The Glass House

by Bettina Wolfe

  “You say it like it's a bad thing.”

  “No, it's not bad, but everything has its place. For instance, if I bring home the bacon and you fry it, why does there have to be fifty questions about it? Can't you just cook the bacon so we can enjoy it together? I do my part, and you do yours. That sort of thing.”

  “So basically, correct me if I'm wrong, what you're saying is you want a fifty-fifty relationship, give and take.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ve never had that before?”

  “Most started out that way. Both parties are on their best behavior in the beginning. But then over time, little grievances build up, and things go sideways, or south in my case.”

  “How long did they last?”

  “Around seven years each,” he stabbed at the beef, setting the fork aside.

  “Ahh, the seven-year itch.”

  “I don't buy into that notion. It is what it is, and it is what it was.”

  He seemed slightly irritated, and I didn't want to push the issue. I didn't want to come across as a nag, which would surely dishearten him. Besides, who was I to judge? I know relationships can be tough; mine had failed.

  The lights dimmed and the salsa music grew louder. David started moving to the rhythm, and my mind drifted back to my younger days when I had spent weekends dancing the night away.

  At one point, I had come close to marrying Joey, my high school sweetheart. That was before he started drinking heavily and subsequently cheating on me. I’ve had my guard up ever since, not being able to trust a man or men in general. And then moving to Vegas didn't help matters. If anything, it had only made things worse. The thought of meeting a decent man only existed in my dreams.

  Years ago, I kept having the same recurring dream. I was a passenger in a car being driven by an older, dark-haired man. The dream was just one scene, a continual road trip. I was very comfortable with the man in my dreams as we traveled along winding roads in deep conversation.

  Every so often, my dream man would take his eyes off the road, glance over at me with a smile, and reach for my hand.

  “Would you like to dance?” I heard a voice speak in the distance.

  “Val! Earth to Val.”

  Upon hearing my name, I turned and saw David smiling at me, his hand outstretched, reaching toward mine.

  My heart skipped a beat—his face. I had seen it before, the man in my dreams—the dark-haired, slightly older gentleman. Oh my goodness, could it be? Could I have conjured up David from my dreams?

  “Is everything okay?” he asked, his head tilted to the side.

  I just sat there staring at him, studying him.

  “Why the strange look? I only asked if you wanted to dance.”

  “Yeah, sure, why not,” I slowly rose from the chair, my legs unsteady beneath me after three glasses of sangria.

  Lacing his fingers through mine, he led me to the small dance floor as the music changed. The sound of the conga drums faded away, replaced by a different, slower-paced tempo.

  David pulled me close, one hand supporting my back and the other holding my hand while steadying my arm. I followed his lead. We began swaying side to side, cheek to cheek, being careful not to step on each other’s toes. The temperature between us soon heated up as he spun me around and dipped me to the side, hovering over me with a penetrating gaze.

  “Do you know what they call this type of dancing?” he asked.

  “Not sure, exactly,” I said, maneuvering to the left. “You’re mixing steps from several styles of dance.”

  “I do like to mix it up a bit. Keep things fresh.”

  “It feels like you’re making it up as you go along.” My head was spinning from too many twirls, coupled with too much sangria.

  “I’m going to call this one the hummingbird tango,” he said, gazing deep into my eyes. “I hope you remember what I said earlier. It’s imperative.”

  “Oh, what was that?”

  He pulled me in closer, his lips trailing along my neck as he whispered in my ear. “I only tango with one woman.”

  10

  David

  Last night was fun with a capital F. The most fun I’ve had in a long time. I am on my best behavior this time around. I’ll need to keep the alcohol flowing with this one; she seems to open up more and relax when she’s had a cocktail or two. I need someone who can loosen up, someone who can go with the flow—my flow. I can’t handle another uptight woman. They’ve never been my style anyway.

  I have to say, though, I’m going to need to take her shopping. Her taste in lingerie differs from mine. I like things much more form-fitting and revealing. Let's just say less cotton and more spandex.

  She must realize men are visual creatures. At least the men I know. Sure we let our eyes linger when an attractive woman passes by, even when we’re with you. We’re not dead, for heaven’s sake, we have testosterone running through our veins—twenty-four-seven.

  But when a woman’s not dressed the way we prefer, when they’re too covered up, we have to imagine what they’d look like less covered up. It’s more work on our part, and I have enough on my plate right now. I need a woman who will wear the clothes I buy her, not stick them in the back of her closet as if ashamed to own them.

  Take last night, for example, the two good-looking women who were dining next to us at the restaurant. The blonde to our left, on vacation with her boyfriend. The brunette to our right, having dinner with her husband. Both were dressed in provocative attire—outfits more to my liking.

  But you didn't notice me leering at them. No, not this time, I made sure of it. I had to sneak a peek here and there when you weren't looking. One of those times was when you were devouring your dish of patacones. It was quite a generous portion they gave you, and it’s a good thing I shared with you. You’ll need to go easy on the fried food if you are going to be with a man like me. Fried food is a quick way to pack on extra pounds. And I like my women curvy, not plump. You'll need to know and remember that detail.

