drive a van, right?" I replied,"Sure do, but I found a better place for it than the parking lot." Hesitating for effect, to look at Wrenna I added, "Although the view isn't quite as good..."

On hearing my response, Bill paused the action of slapping the sand off the bottom of his feet, and looked up to view the instant chagrin spread across Wrenna's face. I saw the tug of a smile work silently, at the corners of his mouth, as he took in the double entendre, meant for Wrenna only.

Instantly I took a liking to his manner, as he said nothing, but I could tell, 'HE KNEW'!! As I reached for 'Jenny', to sit back down, I wondered to myself, "Could Bill have been upstairs also last night?"and, "Was it a threesome event?"
Chuckling to myself, I thought, "Hell J.W., you had better sit down before you fall down," and sank down to the safety of my chair. Swinging the guitar onto my lap, I noticed Maureen looking at me with curiousity, while Wrenna was shooting daggers at me, in rapid fire succession. I dared only a glance at Wrenna, figuring I had better not push my luck, and hoped to at least somehow end up with a friendly neighbor.

Maureen on the other hand was an eyeful I couldn't resist. Her arms had remained folded throughout the entirety of the introductions, except for when she smoothly unlaced them to shake my hand. Her countenance was a bit perplexed, and she was appraising all the subtle undercurrents,of the conversation between Wrenna, Bill and myself.
Knowing she was missing SOME of the underlying meanings, but unable to decipher just exactly what was taking place, she remained quiet and took it all in. I could tell, THIS was a very intelligent woman,...THIS gal didn't miss a thing, she was sharp as a tack, and not one to be trifled with. We exchanged appraising looks, and we both knew what each of us were doing. She was somehow stronger willed than I was, as I was the first to look away.

"Maybe it was her innocence that made her strong," I thought, "or maybe it was my depravity that made me weaker. No matter, she had won, and she knew it too!"

Nervously I began to strum my guitar, and I was rescued from my plight by the, one of a kind sound of a big Harley. The throbbing machine came to a sliding halt near the ladies and, no sooner had Wrenna reached out in a protecting grasp toward Maureen, than the rider killed the engine and tore off his helmet.

Mendoza greeted the newcomer with, "Come to spoil my fun again, Carlos?" Wanting to just slink away unnoticed, I knew I had better not try, for I was too unsteady on my feet to make an exit without having at least ONE mishap.

I tuned out the rest of the conversation, and concentrated on making myself invisible, till I could muster the courage to go back to my cabin.
Feeling more than hearing the growling rumble in my belly, I somehow also needed to devise a plan to get something to eat. Tucking my chin down against my chest, I began to lightly stroke my guitar hoping that somehow,Maureen would not think I was too bad a character. Maybe even get to know her a little better!

 

[captainb]

Bill

Bill watched the exchange between Mendoza and Carlos, but paid no more attention to what they said than he did to the bag of clams in his hands. He actually found part of his mind listening to J.W.'s nonchalant strummings while the rest looped through the brief scene with Wren. The public kiss was a surprise. He'd been momentarily embarrassed, then found himself smiling as she giggled and rubbed his arm. She'd seemed glad to see him, really glad to see him. He didn't remember seeing someone's eyes light up the way hers had. Then she had leaned in close. Her breath touched his ear as she softly spoke and caused a chill to run down his back, surging straight to his groin. She'd looked at him under lowered lashes as her hands touched his arm, and her tongue had briefly flicked out for a drop of water that was on her lip, probably from his hair. He'd said something to her, then stood and watched her profile as she swung back toward Mendoza.

Carlos' return snapped him out of his reverie, and he looked at the card. Tattoos, huh? Hmm. He'd never had a tattoo, but possibilities seemed to be opening new vistas everywhere and he pocketed the card, which reminded him of how wet his shorts still were.

