Foothills Pride Stories, Volume 2

by Pat Henshaw

  The high school kids had been paid and told us they were racing to the mall to spend their money. As they were leaving, we, the full-time staff, were sequestered, groaning and sighing that we had to stay longer. Even Ricky looked exhausted, something I thought impossible.

  “We have a bunch of odds and ends in the storage area,” Beth told us. “What do you want to do with them?”

  She and Kate shared one of the silent-communication looks that used to bug me when I lived with them. Now I didn’t care, but thought it was kind of cool they could do it.

  Kate turned to us.

  “We’ll be closed tomorrow,” she said. “Everyone’s off with pay. We made a lot more this year than we’ve ever done. All of you made it happen. Consider this your Christmas bonus.”

  We would have cheered if we’d had the energy. Instead, we looked around at the decimated shelves and let out a communal sigh. Yay, us. Good for us. Yeah.

  What Kate hadn’t told us was that we also got an actual cash bonus in the paychecks she handed out. I got excited beyond words because what I really wanted to do with my extra money was take John out for a really nice meal. But since he cooked at the town’s gourmet restaurant, that wasn’t going to happen.

  I ended up asking Beth for ideas where she’d take John. I’d heard about this old vineyard that had a restaurant, but she nixed it right away.

  “It’s too expensive for the mediocre food they serve.” She’d shaken her head and frowned, then almost instantly grinned. “Take him to Monique’s.”

  “Nah. You said it’s only a bakery in a strip mall. I want something more than a bunch of pastries.”

  Her grin grew. “Oh, my sprout, it’s so much more than a bakery, and it’s perfect for you two. Their lunch is incredible. They have a chicken salad made with grapes and almonds served on one of their fresh croissants that’s to die for. I’ll bet lunch is probably the only meal he’d feel like going out to eat since he helps fix dinner four times a week at the Star.”

  Although I hate it when she calls me “sprout,” I let it pass since I thought she had the perfect suggestion—lunch. Monique’s was outside downtown, so I hoped John hadn’t been there too often.

  When I asked him, his answer was quick and decisive: “No.”

  “What? Why not? I want to take you out.”

  “You don’t have to take me out to lunch.”

  “No, I don’t. Especially if you’re going to be grumpy about it.” He hated when I agreed so easily with him.

  “Nobody should have to pay for someone else to make food for me.” His frown looked adamant.

  “You have to eat.”

  “I can feed myself. And you.”

  “That’s not the point. I want to take you out.”

  He just shook his head. He was past grumpy and downright angry, and I had no clue why. It hit me that it might be something I’d said or done, but I couldn’t remember anything that had set him off. Then a worse thought hopped into my mind. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen with me other than at the saloon.

  “Is it the hair, the piercing, or the tat?” I countered this time.

  “What?”

  I’d caught him off guard. He looked completely nonplussed.

  “The reason why you don’t want to go out to eat with me. What do I need to change to get you to walk into a restaurant with me?” I wiggled my brows at him. “I can take out the ring, you know. Cut the hair. Cover the tat.”

  “No! Nothing. I’m proud to be seen with you.”

  I shook my head. Yeah, right. He didn’t act like he was proud to be with me.

  My mom had given me a haircut before she left and helped me tip the ends on top a vivid turquoise. Still, I’d be happy to dye the ends to match the beaver brown of the rest of my hair. I wasn’t wed to the hair or the piercing since I wasn’t really making a statement now. If they annoyed him, I’d be happy to get rid of them.

  “Okay, then, we’re going somewhere called Monique’s Bakery for lunch tomorrow. I have the day off. You want me to pick you up at the Star, or do you want to meet there?”

  He gave me a pissed-off scowl. He looked so kissable, I gave him a buss on the cheek.

  “Oh stop!” He pushed me away, and I pouted. With a sigh, he moved toward me and gave me a kiss. “You are so maddening.” He sighed. “I’ll meet you there at eleven thirty.”

