Viagra.
The word popped into his head and he dismissed it immediately. He had Italian blood, Sicilian blood and, ninety-two or not, that was all the Viagra he’d ever need. He set his hands against the table top and pushed, using the leverage to stand. ‘Good morning, Mrs. Flanagan. We’ve never quite met, but I see you at mass every Sunday. I’m Martino Rotolone.’
Her lovely red head bobbled. ‘Good mornin’ Mr. Rotolone, very pleased to finally make your acquaintance,’ she said, just like Maureen O’Hara.
Martino almost sighed. Then quite unexpectedly, when he offered his hand, Aces was beside him, clasping the woman’s small, freckly fingers as if he were about to drop a kiss on the back of her knuckles.
‘Did you know, Rotolone means big wheel in Italian, Mrs. Flanagan?’ Aces spoke in a distinctly dapper tone Martino had never heard before. ‘You better get going, Big Wheel, before your granddaughter wonders what’s keeping you,’ he leaned closer to the woman, ‘His granddaughter bought my house, Mrs. Flanagan, the one that survived the Cerro Grande Fire, and he was just on his way over there. I’ll be on my own now. Would care to join me for breakfast?’
A tiny flame sprang up in Martino’s gut. And it had nothing to do with drinking three cups of coffee.
Dominic’s morning attire, usually vintage concert t-shirts that just skimmed the lower part of his ass, usually garnered some kind of smart-assed remark. This morning’s choice of Oingo Boingo was a bit shorter than most of the others and he flapped in the breeze, but his son was too depressed to bother with being witty. The broken arm meant Kyle had kissed goodbye his potential opportunity to kiss Melody Ferrell, and buy the Camaro he’d had his eye on for the last fifteen months.
While Dominic felt bad about Kyle missing out on Melody, the bit that meant his son missed out on the car made him happy, relieved or both. He couldn’t decide.
Lifting the kid’s half-eaten bowl of now-limp Frosted Flakes, Dominic used his t-shirt to mop up the ring of moisture left behind on the living room coffee table. ‘You know I don’t like you eating in here,’ he sighed.
Kyle shrugged with one shoulder.
‘Tonight you’re back in the dining room.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Flash?’
‘Huh?’
‘Those pain tablets eighty-six your appetite?’
Again, Kyle shrugged, ‘I got a dry mouth.’
‘They’ll do that. You want some juice?’
‘Nah.’
‘What do you want for lunch?’
‘I don’t care.’
‘How about I bring you some of Daphne’s pickle and sardine egg salad?’
‘OK,’ he sighed.
‘I’ll pick up a pint of Häagen-Dazs liver and onions ice-cream, unless you want the tuna-noodle crunch.’
‘Whatever.’
Dominic laughed, set the bowl of cereal back on the coffee table and plopped onto the couch next to him. ‘Did you hear what I said, Kyle?’ he snickered, adding a light elbow nudge.
‘Not really.’
‘Glory days, it sucks to be you.’
‘I could say the same thing about you.’
‘Ah, at last, after two days, a flicker of my son! Where have you been?’
‘Dad?’
‘Yeah, Flash?’
‘Drop dead.’
‘Ouch. One day kid, when I do keel over, you’ll regret that.’
‘Come on. Leave me alone. Go bug Lesley.’
The elbow nudged again. ‘But I wanna bug you.’
‘How’d you manage it? How’d you get her to agree to let you help her? You’ve been there for two days. How the hell did that happen?’
‘I charmed the pants off her.’
‘I’ve seen your idea of charming. I see your idea of charming right now and I can understand why she prefers girls. For God’s sake, if you’re going to sit that close, put some pants on, otherwise you’re going to scar me for life!’
Dominic gave his son an evil smile and climbed to his feet. ‘I’ll be back at lunchtime,’ he said, bending over the coffee table to retrieve the cereal bowl.
