“I said the same thing at the auction.”
“Great minds.” She went silent. In the background I could hear typing on a keyboard.
“I don’t want to keep you from work.”
“Sorry. Multi-tasking. Always working.”
I saw my opening. “You have to eat some time.”
The sound of typing stopped.
“Hello?” I checked to make sure the call was still connected.
“I’m here.”
“You said something at the auction that had me thinking.” Tilting back in my office chair, I set my feet on my desk.
“Refresh my memory.”
“You mentioned catching up again later. I’d like to follow up on that offer.” I sounded too formal, my words too business speak to my own ears.
“Don’t feel obligated. Just something people say at parties like that.”
I dug my teeth into the inside of my bottom lip and frowned, certain I hadn’t misinterpreted her. “Professional brush off? Wow, I’m out of practice.”
“Wait, are you asking me out to dinner?” Something crashed loudly on her end of the phone.
“What was that?”
“Godzilla.”
“Do you need to go?” I sat up straighter, tensing at the idea she was lying to get off the phone with me.
“No, I probably should, but not yet.” More voices carried over the phone, but they sounded farther away.
“Aren’t you afraid Godzilla will destroy all of downtown Seattle in a fit of nuclear radiated rage? You should escape while you can.”
She snickered. “You think I’m making it up to get off the phone with you. Someone on my staff bought an inflatable Godzilla costume. Now people take turns wearing it and creating unexpected chaos.”
What the hell? “You allow this?”
“Sure. It shakes up the afternoon doldrums in the office and lets people burn off some steam. We’re thinking about getting another one and setting up a boxing ring in the lounge.”
“Business culture has changed since I left.”
“Oh, please. Don’t rewrite history. You had a row of vintage pinball machines and a plan for a ball pit when you sold the company.”
“The ball pit got vetoed.”
“Rightly so. Those are incubators for all sorts of antibiotic resistant infections and always smell of urine.”
“So everyone told me.” I pulled up Google on my computer and entered ‘“Godzilla costume.” I could see the endless amusement from these. I contemplated getting a couple for Sal’s.
“I’ll let you go. Think about dinner. Or if you’re too busy, maybe a drink sometime.” I decided to put more on the line. “I’d really like to catch up, and I’m not saying it for any other reason than it’s true.”
A small pause settled over the call before she spoke again. “Okay. Thank you.”
I had no idea what she was thanking me for.
I still didn’t know as I ordered an inflatable giant radioactive lizard costume. Or what I would do with the thing once it arrived.
“YOU KNOW THOREAU was a pansy poser, right?” Olaf reset the chess board after once again kicking my ass.
“His life in the woods might’ve been exaggerated in Walden, but the philosophy of living simply endures.” I stretched and rolled my neck.
“Bullshit.”
I lifted an eyebrow in question.
“Simple is chopping your own wood, not going home for mommy’s cookies at lunch.”
“Cookies, like pizza, are one of life’s simple joys.”
“Like a woman’s orgasm.” His blunt honesty rarely surprised me, but this time I choked on nothing and coughed.
“Honest truth,” I said, regaining my composure.
“Since we’re being all philosophical and deep, may I remind you of John Donne’s famous line about men and islands?”
“You may not.” I picked up the board and set it io its shelf in one of the floor to ceiling bookshelves before quoting the famous line.
“No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.”
“Of course you have it memorized.” He pointed to the leather bound edition of Donne’s work on the shelf next to prize copies of Rilke’s poems and Man’s Search for Meaning.
“Hemingway poached the last line for his novel.”
“Ah, yes. Another man fond of isolation and islands.” Olaf swallowed the last of his scotch. “And this nectar.”
“I wonder how many of us are left in the world?”
“Retired womanizer recluses?”
“Ah, O. I doubt you ever catted around. You seem like a one woman for life kind of man.”
“Son, the Navy showed me more than the seven seas. I left an impression on several ports o’ call back in my time, if you get my meaning.”
I had no doubt. Like me, Olaf led several lives before settling into his current role as cantankerous barkeep of the Dog House.
“What brought you back to the island?”
“It’s home. My roots run deep here.”
I thought of my father’s family farm in Pennsylvania and being a young boy there, always underfoot and scolded for getting in the way.
“I think I’m more of an air plant. I don’t need roots to survive.”
Steepling his hands, Olaf rested his chin on his fingertips while he appraised me. “Not here to disrespect you in your own home, but . . .”
“But?”
“You’re full of bullshit.”
I barked out an unexpected laugh. “Ain’t no strings on me.”
He imitated a puppet with his arms above his head. “Roots aren’t like strings. They start out thin and hair like, so light they’re barely noticeable. Slowly they thicken and spread, reaching and entwining themselves into something stronger. Sure, some of us are born with a taproot off the back of us like a tail, but most aren’t that lucky.”
Sipping the last of my drink, I stared at him. “I think we need to lay off the hard stuff before we begin debating the origins of life.”
