"So remind me, David my love, why we are driving out to Hemet." There was little love in her choice of the word 'love'. It might be January and it might be eight in the morning she thought to herself, but the outside thermometer in the truck said it was already 84` and the dashboard was already hot to the touch.
"So, one of his neighbors died and so he's helping with the estate sale and so he thought we might want to look and some of the stuff for our house."
"Dave, one of his neighbors dies almost every damned day," she replied, "that's what people in Hemet do, they hang around in their prefab houses until they die." She continued to look out the windshield at a blazing yellow sun in a shimmering blue sky. At least there wasn't any traffic.
"Heaven's waiting room," she added, "that's what they call it..."
"... yeah Steph, I know that old joke so it's a Saturday morning and we haven't seen my dad in a couple of months and so he thinks we might like some of the stuff so he told me about these two people were married like 75 years and they died within like a few minutes of each other on their 75th anniversary..."
"Is that the stuff we're going to be looking at? Jeez David, that's mostly gonna be old junk from maybe the 50's or 60's, you think?" She had spoken too soon about the traffic: it was backing up from the 15 and they'd just passed Main Street in Corona. Still, it was kind of sentimental, a couple married 75 years dying together on their anniversary.
"So he says there's this great set of china and some real silverware, some interesting pottery and vases, a couple of couches and a beautiful bed and so we need a bed and maybe a couch so I thought we should go."
"What'd he say about the couches?"
"So he says they were made by the guy who died named Wren and so he was a furniture maker type carpenter from Georgia before he retired and he made all their furniture so it's all really beautiful and well crafted."
"Charles Wren?"
"Yeah that's what my dad said so he was from Georgia and moved out to Hemet with his wife in 2000 or so because of their health and right after her brother died."
Charles Wren. Father of the New Modernism movement in interior design in the immediate post-war period. Rubbed more than shoulders with Faulkner, James Dean, Steinbeck, Frank Lloyd Wright and most of the other luminaries of the 50's; a mover and shaker until well into the 80's. This could be fun.
"OK, Dave, I forgive you," she said. Traffic started to open up just past the 15 and they were in Hemet before 10.
The estate sale was not in front of a trailer with a carport and green gravel in front. The house was a beautiful and carefully tended mid-century; the cars on the street and in the driveway ranged from their Dodge 2500 to a Bentley. By the time they found their way inside, many of the better items had been sold.
The two saw Dave's dad hovering by a beautiful bed frame. Dave went over to greet him while Stephanie started to wander through some of the remaining stock. The pickings were still good but it was clear they would not last much longer. Dozens of people, most in well-dressed cool casual, milled around the shelves or found their way to the circus tent covering the back yard. She didn't know there were such elegant homes in Hemet.
The silverware and china had long since been claimed, as had most of the furniture. There were still some bar stools and a rocking chair but they didn't interest her. She did see something interesting, though: a vase. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands. It was a modern interpretation of a Grecian urn, beautiful even if it was a knock-off. It had apparently been used on a regular basis because it still had green stains along the rim and smelled of... she couldn't place the scent but it was delightfully fragrant. She picked it up to show David.
He and his father were waving, trying to get her attention. "So Steph, c'mon over here quick" he mouthed.
They were standing next to a headboard and footboard, both made in the sparseness of the New Modernism style. Ash, she suspected. Simple clean lines with no frills. No turned posts or grand arches but, instead, angled squares and rectangles. She touched the skin-smooth edges with her fingertips and the frame seemed to touch her back. It was both warm like a lover's kiss and cool like an ocean breeze.
"So you like it, Steph?" Dave asked like a child who was about to get a new puppy.
Yes, she liked it. She liked it a lot. It was beautiful, the wood was sensual, and it was a Wren. A nice upgrade from their barren mattress resting on rails of a cold steel frame.
"You know, Stephanie," his father said, "he made this bed just before he and his wife got married. Only bed they ever slept in, 'cept maybe if they had to go out of town or something. It's where his daughter found them last week. First the cops thought it might be joint suicide because she was in really poor health, but they said they both died of natural causes, pro'ly within a few minutes of each other."
Again, she was touched by the sentiment. Such an elegant, simple thing: to die together on such a meaningful day in the same bed that you've slept in for every night of your married life. Beautiful.
The late morning was becoming unbearably hot. Sweat stains had formed on the Dave's collar and drops of perspiration began dripping down Stephanie's neck. They looked at a few other things, mostly bobbles and some interesting jewelry. Nothing caught their imagination, though. After saying good-bye to David's dad, they loaded only the two items purchased: the bed and porcelain vase.
The air conditioning in the truck was a blessing. A cool breeze from one of the vents blew along the passenger window across her neck, rustling a tuft of hair behind her ear. A faint fragrance, something that almost could not be sensed, drifted up from the vase. Sweat cooling between her breasts and along her spine gave her the delicious sensation of fingertips teasing her skin. As she drifted between dozing and absently watching the miles roll off the large green off ramp signs, she realized it felt mildly erotic, like foreplay, like someone blowing in her ear and feeling her up.
He had no idea who Charles Wren was and, in fact, didn't really care. Steph cared, she knew who he was, and that was enough. There were a couple of bar stools he'd liked to have bought but didn't think the wood would weather well outside on the patio by the pool. And why she bought that vase, well, he had no idea. It was a pretty lavender color, he thought, and would probably look good in the bedroom, but the reliefs on the surface were, well, downright pornographic. Sure it had the usual Greek flowers and grapes and arbors and stuff but it was about an orgy, or at least a threesome.
They pulled off at Imperial, stopped in at In-and-Out for burgers, fries, and a cold drink, then drove home through the winding hills of Yorba Linda.
"So Steph, can you help me set up this frame before you go shopping?" Dave asked.
She laughed. "You really want me to help you construct something after the last time I helped?" They laughed about it even as it happened but it really had been a disaster.
He thought about it, then agreed. "So I guess you're right so why don't you head out while I do the bed so can you at least help me unload it, ok?"
"Ok," she replied, walking through the garage toward the door, "but let me put this vase in the kitchen and grab the shopping list first, then I'll help." She would add flowers to the list but couldn't decide which kind. She'd think about it on the way.
