Foods, Fools and a Dead Psychic

by Maria Grazia Swan

  “Let me try the duplicate key I had made for the lock box,” I said, “and then I’ll let you in.”

  J.S. was scanning the view, unconcerned. “No hurry, I only have a twilight shoot this evening, way on the other side of town. My time is your time.”

  I had to admit, she had a pretty good attitude in spite of our rough beginning way back when J.S. wrote a scandalous piece about Tristan and Celine. They’d been considered an item, at least by some of us. Having been one of those people and having the scar on the Fiat to prove it. Celine’s pay back.

  The duplicate worked fine. I dropped it in the lockbox, attached it to the outside water faucet and kept the original key in my purse. I opened the door, moved aside and let J.S. in first. She headed for the kitchen.

  “We could set up the display with the fliers and the other printouts I made with general information of the area on the kitchen counter, easily visible from the entrance.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  I went to open the kitchen mini blinds. A large, dried up brown spot covered part of the bottom of the white sink. “What happened here?” I yelled.

  J.S walked over. “What is it?” She ran a finger over the stain.

  “Watch it,” I cautioned. “What if it’s some kind of chemical?”

  She sniffed her finger, shrugged. “Are you always that cautious? It’s soda, dried up Pepsi or something similar. Can’t tell. All the colas smell the same.”

  I could feel my face screwing up into a frown. I didn’t like this. “How did it get there? I checked the whole house yesterday. The sink was clean.”

  “You’re sure? Little things like that are easy to miss.” She turned on the water, “Here.” The brown spot disappeared along with the water. And J.S. went back to her display setting while I walked around the house, checking every nook and cranny and every shower, every sink, every whatever.

  Paranoia, my steady companion. The dreadful sense of someone else having been in the house followed me from room to room.

  “Still concerned about the sink?” J.S. was all smiles. Perhaps S stood for Sunshine. “Come see.”

  I followed her back into the kitchen where her display was already set up and it looked very professional. Prospective buyers and realtors alike would be impressed by my presentation, even if I was a newbie.

  “A newbie with talented friends.” I hugged her. “Thank you so much. The mechanic hasn’t called yet. Want to look at the walk in tub? The yard?”

  She tilted her head back and forth, her raven curls bobbing along her shoulders while she considered my offer. “We could do that or we could go grab a bite to eat at the restaurant close to here. I hear they have a nice yet modestly priced buffet.”

  A girl after my own heart. A food lover. “Good idea, my treat. I insist. We can cut through the back and walk there. And you know what? I’ll leave one of the windows open to get some air circulating. I can’t stand those flowery plug-ins.”

  “What are we waiting for?” She grabbed her purse and after locking the front door from inside, we left thorough the back door.

  We had just finished eating our eggs and hash browns when my phone chimed. My car was ready to be picked up. As if on cue, we both grabbed a muffin, wrapped it in a paper napkin, and after I left a few dollars tip on the table, we rushed out.

  “I feel like we are playing hooky,” she giggled.

  “You too? This has been fun. I need to go in and lock up the window I left open.”

  “Okay, you do that and I’ll get the van started.”

  We went into the house the same way we left but I turned left to go lock the window, and she turned right to go out front door to her vehicle.

  “Hey, hey you, get away from that van.” I heard her scream before I even reached the open window. I turned around, accidently dropped my keys, but kept on running to help J.S.

  FOURTEEN

  MY RESCUE RUN came to a screeching halt when I caught a glimpse of J.S.

  Hands on hips and seemingly very confrontational, she looked and acted pretty much in-your-face to some man standing a whole head taller than she was. What the hell? They had to know each other. Either that or ‘private space’ meant to them as much as ‘no more husbands’ had meant to Elizabeth Taylor after hubby #2.

  I tried hard to eavesdrop from a distance, gave up and inched a bit ahead, you know, in case J.S. needed my, ahem, assistance.

  “What’s going on?” That’s all I got to say before J.S. turned her head and blocked me with a forceful, “I got this.”

