“It depends,” he says. “Are we talking busy, as in I don’t have a television show to watch, or busy as in I can TiVo it, because this is an offer I can’t refuse?”
“Definitely the latter,” I say.
He unlocks the front door and hobbles up the two steps into his living room where he opens the shutters and lets the sparkling blue bay and skating sailboats invade our view with the morning sun. “Do you want something to eat?”
“Just that ice would be good.”
Max opens a Sub-Zero refrigerator, and pulls out a package of frozen peas. “Here, this works great. Let me grab one, and we can nurse our wounds together,” he jokes.
I put the bag over my eye. “I didn’t think I got hurt.”
“I thought the same thing when I broke my leg and tried to stand on it.” He continues to brush the hair off my forehead. “So, what’s the offer I can’t refuse?”
“It’s almost Fashion Week.”
“I know, believe it or not.”
“Don’t tell me, Valeria’s modeling?”
“No, the hotel is booked solid with New York media. San Francisco fashion is finally on the map, apparently.”
“Max, I need some buzz.”
“What?”
“I need the media to take notice of me, because this is my last shot at fashion. If I can’t make it next week, I’m going back to a desk job. I’ve lived the dream long enough. If it doesn’t happen now, it’s not going to, and my Nana deserves to know I’m well taken care of. If seeing the woman who abandoned me taught me anything, it’s that Nana allowed me to have a childhood. It’s time to have an adulthood.”
“Meaning?”
“I want you to come to the fashion show with me.” I nibble on my lower lip. “I want you to be my date.” I could die. This is exactly like the time I talked to Steve Collins in college and asked him to a football game, only to have him tell me American football was hardly worth his time. And neither was I.
“Well, well.” He falls on the sofa and crosses his hands behind his head. “Yeah, they all come around sooner or later.”
I force myself to refrain from rolling my eyes. “You can even break up with me in some dramatic way after the event. It’ll help your playboy status with the Valerias of the City.
“As if I need help.”
I can feel the sting of tears again. “Please don’t make fun of me, Max. I saw your picture in the society page in the Datebook section of the paper. I know you’re some hotshot around town because your family owns the hotels. Anything I can do to create conversation, even if it’s about me being with the City’s playboy, I could use.”
“My pastor wouldn’t exactly appreciate the playboy description. Neither would my mother, frankly. Besides, what have I ever done to you to deserve that title?”
My voice is timid here. I had the feeling he’d like the title. “I just thought because of Valeria…and that girl that dropped you off just now—”
“So let’s see, because I had a woman make me dinner, and a friend from church drop me off, that makes me a player? If you want to know the truth, Lilly, your Nana had more to do with Valeria being here all the time. She invited her over to cook, because she was so certain I needed a wife to keep me company. I don’t think it mattered to her that the girl’s IQ and her bra size were about equal, in actuality.”
This just makes me laugh. I try to stop, but I’m giggling like a schoolgirl, and every time I try to stop, it gets worse.
“So you see, I’m not really the player you think. I have an ex-girlfriend or two, sure. Would you really trust me if I didn’t at this age?”
Not answering that question. “Morgan Malliard is going to be my finale, and I want you to be my date, Max.” I press the peas tighter against my head. “No, wait, you don’t even have to really be my date. I want you to pretend to be my date. We’ll have our picture taken. We’ll smile for the camera, and then, you’re on your way. One of your hot, little chauffeurs can come rescue you from the after-party.” I shift the icy peas on my forehead. “Maybe Tara Reid is available,” I mumble.
“Boy, since you’re asking me for a favor, I hoped to find you a little more humble.” He laughs. “Let me give you a hint: when you want a favor, usually it’s a good idea to warm up the room a bit first. You know, feel the love.”
I get down on my knees, drop the peas, and clasp my hands together. “I’m begging, all right? How’s this for humble?”
“Lillian, what are you doing on Max’s good rug?” I whisk myself off the floor and face my Nana in the doorway.