"Thanks, it was nice to meet you. I'll, um, I'll go put these things in the fridge." This last was to Wren, and he nodded at the others and padded around to the back porch. There, he rinsed the sand off his feet and stepped inside. Tucking the bag of clams in the back of the refrigerator, he downed a glass of water, then grabbed another beer and trotted upstairs to strip off his clothes and step into a steaming hot shower.

 

[Huntress]

Maureen Catlin

Recognition slowly dawned on Maureen. The full beard, the appraising, frank stare – it was the fellow in the van! The one she’d gotten ‘up close and personal’ with this morning. At least, the rear view mirror had become pretty friendly with her bosom as she tried to squeeze between it and another car. There was something about those dark eyes raking her from stem to stern that was unnerving but, at the same time, oddly non-threatening. She winked at him conspiratorially as she turned her attentions to Mendoza, knowing that her own eyes could turn to ice in a twinkling and probably would as she prepared to back up her new employer.

Wrenna’s reaction was tamer than she’d expected, even humorous, as Mendoza introduced his companion as J.W. No need for the ‘ice maiden’ act this time. And with Bill’s appearance she completely switched gears, becoming quite distracted. Maureen’s intuition and observation of their interchange told of a strong attraction between the two which had yet to be addressed by either one. Silently she wished them both good fortune and the courage to tackle their mutual affection.

She’d decided she liked Bill. He was calm and steady, didn’t puff himself up and had shown such an easy manner during their first conversation she’d relaxed immediately. His questions were direct and to the point, but not curt and he definitely knew the restaurant business. Yes, she definitely thought he had a lot going for him. She hoped some of his calm would rub off on the day to day operations – if the degree of agitation today was any indication of the future, it would be sorely needed. Don’t wait, you two. Grab that moment for whatever it’s worth!

J.W. on the other hand was tough to pin down. At first brazen, then almost shy after they’d shaken hands, he’d averted his eyes quickly and gone back to strumming his guitar. Maureen was sure of one thing, his story was filled with adversity and probably a lot of loneliness. That awareness tugged at her heartstrings – the reaction was achingly familiar – and triggered a wariness within. She had a definite weakness for hard-cases like J.W., her father had been one such and she’d have to be awfully careful around J.W. or she’d wind up resurrecting those old habits; taking care of someone else at the expense of her own well-being.

The capacity to ‘read’ people was a lifelong curse and blessing. It allowed her to mold her external façade to almost any situation and guard her true feelings – but it also made her appear unapproachable. Her husband had taken great advantage of this talent, quizzing her after cocktail parties about what she thought of this client and that prospective client. She’d been flattered initially because it seemed Richard had really needed her for something more than her ability to look good and make polite conversation at these events. It didn’t take long to discover that he considered it just another “asset” in his portfolio to use as he saw fit.

Mendoza made his lame explanation just as a huge bike rumbled into the lot. Wrenna grabbed her arm, pulling her back as the rider skidded to a stop in the gravel at the edge of the walkway inches from where she’d been standing. As the young man removed his helmet, Maureen’s breath caught in her throat and her knees suddenly felt like jello. My God, no man should be allowed to look like that. That face… those eyes…

He apologized for his abrupt arrival and Mendoza chided him for his lack of manners, then introduced the man as his son, Carlos. Maureen looked at the two and decided that Carlos’ mother must have been the one with the looks in the family since he bore only a vague resemblance to his father – they had the same square jawline. Where Manolito’s Yaqui ancestry was obvious in the flat planes of his cheeks and brow, Carlos’ deep set eyes and aquiline nose were evidence of Castilian heritage, a legacy of the invaders from Spain who’s quest for Aztec gold had left deep scars on the land and cast their seed amongst the peoples of Mexico centuries before. It was astonishing that even today, the strength of their bloodline had not lost it’s influence.

She found herself staring at Carlos agape and closed her mouth promptly, turning her attention back to Mendoza, Sr. Get a grip, Mo. Don’t be such an idiot. He’s much too young to be interested in you and you know damned well that those romantic notions of yours just get you into more hot water than you can handle. Maureen was relieved when father and son moved away to converse privately. It gave her an opportunity to collect her thoughts and regain some of her lost composure.

