by Deana Birch
My eyes closed. Maybe it was an attempt to block out what she was saying.
“I can’t because I’m already traveling for work.”
“Oh.” I was disappointed, and as much as I wanted her with me, I knew her job was important to her. “Where are you going?”
“Mario’s presenting at a publishing conference, and I’m going along to network.”
“Oh.” Total defeat. I tore off a bite of toast and asked, “Where is it?” I scooped my eggs onto my fork and brought them to my mouth.
“Cabo San Lucas.”
The beach with the boss. Fucking great.
I placed the empty fork on the table and chewed away all the bubbling green goo building in my gut. Her and Mario Mendina alone in Mexico. Her inability to keep her fucking top on when she sunbathed. Her not by my side, and my not being able to finally bring a respectable girl home.
She forced a grin back and waited. I rubbed my lips together and wiped my mouth with the cloth napkin from my lap.
“You better have some fucking tan lines when you get back.” I carried on eating and waited for her to reply. When she didn’t, I asked, “Where are we on our negotiation?”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know I have stopped trying to find reasons as to why not.”
“Good. Keep going.”
“And since time fell into that category, I’m letting it go. I’ve now started a list of all the things I would expect from a man before I would move in with him.”
“I definitely approve of the direction you’ve taken this. What’s on the list?” I rubbed my hands together.
“Funny,” she said. She touched the tips of her index fingers together.
“Check.” I took another bite.
“Careful. Cocky is not on there.” She winked.
I ignored her. “What else?”
“Chemistry.” Index to middle finger.
“Check.”
“Doesn’t want me for my money.” Index to ring finger.
“Completely random, but check. Wait, are you a sugar mama? How much does Mario pay you? Damn, girl.”
“Actually, my grandmother is wealthy. It’s nothing serious, just upper middle-class, and I’m the sole beneficiary.”
“Is this your mom’s mom?”
“The one and only.” She took a sip of her tea.
“What about your mom?”
“Yeah, it’s tricky. I guess you could say she’s already gotten hers, and someone else spent it.”
“Your dad?”
“Bingo. My grandma was never a fan of his. She liked him even less when he took her daughter to the US. By the time I was five, when my dad left with all the money, my grandmother had had enough. She bought my mom a house and cut her off. Except for trips for us to go and see her in New York or France.”
“She sounds intense.”
“Well, she was an opera singer.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Oh yeah. I don’t have a cookies-and-milk grandmother; mine is a full-on diva. Stella Forlini was the number-one soprano in France for years.”
“No wonder you handle fans so well.” She was used to famous people. It made sense.
“Maybe.” There was something in her little shrug that didn’t sit right.
“What do you mean, maybe?”
“Well, my ex was—well, is—famous.”
She said it so casually, like it meant nothing. Fuck me. Seriously? Well, it did make sense. She was fucking gorgeous. The jealous monster inside me stood at attention, starved for details about her former boyfriend and ready to tell me all the ways I was better. But I was recently upgraded from the doghouse, and I did not want to get back in there. Unfortunately, the beast chose a new line of questioning.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
Louana’s brows lifted as she took another drink of her tea.
“Shane wasn’t inappropriate with you, was he?”
She swallowed and placed the cup onto the saucer. “How do you mean?”
“Like, did he hit on you?”
She scoffed. And I didn’t know if it was because I was a jealous and paranoid idiot, or if it was because she was hiding something, but it sounded fake.
“Are you kidding? I’ve barely spoken to him, baby. And besides, he’s plenty busy.”
“It’s just…”
“Jake. Your friend wouldn’t do that. You heard what he said about Gina. Don’t create more drama in this band just because you’re figuring out how to be a boyfriend for the first time.”
But it still ate at me.
“You would tell me, right? If he did something?”
She blinked a few times. “At the end of the day, this relationship is about us trusting each other. Do you trust me?”
“I do.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about in your jolly, jealous, giant head.” She stood and went back to the bed. The little dress she wore fell to the floor, and she signaled for me to join her. “Come on. I have to leave in two hours, and I have definitely not had my fill of you.”
15
Doors
* * *
LOUANA
At home, I found who I understood to be Christine, and the dog she was rehabilitating, in the courtyard with Fern and Archie. The rescue, Boom Boom, had clipped ears, and by the look of her belly, she’d had babies in her recent past. Archie came over to say hello, showing his new canine friend that I was one of the good ones, but she was tentative and shy, so I didn’t force myself on her.
After a formal introduction, I thanked Christine for her help and sat down to join the women. Archie jumped into the pool, but Boom Boom was skittish. She stood on the step in the shallow end, watching his every move.
“I’ve never seen a dog that couldn’t swim,” I said.
“She probably doesn’t know she can, but she’ll get there eventually,” Christine answered.
We looked back to the pool where Boom Boom whined and pawed at the water.
“She’s trying to get him to come back,” I said. “Aww, she’s so sweet. I have to film this and send it to Jake.” I pulled out my phone, made the video, messaged it to Jake, and labeled it “Archie’s girlfriend.”