  And believe me, I was instantly convinced. Ouch. Something in her voice and body language seemed pricklier than a Hindu bed of nails. I didn’t walk away nor did I move closer. I watched in fascination as the ‘war dance’ of those two proceeded. For every forward step J.S. took, the man moved one back. I still couldn’t get a good view of the trespasser; he was partly hidden by the van. And then there was Miss ‘I stand my ground’ smack in front of him.

  Even with her voice on a rising scale, I couldn’t understand a word they said. She stopped talking, and in a sudden 180 degree move, he turned around and walked away. Neither J.S. nor I stirred. Then the strangest thing happened. The man’s pace slowed and he turned his head to look squarely at J.S. and my heart stopped. That was the man who had followed me the day I was driving Kassandra’s Kia. The man with the muddy, rusty camper. OMG!!! Breathe Monica, breathe.

  J.S. walked over to where I stood petrified. “Ready to go? Did you lock up?” Cool as wet sand at low tide.

  I shook my head no. Even with my mouth wide open I couldn’t find a word to say. Finally I gulped air and headed back to the house to get the keys and lock it up. The whole time still searching for a smart question for this suddenly alien, redheaded woman.

  We went from camaraderie to awkward in less time than it takes to read the 140 characters of a tweet.

  I sat on the passenger seat, stiff as a dried up marshmallow. We didn’t speak until we reached Scottsdale Road. “What was that all about?” I asked with as much assertiveness I could fake.

  She let out a long, long sigh, so long and soft it sounded like a mourning cry. And I watched her body relax, a balloon doll after they let the air out. “That — was my father.”

  Wham! What was that she said? “Your — fath — father?”

  “Estranged father.” Her voice grew stronger. “Haven’t seen him in maybe five, six years.”

  “And he knew you worked for R.E. Assist?”

  “I didn’t ask, although I doubt it. He was probably looking to break into the van and steal whatever he could grab.”

  “Wow. Do you know where he lives?”

  She shook her head no.

  “I ask because,” I cleared my throat. Mercy this was hard, “Because I think he’s the man who cut me off yesterday, on Camelback Road. I was driving Kassandra’s Kia and, okay, it was partly my fault, anyway he was in a beat up camper, got me all scared. But then he stopped me and simply suggested I pay more attention to my driving, and I can’t say he was totally wrong.”

  She didn’t answer, just watched me with a sideways glance.

  “What is he doing here? You think he followed us? Oh, no, I mean, where was his camper?”

  As I said that, the camper with the rusty bumper crashing the gate yesterday flashed through my mind. And the hair on the back of my neck stood to attention.

  “He said he has a job as a groundskeeper. I’ve never known him to tell the truth.” She spoke softly, uncomfortably.

  The sight of Mark’s auto repair place made me feel like singing. I thanked J.S. We even hugged briefly and I got out of her van so fast a passerby may have assumed I was escaping a snatching gone wrong.

  That creep was her father.

  Holly crap! Gave all new meaning to dysfunctional family.

  AFTER PAYING FOR my new tire, I drove to the office in a mental fog. And found the parking lot nearly full. What had happened? Did I miss some memo about a party? Realtors hardly ever m
iss something fun and free. Well at least I wore real business clothes. Bring it on. I made it all the way to the doorstep, had my hand on the door handle when I remembered my cell. Left it on the car seat. Needed the phone. I quickly headed back to my Fiat and saw him.

  Max. Standing, no, leaning against my car, waiting. Where did he come from? And the dark cloud I managed to push aside all day crashed on me with all its might. Did he know? How?

  We faced each other for an awkward moment. No words, no embraces. Silence.

  He spoke first. “Hi, Monica.” The voice of a polite stranger. The unanswered phone calls and messages from him clearly flashing in my mind.

  “Well, what a surprise.” I attempted a smile. “When did you get back?”

  “What do you care?”

  Ouch.

  “I’m just here a few days. I sold my karate studio. We are closing the deal tomorrow.”

  I opened my mouth to ask how that came to be and stopped. He undoubtedly told me all about it in his messages and tried to reach me many times to tell me personally. Well done, Monica.

