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Authors: Win Blevins
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“Anything for Miss Darnell.” Again Julius took a table with command position.
She put her small purse on the table and pulled out her compact and dabbed powder under her eyes.
“Miss Darnell? I’m not trying to be nosy, but there is your purse, wide open, and there is an envelope jammed inside it.”
She looked away from the mirror for a split second, glanced at me, and went back to studying herself.
Her tone didn’t sound so merry all of a sudden. “You’re very observant, aren’t you?”
“My job, I—”
“Your job does not include rummaging through my purse.”
“We both know I didn’t do that.”
“Good.”
“But Julius handed you a letter when you checked in,” I said. “Who knows you’re here?”
“You mean other than the entire movie crew, Mr. Ford, his entourage, my manager, the people who take care of my home, the—”
“Your husband?”
“Of course,” she said. “Look, I get lots of mail. Could we just have a nice dinner?”
I felt like an idiot, but it occurred to me I might feel like that plenty of times while I was taking care of this particular lady. I apologized, she accepted, but my job was still my job. I’d just have to learn to do it better. That was all.
With the menu in her hand, she came alive, and all was forgotten. All was a delight. “Posole,” she said, dwelling on the syllables like she could taste the hominy, pork, and green chiles. “I love it.”
“Where did you grow up?”
She looked into my face, took a pause, and made a choice. “Cherokee country. Then we moved to Dallas. It’s Dallas that feels like home. The people there are real, not like those Hollywood phonies.”
She tucked her face back into the menu. “I want some fry bread with honey to start.”
Now I was looking at the ring on her right hand. It was a beaut. “May I see that?”
“Sir, you are an unusual man.”
“Hey, you grow up in a trading post, you notice jewelry. Part of the deal.”
She held her hand across the table. The stone was a brilliant emerald, like her eyes, and circled by small diamonds. Her hand was soft, sweet.
She took it back. “A gift,” she said. Nothing about her husband or a boyfriend or …
“Your skin,” I said, “smells like sagebrush right after rain.”
“What an extraordinary thing to say. Thank you.” She cocked her head, maybe reassessing me. Maybe just thinking about posole.
My sense of smell, all my senses, felt more acute. No doubt about it, the gleaming presence of Linda Darnell could wake a dead man.
Her eyes roamed around the dining room, which had viga and latilla construction, big horizontal beams supporting slender poles. “I think vigas are so manly,” she said. “What a miracle. Mary Colter turned these common materials into something grand. That’s courage. Not always easy to make yourself known.”
Unless you’re the most beautiful woman in Hollywood. This lady was a puzzle inside a puzzle. Which would make my job, protecting her, trickier than I’d expected. Best to prepare for the unexpected. Without, as she’d said, being paranoid. A fine tightrope.
For me, that dining room was an oasis of Southwest color and design. The china was thick, same as they used on the train. White dishes with deep red or black Hopi-style rabbits, coyotes, storm patterns, and ancient people running along the edges. They were hand-painted, so each piece was a little different. The Navajo rugs hanging on the walls were mostly eye-dazzlers with a few Two Grey Hills thrown in, and all of them large. The placemats were train scenes, and every one was a love song to the colors turquoise, yellow, and orange. Mexican pavers on the floor caught our words and held them. My grandfather would have said it was pure grace. Nothing like Hollywood here. Nothing like any place in the world. No wonder movie stars loved this hotel.
The waiter appeared. Miss Darnell ordered the fry bread, followed by posole.
“Tell me all about yourself,
She put her small purse on the table and pulled out her compact and dabbed powder under her eyes.
“Miss Darnell? I’m not trying to be nosy, but there is your purse, wide open, and there is an envelope jammed inside it.”
She looked away from the mirror for a split second, glanced at me, and went back to studying herself.
Her tone didn’t sound so merry all of a sudden. “You’re very observant, aren’t you?”
“My job, I—”
“Your job does not include rummaging through my purse.”
“We both know I didn’t do that.”
“Good.”
“But Julius handed you a letter when you checked in,” I said. “Who knows you’re here?”
“You mean other than the entire movie crew, Mr. Ford, his entourage, my manager, the people who take care of my home, the—”
“Your husband?”
“Of course,” she said. “Look, I get lots of mail. Could we just have a nice dinner?”
I felt like an idiot, but it occurred to me I might feel like that plenty of times while I was taking care of this particular lady. I apologized, she accepted, but my job was still my job. I’d just have to learn to do it better. That was all.
With the menu in her hand, she came alive, and all was forgotten. All was a delight. “Posole,” she said, dwelling on the syllables like she could taste the hominy, pork, and green chiles. “I love it.”
“Where did you grow up?”
She looked into my face, took a pause, and made a choice. “Cherokee country. Then we moved to Dallas. It’s Dallas that feels like home. The people there are real, not like those Hollywood phonies.”
She tucked her face back into the menu. “I want some fry bread with honey to start.”
Now I was looking at the ring on her right hand. It was a beaut. “May I see that?”
“Sir, you are an unusual man.”
“Hey, you grow up in a trading post, you notice jewelry. Part of the deal.”
She held her hand across the table. The stone was a brilliant emerald, like her eyes, and circled by small diamonds. Her hand was soft, sweet.
She took it back. “A gift,” she said. Nothing about her husband or a boyfriend or …
“Your skin,” I said, “smells like sagebrush right after rain.”
“What an extraordinary thing to say. Thank you.” She cocked her head, maybe reassessing me. Maybe just thinking about posole.
My sense of smell, all my senses, felt more acute. No doubt about it, the gleaming presence of Linda Darnell could wake a dead man.
Her eyes roamed around the dining room, which had viga and latilla construction, big horizontal beams supporting slender poles. “I think vigas are so manly,” she said. “What a miracle. Mary Colter turned these common materials into something grand. That’s courage. Not always easy to make yourself known.”
Unless you’re the most beautiful woman in Hollywood. This lady was a puzzle inside a puzzle. Which would make my job, protecting her, trickier than I’d expected. Best to prepare for the unexpected. Without, as she’d said, being paranoid. A fine tightrope.
For me, that dining room was an oasis of Southwest color and design. The china was thick, same as they used on the train. White dishes with deep red or black Hopi-style rabbits, coyotes, storm patterns, and ancient people running along the edges. They were hand-painted, so each piece was a little different. The Navajo rugs hanging on the walls were mostly eye-dazzlers with a few Two Grey Hills thrown in, and all of them large. The placemats were train scenes, and every one was a love song to the colors turquoise, yellow, and orange. Mexican pavers on the floor caught our words and held them. My grandfather would have said it was pure grace. Nothing like Hollywood here. Nothing like any place in the world. No wonder movie stars loved this hotel.
The waiter appeared. Miss Darnell ordered the fry bread, followed by posole.
“Tell me all about yourself,
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