STEPPING  UP

PART TWELVE:

The day after that, his knee seemed much better and he figured the following

day he'd be up for going back to the ostensible reason he'd come to Pittsburgh:

the photography of the paper streets. Holli had had to attend to some legal

business concerning her great aunt's will and taken the car into town.

He sat alone a while in his room, thinking, then got up, gathered his camera

and several lenses, stuffed a couple of rolls of film in his pocket and was soon

out the door and headed westward up Grandview.

It was not a great day for photography, a heavy haze lay over the city, but he

was determined to take some shots anyway. Most of the pictures he'd seen

of Pittsburgh were just straight-forward-across-the-river views. He wanted

to try and see what he could frame, could do to give the view a different look.

Right across from Holli's the trees were lower so he had to walk several

blocks till he came to an area where the lay of the land changed. Just past

where McArdle Roadway swooped up the face of the bluff and joined

Grandview, he found a small space with several large trees that provided

just what he needed. Nope, he'd never seen the glass PPG building or the

fountain framed quite like this.

It almost gave one the impression you might be on some very, very rural

hilltop looking out at the city rather than the entirely populated crest of

Mount Washington. He liked it. He liked it a lot. Except for the dratted

haze! Oh, well, he would come back another day and it would have a whole

different look to it. In a way even the haze was ok. Made the city look sort

of...soft.

He moved down a bit more behind a wrought iron fence and focused on the

fountain at the Point itself.  It was quite like looking at it through a window,

so completely was it framed in green.

Beyond the Point he could see the new yellowish ballpark where the Pirates

played.

He kept walking westward, back toward the area where he'd first arrived

on Mount Washington. It seemed somehow a lifetime ago as he paused,

remembering himself lugging his suitcase along this very sidewalk,

grumpily looking for the B&B where a room had been arranged for him.

For several blocks there were no good chances for a shot of any sort. Homes,

condos lined the side of the road, shouldered close together, then gave way

to even larger buildings, most of them expensive-looking restaurants, one

after the other.

Finally he came to the incline that had brought him up to the top and stood

a moment looking across the red-painted concrete viewing platform beside

it, remembering sitting on his suitcase while the little boy's lollipop juice

dripped on his arm. He smiled wryly, thinking back to how very much he'd

hated being in Pittsburgh in that moment.

Not very many people were out and about this morning, so he walked

to the far railing, and took a picture looking straight down.

Those Indian Trail Steps had passed not far below where he stood,

looking down at entire greenness.  Hard to imagine it completely

bare as Holli had described. He went inside the ticket building,

finding a small museum section that had a couple of pictures taken

back then. He shook his head at the difference, the old black and

white pictures having a very desolate look about them

Through a small, dirty window he could see the red incline car heading

up toward him and quickly stepped back out onto the platform,

leaning way out over the railing to get a shot of it. Very appropriate,

very Pittsburgh coal barges rested quietly along the riverbank far

below.

His leg was tired now and he looked back down Grandview, thinking

that it was at least a mile back to Holli's.  Finding a large, concrete

flower pot, he sat down on its rim, stretching his left leg out in front

of him, rubbing his knee.

That odd, fish bone-like black building was directly across the street

from where he sat. Darn thing was the highest building in Pittsburgh

just because it was built up here on the bluff.  Must have great views

of the city, though, he mused, taking a photograph of it.

He much preferred Holli's end of the street, where the older, often

Victorian, homes were.  There was a charm there that this busier

section lacked entirely.

Ten minutes more and he was on his feet, crossing the street, having

decided to walk back down the opposite side. After a couple of blocks

the street went down a long slope then climbed back up an even steeper

one.  Funny, he didn't remember Grandview being this hilly as he'd

walked along it earlier.

By the time he got to the top of the hill he was almost panting with the

effort of it. His knee was throbbing and he was beginning to worry he'd

blown his plans for tomorrow's photo shoot.

Down another long slope, which in its way was almost as much a strain

as going up them proved to be, and he'd just crossed past where McArdle

came up when a car pulled up next to the curb, a window came down,

and Holli's voice said, "Good Lord, Steve! What are you doing so far

from the B&B?"

Sweat running down his face, he peered in the window, holding his

camera up a bit. "This," he said. "Just takin' some pictures."

"Well, you look beat, mister. Hop on in here and let me take you home."

She had no idea how good that sounded. "Take you home," he repeated,

settling gratefully into the passenger seat, stretching his leg out as far

as the car allowed. "God, it's good to see you Holli. I didn't really

realize how far I'd gone until I knew I had to go back."

She glanced at his profile as he leaned back against the headrest and

closed his eyes. Beat wasn't quite good enough to describe how he looked.

"I don't have anything I have to do tomorrow," she said softly, "so I can

drive you to the locations you need to photograph. Let's plan on that, ok?"

"Ok," he said, relieved, keeping his eyes closed but moving his hand to

her thigh.

Back at the B&B he sank down into the tub Holli had filled for him,

the warm water instantly beginning to soothe his knee. She came in,

kneeling on the mat beside the tub, trailing her fingers in the soapy

water. A large sponge floated just above his tummy and she picked it

up, squeezing water out of it so that it trickled down his chest. She

studied that intently for a moment then began to use it to wipe across

his shoulders.

"How tired...are...you?" she whispered, sponging his neck, the curve

of his jaw.

"Tired, but not...that...tired," he grinned, opening his eyes.

She began to unbutton her blouse. "You got any spare room in there,

sailor?"

(NOTE: All the pictures of Pittsburgh were taken by me as I did the exact walk Steve did, only in reverse,

on July 4, 2007...a very hazy day, starting and returning to the 5th floor of the Trimont, the big, black building.)

ON TO PART 13

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