Leaning so that her face was close to Wrenna’s, she whispered, “Well, Wrenna, if today is any indication, The Compass Rose is going to be a very exciting place to work. Tell me, do you think Mr. Wilson’s talents could be described as Art with Heart? He might really shine when he’s sober.” She grinned at Wrenna’s surprised look and patted her shoulder reassuringly. The tongue-in-cheek suggestion was merely that. A suggestion… with possibilities.

The Mendozas appeared to have concluded their conversation with Manolito heading off toward town and Carlos returning to the porch steps where she stood with the others. He apologized to J.W. for his father’s sudden departure, handed out his business cards and began speaking to Wrenna. Maureen took the proffered card and when she read the name of his shop, felt ridiculously pleased with herself. She’d guessed rightly that he had a creative bent. It fit. The intensity of his gaze, the rebellious length of his hair and the motorcycle, everything about him fairly screamed, I’m an artist, a sensitive soul, a wild, untamable creature and I’ll do whatever I damned well please! Without realizing it, she’d begun staring at Carlos again and suddenly found herself caught by his remarkable eyes. As he quickly averted his gaze, she felt her cheeks start to burn; pink becoming crimson as her embarrassment heightened.

Maureen coughed to hide her discomfiture and excused herself, saying, “Wrenna, I’m sorry. I really have to run. I need to go back to the hotel and start making arrangements to have my things sent down from San Francisco before the storage company closes for the day. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can talk more about the job then. Nice to meet you all. Bill? Thanks for putting in a good word for me with the boss.” Impulsively, she pecked Wrenna’s cheek, grinned awkwardly at J.W. and Bill while completely avoiding eye contact with Carlos and hurried off toward the street. Only when she was several blocks away did she slow her pace and reflect on what must have seemed a hasty exit. She hoped Wrenna and Bill would forgive her and that Carlos, if she ever ran into him again, would forget how blatantly she’d admired him.

You goose, Maureen. You act like such kid sometimes! Get your mind back to business, right now. Honestly. You need a man in your life like you need a hole in the head!

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

Wrenna found it very hard to believe that the young man on the motorcycle was related to Manolito Mendoza. To be sure, he had the same teak-dark skin and sleek black hair, but that was where all similarity stopped. Carlos Mendoza was a well-mannered, soft-spoken man who seemed, if anything, a little shy in the presence of women. For all that, he was also extremely handsome. His body was hard and muscular; his face strong, but finely-featured. She could imagine him belonging to one of the noble old families of Mexico. She could not imagine him taking after his father in any appreciable way.

Unless her eyes very much deceived her, Maureen was similarly impressed. And who could blame her? Carlos was a little young, of course. Probably not even thirty. But he already owned his own business (not an easy feat in a town like Spyglass Cove, where rents were high and space at a premium. Clearly he was shrewd as well as sexy). Wrenna could not resist a glance at Maureen to see if the same thoughts were crossing the other woman’s mind. One could never tell how the age difference would affect a given person. Some women would not even look at a man who was a year younger than they were. But Maureen was definitely smiling, and the light in her eyes seemed to indicate that she genuinely liked what she was seeing. I’m an incurable romantic. I can’t help myself. I want to see people happy! Wrenna thought to herself, and then looked over at Bill.

Unfortunately, her moment of happiness was cut abruptly short when she began to hear bits and pieces of the conversation between father and son. The words police and indecent exposure and Mexico were especially ominous. And when the elder Mendoza suddenly sprinted off to find a taxi, she found herself staring after him with her mouth open and her hands clenched into fists.

Somehow I know that I have just become short one grill-cook for the lunch shift. It serves me right for hiring Barnacle Joe's Trojan horse!

