“Marcus,” I replied.
“You’re…” he hesitated, “well?”
“Never better,” I informed him and I saw his eyes flash in response.
He didn’t hide it and he didn’t let my flippant answer put him off.
“How’s business?” he asked.
“Excellent,” I replied in a tone that didn’t invite further discourse.
Marcus watched me for several seconds, his eyes giving me the impression that he missed nothing and furthermore, I wasn’t fooling him. Then he nodded and started to wander the gallery as if he had all day to peruse my wares.
I watched him.
“Are you here alone?” Marcus asked from across the gallery, his eyes on a display of exquisite glass paperweights.
“Yes,” I answered and kept my eyes on him.
He picked up a paperweight. “Is that wise?” Marcus asked quietly, studying the paperweight.
The reminder that he knew about what happened to me and the indication that he cared that I might not be safe made my heart lurch.
I ignored it.
“Ralphie will be back in ten minutes,” I told him. I didn’t know why I was forthcoming with that information but I was.
“Good,” Marcus responded, put the paperweight down and continued to wander the store.
He didn’t speak again until he went back to the paperweight, picked it up and brought it to the counter.
“Can you gift wrap that for Daisy?” he requested.
“Certainly,” I replied and then busied myself with the invoice, his credit card and the gift wrap.
He was silent until I started to put the finishing touches on the bow. My gift wrap was a matte pistachio green, ultra-thick paper, the inside was a sumptuous, opalescent cream and the bow was powder blue organdie, it was Art’s signature wrap and I thought it was lush.
“You should know, I never told Daisy you came to see her or called her after Nanette’s party,” Marcus said.
My head came up and I almost (but still managed it) couldn’t hide my surprise.
His eyes locked with mine. “She knows now,” he went on.
“Is that so?” I asked with sham fascination but my heart was beating in my chest.
“She’s not happy I kept it from her,” Marcus explained.
I just stared at him.
“She had a tough time in that social circle. You were the only one she liked. When you were gone, she missed you.”
My stomach clutched. Painfully.
I didn’t let it show. Instead, I put his wrapped box in a powder blue bag with the word “Art” in fancy pistachio script on the side, the handles made of pistachio, satin ribbon and I handed it to him.
The door opened and Ralphie walked in. Marcus looked at Ralphie, nodded then took the bag.
His eyes came back to mine. “She still misses you,” he finished.
Then he was gone.
It wasn’t until a few days later I realized that even though I knew after watching hundreds of customers make hundreds of decisions about hundreds of purchases, Marcus had decided what he wanted the minute he picked up the paperweight but he still stayed until Ralphie returned.
Now, how bizarre was that?
* * * * *
“What are you doing?” Buddy asked Ralphie as I watched Veronica Mars mouth off to her father (but in a plucky, cute as a button kind of way).
I lifted my head again and looked at Ralphie who was still at the window.
“Nothing,” Ralphie replied.
I put my head back on Buddy’s thigh as Buddy muttered under his breath, “Jesus.”
My mind was occupied with Veronica’s episode-to-episode dilemma.
See, Veronica was torn between Duncan, the high school class president good boy and Logan, the high school ne’er-do-well bad boy. Personally, I was kind of rooting for the bad boy because he was great at delivering a one-liner. However the good boy was so sweet. The wildcard was Weevil, the leader of a high school, car-stealing, Hispanic, biker gang. I thought Veronica had good chemistry with Weevil and Weevil had great eyelashes and fantastic tattoos.
Therefore, my mind on Duncan, Logan and especially Weevil, I didn’t have time for Ralphie’s antics.
I heard, but didn’t pay much attention to, Ralphie leaving the room.
I heard, but didn’t pay much attention to, Ralphie opening the front door.
Lastly, I heard, but didn’t pay much attention to the murmur of male voices. Ralphie and Buddy had a big gay posse and this gay posse showed up loads, usually this degenerated into copious French martinis or lemon drops or cosmos and impromptu viewings of Auntie Mame (the Rosalind Russell version, not the Lucille Ball version) or Steel Magnolias.
