Tragically Flawed

by A. M. Hargrove

  “Well all I need to know is that she’s good. But thanks for the heads up. What about you, Amie? Where do you work?”

  Amie eyed her before answering. “I’m the director of Shelby’s Shack.”

  “What’s Shelby’s Shack?”

  “It’s the women’s shelter for victims of domestic abuse—a safe harbor for women and children.”

  Riviera’s mouth hung open.

  Amie said very softly, “You ought to come and visit it sometime. We always need volunteers.”

  “Yeah.” Riviera swallowed hard. “That sounds nice.”

  “So, how much stuff do you have?”

  Riviera half smiled. “Not much except for my painting supplies and my clothes. That’s it. I sort of left Chicago in a hurry.”

  Amie’s eyes held Riviera’s. “I understand. When do you want to move in?” she asked knowingly.

  “Yeah? Really?”

  “Yeah. I think we’re gonna be great roomies.”

  Riviera lightly hugged her. “Thanks! How about today?”

  “Definitely! Do you have any furniture?”

  “No, I need to buy some. I was just going to get a blow-up mattress until I could afford a regular bed.”

  “Well, okay, then. But it looks like we have some shopping to do. I have a friend with a truck.”

  The rest of the day was spent moving. Riviera checked out of her motel, and then they went shopping. They bought her a blow-up bed and a chest of drawers, and by that evening, she was all settled.

  The girls decided to order a pizza for dinner because they were too exhausted to cook. While munching down, Amie took a chance and said, “The reason I asked about the drugs was my ex was a heroin addict. He ended up going to prison after our divorce.”

  “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hell.”

  Amie nodded. “Yeah. He chose that crap over me. I finally gave him an ultimatum, and the drugs won. It hurt because out of everything we’d been through, I still loved the hell out of him. Anyway, he went to prison for armed robbery and assault. I divorced him. End of story.”

  “Oh, Amie. I’m really sorry.”

  “Me too. It's really hardened me.”

  “Well, I’ve never done drugs because my fucked-up parents were hippies and I was raised in a commune around a bunch of drugged-out dudes. I ran away when I was sixteen because the drugs always came first. I saw what the drugs did to my family and all those around me. I mean, look at my stupid-ass name. Riviera Bleu, for Pete’s sake. Do you know why they named me that?”

  Amie shook her head.

  “Because I was conceived in the back of a Buick Riviera, of all things. And then, they always wanted to go to the French Riviera, so they decided my middle name should be something really cool. They picked Bleu. They named me after cheese! Seriously! I’ve had to live with that my whole life. Not that I ever use my middle name or anything, but Riviera? Come on!”

  Amie was giggling. “Well, it is really funny when you put it like that. But you wanna know what I think about it?”

  “Yeah, I do!”

  “I really love your name. The Riviera part. It’s sexy. No one is named that. And it fits you to a tee. Besides, it’s very artsy. You should be happy they didn’t name you Tulip or Moonbeam. Those are awful hippie names!”

  “Oh, I can see it now. Tulip Champagne or Moonbeam Brie! I’m surprised they just didn’t name me Eiffel Tower or something!”

  “You don’t really think that, do you?”

  “I swear to God, if you could meet them.” Suddenly, Riviera’s lips stretched into a thin line. The humor had vanished.

  “What’s wrong?” Amie noticed.

  She only shook her head and gave a forced smile. “Nothing.”

  Amie knew not to push it so she changed the subject. “So, where do you start tomorrow?”

  “I’m supposed to go to a house up in the Bachelor Gulch area. Here, let me show you the address.” She pulled it up on the new phone she bought that day and showed it to Amie.

  “Oh yeah. That’s in the rebuild area.”

  ”What’s that?”

