Home Improvement — a Love Story

by Tara Lain

  “Hey, girls.”

  “Oh, Daddy! Best birthday ever!” Ellie bounced toward him and threw her arms around his neck. He smiled since he hadn’t been “Daddy” for a couple of years.

  MaryAnn asked, “Did you like the seat, Mr. Mason?”

  “Uh, yes, it was amazing.” He waved toward the exit. “We better get moving or we’ll be exiting the lot for the rest of the night.”

  They never stopped talking all the way to the truck. He loaded them in and input the address of MaryAnn’s great-aunt into his app. It only took a few minutes, and they dropped her off at the door. She slid out and waved. “Thanks, Mr. Mason. Bye, Ellie. Can’t wait to tell everybody.”

  Ellie hugged her, then crawled back into the truck.

  Gabe turned on some music, and they drove quietly for a few minutes.

  Suddenly, Ellie reached out and turned down the music. “Okay, Dad, tell me. You hated it, right?”

  “No!” He frowned at her. “No. I really liked the music a lot. I thought he was an, uh, amazing performer.”

  “Come on, you don’t have to say that.”

  “I’m not just saying it, Ellie, it’s true. And—” He coughed. “—I’m pretty sure that Jet Gemini is my client.”

  She spun on the seat. “What?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Remember how you asked me if Jerry looked familiar? Well, I think you nailed it.”

  “Jerry?” It came out as a squeak. She leaned over the console. “Are you saying Jet Gemini is wacko Jerry in a beanie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He let out his breath long and slow. “I don’t either.”

  JERRY SLIPPED through the crowd backstage with a semi smile plastered on his face. Jet’s face actually. He tried hard not to touch anyone without looking like that’s what he was doing. Just get away.

  He made it to his dressing-room door before a hand clamped on his shoulder.

  “Great show, darling. You should bottle that charisma, you know?”

  Jerry mentally slipped on his “Jet skin” so he wouldn’t cringe, then turned languidly. “Hello, dear.” He kissed the cheek of Bryson Anger, aging rock star turned wildly successful producer, who was responsible for some of Jet’s albums.

  Bryson said, “We’re going out for drinks. Come?”

  “Will you forgive me if I beg off? A show a night for five nights and still three to go. Need to save a little for the swim back.”

  Bryson laughed at the reference to their mutually loved movie, Gattaca. “You’re forgiven. When will you leave all this botanical splendor behind and come see us in LA? I don’t trust air you can’t see and taste.”

  “I’ll be a while. I need to spend some time writing before I can record.” He kissed Bryson again. “Talk soon.”

  He opened his dressing-room door and stepped inside. Even Bryson knew that nobody followed Jet into his dressing room. Fred had done such a good job of striking fear into everyone’s hearts that they all expected Jet to explode if a person invaded his space. Close.

  The second the door closed, he twisted the lock, made a dive for the comfy chair he always requested in his dressing spaces, and curled into a fetal position. It couldn’t be, could it? He couldn’t have looked out past the blazing lights into the audience and seen Gabe scooting out of one of the front rows like he’d seen a ghost. Right, the ghost of Jerry Castor.

  It couldn’t be him. What would Gabe be doing at a Jet Gemini concert? But even as he thought it, Ellie Mason’s cute face flashed in his mind. Hadn’t Gabe said something about her birthday? Oh damn shit hell fuck.

  Now he needed to do something, and all he felt was tired. Everything else aside, Gabe worked for him. Sure Jerry could have hired ten guys, fifty. Hell, he had an architect who’d designed his San Francisco home and a designer who decorated all his properties. So what? That wasn’t what he wanted. Nobody else would get that Gabe gleam in their eye when they saw his house. No one else would work hard for Jerry, try to save him money, and worry about his pizza diet and sleeping accommodations. No one else had that amazing heart.

  What does he think? That I’m a liar who played him? Jesus, what else could he think?

  He clutched his middle tighter and moaned softly, mourning the one true relationship he’d thought for a minute he had in his life.

  I CAN explain.

