by Brisa Starr
“Oh, Auntie Jenna, I’ve missed you so much.” I set her down, and she cups my face. “I don’t have to tell you how happy I am to be here.”
She looks up into my eyes, standing petite next to my 6’1” frame, and she doesn’t waste a second with useless small talk. “Oh, my Adron, I know, honey.” She pats my shoulder.
I’m home.
“Everything will work out, you know. Well, you might not know, but I do,” she says and winks. Never surprised at her intuitive words, I hope, and trust, she’s right.
Eager to see me smile, she says, “I have a surprise for you.” Her eyes glitter with excitement, and she grabs my hand, dragging me to the casita. This is my precious home, My Cave, for the next few months. Years ago, Auntie let me set it up however I wanted. I converted it into my very own casita-turned-music-studio, and it’s been my special getaway ever since. It’s where my soul’s magic happens.
She takes me inside and gestures to a bottle sitting on the kitchenette counter, “What do you think?” She wags her finger at me and smirks. “I wanted to ensure you’re properly equipped this summer.”
I laugh, because she knows what I think of this thoughtful gift.
I whistle softly and walk over to the counter to pick up the bottle of Limited Edition 1800 Coleccion Tequila. Only forty of them made. “Damn, Auntie Jenna, you shouldn’t have, but I’m glad you did.” She knows my passion for luxury tequila, and this baby is no small gift, coming in at $2000 a bottle.
I study the Belgian crystal, trimmed in a custom-designed pewter decanter. I’m familiar with this bottle, but I haven’t tried it yet. The artist who designed the decanter named it, “Mermaid of Desire,” after a tragic love story of true love and the fight to get it.
“Fitting,” I remark.
“Hmmm. Isn’t it though?” she says playfully, her words loaded with meaning. She turns to leave me alone to get settled.
It’ll be a fine summer indeed.
As she leaves the casita, she calls out, “Come up to the main house this evening, and we’ll go into town for a bite to eat. I have a hankering for a Tijuana Torpedo burger at The Horny Toad!”
My stomach grumbling, I head up to the main house to get Auntie for dinner. The sun is almost setting, so we’ll have a nice meal on the patio at one of our favorite bars in town.
She changed into a sand-colored top and a long denim skirt embroidered with beads of turquoise. Me? I wear my usual cargo shorts and black T-shirt. No logos. Ever.
“You gonna let me drive your car?” she teases, with a smirk on her lips.
“Not a chance. I love you too much, Auntie.”
The restaurant is five minutes away in the next town over, the old-west-themed tourist town called Cave Creek. On the way, I tell Auntie about the lovely breakfast with my parents. She reaffirms with a quick pat on my leg, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Adron. I already told you, it’s all going to work out.”
“Can you please tell my mom that?” I ask as I pull into a parking spot at the restaurant. The Horny Toad is a local legend. It’s a kitschy, honky-tonk saloon – a tawdry dance hall that caters to both locals and tourists alike. In particular, motorcycle clubs from all over the country, but mostly, affluent weekend warriors who roll in on their spotless Harleys every Saturday night, wearing gypsy leathers and wannabe Hell’s Angels vests.
It’s mellow during the week, though. This area is pleasant this time of year, a good 8-10 degrees cooler than down in the Valley, where the summers are hot, and many people head north to the mountains to cool off. I prefer it up here, less crowded than down in the city. People aren’t exactly my favorite.
Auntie answers, “Oh, you know your mother doesn’t listen to me anymore.”
We sit down at our favorite table, and a waitress sashays over to us. “Well, isn’t it fine seeing you back, Adron,” she says, flirting and trying to give me a glimpse of her ample bosom as she sets down the menus and pours a couple glasses of ice water from a clear plastic pitcher.
“Hi, Izzy,” I reply, not bothering to reward her efforts. Been there, done that, barely remember that drunken night in the backseat of her car. Nice girl, but she’s 29-going-on-50… hasn’t had the easiest life, and it’s taken a toll on her spirit.
“What can I get you two?” she asks, not taking her eyes off me.