He patted his thighs and then lifted himself out of the chair by bracing his rough hands on the wood arms. “I, for one, am grateful for our time. You think I can talk about Thoreau and Donne with those Kelsos?”
“Maybe you should start a pub quiz night.”
“Do they make the quizzes for dummies?”
“You might be surprised at what people around here know.”
“I’m surprised all the time by the idiocy. Maybe I’m getting too old to deal with the public.”
Olaf often talked about retiring, but no one believed he’d do it. He was as much an institution as the bar itself.
“Well, don’t listen to me. I’m only the local pizza guy.”
He snorted and patted my shoulder as he strolled out of the room. “You keep telling yourself those lies, one day you might believe them. Or someone else might.”
I followed him down the hall despite his assurance he didn’t need to be seen to the door and given a good night kiss.
“Nice poster of your ass.” Olaf gestured to the back of the print leaning against the wall in the entry. I had no idea what to do with the damn thing.
“How’d you know it was of my ass?”
“I peeked when I went to take a leak. You plan to hang that in your library, you better find another chess partner.”
“I bought it to keep it out of the hands of Connie and Sandy. Or any of the other local women.”
“Probably a smart thing to do. Damn that Kelso boy for stirring up all this nonsense. You know that Falcon kid tried to play drums naked this summer? Had a petition he brought around, asking everyone to sign it. Handbasket. We’re all inside one and hurtling south,” he pointed at the floor, “straight to hell.”
“I promise I won’t hang it anywhere you’ll ever see it, O.”
“Burn it. That’s what I’d do.” He rubbed his wrinkled che
ek. “Then again, you’re not getting any younger. Maybe you should hang on to it to remember your better days.”
“I don’t need a picture to remember my glory days.”
“You might change your mind when they’re behind you.” He slapped my arm and chortled. “Get it. Damn, I’m funny.”
I opened the front door for him. “Don’t pull something cracking yourself up.”
“Same time next week?” he called over his shoulder as he walked around his rusty, old truck.
“I’ll be here.” I waved at the back of his head.
Inside silence filled the space. I walked around the house, turning off lights and putting our glasses in the kitchen. A flash of gray at the French doors caught my eye. The stray cat brushed her side against the wood frame.
I knew I’d made a mistake by feeding it when she showed up a few days ago. While staring at me, the striped cat stood on her hind legs and pressed her front paws against the glass.
“You’re going to leave prints all over the clean door, Cat.”
Her meow carried through the glass as she turned and rubbed herself along the smooth surface. I swore she sported a smug expression on her little face.
“If I feed you, will you leave?”
She tapped the glass like a tiny high five.
Opening the fridge, I searched for something suitable for a cat. My limited options included unpasteurized cheese, locally foraged morel mushrooms, a grass fed rib eye steak, micro greens, and some home-smoked salmon from Olaf. No way would I be feeding a stray a steak.
“Hope you like fish.” After grabbing a small plate from the cupboard, I cut off the salmon skin for the cat.
When I opened the door, the damn thing strolled into the kitchen like she owned the place. Before I could stop her, she’d hopped up on the counter.
“No way. Outside.” I set the plate on the decking.
She lifted a paw and licked it.
“You will not win this. It’s dine outside or you’ll be fighting the seagulls for the rotting fish on the beach.”
I was talking to a cat, trying to use logic and reasoning.
I owned a life-size portrait of my own ass.
Clearly, I’d lost my mind.
I left the door open, prepared to scoop up the invading feline if needed. As if sensing my intention, she jumped off the counter and scooted outside. Within a minute, the plate had been cleared and licked clean. I filled a bowl of water to give her, but when I turned around, she’d disappeared.
“You’re welcome,” I yelled. “So typical. Use a guy for a nice meal and then bail. You’re not the first, sweetheart.”
I rinsed the plate and glasses from earlier, then set them in the dishwasher. Glancing around, I made sure nothing was out of place.
I tucked the print into the back of the hall closet and then went to bed.
The next morning Roslyn texted me.
She accepted my invitation to catch up.
We made plans for that Friday.
Five years after I ended things with her, I had a date with the one who got away.
PACING AROUND MY kitchen, I debated on what to wear and which car to take to Seattle.
As I showered and got dressed to head to Seattle, doubt crept in.
I wasn’t sure what tonight was.
Sure, I’d asked her to dinner.
I made reservations at the restaurant of the year and requested a table with a view.
Sounded like a date.
The kind of date a man planned when he wanted to impress a woman in order to seduce her.
I wasn’t that kind of man. Or was I?
Fool me once, shame on me.
Fool me twice, not happening.
If I was going to play the big impression game, I’d go all in.
Figured Bert was loading the ferry. With a quick double-take to the driver’s window, a slow grin spread across his craggy face before he continued directing the cars behind me.
Once I turned off the engine and unfolded myself from the front seat, I caught him walking back in my direction.
“If you’ve stolen this beauty, will you let me take her for a joy ride before you go away for grand theft auto?” He brushed his hand along the curves of my car.
