letmewanderinyourgarden2022

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

Clip - Over The Hills and Far Away - Earls Court

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

[This is quite long. . .sorry. . .will try to make future chapters shorter]

“Okay, ready.”

He turned to find her leaning against the door jamb, much more like her earlier self. Something about the way she stood, the look on her face inflamed his already heightened sense of attachment to her.

“Shall we off, love?”

“Yes, Jimmy, let’s.”

He turned her in the doorway, his arm corralling her waist to speed her through the entranceway and to the street, hoping to avoid any additional adverse reactions.

“Okay?” He gazed down at her to confirm all was well when they reached the street.

“Yes, Mr. Page,” she shook her head in amusement.

As they trekked up Thames Street, she felt a slide of his hand and then the pressure of his fingers at the back of her neck. “Cheeky,” he hummed in her ear before resting his wrist on her shoulder, hand casually dangling as they walked.   He was relaxed but preoccupied.

Maybe I have met her before – in passing.

The effect of the photo that Perry handed him at Tower House so many months ago surged back and an echo of the pang that accompanied it.

 Perhaps she recalls such a thing and just hasn’t mentioned it. . .hmmm. . .This may be a good time to pose the question.

“So, I meant to ask before, Jane.  Did you ever see the band?”

“Yes, I have.  I’ve seen you play many more times, though.”

“Really? How so?”

This might solve that riddle. . .

“Well, my very first live rock concert was one my parents took me to along with a bunch of their friends at the Anderson for the Yardbirds.  I think it must have been. . .mmm. . .1968.  My parents were huge fans and we were visiting the City.  I think we went to New York for that very reason.”

“Ha!  Another surprising item about your family.”

“Yeah, I told you they are a story.”

“So, you liked the music, then?”

“I was hooked.  Of course, I’d heard the music around the house, but to see it  - hear it – live - was life-changing.  Really.  I’m not kidding.  I think that was partly why I took the courses I did in law school, you know, to be an entertainment lawyer.  And you!  I remember Keith Reif said something to the effect that you were a sorcerer with magic fingers.  I took him at his word.  White Summer was magical.”

“Thank you, love, but I’m not fishing for compliments.  Just curious.”

“Oh! I know that, Jimmy,” she said nudging against him playfully.  “And then when I read that you were forming Zep, my mission was to see the new band.”

“And did you see us early on?

“Baltimore in February 1969. . .but I have to admit, I was tripping my ass off, so what I remember is pretty fragmented and possibly imagined, you know.”

“Ha, ha! Understood but what do you remember?”

“About six or seven of us went to see Vanilla Fudge, but one of the guys and I were really excited to see Zep.  The first album had been playing on, I think it was WHFS, an underground FM station around DC that we could pick up at night if the weather was good,” she chuckled. “He and I were absolutely blown away.”

“The FM stations were perfect for our music.  They were the reason everything exploded for us that year. . . that and underground papers. . . and word of mouth, to be sure.”

“I had gone to quite a few concerts at the Civic Center by that time and made a good friend on the box office staff, so we were able to finagle the second row. I couldn’t sit still once you guys started so I moved to the edge of the stage – which they still let us do then – off to the side - your side and hung on for dear life. I believe that Robert said something to me when he flitted to that side of the stage. . .but who knows,” she snickered. “I remember parts of As Long As I Have You, Dazed, White Summer, and You Shook Me, but that’s pretty much it.  I distinctly recall you, though.  I thought your guitar was singing - just to me.  I mean, it was a voice, a persona, all to itself in my trippy hippie mind. By the time the Fudge came on, I was a puddle on the floor.  The only thing I remember from them is the organ vibrating whatever I was sitting on. So that’s my embarrassing story about the first time I saw the band.”

“I imagine we might have been a bit intense on acid,” he chuckled.

“Ha!  That’s an understatement!  And I saw part of the gig there in 1970 but I was leaving that evening for New York for an internship interview.  I managed to make it to Bonzo’s solo, but my ride insisted that we had to leave Baltimore that night, right then, so that was that. We had a big argument in the lobby, I mean, what the fuck difference would an hour or so make.  But anyway, I didn’t see you again until I was in Atlanta.  I caught The Firm and the Outrider tour.  And then you and Robert twice in the 90s.”

“That’s quite a lot more than I expected.   Did we ever meet at any of those gigs?  Were you backstage for any of them?”

“No, sadly we didn’t meet.  Even totally out of it, I would not have forgotten that.  Why do you ask?”

“Just curious, love, as I said.  Ah, here we are.”

They had arrived at the Great House at Sonning, a large inn with a green lawn sweeping down to the river’s edge.  As they entered the restaurant, Jimmy was greeted warmly.

“Afternoon, Jim, Miss.” The young man behind the desk nodded his greeting.  “Your table is ready.  You know the way, right? Someone will be with you in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Mark.  Yes, I know the way.  Jane?” He swept his arm in the direction of the French doors off to their right indicating the way for her.

They stepped out onto a patio with a paved walk leading down the lawn to the river.  At the end of the path was a line of cabanas, each enclosed with a gauzy fabric rippling in the slight breeze. They were all empty except the one closest to the walk, where a table waited, set for two, and graced with a vase of flowers and maidenhair ferns.

“To your liking, Jane?” He pulled out the chair for her.

“Such a gentleman,” she chuckled.  She lifted the vase to her to deeply inhale the perfume of the purple and white blossoms.  “Mmm. . .lilacs. . .very, very nice.”

“Did you know the Victorians used to send covert messages via flowers?”

“I’ve read of that, but I couldn’t give you any details. I must look up the meaning of lilacs. . . You know, you are a very surprising man.  When our meeting was arranged, I expected maybe a conversation for an hour at most.  But not all of this.  I planned to be poking around in Sonning’s shops by now, not lunching along the river with you.  I am definitely not complaining.”

His eyes caught hers for just a moment before an impish look rose on his face. “Uh, can I see your phone for a minute?”

She was puzzled.  “Yeah, sure,” she said, searching her bag for the phone and handing it to him with a sly smile.

He pressed a few buttons and stopped.  “It’s locked,” he said dryly with a glare that matched his tone.

“Yes, that’s my Blackberry for work and other private stuff.”  She leaned in resting her elbow chin in hand.  “Well, Mr. Page, why don’t you tell me what you might be looking for?”

Trying to hide a slight embarrassment, the telltale tic returned when his finger flicked his cheek as he answered.  “I. . .uh. . .assume you have playlists on your phone.  You can tell a lot about a person by the music they keep – in their collections. . .and now, on their phones.  So, I thought I’d check out what’s on yours – with your permission, of course.”

“Ha!  Okay.” She snicked as she grabbed the phone from his hand and pointedly dropped it back into her bag.  Searching again, she pulled out her other phone, pressed a few buttons, and held it out to him.  “Here you go, nosey,” she jested.

He took the phone and looked at the list displayed on the screen, dismayed.  “All very good, Jane but they are only numbered – no description. How am I-”

She couldn’t resist taking advantage of his fluster.  “Geez, just pick one, Jimmy!”

“Uh. . .number seven. Let’s see.  Ah, classical.  A fan of baroque, hmmm?” He glanced at her and then back to the screen.

“I am, but other stuff too.  Prokofiev. . .and Barber’s Adagio for Strings is one of my favorite things. The tension gives me goosebumps.”

His eyes shot to hers in surprise.  “There’s Penderecki!  Really!  I’m quite familiar with Threnody.  I made it a point for us to do the benefit in Hiroshima, because, in part, of that piece of music. It’s a bit amazing that you know it.”

“My parents, again.  They were taken with it – the power of it.  It scared me when I was a kid, but much later, once I understood what it was about, I found it so evocative, particularly in its abstraction.  I. . .uh. . .hear a bit of it echoing in Dazed. . .at least to me.  That’s probably way off base, but. . .”

He tilted his face as he regarded her.  “Hmmm. . .maybe,” he said, noncommittal. “Let’s see another.  Ah jazz, you like Miles, eh?  Mmmm. . . west coast music. . .number 3. . .ahh. . .blues.  Who do we have on this list, I wonder?  Robert Johnson, Taj Mahal and . . .lots. . .in between those two.  Quite a selection here, love. I’m impressed with how broad your taste is.”

“Thank you, sir.  It’s part of my job to be well-versed, you know. The stuff I like the best is there. Uhh. . .Can I have my phone back now? Please?”  She smiled sweetly at him with a flutter of her eyelashes, in put-on flirtation. “I mean if you’re done snooping,” she added snidely, holding out her hand expectantly. He snorted with laughter as he surrendered her phone.

Their lunch was served and they chatted throughout the meal about various types of music that moved them and why particular ones did more so than others.  The server returned to remove their plates.

“Dessert, Jane?”

“Uh, no.  But an expresso would be fabulous.  Thanks.”

“Just tea for me, please.”

“I’ll be right back, I have to – well, you know,” she said as she popped up from the chair and sauntered down to the river to assuage her craving.

He sat forward and watched her wandering the water’s edge. His pleasure in being with her had certainly grown rapidly.  He was struck at how stunning she was as she stood at the river’s edge simply clad in jeans, boots, and a wine-red suede jacket covering a black top.  She beamed as she turned to climb the slope to return to the table.

“This is lovely, Jimmy.  One more unforgettable thing,” she sighed sliding back into her chair, as the server delivered the expresso, tea, and a plate of anise cookies.

“You’re going back to London tomorrow, right?”

“Yep.  That’s the plan,” she said as she dipped the cookie in the black-brown liquid, and took a bite.  “Let me say again, for the umpteenth time, how wonderful the time here has been.”

“I. . .uhh. . .was thinking of our conversation yesterday about your esoteric proclivities and I was hoping to pry a bit more, if I may?”

She eased back in the chair realizing, by the look in his eyes, he had a definite purpose.  It intrigued her and intuition told her this was a conversation they needed to have.

“Okay, my interest is piqued now!  What do you want to know?”

He relaxed into his arms folded on the table, focusing intently on her, and reached for her hand. He pulled her in closer to him as his thumb skimmed back and forth over the ridges of her knuckles.

“So, you said you weren’t a practitioner, but-“

“Uh, except for yoga, the tarot, and I Ching,” she quietly corrected him.

“Umm, yes. But the other things you mentioned – were you a dilettante or a dabbler, would you say?”

“Are you asking about some specific thing, Jimmy?”  It seemed they were playing cat and mouse around something and he ignored her question.

“The books you read – you said you took away what made sense to you.  I’m interested to understand what that was.”

She entertained his question for some time, trying to formulate what she thought about that whole period of her life- something she'd not done since her girls were young.

“Honestly, high-level - what I learned is there’s a freakin’ universe of stuff we don’t know.  What we do know is probably a minuscule part of what’s out there. All that I read told me that there are people who can tap into something that most of us can’t, at least not in the same way.  Jung’s collective consciousness makes sense to me.  And. . .uhm. . .these individuals were serious and committed to communicating what they experienced but approached it in different ways for different reasons – sometimes for good reasons and sometimes not.  That’s a simple explanation.  I don’t think you’re not proposing a deep philosophical discussion about this right at this moment, are you?”

 “And what did you take away from Crowley?”

“I found his writings difficult.”

He chuckled at her observation.  “Yes, it is, at first,”

“I think he was a much-maligned hedonist who lived an incredible life, right?  But also, a genius who pissed off a lot of people. Maybe I needed to spend more time with his writings to understand what he was proposing, but I’ve never felt compelled to do it.  I do use his tarot deck though.  His stuff on tarot was much more accessible to me.”

“And what about-“

“Tantra?” She slyly finished his question, confident with the choice of word.

“Yes.  Were you a dilettante, a dabbler, or something. . .more, love?”

The intensity in his eyes unleashed a warm frisson running inside her. “Ah. . .I was a little more than dabbler, I guess, but that was. . .well. . .a very long time ago.”

“And how do you remember it, love, fondly or otherwise?”

“Fondly. . . Jimmy, what is it you want to know?” Again, he did not respond but plowed forward; his agenda not yet completed.

“Ummm. . .I want to explain something that may be important for you to know.”

“I don’t –“

“No, just listen, love.  I want you to understand my proclivities.”

“Okaaay. . .”

“If you bear with me a moment, hmmm?”

She nodded.

“On a high level-” he smiled at repeating her caveat.  “You know, there was a strong relationship between the unseen world and humans before societies organized.  It was vital.  As rulers and religions with their hierarchies and agendas became the way of the world, this link to obscure knowledge became a threat to those with power.  The result?  Censuring, demonization, purges, and deaths of those with alternative ways of seeing. The innate ability we once all had slowly disappeared or became forbidden where it remained. John Dee, one of the most learned and esteemed minds of his time, was a counselor to Elizabeth I.  His library was thought to be the greatest in England in the Elizabethan era.  He was a mathematician and a scientist but he was also a magician.  His recorded magical experiences are the underpinnings of the Golden Dawn’s and Crowley’s systems.  Dee had encounters with beings he identified as angels who dictated to him and his scryer, in an unknown language using an also unknown alphabet. The two translated their records which became the basis of Enochian magic. But in his time, brilliance and accomplishment be damned, he was ridiculed, accused, and died in poverty.   I don’t mean to give you a lecture, love, and I am getting to my point.”

“No, please. I don’t feel lectured at all.” 

“Good,” he smiled softly and continued.  “Visitations by beings who imparted knowledge are as old as recorded history – in all cultures.  There were angels, demons, gods, goddesses, malaks, devas- that’s just a few.  So, if throughout history these messengers were observed, why did their visitations cease?   Because again, those who announced interaction with or even privately communed with spiritual beings were dangerous to the powerful and were silenced, banished from society as deranged, as lunatics, as consorting with demons, crazy, except, of course, when they were required to appear as a curiosity. I could go on.  Crowley had his own visitations that led to The Book of Law and his other writings.  And as you said, he was much maligned for it.”

“He was, but I think the sex and drugs contributed to the criticism, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, much like we experienced not so very long ago, yeah? He at one point said he followed 'The Three Kings - smo-king, drin-king and fuc-king.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay," she laughed, "point taken."

“He was very blatant, certainly.  He was devoted to physical pleasure as one way to be open to receiving information and along with certain substances, to free the subconscious desires – true will -  from the control of the conscious mind.  ‘Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law’ and ‘Love is the law, love under will’ are guiding principles in O.T.O. and Thelema. True will is essentially the calling or purpose in life.  Magick is the method to attain that purpose. As you pursue your journey, you cannot interfere with another’s exercise of their true will. . . It is not malevolent. . .And I am a practitioner and have been for a very long time, although not a diligent one.  I do not proselytize nor try to convert.   This is something I engage in privately and without much comment, as you know. There are very, very few people I have had this conversation with and now I’m having it with you.  I hope you understand the regard I have for you to reveal this part of myself.” His eyes scanned her face looking for acceptance or rejection. “So, does that make you want to run screaming for London?”

She started to make a smart remark to his question, thinking it was his usual sarcasm. He had not been this serious in their hours together but he was very serious now.  It was apparent in his piercing eyes, the tightened grasp on her fingers, and the smile missing from his face. She was at a loss for how to respond.  The depth of the admission felt immense.  No words could match it.  All she could do was bring his fingers to her lips where she placed a long, soft kiss.

“Jimmy. . .thank you. . .for trusting me.  And no, I’m not running at all.”  She could not let him go, so she took his hand in both of hers, silent.

“There’s a bit more I need to say, all right?”

“Please,” she said, barely audible.

“You are not alone in experiences you can’t explain.”

“What do you mean, Jimmy?”

“I mentioned that when I read your letter it had peculiarly affected me.  Yes?”

She nodded in agreement.

“That first night, when I was sitting with the letter, I could detect. . .no, feel is a better description. . .an energy coming from the paper and a barely perceptible voice.  Now that I have met you and heard your voice, it is hauntingly similar, my dear.”

“Fuck, Jimmy.”

“Yeah. . .and I had a dream - the very evening - of a white bird that flew to my window seeking entrance. Later I connected it to your letter by some intuition.   Ever since I saw you arrive at The Bull, a whispering of familiarity has gotten stronger.  You’ve confirmed we have not met in the past.  And. . .uh. . .last night I was moved to read my cards as well.  Your reading was perplexing you said; mine was extremely interesting and certainly related to you.  And now with your reaction at the Deanery, I’m at a loss to explain.  But I do know this:  we have a connection that seems to be shouting at us, love.”

“What the hell, Jimmy?  I. . .I. . .don’t know what to. . .Fuck!  What do I do with that?”

“Let’s have a cigarette, hmmm?”  He stood to pull her chair back. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” She handed him a cigarette and lit his then hers.

They walked hand in hand to the river’s edge where they separated each in their own thoughts.  After a minute, he flicked the cigarette into the river and slid behind her.  He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her close, and rested his chin on her shoulder.

He spoke very quietly in her ear. “I had decided to ask you this last night.  I hope your experience earlier doesn’t affect your response, but. . .”

“I’m feeling differently about it, I think. . .not so weirded out.”

“That’s good, Jane, because we have to investigate why we have been drawn to each other this particular way.  You’ve mentioned you don’t have any immediate plans, so would you come to stay at Deanery for a while?  I have engagements in London in a week, give or take, so we could go back together.  Or, if you prefer, you can stay on at the Inn, as my guest. No debate about that, hmmm?”

She turned to him and stepped back. “Wow. You are full of surprises!”

He watched her eyelids start to twitch as she looked down and knew her analytical side had engaged.

“Hey, look at me.”  She was still wide-eyed as she gazed up from the ground.  “You could just say yes, you know, but it’s plain that you have to think about it.” His finger tilted her chin so she looked directly at him. “James will be here all day tomorrow.  If you decide to go back to London, he will take you.  If you decide to come to the Deanery, we can find a good time for him to move you over and if you stay on at the Bull, we’ll figure out when to get together.  No pressure, Jane.  Is that agreeable?”

“Uh, yeah. . .yeah, it is.  Sorry wasn’t expecting that.”

“Shall we get you back to the Bull so you can start your deliberations?”

“Ha! You’re such a smart-ass. Yeah, let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jane was restless after returning to the Inn.  She found her way to a table in the far corner of the bar with a double shot. Even that didn’t settle her.  She left the half-empty glass and walked out into the cool evening air.  She headed through the car lot to the gate, knowing the other direction would take her to the Deanery.  She didn’t want to do that.  Absorbed in mentally debating the pros and cons of the situation she found herself in, she paid little attention to direction.  As the night fell, the glimmer of the tea lights from the spot across the lock caught her attention.

Yeah, I’ll hang out here for a while.  Nice and peaceful.

As she approached the bench, in the dimness she saw a figure already occupying the seat. He was hunched over, forearms on his knees, staring out at the water.

