This little cabin is pretty damn nice, Frank thought as he stepped out of the bathroom after his shower and noticed the dome was already a lot cooler than when he came in. He figured it must be something to do with the dome shape that made the AC work so fast.
He stepped into the sleeping area and opened his bag on top of the queen-size bed. The bedspread was multi-colored—yellows and reds and browns—in familiar Mexican sunburst patterns.
Frank dressed in the lightest clothes he had with him—a pair of khaki trousers and a bird’s egg blue button-up short sleeve shirt. And then, glancing in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, decided he looked like a dork and changed into a plain white T-shirt and his new swim trunks. Swim trunks were longer now than they used to be. Frank’s were off-white with a blue pinstripe, and the clerk at the Glass Block in Zenith had assured him that this was what they were wearing on the beaches of California.
As if the guy actually knew.
Walking across the blazing hot grounds in his shower sandals toward the cool comfort of the main house, Frank felt a little awkward, because he hardly ever wore shorts. Legs were blindingly white. But he knew he’d have to adjust to a new climate and new habits eventually, so why not start now.
Richards was lounging on a brown leather couch in the great room, wearing powder blue tennis shorts and a yellow polo shirt and reading a newspaper, a stack of papers on the cushion next to him.
“Care for yesterday’s papers, Frank? Afraid that’s the best we can do out here. They get mailed from Phoenix, week’s worth at a time. Pick ‘em up in Carefree.”
“I’ll pass, man. Thanks anyway.”
“No problem. So let’s go eat. I took the liberty of ordering you huevos rancheros, and I can smell the chili peppers.”
Frank followed him into the large dining room. Beneath a crystal chandelier and ceiling fan was a huge rectangular table made of thick dark wood, surrounded by sturdy matching chairs. A large window on the far wall had a view of the mountains, purple now in their majesty. There was a place setting at each end of the table, with linen napkins, thick white plates and sterling silver utensils. A shiny coffee pot sat on a silver tray in the middle of the table, along with a sugar bowl, a creamer, a sugar bowl filled with honey and two thick, white porcelain cups. A large wooden bowl of grapefruit and oranges and some smaller white bowls completed the picture.
A picture of the perfect western breakfast, Frank was thinking. Genteel living in the middle of the barren desert.
“Care for some coffee, Frank? Maria brews up a mean pot.”
“Don’t mind if I do, something sure smells good.” He smiled and looked at his surroundings, trying to take it all in. He’d never been this close to this kind of luxury before, unless you considered Mr. Pills’ place, back in Zenith. But there he was on the outside looking in, whereas here he was right in the thick of things.
And kind of enjoying it at the moment.
Richards lifted the coffee pot and filled the cups. “Cream, sugar, Arizona honey? Help yourself.”
“Black is good for me, man.”
Still standing, Frank took the cup and eyeballed the seating arrangement—plates on opposite ends of the long table. He showed a little smirk and sat down on one end. “We’re just like two lords of the manor in old England, man. You know, like in the movies where the king and queen eat dinner together but they’re thirty yards away across a long table like this.”
“The thought crossed my mind, Frank. Humberto knows that once Bryce shows up, no one else gets to sit at the head of the table here, so this is like his little joke on me.”
“If that’s the head of the table, then this (looking at his place setting) must be the foot.”
“If that’s the way you choose to look at it, then you’re at the foot. But remember, I didn’t set the table. Humberto just likes to throw these jabs at my supposed outsider status. He’s a good man. We talk a lot. You can learn a lot talking to the servants at a place like this.”
And, as if on cue, a gray-haired Mexican man with a limp, who looked to be around sixty, entered the room carrying a tray with two steaming plates of what Frank assumed was huevos rancheros, having never before had the dish.
(To be continued)
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