Hydraulic Level Five

by Sarah Latchaw

  “You’re in my seat.”

  “Do you mind if I sit here a bit? Just until I finish my conversation?”

  Argh! Floozy was dead. “Get out of my chair.”

  “Kaye,” Samuel cut in, “what’s the big deal? It’s only a chair.”

  “There’s no need for rudeness,” the hound added.

  That was it. Screeching, I wound back, ready to do some serious damage to the Manhattan yuppie even though I’d never thrown a punch in my life. Samuel leaped up and grabbed my elbows to keep me from tackling her, but not before Caroline rolled out of my chair onto the ground, pure panic on her face.

  “Kaye, what’s gotten into you?” he hissed.

  I yanked my arms back and rounded on him. “Was the woman Caroline?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The woman you were a coke line and two pairs of underwear away from screwing in New York. Was it her?”

  Caroline’s mouth dropped open, and she spilled a small, disbelieving laugh. Several people on the edge of the fire pit turned their heads at my loud words.

  “¡Válgame Dios! Keep your voice down, my family is here.” Samuel placed a hand firmly on the small of my back and steered me away from the party. I stumbled along next to him, bare toes digging into the grass to keep up. He led me up to his roadster and dropped his arm, staring down at me with flaring nostrils.

  “Talk,” he said.

  Fricking monkey rump, I’d nearly attacked somebody. I had never been in a real physical fight before. “Caroline lived there in the brownstone,” I sputtered. “Togsy—the guy from CU—answered the door. Oh cripes, I’ll just ask. Were you sleeping with her?”

  “No!” Samuel threw his hands in the air. “Yes, she was with Togsy. No, I wasn’t sleeping with her. Kaye, please be rational!”

  How was I not being rational? My temper flared again. “Rational like you? Leaving our marriage because it was the logical thing to do? Rational, like locking me out in New York, asking your father to put me on a plane home without so much as a goodbye from you? You couldn’t even be kind in your note—just cold.”

  “What note?” Confusion suffused his features, which only fueled years’ worth of hurt.

  “The note you wrote to me, Samuel! You didn’t have the courage to give it to me in person, so you stuck it in my backpack while I was asleep.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Remember? Oh, that’s right.” I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand, only then realizing I was crying. “You can’t even remember sending your wife packing because you were getting high off of some skank. And you would have slept with her if I hadn’t shown up. Right?”

  “Kaye…” His hands hovered around my shoulders, not sure what to do.

  “Was she Caroline?” I demanded again. “That woman?”

  “No!”

  “But you said you can’t remember.”

  He groaned, running his fingers through his hair. “I can’t, but others can. Yes, Caroline lived with us in the brownstone, but she wasn’t the woman you saw me with. She told me so, herself.”

  I took a deep, hitching breath, forcing myself to calm down. Samuel reached for my hand and tried to lead me over to his roadster to sit. I jerked it back. He sighed.

  “Kaye, I want to answer your questions, but I need to know what you saw in New York. So far, the only information I have about it is from people who were also half out of their minds and my father’s vague second-hand story from you. Frankly, we should probably wait until you’re not so upset, but…”

  “Are you sure the woman you were with wasn’t Caroline?”

  He met my eyes, all earnestness. “Positive.”

  I exhaled and reached into my purse. Samuel watched me warily, as if I might pull out an eight millimeter. Instead, I handed him the letter I’d written.

  “This is everything I can recall about that night, down to the last details. I wouldn’t give this to you now, but Danita wanted me to, as a wedding present, of all things.”

  “She knows what’s in this letter?”

  “Most of it. Molly, too. I shared a few additional things with you—only you. Mainly about some dreams I’ve been having.”

  “Do you want me to read this now or later?”

  “Whenever. We can talk about it next week in our one-question convo. You can call me from New York,” I said, my voice tinged with bitterness.

  Samuel tucked it into his jacket pocket, cagey eyes not leaving mine. When his hand re-emerged, the rose marbled rock was clutched between his fingers like a stress ball. “Kaye…that woman. She wasn’t anything to me.”

