He nodded. “Whatever you think best.”
“You’re not much of a talker, are you?”
“Only when I have something that needs to be said.”
“Well, do you prefer a certain cut over another?” Roshawn asked.
He shrugged. “It is usually cut the same, round all over. But not too short. I don’t want too short.”
Roshawn reached around him to pull at the cord to the electric clippers, easing it out of the way behind the chair. Angel caught a whiff of her perfume, the light floral scent wafting through his bloodstream. It made him dizzy with sudden wanting and he struggled against the sensations flooding through him.
“I’d like to change the style just a little, if you’ll permit me to,” Roshawn said, interrupting his thoughts. “I think it would look better on you and the curl pattern would lay better if I tapered it lower in the back and on the sides and removed just a bit more of the fullness out of the top. I think the style now is just a little too heavy for your face.”
“I said not too short,” the man responded curtly.
Roshawn heaved a light sigh. This is like pulling teeth, she thought to herself. Why does he have to be so good-looking?
From the other side of the room she could feel Israel staring at them. She turned to toss the man a look, shaking her head in his direction. He laughed, motioning toward the family room where Ming was watching television. “I think I will go watch this movie with your daughter, if that is all right with you, Roshawn?”
She nodded. “Of course. Please, make yourself right at home, Israel.”
He gave her a quick wink as he headed into the other room leaving the two of them alone.
“Your father is something else,” Roshawn said with a light laugh. “He must be great company for you.”
“I do not appreciate you using my father to get next to me,” Angel said, looking at her.
Roshawn laughed. “Boy, you must have fallen down and bumped this big head of yours,” she said, the amusement shimmering in her voice.
Angel bristled. “I know how all you women are. You don’t fool me.”
“And pray tell, Mr. Rios. What do you think you know about all women?”
“I know that you will do anything to bleed a man dry. You will steal him blind and whisper in his ear at the same time to distract him. Women can’t be trusted. You will get what you want by any means necessary. That makes you dangerous and a dangerous woman should never be trusted. None of you.”
“And you have personally met and experienced every woman in the world to come to such a profound opinion of us?”
“It only takes one to shake her breasts and behind in a man’s face to understand just how far you will go to deceive him. Like you are doing now. Making nice to an old man to see how far you can get with his son.”
After a quick blade change, the clippers hummed in Roshawn’s hand. “Well, Mr. Rios, let me enlighten you. I…am…not…like…all…women…” she said, slowly enunciating each word. “In fact, I’m not like any woman you have ever met, and I’m about to make an impression you won’t soon forget.”
With that said, Roshawn swiped the blades of the clippers across Angel’s head, hacking at the significant length of every strand of hair. Angel gasped in shock, his hands flying to his head. The cut was a spectrum of high and low spots with a single bald patch of scalp that split down the middle of his skull, running from his hairline back. Roshawn cut the power to her tools, tossing him an angry glare as she stomped out of the room. Angel raged in Spanish, cursing profusely. Ming and Israel both jumped to their feet, racing past Roshawn to see what had happened. At the sight of him, Ming’s hands flew to her mouth to stifle a sudden rush of giggles. Israel laughed outright, throwing back his head in glee.
Angel was not amused as he snatched the apron and towel from around his neck. He hurled himself into the room behind her, still raging in his native tongue. Roshawn had reclined her body against a chenille settee, clicking the television remote in her hand. She barely gave him a glance as he hovered angrily above her. Israel and Ming were still laughing in the doorway.
“I cannot believe this,” Angel spewed harshly, switching from Spanish to English. “I am not paying you a dime for what you have done.”
Roshawn cut her eye up at him. She leaned forward ever so slightly. “Your haircut was on the house. Consider it my personal gift to you. But you owe me one hundred dollars for your father’s haircut and shave.”
Angel snarled, his nostrils flaring and his eyes wide with fury. He turned toward his father, fuming in Spanish for a second time. “This woman is crazy. Look at what she has done to my head. I look like a buffoon. I am not paying her one cent. Not one. Look at her. She’s sitting there like it’s nothing. A gift she says. She’s a lunatic,” he screamed, the comments meant only for his father to understand.
