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“In the sweating flesh. Crap, it’s hot in here. I’d better call maintenance to turn down the thermostat.”
“It’s so awesome to see you again, girl! It’s been too long.”
We gave each other a huge rocking hug, while she raced out her desperate apology for not being readily available when I arrived an hour ago. Did she give me the wrong time? She’s so scatterbrained these days, what with the opening of the new museum and all, along with the major donor who just flew in from Europe yesterday that she had to suck-up to this morning.
I waved her off, claiming that the unthinking, impertinent and impatient mistake was mine alone. Then we volleyed more self-deprecating blame back and forth before settling for neutral ground on being thrilled to see each other again after a long year apart.
“All ready to go spelunking in the gross, guano encrusted caves to unearth ancient treasures?” she asked, linking her elbow with mine as she escorted me back through the museum towards the café and souvenir shop.
“Well, not at the moment,” I chuckled. “I’ll dress a bit differently.”
“Yeah, what’s with the monkey suit?”
“Give me a break,” I retorted indignantly. “I’m trying to impress your rich donors, so they don’t change their minds and send me packing. Did you say one of them was here?”
She snorted. “Don’t worry, he’s gone now, and you won’t see anyone else of importance until tomorrow. Besides, this is Seattle, and no one cares what anyone else wears around here these days.”
“Apparently,” I teased with an arched brow at her thrift store wardrobe.
“Brat,” she chuckled, bumping my hip with hers. “I’m very trendy. It’s called ‘grunge’, a new thing here in the Emerald City. Even yesterday Colby said that I was ‘totally rad’. For a woman of my advanced years of twenty-nine.”
“The annoying college kid with the badly shaved Mohawk?”
“Yeah, well, beggars can’t be chosers, and he works for peanuts,” she said, then placed our drink orders and led us to a corner bistro table. “Speaking of which, I see that you were doing your due diligence, buffing up on the local Native American culture.”
“Thought it’d be a plus,” I said, sipping my creamy mocha latte and humming with utter bliss. Now that wastotally rad.
“Not to mention ogling the gorgeous Bryant hunk.”
“The guy in the photo?” I remarked innocently, remembering very well my fantasy frontier man. “Too bad he’s old and crusty now. Or dead, more likely.”
“The latter, I’m afraid,” Hilly said, sipping her fragrant mint tea. “A tried-and-true hero though. Was killed saving a bunch of Indian kids from an attack on their village.”
“Really? When was that?”
“Not long after the photo was taken, I think. Don’t quote me.”
Oddly, I was disappointed to learn of the man’s death. Ridiculous, since even if Michael Bryant were miraculously alive today, by the date of the photo he would be older than my own great-grandfather.
Still, the man was obviously something to swoon over in his day. I wondered how many sighing Victorian women dangled their lacy hankies in front of his nose for attention. Did he ever marry and have a wife? Kids?
If only I could travel back in time to find out what he was really like.
A silly wish, of course, but one I had often, particularly when researching the past like this. History geek to the umpteenth degree, there were times, many of them, when I secretly dreamed that I could stop reading about all of the days gone by, and actually dive in and live them somehow.
Oh, well.If wishes were fishes, then beggars would eat. As my late mother, Rose McEwan, used to say.
“Too bad chivalry and heroics died out decades ago,” I commented.
“Ain’t that the truth.” Hilarity sat back in her chair, adding, “They just don’t make ‘em like Michael Bryant anymore. People always ask about the man, wondering if he was connected to the Bryant dynasty here in the Pacific Northwest.”
“Was he?”
Not that I knew what the “Bryant Dynasty” was. I was a hardcore easterner and never paid much attention to most things west of the Rockies.
“No, just your typical penniless adventurer,” Hilly answered. “Not much was ever known about the man, other than the fact that he was a major advocate for the indigenous tribes around here. We have the only known photo of him, in fact. Bryant was always camera-shy. Not that there were many opportunities for snapping pictures back then.”
Too bad. I would have loved to see and learn more about the man, and not just because of his inhumanly great looks or heroic deeds. He sounded...intriguing. It was then I decided to do my own private research on Mr. Michael Bryant.