She turned around again to see if Bill had caught any of the conversation. He looked at her and shrugged. Behind him, the sky above the sea was growing very dark. A pile of low, dense clouds were glowering over the suddenly lustreless water. There was a smell of ozone in the air. As always on the day of a picnic – approaching storm! It’s not fair! First Mendoza, and now my plans for the night. I sure hope the rest of my days in Spyglass Cove are a lot less eventful than this one has been.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice close to her ear. Carlos Mendoza was asking her for an appointment to talk something over. Here it comes. The bad news about his father. Wrenna steeled herself for the worst and then rather distractedly suggested that they meet the next afternoon. She was rewarded by a firm shake of the hand and then he was off towards his motorcycle, saying something about approaching rain and the need to get back to his shop.

For a moment Wrenna’s eyes shifted to J.W., still strumming his guitar serenely, as though unaware that her personal sky was about to cave in. His own eyes, interestingly enough, were on Maureen. And with J.W., a glance was like a groping from head to toe. He was a particularly...virile man.

Wrenna sighed and shook her head. I can see that every male diner in Spyglass Cove is going to be asking to be seated at Maureen’s table before long, she thought to herself. Suddenly she was smiling in admiration. I bet she ends up making more in tips than the rest of us get in salary. If I’m not mistaken, even Harve was a bit smitten.

Oh well, it will be good for business.

She thought about Maureen’s whispered joke about Art with Heart. Could she be serious? She thought diners would want to listen to J.W.’s caterwauling about the hardships of broken-down marriages and broken-down trucks as they dipped into their fish and chips? He did have a certain charisma. His voice was not technically brilliant, but neither was Waylon’s or Willie’s. Maybe the idea had possibilities. She’d be sure to ask Bill what his take on it was.

Maureen kissed her goodbye, and she thought she could hear a collective sigh from the men. She stifled a giggle, knowing they probably all wished at that moment that they were in her shoes. Bill said his goodbyes likewise and disappeared through the door of the Compass Rose, bearing his burden of clams. Wrenna once more eyed the sky, trying to make a prediction about the weather. It did not look good. She wondered if there might be alternatives to a picnic.

“See you later. I’ve got some clam fritters to make. It was wonderful meeting you, Mr. Wilson. See you tomorrow, Mr. Mendoza. Call me in the morning, Maureen!”

The first drops of rain kissed her cheek, gentle as apple blossoms falling from a tree. Her heart sank.

The best laid plans of mice and men....

 

[Sigurd]

Carlos Mendoza

"Yes, Señora Mallory, that will be fine. I will see you here tomorrow afternoon then? I should get back. Thank you again."

Carlos shook Wrenna's hand and she turned to enter the Compass Rose. Once again, Carlos found his eyes set on Maureen. This fine sculpture of nature before him began to stir not only his personal feelings but his artistic inspiration as well. Despite his attempts to keep his feelings in check, he could not take his eyes off of her for longer than a minute.

Something about her served as kindling for a flame beginning within him. He knew her from somewhere. Her voice was a gentle song that gripped his heart with a word, a grip that would not let go but, Carlos thought to himself, would he want it to? He turned away toward his bike, attempted to find words to say to her.

She was older than him, but Carlos' attraction was always toward older women; more mature, more intriguing more...experienced. Beauty that is formed more from within than without was found in older women. Younger women he found were far too vain and contained no appreciation for themselves or their own bodies. Older women had blossomed into what he called "True Beauty" and it was in this that he often found his inspiration.

But, in Maureen he could see far more than that.

His thoughts shifted to his recurring dream and to his mysterious mistress of the night.

I could always recognize her form when she stood within the bright and concealing rays of the afternoon sun. She was slender and tall, with long flowing hair which was black in the halo of the flaming sphere....