  “You know, that doesn’t make it better—messing around with someone you don’t even care about.”

  “How could I care about her that way? She wasn’t you. No one has ever been you. Not Caroline, not Indigo, or any of the others Page Six likes to flash around.”

  “You’re right about that one. Beauty queens, actresses, musicians. You certainly found the good fishing spots in the pond.” It was meant to be a passing jibe, but he didn’t let it go.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh please. I’m not elegant or refined. I’m a hick.” I gestured to my wrinkled cotton dress and bare feet. “I’m scrawny, a year behind in fashion, and I’ve hardly been out of the state, let alone vacationed in Cannes. I have a modestly-successful business, but wouldn’t stand a chance in a New York agency. And if you stuck me in a room full of your Manhattan friends, I’d vanish into their designer wall.”

  Samuel was honestly puzzled. “Why would you even compare yourself to them, Kaye?”

  “I’m just saying I understand, even if it pisses me off. I’m a trout, not a bluefin tuna.” I bit my tongue before I said too much.

  But it was too late. Confusion melted away, and his thumb restlessly rubbed over the rose rock. He loosed a quick, sardonic bark. “I don’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of your fish analogy or shake you for even thinking something so preposterous. Is this really how you see yourself? Inferior to those shallow people?”

  “Look, Samuel. You outgrew me, I get it, but I don’t need patronization from you. You harbored this little crush for your best friend when we were young and you never had a chance to see what else was out there.”

  “Little crush?” he sputtered, eyes widening. “That’s not it at all. Starting a romantic relationship with you wasn’t something I did on a whim, Kaye.”

  “Really? So we didn’t just fall together?” I stared at him dubiously. “You consciously made a decision to kiss your best friend, considering all of the ramifications?”

  “Yes, mostly. Obviously there were some things I could never have foreseen at sixteen.”

  I shook my head. “You know, you plot way too much. I’m starting to wonder if the drugs were an excuse.”

  His thumb furiously traced the rock ribbon. “For what?”

  “To get out of a marriage you didn’t want to be in anymore…didn’t want in the first place, but went along with because you wanted to give me my fairy tale.” I already knew I’d probably made a mistake in voicing the thought. But resentment still coursed through my blood, and I was ready for the bell to ring on round two. “You told yourself you left to give me a better life. But maybe you just didn’t want to face the fact you’d mistook friendship for something else. That you really didn’t love me like you thought you did.”

  Furious red streaked up his neck. His fists dug into his hips as he paced in front of me, rose rock still firmly in his grasp. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Aspen Kaye. Don’t you think I know the difference between loving someone and being in love? You may have forgotten, but I wasn’t the one who filed for divorce. Perhaps I should be the one asking if there was someone else.”

  Was he referring to Hector? Oh, that put me over the edge. “And I had good reason to file, given what happened! You actually did me a favor, Samuel. New York sealed the deal. Before, I hadn’t accepted it was over. In spite of
everything—you leaving me, not getting in touch just to tell me where you were—I still held out hope that maybe you wanted me, that it was just a horrible misunderstanding.” I crossed my arms over my chest like body armor as the scene played through my mind…the cold eyes…the drugs…the brunette. “But I got doused with ice water and it woke me up. You may have left to ‘spare’ me, but I know you didn’t want me. Because you don’t screw around on someone you’re in love with. I don’t care if you were high or not.”

  Up to this point, he’d remained relatively in control throughout our exchange. But I knew, once the words left my mouth, I’d found his breaking point. Heavy silence descended, a gambit of emotions dancing across his features. Anger won out above the others. His face twisted dark, fierce. A fist flew into the side of his rental roadster, the Rose of Sharon stone I gave him still clutched by ragged knuckles. I yelped, stepping back a few feet in case he took another swing at the vehicle. But then he leaned into the car, his arm hiding his face.

  It had been too soon to have the New York conversation, for both of us. I should have told Danita no. Samuel stayed still for so long, I began to worry.

  “Samuel?” I gingerly touched his shoulder. He whipped around, eyes clouded with self-loathing.

