by Camryn Eyde
“Right. Well. That’s all I wanted to say. Have a good night.” Ricci gave Tara a stupid little wave and retreated to the lift.
“What vintage have you got?”
“Huh?”
Tara gestured to the wine bottle.
Ricci stared at it with renewed interest. “Umm…some mid-range Sav.” She felt foolish all of a sudden for trying to offer some mediocre brand of grapes to Tara, a woman who no doubt drank from the top shelf. Damn Alicia and her backyard guilt spiel about Tara’s dilemmas forcing her hand.
“I see.”
“Yeah.” The elevator doors opened.
“Rica?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s sample it, shall we?” Tara turned and entered her apartment, leaving the door open for Ricci to follow.
“Ah…okay,” she muttered to herself. Entering the apartment, she found the décor somewhat different from her last visit. Tara had obviously moved all her belongings in, and now had various artworks displayed throughout the main living area. Her taste was good. “I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?” Ricci asked as she noticed paperwork spread across the dining table near the balcony doors.
Tara glanced at the files and took a deep breath. “No.”
“Oh. Okay.” Tara remained staring at the paperwork for many moments longer, making Ricci feel awkward and like she was gate-crashing.
“My divorce,” Tara said quietly.
Ricci looked at the files on the table. So that’s what a divorce looked like. Paperwork spread across a table large enough to seat eight. Gone was the intimacy, the thrill of a relationship, and leaving nothing but impersonal ink burned into paper to represent the worth of what once was love. Ricci’s father had passed away before her mother had come close to considering divorce. She doubted she ever had. Gloria had let the man she was hopelessly devoted to waltz in and out of their lives at his whim. Taking what he wanted from them, then suddenly disappearing to ‘find’ himself. His efforts at finding himself earned Ricci and Estevan five half-siblings they had never met.
“You’re filthy.”
Ricci tore her eyes from the table to find Tara looking her up and down. Considering herself for a moment, she saw dirt and sawdust smudged into her jeans. Her boots had been heavy with damp and mud, so now she had her socked feet encased in slippers. “I’ve been working.”
Tara was nodding when she looked back up. “I noticed. A gazebo?”
“Yeah.”
“For the many winter cook-outs your tenants have planned?”
Ricci scowled. “What does it matter when it gets built? It’ll be there ready to enjoy come spring.”
Tara placed a hand on her arm. “I was only teasing.”
“Yeah, you and everybody else.” Ricci put the wine bottle on the kitchen counter, fed up with being called out on something she enjoyed. “I like to build, okay? It’s my thing, and not some horrible crime. Some people drink to get over stuff. Others smoke, and some eat truckloads of chocolate. I build things. I always have and I’m sick to death of being reprimanded for it.” Ricci was panting when she finished.
“I wasn’t reprimanding you.”
Ricci pursed her lips and held back the rush of emotion heating her face. She had the horrifying feeling of being about to burst into tears. She avoided Tara’s gaze, and felt the woman move past her a few moments later with a brush of her hand along her shoulder. Glass clinked and soon, a wine glass was handed to her.
“Come and sit.”
Taking a deep breath, and feeling embarrassed, Ricci did as she was told.
“Tell me why you build,” Tara said once they got comfortable on the exquisite sofa.
Ricci shrugged. “Because I’m good at it.”
“There’s got to be more to it than that. How long have you been doing it?”
“Building?”
“Creating things.”
Creating things…an interesting notion. Ricci bit her bottom lip for a moment. “I don’t know. Since always, I guess.” Ricci contemplated the wine in her glass as memories returned to her. “My father was a contractor for a short while. A laborer. Estevan and I went to the work site after school sometimes when Mom was working. She used to clean and do shifts at the dry cleaners. Usually we’d go with her, but the dry cleaner didn’t like having kids out the back, so those days, we’d catch the bus across the city and wait until dad was done.” Days of bus trips, long walks, and muddy building sites came to mind. “Estevan used to lock himself in the portable office and attend to his studies, but it wasn’t really my thing. Not when I was six, anyway. I preferred to play.”
