He groaned. “I should never have told you what Lauren said yesterday.”
“Oh, it’s not something I don’t already know. Your hairdresser has the hots for you, Dad.”
“She doesn’t. I’m an old geezer.”
It drove me crazy how my dad underrated himself. Even though he was fifty-five and wore beige all the time, he was still considered handsome. I grew up aware of the fact that women at the supermarket or in schoolyards had their eyes on Charlie Harper, ogling every time he would walk on by. My dad was—still is—an excellent catch, and it was my mother who should have taken the blame for my father’s insecurities.
“Dad, please stop with the self-pity. Don’t you think you deserve a bit of happiness?”
“Do you see a frown on my face? Who said I wasn’t happy?” He closed the fridge door. “I have you, and one day you’ll get married and have children, and I’ll be the happiest grandfather on earth.”
I shivered just at the thought of it. “If you’re waiting for me to give you grandchildren as your last wish, then I really feel sorry for your hopes and dreams,” I said. I had never envisioned myself as a mother. “I think you’ll make a cute couple,” I teased. I couldn’t read his mind, but I had gotten quite good at interpreting his body language. He knows I’m right. “You don’t find her attractive?”
“No, no. Lauren is beautiful; she has a great sense of humor, and she’s smart.” He got a glazed look in his eyes.
“Ask her out,” I continued. I wanted to encourage him. Even though Lauren might not be the one, it was a venture out of his solitary life he’d built for himself. I wanted him to have someone else, because I knew it was only a matter of time before I left again.
“Oh, I don’t know …” The look in his eyes made me believe he had already considered it at some point. “I’m out of practice.”
“It’s simple. Call her and ask her out to dinner. It’s obvious she’s interested, or why would she give you her number?” I watched him lean against the kitchen counter. “What are you afraid of?”
“That if it doesn’t work out, I would have to look for another hairdresser,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Pssh, if she turns you down, I’ll cut your hair.”
He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, like we never did that before, remember, kiddo? You gave me a mullet once.”
“You should thank me—that’s how you found Lauren.” I winked.
He sighed. “I’m going to check out what’s playing on Netflix.”
“Dad, I’m not finished talking.”
“Oh, but I was.” He grinned. “You’ll make the popcorn?”
I know what he’s doing, changing the subject. My mother had made us feel we are less deserving of anything else, making ourselves hostage of the past, but the past can’t rent any space in the present. It was time to open the doors, giving our hearts a chance of feeling again. I wished Charlie would understand that.
“Sure, Dad.”
He planted a kiss on the top of my head and disappeared into the next room. I closed my books, stacked them up, and pushed them aside.
My phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I let the voice mail pick it up. As I walked into the pantry, reaching for an unopened box of popcorn kernels, my phone rang again. I opened the package and placed it in the microwave, setting it for two-and-a-half minutes. As I reached for a bowl, my cell phone rang again, only this time I answered.
“Hello?”
“Quick question: what’s the point of having a phone if you’re never going to answer it?”
“Who is this?” I asked, but my heart already recognized the tonality. Only that sound can get my heart to race.
“Wow, forgot me already? Well, love, now I’m jealous. How many people do you know with a ‘Stralian accent?”
“Only a few, but they’re not as interesting—Walter.” I smiled.
“You’re just asking for it, aren’t you?” he said.
I didn’t know why I got a real pleasure in teasing him. I caught myself wondering what it would be like to be kissed by Simon Rowe. Am I asking for it? Sure, maybe just a little.
“Uh, not that I mind, but how did you get my number?” Why was he calling me? I thought … a date? There I go again, dreaming like Walter Mitty.
“Who else—Gloria.”
“Oh, okay … so you’re calling me because you miss me?” I baited, waiting for a reply, but all I could hear was his breathing, and it gave me no satisfaction.
When he didn’t reply, I continued. “Simon? This call will cost a fortune.” I opened the package and filled the bowl with buttered popcorn.
“Oh I don’t know, it shouldn’t be too bad,” he said, sounding like his teeth were chattering. “If you open the door, love. And please hurry, I’m freezing my arse off.” Wasn’t it summer for Simon? I guess he never got around visiting his parents in Australia.
“Where are you?” I asked, throwing the popcorn packaging into the trash.
“What the hell is this? Don’t you put stuff away in the winter?” A deep laughter came through the phone. After some rustling, he said, “What’s up with the gnome wearing a mankini?”
“What?” The plastic bowl slipped through my fingers and fell onto the floor. “You’re here? Outside my front door?” My eyes glanced at the digital clock above the stove. It was seven thirty P.M.
“Yes, I am! Now be a doll, love, and open your front door. I’m losing the circulation in my feet.”
I was walking in circles, not sure what to do with myself. I was wearing my flannel pajamas and it was too late to get changed. I removed the elastic out of my hair, and I flipped my hair.
“Mable? Are you still there?”
“Yeah … yeah, hold on, I’m coming.” I rushed to the front door, swinging it wide open, and there stood Simon, sharing the most captivating smile that could have melted any amount of snow.
