The Felix Fiasco

by Randi Devilkin

  “Accidentally?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “Just hand over a brownie now, and no one gets hurt.”

  Jodi hands me a brownie. “New recipe. Let me know what you think. And, Bev, when are we working on the Double S cookbook series? It’s high time you were a co-author, not an underappreciated worker bee.”

  “You’re right. Let me survive the next two weeks, then we’ll sit down and map it out.”

  Jodi dances behind the counter, waving her arms over her head and shaking her hips. “We’re finally doing this.”

  “I hope it’s a best seller. Then, I can retire,” Doug says, grinning. “Now scoot or grab an apron and get behind the counter. It’s time for the lunch crowd.”

  PRINCESS EYES ME WITH suspicion when I walk through the door. However, when she sees the dog biscuit from the Double S, she welcomes me.

  Once my workstation is established at the kitchen table, I brew a cup of green tea. With a hot beverage and brownie at hand, I begin my plan of attack. I sure hope my improvised idea wowed Scott. Now it’s time to morph that pipe dream into reality.

  The snack improves my disposition, but despite the kitchen workstation being an upgrade over a dim cubicle, getting comfortable proves elusive. When Princess tires of watching me fidget, she shakes her head, grabs her leash, and drops it in my lap. She’s right. A long stroll in the Texas sun will do us good.

  While we walk, my plan comes together. First, catalog all the recipes from both Just a Man and His Steak and Just a Man and His Ribs. Next, study and compare the recipes for similarities and differences. Then, compile a list of the formulas most likely to be successful in meatball form, and ultimately, write them up with flourish to present in a fresh and engaging manner. I can do this.

  Not only can I do this, but I can do this in two days. However, I don’t need Scott or Rhonda recognizing the simplicity of my plan, so I’ll submit one section, or maybe two, each morning and afternoon. The remainder of the days, I’ll walk Princess or take her to the dog park. Then, besides looking like a rock star for completing a challenging project, I’ll get plenty of exercise, sunshine, and bonding time with Princess.

  The rest of the day I take Harley’s Basic Balls recipe ingredients and directions, and add inspiring commentary extolling the virtues. I ignore seven texts from Rhonda asking for updates. This section must be perfect, as all other recipes in the collection build on the basic. When the formulation and prose are beyond reproach, I wait until 4:57 p.m., then forward my day’s work to Rhonda and Scott.

  The act of pressing send on the computer keyboard buoys my spirits. Maybe I’ll hear from one of my suitors tonight. Hmm, suitors is not the right word. None of these men are actually wooing me, though I’d like to be wooed. It’s merely semantics, but it niggles at me, so I google. After I search, I wish I hadn’t. To be accurate, I’m more in the suitress role, but that sounds dowdy and desperate. “Princess, what’s a word or phrase for a man of romantic interest, but with no clear path or expectations?” She stands up and canters toward the guest room. Oh dear, I’ve bothered her.

  A minute later she returns with something in her mouth. She drops the squeaky toy at my feet and waits expectantly. I pick up the rubber fireman chew toy. “You clever girl. The phrase is boy toy.” Princess struts back to her pillow, lays down, and closes her eyes.

  We spend the evening quietly. I read while Princess watches Animal Planet and naps. Devastatingly, not a single human being of the male persuasion attempts to contact me.

  WEDNESDAY, I FOLLOW the plan, alternating my time between working and walking. After I submit another pre-noon recipe file with a note that another will arrive by the end of the day, Rhonda stops requesting updates.

  Princess and I are watching a Lassie marathon on television when the phone rings.

  I look at the name display and my stomach flips. Should I answer, should I not, and if I should, how many rings do I wait to be cool? After the third chime, I answer, “Hello.”

  “Bev, I never heard from you, but I don’t give up. Would you be available to attend a benefit luncheon on Saturday? It’s for a worthy cause. What do you say?”

  His voice feels like velvet to my ears. For a few seconds that feel like an eternity, I can’t say anything. I can’t even breathe, but then, I hear myself say, “Sure.” Did I really say sure? I need to lay ground rules fast. “Provided you plan to spend time with me at the luncheon.”