  I beamed and winked at him. “Now see? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  “Fuck off.”

  I laughed, delighted that his answer sounded like a caress and not a curse.

  Still I was worried about him. Something was bothering him, and whatever it was angered him. I hadn’t seen Leo lurking around, and Ricky was happy and chirpy again. It had to be something else. Me? The fact that after my mother left, we’d given Ricky my floor and I had moved downstairs? We’d been sleeping together, literally and euphemistically. Should I back off? Go upstairs to my space and send Ricky back down to John’s guest room?

  I thought about calling Mom for about two seconds. She’d love to give me advice—as would Beth—but that wasn’t going to happen. I refused to share my personal life with either of them.

  I resorted to my most reliable backup plan: I worried.

  That night both of us tossed and turned. When we asked each other what was wrong, our answers matched. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

  The situation was all kinds of fucked up. I didn’t know how to fix it.

  I SAT in the bed of my truck, letting my legs dangle as I kicked them, waiting for John to show up at Monique’s. The number of diners at the bakery this soon after Christmas was miniscule. Abe Behr and his boyfriend, to whom I’d sold all sorts of holiday decorations, passed me with a “How’s it going?” before they entered. Other than them, the people I recognized from downtown dwindled.

  John rolled up in his ratty old Karmann Ghia, leaving a swirl of smoke behind him.

  “You’re going to have to get that thing smogged, you know.” I jumped down from the truck bed. I didn’t know how close to stand next to him, which pissed me off. Why couldn’t we act here like we did at home? Okay, not as intimate, but not like strangers either.

  After we took a couple of steps into the bakery, he stopped and looked at me.

  “What’s got into you?”

  “Nothing.” I shrugged. This was his problem, not mine. “You’re the one upset for the last few days.”

  He shook his head. He didn’t meet my eyes.

  Much to my chagrin, the first thing that happened was John was recognized as the sous-chef at the Silver Star. We were still debating what to order for lunch when two men burst out of the kitchen. The taller strode up to John, ready to shake his hand.

  “Hey, John. Stella told me you were here. How’re you doing?” The tall, brown-haired guy pointed to the younger man standing behind him. “I don’t know if you’ve met Benny. He’s my new sous, a second-year student at the community college.”

  John stood, shook hands all around, and introduced me. So much for bringing John to a small local place where he hadn’t been many times before. As they settled in to talk food and cooking, my mind wandered off. I still couldn’t figure out how everything had been going so well and suddenly wasn’t.

  The men getting up from our table brought me back to the here and now.

  “Sorry about that, Fen,” John said. “Eugene, the guy I was talking to, owns and runs this place now that his mother, Monique, passed away. He and Adam grew up together.”

  “He seemed nice enough.”

  “How would you know? You didn’t say two words.”

  “What did I have to say to him? I’m a horticulture geek, not a chef.” I gave him a halfhearted smile. I’d wanted to make John relax, but he looked more wound up than ever.

  We sat in silence for a few seconds before he turned to me, his face as serious as I’d ever seen it.

  “What are we doing?”

  My mind filled with quips and jokes. But I couldn’t do it. That w
as my question too.

  “I don’t know. What should we be doing?”

  John shrugged. “I’ve never been serious about a guy before. Never had a boyfriend or a relationship. If that’s what’s happening here.” He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t even know if you’re sticking around, what your long-term plans are, or if you even have any.”

  He was so intent. His strong, scarred fingertips were beating on the table in front of him over and over again. But his stare was still and steady, as if he were boring into my mind and searching for answers.

  “I have two job offers,” I admitted. “One’s at UCD, where I graduated, to join the faculty and teach botany and maybe some undergrad plant biology classes. I’d be free to extend my dissertation project and work on practical, everyday applications of the results I was finding.”

  “What was the project?” His fingers had stopped moving, and now his gaze was even more intent.

