by Mysti Parker
"Vivier?" Lena nearly shrieked.
"Yeah, I think so. Some of the lettering is faded from wear, I guess."
"Oh my God, you got fish guts on a pair of Roger Vivier heels? I'm going to be sick."
"Be glad you're not here to smell it in person." Harper started round three of the gentle scrubbing. She didn't want to scratch the leather and had to be careful around the big silver buckle on the toe.
"Honey, those are seven hundred dollar shoes!"
"What?" She held one up and scrunched her mouth to the side. "They look like open-toed pilgrim shoes. Who'd pay seven hundred dollars for these?"
"Your landlady, that's who!"
Then again, Harper had taken a brief tour of Sailor's shoe closet. It reminded her of a museum dedicated to fancy footwear. Considering what she'd learned about Sailor's wealthy background, she shouldn't have been surprised.
"Okay, how do I get this smell out?"
"Take them to a professional cleaner, but unless they can perform miracles, it's not coming out. Remember my date with the fishmonger? No amount of cologne will cover that up. Why on earth would you borrow those?" Lena sounded like Harper had just killed a puppy.
"I didn't have any. I'm not much of a heel girl, and apparently that's all Sailor wears. She's going to kill me, isn't she?"
"Maybe she'll just evict you. Then you'll have to live at the aquarium. So besides ruining a week's pay worth of shoes, how did your first day go?"
"Not bad, I guess. I met a lot of people. It'll take me a while to remember their names, and I don't think I'll ever figure out the subway routes. But Sailor was right about the seal trainer. He's totally hot."
"Really? But then you spilled the guts all over yourself..."
"He's probably used to the smell." She scrubbed slowly, not really thinking about the shoe, but about Gabe's smile and his dimples and his intense dark eyes. He had a lean, muscular body that filled out his clothes in just the right spots. And the way he said his name, with that accent, she bet he made a lot of girls weak in the knees.
"Earth to Harper...what's this hot seal guy's name?"
"Gabe. Actually, Gabriel Castillo." She didn't pronounce it nearly as sexy as he did. "I think he's Cuban. But, I'll probably never know for sure."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. He just seems a bit cold. Maybe he's married or maybe it's because his father died recently. It doesn't matter. I'm not interested in dating right now."
Lena chuckled.
"What? Don't you go all Jaxon on me and tell me how love will find me and slap me upside the head or whatever. He's gotten way too mushy since you two got together."
"I think you like Gabriel, and you know why?"
"Tell me already; I have some shoes to resurrect."
"First of all, you called him by his nickname, and you only met him once. And you sounded all dreamy when you said it."
Harper rolled her eyes, rinsed the shoe and set it on a towel before she turned off the faucet. "No I didn't. You're just lovestruck and think everyone else should be too."
"You know, this love thing isn't so bad. Try it. You might like it."
"Yeah, yeah, okay."
"Jaxon's here. I have to go. Talk to you later."
"Have a safe trip. Tell Jaxon hi for me."
After they'd hung up, Harper took another whiff of the heels and wrinkled her nose. Not as bad as it was, but definitely still there. She pulled up Yelp on her phone and started hunting for a shoe cleaner. Flipping through, she saw an ad for the aquarium, and there he was. Gabriel and an older man - probably his dad - smiled back, posing with a seal that sat between them. Gabe's smile was stunning, and even reached his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. That's what was missing today. His smile hadn't reached his eyes. He'd forced it. And no wonder, with his dad dying so recently. They must have been very close, working together like that. Poor Gabriel must have been missing him like crazy. She had never gotten to experience that kind of relationship with her father. If Gabe had been here, she'd have given him a hug.
She let her head fall back on the sofa and sighed. Crap. Gabriel Castillo wasn't going to be easy to ignore. Hopefully, she could steer clear of him on most days. Otherwise, she was totally screwed.
****
Day two at the new job involved getting to know all the folks in the aquarium's education department a little better, plus the computer systems used for scheduling tours and other events. The good part - learning she didn't have to wear heels unless they were at a function with all the big-wig sponsors. The bad part - her supervisor, Rachel Morales, who acted like Harper was a barefoot, illiterate hillbilly. Such a pity. Rachel was a lovely woman. Until she opened her mouth.
