“Just eat, G.I. Joe. I promise I won’t tell anyone that I cut your meat for you.”
Jack still looks like I swiped his favorite lunch box, but he takes a cautious bite.
“Do you have kids?” I ask when his mouth is full.
He swallows. “No.” He scoops another forkful into his mouth.
I’m part impressed and part peeved that he was so ready for my question. Jesus. Now I can’t think of anything else to say.
But I still want to know why there are two kids’ bedrooms upstairs.
As I mull this over, Jack cleans his plate with the efficiency of an anteater. I put down my own plate, stand, and take his empty plate. In less than a minute, I return it to him, loaded with second helpings of everything.
“You made seconds?”
I nod.
“My niece and nephew,” he says. “My brother’s kids.”
“Are you their foster dad, or something?”
“They stay with me whenever he and his wife are both away.” He takes a few bites. “Which is at least once a month. They travel a lot for business. And they usually manage to include weekends away.”
“But the rooms, they look lived in. Not just rooms they stay in, but their rooms. Posters on the walls and stuff.”
“I want them to be at home. Not feel like they’re in the way.”
“Are they rich?”
“Yup.”
We eat in silence for a few seconds. “So, if the kids didn’t spend time with you, they’d be stuck with a nanny?”
Jack shrugs. “One of ‘em. They’ve got two.”
“Hmm. So, do they get to be totally wild when they’re here?”
“They run with scissors and everything.”
I take a swig of Coke. “Where do they live?”
“Laguna Nigel.”
I put down the bottle. “Orange County? So, on weekdays, you drive them to school? Glendale to Orange County?”
Jack swallows a mouthful. “Nuh-uh. We either hang glide or take the horses.”
“Hmm,” I say again, this time with an undertone of a snide Hanna-Barbera villain, “be as funny as you want, but I’ve got your number.”
“I hope it’s pi. I love pie.”
“You like kids,” I accuse with triumph.
Jack sets down his plate, then stretches along the wide, long couch. “I’d like some after-dinner coffee, Jeeves.”
I get up and make my way back to the kitchen. “Have any brandy?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
Later, after polishing off two cups of spiked coffee and a bowl of vanilla bean ice cream mixed together with Rice Krispies and Nestlé’s Quik (which he claims is for the kids), a very comfy-looking and contented Jack sinks back into the couch and closes his eyes. I’m still working on my ice cream, since I like it best when it gets all melted and soupy.
“So, you wiped out on the bike?” I ask.
“Happens.”
“And the gear?”
“Pretty good. Have a few ideas.”
“’Course you do,” I say. “Far be it from you to let a little spill get in the way of action action action.”
“May as well not waste the day.”
“That’s why I stayed.”
Jack opens his eyes and looks at me. “Why? Because of the gear?”
“You never give yourself a break,” I explain. “So I thought I’d stick around and do the honors.”
“This mean you’re going to do the dishes, too?”
I nod and smile. “When do you see the kids again?”
“They were supposed to be here all Halloween weekend, but Ted and Suzy decided to stay in town. There’s some big costume party at the club, and they want to be sure to be seen. And they’re bringing the kids with them.”
“Mmmm,” I say, savoring my ice cream. “You sound bitter. You never sound bitter. You’ve got something to say about Ted and Suzy?”
Jack sighs. “No.” He sounds like a pouty kid who’s being asked if he’s going to play ball so close to the house ever again. “Not really. It’s just….Never mind.”
“Okay. What do you and the rugrats do together?”
“Josh and Isabelle. They’ve usually got their own things to get done. Homework. Then we just hang out.”
“Running with scissors?”
“Running with scissors,” he confirms.
“Do you wish you had your own kids?”
Jack doesn’t answer, but he picks up his empty coffee mug and pours a few fingers of Scotch into it.
I take a sip of my un-spiked coffee.
“It’s what I suck at.”
What?
