The Glass House

by Bettina Wolfe

  I devour a considerable portion of the salad and compliment Cindy on her cooking skills. Believe it or not, it’s hard to find decent Mexican food here. I’ve been telling Slim that he needs to open a restaurant. He's always looking for new business ideas and he knows half the people in town. But it all comes down to time and money as it always does, and of course, finding good help. The rules are quite different here. Starting a business is not easy and requires copious amounts of patience.

  After dinner, Val retrieves a covered dish from the counter and places it in the middle of the table. When she removes the tin foil, we all gawk in unison.

  “What are they?” Cindy says, sliding a long red fingernail under one, lifting it by its corner.

  “Pineapple empanadas,” Val sulks. She looks as deflated as the dessert sitting in front of us.

  “That’s right; I remember having them one time. They looked different, though, more doughy and pillowy.” Cindy pinches it between her fingers and takes a bite. Pineapple oozes out and onto her plate.

  “Yeah, they fell flat.” Val frowns. “I swear it must be the humidity here. Nothing I make comes out right.”

  I don't want to add salt to the wound, but let’s face the facts. Val is a much better preparer than baker. The poor gal can't cook to save her life. I reach for one and bite into it, pretending to enjoy it.

  “Delicious,” I say, forcing another bite. Listen, if I'm going to indulge in a sweet treat, it better be good, darn good. I refuse to waste calories on tasteless creations.

  “Hey, have you guys ever had that spongy, milky cake?” Cindy asks. “I forget what it’s called. I think it has whipped cream on top.”

  “Tres leches,” I say, gazing at Val. “We had it on vacation, remember?”

  “Yeah, it was so yummy. It can’t be that hard to make but I’m sure I’d mess it up.”

  “Aww, V. Don’t be so hard on yourself. I’ll help you with it; we can make it together tomorrow,” Cindy looks over, winking at me and Val catches her in the act.

  “What’s going on?” Val snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Nothing,” I say, shaking my head.

  “Cindy, I saw you wink at him.”

  “It wasn’t the first time,” I say, giving Cindy the side eye.

  Suddenly I feel a kick from under the table and reach down to massage my shin. “She winked at me earlier when she first arrived.”

  The chair scrapes against the floor as Val jumps up. She throws open the cabinet, grabs the bag of dog food, and fills Max’s bowl. With bowl in hand, she stomps out the front door, slamming it behind her.

  “What are you doing?” Cindy reprimands me.

  “What do you mean, what am I doing? What are you doing?” I glare. “I know it was you who winked at me. CutieC, how original,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

  “Oh please, I knew it was you, too. I was testing you,” she hisses.

  “Testing me? For what?”

  “To see if you were good enough for my friend.” She pushes back from the table and tromps into the living room.

  “Who are you to judge?” I sneer. “Of course, I’m good enough.” Picking up my glass, I rise from the chair. “I’m the best thing that’s happened to her.”

  “Then why the hell are you keeping her locked up from everyone?” she rages.

  “Are you out of your mind? I’m not locking her up.” I take a step closer. “Did Val say that?” I watch Cindy’s mouth drop as she looks past my shoulder.

  “Did Val say what?” I turn and see Val standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, staring at me.

  33

  Valerie

  None of us slept much that night. David stormed off and fell asleep outside in the hammock. I had offered Cindy our bed but she insisted on sleeping on the futon. She felt bad about what had happened at dinner and kept apologizing, blaming herself for our petty quarrel. David, of course, blamed it on her and the alcohol. How quickly he forgets the times when he's had a few too many drinks. He forgets when he's made a scene, created unnecessary drama, and caused me heartache. I can't even begin to tell you how many times he's blatantly flirted with women right in front of my eyes. There were so many that I have lost count.

  I shouldn't have become upset when Cindy winked at him. I know how flirtatious she can be at times. She completely opened up and was honest with me, telling me everything over coffee the next morning.

  “You know I only winked at him to see if he’d wink back, right?” she pleaded, sitting on the counter, her long legs dangling.