Shit!  There’s someone there.  Wait!

Her arrival at the bench was unnoticed. He didn’t respond until she plopped down on the bench disturbing his concentration.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she laughed.  “Sorry. . .didn't mean to disturb your solitary time.  Guess we had the same idea, huh?  Imagine that!”

“Ha!  Hello again, Jane.  I was just heading back.  Please don’t take offense – nothing to do with your arrival.  Do you want me to walk you to the Bull?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

He rose and slung his hands in his pockets. “Good night.”  He leaned over and whispered, “Take your time, love.  No rush, but call me, yeah?”

“Good night, beautiful man.”

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

It's still officially cocktober, right?

idk what this one is about myself

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

[This got a little unwieldy - so Chapter 10 is split into 2 parts. . .and not quite there yet - but soon. 😁]

Jimmy had just finished his very important errand of the morning and strolled down Thames Street on his way to The Bull.  A grin spread across his face as he started the call and brought the phone to his ear.  After several beeps, a giggling voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Morris, I presume?”

“Why, yes, good morning, Cousin Rob.”

They chuckled together for a second enjoying their mutual masquerade.

“I was wondering if you’re ready to explore.  I thought we could meet soon in the bar at the Bull.”

“Well, Cuz, it just so happens I am sitting in the bar right now finishing breakfast.  Would you like me to order you something?”

“No. . .well. . .maybe some coffee.”

“Done.  See you in a few, my dear Mr. MacGregor.  Bye.”

The grin remained as he rounded the High Street to the Inn. He found her in the corner of the bar room, red-framed glasses on the tip of her nose, engrossed in the screen of her phone. She didn’t notice his approach or even when he was standing before her, hands slung in his pockets.

“Ehh hum,” he intoned sharply to get her attention.

Her gaze popped up meeting his in surprise.  “Oh!  Hi, you,” she chirped, pulling the glasses from her face.  “So sorry – a work thing,” she said waving the phone at him. “And it appears I have to attend to it while I’m here.”

“Good morning, love.” He slid into the chair next to her, taking her hand and turning it to place a warm kiss on her palm. “Nothing serious, I hope.  Do you have to go back to London?”

Her eyes locked with his while ‘the most sensual man’ flitted like a chyron through her thoughts. “Uhmm. . .no, no, nothing like that,” she said with a light squeeze before releasing his hand.  “Just something unexpected I can take care of later in the stay.  It’s all good, I think.”

He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a needed sip. “Good. . .that is excellent news. So, are you ready for St. Andrews and a few other surprises I have for you?” He sipped with inquiring eyes and brows raised in expectation.

“Ha! Surprises? How could I possibly say no to that?  Yeah.  I’m ready whenever you are.”

Jimmy smiled at her intently, trying to decode the intonation of her last statement.

Ummm. . .I think there was a bit of a double entendre there. 

“Well, right then.  Let’s be on our way,” he said taking a final gulp of his coffee as he stood.

They made their way through the car lot to the wooden gate at the path.  Jimmy swung her hand in his as they traveled the same walk as the prior evening until they reached the fork with the pathway to the church grounds.

“This way takes us right up to the church,” he said guiding her along.

They crossed through an opening in the stone wall of the churchyard surrounded by ancient gravestones to another walkway leading to a side entrance of the building.  There, a tall man in a long, black cassock awaited them.

“Good morning again, Vicar.  This is my friend I mentioned earlier, Jane Mott.”

“Uhh. . .good morning, Vicar.  It’s a pleasure to meet you,” She nodded with a smile and then looked askance at Jimmy.

“Yeah, uh. . .Jane.  I visited the Vicar earlier this morning to get special dispensation for us to go up in the tower,” Jimmy chuckled.  “Apparently, it’s been marked off limits for a while.  But thank you, Vicar.  I promise we will be very careful.”

“Very good, Jim.  Jane, nice to meet you.  Well, you two should get to it then, but carefully,” he admonished as he walked away.

Jimmy pushed open the tall, narrow door set in the church’s stone wall that was barely wide enough for them to squeeze through one at a time.  They indeed climbed the steep wooden stairs cautiously as the renovation caused the railings to be missing in many places.  Safely at the top, he watched her as she took in the panoramic view from the tower’s pinnacle.

“Wow, wow, wow, Jimmy!  This is breath-taking, the view is. . .” She slowly faced each direction from the center of the floor, then settled at the chest-high ledge of the wall facing the Deanery. “Glorious. . . it really is.”

He joined her.  “Yeah, it is. That’s the Deanery, there.”  He sidled against her and pointed to the walled property just beyond The Bull below.

“Wow again.  That’s all yours, huh?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“When was it built?  It’s gorgeous.”

“Well, the architect was Edwin Lutyens and it was completed in 1901.  Actually, some years ago, I lived in another house he designed. They are all quite unique. Deanery is in the Arts and Crafts vein, like all of his early buildings, but it’s difficult to see the detail from here. Most of the wall around the property is from the 16th century.  Rather amazing, that.”

“You are very fortunate, Jimmy.”

“Yes, love.  That I am.”

They fell into the comfortable silence that was becoming characteristic of their time together. After a while, she turned to him, slowly scanning his face, and said a bit shyly, “I’m sorry if this is presumptuous of me and personal. . .again. . .but, you know if you weren’t the famous you, or maybe before you were the famous you, if we had met I. . .uh. . .think we could have been good friends. I mean, talking with you is really nice. . .very interesting and. . .easy, Jimmy.”

He looked at her for a few moments, then replied softly, “Not presumptuous at all.  I think I might agree. And the famous part has no bearing, really.”

“That is excellent news, Jimmy. . .I think,” she said with a slight smirk.

“Ha! I’m sure we could have been, particularly because of your drollness, my dear. But now, I’d like to get on with the surprises. . .unless you’d rather not, of course,” he returned her smirk.

“Okay, Mr. MacGregor, let’s go.”

They left the church grounds and found themselves on Thames Street, the main thoroughfare in Sonning.  They passed neatly kept white-washed row houses with gabled roofs before the Deanery’s massive wall with its brick abutments appeared.

“Geez, Jimmy, this is impressive,” she said as her fingertips dragged along the roughness of the centuries-old surface.

“Isn’t it,” he smiled.  He stopped abruptly and turned to her. The smile spread further across his face and his eyes twinkled jade green in the sunlight. “So, for the first surprise -I’ve arranged for lunch at a very nice spot along the river if you’re up for the walk.”

“Absolutely.  That would be very nice.”

“And for seconds, perhaps a tour of the Deanery? I thought you might like a close look at the architecture.”

“Do you even need to ask me that?” She laughed. “Yes, yes, I would very much like that.”

They halted at a large wooden double door set into one of the brick archways of the wall.  Jimmy entered the code in the keypad, turned the iron handle, and revealed the entranceway to the manse.  She stepped across the threshold after him as he closed the doors behind them and continued down the entranceway.

“That’s pretty cool, Jimmy.  Modern technology joined with the 16th cen. . .tur. . .y. . .”

As her eyes scanned the cloistered walk, she stopped short as Jimmy walked on unawares. Wide-eyed, she said softer than a whisper, “Fuck. . .this looks like. . .”

Jimmy turned to her, proudly beaming with arms spread wide at his sides.  “Welcome to Deanery Gardens, Lady Jane.” His countenance collapsed when he saw the look on her face.  “Hey, are you all right?” He was quickly by her side. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.  I. . .uh. . .just felt weird for a second.  I guess I’m still not done with jet lag.  Sorry. . .I’m fine really.”

“You’re sure?  We can go into the hall and sit down.  Do you need some water?”

“Jimmy, thank you but stop,” she chuckled, trying to cover the confusion that was spiking inside.  “I’m okay.  Honestly.  Can we go on with the tour – please?”

“All right.  You’re sure.” He looked at her questioningly. She nodded. “Right then.  Uh. . .this walkway goes to gardens off to the side of the house. We’ll get there in a bit.” He stood in front of a curved covered opening leading to an arcade of brick columns adorned with flowers and other plants beyond.  “And this,” he said stepping to an identical outlet directly across the entranceway, “is the courtyard that leads to the kitchen and pantry and the other rooms in the back of the house.”

The main feature of the courtyard was the fountain in the form of a finely carved stone statue of a young man with a stream spilling from the waterskin held in his arms.

“This is. . .,” she paused as she circled the courtyard looking up at the walls and windows surrounding it. “Those windows are wonderful. There’s something similar but on a much smaller scale in my house.  And the detail! – the zig-zag of the water channel to the fountain!”

“Yes, I knew you’d like a closer look.  I thought we’d go to the second floor now before the rest of the first floor.  Okay?”

“Sure.  Lead on.”

They returned to the entranceway and opened another wooden door just a few feet past the courtyard arch.

“This is the main house.  The stairs off to the left here go to the second floor.” He started up the sharp-angled and spindled wooden staircase.  He waited for her at the top of the last flight as she slowly made her way up, fingers running over the contours of the wood.

“Beautiful, Jimmy.  I’m running out of adjectives,” she laughed and he joined in as she stepped to the top stair. 

When she reached him, he backed down the gallery to describe the details of the design to her. “And this leads to the bedrooms at each end. . .and there are windows here that look over the great hall facing the gardens. . .  Jane?”

She was frozen in place with the same look on her face but much more intense. She hadn’t heard anything he said since she first stepped into the long hall before her.

“I don’t fucking understand this,” she said in disbelief, almost to herself.

Jimmy was next to her in a flash and took hold of her arm since she looked quite pale.  “Jane, really, what is it? Are you ill?” He guided her to one of the chairs grouped in the hallway.

“I’m really okay just really. . .uh. . .weirded out. . .”

“Yes, you said that before, but it’s not really helpful, Jane.  Please, just tell me what’s going on,” he said pulling up a chair close to her.

“Okay. . .uhm. . .maybe I’ll take you up on that glass of water.  Could we go downstairs – uh. . .to the hall, you said?” She inhaled deeply as she looked at her surroundings.

“Here, let me help you up,” he said taking her hand and gingerly pulling her up from the seat.

“Really, Jimmy. I’m good. You’re quite the mother hen, but thanks,” she patted his shoulder and headed to the stairway.

“All right, then.  To the hall, we go.”  She took the lead and he followed, intent on grabbing her if she started to falter.

At the bottom, he caught her at the waist and guided her to the hall.  “This way, love.”

The great hall was a massive room with windows running from the floor to the high ceilings with dark vaulted timbers set into the sandstone-like walls.  The arches were the feature and they repeated not only in the walls but in the ceiling as well.  A fireplace with complex brickwork rose on the side of the room opposite the windows. High above the fireplace, windows of the gallery overlook were set in the upper right of the wall - the gallery that so rattled her a few moments earlier.  Various couches, chairs, tables, rugs, and lamps filled the ample floor space of the hall. Beyond the windows, terraced green lawns, trees, and flowers extended as far as the eye could see.  Jimmy deposited her in one of the couches facing the garden.

“I’ll be right back.  Water?  Or do you want something stronger?  I think I can find something,” he asked as he headed for the kitchen.

“Water’s fine, thanks.” She couldn’t help gawking at the room. The pattern was repeated all around her. There was no escape from the spectacle of her dream made real.

“Here you are, Jane.” He placed the water glass in her hand and sat very close facing her on the couch.  “Now tell me.  What is it that has you so ‘weirded out’?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure I can.  I don’t know what it is.  But, uh, it has to do with another dream.  Sorry, that’s all I seem to talk about. . .” she laughed, abashed.  “I told you I had trouble remembering them for a long while.  But on the flight over from Atlanta, I had the most unbelievably vivid one that I remember every detail of.”

“So, your dream had something to do with the Deanery?” he asked, puzzled.

“No.  Well, maybe, I guess.  I said I have no fucking idea what’s going on, right? Sorry. . .don’t mean to be shitty.”

She went on to explain the details – the wood beams set in the pale walls, the room with the round table, the stained-glass windows, the men, the green lights that turned into an aurora borealis in the sky and the felt but not seen companion.  Her description ignited a ripple of excited recognition in him.

“And today, when I walked in, it sort of smacked me in the face, the feel of it, you know.  I thought maybe I was just imagining it.  But on the second floor, that was what I saw in the dream.  I can’t wrap my mind around it.  I’ve never been here or even seen a freakin’ picture of this place.  How can I already know what it looks like?”

“I don’t know, Jane.  Maybe it’s not something to be freaked out about, though.  Maybe time is needed to understand, love.  It’s very fruitful to remember dreams.  You’re here because of one, aren’t you?”

“Hmmm.  Yeah, I guess I am.” She fell back into the sofa pillows.  “And on top of that,” she insisted in exasperation, “I read my cards last night and got a really perplexing reading.”

“Did you, now!” Another tingle zipped through him.  “Why perplexing?”

“I’m still working through it – all of this, really.  Not quite ready to share.  Is that okay?  I’m really not avoiding your question.  I just don’t know the answer.”

“Well, I’m ready whenever you are ready to tell me, love.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.”

“Do you think you’re up for a walk through the garden?  I’m sure you’re jonesing for a cigarette,” he chuckled.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am, smart-ass,” she snarked.  “I’m recovered. . .not going to faint on you or anything.  The gardens look lovely, so yeah.”

He led her through the kitchen pantry back into the courtyard, through the arched openings, and down the columned walkway.

“This is part herb garden and part wild garden.” He stepped down the stairs set in the low stone garden wall.  Waving stalks of purple lavender predominated but interspersed among them were shrubs of rosemary, thyme, basil, fennel, and dill.  The irregular plots were edged with various kinds of parsley and mint.  The combination of scents was ambrosial.  Nestled in the far corner of the lavender patches was a small, round, stone gazebo with open windows and a slated roof.

“Jimmy, this is amazing.  I wish I were an artist.  This would be a perfect painting.  The aromas. . .umm. . .I could plop myself down here and never get up.  I love lavender.   I grow it at home and dry it for pillows.”

“I find it very soothing and of course, there’s its protective properties.”

The wild garden was one of two on the grounds.  The vantage from this one terraced down to the edge of the garden to the ancient wall.  Tall grasses swayed in clumped formations across the far reaches of the garden.  Jimmy explained the placement of a menagerie of fruit trees and flowering shrubs.  He led her to other unique features of the garden:  a paved square with greenery and beds of tiny, ground-cover roses forming a geometric design in its interior; the hip-high wall at one side of the square intersected by uniformly placed round and square columns, all constructed entirely of brick, supporting an open wood beam roof; and the identical but smaller structure several yards off to the side.

“These are the pergolas.  Several varieties of Victorian strains of flowers still grow here.  They were planted by Gertrude Jekyll who did the original garden design for this and other Lutyens projects.”

“Wow. . .again!  The roses are lovely.”

Their final destination was a path to the terrace steps in the middle of the garden.  Standing at the head of the stairs, she viewed the crazy order in front of her. Behind her, perpendicular to the steps, was the stone-paved path leading back to the manor’s terrace where the same curved steps were duplicated at its edge.  Everything was, at the same time, symmetrical and haphazard.  She finally lit the cigarette, having forgotten all about it until then.

“I love this, Jimmy.  It’s so very ordered but, here and there, it’s a bit of wildness.  Thank you, truly, for showing me your home.”

“It’s my pleasure, love.  And particularly for someone who has an appreciation of it.” He reached for the cigarette to take a drag.  “May I?”  She nodded with a chiding look but remained silent. He inhaled the cool smoke, slid the cigarette back between her fingers, and turned her to him. “And you, my dear, are quite orderly yourself but I think there’s more than a bit of wildness hidden in here.” His tone was soft and tinged with suggestion as he gently tapped her temple with a finger following slowly along her jawline. 

She looked directly into his sparkling eyes with her own sultry smile.  “You could be correct, Mr. Page.”

“Mmmm.  I’m fairly certain I am.” He was about to say more but resisted.  “Shall we make our way to luncheon, Lady Jane?”

As they reentered the hall, Jane gathered her bag.  “Umm.  A restroom before we go?”

“Certainly.  It’s just beyond the stairs to the second floor.  Here, I’ll show you.”

“No, that’s okay.  I think I know the way,” she said as she made her way through the hallway door to the stairs.

Jimmy stood at the towering windows, hands slung into his pockets, considering all that had transpired since she walked into the garden yesterday. There was a simmer of possibility bubbling within him. The cards and the images she described from the dream further increased the simmer – verging on a boil.

Christ!  I thought there were too many signs to ignore when we first reached out to her last year.  But now. . .more conundrums.  And last night, the vision of her that woke me - I can’t quite grasp what it was.  Can’t shake that feeling of familiarity.

“Okay, ready.”

He turned to find her leaning in the doorway, much more like herself. Something about the way she stood, the look on her face just inflamed his already heightened sense of an attachment to her. . .somehow.

“Shall we off, love?” He turned her in the doorway, one arm around her waist to speed her through the entranceway and to the street, hoping to avoid any additional adverse reactions.

"Yes, Jimmy, let's."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Deanery (pre-Jimmy)

From the St Andrews tower~

The Cloistered entranceway~

The stairs to the second floor

The Upstairs Gallery

The Great Hall walls/ceiling

The Pergolas

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

🤔😁

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

NEW CHAPTER

As I stepped inside, the warmth of the Inn swept over me. The ever-present aroma of birch wood lingered in the air. Muffled conversations drifted from the bar punctuated with occasional spikes of laughter and the rattle of glassware.  

I closed my eyes for just a second, taking it all in, before pushing myself forward into the reception area.  Kirk rounded the corner as I passed the desk.

“Evening, Jane.  Hope all is well.”

“Good evening, Kirk.  Yeah, it’s been a wonderful day.”

“Will you be needing anything?”

“Well, now that you asked,” I grinned.  “Would it be possible to get some whiskey and maybe a bunch of candles?”  A plan for the remainder of the evening was formulated.

“There should be some boxes of votives in the cabinet in your room.  I’ll just pop in the bar for the other.  I might be able to find a decanter for you,” he laughed with a wink.  “Preference as to label?”

“I trust your judgment.  Gonna step outside for a smoke, so no rush.  I’ll pick it up in a bit.  Thanks so much, Kirk.”

I walked down the hall to the alcove of the garden doorway.  Running my fingers over the lead of the panes, I was unable to hold back a smile.

Things are quite different since the last time I stood here.

I opened the door and stepped onto the porch under its ivy-covered arbor.  Not a soul in sight - I was alone.  After lighting the cigarette, I retraced the stone walkway leading to the back of the yard.  Pausing momentarily, I saw him, in my mind’s eye, sauntering towards me at that very spot earlier in the day.

I will never, never, ever forget that.   

