One Hot December

by Tiffany Reisz

  early to be having this conversation. When his father used the royal “we” nothing good was about to happen.

  “What ‘we’ mean is that Flash and I have had feelings for each other for a long time. We acted on it—one night only—about six months ago. I ’fessed up to Mac Brand, who told me to break it off with her or he’d get rid of both of us, and I did. It didn’t happen again. Not until after she quit. That’s what I mean by ‘sort of.’ Satisfied?”

  Ian gave all his attention to his coffee while his father turned his back and stared out the window onto the deck and the snow and the mountain.

  “Flash Redding is a very good welder,” his father said. “I was very happy to have her as an employee of Asher Construction. I would have liked to have had more women on the crew.”

  “I wouldn’t want to do it if I were a woman,” Ian said. “Some of the shit those guys said to her would turn your hair white.”

  “You’re going to turn my hair white, son.”

  “What did I do now?”

  His father turned around and placed his hands flat on the counter, leaning over like he was looking at blueprints.

  “I’m trying to see you and her working out,” his father said. “I’m afraid I can’t quite picture it.”

  “Don’t worry. I can picture it.”

  “Son, she’s a great welder and she works her ass off, but is she really the sort of girl you need to be committing yourself to?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be sure about it?” Ian demanded. “I like her. She likes me. We enjoy each other’s company and you can take that to mean whatever you like.”

  “Ian, I love you with all my heart. You’re my only child and—”

  “Here we go.” Ian sighed into his coffee. Luckily his father didn’t hear him.

  “As my only child, I can’t help but worry you’re getting in over your head here. People who date, who get into serious relationships with each other, need to be compatible. You’d agree with that, wouldn’t you?”

  “More or less,” Ian said. “I know it doesn’t look like that on paper, but Flash and I have a lot in common.”

  “You do? Might I ask what you two have in common? Other than...” He nodded at the condom wrapper on the floor. Ian rolled his eyes and walked over to pick it up and throw it away. Why did he always turn into a teenager around his father?

  “Flash is a welder. I work in construction,” Ian said. “She likes bar food. I like bar food. She...” Ian struggled to come up with something else, something that didn’t involve sex. “Craft beer. We both love craft beer.”

  “Craft beer? This is something to build a relationship on?”

  “Come on, it’s Oregon. Half the marriages in this state are thanks to craft beer.”

  “Probably half the children born, too.”

  “At least half,” Ian said.

  “Is she Catholic?”

  “No, she says she was raised nothing. But she’s very respectful of religion.”

  “Ian, does she even ski?”

  Skiing was the other religion observed in the Asher family.

  “No. She’s an artist.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember her telling me that a long time ago. She’s good?”

  “Incredible.”

  “And you’re such a big art connoisseur you know that she’s that good?”

  Ian counted to five in his mind. He loved his father. They got along great three hundred and sixty-four days out of the year. Today must be day three hundred and sixty-five.

  “Okay, so you have a point. I know nothing about art. But I don’t have to know a lot about art to know she’s good. She has an installation up at the Morrison this month. That’s one of the galleries the Asher Foundation supports, right? If they think she’s good, she’s gotta be good, right?”

  “The Morrison is a reputable gallery, yes. But they also have a habit of putting on shows by artists who are edgy or offensive just to get the press and more bodies in the door.”

  “Flash sculpts flowers, Dad. Flowers. Climbing rosebushes made of aluminum. Eight-foot sunflowers made of copper. I hate to tell you this, but sunflowers are not edgy.”

  He raised his hands in surrender.

  “Forgive me. I just assumed a girl like her was—”

  “A girl like what?” Ian asked as he returned to the kitchen and sat back on his stool again.

  “A girl with her unique style, I mean.”

  “Unique? Have you been to Portland recently? She looks like half the women in that town. Which is yet another reason to love Portland.” Ian still had his apartment in the Pearl District. He wished he was there right now. “It’s not 1965 anymore. Put the cane down, Dad. Stop yelling at kids to get off your lawn.”

  “So sue me, I’m a little old-fashioned,” his father said as he poured a second cup of coffee for himself. “I just remember a time when women looked like women. I assumed my son had similar taste in ladies. Clearly I was wrong.”

  “Flash looks like a woman. A woman with short hair and a few tattoos. It’s not like she’s walking around in a snowman costume or a bear suit. Not all women have to look like Miss America contestants. Most women don’t.”

  “It’s fine. None of my business,” his father said. “You have your fun with her. She seems like the sort of girl you can have fun with. You’re still young enough to play around before settling down with someone nice.”

  Ian should have known this was how his father would react. He hadn’t wanted to admit to himself or to Flash but he should have known...

