by Cathy Lamb
I asked Rozlyn if I could paint the inside when she came over with Cleo for a visit. “Have at it. Paint a rainbow. Paint a woman standing on one foot on a motorcycle in leathers. Paint amoebas. Whatever you want.”
Cleo told me, “Paint a picture of a girl who can see her future.”
“Now, that’s an idea. What would a girl who can see her future look like?”
Cleo jumped up and down. “She would have yellow hair in three ponytails and striped tights and a hat with a dog on it and eyes like blueberries.”
“Hmm.” I peered into her blueberry eyes. I tapped her hat with a dog on it. Her pink and green tights were fun. “That sounds like someone I know.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“No. But thank you for the thought.”
“If I could see the future, I would see that we are all going to turn into monkeys,” she said. “We were monkeys, we’re going to be monkeys again.”
“Monkeys are a lot safer than humans.”
“Yep. And they like bananas. Mommy made me banana bread. I had two pieces she gave me, and I snuck two more and added whipping cream.”
“I have a thing for whipping cream, too.”
“I know. You drink it in your coffee. Liddy and I are going to play dress up today.”
“She’ll enjoy that.”
“Yep. I got her a flowered hat.”
The three of us chatted some more, then Cleo scampered off to chase a cat and put the flowered hat on Liddy.
“How are you, Rozlyn?”
“Good.”
I eyed her. She looked white around the edges and tired. “You sure?”
“Yes, yes.” She shrugged her shoulders. “No. My head hurts. Can’t shake this headache. It’s mild most of the time, sometimes it gets worse, then back to mild.”
“You need to go to the doctor.” I pushed my hair back and tried not to feel shaky-sick for her.
“For a headache? Nah. It’s menopause.”
“It’s not menopause. Go get it checked out.”
She said no, I gently pushed, then we talked about a quilt she’d made years ago of a woman riding a bucking bronco in a ball gown. “When life bucks you,” she told me, “get dressed up and buck with it. That’s what I’m doing. Bucking. But I would like to be . . .” She let that trail off, and we laughed.
She asked how I felt working two jobs. I told her it was a busy life.
I trusted Rozlyn, I don’t know why. I rarely trust anyone, but I did her.
On Saturday morning I slept in until ten o’clock. I hadn’t gone to bed until two. I thought about Kade, then made myself stop.
I drank three cups of coffee in bed with whipping cream and sugar, then made scrambled eggs. I thought of Kade again, made myself stop.
I drove to the paint store and stood in awe in front of all the paint colors. It took me an hour, but I eventually bought a yellow the color of sunshine and a banana mixed.
The color was enough to give my family/kitchen area some depth but keep the light. The French doors were white, so the sunshine banana would pop.
I bought a light blue, like central Oregon’s sky, for the bathroom and a pastel pink for my bedroom. Yes, pink. I wanted something pretty and feminine as I would soon be wearing blue scrubs stamped with JAIL, and living in a cell with a silver toilet
When I came home, I fed an apple to Liddy, stroked her sleek, brown hair, then went to work painting the family room and kitchen walls yellow. At 5:15 I went off to make Tequila Sunrises and Scarlett O’Haras.
Although I didn’t get home from the bar until one o’clock in the morning, I woke up at nine and, in my pajamas, finished the yellow in the kitchen and family room and started in on the light blue bathroom. Cleo knocked on my door after I’d finished. She was wearing all purple. “Today is purple day. In celebration of Pluto.” She’d made a purple hat for herself out of construction paper.
We made peanut butter and banana sandwiches. She told me I reminded her of a cowgirl who could shoot a lizard out of the sky. I told her she reminded me of a grape. She likes grapes, so there was no offense.
She put her hands on my hands at one point and turned them over. “Ouch,” she said when she saw the scars. “What happened?”
“I had a bad day when I was a kid.”
“What happened?”
“Fire.”