  “The health effects of houseplants on low-income children.” I shrugged. “I think I can prove that having houseplants in low-income housing units and in classrooms can produce cleaner air, which in turn can help kids do better in school.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  I could tell by the way he was staring that he wasn’t seeing my eyebrow ring, the turquoise hair, or the tattoo, but the other side of me that wasn’t very fun at all. In fact, he was seeing what I’d be if I didn’t try so hard to be normal. He saw my virtual pocket protector and my clipboards of data. Saw me meeting with elementary school teachers and talking them into having their classrooms become my petri dishes. Saw my long nights of analyzing the data and tweaking the experiments. He didn’t see beer or music or sex. He saw me in my drab.

  “My other job offer is the same but different. I’ve been offered a grant from the NEA to continue a plants-in-the-classroom idea in underfunded schools in poor neighborhoods. Five schools have been selected, three in Sacramento and two in Oakland. I didn’t quite get the connection between the schools, but there they are.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  I shrugged again. “Beth also said she’d love for me to stay on and work in the nursery.” I laughed. “Honestly? I’d like to take the grant and Beth’s offer. I don’t think I’m cut out to be Dr. Fenton Miller, Botany 101, 8:00 to 9:00 a.m. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Do you? Do I look like any teacher you ever had?”

  The side of his mouth rose as if he saw some irony I was missing.

  “I didn’t graduate from high school, remember? How should I know?”

  “Yeah. Okay.” I sighed. “Well, when I decide what I’m really going to do, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Eugene served us our lunch, which looked fantastic. I’m not sure what he’d surprised us with—sandwiches of some sort and maybe potato salad—but my stomach grumbled. Eugene and John laughed, I blushed, and Eugene retreated to the kitchen.

  After I’d polished off about half the meal, I ventured into the deep waters where I wanted to be.

  “What’s going on with you? You’ve been distracted and unhappy the last few days. Tell me.”

  He licked some of the sauce off one of his fingers. “You’re not the only one who’s got to make some hard decisions.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I tried to keep my voice casual, but I could hear the curiosity and tension in it. Whatever he was about to say was life-changing for him. I could tell.

  “Over a year ago, Adam asked me if I wanted to take charge of the kitchen sometimes so that he and David could go on trips. I said yes.” His frown told me this wasn’t going to be a happy story. “I was excited, you know? I’d get a chance to try out some of the plates I thought customers would like. I was prepared for the fact that I wouldn’t pull in the numbers Adam did, but that was fine with me. I mean, I thought maybe word of mouth would help me build a following.” He laughed humorlessly. “I even thought some of the customers might think my cooking was better than Adam’s, especially considering how many nights he’s just dialing it in when he’d rather be with David doing something else.”

  “So how many times have you subbed for him?”

  He wiped his lips on the paper napkin and threw it on his plate.

  “That’s just it. Never. Not once.”

  “Ah, shit.”

  “Yeah. So I’ve been trying to decide what to do. I have a rep as Adam’s sous. But is that enough to get me another job in a high-end kitchen?”

  He was looking down at his plate, but he wasn’t in the restaurant with me. He was somewhere far, far away.

  “The alternative?”

  He shook himself out of his reverie.

  “The Limelight Bar’s about to close. I could start a diner in Old Town. Somewhere people could go for a reasonable meal, maybe breakfast and lunch only. Leave the gourmet stuff to Adam. I don’t know.”

  “You’ve got the money to buy the bar?”

  His eyes shot me a look as his lips turned up a tiny bit.

  “Well, as long as I’ve got the exorbitant rent coming in from my lodger, I could.” He sighed. “But it looks like he’s ready to get out of town.”

  “I don’t know if I am or not. I don’t know.”

  He frowned down at his hands.

  “You don’t have to do anything because of me. You have to live your life for you, not for me.” He was serious, and I was stunned. Okay, I wasn’t exactly Mr. Relationship, and I wasn’t clear on the rules. But didn’t we have to talk about shit like this? Wasn’t this a joint decision? Or weren’t we as close as I thought we were?

  I put my hands over his and leaned in toward him over our dirty plates.