  I suppose I could pay for a personal trainer if you go beyond my desired weight range. But that's just another expense I don't need right now. I could be your personal trainer if I had to. I would work those extra pounds off you—free of charge.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself. You still have curves in all the right places. We just have to make sure we keep them where they belong.

  I mean let's be honest; I’m not going to lie. When we met, you were a cocktail waitress. You captured my attention. That little uniform of yours fitted you perfectly, showing off your shapely body. When you leaned over, setting the glass on the table, you wouldn’t want to know what I was thinking. If you did, you probably would've reached out and slapped me across the face.

  But when my eyes met yours, I could tell you were different, unlike the others. The other gals are there to work what they got, shake their little tail feathers in hopes of landing a rich guy to whisk them away in some fairytale romance. But I don't believe in fairy tales.

  When I first saw you, I could tell you were there to work and earn a living. You kept things professional when we spoke. Then over time, you opened up a little. Not too much, but enough to share your hopes and dreams. Dreams you’re determined to fulfill on your own.

  Sometimes, though, it's not that easy. In some instances, we could all use a little help. That’s where I come in. I like to help. I like to fix things. I'm really good at fixing things. You'll see. Time will tell, but time is ticking away. I have to make sure we're on the same timeframe.

  Speaking of time, we'll be leaving shortly for our next destination. I hope you like what I have in store for you. Do you like surprises? On second thought, you don't strike me as the type of woman who does. You’re probably more organized and would rather be prepared and ready for things ahead of time. Am I right?

  I stroll over by your window and peek into your room. I can see you packing right now, preparing to head out on our next adventure. I do hope you'll be okay with the
small island hopper plane. I hope you don't scream and squirm in your seat like the last one did when we landed on the tiny airstrip.

  I told her to remain calm and to hold onto my hand as the plane dipped toward the sea. I told her not to worry and not to be scared that the pilot had flown the route a thousand times and that he could land the plane with his eyes closed. But she refused to listen. She just kept screaming and crying; she lost all control. I don't like it when things are out of control. I don't like it when women don't comply with my wishes.

  She didn't obey me that day. Needless to say, it didn't end well.

  11

  Valerie

  The next morning I had woken up to David’s arm wrapped around my waist. Prying myself from his grip, I quietly dressed and crept out of the room to fetch some coffee. We had a plane to catch and couldn’t be late since it was the only flight available that day.

  Once we arrived at the airport, we picked up our tickets and hopped on a shuttle bus that drove us to the tarmac. We boarded a small airplane, and less than an hour later landed along the Caribbean Sea.

  When our taxi pulled up to The Green Tree House, I was thrilled to see it was located by the ocean. With its open-air wooden houses nestled in the trees, we were steps away from the white sand beach.

  We were greeted by a young tanned and toned couple who managed the ecolodge. They informed us of the yoga classes, water sports, and guided tours around the area. David had mentioned he wanted to go zip-lining, but the excitement quickly faded from his eyes when I shared my great fear of heights.

  “We may have to change rooms then?” he said, turning to me.

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I cautiously followed David over a sloped wooden suspension bridge that led to our room—the treehouse room. As the walkway swayed and bounced under my feet, I was thankful it was only about fifty feet long and ten feet high.

  Inside the room, massive tree trunks rose up from the floor. Off to the right was a small kitchenette and to the left, a king-sized bed with a white mosquito net draped above it. The best feature of the treehouse was the wrap-around deck with a panoramic view of the ocean. David slid one of the windows open, and we listened to the sound of the crashing waves.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked, a wide smile appearing on his face.

  “This is a really cool place. I've never been anywhere like it.”

  “I apologize for the room; I had no idea you were afraid of heights. Do you want me to see if there’s a ground level room available?”

  “No, it’s fine; we're here now.”

  “Okay, well, you take the bed and I’ll take the hammock out on the deck.”

  “You don't have to.”

  “I have no problem sleeping out there. I can’t remember the last time I slept in one.”

  “But the mosquitoes will eat you alive.”

  “Well, in that case, maybe that tiny couch turns into a bed,” he said, pointing to the love seat in the middle of the room. “I can sleep there.”

  Fixing his gaze on me, I could tell what he was thinking. From the look in his eyes, he was thinking of the previous night.

  “Although we seemed to do okay last night sharing a bed,” his eyes wandering over to the king-sized bed. “I think there's enough room for both of us.”

  I nodded slowly, feeling my face flush. I walked over to the window and looked out through the trees to the blue ocean waters. As a gentle breeze blew through my hair, I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with the fresh sea air.

  Moments later, I felt David approach me from behind. With his hands running over my shoulders and down my back, he then wrapped his arms around my waist, whispering in my ear.

  “We have five nights here before we head back home. Let’s make the most of it.”

  It was a relaxing week and I spent every day lounging on the beach. David worked from the room in the mornings, making phone calls and typing on his laptop. He would join me for lunch and we’d hang out for a few hours before dinner. We did yoga, went horseback riding, and hiked to see the waterfalls, traversing though the rainforest.