I breathe carefully, afraid I’m going to pull a penny out of my pocket and ruin everything. “What, exactly,” I ask lightly, “do you suck at?”
He takes a swig of Scotch. “Forging relationships. You know, the kind that matter.”
That’s it? He-Man’s big secret is that he’s commitment-phobic?
“You suck at relationships,” I say, trying not to judge or fix, trying to remember anything I can from Mars and Venus. “Well….”
“No,” he says, “not relationships. Forging relationships.”
“I’m confused.”
“Some people fall into relationships or are born into them, and I’m pretty okay with those kind. No better or worse than your average schmuck, I guess.”
He pauses.
“Okay,” I say.
“But when I actually set out to forge a relationship… to make it happen because I want it in my life… well, that’s what I suck at.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Jesus!” He shoots to a standing position, then deciding he has nowhere to go, sits back down. “Just look at Into the Wild. I tried to build this totally non-corporate company. I decided I would go employee-owned, and that we’d all be working toward the same goal. But look what’s happening. They think they're better than other people, not just other companies or other gear. They don’t want to expand into anything that’s too ‘normal.’ I got it all wrong.”
“But Into the Wild’s a business, Jack.” I try to sound off-hand, as if what he’s told me is no big deal. “Relationships with people are different.”
“Who do you think makes up the business? Nobody?” He starts laughing. Then he says something, I think.
“‘Loose all over again?’” I echo, just for clarification, sure now that he’s three sheets to the wind.
“Loose,” he agrees, “and Edgar and Griselda.”
“Oh,” I say, cluing in, “Luz.”
“Ruiz. Well, Montez. Luz Montez and Edgar and Griselda Ruiz. Luz is their daughter.”
“Oh, no,” I say, “this already sounds tragic.”
He stops laughing and looks over with raised eyebrows that almost serve as shrug. “Nobody dies,” he offers, then his eyes become bleak. “Until later.”
He switches positions on the couch then, stretching out on his stomach, with his head closer to me than it was before. I want to hear whatever he’s about to tell me. I really, really do.
But I’m afraid.
If Jack realizes when he sobers up what he revealed to me while he was drunk, he may never want to see me or talk to me again. And he might even blame me for getting him drunk and prying the dirt from his stingy heart. I could play the odds, though, and hope he never remembers. Then I’ll just have to keep the secret to myself.
Right.
“Jack,” I say, leaning toward him, “I think it’s time you went to bed now.”
“No, Lisa. I want to tell you this. I know, like, everything about you. You can stand to hear this one thing about me.”
I get out of my chair. “No, I can’t, Jack. I don’t want to hear anything after all that Scotch and brandy.”
He grabs my hand, but I can’t let him do this. If he speaks, I know he’ll hate me in the morning. And for the rest of my life.
So I lean down and kiss him. Long and slow, more sens
uously than we ever kiss in the wild. This is bound to freak him out and get him back to his senses.
But before I know it, instead of throwing me off him, he’s kissing me back. His hands are ON me and oh, God. Jack’s going to take me to bed when he’s drunk.
“Jack!” I yell, pushing myself away from him, “Stop this!” I scramble to my feet.
He looks up at me from the couch, eyes hazy with confusion. “You kissed me.”
“That was supposed to repulse you so you’d storm off.”
“What?” He clambers into sitting position. “Storm off where? This is my house.” He bolts off the couch and across the room, away from me. In front of the fireplace he turns around, absolute disgust etched onto his face. “Get out.”
“That’s not fair!” I cry. “Where do you get off, making me the bad guy in this scenario? I was trying to be nice, you jerk! I just didn’t want you to tell me anything you’d regret!”
“Get. Out.”
As I open my mouth to defend myself, I realize that this is exactly what I want. No way he’s going to tell me anything now. But I cannot shut up. I must defend myself against his really unfair fury.
“Jack!” I’m breathing so hard I have to gulp in air to get my next words out. “Stop being so mean to me and listen.”
