by A A Bavar
The drive to My Thai Cuisine in Lake Tahoe was pleasant, the scenery on Rt. 50 breathtaking, and their dinner simple but delicious. As they walked out of the restaurant, neither noticed the woman scrunching her nose at them from the bar. She was wearing dark glasses and sitting beside a burly man with a bushy beard and mustache. Once outside, Patricia grabbed Paul’s hand and pulled him to a stop. With her heels, she was almost his height. Quickly, she moved in and gave him a peck on the cheek.
“Thanks, that was delicious. I’m having a wonderful time.”
Before Paul could answer, the restaurant door crashed open and the man from the bar stumbled out. He was huge, almost twice as wide as Paul and a head taller, putting him well over six feet and three hundred pounds. At first glance, he seemed drunk, but his eyes – two beady, black holes devoid of life – were alert and razor focused on Paul. He walked over, pushing Patricia out of the way, and stood in front of Paul. “You should stay away from her,” he growled as he poked Paul in the chest with his index finger. “Bad things will happen if you forget what’s good for you. Get it?”
“Take it easy, man. I think you’ve gotten me mixed up with someone else,” said Paul calmly, taking a step back. “And the next time you poke me, it’ll be the last time you’ll be using that finger for a long while.”
The man grunted and turned towards Patricia, who was staring at him completely bewildered. Then, with a swift movement of her hand, she opened her purse, took out a compact pepper spray, and pointed it at the man’s face.
“Oh, we’ve got a feisty one here. What’s that you got in your hand, lip gloss?” he snorted. “Maybe you’re the one needing the lesson.” Without warning, the man’s right hand shot out towards the pepper spray. Patricia screamed and stumbled backwards, spraying the contents of the canister haphazardly in the air as the man’s shovel-like hand collapsed over hers, knocking the pepper spray away. “Honey puffs, you really need to learn how to—”
The man wasn’t allowed to finish. With a burst of speed fueled by a mix of fear and anger, Paul grabbed the back of the man’s collar, pulling him back and down, simultaneously ramming his right foot behind the man’s right knee.
The man crashed down, the crunch of his right knee against the concrete floor gut wrenching. He screamed in pain and fell to his side grabbing his knee. “You asshole! Why’d you hit me for?” shouted the man, confusion spreading across his face. “What the hell am I doing out here?”
Paul ran around the man and grabbed Patricia’s hand. “Come on, let’s go. This guy’s fucking crazy.”
They bolted across the street towards where the Veneno was parked. As they made it to the curb on the other side, Patricia suddenly pivoted to the left twisting her ankle, and fell backwards. Paul tried to hold on, but her hand slipped and she went down into the street, landing on her side. Almost immediately, there was a bellowing honk and Paul watched in horror as the tires of an oncoming truck locked in place, screeching on the asphalt as it careened out of control towards Patricia. Patricia looked up, terror in her eyes. There was nothing she could do. She stared at the headlights of the truck – two massive, metallic insect eyes – as they bore down on her, instinctively raising her hands for protection. Then, in an instant, it was all over. No more screeching, no more movement, just silence.
“Oh shit! Are you okay?” Paul was already at Patricia’s side, kneeling down on one knee. He cupped her face with his hands and made her look at him, away from the truck. “Patricia, are you okay? Can you walk?”
“Holy fuck! Holy fuck! Holy fuck!” shouted the truck driver as he came around to the front of the truck. “Did I hit her? Is she alive?”
“She’s okay. You didn’t hit her,” Paul said, looking up at the truck driver.
The truck driver looked from Paul to the bumper of the truck and where Patricia was sitting. “Holy mother of God! A few more inches and…”
Paul lifted his hand and said, “It’s okay, she’s fine. Help me take her to the car.”
Paul turned back to Patricia. She was staring at him blankly, her voice a choked whisper, “I… I don’t know what happened. Something hit me… threw me back. I… I don’t understand…”
“It’s okay, you’re going to be alright,” Paul said as he slipped his hand under Patricia’s arm. The truck driver did the same. “We’re going to help you up. Ready?”
