Aphrodite's Stand

by Sandra Scott

  “Well, yes, my father left us too when he was quite young.” She waded through her uneasiness, wanting to say anything to move beyond the moment. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “I am sorry for your loss as well.” Stefano sat. From a small distance, his eyes briefly caressed his mother’s image. “You remind me of her.”

  Andra lifted an eyebrow. “Huh?” She rotated her head and glanced up at the photo again, taking extra note of his mother’s pale beauty. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see it.”

  “It is not so much physical; it’s more spiritual. Something intangible.” He coughed self-consciously. Turning his back to her, he focused on shuffling papers. “What, may I ask, would you like to discuss with me?”

  To Andra’s relief and terror, the moment of confrontation had finally arrived. She licked her dry lips. Withdrawing what little resources she had left in her courage bank account, she straightened to stare at the nape of his neck, noting the razor-sharp perfection of his neatly trimmed hairline. “Yes, I know how busy you are, so I’ll get right to the point.” At Stefano’s continued shuffling, Andra mutely dared him to face her. “I know what you’re doing, Stefano. It won’t work.”

  Stefano’s hands paused; still, he refused to face her. “And what might that be, Doctor?”

  She sighed angrily. “You know what! You’re trying to destroy your brother’s marriage, using Sly as part of your arsenal. Like I said, it won’t work.”

  “Are you not a part of the marriage?”

  Andra blinked with confusion. “Yes, I am. Why?”

  “You eliminated yourself just now when you spoke.” He continued his shuffling. “Perhaps you have already counted yourself out?”

  “No, I haven’t!” Andra jumped up. “Look, Stefano, what Jay and I have is real. Nothing you or anybody else does can change that. I love him.”

  As his chair slowly turned, Andra steeled herself for his indignant wrath. To her surprise, his face showed only regret.

  Her eyes rose with him to involuntarily run the length of his tall, slender frame. They locked on him as he paced before her.

  “When my mother passed away, my father did not adjust to the change very well. Slowly, he withdrew from life, leaving Jayson and myself behind.” He ceased pacing to look at her. “You must understand he didn’t mean to abandon us in such a way—yet he did.”

  At her silence, Stefano resumed pacing and ultimately walked back to her. Again, he gazed at his family’s photo, seemingly lost in the past, a man who had forgotten she stood beside him in the present.

  When he spoke again, his voice had a faraway quality to it. “I returned from college to help with the family business.” His expression a void, he lingered on the photo until his eyes focused on Andra standing there. His face cleared, and he smiled faintly, only to move away. “You see, I took on the responsibility of stepping into my father’s shoes—not only for the business but for Jayson as well.”

  A subtle change came over Stefano; he appeared to deflate as though air had been let out of his spirit. Lowering into his chair, he studied his tightly clenched fists. “Do my responsibilities extend to depriving my brother of his happiness?” He opened one hand and considered its open palm, as if searching for an answer there. He shook his head. “I thought I was doing what was best for Jayson—for the family. To everyone’s detriment, I sometimes allow the burden I carry to hinder my good judgment.” Stefano’s head lifted. He stared straight into her eyes as his glittered like black diamonds. “I regret my actions.”

  The CD track changed; the poignant music from Tchaikovsky’s “None but the Lonely Heart” softly filled the room.

  Her brother-in-law’s vulnerability drew her in, pushing aside the nervousness she’d initially felt upon entering. Silently, it pulled her across the room to him. As she stood over him, a small flash of blue and white caught her attention, and her eyes traveled across his mahogany desk to meet it.

  Sitting upon his desk was the lily he’d earlier withdrawn from her hair, cradled almost reverently inside a small crystal vase.

  Seeing the flower twisted something inside her. Andra knew her discovery was of great significance, but she refused to identify what that great significance could be. She simply told herself it was just a flower in a vase.

  Compelled by an unknown force, Andra lifted a palm and placed it on his cheek. His olive skin was cool, and she felt the prickly stubble of new growth beard.