Rachel leaned over the desk where Harper sat in front of the computer that had been assigned to her and handed her a notepad. "This is your username and temporary password. I've written it down in this, but I'd suggest you go in and change it for security. Do you know how to do that?"
"I minored in IT, I think I can handle it." Harper couldn't keep the annoyance out of her voice. The woman had been showing her things a five-year-old would know. This is a fax machine. This is a coffeemaker. This is a time clock. Thank God she hadn't said this is a computer, or Harper would have screamed.
Rachel stood up straight, her palms out, and backed away. "Okay, then, I'll leave you to it."
One of the accountants - Macy? Marcy? - walked in. "Hey Rachel, wanna grab lunch at the Snack Shack?"
"Sure." With her back to Harper, she glanced over her shoulder then whispered to the accountant loud enough that Harper could hear. "Did you see that pink pickup in the employee parking lot?"
"No, I took the subway today."
"It's like Pepto Bismol. I can't imagine who'd want to drive something like that."
Harper's fingers froze on the keyboard. Her lips pursed together, and her eyelid twitched. Most days, she could blow off such a dumb comment, but she knew very well that Rachel knew who owned that truck. She'd been outside the day before when Harper first arrived. But, Harper kept her mouth shut. Head down, focus on work, ignore idiots.
A few minutes later, Rachel came back to her desk, holding a mug of coffee. "So, Harper, what's it like being here in the city? It must be so different for you."
"It's a little overwhelming, but not that different when it comes down to it. People are people no matter where you go. Some are great, others are jerks. You know what I mean."
Rachel's false eyelashes went a-flutter before she cleared her throat and pasted on a smile. "Have you had a chance to meet everyone?"
"Not yet. I did meet the seal trainer yesterday. He said his dad died. So sad."
"Yes, very." Rachel's eyes narrowed a bit. "What did you...think about him?"
"I don't know. It's not like we had that long to talk, but he seems to know his stuff." She omitted the incident with the chum. That was best left dead and buried. "He's cute, though. Nice smile."
"Hmm." Rachel sipped her coffee and tapped her nails on the cup. "So what's up with that pink bracelet? We don't have armbands that color here."
Harper held up her wrist. She wore it so much she usually forgot it was there. "It's a breast cancer awareness bracelet."
"Oh, do you have breast cancer or something?" Was that a hopeful note in her voice? Surely not. Rachel couldn't hate her that much already, could she?
"No. My aunt died with it, and I've known several women who've battled it. I volunteered at the Markey Cancer Center in Lexington, helped with fundraisers, that sort of thing. I want to write a book about my aunt’s experience someday."
"Do you now? How sweet. It's a good cause to support, I guess." Rachel fidgeted like she was uncomfortable with the topic. "Do you support other causes?"
"Yeah, lots. The Humane Society, the WWF, the Xerces Society, just to name a few."
"The what?"
"The Xerces Society. It's an organization that promotes pollinator conservation."
Rachel tilte
d her head like a confused puppy. And Harper was the clueless one?
"Bees, butterflies, things that pollinate flowers."
"Oh, right, of course. Your accent is a little thick, so..."
"Yeah, well, I'm going to call some of these schools and introduce myself before they arrive for tours. Hopefully they can understand me, or I may have to find a hillbilly translator."
Rachel's arched one perfectly plucked brow. "Okay, I'm going to lunch with Gabe. He’s a sea lion trainer, by the way. It would be best if you learn the difference for tours. See you later."
She left the office, leaving Harper to scratch her head and wonder what the heck that was all about. Her cheeks grew warm. How could she get seals and sea lions mixed up? She knew the difference…sort of. It couldn’t be that hard. And wasn't Rachel going to lunch with Mandy? Or was it Mary? Maybe Gabe was going with them. Then again, she'd acted odd when Harper mentioned him. She probably had the hots for him. Who wouldn't? Or was it something more? Whatever the case, it wasn't her business.
