Seven Days of Friday (Women of Greece Book 1)

by Alex A King

  Max is fire, but he’s not destined for her fireplace.

  And Vivi isn’t an asshole.

  She’s not like him – John’s boyfriend.

  It’s a problem. No painless fix, either.

  Yeah, they could be friends, she and Max. But what happens when he’s married and she’s in love?

  She’s doing her best not to care. Melissa and olives are her future, not Max. And in the immediate future there is Takis and his cheese and his goats.

  Vivi likes goats and cheese, and in time she might like Takis.

  * * *

  The goats are less curious today, too busy eating stuff that shouldn’t be edible. Biff takes a long drink out of their trough, then goes to chill with his bleating peeps.

  Takis is sitting outside the shed, hand-rolled cigarette bobbing on his lip, peeling an apple with a pocketknife. He’s wearing a shirt that was clean maybe ten years ago. Vivi is an optimist.

  “You want?” Apple pinched between his fingers and knife, he offers the slice.

  She wants. It makes her a child again, grasping a giant apple in her hands, teeth grazing the shiny skin. The apple slice is all juice and sugar.

  Before she can bite again, Takis stands.

  “Now we have work to do. I hope you're strong.” Sounds ominous. “First, go wash your hands and arms, over there. Use soap.” He points to the outdoor pump near the trough. A fat bar of soap sits in a plastic tub on top of the pump, up high where the goats can’t eat it. It’s covered in leaves.

  The soap has an odd green tint.

  Olive oil, maybe?

  Olive empire expanding in her head (Vivi Tyler, a modern day Onassis), she goes back to Takis. He’s in the shed, slicing the curd into strips. When he’s done cutting one way, he gives Vivi the knife.

  “Now you cut.”

  She cuts.

  “Smaller pieces!”

  Smaller pieces.

  “Now you mix – use your hands,” he says when she’s done cutting.

  “What, all of it?”

  A dull ache sets into her shoulder. Her neck muscles are starting to whine. Her body doesn’t like the burn, but her head does.

  “Put your arms all the way in and break up the curd. It won't kill you. The wetness you feel in there is the whey. Soon we will drain it.”

  That explains the cheesecloth and bucket nearby.

  Takis presses the loosely woven fabric down into the large bucket, clips the overflowing edges to the side with clothespins. When he’s satisfied, he nods.

  “I just scoop them in?”

  “What else would you do? Sing them a song? Dance?” He slaps his thigh, cackling, coughing.

  “Wise guy.”

  Doesn’t take long. When only the whey is left, she looks up for directions.

  “Pour it in. We will use it later for the brine. Feta becomes too dry if you do not keep it covered in liquid. Now, tie a big knot in the end of the cloth. Then take sieve, place it on the bucket, sit the cloth on top of it.”

  It goes okay.

  Exhausted, she drops into the chair. “Now will you tell me about the olives?”

  Takis makes a sucking sound through his teeth. “You have a child?”

  “A daughter. Melissa is fifteen.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “With a friend.”

  “Girl friend or boy friend?”

  “Girl friend.”

  “Yes? Are you sure?”

  “Melissa wouldn't lie to me.”

  Would she?

  “Bah! Children always lie. But at least children only lie to others. Men, women, they lie to others and themselves.”

  Now she notices the black band he wears high on his shirtsleeve. Takis is a man in mourning.

  “Do you have children?”

  “Eh, three. And many grandchildren. They have their own lives. They do not come around so much since their mama passed.”

  “I'm sorry. When did she pass?”

  “Twenty years, but it still feels as fresh as that cheese.”

  Drip, drip. The curds slowly expel their whey.

  “Pain doesn't get much fresher than that,” she says slowly.

  He shoves her out the door. “Come back tomorrow.”

  “Then will you teach me about the olives?”

  “Eh . . . Probably not.”

  62

  MELISSA

  THE HILL WON’T QUIT, and neither will Melissa.

