Camino del Monte Sol ch. 6 (with OBTS) -- PG-13
Posted: Wed Jun 01, 2011 5:24 pm
Author’s Note: This story is a collaboration between OnceBitTwiceShy and myself for Champagne Challenge #128: Reader/Writer II. OBTS provided the idea of Josef visiting Santa Fe in the 1920’s, and running into…well, you’ll have to read the story. The settings are as accurate as I can make them, having been in Santa Fe myself many times, and also using various resources on the City Different, as they call it, and its inhabitants back in the ‘20s. While I could find no record of a hotel located in Sena Plaza, such a place does exist, and who knows? It could have housed a small hotel at one time. The artists’ colony, and their compound on Camino del Monte Sol, are documented. There will be a thread with a set of pictures and links to places, costumes, cars, posted after most chapters. My thanks to OBTS not only for the idea, but for her encouragement and input as the story progressed. I don’t own Josef, or any of the historical locations and personages mentioned in the story. Any errors or misrepresentations of fact are mine.
Camino del Monte Sol
VI. The Plaza Café
At a quarter after six in the morning, the traffic around the plaza was light, with only a few isolated pedestrians abroad. That would change, shortly, but for now, the cool gray dawn city was quiet.
Inside the Plaza Café on the northwest corner of the square, a few tables held an early breakfast crowd, and one booth in the back was full. Stephen toyed with a cup of coffee while he watched Dorothea, Patrice, and Louise eating huevos rancheros with green chili. Louise, sitting beside him, made faces at the flavor with each bite, and stole his coffee cup for sips from time to time. He didn’t mind; he didn’t drink coffee.
The gallery party had run late, and the after-party at the compound on Camino del Monte Sol had gone until almost sunrise. It was perhaps a little subdued, without Reza’s vivid personality in attendance, but it had gone well enough, Stephen thought. Now, it was time for a little post-party information exchange.
He waited until the girls were well along with their breakfasts, before he pinned down Patrice with his intense brown gaze and asked, “So what did you find out from the gallery crowd, sweetheart?”
Patrice put down her fork. “Not much, really. Of course, almost everyone there last night was a friend of the artists, but I didn’t hear anything against them. They honor their commitments and pay their bills as best they can.”
“As best they can?”
She shrugged, picking up the fork for another bite of her eggs and chili. “Artists. What can I say—they live with gusto, but they don’t necessarily make much money.”
Louise laughed. “They’re not above pinching a stray bottom or so, I can tell you.”
Stephen put an arm around her. “Poor Lou Lou, is that pretty little behind sore?”
She squirmed. “It should be black and blue,” she pouted, snuggling closer to Stephen. “You could kiss it and make it better, you know.”
“You’re incorrigible, Lou Lou,” Stephen chuckled. “And it’s not your turn.”
Dorothea exchanged a glance with Patrice. There were times when Louise’s sex kitten act got a little tedious, but they’d both supposed, as long as Stephen seemed to like it, they could endure. “I found talking to other people last night most instructive, Stephen,” she said.
“How so, Thea?”
“There’s all this art being created in town, and too few venues for it. I think there is room for a private gallery here.”
Patrice nodded. “I heard the same thing. They’re getting more tourists all the time, and more artists. You could make some money on a gallery here, Stephen.”
“I’ll consider it. Of course, I’d have to find the right person to manage it.” He looked thoughtful, and focused on Dorothea. “Anything else you learned last night, doll?”
Dorothea colored delicately, and looked down at her plate, the runny yolk of a fried egg pooling amidst the chili and beans. “I was talking to Mr. Mruk last night about seeing him for some painting lessons.”
“I was under the impression you were talking mostly to Bakos.”
“Oh. Well, yes. Jozef is a fascinating conversationalist.”
Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. And a quick worker, it seems.” He was distracted by Louise taking the coffee cup from his hand. “Lou Lou, you’re never going to get to sleep.”
She blinked up at him. “I can sleep all day, can’t I?”
“Not today, sweetheart. I have a little surprise for all of you.” Stephen smirked, relishing the attention they all turned toward him.
Dorothea shook her head. “Now what, Stephen?”
“I’ll pick you up at, say, 12:30, and we’re going to Nash’s studio. He’s going to do a portrait of the three of you, and today is the first sitting.”
Three pairs of eyes flashed, and three plates were simultaneously pushed away.
“Stephen,” Patrice groaned, “how can you do this to us?”
“What?” His surprise was unfeigned.
“Taking us to eat something so fattening, and then telling us we’re being painted,” Dorothea explained.
“I don’t think one plate of huevos rancheros will seriously damage your figures, ladies,” he rejoined.
“That’s all well and good,” Louise said, still in the shelter of Stephen’s loose embrace, “but what shall we wear?”
He laughed. “Something easy to take off,” he suggested. “Nash is going to paint you au naturel. Now, finish your breakfasts.”
“Not a chance,” Patrice said, and Stephen frowned at her in mock displeasure.
“At least the orange juice,” he said. “You girls don’t need to diet. It’s not good for your blood.”
Dorothea sighed and leaned her cheek on one hand. “Stephen?”
“Yes?”