Sinking onto the bench, I pulled the shawl tight around me and stretched back against the table’s edge, eyes upward, marveling at the brilliant starry night.

A perfect ending to a perfect day. . .

The calm beauty of the night sky matched the inner peacefulness that had grown over the hours I had spent with him.

So much to savor from today. . .and so much that I hadn’t bargained for. . .I’ve gotta process all of this.

I sighed as I snubbed out a second cigarette and made my way back inside.  Kirk was doing double duty at the bar and the reception desk. A tray was ready for me with the decanter, glasses, and a small ice bucket.

“This is great, Kirk.  Don’t need the ice and only one glass, but thanks,” I said sliding both items back onto the bar.   “Uhh. . .what time is breakfast served?”

“We start at seven.  The dining room is just on the other side of reception.  There’s a menu in your room and we’re happy to bring breakfast up if you want.  If you need anything at all, just ring down to the desk.  Have a good night, Jane.”

“I absolutely will,” I said as I raised the decanter in salute to him. “Night.”

As I climbed the staircase, a slight queasiness came over me insisting food now would probably be a good idea, but I wasn’t at all hungry.

Ha. . .wine and whiskey on an empty stomach, both on the same day. . .This can’t become a trend, Jane.

As soon as I entered the room, I set about the plan, disrobing as I went.  The votives were just as Kirk said.  I planted them around the bedroom, the bathroom, and on the wide ledge running along the wall side of the claw and ball foot tub. A basket of biscuits and other treats had been deposited on the desk at some time in my absence.  Finding a shortbread, I munched as I turned on the taps and sprinkled the Inn’s fragrant bath salts into the already steaming water.

Hopefully, that fixes the stomach issue. . . .

The candles were lit with the matches Kirk had thoughtfully slipped on the tray.  The illumination from the room spilled into the bedroom beyond.  As I hung my blouse in the wardrobe, the candlelight sparked off the metal clasp of the elastic band still around my wrist. Snapping it against my wrist caused a shiver of remembrance.

Mmmm. . .the thought of him!  Leaves me fucking breathless. . .and another precious item to keep.

I slipped it off my wrist, storing it in the pen box with the other memento.  After pouring myself a healthy shot, I twisted my hair up into a clip and slid into the hot, fragrant water.

Ahhhh. . . what an unbelievable day. . .

As I sipped on the whiskey, the warming effects of the liquor seeping through my body, combined with the heat of the water, lulled me into a delicious stasis.  I felt weightless.

Hmmm. . .almost as good as a joint. . .

Sliding further into the comfort of the water, I tried to recall every second of the day's events – attempting to make sense of it all. The impression of the first contact flooded back - when he grasped my hand with that very subtle caress.

He truly is the most sensuous man I have ever met.

I cataloged back through my prior relationships – from the very first encounters to the most recent one.

Yes. . .he is.  That should have been my first clue. . .mmmmm

It was amazing how quickly he put me at ease in the garden. His descriptions of the experiences he was willing to share, the breadth of his knowledge, and his subtle innuendos took our conversations on tangents I didn’t expect.

I just really like him. . .being with him. . .so easy to talk to. . .mmmm. . .and more to come tomorrow. . .so not like I thought it would be. . .

As the aroma of sandalwood floated up from the water, my mind focused on the more sensual parts of the day – the soft, beguiling tone of his voice, his hand in mine, his touch on my wrist. . .on my thigh. . .the strands of his hair gliding across my fingers – all of it overwhelmed me. 

What will it be like. . . would be like if. . .

Under the water, my fingertips glided slowly, in swirling patterns on my skin, as I imagined they were his. In my weightless state, I could almost see him, feel him, there with me. I reveled in the heightened awareness for a few moments before abruptly stopping myself.

Nope. . .not gonna do that.  No fantasy it before it happens. . .if it happens. . .at least not tonight.

I grabbed the glass from the ledge and took a long sip, before returning it to the shelf and sinking even further into the water.

I think it’s gonna happen. . .

As I tried to turn my thoughts away from that possibility, the prickly rush from earlier in the evening flared into my thoughts – that disorienting feeling. A whisper in the very back of my mind, barely detected, seemed to chant it was a truth - that it was not strange my hand lightly grasping the curve of his waist seemed as if I had done it hundreds of times before and. . .a familiar warmth under my hand. The flare turned into a whirlwind of some emotion I couldn’t grasp.

How is that even possible??. . .that. . . that. . .I’ve felt that before. . . the intimacy. . .my hand holding him like that.  What the fuck!

I could make no sense of the burning now felt deeply to my very core.  The walk back along the river felt comfortable and right somehow - yes - but that kind of connection – the recognition – not possible.  The remembered confusion from that moment on the Thames path turned into the same serenity that came over me after the dream that triggered this whole adventure.

 I just don’t get it.  It’s good. . .I think. . .but at the same time, don’t overthink, Jane. . . .

It was time to check in with my ‘means of divination.’ I rose from the bath and hastily threw on a terrycloth robe from the wardrobe.  The candles from the bathroom were transported to add to the light in the bedroom.  Jimmy’s note was placed in the center of the bed with my shawl from the day spread over it.  I eased the cards from the velvet bag onto the scarf.  After focusing on the deck enclosed in my hands, I slowly laid out the spread.  The order of the cards caused me to take a quick, deep breath.

No fucking way!

The Empress, the Tower, the Lovers, the Fool – all were set in very, very, interesting but perplexing positions. 

I have no freakin’ idea what this means exactly. I have never met him before now. . .I must be misunderstanding. . .but that feeling from earlier. . .familiar but unfamiliar. . .what is that?

I fell back into the pillows trying to reason through what the cards communicated.  The effects of the bath, the whiskey, and jet lag all converged at once.  Sleep insisted I succumb to it. I returned the cards to the bag and blew out the candles, placing the scarf and the note on the bedside table.

As I snuggled into the bedcovers, the windows rattled ever so slightly with a change in the calm of the night.  Outside the window, a faint whistling of the wind blended with the angrily rustling leaves to serenade me.  The sound of the wind always comforted me and it helped to settle the percolating questions popping up in my head.  As I drifted off to sleep, the words from my letter to him ran through my thoughts.

“Hmm. . .yes,” I sighed.

Che sera, sera, Jimmy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jimmy was pleasantly consumed with thoughts of Jane on his walk up the High Street to Deanery Gardens. He entered the code into a pad fixed to the brick arch of the doorway and entered the quiet security of his home.  He closed the door behind him, rambling, preoccupied, down the entrance hall through the moonlit courtyard and eventually to the kitchen.  After pouring a glass of wine, he traveled on through the great hall and into the garden, finding his favorite spot on the terrace.  His destination was a simple, wooden garden chair placed so he could survey the lawns, flowers, shrubs, and trees perfectly located throughout the very large walled garden. As he sipped, the faint scent of lavender could be detected in the breeze that was rising.  It triggered a distant memory – a planned adventure – forgotten over the years.

How strange that comes to me now.

He considered the details he could recall of the resurrected plan as he waited.  It was the perfect time of evening and of year for a phenomenon to appear in his garden.  He was not disappointed.  As he leaned forward in the chair, faint points of light twinkled intermittently in the far corners of the view before him.  Rising from the chair, he stepped to the edge of the terrace stairway as the glimmering points in the corners melded across the border of the distant garden wall. The wind had changed, picking up a force that whipped his still unbound hair around his face. Through the trees swaying in the gusts, the lights, now merged into pulsing blossoms of amber-green, seemingly levitated in air.  He smiled at the sight of them and in the periphery, of the dark-bottomed clouds speeding past the waxing moon. He took a slow, deep sip from the glass noting the omens of the night before turning to reenter the silent manse with a determined smile and gait.   

He walked directly to the study, which was cast in a yellow glow emanating from the flames in the brick fireplace that faintly illuminated the high-ceilinged room.  He paused at one of the bookcases lining the walls taking from it an ornately carved and inlaid wooden box.  Settling on the sofa before the fire, he focused on the box placed in the center of the low table in front of him.

Something to be discovered, I think. . .why has she sparked such. . .consternation. . .

He pulled the object toward him and carefully pushed the buttons arranged on its sides in the required sequence.  Once opened, it revealed old friends waiting until they were needed.  He took the deck from the box and considered what he hoped to discover.  Slowly and deliberately, he arranged the cards in the pattern, pausing after each placement to understand its effect on the rest. When he was done, he leaned back to consider all that was before him. 

Well, well. . .much to explore. . .and. . .maybe it is the time

He carefully returned the cards to the box and the box to the bookcase.  Grabbing his empty glass, he found the bottle left on the kitchen table, swirled its ruby liquid into the glass, and gravitated to the windows of the great hall that rose from the floor to the high-timbered ceilings. He looked out over the garden once more.  The wind had died down considerably and the green blossoms of light had started to fade.  He slowly sipped the wine and accepted several realizations that had been cemented by the events of the day.  He couldn’t repress the smile rising from the multitude of emotions he felt.

Che sera, sera, Lady Jane.

Title Image - Beauty and the Birds at Night by Duy Huynh

Deanery Gardens (all pre-Jimmy ☹)

The Courtyard

The edge of the Terrace walkway

Portion of the Garden

Puzzle box example

CHAPTER LIST - https://www.tumblr.com/letmewanderinyourgarden2022/701210499738714112/chapter-list-let-me-wander-in-your-garden?source=share

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

NEW CHAPTER

As I closed the door behind us, the ‘falling down the rabbit hole’ feeling from earlier in the day returned.  The intensity of our encounter still surged through me as I stepped into the hall.  

I wanted nothing more than to fling open the door and pull him back inside – but the wish to spend more time with him before we arrived at that place – if we arrived there - was equally strong.  I hesitated, my hand still grasping the doorknob, as I composed myself. He patiently waited for me to focus and start down the corridor.  Remembering that it was possible my thoughts may not be my own, I quickly glanced at him finding an amused grin.  

He can read my mind! Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I closed my eyes, shook my head, giving a perturbed smile in return before forcing myself down the hall before him. I fidgeted with the shawl that insisted on falling off my shoulders. As we neared the stairway, his hand skimmed my arm. 

“Here, love.  Let me fix that for you.”

I started to turn to him but his hands on my waist stopped me. He grabbed the ends of the shawl at my side, crossed them in front, and tied them snuggly at the small of my back.

“There.  I think that will do.  I saw you do that earlier.  Better now?” he said as his hands smoothed the fabric around my arms and then drifted to my shoulders.

“Much.  Thank you,” I smiled over my shoulder.

“Ready?” he said quietly as he slowly circled his thumbs into the rigid muscles of my shoulders. 

“Yeah, thanks. Mmm. . .a little tense, huh?” I laughed as I lolled against him for a few seconds enjoying the impromptu massage and the feel of his chest against me.

“Just a bit,” he commiserated with a final slide of his thumbs and a pat before we continued down the stairs.

In the reception area, Moira looked up from her phone call as we entered.  She smiled with a “knowing” twinkle in her eye and a nod.  She had obviously concluded that “something” had transpired upstairs.  I decided to play along and smugly returned her look as I grabbed two water bottles from the basket on the desk.

Once outside, I couldn’t hold back my giggles. Jimmy turned back, perplexed.

“What?”

“Hee, hee, hee!  She thinks we. . .uh. . .I bet she’s marking a big red ‘A’ next to my name in the registry right now. . .the scarlet letter for the wanton American. . .a thief, too.  Water?” I snickered, offering him one of the bottles.

“I doubt that,” he chuckled, slipping the bottle into his jacket pocket.  His hand floated to the small of my back as he pulled me close, and seductively hummed in my ear, “but. . .are you. . .wanton?” 

 “Why, Mr. Page. . . I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me,” I hummed back. 

“Okay, solicitor,” he mocked as he guided me forward.  “Right, then. . . We’re taking the path just off the car lot there” He nodded to a tree-lined walkway beyond a large wooden gate ahead.  “This will take us by St Andrews.”

We followed the leafy walk up a gradual hill to the boundary of the church grounds.  As we passed, Jimmy regaled me with bits of its history and relationship to Deanery Gardens, pointing out the various features as he narrated.

I fucking love this!  Is there any subject he doesn’t know something about?

Just beyond the church, we reached the intersection of a walkway that ran along the river’s edge.

“This is the Thames Path – originates in London, more or less, and ends in Kemble, which is about an hour’s drive west from here.  It’s an amazing walk.”

“Wow.  Have you walked it?

“No, not all of it, but parts of it, yeah.  It runs through Pangbourne, so I used to explore it quite a bit when I lived there.  Not in some time, though.  Why don’t we go this way,” he said as we took the graveled trail to our left.  “I’ll show you the lock.”

We strolled silently in the setting sun, enjoying each other without the need for conversation.  In a way, it seemed as if the event in the room hadn’t happened. I sighed at the recognition that it may end up being the only wonderfully sensual memory for me to keep.  I was unsure – I didn’t want to disrupt the possibility of a friendship of some sort with him by being so blatantly suggestive, as I was earlier. It was in jest before but now it didn’t seem so far-fetched. On the other hand, I really hadn’t dwelled on the idea that a real physical encounter with him could happen. Honestly, there were fleeting thoughts over the years of what that would be like.  But after the hours we had spent together, I wanted him - totally – to know his thoughts, desires, likes, and dislikes, and not only in relation to the band or even music but to understand him. . . and. . .to have him in my bed.  It should have seemed implausible, but his demeanor, his reaction to my rather spicy comments, his revelation about the letter, and the boots. . .all opened a path it appeared we were slowly navigating.  Even so, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too far from his mind.

“This is a lovely walk.  I wouldn’t have made it this far if I hadn’t gotten rid of that skirt. . .and the. . .uh. . .boots.  Thank you. You were the perfect gentleman. . .almost.” I chuckled.

“Mmm”, he smiled as he took my hand, linking it through his bent arm.  “It was definitely my pleasure, Jane.”

“Soooo, tell me about your undercover spy network.” I needed to change the subject and get out of my head.  “Is James one of your operatives?” 

“Why, whatever do you mean?” He deliberately focused on the path ahead, trying to hide a faint smile.

“He seems to know a lot. I think he’s been passing intelligence. Hmmm?  You knew what room I was going to be in and when I was going to arrive. Did a call from your partner-in-crime tip you off?  And you knew about the freakin’ fountain pen.”  Turning to face him with my taunting, we continued to walk as I playfully glowered at him. Although I still had his hand, I stayed at an arm’s distance as I backed down the path.  “Angie must be a member of your syndicate, as well.  You thought I missed that remark, didn’t you?  And then there’s Perry – ‘The Scanner,’ the Vetter Par Excellence. . . You really do have your own den of moles, don’t you? I don’t know whether to feel complimented or skeeved out, Jimmy,” I laughed.

“Well, love, I do have my quirks,” he said pulling me back to his side, with a firm grasp of my hand; then leaned in to say, “I suggest you choose the first of the two reactions.”

“Hmm. . .okay – I think. . .not sure.”

“But I must tell you, the ‘James/James’ quip merited his seal of approval,” he chuckled.

“Did he tell you about that?  Really?  Approval. . .ha. . .another vetting?”

“You know what I mean, Jane – he likes you,” he grinned.  “And yes, he told me about you. . .and your sense of humor.  He’s on the payroll, you know, but he’s my mate, too.”

“Yeah, he told me he’d been with you for years.  It seems like that’s the case with all your people, Jimmy.  That’s nice.”

“I have to trust the people around me.  And, yes, they have all been with me for, you know, quite some time and a very long time for James.” 

“I love that.”

“There’s a spot just ahead at the lock.  Let’s sit and take in the river for a bit.”

A bench nestled between two streetlamps, not yet lit.  Across the lock was a tea house, outlined by tiny white lights, waiting to twinkle as the sky finished its slow fade to nightfall. The waxing moon made a gradual appearance rising above the peaked roofline.  After he educated me on the history of the lock and the tea house, we fell into another pleasant silence.  We were just being –him and me – nothing more needed at that moment.  It was unexpectedly peaceful.

Out of the quiet, he asked softly, “You’re an only child, yeah?”

“Umm, yes.  We have that in common.”

We sat a bit apart looking like bookends, legs stretched out, ankles crossed, sipping our bottled water, and admiring the moonlight on the river.  It was beautiful:  white beams sparked along the ripples of the river, framed by the wavering reflection of fairy lights from tea house eaves.

His question led me to imagine what he was like as a kid, knowing the benefits and the sadness of being the only one.  “Do you think that was what allowed you to. . .umm. . .not sure how to describe what I mean. . .pursue. . .explore. . .anything that caught your interest?”  

“Absolutely.” I could feel his smile in the dimness.  “Until I found that guitar, I was always in a book and later consumed with the music.  Both, you know, opened the world to me.  Things I read about then still fascinate me today. . .I was quite fearless about it from very early on.”

“I loved it mostly, but there was sadness sometimes, too.”

“Umm. . .I don’t know if it was that for me.  I was quite shy – still am. . .I was fairly solitary until I started at school. . .But, you know, I did have a friend or two until then.”  After a bit, he added, “I. . .uh. . .do enjoy time alone, probably more so than most.”

“Yeah – I need that solitude at times, too.  I totally understand. . .But, as a kid, there were always adults in my house, I mean, besides my parents.  Friends would stop by and play music or have a big discussion about a political issue or a law thing – both my parents are lawyers – or some other sort of gathering.  There weren’t any kids around, you know.  I was several years younger than anyone else in my classes when I went to school.  So maybe that’s the sadness.  But I figured it all out, ya know?

“Yeah.”

As we again sat in our own thoughts, the street lamps flickered to life and a soft glow surrounded us. 

“I think that’s a cue, Jimmy," I said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, I’m starting to fade.  As much as I hate to, do you think we could start back? Haven’t come to terms with jet lag yet.”

“Of course.  Here, give me your hand,” he said as he rose and pulled me up from the bench. He slung his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.  “Shall we?” he said.  As if it were an everyday occurrence, my hand slid under his jacket and around the back of his waist.  He smiled at me with a light squeeze of my shoulder in response. The warmth of him under my hand and his gesture triggered an odd rush of prickly, familiar yet unfamiliar emotion for a moment then vanished.

We didn’t speak for quite a while.  I had no idea what Jimmy was thinking, but I was focused on that brief feeling. 

What the fuck was that?  Almost like that ‘dream I can’t remember’ feeling.  What the hell!   

After a few more moments, I let the thought go until a later time and enjoyed just being with him in the moment.

As we neared our earlier path, Jimmy spoke up.  “We’ll take a different way, love – a bit more light.” We moved from arm-in-arm to hand-in-hand as he led me along the new path.