  His incredible blue eyes looked more doll-like today than ever before because, besides being such an intense color, they were also as cold and unemotional as plastic eyes. I had it coming. From the man who may be the father of my unborn child.

  “Came to say goodbye. I’m moving to Colorado. I met someone.” His eyes a mere slit. “She loves me, always answers my calls.” He sneered. “Not that you would care, but I wanted you to hear it from me.”

  I was still gulping air and only managed to say, “You’ve always been the better person.”

  A smile lit his face, a smile of great satisfaction that meant, “I know.”

  He tapped me lightly on the shoulder, moved away from my car, and I watched him get into a bronze-colored Jeep Cherokee with a ski rack on the roof and drive out of the parking lot and out of my life.

  I had to sit; my legs felt like twigs in the wind. Winds of change. I hid in my pink car, closed the door, rested my head on the steering wheel and cried. A loud engine snapped me out of my self-pity party. A truck parked next to me. Scott’s truck. Was he already back from the skiing trip? I looked into the rearview mirror and quickly wiped my cheeks with the back of my hands. Where is a tissue when you need one? And there was Scott, knocking on my car window.

  “Hey Monica, I just installed your sign. Nice listing. I put a rider on the post, with your cell number. Did you just get here or are you leaving?”

  He removed other agents’ sign riders from the back of his truck.

  That was my cue. Got out of my car and followed Scott into the office. “Why so many vehicles?” I asked.

  “Celine.” He snorted, “She’s doing some girls crap. I don’t know. Ask Kassandra.”

  The last person I wanted to see was Celine. Oh well, maybe she did her thing in her mother’s office. I hurried to keep up with Scott’s long, fast strides. “What happened to your ski trip?”

  “I skied one afternoon, cost me about $100 and I nearly froze my butt off. So I turned around and came back. I’ll go up to Flagstaff on Saturday. I hear they have a few inches of fresh powder.”

  I nodded, “Snowbowl?”

  “Yeah, wanna join me?”

  Like a weekend with a young dude and his beer guzzling buddies was on my playlist. “Huh, no. Hate snow,” I mumbled as he opened the door to the office and let me in.

  Kassandra barely acknowledged our presence. She seemed peeved somehow. Scott took a look around, about half dozen females in their twenties were taking up space here and there, while Celine, all dressed in Christmassy colors, moved around with a basket filled with I don’t know what.

  Scott dropped the riders on Kassandra’s desk, then pivoted on his heels saying, “I’m out of here.” Loud. Then under his breath, “Bitches.”

  True Scott. At least he made Kassandra smile.

  “Is it safe to go to my desk?” I asked.

  “Hey, there was a hottie with a tight ass looking for you. You just missed him.”

  I shook my head, remembering Max. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Oh, oh. Is that? That’s him. Right? Why are you so grouchy about it? I got your... emergency kit... but I suggest you wait until the swarm of wannabees leaves.”

  “What are they doing?”

  She shrugged, “Maids of honor to someone’s wedding? All Celine’s girlfriends. Was supposed to happen at Sunny’s place, but something about tree roots and backed up sewers changed their plans. So they ended up here. And the brainless blonde gives me a list and expects me to have food and booze delivered. As if. Freaking B**H. She’s going around with that stupid basket and they pick the names of who’s doing what. So, you going out with your hot stud? Did you tell him?”

  “Tell him what? And no, he came by to let me know he’s moving to Colorado where he found true love.”

  Why did I say that? I couldn’t stand the look of oh, you poor girl I was getting from Kassandra.

  “I’m going home.”

  I left as fast as I could so she wouldn’t have a chance to make me change my mind. And without the pregnancy kit she’d promised me.

  I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. It had been that kind of day. My cell chimed.

  “Hey,” I sighed. “Hi, Brenda.”

  “Please, curb your enthusiasm,” she chided.

  “You’re speaking television sitcom now?”

  “I couldn’t resist. What’s wrong?” she asked and it felt awkward. For weeks she’d been the one who was depressed and withdrawn. Now that she seemed to have bounced back, my life was coming unraveled. “Oh, you know. This and that.”

  “This and that? How do you come up with those answers? Is it work?”

