I turn the computer off and am about to set my foot on the first step of the stairs when my cell phone vibrates in my pocket. I quickly pull it out and my heart misses a beat when I read his name on the display. I go back into the kitchen, sit down, and answer.
“Hello?”
“I realized I couldn’t fall asleep if I didn’t hear your voice.”
“You never sleep at night!” I smile, incapable of ignoring the warm feeling that is spreading through me.
“I’m trying to improve,” he replies, stifling a smile.
“You mean you’ve relinquished the couch?”
“That bed is too big for one person alone.” I blush.
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“That I miss you,” he replies immediately, without hesitation.
“We’re going to see each other tomorrow,” I remind him, trying to curb the desire to rush to him that I feel mounting inside me. I’m really losing my mind; it’s one thing to be impulsive, but these reactions border on a total lack of mental stability.
“Tomorrow I’m meeting someone.”
“Who?” I ask, full of anxiety. I know, it’s foolish, but his mention of “someone” irks me.
“It’s for work,” he clarifies with a snigger.
I sigh in relief and feel dumb. “What time?”
“At ten.”
“So I won’t be seeing you,” I deduce dejectedly.
“I promised I would help you make up for the day you missed,” he reminds me, amused. “I’ll see you in the afternoon, as long as you don’t do anything dangerous in the morning.”
“I never do anything dangerous.”
“Said the girl who was about to be crushed by a ladder.”
“A ladder which would never have fallen if a serial saboteur hadn’t decided to devote his undivided attention to yours truly,” I remind him, in case he’s forgotten the exact dynamics of the event.
“An undivided attention I do not at all regret.”
Ok, Gil, breathe. Remember to breathe.
“Tomorrow afternoon is a bit far away,” I find myself thinking out loud.
“I know and I miss you,” he repeats, drips of honey in his voice. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing much, I was about to go to bed. And you?”
“I’m outside your house.”
“What?!?” I don’t think I heard him right.
“I told you, I couldn’t sleep if I didn’t hear your voice.”
“But… but…” I stammer, mechanically rising from the chair and walking the length of the corridor to the front door. “You’re hearing it on the phone.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
I open the door and find him standing at the end of the walkway, leaning against his white Corolla, his phone close to his ear. I’m dumbfounded for a few seconds, my phone held in mid air, looking at him as if he were merely a mirage.
“Well? What are you going to do? Are you coming?” I can barely hear him through the receiver, which is too far from my ear. His smile, instead, I can see perfectly well, even from a distance. Without thinking, I stick my cell phone in my sweatshirt pocket, run towards him and leap into his arms, enveloping him in a hug. He holds me close, lifting me off the ground and spinning around.
“I thought you were at home.”
“I tried to stay there, but in the end I couldn’t,” he smiles and sets me back on my feet on the pavement while still holding me in his embrace.
“I thought that of the two of us, I was the crazy one,” I confess, without managing to take my eyes off his. The pale light of the street lamps makes them look darker and larger, so much that I have the feeling I am lost in them.
“I had warned you: you have no idea of the effect you have on me,” he reminds me tenderly.
“All this just to say goodnight?”
“No, all this just to kiss you goodnight,” he corrects me, before he leans towards me and our lips meet. I adore the way he kisses me, the way he holds me until I feel I am only his, protected, making me lose all sense of time and space. And this is how, caught in his embrace, with his demanding lips exploring my own and my skin about to catch fire under his touch, I experience one of those eternities that always seem simultaneously too brief. It happens only with him. Only Jared can make me bolder and impatient for more, he makes my body react in a new way and I want nothing but to indulge it. He erases all my fears of not knowing much about his life, because after all I know everything that matters: what he feels for me.
“Good night, Gil,” he whispers against my lips as soon as we manage to pull away. I slide my fingers along his shoulders, over the nape of his neck, through his dark tousled hair, and perceive the shiver my touch elicits. A smile spontaneously touches the corners of my lips.
“Good night, Jared,” I reply as we draw apart and he gets back in the car. I know it’ll be only a handful of hours before I see him again, but I can’t stop feeling this odd emptiness when I see the Toyota’s headlights turn on and I hear the sound of the motor that will take him far away from me.
13
“Good morning, dear, always hard at work.” Jane’s shrill voice distracts me. I look up and see her standing on the threshold, with her usual dark wool dress and the cream colored shawl on her shoulders. I set the brush down on the newspaper I’ve laid on the floor so as not to stain it, and I join her. She is smiling in that peculiar way of hers.
“Yes, but I’m almost finished.”
“I can see that. Have you set a date for the opening?”
“I was thinking May 12th,” I reveal in seventh heaven. It’s also my birthday, but I don’t want Jane, Ernest, or Jared to feel obliged to bring me a present, and I know they would if they knew. I want it to be a festive occasion: I have to celebrate the first step towards realizing my dream, and I want to do so with the people who made it possible. One way of thanking them for what they did for me.