Israel motioned with both hands, his palms waving his son to calm down. He responded in Spanish. “You need to relax, son. It is nothing that can’t be fixed. We will shave it all when we get back to the hotel. No one will ever know. It will grow back, eventually.”
Angel threw up his hands in frustration. Behind him, Roshawn came to her feet, her hands falling against the lean lines of her hips. As Angel turned back around to face her, she stepped directly in front of him, her gaze locking with his.
“Señor Rios,” she started, her Spanish as close to perfect as his. “I am neither crazy, nor a lunatic. You got exactly what you deserved. And you look like the arrogant, pompous ass that you are. Just more trendy and definitely stylish. Now, pay me my money and get out of my house.”
Behind her, Israel beamed, reaching into his pocket for five twenty-dollar bills. He passed her the cash as Angel stormed toward the front door. Laughter still danced in Israel’s eyes.
Roshawn called after him, still speaking in Spanish. “Once you shave your head I suggest you use a quality sunscreen for the next few weeks. You’ll burn badly if you get too much sun too fast. We wouldn’t want that to happen. It might hurt.”
Tossing her one last glare, Angel stomped from the house, calling for his father to hurry up. As the door slammed closed, Roshawn burst out laughing, falling into Israel’s outstretched arms. The man hugged her warmly.
“You are much fun, chica!” he said.
“Your son is a spoiled brat. He needed to be put into his place. I don’t know how you put up with him.”
The man smiled. “My son, he likes you. And I think you like him. You two will be good for each other.”
“I don’t think so. I like you much more than I like your son,” she said teasingly.
The man chuckled. “But my son is the only one who is available.” He moved toward the front door, pulling her by the hand behind him.
Roshawn kissed his cheek. “You should come for dinner while Angel is gone. Ming and I will call you to make plans.”
“I look forward to it,” he said. He gave Ming a quick wink as she waved goodbye. “Buenos noches, señoritas!”
“Adios, Israel. Adios.”
* * *
Angel was still fuming as he waited in the car for his father, a baseball cap sitting low on his head. He was angry, but what confused him was that the sentiment was not directed at that woman. He was more upset with himself and the conflict of emotions coursing through his bloodstream. As much as he had wanted to push her as far away as he could muster, there had still been a larger part of him that had wanted to pull her to him, to drop headfirst into that spellbinding gaze that rendered him totally useless. It was as if he’d been hungry for her, the eagerness nearing starvation as he purposely denied himself fulfillment. And then he had lashed out, unnecessarily ugly. Through it all she’d not been moved in the least, her emotions held in check. Even as she’d butchered his head, she had been in control, wielding dominion over him. His whole body shivered, continuing to shake with one rush of emotion after another.
As his father got into the vehicle, Angel’s eyes were shu
t tight. Moisture pressed hot against the back of his eyelids. As if sensing his conflict, Israel patted him easily against his forearm. The two sat quietly for a quick minute. Then Angel began to laugh first, his father joining in until both of them were wiping the tears of it from their faces. Angel shifted the car into Drive and eased his way back onto the main road. Beside him, Israel eyed him smugly. He caught his father’s gaze, holding it for a second before turning his attention back to the road.
“What?” he asked, a hint of tension still straining in his voice.
Israel chuckled. “You are lucky. It is a good thing you made her mad before she got to your shave. She might have cut your throat instead of just your hair.” The man laughed again, the sound of it resonating in the space of the car.
“Did you know she could speak Spanish?” Angel asked, calm having returned to his voice.
Israel shook his head. “No. That was also a surprise to me.”
Angel nodded his agreement as Israel chuckled under his breath. “She’s full of fire, that woman is,” his father muttered softly. “Full of fire!”