  “I hate to tell you this, but if and when I settle down, it’s going to be with her. At least I hope so.”

  “You’re being selfish, Ian.”

  “Selfish? For dating who I want to date? How the hell is that selfish?”

  “Son, nobody knows better than I do how ugly it can get when two people from very different worlds fall in love. Now, I have set you up on dates with some of the classiest, loveliest, nicest and most accomplished women in this state and—”

  “Why don’t you ask them out if you like them so much?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. You’re only fifty-six, Dad. Are you ever going to get married again?”

  “Some of us are a little busy running the state and managing your inheritance.”

  “Busy? You take every single January off and spend it in the Mediterranean. Maybe take that month and go out on some dates. I know some of the classiest, loveliest, nicest and most accomplished women in this state, according to you. Although you should know that two out of three of those ‘classy’ ladies you’re so enamored of asked me back to their places on our very first date. So this idea you have in your head that there are two types of women—the girls you ‘have fun with’ to use your words and girls who are ‘nice’—probably needs to go because nice girls like having sex, too. Yes, I am having fun with Flash. I’m also falling in love with her. So if I were you, I’d get used to the idea of having her around, because she’s not going anywhere except to every Asher company party, every Asher fundraiser and, as long as things keep going as well as they have been, every single Asher family gathering. I might even talk her into coming to Mass with us on Christmas Eve.”

  “You do that. I’d love to have her in church with us.”

  “Is this a photo op for the campaign?” Ian asked.

  “No, it’s the truth.”

  “Good to hear it. Now...are we done here? Because if I remember correctly you are here to ski with me, and the more we talk, the less we get to ski.”

  “We’ll go as soon as you’re ready.”

  “Good,” Ian said, climbing off his stool. If they were skiing, then they weren’t talking about his personal life. Not talking about his personal life was his favorite thing to do with his father.

  “Son?” his father said before Ian was halfway to the door.

  “Yeah?” He turned around.
<
br />   “I do like Flash. I want you to know that. I don’t want you to think I dislike your girlfriend. I like her very much. You caught me a little off guard. That’s all.”

  “Glad you like her. You should like her,” Ian said.

  “Your mother...” Dean Asher said, and paused before going on. “Your mother had a very hard time trying to fit in with my family. I wouldn’t want someone you love going through anything like that. I wouldn’t want you going through that, either.”

  “Do you regret marrying her?”

  His father looked up at him in shock.

  “Never. I regret what happened after, yes. But not marrying her. I would never regret that. I have you, after all. Ivy gave me you. And even if she hadn’t, even if we’d never had children... No, I wouldn’t have regretted marrying her.”

  “My mother wasn’t the sort of woman your parents wanted you to marry, right? Just remember that every time you see me with Flash.”

  His father nodded.

  “I’ll remember that. I’ll remember that, and I’ll try very hard to get used to the idea of having a daughter-in-law named ‘Flash.’”

  “She also answers to Veronica, you know.”

  “Veronica. I’ll call her that instead. Good Catholic name. Named for Saint Veronica?”

  “Named for the girl in the Archie comics.”

  “I’m going to pretend it was for Saint Veronica.”

  “You can do that,” Ian said. “But you really should go look at Flash’s stuff at the Morrison when you get a chance. She’s very talented. You’ll be impressed.”

  “I’ll make a note of it. In the meantime, I’ll stay out of it. You’re a grown man.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Now hurry up and get ready or I’m leaving without you.”

  “Going,” Ian said. He made it two-thirds of the way to the door when his father said his name again.

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “You weren’t kidding? Two out of three of those ladies I set you up with tried to get you back to their places on the first date?”

  “Two out of three, and no, I’m not kidding. Disappointed?”

  “Very. If they’d gone out with me, it would have been three out of three. You’re losing your touch, junior.”

  Ian laughed all the way to his bedroom. He kept his mouth shut and didn’t tell his father the whole truth—it had been three out of three.

  * * *

  FLASH ALMOST CALLED off her evening plans with Ian. She was so sore from hauling and scrubbing and sanding Ian’s heavy iron fireplace screen in her workshop that she almost wanted to sleep more than have sex.

  Almost.

  But for Ian’s sake—and her pussy’s—she rallied at about seven o’clock that evening, took a quick shower, threw on clean clothes and drove the thirty miles up the mountain to Ian’s chalet.

  Chalet? She couldn’t believe she was the girlfriend of a man who lived in an actual chalet. The last guy she’d been seriously involved with had lived in more “shack” than “chalet.”

