Sugar and Spice and All Those Lies

by Evy Journey

  Somehow I know Brent wouldn’t care. But Leon?

  Inside the apartment, Leon stands undecided, his gaze quickly sweeping across the small room that holds my bed, a nondescript dining table with four chairs, and an ample armchair next to my bed.

  “Please take a seat,” I say, amused to see him hesitate. “The armchair is very comfortable. I may get another one like it when I have enough money saved up,”

  “Thank you,” he says, sitting down.

  “Would you like anything to drink? I can make us some coffee.”

  “No, no. Please don’t bother. Let’s just talk. We never had much chance for anything but trivia at the restaurant.”

  I sit down on the bed across from Leon. “Nice place for dinner even so. Great food, happy people all around you—can’t help but be happy yourself.”

  “Yes, I felt the same way.” He lifts the armchair off the worn-out rug to turn and face me.

  “Have you been there before?”

  Leon shakes his head. ““No. One of my employees suggested it.”

  “That means you took your former girlfriends to fancy places.”

  He scowls but his lips break slowly into a smile of amusement. “Well, yes. Most of them haven’t been to a place like Du Cœur so they’re eager to go. You’re the first one who wanted something like the restaurant we went to tonight.”

  “Did you mind?”

  “No. I was pleasantly surprised. The chef is good and he has something there that appeals to people. I did know it gets noisy. My employee warned me. Anyway, it’s too early for us to hold hands at dinner so that restaurant is perfect for a first date.”

  I laugh and say, “Are you planning every stage of … our courtship? I guess that’s what it is. Sounds so old-fashioned, though—courtship. Nowadays, it seems people hop into bed after they’ve just met.”

  Leon chuckles. “Looks like I’m planning it, but only in my head. You could say I’m doing what I can to ensure success.”

  “I see. But you know I’m on to you. Your so-called ‘love’ for me will only last as long as you’re having fun. Or until someone else comes along who entices you more. Marcia warned me.”

  “But Marcia doesn’t know how I really feel about you.”

  I shrug. “Maybe not. But you must admit your track record for being faithful isn’t good. Maybe she’s right that it’s the pursuit you enjoy most.”

  “Not true, although wooing an attractive woman does energize me. Anyway, you’re different.”

  “How can you be so sure? I’m as ordinary as they come. Besides, how much do you really know about me?”

  Leon smiles. “More than you might think.”

  “Why? Did you have some investigator pry into my life? I know you had me followed, maybe by Will, to find out where I live.”

  His smile turns into an embarrassed grimace. “I admit I did that. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. And Laure wouldn’t give me your phone number. I had to let you know how I felt.”

  “Well, now I do know.”

  “Then, can I hope that you’ll return my feelings?”

  I sigh. “You are getting to me. But who knows what’ll happen. Anyway, I can’t allow myself to fall deeply in love with you because you’ll tire of me sometime.”

  Leon winces. “That makes me sound … like an asshole.”

  “Well, you are, in some ways. But you’re also smart, sweet, thoughtful, very much the gentleman, and quite attractive. Anyway, we grew up worlds apart, and I’m curious what it’s like—your world. Marcia says, I should take what you offer, just have fun while all this lasts. I’ve taken her advice. There, I’ve laid both our cards on the table.”

  Leon stares at me, saying nothing. I stare back, waiting for him to speak.

  Finally, he says, “I did tell you once that you’re rather direct. It’s good. I like it. But I don’t like the sound of the cards you’ve laid on the table.”

  “You know what? Neither do I. You say it makes you sound like an asshole. I come out as an opportunist. But I’m only saying what any relationship with you would be like. You got a history. I’m a blank slate. The one year Adam and I were together is nothing. What does a nineteen-year old really know of serious relationships?”

  “What if our relationship deepens?”

  “Then I guess we could have a happy-ever-after. But I’m sure that’s a long shot. Anyway, you should be glad I’m going into this with my eyes open. I won’t do a Cristi on you.”

  “What if I ask you to marry me?”

  I can’t help laughing. “You can’t be serious.”

  Leon regards me intently. He reaches over, takes my left hand, and encloses it in both of his. “I am, actually. You’ve affected me in a way no other woman has. I can see myself spending the best years of my life with you. I won’t pledge my whole life. Who knows what the future will bring? As it is, at least fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. How can anyone believe in everlasting love?”

  “Yeah, how can anyone? But my parents have been together for ages. Is that everlasting love? Anyway, I think you’re still here because you haven’t won me yet.”

  “You really don’t think too highly of me, do you? Or are you just distrustful of people, in general?”

  It’s my turn to be silent. Once again, I don’t know what to say to Leon. Can I believe him? It’s a heady, incredible thought—that I could be married to this filthy-rich, good-looking guy. So what if it only lasts a few years? We may not have the kind of soulful love I could have had with Brent but I might have the best time of my life. Did I just say that—a soulful love? I have to think about that later because I’m not sure what it means.

  But I can’t believe Leon just yet. “Maybe, I’m distrustful, by nature. You said years. But can you stand one woman that long? From what Marcia says, you go through a new one about every three or four months. Cristi only lasted two.”

  “That’s because I met you.”

