Frost on My Window

by Angela Weaver

  “Sean, is it okay if I let Simba out?”

  “Sure,” he said, sparing me a glance before turning into traffic. “He’s probably dying to get out of that bag.”

  I let Simba loose onto the back seat, watching as he proceeded to take up residence on the floorboard. After a few meows, he settled into cleaning himself.

  “The flight wasn’t bumpy?” Sean asked.

  “No, actually it was pretty smooth,” I answered awkwardly.

  “Well, we’ve got a drive ahead so you might want to settle in.”

  “Where exactly are we going?”

  “My place is about an hour south of here.”

  “Oh.” I turned to look out the window at the passing scenery.

  “I’m sorry, Leah,” he said. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  “I know, and I don’t blame you.”

  “You should.”

  “Oh, don’t go all noble on me,” I bit out, really looking at Sean for the first time. “We both knew this could happen. Just what my mama warned me about. When you start hanging out with the wrong crowd…” My voice trailed off.

  Sean glanced at me. “The wrong crowd?”

  “You’ll get into trouble.” I chuckled.

  “What do your parents have to say about this?”

  “Nothing yet, but I expect to get an earful when they get back from vacation.” I grimaced.

  “My father asked about you.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Nervous. He’s only got one more month left as a free man.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not like he’s going to jail. He’s just getting married.”

  “Speaking of marriage,” he turned towards me with a raised eyebrow, “you haven’t returned your RSVP yet.”

  “I was going to, but I really don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want to make people uncomfortable,” I answered vaguely.

  “Try again,” Sean said.

  “What?”

  “That was a bad excuse, Leah. What’s the real reason?”

  I shifted a bit in the seat. “I don’t like weddings.”

  “It won’t be so bad. They’re having it outdoors in the garden.”

  “No, Sean,” I emphasized. “I really don’t like weddings.”

  “Because of Lance?”

  I opened my mouth to deny it. Instead I sighed, “Yes.”

  “Did he hurt you that bad?”

  “No. I hurt myself,” I admitted. “I thought he’d wake up and see that I was in love with his sorry behind. I hoped that he’d be able to see behind a pretty face. Either way, I was wrong.”

  “You didn’t commit a crime. You just got your heart bruised, that’s all.”

  “I know. We’ve talked about this before,” I interjected. “I still don’t like weddings.”

  “You can not like wedding all you want. You’re coming to this wedding if I have to drag you there.”

  “Why?”

  He reached over and brushed his fingers against my cheek. “Because misery loves company and I want you with me, that’s why.”

  Remembering the reason for my being in the middle of the desert with the man I could look at for hours just made me want to scream even more.

  * * *

  I woke from my nap just as the sun was going down. Soft light filtered into the bedroom through the lowered rice paper roll-up shades framed by amber-colored silk drapes. I looked around the bedroom and smiled. No denying that it was a beautiful place in which to wake. The decorator had spared no expense in creating a room that anyone would love. The room spoke of relaxation and peace.

  Cool shades of white and tan came together in a soothing design. I just remembered snuggling into the fresh-smelling sheets seconds before sleep claimed me. Now awake and alert, I admired the white sheer canopy that hung from the ceiling, framing the queen-sized bed.

  Pushing aside the sheets, I stood up and stretched, rubbing my hands over my arms as the cool dryness of the room sent chills over my skin. It was then that I noticed the silence. It was complete. There wasn’t noise from passing cars or the ever-present sounds of life. No creaks, vibrations, ticking. It was a deep quiet that I had never experienced. It frightened me, yet at the same time filled me with wonder that the world could be so still.

  “Come in,” I replied at the soft knock on the door. I turned to see Sean peek in.

  “Thought I heard you moving about.”

  I blushed. “Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

  “You’ve more than earned a long rest. Hungry?” he asked as he leaned against the doorway.

  “A little.”

  “Good. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “I’m just going to hop in the shower.”

  “Don’t rush. You’ve got time.”

  “Thank you, Sean.” I looked at him and smiled. In those three words I let him know that all was forgiven and that he had been right. This was what I needed.

  “Anytime.” He backed out the room and shut the door behind him, leaving me alone.

  I turned and walked over and opened my suitcase. Taking out a pair of slacks and a white cotton blouse as well as undies, I walked into the bathroom and wanted to pinch myself. The light peach-colored room with sand-colored inscribed tiles was a woman’s dream.

  A large marble sink stood by itself next to a white painted wood vanity tower. The glass framed shower stood separate from the tub. I walked over and ran my fingers over the edge of the white claw-foot tub. I’d seen bathtubs like that one only in movies or in designer magazines. Its deep polished inside spoke of long soaks with low lights and burning candles.

  I smiled, seeing myself with a green oatmeal avocado facemask and hair coved by a towel sitting in the tub with my eyes closed. I moved towards what I guessed was the closet door. I pushed back the sliding door and just stood there with my mouth wide open. On one side each and every shelf was stocked with oils, soaps, gels, shampoo, conditioner, perfume, scrub, and sprays. The other side was filled with different colored towels. After digging though I pulled out a simple green tea-scented shower gel and a large, soft towel.

