Margo went to the bathroom and smiled when she took a shower. When she came out, Tristan was already sitting on the bed in his jeans, pulling on his T-shirt.
“Are you leaving already?” Margo asked.
“Just got a call from work,” he answered as if ashamed of this fact.
“Yes, money isn’t easy to come by for everyone.”
“Not for my grandmother.” Tristan buckled his belt and adjusted his T-shirt. He combed his hair back with his hands. He was as handsome as a man could be. If she went out with him, no one would pay attention to her. “She married a rich man like you. Sorry, dear.”
Margo snorted, went to the night table where she had a hairbrush and began brushing her hair. Comments like this didn’t affect her. Nothing hurt her except a lack of money.
“My grandfather died a long time ago, but she has never given money to my mother, except for the most necessary things. Now she hoards all this money, she doesn’t need anything, and doesn’t share with anyone.”
“Will you get something after she’s gone?” Margo put the brush back on the table and sat on the bed. She wanted coffee, but didn’t want to make it herself. Unfortunately, Daisy wasn’t here. Now Margo wanted her more than she wanted her boyfriend.
“I have no idea. She has like a hundred dogs. I wouldn’t be surprised if she left everything to them. I’ve heard enough of these stories. I need to ask my mother about that.”
“Yes, it’s sad.”
"What did Michael write in his last will?”
“He doesn’t have a will yet. As I said, his house burned down.”
“Maybe he has nothing left at all?” Tristan even raised his head from unaccountable pride.
Margo pointed to her engagement ring, which she took off while she was with Tristan.
“You think?” she asked.
Tristan frowned as if she pointed to a bunch of cow crap.
“What about life insurance?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” Margo asked innocently. She would have never thought of it herself!
“I don’t know. Sometimes a husband buys expensive life insurance so that his wife won’t need anything in case of his sudden death.”
Tristan didn’t know anything about Margo’s first husband. He didn’t even know that she was married. He didn’t know where her money came from.
“Yes, I’ve heard such stories.” She leaned back against the pillows.
“I want you right now,” Tristan said. “But I have to go. Fuckers. Why would they need me now? Think about life insurance and I’ll think about my grandmother.”
Margo didn’t say anything, but when Tristan left, kissing her goodbye on the lips, she smiled and stretched sweetly. The seed was planted and watered, and now she had to wait for it to sprout.
CHAPTER 12
Initially Margo planned to have the conversation at home, in a relaxed atmosphere, away from outsiders’ ears, but then she decided that this was not the best idea. She wasn’t going to scream and throw dishes like she had done with Charles, but she could be tempted to do that in a domestic setting. Public environment placed responsibilities on her behavior and that meant it was the best choice. She was determined not to make the same mistakes she’d made with Charles.
They went to Las Olas, to her favorite Grill 401, where they found a table at the end of the room just like Margo wanted. Unfortunately, there was a lonely old man at the table across from them, slowly eating a steak and watching people around him with sad eyes. He disgusted Margo. Why in hell did he come alone to this place? To stare at people, envy, spoil their mood? She even wanted to change tables, but looked around and didn’t see better options.
She took a deep breath and talked about the menu, the smells of fresh bread, and the weather, choosing the best moment to ask her questions.
“You didn’t say much about your trip,” Margo said when they had their food in front of them. She had salmon with pineapple sauce and salad; he had a steak with potatoes.
“There’s really not much to tell,” Michael said without looking at her. He viewed his food thoughtfully then picked up the fork. “We had a meeting, but unfortunately they didn’t go with my offer. You know how it happens. Idiots.”
Margo didn’t know how it happened and had never heard the word idiot from Michael. Apparently there was nothing good. What she knew was that she didn’t like the direction of his story and his thoughts.
“So what?” she asked.
“Well, I’ll just keep working as usual.” Michael picked up potatoes on the fork. “What else can I do? Black stripe, white stripe. It’s always been this way; it’s going to continue like this forever.”
Margo looked at her diamond that was gleaming with different shades in the lamplight.
“Very philosophical,” she said. “I’m sure there’s some news about the insurance.”
“What insurance?” Michael asked with surprise.
“What do you mean? For the house of course!”
“Oh, it’s still in process. It’s crazy how long it takes. They think ... it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to make you worry.”
Margo slammed down the fork with food on it. “What does it even mean? Say it if you start it.”
Michael seemed a bit surprised by Margo’s reaction, but she didn’t intend to step back. He finished chewing his piece of meat before talking.
“I will continue with the process, don’t worry about that. They haven’t proved anything yet.”
“Tell me right now.”
“You are very insistent.” Michael said.
“Of course I’m very insistent. I ...”
She wanted to say she had counted on this insurance, but was glad to be able to stop before it came out.
“I don’t want any secrets between us,” she said.
Michael nodded.
“They think it was arson,” he said.
“What? You mean you didn’t forget to turn off the stove or something like that?”
“No, they think it was intentional. Someone started the fire from outside.”
