Aphrodite's Stand

by Sandra Scott

  “As the Americans say on their TV reality shows, don’t bet on it!” She angrily shook off Paulo’s arm. “I wish Dr. Andra had never come here!”

  The volume of her voice rose, causing their grandmother to glance up. This time, the older woman shrugged and resumed her knitting in silence, allowing them to handle their disagreement by themselves.

  “Paulo, I want you to do it,” she said, throwing her towel down on the countertop. “You help Mr. Grainger.”

  At Yaya’s disapproving glance, she hurriedly retrieved the discarded rag and then neatly folded it and placed it on the towel rack to dry. “And I will help you.”

  37

  “Good morning, my beautiful ladies!”

  Sitting around the table, Andra and Al smiled as George entered the spacious breakfast area, his face lit up like the morning sun.

  “Good morning, Papa George,” Andra said, reaching for the sweet bread with the hope it would alleviate her morning sickness. “I pray you slept well.”

  “Ah, George,” Al said, daintily dabbing the corners of her mouth. “Good morning.”

  Racine snorted. Lifting scrambled eggs from her plate, she paused. “Man, I tell you—it’s really disturbing how you Greek men are extremely comfortable throwing around compliments all the time.” Stuffing the eggs in, she talked around them. “It’s a wonder your women even know if or when you guys are telling the truth.”

  George laughed. He sat at the breakfast table and politely reached for a cup and saucer, helping himself to a generous amount of Greek coffee. The pouring liquid infused the air with a robust, pungent aroma. “That may be true, my dear. But in this case, no one could ever refute my observations concerning the women at this table.”

  Andra and Al laughed as Racine good-naturedly rolled her eyes and said, “Whatever, Papa George! It’s seven o’clock in the morning—far too early for so much sugar.”

  Delighted, Andra locked eyes with her mother, and they shared a secret smile at Racine’s inserting Papa into George’s name. Observing his ecstatic expression, she determined the title was not lost upon her father-in-law either.

  “Sweets for the sweet, my little one,” he said. At Racine’s second eye roll, his grin encompassed the entire table. “So, my dears, what have you planned for today?”

  After trading indecisive looks between themselves, the women looked at him.

  “I don’t know,” Al said slowly. “Maybe peruse the grounds? Andra remarked on how charming the landscape is.”

  Sipping his coffee, George sputtered abruptly, only to set his cup down with a firm hand. Dubious, Andra peered into her own untouched thick brew. After she glanced back at George, whose face wore a mock traumatized expression, she relaxed, knowing his reaction had nothing to do with the drinkability of his morning beverage.

  “No, no, no! I must show my beautiful family Athens.” George tore off a section of sweet bread and carefully buttered it. He then considered the occupants at the table. “It would honor me to be your tour guide for the day. I will even drive you myself. What is your answer, my sweet ones?”

  Andra took a moment to examine George. His skin glowed with health and vitality; it appeared tight upon his full face. Since her arrival, his whole countenance had miraculously blossomed and gained strength from the inside out.

  Al clapped with delight. “I’d love to!” Her eyes circled the table expectantly. “Girls?

  “Count me in!” Excited, Andra turned to her left. “Race, what about you?”

  Her little sister shrugged indifferently.

  “You know you want to!” Andra pushed her, causing Racine’s body to sway to one side. Andra pointed at Racine’s white teeth peeking through her stern lips. “Baby sis, I see the smile you’re trying to hide.”

  Racine pushed her back. “Okay, okay—leave me alone! I’m in.” Springing from her chair, Racine scanned her comfortable clothing consisting of tee-shirt and sweatpants. “But I gotta change! Give me thirty minutes.”

  As if anticipating her departure, Helena quickly shuffled into the room, the scent of sugar, spices, and dough trailing behind her, and expeditiously headed for Racine’s breakfast dishes.

  Passing her, Racine patted the servant on the arm. “Thanks, Helena! I owe you one!” she called out, disappearing through the swinging door.

  Multi-tasking, Helena smiled as she pushed in Racine’s chair. She shook her head good-naturedly as meaty hands collected dishes while she muttered softly in Greek—most likely concerning the today’s youth and their over-exuberance.

