The Merchant of Venice Beach

by Celia Bonaduce

  “I have a new idea for the tearoom,” he said.

  “You’ve already served purple bread and now you’re introducing medieval gingerbread, for God’s sake. Isn’t that enough?”

  “No, it isn’t,” he said.

  “Fernando, how many times do I have to tell you: tearooms, by their very nature, don’t constantly need new ideas. The whole point is to be stodgy. Our tearoom is a haven.”

  “For the stodgy.”

  “No . . . it’s comfort for the huddled masses.”

  God, I sound pretentious. I sound like Erinn!

  Luckily for Suzanna, Fernando was quite used to her pretensions, and the preposterous vision of Los Angeles’s huddled masses lining up for afternoon tea didn’t cause him to even bat an eye. She knew that Fernando would just keep throwing ideas at her until she caved in out of exhaustion. The gingerbread had weakened her resolve, but she tried to remain strong.

  “Okay,” she said, “what’s your idea?”

  Fernando jumped up and started pulling paperwork from under the dinner plates. The sales pitch was ON!

  CHAPTER 7

  “Eric!” Fernando called out as he started laying his papers on the kitchen table. Suzanna’s eyes widened in alarm.

  Eric is in on this?

  “I thought we’d redecorate,” Fernando said. “We’ll paint the tearoom cream—no more of that pastel we’ve got going on. The room is just too damn twee.”

  Suzanna felt stung.

  “It is not twee. That’s a horrible thing to say.”

  They had known each other so long, their negotiating skills were well honed. When Suzanna started to whine, Fernando became a disdainful adult.

  “May I continue?” Fernando asked.

  Suzanna gripped the edge of the table and nodded.

  “Think, Suzanna—the walls will be cream! Cream, get it? Cream in a tearoom? It’s so obvious, I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before.”

  “We never thought of it before because we probably thought cream walls would look. . . white.”

  “Cream is not white, Suzanna.”

  “OK, beige, then.”

  Fernando ignored her and called for Eric again. Clearly, he wasn’t going to go into this without backup. Eric stuck his head in the room and Fernando nodded him in. As he sat, Suzanna looked at Eric, who was wearing his glasses instead of his contacts. This look always surprised Suzanna. With his glasses on, and the first hint of gray showing in his five o’clock shadow, Suzanna thought again about how long they had all known each other and how intricately their lives had been linked.

  And clearly we can’t make a decision about redecorating without a group vote.

  Fernando started spreading out paint chips on the table—chips in various shades of white and beige. He threw a stack to Eric, who also started laying them out. So they were in this together! The paint chips seemed to take over the entire surface of the kitchen table, looking like a monochromatic game of solitaire.

  Apparently, we’re talking every conceivable hue of cream and Cremora known to man.

  Fernando looked at the paint chips lovingly and glanced at Suzanna.

  “What do you think so far?” he asked.

  “I don’t see why you’re so hot for a white or beige . . . if you’re going the theme route, why don’t we just paint the walls a ‘tea’ variable.”

  “Such as?”

  Suzanna took a deep breath. Fernando was just being obstinate. How many conversations had they had over the years about the fascinating variety of colors tea came in? Tea came in all sorts of colors, from black to brown to green to red to orange.

  “I’m just saying that we could do the tea theme and still have some color,” Suzanna said.

  Fernando glowered. Suzanna pinched off another piece of gingerbread, which, she hated to admit, was working its magic.

  “OK, so, cream walls . . .” she said between mouthfuls.

  She met Eric’s eyes when she said it, and Eric gave her one of his killer smiles. She waited for that feeling in the pit of her stomach when he gave her that look, but for some reason, it didn’t materialize. Why not?

  Rio!

  They both returned their attention to Fernando, who was rolling out a blueprint sort of thing that had been done on some fancy computer program. Since Suzanna knew that Fernando had next to no computer skills, she gave Eric an accusatory glare. He raised his hands in surrender, a gesture that said “I had nothing to do with this.”