  Gabe glanced at the text for the hundredth time, then shoved the phone back in his pocket. “Move that a little to the right.” The two deliverymen positioned the huge butter-tan leather sectional around the coffee table and the abstract floral rug underneath it.

  One burly guy, whose nametag read Hank, said, “Hey, this looks boss.”

  Gabe was pretty sure that meant good. “Thanks. I like it too.”

  He walked over with a tablet and handed it to Gabe. “Sign here for delivery.”

  Gabe signed and handed each of them a twenty from the cash he now knew Jerry could easily afford. The thought made his stomach clench. No way he’d let this ruin his fun. He was going to finish this house, or at least get as much done as he could before he got fired and replaced. Fuck, it wasn’t every day he got a chance to earn a lot of extra money. He wasn’t giving it up until he had to.

  When the delivery guys left, Gabe ran up the stairs to check on the bathroom remodel. Since it had been five days since the concert and he’d only had the one cryptic text, not followed by a dismissal or even a return date, Gabe upped his schedule and worked twice as hard.

  He and Ellie had talked it out in the car. Keep going at top speed until Jerry gets back. Do a good job; bank the money. Gabe had no doubts Jerry would pay him for the work done. After all, they had an agreement, and now he knew Jerry, aka Jet, had the money. God, it made him blush to think how hard he’d worked to keep costs down and how he’d cringed every time he used the stupid black credit card. Right. Ellie looked it up. Only one of the most exclusive credit cards in the world. He must think I’m a total hick.

  Which led back to the question, why had Jet Gemini taken the time and effort to con Gabriel Mason?

  He stuck his head into the expanded bathroom. “Man, Jorge, this looks great.”

  The big room that had been pushed out onto the deck was fully framed and drywalled, and fixtures were halfway installed—a huge jetted tub, a walk-in shower with four showerheads, two sinks, each with their own storage and counter space, and a separate WC room for the toilet. And the view. Jerry could sit in his tub and stare at the trees and mountains beyond. Gabe swallowed. Thinking of Jerry in the tub—classically bad idea.

  Jorge climbed out of the shower, where he was tweaking the glass shelving. “Did you look at the kitchen? We got the stovetop and ovens installed.”

  “When do the countertops come?”

  “Tomorrow. I practically had to sell my mother to get them done that fast.”

  Gabe grinned. “Cheap at twice the price.”

  “Only got one mother, my man.” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “So when’s the homeowner expected?”

  “I don’t actually know. I guess he could show up anytime. That’s why I’ve been rushing so hard. I want to get the most done possible before he gets back.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Working.”

  “Long trip.”

  “Yeah.” To discourage more questions, Gabe turned and walked back through the bedroom, which now boasted hardwood floors and perfectly painted walls, Jorge beside him.

  Downstairs, Gabe walked to the kitchen, and he had to smile. Wow. Just wow. The kitchen was nearly twice as big, having taken over all the laundry room real estate. The biggest sink was hidden from view behind a lattice wall, but the rest was open. “Now that’s a kitchen worthy of this house.”

  Jorge slapped his shoulder. “My thought exactly. Gotta say, great idea we came up with.” He laughed.

  Gabe joined him. “Let’s look at the rest.”

  Beyond what had been the door to the mudroom, the “new” pa
rt of the house stretched out. The electrician and plumber had worked overtime getting the laundry with its red appliances set up, along with a big open room that Jerry could turn into whatever he wanted. It would probably make a good music studio, but what did Gabe know about that? There was also space for a gym, and finally they looked through the back door into the new garage that was complete with large translucent triple doors. Jerry would have a place to park when he got home.

  It all made Gabe proud.

  And nauseated.

  When they got back to the kitchen, Gabe cleared his throat. “Uh, when the homeowner gets back, I’m going to turn the project over to him and recommend that he keep you and all the subs on. I’m pretty sure he will. I’ll also suggest that you take over as the supervisor so he doesn’t have to worry about the details.”

  Jorge frowned. “Why’re you quitting, Gabe? You’ve got a real feel for this property. I can’t imagine anybody, including me, can do a better job.”