We ended up in the town proper and ducked onto a side street that led to the parking lot of the Bull.  Our pace slowed in silent agreement to delay our arrival back at the Inn.  I was feeling a jumble of emotions all at once – anticipation, amazement, dread, and immense happiness.

Jimmy’s voice quietly slid through the darkness as a finger slowly caressed the back of my hand.  “Sooo, you said you had an acquaintance with some esoteric things, yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

“What does that entail exactly?  I would very much like to know.”

“Uh. . .Okay. . .Not sure where to start, really. Umm. . .I was aware of something. . .different. . .from when I was little.  My mom has a very analytical, fact-based way of thinking most of the time, I mean, she is a lawyer. But she also has this very spiritual side, too – not religious in any way, but spiritual. We used to pile in the car every few months with blankets, food, and drink to drive a couple of hours west of Baltimore to the mountains in Maryland. Just her and me. There was this lady who had a trailer right off the highway.  She was a palm reader.  She did her readings by appointment and on some weekends, on a first-come-first-serve basis.  People would start getting in line the night before she started in the morning. We would leave home at maybe 10 at night and then sleep in the car.  Usually maybe 10 or 15 other cars, besides us.  Kinda crazy.  It was quite a thing.”  I stopped for a moment to remember how much fun it was – always an adventure.  “You must have seen those roadside palm readers as you traveled around the US in the 60s, right?”

“Ha. . .yeah, I have.  In fact, a reader. . .in New York actually. . .foretold Zepp. . .well, not specifically, but close enough.”

“I think she was the real thing but she was a bit of a charlatan with some of the people who came to her.  She knew whether they were serious or not as soon as they stepped inside her door.  But not with my mom or me.  Mom had been driving to see her for years – since the 50s, so they were old friends, in a way, by the time I started to show up.  She was amazingly accurate.  That was my first inkling that there was a whole realm of other stuff to know.”

“So, what did you do with that realization?”

 “Nothing for a long time.  But in college and when I was traveling around in the 70s, the people I hung with were all looking for different ways of thinking about things. Right? You know what it was like. I got into tarot reading.  Then, I started looking into Eastern stuff – meditation, yoga, I Ching, Tai Chi.  And on to more esoteric stuff – Kabbalah, Tantra, and lots of books - Regardie, Jung, Crowley. . .ha, yes, I knew about him back then, and a bunch of others.  I took what made sense to me from the reading and moved on.  I'm not a practitioner of any of those paths, per se but they definitely gave me another way of looking at things. I still practice yoga rather faithfully, and do tarot and the sticks.”

“Ah. . . your ‘means of divination’, huh?

“Yes,” I giggled.

“Well, we will need to discuss more of that." He hesitated for a moment before he continued. "And what about the tantra?” His very sultry tone caressed me as did the lightest trace of his thumb against mine.

“Mmmm. . .no, not in a very long time,” I said quietly after the sensation of his touch had subsided. "It has to be the right person, you know?"

“Hmmm.”

The quiet returned as we neared the Inn, his thumb still tracing mine as we walked.  He paused in the darkness at the gate to the lot.

“Let’s stop here for a minute, okay?”

“Sure.  Jimmy. . .I. . .uh. . .”

“Jane,” he said, briefly putting his finger to my lips.  “I. . .ummm. . .I’ve enjoyed your company today.  It has been a pleasant surprise.  And if it works with your plans, perhaps. . .tomorrow. . . we can see about the St Andrew’s tower and I can show you a bit of Sonning.  What do you think?”

“Are you sure. . .you know you don’t have to –“

“Jane.  Stop.”

“Sorry, Jimmy,” I chuckled.  “I have no plans and that would be lovely.”

“All right, then. I’ll call you in the morning,” he said as he led me through the gate. “Oh, wait. . .I guess I need your number, right?”

We stood, phone screens flickering in the darkness, as we exchanged numbers.  The absurdness struck me and I couldn’t help but giggle.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. . .this is a bit unreal, that’s all. Soooo – I can’t very well enter your number as ‘Jimmy Page,’ now can I?  Who shall you be?”

“Hmmm. . . yeah. . .I can be a. . .a MacGregor – that would work, wouldn’t it?   ‘Cousin Rob MacGregor.’  How’s that?”

“Perfect.”

“And it’s only fair that you should have an alias as well, don’t you think?  You will be Jane Morris. Agreed?”

“Ha! You are too much.  Agreed.”

As we crossed the lot, we bounced off each other in laughter, throwing out the other possible aliases that could be used - each more hilarious than the last. As we neared the front door of the Inn, I stopped to face him.

“Jimmy, this has been an amazing day.  Umm. . .thanks for reading my letter,” I laughed.

He moved our clasped hands to his chest, pulling me slightly closer, and placed a brief, brush of his lips on my fingertips. 

“I look forward to another day of discovery, Lady Jane.”  With that, he leaned in to kiss my cheek and breathed into my ear, “Till tomorrow, love.” His lip grazed my jaw as he stepped back.  In the Inn’s lamplight, I could see his glimmering eyes and an almost impish smile.

“Good night, beautiful man. Tomorrow.”  I squeezed his hand as I backed away and turned to float through the door to the Inn.

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

NEW CHAPTER -Garden lunch with a little dessert 😏

Jimmy paused inside the alcove at the garden’s doorway.  Leaning against the door’s dark jamb, one long leg crossed over the other, he viewed the yard through the leaded panes. Taking a moment to observe from a distance before rejoining her, he realized his jumbled thoughts had to be sorted before resuming their conversation. He

spied Jane twirling in a very slow circle in the far corner.  One hand fought to corral the spiraled strands of hair fluttering in the breeze as the other attempted to light a cigarette.  He was fascinated by her movements as she traversed across the yard accompanied by a glass of wine and a cigarette, the end of her shawl trailing behind her.  As soon as she finished the first, she repeated the circular dance to light another, emptied the wine bottle into her glass, and continued her zig-zagged path.  She was obviously in thought and. . .nervous.

I understand she’s a little jittery and I’m not surprised – considering – but. . .it’s more than I realized – she certainly hides it well. . .a chain smoker – ha!

He recalled his first sighting of her yesterday from the dim recesses of the Inn’s bar.  She was striking as she stood in the reception area but there was also an energy he couldn’t define.  He smiled as he remembered the shudder that coursed through him as he sipped his tea - when she was in the room above.  Seeing her enter the garden framed by the ivy of the arbor, a potent impression of her emerging from some other place in time was imprinted in his thoughts.  A Victorian lady with a rumbling undercurrent of. . .he searched for the word. . .wildness - a proper Leo, it seemed.  She dressed all in black – except for a hint of red glinting through the lacey blouse.  The lack of color was not for his benefit, he was sure.  It was her natural style. Deep mahogany spirals with silver accents framed a visage dominated by round, brown eyes.  Rossetti could have drawn her or Gorey.  He chuckled to himself.  Her age was visible but not prominent.  Nor was she drop-dead gorgeous but she was lovely, very sharp in mind. . .and quirky.  He sighed at a feeling he could not shake - the air of familiarity with an unknown quality she possessed.  He had to resolve that mystery.

Watching her now, he wondered how deeply her confidence ran.  His level of interest was a bit shocking to him. His attractions often rose quickly and involvements with women close to his age were rare, but not unheard of.  He could not deny he found her alluring; the letter - the way it affected him - certainly enhanced his curiosity.  Earlier, the effect of the stretch of her body against the table - the arch of her neck - was fleetingly erotic.  And – something else he hadn’t envisioned – the pleasure of conversing with a woman who had the same frame of reference – and whom he suspected lived those earlier years in the same vein as he did.  Values – environments – experiences - were understood with no unspoken judgment.  He imagined the type of questions that might soon be asked; the answers to which he held behind his self-preserving façade.  His deepest, guarded thoughts were discussed with only a select few - if discussed at all - but he knew, somehow, she would ask for more than he was accustomed to revealing.  Recalling his trepidation from less than a day ago, he was surprised that the afternoon, thus far, was night and day from those fears.  And that made it all the more inviting. 

Well, no plans, old man.  Just see where it goes.

He swung the door open; the garden bell announced his return as he strode down the path.

“You caught me!” She called out to him as he neared the table and sunk down on the bench next to her.  “I’m sorry. I’ll put this out.  I know it sucks for a non-smoker.”

“Well, Jane, I’m not totally a non-smoker.  In fact, could I. . .uh. . .have one?”

“Of course, but I’ll do my best to refrain.  I don’t want to be a bad influence,” she snickered handing him the pack and the lighter.

“Ha! Nah, don’t stop on my account, please.  I’m a big boy – no guilt on your part. . .and I’ll probably ask you for a few more!” He lit the cigarette inhaling deeply and hunched forward with forearms on his knees, hands dangling between.  He slowly savored the taste, looking out over the yard. “Our meal should be ready in about 10 minutes. My apologies again.  Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am.  But. . .uhm. . .Jimmy?” He looked at her over his shoulder.   “Uh. . .number one – I’ve had almost three glasses of wine so my filter is totally nonexistent, okay?”  He nodded with a knowing smile. “Number two – We’ve been talking for hours now and I told you at the outset that this was very surreal to me, right?  It’s only gotten more so – but in a very good way – at least for me.  Comfortably surreal – if that’s possible. I don’t know what to make of it – honestly.   It seems it might. . .it might be the same for you. . .I mean. . .that you are comfortable too.  Am I reading things correctly?” He was silent; she looked away to mask the pang of embarrassment at being so direct, yet so obtuse at the same time. 

“Umm, you are, love.” She slowly turned her eyes back to his.  “It’s not what I expected, Jane, although I’m not altogether sure what I thought our meeting would be like. It’s been a delightful afternoon enjoying your company.”  He paused to study her.  “You’re nervous – I watched you just a bit from the window and I confess – I may be, as well. I do not do this with any frequency – this kind of meeting.  I know it is. . .uh. . .unique - for us both.  So, I suggest we let all of that go and have a – what did you call it – a real discussion and see where it takes us.  Let’s say we leave it there – for now.”

“Deal” she smiled at him, with a look of relief. He turned back to his thoughts. She stretched out, ankles re-crossed, resting her back on the table’s edge to enjoy the last few drags with an irrepressible smile on her face.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the extension of long velvet-swathed legs that enraptured him earlier.  He secretly joined her in his own satisfied smile.

Their individual musings were interrupted by the tinkling of the garden bell as Kirk signaled from the doorway that their luncheon was ready.

Jimmy rose and offered his hand.  “Shall we, Lady Jane?  Our late lunch awaits.”

“Absolutely.”  She slid her hand into his as he pulled her up from the bench. 

He guided her along the stone path to a more secluded area, shaded by thick ivy that wound through a wooden lattice surrounding and covering a hidden patio.  There a table was set with a crisp white tablecloth, tented napkins, and glassware sparkling in the rays of sunlight piercing through the leafy canopy.  Kirk entered from a side door carrying a tray with both a tea and a coffee pot.

“Oh, yes! Thank you, Kirk.” She said as she hooked her bag on a chair’s back. “Just what I need.  But I gotta excuse myself for a sec, Jimmy.  I’ll be right back.” 

He settled into the seat next to hers and rested his arms on the table; the fingers of one hand slid softly against his lips. He debated how to move the conversation along to elicit the answer he’d wanted to know for months. 

The letter. . .I don’t think she’d object to a direct question.  But how to approach it. . .slowly, I think. . .hmmm. . .well, maybe not.

Noticing a flash of black out of the corner of his eye, he looked up into her smiling eyes. He was still internally debating how to broach his experience with her letter.

“That’s much better.  Sorry, Jimmy.”

He watched her, as if from a distance, as she tied the ends of the shawl behind her waist and sat, sliding the chair closer to the table.  She turned to him after a sustained quiet to find his blank gaze.

“Yes?” she asked, brown eyes wide.

“Sorry.  Nothing, really,” he said flatly.

“Well, this looks delicious, Jimmy,” she said surveying the small plates of fruit and cheeses, crusty bread, cucumber finger sandwiches, and salad.  She poured a cup of coffee and turned to him.

“Can I pour you a cup?”  There was no response.  “Uhm. . . Jimmy, do you want coffee or tea?’  Still no response.  “Is something wrong?”

He had been so lost in his dilemma that he failed to respond to her questions or notice that Kirk had delivered their meal.  “No, nothing’s wrong.   Uh. . .tea. . .I can get it.” He reached for the pot before she could.

She watched him closely not sure what was going on behind his eyes. “Really, Jimmy, are you sure?”

“Uh. . .yeah.”   

She was confused by his hesitance. “All right, then.”  She pointedly finished preparing her coffee with cream and sugar and slightly miffed, got on with the lunch, serving herself.  “Salad?” she asked without looking at him.

“Yes, thank you.” As she lifted the greens from the platter, he asked, “So, Jane. . .The, uh, wrap you were wearing yesterday – is it vintage as well?” 

“Yeah, it. . .“  She looked up from her task to see devilment flickering in his eyes.  “Wait – how do you know what I was wearing yesterday?  You saw me? How? Wh-“

“I was in the corner of the bar when you arrived,” he interrupted.

She was incredulous, dropping the salad and utensils back on the platter. “You were? Why didn’t you-”

His touch to the inside of her wrist stopped her mid-question. “Shush – all in good time, Jane. Next question on your list?”

A warm prickle invaded the spot where his fingertip pressed her skin.  She reddened, knowing he could feel her less-than-steady pulse.  “Okaaay, then.” She slowly shook her head, smiling faintly as she slid her hand away from the contact – the only way she could continue.  Buying a moment, she retrieved the utensils and plopped the greens onto his plate then hers.  “I think, maybe, the one I have in reserve. Okay?”  He nodded.  “Uhm. . .sitting here. . .talking with you in person. . .watching you describe things,” she smiled softly.  “I’ve got just an inkling of the enormity of your experience, Jimmy.  How did you handle all of that?  How did you cope?  I mean, even with all the touring with the Yardbirds, the time of Zeppelin must have been a. . .a. . .shock – a pleasant one, at least in the beginning, is what I mean, I guess, and then an unimaginable one at the end.”

“Hmmm.”  He scanned her face, surmising what she was really asking. He plucked at the fabric of his shirt as he looked aside, still debating how much to say to her.

Crack the door a bit, Jim.  No need to go too deep. . .but, for some bloody reason, I want her to understand. . .Fuck all!   

She tried to diffuse his obvious anxiety. “Jimmy, I’m sorry, is that something off-bounds?  Believe me, I have many, many other things I can ask.” 

“No, no, love.  Just trying to decide what I want to say," he sighed. His tone was almost apologetic.  As her eyes met his, she understood his difficulty, accepted his meaning, and signaled an unspoken agreement.

“Well. . .uhm. . .at first, I was just trying to get a band together.  The Yardbirds’ end was – ha – messy to say the least and there were the obligations that still needed to be met, you know?”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

“It involved a lot of calling friends I trusted, their friends calling friends they trusted, all to get out the word that I was putting a band together; visiting around the studios and clubs and such.  Peter was doing the same. I think you probably know already that I think it was. . .fated.”

“Mmm. . .yes,” she nodded.

“All of those feelers, even the promising ones, just evaporated, you know. I was starting to get a bit frantic since there were leftover Yardbirds dates to fill.  Then, it all just fell into place.  I heard about Robert and went up to catch one of his gigs around Birmingham. Didn't care for the set but he was fantastic – absolutely the voice. . .the attitude. . .the qualities I wanted. Dreja had decided to pursue other things so Jonesy was on board by that point.  With him, I knew we'd have so many options – multiple instrumentations and he was. . .uh. . .is a superb arranger. When Robert came down to Pangbourne, we hit it off straight away – unexpectedly similar musical tastes and ideas.  That amazed me and it was. . .uhm. . .just. . .right.”

“Yeah, I can’t wrap my head around Zep with Terry Reid,” she giggled.

“Robert was the one - no doubt after that.  He left me a demo of his Band of Joy with Bonham on drums.  I could tell John was exceptional even though the quality of the tape was really shit. And then I saw him – bloody hell – it was like being struck by lightning – he was that good, seriously.”

“Just having the coordination to play drums is amazing to me. He was a billion times more than just the timekeeper; I don’t know the term, but he was so incredibly melodious in his playing.”

“He was.” He laughed quietly at the thought of him.  “When we first got together at Gerard Street, it was an epiphany – it really was – all of us felt it - an immediate connection - intense . . .you know, powerful.  I’ve never experienced anything else like it and,” he grinned, “I still can’t describe it properly.  But, yeah, I guess it was a shock, for want of a better word. From that point onward, it was first and foremost about the music, the creativity – always.  And G was a godsend.  He provided us with that freedom to get on with it and took very good care of all the other stuff. I had to be involved in much of that, but still, we were never impeded in the ability to push our boundaries, musically.”

“Well, you guys certainly did that.”

“But that’s not what you asked me, is it?” He smiled sweetly.  “Uh. . .as for all that other stuff, I don’t need to explain to you what it was like then, right?  It was hedonistic – freedom to explore – absolutely everything - at least in the circles we found ourselves in. That was one way we coped – it was impossible to avoid, even if we would have wanted to.   I suspect it was the same for you, yeah?”

“I think probably so – well, not quite the same level, maybe,” she laughed, “but yes.”

“We worked very, very hard.  It was impossible to finish a show, go have a cuppa and drift off to sleep, believe you me.  The adrenaline wouldn’t allow.  So, we did party – no dispute about that, but the music still came first. If you want to know about the rumors, some were probably true, some maybe had a grain of truth but the rest – bollocks.”

“Umm – no, I wasn’t specifically wanting you to dish on the rumors, Jimmy,” she said dryly.

“But you do want to know how I coped.  And that’s a. . . difficult. . .question, Jane that I don’t think I can answer to your satisfaction.  Towards the. . .uh. . .later years. . .” His finger brushed against his brow. “. . .there were difficulties of all sorts involving each of us - any one of which could have ended us but we stayed together and stayed creative. And when John. . .when it ended – so finally. . .uh. . .as it did. . .” As he hesitated, the pain that still resided within him was unmistakable and she felt it.  “. . .John’s death took a tremendously deep toll on each of us. And I don’t mean professionally, I mean personally, without a doubt, but in different ways. Looking back now, I don’t think it was surprising that we couldn’t really go on. You understand?”  She nodded with a sigh.  “Right from the get-go, we each had our own process for sorting things out.  It was the same with accepting. . .realizing. . .John’s absence.  But we were and are - still - so tightly bonded.  That is a gift, you know.  I can’t recall a day that I haven’t thought of the band and. . .of John. The rest of us have, thankfully, managed to survive and continue – each in our own way.  That has to be the end of the answer, love.”

“Oh, Jimmy, I. . .uh. .”

