Slightly Imperfect

by Tomlinson, Dar

  "Zac—"

  "Did you think this was a roll in the hay?" He rose on one elbow, took his hand from her breast, caressed her cheek, brushed back her hair.

  "I don't know," she said softly. "I've never had a roll in the hay. I distinctly recognized this encounter as making love."

  "Forever, Victoria. Marry me and we'll have the rest of our lives to make love and babies. And to make the world a fantasy for Marcus and Ari and Alex." And Angel.

  "I'll have to think about that."

  * * *

  "Is that you, Ian?"

  It was dark, even darker in the shadow of the large aluminum shed Gerald had erected to store the building materials for Fischer's landing. Zac peered into the shadows at the male figure advancing toward him.

  "Zac?"

  They stood face to face now, Zac sweating hard from jogging and straining to hold Delilah back. He suspected Ian's sweat was sudden, spurred by adrenaline. That smell lingered in his recall of every bar fight he had ever witnessed.

  "Yeah. I was out for a run. The supply yard is on my route." He waited, Ian's shallow breathing a background for his reticence. "What's your story?" It was past midnight.

  "I missed my watch when I got home tonight. Thought maybe I'd lost it in the yard here somewhere."

  "That's inventive."

  "What the hell does that mean?" Ian's quivery tone didn't match his words. Nerves colored his laugh.

  "You think you need your car trunk to haul your watch?"

  He actually looked over his shoulder to verify the trunk being open. "I opened it to give me some light."

  "You don't own a flashlight?"

  "What the hell are you saying, mate?"

  "Anybody going to a construction yard to look for a watch in the dark would take a flashlight. It's not a lot more complicated than that."

  "Well, we aren't all philosophy majors." He wasn't laughing now, just sweating more. The smell grew foul. "And some of us aren't in bed with the boss the way you are with Gerald."

  "The only place you could have gotten all that knowledge is from Maggie. Is that where you got your key too? From her?" Zac had heard the padlock releasing, clanking quietly against the metal shed door.

  "That would be an easy place to get one all right—if I had a key. She keeps it on her nightstand. Or did you know that?"

  Zac swallowed, listening to his heart pound in his ears. Delilah strained. He thought of letting go. "I didn't know that. But I guess that tells me who you're in bed with."

  "I suppose. She'll be surprised to know you care."

  His flesh crawling a little, Zac eyed him, reminding himself Ian's insinuations about Maggie didn't make it gospel. But a nagging foreboding assured him the situation was complex. "I'll take a look in your trunk, seeing as how I'm your boss."

  He crossed to the hatch back and peered in, giving Delilah a looser reign. Ian hadn't made much of a haul. A few cans of paint and some varnish. He considered firing him on the spot, but Maggie's face floating through his urge kept him quiet.

  "I found those in the yard, up next to the shed," Ian offered as he approached man and beast cautiously. "I guess somebody forgot to lock them up. I was planning to take them home until morning."

  "And I see you found your watch." The band flashed against Ian's bare arm in the trunk light. "I guess you got lucky."

  "Actually, I got lucky before I came over here."

  "Maggie and I are divorced."

  "You can't prove anything, because I didn't do anything."

  Zac let him sweat.

  "Are you gonna tell her about this? Or Gerald?"

  "Not if it doesn't happen again. She's a big girl. She has the right to her own mistakes, and Gerald's mind can't relate to scum like you. This is between you and me. For now."

  "You're all white meat, boss. She said you were."

  "Yeah. But if it does happen again, the first thing I'll do is let this dog loose on you, then I'll stomp what's left and spend some of Gerald's money making sure you have time to reflect on where your life went astray. Reflect from the county jail."

  Ian shuffled his feet in the shell-paved lot. Delilah growled on cue. Ian froze.

  "That warning's not too articulate for you is it, Ian?" Zac slammed the trunk shut. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and not strip-search you for your copy of Maggie's key, but I suggest you meet me here in the morning, say around six, and we'll add that paint back into the inventory. Deal?"

  "Deal," Ian begrudged and moved gingerly to his car door. He turned back and Zac heard an attempted grin in his voice. "What time does that dog get up, boss?"

