The Kitchen Shrink

by Dee Detarsio

  He pointed to an open suspended wooden stair case that headed down. “To my workspace.” He flicked on another light. “This is my living room.”

  “Phil-O, this is so amazing.” It was. It looked like something out of San Diego Magazine. The deep low slung couches were a robin’s egg blue, and made of soft velvet. I sunk down on one end. “Mm, nice.” Dark chocolate brown end tables and built-in shelving around the fireplace were simple but striking. I ran my hand over the smooth wood of the coffee table.

  “I made that.”

  I couldn’t believe it. “This is so great. I love this room.” The end of the room was a giant window and I could see the lights of the Coronado Bay Bridge in between tall buildings. “What a great view. I bet it’s so pretty in the daytime, too.” I leaned back against the tufted buttery gold kidney shaped pillows that were the perfect touch. “You designed this?”

  Phil-O nodded. “Come and see my kitchen.”

  He pulled me up and I followed him to the next room. It had a smaller sized window as a focal point, sharing the same view as the living room. The cabinets were of a lighter wood, with no handles, streamlining the whole effect. Some of the upper cabinets had opaque glass fronts with soft light filtering through. “What are the countertops made of?”

  “I poured concrete and mixed several glazes to get that color.”

  “Just gorgeous,” I continued my rave. I ran my hand over the shimmering bronze-colored countertop. “It almost glows. I can’t believe this is concrete.”

  “Yep.”

  I was feeling so comfortable I went to the cabinets and rubbed my hand over the cool wood and opened a door. “Oh, my gosh!”

  “What?” he asked.

  “You alphabetize your cans?”

  “I just like things in their place. It’s part of being a carpenter, I guess. I like my stuff organized.”

  “If you say so,” I teased. “I don’t know many guys who take time to be this neat. I love it,” I added, in case he thought I was making fun of him or questioning his manhood. Which, believe me, was the farthest thing from my mind.

  “How about something to drink?” he asked, opening his stainless, of course, refrigerator door and trying to use his body to shield me from the contents.

  “Just some water for me, thanks. What have you got in there?” I stood on tiptoe and peeked over his shoulder. Oops, I had to grab onto his bicep. Sniff. Yum. Something fresh and muted and masculine, a complete XY saturation was hijacking my olfactory receptors. Nice. My son was going through a body spray phase that earned his sister a grounding when she kept complaining he smelled like ass. (I had misunderstood her; she actually said he smelled like Axe.) I didn’t bother to clear that up; she was annoying and Ryan was using too much.

  I peered into the refrigerator. Then I burst out laughing. His water bottles were marching in precision, trooped above his eggs, butter and milk. Exactly four beer bottles were squared off behind a lime. I had just enough time to glimpse a bottle of champagne, before he closed the door. No sticky rings of who knows what; no unidentifiable food objects.

  “Nice man-refrigerator. You sure you’re not married?” What must it be like to live so organized?

  He smiled and shook his head.

  “Housekeeper?”

  Another shake of his head.

  “Servant? Valet? Butler?” My eyes widened. No kids, that’s for sure.

  “Cut it out. Come on. Let me show you my bathroom.”

  “Ooh. Please, just have one balled up, smelly towel, and I’ll leave you alone. Were you expecting company or do you always live like this?”

  “Like what? I like things nice and neat,” he said, pulling me by his rough strong calloused Renaissance man hand.

  I shivered.

  We entered his bedroom but before I could get a good look he opened the door to his bathroom.

  “I could live in here. This is amazing.” I was afraid I was gushing again.

  “It’s Italian glass tile.”

  “It looks like it has gold in it.”

  “Yeah, I think there are some threads among the blues and greens.”

  “The lighting is so perfect in here, too.”

  “You can never overlook lighting when you’re working on a project. So many people don’t understand the importance of diffused lighting.”

  “You do,” I said, catching a quick glimpse of myself in the framed mirror above the vanity. Looking pretty good, I thought. It’s amazing what a little alcohol, a throbbing motorcycle ride with an adorable Adonis and good lighting can do. I smiled at my reflection and then reached for his medicine cabinet.