“No worries.  It’s my question, now, I think.”

She nodded.

“I do want to ask you something that may be rather sensitive and that I hope doesn’t offend.  It has been on my mind since I received your letter.  And please know, I have no preference for an answer. . .I, ahh, won't be offended. . .either way.”

“Sure. . .a real discussion, right?”  Her mind raced to wonder what in hell could offend her - or him. 

He gently pressed her wrist a second time – drawing her eyes to his.  “Are you familiar with incantations and such? Your letter has some effect that I’m at a loss to explain.”  He scanned her face for any subtle changes as a gauge for what he might be willing to reveal to her. . .or not.

At first, she did not answer, but her gaze did not waiver.  “Familiar? Yes. . .a bit. . .I think I acknowledged that earlier. . .A witch?  Don’t think so.  I would know, right?”

“I would think you would, yes,” he chuckled.

“You know, Mr. Page, I could ask- are you a wizard? I won't be offended either by your answer." She grinned. He mirrored her expression - but did not answer. "Uhm. . .believe it or not, I do have a guy in my family tree who was charged with being one in Massachusetts – back when that was a fatal thing to be.  Does that count?”

“So you’re genetically pre-disposed, then.”  He quipped but then paused, debating whether to admit the exact effect the letter had on him, in case he was wrong.  “There was something charmed about that letter.  I felt it - literally, I mean - when I touched the paper.  Believe me, I had not had that particular experience before, and that’s saying quite a bit. Do you have any idea why?”  He waited and watched.

Another deeper blush crept from her neck to her forehead.  “Uhm. . .I don’t think I can explain it to you right now.” She pushed the salad around the plate, mentally searching for a way not to answer.

“Look at me, Jane,” he said quietly and she complied.  “We've agreed to a real discussion, yeah?  I think I’ve been as forthcoming as I can be, so far.  And I’ve asked you about the letter you wrote to me.  Well, it affected me in an extraordinary way and I’m simply asking if you know why.”

She continued to look at him hesitant to respond.  “I don’t want you to think I’m off in la-la land. . .Promise me you won’t think I’m nuts. I’m having a lovely afternoon and I don’t want this little revelation to cause that to change.”

He nodded with a genuine smile and eyes that promised as well as chided. 

“Okay,” she sighed.  “I’ve been having a dream for a really long time, decades; I know it is the same one time after time but I can’t remember the details. . .” She went on to explain the music, the porch, the flash of understanding, the letter writing, and why she painted what she did.  “And when I was ready to put it in the envelope, I couldn’t.   I wanted you to feel something of me when you read it.  I didn’t know how to make that happen.  I guess the best way to describe it is I just willed it.  I put my hands on the paper and tumbled my thoughts through them into it.  It sounds crazy, but that’s what happened.  Uh, I do have that psychiatrist’s letter in my bag, by the way, if you want to see it now,” she said to distract from her latest confession.

“I would say you were successful," he tilted his head and said sweetly, matter-of-factly, and with just a trace of sarcasm. "And. . .no. . .keep the letter in your bag. I don’t think you’re in la-la land, not at all.  There’s a bit more, though.”

“More?  When you read my letter?  What?”

“No, no, not your letter.  It was just yesterday when I was in the bar and you’d gone up to your room.  I knew when you read my note.  Whatever you were feeling up there, I felt a bit of it – below – in the bar.  And it was very pleasant,” he said as he ran a finger very lightly down one of hers resting on the table.

“Mmmm. . .” Her gaze flagged at his caress.  “That makes me very happy – I think.” Her finger grazed his.  “I was pretty ecstatic, to tell you the truth.”  After a moment, she fell back into her chair, eyes flared in alarm, ending the caress.  “Fuck, Jimmy! That’s actually kinda scary, too – I mean another person – you – picking up my thoughts.  I mean, if you are serious, that could be a bit dangerous and definitely embarrassing.  I’m going to have to figure out some way to fix that,” she snorted, more to herself than him.

“Really, love?  My interest is piqued again.  Please explain,” he hummed in a low, syrupy voice. Christ, those eyes! There's a glimpse of the lioness.  Ha!

She leaned to the table; her chin cupped in her palm. “I think you’re being a bit coy, Mr. Page because you know exactly what I mean.” She kept her gaze connected to his until everything her statement revealed struck her. “Uh. . .sorry. . .I need a cigarette.”

He was amused by the dichotomy she presented. She is quite bold. . .yet she blushes. . .

She slung her bag to her lap and start to rummage for the pack and lighter.  The need to pace overwhelmed her.  “I’ll just step away for a second, okay?”

“I’ll join you if I can beg another.  You don’t need to go anywhere.”

“Sure, but I’m starting to feel guilty.   And there are no ashtrays, so I’ll just. . .” She rose intent on making it to the yard.

“Sit, Jane, please.  That’s what saucers are for,” he scolded as he softly clasped her wrist, halting her exit.  “What were you saying – before?” He liberated the lighter and pack from her grasp and lit a cigarette for each of them, handing one to her.

“It might be best if we don’t continue that exact line of questions,” she said as she eased onto the chair, but the 'live in the moment' mantra whispered in the undercurrent of her thoughts. “That music of yours, though. . .it does cause a certain primal reaction.  I know you know that.”

He cocked his head and took a drag as he regarded her, deciding it was becoming a conversation he would greatly enjoy.  “I’ve always subscribed to Baudelaire’s view that morality shouldn't figure into art or literature.” 

She leaned back matching him in his enjoyment of the cigarette while deciding how audacious to be on the subject.  “Ha! Well, Baudelaire would be proud.”  She looked at him, side-eyed, and said, “You know that LZI is the album to get totally wasted to and fuck for hours, right?”

“Hmmm, I’ve heard that." The smoke billowed around him as he spoke.

She gazed at him directly through the haze. “Quite the experience. . .”

“Really. . .And just how old were you then?” he said slowly and deliberately.

“Fifteen.”

“Hmm. . .well then, should I assume that you were experiencing one or both of those. . .activities. . .at fifteen?

“Is that some sort of judgment, Mr. Page – from you?  Really?” she giggled.  “I expect that you were familiar with girls of that age back in the day.”

“Ha! Point taken, love. . .But you said 'is the album' so. . .should I understand from the tense that you still get. . .‘wasted’?” His smug expression made clear he was thinking about both activities.

She looked at him for a good, long minute. . . weighing what to reveal. . . “Well. . .uhm. . .weed is one of the few things I very discreetly didn’t give up from back then.”

“It’s still illegal in the States, isn’t it?  And here too, for that matter.  Now, I’m sure it wouldn’t do for you to get busted, solicitor,” he reprimanded thick with sarcasm.

“It so happens, Mr. Page, my parents live in Baltimore and Maryland has legalized medical marijuana.  They have pot prescriptions and they share,” she grinned. “And we're all very, very careful. Unfortunately, I’m in forced abstinence until I get back to the US.” 

“Your parents! Seriously?” he said in disbelief.

“Oh, Jimmy!  My parents are a story unto themselves, believe me.  They were counter before there was a counterculture.  I love them dearly, but we don’t have enough time for me to divulge all that to you!”

“We’ll see.  They sound quite interesting.”

“And yes, I do indulge in both activities, by the way. . .My turn?” she asked. 

“Mmmm. . .noted.  Yes, please, your turn. 

“Back to the. . .sexuality. . .no, the sensuality of your music, the groove of the band as a whole always seems so. . .so carnal.  Each of you was obviously in some zone, but you, in particular, seemed to be, at times. . .no, a lot of the time. . .in some sort of ecstasy. . .some thrall.  Where does that come from, Jimmy?  It is the most erotic thing.  I mean. . .I know a lot of that is because you're so freakin' talented, but it seems like something more – like something is channeling through you.  Do you know what I mean?”

He sat forward with his elbows on the table, chin resting behind tented fingers, considering his response.  “Thrall. . .That’s. . .probably. . .an accurate description.  It’s certainly a part of it.  It is a power that possesses you but. . .it. . .uh. . .allows you to possess others.  The others – the audience - in turn, give it back to you.  A loop, if you will.   We all had that experience in the band many times, together and individually. But yeah. . .thrall is good.”

“I’m thinking in particular of the Albert Hall gig – White Summer.  You seem transcendent – like out of time and place.  It’s fascinating to watch and listen. . .one of my favorite things.”

“Mmm.” He smiled softly.  “It is a bit of that, love.  At some point, there’s really no thought involved – just feeling. And what is that but some sort of magick, hmm?  I wish I could give you more insight, but I still don’t quite understand it myself.”

“Mmm,” she sighed, relaxing into her chair. 

They had managed to nibble through their lunch as they talked. Now, they sipped their coffee and tea, comfortably enjoying the quieting of the day. The afternoon sun had started its slow path to sunset, casting shadows around their secreted bower.  Jimmy was the first to speak.

“It seems evening is upon us, Jane."

"Yes, it does," she sighed. "It has been a delightful afternoon, Jimmy. Thank you."

"I’m not quite ready for our day to end,” he grinned as he took her hand.  “Would you care to take a stroll along the river?  It’s right close.”

“Hmm. . .I’m not either,”  She said gently squeezing his hand. “Yes, that would be wonderful but – this damned skirt! Can you give me a second to run up to the room and change?  Actually, more like minutes. . .I have to unhook the boots. They won’t do if it’s much of a walk,” she pushed back her chair and wriggled her booted foot out from under the table.

He glanced down and then back to her amused face.  “Mmm. . .yeah, I noticed.” Suddenly sliding to the chair’s edge, he slapped his hands on its arms and rose.  “Well, why don’t I come up with you and help with the boots, then we can be on our way.  If you don’t find that too scandalous a proposition.”

“Uh. . .Okay. . . I’m sure you’ll be a proper gentleman,” she giggled.

As they climbed the stairs and proceeded down the hallway, their footsteps echoed above the muffled din from the floor below. An air of taut awkwardness crept along the corridor.  She felt the need to cut the tension.  “I hope you know what you’re getting into. . .uh. . .with the boots, I mean.”

“Oh, I do, love – don’t worry. You have a hook, right?” he smirked as they entered the room.

“Of course, silly!  Make yourself comfortable.  I’ll just be a minute.”

She threw her shawl on the bed and grabbed a new skirt from the wardrobe.  “Here you go,” she chirped, tossing the ivory-handled boot hook to him before slipping into the bathroom.  Leaning against the closed door, she tried to center herself.  With a deep sigh, in hesitant anticipation, she slid the tight, offending skirt down her legs and stepped out of it.  In its place, she donned another vintage piece, a long, gathered, black cotton petticoat with a tatted lace hem. 

“Okay, that is so much better,” she laughed as she swung open the door.  “Oh!”

She found Jimmy perched wide-legged on the side of the bed, his jacket tossed across the pillows. “Come.  Let’s get to those boots,” he said innocently but with a gleam in his eye.

“Um. . .okay,” she mumbled as she stepped to face him, dropping the discarded skirt on the end of the bed.

“Here, give me your foot, love.” He patted the space between his thighs. 

Following his instruction, she placed her foot on the spot.   She instinctively grabbed his shoulder as she wobbled in the effort. The proximity and the feel of him under her hand caused a noticeable shiver.

He chuckled at her obvious fluster.  Gently and deliberately, he took the hem of her skirt and raised it to just above her knee, careful to make sure the lacey edge teased her silk-covered skin on its travel upward.  His fingers slid lightly to her calf, and then to her ankle to pass over the design on the boot.  “These are lovely, Jane.  Hand-embroidered?” 

“Uh, yeah,” she whispered unable to speak any louder.

He looked up at her and smiled.  Then, concentrating on the task at hand, he deftly took the hook, twisting the shuttle in and out of the buttonholes.  In a flash, the boot had been removed and placed on the floor beside her. 

She was utterly lost in him and amazed that he could do that faster than her.

“Uh, Jane. . .”

Once she registered his voice, she whispered, wide-eyed, “You’re really good at that!  I'm. . .uhh. . .suitably impressed. Wow!”

“The other, Jane.”

“Oh. . . sorry.” She lowered her foot, still grasping him for support.  As she lifted the still-booted leg to the spot, the skirt fluttered back to its place at her ankle.  With his hands on either side of the boot, he slipped the edge of the lace hem tightly between his thumbs and forefingers. As the remaining fingers faintly traced upward, raising the skirt, their eyes locked – hers - slanted by the sensation - his - soft yet intense. Once the fabric was in place above her knee, his fingertips traced in reverse. Taking hook in hand, as before, he loosened the buttons and quickly placed the boot with its mate on the floor.  Lightly holding the back of her ankle to keep her in place, he took her in – his gaze traveling from the silky foot in his palm to the half-lidded, coffee-brown eyes framed by long billowing locks.  His body twitched in reaction to a fleeting image of his fisted fingers buried in her mass of curls.  His touch was electric as it circled against the sensitive skin behind her ankle. 

“Stockings. . .on. . .or. . .off, love?”

He could see she understood there was a line about to be crossed and what he was offering to her as she made her decision.

“Off, Jimmy,” she whispered.

His eyes never left hers as he slid his fingers up and under the drape of the skirt.   When they reached the stocking’s top, his fingertips edged under the elastic band, the backs of his fingers tickled along the curve of her thigh, then he slowly eased the lace and silk down and off.

“The other?”

She shifted to place her stockinged foot at a spot nestled against his inner thigh. The slow flutter of her toes pulling the fabric of his jeans threatened to sabotage his deliberate restraint.   His hands roamed upward as the motion lifted the skirt from her ankle to knee.  His fingertips skimmed past the lace and snaked along her inner thigh.  “Mmm,” he hummed as he felt the heat radiating from the moistness, just above, before sliding the stocking to her ankle and off. She was immobile as he lightly caressed the back of her knee, then placed a soft, wet, lingering kiss on its front.  The cascade of desire within and between them was palpable.  She craved to touch him beyond the clutch of his shoulder.   Her fingertip trailed the curve of his hairline to the edge of his ear to the twisted lock of hair at his back. “May I?” she asked as she pulled at the band securing the twisted ponytail. His eyes crinkled in assent.  She swayed as her other hand released its grasp on his shoulder to assist in freeing the silver-white strands; he clutched her hip to steady her. With a wry smile, she snapped the elastic band onto her wrist.  Her fingers crept into the swept-back hair at each temple, inhaling slowly as the silky curls floated against her skin.  Her touch elicited a reciprocal low-rumbling ‘mmm’ from him.   Once she had arranged his hair to frame his face, she stopped.  Entranced by the exquisite want flowing between them, she whispered, “You are the most beautiful man, you know.”  His eyes narrowed with the rise of his cheeks as a smile spread across his face.  She continued, “And you are, without a doubt, the most sensual person I have ever met.”

“Now, I’m flattered, love, by your compliment.” 

They were suspended in time. In that lapse, they recognized choices had been made, but silently acknowledged, too, it was not yet time.

“Mmm. . .Jimmy. . .I. . uh. . .let me get some shoes and then we can go, okay?”

“Mmm. . .Lady Jane,” he sighed as he lowered her skirt and she slowly disentangled herself from him.  “Let’s take that walk.”

Title Art - The Silent Voice -1892/3 - Gerald Moira - oil on canvas

Chapter list: https://www.tumblr.com/letmewanderinyourgarden2022/701210499738714112/chapter-list-let-me-wander-in-your-garden?source=share

@firethatgrewsolow @foreverandadaydarling @laluxea @lzep @sassybouquetrunaway-universe @jimmysdragonsuit13 @jenyj89@jonesyjonesyjonesy

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

NEW CHAPTER

“So, Jane, where shall we start?”

“Gee, not sure, Jimmy.  But first off, I have to tell you how surprised I was by your note.  Gorey!  How did you know?” The perplexed look on his face announced he didn’t know.  “I mean. . .uh. . .Gorey is a particular favorite of mine.”

“Ahh. . .I had no idea,” he hesitated with a still-puzzled smile.  “I. . .uh. . .quite like his work myself – wry and very dark.”

“And a bit bent. . .Yes, that’s what makes it so good! Guess it's just. . .uhm. . .a wonderful coincidence then,” I chuckled.  “What is it with that blue ink?  I have a beautiful fountain pen in my possession from your manager’s office – gifted, I might add, not stolen – with that same color ink.”

“Ha!  Yes, I know.” He took a second before he continued.  I wondered if it was to make sure I registered what he just said, which I did, or if he was thinking about what to say.  “Ah. . .I use it occasionally for more. . .uh. . .personal correspondence.” I noticed a hint of uneasiness as his index finger quickly brushed his cheek. 

“And legal documents, too, it seems," I joked. "It's such a rich color! I may need to start using it myself. . .Uhm. . .As I said, it was pleasantly unexpected.  Just thrilled and flattered, really - that you took the time. Thank you.”  

“Well then, it had the desired effects.”  He smiled sweetly.

“Soooo. . .are we on any kind of schedule?”

He sat back on the bench, resting his hands in his lap.  “My day is yours.”  His eyes gleamed.

I thought we'd have just an hour or, maybe just maybe, two!  I may not survive an hour let alone a day. 

“Well, in that case-” Avoiding his gaze for my forthcoming confession, I concentrated on the path my finger traced on the table’s wood grain.  “I. . uh. . .have a list I’ve been compiling of all the things I would ask you if I ever had the opportunity. I’ve been making it since- you really don’t want to know how long, trust me.” I peeked at him quickly, tingling with the realization that Jimmy Page was sitting less than two feet from me; he was flesh and blood - not a phantom. I had to return to my inspection of the tabletop.

The opportunity is now!  Try not to sound like some star-struck idiot!

“Uhm. . .fortunately for you, I left it at home in my desk drawer. . .but I have memorized all the questions.”  

“Ha!” He slapped the table’s edge, causing me to jump in surprise. “What an exquisitely dry sense of humor you have! I bloody well like that. Well, the opportunity has presented itself, my dear.”  He spoke seriously as he leaned forward on the table, hands hugging his elbows. “But. . .before we start. . .the. . .uh. . .inquisition. . .” He cleared his throat, briefly touching a knuckle against the tip of his nose. There was an earnestness in his demeanor.  “. . .I believe I. . .uhm. . .owe you an apology, Jane.” 

“An apology?  Whatever for?”

Another flick, this time with a finger, “Perry’s. . .umm. . .vetting might have been a bit intrusive, you know, into your private life. . .” His voice trailed off as he waited for my reaction.

“Jimmy.  I understand ‘vetting.’  I expected your folks would look into my details. Honestly, you don’t need to apologize. But. . . thank you. . .again.”

Oh my. . .he is too much!  Not the Dark Lord at all – yet?