“Next Thursday?”
“Right,” I confirm.
“Well, I’ll have to prepare something then,” her smile broadens even more at the news.
“Your presence will be more than enough, Jane.”
“Nonsense. The presence of an old lady is never enough,” she replies, waving a hand to dismiss the subject. If there’s one thing I’ve come to realize about Jane over the past few weeks, is that it’s not a good idea to contradict her.
“It’s not going to be a big affair. I just want to have a little party with my family and all of you, to set out on this new adventure in the best way possible. The actual opening will be in another few weeks because first I have to finish making a reasonable number of hats,” I explain.
“It seems like a good idea, dear. I think I’ll make a few sandwiches for the buffet, if that’s ok with you,” she ponders, drumming a finger on her pursed lips, a trademark reaction of hers.
“I’d love it,” I smile gratefully. I suspect it’s impossible to make her change her mind and if I insisted she would get upset.
“Perfect, Gil. I can’t wait to celebrate.”
“At five o’clock sharp, Jane. Before I leave this evening, I’ll stop by to tell Ernest and Margherita, too.”
“I’ll mark it in my diary,” and she winks at me before stepping into the hall and going back up the stairs.
I’ve almost finished painting the shelves when finally Jared joins me in the shop. He’s always perfect, even in a pair of faded jeans and the sweater still stained with paint from the first time he came to help me.
“I have the feeling you don’t need my help all that much after all,” he states with a mischievous smile as he looks around.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn him, amused. “We still have to put together a few shelves, sand them and paint them,” I remind him, pointing at the planks piled along the wall behind him.
“You listened to me then,” he observes, noticing the drill abandoned in a corner.
“Don’t get used to it,” I admonish him
before he gets any strange ideas. “By the way, how was your meeting?” Jared raises his emerald gaze and laughs, amused by the manner in which I underline the word ‘meeting.’ It’s not my fault if I got the wrong idea the first time he mentioned it. He could have said right away that it was for work, it would have definitely been more appropriate.
“Nothing definite, yet. We’re in full-blown negotiations, but if I play my cards well, I should get my way,” he explains all of a sudden, trying to sound completely uninterested.
“What is your job anyway?” I insist, joining him in the center of the room where he has paused.
“It’s boring stuff, Gil, nothing much.”
“If it were just boring stuff, it wouldn’t have absorbed you so much that you had forgotten you had a life before I reminded you,” I point out combatively. He stares at me, but he doesn’t immediately reply.
“I told you: I made a mistake and now my job is to fix it, that’s all,” he tries to play the thing down, as if I would believe it.
“What mistake? Why don’t you ever talk about it?” his expression becomes torn, then he grasps my shoulders and bends over a little so he is looking me straight in the eye.
“I will tell you about it, I promise, but first you need to devote your attention to your job, to yourself, and I don’t want to ruin these important moments by distracting your attention from what really matters now.”
“You are what really matters now,” I insist, with all the conviction I can muster.
“I am not my job,” he replies, unusually forceful. “I know, I still have to fix several things in my life and really tell you about myself, tell you important things, and I will, I swear, but you already know me for what I really am, you know my defects, my fears, my rough and moody manners, but above all you know my feelings for you. This is what matters, nothing else.”
We stand there looking at each other without saying a word, and suddenly I remember Grandma Natalie’s words: the only thing that can make a relationship solid is trust, and that’s all he’s asking for. I can trust him, I can trust him.
“Ok,” I finally concede, “help me with the last shelves then, or we can say goodbye to the grand opening.” Jared’s face is lit by one of those smiles that are so rare they always have a certain effect on me, then he lets go of my shoulders and together we resume working.
Thanks to his help, what seemed difficult and tiring immediately becomes simple and fun. We manage to finish putting together the remaining shelves in half an hour or so, and towards evening we’ve already painted them twice. The result is quite surprising. Father was right when he said that things are much more satisfying when you do them yourself.
“What do you think?” I ask Jared as I happily hop around our latest endeavor.
“Not bad,” he concedes, trying to hold back a smile. I’ve infected him, and there’s nothing he can do about it now.
“I have the feeling you still have to recoup some lessons in having fun,” I tell him in a schoolmarm tone.
“I’m always available for revision classes, as long as the teacher doesn’t change,” he replies saucily. My smile broadens when he makes a sidewise lunge in an attempt to grab me. I’ve always been good at this game – an escape ace, nimble and quick. Jared begins chasing me among the shelves scattered on the floor to the sound of the newspapers ripping when we rush over them. I jump over the drill cord still attached to the socket and head straight for the door, when Ernest’s imposing figure appears out of nowhere.
“Rampant regression activity,” he states, his arms folded on his chest. “Should I be worried?”
Jared and I stop dead in our tracks just a few paces from him, under his inquiring gaze.
“No,” I reply hurriedly, trying to refrain from laughing and panting. “You’re back early this evening.” Best change the subject.