Alternately, this could degenerate into a round of arm wrestling. It was anything goes at Ralphie and Buddy’s house.
“Look who finally came in from the cold,” Ralphie announced and my head came up when Buddy muttered, a lot louder this time, “Jesus.”
I stared, mouth open and everything, at Hector “Oh my God” Chavez standing in Buddy and Ralphie’s living room.
He was wearing jeans, black boots, a flannel shirt (untucked) and you could see his white t-shirt at the open collar. His thick, black hair needed cutting and he needed a shave.
He’d never looked better.
I kept staring as Buddy gently pulled me up to a seated position then stood up slowly and Ralphie started the introductions.
“I’m Ralphie and this is my lover Buddy and I think you know Sadie,” Ralphie said as I reluctantly got to my feet.
Hector had a small grin playing at his mouth. He shook a smiling Ralphie’s hand. Then he shook a frowning Buddy’s hand. Then his eyes cut to me.
I’d checked the Ice Princess at the door. She wasn’t allowed in, not to Buddy and Ralphie’s house.
What did I do now?
I didn’t have a chance to figure it out.
Hector moved, came right to me, right in my space, one of his arms slid around my waist, he pulled me to his warm body, gave me a gentle squeeze and he kissed my temple.
That’s right. He kissed my temple.
“Sadie,” he said against my temple.
I tilted my head back and stared at him.
I couldn’t speak. At least my mouth was no longer hanging open, for that, I could be grateful.
While Hector looked down at me and I stared up at him silent, Ralphie decided to speak.
“Sadie, what’s the matter with you? Hispanic Hottie has been out with his posse of cute boys, warning off the bad guys for weeks and now he’s in here and you have your chance to say thank you and you’re silent as a ghost,” Ralphie snapped.
“Ralphie –” Buddy said warningly.
Hector moved to my side. Close to my side and he looked down at me.
“Hispanic Hottie?” he asked, brows raised and lips still struggling to hold back a grin.
Oh my God. I wanted to die. Go live with the doves and the angels and leave this world forever.
Instead, my eyes sliced to Ralphie and they narrowed. Ralphie ignored my narrowed eyes.
“I know!” Ralphie exclaimed. “We’ll have a drink and all watch Veronica Mars. I think in the next episode she gets roughed up in a pool hall. Anyone would need a drink while watching that.”
I didn’t want to have a drink while watching Veronica Mars with Hector “Oh my God” Chavez. I wanted Hector to disappear in a puff of smoke and then I wanted to give Ralphie what for.
Hector didn’t disappear in a puff of smoke, instead he said, “That’d be good.”
My heart sunk, Ralphie clapped in delight and grabbed Buddy who was still frowning and dragged him from the room.
“What should we do? Martinis? Margaritas? I know! Beer!” I heard Ralphie say as he and Buddy disappeared into the kitchen.
I stood frozen to the spot, staring in the direction of the kitchen and wondering what the heck to do.
Hector’s flannel shirt filled my eyesight an
d I began to panic.
I wasn’t me. I was kind of Sadie-in-the-making when I was in Buddy and Ralphie’s house. Therefore, I didn’t have my armor.
I wasn’t wearing head-to-toe designer. I was wearing faded jeans and one of Buddy’s hooded sweatshirts and it was huge on me. I didn’t have on my Manolos or Jimmy Choos, giving me four inch heels and a little height. I was barefoot, French pedicured toes on full display. My hair wasn’t arranged perfectly, it was pulled up in a messy knot at the crown of my head.
At least I still had on my makeup from working at the gallery all day, thank God.
“Sadie,” Hector called, breaking into my frenzied thoughts about my appearance and further what he’d think about my appearance.
My eyes travelled up his shirt, the column of his brown throat, past his strong chin and his full lips to his black eyes. My heart skipped when I saw what was in his dark eyes.
Oh darn.
“How you doin’?” he asked softly.
“I’m fine,” I answered immediately.
His eyes flared with annoyance and without hesitation he got in my space.