“I miss you,” he said in one breath. His eyes sparkled, knocking the air out of me. My face burned, turning every possible shade of crimson.
“I miss you pestering me about my singing—”
“Or your bad taste in music.” I quickly added.
He leveled his eyes at me. “That’s debatable.”
I laughed, stepping aside to allow him in, but he didn’t venture farther than the foyer. I studied him for a minute—no wonder he was freezing. He wore a black leather jacket, no hat or scarf for this minus twenty-five-degree weather.
“So what are you doing … here?” I quickly shut the door behind us, not allowing the cold air to follow him in.
“I thought I’d surprise you with a rematch.” His voice was low and husky, and his eyes glanced around before meeting mine. I couldn’t tell if he was being straight with me; Simon always looked serious, even when he was joking.
“Not to brag, but it’s pretty sad for you to come all the way to Montreal only to get your ass kicked by a girl.” I smirked.
“You wish.” He chuckled. “The only reason you were winning was because you weren’t playing fair.”
“Neither were you,” I reminded him, leaning against the wall.
He didn’t deny it and took a step forward. “Actually, it’s not the reason I’m here.” He placed a hand above my head. I hoped he realized I didn’t live alone. My father was in the other room, unaware we had a guest.
“I wouldn’t believe it would be.” I swallowed hard.
His eyes trailed down the length of me, and something amusing caught his eyes. “Nice pajamas, Batgirl.”
“Thank you.” I smiled as he straightened his body back up, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I have some exciting news for you.”
“You could have told me over the phone.” I knit my brows.
“Yes, I know, but since I was in town, I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to see your face when I told you.”
“Tell me what?” I searched his face for some plausible answer as to why he was here. The truth
was, I didn’t know Simon well enough to understand what was in that head of his. I watched him pull at something from underneath his black leather jacket and hold it out.
“What’s this?”
My eyes flickered to the image, but my mind couldn’t comprehend what I was looking at.
“Oh my God, is that me?” My hand touched my mouth. “This is a joke, right? If you’re messing with me, I’ll never forgive you.”
“No, I promise I’m not. Congratulations, love, you’re on the cover of Elite’s April issue. One of the biggest magazine publications in the world.” He beamed brightly. I was afraid to take the glossy magazine into my hands. If I touch it, I’ll wake up from this dream.
“I don’t understand … how is this even possible?” I shook my head.
“The editors are fond of your look, so they made one of the editorial pictures we shot the cover.” The way he looked at me was overwhelming. He seemed proud, and he should have been—we had done this together.
“That’s not all. They want me to work on another editorial next month, and they want to use you as their model.”
“Really?” As he was telling me this, my mind couldn’t understand how this could be possible.
“Gloria knew?” I asked, and he nodded.
“Why didn’t she say something?” I was thinking there was still a chance of some mix-up.
“I wanted to be the one to tell you.”
“Wow … Wow, I can’t believe it …” I shook my head, taking it all in.
“Well, believe it … only I’m embarrassed to say the pay isn’t much.” He pulled something from his back pocket. “I tried, Mable, but this is all I could pull out of them.” His lips were tight, like he was disappointed for me.
“I had never expected to get paid, so I’m grateful for what I got.” My eyes lagged over the piece of paper, and the first thing I noticed was that it was a check, Simon’s personal check. Before I could question it further, he placed his hands on my shoulders.
“You realize this is a big deal, right?” His words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I folded myself in half. I had never wanted something so badly, but yet deep down I knew it would never happen. I was sure that, no matter how hard I tried, the universe would never fulfill that dream. And just when I had finally given up, the fates had decided to answer.
“Hey … hey.” He gently touched my arm, and I felt my body slowly rise, but when his eyes met mine, Simon found them filled with tears.
“What’s the matter?”
“Sorry … I don’t know,” I said, looking into a pool of bright blue. The heat rose to my face, and I wished he couldn’t see me like this.
“Look, Mable, I know this is overwhelming. And this crazy industry is filled with more than a few arseholes, but not all of us are like that. If you let me help, I will find you the right person to represent you. Right now, I need you to focus here.” Simon took the magazine out of my hands, resting it back on his chest for me to study the cover. “See this girl? She’s the real deal. These crazy gorgeous eyes I’m looking into right now. That’s the truth. This is your chance, Mable. I want this for you, and I want you to want it, too.” He said it with a deep contentment.
All my life I had been teased for the way I was. But then this happened, and it put everything into perspective, reinstated that I should have had faith in myself, to keep doing what I love.
“You’re stunning, you know that? So dry your tears, love, because all you need is one person to think you can do this, and it’s you. Come home with me to New York,” he said.
But the only word that stuck was home. I’m not sure where that is anymore. I had spent the past few months trying to fit into a life I had thought I was okay to go back to, but then I realized why I was struggling so much with my choice. Ambition likes to test us—push to see how much we’re willing to bleed just before we luck out. I wanted this bigger-than-life kind of dream, and somehow I was going to find a way to make it work. Whatever it takes.
