20
Ava
The first thing I do after pulling away from Ford’s kiss is order another drink. I’ve already had one too many, which is likely why I’ve just agreed to this fake fiancée charade. Well, that combined with Manny provoking me. He and I have never been friends. Our animosity started the same day as my interview when he was sure I was covering for Randall. I’m almost certain it was because he didn’t like that a young woman with no power suddenly had the tools to best him in his attempt to expose Randall’s weakened state. We’ve had words over the years, but he’s always been at a loss for how to push me out. I won’t deny that Randall has a lot to do with that. But so does the fact that I absolutely pull my weight in that firm. My so-called reputation for being married to my job should prove that, if nothing else.
“So … congratulations to us?” Ford asks when our third round of drinks are served.
I laugh. “You mean on our engagement?”
He nods. “I really gotta get you a ring.”
The thought throws me. I wonder just how invested we’re going to get with this thing. “No, you don’t.”
“It’s all anyone cares about when you say you’re engaged. We’ll find something for you.”
“This is so weird.”
His expression is warm, accepting. “It is.” After taking a sip of his drink, he says, “Thank you for doing this. I know it’s not ideal. But I really appreciate it.”
“Well, I’ll probably regret it later, but for now, you’re welcome.”
Laughing, he watches me for a moment. “I really hope you don’t regret spending more time with me, Ava. Especially because I’m so looking forward to getting to know you better.”
That makes my head swim. Or maybe it’s the alcohol I’ve overindulged in. Either way, I do know that letting someone in, letting someone really know me, isn’t something I do easily. Doing so as a pretense for our fake engagement sounds even more unpleasant than it normally would.
As if sensing the thoughts going on in my head, Ford takes my hand over the table and draws his fingertips across the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “We’ll figure this out together.”
His assurance inspires totally unwarranted confidence in me given what we’re going to do. Still, I take comfort in it and smile back at him.
This little reprieve doesn’t last long as we’re once more interrupted—this time by my cell phone. I recognize the ringtone as the one I’d assigned to my mom. It’s close to eleven o’clock. She should be asleep.
I don’t waste any time apologizing to Ford for taking the call. Instead, I answer with a breathless, “Mama?”
“Mija, everything is okay,” she says quickly, obviously aware of how this call will raise red flags for me.
I breathe easier and glance at Ford. He’s watching me with concern.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” I ask my mother.
“I’m fine, really. Though, you could say I’m a little confused. See, I got a phone call earlier from a woman named Doris. She apologized for phoning, but said she couldn’t find my email address to forward the invitation to attend a dinner party—that’s the expression she used—on Saturday in honor of my daughter’s engagement.”
I feel the color drain from my face. Admittedly, I haven’t given this whole bizarre scenario with Ford that much thought, but I never considered that my mother would be dragged into it.
“Hang on a second,” I tell her. “Ford, who is Doris and why is she calling my mother to invite her to your father’s dinner party?”
“Doris? That’s my father’s secretary.”
“Check your—” I stop when I realize his silly flip phone makes normal communication impossible. Instead, I check my work email for new messages but don’t find anything personal. My Gmail account, however, has a new email from a woman named Doris, cordially inviting me to attend a dinner party on Saturday at Ford McAvoy Senior’s house. The attendee list appears to include me and about fifty others, including, it now seems, my mother.
“Okay, I see the invitation,” I say, both for Mama’s and Ford’s benefit. “Um,” I say, “what did you tell her?”
“I told her I wouldn’t be able to reply until I checked my calendar,” she says with a laugh.
My mother responds with good humor to most things thrown her way. I’ve only ever seen her positive outlook on life shaken once, when my father passed away. She’d been broken by it. If I wasn’t there to pick up her pieces, I’m not sure what would have happened.
I’m especially glad she’s amused by the news traveling so fast to her that I’m engaged, but I’m just as alarmed by this all slipping out of our control.
“So, yeah,” I say. “Here’s the thing, remember the guy I told you I met in Maui?”
I see Ford raise his eyebrows as he winks at me, clearly delighted at this bit of news. His ego must be inflating by the second as he realizes I’d told my mother about him.
“Yes, of course. You were practically lovesick over him,” Mama says.
“Lovesick isn’t the word I’d use,” I say before I can think better of it.
Now Ford laughs. When I scowl at him, he blows me a kiss. I must be drunk because my first instinct is to think how sexy he looks when he’s being playful like that.
“What is this all about, Ava?” Mama asks. “Why did some strange woman call me at nine o’clock on a Wednesday night? I was ready to laugh it off and forget about it, but I just had to check with you.”
The fatigue in her voice snaps me back to reality. I owe her an explanation.
Taking a deep breath, I release it and say, “The man I met, his name is Ford. And it turns out that he’s a lawyer. He doesn’t practice anymore, but he’s in town. And we ran into each other. Things sort of got out of hand with people gossiping about us. So, we kind of joked about being engaged and now, well, it seems that everyone thinks we’re getting married.”
