Playing the Player

by Lea Santos

  “Idiot,” Grace muttered to herself.

  Everyone turned toward her. DoDo’s face reddened, and looked ready to dole out a few head smacks. “I can’t pop my nitro like candy, you know.” She patted the left side of her chest as if to remind Grace of her heart problems.

  Grace smiled wanly. “Sorry, I was just thinking aloud.”

  Madeira watched her thoughtfully for a minute, then turned back to DoDo. “I appreciate the offer, but I have to work in a little bit.”

  “It’s okay, m’ijita. No need to apologize. Work comes first. You’ll just have to come back for a proper dinner sometime next week, yes?”

  “DoDo,” Grace warned her gently. “Maybe Maddee has other plans.”

  “Every night?” DoDo arched her brows.

  “I think dinner is a great idea,” Lola interjected, drawing out the r in “great” like Tony the Tiger. She watched the situation with amusement, taking advantage of the opportunity to dish out paybacks to Grace. “We owe it to you anyway for helping Grace, and I’m sure she’d love to have you over, right, Grace?”

  She glared at Lola, trying to decide between Nair in the shower cap or itching powder in the underwear drawer.

  “Graciela?” DoDo prompted, in a tone that said she would stand for no further rudeness.

  Grace forced a saccharin smile. “Sure. Come on over.”

  Appeased, DoDo patted Madeira’s arm. “Sí. It’s the least we can do. What do you say? Will Wednesday evening work?”

  Grace buried her face in her hands for a moment before looking up again. Much as she loved DoDo, and despite the fact she hadn’t thought twice about selling her condo and moving back in to care for the woman who had raised her, sometimes she wished she had her own place again. Like, right now, for example, and she wouldn’t mind if it was in Costa Rica.

  “Actually, I work evenings all this week,” Madeira said.

  A reprieve! Grace bounced up from the couch and grabbed her elbow, herding her doorward. “Bummer, sorry we couldn’t work it out. I’ll walk you to your truck.”

  “Next Sunday, then,” DoDo insisted, ignoring her granddaughter. “Do you work then?”

  “No, I don’t. But really, it’s not necessary.”

  “What, necessary? What does necessity have to do with anything? It’s a simple dinner invitation,” Lola said. “You can’t disappoint DoDo. Plus, she’s a really good cook.”

  “I bet she is.” Madeira hedged, and Grace had the sudden impression Maddee was doing so on Grace’s behalf. Either that or the whole thing was getting too domestic for Madeira, which was the more likely scenario. Still, she felt unduly touched.

  Madeira looked her way and their gazes locked. Once again she had that eerie feeling of being a team, Grace and Madeira against the world. Madeira did mean to respect her wishes about this dinner thing, and that pleased her.

  “What do you think?” Madeira’s husky tone touched her like a rough-soft hand on naked, heated flesh. “Is dinner an imposition for you, Gracie?”

  Lola and DoDo gasped simultaneously, their eyes round with wonder and shock.

  Grace flinched. Oops. Fuckity-fuck. She’d meant to speak to Madeira about tossing around that nickname before Madeira met her family. Or actually, she’d meant to keep her away from her family altogether, but whatever. Madeira had caught her by surprise, and now Grace was screwed.

  Madeira blinked at them, a small worried frown bisecting her forehead. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, m’ija,” DoDo breathed, her expression dreamy.

  Madeira shared a perplexed frown with Grace, splaying her palm on her chest. “Did I say something?”

  “No. It’s nothing,” Grace lied. Damnit, why hadn’t she remembered? Probably because she loved the way her name, Mama’s special name for her, sounded on Madeira’s tongue. “It’s just that…well, to be honest, no one has called me Gracie since…since—”

  “Since our mama died,” Lola told her.

  Madeira startled.

  “It was her special nickname for Grace. No one calls her…that…except Mama.”

  “And now our Madeira,” DoDo said, in a reverent whisper, her eyes shinier than usual. “It’s a sign.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Gracie insisted. She turned to Madeira. Her smile was meant to reassure, but it felt like more of a grimace. “Don’t worry. It’s not a sign.”

