by Jill G. Hall
“Never mind! La cuenta, por favor.” Ricardo stood and pulled out her chair. “Let’s go.”
“But we haven’t even eaten.”
He glanced at his watch. “Forgot. I need to be somewhere.” With a scowl he threw money on the table, rushed her to his white Cadillac, settled her into the passenger seat, and slammed the door. Confused at his mood change, she sat there in a quandary. He jumped in beside her, kissed the Madonna hanging from his rearview mirror, revved the motor, and raced off. Sylvia held on tight to the dashboard. He wheeled fast around corners and kept looking out the back window as if they were being chased.
She yelled, “Slow down.” But he didn’t. Exciting and terrifying at the same time, her stomach flip-flopped as they rode up and down over the hills like on a roller coaster. Milo never drove that fast. What had come over Ricardo?
He screeched into the circular drive, came to a halt, and parked. As they walked up the stairs, she tried to find her balance from the dizzy ride, and he caught her arm. At the door, he leaned toward her for a kiss.
She pushed him away and pretended to be angry. “Why did you drive like such a maniac?” He tried to kiss her again, but she turned her head and backed through the door. “You are so wild.” She closed the door and caught her breath. If he called, would she dare go out with him again?
8
You shaved off your beard!” For the first time, Anne could see Karl’s rugged face complete with cleft chin and steep cheekbones.
He turned his head to the side. A curly ponytail still bounced to his shoulders. “Handsome, right?”
The heat of his brown eyes made her want to either suffocate or kiss him. “You’re a hunk, a hunk of burning love!” She hugged him and inhaled his familiar cinnamon scent, then pulled away. They needed to talk, and she didn’t want to get distracted.
He put a bottle of wine on the counter and pulled her onto the daybed. She admired his freshly shaven face again, couldn’t resist any longer, and put her palms flat on his cheeks. The texture felt smooth as tumbled rock. She wanted to stay this way all night, just kissing his clean-shaven face, but she needed to resist so in a husky voice said, “Let’s go.”
“What’s the rush?” He wrapped his arms around her.
“I want to talk.”
“Later.” He kissed her again.
“Is this just a bootie call?”
“Maybe.” He laughed and nuzzled her breasts.
With a smile she thought of the first time they were together and he dubbed them “thee cantaloupes.”
Letting go, he surveyed the messy apartment. “It’s beginning to look like Hoarders in here.”
“Sorry.” She picked up some newspapers from off the floor and put them on the coffee table. “If you don’t like it here, then why don’t you have me come over to your house?”
“I’ve told you before. Alameda is too far away, and besides, I’m over here for work anyway.” He pointed to a new shelf she’d recently put up. “What’s all that junk?”
She straightened a ceramic kitty tilted on its side. “It’s not junk. These are found objects for my art. Check this out, though.” Anne grabbed her coat from the daybed, slipped it on, and spun around. “Only cost me seventy bucks.”
He grimaced. “A thrift-shop buy? Why don’t you ever wear that Ralph Lauren I bought you?”
“I’m saving it for a special occasion.” Even though it cost him a mint, she couldn’t bring herself to wear something so preppy. She wouldn’t mention that the black lace blouse she wore now was from a resale shop too.
She picked up the key from her altar. “Look what was in the coat’s pocket!”
He read the label, “Sea Cliff.”
“Yes, I think Sylvia lived there.”
He frowned. “Who’s Sylvia?”
“The woman who owned the coat.”
“What? How do you know? I thought you got it at a thrift shop.”
“I found a picture of her wearing it in a Life magazine. Here—Sylvia Van Dam.” She showed him the magazine article.
He studied the photo with a confused look on his face.
Anne held up the coat and pointed at the snowflake pin in the photo. “Look, it even has a pin on it like this one.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Don’t you think it’s more than a coincidence?”
He smirked. “It’s not even a coincidence. It’s ludicrous.”
“I made a photo transfer of it. Look how cool it turned out.”
He inspected the piece tacked to the wall and fingered his cleft chin. “Quite the hobby you’ve got, babe.”
“It’s not just a hobby.” Why couldn’t he be more supportive? After all, when they first met, she was selling her work at the farmers’ market, and he really seemed to like it.
“Well, it’s not a real job.”
She took the key from him. “Maybe I’ll try and find Sea Cliff. I’ve done some Internet searching about Sylvia. She was a wealthy heiress who lived here in the early sixties.”
He nodded, but his eyes glazed over. “I’m glad you’ve found something to keep you busy.”
“I’m starved.” She moved toward the door. “How about we go to that new café on Polk?”
“Yelp said it was a dump.” He checked his watch. “Let’s call downstairs and order a pizza.” His gaze landed on her kitchen table strewn with art materials. “I guess we’ll need to eat down there.”
She loved pizza, and maybe there would be leftovers. “I’ll straighten up, and we can even move the table out onto the deck.”
Karl called for the pizza. Anne cleared off the table and they carried it through the little door out onto the rooftop deck. He hefted out two chairs while she opened the rosé bottle he’d brought and then poured two glasses and put them on the table. Just then the sun began to go down, lighting up the sky.