  “What if he had winked back, then what?” I held the mug tight in my hands.

  “But he didn’t,” she stated, hopping off the counter, her bare feet slapping the tile. “Besides, he hadn’t logged into the site in months. You can see a person’s last activity on their profile, you know.”

  “No, I wouldn’t know. I don’t do dating sites.”

  “So when David called me—”

  “How did he get your number?”

  “Gosh, V, I don't know. He probably got it from your phone.”

  “Great, so now he’s looking at my phone.”

  “Seriously? You’ve been snooping through his files and digging in the garden… you’re not exactly innocent, you know.”

  “Fair enough, continue.”

  “Listen, he’s concerned about you. When he first told me you weren't acting like yourself, I didn't believe him. But now I see what he means. You’re all edgy.”

  “And I have every right to be, considering what’s been going on.”

  “David thinks you’re anxious or depressed… or maybe both.”

  “So, did he invite you here to check on me or diagnose me?”

  “Oh, stop it, Val, c’mon now, I invited myself. I was worried about you. I offered to take a cab, but he insisted on picking me up at the airport.”

  “What else did he say about me? What else did you talk about?”

  “Not much… just the dog and the housekeeper, what's her name?”

  “Conchita,” I sighed. “Actually, she should be here any minute. David told me she's coming by today to bring more tea.”

  “Tea? What kind of tea?”

  “She makes this special homemade brew.”

  “Is it any good? What does it taste like?”

  “It’s sort of bitter and smells like floral perfume. It’s like a chamomile tea and it’s supposed to calm you.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “I don't like it, but David’s all into it. It knocks me out and gives me wacky dreams. I’ve only had it twice but I hate the way I feel after I drink it.”

  “Hmm, it kinda sounds like that ayahuasca stuff.”

  “Aa-yuh-waa-skuh?” I giggled. “What’s that? I can't even pronounce it.”

  “It’s some type of plant that grows in the rainforest. They brew it to make a hallucinogenic tea and people travel to the jungle, to places like this, to drink it. They have whole ceremonies around it.”

  “Really? How do you know about it? Have you tried it?”

  “No, a friend of mine has. He said it smells and tastes like crap.”

  “What else is in it?”

  “I don’t know exactly but supposedly it makes you puke your guts out and sends you on a wild and crazy psychedelic trip.”

  “Eww gross. That sounds like loads of fun.”

  “Not!” She bent over and made a loud hacking sound. We burst out laughing.

  “Okay, enough of that; want more coffee?” she asked, swiping my empty mug from the table.

  “Sure.”

  Cindy went over and grabbed the coffee pot and poured us each a second cup. As she turned around, she paused and looked out the kitchen window. She stood in front of it for a moment, gazing toward the garden.

  “Hey, there’s a woman out there with David. She’s got long black braided hair… she’s carrying a burlap bag.”

  “That would be Ms. Conchita.”

  “Cool purple dr
ess she’s wearing.”

  “What’s David doing?” I asked, glancing over at her.

  Stretching her neck, she leaned in closer to the window. “He’s kneeling on the ground next to what looks like a small statue.”

  “So, that’s where he’s putting it,” I muttered.

  “What did you just say?” She padded over, placing my mug back in front of me.

  “I think his ex-wife is buried in the garden.”

  “What?” she gasped, spilling her coffee on her white tank top. Tugging on her shirt, she wiped at it. “Dang it, I think I just ruined this top. It’s my favorite,” she moaned.

  “That wooden box I told you I found. Well, actually, I didn’t find it; Max did. He sniffed it out and dug it up.”

  “What about the box and his wife?” She went over to the sink, turning on the faucet and dabbed her shirt with water.

  “I have a feeling the box has something to do with his ex-wife. Maybe her ashes are stored in it. Why else would he keep a box locked up and buried?”

  “Hmm… not sure, but I guess that would make sense.”

  “Especially since he bought a statue of an angel and put it in the garden.”