“Nana, I thought you weren’t due home for a while.”
“I’m home early. Everyone made mashed potatoes. How can you have a potluck with four types of mashed potatoes and no meat?” She catches a glimpse of my head. “What did you do?”
“I got in a little accident.”
Nana comes toward me and puts her icy hand on my forehead. “Well, you don’t have a fever. That’s good.”
“Speaking of which, what have you been doing at the hospital, Nana?” When the going gets tough, the tough always shift the focus back.
She purses her lips at Max, as though he’s betrayed her confidence. “Getting a flu shot. They were out of them the first time. I had to go back a couple times until they had stock.” She points her finger at Max. “Must you tell everyone my business?”
Max shrugs. “I’m just sitting here, waiting for golf to start. In case you haven’t noticed, Jacobs women, this is my place!” He clicks on the set.
“We’ll go downstairs. Max, I brought you some leftover spinach casserole. I put it in the fridge.”
As we start to exit, I feel myself getting anxious to the point of near-panic. I wait for my Nana to start on the first step, and then I turn back into Max’s house. “Please, Max. Will you do it?”
He beckons me with a finger. “Come here, first.”
I get close enough to him where I can smell his woodsy, expensive cologne. It’s light enough to incite my senses, but not overwhelming enough to make him smell like an overeager teenager. Oh yeah, Max is easy on the nose. No Lysol necessary.
I gaze at him, face to face, and I watch the corner of his lip curve into a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it, Lilly,” he growls. Growls!
I pick up a pillow and throw it at him. “You made me suffer for nothing!” I start toward the door.
“Hey, wait a minute. What day?”
“This Saturday night, at your father’s hotel.”
“Which one?”
I just look at him. “You know, you could figure that out. Is that your way of letting me know he owns more than one?” I shake my head. “Call your concierge,” I joke.
“I’m just asking. Should I get a limo for this gig?”
A little giddy rise of the pulse. “A limo, really? Definitely. Can Nana ride with us too?”
“What’s a date without an obvious chaperone, Lilly? You’d think we were living in the Victorian era, for goodness’ sakes.”
“Thank you!” I bend over to kiss him on the cheek, but he turns his face and kisses me full on the lips.
“You’re welcome.”
I can’t help smiling down on him, and capturing the glimmer in his eye. I don’t know what to think of you Max Schwartz, but I’m most definitely intrigued. Plus, you smell fabulous! I skip down the steps to my Nana’s place, and she’s already cooking. I think that woman would explode if there wasn’t something in the oven. I get four steps into the living room when I realize I have to tell Nate about his car. And I realize that my cell phone must still be in it. After I called them all while the cop was writing up the accident, I must have put the phone down when I reached in to get my purse.
“I have to use the phone, Nana.”
“Is it long distance?” Okay, what is up with older people and long distance? I know they lived through the Depression and all that, but hello? Long distance is not going to drain your social security check these days.
“No,
it’s local.”
She hands me her telephone with the extra-large numbers, and I dial Nate’s number. He answers on the first ring. Ack! “Nate Goddard.”
“Nate—”
“Lilly, are you all right? Kim and I have been worried sick. You aren’t answering your cell phone, and we heard about the accident.”
“I must have left my phone in your car. How did you know about the accident?”
“They called from the police station to tell me my car had been involved in a hit-and-run on 101.”
“Nate, I am so sorry. It wasn’t my fault, I swear! I didn’t know what to do, so I went to my Nana’s.”
“It’s cool, Lilly. The car was on its last legs, and I was going to sell it soon. You probably got me more than trade-in.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Well, I’m not thrilled, but we were so worried about you this morning, the car paled in comparison. Don’t do that again, all right? When you’re in an accident, call!”
I rub the frozen peas deeper into my skin. “I did; you didn’t answer…I’m going to pay to rent you a car until the insurance kicks in, all right?”
“No offense, but you know, I think I’ll just take care of it myself. Bad luck seems to be your sidekick.”