Chapter 11
The two women were laughing shamelessly in Nordstrom’s dressing room as Nina gave Roshawn a gossip update. “That girl he was with looked like a man in drag. A very pretty man, but a man,” she giggled, flouncing in front of the mirror in a red-checked gingham sundress.
Roshawn shook her head. “You look like a picnic table,” she said, adjusting the top of a yellow capri set she was modeling.
“Look who’s talking, Big Bird!” Nina chuckled.
Both women stood side by side studying each others’reflection in the mirror. Both burst out laughing at the same time.
“Oh, oh, oh!” Nina chimed as Roshawn stepped back into her own changing cubicle. “Have you seen Angel Rios? Boyfriend shaved his head!”
Roshawn grinned behind her curtain. “Oh, really?” she said, fighting to keep her voice as nonchalant as she could.
“He’s as bald as a baby’s butt. Talk about a hottie! That man was gorgeous before, but this look has taken him to a whole new level of scrumptious!”
Roshawn rolled her eyes as Nina leaned in to her cubicle, passing her a striped Juicy Couture halter dress. “You should try this on. It will look much better on you than on me,” Nina said.
Roshawn took the garment from her friend’s hands and pulled it on over her head. She adjusted it against her lean frame, admiring it in the mirror. “I do like this.”
“Told you. I think Angel would like it on you, too.”
“You’re obsessed with that man.”
“No, I’m not. I just think you two would be cute together.”
Roshawn rolled her eyes again.
“His father was asking about you, you know.”
The woman laughed. “What did Israel want to know about me?”
“He was just interested in knowing if you were dating anyone, what you liked, what you didn’t like.”
“And you told him what?”
“I told him I thought his son would be perfect for you and he agreed.”
Roshawn shook her head. “So, now both of you are playing matchmaker?”
Nina grinned. “Isn’t it great!”
Roshawn smoothed the lines of the dress down against her body. “I don’t think Angel Rios and I will be hooking up any time soon. I don’t like anything about that man,” she said firmly, spinning into a lengthy discourse about all she found wrong with him, starting with the obvious difference in their ages and ending with the man’s arrogant attitude.
Nina eyed her curiously as she listened. A moment of silence passed between them as Roshawn finished and stood staring at her friend for a response.
Nina chuckled. “Now, who were you trying to convince—you or me?”
Roshawn spun toward the wall, reaching for the clothes she’d arrived in. “Oh, please.”
“You got it bad and you don’t even know it.”
Roshawn sucked her teeth. “Got what bad?”
“The hots for Angel Rios. You like the man. You like the man a lot.”
“You’re crazy. You and his father both are nuts if you think there will ever be anything between me and that man.”
Nina was still grinning as they made their way out of the changing area toward the checkout counter. “Uh-huh!”
* * *
Israel had been invited to the Bradsher home for Sunday supper. He was excited and told his son so when the two had spoken by telephone earlier that day. Their conversation had taken place in the early hours of the morning as both were preparing for Sunday Mass, Israel headed to Iglesia del Nazareno, and Angel to one of the local Catholic churches in Dallas, Texas where the team was scheduled to play the Rangers later that afternoon.
His son had gone quiet at the mention of Roshawn’s name, then made it clear he had no interest in discussing her with his father or anyone else, ever again. “Look, Papí,” he’d professed. “I’m not interested in that woman. If you like her, fine. That’s your choice. I don’t have to like anything about her.”
Israel had chuckled under his breath, knowing what Angel wasn’t yet willing to admit: Roshawn excited him. The woman had a choke hold on his attention and Angel really had no interest in her ever letting go. It was times like this Israel wanted to give his boy a good swift whack upside his hard, bald head. The old man laughed out loud as he stepped out of a taxi in Roshawn’s driveway and paid the driver.
Ming answered the front door, greeting him warmly. “Hi, Mr. Rios. Please, come on in.”
“Hola! How are you, precious?”
“Fine, thank you, sir.”
“Please. You no call me sir, or Mr. Rios. You call me, Abuelo, okay?” he said wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Abuelo is grandfather in Spanish.”