“If we pose for Nash—”
“When you pose.”
“Fine. When we pose for Nash, isn’t there a chance he’s going to notice certain…marks? Artists really see things.” Her hand fluttered a little at the scarf she’d put around her neck.
Stephen couldn’t stop his hand from going up to Louise’s throat, causing her eyes to drift closed, either in memory or anticipation. “Not to worry, sweetheart. He’s not going to want to spread tales. Trust me on this.” He gave Louise a gentle, affectionate shake. “Now, let’s get you all home for a nap.”
Camino del Monte Sol
VI. The Plaza Café
At a quarter after six in the morning, the traffic around the plaza was light, with only a few isolated pedestrians abroad. That would change, shortly, but for now, the cool gray dawn city was quiet.
Inside the Plaza Café on the northwest corner of the square, a few tables held an early breakfast crowd, and one booth in the back was full. Stephen toyed with a cup of coffee while he watched Dorothea, Patrice, and Louise eating huevos rancheros with green chili. Louise, sitting beside him, made faces at the flavor with each bite, and stole his coffee cup for sips from time to time. He didn’t mind; he didn’t drink coffee.
The gallery party had run late, and the after-party at the compound on Camino del Monte Sol had gone until almost sunrise. It was perhaps a little subdued, without Reza’s vivid personality in attendance, but it had gone well enough, Stephen thought. Now, it was time for a little post-party information exchange.
He waited until the girls were well along with their breakfasts, before he pinned down Patrice with his intense brown gaze and asked, “So what did you find out from the gallery crowd, sweetheart?”
Patrice put down her fork. “Not much, really. Of course, almost everyone there last night was a friend of the artists, but I didn’t hear anything against them. They honor their commitments and pay their bills as best they can.”
“As best they can?”
She shrugged, picking up the fork for another bite of her eggs and chili. “Artists. What can I say—they live with gusto, but they don’t necessarily make much money.”
Louise laughed. “They’re not above pinching a stray bottom or so, I can tell you.”
Stephen put an arm around her. “Poor Lou Lou, is that pretty little behind sore?”
She squirmed. “It should be black and blue,” she pouted, snuggling closer to Stephen. “You could kiss it and make it better, you know.”
“You’re incorrigible, Lou Lou,” Stephen chuckled. “And it’s not your turn.”
Dorothea exchanged a glance with Patrice. There were times when Louise’s sex kitten act got a little tedious, but they’d both supposed, as long as Stephen seemed to like it, they could endure. “I found talking to other people last night most instructive, Stephen,” she said.
“How so, Thea?”
“There’s all this art being created in town, and too few venues for it. I think there is room for a private gallery here.”
Patrice nodded. “I heard the same thing. They’re getting more tourists all the time, and more artists. You could make some money on a gallery here, Stephen.”
“I’ll consider it. Of course, I’d have to find the right person to manage it.” He looked thoughtful, and focused on Dorothea. “Anything else you learned last night, doll?”
Dorothea colored delicately, and looked down at her plate, the runny yolk of a fried egg pooling amidst the chili and beans. “I was talking to Mr. Mruk last night about seeing him for some painting lessons.”
“I was under the impression you were talking mostly to Bakos.”
“Oh. Well, yes. Jozef is a fascinating conversationalist.”
Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. And a quick worker, it seems.” He was distracted by Louise taking the coffee cup from his hand. “Lou Lou, you’re never going to get to sleep.”
She blinked up at him. “I can sleep all day, can’t I?”
“Not today, sweetheart. I have a little surprise for all of you.” Stephen smirked, relishing the attention they all turned toward him.
Dorothea shook her head. “Now what, Stephen?”
“I’ll pick you up at, say, 12:30, and we’re going to Nash’s studio. He’s going to do a portrait of the three of you, and today is the first sitting.”
Three pairs of eyes flashed, and three plates were simultaneously pushed away.
“Stephen,” Patrice groaned, “how can you do this to us?”
“What?” His surprise was unfeigned.
“Taking us to eat something so fattening, and then telling us we’re being painted,” Dorothea explained.
“I don’t think one plate of huevos rancheros will seriously damage your figures, ladies,” he rejoined.
“That’s all well and good,” Louise said, still in the shelter of Stephen’s loose embrace, “but what shall we wear?”
He laughed. “Something easy to take off,” he suggested. “Nash is going to paint you au naturel. Now, finish your breakfasts.”
“Not a chance,” Patrice said, and Stephen frowned at her in mock displeasure.
“At least the orange juice,” he said. “You girls don’t need to diet. It’s not good for your blood.”
Dorothea sighed and leaned her cheek on one hand. “Stephen?”
“Yes?”
“If we pose for Nash—”
“When you pose.”
“Fine. When we pose for Nash, isn’t there a chance he’s going to notice certain…marks? Artists really see things.” Her hand fluttered a little at the scarf she’d put around her neck.
Stephen couldn’t stop his hand from going up to Louise’s throat, causing her eyes to drift closed, either in memory or anticipation. “Not to worry, sweetheart. He’s not going to want to spread tales. Trust me on this.” He gave Louise a gentle, affectionate shake. “Now, let’s get you all home for a nap.”
