The Glass House

by Bettina Wolfe

  “Table for two?” the petite, bored-looking hostess asks.

  “Yes,” I reply, “outside, please, by the water.”

  We follow the young woman outside to the patio with a scenic view of the harbor. I take a seat next to Val. A waitress appears, placing two menus on the table and then walks away. Only two nearby tables are occupied.

  At one table, a middle-aged couple sits across from each other, sharing an appetizer. At the other, two young blonde women sit close to each other in deep conversation. I glance briefly at both tables and then turn to look at Val.

  “Thanks for picking this place,” she says. “It's so serene; it’s just what I needed.”

  “I thought it would do the trick, noticing how entranced you were with the waterfall photo.”

  She smiles at me and then peeks at the menu. The waitress soon interrupts us, apologizing, and takes our order.

  “So how long have you lived in Vegas?” I ask.

  “Too long,” she says, rolling her eyes, “a little more than two years now.”

  “By the sound of your voice, I take it that it’s not working out for you.”

  “It's not. That town is definitely not for me. I have only two friends I can trust, one of them my roommate.”

  “I imagine it would be tough dating in Sin City. I've been visiting Vegas the past couple of years for conventions but only stay a few days at a time. I assume living there is not all it's cracked up to be.”

  “That’s putting it mildly; it’s the land of twenty-four-seven entertainment with constant distractions. The bright lights, the so-called ‘glitz and glamour,’” she air quotes the words, “not my style. I suppose, though, if you’re into dating cheaters or addicts, then you’d be in the right place,” she sighs.

  “Ouch, it's that bad?”

  “Well, I can't vouch for anyone else, but sadly that has been my experience so far.”

  “Think of it this way, if you didn't live in the land of glitter and garbage and hadn’t waited on me that day, we would never have met.”

  “Yeah, I suppose you could look at it that way.” Her lips curl up in a cautious smile.

  Leaning into the table, I place my hand on top of hers. “You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen—so deep and soulful.”

  “Thank you,” she replies, fidgeting in her seat, “must be the eyeliner.”

  “No, your eyes reveal your inner soul. I can see the light shining behind them.”

  The waitress returns with our food, placing a shrimp salad in front of Val and a bacon cheeseburger in front of me. I look up at her and order two piña coladas before she turns away.

  “I believe someone mentioned something about a tropical drink earlier,” I wink at Val.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?”

  “Only if you'll allow me to.” I smile devilishly at her.

  “So, enough of me,” she says, changing the subject. “Tell me something about you. Any family—brothers or sisters?”

  “Nope, I was orphaned at a young age.”

  “I’m sorry, do you want to tell me about it.”

  “Not really, next question.”

  “Have you ever been married?”

  Leaning back in my chair, I release a long breath while collecting my thoughts. They all seem to ask me that one.

  “I’ve been in a few relationships. Unfortunately, none of them worked out.”

  “Oh, why not?”

  “It seems I’ve never really had a clear picture of the type of woman I'm looking for.”

  “So, you were married then.”

  Picking up the burger with one hand, I take a bite of it and flash the peace sign.

  “Two times?” her brows knit together. “You’ve been married twice? What happened? Why didn’t they work out?” she glares at me.

  “As I said,” taking another bite of my burger, I chew it quickly and swallow. “I haven't found the right woman yet.”

  She glances down, and I see her staring at my untouched French fries. I slowly slide the plate closer to her.

  “What about you? Have you ever been married?”

  She munches a fry and then swipes another one. “Nope, never made that mistake, thankfully.”

  “Mistake?” I let out a laugh. “Honestly, I’m surprised someone like you is still on the market.”

  She picks up her drink and takes a long sip. I catch her rolling her eyes again.

  “Would you please excuse me,” she says, abruptly. “I need to go powder my nose.” Sliding her chair back, she stands up and reaches for her purse.

  “The ladies room is behind the bar and on the left,” I add, directing her.

  While waiting for Val to return, I gaze out at the harbor, admiring the boats moored in perfect lines. Some of them are yachts, which of course, I can’t afford… yet.

  But I’m definitely going to need a boat. It’s always been part of the plan. I’m thinking of a sailboat; it’s more my style anyway. I’ll have to learn to sail it from here and down along the coast. I’m sure it can't be that difficult, as long as I keep the shoreline in view.

  Speaking of views, the two blonde girls keep looking my way. Maybe they think I'm looking at them. I'm not, although I used to check out young women like them, wearing high heels and tight-fitting outfits, showing it all off and leaving little to the imagination.

  I smile back as the one on the right twirls her long, silky hair while gazing in my direction. I’ve still got it. I know I look good for my age. I eat right, take supplements, and work out every day.

  But those young women, while cute, are not what I want. Not this time. Those types of gals wish for someone to pay their bills and keep them accustomed to the highfalutin lifestyles they follow on social media. They’ll whine if they don't get their way or what they want. I don't have time for those types this time around. I've had my fill.

  I remind myself that those days are over, a thing of the past. Today I’m on a date with a woman I can talk to, a woman who listens, one I can control—a woman who could be the one.

  I gaze over at the gals one last time. Now they’re both staring in my direction. Focus, you need to focus.