  “I’m sorry I filled your head with lies.” He pushed off the roadster and took a step toward me, fingers twisting around the stone. “I’m sorry you don’t know how lovely you are.” Another step. “And I’m sorry I’ve made you feel undesirable. It’s shameful.”

  Gone was the golden boy he played so well. In his place was just a troubled man. So stunning it hurt, but still, so flawed. And strangely, I didn’t feel disappointment…only sadness for him.

  Face set in determination, he clutched at my arms, kneaded them, and the rock dug into my bicep. The knuckles on his right hand bled, where he’d pummeled them into his car.

  “It’s shameful, because I have never desired anybody the way I desire you.” His voice grew hoarse. “And I should have told you a long time ago. I should have told you every single day.”

  I knew what was coming. Before I could tell him no, I felt his warm hands slide to my face…felt the heat of his mouth when it covered mine.

  Shock jolted through my veins as Samuel’s strong lips pushed against me, working over my mouth like a half-starved man. Every alarm system in my body flashed and wailed, their warnings beating through my brain. I grasped at his shoulders and warred with myself. Pull away? Let go? Samuel was kissing me. Oh lord, Samuel’s kissing me. I couldn’t think.

  Sam’s hands left my face and circled my waist, the rose-ribboned rock falling to his feet. “Firecracker,” he breathed against my ear, “please, just kiss me back.”

  Those words. Oh…

  Warm blue eyes addled my eyes, and I knew. I recognized it…No, remembered it. Samuel wanted me. It was there, plainly written in the lines of his body. How could I have forgotten what it meant when he watched me like this? Meeting my challenge in the café parking lot. Tracing my foot at Button Rock. Sitting in silence as I slept in his basement. Kissing the top of my head. So many times in the past weeks, I saw it…and I’d been blind to it.

  So I kissed him back. How could I not? With every last muscle weeping to stretch up and meet him, I had to close the space between us. My fingers ran along the ridges of his shoulders and threaded into his windblown hair, tugging him to me. I tasted a hint of spearmint on my tongue, so comforting.

  “Kaye.” His grip on my waist tightened. His mouth skimmed down my neck and up again, drawing a wet line which caused me to shiver when cool night air flitted over my skin. Samuel felt the tremor run through my body and smiled against my jaw. His lips gentled. Reverent. Persistent. Soft lips…tugging at my lips…talking to me like they used to. So much heat, flushing my face. So much aching, twisting my heart.

  My twisting heart…

  Sudden panic forced its way into my brain as reality caught me in a choke-hold. What the hell are you doing, Kaye?

  Samuel dipped his mouth to mine once more. With the last bit of resistance I could muster, I turned my face.

  “Stop.”

  The word hung between us, ringing as Samuel froze. Then his arms slackened.

  I don’t know how I left his arms. I didn’t think I was strong enough to tell Samuel no. But something in this—giving in, forgetting our promises of friendship—wasn’t right. I took one step back, then two.

  “Why?” His voice cracked.

  “I didn’t see it coming, you wanting me. We shouldn’t go down this road again, Sam.”

  Already, I witnessed the reality of my rejection hit its mark, driving out hope. His shoulders slumped, resigned. He was that six-year-old boy in a ghost costume, sitting alone in a corner. Hurt radiated off of him, crushing him like he’d crushed me.

  “It is too late, isn’t it? For us.”

  “It’s not good for us,” I choked, skirting his question. Because I knew—we both knew at this point—I’d wanted his kiss. “And I care about you too much to pretend otherwise. I’m sorry.”

  “Kaye—”

  “Your hand is still bleeding.”

  He gazed down at his bruised, bloody knuckles as if it was someone else’s hand. My sweater sleeve was streaked with blood where he’d grasped it. Shrugging out of it, I bunched it up and pressed it over his scrapes. He winced. My ratty sweater for his nose, now my dress sweater for his hand. What else could I possibly lose to his injuries?

  “You can have this.” I bit my swollen lip, gesturing to the ruined gray sweater. “Just keep it pressed to your knuckles—it’ll stop the bleeding.” Turning away, I hurried back to the fire before he saw his pain reflected in my face.

