Max’s voice drops a register and warms to a verbal caress. “Yeah. I think we did pretty good for a couple of BAVs.”
I draw circles on the duvet with my forefinger and peek up through my uncontrollable curls. “You know, as born-again virgins we have an obligation to practice as often as possible to remove our ‘lack of recent experience’ deficit.”
He cocks his head with an arch of an eyebrow then he frowns in consideration. “You have a point. I can see I don’t have as good a handle on this ‘born-again’ stuff as you do.” He studies me solemnly. “In the interest of putting our BAV status as far behind us as possible, do you suppose we should…?”
I nod, equally serious. “Absolutely. At the first available moment.”
“I’m available now.”
There are worse things in the world than making love with Max Harper all day. ‘Army strong’ takes on another perspective. Hooah!
Chapter Ten
Early Thursday evening, Max dashes from our joint shower to take a call, and from the little I overhear, it’s the estate owners. All that devastating sex must have affected my hearing. Every part of my body has lapsed into a pleasure coma, including my ears. I turn off the water and step out of the shower, grabbing a towel.
Max walks back into the bathroom in his altogether. We trade ogle for ogle. “What time is your catering job tomorrow?”
“Um, I need to be at the catering company by 1:00 p.m. The affair being catered will run into the evening.”
“Damn. I have to pull the hurricane shutters off the big house tomorrow and prep it for company. I’m going to be tied up all Friday morning and some of the afternoon.”
“So, I guess, I won’t see you tomorrow?”
Max wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on the top of my head. “I’ll miss you, but it would probably be best if we waited until Monday.”
I pull back and rise to my tip-toes to kiss Max’s chin. “Well, if I’m not going to see you for three days, perhaps we could try out that warming lube before I leave.”
“Babe…” Max dropped his chin and caught my eyes. His lit with humor. “Ole Rex may need a breather, but I have other skills. Just what did you have in mind?”
I worm my naked skin against Max, cup his hard butt cheeks and nuzzle at his pecs. “I’m very good with my hands.”
Max groans and sweeps me into his arms. Oh, yeah, and Rex reported for duty.
***
I don’t want her to leave—ever. As the taillights on her cab disappear, I make a call to a friend of the family. He manages Tiffany’s on Worth Avenue. Mom and my sister, Chrissie, spend a fortune there. For once, I use my stroke as Maxwell Carlton Harper, III and ask him to stay open late. At 2:00 a.m., I get back to the cabana with a black box holding a 2.65-carat round solitaire in a Tiffany platinum setting. It’s simple and classic. I’ll tell her I love her, get her to say yes and then tell her who I am. Shit. That’s got to work.
Friday morning I’m up at zero-dark-thirty to get my workout in. If I know Dad, he’ll bring a crew of workers with him. When he saw me four months ago, I was in no condition to remove the massive, aluminum shutters. He’d called regularly, but we simply shot the bull. I didn’t want to raise any hopes about my physical improvement. The call yesterday was simple courtesy to let me know he and Mom were coming down.
Sure enough, around 9:30 a.m. his silver Bentley rolls into the drive, followed by four pickup trucks from Zeke’s Maintenance Service, the guys we normally use for the grounds. I’m standing in the front yard and wave at Zeke as he gets out of his truck. “Zeke. Glad you brought some muscle.”
“Hey, Mr. Max,” he hollers back. “Good to see you up and around.”
Snafu and I walk out to meet my parents. I’m eager to tell them about Holiday. They’ve gone through so much bad shit with me, it’ll be great to give them some good news. I open the car door for Mom and smile. “Hey, Mom.”
“Max, darling!” Mom gives me a big hug and bends over to love on Snafu. “How are my big boys?” She straightens and her eyes examine me, missing nothing. “Max…you look wonderful. Harp, look at our handsome son!” she exclaims, giving me another huge hug. Dad walks around the car and holds out his hand. I take it and he pulls me into a bear hug.
“You look good, son.” He grins and the relief in his eyes kills me.
“I’m doing good, Dad…Mom. Come to the cabana while the guys get the house opened up.” Mom exchanges one of “those” looks with Dad.