  Suzanna tried to take in all the details. It wasn’t easy, because Fernando was talking a mile a minute, pointing out feature after feature before Suzanna could get scared and say no. According to the plan, besides the walls being cream, the tea shop would feature an entirely neutral color scheme. She thought about Rio and Lauren ordering Earl Grey and Fernando—the traitor—offering their precious white, and she pictured the different shades and tones of tea. There had to be a way to sneak in some color. No need to fight that particular battle now.

  Tea really was endlessly fascinating.

  But so was Rio.

  Suzanna had stopped listening, but when the room went silent, she tried to recall where they were and vaguely remembered Fernando mentioning tablecloths. Taking a stab in the dark, Suzanna said:

  “Maybe the tablecloths could be a nice café au lait.”

  Fernando looked as if Suzanna had stabbed him.

  “That’s a coffee color,” he sniffed. “The tablecloths will be Darjeeling.”

  All in all, Suzanna liked the design. She had to admit this new layout had a very interesting look to it, and while it was very different in tone from her sweet little tea shop, the new look was very clean, elegant, and comfortable all at the same time.

  Plus, this will distract the boys and I can spend more time dancing without getting caught.

  “I like it,” Suzanna said. “I really do . . . but do you think it might put off our regulars? I mean, this new look is very . . . sophisticated.”

  “Our clientele is very loyal to us,” Fernando said.

  Suzanna had to agree. Their customers had stuck with them through faddish coffee houses and martini bars. Fernando assured Suzanna that this new version of the shop would retain the interest of the loyals—it would still be very warm and accessible while appealing to a whole new audience.

  “Well, it’s intriguing, Fernando,” Suzanna said. “But I’m not sure we can afford it.”

  Suzanna caught the boys exchanging a look.

  Aha! So Eric was not as innocent as he pretended!

  Suzanna waited. Eric cleared his throat and pulled a sheet of paper from the stack on the table. It was full of graphs that looked to Suzanna like a mountain climber’s route.

  “We can afford it,” Eric said. “I’ve run the numbers. The kitchen is fine and can keep running throughout the remodel. We only need to close the dining room for two months.”

  Two months! That’s forever!

  “I know you’re thinking two months is forever.” Eric looked at Suzanna. “But if we transfer everything from the back office up here to the apartment, consolidate some of the book sections and use the side yard, we can keep the tearoom going in the book nook. It will be smaller and we probably won’t be able to accommodate walk-ins, but it’s a workable plan.”

  “I’ll want to run these numbers myself,” Suzanna said.

  The boys nodded, but all of them knew that Suzanna couldn’t crunch numbers any better than Fernando. That was Eric’s department.

  Suzanna looked over the elaborate blueprint asking questions about detailed design and finance. They had an answer for everything. Suzanna wasn’t sure if she was just predictable and they had anticipated all her questions, or if they had really thought this thing through as thoroughly as it appeared they had. Suzanna hated to admit that it looked like they had researched every possible angle before approaching her.

  In the old days, if any one of them had even the hint of an idea, the three of them would be dissecting it tog
ether. Their relationship was changing—and it was probably all her doing. After all, wasn’t she the one pulling away?

  Be careful what you wish for.

  Suzanna might need some space from the boys, but she wasn’t ready to think the boys might do just fine without her. If this remodel was going to happen, she was going to be an integral part of things! She stared at the design. Rio kept flashing through her mind, but she swept him aside.

  Suzanna arched her eyebrows at Fernando.

  “You did this?”

  “Why do you look so surprised?” Fernando said, looking insulted.

  “I’m sorry, Fernando,” Suzanna said. “I just didn’t know you could draw blueprints.”

  “I can’t,” Fernando said, without a trace of irony. “I told Carla what I wanted to do and she drew them up . . . but it was my idea!”

  “I can’t believe you’d bother Carla with this!”

  “She said you’d love it,” Fernando said. “Does she know you, or what?”

  “And is she planning on coming down here and helping with this?” Suzanna asked.

  “Well, as a matter of fact, she is coming down,” Fernando said. “Eric asked her if she knew of any good contractors in our area who didn’t cost a fortune . . .”

  Fernando looked so smug Suzanna could hardly stand it.

