“Great.” He looked down at her hobo purse and large backpack. “You may want to take those along, or I can put them behind my counter.”
“I’ll take them. My digital cameras are in the backpack, and I never go anywhere without those. Been a shutterbug since entering Brooks Institute—even before that.”
“That’s impressive. The Ventura or Santa Barbara location?”
She smiled. “Santa Barbara. You know something about photography?”
“I dabble around a bit, mostly armature shots of landscapes. I don’t use those digital cameras—just my old standby cameras.”
“I like to use those sometimes.”
“You here for the ceremonial?”
“Yes, sir. Thanks to The San Francisco Examiner. Flew into Albuquerque, spent two days there and then took the train into Gallup.”
“Then you should have great shots to take back home. Well, grab your stuff because I’ve got lots to show you.”
“Wonderful.” As they walked down the hallway, she remembered to ask about her favorite kachina. “Do you have any of the Koshari?”
“Ah, the Hano clowns. You like them?”
“I do indeed. I know a little about the history of the Hano clowns and some other kachinas, but not nearly enough.”
“Really? What interests you about the Koshari?”
“The trickster part of him. I also know he serves as a guard at some functions, but mostly I love how they’re painted in the alternating black and white paint; kind of reminds me of some of my African sculptures.”
“Really? You collect those as well?”
“An entire wall in my loft is dedicated to West African tribal art. Now I’d like to begin building my Native American collection. Native American culture has always fascinated me, and I would love to know more.”
“We’re an interesting people as a whole—every tribe has aspects relative to them alone. I do have some Koshari clowns, but if you’re interested in more knowledge of the kachinas, you have your pick of hundreds. Many people, myself included, believe the Crow Mother is the originator of all kachinas. I would be glad to give you more info on them one day before you leave, if you have time.”
“I would love that.”
“I have an entire collection of the Koshari clowns from paintings to carvings. Would you like to see them?”
“Sure. In fact, since I’m on a photo assignment, would you mind terribly if I photographed your store one day this week?”
“I’d be honored. My long nights are Wednesdays and Thursdays. Let me know if either of those nights would be good for you.”
“So far either night would be just fine.”
“Great, then it’s a plan, so long as I don’t have to be in the pictures.”
“You’re safe, but it would be nice if you could be; you know, to give you exposure.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Sure you do. Every great store could use more exposure. Well, think about it. Even if I can’t photograph you on film, I hope to get some great shots of the dancers at the ceremonial.”
“Maybe. It’s always a good idea to get permission before taking pictures of the performers. It’s the custom of the ceremonial, and some tribes are more camera shy than others. You’re here for the ceremonial only?”
“Mostly. I’ve always wanted to visit New Mexico but never got the chance until now. I hope they’ll allow me to bring my cameras into a few of the ceremonies.”
“Some shows allow cameras. Ask and see what they say. Actually, my brother is a dancer at the main event Saturday night at Red Rock State Park. He’s a Koshari dancer.”
“Awesome! You think he’ll let me photograph him?”
“If the performance managers will allow it.” They stopped before a large, open set of carved oak doors and he held his hand before him, ushering her inside. “This is a nice room here. If you like native art, this room will impress.”
Darrius walked her past turquoise painted walls that housed a collage of metal wall art, from shaman to highly sculpted bison, antelope, Kokopelli and other legendary petroglyph figures. They passed by stucco walls of the basket section loaded with woven items from the Navajo to the Anasazi, and in all shapes, sizes and colors. Then he walked her straight into a room filled with giant paintings of the Koshari clowns and stopped right in front of one.
Darrius continued. “I think this is the place you want to see—your famous Koshari. I’ll ask Derrick in advance about getting permission to photograph the ceremony since he’s one of the managers of the show. But you may want to think about it, as Koshari is a known trickster by nature, according to legend. They take unsuspecting onlookers and pull them into the ceremony by harassing them, aiming water and fruit at them. You’d get soaked to the bone. If you get too close, Derrick may get you. I’d hate to see that happen.” He stopped when a suggestive image entered his head.
Justine saw budding interest in his eyes, and hoped he hadn’t seen the same in hers. She blushed at the thought of Darrius Red Sky being attracted to her. Being made to blush by the intentions of a man was absolutely the last thing Justine wanted to happen. These days, she would prefer blushing at a beautiful setting sun or breathtaking landscape. Another man. God, no!
Once again, his voice drew her back to the real. “What’s your name? I forgot to ask with all the talking we’ve done.”
Justine held out her hand. “I forgot as well. I’m Justine Roberts-Paretti.”
“What a beautiful name. It fits you, much like the bracelet. Married? You do have two names.”
“No. I joined my mother’s maiden name to my father’s Italian one. It looks more professional in photo credit lines and on business cards.”
“I agree. I like the sound of it.”
His eyes had a hypnotic effect on her, and she felt herself falling into a dream-like state. She lacked the will to fight what was happening to her. It was like being struck by lightning, and so damn quickly at that! This just can’t be! She was desperate for a diversion, so she looked down at the bracelet still adorning her wrist. “Oh! Don’t forget to remove the bracelet. Something this gorgeous can tempt a girl.”