That first day, Lesley had protested when he announced he was acting as his son’s stand-in. Like some demented giant, Dominic had crossed his arms, stood his ground, and smirked down at her, making it very clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
Not wanting to enter into an argument – she’d had enough acrimony – she’d shrugged and told him he could let himself out. Upstairs with her portable stereo she sang along to every song and chipped off ebony tiles from the second floor bathroom. Two hours later, after she’d trudged downstairs with a box of chalky refuse to toss in the yellow dumpster, she discovered he’d mended the screen door, replaced light bulbs in the ugly fixtures, scraped the nail polish spill off the bare concrete in the living room, and set up mole traps in the backyard. When she went into the kitchen to rinse grime from her face, she found two paper bags full of groceries on top of the unplugged stove. If that wasn’t enough, he’d stocked the fridge with cold drinks, shoved a bag of ice cubes in the freezer and left her a deli sandwich on the countertop.
The second morning, Dominic arrived just after seven with fresh bagels from Ruby K’s. While she prepared the wooden floors in the two upstairs bedrooms for sanding, he tore out the rusty swing set in the back and began the arduous task of chopping away the mammoth overgrowth from the front.
When he pulled his truck up the driveway on the third day, she was ready for him. She’d put on coffee, cranked up classic Squeeze, and got to work checking the mousetrap under the kitchen sink.
When Dominic let himself in, he found her harmonising to Goodbye Girl. ‘You know you should be more careful,’ he said, once he turned down the volume, ‘You should keep your door locked, especially if you’re going to listen to music so loud. I could have been anybody.’
‘I knew it was you.’ She climbed to her feet, disappointed with the empty mousetrap in hand. The packrat had cleanly nibbled off the chocolate she’d impaled. ‘No one else is game to come up to the witch’s house.’
‘But you had no way of knowing it was me. I just walked inside. I could have whacked you over the head with one of the hammers you’ve got laying around, which reminds me,’ absently, Dominic set a box of doughnuts beside the sink, ‘By my count, you’ve got six. Just how many hammers does one person need?’
‘Well, gee, Batman, I don’t have a cool utility belt like you do.’
‘I own a hardware store. I’ll get you one.’
‘I think you’ve bought me enough,’ she said glancing at the orange Dawn’s Donuts carton.
‘Just trying to spread a little sunshine in this dark world you’re living in.’
‘You sure know how to spread something.’ She gave him a toothy fake smile.
He smirked back. ‘I see you’ve got the painting started. The living room looks good. I would have gone for a richer colour, maybe a blue.’
‘Neutral, light colours sell better, but thanks.’
‘Are we pulling down the kitchen cabinets today or doing more painting?’
‘Cabinets. OK with that?’
‘Yeah, I just need to—’ the cell phone clipped to his belt burst into song. Don’t you forget about me... ‘Brennan,’ he answered.
‘Eeh, Sunday,’ Fabian said nasally, using his favourite nickname for Dominic. ‘I got your message.’
Dominic held up two fingers, indicating he’d be a couple of minutes. Lesley nodded and eyed the doughnut box again. He went on with the call. ‘How’s the toe?’
‘I’m still hobbling like an old man.’
‘That’s because you are an old man.’
‘Which one of us is going grey? Oh, that’s right. You. You know there’s dye you can get for that. It even has a man’s picture on the box. I’d go with a nice chestnut brown if I were you.’
‘Blow me.’
‘You wish. You still with the Tortillera?’
Domini
c glanced at Lesley. She was fooling with a mousetrap. He turned down the volume on his cell, hoping she hadn’t overheard anything. ‘Yeah. Why?’
‘My toe is taking longer than expected to heal. I had to postpone the Howell’s tiling. They’re pissed.’
‘So you want me to go there and smooth things over?’
‘You are right in town.’
‘And I sweet talk so much better than you, right?’
‘Well, Spaniards aren’t known for the Blarney Stone, are they?’
‘I’ll do it after lunch.’
‘Thanks. Now, Ina said she’d bring them over here for you to have a look. There’s four of them, all glossy black and white. You just have to pick one.’
‘Hang on a second.’ He turned to Lesley. ‘Lesley?’
‘Hm?’
‘You’re going down to Santa Fe tomorrow, aren’t you?
She nodded. ‘I’m picking up flooring from a wholesaler called Cielo.’
‘I’ve got to get something for Kyle. What do you say we go down together, in the Trujillo’s truck? I might be able to get Benny Cielo to knock a bit more off the price he quoted you.’