  “I can’t help it,” I added. “I’ve just got to see.” I reached for the door of the cabinet next to and flush with the mirror.

  “No,” he tried to stop me, putting both arms around me from behind, but I pulled the door open.

  “OK,” I said, looking at his graduated sizes of skin care products and shampoos. “You color-coordinated your bath stuff? That does it. You are one chromosome away from a gay man.”

  Phil-O just laughed and took one step closer to me against my back, his right hand closing the cabinet door before hugging me tightly.

  “Is that so?” he whispered in my ear, smiling against my lobe.

  “No.” I tried to shake my head. “No, that is so not so.” I could see my dopey smile in his mirror but then he spun me around and we headed for the last stop on his tour.

  He didn’t let me go as he leaned down to turn on the light next to his bed. His big fluffy platform bed, just begged for someone to bounce on it. He pulled me down on top of the red silk comforter, and one thing led to another. My mouth led to his, his hands led to my back, my hands led to his front…It was when his fingers started unbuttoning my blouse that I hesitated. What did I think I was doing? And more importantly, which bra was I wearing? I peeked down, quickly. Excellent, my one good black bra, with sufficient elastic snap left, hooked for maximum cleavage. OK. He may proceed. It was practically written in the stars.

  I peered under my eyelashes at this amazing man and realized the lights were still on. Yikes. At least I had the wherewithal not to stay on top, even with mood lighting. I rolled onto my side and before my pooching belly could touch down, Phil-O had me on my back, just where I liked him.

  I was in a suspended state of infatuation, and mere seconds before falling asleep. I was so relaxed, listening to Phil-O telling me stories about when he was a kid growing up on an island, while he played with my fingers. Just as I was ready to surrender to the pillow and his soothing voice, an invading thought smacked me. I had to be home before the camera crew showed up and caught me sneaking in, wearing last night’s clothes. My eyelids sprung open like they were spring-loaded. I’ve been listening to a lot of carpentry talk lately.

  Like the gentleman he was, Phil-O got up and took me to my car around 2:30 am, with no questions other than making sure I was fine to drive, which I was, and a sweet kiss goodnight.

  I soared, glided, auto-piloted my way home and fell asleep immediately on my rumpled bed with its asymmetrical graying fraying sheet hanging longer on one side than the other.

  A few hours later when a sunbeam gently nudged me awake, I felt as tranquil as if I had just finished a yoga class. I breathed deeply, and exhaled, nope, no guilt here. I stretched my arms out wide and felt beautiful: for all of a split second.

  Oh, crap. What if the crew knew?

  Chapter 11

  Squeal or No Squeal

  I took my shower and dressed with extra care, putting on a tight long sleeved black shirt and a pair of stretchy khaki jeans. I added a pair of black heeled boots and thought how funny it was that I could look this good on four hours of sleep but on other days, look like hell after a regular full night. Go figure. Go Phil-O.

  I quietly went downstairs to find the construction crew beginning their day.

  “Hey, Lisby,” Phil-O was already at work but looked over at me and grinned. “Elgin brought Dr. Pepper
and donuts this morning. Go get some and we can finish this up.”

  “OK,” I smiled right back at him and turned, bumping smack dab into Elgin who had snuck up on me like a stealth Prius in the parking lot.

  “Oof! I didn’t see you!” I said. I tried to immobilize my face and wipe off the “OK-we-did-it” look. “Morning, Elgin. Thanks for the Dr. Pepper,” which I was oddly enough beginning to enjoy.

  “Sure,” he said, staring at me.

  “Last night was fun, huh?” I told him. He was acting so weird. Maybe he was just hungover.

  Elgin nodded his head. Why was he staring at me? Did he know something? How could he?

  “Yeah,” he finally said. “I brought donuts, too. It was a late night, we all need something to get our motors running.”

  What did he mean by that? I looked over my shoulder at Phil-O, who was taping the drywall seams. He would never have said anything. Sam and Dustin, his audio tech, came in and were getting their gear organized.

  “Hi Lisby, did you have fun last night?” Sam asked. Was he smirking at me?

