The Merchant of Venice Beach

by Celia Bonaduce

  “I’ll have to ask Fernando,” she said.

  Suzanna drove Carla to the airport the next morning, put her on a plane back to Napa, and prepared to settle into a life in Southern California with Fernando—and now Eric.

  PART THREE

  DOWNTOWN

  CHAPTER 14

  Suzanna had missed two dance lessons in a row. The remodel of the tearoom was taking all her time, concentration and money. Eric had been right: with a reconfiguration of the nook, they were able to keep both establishments running. But because Eric and Fernando had jobs to do during the busiest parts of the day, Suzanna and Carla were now moving increasingly heavy pieces of furniture on their own. Suzanna missed the rush of salsa dancing. Her thighs were starting to wobble again, which put her in a bad mood. Not to mention that the experience was proving to be stressful, chaotic, and exhausting. She told Carla as much.

  “I know it’s a pain in the ass,” Carla said. “But if you’d hire a carpenter, we’d be able to move things along a lot faster. And we could stop hauling stuff ourselves.”

  Suzanna and Carla had dragged a small rectangular table through the hallway toward the opened-up space in the book nook that was to serve as a scaled-down tearoom. Suzanna stopped in her tracks and wiped perspiration from her forehead. Carla put down her end of the table.

  “I sort of have a guy I could ask to help us,” Suzanna said.

  “I don’t want a ‘sort of’ guy. I want a real carpenter.”

  “He is a real carpenter.”

  Carla smacked the table with her fist and then showed Suzanna the blisters caused by two weeks of manual labor.

  “You mean, you and I don’t have to be doing the heavy lifting?”

  Suzanna looked panic-stricken into both the nook and the tearoom to make sure no one was listening to them.

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “Why are you hiding him?” Carla asked, although she did lower her voice. “Is he an ax murderer?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I mean, at this point, I don’t really care . . . as long as he’s also good with saws and hammers.”

  “He’s not an ax murderer,” Suzanna said, lifting the table again. “He’s a dancer.”

  “A dancing carpenter,” Carla said as they wedged the table into a corner. “Only in L. A.”

  “He’s a guy from salsa class. His name is Andy. He showed me his portfolio and he’s pretty good.”

  “Then why isn’t he here?”

  “Because I’ve been too busy to get back to dance class and ask him.”

  Carla tried to steady the table, but the old wooden floor wasn’t level and the table tilted. Eric, who had just carried a heavy bag of books to the car of one of their loyal customers, bounded back into the store just as Suzanna was trying to shore up the drunken table legs. She kept packets of Sweet ‘N Low in her pockets for just that purpose.

  “What are you doing, Suzanna?” Eric asked.

  Suzanna looked up from her crouch.

  “I’m using these sweeteners to steady the table.”

  Eric went behind the counter, rummaged around in a drawer, and came back with several small wedges. He held them out to Suzanna.

  “Here,” he said. “Use these.”

  Suzanna stared at them and held them up for Carla to see.

  “These are fantastic!” Suzanna said. “What are they?”

  “I level the bookcases with them,” Eric said. “Just a little something I invented.”

  “Eric, you are amazing!” Suzanna said.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Suzanna!” Carla said. “He didn’t invent them. They’re called shims.”

  “No they aren’t,” Suzanna said, defending Eric’s good name. “A shim is what people stab other people with in prison.”

  “That’s a shank,” Carla said.

  Suzanna looked to Eric and back to Carla. Carla was looking annoyed and Eric had a maddeningly blank face.

  “You’re lying,” Suzanna said to Eric, who was kneeling next to her and leveling the table legs.

  He picked up the Sweet’N Low packets and shook them at her.

  “This is not cost-effective,” he said, tossing the packets into the trashcan and heading back to work. “You got the front?”

  Suzanna nodded. “You got the front” was shorthand for “If you can manage the store, I’ll be working in the office.”

  Suzanna turned to Carla.

  “You’re an architect from Napa Valley,” Suzanna said. “How can it be that you know shims from shanks?”