  Fabio laughs. “Fair enough. Now, would it be all right if my concierge calls you tomorrow to arrange the details?”

  “Will you be picking me up?”

  More laughter. “Yes, ma’am.” His deep laugh is super sexy.

  “At my front door?”

  His sigh is followed by, “Yes, ma’am.”

  I release the breath I hadn’t noticed I was holding. “Okay, then.”

  “See you Saturday. Ciao.”

  I stare at my phone until my brain acknowledges the conversation is over, then I sink back into my egg chair. “What do you think about that?” I ask Princess.

  She yawns.

  THURSDAY AND FRIDAY, work plays out much like Wednesday. When the phone rings Friday afternoon, I answer, “Hello.”

  “Good afternoon. I’m calling on behalf of Fabio,” says a familiar feminine voice, the FAB concierge. “I have some information for you. Do you need time to find something to take notes with?”

  I grab a notepad and pen. “Go ahead.”

  “Fabio will retrieve you tomorrow between 11:20 and 11:30. The venue is Eddie Deen’s Ranch. The luncheon benefits Dallas Animal Services. Attire is smart casual. Do you have any questions?”

  Yes! He’s a dog lover. I guess that’s why he needs to retrieve me instead of pick me up. “No. Thank you.”

  “Thank you. Would you prefer a reminder tomorrow morning by text, phone call, or email?”

  Do I need a reminder? What I want is for Fabio to make the call. “Text is fine.”

  “Thank you and have a nice rest of your day.”

  Although the work I’m doing now isn’t rocket science, I start making mistakes right and left. What is it about that man that makes me nervous? Why didn’t I ask for his last name? Despite the lack of concrete evidence, deep in my bones, something about him feels significant. Princess and I take an unplanned walk to force my brain back in gear.

  Silencing my phone exponentially increases the enjoyment of our walks, particularly since most of the communications are from Rhonda, who is stressing out in her role as co-project manager. Thankfully, she and Scott seem satisfied with my part of the project.

  When we get back home, I’m relaxed. I check my phone and find a text from Bennett. Bev, can we meet for coffee this weekend?

  Can we? I don’t know. I text Sandy an SOS. Just heard from Bennett. Is it too late to accept a coffee date for this weekend?

  She responds with a phone call. “This is exciting. What did he write?”

  “Verbatim, the text says, Bev, can we meet for coffee this weekend?”

  “Perfect. He’s not assuming you’re free at any particular hour. He’s telling you he can be available for any crumb of time you can spare. This is good. You can go.”

  Sandy’s social acumen never fails to impress. “How do you know all this?” Maybe I should ask her advice about tomorrow’s luncheon, but I doubt she’ll be pleased about that.

  “Silly cousin, how do you not? Jodi and Doug’s houseguests are leaving this weekend, so enjoy your coffee date, and we’ll all do dinner Sunday night. Love you. Bye.”

  When I hang up, I look to Princess. She gets off her pillow and grabs her leash again. It requires several long blocks for me to calm back down. Luckily, I’ve stayed on schedule with one recipe section each morning and two each afternoon. This afternoon will have only one, but Rhonda and Scott should be delighted with my output this week. Next week, I’ll whip through the remaining sections by mid-week and take care of any revisions after that.

  When we get home, I text Ben
nett: Coffee sounds lovely. 9 a.m. Sunday @ Double S?

  Bennett responds: Great!

  Good gracious. I have not one, but two dates this weekend. This calls for celery.

  Chapter 11

  The Flip Side of Romance

  Saturday starts with coffee and a stroll around the neighborhood. Princess steers toward the dog park, but acquiesces when I promise her a special surprise later. If my date with Fabio goes off the charts, I’ll be delayed getting home, but I’ll gladly make that up to her. We’re getting along famously, and with her humanlike responses, Princess is fast becoming more a confidant than a pet.

  I’m pumped. Last night, I got most of my weekend date-prep done: all finger and toenails painted a soft pinky-beige, roots touched up, pertinent areas defuzzed, and my entire epidermis treated to a honey-vanilla exfoliating mask. I’m silky smooth from head to toe.