Carlos ran the thought over and over in his mind. Slowly, a mental transformation began to occur. He began not to see Maureen as she was, wearing her casual attire and standing on the veranda of the Compass Rose, but instead saw her standing atop the main deck of a ship under full sail. It was she that stood with her arms crossed gazing at him in the blinding light of the sun. Her long hair, was as black as midnight. And it was then that Carlos thought Perhaps it was not an illusion at all.

Perhaps Maureen was the woman from his dream.

As Carlos turned around back toward the Compass Rose, confident in his arrangement of his thoughts, he realized with much shock and dismay that Maureen had left and only her shadow could been seen in the distance. Suddenly, the distant rumbling of a storm was heard on the horizon.

Instinctively, Carlos tossed his helmet on quickly and hopped on his Harley, kicked on the engine, and headed out of the parking lot at at breakneck speed.

She shouldn't be walking in this! Right, that's what you'll say. But, you can't let this woman just walk out of your life without at least trying to say something to her or you'll drive yourself mad, and you know it.

The rain began to fall in cold sheets as the form of Maureen drew near. Carlos flicked open his visor and called out above the sound of the merciless rain.

"Wait, Señora!"

Carlos gripped his brakes tightly skidding the cycle to a stop a few steps ahead of her

Maureen turned around and looked toward Carlos. With her ethereal voice of an angel she asked,

"Is everything alright?"

Carlos let words fall from his mouth without thought, without discretion.

"Can I offer you a ride?”

 

[artful]

J.W.

It was, "another day gone," thought J.W., "the sun
is gone, Mendoza is gone, the beer was gone, and that also, is what J.W. ought to be,...GONE!", but he wasn't, and he knew why,...he just didn't want to face up to it.

His best was behind him, all the rest would be downhill, and no one to comfort his tired and aching body, when he went home. Home, humphhh, would he ever have one,...maybe,... maybe not, but one thing for sure,...Spyglass Cove was the end of the ride. J.W. was not gonna go any farther!

He had all his eggs in one basket, and he would need to carefully, watch each step along the way. If he was going to get the basket home, without breaking any of the eggs, he couldn't afford to stumble.

The rain was a welcome excuse, to keep him from having to leave the protection of the covered porch, and at least the nearness of two souls inside.

J.W. had not met Carlos before today, but he could tell by the way Carlos had handled the interchange between all he had spoken to, and an apparent crisis with his father, the young man deserved all the bragging Mendoza had done in the past.

Many nights, Mendoza had drank himself into a stupor, but not one had passed where he had not praised his eldest son. I wondered if Carlos really knew how much his father loved him, over the years, how much he had sacrificed, to give him the environment, to become the man that he was.
One could readily see the energy and passion that lurked within him, barely concealed by his manners.

He had offered me his card and said, "Again, I apologize, but my father, he...had some things to take care of. J.W, here is my address if you want to get in touch with him,he had to go out of town for a few days".

I could feel the sincerity in his voice, as his eyes softened towards me, but I could also sense the disappointment he felt towards his father. Maybe no one but I, would ever know the battles that Mendoza had fought and won, but for every can of beer he hoisted to his lips, there had been one more mexican lifted from the cruel arms of poverty, to stand upright on their own two feet.

No,...Mendoza was not a Saint,far from it,...he
was a free spirit, but he cared as much for the future as he did the present. Today, he only did what other men were cowards about,he *LIVED*life.

The man made laws were a ruse, that preyed heavily on the 'lower class' peoples, of who he had championed for all his life. One day, when my heart was filled with Mendoza, I would write a song about him.

My voice often failed me, once in a while I couldn't for the life of me find the chord I searched for on 'Jenny', but when the time was RIGHT,...the tune and the lyrics would fuse together, and become inseparable. Today however, was not Mendoza's day, it was J.W.'s.

The words sprang from his brain to his mouth as easily as water runs downhill. Closing his eyes, he made a little finger run, up and back the smooth neck of the guitar, and eased into............................

