DANDELIONS: The Sheik of Araby

Upon arriving in Southern California, Schatz attempted to see his oldest daughter. He would have also liked to see his six-year old grandson. They lived in a large home with a tiled roof in San Diego’s Ashley Falls neighborhood. As though worn away by the centuries, the plaster stucco showed brick here and there. Lemon trees grew in the back yard. He wouldn’t mind sitting under them once more, watching his grandson play. He wouldn’t mind seeing her husband Nathan, a real estate developer. Ambitious, mild yet focused, he liked him.

But not this trip. When he called she would not talk. When emailed she would not reply. Jennifer worked as an estate and finance attorney. She had some of the independence, the grit and determination of her mother. And himself, he thought. He was proud of her.

It could have been very depressing. But Schatz knew her anger would not last. With his wealth restored, as a man of means, ease, power, with the passing of time he could approach her again. She would forgive his divorce. Possibly not the infidelity. Very likely not.

As for wealth, he felt himself well on the way. Sitting in a Palm Springs carpet store he took the role of a successful Kurdish trader. He wore an open blouse with a small gold vest. His flowing charcoal pantaloons were tied at the ankle. Brown feet were clad in rope sandals. On his head was a taqiyah, or rounded Persian cap. His young consort, a woman with thick black hair, wore no taqiyah. Other than an alarming set of veils, alarming in the sense of being one sheer veil from certain exposure, she wore nothing but bracelets. Peter and Lionel, in simple shorts and teeshirts, also wore taqiyahs, one red and the other blue. These were subtly embroidered in silver.

The four sat around a huge ottoman, drinking tea from tiny cups. A caterer served lamb kabobs. “When in Rome, gentlemen,” Schatz said, raising a kabob in toasting his new partners.

“Or Tehran,” said Peter.

“That’s what I meant.”

The store owners had decided to move ahead with his plan. At least the next phase. There was much to do. Contracts would have to be drawn. Lawyers with international connections employed. Rugs had to be inventoried and equitably valued.

“Will we need to travel to Iran?” asked Lionel.

Schatz answered. “No. But I may have to. With my assistant, of course.”

“Drat.”

Peter looked at his spouse.

“I’d love to see the country,” he explained. “I’ve always wanted to go to Kashan, or Tabriz, and meet the weavers.”

“Maybe you can go to jail and meet the Ayatollah.”

“Don’t be negative, Peter.”

Peter wasn’t negative, He was wary. Lionel had fallen under some kind of opium-spell conjured by Schatz, and possibly his exotic assistant.

“We’ll handle the international details.” Schatz touched her knee affectionately. “All you have to do is value your rugs accurately. Or inaccurately. Leave plenty of fat. Persian dealers are sharp traders. That’s where you come in, right, Darling?”

The girl merely smiled.

“Maybe an Iranian dealer or two can visit,” Lionel said. He lifted his cup. “Here’s to making friends,”

“Better yet,” Schatz said. “Here’s to making money.”

***

They had no idea they were pursued.

Reba, Catherine, and Walt were closing in fast. They scoured the downtown stores, asking questions, inquiring about the paripatetic Schatz, who was well known, and his conspicuously youthful assistant. This is where we’ll find them, Catherine assured her friends. It was not conceivable Schatz would merely spirit Li-Li away for a week’s illicit pleasure, hiding out in some hotel. Business would always be involved.

They ducked into a gallery. Reginald Smith stood among his canvases, flicking a feather duster. He immediately recognized Catherine Baker. “Ah, Cat!” he cried. “You should have let me know you were coming. The place is a mess.” Smith sold signature pieces for living rooms, mostly large paintings to newly wealthy homeowners. The studio was large, deep, airy, and spotless.

“Yes,” Catherine said. “It was rather sudden.”

“You Midwesterners are very coy,” Reginald said.

“It’s the way we were raised.”

“I imagine.” You could see he was thinking of something else. He had a round face, a distracted manner. “John surprised me also.”

“John Schatz?”

“Yes. You’re together, of course?”

