“Hmmm, I don’t know… She’s too well dressed to be a shop assistant. There’s a RE/MAX nearby. Maybe she’s a real estate agent?”
“In those heels? Nah, she wouldn’t be showing people houses in those heels all day. They’d kill her feet.”
“What do you think?”
He shrugged. “A prostitute.”
“What! Get out of here.”
“Sure. And she’s just turned a trick with Mr. Banker.”
“Come on.”
“There’s a scummy hotel half a block back. I bet they got it on there.”
“Please.”
“Think about it. What’s a bank manager doing strolling down the street in the middle of the day?”
“He could be on an errand?”
“He’d have somebody to do that for him.”
“Getting lunch?”
“Does he look like the kind of guy who walks for the exercise? He’d get delivery.”
“And you think he just popped out of the bank for…a good time…in the middle of the day?”
“When else would he get a chance if he has to go home to a wife and kids at night?” Then, rubbing his hands together, he added, “All right! Here comes my food.”
♂
Ronnie dug into his cheeseburger, while Jade finished her food. She was no longer hungry, but she ate to be polite, so he wouldn’t be the only one eating. Ronnie kept up the chatter, something he was clearly good at.
For someone so young, he’d had an amazing life thus far. His father was an international property developer, traveling all around the world to oversee his different projects. Consequently, Ronnie had been everywhere too: Bangkok, Dubai, London. He’d spent a couple of years attending a high school in Rome. He’d been to Pamplona, to see the Running of the Bulls. Paris, Portugal, Germany. His favorite country, he said, was Greece.
“The beaches?” she asked.
“No, the history. Seeing the Acropolis, the classical statues, the temples. Really takes you back in time, makes you think, you know?”
“I’ve never been to Greece. I’ve actually never left the US.”
He shrugged. “Traveling’s overrated. And you don’t have to travel to learn about Plato, Aristotle, Socrates. I mean, you gotta read these guys. Think about it, way back in the fifth century BC you had these old geezers in togas wandering around philosophizing about the universe—and getting a lot of stuff right. Have you heard of Democritus?”
“No.”
“He lived in the heyday when everyone was trying to figure out what the universe was made of, right? So you had some guy saying fire, another water, another air. And then old Democritus comes by and says, nah, you’re all wrong, it’s made of these tiny, indivisible things you can’t see with your eyes.”
“Atoms?” she said.
Ronnie nodded. “Atoms. Which comes from the Greek word ‘indivisible.’ Crazy, right? No microscopes, no real chemistry or physics, no nothing, and this guy comes up with this. Talk about trailblazing. He was two thousand years ahead of his time.”
“Next time I stop by the Midnight Special Bookstore I’ll have to…I don’t know…I’ll see what they have.”
“Make sure you check out the Greek plays too. Sophocles, Aeschylus, Euripides. But Sophocles is my favorite. He wrote some great stuff. Really great stuff.”
The waitress appeared and asked them if they would like any dessert.
Jade was full, though she considered ordering something just so the pleasant lunch would not end. Ronnie, however, said, “Nothing for me. I’m as stuffed as a tick. How about you, Jade?”
Jade. Was that the first time he’d used her name?
“No,” she said, “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Just the bill,” Ronnie said.
The waitress left, and Jade tried to ignore the sinking sensation in her gut. It was time to go home and turn back into a pumpkin.
“Hey,” Ronnie told her. “It was great meeting. Most people would think it was weird having lunch with their mailman.”
Jade smiled. “That thought did cross my mind. At first,” she amended quickly. “Only at first.”
“You know,” he said, “you remind me of someone…”
“Markie Post?”
“Who?”
“She plays the public defender on that TV show, Night Court.”
“Ah, right. I’ve seen that. Yeah, you do.”
“Will you, um…will you be on my route again?”
“No idea,” he said. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. That would be a real shame though.” Jade was surprised by this admission—and flattered. She almost let down her guard and told him it would definitely be a shame, when he added, “’Cause there are no dogs, you know? Not a one. Definitely good news for a mailman.”
“Oh, yes, right.”
The waitress returned with the bill. Ronnie left enough money to cover both their lunches as well as the tip.
“No, let me,” Jade said, digging through her purse.
“Don’t be silly,” he said, and then he was sliding out of the booth, getting up.
They left the restaurant together. Outside, the sun shone brightly. The smog had cleared enough that Jade could see the snowcapped peaks of the San Gabriel Mountains to the northeast.
Ronnie said, “Where are you parked?”
“Just over there.” She pointed across the street.
“Right, well… Thanks again, Jade.”
“No, thank you—thank you for paying. My treat next time.” Next time? “Um, where did you park?”
“I walked.”
“Oh—you live around here?”
“Not really. I’m east on Melrose, near Highland.”
She raised her eyebrows. “So far? What are you doing way over here?”
“I had an audition nearby.”
“Oh, wow. So—how did it go?”
“Yeah, pretty good, I think. But there were about a dozen other guys there who looked exactly like me.”
“Was it for TV or a movie?”
“A movie. A Tom Cruise thing. They’re looking for Navy fighter pilots. I’ll probably hear back in a week or so.”