He further narrowed the space between us, with a slight smirk.  “Even though I’ve given you a mea culpa – that I do sincerely mean, Jane – I’ve got to pry further.  I must pick your brain a bit.  I’m eager to hear more about the very interesting details Perry dug up.  Forgive me, but I am curious.”

I studied him for a moment.  “Okay, Jimmy.  You pick a little; I’ll pick a little and we’ll see where we end up.  And there’s always an option not to answer.  What do you think?” I questioned, lips curling into a smile.

“Sounds like a fair bargain. Let’s get to it then. One for you, one for me, and so on.” He clasped his hands together, pointing to me with steepled fingers.  “You first, love.” His words rolled off his tongue sweetly as he leaned back smugly, arms tightly crossed against his chest.

I had to laugh to myself.  Looks like his armor is in place! Well, then, here we go.

“Okay, I’ll start with the stupid, mundane stuff first,”  I said as a sort of apology of my own – in advance. “Umm. . .let’s see. . .how did firecrackers get to be a thing at Zep concerts?”

Immediately, I experienced my first, supremely endearing, full-on Jimmy Page laugh.

“Ha, ha - ha, ha, ha!  Is that actually on your list?”  I nodded.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that! You traveled all the way to London to ask me about bangers?” A giggle erupted.

“Oh, I’m just getting started and yes, Mr. Page, it is on my list.  I mean, listening to your gigs, it’s annoying as hell.”

“Yeah, yeah." He settled back to the table. "It was and certainly a challenge to the concentration, to be sure.  It became more of an issue as the venues got bigger.”

“It must have been kinda terrifying at the same time.”

“Yeah, sad to say there were some moments like that over the years.”  His expression softened as he considered those memories and I waited. After several seconds, he became quite animated as he spoke; arms no longer crossed; hands occasionally dancing before him to accentuate his words.  “We always felt terrible for the people in the crowd. . .you know. . .who had to deal with that. But I did get hit by one – in the face no less, during our. . .uhm. . .last tour.  It didn’t explode, just by luck, mind you.  It flew off onto the stage. No one was physically injured but I. . . I mean, that. . .that was it, you know?  I wasn’t going to come back on until they found the wanker and threw him out on his arse.” He huffed; hands now quieted.  “But we finished the show.  It was occasionally very disconcerting, believe me, even later when Robert and I were touring.”

Trying to imagine that scene, I muttered not quite under my breath, “Fuckers! . . .Oh!” My hand flew to cover my mouth, realizing my filter had failed. “Sorry, Jimmy. I have a ‘sailor’s mouth’ by the way.  I’ve been trying to be good but that just popped out. . . sorry, sorry.”

“Ha!  So do I, my girl.  I suppose we no longer need to be on our best behavior, yeah?” he asked with a sultry, sly smile.

“Guess not,” I half-whispered, unable to resist matching the veiled implication of the smile and tone. Suddenly aware I may have agreed to some unknown bargain, I broke the spell.  “Assholes with a testosterone rush. . . nothing worse!”

“Ha, ha. . .an overabundance of that, without a doubt.”

At that moment, I had an inkling of his journey’s magnitude.  “How did you cope with all of that, I mean, going from a pretty insular world of sessions to the craziness of the Yardbirds to literally the biggest band in the freakin’ world - almost overnight?  It must have been – geez – I don’t even know what word to use.”

“I believe that’s two questions in a row, Jane.  It’s my turn now, but keep that one on the ready.” He deflected; his fingertip quickly brushing his cheek.

Shit!  There it is again.  A tic?  Is he nervous?  Interesting. . .

“Busted. . .Okay, it’s in reserve. Your question, sir?”

“This is a question in multiple parts. I wonder-”

“Hey, wait just a minute!  That’s not fair, Mr. Page.” I protested.

“Yes, it is cuz I informed you first.” He argued.

"Pfft!  You changed the rules – but, after all, you’re the rock star here.  So I guess I’ll give you a pass.  Exactly how many parts are in your question?” We were both enjoying the repartee. 

“As I said – multiple.”  He emphasized with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.  “Your letter’s closing – Che Sera, Sera – not the familiar spelling.  Marlowe?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s from Doctor F.  Is that multi-part number one?” I couldn’t resist a tiny smart-assed comeback. 

“Jane. . .come now, let me continue.” I shrugged with my own smirk. “I was struck by your middle name – Elsinore.  Unusual. . .Your parents were fond of Shakespeare? Hamlet, I suspect.”

“Ding, ding, ding! Very good, Mr. Page!  Yep.  Anglophiles through and through.” I was pleasantly surprised at his interest but not at all by his knowledge.

“I think Elsinore suits you.  It has a regal quality to it.”

“Regal?” I paused, letting the word sink in. “Hmm, I don’t think of myself that way.  Ha, ha! That must be why Jane stuck. . .but. . .thanks.   Uh. . .yeah, I kinda like it, too, but it wasn’t to be. Members of my family do use it sometimes when they're pissed at me, though," I laughingly admitted, glossing over his compliment.

“Hmm.  Well, that's a shame. . .Such a waste. . .It's rather singular, I think. . .So, what about Jane?  A very historied British name. . .Jane Grey?”

“Um, maybe.  That would be unfortunate,” I snickered.  “But I think it was Burden. . .Morris, I mean, or maybe Austen.  My mom did tell me once, but I don't think she was sure - so maybe both.”

“Jane Morris, really?” He seemed delighted.  “So, they appreciated the Pre-Raphaelites as well?”

“Yeah, and they still do, in fact.  It’s another thing they passed on to me.”   I mirrored his pose and sunk into my arms crossed on the tabletop.  “I don’t mean to be disagreeable, but how many parts does your question have?  I think we’re at four and counting.” The distance between us significantly lessened in a sly stare-down.

“Mmmm. . . You resemble her a bit, you know. I think. . .maybe it's your hair."

"Oh, really? You think so? I don't know about that. . .I don't fancy myself anyone's muse."

"Well, we must continue the conversation about your art indoctrination at some later point.”  He briefly glanced away as he reached for the wine bottle and topped off our glasses.  “I believe you reserved a question, my dear,” he said as he took a sip.

“Yeah, but I’m going to save that one a while longer.  New question – multi-part of my own – since you changed the rules – do you hum when you play?  It looks like it to me when I watch the filmed concerts.”

He smiled, chin in hand, absentmindedly running his finger slowly across his lips.  He didn’t answer at first, again puzzled. “You got that from watching the film?” I nodded. “Very observant, Jane.  Uhh. . .yes, I do sometimes. . .uh. . . vocalize.  Another novel question.”

“Sorry, I’m a minutiae kind of person. . .”

I rattled off the remainder of my multiple-part question.  We discussed the homes he had owned over the years, my Craftsman house, and his adventures in Atlanta; a bit about sessions, some of the artists he’d worked with, and those he counted as friends.  Another hour plus sped by.

“Wow! So sorry I hogged the last – however long it's been.”

“No, no.  I’m enjoying our conversation - so far.  You’re very perceptive. . .Uh. . .My go, yeah?” I nodded in agreement.  “So, your firm in Atlanta – MacGregor. . .uh. . .Hamilton and Mott – you’re the Mott?”

“Oh, more vetting questions, hmmm?” I scoffed. 

“Maybe. . . maybe not.  We’ll see.”

“Well, yes.  MacGregor is my cousin, William. . .Bill.  My mom is a MacGregor.  Sandra Hamilton met Bill in law school and they formed a partnership – professionally and, uh, personally, back in the dark ages to represent all sorts of artists.  I joined them in the ‘80s and brought along some record company experience and contacts, hence ‘Mott’ in the firm name. Eight of us, all totaled, have been together for many years.  A close-knit little family that fights like cats and dogs. That’s it in a nutshell.”

“Unique experience - that. It was for me.”

“It’s similar with bands, for sure.  I’ve seen it play out in my office many times.  I’m not surprised in the least that you understand.  Musical passions and all. Oh, and we have an intern, Jen, from Berklee College. . . You know Berklee?” 

“Yes, I do.  Boston, right?”

“Yeah. We send her the music online or on a drive and she sends it back with her evaluation, you know, as another factor in our decisions to represent.   And the other plus is she’s a pretty spectacular bassist!  She’ll be joining us after she graduates from law school in a few years.”

“That’s an interesting setup. Tremendous experience for the student.  I would quite enjoy that myself, I think.” He suddenly rose and stepped over the bench.  “Sorry, love, I need to move around a bit.  Old bones, you know,” he winked.

“Old bones? Hardly, Jimmy.” I laughed.

“MacGregor happens to be a name near and dear to my heart – for several reasons.  It’s been my . . .uh. . .sobriquet many times over the years, you know, in my travels,” he said stretching his arms above his head, grabbing a wrist, leaning one way and then another.   His exercise completed, he walked away from me around the long side of the table.

“Really? Hah!. . .Now that you mention it, I think maybe I recall reading that somewhere.” I watched him wondering where in hell he was going, until he towered over me, his hands sliding into his jeans pockets. 

“All right, Jane. Next question on your list?”

“Let’s see. . . so many to choose from. . .uhm. . .your stage clothes – they fascinate me, even back to the Yardbirds.  Sorry. . .the fan girl is creeping in." We both smiled at the obvious. "Your style has always been. . .what is the word I want? . . .so perfect for you. . .no, that’s not right. . . it’s more than that. . .Anyway, did your Zep clothes come about because of the stage show – you know - projecting yourself to such a large audience, or was it more than that, more ritualistic - like the symbols, the Dazed bow section - that stuff?”

“Well, that is an interesting question,” he said matter-of-factly as he straddled the bench and sat facing me. 

He was very, very close; his knee was just a hair’s breadth away from mine. It took all of my willpower not to innocently make fleeting contact.

“Yes, it was, in part, to provide a show.  You remember what it was like then – well, at least around the time Zep came about – some bands wandered off into meandering jams trying to figure out how the fuck to get back to the main – everyone off in their own little trip, you know, playing to the drummer, backs to the audience like. . .uhh. . .statues with guitars for the entire gig,” he said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.  “I mean, there was some brilliance, don't get me wrong, but sometimes, they were so fucking laid back, the audience fell asleep, believe me; I saw it happen. Who wants to pay good money for a gig where you’re out like a bloody light?”

“Yeah, I do remember.  Happened to me before.  I think ‘trip’ is the operative word.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, you may be right!” His intensity returned.  “That style of playing wasn’t in our DNA, in any way, shape, or form.  We wanted to be a. . .a. . .punch in the gut, you know.” Again, his hands were busy; the love for and pride of the band floated around us in the breeze. “We might lull you for a while – but it was only temporary, then bang.  Uh. . .we decided early on that we would do a proper stage show. I guess it was a part of us. . .uh. . .from the bands we grew up with.  And I think, well, I know, that our shows were fully experienced – the music, the visuals, the energy.  The fucking floors and seats shook in the house from the sound we put out," he sighed with a satisfied smile. "At any rate, our shows certainly were a ritual. . .for us as well as the audience, you know.  It allowed us to jam as we did.  And in the big arenas, even if some bloke in the back couldn’t see all that well, he had an idea of what we were doing because there was a. . .a familiar framework.  As far as the symbols-” he leaned against the table's edge, with the hint of a smile, “I think you might already know the answer, yeah?”

I tilted my head, scrunching into a tight-lipped smile, not sure that I wanted to tell him what I thought.  “You know, I wish I could sit like that,” nodding to his position, “it looks comfortable.”

“Why can’t you? Here, give me your hand.”  He reached out.

“Ha, ha, Jimmy.  I’m not dressed to straddle the damned bench. Not at all lady-like considering what I’m wearing!” I stood anyway twisting to take his hand. I struggled to keep my shawl around me and gather the skirt with the other.   Attempting to navigate the bench as best I could, more of me was exposed than I had intended.  It did not go unnoticed.

“I wouldn’t object, Jane,” he quipped with a dangerous gleam in his eye, that I tried to ignore as I sat.

Stretching my legs in front of me, ankles crossed, I eased back with my elbows on the tabletop. “Ah, that’s so much better,” I groaned, letting my head fall back to stretch out the tension in my spine.   “Mmmm, yeah, better.”

“You. . ." His quiet voice cracked slightly. His finger grazed his cheekbone as he cleared his throat. "Ah, you didn’t finish, Jane.  The symbols?”

I lifted my head to look at him, still hesitant to answer.  “So, is that a formal ‘your turn’ question?”

 He looked at me sternly with a lifted brow, “Jane. . .”

“Okay, okay. . .I. . .umm. . .think the symbols are not just for 'a show'. They have some meaning. . . some power, but how or over what, I’m not quite sure.”

“There’s a name for it, you know.”

Okay. . .Jump in the deep end, Jane. . .

“Yes. . .I know. . .talismanic magick, right?” I was very impressed that he was wheedling information from me in a rather innocent way and astonished that he appeared to have a list of his own. 

“Hmm,” he said noncommittally. “On to my question.  I meant to mention before – I’m quite taken with your attire.  The pieces appear to be authentic. What era are they from? Victorian, I’d say.” 

“You’re really interested?”

“I think you know I appreciate vintage things, as well,” he said with a slight smirk.

“Okay, well, yes. . .the blouse is a Victorian mourning piece; the color is from a chemise. . .uhm. . .under; the skirt is vintage velvet that I made into the skirt - a poor choice for today, it seems; the shawl and boots are also Victorian from an estate sale, found years ago when you could still get the good stuff.  That’s about it.”

“Mmm. . .lovely.  The stockings are lovely too, particularly the lace there at the top.  Seen twice in one day, I might add. Not such a poor choice, after all."  He quietly said with a luscious tinge and a gleam in his eye.

“Fuck, Jimmy.  I didn’t intend. . .”

“Jane, stop now," he interrupted. "You know – I wasn’t wrong when I said Elsinore suits you.  Whether you know it or not, you are a regal creature – there’s an air about you - even with the sailor’s mouth.  It was. . .uh. . .definitely. . .apparent from your writing.”

Hmmm. . .creature never sounded so. . . so. . .enticing. “I’m not sure what to say, so I best leave it at thank you.  I think we’re veering off topic here.”

“No, we aren’t.  You know, Perry and I. . .uhm.” Another brush of his fingertips on his cheek.  “I. . .ahh. . .named you ‘Lady Jane’ months ago.  It seemed appropriate once I read your letter.  Prescient, I’d say.”

I was sure he could see all the secret thoughts let loose behind my eyes.  “You guys had a nickname for me?”  I looked out to the safety of the yard but took a peek at him from the corner of my eye.  “No beheadings, right?” After confirming his grin, I returned my focus to the greenery.  “That’s a lovely compliment, I think, and pretty good as far as nicknames go.”   A pleasant silence settled over us.  As I imagined the two of them together chortling over 'Lady Jane', my hunger decided to announce itself with a loud rumble, to my embarrassment.

“Oh fuck!” I whooped, doubling over in laughter that echoed around the yard. “How embarrassing! Sorry, no breakfast.”

“No, damn, I’m sorry, Jane.  We are to have lunch.  I just lost track of the time.”  He popped up from the bench.  “I’m off to see a man about a dog. . .and lunch.  I’ll be back in a bit, love.”

As he walked the path back to the Inn, I couldn’t take my eyes off him and the easy, fluid way he moved - his open jacket swinging with his gait.  My gaze followed him until he disappeared behind the garden door.  He was truly more perfect in the flesh than in my imagination. Self-assured and cool – like he owned the world – except - when he wasn’t.  I was not sure that all was as it appeared on the surface.  There were the tiny hints - not because of his words, but from his ‘tells’ - that there was a fragility underneath.

Hmmm. . .He must know he does that. . .Why am I making him nervous? . . .This. . .this is. . .so much more than I anticipated. . .even when I let my imagination go to places that were pure fantasy. . .not so sure they are that now. . .Fuck, I need a cigarette!

I scoured my bag for the pack and lighter.  Out of curiosity, I checked the time on my phone.  It was way after four – the hours had flown by. 

Light the damned cigarette, Jane!

The breeze lifted my hair across my face, so I had to turn in circles to find the best place to light the cigarette.   Finally successful, I grabbed my glass from the table. 

Two glasses of wine and virtually no food - not a good idea. But no help for it.

I paced back and forth trying to get the proper perspective on the events of the day – sipping and smoking, cigarette in one hand, glass and pack in the other; unaware that the shawl slipped from one shoulder along the way.  Diverting for just a moment to top off my glass and turn the bottle upside down in the stone cooler, I let the thoughts pushed down into my psyche bubble up and be dealt with.  Regardless of any fantasizing, I allowed myself over the years, I had never permitted the idea of a sexual attraction – well, a potentially mutual one – into the equation of this trip. It seemed totally unrealistic to even go there and fraught with disappointment. 

Damn.  Unless my radar is totally out of whack, there is something. OR - Maybe this is how he always is. . .seductively charming. . .No, this is not just charm or the run-of-the-mill type of flirting – there’s something more underlying the whole afternoon.

I decided to take the path of living in the moment.  It was an absurdly rare position that I found myself in.  I vowed to enjoy every minute of it – whatever it was or was not. Pulling the shawl around my arms, I sank down on the bench having made the decision - a good idea since I was a tad bit drunk and had the full intention of finishing off the glass in my hand.  As I lit another cigarette, the garden doorbell jingled. A smiling Jimmy strode down the path to me.

“You caught me!” I called out to him as neared. 

Title Art: A Young Maiden with Pan and Cupid, in a Wild Garden - Harry George Theaker, pencil and watercolor

Dante Gabriel Rossetti Pandora 1871

@firethatgrewsolow @foreverandadaydarling @laluxea @lzep @sassybouquetrunaway-universe @jimmysdragonsuit13 @jenyj89@jonesyjonesyjonesy

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

Chapter 7 snippet - coming soon ☺

“I’m thinking in particular of the Albert Hall gig – White Summer.  You seem transcendent – like out of time and place.  It’s fascinating to watch and listen. . .one of my favorite things.”

“Mmm.” He smiled softly.  “It is a bit of that, love.  At some point, there’s really no thought involved – just feeling. And what is that but some sort of magick, hmm?  I wish I could give you more insight, but I still don’t quite understand it myself.”

“Mmm,” she sighed, relaxing into her chair. 

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[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

NEW CHAPTER! A LITTLE EARLY. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I dozed peacefully on a mossy riverbank lulled by the murmur of the lapping water.  Lying perpendicular to my companion, my head was lovingly cradled in the midriff of the other, a long finger gently circling across my forehead.  My eyes lazily followed the pillowy clouds floating above, in between fleeting winks of sleep. 