  An apricot-colored, tea-length sheath dress hangs ready for the luncheon. This I’ve paired with nude kitten-heeled pumps with sexy peekaboo toes. Selected silver jewelry compliments the outfit. A woven shawl sits folded in my favorite Coach handbag in anticipation of extreme air-conditioning. Make-up will be minimal because I create a big mess more often than not.

  When we get home from our walk, I take an icy cold shower to bring out the color in my cheeks. After several applications of deodorant, I blow-dry and style my hair. By 10:45, I’m primped and as satisfied with the results as anyone over thirty could be. A quick selfie to send later to the BFFs, then I sit with a cup of tea and turn on Animal Planet to relax with Princess.

  Anxiety churns like rapids through my veins. What is it about that man that makes me crazy besides his looks, physique, humor, mystique, and now, being an animal supporter?

  At 11:35, there’s a strong, masculine knock on my front door.

  “Play it cool,” I say to Princess. Her expression resembles a smirk. I open the door, and there he stands. He looks amazing dressed in a navy blazer, buttoned-down blue checked shirt with white collar, and khaki pants that fit just so. Umm, umm.

  “Hello,” I say, knees trembling.

  “Hello to you. Ready to go?”

  “Sure, but I want to introduce my roommate.” His eyes round in anticipation. “This lady is Princess.”

  Princess approaches with her tail high as though she rules the roost, which she does. She gives Fabio a deep sniff. I want to give him a deep sniff. Her tail drops. She sneezes a wet spray on his pant leg before she backs away with teeth bared.

  “Nice dog,” he says without looking. “We ought to get a move on it. By the way, you look nice today.”

  Is it possible he’s not a genuine dog lover? That could be a red flag. As we walk out, I wave to Princess. She ignores me.

  His massive, shiny white truck is parked in the no-parking zone, thirty feet to the left of an open visitor space. He opens the passenger-side door for me, before walking around to the driver’s side. This is one monster truck. Hoisting myself up feels like rock climbing.

  He smiles at me before he starts the engine. “So where did you go to school?”

  That’s a reasonable though not impressive ice breaker. “I did my undergrad at UT Austin and grad school at U of H. How about you?”

  “University of Georgia, played football. All-pro bench warmer.” He takes a hand off the steering wheel to run through his thick silver mane. “I’d pegged you as a college graduate. At lunch, I’ve got some client mingling to do, but you’re welcome to stick around for the conversations. If you get bored, just excuse yourself, and that’s fine too.”

  “I think it’s great that you’re a supporter of the Dallas Animal Services.”

  “Dallas Animal Services. Yeah, that’s the one today. This event is casual, which I appreciate.” He fumbles with the radio, landing on a sports talk show. “I hope you don’t mind if we listen to this. Georgia has a game.”

  I shouldn’t begrudge an all-pro bench warmer’s interest in his alma mater, although I do all the way to the valet parking.

  As we exit the truck, a woman charges over to greet us. I recognize his sister Michelle from the event at the Dallas Art Museum. She shakes her head, grinning. “You again. Lovely to see you.” She says to Fabio, “I’m taking your date.” She grabs my arm in a vise-like grip. “Let’s take a stroll. I want to know everything about you,” Michelle says as we speed-walk into Eddie Deen’s.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Where you grew up. What you do. Where you went to school. How old you are. How you met my brother, and how well you know him.”

  “Am I being interviewed?”

  “Absolutely.” Michelle stops to study me as one might examine a specimen in a zoo.

  “Uh, okay. I’m originally from Houston. Work in publishing. Undergrad at UT and grad school in Houston. I’m old enough to know better. I met Fabio at the Double S Cafe, an amazing bakery and coffee shop that you should try if you haven’t already, and I don’t know your brother well at all.”

  “Not well at all?” Her eyes glance upward while she taps her chin with her index finger. She returns her gaze to me. “What about Aspen?”

  “Aspen?”

  “Been there lately?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “No? Damn. Let’s get you back to your date.” The way she enunciates your date implies something, but I don’t know what. She drags me by the arm toward Fabio.