  Olivia is panting beside her. The football fields are somewhere up ahead – allegedly. Behind them is an unraveling mile of Greek road.

  Olivia says, “Look at you, Little Miss Eager Beaver.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The other day you were practically shitting yourself at the idea of meeting boys, and now you're totally wetting your pants to watch them play soccer.”

  “Am not. This hill sucks, that’s all.”

  “You're practically desperate. Be careful,” Olivia says. “Boys can smell desperation a mile away. You don't want to be too eager. Flirt with some other boys, too. It'll drive him crazy.”

  It’s dating advice straight out of Cosmo, circa some other decade.

  When they get to the top of the hill, the game is on. Melissa spots Thanasi at the far end playing goalkeeper.

  It’s a fan club up here. More girls than boys watching on the sidelines.

  Olivia reads her mind. Melissa hates it when she does that. It’s like an invasion of privacy.

  “Don't look so pissy, Tyler. Competition is good. We just have to prove we're way hotter. And we are. Let's go.”

  They go to where they can see Thanasi without a zoom. Close enough that Melissa can see the outline of his –

  “Don't stare so hard. Remember what I said, look at other guys too. Practice looking at them like they're a delicious candy bar. Like this.”

  Olivia makes a weird duck face. Very MySpace (which is dead), very Facebook (which is death spiraling). No way is Melissa going to copy her and sit here looking like Nemo.

  She doesn’t know anything about soccer, but it looks like Thanasi is good at what he does. All her smiling and cheering pays off.

  “Chill, Tyler,” Olivia warns her.

  “I am chilling.”

  “Stop smiling so hard.”

  She tries, but her face has other plans.

  After the game, Thanasi jogs over to them, and Melissa says, “See? My way worked fine.”

  Not a word from Olivia; Vassili is running their way and she’s duck facing even harder.

  Yeah, not laughing at her is HARD.

  “You came,” Thanasi says, out of breath. “How did I look?”

  “Great! I don't think I've watched soccer before.”

  “Here we call it football. Do you know how to play?”

  Melissa shakes her head.

  “Here, let me show you.”

  He walks her to the net. His fingers curl around her hand. Heat shoots up her arm, makes her face all bright and shiny.

  He moves her into position. “Stay.”

  A group of girls hovering nearby glare at her, but she doesn’t care. He picked her, didn’t he?

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  He moves behind her, brushes her ponytail aside. “That's all there is to football. You stand there until the ball comes close, then you kick it.” His hands rest on her hips, chin drops onto her shoulder. “I want to kiss you.”

  Something sucks her guts out, fills the space with hot water. “Here?”

  “We can go over there.” He indicates the dense woods surrounding the field.

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “If we don’t go there, I’ll kiss you here.”

  No Olivia anywhere. She must have gone off into the woods with Vassili. So Melissa goes, too.

  Mom would K-I-L-L her. Good thing she’ll never know.

  When they reach the tree line she says, “Okay. But not too far.”

  Does she mean don’t go too far mak
ing out, or into the trees? Same thing really, she figures.

  As soon as the field is out of sight, Thanasi stops.

  “You've done this with other boys, yes?”

  Can’t speak. Only nod.

  Once, but who’s counting?

  (Answer: Melissa.)

  She presses her lips to his, expecting a gentle touch. But Thanasi’s all open mouth and tongue, and he’s daring her to do the same. So she does it, opens her mouth and moves her tongue against his. They’re like eels, she thinks, wet and slippery, fighting over bread someone tossed into the pond.

  She’s excited, turned on. Disgusted.

  Now he’s getting all handsy, working the button on her shorts, tugging the zipper down, down.

  Melissa freezes. She’s wearing old underwear, ones with bees buzzing all over her butt. Kids’ underwear.

  No way does she want Thanasi thinking she’s a little kid.

  She wriggles away.

  “You don't like me?”

  She likes him.