  On our last night, David had a surprise for me. We went out to eat at a romantic beachfront restaurant, and he ordered a bottle of champagne.

  “What are we celebrating?” I asked.

  “I want you to know that I've had one of the best weeks I’ve ever had. I like being with you, our conversation flows, and I’m comfortable around you.” He took a quick sip of his drink, studying me. “I was thinking since you lost your job and mentioned you were interested in moving to California…” his voice trailed off.

  I leaned in, reaching for my champagne and took a long sip.

  “As I was saying, I think you should move. You should come live with me.”

  Gripping the glass, I took another sip and swallowed. “You can't be serious?”

  “Why not? What do we have to lose? If you don't like it, you can always move back.”

  “But we hardly know each other.”

  “I’d say we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well over the past week,” he winked.

  The tiny alarm bell inside me was quelled with my overwhelming attraction to him. I questioned how I could have felt so strongly for someone so soon. I was always one to follow my gut feelings, and at that very moment, my stomach was sending me mixed messages. Was it nerves? Was it butterflies from the crush I had developed on him? Or was it a warning?

  The champagne wasn't helping matters; it was clouding my thoughts. My head was telling me to go slow but my heart was telling me otherwise. I had developed genuine feelings for him.

  “What do you say, Val?”

  “I appreciate the offer but wasn't expecting it.”

  “I’ll sweeten the deal and throw in a bonus.”

  “Oh,” I giggled. “A bonus, huh?

  “Sure. Moving in with me will include frequent free trips to Costa Rica.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “If everything works out the way I hope it will, maybe someday we'll live here.”

  “Here, in Costa Rica?” I glanced up and all around. “I’d say that's getting a little ahead of yourself.”

  “It's something I've been planning for a while now. But I'm willing to take baby steps with you if that's what you need.”

  Leaning back in my chair, I took in my surroundings while pondering David's offer. I wasn't happy living in Vegas and had just been fired partly because of him. But it wasn't his entire fault; it was mine for accepting his invitation to dinner. And then there was Nicole with her big mouth ratting on me. I figured I could find another job, maybe waitressing or bartending in California. I couldn't deny that the trips to Costa Rica sounded inviting. However, Costa Rica was somewhat different from the Caribbean Islands I had visited. While it was still a tropical destination, it seemed rougher around the edges.

  When the bubbly blonde waitress set our dessert on the table, Cindy's face popped into my mind. I couldn’t desert my roommate on a whim. We were only able to afford our rental house with both of our incomes. I couldn't just up and leave her because I met someone. Although it was something she would do to me, being the carefree party girl that she was. But it wasn’t something I could do; it wasn’t my style to leave someone in a lurch.

  “Care for a bite?” David asked, holding out a forkful of cream-topped white cake.

  I eagerly took a bite as he slid the fork from my mouth. “Wow, that's yummy,” I said, over a mouthful of sweet milky sponge cake.

  “Tres leches, it’s my second favorite dessert after flan,” he said, quickly scooping up two forkfuls himself.

  After dinner, we strolled barefoot, hand-in-hand, along the shore. White string lights and hanging lanterns illuminated the trees, lighting our path. As we walked a bit farther, David paused for a moment and tilted his head back.

  “Look at all the stars.”

  I gazed up at the midnight sky, the water gently lapping around our fee
t, our toes sinking in the sand.

  “Quick, make a wish.”

  “A wish?"

  “Yes, right there, a shooting star,” he pointed above, his finger gliding to the right.

  “Are you sure?” I searched the sky, trying to see what had aroused his attention. “Maybe it was a satellite or something?”

  “No, it was a shooting star; I’m sure of it.” He turned to me, cupping my chin in his hand. “Care to know what I wished for?” he asked, staring into my eyes.

  12

  David

  As I walk around the spare room, making sure everything’s in order, I find myself singing the song, ‘When You Wish Upon a Star.’ Trailing my fingers along the glossy black desk, I picture Val sitting here writing her books. She will be happy doing what she has always wanted to do, and I will provide for her—a picture perfect life, our picture perfect life.

  Some women enjoy being kept by a man, as long as they're being taken care of. My Val will make me her king, and I will make her my queen. I will promise to give her anything her little heart desires, within limits, of course, as long as she behaves and obeys, as long as she complies with the rules. My rules. Without rules, there is chaos. And I don't do well in chaos.

  I've cleaned out the closet, removing any and all traces of my collections. If she were to stumble upon them without my knowledge, she might become alarmed. It's not something you spring on someone without a full explanation.

  For now, however, the closet only contains a few little outfits I’ve carefully selected for her. As I run my hand over the lacy garments dangling from the hangers, I close my eyes momentarily, picturing her in them. Most are her size, as I had sneaked a peek at her clothing tags while on vacation. But some of them are a size smaller. As I mentioned before, she could benefit from a few form-fitting ensembles. My motto has always been if you've got it, flaunt it. But she’ll only be flaunting it for me, no one else. And only in the privacy of our home, my home.