  I regret my actions.

  She understood he hadn’t out and out apologized for what he’d done, yet in many ways, he had. He hadn’t fully admitted the extent of what he’d done, yet he did. Continuing to learn about Stefano the man, Andra was willing to accept what little he had said at its truest value.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  His eyes lowered from her lips to roam her swollen breasts. She chose not to be offended; she knew it was the way a man was created.

  “If only,” he said, his voice low and wistful.

  A strong inner compulsion made her want to lean over, touch his face to hers, and whisper, “If only what?”

  Yet something even greater stopped her: her love for Jayson.

  His abrupt rising startled her into stepping back. She braced herself as he extended his arm.

  “I hope we are on good standing,” he said, staring into her eyes.

  To Andra, his proffered hand appeared both benign and dangerous; it promised freedom, yet could be her captor. Her own hand itched to take it, if only to again experience the sensation of his skin against hers—yet she was afraid.

  Ambiguously, his hand hung suspended in air.

  Exhaling, Andra hesitated a few more seconds before sliding her hand into his.

  Stefano didn’t immediately complete the handshake; he simply held on, waiting for her response.

  “Yes, we’re good,” she finally said.

  Their grip and their stare stretched on longer. Separate sounds—soft classical music, the quiet ticking of the antique wall clock, birds tweeting beyond the windowpane—vaguely filtered into Andra’s brain. As they stood, their frames frozen, she had the notion that any moment, Stefano would pull her into his embrace and—

  Stefano stirred, as if awakening from a trance. “As much as I am compelled to do so, I will not seek you out again. This is my promise.”

  When he finally released her hand, it throbbed as if seared by a hot iron.

  “I must return to my responsibilities.” He presented his back to her upon returning to his chair and swiveling toward his desk. However, he didn’t immediately start working but gazed at the small vase holding the blue-and-white lily. “I hope the remainder of your day will be pleasant.”

  “Thank you.” Not knowing exactly why, she felt her spirit dip at his abrupt dismissal. “Yours as well.”

  Slightly confused at his—as well as her own—attitude, she quietly headed for the door.

  “Andra?” he said.

  She turned expectantly, her spirits suddenly lifting at hearing him say her name for the first time. “Yes, Stefano?”

  At his pause, the air crackled with unspoken thoughts straining to be said. She longed to see his face and gauge his reaction to the words he would speak, yet he kept his back to her.

  “Andra, I, uh …”

  She refused to breathe, waiting for words that had the ability to either uplift or crush. When they finally came, they did neither.

  “I will not be at dinner tonight, so I will say my good night now,” he said.

  She knew he couldn’t see it, but Andra nodded anyway. Quickly slipping from the room, she closed the door behind her, cutting off the haunting melody of Liszt’s “Hungarian Rhapsody.”

  36

  Sly looked beyond her busy hands immersed in dishwashing bubbles to glare out the picturesque kitchen window.

  From time to time,
she’d squint against the window’s framing of the afternoon sun, its brightness hindering her from seeing into the distance for long. Although she knew it was irrational to be upset with the sun for obstructing her view, her wrath rose at it exponentially.

  Behind her, Sly heard the creaking of her grandmother’s rocker, its rhythmic sound spilling forth from the alcove’s corner.

  “Be sure to wash them well, my sweet princess, as I know you can,” she said in ancient Greek. Her antique hands moved quickly and precisely as her nimble fingers knitted a blue woolen afghan shawl. “Make sure to sweep and mop the floors.”

  “Yes, Yaya,” Sly said absentmindedly, keeping her back to the old woman. “I will.”

  She continued searching the landscape until she finally spotted Paulo’s slow gait cross the field. Her body relaxed at his appearance. In her haste to speak with him, she felt as if time slowed drastically; it seemed it took him forever to reach the back door. However, she knew in real time, it took less than ten minutes.