  “She said she wants this done right,” Eric said, “and it would be fun to hang out with us for a while.”

  I’ll bet.

  Suzanna put her head in her hands. She knew that she should be happy that her only real female friend—a very well-respected architect—had drawn up such magnificent plans and was offering to oversee the renovation. But she wasn’t happy. She wasn’t happy at all. Although it seemed several lifetimes ago, Suzanna never really got over the fact that in their sophomore year of high school, Carla stole Eric’s heart . . . and body . . . away from her. Eric and Carla were both single right now. What if, all these years later, their romance rekindled?

  But now Suzanna had Rio to focus on.

  “OK,” Suzanna said. “Let’s do it.”

  CHAPTER 8

  From her second-story bedroom, Suzanna looked out her window. It was just past dawn, and the boardwalk was still silent. She was drinking a new tea she was thinking about trying out in the shop, a blood orange herbal. When she first opened the tea shop, she had to rely on Fernando to decipher teas for her, but she’d gotten the hang of it over the years. This new tea was sweet and naturally decaffeinated . . . it might be a good choice to introduce to older kids at the weekend afternoon teas. She made a note to discuss this possibility with Fernando and Harri. It might also be a nice selection for those misguided people who dismissed teas as “bitter.”

  While she thinking about the blood orange tea, she noticed a truck pulling up in front of the building. Her lazy morning attitude was replaced by a supercharged jolt when Carla jumped out of the truck and looked up at the sign that proudly stated: The Rollicking Bun: Home of the Epic Scone. Suzanna quickly realized that Carla was not taking in the sign so much as taking in the whole structure. She had been on Suzanna’s turf for exactly four seconds and was apparently already in work mode!

  Suzanna studied her as Carla studied the building. Carla’s hair was still dark and long, although it was caught up in a few erratically placed clips. At thirty-three, she looked great—even better than she had at twenty-three. How did that work? She had the figure of a woman who was always on the go, rather than a starved gym-rat—or, for that matter, a slinky dancer like Lauren. Suzanna smiled to herself as she watched Carla unload a large toolbox. No wonder she was in such good shape! Clearly, this was the body of a hands-on architect!

  Suzanna rapped on the window and Carla looked up. She took off her sunglasses and the brilliant green eyes flashed so brightly that Suzanna could see their color from the second story.

  Carla beamed up at her. Suzanna raised her hand in greeting, but found herself paralyzed mid-wave. Eric had obviously seen the truck, too, and he was bounding down the stairs, still pulling on a shirt. Suzanna watched, fingers still frozen in the air. She watched as he scooped Carla up in a bear hug. Suzanna tried to take another sip of tea, but couldn’t swallow. Eric was actually squeezing Carla’s butt cheeks and they were both laughing. The two of them were joined by Fernando, who was wearing gold paisley pajamas. He threw himself at Carla and Eric and the three of them leaped around in a tangle of limbs. Finally, they stopped and looked back up at Suzanna.

  Suzanna realized she had to go downstairs. She grabbed a robe on the way to the stairway. She plastered a grin on her face as she walked down the steps and into the front yard.

  “Hi, hi, hi!” Suzanna said.

  Carla squealed and hugged her as the guys looked on.

  “I know it’s early, but I called Eric about an hour ago and he said to just head on down!” Carla said.

  Suzanna kept her smile in place.

  “Oh, you could have called me!”

  “I know,” Carla said. “You’re sweet. But Eric and I have been talking about the remodel so much, it just seemed natural to call him.”

  “Really? I would have thought since we’re remodeling the tearoom, you would have been talking to Fernando.”

  Fernando had grabbed Carla’s suitcase and Eric picked up the tool kit and they all headed back upstairs.

  “Oh, well, Eric and I have been going over the finances. That’s the big bugaboo, you know. The design part is easy.”

  They all headed up the stairs.

  “Well, we’re glad you got here safely,” Suzanna said, trying to shake off the image of Eric grabbing Carla’s ass.

  “Uh, I am so happy to be here,” Carla said. “I was so burnt out up north. As soon as we finished the harvest, I told Eric I was coming down.”

