by Lia London
Garold’s bulky frame blocked Frank’s escape. “I don’t know, Barth. You think he’s going to treat her right?”
Barth grimaced and shook his head. “Man, he’d better, or I’m gonna have to kill him. ’Maya’s the angel of the family. We boys are mighty protective of her.”
Nodding vigorously, Frank curled his arms around his purchase. “Yes. Good. I’m glad you feel that way. She’s very … angelic.” Even as he said it, he remembered the kisses. The dances. The feel of her cheek against his. Were angels like that? If so, it was definitely time to take more interest in religion.
“Excuse me, sir. Can you move along? I can’t reach the debit card pad,” said a woman behind him.
Garold tugged Frank forward out of the aisle, pointing back to the woman. “That ain’t no fifteen items, ma’am. You gotta learn to count in my town.”
Frank buried his face in the paper sack and stepped quickly away, weaving around a mother with four children in tow and between an elderly couple with matching canes and straw hats.
He’d made it to the automatic doors when he heard Barth’s voice. “Hey, white boy got moves. Give him a ball, and he’ll get through the line.”
A second later, Frank felt himself lifted by Barth and Garold, each scooping him up under an arm and sweeping him onward through the parking lot. “My car is back …” He wriggled to the ground, embarrassed to be treated like a child. “My car is back there.” He pointed.
Barth let out a low whistle. “A Lexus, huh? Got heated seats?”
Frank shifted his weight in the direction of his car. “Yes.”
“Nice,” said Garold.
“Yes, very nice,” agreed Frank, sidling closer to his car. “Well, gentlemen, it was very nice seeing you again.” He turned and paced quickly back to his car, pressing the fob when he was twenty feet away.
“I call shotgun!” Barth and Garold darted past him and opened the front doors to his car. Barth slipped into the passenger side, but Garold held the door open for Frank, like a burly chauffeur in a t-shirt.
Totally unnerved by their play, Frank sat in the driver’s seat, still holding his bag of groceries, aware that Barth sat beside him, grinning at their stunt.
Frank drew a deep breath and told himself that getting angry with Amaya’s cousins would serve no one’s interests, so he decided to play along. “Did you boys need a ride somewhere?”
Barth let out a good-natured laugh, and Garold reached for the sack of groceries. “Here, want me to put that in the back seat for you?”
Frank suspected Garold might run away with the bag but opted to trust him. “Thanks.”
To his relief, Garold placed the sack on the floor behind the driver’s seat, and Barth got out and came around to join his brother.
Calmer now, Frank started the car, rolled the window down, and shut the door. “You guys are fast,” he said, not sure how to make small talk with jocks.
Barth smirked. “It helps get scholarships.”
Frank nodded. He’d never had the option of athletic scholarships. With his parents’ economic situation, he had to get top marks if he could afford to finish his degree. “I hear you. Scholarships are vital.”
“You get ’em, too?” asked Garold.
“For academics, yes.”
Barth folded his arms casually. “You ever tutor people? I mean, you smart, right? What’s your subject?”
“English major. Journalism.”
Barth and Garold exchanged high-fives. “Score!”
Garold crouched lower, resting his forearm on the roof of the car and peering in at Frank. “Seriously. You good at writing and stuff? Those essays are killing us in some of our classes. We could use some help making sure we got all the grammar junk right.”
“Essays were my specialty,” said Frank, wondering if he was committing himself to helping them. “It was the multiple-choice material that stumped me. I tended to overthink the answers. Half the time I didn’t finish.”
“Yeah, man,” said Garold. “But I know how to think just right. I ace those things. I’m going into sports medicine. Physical therapy for injured athletes.”
Barth rolled his eyes. “Not me. I’m going into photo journalism. Gonna run the cameras for the Super Bowl.”
“Or the weather reports,” teased Garold.
Barth bit his tongue and floated his eyebrows up. “Or maybe I’ll go on the road with China Doll.”
Frank’s breath evacuated in a spastic laugh. “You mean Chieko? She’s Japa—”
Garold’s heavy hand encircled Frank’s upper arm. “Don’t be checking out his girl.”
