Breakfast With Suzanne
I woke up this morning to the haunting sounds of a pan flute. A pan flute being played expertly by Suzanne. I had heard it one time before, when she was here in 2012.
When I came out of the bedroom, she was sitting in her place at one end of the butcher block table, eyes closed, and softly blowing across the pipes that were producing this exquisite melody, that even had Bailey and Brandy mesmerized. It was much the same as the time she had been her before, when they just sat and stared as she played.
As before, I stood there, watching, hoping not to break the spell she was casting on this improbable scene in my little tin shack. I mean, who would believe such a thing if they hadn’t seen it. I certainly wouldn’t have, but there I was, transfixed, like the cats, and I believed it.
She kept playing for a short while, and then, almost imperceptibly, the sound softened, faded away and there was a silence that filled the air like something out of a cathedral. She sat there for a moment with her eyes closed, and a soft smile came to her face.
Brandy and Bailey seemed to know that the moment was over, they went about looking for me to replenish their food and water, not worrying about offending our guest. Suzanne knew it, and didn’t seem to mind at all being deserted by her feline friends.
I was still standing there, in the doorway, and sort of gave out with a cough. She opened her eyes, and I said, “Well, good morning, and thank you for the wake up music.”
She smiled and said, “Good morning, Bobby, I hope you slept well.”
“Oh, my dear friend,” I said, “I did, and how did you sleep?” I really didn’t have any room for her, and besides, I never knew where these Grecian muses slept, if they did, anyway. She said, “I got a room at the Super 8 not far from here. Their continental breakfasts are so quaint.”
I said, “Shut the door! You stayed at a Super 8? I didn’t think you muses ever had to worry about a place to stay.”
She said, “Mother has cut our expense allowance for trips like this, so we have to find the cheapest places we can to rest for a night.”
I said, “Seems to me that the arts in Greece face the same problem the arts here do, and that is dwindling support.” I asked her if they also cut off her expense account for those three martini lunches, but I don’t think she got the reference. She just smiled, and said it would all pass, and there would be better times coming.
I told her I was going to take a shower and get cleaned up and then we’d have some breakfast. I said that she and the kitties could amuse themselves while I was getting cleaned up. I still thought that she, Bailey and Brandy, had something going from some long ago time. She just smiled, and said something to me in Greek. What it was I had no clue, but both Bailey and Brandy stopped what they were doing, and ran over to be beside her. I just shook my head and headed for the shower.
After I had showered and changed, I asked her what she would like for breakfast. As I recalled, she liked green tea and scones, of which I had neither on hand, but Starbucks wasn’t but a few blocks away. She told me not to worry, she had brought her own. I couldn’t believe how much she could pull out of that small bag she carried. I told her I was going to have some coffee, and if I could, have one of her scones. I had to see what kind of magical scone a muse could carry with her.
Suzanne said, “Of course, what kind would you like?”
Now I’m befuddled. I asked, “What kind do you have?”
She said, “I have more varieties than Starbucks has, and they are better and cheaper.”
“Well,” I said, “In that case, I’ll have a raspberry. I know Starbucks doesn’t have that kind, and I love raspberry.
I poured my coffee, and when I sat down, there was a raspberry scone on my plate. It was good too.
We sat there this morning, not saying anything. She with her green tea and blueberry scone, and me with my coffee and raspberry scone. I was still having a time knowing that she was here again, and though I knew she would be gone again shortly, I loved every
minute of it.
Finally, I said, “Look, it’s Christmas, or at least it will be in a few days, and I know you’ll probably be gone by tomorrow, if not sooner to spend the holiday in Athens, or whatever place your mother wants to meet, so I suggest tonight we have Champagne and Strawberries along with a little chocolate to mark your visit.”
Suzanne, by now had lit up one of her long, dark cigars, and as the wreath of smoke swirled around her head, she looked at me and said, “Bobby, that would be a fine way to make this Christmas holiday one to remember.”
Now, I’m thinking this could be a very Merry Christmas indeed.