****
The sun had begun to set when Harper clocked out. Jingling the keys to her pickup and scanning the lot for potential muggers, she headed for her truck. A man stepped out around a car near the curb.
She gasped and almost dropped the keys.
"Hey, it's just me, Dwight, remember? Head of landscaping?" He held up some shears in surrender.
Harper let out a sigh of relief. "Yeah, sorry. I'm not usually that jumpy."
"It's okay. You're new to the city. It'll grow on you. I'm from Sheboygan. Talk about culture shock." He laughed.
Dwight was a fairly large guy. They'd call him big-boned or husky back in Kentucky. He reminded her of Zach Galifianakis, and she liked him immediately.
Her cell phone rang. She held up her finger to Dwight. It was Sailor on the caller ID. She hit 'accept'. "Hi Sailor. What's up?"
"Would you like to come out for dinner? They just pulled some fresh brick-fired pizza out."
"Okay, I'll get there as soon as I can. Thanks."
"See you soon."
Harper hit 'end' and put the phone back in her purse. Poor Sailor. She seemed lonely. Of course, Harper hadn't confessed her heel crimes yet. She was holding out hope that the shoe cleaner would come through for her. If not, Sailor probably wouldn't be asking her to come to the bar anymore.
"You need anything? I'm about to get out of here myself," Dwight said.
"Nah, I'm heading to The Hole for some dinner. My landlady owns it. Have you ever been there?"
"No, but I've been wanting to try it. How's the food?"
"Good, the clientele, not so much. Say, the traffic is terrible. I think I'll have to start taking the subway. Could you maybe explain the routes again?"
He'd tried explaining it to her yesterday before she left, but it hadn't quite stuck. She thought her truck would be the most dependable way to get around. Wrong.
Dwight chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure, but maybe you should write it down this time."
Chapter Five
“Wood-fired pizza and mojitos,” Dwight said.
“I’m going to my mother's,” said Gabriel.
“You say that every night.”
“I go there every night.”
“And I don’t blame you, with the spread she’s putting on the table.”
“That’s not why. I’m worried about her.”
“Okay, and that’s important, of course, but your stress level is out of control, bro. I’m telling you, wood-fired pizza and mojitos. Go to Mama later.”
“Where are we going then?”
“The Hole.”
“Isn’t that the place where they arrested all those bikers?”
“It’s under new management. I drove by the other day and saw a sign in the window. Anyway, you can’t drink at Freak Bar anymore, right? Rachel’s probably there.”
Gabriel felt himself weakening. His top motivations were emulating his father, taking care of his mother, and avoiding his ex-fiancée. The only excuse he could come up with was pitiful at best. “Pizza’s really fattening.”
Dwight’s eyebrows shot up. Then he laughed. “And your mama’s fried plantains aren’t? So swim a couple of laps with Jorge tomorrow.”
“I need to go to my mother.”
“Wood-fired pizza and mojitos. I’ll pay, okay? Come on, G, I had a hard day of hedge-trimming, and I need some company. Besides, your mama probably needs a break from you.”
****
The entranceway of the Hole greeted them with the stench of dried pee and spilled beer, but once they entered the bright pink and blue interior, the allure of hot pizza dominated. The bar was circular, with two female bartenders, one of whom had a seriously angry-looking blonde ponytail and a disgruntled look on her face. Trays of pizza were set at intervals along the bar’s circumference.
Dwight nodded toward the blonde. “That’s the new owner. Sailor something. I think she’s in over her head with this place, if you ask me, but she’s got a great pizza chef at least.”
“Let’s try it then.”
A group of bearded men in mechanics’ shirts were clustered on the curve furthest from the door, with several seats between them and any other patrons. A band stage near the front window was occupied by instruments; the music came from an old-school jukebox that another big mechanic was sitting on.
As Gabriel scanned the room for a table that would put them close to the pizza and far from the pee at the entrance, he saw the blonde bartender talking to a familiar person. There was that girl from Kentucky, Harper Wheeler, still in her work outfit, with a slice on her plate and a knife and fork in her hands.
