by Nia Arthurs
I giggled awkwardly, and did the only thing that Melodys do when their cornered, I made a joke.
“To the Batmobile!” I cried like an idiot.
Spencer’s amused expression had me contemplating throwing myself through that glass window.
To my astonishment, the man nodded and agreed. “To the Batmobile.”
CHAPTER FOUR
As expected, Missy was completely taken with Spencer nee Hunky Pants. I could not blame her. Men who looked that gorgeous tended to do crazy things to a woman’s psyche. Of course as soon as Missy entered the ring, I was knocked out of the game. Not that I was even in the running. Spencer’s good looks came with a sign like the ones at the fair that indicate the required height to go on the rides.
Must be this attractive to even have a chance.
I fell woefully short of the mark.
A pathetic part of me was excited to see how these two beautiful people would interact. I’d only ever seen these types of scenarios on T.V.
Step 1: Beautiful girl sees handsome man.
Step 2: Handsome man falls in love with beautiful girl.
Step 3: They live happily ever after.
Curious to see if this was how it would play out, I watched carefully.
Missy glided into the car with her usual beauty pageant grace.
Spencer gave her a once over.
Missy caught sight of Spencer, gawked a little, and then blinked once, nice and slow.
Spencer pulled out his phone and started tapping the screen.
Missy purred, “Well, hello there.”
Spencer ignored her.
What kind of messed up romance was this?
Was Spencer blind or worse…did he shoot for the other team? Missy was totally giving him the full-throttle Garbutt-flirting experience. Surely, things would heat up. I just had to wait a little longer.
Missy seemed to feel the same way, for Spencer’s indifference only spurred her need for his acknowledgement.
“Hey, I was talking to you, handsome.” She giggled.
Spencer looked up and rummaged enough effort into his greeting so as to sound polite.
“Hello.” Satisfied that his task had been accomplished, Spencer returned to his phone.
Missy charged on, “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Missy Garbutt.” Missy slid her hand out so that Spencer could shake it. He didn’t even glance up this time. He either had not heard her or was pretending not to.
Almost choking on the discomfort filling the cab, I managed to introduce them, “Missy, this is Spencer. The man I, uh, met yesterday.”
Missy grinned and addressed the stoic businessman once more, “Met? You mean bumped into! Melody’s always pulling stunts like that. One time she spilled her plate of tamales all over the President of Guatemala’s pants. Oh, oh,” Missy paused to snort out a laugh, “And last year at the La Quinta Maya festival, she was supposed to give the National prayer and she forgot the words.”
“Hey!” I protested, “A lot of people get the national anthem mixed up with the prayer.”
Missy rolled her eyes at me, but ignored my non-verbal plea for her to shut up, “My uncle, he’s the director of the BTB, he says the only reason Melody’s still working there is because she’s such a good writer.”
Apparently that was the punch line, for Missy started cackling uproariously. I was so embarrassed; I contemplated throwing myself out of the car. Being around these two was dangerous to my psychological health. Missy, however, was satisfied. At least she’d gotten Spencer’s attention. He’d glanced up from his phone when she mentioned the President of Guatemala and tamales. Oh well, if my mental stability became collateral damage in the course of true love, maybe I could cruise into crazy town with pride.
I waited for Spencer to join the conversation. After just two encounters he had a ton of awkward ‘Melody stories’ to share ranging from yesterday’s collision to the big hullabaloo I’d caused this morning with the imaginary gun and the security officers. He and Missy could connect over the colossally ‘blurtatious’ and accident prone human being that I am.
Maybe I could even quit my job and start a company based on matchmaking people by the calamities of their friends. I could call it “Melody’s Misfires”. I mean, think about it. None of my clients would have another awkward conversation again. I was already mentally picking out my business card color scheme (brown and pink) when Spencer spoke up.
“Is she always like this?”