  “I think you’re wrong.” I whispered it, but he still heard me.

  “What?” His head shot up and now he was staring at me. “What do you mean?”

  I took a deep breath. Time to put the cards on the table. Fish or cut bait. Grow a pair. Some other shit saying that meant one of us had to make the first move and put his heart on the line to be whacked.

  “I thought we were a couple. You know, like boyfriends, only without dotting every i with a heart. I thought couples were supposed to talk about this stuff and make mutual moves. That’s where I thought we were.” I blew out the breath. “Am I wrong? Am I just a holiday fuck?”

  “No, no, shit, you’re not wrong. It’s just….” He looked around.

  Monique’s was starting to fill up with a minor lunch crowd. With the outdoor seating closed for the winter, it didn’t take many people for it to feel like we were going to be the noontime floor show if we didn’t bring the discussion back to the house or somewhere else private.

  My body said loud and clear that we needed to hit the bed first and then talk. I looked down as John stood, and I saw that his body agreed.

  12

  THE NEXT day, Beth had us all meet midmorning in the storage area of Cuttings. What little was left of Christmas consisted of broken odds and ends, and a tiny pile of small unmatched gifts—like a single candlestick or one napkin—that Beth said were going to the mother of the boys who’d teased me. The woman was a nurse and used the gifts for her patients. I volunteered to wait for her and lock up afterward while the rest of them left for the day.

  Kate started the short staff meeting by bringing us up to date about the business and our parts in it.

  “Okay, I’ve given each of you catalogs for your particular areas and a budget. I need to have them back by next week so we can start ordering for later in the spring. In the meantime, Beth’s shipment of houseplants and household accents arrives tomorrow, so we need everything cleaned up today. This afternoon Fen’s going out to the Silver Star and meeting with David Fairbanks about plants for the restaurant. So in the coming year, we’ll be expanding by becoming the local decorative plant supplier for area businesses. Thanks, Fen!”

  Beth, who’d been nodding on the sidelines, took over from Kate.

  “We’ve hired Ricky full-time as off-site plant keeper. After Fen chooses the plants for a busine
ss and we deliver them, Ricky will be in charge of keeping them alive and beautiful. He’s also setting up a permanent kids’ corner here in the nursery. Welcome, Ricky!”

  We all clapped and smiled at Ricky, who jumped up and down, laughing and crying. You would have thought he’d won an Academy Award instead of getting a run-of-the-mill nursery job. I was happy he’d found something he could be proud doing.

  Ricky had told John and me the news about his job offer the night before. For the time being, he wanted to stay with us, mostly because he was scared of Leo turning up again. In his mind, Leo would kidnap and haul him back to work in the city. Ricky thought if he was with us, we would save him. I had my doubts, mostly because from what I’d heard, if Leo wanted someone, John and I couldn’t stop him from kidnapping them.

  “Do you think Leo will return?” I asked John after Ricky had gone to bed.

  “No clue. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere with him and neither is Ricky,” he assured me.

  After the meeting, while Kate and Beth took Ricky out for lunch, I waited in the greenhouse for the nurse to come pick up her stuff. I hoped she didn’t bring the boys with her. I didn’t think I could stand their teasing today. While I hung around, I leafed through the wholesale catalog put out by a local farmer. His wife had decided to propagate houseplants as a side business, and I thought we should buy from her.

  Deciding which varieties and how many of each plant was tricky, especially if I stayed here in Stone Acres and worked for Beth instead of taking one of the more high-profile jobs I’d been offered. I didn’t have any experience in this side of retail, so I worried about ordering too many plants, or even worse, ordering too few if they became popular.

  As I was mulling this over, an average-height guy with an athlete’s body and panther’s grace strode up to me. His eyes took me in, and he laughed a nasty bark.

  “You Fen?”

  I nodded. For some reason I had a bad feeling about this guy. He didn’t look overtly threatening, but he radiated anger. I got the ugly sense that even though I didn’t know him, he was pissed off at me.