They heard Val begin his evening warm-ups in the apartment below. “Oh what a lo-o-vely day.”
Anne pointed to the scaffolding that covered a Victorian townhouse across the street. All over San Francisco, these Painted Ladies were being renovated. She wondered which pastel hues would be used on this one: pink, peach, lilac, sky blue, or lime green.
“At least something in this neighborhood is getting fixed up.” Karl frowned at the peeling paint on her building and the buckling shingle rooftop. “If I owned this property, I could do wonders with it.”
She’d heard this before and nodded, composing the right questions she needed to ask about their future together. She leaned across the table and took his hands. “We’ve been together almost a year now.”
He nodded. “Yes. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Where do you think this is going?”
He squinted. “Going?”
Her throat felt dry, and she finally got the question out. “Do you ever see us in a committed relationship?”
“We are in a committed relationship. I’m committed to really wanting you.” He leaned forward and put his hands on her shoulders.
“That’s not what I meant.”
Karl pulled his hands away.
A chill set in under the darkening sky, and she snuggled into her coat and said softly, “I know it wasn’t love at first sight, at least not for you, but I was sure by now you loved me.”
“It’s not that I don’t love you. There’s more to it than that.”
“What?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
Karl sipped his wine. “Since I filed for divorce . . .”
Anne sat up straight and raised her voice. “What divorce?”
“I separated about a year ago. About the same time I met you.”
She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. “You’re married! I’ve been sleeping with a married man all this time?”
“It’s not like that at all.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Karl scowled. “I did.”
She shook her head. “No, you didn’t.”
&
nbsp; “You must not have ever asked.”
“Then you misled me.” She tried to keep her voice down. “What else haven’t you told me? That you have five kids?”
“Only one, Luke, a son.” Karl looked away.
She stared at him with her mouth open. “How old is he?”
“One.”
“One?” He would have been born right around the time they met. She sat back and squinted at him. If she had that magic wand with her, she’d wish him to disappear right now.
“How often do you see him?”
“Every day.”
“How far away does he live from you?”
Karl paused. “They still live with me.”
“What?” Anne jumped up, her chair dropping on the ground. Now it all made sense: the constant checking of his phone, the afternoon quickies, and when he did spend the night, he’d always get up at 3:00 AM to leave “for work.” And when she had asked him why a hardware store would need him there that early, he always had some excuse: inventory, delivery, or a big sale.
Karl continued. “She can’t afford to move out yet.”
“You’ve been sleeping together all this time?”
“Of course not! She’s been sleeping in Luke’s room.”
“You’re kidding.” With his sex drive, she didn’t believe him.
“It’s true. I swear. As soon as the divorce is final, she will move out. Then you can move in with me, and we can start to plan our wedding. Luke can stay with us on weekends.”
“Quite a proposal!” She had always imagined a romantic evening with candlelight and maybe even violins. “You need to leave.”
“You’re just being silly.” He reached for her hand.
She pulled it away. “Go now.”
“Fine. But you’re making a big deal out of nothing.” He tried to kiss her on the head. “I’ll call you tomorrow after you calm down.” He closed the door and headed down the stairs just as the door buzzed again.
She pushed the button. “Yes?”
“Pizza!”
She let the delivery guy in, then pulled out some money to pay him but he said it had already been taken care of. At least Karl had done something good! She carried the box outside, set it on the table and opened it. Pepperoni covered the entire pizza. Darn it! She would just have to pick the stinky stuff off. As she went to get another glass of wine she grew angrier and angrier. How could he not even remember that she didn’t eat meat? She raced back to the roof, kicked the table, and the pizza pieces flew upside-down and fell onto the tarpapered roof beside her. She picked up one of the gravel-covered slices, threw it down again, ran to her daybed, and broke into tears.
How could she have been so stupid? Why did she keep falling for the wrong guys? Brian, who hardly even knew she had existed, Danny, the college boyfriend who would rather fish than be with her, and then Harley-riding Trevor in his sexy black chaps who wanted her to hang out with him in biker bars. And now this lying, stinking, married Karl.
She picked up the phone and dialed Dottie, her college roommate and best friend. “Please call me back. I need to talk to you. Karl is married!”
9
Sylvia lounged under her white canopy surrounded by pink and purple hydrangea wallpaper. A Whitman’s Sampler, sent this morning from Ricardo, rested on her stomach. She pulled out a piece, nibbled, and cringed. Ick, coconut. She tossed it back and picked up another. Mmm, dark creamy chocolate. Savoring the sweet, she sat back on a deep pillow and continued reading Peyton Place. The characters were so daring, even having sex without being married. Sylvia wished she had the nerve to follow her impulses like that.
Sure, she’d been kissed on the cheek before, but she had never necked with a man. The mechanics of sex were a mystery to her. She’d thought of asking Ella how it actually worked, but had been too embarrassed. It had something to do with making babies though. Sylvia knew that much.
She looked over at the carnations on the vanity. What a shame—they were starting to wilt. When they were delivered last week, Ella had said, “Why not roses?” And she read the card aloud, “Lo siento. What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sylvia hadn’t told her about the crazy ride home from the Cliff House. Or anything else about Ricardo Lorenzo Lopez. Ella wouldn’t have approved. Baffled about what happened on their date, Sylvia thought he would never call again. Besides, she thought she’d be too nervous to go out with him again anyway. But then there were the flowers.