At his words, I gauged the speed of the car by the amount of cars we passed. Nah, looked like I’d have to sit this one out. I wanted to die quietly in my bed someday when I’m old. Death by freeway wasn’t too appealing today.
“Melody, is she always like this?”
Wait. Spencer was talking to me? I glanced up. Indeed, the handsome Asian was looking directly at me. Missy’s befuddled expression probably mirrored mine.
I wanted to cover my face and scream “Don’t look at me.”
I was the nerd. He was the jock. This was real life, not freaking High School Musical. Spencer had upset the balance of the universe.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I said hesitantly.
Spencer nodded as though that was the answer he was looking for and returned his attention to the smart phone. Missy and I exchanged puzzled glances. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Spencer just defended me from Missy’s bullying. It was a good thing I knew better or I would mistake that chivalry for attraction. Ha! Yeah right, Spencer and me? I wasn’t that ditzy in the head.
At least Missy had stopped regurgitating my most embarrassing misdeeds. Defiantly, she pursued her attempts at roping Spencer into conversation, but after a few minutes of the awkward and one-sided exchange, with Spencer answering in one word messages, I decided to step in and save at least some of Missy’s dignity.
Jerk-face. Didn’t Spencer see this gorgeous girl flirting with him? He could at least try to give me a show.
The hour and a half chauffeured drive (because yes, Mr. Braden had a chauffeur) from downtown L.A. to Spencer’s neck of the woods was excruciatingly uncomfortable for me. Missy and I found out more about each other in that long road trip than in the entire length of our association in Belize.
She verbalized her list of accomplishments, a list which grew with every mile. And her responses to my own activities and stories were trivial and mean. I got the sense that Missy was trying to one-up me, using my normal and non-calendar worthy life to prop up her more exciting and fun existence. It made for a deeply humbling conversation. Humbling and inspiring, because it was inspiring some very Jerry Springer actions.
If this girl talks about her pageant win one more time…
Thankfully, the car came to a stop. I glanced out the window and half gasped, half-choked. That thing could not be someone’s house. The sprawling villa painted in the earthy colors of brown and peach stood like a beacon before us. The building spanned two stories with an iron cased sweeping cement step leading to the front door. I wish I had the words to describe how amazingly gorgeous it was.
“You live here?” I squeaked. It was small compared to some other mansions I’d seen in Belize but still, it was a bit much for one person.
In the dim light of the cab, I noticed that sexy ghost smile. Spencer spoke with genuine warmth for the second time since we’d begun our short trip.
“Yes, Melody. This is mine.”
Did I mention that I loved the way he said my name? It turned my brain filter to putty.
“You and what army?” I blurted childishly.
Spencer chuckled and I stiffened in shame. I needed duct tape and maybe an industrial lock for my lips.
Missy, thank God, tried to gain Spencer’s attention. I didn’t mind. When that man flashed his charming ghost of a smile my way things went awry in my brain.
“Spencer, this is a beautiful home!”
“Thank you.” He replied politely.
Jealousy blossomed at Mis
sy’s cultured tone and words. That was a completely acceptable way to compliment someone. Why couldn’t I do that? Before I could get too deep in my jealousy, I mentally grabbed a shovel and beat that ugly green monster into submission.
Bad boy! Bad boy!
Spencer came around for our door and opened it. We alighted from the cab and took in the spectacular view.
“Please, come in.” Spencer invited. I had to remind myself to close my mouth. Belize had its share of fancy houses, but I didn’t live in those neighborhoods. This was the first time I’d stepped foot in a residential that was so humbly extravagant.
“Would you like something to drink?” Spencer asked as he led us into the foyer. Immediately, I loved the room. The painted walls reminded me of lazy summer days in my grandmother’s house. I also recognized the frames hanging on the walls. My grandmother also loves seascape artwork. I recognized the artist’s vibrant brush strokes and Caribbean sunsets immediately.
“I’ll have a soda if you have it please,” Missy answered, shaking me back to the present. I looked up suddenly and my eyes landed on Spencer. As our gazes connected, his words from earlier in the office whispered in my ear.