And then (no kidding), his hand came to my jaw and his thumb trailed across the cut on my cheek (it was fading, very, very slowly, but it was still there and would be there until I made an appointment with the plastic surgeon).
I held my breath while he watched his thumb trace the scar then his palm moved along my cheek, his fingers slid into the hair at the side of my head and his hand cupped me behind my ear.
His eyes came back to mine.
“Mamita, I asked, how are you doing?” Hector repeated, his voice was calm but he was enunciating his words clearly, indicating he cared about my response and further, I better not try to blow him off again because he wasn’t going to like it.
I hesitated then, do not ask me why, I whispered, “Better.”
It was then, close up, I saw his eyes get warm and my stomach pitched at the sight.
Right after that, still standing frozen, Hector close, totally in my space, hand still in my hair, I watched his head start to tilt down.
“I’ve got the best idea!” Ralphie shouted from the door. Then he said, “Oh no. Sorry.”
Hector’s eyes closed with what appeared to be frustration (I swear to God). He dropped his hand and stepped to my side again.
“Do you, um… want me to come back?” Ralphie asked.
“No!” I cried instantly, sharply and maybe a little loudly.
Ralphie looked at me, eyes narrowed. After a second though, they cleared and he smiled like he was really happy about something.
“Well, Buddy’s in the kitchen, grating cheese like a grating fool. We’ve decided to do nachos.” Ralphie’s gaze moved to Hector and he informed him, “It’s the food of your people.”
I closed my eyes.
Someone, please tell me that Ralphie did not just tell Hector that nachos were the food of his people.
While I was devising the lecture on cultural awareness I was going to deliver to Ralphie the minute Hector left, I heard Hector’s soft laughter.
My eyes opened again and I saw Ralphie forge into the room.
“I have to go get sour cream. You,” Ralphie pointed to me, “need to go smush up avocado for the guacamole. And you,” Ralphie’s pointed finger moved to Hector, “need to get yourself a beer. It’s stressful doing stakeouts. I should know, I’ve stalked my fair share of lying, cheating, no-good boyfriends. The bastards.”
Then, after sharing this morsel, Ralphie hurried out in search of sour cream.
We heard the door slam behind Ralphie and I stood there, unsure of what to do and wondering how rude it would seem if I ran upstairs, locked my bedroom door and barricaded myself in the closet.
“Sadie –” Hector started.
“Am I going to get help with this guac or what?” Buddy shouted from the kitchen.
I took a deep breath and looked up at Hector. “I need to go smush avocado,” I told him, feeling like an idiot.
At my words he smiled at me, slow, amused and glamorous and I didn’t feel like an idiot anymore.
* * * * *
It happened after nachos and beer. After Veronica got roughed up by the evil Fitzpatrick clan at the pool hall. After I took the nacho platter and plates back to the kitchen and came back with more beer for everyone. After, when I came back, I saw that Ralphie had affected a seating jumble which meant Buddy was in the armchair where I’d been sitting and the only place for me to settle was between Ralphie and Hector on the couch. After Buddy gave me an “I’m sorry but life will be hell if Ralphie doesn’t get his way” look. It was in the middle of Veronica instigating an ingenious plan to foil new baddies when Ralphie leaned forward, shoved his arm under my knees and yanked up my calves, pulling my feet into my lap.
This meant my body twisted and my shoulder collided with Hector’s side. Hector had, for the sake of comfort on the smallish couch (this was what I told myself for my peace of mind) put his arm along the back of the couch (an arm I felt there like it was a snake coiled to strike).
I put my still casted wrist into the cushion by Hector’s hip and turned to glare at Ralphie.
“What are you doing?” I snapped.
“Foot massage,” Ralphie replied, eyes on the TV screen, his hands on my feet starting to massage.
I pulled my feet away. “I don’t want a foot massage.”
Ralphie grabbed my ankles in a firm hold and tugged them back into his lap, a move that made me collide with Hector’s side again.
I leaned away from Hector as Ralphie said, “Everyone wants a foot massage.”
“Well, I don’t,” I returned.