  “A sign of what?” Madeira became more baffled by the moment, totally out of her element.

  Grace kind of liked Maddee looking that way. “Nothing,” Grace said, just as Lola said, “Destiny.”

  “Not freaking destiny, you idiot.” Grace jabbed a finger toward Lola, a warning scowl on her face. “It’s not even a sign.”

  “Destiny,” DoDo reiterated, nodding. She smiled benevolently at Madeira. “And don’t you listen to our foul-mouthed Graciela, m’ija. It’s definitely a sign.”

  *

  After escaping the funny farm known as her house without any of the inmates following, Grace shuffled Madeira into her truck and leaned against the doorjamb. “Look, don’t feel obligated to come to dinner next weekend. I appreciate your gracious handling of my psychotic relatives, but you don’t owe Lola or DoDo anything. They always put people on the spot.”

  Madeira’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment she didn’t speak. When she finally did, her tone was hard to read. “I like them. I just didn’t want to step on your toes. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to come.”

  “Oh.” The single word had sounded disappointed, so Grace vied to pep it up a bit, even managed a smile. “Really? I’d have thought you’d be dying to get away.”

  “Not at all, Gracie.” Maddee looked slightly affronted. “I miss my sisters and mother, and DoDo reminds me of my abuelita. Plus, you heard her. I’m familia now.”

  Grace shrugged, trying to play it off that she didn’t care if Madeira showed up or not. In truth, the very prospect of seeing Maddee again in seven days made Grace go crazy inside. Crazy-good, and crazy-bad—an even mix. She didn’t want to want Maddee, but if she kept showing up and insinuating herself into Grace’s life, what choice did that leave her? “Okay, then I guess dinner next Sunday.” At least she’d have a full week away from her to batten down her emotional hatches. Maybe she could find a suitable decoy date by then to throw her off.

  “Perfect.” Madeira drummed her hand on the door of her car. “Hey, what was all that stuff about the signs?”

  “Just a bunch of cosmic curandera woo-woo crap. Nothing to worry about.” Grace brushed a little road dust off Maddee’s side mirror, then wiped her fingers on her tragically worn-out pants. “DoDo believes the universe sends us signs, and that it’s our duty to notice them if we want to live the lives we were meant to.”

  Madeira pursed her lips. “You don’t believe it?”

  Grace laughed, a little nervously, unwilling to admit how often she’d wondered if Maddee and the whole weird path of their “relationship”—term used loosely—was some kind of a sign. “Well, I try not to. But sometimes she makes me wonder.”

  “Signs.” Madeira toyed with the idea, then feigned a shiver. “Makes me want to go to church and confess.”

  “I’d urge against it,” Grace teased. “Shocking a priest to death won’t serve you well in the afterlife.”

  Laughing, Madeira switched on her ignition, and Grace stepped back, slipping her hands into her back pockets, feeling Maddee’s absence already, like the kind of wound that sent a reminder twinge now and then. “See you Sunday, Gracie.”

  Grace opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

  “What?”

  “You can still change your mind and not come. It’s okay.”

  A faint line of annoyance bisected Madeira’s brow. “I have no intention of doing that. I made your grandmother a promise, and regardless of what you think of me, I’m honorable. I intend to stick by my word.”

  “I never meant you weren’t—” Grace sighed. “You realize that this changes
nothing between us, right? Friends, okay, but my sister and DoDo have other ideas.”

  A small huff escaped Madeira’s lungs, and for a moment she just stared forward. “Gracie, do you want to get married? The commitment ceremony, the rings, the whole thing?”

  Grace blanched. A split second passed where she thought Madeira was suggesting they take this inconceivable route. She came to her senses quickly, realizing it was more of a survey question, but how to answer now that she could barely remember her own name?

  Wait—she had nothing to hide from Madeira. “No. I mean, possibly yes. Someday I want to commit to a partner. But not until I get my career under way and find the right person. I’m in no hurry and I’m not going to settle.”

  Madeira draped her arm along the window well. “So, that’s out for you right now?”