Auntie Jenna to the rescue. “We’ll take two Tijuana Torpedoes, Izzy, and two hefeweizens on tap. Thanks.”
Izzy feigns indifference to my rejection and walks away to get our drinks, while Auntie updates me on all the local gossip – so-and-so is sleeping with so-and-so, somebody’s suing the town because the motorcycles are too loud, Ms. Hedley’s poodle got eaten by a pack of coyotes – the usual small town stuff.
Halfway through our beers, the burgers arrive, and we dive in. Tijuana Torpedoes are not just any burger, they’re burgers with a green chili and melted cheese stuffed inside the beef patty. When you bite into it, the gooey cheese starts to run all over the place, and just when you get that under control, the heat from the chili hits you. It’s pure heaven, but the chilis are HOT, so it’s a good idea to make sure you’ve still got some beer left in your glass.
Izzy approaches, eager as ever and eyes slightly pleading, asks, “Can I get either of you anything else?”
“No, Izzy. Thanks, honey, we’re all set,” Auntie answers for us.
We eat in silence for a bit, never needing to say much between the two of us and always comfortable. Sometimes, I wish Auntie had raised me completely. We just get each other like that. But those weren’t the cards life dealt me, and as much as Mom and Dad annoy me sometimes, I love them. They’re my parents, after all.
“I’ll be leaving for Santa Fe the day after tomorrow,” she informs me. “I have a house-sitter coming, Alyson, so she’ll be in the main house taking care of the animals and watering the plants. I expect she’ll be better than last year’s mess of an old man who let all my plants die.”
“Sorry about that, Auntie, I should’ve been more on top of it.”
“Pshaw!” She reaches over and thumps my shoulder. “That was his ONE job... well, that, and taking care of the animals. At least they survived. Anyway, I’ve exchanged a few emails with Alyson. She’s a young thing, only 24, but I have a marvelous feeling about her,” she says. She stares at me a moment too long.
I lean back and cross my ankle over my knee. “What?”
“Nothing. Just... nothin’.” She finishes the last bite of her burger, smiling, and ketchup drips on her chin. I chuckle and shake my head, handing her my napkin. Seems she’s up to something but not willing to say any more.
The next day, I wake up late in the afternoon after having spent the smooth hours of darkness working on my music. I write my best songs when the stars are out, and though Carefree’s night sky is nothing like the darker skies up north, it’s better than being down near Phoenix.
I roll over and hear talking outside. I crack the plantation shutters, and bright sunlight streams in, temporarily blinding me. When my vision clears, I see Auntie Jenna talking with what must be the house-sitter.
The woman is petite like Auntie, and they’re walking around while Auntie teaches her how to water and take care of the flowers. I can’t see her very well, but I look in the driveway and notice she drives an older model, green Prius. I squint for a better look and see that her car is filled with so much shit, she can’t even see out the hatchback. Ohio plates. Hmmm… long way from home.
The two women make their way inside the house, and I head for the shower.
I haven’t stocked My Cave with the essentials yet. Eager to get some coffee to wake up my veins, I throw on a pair of shorts and flip-flops and don’t bother with a shirt as I head to the main house.
The punishing desert summer sun is overhead and bares down on my shoulders in the brief walk between abodes. I open the massive, dark brown, wood front door and call out to let them know I’m here. As I make my way to the kitchen, I hear their v
oices.
Elliott, Auntie’s big and old white Labrador, scrambles up to me in the hallway with his butt wagging, and a soggy toy in his mouth to share. “Hey, buddy, how are you?” I say and squat down to give him some attention. He drops his toy and licks my face. “Ewww, Elliott, dude. I love you, but not your slobber.”
Auntie Jenna’s other dog, a little, scruffy Yorkshire terrier named Yvon, prances in to see what’s going on. Yvon is the big Lab’s sidekick – they’re always together – but sometimes I wonder if the feisty Yorkie is actually the one in charge.
I stand up and go into the kitchen, Elliott and Yvon at my heels. As I enter, I see Auntie facing me, and the house-sitter with her back to me. “Oh, there you are, Adron. Let me introduce you to Alyson,” my Auntie beams.