I doubt she’s more beautiful than you.
I wondered if Spencer regretted that statement after seeing how exotically beautiful Missy was.
“No problem,” Spencer dipped his head in acknowledgement. “And you, Melody, what would you like?”
His words were low, smooth, tinged with something … else.
I croaked, “Are we still talking about beverages?”
Again that ghost smile appeared on his face, and then he laughed. I was coming to realize the only thing I liked better than Spencer Braden saying my name, was Spencer Braden’s laughter.
While our host excused himself to get our drinks, Missy and I were left alone. Miss Belize turned to me.
“Gyal, he so hot.” She said in Creole.
I couldn’t resist silently sharing the sentiment.
Missy licked her lips, “Gyal, I noh usually goh fi di whole Chini man ting but shoot, knock me down. He is fine.”
“Okay, Missy. Calm down.” I cautioned, disliking her enthusiasm.
“Do you think he likes me?”
He didn’t talk to you the entire time we were getting here.
I wanted to say, but the man in question’s footsteps echoed through the hall, severing further discussion. I clamped up and tried to pretend we hadn’t just been speaking about him. Spencer handed us our requests, Missy a Coke, me bottled water. He addressed us,
“Please have a seat.”
I started to sink into the adorable black leather couches (black seemed to be Spencer’s favorite furniture color).
“Not you Melody,” he said as my bottom touched the sleek sofa. I felt a pang of sadness. Those chairs looked positively heavenly.
“Come with me so you can verify all of your papers.”
Missy shot up, “I can help too!”
“No.” Spencer said with authority, like a man used to getting his way. “Just her.”
My heart rate sped up at his words. Missy pouted but did as she was told.
“We won’t be long.” Spencer shot back as he lightly grasped my elbow and guided me deeper into the house. I was never a touchy-feely person but Spencer had all permission to lay his hands on me. Not in that way, now. Don’t be dirty.
Plus, he could be leading me away into his torture chamber, where he sawed away at bodies and harvested their skin fragrance.
Hmf, I so needed to lay of the Lifetime Movie Channel.
With some trepidation in my heart, I followed this stranger deeper into his house.
“Hey Spencer,” I asked, when the silence and spookiness got to me, “When you defended me in the car, why didn’t you say anything about… earlier today?”
“You wanted me to?” He asked a smile in his voice.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” I clarified, “I was just curious. You didn’t have to look after me like that.”
“I did,” He stopped and looked down at me, “There’s something about you, Melody Reyes.” With that, he continued on his way. I shuffled to keep up with him,
“There’s something about Missy too, right?” I nudged the cool kids together, my matchmaking business at the forefront of my mind, “She’s pretty and smart and-”
“What are you doing?” he grinned down at me.
“I’m talking to you-”
“You’re throwing her at me. Why do you do that?”
Feeling frustrated with myself and with him and I flung my hands in the air, “I’m just being nice.”
“No, you’re being self-sacrificing.”
I scoffed, “You don’t know me.”
An eyebrow arched, “Nope,” he agreed, “But I’d love the chance to.”
He unlocked a door and it opened with a groan. Okay, that comment could have been made in the literal sense or the figurative one. I prayed to God it was the latter as I stepped through the threshold.
CHAPTER FIVE
We entered his office. It was – in a word – breathtaking. Instead of saws and scientific skin sucking equipment, books lined the walls from ceiling to floor. A cream colored carpet ran the length of the room. There was an old fashioned bracket desk and wicker chairs too. But all I could see were the books. Spellbound, I floated to the first bracket and ran my fingers down the spines. There were many first editions of eclectic genres Huckleberry Finn, the Lord of the Rings series, To Kill a Mockingbird… My eyebrow rose at Edgar Allen Poe’s collection of poetry.
Dark.
“What are you thinking, Melody Reyes?”