  Suzanna pictured Carla stomping grapes, gypsy skirts raised high, the ruffles gently grazing the crest of her lace bikini undies. As she danced through the grapes, Carla sent grape-stained kisses through the phone to Eric.

  Suzanna discarded this scenario immediately. And not just because Carla wouldn’t be caught dead in bikini undies (not to mention a gypsy skirt). She chided herself for falling victim to such a hackneyed image. Stomping feet and squishing grapes were mostly fodder for fantasy—and an unhygienic fantasy at that.

  “I can’t wait to see everything,” Carla said in the darkness of the stairwell. “Can we just dump the bags and go look at the tearoom?”

  “You three go look,” Suzanna said. “I’ll make breakfast.”

  “But it’s your place,” Carla said. “Don’t you want to come see?”

  “You guys are the ones with all the ideas!” Suzanna said. “Go ahead!”

  Eric, Carla, and Fernando headed back down the stairs. Fernando was still in his pajamas, Eric at least had buttoned his shirt. Suzanna started banging around the kitchen, angry with herself for being so passive, and angry at her friends for not begging her to go downstairs with them.

  She started to scramble a dozen eggs and turned on her iPod to some hot salsa music. She started dancing around the kitchen and her spirits immediately lifted.

  Quick-quick slow. Quick-quick slow.

  She heard someone enter the room and quickly shut off the music. She turned from the iPod and saw Eric standing there watching her. His eyes met hers. She could see a sadness as old as time and felt she could sense his very soul. Her heart leaped with naked, otherworldly, unspoken bonding. Perhaps seeing her dance had unleashed a passion he had not realized was there. Suzanna realized she was turning red.

  “You’ve got mold, Beet,” he said sorrowfully.

  You have no idea.

  “I guess you mean the building has mold?” Suzanna asked. “This isn’t a personal observation or anything?”

  She tried to carry off her little joke, but found she couldn’t quite meet Eric’s eyes. As she turned back to the eggs, Carla and Fernando came tromping up the stairs.

  “I had forgotten what a gorgeous place this
is—mold notwithstanding,” Carla said.

  “Is the mold a dealbreaker?” Suzanna asked, secretly hoping it was. Carla could return to Napa and the three of them could go on with their irritating lives.

  “Oh, no. We can handle that. And I’m just bursting with ideas.”

  Suzanna softened during breakfast. It was like old times, with laughs and good-natured insults flying around the room like superheroes.

  “And how are the lessons going?” Carla asked Suzanna.

  Eric and Fernando turned to Suzanna with twin quizzical expressions. Suzanna could see the dismay in Carla’s eyes reflecting her own. Thankfully, Carla—always a quick thinker—jumped back in.

  “Didn’t you tell me Erinn was going to teach you Italian?”

  “Oh, well . . . you know Erinn. Always talking,” Suzanna said. “In whatever language.”

  That wasn’t exactly a lie, was it?

  Suzanna grabbed Carla’s bag.

  “There’s plenty of space in my room,” she said. “Come on.”

  “Are you sure?” Carla asked. “I mean, the remodel is going to take some time. I can get a hotel.”

  “Oh my God—are you kidding me?” Suzanna sounded like a highschooler, but a sincere one. “This is going to be awesome!”

  Carla threw her arm around Suzanna in a way that took her back to those safe childhood days. The boys got to work cleaning up the breakfast dishes as Suzanna and Carla trudged down the hall.

  They caught up on all the news from Napa as she unpacked. Thanks to Carla’s determination, her family’s winery was always looking for new and interesting ways to make a visit more appealing to tourists, and her design skills had made the place a premier destination. But she also never lost sight of the fact that “the wine’s the thing,” and in recent years the Caridi Winery had won some big medals for numerous wines. They were especially renowned for their merlot.

  “Remember when that movie, Sideways, came out?” Carla asked.

  Suzanna nodded absently, struggling with the instructions on an air mattress. One of her customers had had a garage sale and Suzanna bought the air mattress for five dollars “just in case.” That was three years ago. She was so happy when she remembered it; it made her feel like a willing and casual hostess.