I close my eyes tight as I wait for a response.
Thankfully, my mama reacts with grace. “And should I be attending this dinner party, mija, with you and your fiancé?”
Opening my eyes, I relax. “Yes, let’s plan to attend. I promise, I’ll tell you what this is all about before then, okay? Just for now, trust me and roll with it?”
There’s only the briefest hesitation before she replies, “Yes, of course, I will. If this is what you want.”
“I do. And thank you. Get some rest now. Te quiero mucho, Mama.”
She tells me she loves me too before we disconnect.
I set down my phone and pick up my drink.
“Things just got more complicated for us, right?” Ford asks with a half wince, half smile.
“More complicated for you, actually. Because you’re going to be the one to explain all this to my mom.”
I’d thought he’d be nervous at the prospect, but instead, he says, “You met my mom. I’d love to meet yours.”
Dropping my head into my hands, I mumble, “What is happening?”
“Hey, let’s get out of here. Get some air, okay?”
When I look up at him, I see he’s already dropped a wad of cash on the table and has his hand out to me. I take it and when he then wraps his arm around my shoulders, I lean into him, grateful that he’s taking charge at this moment. It’s not that I need rescuing, it’s just that I wouldn’t mind having a partner, someone I can lean on.
And here he is.
21
Ford
The night air has gone cool and I drape my suit coat over Ava’s shoulders as we walk down the dark and now empty streets. I don’t know where we’re going and it’s not entirely clear to me that she knows either.
What I do know is that I like the way she wraps her arm around my waist as I hold her shoulders. Her body against mine is a welcome feeling after the events of the past few hours. This day has been nothing what I expected.
Of course, I only have myself to
blame for all that. I’m the one who claimed to be Ava’s fiancé. I’m the one who urged her to keep up the story when my father played along. I’m the one who asked her to see it through.
The only saving grace to this bizarre situation is that there is no one else I’d rather be pretending with. The side of her I got to know a little in Maui showed me she’s fun, sweet, and sexy. Now, it’s fascinating to see this other side of her. She’s obviously a capable professional if she’s been under Randall Miller’s tutelage. He’s not known for suffering fools, which makes it even more surprising that Manfred Khan rose to partnership level in that firm. It makes me wonder what kind of sleazy maneuvering he might have done to get there. Watching Ava more than hold her own with that jerk was impressive.
And now she’s challenged me to make all well with her mother. I like that she’s put me up to this. It means she’s already opening up her world to me.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
I can hear the alcohol in her voice. It’s just a hint of that Old Fashioned, but not enough to worry that she’s incapable of handling herself.
Looking down at her, I laugh. “Why are you asking me? I thought you were leading us somewhere.”
She pulls away and looks around. We’re now on Hill Street, having walked several blocks.
“Oh,” she says softly, almost to herself. “I haven’t been on that thing since I was a kid.”
I follow her gaze to the large tangerine-colored pillars and arch demarcating the entrance for Angels Flight, the historic funicular railway which takes tourists up the steep but very short journey from Hill Street to Olive Street. I know of it, but haven’t been on it and tell Ava as much.
She grabs my hand. “We should go on it!”
I let her pull me toward the gated archway, seeing before she does that it’s closed for the night. Her disappointment when she realizes we missed the chance to ride it is palpable. The sigh she releases is so heavy that I wonder at the significance this thing has for her.
“Who did you ride it with before?” I ask.
“What?”
Her eyes are fixed on the top of the hill and her mind is elsewhere.
“Was it your father? Did you ride this with him?”
That gets her attention and she looks at me. “I, uh, yeah. He liked to show me around all the old Los Angeles sights. This was one of them.”
“Well, let’s go to the top, then.”
“We can’t. It’s stopped running for the night, remember?”
I nod to the stairs on the right side of the entrance. “Come on, honey.”
This time, I’m the one pulling her. But she soon keeps pace with me as we climb the steps up the thirty-three percent incline.
“Did you know there are one hundred and fifty-three steps?” I ask when we’re about halfway to the top.
“You’re making that up.”
“No, it’s true. And you remember that this isn’t even the original site? That it was first built and operated about a half a block from here?”
She turns to me, and we stop on a landing, both of us now taking in a little more breath with the effort of the uphill climb. The fact that she’s doing this in heels is not lost on me. She’s something else.
“I do remember something like that,” she says. “But the question is, why do you know that if you’ve never even been here before?”
“I read about it at some point.”
“At some point?”
I shrug. “In eighth grade.”
“Why would you remember that from all those years ago?” she asks with a laugh.
“I don’t actually remember it. It’s just something I can recall.”
She fixes me with a skeptical stare. “Explain.”
Now I laugh. “I have a photographic memory. Or near-photographic. I’ve never actually tested to see if it’s a true photographic memory. But the point is that if I’ve read something, I can recall it.”
“Is that really true?”
I sigh. “Want to test me?”
“I do.”
“Go for it.”