Patricia nodded.
Slowly, they lifted her. Patricia gasped, the pain in her left ankle cutting through her like a knife.
“Grab her under the knee and lift her,” Paul said to the truck driver, as he bent down.
“No, no… I’m fine. I can do it,” said Patricia, breathing out slowly, in control. She looked at the truck driver and gently pulled her arm away. “It’s just a sprained ankle. Thank you.”
The truck driver shrugged and looked at Paul. Paul nodded and put his arm around Patricia’s back. “It’s okay, my car is right there,” he said, motioning with his head, “We’ll be fine.”
Patricia put her arm around Paul’s neck for support and slowly hop-stepped towards the Veneno. Her face was strained, the pain evident with every step. She was breathing through her mouth, her lips slightly parted, stretched to the limit over her white teeth in a false, painful smile. “Oh, thank God, I don’t think I could take another step,” she said, choking back tears.
Paul opened the door and helped Patricia slide into the passenger seat, lifting her foot and gently putting it inside. He closed the door and ran over to the driver side. As he opened the door, he looked over to the restaurant entrance on the other side of the street. To his relief, the man was gone. But as he slid down behind the wheel, his eyes fell on the emerging figure of a woman. There was something familiar about her, about the figure, the walk, the way she carried herself. What was it? He watched as she emerged from the restaurant, her face concealed from the faint, orange glow of the streetlamps under a scarf. Suddenly, it struck him.
“What the hell…” Paul squinted, trying to get a better look, but she was too far away, and it was too dark. He slammed his door shut, jammed the Veneno in gear, and screeched out.
“What’s wrong? Was the guy still there?” Patricia asked with a strained voice. She twisted in her seat, trying to look back, but they were already too far.
“Oh no, no. I thought I saw someone I knew… someone who wasn’t supposed to be here… and who would never come here for dinner. I was just surprised, that’s all. Probably wasn’t her anyway.” Paul shrugged and gave his best Forbes magazine cover smile. “How’s your ankle? I hope it’s not too bad.” He looked over, the concern in his eyes genuine, but also a distraction.
“It’s throbbing like hell.” Patricia reached down and gently took off her high heels, tenderly massaging the bruised area. Her face was taut, the pain obvious. “It’s definitely swollen, but I don’t think it’s broken or anything. It’ll need lots of ice and definitely a few days of ibuprofen and rest.”
“So I guess I’ll need a new running partner for the next week or so,” said Paul, an impish smile spreading across his face.
Patricia scrunched up her face and shook her head mockingly. “Oh really? I think the chivalrous thing for you to do is to wait on me hand and foot. I enjoy my tea with crumpets, please,” she said, and looked away, chin up and nose in the air. “And… if I’m not running, you’re not running. It’s a simple matter of justice, not that I’m blaming you for my high heels or clumsiness in any way.”
“Yes, my Lady!” replied Paul with a chuckle. “Um, but what are crumpets?”
It was almost ten, the night sky dark and peppered with stars. The moon was almost directly ahead of them, its silvery light bouncing off the black ribbon that marked the way and stretched out ahead of them without end. Paul glanced at Patricia. She looked better now, more relaxed, more like herself.
“I really like this… this sensation of driving through nothingness. It’s almost like being in space, traveling through a vacuum of sorts. I mean, outs
ide it’s pitch black and all you hear is the sound of the tires on the road and the soft purring of the engine. It makes me feel alive, more aware. You know what I mean?” Paul turned to Patricia. She was looking at him, the brown of her eyes almost completely overtaken by her widened pupils. She smiled.
“I do.” Patricia cautiously shifted her position in her seat, turning slightly on her side to face Paul. “There’s nothing like lying in a cozy bed at night, in a quiet room, and looking up at the stars. I think you should come and see.” She put her hand on his thigh, her smile extending to her eyes.
Paul looked down at her hand and then at Patricia. “You mean—”
“Yes,” she whispered, then added after a pause, “You can ice my ankle, tuck me in, and bring me tea. As for the crumpets, when you find out, you can tell me!”