“On a construction site?”
Ricci smiled. “Yeah. Got into a bit of trouble for it, too.” Memories of her father screaming at her and hitting her backside drew the smile from her face. A family man her father was not. Ironic considering the amount of children he sired. Ricci felt a hand on her knee.
“You okay?”
“Hmm? Fine. Just thinking.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, there was this Chinese contractor that worked there. Ling. Nice guy. Didn’t understand a thing he said.” Ricci chuckled. “He put a hardhat on me one day, and gave me a hammer and nails. I must’ve buckled a hundred nails that day into a scrap piece of wood. Every time we went to Dad’s work, Ling would give me a hammer and a pack of nails, and soon, I was a crack shot. I was promoted to helping him nail framework together.” Her smiled returned. “I helped build an apartment block.”
“You sound very pleased with yourself.”
“It was a big deal for someone in first grade. I also knew from then I wanted to build things for the rest of my life.”
“That’s a big conclusion for a six year old.”
“But it stuck, didn’t it?”
Tara inclined her head. “So why the electrical engineering degree? Why not civil engineering?”
Ricci grinned and winked. “I majored in both.”
Tara shook her head at her with a bemused expression on her face. “You’re a curious creature, Miss Velez.”
“Thanks…I think.”
Tara smiled and held up her glass. “You’re welcome.”
That impromptu visit and chat over a glass of wine started a trend Ricci didn’t recall establishing with Tara. First, Tara surprised her by showing up a couple of nights later with a bottle of top-shelf red, with puffy eyes and running mascara. They sat in silence and stared out into the colorfully lit garden in the comfort of blankets and a couple of recliners beside the large feature window separating the terrace from the apartment. She hadn’t explained her distress that night, but Ricci heard via Alicia that Zoe had showed up at the office again. Silent though their evening was, awkward it wasn’t, and Ricci couldn’t recall feeling so at ease with someone before, not even Alicia.
Alicia was her oldest and dearest friend, but she was constantly on the move. Always talking, always moving, and always dramatic. It was a dynamic Ricci didn’t notice until the pair shared the same space with her a few weeks later.
“Ric? Where’s the ketchup?” Alicia yelled from the garden. “Get it out here!”
Ricci glanced out to the snow-covered garden to the pair of women huddled in the completed gazebo. Tara leaned against one of the pillars with a steaming coffee in her hand, and Alicia was bouncing around in front of the grill she had insisted on breaking in. Ricci grabbed the ketchup and the plates she had come in for and returned into the bitter cold of the early-December afternoon.
“God, this was such a bad idea,” Alicia muttered as she practically threw the patties onto the plate Ricci brought out. “We are so eating this inside.”
Ricci looked at Tara with a smile, pleased to have it returned.
“Jesus, Rica. Why did you build this thing in winter for Christ’s sake? What’s wrong with spring?”
Ricci rolled her eyes. “I didn’t intend to use it until it warmed up, ‘Leesh.”
“Why build it at all? It’s not like any of your rich, fancy tenants use the stup
id garden anyway. Don’t they all have balconies?”
“No, they don’t. Only the top floor has a terrace.”
Alicia shook her head and put a patty on a bun and covering it in sauce. “Central Park is right across the road. You know that, right?”
“This area is more intimate.” Ricci noticed Tara nodding in agreement.
Alicia scoffed. “This area is under a foot of freaking snow.”
“Again, I never intended for anyone to come out here until it got warmer.”
Alicia took a large bite of her hamburger and proceeded to talk around it. “Face it, Ric. You’re going to be the only one out here. Just you. Admit you built this for yourself.” Alicia looked up to the apartments above them. “Hell, you built the entire place for yourself to lord over. Queen Rica.” Alicia started to chuckle.
Ricci stared at her for a heartbeat, trying to find some way to tell Alicia about the hurt she had just induced inside her. Screaming was an option. Squeezing ketchup all over her, another. It was always like this with her friends and family. None of them understood that this was her passion and her therapy all mixed in one. She worked damn hard to make this place, and made plenty of sacrifices to earn it.