“You’re right, Harper. He didn’t stutter once.” The cautious hope in her eyes turns my gut. Sometimes I think my injuries hurt Mom worse than me, especially the brain injury. It’s the reason I left Portsmouth. Mom’s lousy at hiding her feelings, and I couldn’t take the veiled disappointment and forced cheerfulness on a daily basis.
“I’m doing well, Mom. Real well. I’ve had only one seizure in the last three months and my speech is almost back to normal.” She doesn’t need to hear about the resurrection of other parts of me.
“Oh, Max,” she breathes. “That’s so good to hear.” Tears appear in her eyes before she hides her face by petting Snaf. I have to clear my throat.
“Come on. I’ve got fresh coffee and cranberry/orange scones from Napoleon Bakery.”
The three of us sit around the kitchen bar and I catch up on what my sister and brother have been up to. Our morning is filled with warm laughter and easy conversation, just like it used to be—before. Mom runs her hand up my forearm.
“Max, you look happy and you’ve put on a little weight.” She tugs a lock of hair on my forehead. “Though you could still stand to gain more.”
I smile and think of all the breakfasts and lunches and dinners I’ve shared with Holiday. I’m sure a few more weeks of that will put on some pounds. “Yeah. I’m eating more regularly.”
“Have you looked up any of your old friends in the area? Dexter and Paulo have called the Portsmouth house regularly asking about you.” Mom frowned. “I obeyed your orders. I told them you couldn’t be reached, but I know they’d like to hear from you. You three used to be so close.”
“I’m not into the club scene anymore, Mom.” On more than one occasion, I’d seen Dex and Paulo’s names in the Palm Beach Shiny Sheet, a glorified gossip column with pretentions of grandeur. Paulo, Dex and I had been regulars on the club circuit the times I’d been home for some I&I, army-speak for intoxication and intercourse. I hadn’t looked them up for obvious reasons.
“Well, how about a small gathering at the house? A quiet welcome home party with a few of your friends?”
Mom sounds carefully eager. She’s a wonderful hostess and gives great parties for the slightest reason. I remember teasing her, years ago, about all the parties she gave and her response was vintage Caroline Harper, Life contains far too much rain and not nearly enough parades. In some ways, Holiday reminds me of Mom—always looking for the bright side but resilient if it doesn’t materialize. I can show up at a party if it will make her happy.
“I suppose I could handle something small,” I cautioned. “Low-key.”
Dad chuckled. “Max, this is your mother.” He looked at Mom sternly. “Caroline, you heard the man. Low-key.”
Her face creased in a heart-warming smile. “I promise. You can leave it all to me. I’ll plan something modest. Say an hour or two on Sunday evening, only a few close friends?”
“Yeah, okay.” I pointed a finger at her. “Remember, low-key.”
She crossed her heart then held her fingers up in the Girl Scout salute. Her eyes studied me intently. “You look happy, darling—not so depressed. What’s changed?”
I shifted on the bar stool and cleared my throat. “I met someone. Her name is Holiday.”
Saturday went by in a blur. Mom and Dad got moved into the big house. Mom insisted that I take my old room back, but I dissuaded her by mentioning the stairs. I want my privacy. As soon as I leave the cabana, I can wave good-bye to that. Staff buzzed around the grounds and all th
e outbuildings as well as the main house, “straightening” as Mom called it. I found time to send Holiday some texts.
Me: Miss U. Rex says he misses you more. How was Friday?
Holiday: Miss U2! LOL Miss Kitty sends Rex kisses. Late. I’m beat. The same place again this evening.
Me: Carlos pay you good $$$?
Holiday: Yes. He better! The stuff I put up with.
Me: What do you put up with?
Holiday: I hate when the guests R drunk—sometimes the men R rude.
Me: Rude = ?
Holiday: Handsy. Disrespectful. The usual. Don’t worry. If it’s too bad, Carlos puts me in the kitchen.
Me: WTF Holiday!
Holiday: Aww. Seriously, I can deal.
Me: You shouldn’t have to.
Holiday: Love that you care.
Me: I care.
Holiday:
Me: I have something big to ask you.
Holiday: ???
Me: Not like this. In person.
Holiday: Monday?
Me: Yeah.