Paul accelerated, not noticing the distant headlights behind them accelerate as well.
The two clumsily walked their way up the path to her door, Patricia’s left arm wound tightly around Paul’s waist for support, her purse dangling behind her, playing butt ping-pong as she hobbled along. Did I really say that? Invite him to lie on my bed and watch the stars? What the hell… what was in that food? she thought and quickly glanced at Paul, unable to hide the embarrassed look on her face. To her relief, Paul wasn’t paying attention. He was looking at the ground, trying to synchronize his movements with hers. Without warning, he tightened his grip around her shoulder and practically lifted her off the ground in an attempt to keep the pressure on her ankle to a minimum.
Patricia stifled an involuntary yelp and took a deep breath instead, Paul’s musky cologne invading her senses. Immediately, her chest tightened, squeezing her heart, making her feel lightheaded and woozy.
“Are you okay? You look pale,” said Paul. He tilted his head down and looked closely at her, his eyes warm, and full of concern. “Here, let me help.” He reached over with his left hand and grabbed Patricia’s purse, his right arm still around her shoulders. “I’ll hold the purse and you get the keys.” He smiled.
That’s not helping, Paul. Not helping one bit! Patricia held her breath, what was he doing to her? She knew Paul was just being gentlemanly, but every touch, every brush of his body against hers, made every nerve ending in her body jump to full attention. She took another deep breath, Yoga 101 for calming down and clearing your head. Instead, all she got was another whiff of Paul, another involuntary infusion of adrenaline. She cleared her throat and smiled awkwardly. “Thanks. I love this purse, but the flap over the zipper can sometimes be a nuisance.”
She opened the flap and undid the zipper. It was small and chic, with just enough space for her cell phone, keys, and a few small odds and ends. She quickly took out her keys, but not before Paul noticed her driver’s license and an Amex card tucked in an inside pocket, and in the corner, another pepper spray.
“Here we go.” Patricia slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. “Now, no judgements about my décor or tidiness.” She let go of Paul and cautiously limped into her condo, stopping a few steps inside the door.
“Hey, I’m not one to judge. You should have seen my apartment when I first started working at Clearwell, it was a disaster area. I think it took me almost six months to actually unpack most of my boxes.” Paul followed her in and closed the door. “How many pepper sprays did you think you’d need tonight, anyway? I don’t think I’m that threatening.”
“You know, I’m still not sure,” said Patricia with a smirk. She turned and walked to the living room using the wall to steady herself. “I had never been attacked and then almost run over by a truck before… and all in one night. So I would say I got it about right, no?” Patricia grinned, her eyes shining mischievously.
“Touché. What are you grinning about?”
“Oh nothing. Just a thought I had.” If he only knew about the three other canisters I have hidden in the house!
Paul walked in and stood beside her. Directly ahead, the hall led to the bathroom and bedrooms, one on each side. To his right was a compact, open concept kitchen, and there, right in the middle of a long past but lovingly restored kitchen table, was a crystal vase with the flowers he had brought earlier. The cabinets housed colorful cups and dishes, and he noticed a plate of muffins covered in plastic wrap on the counter beside the fridge.
The connected living room was slightly to his left, decorated in a simple but elegantly modern fashion. There was a firm but comfortable looking grey, felt couch with light blue throw pillows facing him, a matching love seat to its left at a ninety degree angle separated by a glass and wood end table, and a coffee table placed thoughtfully in the center of the room in front of them. Behind the love seat, there was a huge bay window nestled between two wood bookshelves neatly, but fully stacked with books.
“Why don’t you go and sit on the couch? I’ll get some ice for your ankle. Where do you keep the saran wrap?” asked Paul, already moving towards the kitchen.