  “Where have you been? I have waited so long for you!” she said foregoing a greeting. She slowly pivoted as he walked by. “Where do you go at times?”

  Paulo’s expression resigned, he moved in exhaustion as he crossed over to their grandmother and placed a small kiss on her cheek. He then plopped down in a chair at the small breakfast table.

  “I was out doing business.” He paused to glare at her. “And stop talking to me as if I am younger than you. I am the eldest.”

  Sly turned away and resumed washing dishes in silence. She chose not to bully him into getting her way, as she usually did, but instead decided to let him believe he was in full control of everything. She recognized her brother was upset, and when he was in his present frame of mind, if not handled delicately, Paulo could become as stubborn as a bull.

  “I’m sorry.” She continued sloshing soapy water. “You are right.”

  “What are you two saying?” their grandmother asked, her faded green eyes staring at them with intense curiosity, while never missing a beat with her knitting. “You know I cannot understand the English.”

  Simultaneously, Sly and Paulo sighed at the known revelation.

  “Nothing at all, Yaya,” Paulo said to her. “We were speaking hello to one another.”

  Their grandmother stopped rocking. “Is not ‘hello’ in the English hi?” At Paulo’s reluctant nod, she pushed the chair into motion again. “I did not hear such a word.”

  Her back to her brother and grandmother, despite her foul mood, Sly couldn’t help but smile. She loved her grandmother greatly, especially when she said unexpectedly funny things.

  “True, Yaya,” Paulo said with a small smile in his voice. “However, there are many ways to say hello in English.”

  The ancient one tutted. “I do not understand why you must speak it here. I know nothing.”

  Sly pivoted, facing them, her soapy hands dripping water onto the floor. “Yaya, maybe you should learn, as we have. It is always good to speak other languages, especially the American language.”

  Their grandmother tutted again and returned to her knitting, her actions silently giving them permission to go ahead and speak English, although she was not happy about it.

  Sly picked up a dry dish towel and wiped her hands on it. She studied Paulo’s pensive face. “What’s wrong, big brother? You can tell me.”

  Paulo paused for a long time, appearing as if he would refuse to speak. Eventually, he broke the silence with a long sigh. “I was at a meeting with a Texas businessman.”

  Sly stopped drying her hands. “You mean the investor Stefano has been talking about?”

  A startled expression lit up Paulo’s face. He slowly shook his head. “I do not understand how you know everything.” At her silence, he continued. “Yes, with him.”

  She placed balled fists on her hips. “And the family knows nothing about this, I can assume.”

  Once again, Paulo shook his head in amazement at her correct reasoning. He stared at his folded hands, which rested atop the table. “No.”

  Mutely, Sly gazed at Paulo’s bent head. Throwing her towel over one shoulder, she sat across from him, her curiosity pushing aside her initial anger at his perceived duplicity. “What was this meeting about?”

  Again, Paulo looked ready to shut down.

  Sly reached over and laid a gentle hand upon his. She squeezed. “Come now, Brother. We are family; I will always be there for you in everything you do.”

  Sly’s reassuring touch seemed to give him strength. Eventually, he pushed forth another sigh and said, “The Texan, Mr. Grainger, wants me to assist him in taking over Papa Georigios’ olive business.”

  Surprised, Sly snatched her hand away. Slumping in her chair, she stared at him incredulously. “Why would you even consider such a thing? What, may I ask, is in it for him?”

  “Nothing. He simply wants to buy out the company, make it profitable again, and then return it to the family once it is stable economically.”

  “I do not understand, Paulo,” she said. “Are you sure that is all he wants?” At his hesitant nod, Sly frowned. “How can you be sure?”

  “What?” The old one dropped her knitting into her lap, the lines in her face deepening. “What are you talking about now?”

  “Again, nothing, Yaya—just discussing the price of food,” Sly said, switching to Greek. She tried not to blink guiltily at the lie. “It is getting so expensive.”

  “Pish! The price of food has—and always will—go up. No need to worry about what is.”