  “About two years ago a terrible wildfire swept through here, burning up hundreds of homes. People perished while they slept. Dry lightning triggered it. There’s been an awful pine beetle infestation killing the lodgepole pines. The trees die and dry up, leaving behind a tinderbox. Anyway, a couple summers ago, we had a dry spell and a series of storms. The forest went up in flames and the fire spread like crazy. The weird thing is it happened during the night. Sorry, that was a long explanation for a short question. The bottom line is they’re still in the rebuilding stage and trying to get those homes back up. You’ll be working your butt off, girl. Marsha Sue Flannery is the number-one designer that Shandon Homes uses and they have the majority of the contracts for those rebuilds.”

  “Oh. That’s awesome!”

  “That’s what you think now. I hope you still think that in a few months when you’ve worked twenty days in a row.”

  “Money. It’s all about the money.”

  “You should be in great shape, then. Well, that is, if she passes it down!

  Chapter Four

  My Boss Is A Dickhead

  Shan was overworked, again. Lately, his life consisted of nothing but working, eating, sleeping, and not always in that order. Right now he felt like a freaking rag about to fold. He was was furious because everything, including his precious truck, seemed to have it out for him.

  He pulled around the back of the house and hunted for his phone. It held all the codes for his homes’ garage doors, alarms, and security systems. Scrolling through, he found the one he needed and punched in the numbers. The keypad didn’t accept them. He did not have time for this.

  “Piece of shit!” he yelled at the small box. Forcing himself to take a calming breath, he knew deep down, it was operator error and not the keypad itself. Trying again, he tapped the numbers gently and watched as the door slid open. He drove in and threw his truck in park. When he got out, every muscle in his back screamed in protest. He couldn’t wait to hit the bed and get some peaceful rest for a change.

  Every time he turned around something else was going wrong. That damned auction house was cursed. First it was a plumbing issue. Then it was the electrical thing. Now they had to tear up the flooring on the main level. He couldn't get a break on that place. His temper was flying in the red zone. Hell, his temper was always in the red zone. Ever since … shit, he didn’t even want to start thinking about that. Christ, he needed some sleep.

  Once inside, the scent of fresh paint hit him as he moved down the hall. After a stop in the bathroom, he tore off his T-shirt, his eyes slamming shut as his head hit the pillow.

  *****

  At seven in the morning, Riviera checked the address twice before she drove up the circular driveway. The house was huge and impressive … but intimidating. Thinking back, she realized she’d never been in anything that quite matched the size and elegance of this place.

  “Holy shit,” she muttered as she unlocked the front door and walked inside.

  Due to her body’s tenderness, it took several extra trips to carry in all her supplies. Marsha Sue said she needed the walls in the den painted. She wanted them glazed a shade of bronze, which would be a cinch. Then came the more difficult part. Riviera was supposed to hand-stencil a specific scroll design around the sides and across the top of the fireplace in a darker bronze. It would look great when it was finished, but it would be done freehand so she wanted to make sure it was perfect.

  When drop cloths were spread and everything was taped off, she went at it like a madwoman. Even minor movements were painful due to her cuts and bruises, so the glazing took longer usual. By the time she was finished, the walls around the fireplace were dry so she could now start her favorite part. The stenciling would be done with oil-based paints, which meant she would need her mason jar and mineral spirits—she had to make sure her brushes always stayed clean and her paint didn�
�t thicken. Riviera liked to start her work across the top of the mantle first and then make her way down each side, stepping back often to check her progress.

  Things were progressing beautifully when she decided she needed music. She limped out to her car and grabbed her tiny portable speakers, plugged in her iPhone, and cranked up the volume.

  Being in the sinfully cheerful mood that she was, and since it had been ages since she’d felt this lighthearted, Riviera decided to get playful with her choice of songs. She selected Justin Bieber, Miley Cyrus, and Taylor Swift. Not her normal fare, the fun-loving music was just what she needed to laugh and sing her heart out. It was a good thing, she thought, that no one was within earshot—she had the singing voice of a banshee.

  Creating her swirling scrollwork, she felt giddy when a Justin Bieber song came on, so she belted it out with a mighty force. Stepping back from her art, she closed her eyes, threw her head back, and sang as if she were a rock star.