“Um, okay. There’s a plaque I always remember seeing. It says how many feet Angels Flight runs—”
“Three hundred and fifteen feet.”
“And it mentions that the engineer—”
“Was also a lawyer.”
“And a friend of—”
“President Lincoln.”
“Wow,” she whispers. “Boy Wonder.”
Grimacing, I start back up the steps. I’ve hated that nickname for as long as it’s been around. I’d enjoyed almost a year without hearing it in some fashion while I was in Maui.
“I’m sorry,” she says as she comes up behind me, doing double-time in those heels. “I can tell you hate that nickname. I won’t use it again.”
We’ve reached the top and I turn to her just as a breeze picks up and sends her hair flying dramatically behind her. The backdrop beyond her is the lit-up buildings of downtown, peppered by enormous construction cranes. The city’s growth has continued while I was away. It makes me ever more confident in my decision to leave. But my eyes are drawn away from the reminder of the city life I no longer want to the beautiful woman in front of me. The woman who keeps letting me chip away at her walls by revealing the thing that still pains her, the loss of her father.
“What would you and your dad do when you got to the top here?” I ask.
She looks surprised by the question, by my interest. But then she gives it thought and I can practically see her reviewing the memories.
“We’d sit over there,” she says, pointing to a gated off park-like area. “There’s a bench there in the Knoll where we’d eat the gorditas he packed while looking out over the city. I can still remember being little enough that my legs would swing. Not touch the ground, you know?”
I smile at that detail and give her a nod, encouraging her to continue.
“He had big plans for me,” she says. “He’d wave his arms out toward the city and say, ‘All this is yours.’”
When she laughs, I catch the glimmer of tears in her eyes. She looks away quickly and blinks. I step closer to her, but she doesn’t meet my eyes.
“I bet he’d be so proud of you, Ava,” I tell her, cupping her cheek in my hand.
She catches her breath, her hand flying to her mouth. “I think so. I hope so.”
I wrap her into my arms, and she presses her face to my chest. I’m not sure how long we stay there like that, but it seems like a while has passed before we’re interrupted by a group of men in suits cutting through. They’re talking loudly, likely coming from some after work happy hour.
“Ready to go?” I ask, pulling away from her.
She nods but stops me when I start toward the stairs to go down. “Would you mind if we caught a cab? My feet are killing me.”
“Let’s do it.”
Turns out my amazing Hula Girl is human after all. I offer her my arm and she takes it, leaning on me once again as we move slowly toward Olive Street.
22
Ava
I must be losing my mind. I’m going along with a pretend engagement with my vacation fling and acting like it’s real. Acting like he’s someone I can confide in.
What other explanation can there be for my now compulsive need to share things with him about my father? I’ve never felt like I could talk about him the way I have with Ford.
And not only that, but I also thought it was a great idea for him to come up with me to my loft. I’d suggested it as the cab stopped in front of my place and he lingered, obviously assuming he should take it to wherever he was planning to crash for the night.
“Walk me up?” I’d said. Because I didn’t want to say goodbye to him. Because I didn’t want to go cold after he’d found a way to warm me from the inside out.
It hadn’t taken him more than a second to register my request and to slide out of the cab, once again handling the payment with cash.
After sur
veying the brick walls, large iron-framed windows facing an interior courtyard, and blond wood flooring, he asked if he could draw me a bath.
“A bath?” I asked with a laugh.
“For your feet,” he’d replied simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
So, that’s what he’s doing now as I straighten out the less than well-made bed positioned on the far end of the completely open concept floor plan.
“It’s ready.”
Startled, I turn to see Ford a few feet away, his shirt sleeves rolled up and looking entirely comfortable in his self-appointed role of caretaker for me. I try to imagine Bryce having the instinct to do this but quickly dismiss the thought. That wasn’t the kind of relationship we had. Laughing, I realize how deluded I was to have ever thought we had the potential for something more than Netflix and chill.
“What?” Ford asks.
“Oh, um, nothing.” I step closer to him. I don’t know if his drawing me a bath is purely platonic or if he had hoped I’d invite him to join me. I don’t even know if it’s a good idea to keep up a sexual relationship with him—though, god knows I’d love to—since we’ve got this whole fiancé hoax to perpetuate before separating once more. He is, after all, headed back to Maui before too long. “Thank you for this,” I tell him.
“Of course.”
I step past him and into the bathroom, closing the door only halfway. There’s no use in being prudish. I raise my eyebrows when I see that he’s thoughtfully attempted to create a bubble bath with my jasmine-scented bath gel.
Stripping, I step into the tub and let out a moan as I sink into the water. It’s exactly what I didn’t know I needed. I realize too late that I didn’t put up my hair and make a bun out of it, holding it with my hand. My choices are to get out and disrupt this delicious relaxation to grab a hair tie or call for Ford to help.
“Ford?” I call out.
My place is not big, I’ll admit, but he still pokes his head around the door in record time, making me think he was very nearby.
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