  She pulled into the long drive that led to Ian’s chalet. She spied smoke coming from the metal chimney pipe and felt a sense of comfort at the sight. That chimney smoke signaled that someone was home, someone was awake, someone was waiting for her. And that someone was Ian Asher, who she’d been falling for since the day he showed up at Asher Construction a year and a half ago to take over as the new VP. The rumor had been his father had been prepping him for the role for years, letting him work his way up the ladder at Asher Custom Homes, a smaller residential-only construction firm in Portland. When the former VP had retired, Ian had got the job. She still remembered the day he showed up, gathered the entire crew into the large conference room and introduced himself.

  “Yes, the rumors are true,” Ian had said, “I am the owner’s son. I would apologize, but I’m afraid it would get back to Dad. In case you’re worried—and I would be if I were you—I am qualified for this job with something other than my last name. The city of Portland and the surrounding counties are going through a massive growth spurt and people are feeling the growing pains. Rents are going up, and people are being squeezed out. The rest of the country has finally noticed us and they like what they see. So they are coming, and we’re going to be ready for them. Asher Construction will be the first call developers make when they want to build sustainable, affordable and beautiful housing, and low-energy, cost-efficient environmentally friendly office buildings. We’re going to be part of this city’s renaissance, all of us. It takes a talented team of people to build a city. You all build the buildings. I’m here to build the team. Any questions?”

  Flash had to stop herself from raising her hand right then and there and saying, “Yeah, I have a question—will you marry me?”

  Instead she’d kept that question to herself as she watched Ian introduce himself to every single person at Asher Construction from the foreman of her crew to the two young women who ran the payroll office to the janitor who kept their headquarters clean. When he shook her hand, he said, “So you’re the famous Flash Redding? Dad calls you his ‘Lady Welder.’ Nice to finally put a face with the legend.”

  She’d been so flustered by his handsome face, his bright and genuine smile, his height and the width of his shoulders that his perfectly tailored suit accentuated so well that when she finally opened her mouth to speak, well...it wasn’t good.

  “Lady Welder is my porn name,” she’d said in reply. Her very first sentence of greeting to the new boss and it was a stupid dirty joke? She braced herself to get fired on the spot or at least sent to HR for a talking-to. Of all the stupid crass things to say.

  “Weird,” Ian had said. “Lady Welder’s my porn name, too. One of us is going to have to change our name or our fans are going to get very confused. And disappointed.” Then he’d given her a little “I’m your boss but I can take a joke” sort of smile and moved on to the person standing next to her.

  Eighteen months ago she regarded her feelings as nothing more than a work crush, something to enjoy, something to make work more fun. A harmless crush on an older man with money and power and prestige. It was like having a crush on a celebrity—as playful as it was pointless. Nothing would ever come of it, right? She’d been crushing on the burlesque star Dita Von Teese for four years now and hadn’t even gotten one phone call from the woman. Same with Ian Asher, right? A Harvard-educated man commonly referred to in the newspapers as the “scion of the Asher Construction empire” was not the sort of person who dated lady welders. She wasn’t even sure what a “scion” was, only that people like her were never called that. Ian was a safe crush. Nothing would ever happen between them no matter how cool she played it, no matter how hard she tried to flirt with him without him noticing, no matter how many times she made him laugh with some sarcastic remark about plumber crack, the scourge of the construction business. No matter how much she wanted it to happen, it wouldn’t happen.

  And then it happened.

  Now eighteen months after Ian started at Asher Construction, she was officially his girlfriend. She should have been on cloud nine with happiness. And she was. One foot was on cloud nine with happiness. The other foot was firmly on the ground, ready to run the second things started turning south.

  She pushed her worries into a back corner of her mind as she pulled into Ian’s driveway. He saw her coming because he opened the garage door for her and let her pull inside. His own car was outside the garage under a tarp. Bad sign. More snow coming tonight?

  When she walked into the house through the garage entrance, she found Ian lying on the floor in the living room flat on his back.

  “Help,” he said.

  “Have you fallen and you can’t get up?” she asked, standing over him.

  “I fell down a mountain.”

  “What? You fell down a mountain? Are you okay?”

  “Technically it’s called ‘skiing,’ but let’s be honest—it’s controlled falling. And I did it today for the fi
rst time this season. I hurt.”

  “You went skiing today?”

  “Dad made me. And now I can’t move. I hate being old. Why am I so old?”

  She shook her head in disgust.

  “You’re thirty-six not ninety-six.”

  “If you throw yourself down a mountain for eight straight hours, you will feel ninety-six. I don’t recommend it.”

  “Well, I’m only twenty-six and I feel ninety-six.”

  “Did you ski, too?”