  “How can it be that you own a business in Los Angeles and don’t?”

  The women checked the other tables, straightening corners and checking for stability. When you were serving hot tea all day long, you couldn’t be too careful.

  “This looks pretty good,” Suzanna said, although she had her doubts.

  “Don’t change the subject. Go to the dance studio right now and bring me back that man.”

  “He doesn’t just hang around the dance studio all day.”

  “Well . . . did you get a phone number? An e-mail address?” Carla asked.

  “I don’t have any contact information, no.”

  “You know something? I don’t think you really want me to hire this guy.”

  “Maybe I don’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not sure I want to have somebody from dance class here. Suppose he tells the guys about my lessons?”

  “Suppose he does?”

  “It’s just getting too complicated. First I wasn’t telling Eric and Fernando, and then I wasn’t telling Erinn. If I confess now, it will seem like I’ve been trying to keep it from them.”

  “You have been trying to keep it from them.”

  “I know. But I can’t have Andy blow my cover. I’ll tell everybody in my own good time.”

  Carla struggled to move a sideboard into the alcove with her shoulder. When that didn’t work, she sat on the floor and tried to move it by propping her back against it and trying to leverage it with her feet braced against the wall. The sideboard budged, and Carla managed to get the behemoth to the doorway, where all progress stalled. She corralled Suzanna and the two women tried to lift it. The sideboard groaned but did not leave the floor. Carla looked at Suzanna.

  “Well, you need to get him here before the two of us kill ourselves. You can either ask him not to mention dancing or just leave it alone and hope for the best.”

  “What would you do?”

  “I think hiding dance lessons is completely stupid in the first place.”

  “But if you didn’t think it was stupid, then what would you do?”

  “If he’s like most of the carpenters I know, he’ll be too busy trying to out-testosterone Eric to get into a conversation about dance,” Carla said. “A straight guy isn’t going to waltz in here—no pun intended—and start talking about his salsa lessons, believe me.”

  “OK,” Suzanna said. “I’ll ask him to stop by. If you like him, you hire him.”

  She studied Carla, who seemed determined to move the sideboard through sheer force of will.

  “Soon,” Carla said, still shoving the sideboard and getting nowhere. It would have to wait until the patrons moved out and Fernando and Eric could move it. She stopped struggling, breathless. “Ask him soon.”

  Suzanna felt a surge of panic at officially closing the tearoom side of the Bun, but she and Carla—with occasional help from Eric, Fernando, and Harri—did manage to get a section of the book nook open for afternoon tea without missing a beat. The place—minus the sideboard—really did look snug and inviting. Suzanna and Carla stood in the doorway of the nook, admiring their handiwork. Erinn had brought them an armload of miniature roses from her garden and Fernando had created centerpieces of roses in tiny, mismatched English china vases for the five small tables.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to the tea,” Carla said. “I’d better go start the demolition while you have your mind occupied.�
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  Suzanna, who usually flushed when things were tense, suddenly turned pale. Carla looked at her in alarm.

  “Suzanna! What’s wrong?”

  Suzanna couldn’t find her voice. She felt as if she were going to pass out. Carla smacked her hard on the back, and Suzanna started to breathe again.

  “Rio,” she whispered. “It’s Rio.”

  “What? Who? Rio, the dance instructor? Where? Here?”

  “Yes,” Suzanna said, gripping Carla’s arm. “Harri’s bringing

  him in.”

  She pulled at Carla, who seemed rooted to the spot. “Let’s go! I don’t want him to see me.”

  “Are you nuts? You can’t hide in your own store . . . especially when half of it is closed. Besides, I’m not going anywhere! I want to see this.”

  Suzanna ducked behind Carla and busied herself at the miniscule newsstand as Harri led Rio into the new nook-cum-tearoom.

  “Maybe he’s coming to see why you haven’t been to class in a couple weeks,” Carla whispered.

  “Shhhh.”

  Rio nodded to Carla as he slipped around her in the tight space. He didn’t seem to notice Suzanna.