“That’s so groovy.” Groovy? Act your age, Jade! “Well, congratulations, Ronnie.”
“Thanks, Jade. But I haven’t landed it yet.”
“Good luck then.” She hesitated. “Would you…can I at least drive you home?”
“Er, thanks… But it’s an okay walk.”
“You’re sure? It’s no problem. I have…well, I have nothing pressing to do.”
“If you really don’t mind…?”
They crossed the street and got in Jade’s Volvo. Jade’s heart was beating too quickly inside her chest, and her legs felt like rubber. What was she doing? Ronnie was in her car. The mailman was in her car. This was nuts. What if Mick saw them? No, that was unlikely. His office was back up at Doheny and Sunset. There was no reason for him to come down here, in the middle of the day.
Besides, it wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong. She was just giving a friend a lift home.
Right?
“Jade?” Ronnie said. He was looking at her curiously.
She realized she had been just sitting there. She cleared her throat, turned the key. “I forgot to get razors,” she said to explain her momentary stupor.
“Huh?”
“I was grocery shopping. I forgot to get razors.”
“Do you want to run in and get some?”
“No, it’s no problem.” She shifted into Drive and turned right onto Fairfax.
“I don’t see any groceries,” he said, glancing into the back seat.
“They’re in the trunk. I just needed a few things for dinner.”
“You like to cook?” he asked.
“Yes, I do,” she said.
“Me too. I’m not great. But I find it relaxing. You know what I mean? What’s your favorite dish to make?”
“I’ve never really thought of it. There are so many.”
“But there must be something you especially like. What does your husband make you on your birthday?”
“He, um…we usually go out.” Jade tried to remember where they’d gone for her last birthday—and then she remembered they hadn’t gone anywhere. Her birthday had been on a Tuesday, but Mick had to work, so they’d put off doing anything until the weekend. By the time Saturday rolled around, however, Mick had been tired from work, and it hadn’t really felt like her birthday any longer, so she suggested they do something some other time, which never came about. “I like a good green curry,” she said.
“What about yellow curry?”
“I’m not sure I’ve had a yellow curry.”
“A lot of turmeric, cumin, mustard seed…I have a recipe. I’ll drop a copy in your mailbox if I’m ever on your route again.”
Jade turned east on Melrose Avenue and they continued for the next several blocks in silence, passing hip boutiques and pre-owned clothing shops and people out and about doing their thing. Ronnie spent much of the time looking out his window. Jade stole a couple of glances at him. The way his shirt clung to his biceps and chest, the spread of his thighs on the seat, the corduroy stretched tight, so tight in fact she could see—
He looked at her. She stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel tighter.
My God, what’s going on? Stop this right now.
“A left up here,” Ronnie said.
Jade flicked the blinker. “Orange Drive,” she said, reading the street sign.
“Yup,” he said. “And then straight for one block. First house on the left.”
Jade followed the instructions and pulled up against the curb.
“Well—here you are,” she said, swallowing the dryness in her mouth.
“Really appreciate the lift, Jade.”
“My pleasure.” Should she suggest they have lunch again sometime? Would that be strange? She was probably close to twice his age, after all. And he was her mailman—
And you’re married, Jade! Have you forgotten about that? You’re a married woman.
“Hey, why don’t I just give it to you now?” Ronnie said. “The yellow curry recipe. It’ll just take me a second to run upstairs. Or, er—did you want to come up?”
And there it was. What the last half hour had been leading up to. What all the furtive glances and easy smiles and agreeable talk had been leading up to. She’d known it. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it. Because those six words were dangerous. They could ruin a marriage, a good marriage.
A good marriage?
What was so good about it?
Did you want to come up?
No, no thank you, I’ll just wait here.
Do you want to come up?
No, I really can’t. I have to get home to do the laundry and the dusting and make dinner.
Do you want to come up?
No, I—
“Okay,” she said. “Maybe for just a minute.”
Chapter 7
Mick cruised through Beverly Hills in his yellow Corvette (competition yellow, the salesman at the Long Beach dealership had told him, for what that was worth), the radio, tuned to KNAC 105.5, blasting out a song by the thrash band Slayer. Someday soon, he knew, they would be blasting out The Tempests as well. Every heavy metal and hard rock station in the world would be playing their songs, and Mick would go down in the books as the guy who discovered them. He’d become a legend in the industry, his name mentioned in the same breath as David Geffen.
You’ve come a long way from the impoverished musician from the Bronx, Mikey, he told himself proudly. You’ve actually made it. Who woulda guessed?
Pulling into a public parking lot on North Rodeo Drive, Mick hooked his Ray Bans into the pocket of his shirt and walked a short jaunt to the iconic Tiffany & Co. flagship store on the corner with Wilshire. A security guard opened the door for him and pointed him to a sales associate. Her nametag read Grace. She was an older woman with gray hair pulled into a bun, dark eyes, and severe features squeezed into a too-thin face. The only jewelry she wore—somewhat ironically, he thought, given her place of employment—was a wedding ring with a modest-sized stone.