“Me listen?” Jack puts his hand on the mantelpiece, and it flashes through my mind that he does this because all the kissing and shouting has hurt his ribs. “Why don’t you listen for a change? You know,” he scoffs, “the fact that you always just blunder on through without thinking, totally unaware of how you’re affecting us around you, doesn’t excuse you. Not one bit. I’m so sick of all this aggressive stupidity. Now get out.”
I don’t budge, adamant that I won’t be scared by all his mumbo-jumbo designed to make me feel inadequate and in-the-wrong. “How am I stupid?” I demand.
Jack looks at me with cold, hard fury. “I try to tell you how I suck at forging relationships and you respond by trying to trick me with sex games. See anything wrong with that picture?”
My voice is so soft I can hardly hear it. “I just didn’t want you telling any secrets while you were drunk.”
But even as I say it, I realize that what he just said doesn’t sound drunk at all. In fact, it makes a scary sort of sense.
“I’m not drunk.”
I can’t move.
“But if you really thought I was,” he asks, “why didn’t you just leave? Why this stupid test I was set up to fail?”
He stares at me, but I have no answer. I’m still trying to process what I’ve done.
“Let me guess,” he says. “You didn’t think of just leaving. Because you didn’t think. Like always. Now get out. It’s easy, Lisa. Just turn around and walk out. No thinking required. Just go.”
I’m absolutely numb. The undeniable truth of everything he’s saying is icing through me like Novocain.
“To hell with it,” he finally says. “I’m going to bed.” He flicks off the family room light on his way to the stairs, then climbs up while I stand there in the dark.
I hear his bedroom door shut at the top of the stairs. Shut. Not slam, but shut. Even his rejection of me is completely without passion.
So. Here I stand, no one to watch me if I should flounce out. No one to say the last word to. No one to even close and lock the door behind me.
I slink out of his house, stepping into the black, starless night. It’s so dark and quiet. Back there, in the house, Jack kissed me back. Jack was going to take me to bed.
And Jack isn’t drunk.
CHAPTER 16
“There’s the lady of the hour!”
I turn so quickly toward the kitchen door that I slip on the wet floor and barely catch myself on the edge of the sink.
“Crispin…” I turn toward him with my feet firmly under me. Damn, that man is gorgeous. Like Phillip Michael Thomas with a dash of Rick Fox.
“Lisa?” He does a double take to get a good look at me.
I'm soaked from head to toe and covered with spaghetti sauce. “How are you liking our little shindig?” I ask. “Meeting lots of awesome people? Like these two?” I smile as Michael and Antawne come through to get another stack of clean dishes.
“Everyone is great,” Crispin agrees. “I’m glad I came.” His eyes flick across my messy body. “Too bad you got stuck doing clean up.” He steps closer, but not that close. “I was thinking that after the dinner we could go…”
“I'm going to take a shower then right to bed,” I say, then laugh. “That’s where I’m going. I’ve been annihilated by an annual spaghetti carnival.”
Crispin nods, “Yeah,” he says, his mouth turning down. “I hear that. But I would have thought you’d be out mixing with the people all day, being such a mover and shaker here at HEYA.”
“A good leader steps in where she’s needed,” I point out. Even though I totally volunteered to do clean up weeks ago because I hate schmoozing.
“Well, I was thinking about taking off soon.”
“Crispin,” I say, walking up to him– and he BACKS UP. “Thank you so much for coming, and for advertising this in your stores. You mean a lot to this project and to this community.”
“You’re welcome,” he says. “Good-night.”
I’m pretty sure he couldn’t get out of the kitchen fast enough. Good thing. I’m a very busy and important person.
Jack doesn’t think so, but so what? I turn back to the sink and resume washing dishes.
Big deal that he doesn’t even acknowledge me in class anymore. I don’t acknowledge him, either. And of course I haven’t tried to call. Why would I? We have no reason to contact one another except to arrange testing jaunts. And I sure haven’t invented anything.