“Not anymore, Nate!”
We exchange pleasantries. Well, as pleasant as you can be to someone who once kissed you ruthlessly, then had your roommate move in with him. And I did just destroy his car. Nana plops a chicken salad sandwich in front of me, and I say good-bye and hang up.
“Eat,” she says.
I’m starving, and my first bite is sheer heaven. “Nana, this is so good.”
“Extra pickles, just the way you like it.”
“I have to get to Napa this afternoon.” The thought occurs to me to ask Max for his Jaguar when common sense overrules. I pick up the phone and dial Morgan’s cell again. I look at my reflection in my Nana’s toaster and see the red raspberry mark left by Nate’s steering wheel.
Morgan doesn’t answer, and I hang up, strategizing my next move. I’ve got a fashion show, a date, and a limo. Now all I need is a bride and her dress.
chapter 28
After three bus transfers, I arrive home to see Nate’s scraped car parked on the side of our street. I now see that the car that hit me was blue, because Nate’s silver Saab has a blue stripe. The reality that I caused the damage just makes me feel sick. It’s such a physical manifestation of the havoc I seem to wreak lately.
At the moment, I owe my working life to Nate for the computers, the sewing machine, and my first payment that will come in the form of his own insurance settlement. He’ll probably be on one of those Geico commercials touting how he had to trade for better rates when his friend ruined his car. Maybe I can get them to put the gecko in one of my gowns when it airs.
Certainly, I don’t owe Nate anything for stealing my roommate, or for stealing that kiss. (Well, okay, so it wasn’t exactly stolen. Can’t a girl preserve her dignity here?) But as long as we avoid these subjects, we’re good. He’ll probably have more of an appreciation than I did for the barely-there fashion shows one gets from Kim before she parades out for a bar-hopping trip. You know, Nate is a decent guy, and if he thinks the “taming of the shrew” is imminent, he doesn’t know Kim at all. I just have to let the chips fall where they may. Let the Superman complex die on its own. As Kim has told me countless times, she’s a big girl. I’ll work on her from my knees from now on. She doesn’t have to know. For that matter, a few prayers for Nate wouldn’t hurt either.
Speaking of Nate, he steps out of the building onto the sidewalk and sees me checking out the car. “It wasn’t that bad,” he yells over the traffic up above on 101. “I thought it would be worse.” He nods, taking in the sight of his car, now sort of lurching to one side. “It’s leaking anti-freeze, and it’s not as much of a chick magnet as it was this morning, but—”
“Wait a minute,” I correct him. “The Slob was never a chick magnet.”
“You don’t speak for all women. In fact, the Saab says, ‘Casual, yet stylish and sophisticated.’”
“Or not.”
“Kim loves the car. She loves my dog. She even uses Q-tips to clean out Charley’s ear.”
They say that smell is the strongest memory indicator, and they must have something because now I think I’m going to hurl. I put a palm up. “Please, don’t go there with me.”
“It’s cute. She puts Charley on her lap and takes a Q-tip and—”
“Stop! I’m begging you. I’m having visions of the dog’s gooey ears. Please, have mercy!”
Nate is laughing. “I’m just messing with you. I figured it was the least you deserved for crashing my car. I was tempted to let Charley into your loft this afternoon, just as a little healthy aromatherapy, but I worried you’d ruin my investment gowns by spraying Lysol everywhere.”
“Technically, you know, the accident wasn’t even my fault.”
“And technically, now I don’t have a good-looking chick mobile.”
“Technically, you never did.”
“Technically then, the accident was your fault because you were driving my car instead of hoofing it on Muni.”
“Muni doesn’t go to the wine country.”
Nate points at me. “Neither one of you goes to Napa!”
I grimace at him and pound my hand on the hood. “Aren’t they going to fix it?”
“I’m taking the insurance money, probably. I’ll get an estimate tomorrow, but even though it is fixable, I doubt it will be worth it. I was hoping they’d declare it totaled so I could use it as a down on a new one.”