⸎
In our Monday meeting, Bob surprised me by suggesting I go to New York the following week. It would solidify some of my contacts from the conference in Mexico, and there were two producers of potential projects I needed to meet. Mario was up for three other films after The Drifting. If any of those deals went through, they would be mine to manage, and Bob knew it would be better for the clients to put a face with a name sooner rather than later. Going to New York meant I’d be officially representing Mario. I was thrilled to have the responsibility and proud they trusted me with it.
When Jake called in the evening, I was in my kitchen cooking. I’d picked up some of Fern’s favorite things on my way home and was making meals for her for the week ahead. It’s not like Fern couldn’t or wouldn’t cook, but she made bad food choices. In the first few months of my living in the apartment, I mostly just took care of Archie for her. But as time passed, the loneliness in our lives led us to dine together on occasion. After serving her a dinner high in healthy greens, she said, “My doctor would love you.”
Her words motivated me to keep her healthy. I had already been making bigger portions for myself to freeze or take to work for lunch; one or two more servings never made much of a difference. The only problem was that she had gotten a bit lazy, and it was rare for her to cook for herself anymore. When she did, it was always something she was craving, such as steak or baked potatoes with way too much butter. Her complacency was what led her to order a pizza last week, and I dared not think what six days without me would represent in her arteries or blood sugar levels.
“Hey, baby.”
“Hey. Why am I on speaker?”
“My hands are busy.”
“I love where this is headed. Tell me more.”
“Pervert. And
sorry to disappoint, but I’m in the middle of a massive cooking session. I’m doing Fern’s meals for the week. You guys in Phoenix?”
“Yeah, just checked in. Can you stop cooking and go do the other thing?”
I surveyed the kitchen. The pasta would be done in seven minutes, the chicken sautéed, and I was cutting vegetables to throw in with the meat.
“Not really. Sorry.”
“Boo!”
“What’s happening tonight?”
“Well, Gina moved up her flight and is coming in a couple of hours. John made Phil promise to go out with him, and Shane is going to be subjected to my mom’s pot roast.”
“Did she make your chocolate cake?”
“She better have.”
“She should send me the recipe so you can have it more often.” What was I offering?
“No need. It’s Duncan Hines from the box with a cup of runny vanilla yogurt, and she makes peanut butter frosting. Voilá!”
“I see Dracula is back.” I smiled. His French would need to get better if… If what?
“What’s the story with Archie’s girlfriend?”
“Oh, shit!”
“What?” He chuckled from the other end.
“I need to ask the woman who’s helping with Archie about next week. I have to go to New York.”
“Oh.” Jake’s voice fell. “So you made your decision.”
Crap. Implying he wouldn’t be around was not my intention. But I was still very much on the fence.
“No. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Seems to me your instinct was that I wasn’t going to be there, and that you should ask someone else before you even thought of me. I guess I didn’t do very well on the rest of your checklist.”
He was right and he was wrong.
“Actually, you’re doing quite well on my checklist.” I tossed the veggies in with the chicken.
“Then what’s the fucking problem?” Frustrated, bulldozing Jake was back. I liked him as much as jolly jealous Jake.
I hoped I wasn’t stringing him along, but it was true what I had said. Jake had checked off every box but one. And if I told him what the remaining box was, I was either in for heartache, or at risk for him saying he did. If he did tell me he loved me after I asked, would it be true, or would he say it just to move in with me? I needed it to come from him without any probing, and I had zero ideas on how to make that happen. With Jake fuming on the other end, I had to find a compromise. I needed more time.
“What if we had a test period of a week when you got back?” I asked.
“A month,” he said, and I could almost see the snarl thing he did with his lip when he pouted through the phone.
“Ha! That’s the same as you moving in!”
“Yeah, but you said you were going to New York next week, and a week is too short, especially if you’re not even there.”
“Two weeks,” I conceded.
“Deal,” he agreed, and I sensed him smiling on the other end. I wondered who was the true buyer of time here, Jake or me?
“So you won’t be too busy to walk Archie?” I asked.
“No. Thank you for thinking of me, by the way. I can even feed Fern. We can’t get into a studio until the week after.”
“Oh no. Sorry. I know you’re itching to write.”
The chicken sizzled, and I grabbed the tongs to flip it over.
“Yeah, I am. I was planning on keeping myself busy with you, but now I need a different project.”
“Trust me, Fern and Archie will keep you plenty busy.”
“Maybe.”
The timer beeped, and I turned off the burner for the pasta.
“Baby, I’m sorry, but I need to go. My pasta is ready, and I still have to put this all into Tupperware, pack, walk Archie…”
“It’s fine. My parents are probably chomping at the bit to see me.”
“They sound nice.” I smiled. I liked the idea of him coming from a less messed-up family than mine.
“They are. When can we talk again?”
I went through both of our weeks in my head. “Friday?”
“Seriously? That long?”
“Afraid so.”
“Okay, well, I’ll take what I can get. Remember, your bikini has a top and a bottom.”
I rolled my eyes and said goodbye.