Spencer’s voice lured me from my book emersion. I turned to face him.
“You don’t want to know.”
He stepped forward, “Try me.”
I took a deep breath and willed my brain to function.
“I- I guess. I don’t know.” I faced the books once more.
“Come on,” Spencer coaxed, “Tell me.”
I trailed a finger over the spine of Steve Jobs’ biography.
“I’m listening to these books,” I admitted softly, spotting a first edition Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I paced to stand in front of one of my favorite romance novels, my back to Spencer, “And they’re all recommending you.”
I heard a soft shuffling and whirled to face him. Once again, he was closer than I’d thought. I backed up a step but could go no more. The bookshelf was at my back. In a soft voice Spencer asked,
“And what are your friends recommending me for?”
My brain shut down. All I could do was gather sensory information.
Fact 1: The books in the shelf behind me were digging into my back.
Fact 2: Hunky Man’s eyes were smoldering at me. And that smile, that crazy sexy ghost smile… it was doing … something.
Fact 3: Spencer Braden’s cologne should be bottled up and taken to the United States Area 51 because it was out of this world incredible.
The world around me slowed down. If a fly buzzed near my ear right now, I could snatch it with two chopsticks like Jackie Chan in that random karate movie.
“Um…” Was it just me or was he leaning closer.
“Ah,” I licked my lips. Once more the action seemed to captivate his attention. He was leaning closer. I put my hand on his chest to push him back but the contact only cemented me in place.
Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.
His face hovered inches from mine. Totally up in my personal space. Was he going to kiss me? Did I want him to kiss me?
I’d never been kissed before. Pathetic, I know. The closest I’d gotten was in Standard six when Keanu Thompson kissed my elbow by mistake. Okay, to call what happened “kissing” was stretching it a bit. What actually happened ran more along the lines of Keanu running into my elbow at 100 miles per hour and leaving the school needing three stitches for his lip. My elbow never recovered either. I still had some faint teeth marks to
prove it. After the whole Keanu lip to my elbow thing, I was deathly afraid of any boys putting their lips on mine. Keanu did some serious damage on my elbow, and that was a bone. Imagine what he could have done to my face.
But even if I had found the courage to do it, my parents were super strict and I knew for a fact that it was my dad who started the rumor about sharpening his machete every day to my Standard five class.
Wait, what was I thinking? I didn’t even know this man!
“Spencer,” I whimpered. I’d never known I could whimper. I wasn’t a whimpering kind of girl. But there I was, whimpering it up. Spencer put his hand above my head, caging me in. No part of him touched me but I felt like all of me was on fire. He leaned even closer… I closed my eyes, expectant, scared.
“Do you like this one?”
He pulled out the Jane Austen book I’d been eyeing and straightened.
Holy Espadrillos.
I’d almost suffered a heart attack for Pride and Prejudice?
“Why would you do that?” I accused, putting my hand on my galloping heart.
“Do what?” He asked innocently, book in hand.
I had no words.
Ghost smile firmly in place, Spencer withdrew to the back of his desk and pulled sheaves of paper from a drawer. Splaying them on the desk’s ample surface, he picked one up. I recognized the writing on the back.
“Hey that’s one!”
Spencer smirked and turned the page he held toward me. A long snake traveled the length of one side along with a Veggietale inspired vegetable basket. Which looked more like a Hanes underwear commercial gone wrong.
“You still had time for notes?” Spencer arched an eyebrow.
“Everything on this paper is relevant to my case study.” I rushed to defend myself.
“Mmhm, so,” Spencer peered at the paper, “Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber are very helpful in tourism bond modifications.”
I snatched the paper from his hand, “Yes,” I said primly, “Wait, you know Veggietales?” Veggietales is a cartoon about vegetables that live on a counter, apparently near a computer that spurts Scripture verses. Every week, a child writes to the vegetables and they act out a Bible story, Veggietale-style. It’s actually quite hilarious. I still watch it on Saturday mornings.
