by JLee Meyer
“I should have known how she’d react.”
“Bullshit. How could anyone anticipate that?”
“Because when I told her I wasn’t going with her, she got weird. Her eyes sort of went flat and she got a little smile. She never said another word, just got her clothes on and left. I was relieved, to tell the truth.”
“Sounds to me like you’re assuming far too much. Even if she did take her own life, no one does that over one rejection. Your decision could have been the final straw for her, but that’s just a possibility. And even if it’s the truth, I repeat, you had no way to know. You weren’t responsible for her messed-up thinking or the way she was raised.”
Sighing, Jock said, “Well, I haven’t really dated since it happened. Except for the occasional hook-up with an anonymous woman, that’s it. I think I did enough damage, don’t you?”
Denny stacked some of the plates to make room on the minuscule table and leaned on her elbows. “I think the real question is, how long are you going to let this dictate how you live your life?”
Chapter Five
Stef was busy juggling which bills she could pay when her direct line rang. She smiled when she saw her younger brother Jason’s cell number. “Hey, bro, what’s up?”
“I hear your contractor screwed you over.” Jason must have been in his BMW roadster because the traffic noise made him hard to understand.
“My, my. News travels fast. Where and when did you hear about it?” Stef tried to keep her voice light. She didn’t want Jason to know how serious the situation was. He had a hard time keeping his mouth shut around George and their father.
Snorting, Jason said, “Where do you think? Contracting is a small community. I’m sure someone told George, and he couldn’t wait to tell Dad. I’m sorry, sis, but that bastard cokehead had a reputation. If you’d asked, I could have found out for you. Hey, got time to grab a bite?”
“You’re in San Francisco?”
“You bet. Meet you at Sears in fifteen?”
“Deal. Get a place in line. I might be five minutes late.”
Sears was a tiny diner that had one of the best breakfasts in town and had been in business since the late 1930s. Although recently sold, the place had kept up quality and the waiting lines were legendary. People moved in and out pretty quickly, prompted by the hungry faces of those in line, staring through the window. It was fun to go there and pig out on Swedish pancakes, the signature dish.
Jason was already waiting when Stef arrived. It was hard to do anything but love the man, he was so sweet and naïve and probably always would be. Those qualities, plus his looks and name, had women flocking to him.
Once settled into their seats, they ordered and endured the weak diner coffee slopped into their cups by a very busy waitress. No one dared to ask for tea, and it just tasted like more watered-down coffee anyway.
“So, why are you in town?” Stef asked.
“To see my favorite sister, of course. Why else would I come to this beautiful city with all the hot women?”
He tried to look sincere, but Stef could tell he was the messenger from her dad and brother. She’d seen the look before. Poor Jason. He was a lousy poker player, too.
“You are such a bad liar. What do they want—to tell me what a dumbass I am for being fooled by that jerk? Tell them thanks, I already know that.”
“George says he isn’t surprised you’d leave the company for some idiotic project like this.” Jason never had the guile to soften the blow.
Stef choked. “By the way, Kevin told me he and George were friends. And I already have another team in place, working away. So fuck off.” Seeing the hurt in Jason’s eyes, she quickly amended, “Not you, bro, just them. They can’t wait for me to fail.”
“Maybe it’s not that bad.”
“Yeah? How bad is it?” It was all she could do to not shout at him.
Jason brightened. “Dad wants to give you a loan. He said same terms as a bank, but more lenient on payments. Keep everything in the family, right?”
They stopped talking so the waitress could plop down their delicious-looking food. Stef took the reprieve to try to think rationally. The urge to leap at the finance offer was strong, but she knew there would be ropelike strings attached.
“You know I can’t do that,” she said. “They want me to fail, and financing the hotel would give them control. I’ve seen them be ‘lenient’ before, then tear the property out from under the poor owner’s feet. No.”
“But how are you going to pay for it?” Jason drowned his pancakes in syrup and butter.
“I’ve got it handled.” She’d be damned if she’d tell Jason, who would then blab to George and her dad.
He passed the almost empty syrup container to her. “I think Dad secretly admires you and wants you to succeed. He really seemed sincere.”
“George must have loved that. I’ll bet he told Dad he’d handle the loan papers.”
Stef didn’t know why, but George seemed to despise anything she did. He was the eldest and a son, her father’s favorite. She couldn’t figure out why he never cut her a break. She halfheartedly fixed her pancakes, her stomach sour from the conversation.
“Yeah, he did.” The implications finally dawned on Jason. “That’s not good, is it.” Her silence confirmed the answer. “Damn.”
“Look, tell them thanks but no thanks. I have additional financing arranged.” She didn’t, but she had a lead.
They ate in silence, then Jason’s head jerked up. “You’re going for hard money, aren’t you?”
He was referring to money loaned privately at higher interest rates and from sketchy sources. Stef had a number to call that her loan officer at the bank had given her. Leaning closer, she said, “Doesn’t matter, Jason. I’m going to get the hotel finished and open for business and it’s going to be a success. Tell that to Dad and George.”