“You do,” Ralphie shot back.
“I don’t,” I snapped.
Ralphie’s eyes swung from Veronica to me. “You do.”
Ralphie and I went into a stare down, a stare down I was going to win if it killed me.
I could snuggle up to Buddy on one side of the couch while Ralphie massaged my feet on the other side. I was never, no way, going to lean into Hector (which was my only choice) while Ralphie massaged my feet.
Never.
The stare down lasted until (seriously, no kidding), Hector’s arm circled my shoulders, he put pressure there, my elbow buckled and he pulled me into his side.
I tilted my head back. “Now, what are you doing?” I asked.
Hector looked down at me and said, “Relax.”
“I’m uncomfortable,” I replied.
He smiled at me. I stared at him, not a stare down stare, a fascinated one.
I thought about it for a nanosecond and then I gave in. I’d look like a fool if I kept fighting.
I could deal with this; I’d dealt with worse, loads worse. After Hector left, I’d give Ralphie a piece of my mind so he understood exactly where I stood on the issue of Hector.
I glanced over at Buddy to see if I might have some support but Buddy was watching Hector. Finally his eyes slid to me, he gave me a wink then he went back to Veronica.
No support from Buddy then.
I sat there, Ralphie massaging my feet, and I glared at the TV screen, willing Veronica to take me away.
After awhile, Hector’s fingers started to make lazy circles on my shoulder.
That felt nice, sweet and lovely.
Darn it all to hell.
Fine. I could deal with that too.
I focused on Veronica. Veronica and me, we could make it through, we always got away unscathed or, well… if not unscathed, at least still breathing.
I settled into Hector and Ralphie kept massaging my feet.
Veronica Mars, plucky, high school girl detective only had three seasons.
It might last awhile but, eventually, it would be over.
* * * * *
I opened my eyes and saw nothing but flannel shirt.
My senses came to and I realized that I didn’t hear Veronica’s smart mouth, I heard a sports commentator talking about a game. I didn’t feel my
feet in Ralphie’s lap; I didn’t feel Ralphie at all. Someone had switched off all the lights in the room except one which meant that only a soft glow came from a beautiful Restoration Hardware floor lamp across the room.
I was no longer curled into Hector’s side and Hector was no longer sitting on the couch.
Instead, my torso was mostly pressed into Hector, my head was resting on his chest, my arm was wrapped around his middle and Hector was reclined back on a diagonal, his feet up on the coffee table.
Oh my.
I tilted my head to look at the armchair. Buddy was gone.
I slid my cheek against Hector’s soft shirt and looked up at him.
He was lounging, asleep, head resting on the back of the couch, arm around me curled at my waist, hand resting gently on my hip.
My sleepy mind whirled and I realized I knew how it happened.
No one could get a foot massage from Ralphie (he gave good foot massages) while leaning into Hector’s immense, comforting heat and not fall asleep. Even when Veronica Mars was solving the mystery of the lost proceeds for the Senior Trip that were stolen from the school’s Winter Carnival.
No one.
Now, how did I get out of this predicament?
I decided I would scoot away and leave him there. He looked comfortable enough. I’d escape upstairs and sleep in the next morning, sleep in until I knew for certain sure Hector was gone.
Though, before I left, I’d put a blanket over him, just in case he got cold.
I took my eyes from him and cautiously edged away, lifting myself up and pulling my arm from around his abs.
His hand went from relaxed and resting, to tight and firm on my hip.
I angled my head to look at him and found, in my movements, I’d brought my face closer to his.
I noticed immediately he wasn’t asleep anymore. His eyes were open and he was looking at me.
Darn.
Before I could think (and thus stop myself from speaking), I whispered, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Then I watched close up as his face warmed. It warmed in a way I’d seen it warm before. The way it warmed that night in my father’s study when I was sliding my hands up his chest and around his neck right before I asked him to kiss me.
I stopped breathing.
He kept looking at me and I felt a weird sensation that I knew was complete and utter fear mingled bizarrely with the barest hint of anticipation.