“That is new. Who could do that? Why?”
Michael cut off another piece of steak, sighed, but didn’t eat it. A breeze came in through the open doorway and moved the flame of the candle on the table. It reflected on the glasses of red wine.
“I think it was my ex.”
Margo frowned.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “I had the impression you didn’t date anyone after your wife’s death.”
Michael sighed again, heavier this time, put his fork on the plate, and wiped his hands on the napkin.
“I know, I’m sorry, I should have told you. There’re things you just want to forget, you know? When my wife passed away, I was miserable. I didn’t know what to do, how to live. I needed support, but my friends had their own lives and I was too needy. So after some time I went to this site and met her. We dated like less than two months, honestly, and that was too long. She was a bit ... unstable, let’s put it that way. Constant dramas from nowhere, for no apparent reason, she was always angry, unhappy. I sought for peace, but found war. Seriously, I wanted to forget about her, like she was a terrible dream. Unfortunately, she didn’t agree with me.”
“What do you mean?” Margo asked. She already hated this bitch.
“I hadn’t heard from her for months then she suddenly started calling me a couple of days before the fire. Apparently, she saw us together somewhere. Then she came to my house, threatened me. I can tell you, it was crazy.”
“Well, did you tell her that you were done?”
“Of course! I told her I didn’t want anything to do with her. She left and I didn’t take her seriously, but then ... Poor Phoebe didn’t do anything wrong and suffered all the consequences.”
“Who’s that?”
“My cat. I told you.” Michael grabbed a napkin and blew his nose. Margo grimaced in disgust. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the waiter approaching the old ma
n in front of them. When the waiter bent down, the old man whispered something in his ear.
“Now what?” Margo asked. “Your insurance is in question?”
“I’m not going to stop until they actually prove that it was what they said it was. I don’t think she’s that insane.”
“Do you still hear from her? Does she know where you live now?”
“No and I don’t think so. No. She’s so ... I don’t think so.”
Margo took a sip of wine, hoping that it would pacify the storm of thoughts in her mind. The insurance was at risk because of some crazy bitch. What could be done about it? Could she return? Should she worry about her?
Margo decided that it was a problem she would deal with later. For now, she had to get back to more important things.
“I have a problem with my work,” she said, not looking at Michael. “I was hoping that you would help me out in this situation.”
Michael put a piece of meat in his mouth and continued talking with his mouth full. “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“Sales went down. I hope it’s temporary.”
“Of course, temporary, don’t worry,” Michael assured her. “I will definitely help you. I’m not a millionaire, but I have savings.”
Margo held her breath and smiled. The conversation suddenly came to a halt, but it wasn’t enough. That wasn’t the way she planned it to go and it wasn’t the result she expected to receive. She didn’t expect this crazy ex-lover thing to come up out of nowhere.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!”
Margo was thinking over her next question when the dutiful singing came. She turned and saw three waiters gathering in front of the old man’s table. One of them put a piece of cake with a candle in front of him.
“Happy birthday, dear Mason! Happy Birthday to You!”
They clapped their hands without even looking at the birthday boy. Two of them left, barely finished their singing, continuing to clap, while the third one bent to the old man.
“No matter how many times you celebrate, we are always here,” he said loud enough for the old man and Margo to hear, and left.
The old man had already blown out the candle while they were singing and now looked miserably at Margo.
She was furious with the conversation and the old man only added fuel to the fire with his misery. Regardless, she smiled and waved. That was what all normal people did when they saw someone feeling down, she thought. They smiled at them, hoping to never see them again. To her surprise, the old man named Mason stood up and headed straight to her table. Margo didn’t know what to do, just blinked.
“Happy birthday,” she said in confusion, when the old man stopped next to her. He was tall, slender, and well-groomed. His eyes were blue and sharp.
“Thank you,” he said. “Do you mind? For a minute?”
Margo muttered something inarticulate, trying to find an explanation for what was happening. Did he really want to join them?
“Of course not!” Michael said. Margo glared at him. He also looked surprised, but not as much as Margo. Certainly he didn’t look annoyed. He was rather glad to see the old man and happy about the fact that he interfered with their conversation.
“You are such a beautiful couple,” the old man said. “I see how you look at each other. It’s true love.”
Margo nodded, trying to guess how long his moment would last.
“We just got married,” Michael announced.
“Newlyweds! Oh, how wonderful! Congratulations! Isn’t that nice? Can I salute you with a drink?”
“Of course!”
Margo regarded Michael reproachfully, but he didn’t look back at her and didn’t pay attention to what she felt. The old man already called a waiter and asked him to bring his glass and wine.
Margo clenched her teeth, thinking how truly wonderful her husband was. What a great idea, to welcome a weird stranger to their table while they were having a discussion that was important to her.
“This is Duck Horn from California. I prefer European wine, but they don’t have a big selection here. You made a good choice, but maybe you want to try this one.”
“Thank you, I like what we are drinking,” Margo said. She regretted not getting the most expensive wine on the list as usual. What was she thinking?