It was the comforting squeeze of Tara’s hand on her forearm that eased the scowl on her face, and the hurtful words on the tip of her tongue. She took a deep breath and at that moment, Alicia seemed to notice she’d somehow crossed a line. She looked at the hand on Ricci’s arm, then into Ricci’s eyes with an apologetic expression. “I guess I like watching something come to life. To see it blossom,” Ricci said.
Alicia frowned briefly with confusion and glanced at Tara for some clues. She found none. “What?”
“I spent my whole life watching my family be torn apart time and time again, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Nothing I could do to mend it. Nothing.”
“Ricci, I—”
“I create things. I fix what’s broken. I improve on what’s already there. I don’t care if I’m the only one that sees it, all I care about is the fact that it works. That my hands made that happen. I don’t expect you to understand that, but I damn well expect you to respect it.”
Alicia’s hamburger was forgotten as she reached out for Ricci. “Ricci, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine. Just…” Ricci took a deep breath. “We should head in out of the cold.” She grabbed a stack of food and plates and made for the warmth of her kitchen.
Behind her, she heard Alicia say to Tara, “I wasn’t trying to hurt her.”
“Maybe not,” was Tara’s reply. “She’s accomplished terrific things, yet she is constantly ridiculed by the people who are supposed to love her the most. Consider that for a moment.”
Tara left not long after her terse words with Alicia, leaving Ricci and her best friend alone in awkward silence. It had Ricci missing the moments where she was free to wander in her thoughts in companionable quiet with Tara. The woman had helped her find a peace she didn’t know she had been searching for, and that both confused, and thrilled her.
Alicia had hugged her that night, apologizing and promising to pull her foot from her mouth in future.
Chapter Thirteen
Playing Elf
Why did she do these things to herself? Ricci sighed and knocked on the first door of her Christmas rounds. It was ten days away from the big day, and she had sent around a visitation notice to all of her tenants ahead of time—it was the only way Mrs. Dellaroy would have it.
Apartment 1A, Mr. Sauber. Adjusting the Santa hat on her head, she readjusted the grip on her basket and waited. The view that greeted her when the door swung inwards was still shocking despite the fact she was inspecting it.
“Happy Christmas, Mr. Sauber,” she said, determined not to look down.
Mr. Sauber adjusted his sole item of clothing and grinned at her. “Ricci, dear. Won’t you come in?”
Smiling and noticing he had bright red underwear on today, Ricci shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t today. I have to finish my deliveries.” She pulled a small gift bag from her basket and handed it to him.
The man’s face lit up when he saw what was inside. “Kona!” He stepped forward and hugged her. His naked hairy body was against her for a brief second, and it was enough to make her want a shower.
“I hope you enjoy it.” Ricci gestured to the Hawaiian coffee she had found for him.
“I will. Come have a cup with me soon.”
“Okay. Merry Christmas, Mr. Sauber.”
One apartment down.
Next, was 1B: Miss Vanzandt and Mr. Spencer. A couple of high-flying executives. To them, she gave a leather wallet and fashionable women’s leather cuff. They gave her a bottle of vodka in return as they always did. It was top shelf, and something Mrs. Kriskov always enjoyed.
“She’s here!” One of the Gothager children shouted as she approached their door on the second floor. Smiling, Ricci pressed the door bell and was swept inside by the kind family and given a cup of hot chocolate.
“What did you get me?” The youngest asked as she always did. Her parents reprimanded her with a stern warning and a smile. She received the latest My Little Pony movie and squealed loudly in approval. “Thank you, Miss Ricci Claus.”
Handing the remainder of the children a gift and wishing the parents a Happy Christmas, Ricci moved to apartment 2B: Tiffany Hunter.