“Let’s go,” Gabriel said. "Let's go over to Mykonos for some gyros."
“Yeah. Let’s go is right. Let’s go over there and you sit next to her and make a move.”
“You bastard.”
An eruption of laughter from the gaggle of men opposite as the music stopped. The room suddenly got quiet. One of the roughnecks slouched around toward the blonde, leaned across the bar too close.
“A beer, pronto,” he said. “Can’t get no proper service in this fucking place.”
“I should cut you off,” the blonde replied.
“Cut me off, and you’re cutting off all my friends. We’re spending our money here, so show some fucking appreciation, okay?” He straightened, and his shoulder slammed Harper.
Gabriel winced as the young woman slid off the chrome and red stool and stumbled. She said, “Hey, watch it!”
“Look out,” the man snarled at her. “Damn, I know I’m sexy but you don’t have to get so close.”
Harper pulled the seat a foot away from the lout. "Believe me, that was closer than I wanted."
Coins clinked in the jukebox as the large man occupying it prepared his selection.
The big guy jostled Harper again, making a show of scooting his stool as though trying to make more space. There wasn't a lot of space between the stools to begin with, but he was definitely antagonizing Harper on purpose. Gabriel had been in a trance, watching, but he felt his temper building up. He hated seeing men act like jerks toward women.
“Excuse you,” Harper said.
“Yeah." He chortled. "Excuse me. Nice accent, by the way. Country girl. Come up to Brooklyn to meet some real men?” He chortled.
"There sure aren't any in this place," Harper snapped. "Get lost, okay?"
The blonde wiped out a flagon with a monogrammed bar towel. A large frown line was developing above her eyebrows.
Gabriel had seen and heard enough. No one should treat a woman like that, any woman, but certainly not one he knew. In a few steps, he grabbed an empty stool and maneuvered it between her and the jerk, then slid quickly onto it.
“Sorry I’m late,” he told Harper, pretending to catch his breath. Her quizzical look lasted a split second before she understood he had intervened to create space between her and the big mechanic.
“This your boyfriend?” the man asked.
“Get your beer and walk away,” Gabriel told him over one shoulder.
“Free country. I can say what I want.”
Gabriel turned his back to the man. “What happened with the shoes?” he asked. It was the only point of connection he and Harper had.
“They’re, um, at the cleaners?” She looked at the blonde with slightly lowered eyes.
“Shoes?” the blonde asked as she set a foamy flagon in front of the drunk. “What about shoes?”
“I dropped off some boots at the cleaners before I went shoe shopping,” Harper said quickly. “Gabriel told me a place to check out that has good designer brands, but it was closed. Oh, and I'll give your shoes back soon.”
“Yeah, I guess I don’t go to the shoe store often enough to know their hours.” He’d picked up her cue; the chum-stained shoes weren’t a good topic.
“They’re talking about shoes,” the drunk idiot called to his friends. “Look, she’s got herself a pretty boyfriend. Ha!”
Dwight tapped the man on the shoulder. The mechanic looked up into the eyes of a man half a head taller than he. “If you don’t want to be my boyfriend, you’d better get to stepping.”
The mechanic laughed in his face, took his beer, and retreated.
“Talk amongst yourselves,” Dwight said. He grabbed a pizza slice in each hand. “Three mojitos,” he told the blonde.
“Guys,” Harper said, “this is Sailor.”
The blonde pointed to a confirming name tag on her silk blouse. The jukebox began to play “Wang Dang Sweet Poontang” by Ted Nugent.
“Got to get that song taken out,” said Sailor. "I shudder every time I hear that one." She began mixing mojitos.
“I’ve never had a mojito,” Harper admitted. “I like a nice mint julep, though. Listen, I’ll pay for my own.”
“I got it,” Gabriel said.
“You see my problem,” Sailor explained. “I need these guys for now to keep the bar afloat, and short of the police, there’s no way to run them out. If I get any classier clientele, like my tenant here, or you guys, those apes make them feel unwelcome.”
It was her bar -- Gabriel hadn't realized that. No wonder she looked stressed out.