“Of course,” Catherine held Reba’s arm. “We’re wondering where he is. We seem to have lost each other.”

“He left an hour ago. Funny he didn’t mention you. He was with a splendid young woman.”

“Li-Li Feng?” Reba said.

“Is that her name? I imagined she was a student, or intern. But then I saw them kissing behind the Peter Mack prints. Charming couple.”

Reba bristled like a Great Dane. “They’re charming, all right.”

“Do you know where they went?” Catherine asked.

“Down the street,” Reginald pointed. “But you must stay a moment. I just chilled a bottle of Sauvignon, and I want to show you a new artist. Quite a find.”

“Sorry Reg,” Catherine said. “We have to run.” They air kissed. Reba led the way down Palm Canyon Drive. Marching past stores, Catherine and Walt struggled to keep up as she peered through glass into Ava’s Boutique, Haut Shoes, Diamonds by Jeremy…

“There they are!” Reba cried. She stopped outside a burger place. Reba grabbed the door handle. Walt stopped her.

“That’s not them.”

She looked again. A man and girl sat with hamburgers. The man was seventy-five. Or eighty. The girl, adorable, black-haired, giggling, was ten. An old woman joined them, carrying fries.

“You have to get a grip,” Walt said, leading her away.

“Admit it. I was close.”

They forged ahead.

***

John Schatz chose from a silver plate of Persian pastries. What’s this? he asked. The caterer bent close. Love cake, she said. Love cake, Schatz repeated. How can you go wrong with that?

The men discussed profit splits, insurance, import and export companies. Peter, ever a details man, wanted to know about shipping. “I’ll handle that,” Schatz said. “We’ll do everything out of LAX. I have connections.” He reached for another pastry, some kind of small cookie. The door to the store flew open.

“Schatz!”

He turned in his taqiyah. “Why Reba. What a pleasant surprise.”

“And Li-Li! Didn’t I warn…” Reba stopped. “You’re not Li-Li.”

Indeed she was not. The woman, olive-skinned, with sweeping black eyeliner, turned a curious face. A veil fell from her shoulder. She replaced it.

“Where’s Li-Li?” Reba demanded.

“I don’t know,” John Schatz said. “Should I?”

“Isn’t she with you?” Reba stood her ground. Walt and Catherine were already edging toward the door.

Schatz was never compromised. The San Andreas Fault could give way and he would remain accommodating, curious, unruffled. He excused himself, leading the three outside to the hot but rather pleasant sidewalk. The sun had dipped behind pink and beige mountains.

Shaking hands with Walt, he refrained from kissing Catherine or Reba. He was, however, genuinely pleased. All his favorite people had arrived in his favorite town. Or one of his favorite towns. There were so many. Schatz listened patiently. Then held up his hand. There had been some kind of mistake.

He pulled out his cell phone, To both Reba’s relief and chagrin, Li-Li answered his call. “Hello, Kitten,” he said. “I’m here with your boss. We were just wondering…” Reba snatched the phone away.

“Li-Li, where are you?”

“Wisconsin.”

“Wisconsin?”

Yes, Wisconsin.

There were tears. Li-Li had, to her shame, lied to her boss. She hadn’t taken off work to go to a family reunion. She had gone on a camping trip with friends, to Door County. She certainly was not with John Schatz, in Palm Springs. This last inquiry brought more tears.

“Why would I be with Mr. Schatz?”

Reba, somewhat dizzy, asked her to explain again.

“I didn’t think you would let me go,” the girl said. “So I said it was for a reunion. Am I fired?”

No, she wasn’t fired. Reba told her to be safe, to think nothing more of it. They would talk on Monday. She hung up, handing the phone back.

Schatz insisted they stay, but they would not come in to meet Peter, Lionel, or especially Roxana, his Persian rug expert. Or so he called her. The day had been disorienting enough. Schatz made them promise to meet him the next morning, and said good night. It was amazing what people would do. One could never tell. Adjusting his taqiyah he smiled, nodding at his reflection in the glass, and walked back into the store.