She was never home, or fast asleep thanks to her jet-setting lifestyle, so Ricci left her a generous piece of Marco’s coveted chocolate fudge cake at her door. She smiled at the time she discovered the woman’s sweet tooth. She had been signing her tenancy form in the office when Marco rushed in one day looking apoplectic. Tiffany had instantly recognized the logo on his chef uniform, and forgave the intrusion and saved Marco from getting an earful from Ricci. He shoved samples at them of world-class, delicate pastries and demanded to know which was best. The sounds Tiffany made when she tried them had brought warmth to both Marco and Ricci’s faces. From that time on, Ricci would deliver the occasional sample to her door at the behest of Marco. He loved the task of creating her a treat for Christmas and birthday.
Floor three. Mrs. Kriskov and the Wheelings’. Mrs. Kriskov received the vodka the executive couple gave her, and she gave the Wheelings’ tickets to the latest Broadway show.
She hesitated at Mrs. Dellaroy’s door, never really knowing what to expect. She knocked, and Mr. Yates answered.
“Yes?”
She held up the basket. “Merry Christmas.”
For once, he simply nodded and gestured for her to enter. Once she crossed the threshold, he said, “Did you find it?”
She grinned. “I did.”
“Show me, show me, show me.”
Ricci bit her lip and tried not to laugh at the suddenly gleeful child emerging from the uptight butler. Pulling out his bag from the basket, she handed it to him. “H225 Revell Lockhead Electra Varig. One to one-fifteen scale.”
Mr. Yates pulled the model aircraft box from the bag and stared at it in awe. “Perfect.” He spun and walked with purpose to the laundry room. “She’s in the parlor,” he said as he left.
Chuckling to herself, Ricci went and found Mrs. Dellaroy peering at the paper through her spectacles. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Dellaroy.”
“Rica, darling.” The old woman gazed at the outfit. “Really, dear, must we be witness to…this, every year?” she asked, sweeping her arm up and down to indicate the costume.
“The kids like it,” Ricci said with a shrug. Green tights, a Santa jacket and hat, and bells on her toes wasn’t a fashion stand-out, but it represented the season well enough.
Mrs. Dellaroy sighed. “Very well. What have you found for me this year?”
Ricci smiled and handed over the woman’s gift. “First edition of the Mosby’s Rangers.”
Mrs. Dellaroy smiled and ran her hands gently over the cover of the century-old book. “Where on earth did you find this?”
“At the store do
wntown. The little one down that alley.”
Mrs. Dellaroy nodded, knowing exactly where she meant.
“They have a lot of civil war books. I recommend checking them out.”
Mrs. Dellaroy sneered at her slang. “I will certainly peruse their collection.” She took a breath and looked at Ricci. “Thank you, dear.”
“You’re welcome. Happy Christmas.”
“Find Mr. Yates on your way out.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Ricci did as she was told, and walked out with an expensive bracelet she’d never wear. She’d add it to her safety deposit box. The last piece of jewelry she received from Mrs. Dellaroy was valued at over ten grand. After Ricci recovered from the shock, she stored it somewhere safe after failing at giving the gift back.
One floor to go.
A quick visit to Mostellar’s in 5B, and Ricci was soon standing in front of Tara’s door feeling terribly nervous. Would she like her gift? Would she laugh at her? Would she let her in? Clearing her throat, Ricci knocked.
“You’re early. I was just—what on earth are you wearing?”
“Happy Christmas!”
Tara blinked and looked at the costume. “Your notice said you’d be dropping by, but it said nothing about providing entertainment.”
Ricci narrowed her eyes. “Oh, har-har.”
Chuckling, Tara moved aside and gestured Ricci in.
“I got you something,” Ricci said, pulling the final bag from the basket and holding it out to Tara.
Tara looked at it suspiciously. “You got me something? Why?”
“It’s a tradition I started. Each Christmas…well, each year before Christmas, I play Santa.” She swept an arm down her body to indicate the costume.
“You look like a Santa-Elf mutant.”
Ricci gave her a droll look. “Anyway, I deliver gifts to all the tenants.”
Tara looked at the bag. “You didn’t have to get one for me.”
“Why not? You’re a tenant, so you get a gift.” Ricci thrust it at her forcing her to take it.
Tara bit her lip and looked at the bag. “I thought you were bringing a card or something. I can’t accept this.” She handed the bag back.