Barth guffawed, and Frank shook his head vigorously.
“So, you think you could take a look at our essays before we turn them in?” asked Garold. “They’re due next week. You got time?”
Frank swallowed. “Anything for Amaya’s cousins. Let me get your phone number, and we’ll coordinate a time.”
This answer seemed to please Barth immensely, and he palmed Frank’s shoulder. “You’re all right, man. Thanks. We owe you one.”
“We already gave him one,” said Garold. “We letting him date our cousin, remember?”
“Oh yeah.” Barth laughed. He winked at Frank. “You owe us more!”
Frank chuckled and pulled out his phone. “I agree.” He wasn’t going to tell them about the money he’d given Amaya if they didn’t already know. The love that existed in their family intrigued him, and he felt himself relax. “Number, please?”
Garold gave him their contact information, and then looked at Frank with a more serious tone. “So, about Amaya …”
The relaxed feeling vanished. “Yes?”
Folding his arms into the open window so that their faces were inches apart, Garold said, “She’s too good for you.”
Frank blinked back the surprise. “I …”
“Admit it,” said Barth from behind Garold.
“Freely!” Frank wished he could melt into the leather upholstery and hide. “Amaya’s too good for me.” Would that make them go away?
Garold thumped Frank’s shoulder with a meaty finger. “If you got half a brain in that fancy head of yours, you’ll mean that.” He looped the same finger in a triangle to include the three of them. “She’s better than all of us put together. She’s legit the best person I know next to Grammy and Pappy.”
Frank nodded, feeling the sincerity of their words. “Okay.”
“Okay,” said Barth, elbowing Garold over a few inches. “But what ain’t okay is anyone hurting her. She’s had her heart crushed too many times by guys thinking they can find something better, easier.” He blew out a stream of air and shook his head. “They can’t. Ain’t nobody gonna treat you better than ’Maya. She deserves respect.”
At the word respect, Frank bristled. “Um, she’s had her moments. She can be pretty sharp-tongued at—”
“Then you needed cuttin’ down to size, little man.” Garold’s eyes bore into Frank. “Takes a stuck-up jerk to bring out that side of Amaya. Ain’t no stuck-up jerks deserving of her time. She’s decided she thinks she likes you, so you better be good to her. No using. No ripping out her heart.”
Garold’s words pierced Frank’s wall and exploded open a whole room of self-realization. Shame colored his cheeks and shrank his confidence. Everything they’d said about Amaya was probably true, and it occurred to Frank that no one else had ever dared call him directly on his prideful behavior.
For years, he’d assumed that women were rejecting him because they couldn’t keep up with him. Since that couldn’t possibly be the case with Amaya, then the flaw must lie in him.
He suddenly appreciated the opossum self-defense technique of playing dead and wished he’d feigned a seizure or heart attack at the first sign of trouble. “You can count on me,” he answered meekly.
“Respect,” said Barth.
“Respect,” echoed Frank. The thing he’d always craved from others took on new meaning when he thought of his own
respect for Amaya.
“Kindness. Be kind to her.” Garold stood, wagging a finger.
“Yes, sir.” Frank didn’t know why he responded that way, but Barth and Garold immediately broke into grins.
“I like this guy,” said Barth. “He got manners.”
Garold knuckled Frank’s shoulder. “Give us a call about those essays, man. You help us there, and we’ll let you in on all of Amaya’s favorite things, so you can treat her right.”
The corner of Frank’s mouth twitched upward. “That sounds like a very good deal.”
Barth and Garold exchanged smirks and waved good-bye.
Frank allowed himself several calming breaths before putting the car into gear. It hadn’t quite been like a mafia shake-up in the movies, but he’d gotten the message loud and clear.
As he rolled through the parking lot, watching for pedestrians, he spotted Barth and Garold joking with each other and piling into a beater white pick-up truck. How ironic that a pair of rough-and-tumble jocks could open his eyes to his weaknesses in a way that sophisticated young women had not been able to do.
