by Dara Girard
After two years, Vance had started to save up enough money to buy out the business. It had been agreed upon based on a gentleman's handshake. Cordell promised him that once he married into the family the business would be his. Cordell was ready to retire, but wanted to keep the business in the family. He trusted Vance to run the operation and only balked at some suggestions he found too progressive. Cordell was very conservative when it came to change. He didn't visit the main office, unless he had something to say, and evidently today he did. Vance cleared a seat and gestured for Cordell to sit.
"This is a surprise," Vance said. "Want a drink?"
"I didn't come here for chit chat." He sat. "Answer my question."
"Hopefully next year."
"I don't believe in hope. It's either yes or no."
"I'll admit I haven't made it a top priority. Business has been booming and we have a lot of work."
"Son, I like making money, but I also like seeing my children happy and Sylvie isn't."
"She's not?"
"She told me you still have your own place. I told you I'd buy you two a house."
"I prefer we buy a house on our own."
"That's fine. I understand that, but you're together most of the time and have been for years, why keep your own place?"
"I use it like a separate office sometimes. It’s another place where I can think."
"A man shouldn't work too hard or waste time. If you plan to start a family you'd better start soon."
"You're right."
Cordell folded his arms. "I want to see an engagement ring on my baby's finger in three months or less. Then we'll begin planning a wedding. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
He beamed. "Good." Cordell stood and patted Vance on the back. "I knew you just needed a little nudge." He went over to the window. "You've made my business more lucrative than I could have imagined. I'm going to be proud handing my daughter over to you." He glanced out the window then chuckled. "Good Lord, what is that?"
"What?"
"You've got to come see this."
Vance walked over to the window and looked out. He froze. It was Greta. She was dressed in a bright paisley top and black skirt. Her large glasses reflected the sun making them look like saucers and her hair was an untamable mess the wind toyed with. Greta struggled to balance the large potted plant she carried.
"She looks like Dustin Hoffman in the movie Tootsie," Cordell said with a laugh. "But at least he was in fashion back then."
Vance shot him a look. "Don't make fun of her."
"Why not? I thought only women over eighty wore glasses like that." He laughed harder, wiping tears from his eyes.
Vance turned from the window, trying to get his thoughts in order. What was she doing here? It had been a month since that night and he thought he'd never see her again. Why was he so happy at the prospect? He rolled down his sleeves and straightened his shirt. "I'm serious, Aguilar. Stop laughing."
Cordell looked at him surprised. "Why? You know her or something?"
Vance cleared up his desk. "Yes, she's a friend."
"Really? You know her?"
Vance gritted his teeth annoyed by Cordell's disbelief. "Yes."
"Sorry, I didn't realize she was a client."
"She's not. I met her several nights ago."
"Oh," he said slowly, as if finally coming to an understanding ."So you didn't see what she looked like until now. You were drunk right and gave her the wrong impression. Want me to get rid of her for you?"
"No." Vance searched for a tie and quickly put it on.
Cordell watched him amazed. "What you getting dressed up for?"
"No reason." His hands were trembling too much. He yanked the tie off and shoved it in a draw. He had to be cool. Maybe she wasn't coming to see him. There were other offices in the building. Maybe... His phone rang and he reached for the receiver so fast he knocked over a cup of pencils. "There's a Greta Rodgers to see you without an appointment," his receptionist said.
"Fine. Give me a minute then send her in." Vance set the phone down then picked up the pencils. He could feel Cordell's eyes watching him.
"I've never seen you this jumpy before."
He replaced the pencils back then set the cup on the desk. "I'm not jumpy."
"What does this woman mean to you?"
Damned if he knew. "I helped her after a mugging."
"Oh yes, Sylvie told me about that."
There was a light knock on the door.
"Come in," Vance said.
His receptionist opened the door and Greta came in carrying the large palm plant. Vance saw Cordell bite back a laugh and saw his receptionist look Greta up and down as if she were a joke. Heat rose up his neck. He jumped up from his chair and took the plant from her. He set it in the corner and wiped his hands, annoyed that she wasn’t aware of how others saw her. "Why the hell didn't you just have this delivered? You could have hurt yourself."
"It's not that heavy, Vance. It's just awkward. I thought you'd like it. It's easy to care for and will help the air quality of your office. It's a thank you gift."
Vance rested his hands on his hips, avoiding Cordell's gaze. He knew his boss had been surprised by Greta referring to him as "Vance", especially since he didn't let anyone else do so. She had some dirt on her skirt and a smudge on her cheek and he thought she looked adorable. He was so happy to see her he didn't know what to do. "You didn't have to go through all that trouble."
"It wasn't. I'll just--"
"His manners aren't always the best," Cordell said. "What you did was real kind."
She smiled at him. "Thank you."
Vance stepped forward. "Cordell, this is my friend Tera. Tera, my boss, Cordell Aguilar."
"And future father-in-law," he added. "I won't keep you any longer, Van." He opened the door. "A pleasure to meet you, Tera." He looked at Vance and wiggled his fingers. "And remember what I expect to see." He left.