Wellllll, itzanuther day gawwwn, ann et wohnt be lawng, tihl a'hm sittin' adda tabel wihth yoo,
Weeeal lissin to thuh bann while I hold yer hand, ann sippin' onna cole wahn toooo,

Ahh doan NEED anuther chance tuhmake a NEW romance, cuz baby yer wahn uvva feuuuu, Ain't nuthun in thuh wurld lihka blue eyed gurl, fer ah good maaan to come hoam tooooo. Wen thuh sun ghoes dowhn ann no wahns aroun', wee kun whispur ar 'I luv yooos', I kun eeez yer pain wen ya git allotta rain, aint nuthun' but ah bug eyed fool,

Awl thuh peeple will wunder at thuh looks weer givin', ann thuh sparkle in your eyes so blue,

Ihhhf I nevur hav anuther it'll be awlright, 'cuz I knowe yer luvvin' me troooooo,

Ahhh doan need anuther chance tuhmake a NEW romance, cuz baby yer wahn uvva feuuuu, ain't nuthun in thuh wurld lighka blue eyed gurl, for ah good maaan to come hoam tooooo. When thuh sun ghoes dowhn ann no wahns aroun', wee kun whispur ar 'I luv yooos', I kun eeez yer pain wen ya git allotta rain, aint nuthun' but ah bug eyed fool.

The words came together to form the most natural lyrics, as they always did, when that something inside him fought for release. He knew he was a good song writer, no,...he knew he was one of the BEST country song writers since Hank Williams Sr.!
The problem was,...SO FUCKING WHAT!!!

J.W. had fully intended to finish the song, but one of the things he had excelled in combat training of Moshimbwa, was the ability to sense someones attention being focused on him.

He now felt that ~tingle~, alerting him he was being observed. His fingers froze on the guitar, and his voice halted, just as he was about to enter another verse.

 

[Niamh]

Wrenna Mallory

From inside the Compass Rose, Wrenna looked out the window. Sure enough, J.W. was still out there, sprawled in his Adirondack chair, softly playing his guitar. She looked across the parking lot to the clump of trees on the edge of the bluff, where apparently he had rented a house of some sort. Clearly there had been some machinations on the part of the senior Mendoza. Main Street was definitely not zoned for residential use. Could he be living in the old general store?

She could remember the ramshackle wooden structure from her childhood. In fact, she and Bill had often gone there after school to spend their puny allowances on Walnettos and Cracker Jack. (Bill had also liked wax sugar lips, she remembered with a giggle.) According to Nana, Chester Wiggins, the original owner, had been dead since 1992. There was so much work needed to bring the building up to code, that for years no business had wanted to take it on. The weathered clapboard structure was such a landmark on Main Street though that the Spyglass Cove Historical Society had finally decided they wanted it given protected status. How Mendoza had managed to sweet talk his way into such a place on behalf of his friend J.W. was anybody’s guess. Maybe the fact that Spyglass Cove currently had a lady mayor had something to do with it.

Wrenna shook her head and lifted her eyes to the sky. No doubt about it. The rain was not going to let up. Her mind went over possible alternatives for the evening picnic with Bill. She was not really sure that he would be disappointed if they had to call it off until another day, but they did have to eat somewhere, after all. Should they go out to a restaurant somewhere in town? Should she cook a meal indoors?

Wrenna could not explain precisely why she wanted dinner to be so special. It was not as though Bill were a stranger. Though in a way he was. He was both familiar and strange to her, and the combination was inexplicably exciting. On the one hand, she did not trust men easily and usually put them off with a firm but cordial no whenever one tried to get too close to her. On the other hand, there was about Bill such an air of gentleness and shared memories that she could not help herself from being a little careless around him. God only knew what Maureen and the others had thought when she went so far as to kiss him, as though he were a boyfriend from way back. Or Bill himself. What had he thought?

