Phantom Point

by Gary Inbinder

Table of Contents

Chapter 10: Paying a Visit

part 1

“Message for you, Mr. Matt.” George handed Max an envelope.

“Thanks, pal,” Max said. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a dollar.

George grasped the bill and stuffed it into his pocket. His eyes darted, searching the hallway for interlopers. He lowered his voice: “Got somethin’ else for you.”

Max nodded. “OK. Come on in.”

George followed Max into the hotel room. “What have you got?” Max said.

“Placco’s been askin’ about you. Here at the hotel, and the Western Union office, too. Better watch yourself.”

“I spotted him this morning. But I appreciate the tip.” Max pulled out another five-spot and placed it in George’s palm. “Don’t take any big risks on my account. I’m guessing things are going to heat up around here pretty quick.”

“Yes, Mr. Matt, I reckon they will.” George pocketed the bill and left.

Max opened the envelope and read the note. It’s what he’d been waiting for: an invitation from Hugo to a meeting at Phantom Point. Max cracked a smile, walked over to the little round table and poured himself a drink.

* * *

Early the next morning, Max ate a light breakfast in the hotel dining room before heading out for his appointment with Hugo and Mrs. Merwin. As he passed through the lobby, he noticed a man dressed in black riding clothes, lounging on an ottoman, with his nose buried in a newspaper. Placco, he thought. Max exited to the street without giving any indication that he recognized his shadow.

A boy waited at the entrance with Max’s rented horse and buggy. Max tipped the boy, entered the buggy, took hold of the reins and urged the mare forward. She proceeded up Main Street at a moderate trot.

Placco dropped his newspaper, scurried to the street, unhitched his horse and followed Max.

On the way out of town, Max stopped at a railroad crossing to wait for a passing freight train. The mare took it calmly, as though she were used to waiting for trains on this route. Max lit a cigar and passed the time counting cars. Over the rumbling of the passing train, he heard whinnies, snorts and the skittering of shod hooves on the pavement behind him. Max grinned. Wouldn’t it be swell if the horse threw the son-of-a-bitch?

The last car passed by. Max crossed the tracks with his shadow close behind. The remainder of the trip to Phantom Point was uneventful, although Max did enjoy the fine weather and fresh, ocean air. He wondered if Placco was enjoying the outing, too.

* * *

When Max reached the path that led to the settlement, Placco turned off the main road and entered a wooded area where he could observe the subject of his surveillance from behind the cover of trees and scrub. Placco watched and waited until Max parked the buggy near a cabin.

Hugo and Mrs. Merwin came out to greet the guest. Placco made a note of the time, place and activity, then turned back in the direction of town. He wasn’t going to waste his day hanging around in the woods near Phantom Point. Placco figured he would pick up the tail when Max returned to Santa Teresa.

* * *

Mrs. Merwin and Hugo showed Max the shed where the artists worked. The place had a pleasant odor, a mixture of turpentine, linseed oil, and sea air. “We sketch en plein air,” Mrs. Merwin said, “but we finish most of our painting here. The constant winds blowing in from the ocean, fogbanks and tricky natural lighting make outdoor work quite difficult.”

Max noticed how Mrs. Merwin did the talking. For the most part, Hugo kept his mouth shut. He also noticed that of the commune’s six residents, Eugenia was the only woman. She apparently enjoyed playing the role of queen bee surrounded by compliant drones. Hugo, her favorite drone, was the only American among the males; the others consisted of the two Russians whom Max had met on his first visit, a Frenchman and an Englishman.

Max examined several paintings in various stages of production. He smiled and nodded at a few, but made no comment until he viewed one that stood out among the rest. This almost completed painting of Phantom Point was filled with nervous energy and repressed violence reminiscent of Van Gogh’s expressionism and Matisse’s fauvism. The vivid colors laid on thick with a palette-knife contrasted with the bland impressionism displayed on the other easels. He guessed this was Hugo’s work. “Now this is something different, exceptional,” Max said. He turned to Mrs. Merwin. “Who painted this?”

“That’s Hugo’s work,” she answered.

“I can see the influence of Matisse, and of Van Gogh, too. My compliments, Hugo.”

“Thanks, Matt. I do my best.” Hugo blushed and looked down at his feet.

“You mustn’t flatter Hugo,” Eugenia said with a smirk. “He’ll get a swelled head.”