  Waiting for the servant to disappear through the other door leading to an area designed exclusively for cooking meals and washing dishes, Al grinned across the table at Andra. “Did you see that? Racine didn’t bother to push in her chair at just the right angle.” Al smiled her approval. “That’s a good sign.”

  “A very good sign,” Andra agreed, cautiously tasting her coffee.

  “Would you not mind if I made a comment?” George asked. He waited for their nods. “I noticed at dinner how she is most precise with everything she does.”

  Andra shifted uncomfortably, now staring down at her coffee for an altogether different reason.

  Al nodded, speaking solemnly. “Yes, it’s Racine’s way of coping with life.” She sighed. “In what she believes is an out-of-control world, she would like to control at least a small part of hers.”

  Within the next few quiet seconds, Andra’s apprehension blossomed as she tried to decipher George’s thoughtful look.

  He finally nodded. “Yes, I understand all too well,” he said sadly.

  Al reached out and gently placed a hand over his. “You do? How do you understand?”

  Setting down his bread, he patted the hand that covered his. “My wife, Cecil, had the same affliction.” Then, as if suddenly realizing what he’d just said, George chuckled wistfully. “Well, I guess at the beginning the marriage, I believed it was an affliction.” He sighed. “Yet at the end of her life, I determined it was an endearment.”

  One lone tear slid unnoticed along his cheek, causing Andra to switch chairs and sit next to him opposite her mother. Her hand topped theirs. “I’m so sorry, Papa George.”

  “Me too,” said Al.

  As if emerging from an unfathomable emotional depth, George shook his head, inhaled deeply, and let out a cleansing breath. “Thank you, my dears.” As he wiped the stray tear from existence, his face suddenly brightened. “But it was an old lifetime ago. And now I have the new to brighten my days.” His glowing eyes swung from Andra to Al and back again. “I suggest, my lovely ladies, you duplicate Racine’s actions and get ready. I will bring the car around in thirty minutes.”

  Not bothering to wait for a reply, George stood. Taking his uneaten bread with him, he turned and disappeared beyond the swinging door.

  Her mother waited until the door stopped swinging completely before speaking. “He’s a good man, Andra.”

  Still gazing at the empty space her father-in-law had vanished through, she smiled in agreement. And I have a younger version I hope and pray will always be mine.

  “Kalimera, family!”

  Andra’s smile vanished. Her warm feeling disintegrated, replaced with the sensation of cold water splashing her face. Bristling, she stared at the woman who entered the kitchen through the villa’s back door as if she owned the place.

  Andra carefully replaced her cup on its saucer as Sly stopped beside the chair George had recently vacated.

  “Kalimera means ‘Good morning,’ Dr. Andra and her mother.”

  Involuntarily, Andra scanned Sly’s well-dressed frame, taking in her white button-down shirt, white shorts, and strappy, low-heeled white sandals. Although the ensemble would’ve been simple on most, it was far from mundane on Sly. Her tan skin and shapely body caused ordinary, nondescript clothing to morph into a powerful fashion statemen
t.

  Andra grunted her hello. At feeling her mother’s curious stare, she swiftly put on a pleasant face, the action producing strained lips that were ready to crack under the weight of her fake smile.

  Al’s inquisitive stare returned to the newcomer. “Kalimera, Sly. And how are you today?”

  Tossing her thick hair over her shoulders, Sly pulled out a chair and sat. Andra resisted the urge to do a Racine-like eye roll; she instead retrieved her cup and, as dignified as the queen mother herself, sipped her coffee.

  “I am good, Dr. Andra’s mother.”

  “Please call me Al,” her mother said pleasantly. To Andra’s distress, Al immediately rose. “George is taking us girls into town to do some sightseeing and maybe some shopping. You care to come, Sly?”

  Abruptly, Andra recalled yesterday’s toolshed encounter and the hateful stare Sly had thrown her way right before turning to run behind Stefano. She held her breath. Say no, say no, say no.