  “Yeah, did you?”

  “Mm-hm,” he nodded. “It’s nice to get together and have a chance to hang out outside of work.”

  My cell phone began ringing. It was Daria. Elgin nodded at Sam who moved in close. Obviously they were going to be on me like paint on primer, hoping to get ‘good stuff’ for reality TV. Thank goodness I didn’t have my microphone on yet.

  “Answer it,” Elgin ordered.

  “Hey, Daria.”

  “Lisby, why didn’t you call me? How was Phil-O’s place?”

  “Oh, really great. He’s so talented.” I looked up and saw Elgin’s eyebrows practically meet his Dumb and Dumber bangs he had going this morning. “Did you have fun?” I tried to turn the conversation back to Daria.

  “Yeah, I hung out with Sam. What a sweetie,” she said.

  Why did that bother me? Even though I was not quite sure I could trust him, I wanted Sam to like me more than Daria. “Oh good,” I sucked it up.

  “So what happened with your Trinidaddy?” She pried.

  “Nothing. Come over later if you can,” I chirped. “I’ve got to get to work now, the crew is rolling.”

  As I hung up, Elgin came over and acted like he was sniffing me. “Give me something,” he said through gritted teeth.

  I shrugged my shoulders and went and got my spackling compound. Phil-O caught my eye and smiled. I saw Elgin hovering, just watching as if he was waiting for me to crack, or something. What did he think I was going to do? I swallowed the lump in my throat. I stood up too fast and tripped and Phil-O reached out to catch my hand.

  “Oops, thanks.” I was smiling but then I saw Elgin nodding his head. What was he thinking? What did he know? Between Elgin and Sam and the camera I felt as if every move I made was magnified. It was so hard to act natural.

  “What time did you get home last night, Lisby?” Elgin asked. Almost as if he was baiting me.

  “Oh, not too late. Have you seen Phil-O’s loft? It’s amazing. Maybe I could have some shelves put up over here,” I waved my hands, trying to distract Elgin from wherever he was going.”

  “Yeah, Phil-O is a man of many talents,” he said. “Did he show you his bedroom?”

  Oh shit. I had no details to report. What was I going to say? ‘His sheets were soft, his bed was comfy, he had the most amazing chest…’

  Just as I was thinking ‘amazing chest’ Elgin was asking me if I saw his ‘amazing chest’… What was going on? Bluff, bluff, it could be a trap. What if there was no chest? What if Elgin was just trying to trick me into admitting on camera that I slept with Phil-O? Oh, I could see it now. ‘Lusty Lisby nails the drywaller.’ The producers would love that. They would have a field day. This could only end badly. Never known for my fast thinking I just waited and tried to daintily swab the sweat off my brow, looking and feeling like a terrorized 60 Minutes interview victim.

  “Oh, Lisby, I forgot to show you my hand-carved chest,” Phil-O said, coming back down the ladder and joining our conversation. “Elgin, I finally finished my countertops, you should come by and see them.”

  But Elgin looked like he was more interested in seeing me implode. He looked at me and then Phil-O and then back at me again. I couldn’t take it anymore. My fight instinct was kicking my flight’s ass. He knew. Somehow he knew. Just as I saw his lips begin to form the words that would take me down on national TV, I grabbed Elgin’s hand and led him outside.

  “Elgin, I need to talk to you,” I said in a sing-songy voice.

  Sam and his camera stayed inside as I took Elgin back around the corner of the house, behind a palm tree and giant bird of paradise. Thank goodness I hadn’t put my microphone on yet. I dropped Elgin’s hand only so I could bend my elbow and use my forearm to thrust against his chest to shove him against my fence. I was so furious I couldn’t speak.

  “Elgin,” I panted. His eyes were wide. We were about the same height but I think I had him on poundage. He was scared of me. Good. I leaned into him, harder.

  “Squeal or no squeal?” I finally said through gritted teeth.

  “What? What?” He squealed alright, like a little girl.

  “You need to stop this game right now. Do you understand me?” I pressed harder.

  First he nodded then he shook his head. “No. What are you talking about?”