Patricia limped across the living room, grabbed the sofa arm, and clumsily plopped down. “I have a couple of ice packs in the freezer. I’m an enthusiastic runner and swimmer, remember? Quite used to sore muscles, bumps, and bruises, thank you very much.” She lifted her leg and with a wince rested her foot on the coffee table. “Elevation, elevation, elevation… the best remedy – after icing and rest, of course – to keep the swelling down. A lot of people are lazy and take drugs like candy, especially anti-inflammatories, instead of helping their bodies to heal. I’ve never had to do that, and I hate medication,” Patricia said with a grin. “And don’t look at me like I’m crazy!”
Paul, who was standing with the freezer door open and staring at her completely bemused, snapped to attention, grabbed an ice pack, and closed the freezer. “Drugs never even crossed my mind, scouts honor. Nice place, by the way. I really like your style… and I’m not just saying so.” He walked to the couch and knelt beside the coffee table, Patricia’s foot in front of him, his side to her. “So let’s see how bad this is.”
Carefully, he pushed her jeans up. Patricia tensed and leaned forward, the anticipation of Paul’s touch causing her to suspend breathing. Everything seemed to be in slow-motion, except for her heart that was pumping more furiously than any physical exercise could ever induce. She watched as he gently put his hand on her ankle, his touch electric, a high voltage current that sent hot and cold flashes up and down her body. Patricia screeched, jerking her foot away.
“Oh, I’m sorry! I was trying to be real gentle,” said Paul, looking at her with alarm.
“No! No! It’s fine. I just didn’t expect… um… ah… I think it was static or something,” she said, and shrugged. “Really, it’s fine.” What was she to say, that it wasn’t her ankle? That she was getting more and more taken by him by the minute? That she wanted to feel his warm, soft hands on her ankle and more – forget the damn ice! “I think if you put the ice pack on top, like right there in the front,” she said, leaning forward and pointing to her foot, “it’ll help reduce any swelling.”
“Hmm, okay. Ankle injuries are a pain. I had one a few months ago and it took forever to heal. Some idiot slide tackled me in soccer thinking it’s American football and that was it for me.” Paul looked down again, slowly placing the ice pack over Patricia’s foot. “This doesn’t look too bad. I think a couple of days of taking it slow, meaning no jumping in front of out-of-control trucks or running marathons, should do the trick.” Paul stood and faced Patricia. “I can always come by and help if you need anything, maybe cleanup a little?” he said with a smirk.
“Very funny,” said Patricia with a frown. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t judge.”
“Sorry, couldn’t help it,” Paul said with a chuckle, then as a thought crossed his mind, added with a broad smile, “Okay, how about dinner tomorrow so I can redeem myself? I make a mean pasta primavera,” he said, lifting a finger for Patricia not to object. “So don’t worry about coming in or cooking. Tomorrow is Patricia recovery day.
I’ll have your assistant… Anna, right? Move your things to your new office so everything will be ready for you when you come back.”
Patricia looked at Paul, his eyes sparking with anticipation, and felt a warm, comforting feeling spread through her. “I think I owe you a spectacular view,” she said. You’re going to give him the wrong idea… spectacular view of what? And when has it ever been a good idea to take a man to your bedroom? she thought, as she slowly got to her feet. “But don’t get the wrong idea, I’m talking about the moon, remember? The view of the moon from my window?”
“Oh, the moon, of course. What else could you have possibly meant?” blurted Paul, turning to face the large bay window to his left. “It looks pretty dark out there—”
“No, no, not out that window. We missed it there, it’s now on the other side,” interrupted Patricia. “If I’m not wrong, it should be a waxing gibbous.”
“A waxing what?” said Paul, a bewildered look on his face.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Patricia, her eyes smiling. “Here, come help me and I’ll show you the gibbous.” She held out her left hand and motioned for Paul.
Paul, still looking bewildered quickly walked over, but instead of holding Patricia’s hand, he put his arm around her back again. “This is better support. You know, to take the pressure off your foot.”
Patricia leaned into him and looked up, her eyebrows slightly raised, amused. “Of course… and I’m letting you because there’s absolutely no other way that I could make it to my room.”
Paul laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, I’m still a teenager at heart.”
“That, I seriously doubt!” Teenager? More like James Bond 2.0! How else do you explain the Batmobile?