“You’ve really bet everything on this, haven’t you?” He sounded proud of her. “I heard you’re living in the hotel now.”
“Who have you been talking to? Yes, I’m living at the hotel, and yes, I have put all of my money into it.”
He chased the last bite of pancake around the plate with his fork, careful to dredge it through a puddle of syrup. He’d done that all of his life. No matter how expensive the clothes or manicured and barbered the man, he would always be her little brother. “You think you can survive with only women as clientele?”
“Yes, I think it can do really well with only women. Anything else?” She didn’t care if she hurt his feelings—he was pushing. He’d been listening to George’s dreck for too long.
Jason studied his plate for a moment, then held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I just worry about you, that’s all. I want you to be a huge success, sis. I’m rooting for you, I promise.” He reached for his wallet. “Let me buy breakfast.”
Feeling terrible for taking her anxiety and anger out on him, Stef prepared her apology as he settled the bill. When they were ready to leave, he gave her an envelope. Her eyes must have asked the question.
“It’s not much, but it might tide you over until you can arrange the money. I’m guessing you’re paying your crew by the week. If they’re working for less, they want it in cash.” He kissed her cheek. “It’s all I could put together, but I hope it helps.”
Her eyes stung and she fought to not break down in front of him. She couldn’t even think about turning it down; she’d been desperately trying to figure out how to meet this week’s payroll. They made their way out of the busy diner, and once on the street she hugged him close. She glanced at the check and was thrilled. This gave her at least time to get the financing lined up.
“Thanks, Jase, I’ll pay you back, I swear. I’ll write out a note for the money as soon as I get back.”
Squeezing her to him, he said, “I’m not in a hurry, I know you’re good for it. I couldn’t invest in a better operation. Now, go be a success and screw George. I still think Dad is rooting for you.”
*
Ember was reading from a text that Professor Hoffman had assigned. She’d bought the book used from another student. She knew she didn’t have to study, since she was basically sneaking into the class, but someday she’d be a real student, with a student ID and everything. She found women’s studies fascinating.
She made good money in her new job and was finally saving. Although the thought of returning home crossed her mind daily, she couldn’t do it. She knew Heather would have been pleased with the way she was taking responsibility for herself now. She owed it to her to follow this new life wherever it was going to lead, and she owed it to herself. One day she would have something worthwhile to show Heather. That thought made her happy.
Mrs. C was in the tiny kitchen, making something out of nothing for dinner for them. The woman was amazing. She was always busy, even though she couldn’t get around so easily. She cooked simple but delicious and inexpensive meals, saying it was easier to cook for two than one. She kept Ember and the crew supplied with treats at least once a week, and that really upped Ember’s numbers in the popularity department.
Ember insisted on paying her fifty dollars a week, and tried to pay more, but that was all Mrs. C would take. She said she wasn’t paying rent during the renovation, so Ember didn’t need to, either. But Ember ate most of the food. Mrs. C kept telling her that she didn’t need much at her age, but Ember was still growing and worked hard. The fifty probably didn’t cover groceries.
The tiny apartment was filling up with delicious odors when Mrs. C called her to collect their plates and bring them to the table. Mrs. C needed her cane and it was easy for Ember to help. She always set the table and did the dishes, after Mrs. C taught her how. Although Ember had worked as a busgirl and dishwasher for a bit, there was a big difference between moving around a small space with no dishwasher and scraping plates and loading an industrial-strength machine in a restaurant. Garbage detail was hers, too. She never forgot.
After they were settled at the small dining table, Ember attacked her spaghetti and meat sauce with relish. Mrs. C made the absolute best sauce, or gravy, as she called it. She told Ember that she learned the recipe from a friend of hers years before. They had it probably twice a week because it was cheap and Mrs. C could make a big batch and freeze it in smaller containers. Then all she had to do was boil the pasta and make a salad or vegetable.
Mrs. C finished before Ember, even though Ember was shoveling the food down. Mrs. C reminded her that she could eat that way when just the two of them were together, but nice manners were important when there were others present.
“Ember, you seem to be enjoying your studies. And you like your professor, too, eh?” Her accent seemed to get heavier in the evenings, maybe when she was tired.
Swallowing a bite that she knew was way too big for proper company, Ember wiped her mouth with the paper towel and grinned. “She’s hot. And really smart. The other students love her. She makes the material seem important and answers all the questions. I wish every teacher was like her.”
Ember just audited that one class because Dr. Hoffman was the only one who allowed it. But she talked to other students and overheard conversations.
Mrs. C’s blue eyes were full of curiosity. “You mentioned her partner, Dr. Jacobs, I believe. What is she like?”
Ember glanced to the ceiling in thought. “Well, I haven’t really met her. I actually avoid her because I’m not really even registered to audit, you know. She doesn’t teach freshman, I guess maybe she just teaches grad students, those going for master’s or Ph.D. degrees. I’ve heard she’s a bitch. Oh, sorry, Mrs. C. Didn’t mean to swear.”
She always tried to watch her language as a sign of respect. Mrs. C never swore and seemed so refined. She reminded Ember of her grandmother and her friends, always genteel and a lady. It was tough sometimes, being around the construction crew and then classmates. Fuck was used as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, and every other part of speech, she was sure.