I jump when the kitchen door slams open behind me. But this time, I don’t skid around all Bambi-like.
“Thanks, guys,” I call over my shoulder to Michael and Antawne, back for another batch of warm, clean, sanitized plates. “The clean ones are over there.” I gesture with a shrug of my right shoulder.
“LISA!”
I spin around to see Mr. Bennett standing in the doorway. He does not look happy. Not that he ever does. But this look is worse.
“What is going on in here?”
“Uh…” My eyes dart around the kitchen. Suds all over almost every surface, suds all over me, water dripping off the counters, clean and dirty dishes everywhere. Looks pretty bad to someone who doesn’t understand the way I clean up, which is pretty messy until the very end.
“LISA?”
“Mr. Bennet,” I jump at his booming voice just a little. “I’ve got this plan.”
“What are you doing to our kitchen?”
I stand up straight and lift my chin. “There has not been one single glitch for the past three hours with getting hot, clean, sanitized plates out there. I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re a mess.”
“I’m not done yet.” I make the pronouncement as I step carefully across the kitchen. I sweep my arms like a The Price Is Right model, indicating stacks of dishes. “This is part of a system, so don’t knock it.”
“A system?”
“Aw, don’t take that tone, Mr. Bennett. I’m in here to do a job,” I say more briskly, “and I’m doing it. I volunteered to do kitchen duty by myself so all you guys could mingle and show everyone why HEYA is worth investing in. So, go help save the center and let me take care of the kitchen.”
His face remains impassive. “Just get this mess cleaned up.” With a shake of his head, he finally leaves the kitchen.
I look around at my soapy domain and smile.
“Let’s hear about this system.”
My entire goes rigid as if I’ve just been stunned with a taser.
I take a few deep breaths, then turn around slowly, livid with myself for reacting like such a teenager to the sound of his voice. He’s standing in the other kitchen doorway, the one that leads to the back hallway.
“Jack.�
�� I keep my voice even.
I don’t know what else to say or how to say it. I’m not sure how I feel. But I’m pretty sure I’m blushing.
I’m so ridiculously glad he’s here. And this makes me want to smash every plate in the kitchen.
“Let’s see,” he says, walking into the kitchen, surveying the scene. The first time he acknowledges that I exist in over a week, but he looks around the kitchen instead of at me.
“Wash, put in the rack, rinse everything with scalding hot water from the hose on the sink.” He looks at the counters, considering. “How are you going to dry up all the excess water at the end of the night?”
Mr. Smug thinks I haven’t thought it through. “Dishtowels under the sink,” I say. Clipped, terse. “I’ll bring them home to launder tonight, return them tomorrow. Plus I have some moving blankets in my car for the floor.”
Still looking at the counters, Jack nods. “Good plan.”
“I know.”
Then he starts… he starts… helping. Just like that. Without even asking, he picks up a dirty plate from a stack by the sink, scrapes what's on it into a big plastic bin designated just for food scraps, then puts the plate in the sudsy sink.
“Why are you here?” I demand.
“I saw The Spaghetti Supper ad in the Times.”
“I mean here, in the kitchen, right now. How is it that you showed up just when Mr. Bennet did?” I look out the small barred window toward the parking lot. “What are they saying about me out there?”
“I saw Pacquito running around out there,” he says, clearly not answering me.
I decide to humor him for just a sec. “Gabriel, a kid who comes to the center a lot, loves Pacquito. I bring him in whenever I can so they can be together.”
“Gabriel is the kid with crooked glasses?”
“Yup.”
Jack nods. Doesn’t say anything else.
Ha! His attempt to derail the conversation led nowhere.
“So,” I say. “What are they saying about me out there?”
“Nothing much. Michael and Antawne….”
“Those two ratted me out? After I made them a paper towel path so they wouldn’t slip on the floor?”
“They didn’t rat you out. Mr. Bennett just thought he’d check to see how things were coming along.”
Miss Adventure Page 17