  But his tongue is a square peg in her round mouth. And Melissa has a feeling both pieces should be squares, or round, or whatever. She’s also fifteen (and Thanasi is super cute), which means she’s worried her piece is the wrong shape – not his.

  “I like you. And I really want to hang with you again. But I have to go.”

  She bolts, stupid kid.

  Vassili is on the field, talking to a group of girls. He waves and she flips a lame wave back. Wherever Olivia is, it’s not with him.

  “Are you going so soon?” he calls out.

  “Parents,” she says.

  He laughs like he knows. “Parents!”

  * * *

  Home again.

  Mom is in the kitchen poring over a picture book.

  Biff’s a life support system for a wagging tail.

  “How's my ickle bickle puppy doggie?”

  Mom looks up, smiles. “Hey, Honey. Olivia not coming in today?”

  “Nope. She had to go.”

  “What did you girls do today? Anything fun?”

  She shrugs. “Nothing much. What about you?”

  “Nothing much.”

  63

  VIVI

  MAY BLEEDS INTO JUNE. The heat is sharpening Vivi’s edges. She’s tense, jittery. Needs something to do with these hands.

  Pretty much every morning, St George’s bells chime. Bright, cheerful peels in honor of saints’ days; slow, mournful monotone when they’re putting someone in the ground.

  Flowers come almost every day, sans note. And Biff is no Dr Watson. Does he bark when the mysterious florist sneaks onto her property?

  Nope.

  Eleni always hogs the flowers. They die in jars all over her room. Every day she calls her husband and leaves a message on the machine, but she refuses to speak with him directly. She wants the poor man on his knees, crawling.

  Vivi spends a couple of days painting her aunt’s bathroom a pale, inoffensive pink. Not an Eleni Pappas eye bleeder. Thea Dora gets a new toilet, too. No more hole-in-the-ground. No more squatting. She took one look at Vivi’s new bathroom and she coveted – hard.

  What was Vivi to do?

  Renovate, of course. She’s grateful for the time filler.

  When it’s all done, her aunt waddles in, carrying a bulky bag.

  “My Virgin Mary, it is a paradise! I am almost afraid to use it.”

  “You won't feel that way after a glass or two of frappe,” Eleni says.

  A painted wooden box tumbles out of the bag. Two compartments: one wide, one narrow.

  “There,” Thea Dora says, with a satisfied smile. “Now I have somewhere to put my crochet and my TV Guide.”

  Whatever works.

  “Now we need to get ready for the party,” Thea Dora continues.

  Uh . . .“Party?”

  “Yes, you have a new house, I have a new bathroom, so we will make a party at your house this weekend. Apostoli will be there early to make the kokoretsi and put the lamb on the spit.

  Vivi can’t help herself: she invites Max.

  Because she and Max have a thing. Not a romantic thing – a friend thing.

  And because she’s an idiot.

  * * *

  The afternoons d-r-a-a-a-a-a-g.

  Vivi can’t sleep. Too hot, too dry, too used to not sleeping during the day. She’s a woman, not a cat.

  After the first week, she doesn’t bother trying. Instead, she uses the time. Takes lots of notes. Business ideas, research, hours and hours with her good friend Google.

  Takis hasn’t ponied up the (olive) goods, yet. That man is all about the cheese and the cryptic messages.

  If the hot afternoons take, the nights give.

  Greece is a different woman after dark. Her flower-scented breeze refills Vivi’s reservoir. Without the nights she’d be a parched husk with nothing to give her family.

  Another reason to love the night: Max almost always comes, because (sigh) Vivi never sent him the “We can’t be friends” memo.

  And now she’s pretty fucked, in the figurative sense.

  Everyone goes to bed, and Vivi carries a cool glass of spring water to the back porch. She sits, sips, listens to the trees conspire.

  On the good nights, she hears the Jeep’s tires kicking stones, throwing dirt. The engine clicks off, leaving a heavy, fraught silence in its place. Doesn’t take long for Max to slide into the second chair.