“Fire hurts. It’s so hot.” She picked up my hands and kissed them four times. It brought tears to my eyes. “Better now, Grenady?”
“Yes.” I sniffled. “I do believe it is.”
Later, after we had cookies, I moved the drop cloths from the bathroom, taped the trim up in my bedroom, pulled an old T-shirt over Cleo’s celebratory purple Pluto outfit, and we painted the bedroom pink.
“Do you know how to shoot a gun, Grenady?”
“Yes.”
“Can you teach me?”
“No. Why?”
“Because when we’re invaded by the bad space aliens, I want to be able to shoot them.”
“I’ll do it. You get behind me.”
She was outraged. “No. I want to fight them! I’m a girl, so duh. I’ll be fighting. Me and Liddy. Ta-da!”
I stood back and admired my pink bedroom, my white comforter with the pink roses, the pink-and-white-striped pillows with lace. I had never had a pink bedroom, but I had always wanted one. Now I had one. It matched with the pink ceramic rose box for my lily bracelet.
I loved it.
It was a scene out of a cheesy chick flick that you would watch in your pajamas while slugging down chocolate mint ice cream.
It was 5:14 and I was at Hendricks’. I had to be at The Spirited Owl in sixteen minutes. I darted into the bathroom by Kade’s office. He wasn’t in the office, and I was desperate.
I hate to be late.
I knew that Tildy would be okay with it, but I wouldn’t be. I like to be on time. I like my life as ordered and organized as possible.
I whipped off my silky red and pink scarf and my red sweater. Underneath it I wore a red lace bra. I yanked off my black skirt and tights and kicked off my black cowboy boots. I had on black lacy underwear.
I put my bag on top of the sink and pulled out my black jeans and black T-shirt for The Spirited Owl and shoved my other clothes back in. I gaped at my face in the mirror. My hair was a mess. It had been in a neat and controlled ponytail, but it wasn’t anymore. I pulled out the rubber band, and brushed my hair quick as I could. I ignored the two scars on my hairline, as always.
The door opened.
I stepped back automatically, brush in hand, so the door wouldn’t hit me.
And there I stood.
Hair down.
Red bra pushing up the girls.
Black lacy underwear.
Nothing else.
And there stood Kade, who was not supposed to be here. He was out of the office. At a meeting. Clearly, the meeting had ended.
“Oh, my God,” I choked out. I dropped the brush from my hand. It clattered to the floor.
For a brief second, I saw the surprise in his dark eyes. One does not expect to see an almost nude employee.
I put one arm over my boobs, one hand splayed over my crotch.
His eyes, for the tiniest of seconds traveled down, over cleavage, over hip, over leg, before he turned away. His mouth twitched, and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “Might want to use that lock next time, Grenady . . .”
Oh, my shoutin’, spittin’ Lord.
Almost naked. My boss had seen me almost naked. Kade had seen me almost naked, and my ass isn’t as tight as a whiskey drum anymore.
Daaaaang but I was glad I wasn’t sitting on the toilet doing my business. It could have stunk like a dead possum.
Now that would have been even worse than this.
I tried to breathe. Couldn’t.
Cheesy, silly chick flick, but it happened in real life. My life. I was late to work by five minutes. I hate being late.
At home that night I grabb
ed a pint of chocolate chip ice cream.
I thought about Kade.
I thought about the red bra incident.
I wondered what he thought of my cleavage.
I laughed.
I finished the pint.
I tried not to meet Kade’s gaze when he came in the next morning after a meeting with a client.
He said, “Hi, Grenady,” and I said, “Hello, Kade,” and I smiled, but I didn’t meet his eye. I went back to my computer and pretended to be extremely busy and focused and professional. I also dressed that morning to appear completely dressed. I was in a white turtleneck and gray sweater and jeans tucked into black boots.
About two hours later I received an e-mail from him asking me to come to his office when I had the time.