  Grace nodded. “Totally.”

  “Then why do you continue to fight so hard against us?” Madeira gave her what Grace assumed was supposed to be a calming smile. “I’m not trying to claim you forever. It’s just a casual thing.”

  Grace shook her head sadly. Could Madeira be any more clueless? “That’s exactly why we’re so totally wrong for each other, Madeira.”

  “Huh?”

  “Trust me, I’ve had more than my fair share of casual things and I’m not in the market for another one.” A beat passed. “Not even with you.”

  Understanding dawned in Madeira’s eyes, veiled with even more questions. “How will you know if something’s right if you don’t start with casual?”

  Grace shrugged. “I’ll just know.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in signs?”

  “Well…I’m hopeful.”

  Madeira ran her fingers through her hair, looking rumpled with confusion and frustration. “So, let me ask you this, then. If I were serious, if my intent was to make you mine forever, would you be more willing to date me?”

  Grace’s chest heated, and she stared off down the street, the breeze lifting her hair. “No. It’s not that easy.”

  “Hijole. I don’t get you. Why not?”

  Grace sighed. “Look. I like you. I really do. And after the whole accident and everything else we’ve been through, I do feel a sense of connection.” She chewed on her lip.

  “But?”

  “But even if you were supposedly trying to get me to the commitment stage, I wouldn’t date you. Because, frankly, you aren’t the commitment type.” She paused for effect, then dipped her chin, gently challenging her to deny it. “Are you?”

  Madeira didn’t answer the question Grace asked. A muscle in her temple jumped. “Are you dating someone else? Is that it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Are you?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  Madeira stared straight ahead for a few moments before turning to face Grace. “You never told me why the bear’s named Ms. Right.”

  The abrupt change of subject threw Grace, and she swallowed a few times before answering. “Mama named her. She said she wished she could promise me I’d find my Ms. Right—”

  “She knew you were gay back then?”

  Grace nodded. “Most of the women in my family have this…stupid sixth sense. But anyway, Mama said a so-called Ms. Right most likely didn’t exist, so the bear would have to do.” She smiled wistfully. “Lola has a little dog named Princess Charming for the same reason.”

  Madeira’s gaze warmed. “So, your mamá was, ah, a little jaded about love?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Even about your father?”

  Grace sniffed, as if it didn’t matter. “Don’t know. I never knew him. He skipped the instant she peed on the stick and their relationship stopped being about fun. See? Mama had valid reasons for being jaded.”

  “Hmm. Looks like Gracie is following in Mama’s footsteps.”

  Her startled expression told Madeira she’d never looked at it that way. “I’m not jaded.”

  Madeira scoffed, but her expression sobered. “Yeah, sure. And I don’t want to pull you through this window and kiss you breathless right now.”

  Her engine gunned, and with one staccato squeal of her tires, Madeira left Grace standing in silence, trying to deal with the impact, the promise of those words.

  Chapter Eight

  Él que nace para mulo del cielo la cae el arnés—policía del cielo le cae el bolillo.

  He who is born to be hanged shall never be drowned—you can’t escape your destiny.

  Madeira sat sprawled on a plastic chair in the back of the training room, barely paying attention to the president of the EMS Benefit Committee, who addressed the group from the podium up front. On duty or off, they’d all come together to discuss the upcoming EMS Singles Auction. In exactly one month, Madeira, along with every other “unattached” EMT and paramedic, male or female, would be auctioned off as a one-night “escort” to raise money for new rigs, which they badly needed. The whole thing was in good taste and for a worthy cause. She’d show up, she’d charm the elderly philanthropists, and she’d do her best to live up to the donation she brought in. But the only thing on Madeira’s mind at the moment was Gracie and her latest rejection.

  When Madeira thought hard about it, the thing that hurt the most was that Gracie did want to find the right woman, but Madeira wasn’t in the running. Not even close. She had a good sense Gracie would consider the Singles Auction yet another strike against Madeira in the suitability department, and that bummed her out.

  “Pacias? Yo, Madeira,” called the president, Buzz Willmont.

  Simon threw Madeira an elbow and hiked his chin toward the front.