Contented. . .only to be startled awake by a loud, shrill, staccato tone. Blindsided by the sound, my eyes sprang open.  I was confused and disturbed by a crimson world pulsating around me.  The companion – gone.  As if pulled by an unseen tether, I arose.  My fingers plugged my ears to lessen the painful blare.  I stumbled forward into the stand of trees lining the bank, drawn to a red light flashing in sympathy with the intense sound. When I reached a clearing, all turned to black.

I violently shook my head trying to banish the insistent beep ringing in my ears. 

Shit!  The alarm.

Yawning, my hand searched the bed covers for the phone to end the obnoxious sound.  I groaned finding I was still dressed from the prior evening.  My fists twisted against closed eyelids to dispel the muzziness in my head. 

Ugh. . .jet lag. . .Fuck, fuck, FUCK!  What time is it?

I sprang from the bed and beelined to the kitchen focusing on the cell screen.

Okay. . .Seven. . .I can do this. . .

I hastily slapped a filter into the basket, dumped in the coffee and turned on the machine. Leaning low to the counter stretching my back, forehead on folded arms, I waited for the machine to stop gurgling, trying to wake up.  A competing sound – insistent and close by - drew my attention.  Turning my face to peer at the living room’s glass doors, a deluge curtaining the patio made itself known, raindrops bouncing high off the bricked deck. A grimace in resignation at the unexpected glitch spread across my face.

Of course. . .  

Standing by the patio doors sipping the much-needed coffee, I rethought my attire for the meeting in light of the uncooperative weather.  The reflection of my unruly tresses ghosted in the rain-greyed glass.  I mulled over options for taming them into something more professional looking than the spawn of Medusa.

My hair and rain just do not mix. . .

I sighed and wandered back to the bedroom closet, coffee in hand, sliding each hanger along the polished wooden rod selecting pieces to fit my mood.

Almost everything I brought is black. . . how appropriate. . .Black it is, then.  Professional. . .yes. . .but perhaps just a bit off center.

Selecting straight-legged pants and a soft, silky tunic from the hangers, I threw them on the bed. Still not satisfied, I spied one of my more durable vintage pieces – a velvet cape-like jacket with a burgundy and gold paisley running through it – and gently placed it with my other choices. The 40’s spectator pumps completed the outfit.  I rummaged through my accessories to locate the final pieces – two large, carved rosewood hair combs and dangling garnet earrings.

This will do nicely.  All black with a splash of red and a bit of gold.

After finishing my ablutions, I quickly slipped on the outfit, before tackling the hair situation.  I gathered the long spirals into a thick ponytail and fashioned a twist, secured with the two combs; two strands liberated at each temple.

Too poufy. . .but it will have to do. Ha, ha! Gibson Girl to go with the jacket. . .If I had more time. . .fuck!

I thought that glamming up a bit might distract from failed hairstyle.   Make-up was not something that I ever cared about, even though I did own some basics.  I chose to follow my usual path of foregoing any addition, other than a swipe of lip gloss.  A bit of scent was called for, though, and I dabbed drops of musky patchouli oil on my wrists and behind my ears.

I think that’s the best I can do, considering. . .

Slipping on the jacket, I checked my phone.  It was 8:15. I topped off the coffee and sat nervously on the edge of the couch – waiting.  Promptly at 8:30, three metallic taps clacked on the front door.  Through the peephole, I observed a pleasant looking middle-aged man slightly rocking back and forth under a large golf umbrella.

I unfastened the chain and opened the door.

“Good morning, Ms. Mott,” he nodded through the streams of water dripping from the tips of the canopy.  “I’m Mr. Page’s driver, James.  Do you need a few minutes?”

“Hi. . .Yes, just a minute or two.”

He stepped back slightly from the door.

“No – please come in, come in.” I waved him inside.  “This weather - ugh.  I’ll be quick.”

He moved to just inside the door, leaving the open umbrella resting on its handle on the doorstep. “Typical for this time of year, I’m afraid.  Don’t rush, we have time.”

I started to collect my laptop, papers and keys but stopped to turn back to him, puzzled.

“Wait – how does that work?  You’re James, right? And he’s James.  Ever become a tad confusing?”

“Not anymore,” he said with a toothy smile.  “I’m James; he’s Jim or Jimmy, mostly.  I’ve been with him for a very long time so it's worked out just fine, but we do have a few laughs about it now and then.”

“Huh. Okay.  Ready.” I followed James out the door, under the shield of the huge umbrella, hastening up the stairs to the waiting car.  Sheltering me from the downpour, he opened the door and I slid across the back seat.  He quickly threw in the umbrella and dove into the driver’s seat to avoid being drenched.

“Not the best welcome for your first full day in London,” he commiserated, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.  Just tap on the glass if you need anything.” The partition closed between us.

James took a route that passed some of the iconic sights of the city. I leaned my head against the window, taking in the London scenery through the raindrops.  Hyde Park’s greenery loomed to my left and as we skirted between the boroughs of Mayfair and Soho, Marylebone and Fitzrovia, I wondered what the day would bring.  The grandeur of Regency Park and its wrought-iron gates appeared through the rainy mist. 

I dug out my Blackberry to confirm that it all was, indeed, real.  There it was – the photo – Jimmy hovering at Perry’s shoulder with a sweet, goofy grin and mischievous eyes, silver-white hair loose and flowing. The date and time stamp revealed it was snapped just hours after I ended my January call with “Mr. Hudson.”  Its greeting flashed from my phone when I awoke the next morning.

Mmmm. . .that was. . .indescribable. . . And here we are. . .

James cracked open the partition.  “We should be arriving shortly, Ms. Mott.”

“Great, thanks, James.”  I took a deep breath and nervously bit my lip catching his eye in the rearview. Resting my head against the chilly leather seat, I was lost in the possibilities to come as the car halted at 12 Oval Road, Jimmy’s manager’s office.  Thankfully, it seemed the rain had passed.

I started to open the door, but James was quicker. “Ms. Mott, allow me, please.  I’ll be waiting here when you’re done, okay?”

“Oh, thank you, James.”  I scanned the façade, sighing deeply, “Okaaay. . .here we go!”

“You’ll be fine.  See you shortly.”

Perry was waiting just inside the doors.  “Jane.  How are you this morning?”

“Nervous, Perry, for some reason,” I creaked.

“No need, no need.  We’re just on the next floor.”

I followed him up the carved, mahogany stairs admiring the 19th-century features blended into a very contemporary design.  “Interesting mix of periods here. . . wow!”

“Yeah, it’s a converted warehouse.  They tried very hard to keep what they could.” He swung open a door to reveal a large conference room.  A dark-haired woman sat at a long table, flipping through a few papers.

She rose and walked the length of the table to greet me.  “Jane. So happy to meet you.  I’m Angela. . .Angie, Bill’s staff attorney,” holding out her hand.

“Angie, hi, likewise,” using my most professional handshake.  “You’re American.”

“Is it that obvious?” she laughed.

“Well, yeeaah, it is.  New York?” I teased.  She nodded. Following the normal greeting when attorneys meet for the first time, I continued, “So, where did you go to school, Angie?”

“Uh. . .Columbia, then here for a bit.”

Hmmm. . . I know that tone. Ha!

“Please have a seat, Jane. How about you?”

“Georgetown. . .” I slid into my seat at the center of the table opposite her. 

God, I hate that ass-sniffing ritual. . .very tiresome.  She seems to hold it in the same regard, though.  Ha.  Good.

“If you have time, I’d love to talk to you about your school experience in Britain while I’m here.  Very interested.”

“I’d love to fill you in. I’ll give you my card. . .Umm, Perry. . .you have everything?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.”  He scrambled to take his seat at the table.

“Okay, why don’t we start with the non-disclosure?” She queried me over her reading glasses.

“Sure.”

“Alright.  No changes from the final draft?”

I shook my head.

“Great.  Here are two copies.” She placed each side by side in front of me.  “Please sign each one.  I’ll do the same as Mr. Page’s representative. Perry will witness.  We each will have an original execution.”

“Perfect. . .but, uh, can you give me a few minutes?” I unzipped the case and grabbed my laptop.  “I just wanna. . .you know. . .not that I don’t trust you or anything, but – “

“Right, understood, of course. . .Perry?” She nodded to the far corner of the room and stood up from the table.

“Oh. . .okay.” He joined her.

“So, what is the plan for. . .”  Their conversation quieted as they moved to the end of the table.  My focus centered on the screen, comparing it to the documents before me.

What the hell are you doing? This is not at all necessary. . .I know. . .I know. . .it's just a formality. . .but I don’t want any surprises. . .

Once satisfied there were none, I called out to the corner.  “Okay, all good.”

The couple retook their seats.  “The pens are right there.” Angie indicated a small, ornate box in the center of the table. 

I opened it to find crimson fountain pens nestled inside.  Unscrewing the cap, I circled the gold nib across a spare bit of paper. 

“This is a lovely touch.” 

A deep, rich, aquamarine-colored liquid flowed smoothly as I scribbled.

“Very, very nice pen!  Definitely no problem recognizing the originals,” I chuckled, “. . .interesting shade of ink.” 

I signed and dated each of the agreements and slid them to Perry for his witness.   After Angie scrawled her signature, she waived around one of the documents to dry the ink.  She folded the papers and slipped them into an envelope, pushing it across the table. I reached to return the pen to the box.

“No, no!  Please keep it – a memento.  Perry will discuss the remaining details with you.  I’m staying on just in case there are any questions.”  She turned her focus to Perry.

“Right. . .Jim. . .uh - Mr. Page. . .is currently at Sonning-on-Thames. It’s about an hour’s drive west.  He thought it would be an agreeable place to meet. . .it's a little village.”

“It sounds great!” I bubbled like a thirteen-year-old, much to my embarrassment.  “Sorry. . .go on, please.”

“We arranged lodging for you at The Bull Inn – lots of history there and Mr. Page would very much like to absorb- “

“Uh. . .Nope, Perry.  I believe we discussed this, did we not?  This is on my dime. . .or. . .pound or whatever, right?  Now, we don’t need to sign something, do we?”  I fluttered my eyelids, smiling sweetly.

“Yes, we did and no, we don’t,” he laughed. “I had to try.  Soooo, in that event, the innkeepers have offered a very nominal rate for your stay.  James will ferry you to Sonning and then back to London in a few days. That will give you a chance to enjoy the village."

I glared at him with somewhat feigned displeasure.  “Perry. . . now how is that any different??  Offered and nominal? Isn’t that still – what did you call it – absorbing?”

He remained silent, expectantly, brows raised.

I resisted a bit longer, really not wanting my adventure to be subsidized by Jimmy in any way. But. . .I gave in. “Okay, okay. . .deal.”

“Alright, good.  You haven’t made any firm plans as of yet, right?” I nodded. “Mr. Page was hoping that you would arrive later this afternoon, get settled in, and meet with him tomorrow.  We’re unsure of the exact time as he has some business calls scheduled.  I’ll figure that out and ring you with the time.  Is that to your liking?"

“Yes, that is absolutely to my liking.  What happens now?"

“James will pick you up around mid-afternoon and get you checked in at The Bull.” He stood, followed by Angie.

Apparently, we’re done.  Very painless.

“God, Perry, I am beyond excited!” I hastily stuffed the envelope, the laptop and the pen back into the case, zipping it closed.  “Thank you both for everything. Angie, I look forward to our chat and thanks for the. . .uh. . .memento.”

As Angie walked me to the door, her hand grazed my arm as she slipped her business card into my hand. “Jane, that is a great wrap! Is it original?"

"Oh, thanks. Uhh. . .I have a thing for antiques."

"Mmm. . .Beautiful. There are some great shops to check out then while you're here. I'll give a list to Perry for you. I have no doubt you going to have an interesting experience.  Have fun.  Please do call me when you get back.”

“I will.  See ya, Perry.”

James was waiting, as promised, as I flew out of the building’s entrance and down the marble stairs. 

“All good?” He asked with a knowing look. 

“Way more than good.”

I couldn’t suppress the thoughts of the "interesting experience," as Angie put it, looming over the next few days.  Gazing out the window, I saw no landmarks only the possible scenarios I was conjuring.  When we arrived at the flat, James and I set the time for the trip to Sonning. 

“Thanks, James.  See you soon.  I can get this - really – don’t get out.”

I sprang out of the car, rushed down the stairs and through the door, hooking up the laptop in record time.   Draping the jacket over the back of the chair, I started a quick internet search, googling The Bull Inn, Sonning-on-Thames.

Historic is right, 16th century!  Regardless of how it goes with Jimmy, this is gonna be extremely cool.  Ha! Like everything so far.

I excitedly investigated the village and environs, finding that Deanery Garden, Jimmy’s home, was right up the road from the Inn. I grinned. 

Okaaay then.

After the laptop was back in its case, I twirled to the couch and flopped enjoying a delicious prickly excitement. 

I have a few hours to kill. . .may just a tiny shot. . .What the fuck, Jane? . . .It’s only 11 o’clock- in the morning!. . .Yeah, well, it's afternoon US time. . .I definitely need to mellow out or I’m going to go insane. . .I'd kill for a joint. . .Ha!

Reasoning that food would take away the guilt of alcohol mid-morning, I searched the fridge for something appealing.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a blue and white something on the counter. A basket had appeared in my absence, covered with a checkered cloth with a note on top:

Jane – sorry to barge in while you’re out.  I dropped off linens and a little treat. Please enjoy! I forgot to mention that Rob and I will be away for a bit.  We have friends visiting while we’re gone, so don’t be alarmed if you hear knocking about upstairs.  Just in case it’s needed, there is a spare key to your flat in the urn by our front door – a little key box mixed in with the greens. We’ll see you in a couple of weeks.  Dinner when we return?    Emily

I folded back the corners of the cloth to find fresh scones, clotted cream, and homemade strawberry jam.

Wow. . .so nice of her!  And just what I needed. . .ooooh. . .they’re still warm.

I put on the teapot after deciding it was too decadent to pair the scones with whiskey at mid-morning.  The late breakfast was divine.  As time was becoming short, I hastily poured a shot topping it with a splash of water and sauntered to the closet. I carefully placed my most treasured pieces into the waiting suitcase and bag, along with the deep red velvet tarot bag slipped in among the folds.

Precisely at three, the familiar rapping sounded and I threw open the door. 

“James, come in.  I’m ready.”

“Ms. Mott.”

“James. . .It’s Jane, please.”

“Right.  Let’s get you to the car, Jane,” he said as we grabbed my bags.

Once on our way, he called back through the open partition.  “There's lovely countryside along the way.  Let me know if you have any questions or want to stop, we’re not on a set arrival time.”

“Thanks. I think I need to do some reading to. . .uhm. . .stay calm, you know.”

“Jane, you’re not going to an execution!  Just tap the glass if you need me, okay?” he said as the partition slowly slid shut. I saw the amusement in the eyes looking back at me in the mirror.

I forced myself to focus on the new client prospectuses crammed, last minute, into my laptop bag.  Plugging in the flash drive plucked from the first folder, rhythms and melodies raced from the computer through my ear pods.  I gazed out the window as we sped by patchwork fields and hedgerows, listening to a sample from the short sets of three new bands seeking representation. They were all good – raucous and driving, but I kept returning to the tight grooves of the yet unnamed southern rock band.  “. . .heavy. . .somewhat complex. . .definite blues undertone. . .singer - a plus,” I wrote in the band’s workup.  I rewound their set to hear it in its entirety.  The opening number’s distorted low-down licks chimed with the cowbell intro of Honky Tonk Women, rough and gritty, followed by the unmistakable opening riffs of Custard Pie.

"You-are-fucking-kidding me," I snorted with laughter, apparently loudly.  I looked up to see a chuckling James glancing back at me in the mirror.  Grinning, I shook my head, shrugged my shoulders, and resumed noting my impressions of the bands.  In no time, the car slowed to a crawl.  The Bull Inn, a sprawling dark timber-framed country inn with white-washed walls and gabled, latticed windows came into view. We entered to find a warm and inviting atmosphere - a small reception desk to the right with a cozy bar visible thru an arched entrance in front of me.  Peeking into the room's entryway, I found a lovely brick and marble bar lit with stained glass lanterns near a massive brick fireplace with yellow-white flames dancing in its center. The sweet scent of birch wood tinged the air. The only other illumination in the room was the sunlight beaming through the row of tall, paned windows set into the exterior stone wall.  Sparkling motes of dust danced in the space between the windows and the tables in the shadows.  I was transfixed. 

“Jane?” James called from reception.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,”  I said as I slowly backed out of the bar, not quite ready to leave, and returned to the desk.

“This is Moira. She and her husband Kirk are the innkeepers. She’ll handle the registration, then I’ll get your bags upstairs.”

“So glad you’re joining us, Jane.  Just sign here, after you read thru, and then I’ll take you to your room.”

As we navigated the very steep and very narrow staircase to the next floor, Moira chatted about the things to do and see in Sonning.  I turned back to see James attempting to maneuver my large suitcase and bag up the stairs.  “God, I’m so sorry, James. . .I didn’t take into account 16th-century stairways when I packed!  Can I take that bag??”

“Ha!  Not a problem, Jane.”

With bags deposited and the low-down on Sonning received, I closed the door and explored my second temporary residence in as many days.  A couch and coffee table were tucked away in an alcove.  The bathroom contained a walk-in shower and a very roomy clawfoot tub.  As I lifted my suitcase onto the bed, I noticed an ecru-colored square propped against the dark blue pillows.  “Jane” was very neatly printed on the front in a now familiar color of ink.  I plopped on the bed, grabbed what I realized was an envelope, and turned it over.  There I found a dark red imprint.  My fingers traced the small dragon raised in the wax. Utterly amazed, I lifted the seal, as sparks of anticipation swirled down my spine.  Tucked inside was an ecru note card matching the envelope. As I pulled it out and flipped it over, I found a Gorey pen-and-ink overlaid on the front.

Wow! How could he possibly know that?

Gorey was a favorite of mine. Many of his books were tucked into my bookshelves at home. On the face of the card was drawn a woman, adorned with a wild hat of large snaking black lilies, dancing through a maze of tall drapes with a man garbed in white. When I opened the card, flowing penmanship in the same rich aquamarine was revealed.

Hello, Jane~Let’s meet tomorrow at half noon, shall we?  The Inn’s Hidden Garden is quite a lovely place to chat.  Moira or Kirk will show you the way.  We will have the garden to ourselves for your “brain-picking” session. I look forward to meeting you.

Till then ~ J.

Collapsing into the pillows, I giggled until I was breathless unable to contain my joy! I was certain it could be felt by everyone in the vicinity.

