Still Life at Pink Perfection Chapter Four

“Good God (There’s) Vodka in the Orange Juice!"

We left off with me wondering what I would do now that I’d shortened my words.

Or: what would I do if I wasn’t writing something?

Instead, I got high and sat on a yoga mat in the middle of the living room and realized the art was all wrong. It could be right. (I could not abide by the juxtaposition of an M. Charles seascape next to a factory painted mother and child beach scene.) I just needed to rehang stuff. So I did. I felt better. The flow was better. I could breathe.

Billy and Kat and I floated through the sun-filled day and anticipated the arrival of our next two guests, Rachel Kastner and Chip Hemingway.

Rachel and I met each other when I first moved to Kitty Hawk in 1987. Our kids were schoolmates. Along with a cluster of other couples, we became social friends. We reconnected after she and her husband Bob moved to Wilmington, and then some ten years later, so did I.

Chip and I had recently met and I was impressed that he had a copy of my "Outer Banks Architecture" book. I was also instantly enamored of his landmark architectural design and what he was working on at the Pine Island Audubon Sanctuary north of Duck. And he was an accomplished painter. Bonus.

While we waited that morning, the sun was shining, air temp in the mid 60s, breeze stiff out of the northwest. Billy ate his bran cereal with half and half on the screened porch. He set his bowl and spoon in the sink, then went outdoors dressed in denim shorts and sneakers and with an empty Target bag trudged toward the oceanfront. Came back with half a sack of shells. He found a bucket in the laundry room and rinsed the shells off in the outdoor shower. Then he laid them out to dry on the wooden picnic table.

He looked up.

“I need more shells,” he said.

First he drove himself to Duck. Then, Kat and I rode with him to Kitty Hawk where he hit the mother lode.

That afternoon Billy sat on the picnic table bench and arranged the shells on a plywood canvas -- top half painted sky blue, the bottom deep ocean blue -- and glued the shells down in the shape of a woman’s hair face and breasts.

He napped.

Kat and I prepped dinner.

Rachel arrived and claimed the master bedroom suite for herself.

When Chip got to the cottage that evening he was kicking himself he didn’t leave Wilmington an hour sooner. He had missed the last slice of light when he pulled into the driveway. The old oceanfront house was fading pink in the sunset’s afterglow.

He wasted not a moment more, almost.

Came inside.

Made a stiff margarita with top shelf liquor he BYOBd and went back out.

He set an easel up on the lawn, about six degrees due south of east, and began to paint en plein air, as night fell.

Thirty-five minutes later, he came indoors and placed the finished piece in the foyer transom window to dry overnight. Poured himself another drink.

Inside the house, Rachel and Billy were sipping wine and beginning to sow the seeds of a lasting friendship.

Kat was in the kitchen helping me put the finishing touches on my soul food supper of roasted chicken, collards, sweet potatoes, beans and corn bread with butter. She and I first met over food at 1587 in Manteo — she a server, me a hostess — and we found ourselves sisters on the footpath to spiritual enlightenment through many ups and downs during our 12 year friendship at that point.

As we passed the platters around family style, our two newest guests acclimated themselves to the colonial way of life we minted at Pink Perfection.

These were some of the conversational entrée points shared:

“If people aren’t talking about it, it will be boring.” - Rachel

“In my world, he’s famous.” - Billy

“I read the same book twice!” - Rachel

“I appreciate you handling the green hit.” - Chip

“You can’t drink all day unless there’s vodka in you cornflakes.” - Chip

Later tonight when I’m laying in bed, I’ll Google that, when I think what I said - Me.

Chip found his painting face down in the sink the next morning. Not one of us claimed responsibility.

He added a few stars then placed it once more on the transom ledge.