“Miss Sylvie, honey,” Ella now rapped on the door.
Sylvia slid the novel under her comforter and picked up some knitting.
Ella poked her head in. “That Mr. Lopez is on the phone again.”
Sylvia paused. “Tell him I’m unavailable.”
Ella stepped into the room with a frown. “It’s the third time he’s called this afternoon. Just tell him you’re not interested so he’ll stop calling.”
“You tell him. I’m busy,” Sylvia said with a sweet voice, and continued to slide the needles through her yarn.
“Playing hard to get?” Ella teased.
“No, I just don’t like him.”
“Good.” Ella put her hands in her pockets and waited.
Sylvia kept knitting.
“He’s not your kind anyway. Why don’t you go out with that nice Mr. Bonner?”
Thinking of him made Sylvia cold inside, and she didn’t answer.
“He called again yesterday.”
“So?”
Ella harrumphed. “Maybe you could go to the next dance with Mr. Paul again.”
Sylvia decided to ignore her and hoped that maybe she’d go away. Ella waited for a reply, then shook her head and left the door open. Sylvia got up and closed it with a bang. Why did she care what Ella thought anyway? A mature woman should be able to do what she wanted. She slipped Peyton Place out from under the comforter and tried to continue reading.
Paul had told her Ricardo was trouble. She knew she shouldn’t waste her time or thoughts on him because he wasn’t the marrying kind, and maybe Ella was right, it was time to get married.
In order to have a career, one needed an education. She had barely made it through high school, and college had been a catastrophe. At Mills, she felt so out of place. All the other girls were so self-assured and outgoing. She had tried to make friends, but once, when she walked over to visit the girls in the dorm room next door, they were talking about her.
“That Van Dam girl is just odd,” one said. “All that glamour can’t be real.”
“Do you think she wears falsies?” another asked.
“Probably. She can’t be a true blonde. Maybe she puts out too.” The girls snickered. Sylvia quietly tiptoed back to her room and cried her eyes out.
Soon thereafter, she had practiced her Speech 101 presentation in front of the mirror until it was flawless. But up at the podium, her cards fell out of order, her throat went dry, and she couldn’t get a word out. As she ran out of the class, she could hear all the girls laughing. When Milo picked her up that afternoon for a visit home, she never returned.
Sylvia thought it might be fun to work in a jewelry store, but then that would be too tempting. Besides, girls in her station didn’t really work. Yes, marriage was the only option. She should really try and date acceptable prospects. Ella was right.
But just the same, Ricardo intrigued her. Charming one moment and tempestuous the next, his moods changed quickly from playful to serious, hot to cold, caliente y frío. Good girls didn’t spend time with men like that. They dated the right kind of men from the club or church from the right kind of families. She turned a page of the novel, but she hadn’t comprehended a word.
It would be wonderful to follow her desires, feel Ricardo’s arms around her, his lips on hers. With him, she was terrified of what might happen. If they went too far, there could be consequences. If she got “pg” like the woman in Peyton Place, Sylvia’s life would be ruined. She stuck out her lower lip and decided to resist him no matter what.
Señorita Van Dam
Está muy bonita.
I would like you to sita
By my side.
You are the one for me
Soon you will see
There’s no escapee
I love yee-e-e.
She ran with excitement, tripped over a chair, pulled a carnation from the vase, and tossed it down to him. The flower landed in front of the tips of his black boots. He raised an eyebrow at her and continued to play.
Her pedal pushers fit snugly and showed off her figure. She slipped into flats, pulled her hair back into a clip, and pinched her cheeks. In a flash, she daubed makeup on her face and applied lipstick. From a jewelry box, she grabbed the snowflake pin for courage and held it tightly as she ran down the stairs, skipping two at a time.
Ella stood on the porch, shaking her head. Sylvia stopped next to her and grasped the wrought iron railing. “Isn’t he wonderful?” Sylvia waved at him.
“He’s a cad.” Ella grumbled.
Ricardo tossed his head back and resumed the vocal serenade:
Sylvia, mi amor,
Just flew out the door.
You know it is her I adore
Come here and I will tell you more.
“The man can’t even decide which language to use.”
“He’s just being romantic,” Sylvia tittered, gazing at him.
“Your parents would never have approved.”
Sylvia didn’t care what Ella or even the neighbors thought, and she raced toward him. He slid the instrument onto the grass, and she dashed into his arms, almost pushing him over.
He kissed her firmly on the mouth, his moustache tickling her upper lip. She grew lightheaded. Everything around them disappeared, and she fantasized they were alone together in the universe, just the two of them.
Sylvia closed her eyes and saw diamonds. This was more exciting than shopping at Tiffany’s. With her body against his, she kissed him back and wanted to buy out the whole store. But like her last shopping spree, this trip could cost more than her trust fund would allow. So she pulled back, looked around, and pushed him away. He pulled her once more into his arms and kissed her again.