What a bitch, Max thought. He turned to Eugenia with a twisted smile that more than matched hers. “I didn’t know this was Hugo’s, Mrs. Merwin, so I could hardly have intended flattery. I simply expressed my honest opinion of a striking and original work of art.”

“I stand corrected, Mr. Rogers.” The smirk softened into a smile, as though Max’s assertiveness intrigued her. She turned to Hugo. “I’d like to take Mr. Rogers for a walk around the point, alone. Will you excuse us?”

Hugo looked up. “Oh yes, of course. Please do.” He left without another word, as though she had given him a prearranged cue to exit the stage.

“Please follow me, Mr. Rogers.”

* * *

Eugenia led Max out of the shed and down a path that cut across the green into a tall stand of trees. They did not speak. Max noticed a subtle change in her appearance, an alluring presence she seemed to put on with the ease of a woman changing her make-up. It was then that Max realized how disturbingly attractive she was. She reminded him of an art plate he had viewed in a book: Botticelli’s Venus rising from the sea in a gigantic shell. He could understand how this surprising illusion of beauty could trap an unwary fly like Hugo. But he also noticed something in Hugo’s painting. Somewhere deep down in the painter’s psyche, the trapped fly longed to break free.

The forest was deep green, cool and quiet with only the sound of their shoes crunching on the dirt pathway, the wind rustling the branches and a woodpecker tapping like a typewriter in a nearby tree.

They passed through the trees and re-entered the green, near the edge of the bluff, high above the ocean. A screech sounded over the crashing surf; they looked up and saw a hawk circling in the thermals.

After watching the hawk for a moment, Eugenia said, “Have you a cigarette, Mr. Rogers? I’m dying for one.”

Max turned and saw a mischievous smile. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Merwin, all I have are cigars.”

“If you don’t mind, a cigar will do.”

Max produced two cigars. He handed her one and placed the other in his mouth. Then he took out a box of matches. “Tough lighting in this wind,” he said. He struck the match and cupped his hands as she leaned over and got the cigar lit on the first try. Then he lit his. They smoked and silently contemplated the panorama.

The interplay of light between sky and water brought forth tonal and textural harmonies in shimmering shades of blue, green, yellow and red. To Max, Phantom Point was a metaphor for the transient nature of things where clouds, waves, shadows, wind and tide seemed all in flux. He wondered if Eugenia shared that point of view.

After a few minutes of silence, she removed the cigar from her mouth, exhaled a cloud of smoke and turned to him. “What do you think of our little community?”

“I think it’s fine, but I get an impression of stunted growth and impermanence.”

“Please explain?”

Max tossed his cigar and watched as it disappeared over the edge of the bluff. He turned toward Eugenia so he could look directly into her eyes and study her expression. “Actually, I was thinking of something you said earlier, about the difficulty of painting the point out of doors due to the sudden changes in the weather, light and so forth. You’re an artist. You know about color theory, the effect of light and shadow, the flux in nature.

“The average person says the sky and ocean are blue, the grass is green, the clouds are white. You see the same things, but you view them with an artist’s eye. You know all about appearances, but you also have the ability to pierce the veil of illusion, and to see what’s beneath the surface. Am I being obscure?”

Eugenia laughed. “Not obscure, but surprising. You remind me of the mad Ophelia’s line: ‘We know what we are, but know not what we may be.’ What are you, Mr. Rogers?”

“A straight-up guy, Mrs. Merwin. What you see is what you get. And you already know why I’m here. But I’d sure like to know what you see, or think you see when you look at me with those beautiful blue-green eyes.”

“You ask a question without answering mine, at least not directly. And please spare me the vulgar flattery about my ‘beautiful eyes.’” She tossed her half-smoked cigar toward the bluff’s edge without looking after it. “At any rate, I’ll answer your question provided you promise to answer my questions honestly.”

“You’ve my word of honor on that, Mrs. Merwin.”

“Very well. You’re handsome, in a rough sort of way, and you’re not stupid. You look very fit with an impressive physique. You’d make a good model. Do you engage in athletics?”

“Boxing and Judo. I work out regularly at a gym.”

“I suspected as much. Are you attracted to violence?”

“Nature is violent; we fight to survive. Look around you. At the moment it seems peaceful, at least from our perspective. But that’s just on the surface. In fact, we’re at war in a never-ending cycle of violence. The fittest and most adaptable come out on top, the weak go under. Of course, the fit don’t always win by fighting. For example, they can fool their predators by changing shape or color or playing dead. I assume you’ve read Darwin and Spencer?”