Oh my god. . .he is too much!!  He took the time to write me himself.  . .and the ink! Ha! I must ask about that! And Gorey - what the fuck? But how very sweet and so very. . .personal.  Not typewritten on JP letterhead!  And the seal. . .my, I think it's. . .definitely going to be an adventure.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, in the bar directly below, the writer was secreted in a far dark corner.  He had decided to observe my arrival from afar and now pondered the possible effect of his note in the room above.  Sipping his tea, he glanced up at the beams.  As a slight shiver twitched across his shoulders, he half-smiled into his cup; my mirth apparently had sought him out, found him, and made its presence emphatically known.

[BTW - I don't profess to be an artist - so my apologies to those of you who are 😊 And yes, Jane does have hands and facial features 😁]

CHAPTER LIST https://www.tumblr.com/letmewanderinyourgarden2022/701210499738714112/chapter-list-let-me-wander-in-your-garden?source=share

@firethatgrewsolow @foreverandadaydarling @laluxea @lzep @sassybouquetrunaway-universe @jimmysdragonsuit13 @jenyj89

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

Chapter 7 Snippet

Jimmy paused inside in the alcove at the garden’s doorway.  Leaning against the door’s dark jamb, one long leg crossed over the other, he viewed the yard through the leaded panes. Taking a moment to observe from a distance before rejoining her, he realized his jumbled thoughts had to be sorted before resuming their conversation. He spied Jane twirling in a very slow circle in the far corner.  One hand fought to corral the spiraled strands of hair fluttering in the breeze as the other attempted to light a cigarette.  He was fascinated by her movements as she traversed across the yard accompanied by a glass of wine and a cigarette, the end of her shawl trailing behind her. 

@firethatgrewsolow @foreverandadaydarling @laluxea @lzep @sassybouquetrunaway-universe @jimmysdragonsuit13 @jenyj89

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

#depends on the day #LZI is my favorite album #Today HMMT #Ramble On #SIBLY #levee #NQ/the rain song #are you counting TSRTS - if so Dazed #all of physical graffiti but TYG/TUF #Achilles #I'm gonna crawl - except for the intro

Fave song off every Zep album go

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

Paul Butterfield Blues Band - Woodstock August 1969

On the bill with Led Zeppelin in Baltimore MD Civic Center February 16, 1969

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

The night sky, visible through the small window, was other-worldly and spectacular for the red-eye flight from Atlanta to London. The long hours were thankfully uneventful which I took as a very good omen.  I managed a first-class booking – sleeping pod and all - so I was as comfortable as I could possibly be.  Drifting off, images of the day to follow flickered through my slumber-ready thoughts – the flat, the paperwork, and of course, Jimmy – where, when and how will we meet? 

So much is still in the dark.

Sighing, I surrendered to Morpheus.  He hadn’t been my friend of late, but on the flight to the unimaginable rendezvous, he returned to me.  When I awoke from the brief but deep sleep, a succession of vivid images from my dreaming flashed in my head, and I bolted upright from the reclined seat.

Damn! I remember!

Amazed, I slipped back, eyes closed, replaying the visions.   

I was walking to the flat in Kensington. Ahead, a flock of birds milled about.   Pigeons!  Of course.  As I got closer, they took flight en masse.  Watching them gracefully arc above me, I corrected myself.  “No, they’re doves.”  The only words I spoke.  I looked down to find the sidewalk replaced by the front entrance of the flat.  I cautiously opened the black varnished door, finding a grand, hall-like room crisscrossed with large brown timbers imbedded in sand-colored walls – unmistakably medieval.  Baffled, I stepped outside to re-examine the exterior.  Right, that’s definitely Georgian.   Reentering the flat, the same timber and plaster interior surrounded me.  I giggled at the oddity.  Following distant voices, I was drawn to a large, dusky room containing a round table that looked as if it were sliced from the trunk of a massive tree.  In the dimness, multi-colored squares of light dotted the luster of its highly polished surface.   I surveyed the room to identify the source of the mesmerizing patterns.  A man leaned cross-armed against the wall in a far corner gazing outward through stained-glass windows that rose from floor to ceiling – the source of the kaleidoscope.  The hazy sunlight created a golden sheen on a sliver of his dark attire, the rest in shadow. There were others - two men seated at the table in deep discussion. I couldn’t see any of their faces or hear the conversation – no matter how hard I tried. Maybe they didn’t have faces – the absurd thought seemed entirely reasonable. The faceless man from the opening scenes of The Song Remains The Same sprang into my mind.  It struck me as incredibly funny.   While I laughed, the room and the men disappeared, replaced by a field of tall grass in early evening.  The soft shoots caressed my arms and legs as I lay in the expanse. Clouds, bottoms tinged with orange and purple from the reflection of the setting sun, traveled across the fading sky as it slowly transformed into a night with a sparkling canopy of stars.  From the grasses in the distance, shimmering green lights twinkled then rose, as one – like an aurora borealis – to hang low at the horizon.   I watched in amazement.  I sensed someone there with me.  I didn’t see her or him but could feel their wonder as well, whoever it was. 

Every detail was repeated just as I had dreamed. 

Damn, that was trippy. . . I think I remember the whole thing!  Well. . .maybe a breakthrough?

I savored the feeling.  My introspection was interrupted by the steward’s arrival to undo the sleeping pod.  Oblivious to the movement next to me, I stood absorbed in the realness of the dream – the sounds, the scents, the visions – so crystal clear.  Reseated, I paused another moment relishing the details then took out my laptop to record the impressions.  Lawyer-mode returned and I thought it best to also review the notes I had made about itinerary and such:  nine tomorrow morning – meeting with Jimmy’s representative at his manager’s office to sign the NDA and other paperwork, as well as to finalize the logistics of the much-anticipated meeting; contacts for Perry and the flat’s landlord; possible day trips; the pilgrimage; and where to meet the driver at the airport.

Meeting Jimmy! Fuck, this is actually happening. . .not yet, my girl.  Don’t jinx it!

Upset at myself for doubting, I slapped the laptop closed and shoved it back under the seat.  I jerked open the book brought along for the flight, needing a diversion from negative thoughts.   The first volume of the Outlander series was suggested to me by a friend who noted the series of books had a fascinating plot line.  The story captivated me, and seemingly only minutes later, the pilot announced the approach to the airport. 

Wow.  That was a quick two hours!  So well written.  I may need to pick up the next book while I’m here.

I took stock of my belongings, sliding the book into my laptop bag, and prepared to land.  On the jetway, I checked my watch.   It was 9:30 a.m. local time.  I was to meet, I assumed, Jimmy’s driver at noon in the baggage area. 

Customs must be a bitch!

At 12:30, I finally arrived to collect my bags, having survived the customs nightmare.  As I searched the crowd around the baggage claim, I spied a tall guy with shaggy blond hair holding a “Jane M” sign. 

Okay, that’s him.  Is that? . . .Oh my god, I think it is.”

As I approached him, I beamed with glee. “Well, if it isn’t ‘The Scanner’!  Perry!” I held out my hand.  “So happy to meet you.  I recognized you from the photo.”

“Ha, yeah.  Great to meet you too,” he said, heartily shaking my hand.

“I was expecting a driver or something.  It’s very nice of you to pick me up in person.”

“I am that, on occasion, but today, we have a driver.”  As he spoke, he guided me toward the carousel that was delivering the long-awaited luggage at a snail’s pace to the gaggle of passengers. “The car is just outside so let’s get your bags and we’ll be on our way to your flat.  We can have a chat en route.”

The journey from Heathrow to South Kensington went by quickly and we were soon in front of my temporary residence.

I stepped out of the car, admiring the row of stately, terraced residences, sparkling white in the afternoon sun.  “Very, very cool.  Much better in person.”

Perry joined me on the sidewalk.  “This is a fantastic neighborhood – great architecture.” He glanced back to the driver wrestling the luggage from the boot to the curb.  “We need the key.”

“Right, need to get it from the owner.  I’ll be just a second.”

I bounded up the stairs and rang the bell.  A young blonde woman opened the door.

I tried to regain my breath. “Uh. . .Hi. . . Good day.  I’m Jane Mott – renting the downstairs.”

“Oh, yes.  Good to meet you, Jane.  Emily Putnam.  My husband, Rob, and I own the place.  Please, come in.”

“Emily. . .is it possible. . .umm. . .I have some guys waiting to bring in my bags.  Could I get the key and I’ll come back once they’re done?”

“Of course.”  She reached to a table behind the door.  “Here it is and the door is just there.” She nodded to the wrought-iron railing of the stairway to the flat below.  “Once you’re settled, come up the stairs from the back patio.  I’ll be in the kitchen – right at the top of the stairs.  We’ll have tea and go over the particulars.”

“Great.  Thanks, Emily.  So nice to meet you.  See you in a bit.”

The men trundled my unwieldy bags across the black and white checkerboard tiles of the front terrace and down the stairs to the flat. Once inside, I was pleasantly surprised.

Thank the gods – no timbers.

“Wow.  This is very modern.  The photos really didn’t do justice.”

“This will be quite comfortable, I’m sure.  I hope you enjoy your time here.”

“How could I not, Perry?” I chuckled. “So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“Mr. Page’s driver will collect you promptly at half eight for the drive to the office.  Is that still a good time for you or should I make it later – you know, jet lag and such?”

“No, that will be fine.”

“Jane, a pleasure. I’ll be on my way then.”  He nodded his goodbye.

“Thanks again for everything.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

I dragged my two huge suitcases and assorted other bags down the hall to the spacious master bedroom.  Unpacking, I took special care with hanging the vintage items in the walk-in closet.  The room was graced with a king-size bed and a huge bathroom.  Particularly interesting was the shower sporting a water jet system in the walls.

Just what I need.  Definitely on the agenda for this evening.

I wandered through the rooms discovering other features.  The state-of-the-art kitchen was fully stocked with items I requested to be delivered, right down to the liquor.  The living room was complete with a flat screen TV, internet connections, and what looked to be a wi-fi set up.  It opened onto a cozy, walled patio with a fire pit.

This is incredibly upscale.  I’m going to absolutely love it here.

Remembering my check-in with Emily, I climbed the patio stairs to spend the hour sipping delicious creamy tea, finalizing the arrangements, and learning about the area.  I almost choked, mid-swallow, when Emily mentioned Jimmy Page lived in the neighborhood, noting that she and Rob were avid Zep fans.

“We see him frequently when he’s in town, you know – out and about in the shops”

Regaining my composure, I leaned in.   “Really?  So, he’s just like a normal guy?”

“Yes, he seems so, but then, there are often fans hanging about, so maybe no.  He’s generally very gracious.”

“Maybe I’ll have a sighting while I’m here.” I inwardly smirked, nonchalantly lifting the cup to my lips. 

Returning to the flat, I set up my laptop in the living room, connecting the various wires and plugs.  I switched on my YouTube playlist, thrilled to hear Zep from all corners of the room. 

Perfect!  Surround sound! Gotta get out of these clothes and this f’ing bra.  Maybe time for that shower.

Making my way back to the bedroom, the strains of The Rover floated through unseen speakers in the walls of each room I entered.  Debating a long luxurious bath or the shower with the awesome jets, the shower won out.  The effect of the water massage combined with the melodies of Physical Graffiti was heavenly.  All the travel tension had melted away.  That, along with the inevitable jet lag, made it apparent that it would be an early night.  

I slipped into a comfortable long dress, my favorite for lounging, and searched the kitchen for a glass, ice, and the bottle of Jack.  Dancing my way to the bedroom, I took a swig, depositing the tumbler on the nightstand.  As I sprawled across the bed, the events of the past week – the trip preparation, the brief misgivings about what I had gotten into, and the excitement at the possibility of meeting Jimmy were front of mind.  Then, I remembered my first interaction with Perry. 

 Oh my god, that call in January!  I’m so happy he has a sense of humor.

The aroma of cherry and oak permeated the air from the flames gently licking the logs in the living room fireplace. I curled up on the sofa with a stack of contracts on my lap.  The firm had taken on several new band clients at the end of the year, a few of them exceptionally talented.  As a result, I anticipated spending the entire weekend reviewing tour agreements and management services contracts to ensure everything was fair and equitable.  With the Saturday morning ticking into afternoon, I took a break to refresh my coffee and settled back onto the sofa.  Amid a particularly confusing section, my cell phone rang.  Focused on my reading, I answered without looking at the screen, putting the caller on speaker.

“Hello.”

“Uh. . .yes, hello. . .Is this Jane Mott?”  The caller was unmistakably British.

“Perhaps. . . And this is?

“My name is Perry Hudson calling on behalf of Jimmy Page.”

“Right. . . okay.  Look-”

The voice interrupted, “Ms. Mott, I know this may be unexpected since a rather extended time has passed since you posted the correspondence to Mr. Page, but. . .”

This is probably some asshole who found “the correspondence” in a trash bin. . .For fuck’s sake, it’s been forever.

“LOOK!  I don’t know who you are, how you got my number, or what ‘correspondence' you're referring to” I barked at the phone, “but I’m very busy and in no mood to be pranked, so. . . fuck off!”

His words squawked rapidly from the phone’s tiny speaker.  “No, no, Ms. Mott, don’t hang up!  My name is Perry Hudson.  I am truly calling you from London regarding the letter you sent to Mr. Page. . I’M THE SCANNER!! PLEASE, don’t hang up.”

“Wait. . . what?”

“I got your package at the Flames of Albion offices and passed it on to Mr. Page, personally.”

“You did? Really?”  I said weakly as my stomach flipped-flopped. At that moment, I noticed the number on the screen proved an international call.  A million scenarios raced through my head – he could be anyone. . .some schmuck in a mailroom somewhere having a go at me.  “Sorry, Mr. Hudson, is it?  I’m not convinced.”

“Well, that’s totally understandable, Ms. Mott.  Let me just say, this is. . . I must admit. . .this is a first for me, as well.”

I heard something like truth in his voice but was still skeptical. “Do tell, please.”

“Mr. Page has had an impossibly hectic schedule, which I’m sure you can understand.  When he had the time to give your letter proper attention, the months had slipped away.”

Giving in to my penchant for pacing when angry or unsure of myself – and I was a bit of both - I sprang from the couch, scattering the papers from my lap across the floor.  “Fuck,” I muttered.

“Eh. . .what? . . .Please forgive me if this is not a good time to speak.”

“No, no, it’s okay, Mr. Hudson.  Perhaps we should start over?” I took the phone off speaker, grabbed the cigarettes and lighter from the coffee table, and barged out the front door, oblivious to the freezing air.  I crisscrossed the porch as I smoked. “What exactly do you want and how do I know you are who you say you are?”

“Starting over. . .yes. . .thank you, but I’m not sure how I can prove who I am over the phone. . .At any rate, Mr. Page found the entirety of your letter. . .fascinating. . .is the word he used.  He’s tasked me with arranging a meeting, possibly in the fall, after the proper vetting. . . .since your letter implied a trip to London was in your future plans. He would be delighted to meet you if that works out.”

I sunk onto the swing, pulling another cigarette from the pack.  “Umm. . .wow. . .yeah, that’s possible.”  Thoughts racing, I grabbed one.  “Please forgive my apprehension, but I need to know that you are genuine before we go any further.  I do need some sort of proof.”

“What can I do to provide that to your satisfaction?”

After a deep breath, I forged ahead.  “I would need to see evidence, tangible evidence, that you even know Jimmy, for one."  Being a total smart-ass, I continued in my best drama-class high British accent, “I’m sure you’re quite aware, Mr. Hudson, that anyone can pretend they are something they are not.”

“Not bad, Ms. Mott,” he snickered.

“Well, you get my point, right?” Emboldened, since I was still unsure of the veracity of the call, I pushed further to test.  “I think a call with Jimmy to confirm would work. . .maybe a video call with you both would suffice.  Is that doable?”

There was silence.

I continued. “I mean, I’ve already offered a non-disclosure, so we can start that right now, verbally, if that makes it easier.”

“I don’t think Mr. Page would agree to a call of that sort,” he said hesitantly.

“Alright, I can understand that. Okay, then. . . .uh. . .how about a photo of both of you together, with a date and time stamp - as a compromise? If Mr. Page is amenable, after you take the photo, please send it to me right away.  I’ll give you the email address for my Blackberry; it's very secure.  You can send the image there."

“I think. . .that. . .may be. . .possible.  Obviously, I need to consult with Mr. Page.”

I rattled off the address and after assuring me I’d hear from him in the next few days, we ended the call.

I remained on the swing in the freezing air, puffing on my fourth cigarette, comfortably numb yet shivering. I returned inside and warmed myself by the fire, staring into the flames. 

What the hell just happened? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@firethatgrewsolow @foreverandadaydarling @laluxea @lzep @sassybouquetrunaway-universe @jimmysdragonsuit13 @jenyj89

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

Love this - from one artist to another 😊

Jimmy's “mysterious” black jacket

1977: A longtime Led Zeppelin fan, by the name of Irene Rumbaugh, sends a black jacket she had spent many hours perfecting and decorating, accompanied by a letter stating that she will attend the June 23rd show, to the LA Forum's manager, in hopes of reaching her guitar hero Jimmy Page. The day of the concert finally comes and as she spots the musician from the crowd, she notes he is wearing white pants and a white jacket: a white suit. This comes as a surprise, as she was used to seeing him in black. The show goes on, and she quickly forgets about the jacket, enjoying a spectacular performance by her favourite band and having fun with her friends. But the biggest surprise comes with the encore: Jimmy comes out with the white pants he had worn for the rest of the show, and a stunning black jacket decorated with red, white and green sequins. That was nothing less than the jacket her hands had rigorously sewn in the months leading up to the show!!!! And now he was walking all around the stage showcasing it, and turning around so the audience would get a better view of it. Irene couldn't believe her eyes, and neither could her group of friends. The guitarist had obviously appreciated the carefully embroidered jacket made for him by a mysterious girl among the sea of fans in attendance that night, and wore it to let her know it and see it with her own eyes. It was like saying “Thank you, I see you, I love that you did this for me,” without actually saying anything. A simple exchanged act of kindness between two strangers.

“I made Jimmy Page a jacket and took it to the Forum and gave it to the General Manager. I made a black jacket because he usually wore black. This year he switched to white. I attached a letter stating that I had tickets for the 6/23 show. The concert was fantastic and I really enjoyed the show. When they came out for the encore Jimmy Page had my black jacket on! He walked all around the stage and turned around to show off the back. I almost fainted and my group of friends went crazy, I was a celebrity in my group of friends. I will never forget that moment as long as I live. Just to think that he would do that was awesome. To this day when I tell people about it they are amazed also.”

— Irene Rumbaugh

[letmewanderinyourgarden2022]

Love this photo too. Crochet tank tops seem to be the thing this night.😂 Tea Party Jan 26 69 is awesome too.

“This is what I like about photographs. They’re proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect.”

— Jodi Picoult