  “I would love to, Ms. Al,” the girl replied. She cut sparkling green eyes toward Andra’s crestfallen face before returning them to the older woman. “However, I must get back home. My brother, Paulo, and I have things to discuss this morning.”

  Relieved, Andra exhaled, only to realize she had done so prematurely.

  “But would you not mind, Miss Al, if I spoke with Dr. Andra privately?”

  Her mother paused for a moment to glance at Andra, telepathically asking if she would be all right.

  Reluctantly, Andra nodded.

  “Okay, baby girl, but don’t be too long,” Al warned. She hesitated, her eyes bouncing between them. “George said thirty minutes. We don’t want to reward his kindness by keeping him waiting.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “It will not be long, Ms. Al.”

  Again, her mother paused. She revisited Sly’s amicable face. “Good morning, Sly. I hope to see you again soon.”

  Don’t worry—you will, Andra thought, watching the Grecian nod. You can count on it.

  Al turned and disappeared through the swinging door.

  Once the swaying panel came to a standstill, Sly faced Andra, displaying a smile neither hot nor cold, just neutral. “I like your mother because she is extremely kind. You are very lucky.”

  At Andra’s “Thank you,” she continued in a more deliberate tone. “So did you enjoy your walk yesterday?”

  Putting herself on guard, Andra remained mute.

  “Yes, I am pretty sure it was educational for you.” Sly moved aside an empty plate on the table before her and leaned forward. “I will not tell Jayson what I saw yesterday.”

  Andra stiffened. “Don’t be silly. You didn’t see anything. There’s nothing to tell.”

  Sly threw Andra a “Suit yourself” look. “Whatever,” she said, smiling in a catlike manner. “Anyway, on our way back to the villa, Stefano instructed me nothing happened too.”

  Andra’s eyes widened in surprise as mind-numbing relief flooded her body. “He did?”

  Sly’s laugh was petty. “No. But as you would say, does it really matter?”

  Balling her fists so as not to reach out and strangle the girl, Andra rose from her chair, and her feet propelled her toward the kitchen door. Upon reaching it, she came to a stop, rotating at Sly’s next words.

  “As I said, I will not tell J. J. this time.” Carelessly, she lifted toned, tan arms. “But the next time, who knows?”

  Andra stared at her nemesis for a spell until she could speak in a normal tone. She then produced a sympathetic smile. “Wow. It must be killing you.”

  “Signomi?”

  “Sly, I could excuse you all day long, but it wouldn’t do any good, would it?” Her lips curling farther, Andra allowed one dimple to show. “Yep. It simply kills you to know you don’t have the same effect on Stefano as I do.” She shook her head. “You know what? I’m feeling kinda sorry for you right now, little girl.”

  Even as her words rolled forth, Andra knew she shouldn’t have said them, realizing her jab could have possible repercussions and create trouble for her marriage due to retaliatory backlash from Sly. However, the fury on the other’s face made any potential trouble worth it.

  “Chalk one up for me, right?” Andra let out a delicious giggle at the answering silence. “Signomi—I gotta go now.”

  When it appeared as if the girl were about ready to throw the heavy ceramic sugar bowl at her head, believing her work was done, Andra pushed past the kitchen door.

  She suddenly felt victorious.

  38

  Sitting at the kitchen table, Paulo pulled his cell from his back pocket. Upon reading the incoming number, he grimaced.

  Acid-tasting bile rose in his throat, forcing him to swallow hard. With each ring, he felt more and more ensnared—like a trapped animal. He didn’t want to answer; instead, he wanted to pitch the phone in the trash and purchase a brand-new one—one with an unlisted number.

  Gritting his teeth, he clicked in the caller. “Yassas?” he said.

  The answering boisterous chuckle set Paulo’s teeth on edge. “I take it yassas means ‘hello,’ correct?” At Paulo’s nonresponse, Hog laughed it off. “So, youngster, how’re things hangin’?”

  Not quite understanding the older man’s lingo, and not wanting to, Paulo decided to forgo inane pleasantries with the Texan. “Yes, Mr. Grainger, how can I assist you?”