She nodded. “Yes, I have, and Nietzsche, too. In German.”

“In German, of course. Impressive. I’m sure you had a fine formal education. I didn’t finish the eighth grade. I learned most of my lessons on the Chicago streets. Books, art, music, science and philosophy came later. I picked them up the way I learned how to dress or order the right wine to go with a meal. Anyway, I’d say your weapons in the war of all against all are formidable: beauty, a superior intellect and the self-confidence that comes from being born and raised in the upper-class. But I suspect you have other means of gaining your ends, and you’re not afraid to use them.”

“You imply that I don’t fight fairly.”

“Fairness implies rules, like in a game. But those who make the rules fix things to come out in their favor.”

“I see. Let’s come to the point. You talk of means and ends. What do you think my ends might be?”

“I’ll make an educated guess, at least as to your immediate ends. You want sole possession of Phantom Point. And that brings me back to my remark about the artists’ colony, stunted growth and impermanence. I suspect the commune is just a front. What you’re really after is something of inestimable value, something hidden beneath the surface that’s been around for millions of years, a treasure trove just waiting to be discovered, mined and exploited.”

“You’re talking about the oil rights, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“You judge others by your own standards, Mr. Rogers. Has it occurred to you that I might want to preserve the natural beauty of this place? Can you imagine Phantom Point, and all Santa Teresa county for that matter, polluted by industry, bustling with commercial activity and covered in ugly oil derricks, wells pumping day and night? Don’t you have any concern for the harm the oil industry does to the environment? Moreover, do you doubt my commitment to art and communal living?”

“You asked me to answer your questions honestly, and I gave you my word of honor that I would. We’re talking about what could be the richest strike on the California coastline; tens of millions of dollars pumping out of the ground we’re standing on. Of course, if that doesn’t interest you, please forgive me for wasting your time.”

Gazing directly into Max’s eyes, she paused a moment to think before replying. “There was prospecting around here several years ago, but nothing came of it. Rumors about oil have been swirling around Phantom Point and Santa Teresa county ever since. What makes you think there’s any substance to those rumors?”

“If I could help you get clear title to the mineral rights, would you be willing to enter into a business arrangement that could make you one of the richest women in California?”

“You answered my question with a question.”

“The oil’s there, Mrs. Merwin. Drilling techniques have improved considerably in the last decade or so, especially here in California. It’s just a matter of getting the right people on the job to get it done. Now, will you answer my question?”

“A man named Burgess came to me with a similar proposal. Did Cassandra Van Dorn tell you about him?”

“She told me about Burgess, but I didn’t know he had anything to do with oil. I thought he came here to get Hugo to return to Chicago and take over the family business.”

“So you know nothing about Burgess’s interest in Phantom Point?”

“Nope. What did Burgess offer you?”

She paused before saying, “I’m not ready to discuss that with you.”

“As you please, Mrs. Merwin. What do you think of my proposition?”

“I’ll consider it, but what makes you think you can clear title in my favor?”

“I’m working on it. I’ll tell you more when you’re ready to make a commitment.”

She gazed toward the sea for a while without speaking. Then she said, “I think it’s time to go back. Hugo will worry.”

Max smiled. “What does he have to worry about?”

Eugenia didn’t reply. She led Max up the trail through the wooded area.

She stopped in a secluded spot and turned around to face Max. Sunlight slanted through the high branches, highlighting her Pre-Raphaelite features like a lamp shining on a portrait. Her flashing eyes and parted lips told him all he needed to know.

Max took her in his arms, gently at first. She responded enticingly until he backed her up to a tree trunk. He pressed hard against her body and kissed her. The sensation of helplessness as his hands groped her hips and breasts made Eugenia flinch like a skittish mare about to be mounted.

“You’re crude. I’m not the sort of woman you pick up at Doyle’s roadhouse.” She pushed back at him and struggled to break free.

“No, I guess not,” he said as he released her. “What do you know about Doyle’s?”

“Enough to avoid the place, and the people who frequent such establishments.” She gave Max a disappointed frown that said she wanted him, but only on her terms.

Max laughed. “OK, Mrs. Merwin. I apologize for behaving so crudely. Let’s go. Don’t want to keep Hugo waiting.”

* * *

Proceed to part 2...

Copyright © 2022 by Gary Inbinder