  I felt like a real jerk. “Sorry. No, and by the way, thanks for getting me that listing. It goes on the market in the morning.” Now that I had her attention, I had to ask her a question I’d been avoiding. “Brenda, are you giving up the catering business?”

  “Give up my catering? Of course not. But I’m making changes. Trying to create a more ‘healthy’ image. That’s the reason for the home gym. I’ll be part of the healthy image, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I’m running late and I was wondering if you can check on Dior.”

  “Is Tommy at your house?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know. He was supposed to get the setup completed today and take the dog for a walk. But he isn’t answering the phone and I’m a little concerned. If you get home before I do, could you take care of Dior for me?”

  “I’m two minutes from home. I’ll take Dior for a walk, I can use some exercise anyway. I just don’t like to be around your nephew, sorry.”

  “Totally justified. He’s going back to his place this evening and Bob is working the late shift. Why don’t you plan on coming over and I’ll tell you about the new project?”

  “The new project? With Officer Clarke?” My sarcasm couldn’t be missed.

  “Of course not. He isn’t getting involved with the actual day-to-day business. Hey, got to run. See you in a few hours and don’t let Tommy get to you.”

  I drove into my own garage. No sign of Tommy or his motorcycle. Didn’t know if that was good or bad. I went inside, changed from my business clothes to sweats and sneakers. With phone and keys in my pocket, I knocked on Brenda’s back door. As soon as he heard me, Dior began barking and scratching. I counted to ten and then let myself in with the extra key. Inside, the house was dark. Dior jumped on me and before I made it past the kitchen, I knew he had pooped somewhere in the house. The stink was overwhelming. Damn.

  “Tommy,” I called out. “Anyone?” No answer.

  I started to walk around, opening drapes and blinds, stepping carefully. The house was a mess. It looked like whoever had been assembling what looked like a treadmill had quit before finishing the job. Open cardboard boxes, screwdrivers and I didn’t know what else lay scattered everywhere. Dior didn’t look too happy eithe
r.

  Could he have been locked in the house all day? I walked into the kitchen and sure enough, I found an empty water bowl and no food. No wonder the poor boy whined. I fed him, gave him water, scratched his head and then followed my nose.

  He had relieved himself as close to the door between the laundry room and the garage as possible. Poor thing. At least he did it on the tile. In five minutes I had cleaned up and packed the mess in plastic bags. As soon as he was finished eating, I put his leash around his neck and we left for a long walk. Couldn’t wait to see Brenda’s reaction when she got home. Yep, as always, Tommy was true to himself.

  FIFTEEN

  LIKE A CHILD set free after hours of sitting in a boring classroom, Dior could hardly contain his excitement. He moved fast, forcing me to trot after him. We headed toward Shea Boulevard and passed by neighbor Bob’s house. Not to be confused with Officer Robert Clarke, Bob to his friends. High on a ladder, neighbor Bob busied himself untangling Christmas lights.

  “Hey Monica, what’s going on at your place?”

  I slowed down in spite of Dior’s impatience.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me? By the time I usually get home, this whole street is either sleeping or watching TV.”

  “I’m talking about late morning, noon maybe?”

  “Sheesh, I left early, had to get new tires. Brenda was home. Oh, Tommy, my ex is helping his aunt set up some exercising equipment. Was he making a lot of noise? Banging, drilling?”

  I couldn’t see Bob’s expression with him up by the roof and me on the sidewalk, but I could hear him laughing. “Banging and drilling sounds about right. Until the shouting and screaming started. After that Tommy flew by on his Harley. I could swear he was shoeless and had the little two-seater sports car right on his ass. That Tommy, same skirt chaser. Oh, sorry, Monica, didn’t mean to — you know...”

  “No apologies needed, we’re divorced, remember? Better get going, I promised Dior a long walk and it’s getting dark.”

  I left in a hurry before he felt like spilling more details I’d rather not know about. However, that sort of explained the state of disarray in Brenda’s house. Had Tommy actually brought a woman there? None of my business. It felt so good not being married to him I found myself skipping while Dior pulled me toward 40th street.