Holiday: Can’t wait!
I sign off fuming. I know exactly who Holiday is dealing with. I used to be one of those entitled pricks. In my defense, I always took no for an answer, unlike Paulo or Dex who seemed to think no means try harder. It eats at me that I can’t defend her. Even more reason to pop the question. Saturday finally winds down and I sit down to dinner with Mom and Dad. Mom smiles as we help ourselves to lobster tail, Caesar salad, spinach with artichoke hearts and artisan olive rolls. Dad and I discuss my progress in renovating the putting green and then talk turns to tomorrow.
“So, Mom, have you got the meet-and-greet planned for tomorrow?” She is preoccupied buttering her roll and suspicion begins to form ugly thoughts in my mind. “Mom…?” She picks up her wine glass and takes a sip, and then another, and then another.
“Mother?” My voice becomes increasingly wary. “What have you done?”
Her eyes finally meet mine. Apology is written all over her face and she slumps slightly in her chair. “I may have gone a little overboard.”
“Caroline?” At my dad’s stern voice, she looks even more stricken.
Her gaze bounces back and forth from me to my dad and the words come spilling out. “I was so thrilled for Max…I wanted all his friends to know he’s back…and…I kept remembering more people…and then we needed even numbers…and…I moved the time back to accommodate the menu…and…we had to have music…and flowers and…” Her voice trailed off. She stilled the frenetic twisting of her napkin and sat with her head bowed. “I was just so, so happy. I wanted to celebrate. It just grew like the blob that ate New York. I’m sorry.” She raised her head and her loving eyes held mine. Unshed tears trembled on her lids. “I’m sorry, Max. You’re going to hate it.”
Aw…fuck it. I slide my chair back and walk to where she sits. I pick up one of her hands and squat so we’re eye-to-eye. I chuckle. “The blob that ate New York, Mom?” She sniffs and nods. “Hey…if you’re happy, I’m happy. It’s just one night. How bad can it be?”
“Black-tie…catered…open-bar…live-music...valet-parking?”
Inside, I groan. What a cluster-fuck. I’m going to hate it. I paste a smile on my face, stand up and plant a big kiss on her cheek. “Sounds like all the ingredients for a great time. It’ll be fun. Thanks for all your hard work.” Her face brightens and she swipes at her tears with her napkin. She straightens in her chair and smiles tentatively.
“Caroline, your son is being far too nice. How many people did you invite?” My dad scowls at her.
Mom stares straight ahead. Her expression blank. “One hundred and fifty, give or take a dozen.”
Chapter Eleven
It’s late when Carlos drops me off from the catering job on Saturday night. Holy Moly, am I glad this night is over.
“I’m sorry about those ass-holes, Holiday. The next time some dude corners you like that, I’m filing a complaint with the Palm Beach Police Department. Just because he’s richer than shit doesn’t mean he gets away with that kind of behavior.” The quiet anger in my boss’s voice warms me. It’s nice to know he cares even if he can’t do anything about it.
“Unfortunately, it does. As soon as you complain, you’ll lose a client.” I shake my head. “You can’t afford that, Carlos. You’ve done three parties for them in the last month.” I pat his arm. “I think dumping a tray of mojitos down the front of Mr. Rivera’s tux cooled him off just fine.” I lean over and give my middle-aged Cuban boss a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for being so sweet. Your three girls have a great papa. I’ll see you tomorrow. This has been quite the weekend, huh? And it’s not over yet.”
“Sleep well, querida. Si, tomorrow. You sure you don’t mind driving at night?”
I smile. Carlos picked up a last minute catering job. “I’m sure. I know exactly where I’m going.”
I look at the piece of paper where he’s written tomorrow night’s address. I know that house well. Bubbles of happiness tickle inside. I hope I’ll have a chance to sneak away from the party and say hi to Max. I laugh when I imagine his look of happy surprise.
Sunday night I pull into the driveway of the house where Max works and I’m stunned. Candle-lit lanterns line the drive, and from every window of the house, gold light streams onto the manicured lawn and shrubbery. Large planters of gardenia bushes in full-bloom decorate the entry and perfume the night air with their fragrance. If Max did all this work alone, he’s probably passed out in exhaustion on the floor of his cabana. I hope he didn’t strain his leg too much.