  “But are you sure she’s dead? What’s his wife’s name? Or what was her name?”

  “Which one?” I tilted my head.

  “What do you mean which one?” She narrowed her eyes.

  “He has two ex-wives,” I said, holding up my fingers.

  “Has or had?” she questioned. “Maybe they’re both dead,” her eyes went wide.

  There was a knock on the door and Cindy walked over to open it. There stood Conchita, smiling at me, waiting to be invited inside. She was so demure and always polite.

  “Hola. Pase por favor.” I smiled, waving her into the kitchen. She ambled toward me and took a seat at the table. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out five cotton sacks of teabags.

  “Estos son nuevos,” she spoke softly, pushing them near me.

  “New,” Cindy said, sitting down to join us. “She said they’re new.” Picking up a sack, she dug a fingernail inside it and pulled out a teabag.

  “I know what she said,” I remarked. “I’ve been studying my Spanish.”

  Conchita looked down and away as if I had just said something about her.

  “Val me dijo que haces esto,” Cindy said and then turned to me. “I just said that you told me she makes this.”

  “Sí, es casero,” Conchita replied. Cindy translated for me again. “Yes, it’s homemade.”

  “¿Cual es el nombre?” Cindy continued. “What is the name?”

  Cindy was all chipper. I watched as she talked with her hands, acting like Conchita’s new best friend.

  “Despierta,” Conchita replied, beaming at Cindy. She showed her the tag at the end of the string and pointed to the word written on it.

  “Desperate?” I asked, leaning over trying to decipher it. My eyes met Cindy’s and we both shrugged our shoulders.

  Neither of us knew what Conchita had said as she sat there smiling at us.

  34

  David

  The evening is off to a great start. I promised myself tonight would be a much better one than last evening. Cindy whipped up an insanely delicious grande-sized pan of tres leches. It is light, luscious, and airy… just like her.

  Oh, come on, don’t hate. I’m a man. Besides, I’ve already mentioned it is okay to look as long as you don't touch. What’s that saying? No harm, no foul. Show me a man who wouldn’t look twice at a cute blonde with tan, toned legs in a pair of short shorts. You couldn’t, could you? I’m right again, aren’t I? I love it when I’m right.

  I lick the last of the cream from my fork and think of indulging in a second slice but then I run a hand over my protruding belly and decide to pass. Instead, I swill the last of my wine, set the glass down, and stroll over to the TV. Seizing the remote, I scroll through the music channels, settling on Val’s favorite era, the eighties.

  Although she was just a child in that decade, it seems pop songs are her favorite. I sometimes hear her playing that type of music when she’s doing her workout routine and since we both need to increase our exercise regime, the eighties it is.

  I start swaying my hips to some hair metal song I can’t name. The eighties, unfortunately, were just a blur to me. Back then, I was too busy trying to survive, working two jobs and hustling for a buck.

  Cindy drifts past me, grooving to the music, a bottle of white in one hand and two long-stemmed glasses dangling from the other.

  “Are you going to join us on the deck?” she asks as she spins around, heading out the doorway.

  “Why not,” I reply.

  “Then grab a glass,” she says, glancing over her shoulder.

  I stride into the kitchen and open a bottle of red, refilling my glass. Sipping it, I head outside to join the ladies under the stars.

  I have to admit, it is kind of fun having Cindy around, someone who gets my crass humor and who’s not so serious. She’s not sensitive and uptight like Val. That woman can be so emotional and boring at times.

  I sometimes miss those wanton days, lusting after women like Cindy. The good for a day, better for a night, and best when you leave them in the morning type of gals.

  Taking a long sip of wine, I tell myself to stop. It’s not me, it’s not who I am anymore. It’s the wine working its wicked way through my veins. Such a sinful spirit it is.

  I take a seat next to Val at our new bamboo dining set with different colored chairs, two green and two yellow. It seems to be the style these days. Val fell in love with the set the second she saw it, so I bought it for her. The only time she seems content is when she busies herself with decorating. We all have our little hobbies we enjoy.