Mousetrap in hand, she considered his suggestion for a moment. ‘No problem,’ she said and turned to the doughnut box, lifting the lid, licking her lips.
Dominic returned to Fabian. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘I’ll tell Ina. Give the Tortillera my love.’
‘Why don’t you do that yourself? She’s coming with me,’ he chuckled and finished the call, clipping the cell back to his belt.
Lesley held a doughnut. She smiled at him. ‘In case I forgot to mention it, you’ve been forgiven, but it is nice of you to show up with these.’
‘I see how this might look, but did you stop to think maybe the doughnuts are for me?’
They were for him. He’d picked his favourite; made sure Dawn herself put two honey-dipped and two chocolate-iced in the half dozen. The smell of honey glaze rose from the package and it made his mouth water, but at that moment, a doughnut wasn’t going to satisfy his sweet tooth. Lesley, on the other hand, smelled fifty times more tantalising than the whole box of deep-fried treats and he want to take a bite of her.
Instead, he watched her toss the mousetrap in the sink. She had on a pair of shortie overalls, a thin pink T-shirt, and her ever-present cowboy boots. Her damp hair was tied back with wavy tendrils wispy around her face. Holy hell, what sort of pheromones does this woman put out?
Her voice was a hum as she spoke and he nodded as if he were listening carefully. He was paying attention, just not to her words. She had the deepest pink mouth; a plump, ripe bottom lip that he thought might taste as sugary as honey glaze against his tongue. Her teeth sank into a chocolate-iced pastry and his mind went off on a tangent way beyond doughnuts.
‘I wonder if I’ll have better luck with a piece of this,’ Lesley said, stabbing a chunk of doughnut onto the mousetrap she’d had in the sink. ‘By the way, the mosquito net was a great idea. I tucked it into the mattress. I’m sleeping packrat butt-free. Thank Kyle for lending it to me. How is he today?’
Dominic cleared his throat.
Lesley noticed he was staring. ‘Oops,’ she said, ‘You got these for Kyle, didn’t you?’ She tossed the pastry back in the open carton and immediately swore under her breath, ‘That was bright. There are packrat germs all over my hands.’ She snatched the doughnut back out of the box, dumping it on a flattened paper bag. ‘I don’t think packrats carry the same kind of germs as regular rats, do you?’
He was still staring at her.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s an honest mistake,’ he heard himself mutter – from far off Jupiter.
‘I bet I seem like an ingrate, don’t I, taking advantage of your doughnuts and your son?’
Ingrate? No, you’re more like a walking Venus Flytrap to my good sense. Dominic shook his head, resetting his thoughts into a more regular orbit, ‘Just go on and finish loading that thing.’
Lesley turned back to the mousetrap. ‘I’ve never thanked you for everything you brought me. So thanks, Dominic.’ She pulled back the trap’s spring and set the trigger. Trap in hand, she squatted, moved to her knees to poke beneath the sink again, and the overalls rode up the back of her thighs as she stretched forward.
She was still modestly covered, nothing had been revealed, but it didn’t matter because Dominic already knew what was underneath. There was never going to be a time in his life when the memory of an attractive naked woman didn’t make his pulse race, and he appreciated that, but why did this woman have to spike his blood pressure?
He rolled his eyes and inhaled, making sure the oxygen went all the way down to the bottom of his lungs, and grabbed a doughnut, sinking his teeth into the honey-dipped treat.
‘Maybe I should put two under here,’ Lesley’s voice came out muffled.
‘I’m not sacrificing another doughnut.’
‘How about you give me the one I started.’ The snapping sound was unmistakable and Lesley’s curse was unimaginative, but it certainly conveyed the point. ‘Son of a bitch!’ She scrambled backwards, whacking her head on the edge of the cupboard’s opening, a doughnut-laden mousetrap caught on her left thumb.
Dominic couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing, nearly coughing out a wad of half-chewed doughnut.
She gave him a searing look, trying to pull off the mousetrap with her elbow while rubbing her head with her free hand.
A grin plastered to his face, he swallowed, crouched beside her and grasped the metal snare, pulling back the spring from her hand. ‘You all right?’ He tossed the trap aside and examined the red welt across her thumb.