  Startled out of her brooding, Madeira sat up straighter. “Yes?”

  The man’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You still in for the gig?”

  Confusion pulled a frown into Madeira’s forehead. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  A ripple of amusement moved through the room, and Madeira glanced around to find all her coworkers leering at her.

  Buzz garnered support for his ribbing from the laughter. “Well, we all know the newspaper doesn’t tell the whole truth and nothing but—”

  “That’s no lie,” someone hollered.

  “Still, it seemed clear that your, ah, hot little accident victim had staked her claim. We didn’t want to be stepping on any pretty toes with this thing. Unattached medics only on the auction block. That’s the rule.” More chuckles and muffled jeers.

  From a place of pure political correctness, Buzz made eye contact with various female medics in the room. “No offense to any of you women with that hottie comment about Madeira’s girlfriend, but we all saw her.”

  “HAWT,” someone yelled.

  Madeira’s throat tightened to hear Gracie referred to that way. Girlfriend. She wished.

  Wait—no, I don’t.

  Do I…?

  “Yeah, we’re used to you,” one of the married female medics said, wryly. “You never mean offense, do you?”

  Buzz grinned, then looked back at Madeira. “So, you a bought and paid-for woman now, Ms. Pac-Man, or what?”

  Madeira stifled a sigh, flashing Buzz what she hoped was a nonchalant smile. “No. That was just…” She didn’t want to explain this thing with Gracie to her coworkers. She couldn’t even figure it out in her own mind. “Whatever. Anyway, Buzz. I’m in for the auction.”

  “Does that mean Grace is available?” someone else yelled.

  A blinding blaze of red filled Madeira’s head. “Not for you,” she said with a dead calm, not even knowing who had called out the question. Didn’t matter. No one in this room was good enough for Gracie. Probably not even Madeira herself. She finished the retort with a benevolent smile, not wanting to antagonize a colleague. She was still a probie and valued her good working relationship with people.

  Buzz ignored the banter volleying around the room. “In that case, if you’re sure you’re in and you don’t mind, we’d like to exploit you a bit.”

  The h
air at the back of Madeira’s neck prickled. “How?”

  Buzz crossed his arms and spread his legs wide. “Not to make you sound like a hooker, but we think we’ll be able to get top dollar for you with all this publicity, which is a good thing.”

  “I feel like a piece of meat,” Madeira muttered to Simon, “not that I’m complaining.”

  “Damn straight,” Simon said. “All you singles are meat that night, and don’t you forget it. Meat that’s gonna buy us five new rigs, if we’re lucky.”

  “Okay. What did you have in mind?” Madeira asked Buzz, casually slouching in her seat, adjusting her trauma shears so they didn’t dig into her thigh. She and Simon were on-duty, but the radio was silent.

  “We’d like to take photos of you and then print up some promo posters with you front and center. Grimson came up with a great slogan to tie in with the newspaper articles. It’ll be laid out like an old west wanted poster, your picture with ‘The Thief of Hearts’ at the top. Then, on the bottom”—he spread his hands as though displaying a marquee—“will be Grimson’s slogan: Some hearts can’t be stolen, but they can all be bought. Find out how at the First Annual EMS Benefit Singles Auction.”

  Madeira had to admit, the slogan was clever. It would likely draw in people who had never intended to show up. Gracie would smirk when she read it, thinking Madeira had eagerly volunteered to be marketed in such a way, but truthfully? Madeira had all but given up hope of changing Gracie’s attitude toward her. “Sounds good,” Madeira said, without much enthusiasm. “Say when, and I’ll be there.”

  “Tomorrow. Noon.”

  Madeira nodded. The meeting moved on to other topics, and Madeira slumped back into her chair, lost in thoughts about a pretty third-grade teacher who made her want to get schooled.

  As though reading her mind, Simon leaned in. “I bet she’d pay top dollar for you if she could afford it.”

  Madeira huffed a decidedly humorless laugh, not even attempting to pretend she didn’t know who Simon meant. “Gracie wouldn’t even come to something like this, Fletch.”