Mick thought she’d be about as friendly as a headmistress with a vendetta against youth, but she turned out to be the total opposite: smiling, calm, and professional. When he told her he wasn’t sure what he was looking for, except that it would be a gift for his wife, she led him to the silver jewelry section, where she showed him a number of bracelets, rings, earrings, and pendants, placing each on a felt pillow for him to examine. She explained the different kinds of diamonds available, the varying qualities, as well as a bit of history about the company. She remained courteous and patient throughout his questions, of which he had many. He hadn’t been in a jewelry store since he’d bought Jade her wedding ring two decades before from a tired place in New York’s Chinatown.
A good forty minutes later he settled on a silver-and-rose, diamond-studded pendant.
“Wonderful,” Grace said. “Your wife will adore it. What’s the occasion, if I may ask?”
“No occasion,” Mick told her. “It’s just…to show her my appreciation for putting up with me for so many years, I guess.”
“A lucky woman, she is,” Grace said. “Now, would that be cash or credit?”
Chapter 8
Tucked next to a senior citizen center, Ronnie’s house was a 1930s bungalow in a state of disrepair. Jade followed him up the weedy brick path to the porch, which felt slightly slanted. He unlocked the door and pushed it open for her to enter first. She offered him a hesitant smile as she stepped past him. There was no entrance foyer, and she found herself in the living room. It was furnished with a gray sofa, an armchair with floral-patterned cushions, and a Formica-topped dining table. There were no pictures on the walls. There wasn’t even a TV. Through a doorway she glimpsed the adjacent kitchen, which was decked out in its original yellow-tile counters and sagging cabinetry.
“It’s not much, I know,” Ronnie said, coming in behind her and closing the door. “But I figure, what’s the point in doing something up if you’re not planning on staying, right?”
“You’re moving?” she asked.
“Hey, if this Tom Cruise movie works out for me, who knows? Did you want a drink? Water or anything?”
“No, thank you.”
“Right, er—there’s not really much to show you. Let me get you that recipe. Make yourself at home.”
Ronnie disappeared into the kitchen. Jade moved a few steps deeper into the living room, giving it another once-over. The green drapes were open, letting in lots of sunlight in which she could see tiny, dancing dust motes. A rattan fan hung from the ceiling. On the table were several magazines. The top one showed a man on a muddy, off-road motorbike. From one of the surrounding houses, a kid wailed for his mom. She yelled back something that involved profanity.
Standing there in the home of a man who was not her husband, in the middle of the day, waiting for what she thought was coming, Jade felt both wonderfully alive and woefully terrified.
It just happened, she imagined herself telling the divorce judge in court. One thing led to the next. One minute we were having lunch in a diner—there had been no available seats, you see, so I had asked him to join me—
Your mailman?
We recognized each other. And then, well, then we were outside on the street. He lived a number of blocks away, and so I offered to drive him home. He had a recipe to give me—we’d been talking about cooking, you see—so we went inside to get it and—
And what? Jade wondered. Because that’s where things stood now. Nothing uncivil had yet occurred. She could still walk away with her morals intact, take the recipe and leave, go home, make Mick dinner, watch her TV shows, have a cigarette, go to bed.
This was the right thing to do, the smart thing. It was—
What Christine Sullivan would do, a snarky voice in her head told her. It’s what a Goody Two-shoes would do. So go
ahead, excuse yourself, do the right thing, the boring thing. Who cares that you only live once? Who cares about what makes you happy? Just as long as you keep making other people happy, then that’s just fine. You can die an old, satisfied woman, because you never broke the rules.
Jade looked toward the kitchen. She could no longer see through the doorway. What was Ronnie doing in there? He seemed to be taking a long time getting the recipe. Maybe this was a sign? Maybe she should just go to the door and call to him that she was leaving—
He appeared, smiling, waving a piece of loose leaf paper.
“Got it!” he said. “Thought I’d lost it for a sec.” He handed her the paper, which he’d folded into a small square.
“Great,” she said, stuffing it in her purse. “Thank you again. And, well, I should get going. Maybe we’ll—”
Ronnie leaned toward her. She tilted her chin upward, belatedly but without reservation. And then his lips were on hers, so soft. He pulled away. His blue eyes held hers for a moment, and then they were kissing again. This time he wrapped his arms around her waist. He pulled her toward him. The room seemed to drop away beneath her. Everything disappeared into a bright brume. All she became aware of were his lips on hers, his hands running up and down her back, and his chest against hers, so hard, so solid. Beneath his mint and juniper aftershave, she detected other clean scents, shampoo and soap, even the laundry detergent he used. They were all the most appealing smells in the world right then.
One of Ronnie’s hands slid over the side of her right breast. It slipped down between her legs. She moaned brokenly. He kissed her more forcefully. Her body writhed against his. They got into some sort of sexual rhythm, moving with each other, against each other, everything feeling so natural, so right, so good.
Jade shuffled backward, Ronnie guiding her. They bumped a few things, feeling their way to the bedroom, passing through a doorway. Something struck the back of her legs. The bed. She fell onto the mattress.
I’m going to hell, she thought, every nerve ending alight with anticipation.
Ronnie pulled his shirt off over his head and settled on top of her.
The Mailman Page 4