  I look at her sitting there quietly in a yellow chair while noticing my chair is green. Gripping her wine glass, she gives me a lopsided grin. At times I wonder if we’re suited for each other or are we, once again, just another mismatch.

  I don’t think Val likes my style. It’s okay, most women don’t. It’s more of what you might call an acquired taste. My last wife called it cheesy. No, that wasn’t it. Oh, what was the word? Let me think for a moment… chintzy. Yes, that’s the word; it’s precisely what she used to say every time I showed her something I liked.

  But David, it’s so not me, it’s so chintzy. I picture her overdrawn hot pink lips yakking away. Her constant drivel drove me bonkers.

  Cindy snaps me out of my self-wallowing pity party—literally. I gaze up and there she is, snapping her pointy-nailed fingers in front of my face. She could slice salami with those talons.

  “David, did you hear me?” She appears slightly irked.

  “No, what did you say?” I cup my ear.

  “I said what’s up with your friend Conchita and her tea?” Wine spills from her glass as she takes a forceful swig.

  “She makes homemade tea.”

  “Uh, duh. Tell me something I don't know,” she rolls her eyes.

  “She has a garden full of flowers and herbs. She enjoys making different blends of tea.”

  “Well, whatever she's mixing up is giving Val nightmares and making her sick.”

  “I know, Val has told me the way she feels after drinking the tea. Conchita needs to rebalance the blend. I’ve been helping her with it; we’re trying to get the formula right.”

  “What formula? The one for her new desperate tea?” She cackles.

  “Desperate?” I ask. I think Cindy’s confused.

  “What did she call that new tea she brought over earlier?” She looks over at Val.

  “Something like the word desperada or desperado… I’m not sure of the pronunciation,” Val replies.

  “Despierta,” I say. The word is despierta.”

  “What does it mean?” Cindy asks.

  “Awake.”

  “So, she has tea to make you sleep and now tea to keep you awake.” She rolls her eyes again. “How convenient is that?”

>   “It's not what you think,” I hesitate. “It’s a different kind of awake.”

  Cindy pauses and peers at Val and they exchange a funny look.

  Running a hand through my hair, I let out a breath. I am not in the mood to go there tonight. The ‘awake’ tea is not something you can explain to someone when their thoughts are clouded. The first rule of being awake is being pure and clean, cleansed from all distractions. Alcohol does the complete opposite; it taints the mind. They’re not ready to receive the message and I’m not sure if they ever will be.

  “Fess up David, what’s going on here?” Val demands. “You’re never around. I feel like I'm in the dark about everything.”

  “That wine has made you quite fearless,” I say, holding her gaze.

  “Liquid wisdom,” Cindy says and then bursts out laughing.

  “The true beverage is tea… not wine,” I correct her. “Tea is liquid wisdom.” I ponder for a moment while scratching my chin. “Thank you, Cindy. You just gave me a brilliant idea.”

  They both turn and give me the evil eye.

  “I think I'll use that name for our new company.”

  “What new company?” Val asks bemused.

  “I was going to surprise you, but it's impossible to keep a secret around here.”

  “It’s not good to keep secrets in relationships,” Cindy yaps. “Haven’t you heard?”

  “Conchita and I are going into business together,” I announce, hoping they’ll shut their mouths for a moment.

  “Doing what?” Val asks.

  “Selling tea?” Cindy guesses.

  “Correct.” I point to Cindy. “We’re going to sell tea, homegrown, specialty-brewed tea. ‘Liquid Wisdom’ is the perfect name for it.”

  “Well, glad I could help,” Cindy waves a hand through the air and saunters away.

  Val stares at her empty wine glass looking dejected. Scooting my chair closer, I wrap my arm around her shoulder.

  “I was going to tell you, but I wanted it to be the right time,” my voice is sympathetic. She pulls away. She won’t look at me. “I wanted to have all the teas properly blended. I promise I was going to tell you when we were closer to launching the business.” Sliding her chair back, she stands up and walks into the house after Cindy.