“I just realized I was right…” he declares as if we’re supposed to know what he’s talking about, “… as usual. Not that I find this amazing.”
“What are we talking about?” I find myself having to ask.
“Of your impeccable manner of tidying up my shop, Gil, what else?” … right, what else?
“I’m not following, Ernest,” I admit, noticing the questioning expression displayed on Jared’s face, too. At least I’m not alone.
“It has become evident that my presence there has become totally superfluous. I thus decided to employ my time more fruitfully.”
“Returning home earlier,” I guess.
“I was intending to listen to some good music sitting in my easy chair, but much more interesting scenarios just opened up before me,” he insists, probably alluding to our behavior, a bit too playful for adults. “I have always thought that youth was wasted on today’s young people. If I were your age, I would definitely choose more frivolous ways in which to spend my time.”
Forget it: never believe Ernest is a normal person. I have the impression he is the least moralistic and the freest man I have ever met, aside from being the most plainspoken.
“Lack of imagination,” is Jared’s amused comment. Hey, thanks for the help.
“I confess I had figured that was the case.”
“Oh, stop it, the two of you,” I scold them before their insinuations become too embarrassing. I have never seen them so attuned… actually, I have never seen them together much before. In any case, I will have to remember that they tend to gang up on me, unless I have Jane on my side. “Ernest, I was going to come and see you before I left to invite you to the opening.” A much less controversial subject.
“So you’re finally having the opening.”
“Yup,” I happily confirm.
“Isn’t there an invitation for me, too?” Jared asks, glaring at me intensely.
“There aren’t any invitations for anyone, it’s just a small party for friends, and yes, I would like you to come, too,” I remark before he can think I don’t want him there. To tell the truth, I was taking his presence so much for granted that it didn’t even occur to me to extend an official invitation. What a scatterbrain!
“And when will this auspicious event take place?” Ernest asks, slightly lowering the glasses on his nose.
“Next Thursday, the twelfth.”
“Ah, the twelfth. It seems Jane mentioned an occurrence of some kind on the twelfth, but I don’t recall her mentioning an opening,” he ponders thoughtfully.
“What occurrence? No, on the twelfth you all have to be here,” I categorically demand. No way they’re all turning into socialites on me right when I’m celebrating the renovation of my hat shop.
“I seem to recall she said something about a birthday. Birthdays take precedence over openings, if nothing else because they remind me how important it is to celebrate aging, the only method so far proven to be effective for a long life. But I suppose it would be hard to celebrate both, am I wrong?” What? How did they find out? Jane must have a well hidden spy someplace, there’s no other explanation. I am quite sure I didn’t tell anyone – I was very careful.
“Whose birthday is it?” Jared breaks in.
“I don’t remember. I’m sure it’s not mine. I remember my birth date far too well,” Ernest states with conviction, as if the opposite were possible, then he fixes his magnetic gaze on me, catching Jared’s attention. Darn!
“Ok, ok, it’s my birthday, but I don’t want presents or other strange things. I just want to celebrate the end of the work and the beginning of the realization of my dream. Would it be possible to have you as my guests?” I ask my question in a singsong voice. The situation escaped my control as fast as lightning. Good work, Gil.
“If you make sure there’s something edible for the guests, I think I will be able to face the bother of descending a few flights of stairs to partake in this so-called party,” Ernest replies indifferently.
“I promise there will be edible food.”
“Then I shall be there. What time?”
“Five o’clock sharp.”
/>
“Punctuality is the thief of time,” he retorts, almost talking to himself, before he disappears. He never changes!
“So, your birthday is on the twelfth,” Jared’s voice by my side forces me to take my eyes off the door and concentrate on him.
“The twelfth is also the day of the opening,” I stress the main issue.
“And also your birthday.”
“Maybe. Why? Are you busy?”
“I could have been, considering your untimeliness in notifying me of important events,” he retorts with a disarming smile.
“But you aren’t,” I observe, feigning indifference, though my heart is already beating wildly and I have begun to feel the impulse to kiss him way too distinctly. The effect this man has on me is too intense, and I’m beginning to wonder if all this will abate in time, because if it doesn’t, I will have to book an emotional management and impulse control class. I can already picture myself in situations that it would be a euphemism to call embarrassing.
“You know what Freud would say about your omission?” he asks taking a dangerous step forward.
“No, I’ve never read Freud,” I defend myself, taking a step back. “I always wanted to, especially because of this anxiety that sometimes comes over me that I’ll say something my good friend Sigmund would have said, but then I realize I have no idea what he said and I find I have to let the matter lie.” Jared laughs, but doesn’t stop watching me with that intense gaze that keeps me glued to his eyes.
“Very funny,” he admits, his voice intentionally lowered sending a shiver down my spine.
“I am a very funny person.”
“I had no doubt about it,” he replies, taking another step forward. I should back up, but my legs seem to be refusing to move and so I stand there, in the center of the room, while he reaches me and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against his chest.
What a Girl Wants Page 17