Ming grinned. “Yes, sir,” she said.
Israel held up his index finger shaking it and his head. “Abuelo.”
“Yes, Abuelo,” she said, reaching to kiss his cheek. The man smiled, then took a deep inhale of breath. “Something smells very good,” he said, following the girl into the kitchen.
Roshawn stood at the stove, waving hello with a wooden spoon. “Israel, welcome! How are you today?” she asked, moving to his side to give the man a quick hug.
“I am dining with two beautiful women. I am a happy man.”
Roshawn laughed. “Well, I hope you’re still happy after you’ve eaten.”
“It smells very good,” he said, peering over her shoulder toward the casserole pot that simmered on a low burner. He looked at her questioningly. “It reminds me of home. A dish my wife use to make for me.”
Roshawn smiled. “I had to do a little research, but I’m told it’s a very popular dish in the Dominican Republic.”
Israel clasped his hands together excitedly, moving to the stove to peer beneath the pot’s lid. “Puerco Guisado!” he said.
Roshawn nodded her head. “That’s right. Pork stew, and if you’re ready to eat, it’s ready to be served.”
Israel and Ming took a seat at the dining room table, the two chatting about Ming’s plans for school, her summer holiday, and the new boyfriend she had taken an interest in. Israel tossed his hands up, skewing his face in disapproval. “You are too young for boys,” he declared, tossing a look toward Roshawn. “She is too young for boys!”
The girl giggled. “That’s what my dad says.”
“You must listen to your father. John Chen is a very wise man. Your father, he will always tell you what is best,” the man said, his head bobbing up and down against his shoulders.
Roshawn had transferred the stew to a soup tureen, garnishing the mixture of pork, tomatoes and spices with a sprinkling of parsley. A warm plate of flour tortillas and a garden salad completed the meal. As she served their plates, Israel hummed his approval. “Muy bueno,” he said as he dropped a cloth napkin into his lap. “Very good. Very good.”
The woman gestured toward her daughter. “Ming, would you please bl
ess the table,” she commanded.
They all bowed their heads in prayer as Ming said the grace. From the first bite to the last, Israel felt more at home than he had felt in a long while. The hearty meal brought back fond memories of home and his late wife and as he settled back against his chair, his palms folded over a bulging belly, he said so.
“Roshawn, you have made me a very happy man tonight. Now, if you would only marry my son, I could die in peace knowing all would be well for Angel and for you.”
Ming giggled and Roshawn laughed loudly. “You don’t want much, do you Israel?”
The two chuckled as if they shared a secret. Ming asked to be excused from the table, heading back to her room to get on the new cell phone her father had given her.
“Why don’t you and I have dessert and coffee on the patio,” Roshawn said, pointing toward the outdoors. Israel nodded, then headed out the glass doors to settle himself comfortably against the cushioned seats.
The sun was just beginning to set and the early evening sky glistened in vibrant shades of red, orange and gold. The mountains in the distance appeared to be on fire from the intensity. Israel took a deep breath, the hot afternoon air starting to cool comfortably. Roshawn soon joined him with two cups of chicory coffee and two servings of caramel flan situated on a rattan tray. As she settled down beside him both allowed the quiet and the rich custard to rule the moment.
As Israel savored his last bite, Roshawn broke the silence. “Please, tell me about Angel’s mother. It sounds like your wife was an incredible woman.”
He took a slow sip of his coffee, a moment of deep reflection crossing his face. Roshawn turned in her seat to face him, pulling her legs beneath her body as she watched him. When he spoke, he did so in Spanish, the comfort of his native tongue obvious. Roshawn smiled ever so slightly.
“A man is blessed when he finds the one love who changes his whole world for the better. My beautiful wife, Graciella, she was my one great love. We were just babies when we fell in love. Our families both came from a long line of farmers and our two fathers owned land side by side. She and her sister use to run and play in the fields and I would watch them as I helped my father tend to the gardens. Oh, she was so beautiful, she was!
Love in the Lineup Page 11