  “No. It’s because she was spooking you out. Anyway, odds are you’ll meet someone who fascinates you more, let’s say, in a month.”

  Leon shakes his head. “I’ve met many women since I met you. How long ago was that? Four, five months? I’m still here.”

  “True enough. But maybe for you, success means luring a woman to your bed. After the first time, she becomes less and less exciting; until two or three months later, you tell her it’s all over.”

  “That was before I met you.”

  “Right. I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “No. Honestly. You’re the first. Why don’t you try me? Live with me; let’s see where it goes. After all, you said you’re willing to be in a relationship with me just for fun. See what it’s like to be rich.”

  “Oh Leon, be serious. You’ve never done anything like this.”

  “I never wanted to live with anyone before. But I want to try, with you.”

  “But I’m not sure I love you.”

  “Don’t you? Just a little?”

  “You’re quite attractive, I’ve said so.”

  “That’s a good start. Can you imagine us making love?”

  I’m not a virgin, but Leon’s question makes me blush. Is it from embarrassment? Or is it excitement? “Yes,” I say truthfully. I can feel my cheeks burning.

  Leon leans over to kiss my lips. I let him but I don’t return his kiss. He peers into my face, straightens up, and leans back on the chair.

  I say, “I’m sorry, Leon. I’m not ready for this.”

  “I won’t rush you. But can you promise to think about what I’m proposing? Let’s live together; see where that leads us. Who knows, maybe we’ll find out we can’t live without each other.”

  “Or we can’t stand each other. And what if only one of us realizes he can’t live without the other?”

  Leon shrugs. “I guess that’s a risk we take.” He glances at his watch and gets up from the chair. “I have to go. It’s late. I
have work tomorrow.”

  *****

  Just before midnight, I dial Brent’s number. I feel as if I need to hear his reassuring voice.

  He answers right away. “Regine, this is a most wonderful surprise.”

  “I’m sorry to be calling so late. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

  “No, it’s quite all right. I don’t often go to bed before 1 AM. Besides, I once bothered you at midnight. So we’re even. What can I do for you? You and I have been out of touch for a while.”

  “I just wanted someone to talk to and you’re the only one I know who’s still up at this time.” Why can’t I be as direct with Brent as I am with Leon? It is him and no one else who I want to talk to tonight.

  “I see. Well, I’m all ears.”

  “How have you been? Have you seen Marcia lately?”

  “No, but I’m having dinner at her place next Monday. You must know that she invited me. I can’t resist another great dinner.”

  “Yes, she told me. I hope you two have fun together.”

  “I’ll try my best. How about you? Been seeing Leon lately?”

  “Yes. We’ve been exploring small quirky places for lunch. With his driver Will. And actually Leon just left here half an hour ago. We had dinner at a restaurant he’s never tried before.”

  “Was Will with you?” I hear amusement in his voice.

  I chuckle. “No, of course not.”

  “It sounds like you’re getting serious.”

  “He asked me to live with him.”

  There, I’ve blurted it out. Tell me what I should do, Brent. Tell me you don’t want me to. Tell me you love me.

  He’s silent for a few moments. I hold my breath, dreading what he might say.

  “Did you say yes?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like to say yes?”

  “I’m tempted,” I say, feeling defeated. Tell me you don’t want me to.

  Silence, again. “Good luck, then, child, whatever you decide to do.”

  “I’m not a child,” I say, on reflex. I’m sure that did make me sound like a petulant child, but he’s infuriated me. Why can’t he see? But why can’t I tell him how I feel?

  “No, you’re not a child. I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to. But I’m tired, and I’m afraid I have to say good night.”

  “Good night.” But I can’t put the phone down and Brent doesn’t hang up.

  Seconds later, he says, “I’ll be thinking of you. Always.”

  I hang up and burst into tears. Why couldn’t I tell him how I feel?

  A week later and I still haven’t said yes to Leon’s proposal. He doesn’t press me for an answer, and we continue our little adventures of holes-in-the-wall lunches. Before we part one Tuesday, he takes me in his arms and kisses me.

  The lingering taste of our lunch is still on his lips and I kiss him back. I pull away, but not before I kiss him on both cheeks. Then, I open the car door and run up to my apartment.

  *****

  When I arrive at the restaurant on Wednesday the following week, Marcia catches my eye and inclines her head towards the door. Anxious to start my work, I shake my head. She approaches me and grabbing my elbow, she leads me out of the kitchen.

  She says, “Five minutes. Maybe ten. Laure won’t mind.”

  Her eyes are glowing and I detect a blush on her cheeks. I smile, amused at her excitement. “What’s up?”

  “Brent spent the night at my apartment,” she says, returning my smile, baring her straight white teeth.

  I suppress an involuntary gulp of air into my gut, struggle to keep my mouth stretched into a smile, but my insides have turned sour. What does one say to unwelcome news from a friend, my best friend?

  “Don’t you want to know how it went?”

  “Tell me,” I say, looking away. I guess I’m fortunate Marcia is too excited to notice the quiver in my voice.