  “Oh my God, Suzanna. He is so hot.”

  “Would you please be quiet?”

  “Hmm. Harri seems pretty into him. You may have competition.”

  Suzanna peered over Carla’s shoulder and watched as Harri led Rio to one of the tables. Harri was using her wholesome looks for all they were worth.

  “She can be such a slut,” Suzanna said.

  Carla snorted. Rio and Harri looked in their direction, but both women hurriedly thrust their noses into magazines.

  Harri smiled impishly as she put down a menu. But instead of looking at it immediately, Rio opened his book. Suzanna felt this was clearly a signal that he wanted to be left alone, but Harri continued to stand there. Suzanna and Carla stayed at the front of the store and kept up the pretense that they were absorbed in their magazines.

  They strained to hear Harri.

  “What are you reading?” Harri asked.

  Rio smiled faintly and held up his book. From where Suzanna was standing, she couldn’t make out what it was, but she saw Harri studying it carefully.

  “What language is it written in?” she asked.

  “Spanish,” replied Rio, who didn’t seem at all annoyed by her.

  “Oh, are you Spanish?”

  “No,” he replied, “I’m Costa Rican.”

  Suzanna and Carla rolled their eyes at each other over the tops of their magazines as Harri went into an energetic fit about how much she adored Costa Rica.

  “She’s good!” Carla whispered. “I have a feeling that if he’d said ‘Colombia’ or ‘Belize’ or ‘Mexico,’ she would have been just as enthusiastic.”

  “The thing I love best about Costa Rica is the weather. . . it’s so interesting,” Harri said. “I mean, the whole country is completely within the tropics, but it has at least a dozen climatic zones and is markedly diverse in local microclimates.”

  Okay, maybe she does love Costa Rica.

  “My name is Harriet, by the way, but everybody calls me Harri.”

  “I am Rio.”

  “Wow . . . great name,” she said.

  “It means ‘river’ in Spanish,” he said.

  “Really? That is so cool.”

  Oh, please! She’s a college student! She’s slinging around words like “microclimates” and doesn’t know rio means “river” in Spanish?

  Suzanna and Carla watched in amazement as Rio reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

  If he gets her phone number, I’m firing her right now.

  But he seemed to just be showing Harri something on the phone. He flicked the screen time and time again . . . Was he showing her pictures? Harri simpered and put her hand to her heart and touched his shoulder. What was going on?

  Harri finally took his order—white tea and shepherd’s pie—and headed into the kitchen. She shot Carla and Suzanna a look as she scooted around them, leaned in, and made panting sounds.

  “She flirts like she just got out of prison,” Carla said. “OK, enough sightseeing. I’ve got to get to work. But now I see why you want to keep this one to yourself!”

  “Would you please be quiet? He has ears, you know.”

  “I do know. I noticed them framing that yummy ponytail.”

  “You are not helping!”

  “Just my professional opinion!” Carla said. “As an architect, I’d say he has not one design flaw.”

  Suzanna cringed. She was afraid Rio might hear them. She also found herself feeling a little proprietary. This was one man she didn’t plan on sharing with Carla—or Harri. Rio was her fantasy man!

  “And get me that carpenter!” Carla said. “If the dance instructor is anything to go by, I can’t wait!”

  “Andy isn’t hot,” Suzanna said in a whisper. “He’s office cute.”

  “Office cute” was a term Carla had picked up when she first started working in a big architecture firm and was describing some of the guys who worked there. “Office cute” was the guy in accounting you didn’t notice at first. Then, one day, when you were all standing around the cappuccino maker, he’d make a funny little joke and walk away. You’d say to the woman next to you, “You know, I never noticed before, but Kevin in accounting is pretty cute.”

  Suzanna always thought Kevin Spacey was the perfect prototype for office cute.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve had a date, I’ll settle for office cute,” Carla said. “Especially office cute with a tape measure.”