⸎
On Tuesday morning, Archie and I inaugurated the day with a run. My bag came to the office with me. Mario and I were leaving directly from work in the afternoon, and the car would drop us back Thursday night.
I found Mario in the kitchen making himself a tea.
“Morning,” he said.
“Hey. You all set to go?” I asked.
“Yup. Bag is here; notes for the presentation are on my laptop.”
“Great. The car will be here at two. We should be dining on the Mexican beach by eight.” I smiled. “Can I pick your brain about piano rentals?”
At lunch, I went down the street to the Office Depot and left the bag in my car for when I returned.
⸎
The conference in Mexico was informative and productive. I met a few independent producers from New York, and Mario gave a great speech about working with challenging clients.
When I got home on Thursday, I found the ebony upright Steinway exactly where I had asked Fern to have the delivery men position it. I dropped the Office Depot bag on the bench and changed into my pj’s shorts and a tank top. I unpacked but left my toiletry bag untouched. I was dead on my feet. Figuring out my wardrobe for the weekend would need to wait until the morning. The message alert on my phone went off.
Jake: Had great gigs. My parents want to meet you and will come to LA next month. Let’s talk dates this weekend. Gina says hurry, she can’t take the four of us alone any longer. Miss you, x
Me: Bulldozer. x
The entire morning on Friday, I was late for everything. A hard sweat in the hills with my favorite dog would have been ideal, but I didn’t have time. I had two new dresses that needed to come with me for the shows, but shoes were boggling my mind. I stood in my closet, going back and forth until I said, “Fuck it,” and put five pairs in my bag. The size of my luggage didn’t matter since I was driving to San Diego. This realization triggered a global overpack. I had two bikinis with matching cover-ups, my favorite creams and shampoos, a sun hat, two pairs of flops, and three sundresses. I was out of control.
After a quick once-over of my apartment—I hated returning home to a mess—I arranged Jake’s pencils and pads in a neat pile on the piano bench.
I cursed myself when I pulled into the garage at work. Mario’s car was already there, and being late was not my style. He and Steven were in the kitchen, talking about a trumpet player they both knew who had died. I waved hello and went right to my desk, where I opened my laptop and got to work on formalizing my meetings for the following week in New York.
I felt someone hovering at my doorway, turned, and found the intern staring at me.
“Good morning,” I offered.
“Hey. So you’re not gonna be here next week?”
“Just part of the week.”
“Is Bob gonna be here?” His voice cracked a little—poor green baby.
“Probably only Monday and Tuesday. Why? You afraid to be alone with Mario?”
He didn’t need to answer. The expression on his face confirmed my suspicion.
“He’ll be fine,” I tried to reassure him. “I’ll talk to him before I go, and his expectations will be clear.”
“Cool.” The intern gave me two thumbs-up, turned around, and walked down the hall to the studio.
“Wimp,” I muttered.
I went to yoga at lunch and ran into Brandon Cole. Instead of ignoring him, I put my mat near his. He was a harmless, somewhat annoying, over-the-top, happy actor. I smiled and waved once, then busied myself with warming up. After class we said hello, and I asked him how he and Clark ended up doing in Vegas.
“Terrible. The hig
hlight was totally your boyfriend’s show. That’s such a great song.”
It was pretty hard not to think about the song without thinking of sex, which I imagined Brandon was doing. I hoped it didn’t involve me.
“Hey, listen,” I said, bringing him back to the present. “Great to see you. I’ve gotta get back to work.”
“How’s the score? I can’t wait to see the final cut, since it’s my first film and all.”
“It’s coming along.” No need to reveal Mario’s struggles. “Have a nice weekend.” I half smiled and walked away. As I drove back to work, I began the countdown to when I could leave for San Diego. Four and a half hours.
By mid-afternoon I was chomping at the bit and finding ways to justify my leaving before my regular time. I had easily worked more than forty hours a week in the last three months. What harm would there be in taking two hours? Besides, in the history of all Friday afternoons, the phone had rung once. I decided not to ask Mario, but I did need to tell him. I buzzed him on the intercom.
“Can I pop back?” I asked.
“Give me five.”
After six long minutes, I stood up and went back to his studio. I knocked on the door but entered without him answering.
“What’s up?” Mario asked.
“I’m going to head out. I’m driving to San Diego and wanna beat traffic. Do you need anything before I go?”
“Boyfriend’s got a gig?”
“Yeah.”
“You should have left after lunch.” He scrunched his thick eyebrows.
“I don’t think Finn is ready to be alone with you for that long,” I joked.
“I’m not that bad. But he could stand to take some initiatives.” Mario turned back to his computer.
“I’ll talk to him on Monday.”
“Have a great weekend.”
“Thanks. You too.” I closed the studio door as silently as I could. Mario had already drifted back to composer land.
I sent a quick text to Bob, stopped on the third floor for a bottle of water and a snack bar, entered the hotel in San Diego into my GPS, and pulled out of the parking garage. At the red light, before getting onto the Ventura Freeway, I called Phil from my Bluetooth.
