That told her he was detaching himself, letting her make the moves if any were to be made. The best thing was to let it ride, see where the situation took her if anywhere. A single kiss may have ruined everything. All along, she knew she should have made him stop instead of indulging him, but what an indulgence. It was one she’d never forget even if she never saw Darrius Red Sky again.
“I’ll set up a time and tell you tonight if I see you. If not, I’ll call you. I still have your card.”
“Sounds good.” With a tap on the hood, he sent her off to dwell deeper into that desperate no-man’s land he knew she was thinking about, beyond the entrance of Red Rock.
* * *
Red Rock’s peaks seemed higher than the Transamerica Building in the heart of San Francisco. She had heard that its elevation was over six thousand feet.
In the sun, the peaks looked like giant dark entities—mysterious. She knew the story associated with Red Rock, how it got its name, where it led to, who lived there years ago, but not having Darrius around to tell her things no textbook or magazine could tell her seemed rather dismal now.
The winding road she had been driving on had ended. Another winding road off to the side led to the other side of Red Rock, the dangerous side that Darrius had spoken of. She was curious to see exactly where this road went, but when she drove closer to the foot of the hill and looked up, it was scary; the peaks appeared even more shadowy. The tricky turns she was encountering were not meant for a car like hers; a vehicle like what Darrius had was more suitable. Darrius! He was the only thing that could take her mind off venturing into the shadow lands.
Still, her mind returned to the peaks, wondering what was behind them. What was drawing, pulling her in, taking her to where the old ones worshipped, cured their sick, smoked their peyote. Yes! A good dose of peyote right about now would rid her mind completely of Darrius…and going up the forbidden hill.
Ceremonial activities awaited her, so she had to put aside her passion for Red Rock’s peaks and Red Sky for the moment. Funny that red had become her new favorite color. It had always been blue. Blue was now the color of her mood.
The outdoor festivities, such as the gem show and craft shows took place at Convention C, the same place the main portion of the powwow would be on Saturday night. It’s where she hoped to see and photograph Derrick doing his dance of the trickster.
There were plenty of tables and stands displaying a dazzling assortment of Native American arts and crafts. The Hopi baskets made her think about the basket left at Darrius’s house. It would have been a good memento to take back and display on one of her tables at home. Too bad. It, along with her emotions, was probably lost in translation. She shrugged. Hyperactive hormones are not a girl’s best friend.
There was an abundance of events and activities to photograph, and that would have to suffice. Her editor would be happy nonetheless; her photographs always spoke for themselves.
Waving her press card, Justine received permission to take pictures of the baskets. Many artisans gladly opened their booths to her, eager to have their wares photographed, hoping this would help business. Others didn’t care whether pictures were taken or not, so long as their crafts sold. There were children to feed, and Justine understood. To help, she purchased a silver heart charm from Big Buffalo Jewels.
She visited many booths and collected many business cards, some of which she planned on using to pull up some of the vendors’ websites on her laptop while alone in her room later; she was sure she would, unfortunately, be alone. She also planned to visit other stores before leaving New Mexico.
Many stands offered a variety of kachina dolls, but she saw none of the Koshari. Thus far, she hadn’t seen anything like what Darrius had displayed in his showroom; there were no Frederic K clowns, the Navajo carver who most impressed him. But she took many shots of the other kachinas. Unfortunately, very little paperwork accompanied them. There was a world of kachinas to discover, but who would be her guide? Darrius was gone, probably in more ways than one. No one could tell the story better than a Native American. Or, as Darrius might say, Indian.
* * *
By sunset, the cameras were heavy on her shoulder. Several trips back to the car to be rid of them had been her only remedy. On a trip to a water stand, she saw male traditional dancers outside a fenced-off tepee practicing for a ceremony. As she had learned from some of the Arizona powwows, teepees were changing quarters and restricted to outsiders. The teepee before her had paintings of a buffalo hunt. The images were very descriptive in appearance, with a single hunter with arrow chasing a running animal. The painting had been exquisite, so unlike how movies and television made native art out to be so archaic.
She wanted to get closer, touch it, feel the buck or doeskin it was made of, but had to keep her distance. The dancers’ costumes consisted of eagle feathers, bone breastplates, breechcloths and moccasins. Cameras were never allowed during practice and she would have been escorted out of Red Rock if she were caught photographing, so she just listened and watched. There were chants, step dancing, painted faces. One face stood out among the dancers.
It was Darrius’s face, yet it wasn’t. He never danced at the powwows. It was Derrick, or even another relative who danced. Whatever the case, their performance kept her there, enlightened by the rhythmic dance steps, the chants, the calls. It all reminded her of the local and other powwow shows she had been so entranced with in her journeys as a photographer. The chants had a way of relaxing her, setting everything on an even keel—at least for a few minutes.
* * *
The practice ceremony ended, and some members headed for the food stands, while others went in the area of the crafts. Two walked in the direction of the main arena where a beer stand stood. The Darrius look-alike held a tall, cold plastic cup of something gold in color, and then he and his buddy walked to a patch of grass and sat down. Justine wanted to approach, but stayed back, not wanting to disturb their moment. But after watching him laugh and drink, seeing another side of him, she regained her nerve.
The friend soon departed and Derrick was alone. The grass was quiet under her sandals. Another good thing. All she needed was for him to see her approach and stop her dead in her tracks. Without even being a whisper in the wind, her quiet steps landed her next to him, but without a word. She would let him feel her presence.
Her presence was indeed felt, and he smiled at her standing there so quiet. “Where the heck did you come from? You make it a habit of sneaking up on guys like this?”
“Wasn’t sure you wanted company.”
“Your company is always welcome. But why aren’t you with my brother? The way the guy has been ranting and raving about you, I’d have thought the two of you were huddled in some close space together.”
“As much as I would like to huddle in a small space with Darrius, I do have work to do.” Images of being with Darrius in the darkroom filtered in and she smiled. Indeed, he and Darrius could easily have their way with women and no one would be the wiser. How many women liked Darrius, she wondered; and does he always use the line about the wind on them?
“Darrius and I parted around three this afternoon. He had work to do at the store.”
“He did, but I thought you would be with him.”
“I have my work. That’s why I’m here, to get pictures.”
He looked around her, halfway scoping her slender frame. “How many cameras you got in the big book bag?”
“Three.”
“All digital, I assume.”
“You assumed right. Who has time for cameras? Besides, digital cameras are so much faster, and that’s a good thing if you’re on a deadline—which I am. I was headed back up the hill when I heard your song and dance, you and the others near the tepee. What was that, anyway?”
“Practice for the grass dance. Did you shoot us?”
That scared her. What if she had? Lie and save your neck. “No, I know some ceremonies prohibit it, so I—”
“It would have been cool. That way, even I could be in your newspaper for you to remember me.”
“Like I could forget. What woman could forget two sexy men who look just alike?”
“That could be exciting. Know what I mean?” He wriggled his brow.
“Darrius did tell me you’re a card—a wild card.”
“His actual words?”