  Sly acknowledged the older woman’s misplaced wisdom and attempted a neutral expression for her sake. “Yes, Yaya.”

  The old woman shook her head and revisited her knitting; for show, Sly plastered a smile on her face and lowered her tone to neutral. She directed her attention back to Paulo. “Tell me, what exactly does this Mr. Grainger expect you to do?”

  “Find out their weaknesses and report to him.” Miserably, Paulo shrugged. “He states he has already figured out one major weakness concerning both Stefano and J. J.” Slowly, Paulo’s dark brown eyes left his hands to rise and stare at Sly. “He stated you were wrong.”

  Sly was taken aback. “What does he mean I was wrong? About what?”

  “Stefano,” he quickly replied. “You told me Stefano hated Dr. Andra.”

  She shifted angrily in her chair, her mind returning to Stefano and Andra standing so close inside the shade behind the tool building. Agitated, she leaned forward. “I do not understand, my brother. What does that have to do with Stefano and J. J.’s weaknesses?”

  After another pause, Paulo let out a heavy sigh. “He said that both J. J. and Stefano are in love with Dr. Andra. She is their weakness.”

  Sly slammed back against her seat, her abdominal muscles twisting painfully in the process. A queasy feeling washed over her at Paulo’s words; she knew immediately her nausea was due not to this truth but to the fact that someone else recognized Stefano’s obsession with the beautiful black doctor.

  Not wanting to address whether she – or the nosy Mr. Grainger – was right or wrong, she sat forward. “What does he want you to do if he already knows this?”

  Paulo bobbed his stooped shoulders. “I do not know. He instructed me to keep my eyes and ears open just the same.”

  Pondering, Sly looked off into space. Her sharp manicured nails tapped loudly against the tabletop.

  “Stop that,” her grandmother said, never ceasing her rocking. “It is unladylike and annoying.”

  “Yes, Yaya,” she automatically replied. Watching Paulo, she slid her hand across the surface to grab his. “What are you getting for your assistance to this man? Can he be trusted to return the company back to the family intact?”

  Her brother covered their grasped hands with his free one, holding tightly. “I am so torn. I truly do not know.” He sh
ook his head desperately. “I need to believe Mr. Grainger will do what he says he will do. Jayson and the family need this badly in order to financially survive.”

  Sly exhaled impatiently. “You did not answer my other question. What will you get from this?”

  She watched Paulo rise from the table, walk over to the sink, and begin washing dishes. Both she and her grandmother looked on in shock.

  “What is it?” their grandmother said, her ancient bones attempting to rise from her rocker. “What is wrong, my son?”

  By the time Paulo turned to face them, his face wore a placating smile, one Sly knew was for their grandmother’s sake alone.

  “Yaya, I am helping Sly out, as I should have for a long time now.” He ran over and helped her back into her rocker, lowering his face to hers. He gently kissed her forehead. “Do not worry.”

  She took a moment to stare at him with ancient, loving eyes. “I do not worry. As the man of the house, I will leave it up to you.” She smiled at him and resumed knitting.

  Returning to the sink, he waited until Sly joined him. Silently, they worked side by side until all the dishes were washed, rinsed, dried, and put away.

  “Tell me,” Sly said when the last utensil was stored.

  “He has offered to pay me for my services.” At Sly’s stunned expression, he shook his head firmly. “I too must provide for this family. The economy has deeply hurt us as well. And although they are hurting somewhat, the Theonopiluses will always have more than we do.” Paulo placed a gentle arm about Sly’s shoulders. “Besides, based on what Mr. Grainger said about Dr. Andra being their weakness, it does not appear as if you will ever marry into their family—through Jayson or Stefano—as our own family had someday hoped.”

  At once, Stefano and Andra’s encounter behind the tool house filled Sly’s head. Feeling her blood bubble toward its boiling point, she wanted to cry, scream, stomp, and violently throw things, as she had when she was much younger.