  When Val returns, I can see the look in her eye. Unfortunately, it isn’t the look she was giving me before she left the table. No, it’s ‘the look,’ the one that starts arguments. I know it all too well because I’ve seen it too many times before. Why are women so damn insecure?

  But I’m not going there today. Nope, I’m not going to do it. Today of all days, I’m not in the mood to argue.

  As I reach into my pocket for my wallet, I see Val chewing the tip of the plastic straw in her now empty piña colada.

  “Are you ready to go?” I ask, throwing a fifty dollar bill on the table.

  3

  Valerie

  Although I had planned to stay in California for the long weekend, I only stayed one night. When we arrived back at David's condo, I told him I wasn’t feeling well—that the food didn't agree with me. I slept in the spare room and left, sneaking out early the next morning, so he wouldn’t hear me leave. He was passed out and snoring so loud that the sounds of him sawing wood filled the whole house.

  Once out the door, I grabbed a coffee at a little cafe two blocks from his condo and then headed for home.

  I don't think he realized how long I was standing behind him in the restaurant. I saw everything—the way he stared down those two young women, the exchange of sly smiles, the blatant flirting between them. It probably shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did, but I saw it as a red flag, one of many…

  The first red flag was the fact that he’d been married. Once would probably have been a warning—a yellow flag. But twice? To think he has two ex-wives somewhere out there. I wasn’t interested in being someone’s girl number three.

  What was that line he spewed? ‘I haven't found the right woman yet.’ Oh, please, spare me. He had more than one chance to get it right.


  The second red flag was that he was handsome—tall, dark hair, dark eyes, with a slender, athletic body. He had that sort of low-key, laid-back charm about him and was the outgoing type, maybe a little too much so. He had no problem attracting the ladies, young and old, with or without my presence. He appeared to fit the mold as most women's type.

  The third red flag was that he traveled for his job—a lot. He stayed in four-star hotels when attending conventions. After work, I imagined his evening dinners with colleagues easily transitioning into drink-filled nights that conveniently included young, single women. I knew the story all too well. I had seen it play out many times at the hotel—married men and the hired ‘party girls’ to entertain them. Their poor, clueless wives back home. It was beyond disgraceful.

  You’d think with three red flags, I would have deleted his number from my phone. He had sent me five texts while I was driving, which I didn’t reply to. But then he called me the minute I got home. When my cell phone rang, I accidentally hit the wrong button.

  “I was worried about you,” he said. “You left in such a hurry. I wanted to make sure you made it home safely.”

  Of course, it was the gentlemanly thing to do, considering I had just spent twelve out of twenty-four hours driving back and forth for a man I barely knew.

  “I feel bad you drove all this way for one night. I’d like to make it up to you.”

  I had sensed a hint of remorse in his voice.

  “Was it something I said? Something I did?” he had asked on the phone that night. I didn't feel the need to tell him or bring up the situation. It wasn’t worth it, so I just let it go and kept to my story of not feeling well.

  I had thought we were off to a good start. Throughout my life, I mostly dated men my age. Since he was a decade older than me, I thought it would be nice to be with someone a little older and a little wiser. Being an old soul myself, I thought I might have found my match.

  “We were having such a great time,” he added. “We were supposed to hang out at the beach today and watch the sunset together.”

  I thanked him for dinner, sharing my disappointment about missing the sunset on the beach.

  “Maybe another time,” I said, quickly ending the call.

  Who was I kidding? The moment my words hit the air, I planned on never seeing him again.

  On Tuesday afternoon, at the hotel, I was on my way to the employee break room when I ran into Nicole, one of the cocktail servers.

  “Lucky lady,” she said in passing, as she headed down the hallway.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ll see,” she called out, disappearing around the corner.

  Upon entering the room, there sat a large vase of red-tipped yellow roses. Someone had placed a sticky note on the vase with a smiley face and my name written on it. As I leaned over, inhaling the fragrance, I noticed a tiny envelope tied to the ribbon around the vase. Slipping the card out, I squinted to read the small print.

  ‘Let's start over, xo, David.’

  I wasn't sure what to think but was thankful my supervisor wasn't around to play a game of fifty questions. I hoped Nicole would keep her big mouth shut and cover for me until I could take them out of there after my shift.

  When I walked through the front door of my rental after midnight, Cindy was lying on the sofa watching TV.

  “Ooh, pretty! Looks like someone has an admirer,” she trilled. Sitting up to reach for the remote, she turned the volume down. “Do tell.”

  “They’re from David with a note that read, ‘let's start over.’” I set the vase on the dining table.

  “Are you going to give him a second chance?” she asked, picking up her phone.

  “I don't know. I'm too tired to think about it right now.” Kicking off my shoes, I flopped down on the sofa beside her.

  “Hey, listen to this. Yellow means happiness, friendship, and new beginnings.”

  “But these have red tips… so what does that mean?”

  “Let’s see,” she said, tapping her fingernails on the screen. “According to this site, it says friendship deepening to love.” She looked over at me, making googly-eyes. “Maybe he’s falling in love?”

  “Well, if he is, he's a little too late.”