  “Come on,” I mocked him. “You know what’s going on. You’ve been a smart ass all morning…”

  “About what?” He interrupted.

  “You’ve been making insinuations about me and Phil-O.”

  “You and Phil-O? What? What did I say? Why would I…?” And then he figured it out. I saw the understanding dawn in his eyes, followed by a quirking eyebrow of disbelief, thanks a lot, followed by something else. “Respect,” he said, nodding. “Wow.”

  “Quit it,” I shook him, trying to make him stop picturing images of me and Phil-O, dancing in his head. “You really didn’t know?” Poop. What have I done?

  “How would I? Who would have thought? You’re old enough to be his…”

  I jabbed him again. I was such an idiot. Why did I say anything? I just thought the way he was acting, he knew and probably planned on using it against me. “Promise me you will never say a word to anyone. Promise me.”

  “Lisby got nailed,” he said, laughing. I knew it.

  “Elgin! This is NOT for TV. Please, promise me it won’t be on The Kitchen Shrink. Swear. Say it. So help me, Elgin, if this gets out I will drop out of the show, I’ll sue, and I’ll go on talk shows and expose this whole show…”

  By now, Elgin was laughing and I had lost my adrenalin-fueled power. I dropped my arm and shook it to resume the blood flow, before raising my hand and pushing on his chest again. He flinched.

  “Oh, knock it off. I’m not going to hit you. But, I need your word this does not get out,” I said.

  He stared me down. I could see him weighing how this whole scenario would play out on TV versus my threat to drop out. He knew I signed the papers and the show could, and probably would, sue me.

  “Elgin, come on. Do the right thing.”

  “Are you kidding me? This is gold!”

  “No. It’s not. It’s private and has nothing to do with me changing my life. And if you tell, I’ll deny it and accuse you of making it all up to try to look better on the show. Promise me you won’t say anything.”

  He bit his lip. He knew there was no video to cover it anyway. And no real proof. “OK. Lisby. Let’s make a deal.”

  “What?”

  “I promise I won’t tell the producers about you and,” a jealous look crimped his lips, “Phil-O,” Elgin said, “if you promise to let go, kick it up and provide some entertainment here. We have to get a better storyline going. Soon. And you have to do what I say. We need to ramp up the drama.”

  “Fine. Within reason. No sex.” I let him go.

  “Honey girl,” he said, rubbing his chest and straightening his s
hirt. “You’re so not my type. But who woulda thought? You and Phil-O.”

  I put up my hand before he could ask for details. “Shut up.” We walked back into the house. Elgin was humming “Lay Your Head Upon My Pillow…” Ass.

  Unfortunately, Elgin was right. We were heading to the end of construction and production in about three weeks, with no life-changing moments on my horizon. The producers were freaking out. Polly Purebred showed up a little later. She called me and Elgin outside, sans the cameras for a little pep talk.

  “The producers aren’t happy,” she began.

  My stomach did a flip. “Why?”

  “Well, they think you’re boring.”

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “One of our participants, Mary in Michigan, has lost 25 pounds during her condo renovation.” Polly looked at her notes and pushed up her little glasses. “Mark in Florida exorcised a devil from his basement, and Edna in Idaho got engaged to the termite inspector.”

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” I said. “I think the remodel is going great, I love being hands-on and learning how to do this. I’m feeling good and happy,” I tried to nod. “Maybe my life will change once my kitchen is finished.”

  She shook her head. “Are you dating?” she asked. “Having any mid-life crisis?” she asked hopefully. “Secrets you are ready to share?” she asked, taking a step closer as if she could try to read my mind.

  I shook my head. “I guess you’re looking for sex, drugs and rock and roll, but my life is about very little sex, rugs, and where should the couch go.” I crossed my fingers and tried to broker a deal with the universe that no one ever finds out about the Martinator, or Phil-O. “I’m sorry.”

  She turned her attention to Elgin. “Spice it up, sister.” She turned on her heel and left.

  Elgin put his arm around me and led me back to Sam and the camera before he spoke. “What do you like best about kissing women?” he asked me.

  I shoved him away and stomped off back to my spackling.