  I avoided Molly, Alonso, and Sofia, all of my friends as I tromped down the hill, seeking Hector. Caroline was there, smirking at me like a triumphant harpy. She thought she’d won. Maybe she had. I ignored her, too.

  Hector chatted with Angel and a burly Valdez cousin, cheap cigars hanging from their mouths. When he spotted me, he quickly tossed the stub in the fire and grinned with a guilty expression. But the grin faded.

  “Kaye?” Hector asked, taking my elbow. “Mamacita, you look like hell. You wanna go home?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. Plastering a smile to my face, I kissed Dani goodbye, telling her I’d see her bright and early at the salon—no oversleeping. I refused to drag down her big day.

  “Don’t turn on the air in Angel’s car,” I whispered as I hugged her goodnight.

  Her brown arms squeezed me back. “Thanks for the warning.”

  We passed Samuel on our way to the parking lot. Both hands were jammed into his pockets, despite the blood. My sweater was neatly folded and tucked under his arm. His eyes were downcast, feet dragging across the sand as we crossed paths. It was dark and I couldn’t see his face. But the moon was bright, and under its glow his cheeks glistened with tell-tale wetness.

  Samuel called me four times that night. I let them go to voicemail, too frightened to speak with him. Any chance we still had at resuscitating our flat-lining friendship depended upon how we resolved this, and I was petrified to start.

  The first time he called, he apologized for kissing me.

  The second, he asked me to pick up the phone.

  Third, he said he would try to reach me at Hector’s home phone number if I didn’t answer.

  Two glasses of wine and a mild buzz later, I curled up on my bed, clutching my pillow like a teenager, my cell phone in hand. I watched the display glow each time he called.

  Samuel Cabral. 212-555-0368.

  Samuel Cabral wanted me. This beautiful, brilliant, damaged man—he told me he still desired me, had never stopped desiring me. No matter how many times I replayed our kiss in my mind, I couldn’t hammer it into my psyche. The thought was so foreign after so long. A warm light burned in my gut, searing through stone limbs all the way to my toes. Despite my fear, it felt good to be wanted.

  The fourth time he called, he sp
oke with my voicemail. “I’m such an idiot.” He sounded like he’d scalded his throat with hot sauce. “I really screwed this one up, didn’t I? So much for taking our friendship slowly, easing into it again. Here I was, lecturing you on rash behavior and then, like a horny sixteen-year-old kid, I turn around and beg you to kiss me. Firecracker…I’m sorry. Please call.”

  I called him back after I listened to his message.

  “Kaye?” he answered. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at home, Samuel. Where else would I be?”

  Relief infused his voice. “I’m sorry, so sorry. Por Dios, I wish I’d handled that differently.”

  “Samuel, let’s just get through the wedding tomorrow, okay? It’s taking an emotional toll on both of us, more than we realize. Besides, you can’t take all the blame for this—I kissed you back.”

  “I don’t regret it, Kaye. Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed you. But this idea you have in your head about not measuring up? It’s got to stop, and I’d do anything to dispel it.”

  “Like tell me you want me?”

  “It was the truth.” He sounded affronted.

  And I had asked for truth. But the truth left me reeling, as if the rug I’d walked on for nearly seven years had been yanked out from under me and I’d hit the ground, hard. Now I got a good, close look at the bare floor for the first time.

  “I don’t know if I can trust you. And I don’t see how dredging up old feelings is going to help either one of us. We have a helluva lot of baggage.”

  “Would you rather have me lie? Let you believe for a while longer those casual dates were somehow better than you? That I wanted them with a modicum of the way I want you?”

  “No.”

  “Kaye,” he sighed, “I’m not perfect and I’m going to screw up. I know you don’t trust me, and that’s a consequence I’ll have to live with. But I promised you on the camping trip I would do whatever it took to make sure you didn’t regret giving our friendship another go, and I meant it. I just…I need to know if you’re with me in this. Because as long as you still want this friendship, I want to fight for it.”