I threw my arms around Simon, which took him by surprise along with myself, but I couldn’t help getting caught up in the moment. He was clearly receptive by the way his arms tightened around me, his hands bringing me closer.
“Thank you. If you didn’t give me a chance, this would never have happened.” There were no words that could explain what I was feeling, and when I looked back up to those amazing eyes—I’m feeling everything.
“No worries.” He pulled away enough to see my face, and that’s when his stare paralyzed me, making me want to divulge something more. They say if you look at someone in the eyes long enough, you’ll fall in love. More than anything, I wanted to drop.
“Mable? Who’s this?”
We both turned to see my father standing in the hallway, and Simon quickly lets go of me.
“Is everything okay?” Charlie asked.
I wiped the remaining tears that had found their way to my chin with my sleeve. “Yes, more than okay, Dad.” I cleared my throat. “This is Simon, the photographer from New York that I spoke to you about,” I said.
Charlie observed Simon through half-shut eyes. His initial reaction was understandable. If I saw a stranger in my house and my daughter in tears, there would be a need for concern.
“I’m sorry for intruding so late, Mr. Harper.” Simon quickly gave me a glance. He had to know I was living with my father. The effects of being poor.
“I had something for Mable I wanted to drop off.”
My father’s features softened. “No, please call me Charlie.” He smiled. “Well, pleased to meet you, Simon. It’s just Mable didn’t tell me anyone was coming over tonight.” Charlie held his palm out, and they shook hands.
“Look, Dad.” I held up the magazine.
“Hmm, look at that.” Charlie adjusted his thin-framed glasses and plucked the glossy booklet out of my hands. I turned back to catch sight of Simon in the foyer, smiling.
“Can you believe it? They put me on the cover!” My voice rang through the corridor.
“Why don’t we talk more about it in the kitchen?” my father said, glancing over my shoulder at Simon.
“Why don’t you come in, Simon? Can I offer you something to drink?”
“Thank you, but it’s late. I should be going.”
“Please, Simon, stay for a bit?” I didn’t want him to leave so soon.
“All right. I can’t stay long, though. I’ve got an early-morning shoot.”
I would be lying if I said the air didn’t feel awkward at first, but once Simon and my dad got on the topic of sports and cars, everything seemed to roll after that. So much so that I suspected they had forgotten I was in the room. I didn’t mind. I liked to watch them connect, and for a moment I could feel what it would be like if Simon were mine.
“Yes, sir,” Simon said when my dad asked if he was Australian.
“My mum is ‘Stralian, and my father is French, but New York is where I call home for the moment.”
“It must be tough to be far from your family.”
“It is, but I see them when I can.” Simon swallowed before continuing. “My sister and her American husband live about two blocks away from me.”
“That’s nice, at least to have your sister nearby.” My father smiled, but I could see he was trying to assess the situation. If I know my dad—which I do—he’s trying to determine how relevant Simon is to me.
“It certainly is. I feel a little less homesick.” Simon’s eyes caught mine from across the kitchen table, then he rose. “It’s getting late, and I’ve imposed on you long enough.” Simon grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and, with one swift move, slid it back on.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Simon, and the next time you’re in town, you should come by for dinner.”
“I will do, thank you, sir. And sorry again for disturbing your evening.”
“There’s no need to apologize. It’s understandable now, knowing the reason.”
Simon’s eyes diverted to min
e. “Mable, do you mind seeing me out?” I walked Simon to the front door, and I watched him slide on his shoes. I don’t know why, but with Simon, parting never seems final.
“Meet me tomorrow?” His voice was more than a whisper, and my heart tightened. “I have a friend and I think she could help you out.”
“Okay,” I said. Wanting to say yes to every moment possible with Simon.
I’m feeling everything.
“Hey, you’re still up?” My father cast his eyes around me. I had my legs stretched out on the living room floor, surrounded by old photographs and unfinished albums. There were several pictures of my mother mixed in the batch. I wasn’t sure if it hurt my dad to see the photos, but I didn’t try to shield him from them, either.
“I couldn’t sleep.” I looked up at my father, with his hair going in every which direction, a gray terrycloth robe wrapped safely around him.
“It’s been a while since you’ve had them out, but never at two in the morning.” He frowned, sliding down next to me. “The last time was the night before you left for New York,” he said, like he’d already figured me out.
I took the photos out when I was missing my mom, or when there was a significant milestone in my life, critical moments she was never there to share with me. These old photographs were the only tangible things left. In them, Joyce, my mother, frozen in time. I liked to think that, if she should come walking back, she would still look like the last time I saw her through the kitchen window.
I remembered the day Joyce left, the way her long blond hair flowed frantically around as she dragged and loaded her green sedan with her luggage. The baggage I had watched her pack earlier that day. Those hollow eyes focused only on my father’s car as he pulled into our driveway, arriving from work.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“I’m leaving.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t belong here … I’m leaving you, Charlie.”
“Joyce, let’s go inside and talk about this.”
“Stay away from me!” Joyce barked when my dad got closer. The neighbors were walking out of their homes.
Lyrical Lights Page 8