Greta looked at the closed door and swung her arms as if she didn't know what to do next. "I guess that's my cue too."
Vance leaned against the door blocking her. "No, I want you to stay."
Greta paused. She hadn't expected to be alone with him. She'd imagined dropping off the plant and getting a cold reception, then calling Minnie and triumphing at her victory. Instead, she was looking up into intense brown eyes in the face of a man she wanted to hate but couldn't anymore. Her grandmother was right, he wasn't ‘Van the Man’ anymore. Van would never ask her to stay. Van would never look at her like this. She bit her lip. "Sorry about the other day."
Vance shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't tell you the truth."
Greta looked around the office. "You're doing very well for yourself." She looked at a picture on the wall. "Is that the Bartholdi Fountain?"
Vance came up behind her, almost close enough to touch. "Yes," he said impressed. "Most people don't know that." He lowered his voice and his tone turned wistful. "I love fountains. Especially the sculptures that surround them."
Greta turned to him, startled by his nearness, but she didn’t move back. "Then you must love looking at the Court of Neptune Fountain, it’s near the Library of Congress."
His gaze held hers. "Yes, and I also love going to the Dupont Circle Fountain."
Greta swallowed and gripped her hands together basking in the warm glow of his gaze. "Have you been to the McMillian Fountain?"
"No. Where is it? Show me."
Greta walked over to his desk. "I think they have a 3D view online. I'll do a search for you--"
"No, I mean take me there."
"Now?"
"Do you have something else to do?"
It was the end of the day and she was off work. "No," Greta said feeling a little off balance. She hadn’t expected an invitation to spend time with him.
They drove in separate cars, since Greta insisted. Vance had his receptionist order a packed meal from his favorite Deli, which he picked up on the way, and met Greta at McMillian Reservoir, l
ocated in the Bloomingdale neighborhood of Washington. Greta was in shock when she opened the picnic basket. It was filled with succulent, fresh strawberries, several hard cheeses, turkey and ham slices, croissants, whipped butter, and several French fruit tarts for dessert. And, of course, a delicate white wine was included, along with long-stem plastic wine glasses. They selected a place close by the fountain, where Greta spread out a decorative woolen blanket she'd pulled out of the trunk of her car.
“Wow, are you always this prepared?” she asked.
“I’m always prepared for a picnic. Especially, if there’s a fountain nearby." Vance looked up at the structure. "You're right. This fountain is amazing. I’ve never heard about this one." It was a beautiful bronze fountain, consisting of three large figures called The Three Graces, mounted upon a pink granite base.
"I wonder what they're for," Vance said, pointing to the figures.
Greta adjusted her glasses. “The ‘Three Graces’ are there to help provide onlookers with a sense of honor, serenity and virtue.”
Vance tilted his head, studying her. “How do you know so much about the fountain?”
“My family didn’t go on holidays or trips, so I would go to the library and look up different places to visit, aside from museums, I liked to look at sculptures and fountains, so I'd find out as much as I could about them and then take myself on an outing. When my niece lived with me, I used to take her with me. She loved playing and throwing coins into the water.”
“I love the sound of the water," he said in a quiet voice. "I find it soothing.”
Greta watched him, curious. He seemed in awe but there was also a sadness she couldn't understand. She'd caught a glimpse of it when he was in his office, just after his boss had left. For some reason his expression reminded her of a man she'd met years ago. There had been abject sadness in his eyes. She was sixteen and had gone to the local food pantry to get some groceries to fill up their empty kitchen cupboards. Although she had an afterschool job, their finances were tight.
Her mother's employment was spotty, and while Marlene was out of school, she rarely worked complaining that she had to take care of Brianna. Greta was putting a loaf of bread in her basket when she looked up and saw an older man walking down the aisle, as if in a daze. He was tall with features that hinted of a West African background. She'd prided herself on knowing the difference between African Americans, those from the Caribbean, and Africans that filled her neighborhood.
He was well dressed, but his eyes looked haunted. She'd seen men in many states--intoxication, high, depressed but something about his expression worried her. It wasn't like the rest.
"Sir, can I help you?"
His dark brown gaze met hers. "I don't know what to do," he said in a thick lyrical accent. "I never thought I'd find myself in a place like this."
Greta knew some people felt ashamed coming to the pantry, but she had no such problem. "It's not hard. Let me help you. How many people do you have in your family?"
"Five. Including myself."
"Do you have any babies or toddlers?"
"No. Two adults and three children." He lifted up a can and looked at the label. "Most of the food here is so strange to me. I don't understand them."
Greta nodded understanding. Her grandmother had once mentioned how, when she first arrived in the U.S., her number one job was to find a local Caribbean store so that she could buy foods familiar to her. Unfortunately, since he was in the pantry she knew he probably wouldn't be able to afford to go anywhere else. Greta searched her mind and knew which items to suggest. Soups and casseroles had served her well, because they could stretch ingredients and be frozen.