  “Thanks, but I just have some other projects I need to finish.” He pulled open the huge pantry and looked at all the shelves—again.

  “Okay, well, I’ve never met this guy, so you’ll have to introduce me. And I hope I can call you with questions.”

  “Yes on the questions. As to the intro, the homeowner’s kind of shy—” A picture of Jet Gemini stalking the stage like a lithe caged animal flashed in his mind. “—so it’s probably best if we just let him make contact with you however he wants to.”

  “So that’s why we’ve never met him? He’s shy?”

  He wanted to scream, “I’ve got no idea why Jet fucking Gemini is hesitant to meet people since he plays in front of tens of thousands!” Instead he just nodded.

  “That’s kind of weird, but I guess we can put up with a boatload of strange to work on this house.”

  “So I’ll leave you with a checklist and all my contact numbers. I’ll give the same thing to the owner. You already know most of the projects, but the one thing missing is the front entrance. I’ve got a landscaper coming today to talk about developing a real entrance for the house so people know where to go when they drive up. I’ll have to leave that with you.” He swallowed. “So this room is looking great.” He glanced at his boots. “I have some pots and pans and other household shit coming. Maybe you’ve got somebody who can arrange it in the kitchen.”

  Jorge gave him a sideways glance and frowned at what he saw. “Sure, Gabe. I’ll have my interiors person help out.”

  “Perfect.”

  “You sure you wouldn’t rather do it yourself?”

  “Yeah, I—” The doorbell rang. “That must be my landscaper. You want to listen in?”

  He nodded and tagged along to the yard. The landscaper, a guy who looked more like a painter than anyone who worked in dirt, caught on right away. He’d searched for the front door and understood what a problem it was.

  By the time they’d walked the big front yard a few times, they’d conceived a Japanese-looking gateway with a stone path edged by boulders and shrubbery that wound between the trees. They considered covering it against the Oregon rain, but decided it would compromise the view, so they added a cover at the driveway and then umbrella stands where guests could grab a rain cover to get to the front door. On the porch, another set of stands received the wet umbrellas.

  Jorge got into the swing and started trading ideas with the landscaper.

  Gabe nodded. Good. But his agreement didn’t make the lump in his throat go away. “You two keep at it. I’ve got to see to some stuff inside.” He turned away. Weirdly, he was blinking against the hot tears that pushed at his eyeballs.

  Chapter Fourteen

  JERRY NAVIGATED up the narrow driveway in his Prius, blinking against the dimness of his one driveway light and his own exhaustion. When he’d finished his last concert in Reno, he’d pressed the accelerator to the floor and driven the five hours home from the busy freeways in Nevada, through the dense forest where there was no cell service, and over Mount Ashland on the 5. He’d barely kept himself from pulling over to sleep, but the lure of home—and the chance to maybe explain himself to Gabe—kept spurring him on.

  Ahead of him on the driveway, three garage doors of translucent blue-green fiberglass shone in the soft illumination. Oh my God, I have garage doors. Gabe gave me garage doors. How nuts was it that the thought made his heart beat faster?

  Of course, he still had to leave the car in the driveway since he didn’t have an opener for the doors.

  He parked and slid out, having to grab the side of the car to keep from falling he was so tired. With a yank, he dragged a small suitcase from the back seat and pulled out the handle. It wasn’t heavy. Just a few Jerry clothes. He left all the Jet wardrobe with his assistants.

  He started down the old pathway that led into the yard in front of his house—and stopped. There was some kind of paint on the grass, like somebody was plotting out a walkway and other stuff on top of what was there. Must be Gabe. He got another thrill.

  Pulling his suitcase across the ragged grass and up the stairs to the front porch was tough going, but he made it and leaned against the wall as he unlocked the front door.

  He stepped inside, dragged in his bag, and then closed the door behind him, settling into the dark inside his home.

  Hmm. Interesting smells. Paint, wood, maybe cleaning supplies. He felt along the wall for the switch, flipped it and—holy crap.

  His house. It was….

  Wow.

  The walls gleamed a fresh off-white, and the tile floors had been cleaned and polished. Across from the entry, he could make out the edge of the dining table he’d admired at Gabe’s, now in his own dining room.