A white-shirted valet shows me where the staff parking is and I park the Wombat behind what appears to be a storage shed next to Carlos’ white catering van. I’m there an hour early and it’s a good thing. When I walk into the kitchen, Carlos puts me right to work prepping trays of appetizers. Over the jumble of preparations, he makes an announcement.
“Boys and girls, listen up. Those of you circulating with the champagne tonight for the toast, be careful with the champagne flutes. They are $1,500 per piece, antique crystal stemware that Senora tells me came from the Palace of Versailles. Please, please, please be careful.”
A chorus of “Yes, Carlos, we’ll be careful,” reverberated in response. I turned to Annetta, a cute little Ukrainian girl and one of my fellow workers-in-the-trenches.
“I don’t think I could drink from something I knew was irreplaceable. Could you?”
“ніколи не. Never…I’m afraid to touch half the stuff in this house.”
I laughed. “I haven’t been out of the kitchen, but if it’s anything like their pool cabana, I know what you mean.” Annetta frowned and cocked her head. I waved my hand. “I’ll tell you later. Let’s get these shrimp wraps put together.”
We work frantically assembling the appetizer platters and handing them off to the wait-staff to circulate through the party. When the double doors to the kitchen swing open, strains of big band music filters down the long hallway along with flashes of gorgeous women in evening gowns and handsome tuxedoed men. I can’t contain my curiosity about the house and pick up one of the trays, intending to circulate among the guests. Before I can take three steps, Annetta takes the tray from my hand with a sharp, “Нет, nope! That same prick from last night, Rivera, is out there. You will have a chance to gawk when everyone takes the champagne for the toast. For now…wrap more shrimp.”
***
I’m fucking dying. My leg is killing me. My head is pounding and my face is frozen in an idiotic smile. I’d forgotten how restrictive a tie can be and if some airhead debutante asks me one more time why I didn’t become a navy SEAL instead of an Army Ranger because it’s so much sexier, I’m going to strangle the bitch.
Worse, when did my two running buddies, Dex and Paulo, turn into complete douche-bags? Were they always this bad and I just missed it? As the fucking night-without-end wears on, they get sloppy drunk, and all they can talk about is trying to nail some wait-staff ch
ick they’d cornered at a party last night.
Mom breezes through all proud and smiling and introduces me to another “someone I need to know.” I dutifully smile and make polite conversation. For tonight, I will play the returning hero because it makes her happy. This is payback for those endless hours deep in the night in some foreign hospital when I awoke screaming and Mom or Dad was there to talk me down. This is a return on the worry and tears that she and Dad shed during dark days when it didn’t look like I’d keep my leg or be able to talk. All I have to do is glance across the room and see the proud smiles on their faces, the love in their eyes, and I tell my leg to ‘soldier up’ and I smile another empty smile. Dad silences the band and clinks a knife against his glass to draw everyone’s attention.
“Dear friends, thank you for joining us tonight in this celebration to honor the service of one of our wounded warriors. To all those who have served, I raise my glass in silent salute and thank you for your service to preserve for our future generations the gift of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” Dad smiled and nodded as the room filled with wait-staff holding silver trays bearing Mom’s precious Marie Antoinette crystal flutes. “I would ask you to please take a glass of the champagne that is being circulated and join with me in a toast to our special honoree. I’ll wait until all of you have a glass.”
The focus of all eyes in the large ballroom, I do my best to stand quietly and look pleased instead of annoyed and in pain. The two douche-bags I can’t seem to shed snag glasses of champagne from one of the passing wait staff.
Dad continues, “This evening, dear friends, raise your glasses in a toast to our son, former Army Ranger, Maxwell Carlton Harper, III.”
As the guests lift their glasses, Dex chortles, shoves Paulo and points unsteadily with his champagne flute at something over my shoulder. “Small world. That’s the chick from last night. I’ll bet even you’d tap that, Army Ranger Maxwell Carlton Harper…the Third.” Paulo sniggers. They laugh at their toast and throw the contents of the stemware back.
Undertow: A compilation of short beach stories Page 32