I felt myself burn, top to bottom. I felt sweaty. I picked up some papers and fanned myself. Was he going to bring up the red bra and black panty incident? No. He wouldn’t. He was a gentleman.
Had I done something wrong? I couldn’t think of anything . . . oh no.
Did he know about Dina Hamilton? Dina Wild? Covey? I should have told him. I went from hot to cold and back again. I rubbed my neck. “Breathe, Grenady, breathe.”
About fifteen minutes later I took a deep breath and headed down to his office. “Hi, Kade. Did you want to see me?”
“Yes, I did. Thanks for coming. Shut the door. Have a seat.” He waved a hand toward his table by the window with a view of Brothers, Mt. Laurel, and Ragged Top mountains. It was snowing outside.
This did not sound good. Shut the door, sit.
“How are you, Grenady?”
“Fine.” I tried to smile. I think my smile, once again, ended up crooked and creepy. “How are you?”
“Good.” He sat across from me and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped in front of him. He always looked like a man ready to spring if he had to spring.
“It’s been a few months. How do you like working here so far?”
I tensed up. This was not going in a positive direction. Was he asking because he thought I had complaints and then he would say something like, “Well, I don’t think this is the right place for you, either. Here’s two weeks’ pay”?
Or was he going to say that in reading my e-mails, he thought that I was stupid? Was I making errors? I always triple-checked everything I wrote. I never rushed it.
Or had my nightmare arrived and he was going to say, “You should have told me about being arrested for fraud, theft, money laundering, and embezzlement.”
I decided for honest, and I tried not to sound desperate. “I like working here. It’s a fun job. I like selling the furniture because I love what you make and design. I like seeing how happy the clients are when they come and get their furniture. I like the people here.” I like you, too, Kade.
“Glad to hear it.” His eyes did not betray any remembrance of red bras and black panties. “When I walk in and see the lobby, I’m surprised that I own this place.”
I did not relax. Was he buttering me up?
“It’s so . . .” He stared out the windows while he gathered his thoughts. “Classy. That’s the word for it. I like the trees. That was genius.”
“Thank you.” My heart was thudding and my lips were stuck on my dried teeth. I wanted to peel them off. “Am I getting fired?”
“What?”
“Am I here because you’re going to fire me?” I tried to swallow. I was scared. Trembly scared.
“No, not at all. What makes you think you would be fired?” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. I thought he was going to laugh. “Is there something I should know?”
“No, not at all.” Well. Maybe a tiny something, but I wouldn’t bring that up now. “I thought, since you wanted to talk to me, that there was something wrong . . . maybe a customer complained, or another employee, or I need to change something about how I’m working here. I can do that. Change. Tell me what it is and I’ll fix it. I’d be happy to.”
He shook his head. “Not at all, Grenady. I asked you in here because I was wondering if you would fix my office.”
“Fix your office?”
“Yes, then the employees’ lounge.”
“You mean, paint and decorate them?”
“Yes. Like you did the lobby.”
I sagged with relief. I stared up at the ceiling and tried to pull myself together. My heart was thudding. I exhaled.
“Grenady.” His voice was low and soft. Gravel and honey.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
I waved my hand, as in, it’s nothing. “It’s okay.” I ran a hand over my forehead. It had heated up like I had a minibonfire on it. “I feel so much better.”
“Grenady, you’re one of my best hires ever. You can work here for life as far as I’m concerned.”
Life. Work here for life. Work for Kade. For Hendricks’ Furniture. I could do that. Then I could surreptitiously watch his gorgeousness five glorious days a week. “Sounds good to me.”
We stared at each other for long seconds. “Me too.”
I coughed when I started thinking about taking his shirt off and running my hands through the hair on his chest. Sheesh. What am I doing? “I’ll start in on your office right away.”
“Have any ideas for it?”
“Yes.”
“You do?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes. Sometimes I decorate rooms in my head for fun. I pick out paints, design a mural or a canvas, or both, choose furniture and colors.”