With a blush she remembered the sudden hardness she had felt beneath his wet jeans-shorts when she pressed close to tell him he ought to have thought to take a towel down to the beach with him. Of course she knew it was only a natural physiological response; he had been travelling for who knows how long and probably had not had a woman for some weeks. Still, she could not deny that the hot swell pressing against her thigh had awakened a similar sexual longing in herself. Would it be wrong, she wondered, if she encouraged him? It might not be the wisest course, given her recent thoughts about offering him work at the Compass Rose. The situation was complicated enough with her just being an old friend. If his prospective boss also became his lover, even fleetingly, things might get a little too tough too handle. Owner of Compass Rose Charged by Employee in Sexual Harrassment Case was not a headline she really wanted to read in The Spyglass Cove Gazette.

J.W.’s plaintive singing on the other side of the window drifted into her thoughts.

If I never have another it’ll be alright, 'cuz I know you’re loving me true.
I don’t need another chance to make a new romance, 'cuz baby, you’re one of the few.

In spite of herself she had to smile. He was singing so soulfully that she did not think he was even conscious of the rain or the fact that he was sitting alone on a restaurant patio on Main Street with cars rushing by and muddy water splashing up from the gutter noisily. He was in his own world, his own music, his own memories. Oh hell, now she was starting to go sentimental. In another minute she’d be opening up the patio door and asking him if he wanted some hot coffee to help sober him up.

Art with Heart. Well, you advertised for it and you found it. J.W. is all that and more.

Wrenna reached down into the blue and white porcelain umbrella stand that stood beside the door. It was full of umbrellas, mostly donated by Nana for the use of tourists who might stop by the Compass Rose for lunch and end up stranded because of rain. She had bought them all at local yard sales for dimes and quarters, and if they disappeared forever, it was nothing to worry about. Wrenna had thought it a very nice touch when her grandmother had suggested it. Just one more little way of announcing that the Compass Rose was a friendly place where comfort and cheer were number one priorities.

She selected the most masculine one she could find. It was a mellow brown colour, and in excellent shape. Pushing the door open gently, she stepped out onto the patio and smiled. J.W. got to the end of his song and only then did she venture to speak.

"I could not help noticing, J.W., that you’re kind of stranded up here, because of the rain. I thought you might want an umbrella."

She smiled again, and held the umbrella out. J.W. looked at her a little blankly, but took what she offered with a polite touch of his hand to his cowboy hat.

Wrenna stepped back and studied him a minute, with her head tipped to one side. A cold wind was blowing up from the beach, and she was shivering as the skirt of her dress was lifted high up her legs.

"I was also thinking...that you might want to sing here at the Compass Rose. I can’t pay you that much, but you’ll get some good tips, I think. Why don’t you mull it over and give me your answer tomorrow morning?"

Again she looked over her shoulder at the grey ocean, now tossing wildly and flecked with foam.

"I have to get inside now and start cooking supper. But since we’re neighbours, you might like to come over for breakfast around nine?"

He mumbled something that she hoped was an acceptance and touched his hat again. Funny how such a simple gesture could make a woman’s heart melt. Cowboy chivalry. It certainly lived in Michael Jacob Wilson.

She smiled, and went back inside the Compass Rose with a feeling that she had finally done something right.

Now if only tonight’s dinner would go as well....

 

[Huntress]

Maureen Catlin

The flush in her cheeks subsided with each step Maureen took away from the Compass Rose’s parking lot. Good heavens. It had been years since she’d felt that way. Her grandmother would have been scandalized by her reaction to Carlos, and her mother would have been, too, for that matter.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. The two of them had been hopelessly entrenched in their strict Protestant upbringing, a principle tenet of which was: sex is only a tool. Women of their generation employed it mercilessly to find and catch husbands then, once vows were exchanged and the ring was safely in place, sex was reserved exclusively for conceiving babies. After a sufficient quantity of children had been brought into the world (a determination usually made by the women), sex was no more useful than a worn out shoe.