With his head bent so close, Lesley saw fine, charcoal and grey whisker-growth on his sculpted jaw. He hadn’t shaved that morning. Instead of the cedar aftershave she’d noticed before, this time he smelled of soap, laundry detergent…and doughnuts. One long finger rubbed over her thumb. It was enough to conjure up the images of what the rest of his long fingers had done to her in that not-so-distant erotic dream.
‘I bet that smarts.’
‘Yep,’ she pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t verbalise what she was feeling.
‘How’s your noggin?’
Without waiting for an answer, his fingers moved into her hair, searching for the lump at the crown of her head. His breath brushed over her forehead as he laughed again.
She jerked away and pushed across the ugly brown tiles, climbing to her feet. ‘Fine, she said, ‘My head’s just fine.’
Lesley had moved to the far side of the kitchen. She’d snagged a crow bar and pair of leather work gloves and hefted the metal tool to her shoulder.
Dominic rose. So, you really can’t stand a man’s touch. He rubbed his chin for a moment, a little amused at her reaction and his body’s idiotic, but completely natural response to the scent of a woman. ‘Shall we get started on these nasty cabinets?’
‘Sure. You got a crow bar in that utility belt or you want to borrow mine?’
‘Admit it,’ Dominic hoisted up his tool belt and, like a gunslinger of the Old West, rested his hand on a hammer, ‘you want one of these leather aprons.’
‘What I want,’ she said, setting the iron rail on the counter, ‘is a screwdriver.’
‘Well, lookee what I have at my fingertips.’
There was a commotion at the front door. ‘Hey, lady!’ someone shouted.
Dominic glanced at his watch. ‘I thought the electrician was coming at ten?’
‘He is,’ Lesley nodded, ‘That’s my grandfather. Come on in, GP,’ she called out, ‘we’re in the kitchen. And we have doughnuts!’
‘I hope to God you have fresh coffee too,’ GP rumbled. ‘You won’t believe what Aces, the shifty little ass-wipe did to…what the hell is that stink?’ GP rounded the kitchen doorway. He stopped dead and made a face, taking off his stylish titanium glasses. ‘Whoa! Miriam Witteveen sure had her taste in her culo!’
> ‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Lesley said, meeting him with a kiss.
GP pinched her cheek then rubbed his lenses against his burgundy golf shirt. He looked Dominic up and down. ‘So who the hell is Mr. Hercules here?’
‘This is Dominic Brennan.’
‘Uh huh,’ GP repositioned his spectacles on his nose and thrust out his hand, ‘Martino Rotolone.’
Dominic took the old man’s hand and was surprised by the firm grip. ‘Sir,’ he said.
‘Can the sir bit, sonny. You may think old people find it respectful, but it’s not as endearing as you think. Where are the damn doughnuts?’
While she looked like Paddy, when it to came to talking, Lesley was very much Number Five’s child, except his granddaughter was describing what she was going to change on the house instead of hounding him about how many doughnuts he’d eaten. For that, Martino was grateful. She took him around to the backyard to show him the rest of the property, blithering about moles, weeds and paint.
Unfortunately, after the little tour she’d given him of the interior, he believed the house was a piss-stinkin-ought-to-be-nuked-and-buried-for-twelve-thousand-years hole that wasn’t even fit for a cockroach or the rats she mentioned.
‘Brennan,’ he muttered when she finally shut up for a second, ‘why do I know that Irish name?’
‘He’s Terry’s brother.’
‘No shit? Was he at your,’ he made air quotes, ‘wedding?’
‘Briefly.’
‘Don’t remember him. What’s he doing here?
‘Penance.’
‘For what?’
‘It’s a long story and you don’t have time.’
‘Is that some kind of thinly veiled crack about my old age and advancing death?’
‘Why would I say something like that?’
‘You need the inheritance to pay for this landfill site.’
‘If that’s the case, can I get you another doughnut, Grandpa?’
‘Succubus.’
She made a kissing sound.
He feigned interest again and held his tongue when she went back to jabbering about the house like it was the mountain version of the Taj Mahal.
A Basic Renovation Page 10