I laughed off his compliment. One of the biggest reasons I kept the Porsche parked in my garage was it could change people’s perception of me. Most days I drove a boring black pickup with a dent in the driver’s door and a long scratch along the passenger side rear wheel well.
Okay, I know I said I walked away from everything except the beach house and enough money to start the pizza business. I lied. I kept a few of my favorite toys.
Including my Porsche.
Cliché, but I couldn’t have cared less.
Since high school, I always wanted a 911.
When I sold my business, I bought one with all of the bells and whistles. Top of the line.
I remembered going into the dealership in Bellevue and paying cash for it.
Sleek, black, and built for warp speed, I loved it. Still.
I may have paid cash, but blood and sweat earned every penny of that money. For years I’d happily handed over pounds of my flesh to the paper dragon chase of making more and more money. No matter how many zeros were listed with commas in my accounts, it never seemed enough. It would never be enough.
That’s when I set the fuse and walked away.
Besides this car, I had two great loves in my life now: my solitude and pizza.
Apparently, I only loved inanimate objects.
Safer that way.
Unrequited love was the safest kind of love.
Not having to involve anyone else’s emotions. Quiet, reserved and one-sided, this kind love could be protected and maintained.
After knocking on Roslyn’s condo door, I rolled up my cuffs and tugged at the leather band on my watch.
I told myself I wasn’t nervous.
Maybe a little anxious about the car parked in the loading zone.
I hated getting tickets.
That was it.
Nothing more.
Her doorman assured me he’d watch it. The gleam in his eye revealed his admiration and something more, maybe envy. I wouldn’t trust him as a valet.
The click of her heels alerted me to her approach. As the door opened, the difference in pressure between the hallway and her apartment blew a soft breeze over me, carrying with it the delicate scent of her.
No perfume could ever imitate the same scent. Almost masculine, she smelled of sandalwood and garden roses—the old fashioned, imperfect kind that bloomed stubbornly along fences year after year.
“You’re early,” she said.
“Taking into consideration you’re never late, I’m right on time.”
“You have always been a man of logic.” She didn’t open the door farther. “Let me grab my bag and we can go.”
“Not going to invite me inside to see your impressive and expensive view?” I leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb.
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
“I’ve never been here.”
She stalled with her fingers curled around the thick metal door. “Same old Space Needle, Lake Union, water, dormant volcanoes, mountains, blah blah blah Seattle.”
“What if I said I desperately need to use your bathroom?”
“Do you?”
“It might be an emergency.”
“Might?”
I shifted my weight from side to side. “Seattle traffic is terrible. Please don’t make me beg.”
With a glance over her shoulder, she opened the door and backed down the hallway. “Okay. You can use the powder room.”
I stepped into a short hallway that doubled as her foyer and saw the bathroom on the left. “Thanks.”
It wasn’t dire that I use her facilities, but her strange behavior about inviting me inside made me curious. There was nothing unusual about the bathroom. A sleek, gray marble floor and a small
vanity with matching stone counter anchored the small space. A tasteful print of a hawk feather decorated one wall. Nothing embarrassing or out of place. It could’ve been a hotel bathroom for the lack of personal touches.
When I opened the door, Roslyn stood a few feet away, blocking the path into the rest of the apartment. “Ready?”
Peering over her head, I attempted to see more of the stylish space. “Are you hiding a body back there?”
She blanched and her laugh sounded too high. “No, of course not.”
“You’re hiding something.”
“And you’re nosy. Don’t we have reservations? You know how this city is these days with all of the hard core foodies. If we’re late, we’ll lose the table. Plus, traffic is a nightmare with all the Viaduct construction.”
“Fine. Plausible deniability is probably for the best. If you are a serial killer, I don’t want to know.”
“You say the words every girl dreams of hearing, Ashland.”
The way she formed the letters of my name made think she wanted to replace land with hole.
Giving her my best grin, I surrendered. “Shall we go? I don’t want some hipster in a floppy hat getting our table and eating all the best oysters.”
She grabbed her purse and a coat from the closet door hidden in the wall in the foyer. “Let’s go.”
Outside she paused. “Yours?”
I followed her finger to where she pointed at my car. “It is.”
Her wide eyes met mine. “You kept it?”
I nodded, but didn’t respond further.
“I thought you said you got rid of everything.”
“I might have exaggerated the truth.” The car was the most conspicuous, but I’d retained some of my more sentimental purchases.
I opened the door for her and she gracefully folded herself into the seat. Once I’d buckled my own seatbelt, she spoke again. “I’m glad you kept it. It’s beautiful.”
“Some things are too good to give up.” I glanced at her and then in the rearview mirror before pulling into traffic.
She smoothed her hand over the console. “I always loved this car.”
The SUV in front of us stopped unexpectedly. My arm shot across the seat to protect her, resulting in me copping a feel. Totally, one hundred percent not an intentional move.
Better Love Page 6