Michael didn’t support her statement about the drink. He drained his glass and set it down for a refill. The waiter was already on his way to their table, but the old man didn’t mind filling the glass of his new acquaintance. He looked comfortable, as if he had been sitting with them for a long time and had known them for several years.
“I really enjoy wine,” he said. “This restaurant doesn’t have a long wine list as I’ve mentioned, but I have a large collection at home. I have traveled all over the world and brought wines from everywhere. I paid remarkable prices for some. Unfortunately, now I have no one to share it with.”
The old man turned his glass thoughtfully, smiled, took a sip.
How sad and how interesting, Margo thought, burning Michael with her eyes. He finally looked at her, widened his eyes noticing her mood, and shrugged as he did often. He clearly didn’t understand what he had done wrong.
“Nothing is the same since my wife passed away, even the taste of wine. Especially if you drink it alone. Most of my friends are in their graves already. Those who are still alive are in nursing homes, or don’t leave their houses at all.”
“What about children?” Michael asked with compassion.
Margo hoped he would choke on his compassion.
“I don’t have any. My Phoebe couldn’t have children.”
“Phoebe,” Michael exclaimed, “that’s my favorite name!” My mom’s name was Phoebe!”
“You told me it was your cat,” Margo corrected.
“I named the cat after my mother.”
Margo tried very hard not to roll her eyes or laugh.
“Yes, it’s a beautiful name. She was a beautiful woman. I argued with her and now I regret it so much. We have to cherish and love each other.”
The old man put one hand on Margo’s arm and the other on Michael’s.
“You are so young. So much ahead of you. I’m a doctor and I worked day and night until the last seven years. I had money, but I wanted more. I couldn’t stop and smell the flowers, as they say. Now I look at this wealth, this extravagance, and I don’t need anything. If only I had children. We have to have higher values in life. Not things, but love, family is the most important.”
Margo straightened her back.
“Why didn’t you marry a second time?” she asked.
The old man waved his hand and shook his head.
“I tried. Three years after my wife passed away, I met a woman. We dated for about a month and I always compared her to Phoebe. Finally, I couldn’t do it anymore. My Phoebe was exceptional. You, by the way,” the old man pointed a bony finger at Margo, “look a little like her. That’s why I noticed you. Phoebe was a beauty.”
“Thank you,” Margo said, smoothing her hair. She glanced at Michael. Her hubby diligently cut his steak and sipped his wine. He was so absorbed in this process, he hardly paid any attention to his wife.
“My first husband,” Margo said quietly, leaning over to the old man, “he passed away too.”
The old man clicked his tongue and glanced at Michael.
“If it weren’t for Michael, I would be so depressed,” she added.
“I understand,” the old man said. Michael seemed oblivious to their conversation. He cut off a piece of meat, put it in his mouth, and only then, completely happy, looked at his wife.
“It’s just divine,” he said, chewing his food.
“I always cooked steaks for Phoebe. Myself,” the old man said. “She was very fond of my food.”
“You’re a cook,” Margo admired. “Not many people are cooking now?”
“I love to cook!” the old man said with enthusiasm. “Especially meat. There are un
limited possibilities and combinations. You can show so much imagination using and mixing different spices.”
The old man’s hands flew as he spoke, his eyes sparkled. Margo nodded and agreed with him.
“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly.
“Margo.”
“Michael.” Margo’s new husband stretched out his hand to the old man for a handshake, but then looked at it, cleaned it with a napkin, and only then he offered his hand . “Michael,” he repeated.
Margo’s hubby irritated her, but she controlled her emotions.
“Very nice, Michael and Margo. My name is Mason. Look, our names all begin with M. Don’t worry about my age, call me by my first name. I like you guys. I always know when people are good. I want to invite you to visit me. I haven’t cooked in a long time and my collection of wine is becoming dusty.”
“You don’t know us,” Michael said.
“I’ve lived long enough in this world, I’ve seen a lot. I can tell the difference between good and bad,” Mason said. “You are good people. Happy people. I love to be around happy people. It makes me happy.”
“I understand,” Margo said admiringly. “Darling,” she turned to Michael, “Mason is a wonderful person. It would be rude to refuse his invitation.”
Michael thought then shrugged.
“We’d love to come,” Margo said, trying to imagine what the old man’s house looked like. It had to be a huge mansion in a rich neighborhood. This old dude was loaded, it was apparent. Margo could smell money.
“That is fantastic!” The old man slapped his hands and poured the rest of the wine into the glasses. This time, Margo didn’t mind.
“I live in Southwest Ranches,” the old man said.
Margo knew about this city, about the impressive houses with vast tracts of land. A rare pleasure in South Florida.
The old man took a sip of wine, put his glass on the table, looked at Margo and then at Michael.
“It’s not such a bad birthday,” he said happily.
“Happy Birthday!” Margo said as she raised her glass and flipped her hair.
The garden of dead thoughts Page 8