Greta wondered why his wife wasn't there helping him, then decided she must have to stay home with the children. She rarely found men at the pantry getting food for their families. Although he was a large man, there was a gentleness about him that she'd never seen in an African before. Most of the Africans she had been exposed to were either arrogant, or they were abrupt, and at times abrasive. He was different.
Greta led the man around, up and down the aisles and explained the different food items. She picked up a can of chili. "This is made of kidney beans and ground beef. It's quick and you just freeze it and then heat it up.” Next she made sure he selected several cans of tomato sauce “Your wife can use this when making a sauce or soup." Soon his basket was filled with cans of soup, corn, a variety of beans, and tuna. She made sure to include several loaves of bread and rolls, and of course, several ripe apples. “Now, don't worry. You'll be okay," she told him as they left the pantry. “I’m sure your wife will be pleased with your selection. The beans are a great source of protein, so you don’t need to add any meat, and you have all she’ll need to make some hearty soups and stew for the family."
The man turned and looked at her. "You're a beautiful little angel."
Greta laughed. No one had ever called her an angel, let alone beautiful. She envied his family. His kids were lucky to have a father like him. For the first time in a long while she dreamed of having a different family life. "Glad I could help."
He pointed at her. "Continue to do well in your studies and you'll go far. Make your parents proud. I wish I had a daughter like you."
And she wished she had a father like him, but she didn't say so. Instead, Greta said goodbye then watched him catch a bus. She'd met him at the pantry several more times, and she would help him fill his basket. She even wrote down some simple recipes for his wife. Then one day he never returned. Greta thought of that man now, as she looked at Vance. She didn't know why she could easily recognize distress or pain in others. Perhaps it was because she'd felt so much of it in her life. She didn't know why, but she wanted whatever was bothering him to go away. Greta excused herself, telling Vance she needed to use the restroom, then disappeared into a souvenir shop across the street and bought him a small ornament of the fountain.
Several minutes later Greta returned and after lying down on the blanket, handed Vance the gift.
Vance took the gift out of the bag. "What's this for?"
"An early wedding gift."
"Thank you." He held it up then set it down in his lap. "It won't be until next year. I haven't even bought her an engagement ring yet."
"So her father is getting ahead of himself?"
"No." Vance bit his lip and glanced at a passing jogger.
"You're not ready yet?"
"I thought I was. I mean, I should be. Sylvie and I have been dating for years and..." He shook his head. "Cordell is right, I've been waffling too long. I've been focusing on the business and I need to put other priorities first." He clapped his hands together. "I know. Let's go look at some rings."
"You like to do things on impulse, don't you?" Greta said, watching Vance begin to put the items away.
"Not usually. Since coming to work for Cordell I've been very structured. I have to be, there are so many things I have to think about. So many people I have to work with."
"Going to the reunion was an impulsive decision, wasn't it?"
"How do you know?"
"If you'd thought it through, you would have arrived early with your gorgeous girlfriend on your arm for everyone to see."
"How do you know she's gorgeous?"
Greta raised a brow. "I don't think you've changed that much."
Vance laughed. "You're right. Getting Sylvie was a real coup for me."
"For her too, I'm sure."
"Hmm. You're right, going to the reunion was impulsive. I felt like I was getting stuck in a rut and I wanted to do something different."
"I know the feeling, except it was my grandmother who urged me to go. But I discovered that I no more fit in now than I did back then."
"I'm glad you went. I wouldn't have gotten a chance to really know you."
Greta laughed. "You think that was worth a flat tire and time spent in an emergency room?"
"Yes. You remind me of things I've forced myself to neglect. I've lived i
n or near this city all my life, and I've never taken the time to come here." He held up the souvenir. "Thanks for giving me a second chance."
"You too."
Vance put the souvenir away. "I'm glad we didn't meet at the reunion." His gaze lifted and captured hers. "I doubt we would have gotten to know each other like this. Now, we're friends."
Greta stared at him, startled by the thought. "We are?"
He gestured to the food and the surroundings. "What do you call this?"
"Okay," she laughed sheepishly. She'd hoped for it, but hadn't allowed herself to believe that it could be true. "I guess you're right."
"So, you have to help me."
"Do what?"
"Choose an engagement ring for Sylvie."
Greta jerked her head back. "I can't help you do that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't even know her. How will I know what she'll like?"
"I'll tell you all about her on the way there. I'm driving and I'll pay for the long term parking for your car." He didn’t allow for any discussion.
"Okay."
Greta didn't feel comfortable shopping with Vance to find a ring for his fiancé, but she did enjoy being with him. Sylvie was a lucky woman and probably knew it. They drove into Virginia and found a small jewelry store. Vance looked over every ring with care and asked her opinion. Greta watched him and imagined him proposing, and could see that while the arrogant boy had gone, there were still hints of him present. Vance liked to get his own way, and used his looks to his advantage, he knew she’d go with him, but he was also the man she remembered from that night over a month ago.
"I like it," Greta said assessing the diamond ring he held up. "I think you've found the one."