“What about the employees’ lounge?”
“I’ve done that, too.” I smiled a normal and not creepy smile now that I knew I had a job still. “You spend a lot of time here. It should be a place you like being in.”
“I need to spend less time here.”
“Why?”
“So I can have a life.”
“Don’t you have one?”
“Sometimes. I work a ton. I don’t have a family, so I can work nights and weekends when I have to, but it doesn’t mean I want to.”
“No. Fishing is more fun.”
“It certainly is.” He looked out the window for a second and smiled. “A family would be fun, too.”
“A family.” I pictured that. I pictured his sweet, skinny blond wife. Lots of teeth in her smile. Stylish clothes. Cool jewelry.
I did not like her at all.
What a cold, dim-witted, busybody she was! How annoying and controlling! I bet she had a dry vagina and wouldn’t like sex because it would mess her up and she was a shrew behind it all. She would be one of those helicoptering, arrogant mommies who the other mommies secretly despise because she brags about her children incessantly.
The kids would resemble her or him. Tricycles, bicycles, skiing vacations. The whole image ticked me off. I tried not to let my expression show how irritated I was. “That sounds . . .” What should I say? That sounds horrible to live with a dim-witted, snotty woman with a dry vagina? I hope you never find her? Let me barf now? “Good.”
Mrs. Hendricks was a weasly Kade-snatcher.
“What about you, Grenady? Do you want a family one day? Kids?”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen for me.”
“No?”
“No, I don’t.” I could not imagine trusting a man enough to marry him. Even Kade. I stared back at him, at that face that seemed so relentlessly tough when I first met him, but now seemed friendly. His size, too, had been intimidating, but now it seemed comforting. His hands had even scared me. I knew they could deliver a punching blow, but I knew they never would, at least against me.
“Why?”
“Because I like to be on my own. If you’re in a marriage and have a family, that usually doesn’t work. Husbands like to have their wives around.”
“Did yours?”
“Constantly.” I would never allow myself to get trapped like that again. “Marriage sucks. Don’t do it.”
He laughed. Why was I so blunt?
&nb
sp; “It does, huh?”
“It’s unnecessary. It’s a bad idea. It’s infuriating and painful and can be dangerous.” I shut my mouth. I’d said way too much.
“Why dangerous?” He seemed relaxed, but I knew he was listening closely.
“Dangerous in that your spouse can filet you over a fire. I don’t want to talk about it.” My temper was triggering. I needed to get out of there quick. I stood up. “I’ll write down my ideas for your office and send them to you.”
He hesitated. “Don’t bother. I trust you. Do what you want to do. You’re raising this place to a new level, Grenady.”
“No, you’re already there. I’m simply putting on the finishing touches.”
“Thank you, Grenady. I like the finishing touches.”
“You’re welcome.” And if I had met you a long time ago, Kade, when I was a different person, I would have wanted you to be my finishing touch. I turned to leave.
“And, Grenady?”
I turned around.
“I’m sorry about your marriage.”
“Don’t be. He was suffocating me, and now I can breathe.”
28
He ate his chocolate pudding while he wrote his next rhyme.
Your parents went marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah!
Your parents went marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah!
Your parents went marching one by one,
The mommy cried and sucked her thumb
The daddy fought, but then I won
And they both went marching down,
To the ground,
Under the rock,
To their graves,
By the waves.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
He had added an extra line, but he thought it was a stupendous idea. Inspired. He stood up and smeared the pudding all over his face. He didn’t take it off all day. When he was hungry, he ran a finger down his face and licked it. “I’m a food saver,” he said.
He thought of the Getaway Girl. He wanted to lick her, too.
Then he wanted to kill her.
“Boom, boom, boom!”
29
I read Wilton Week, an online alternative Oregon newspaper, after my shift at The Spirited Owl. I wished I hadn’t read it.