  He stepped into the hallway, gasped, then rushed to the kitchen that had been a small cramped room and now was an open, inviting, expansive space full of polished quartz counters and shining stainless appliances. But most amazing was that the cabinets, at least some of them, were full. Inside two of the cabinets, which happened to be glass fronted, he could see some pretty dishes. He pulled out a dark wood drawer and found it full of brand-new pots and pans.

  His fingers twitched to grab his phone and text Gabe a thank-you, but it was past two in the morning.

  After pulling a few more handles and finding drawers, cabinets, and bins full, he wandered in awe back into the hall. He called it a hall for lack of a better word, but it was just an open central artery that connected the three-sided spaces that were the family room and dining room that faced on the pool, the kitchen, bath, and entry that lined the other side of the hall, and then the great room into which the hall ended.

  Gazing at the almost unbelievably improved interior, Jerry wandered to the door that used to mark the end of the living area and the entry into the damp, cold mudroom and various unspecified spaces that finally led to the garage—the garage that now had doors.

  Slowly, he opened the door. Warm air filled the space, and the walls had been painted. A bench, shelves, and hooks were built in on one side. It was a real mudroom.

  He stepped down into the room, which had become positively cozy. He opened the door on the far side, stared into a hall, and then entered a large room.

  Oh my God, what a perfect studio. It didn’t open to the outside, so it was quiet and the light could be controlled.

  He retraced his steps, closing the mudroom door behind him, and then headed to his favorite—the great room. Almost holding his breath, he approached the big room, which was dark except for the moonlight and twinkling stars shining through the two-story-high walls of glass.

  He paused in the spot where the low ceilings of the hall gave way to the soaring ceilings of the great room. There was a light switch on the wall that hadn’t worked since he bought the house. Just on a chance, he flipped it.

  Whoa. A light went on in the middle of the huge room—on an end table next to a large sectional sofa that glowed a warm gold like seasoned butter melted in a pan. He walked toward it and realized that there was anothe
r lamp, which he also turned on. Now the whole sitting area came into view, the couch on top of a huge, beautiful rug, and in the middle of it all, the handmade coffee table.

  Straight ahead was the big fireplace. All the beautiful venetian tiles were repaired, and there were big logs assembled in the hearth. He found the key that looked like it controlled the gas in the fireplace and a firelighter on the hearth beside it. He clicked the lighter, and with a touch to the log, the fire burst to life. He almost cried it was so beautiful.

  Backing up, he walked to the sectional and collapsed on it. Wow, it wasn’t just the color of butter, it was that soft to the touch. Lying there with the two lamps on their lowest setting, the fire dancing happily and the moon still shining like a giant gift through the windows that were somehow magically clean, Jerry felt totally at home, maybe for the first time in his life.

  He reached out and touched the table, running his hand back and forth over the silken wood. In that sweet comfort, his eyes closed.

  “MR. CASTOR? Sir?”

  Jerry heard the words and blinked. Brilliant light flooded behind his eyelids, and his eyes flew open. He sat up and scooted back. “What? Where? I mean, who are you?”

  The stocky man in work clothes smiled at him. “I’m so sorry to wake you, sir. I’m Jorge Alvarez, your design-build supervisor. I’ve been working with Gabe, and he gave me all the instructions for how to move forward. I wouldn’t have bothered you except the guys are installing the bookshelves in here in a few minutes, so I thought you might want to go upstairs so nobody’d bother you.”

  Jerry touched his shoulder. Fuck, his hair was hanging down and, of course, no sunglasses. But the man seemed clueless and harmless. “Uh, sorry. I got home really late and fell asleep.” Jerry glanced around the big room, glistening with morning light. “I guess that’s obvious.” He swallowed. “Where’s Gabe?”

  For the first time, the man looked uncomfortable. “Uh, he had another—I mean, he handed off the to-do list to me to supervise, uh, assuming you agree, of course. There’s still a lot to do, as you can see, but Gabe really got the ball rolling, and I feel good about taking it from here….”