  Carla followed Harri back to the off-limits teashop, where Fernando still manned the kitchen. Suzanna watched Rio as he cracked open his book again. She came out from behind her magazine and started to tidy up the newsstand. She tried to convince herself that perhaps he did know this was her place and he was just playing hard to get. After all, he didn’t seem like a guy who would frequent a tearoom, and she’d never seen him in here before she started dance lessons. But if that were the case, he’d taken hard-to-get into the stratosphere. His eyes never left his book as he ate his shepherd’s pie. The only bright spot for Suzanna was that he didn’t seem to have any interest in Harri, either—and she flapped to his side every few minutes to see if everything was all right.

  Suzanna looked up from the newsstand as Fernando suddenly appeared in the doorway to the nook.

  “Fernando, what are you doing here? Get back in the kitchen,” Suzanna said.

  “Oh, quiet down, Moan-a. Harri’s in the kitchen . . . She says the hot Latin guy is here.”

  A muffled banging could be heard in the tearoom. Suzanna hoped it was Carla pulling out the wainscoting rather than Harri pulling down pots and pans. Rio looked up at the sound and Fernando waved. He said something to Rio in Spanish that Suzanna couldn’t understand.

  Rio nodded, took a few more bites of shepherd’s pie and a long sip of tea and then stood up. Suzanna froze as he walked toward Fernando. What was going on?

  Fernando picked up one end of the sideboard and Rio took the other. Suzanna watched in fascination as the men moved the sideboard into the nook and tucked it neatly into its designated spot.

  Fernando and Rio exchanged a few more words in Spanish. Rio grabbed his book off the table, tossed down a tip, and left. Fernando stared after him with a little sigh. Suzanna came out from behind the newsstand.

  “What was that about?” Suzanna asked.

  “I said I’d comp him if he’d help me move the sideboard.”

  Suzanna flared.

  “Are you crazy? What if he’d hurt his back?”

  “Well, it was worth the risk to see those biceps flex,” Fernando said.

  “We could have been sued!”

  “Moan-a, you got to go for it once in awhile . . . you know?”

  Well, she did know. And she wasn’t telling.

  Fernando turned back toward the kitchen on the other side of the building. />
  “That wasn’t cost-effective, by the way,” Suzanna called after him.

  Suzanna was still fuming when Harri came over. The two women stared into the street, trying to conjure the vision of Rio. It was as if they had awoken from an erotic, mutual dream and were trying to hang on to it.

  “So . . . Harri,” Suzanna said. “I saw you talking to that guy. Looks like he might be a player. What do you think?”

  “No way,” Harri said. “He has pictures of his mother on his phone.”

  Suzanna tried not to react . . . she wasn’t even sure what to make of it. But a man with pictures of his mother on his phone had to be a good guy . . . Didn’t he?

  “Besides,” Harri said, “I wanted to bite that ponytail holder right out of his hair.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Soon after Carla’s demand that she produce Andy, Suzanna steeled herself to return to dance class. She was in a heat waiting to see Rio again, but she was worried that she would be far, far behind the other students after almost three weeks away. But if she didn’t stop procrastinating, Carla would probably stalk off the project in protest! Carla had managed to get the entire tearoom cleared of the wainscoting and old shelves practically by herself, but she couldn’t wait for help any longer. Eric and Fernando did what they could—when they could—but Carla was very clear that she needed more muscle on a more consistent basis.

  Suzanna found a parking space right outside the dance studio, which she always took as a good omen. She looked in to see the regulars filtering in, putting on dance shoes, practicing stretches and talking in small groups. Lauren watched herself intently in the mirror, perfecting her already perfect technique. Suzanna sat in her Smart Car, hoping to catch Andy before he went in, and was looking down the street so intently that when someone knocked on her window, she jumped. It was Andy, smiling in at her. She rolled down her window.

  “Hey,” she said. “I was waiting for you.”

  “I thought you’d taken a powder,” Andy said. “We’ve missed you.”

  Suzanna got out of the car, collected her dance shoes, and set the alarm on her car.

  “I had work stuff.”

  “I wish I had work stuff,” he said, offering her quarters for the parking meter.