Why is she beaming?
I step forward, and Alyson turns around to meet me, and I stop. Oh, that’s why. Holy shit.
It feels like the earth stopped spinning as I take in this tiny package of goddess standing before me. She has shiny, dark brown hair, cut in a bob that frames her heart-shaped face, and big, dark brown eyes, so dark they’re almost black, like espresso. Before I fall into their deepness, I move my eyes from hers and look at her mouth. She has full, ruby lips, glistening like she just licked them. Damn. I look back at her eyes, and that’s when I gather the complete picture of her… her beauty, her feisty attitude standing proud, her energy. I can tell she’s a firecracker, and she hasn’t even said a word.
I look over to my Auntie, the earth resuming its spin, and I see her pupils dancing in delight and satisfaction.
What is my Auntie up to?
Having composed myself, I wonder if my caffeine-deprived brain short-circuited for a moment, and although I say very little on any normal day, I’ve got no words right now.
So I just nod to Alyson and mumble an incoherent, “Hey.” I hold out my hand to shake hers, and I admire her lean, creamy white legs in cut-off jean shorts and her toned arms in a sleeveless, white blouse stretching nicely across her perky breasts.
Fuck me.
She steps forward boldly, eliminating the distance between us, and puts her hand in mine, and it’s like the fucking earth stops again as we touch. But her direct eye contact changes course quickly the second our hands touch, and she suddenly avoids my eyes. “Hi. Um. Nice to meet you,” she says, a little breathy.
We dare to look back at each other, curiosity getting the better of us.
What is happening?
She lets go and turns back around to face my Auntie, and I turn back to making coffee.
Auntie fills the silence. “Adron is here for the summer. He visits every year, and he’ll be staying down in the casita. He may come and go here in the house, for things, but mostly you have the house to yourself, Alyson. He knows this, and he’ll knock or let you know ahead of time if he’s coming over.”
Auntie claps her hands loudly and continues, “Well! I’ve shown you how to feed the chickens, the cats, and the dogs. I don’t think there’s anything else, but you have my phone number if you need anything. Even better, Adron is here. He knows how to do everything as well. You have his number now, too. It’s a lot to handle every day, but I know you can do it.”
“Sounds good,” says Alyson. “This will be great, and I’m excited to be here. I’ve never been to the Southwest.” I like her commanding yet feminine voice… I wonder if she can sing. But I keep my back to them, pretending to be disinterested while I ponder the strange charge I felt when we touched hands.
“And on that note,” Auntie continues, “I’m turning in early because I still have a lot of packing to do. I want to get on the road well before sunrise. So I’ll leave you two to chat. Alyson, you know how to reach me.”
I turn to face my Auntie, and she comes over to me for a big hug. “I guess I won’t see you again before you go. Drive carefully, and don’t fuck around. If you get tired, you pull over and stop for the night,” I demand.
She hugs me tighter, and I look over her shoulder and see Alyson turn around, watching us. Our eyes lock onto each other, neither of us looking away this time. I whisper to Auntie, “I love you.”
She whispers back, “I know, Adron. Ditto.”
We separate, and she turns to say to both of us, “Ta-ta, my dears!” She leaves the room, her long purple dress billowing around her ankles, an air of mischief and knowing following her out of the room.
Pulling my eyes from hers, I turn around and force myself back to my coffee-making task, when I hear Alyson gasp. I quickly turn around and see her regarding me with wide eyes, “Wow, your tattoo. It’s big. It’s … a spider.”
She’s referring to the giant spider tattoo filling the top half of my back. “Yes,” I say and turn back around. I finish making my espresso and head for the door without saying another word. I don’t know what to say, even if I wanted to say something. I wasn’t expecting this. Her. Alyson.
What the hell has Auntie gotten me into?
2
Alyson
I resist opening my eyes as the alarm wakes me before dawn for my first day of house-sitting in Carefree. I reach for the pink pillow next to me and cover my face, moaning in exasperation and wincing at the headache I can already feel starting. I need caffeine.