Mrs. C graciously chose to ignore her lapse. “So, she’s not liked. Do you know why?”
“Well, from what I hear, she ignores the students unless they are really pretty, then she flirts with them and has favorites. The rumor is that some get an A by, you know, um…sleeping with her.” She felt uncomfortable passing on that rumor, but Mrs. C had asked and Ember had heard it from more than one person. Like it was something everyone knew. Still, it felt disloyal to Dr. Hoffman.
“I see. That is unfortunate.”
“No one can see why Dr. Hoffman stays with her. We’re all hoping she dumps her.” Ember blurted that out before she could edit herself. She was relieved when Mrs. C nodded thoughtfully. “Mrs. C? Could I ask you a question?”
Ember respected Mrs. C’s privacy. She wasn’t a talkative person.
Giving her a gentle smile, Mrs. C said, “Of course. What would you like to know?”
Her openness surprised Ember into a brief silence. She had a million questions but sensed she should start slowly, not wanting to offend this kind woman who had made her life so much easier with her friendship and support.
“When did you come America?”
Sitting back in her chair, Mrs. C stared into space. “Oh my, that was a long time ago. I became a dual citizen in the 1950s, if that is what you are asking. Is it?”
Ember looked at her plate. “Well, no. I guess I was asking where you are from. What is your accent? Those things.”
“Ah. I was born in Yugoslavia, Belgrade, to be exact. It is now Serbia. My family had some holdings there. We fled with our lives when the Nazis invaded. Only my mother and I made it out of the country. My father was sent to a concentration camp, when he refused to cooperate with the Nazis. We weren’t Jewish but were Serbian Orthodox, and they wanted our land, so they treated us the same. He died there.”
“God. I’m so sorry to have brought up such painful memories. I didn’t mean to pry.” Ember felt terrible to upset her friend.
Mrs. C reached over and touched her face, her hand trembling slightly. “It is quite all right, my dear. It was a long time ago.”
“After the war, did you go back there?”
Smiling wistfully, Mrs. C said, “Oh my, no. After the war, the Communists took over and declared my father an enemy of the state. Then one dictator after another made up flimsy excuses to avoid recognizing our right to the land.”
“I’m so sorry. Is it still that way?”
Mrs. C pulled her sweater tighter around her small frame. “Well, they say that it is changing. The Serbs want to be part of the European Union, and they have been told to clean up the titles to their land before that can happen. Serbia is very poor right now. Companies won’t invest because it is still too much ruled by those you must bribe. I’ve been told that there are bad legal complications for outside corporations.”
Fascinated, Ember asked, “So you might get your family land back?”
“Who knows? I did make the effort to go to Serbia and document all of the property before a deadline in two thousand five, but the country is poor and corrupt. I might not be alive if it even happens. I’m old, and I’m tired of the constant battle.”
“But what about your kids? Maybe grandchildren? Those people stole it from you, it doesn’t seem right.”
For the first time since Ember had known Mrs. C, her eyes clouded over and she looked her age. Ember’s heart broke for her. “My child, my daughter, died when she was a young woman. There is no one.” Her voice faltered and she was silent.
Ember reached out and took her hand, cradling it with both of hers. “She must have been a special woman to have you as her mom.”
Staring at their hands, Mrs. C said, “I’m not sure she thought so, but she was special. She didn’t approve of her mother sometimes, though.”
Ember was silent for a moment, the ghosts of Mrs. C’s past evident in the room. Finally, she asked, “Mrs. C, why didn’t she approve of you?”
Mrs. Castic focused on her an
d a small smile crept to her lips. “Why, the company I kept, of course.”
Chapter Six
Laurel entered the building and picked her way through the cluttered lobby to the blanket-draped service elevator Ember Jones had described. Pushing the button for the third floor, she stared at a stack of construction trash as the doors slowly closed.
When she’d heard the student excitedly telling her fellow classmates about finding a “walled-up” room and papers that were really old, Laurel’s antennae were on full alert. She’d been wondering what dried-up, boring tome she was going to pull together to keep herself at least on the tenure track. The papers were probably insignificant, but she was curious anyway and a small flicker of hope had driven her to the hotel just in case the find of a lifetime awaited her.
She’d quizzed Ember for as much information as the young woman knew, which was very little. She said there were a “bunch of papers,” and she’d helped move them to an empty room on the floor where she was living, the third floor of the hotel. Apparently they still had a few rooms they rented. Laurel thought that odd, since the hotel was under renovation, but the idea of undiscovered papers was much more interesting than building codes.
After getting the address, she did a bit of research. The hotel was built after the 1906 earthquake and fire that had devastated San Francisco. It had once enjoyed a prosperous clientele, but over the years, and as the bordering Tenderloin district grew more dangerous, the hotels west of Union Square had gradually turned residential and shabby. The odd part was that this hotel had led the way. It went from prosperity to ruin seemingly overnight. Now the area was enjoying a renaissance because of its proximity to the shopping and theatre districts of downtown San Francisco.