  “Well, first we had dinner, of course. Brent loved my porchetta, which I made using my mother’s recipe. I can give …” I can barely listen as I swallow acid coming up from my gut. … “We also had the most luscious strawberries for dessert.”

  “Sounds delicious.” It’s all I can think of to say.

  “Yeah. Everything was like a dream. Passion is a word invented for Brent.”

  “So, you got him to ‘roll in the hay’.” I try to sound light-hearted.

  “And how!” Marcia is floating on cloud nine. I don’t think she’d notice if tears were to start rolling down my cheeks.

  “You must have changed your mind, then, about whether he’s your happily-ever-after.”

  “Not just yet. I want to test him a little longer. I welcome his intense side in my bed. But over the dinner table? I’ll have to see. I tried last night to keep him away from talking about his work.”

  It’s not until I’m soaking in my tub that I think again about my conversation with Marcia. A conversation that, without her knowing, has decided my fate.

  I tell myself I can’t be jealous of Marcia. She’s my best friend. And Brent, it seems, has chosen her. At that thought, tears begin to well up and blur my vision. Tears I can’t control until they drop into the bubbly water and disappear; quiet tears that keep going. Now I know why I couldn’t tell Brent how I felt. I was afraid. Afraid he couldn’t return my feelings. Afraid of the pain that was sure to follow. The pain that now has me in its grip.

  I lean back against the tub, rest my head, and close my eyes. About half an hour later, I jerk myself upright, shivering in water that has turned cold. I must have fallen asleep.

  The next day, I greet Marcia with my brightest smile.

  18

  Move on. That’s become my mantra since the first time I remember saying it to myself, when I said no to Adam‘s proposal of marriage. The choice had been mine from the start, though made on the fly. No one and nothing forced it on me. It’s a clear decision I’ve never regretted. One that opened up a new world to me. A challenging, exciting world.

  But life has grown murkier since. The second time I uttered that mantra was after the stabbing incident and its long, drawn-out consequences. I’ve moved on, but the shadow of that incident remains in my guilt for whatever part I played in Cristi’s misery. Her accusations were unfounded—I know that in my brain—but guilt, I think, gets planted more deeply in our guts, our hearts. It endures like embers that keep giving off heat even when you can no longer see them glow.

  This time, the third in just over three years, I say it to myself again. Move on. This time, though, I do so with a heavy heart. I tell myself that Brent was never mine to give up. We had that short period when I was sure there was something deep that bound us to each other. But it seems, that was merely my illusion.

  The days that follow Marcia’s recounting of her night with Brent are, for me, a trial. I guess her happiness needs to be talked about again and again. I listen, often with a forced, fixed smile, and say very little as she discloses bit, by bit, their passionate night together. All I can do is swallow more than my usual number of antacid pills afterward.

  Marcia and Brent are having another dinner at her condo in two weeks. I’m dreading the days that will come after that. Marcia will have more stories, but they’ll be variations on those she’s told me already.

  *****

  Hours before the night of their dinner, I take some decisive steps.

  Leon has never come back up to my apartment since that first time, and he’s waiting in his car. Earlier, he called me to say we’re going to a new mom-and-pop Caribbean place people are raving about on Twitter.

  As I plop my butt down into the passenger seat of Leon’s car, I touch his knee. The gesture is intimate and unexpected. It startles him. I’m aware I’ve been more cool and casual with him than I actually feel. I’ve grown to like him a lot, but in a way different from how I feel about Brent.

  I say, “I’m feeling reckless today. I just realized I’ve ne
ver been to your house. Do you have time to show it to me? I can make us something quick and simple for lunch. I’m good at cobbling a meal together from what you have in your refrigerator.”

  Leon’s face lights up. “Caribbean food can wait and my work can wait. Having you cook for me is too tempting to pass up. I have a pad in Claremont Hills, a mere ten minutes from here.”

  The “pad” Leon takes me to is four times as large as my parents’ home, and when I lived there, the modest house handled the chaos created by six people. I see no one about when we get to Leon’s house, but he says he lives in it with a housekeeper, a cook, and Will, although Will only stays a few nights a week. He has a family in Vacaville, thirty miles inland.

  This is my first glimpse into a house of the rich and it’s nothing like what I imagined from television. For one, it’s not full of the kind of furniture you find in European castles and palaces. My first impression is of one large living space.

  We pass an area furnished with oversized, very modern furniture. Farther in are a kitchen and dining area. No walls separate these areas. Seeing this house, I fully understand Leon’s reaction when he came up to my apartment. To him, my apartment must have seemed like the pits. Worse than a doghouse.

  “Wow! This is where you live?” I say.

  He laughs. “If you think this is huge, you have to see my parents’ house, our family home in the Lost Altos hills. Much larger.”

  “How can your housekeeper keep up this place?”

  “She gets cleaners to come and do the job. I’m not quite sure how she manages this house. I just pay her to do whatever is needed. Come on and see what’s in the refrigerator.”

  As I’m foraging in the vegetable and meat compartments, a middle-aged man comes in and I hear Leon say, “I don’t need you to make me anything, Luciano. I brought a chef from a high-class restaurant to do that for me today. So, just go back to whatever you’re doing. We’ll need someone to clean up later, though. Can you tell Sara please?”