  Sometimes they don’t speak, other times they can’t stop.

  But their hands, their bodies, are constantly caged.

  One night, he says, “I lost a patient today.”

  Grief bends him into a new, sad shape. He sits, head in hands, heart on sleeve.

  It could have been Melissa. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I am, too. It's not right. Death is natural, but not when it’s a child.”

  She goes quiet, lets him use the silence his own way.

  “The boy had asthma. The first we've had. It's not common in Greece. Instead of weaning him off steroids as I instructed, one of the other doctors cut him off completely. The relapse happened quickly and his heart and lungs gave out.”

  “My God, the poor baby. What will the family do? Do you think they'll sue?”

  It’s dark, his head a shaking outline. “You are thinking like an American, Vivi. The boy has no family. He came to us from the orphanage. He leaves no one behind who will miss him. I should have been there.”

  “It's not your fault, Max.”

  A fox appears out of nowhere. Time stretches as the fox satisfies its curiosity, watching them watching. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it melts back into the shadows.

  “Do you miss your husband?”

  Good question. Does she miss John or does she miss the intermittent companionship he provided?

  “I miss who he could have been, who he never was – with me, at least. It’s nice sharing a life with someone, until they throw you away and you discover they’ve been sharing that life with someone else.”

  “Were you ever unfaithful?”

  “There was only ever John.”

  The night grabs its stars, its moon, and moves slightly west.

  “Did you want to be unfaithful?”

  “I wanted someone to think I was the most beautiful woman in the world. I wanted to love and be loved exclusively, even if I wasn't being loved by John. I craved passion and romance, but wouldn’t have taken it from the first hand that offered it to me. I would have wanted to, though. Is that infidelity? I'm not sure, maybe.”

  This is a first, admitting to another person what a soul sucking void her marriage had been. Vivi doesn’t like to cry and tell.

  “What about you? Do you plan to be faithful to this woman your mother wants you to marry?”

  “Vivi . . .”

  “Go on. I gave you an honest answer.”

  Tick, tick, tick.

  “Yes. She will be my wife and I will be faithful.”

  “Good.”


  “Is it? Anastasia is very beautiful, but . . . It’s a difficult relationship. Anastasia loves my work, but is jealous of it at the same time.”

  “She loves that you’re a doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “With all the financial rewards that field can bring?”

  “Yes. You make it sound as if she just wants me for my money.”

  Vivi laughs. “Come on, you have plenty of other charms to offer a woman. Besides, money isn't always that big an incentive. Not all of us want someone rich.”

  “I'm not so sure about that.”

  “You're cynical for someone who's never been married. Some women who want money actually go out and make it for themselves.”

  “Like you?”

  “I have to support myself and Melissa somehow. And look at Soula. She works hard to make her living in real estate, and she's very good at it.”

  “Only until she finds a husband.”

  Vivi laughs until it clicks he’s not joking.

  “You've got to be kidding if you think Soula will give up her independence entirely when – if – she gets married.”

  “She will when she has children.”

  “Lots of women who have children work. Being a mother isn’t a disability. You're an educated man, you know I'm right.”

  “Perhaps. But the mother of my children won't need to work.”

  “Need and want are two different things, Max. You may find your fiancé won't want to give up her work.” They say nothing for a minute. “You're serious, aren't you?”

  “Of course. It's the traditional Greek way.”

  “So is arranged marriage, but you don't seem to care for that too much.” Vivi shuts up because she’s gone too far, and Max is a friend. “Sorry, that was rude.”

  Two chests rise and fall in the dark.

  “Sorry,” she says, quieter this time.

  He stands and stomps to the porch’s edge. He’s going to leave and it’s her fault for being pushy. But he doesn’t. He turns back and their solitary spheres collide.

  Max grabs her, steadies her, doesn’t let go.

  Vivi doesn’t mind. If he wants to hold on forever, that’s okay with her.

  Except: she’s not an asshole.

  Is she?