Amaya waited for Grammy MarLee to settle into her favorite armchair, then positioned herself cross-legged on the floor in front of the old woman’s knees.
“No braids today, honey. My fingers ache something mighty,” said MarLee, patting the top of Amaya’s head. “I’ll just play, okay?”
“That’s fine, Grammy.” Amaya handed her the hair pick from her pocket.
Pappy squeezed through the space between the armchair and the sectionals. “Ain’t she too big to mess with her hair, MarLee?”
“Oh, let me be. I raised so many boys, and she’s my only big girl. Lemme just play with her hair,” scolded MarLee.
“I should get you a doll.” Pappy lowered himself into his spot with a grunt, his eyes closing almost before his legs settled into place. “You two gonna talk all afternoon and ruin my nap?” he teased.
“You ain’t gonna hear nothin’ anyways, so close your eyes and get to work on your snoring, Pappy.” MarLee shook her head and began working the pick in and out of Amaya’s hair, fluffing it out along the hairline in their decade-old ritual. Ever since her parents had divorced and gone their separate ways, Amaya had become MarLee’s daughter, the lone female in a string of sons, nephews, and grandsons that Grammy had nurtured over the years.
“Gently, now,” said Amaya, leaning back. Her hair would look like an electrified poodle by the time MarLee was done with it, but the fiddling felt good on her scalp, and the hair was easy enough to tame again afterwards. Bonding outweighed beauty in these moments, and Amaya treasured the time together.
“No friends with you today?” MarLee’s floral-scented lotion made her fingers extra soft as she tucked and prodded at Amaya’s hair.
Amaya sighed, closing her eyes at the memory of last week’s gathering. “Not this time.”
“Chieko on assignment?”
“I think so. Something out at the coast. I wonder if she’ll see Antonio.”
“Antonio?”
“The Team Northwest guy that made it to nationals.”
MarLee chuckled. “Oh yes, that beautiful Mexican boy. He was nicely built, like your cousins.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But you like ’em skinnier, don’t you?”
“Grammy,” Amaya said with a whine. “I just don’t like muscles so big they squish me when I hug.”
“That Frank boy is nice and lean,” offered MarLee, a sing-song lilt creeping into her voice.
“Like a stalk of asparagus,” added Pappy.
Amaya’s eyes popped wide, and she stifled a giggle.
“Guess he ain’t asleep yet,” observed MarLee. “Asparagus?” She shrugged. “Nah, he doesn’t taper like that. More like—”
“Grammy, can you please not compare my friend to vegetables?” Amaya squirmed, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks.
“Animal, mineral, or vegetable—twenty questions?”
“He’s not a vegetable,” insisted Amaya.
“Do I still get my twenty questions?” MarLee’s fingers twisted at strands over Amaya’s ear, reminding her of where Frank had placed a few of his most sensuous kisses.
“He’s not a rock, either,” she said, trying to wipe away the tingle the memory brought.
“I saw that tango, ’Maya. He’s got a little animal in him, don’t he?” MarLee’s words were not accusing, but Amaya squirmed.
“He’s a gentleman, Grammy. He’s never pressed his attentions beyond my limits.”
“That’s good.” MarLee’s words squeezed around the hair pick she held in her teeth to free her hands. “I taught you all about how to give and expect kindness and respect.”
“I know, Grammy.” Amaya’s shoulders sagged. “Too bad it didn’t work for Mom and Dad.”
“Oh, child.” MarLee’s arms slid down over her shoulders, and the hair pick fell to the floor. “Don’t you let their mistakes scare you. They had their own problems. You a wiser girl than they ever was.”
Smoothing her hands over her grandmother’s arms, Amaya nodded. “So you say. I just keep choosing the wrong boys. They all go off, just like Dad.”
“Your daddy had other issues, honey.” MarLee gave her another squeeze before leaning back. “None of the boys you like are bad boys.”
“Just too stupid to know you part angel,” said Pappy.
Surprised again that Pappy remained awake despite his stillness, Amaya smiled. “Thanks, Pappy. I got that from you.”