  At the other end came a pause. Paulo stifled a heavy sigh, hoping the caller wasn’t hesitating just to insist he use the name Hog. He exhaled in relief when instead, the Texan’s voice became as brusque as his.

  “I’m checking in. Got anything good for me concerning our little project?”

  Claustrophobic helplessness closed in on Paulo, as it always did whenever he talked to the man. He compared himself to an insect caught on a spider’s web— where the ensnared bug knew if it tried to shake itself loose from the web’s stickiness, the vibrations would alert the arachnid of its presence, thereby ensuring the insect’s demise. Yet the insect always attempted to wiggle itself free anyhow, only to be cocooned and eventually eaten alive.

  Paulo shuddered. He wanted badly to break all ties with this annoying, dangerous foreigner, but he sensed his wiggle for freedom could possibly lead to unspeakable consequences. “No, I have yet to find out anything—” Paulo broke off as Sly burst through the kitchen’s back door.

  “I hate her,” she ranted, violently pulling the screen door shut with a loud wham. She stomped over to the sink to grip its edge as her stormy eyes glared through the curtained window that faced the Theonopilus villa. “I wish she had never come here!”

  On the other end, Paulo heard Hog’s voice increase in volume.

  “What’s going on over there? Who’s that—your sister? What’s she saying?”

  Paulo wanted to shout into the mouthpiece, “This could not be any of your business!” Instead, he politely said, “Hold, please.”

  Pushing the mute button on his cell, Paulo lowered the phone to glare at his sister. “What are you ranting about now?”

  Sly pivoted on angry feet, placing her back to the window and the bright, sunny day beyond it, her face in contrast, bestowing Paulo with a black thundercloud expression. “Now Dr. Andra has got Papa Georigios wrapped around her finger too! He’s taking them into the village for sightseeing and shopping!”

  In exasperation, Paulo sighed. “So?”

  “So?” she yelled back. Her wild eyes searched the area as if looking for an object to throw, only to return to his gaze in defeated tears. “I was not asked to go!”

  Paulo took a moment to stare at the phone in his hand. He couldn’t decide whether he preferred to deal with the dangerously manipulative Hog or the equally distressing temper tantrum produced by Sly.

  Family comes first, he thought.

  “Sly, I am sure you exaggerate,” he sai
d. “Knowing you, I believe someone asked you along, but in your stubbornness, you said no. Correct?”

  Her nonresponse answered the question. Impatiently, he waved his cell at her, indicating he didn’t have time for her bratty foolishness. “Why do you not just go back over there and ride with them? I’m sure no one will kick you from the car if you choose to go.”

  To his frustration, fat tears popped free from Sly’s eyes to descend past pinched cheeks.

  “It’s too late—they are most likely gone by now!”

  With a teary toss of her head, she stormed from the room. Paulo believed she made a noisy path for her bedroom in order to lock herself inside.

  He sighed heavily. His acid reflux churning, he toggled the mute button. “Please excuse, Mr. Grainger. Where were we?”

  “I was asking if that was your sister. What’s she all riled up about?”

  Before answering, Paulo paused to count to five, knowing his quest to remain calm with the pushy older man was quickly failing. “She’s upset because Papa Georigios is taking Dr. Andra and her family into the village square for sightseeing.”

  Hog’s chuckle grated against his ear. “I believe your li’l’ sister’s jealousy is showing for the doctor, you know?” At Paulo’s noncommittal silence, Hog coughed delicately. “So when’s the sightseeing trip supposed to happen?”

  Paulo assumed Hog wanted to keep him on the line with small talk because he hoped to covertly get information from him. He could stomach it no more. “My sister said they recently left.” Trying to hold back the impatience in his voice, he took a deep breath and released it. “Mr. Grainger, about my helping you. I feel now is not the time for any takeover. The family will most certainly not allow it.”

  “Well, maybe, maybe not,” Hog said. “But if we—”

  Pulling the phone away, Paulo stared at it in disbelief. Shaking his head, he returned it to his ear. “Mr. Grainger,” Paulo said, cutting off Hog’s current string of words, “there are things requiring my attention here, so I must go now. Goodbye.”

  “Well, okay then. Goodb—”