The one thing I don’t like about house-sitting is having to follow the times and rules of waking up for the animals. It amazes me how many animals wake up brutally early, and, even more amazing, how many owners follow their animals’ whims and schedules. That means I do, too, because I follow the rules outlined by each homeowner.
But this house requires waking up extra early. Jenna told me it gets stifling hot early and fast here in the summer, so I need to tend to the animals early. That means walks for the dogs and ice water and food for the chickens first thing. She offered that I can also walk the dogs in the evening, after the blazing sun sets, but she warned me that’s also the time when wild animals are most active.
The house cats, well, they’re cats. They stay in most of the day, and they’re easy, nearly maintenance-free. I’ve learned through my house-sitting experiences that, if I ever have animals of my own, they’ll be cats. They keep to themselves and have a sense of self-respect I admire. Plus, they’re quiet. Well, most of them. There was that one black-and-white cat, Frankie, who bellowed his meow outside my bedroom every morning at 6:00 a.m. until I’d get up to feed him. I guess there are no guarantees with animals.
I finally open my eyes and rub the sleep out of them, and then I rub my temples to ease the pain in my head. I will say though, that was a pleasant sleep, just too short. A great mattress. Maybe I’ll nap in the afternoon, but for now, it’s time to start my chores, so up I go. Chickens first! They need their ice water. Who would’ve thought chickens like ice water? Just goes to show how damn hot it gets here. I hope I don’t regret an entire summer of this heat.
First world problems, yeah yeah yeah...
I mean, I’m in a 5,000 square foot palace, all to myself, essentially, and it’s decorated with gorgeous furniture and enormous, crystal geodes on display in every room, under halogen lights, like an art gallery. Last night, I just stared at them. For extended periods of time, moving from room to room like I was in a museum. My favorite was the huge, dark purple, amethyst geode in the shape of butterfly wings. It’s stunning and four feet tall – must weigh at least a couple hundred pounds. I can’t imagine how much it cost.
I also like the pink crystals adorning my room. Like the rest of the house, my bedroom is gray and white, which makes it seem cooler with Arizona’s blistering temperatures, and my room is accented with pink from the pillows, to the lamps, to the rocks – I mean, minerals – everywhere. The other rooms feature accent colors matching the crystals in the room. At least, that’s what I think Jenna had in mind. One room has yellow citrine crystals, one has turquoise stones, then there’s the room with purple amethyst, another with amber, and mine has pink rose quartz. I like it.
The whole house is impres
sive, and the windows from every side of the house feature the gorgeous and wild desert landscape outside. All I have to do is wake up by dawn for the animals, and I get to live in the lap of luxury. It’s a charmed life and, I admit, it’s an insignificant price to pay.
Oh! And let’s not forget the mega-hot and mysterious man sleeping 200 feet away in the casita. With a giant spider tattoo. What the hell is the story behind that? And why was I craving more of his voice the moment I heard him speak? He exuded a confidence and command of the space’s energy that made me pause, almost a little fearful, but also intrigued. How can a man seem so casual, yet so intense – at the same time?
Maybe I’ll find out.
I look at my phone and review my schedule for today. Aside from taking care of the animals and watering the flowers, I need to pick up the cats’ and dogs’ food from the butcher. Apparently, it’s special-made; these animals are royalty. I also need to run to the store for my own food supply. I’m keen to check out the little town and see what promises it holds for me for the next couple of months. What kind of hell can I raise here? I giggle.
Last, but not least, I only have a few online classes to teach today. That’s a relief; I have so many other things to do to get settled in here.
I lumber out of my big comfy bed – thank god for air-conditioning and people who don’t mind overusing it – and I pad gingerly to the bathroom. I make quick use of the toilet and brush my teeth. I finger comb my hair, grateful to have a style that’s easy to manage for a couple of days at a time. At least, when I’ve taken the time to blow-dry it into submission.
I open my little pot of ruby lip gloss and rub some on my lips with my fingers, plus I add a dab on my cheeks for a bit of flush. I carry only one lip color, and a few other toiletries, but, overall, I’m a simple girl. I can’t fit that much in my car, anyway.