“You like this boy, Frank?” asked MarLee.
“I think so, Grammy.”
“He like you?”
Amaya shrugged and nodded. She certainly hoped he did. Those kisses would be heartbreaking memories if not.
“You keep your standards,” warned Pappy.
“Yes, sir.” Amaya sat taller. “I always do.”
“And you hold onto your dancing dreams, little girl,” said MarLee.
Amaya nodded. High standards. Hard work. Avoiding the mistakes of her parents. Weren’t these all part of who she was? Part of what drove her forward in life, but held her back from love?
Pappy’s eyes opened and fixed on Amaya. For a long moment, they seemed to study her. At last he harrumphed and folded his fingers together over his belly. “Amaya, baby, you do the things you enjoy, but when real love comes along, you make sure you make room for it. You let it in even if it’s plum crazy.” His gaze shifted to MarLee with a bright gleam of tears. “That’s how I got your Grammy. We made no sense, but we made a happy home. Forty-three years now.”
“Yes, Pappy.” Amaya felt her heart expand. “I’ll make room.”
Chapter 9 ~ Danseur Noble
“I have very exciting news,” said Frank, taking Amaya’s hand as they met on the corner outside the Danseur Noble.
“I do, too!”
“You first?” He wouldn’t mind letting her talk so he could drink in the vision of her. She wore the high-necked, sleeveless dress from before, and he forced himself not to follow the curves it accentuated.
“Oh no. You go first,” she insisted.
He drew a deep breath. “The Portland Tribune accepted my free-lance review of your show.”
“Grumbleygut does Fine Arts now?” she asked.
“I went with my real name, after explaining who I was.” His smile grew. “It’s really very validating. It was my first writing not done in the guise of Frank Grumbleygut. I just got to be myself.”
“Oh my gosh, now I have to read it!” She hesitated. “Were you nice?”
He kissed the back of her hand before tucking it under his arm. “Glowing with praise. I enjoyed bringing out all my friendlier adjectives for once.”
Amaya sighed happily, and for a moment it distracted him from his duty. With the Tribune expressing genuine interest in him, he didn’t dare mess up anything that would provoke Becki into badmouthing him to the Portland paper editors. He wanted so much to relax and enjoy Amaya, shower her
with attention, and forget the assignments they had to fulfill, but that wasn’t an option.
“Alas, for the evening, I must return to my alter-ego, the evil Mr. Grumbleygut. Editor’s orders.” He arced his free hand toward the door of the restaurant. “Shall we?”
“Of course.”
Inside, big band music played softly through the sound system. No live band here. “May I presuppose your swing dancing is better than my grandmother’s?”
Amaya stifled a snicker behind her wrist. “Yes, you may presuppose. Do I get to meet your grandmother some day?”
“She’s been dead for thirteen years.”
Amaya slapped his shoulder playfully. “Then how could you even ask if I dance better than she does?”
“I’ve seen you dance dead.”
“Huh?”
He waved his finger overhead. “On the wires in the concert. You get a little flighty when you enter the spirit realm.”
“Oh, you’re on a roll tonight.”
He turned to the hostess, a perky blonde with too much make-up and a nose ring that didn’t match the buttons on her faux tuxedo blouse.
“We have reservations for two. Grumbleygut,” he announced in his most professional tone.
“Oh!” She almost hiccupped the sound. “Yes, we were expecting you.”
Frank smirked. “Hence the whole notion of reservations.”
Amaya narrowed her eyes with an expression he couldn’t read, and her grip on his arm slackened. When the hostess led them through the restaurant to their table, he noticed that Amaya slipped her hand free and followed the woman, bantering amiably. By the time they sat down, the hostess appeared much more relaxed.
Frank had mixed emotions about this. He loved Amaya’s capacity to set him at ease, but he needed to be sharp tonight and command the respect his nom d’ plume required. He’d gotten sloppy last time, swept away by the sizzling music and the hypnotic effect of Amaya’s undulations. Tonight, he needed to focus. Becki would kill him otherwise. Or worse yet, fire him.