  The room looks like a country-western, Disneyland dog park. Life-size cutouts of dogs and cats of every breed imaginable and decorative sparkling fire hydrants are everywhere. The centerpieces are baskets filled with plush toys, balls, treats, and pet accessories. Princess would love this party.

  Fabio is speaking with several executive-type men. As I approach, I hear one man say, “Tee-time is nine sharp. I’ll bring the beer because they won’t serve any on the greens until ten. We’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t embarrass yourself like you did last month.” Several laugh, then all the men shake Fabio’s hand before wandering off.

  Fabio grins. “Lunch is being served, but I got all my work done in ten minutes. Anytime you get bored, we can leave.”

  Does he mean we could go somewhere quieter? That’s tempting, but before I react, steaming trays emitting enticing aromas pass us on the way to the tables. Lunch trumps lust. “Let’s grab our seats. Lunch looks delicious,” I say.

  Fabio nods. “I could use some sustenance.” We take a seat at the table where Michelle is somehow already seated and holding court. The server puts down the plates of pasta topped with chicken accompanied by a baked beefsteak tomato and braised celery. Celery, could this be a sign? Greetings are murmured. He appears to know everyone at the table.

  “Miss,” he says to the server, pointing at the next table over that has two empty seats. “Would you mind bringing me those two untouched plates?” He tucks a folded bill in her pocket, then looks at me and shrugs. “This man has an appetite. No lady’s luncheon portion does the trick.”

  While we eat, Michelle glares at Fabio and occasionally at me. We listen to the Dallas Animal Services program and watch the video of the important work they accomplish. The long-winded program ends with a reminder for everyone to get their pets spayed and neutered and a request to please bid generously on the auction items.

  While dessert and coffee are served, I wander about looking at the amazing packages that Princess would enjoy. It doesn’t take long before the bids exceed my limit, but perhaps I helped run up some bids.

  Michelle taps me on the shoulder. “Which one do you like best?”

  “They’re all great, but most are already priced out of my range.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” She shakes her head. “I asked which one you like best.”

  “Oh, I suppose my Princess would like that basket.” I point to one of the more modest baskets I’d been bidding on.

  “Oh. Desserts are on the table. Hurry before Fabio eats them all.” She grips my hand and pulls me back to our table.


  Plates of chocolate cake, cheesecake, and pecan pie alternate around the table. Chocolate cake landed at my plate, so for all intents and purposes, I win, but Fabio asks, “Are you going to eat that?”

  I’m never passing on chocolate cake, not even for love, but then, I don’t need all the calories. How can this turn into a win-win? “I’m enjoying a few bites, but you can have the rest.”

  “You’re the best,” Fabio says. I get a warm and fuzzy feeling, knowing I made the right call, at least about dessert. He finishes his pecan pie, ninety percent of my chocolate cake, and the cheesecake of the giddy woman sitting to his left. “I’m stuffed. You ready to call it a day?”

  There’s pressure on my shoulder. Michelle stands behind us. “I know which one Princess wants.”

  “Who’s Princess?” Fabio asks.

  “Your date’s dog.”

  “Yeah.” He scratches his head. “We’re leaving soon, and someone would outbid us.”

  “Not if you pay the buy now price. Then you can take it with you, now, brother dear.”

  Fabio grits his teeth as he stands up. He pulls out my chair, then offers his arm to me. Michelle seizes his other arm and leads us to the auction item I mentioned Princess would like.

  “The buy now price is only $285,” she says, shoving the basket of dog toys into Fabio’s arms before dragging us to the checkout line.

  The volunteer asks, “How would you like to pay?”

  Fabio extracts an American Express gold card from his wallet and hands it to her.

  “He wants to round it up to $300 even,” Michelle says, nodding her head. “Right, bro?”

  “Fine,” he says as his purchase is processed. “Now go bother someone else.”

  Michelle blows exaggerated air kisses. “Bye-bye.” Then she’s gone.

  Fabio carries the basket as we walk out to the parking station. He hands the valet a claim ticket, and says to me, “My sister is a force to reckon with.” Wearing a forlorn expression, he looks like he needs a hug. I’m not bold enough to do that, but maybe something else can cheer him up.