  “So this is how the other half lives,” I murmured.

  Sean hadn’t been kidding when he said that this house was a retreat. I shook my head in disbelief. As far as I was concerned, it could have been a resort for the rich and famous. I had spent time at Sean’s place in L.A. but I’d made it a point to never wander. I didn’t want to get used to the luxury. I’d never want to get caught up in the star madness. I’d clung to my simple Philly girl image like a lifeline.

  By the time I’d showered and dressed, the sun had almost gone down and the clock chimed that it was eight o’clock. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. The smell of food made my stomach rumble. As I headed downstairs, I took my time glancing around. Everything in the place seemed to fit. The paintings, the furniture, the rugs. It was as though everything had been created to be in this place, and that made it feel like a home.

  The wide windows in the living room brought in the sunset and a beautiful view of the desert mesa. A white ceiling fan whirled gently, stirring the incense-scented air. Underneath the stained overhead beams, I stood by the sofa letting my eyes drift out the glass doors to the desert landscape. Brown and tan with bits of green. My eyes traced the cactus-covered ground and then I looked further out to the mountains. Sean’s backyard emptied into the dry landscape. The only source of color was a barn set catty-corner to the house.

  I turned away from the window and followed my nose to the kitchen. Pushing through the swinging door, I stepped into what could have doubled for a Williams Sonoma print ad. Gray commercial-sized anodized pots and pans hung from strategically placed hooks over the stove and shiny gourmet appliances sat neatly on the countertops. Sean stood by the electric grill.

  I leaned against the island countertop and let out an appreciative whistle. “This is a pretty serio
us kitchen, my friend. I’m impressed.”

  Sean turned and smiled. “Believe it or not I’m a pretty serious cook.”

  “You cook, sing, and paint. You have the makings of the perfect man. Better watch out or you’ll have every man in America trying to take you down,” I teased.

  “And why would they want to do that?” He turned over the salmon.

  “Let me clue you in on something, my very naïve superstar. Right now it’s only the single women that chase after you while the married women dream about being single and dating you. If the press got wind of your culinary skills, married women everywhere would have another skill to nag their husbands about.”

  Sean let out a bark of laughter before turning around and checking on the food. “You should have been a comedian, Leah. Your talents are being wasted.”

  “True. But I don’t have the patience for show business. I’ll leave that to you. So what’s cooking and how can I help?”

  “We’re having salmon tonight with sautéed garlic spinach and baked red potatoes. For dessert, I’ve got spiced apple tarts warming in the oven.”

  “Please don’t tell me you bake, too.” That would be too good to be true.

  “I could lie,” he answered. “But I’m not a baking kind of guy. These tarts came with simple directions. Remove from box and place in oven.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief and walked towards Sean. I stopped next to him and noticed, not for the first time, how wonderful he smelled. “So what can I do?”

  “Hmmm, how about you pick out a wine for dinner?”

  “Isn’t that a man’s job?”

  “Not tonight. The rack’s over there.”

  “Can you at least give me some selection criteria? I’m not a wine connoisseur.”

  “Pick a red.”

  Okay, I mused, this ought to be easy. That was my thought until I opened the door he had pointed to and walked into a small wall-to-wall bottle-filled wine closet.

  “You have got to be kidding,” I shouted.

  “You can do it.”

  My eyes glazed over at the sheer number of bottles. “Sean, no one needs this much wine.”

  I jumped when I heard his voice so close to me. “It’s not for quantity, Leah. It’s for selection,” he said.

  I turned and playfully punched him on the shoulder. “You just took a year off my life. Could you make some more noise next time?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I can’t pick a wine.”

  “Close your eyes and chose one.”

  “Why can’t you do this? You’re the one with the collection.” I pointed my finger at him.

  He leaned in closer. “I’ve a secret.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t buy any of this, someone else did.”

  “So you don’t know what to get either…” I smiled.

  “You’re wounding my pride right now.”

  “I won’t tell a soul.” I wandered towards the back wall and pulled out what I hope was a good bottle.

  “Pinot Noir 1988. This has to be a good year,” I proclaimed.

  “Why’s that?” Sean asked as we returned to the kitchen.

  “That was the year I got straight A’s on my report card, and Rena and I got our braces taken off.”

  “You had braces?”

  “All of us aren’t born blessed with perfect teeth.”

  “I had to wear a retainer for three years,” he replied off handedly.

  My defensiveness vanished as I stared at Sean. He never ceased to amaze me. He smiled and picked up a serving plate and walked through the open doorway that led to the living room. The square hardwood table was set for two. Picking up the wine bottle and salad bowl, I followed Sean out of the kitchen. A dark-colored chandelier with candle-shaped lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room with a soft glow.

  I took a seat across from Sean. He expertly opened the wine bottle and filled the wine glasses I held in my hand. When I handed him a goblet, our fingers touched, and I looked at him. There was a moment of staring too long, a jolt, a shiver. I shook my head to cleanse myself of the dangerous thoughts.

  “If you ever decide to give up singing, you should open a restaurant,” I joked after my second bite.