  “What the fuck is going on in here and who the hell are you?” a deep angry voice boomed over the loud music.

  “Aiiiiyyy!” Riviera screamed, leaping backwards and crashing into her paints. She landed in a heap on the floor, grimacing in pain.

  “Shut that fucking noise off now before I throw that piece of shit through the window!” the furious man growled.

  Riviera didn’t know who the angry man was, but she was unimaginably frightened by him. He stood there, shirtless, chest heaving, hands clenched at his sides. His icy blue eyes froze her in place.

  “I said, turn that shit off! NOW!” His voice reverberated throughout the room.

  Sliding on her butt using her heels and hands, Riviera backed up against the wall, shaking, feeling horribly vulnerable. Her mouth had suddenly gone bone dry and her body quaked with fear. Paralysis set in, the same kind that descended upon her when Jasper had been abusive with her.

  The man’s eyes pinged about the room until his eyes landed on her phone. In three long strides, he snatched it up and disconnected it from the speakers.

  “Goddammit, are you fucking deaf? And who the hell are you?” he growled, his nostrils flaring.

  She wanted to answer him, but terror had frozen her vocal cords, along with the rest of her body. Nothing would obey her brain’s commands. She simply eyed him like a frightened animal, trapped and awaiting slaughter.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He started toward her, stirring her to action. Raising her arms in front of her face for protection, she tucked into herself, fear clawing at her as he encroached upon her space.

  Shan was so still so angry at being woken up to that loud, abrasive noise, he snarled at her, “How can you listen to that shit? You woke me up when you fucking Bieber-jacked me out of bed. Will you answer me, goddammit?” He raked his hand through his hair. “Damn,” he muttered. If he'd taken the time to stop and take a good look at her, he would've been shocked at all the bruises on her face and arms. But since he was in such a rotten mood and so absorbed in her loud music, he didn't even notice.

  Finally, taking note of the room, he realized she’d been hard at work. The walls … they looked damned amazing. Better than anything he’d ever seen before. Had he been in a better state of mind, he might have acknowledged them. But as it was, his foul temper interfered with his ability to engage in any kind of civil conversation.

  “Are you going to answer me?”

  Riviera didn’t trust him—he terrified her. She narrowed her defeated gaze at him and ducked her head as she moved to clean up, hands trembling. She’d made a major mess of things when she landed in her paints. All of them had toppled over and now they were all ruined. Tears welled in her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks. She never used a formula when she worked. She mixed until she got the color just so, always careful to make sure she had enough for the job. Now she was totally screwed. The top section wasn’t quite finished and there wasn’t any paint to be salvaged from the mess on the floor.

  Shan watched her as she tried to resurrect her catastrophe, but he recognized it was hopeless. His mind told him he should feel badly about the way he’d frightened her, but right now he was too damn exhausted to care.

  Not bothering to look at him, she asked in a much braver voice than she felt, “Who are you? No one is supposed to be in here. I’m calling the police,” she warned. Her phone was her only means of protection but when she looked up, her heart lurched as she saw him holding it in his hand.

  She looked at him, and the light cast a glow on her tear-dampened face. Combined with the deep purple bruising, she looked so pathetically miserable. Shan felt his heart twist. But only for a second. It was, however, enough for him to back off.

  In a voice that was less harsh, he explained, “There’s no need for you to be concerned. I’m Benjamin Shandon, but everyone calls me Shan. I own this damn monstrosity of a house.” He pinched the spot between his eyes and grimaced.

  Riviera’s head snapped up as her eyes widened. Her heart immediately plunged to her toes as she covered her mouth with her fingers. Now she was really in for it. He’d go back to Marsha Sue and tell her everything that happened and she would surely lose her job. The stupid tears she’d valiantly tried to stem spilled over her lids again like rain, making giant splats on her hands and jeans as she ducked her head to hide her face.

  “Care to tell me your name?”

  Since her hair had fallen across her face, the curtain it created prevented him from seeing her tears. Her voice gave them away, though.