  “Oh, come on, Val, give the guy a chance. He can't be any worse than the string of losers you’ve dated. You know you’re never going to find a decent guy in this town. Not one that will live up to your standards,” she added.

  “Are you saying I have high standards?” I huffed.

  “No, you just did.”

  She's right; I had set the bar high. I had pretty much given up on dating. The only time I had ever been in love was a decade ago.

  My first boyfriend was my high school sweetheart, a seven year relationship that lasted six years too long. During those years, I must've worn the thickest pair of rose-colored glasses ever made.

  All the girls loved Joey. He was one of a few, if not the cutest boy in school. Joey knew he was hot with his olive skin and mop of black hair. He had asked me out for junior prom, and upon graduation, we moved in together.

  At the time, we had nothing but love between us, or so I thought. I worked at the mall selling cosmetics, and Joey worked construction. Every Friday we’d go out for dinner and then dancing. We both loved to dance and spent many weekends in downtown nightclubs, drinking and dancing the night away. “You're so much fun when you drink,” he would say, his all-time favorite line.

  Some people have innocent fun when they drink and become the life of the party… giddy, happy drunks. Not Joey. When Joey drank, his mood darkened, and he became possessive. When Joey got drunk, he became mean—nasty mean, dangerously mean. In his fits of jealous rage, I would duck and dodge as he hurled toasters and knives through the air. In his darkest times, he would threaten me, marking his territory and anger all over my body. In the middle of summer, I had no choice but to wear long-sleeved shirts to hide the deep purple bruises that covered my arms.

  Our relationship ended with one final blow to my head. I had blacked out and was rushed to the hospital one cold, winter night. His balled-up fist coming straight at my face was the last I ever saw of him.

  At times, when I focus on the scar in the mirror, marking my face, I’m reminded of a relationship gone bad. Even though it had happened long ago, I haven’t been able to trust men and their motives fully. After that one and a few other failed relationships, my faith in men had been tainted.

  “Hey, you okay,” I heard Cindy say off in the distance.

  “Yeah, I'm fine,” I said, massaging my forehead.

  “You were in another zone, completely checked out of our conversation.”

  “Sorry, flashback,” I got up from the sofa and drifted to the kitchen for a glass of water.

  “Don’t you just hate those?”

  Cindy didn’t know about Joey or my past, and I was too tired and ashamed to share. I always hated to think of myself as an abused victim.

  “Did you at least send him a text to thank him for the flowers?”

  “No, didn’t have a chance as I was slammed at work.”

  “Well, personally, I wouldn’t let a guy who looks like that slip away so fast.”

  How does she know what he looks like? She’s never met him.

  “How do you know what he looks like?” I asked perplexed.

  “I googled him.”

  “You googled him? Why?”

  “I don’t know, curious, I guess.”

  I paused for a moment and stared at the TV.

  “So what exactly does he do at Lemon Export? Export lemons?” She laughed.

  “You mean Limón.” Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. “It’s pronounced like this, ‘lee’ and ‘mon’… together.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Sales, from his title.”

  At one a.m., Cindy was wide awake and trying to keep the conversation going. But at that point, I wanted to be alone, listen to some meditation music, and
drift off to sleep.

  As I entered my bedroom, I unclasped my necklace and walked over to my dresser. Draping my butterfly pendant over my open jewelry box, I glanced down and saw David's business card inside.

  Cindy must have been snooping around my room while I was gone. That’s so unlike her, I had thought. Why the sudden interest in my life and the men I'm dating?

  4

  David

  I stand in the living room, swirling a glass of Merlot, admiring the toucan on my wall. I think back to the day when I took the photo, recalling the moments leading up to the shot. I had that beautiful bird eating out of the palm of my hand. Mango, if I remember correctly.

  I reflect on this past weekend. I almost had Val eating from my hand—almost had her where I wanted her. But instead of us enjoying a lazy Sunday together, she flew the coop.

  Taking a long sip of wine, I savor the flavor in my mouth. The fruity sweetness zaps me back to the present moment.

  A day has passed, and no word from Val. I'm sure she’s received the flowers I sent. I tracked the order, so I know they were delivered. I hope I didn't cause any trouble for her at the hotel as I had no other place to send them.

  Should I call or maybe text her? Or will she think I'm stalking her again? That’s the strange thing about women, if you come on too strong, you're accused of harassment. If you wait a day or two, they think you've lost interest. Such beautiful but complicated beings they are.

  But not my Val, she can be trained. I saw it the moment I looked into her eyes—her big, beautiful hazel eyes. They mesmerize me. Behind her eyes shines a bright, beautiful soul. I need her. I need light in my life to wash away the darkness.

  I never intended to go to the dark side; the dark side found me. One taste was all it took. One enchanted evening my interest was piqued by a world unknown to me. It soon became my obsession. From the moment I awoke until the wee hours of the morning, I was consumed. I couldn't get enough. I had to know more. Deeper and deeper, I searched, absorbing the information. I never knew such things existed, hiding in plain sight. Some days it was too hard to take. It was all too consuming. There are things I wish I had never seen, never stumbled upon. But now it's too late. Pandora's box had been opened.