“The money? You already have more money than Moses. Go buy yourself a new car if you want one.”
“He who dies with the most money wins. Haven’t you ever heard that?”
“Except what happens when you die? It ain’t going with you. Great theology you got going there, Nate. You sure you don’t want to come hear about Living Water with me? Jesus? True victory?”
“You can’t even pay your rent, Lilly. You don’t have the answers I’m looking for.” An ambulance drives up the street with its siren blaring, and we’re both quiet until the wail dissipates.
“I never claimed to have the answers, just eternal life.” But yeah, could that sound any more hollow at the moment?
“One time around is good enough for me, okay? In case you haven’t noticed, this place ain’t all that great to begin with.” He reaches into his pocket. “Here’s your cell phone.”
“You really know how to make a girl feel like a loser, you know?” I can feel the tears coming on, but I’m so not giving in to them! “I’m sorry I crashed your car. I’m sorry I got fired. I’m sorry you feel the need to rescue me, and then hold it over my head like a noose!”
“Lilly, I don’t know what you want from me. You’re a great designer. If I didn’t believe in you, I wouldn’t have put my money where my mouth is. I wouldn’t have lent you my car this morning, and I wouldn’t have worked things out with Kim so you’d have employees working like honeybees in a hive. I care about you, but we are fundamentally different.”
“For example?” I ask.
“I think sex outside marriage is a good thing. I relish it, in fact. I don’t believe in self-denial to the point of feeling any pain.” He glares down at me, waiting for some reaction, I suppose. “You never know when your day is up, and living like that—with some pleasure—doesn’t seem like a bad idea.”
“I respect your honesty,” I say calmly.
I question everything at the moment. I feel like no one will ever want me. No one will ever cherish me. I can see why Kim goes for the moment. For one night, to be in someone’s arms and feel as if I’m his whole world? I covet that with my whole being, and maybe a lifetime is too much to ask. I wonder if I’ll get over feeling like I’m always in someone’s way. I’m always the one people have to stop and deal with for a second when they are really on their way to do something el
se. I am never anyone’s final destination. I feel like nothing more than the human version of a Greyhound bus stop.
“But you don’t respect me,” Nate says.
“I don’t know what I think about you. Does that make you feel better? I don’t have all the answers, and I never did. But I do think you are a decent man, Nate Goddard. You’ve always taken care of Kim and me. Come to our rescue with money and cappuccinos when the going got really tough. I think you’re a hero in your own way.”
“But you don’t respect either Kim or me for our decision to live together. That makes you judgmental.”
“Or prophetic. I guess we’ll see.” Like I haven’t learned something living with the girl for two years.
“I live for the right-here, right-now,” he says, while doing some macho jig. Nate won’t let the subject drop. He seems determined to bait me into a debate.
“I don’t really care how you live. If you want to have Miss Shampoo Commercial up—heck, a different Miss Shampoo Commercial up every night, you do so. Just stay away from Kim, all right? That’s all I’m asking.” I kick the car’s tire. “I know you’ll get ticked at me for saying it, but you’re a nice guy, Nate. Regardless of your actions lately. What’s your perfect ending with Kim? Two kids, a dog, and a picket fence in the suburbs?”
He ignores my question. “Do you promise me this isn’t about us?”
I make an X over my heart. “Cross my heart, hope to die. I promise.”
“You really don’t think Kim wants me? Or are you just jealous of our arrangement?”
First off, they don’t have anything. I can’t imagine why Nate wants Kim. I know that sounds harsh, but he’s like Opie to her goth revival. It makes no sense. I think back to the myriad of times Kim rolled her eyes at Nate, how her annoyance at his mere presence made her leave the loft. She wants someone—I believe that wholeheartedly—and Nate is simply convenient.
“I don’t think so. If I’m wrong, she’ll tell you, and you’ll know it. You can dance on my tabletop, and tell me I was wrong.”
“Fine.”
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