  “Riviera Benson,” she managed.

  All she wanted was for him to leave so she could fix things in here. That wasn’t going to happen. Two rather large yet attractive bare feet stood planted before her. Then to her dismay, he crouched in front of her and began to help.

  Unexpectedly, a hand reached out and lifted her chin, but she automatically flinched so fiercely, he instantly let it go.

  “Damn, I didn’t mean to offend you. Sorry,” he muttered. “Do me a favor. Will you look at me, please?”

  Shan sucked in his breath when she lifted her head to face him. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her face was soaking wet. That’s not what disturbed him, though. The bruises and swelling that distorted her face were what troubled him.

  “Christ! What happened to you?” he asked gently.

  “Please, can we just drop this?” she begged quietly.

  “I'd rather we didn't.”

  With a bit of backbone, she retorted, “Then, at the risk of losing my job, let me just say it’s none of your business.”

  Not expecting her response, he pushed forward, determined to get an answer from her. “Did someone do this to you?” As he observed her, he noticed the bruises and cuts on her arms.

  “No! I fell, okay?” She swiped the back of her hand across her cheeks, wincing as she did so.

  He stared at her for a minute and then fell silent as he helped her clean up.

  Riviera mixed another batch of paints but felt very uncomfortable as Shan stood and watched her. Beginning in the center, she started again and joined the ends of her swirls. She would have to wait for it to dry to see if there would be any touch-ups necessary to blend any color differences.

  Next, her brushstrokes moved along the sides. Shan watched in silence, admiring not only her work but also the girl herself. He recognized she had talent and a unique eye for what needed to be done. Eventually he left and put a shirt and shoes on, but came back to watch her paint. She fascinated him—no one had done that in years.

  What is it about her? She’s really got me jacked up. And why was I such a prick to her? Christ, I made the poor girl cry. And what the hell happened to her? She looks like she took it on the chin, and then some.

  Standing back frequently to inspect things, Riviera was finally satisfied when it was all finished. She had cleverly blended the two different hues over the mantle, making it appear that she had intended to do that all along. She was actually surprised to see Shan leaning against the doorway. She ha
d gotten so engrossed in her work, she’d forgotten all about him.

  He stared at her for a minute before walking out of the room. She fretted because she was positive Marsha Sue would be calling her to fire her that night.

  *****

  Riviera drove home in a much different mood than when she’d gone to work that morning. Edgy yet drooping, even Amie couldn’t convince her things were okay. It wasn’t until the next day when she talked to Marsha Sue and the incident was never brought up that she felt better.

  She returned to the house and continued work on her walls. By lunchtime, she was finished, so she packed up her stuff and moved on to her next assignment. It was another enormous home in the Bachelor Gulch area. She’d been instructed by Marsha Sue to paint a hallway that the previous technique painter had started but not completed.

  Riviera walked in and heard Shan’s raised voice. As she tiptoed to her destination, she cringed when she found she’d be painting just outside the room where Shan was.

  “This is unacceptable, Todd. You and I have been through this time and again, and this is the last straw. This house has been contracted for two-point-two million dollars—do you honestly think the homeowner is going to settle for this crap? The crown molding doesn’t match up over there, it’s crooked on that wall, and my God, look at the shoddy workmanship you did on the wainscoting. It looks like a ten-year-old put it together with a toy tool kit. I want this fixed today. And if you can’t get it right, I’ll get someone who can. Are we clear?”

  Riviera didn’t have to be in the room to know Shan was more than pissed. The timbre of his voice nearly vibrated the walls. He stomped around the room as, she assumed, he inspected the work of the subcontractor. She suddenly heard a crash and jumped back, bumping into the wall. Hating that she was eavesdropping, she set out her paints and brushes and then laid down her drop cloths.

  Shan exploded with fury as he ripped into poor Todd again. “Enough. Where are the tools I purchased for you to use? They’re supposed to be on every job site!”

  Todd mumbled something that Riviera couldn’t understand and Shan thudded around the room again.