Maureen often wondered how her grandfather had managed to survive such austerity. Her father didn’t even try. Once he recognized the warning sign, George wasted no time in finding a mistress. That, of course, didn’t sit well with her mother and she delivered an ultimatum: her or me. Eugenia Catlin never understood why her husband chose to take a “trollop” over her. No matter how many times Maureen tried to explain that it was just natural for a men to want sex and that it was even possible for women to enjoy it, Eugenia continued to think of it as a necessary evil and the downfall of all men.

Gad. What a ridiculous concept. Thank you, Aunt Marge, for setting me straight about that little myth.

By the time she reached the end of the first block, not only had her face cooled but so had the ambient temperature. It was downright chilly. Maureen tugged her sweater on, looked up at the lowering sky and doubled her pace in the vain hope of beating the rain to the nearest restaurant. It was nearly five o’clock and her stomach was empty – not a thing to eat since breakfast except cookies and sorbet – the loud protest from her mid-section nearly matched the rumble of thunder from overhead.

The first droplets were light, spattering gently on her hair and cheeks. She broke into a trot knowing that a deluge wasn’t far off. Sure enough, down it came in huge plops, faster and faster, penetrating the thick wool of her sweater, soaking her blouse and chilling her to the bone. Wet she could handle – that’s why big fluffy towels and hot baths were invented. It was the cold she objected to, especially when it was accompanied by rain. ”Fine Irish lass you’d make,” she muttered, “First sign of dampness and a little nip in the air has you scurrying for shelter. How would you ever have survived in the old country?”

Lightning flashed in the west, casting a transitory greenish lavender hue on the landscape. Maureen started to count; five, ten, fifteen… the ensuing thunder clap was so loud it made her flinch; three miles off was too close, much too close. Now it wasn’t only the cold that moved her along. She just didn’t trust the powers-that-be to keep her safe from a stray bolt. Fortunately, the flickering red neon sign at Kitty’s was now visible on the next block and there was a window seat with her name on it and a steaming bowl of clam chowder to put her stomach to rights.

She felt the next peal of thunder coming, that odd thrumming pressure in the ears just before a reverberating boom but it was odd…

“That’s funny. No lightning... ohh... noooo!” she groaned aloud as she recognized the sound for what it was. “That’s not thunder, it’s a motorcycle. A big one... Oh, please, God... no, no, no! Not him... This is NOT right… Not another great cosmic joke... please! Not him…”

But it was and suddenly the bike was stopped right in front of her. Carlos. Black leathers glistening in the rain, he straddled the throbbing machine and lifted his visor revealing those amazing pools of coppery brown that gave her knees an acute case of the wobbles... She gulped and clutched her handbag, something real and solid, grounding herself in the sensation of it’s heavy tooling. With a deep, shaky breath, Maureen forced herself to look at him, smiling weakly, hoping it would not be mistaken for a grimace. What she saw was such a genuine expression of consternation knitting his brow that she wondered if there’d been more trouble at the Rose.

“Is everything alright?”

"Can I offer you a ride?”

Maureen almost laughed with relief at his question, and the idea of herself sitting astride that… that… mechanical steed might have been comical if he hadn’t been so serious or appealing. In another time it would be a prancing charger... ah! Knock it off, Mo! The brief glimpse of that humorous image was enough to restore her wits and her self-possession.

“Oh… thank you, that’s such a thoughtful offer. I’d only intended to go as far as Kitty’s to dry off and get some soup before I…”, she hesitated, opting not to volunteer the fact that she was staying at a hotel. Then, with a twinkle in her eyes, said, “Maybe you’d like to join me?”

She brushed the wet hair away from her cheek and tossed her head slightly to loosen more dripping locks from her neck. Still smiling with her lower lip caught on one side between her teeth, Maureen flirted demurely with the modern-day knight errant. She just couldn’t resist, she never could.

Romantic Notion had it’s claws in her again. Carlos was just too beautiful. Besides, what could it hurt? A friendly bowl of soup, a little conversation… The worst he could do was say “No”.