  The salmon was delicious. It didn’t just smell great, it tasted great. Butter, herbs, lemon, and the crisp flakiness of the fish filled my mouth. I knew that if Sean opened a restaurant men would come for the good food and women would come just to look at the owner. Under the soft light, Sean was a bedtime fairy tale come to life, the prince in the castle, the perfect husband, the gallant knight.

  “Funny you should mention that. I’ve been thinking a lot about the future now that the tour’s over.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Not yet. Jason is talking about getting into film.”

  “That might not be such a bad thing.”

  “It is when you can’t act, Leah,” he replied after taking a bite of the salmon.

  “You could take a class,” I suggested.

  “I don’t think that’s a space I want to be in. I can’t act a way I don’t feel.” He shook his head. “Movies are all about pretending to be someone else. I have a hard time just being me.”

  “Oh, well,” I sighed. “Looks like Tom Cruise will be able to sleep better knowing that his career’s safe.”

  “Tom Cruise? You’re comparing me to Tom Cruise?” His tone was shocked.

  I took a sip of wine and smiled. “Oh, sorry. How about Russell Crowe?”

  “That’s worse, not better. I was thinking Tom Hanks. I always thought of myself as being the low-key type.”

  I shook my head. “No, he’s too much the normal guy. You’re a rock star. Maybe Pierce Brosnan? He’s got an edge.”

  “007?” He laughed heartily. “So that makes you which Bond girl?”

  “Speaking of Bond girls…How’s Dalia doing?” I asked in an off-handed manner. I’d wanted to ask that question since Sean picked me up at the airport. No woman in her right mind would be okay with another woman spending time alone with her man. Hollywood stars might live in another world, but when it comes to relationships, they are just like your average person on the street.

  “She’s on set in Canada, I think.”

  “Is she coming to visit soon?” I asked. “I hope she doesn’t mind me using her stuff.”

  Sean looked puzzled. “Her stuff?”

  “The toiletries in the bathroom,” I explained.

  “Leah, you’re the first person I’ve had here besides the decorator. You can use whatever you like.”

  I almost dropped the heavy fork. Instead, I put it down slowly and took a long drink, savoring the warmth of the wine as it slipped down my throat. I couldn’t fight the giddy sensation his announcement had caused.

  “So where’d you learn how to cook like that?” I asked after we’d cleared the table and placed the last plate into the dishwasher.

  “My mom was a very forward-thinking Scotswoman. She and my Dad met at the University of Edinburgh,” he said.

  I pulled up one of the barstools next to the island and watched as Sean operated the coffee/espresso maker. He placed two coffee-filled mugs, sugar, and cream on a wooden serving tray.

  He continued, “They met at a pub late one Sunday night when all the restaurants were closed and the markets shut for the day. My dad was starving because he didn’t know how to cook and didn’t have any food back at his flat. Mom took pity on the poor man and took him home to her parents’.”

  I followed Sean through the kitchen to the back of the house. We entered a sunken den. A forest green chenille loveseat sat in the corner facing a honey maple entertainment center. Simba lay curled contentedly in the middle of a multi panel gold and maroon Persian rug. I watched as Sean placed the tray on a side bar next to a small round table that held a checkers set.

  I stood next to him and reached down to lift the small wooden checker set. I picked up my cup of coffee as Sean gestured for me
to take a seat in the comfortable leather chair. “Don’t stop there, you’ve got to finish the story,” I urged.

  Sean took the seat opposite me. “Well, Dad always told me that he fell in love with my mom when she invited him over to dinner, but couldn’t speak to her alone. So he resolved that he’d learn how to cook so he could impress her.”

  I leaned forward, eager to hear the rest of the story. “Want to play a game of checkers?” he asked.

  “Sean, the story. You have to finish the story first.”

  “Where was I? Oh, Dad decided that he’d learn how to cook. So he invited my mom over for dinner one Sunday afternoon. He wanted to cook her a fancy meat pie but ended up burning it. My mom, being the smart woman she was, had come prepared. They ended up eating cold ham sandwiches.”

  “So how does this story relate to the wonderful gourmet dinner you just whipped up?”

  “Mom didn’t want some crafty upper-class girl enticing me back to her apartment with promises of home-cooked meals.”

  “So she taught you how to cook?” I guessed.

  Sean nodded and set down his mug. “She made me peel the potatoes, chop onions, and marinate chicken.”

  “I’m impressed,” I replied.

  “Now can you play?”

  “Can I play?” I tried to bluff and then looked into Sean’s serious face. “To be honest, I haven’t played checkers in years.”

  “Then I promise to take it easy on you,” he laughed. “How about best two out of three? You first.”

  I bit the outside of my lip and placed my finger on the black checker to make the first advance. “So I take it you’re really into checkers?” I asked.

  “Dad loves checkers. Some fathers teach their kids baseball or basketball. He taught me checkers and football.”

  “Football as in American or soccer?”

  “Soccer. When it rained, we’d spend time after supper playing checkers,” Sean said after taking a jump. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to jump one of his checkers on my next move.

  “Yes,” he sighed. “After my first fight at school, Dad sat me down and trounced me soundly at checkers. He taught me that the mind is a powerful thing.”