  "Any time I want her to."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "Good morning, Tori."

  "Coby." She hadn't had his phone calls to contend with since—Memory revived her dread. She struggled out of sleep, glanced around the room frantically, assuring herself of the security of Puerto San Miguel, the Valdez suite. "It's early for you to be up?"

  "Big day here. We're having bacon for breakfast. I'm eager."

  She laughed, even through her trepidation, as she'd always done with Coby.

  "And when I opened my eyes this morning I thought of you."

  "That's sweet." Beside her, Zac stirred, coming up from the mire of sleep. Second thoughts made her heart pound. Pierce's face flashed in her mind. His accusation of her responsibility for what Coby had done, his warning to leave him alone in the future, resounded. "You're just homesick. I'll call the doctor today and make an appointment. He'll tell you when to expect me. Should I bring the children?"

  "Bring them. But you call me, Tori. Give me something to look forward to."

  Her reflection, and Zac's, flashed on a mirrored wall as she drew herself up against the headboard. She fitted the sheet to her naked body, suddenly vulnerable. "I'm so busy now. Remember? With the designs, and trying to set schedules for the Aura shoots. But I'll call— Coby? Have you thought about Zac and what I told you? Are you all right with that?" She could hear breathing in the white noise on the other end. "Your feelings are vital to what I'll have to say to the doctor." She didn't breathe. She closed her eyes on the reflection of her face.

  "In a reversed situation would you be all right with it?"

  "Yes, I would be. If it were you with someone, I'd be ecstatic." Would I? "But you have to tell me how you feel. There's no reason for me to call the doctor or to come down there if—"

  "If you don't get the right answer from me now."

  "The truth. You're scaring me. Is that what you want?"

  "Don't tell the doctor I scared you."

  "Then you tell me—"

  "I won't kill Zac Abriendo. That's what you want to hear."

  "Oh, God, Coby." She raked her hands through her hair, fought against rising helplessness. "No. I want you to say you don't care about Zac. That it's my life. I want you to tell me again how you want to sleep with someone—anyone but me—the moment you're free. That's healthy. What has it all been for if you can't tell me that?"

  "I love you, Tori. If you want this guy—Look, it's not the old, sick thing. It's the big brother thing now. You have a tendency to choose the wrong people. How do I know, from this vantage point, you haven't done it again?"

  Christian's image flashed in her mind now, a perfect choice, a choice initiated by Coby when he'd introduced them. Yet he had tried to kill Christian.

  "You have to let me make my own decisions, even if I'm wrong. You have to let go, Coby." The words were no different from five years ago. "We both have to let go and... enjoy each other, not try to control each other. I know I was as guilty as you were, but I'm over that. It feels wonderful."

  "Bring him with you."

  "What?"

  "Bring Abriendo with you. Maybe familiarity will breed respect this time."

  "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

  "That's my best offer."

  She heard finality in his tone, shifting emphasis, disregard for leaving her in limbo.


  "Call me, Tori." He sliced their connection as cleanly as she longed to slice through the obscurity in their relationship.

  Slipping down into the covers, attempting to squelch a racing tremor, she turned her face to the side for the first time.

  "That was insightful," Zac said softly. He braced on one elbow, studying her.

  She smiled, moved by his concern.

  "Who won the round?"

  "Satan. Twenty-nine years ago when he created Coby and me."

  "That's not possible. I can show you it didn't happen that way. God knew your name and every beautiful, blond hair on your head before he allowed the miracle of conception. Get over that theory, Victoria."

  "You'd better go. The phone may have woken the children. They shouldn't find you here."

  "What have you told Coby about me?"

  "That you're in love with me."

  "Not you're in love with me?"

  "I haven't seen him since... I?ve known. He wants to meet you."

  "Coby and I think alike where you're concerned. We'll be best friends. God is great!"

  "No, Zac. You are. I do love you."

  "That will give Coby and me something to talk about."

  * * *

  "I'm sorry, Papa. There's just no way I can take you out today."

  Zac and Alejandro faced each other on the dock, engines running, the Ramona Tres bobbing rhythmically in the water. Josh grinned from the back of the craft as he straightened nets, looked busy and listened. Marcus sat on the worn and scarred deck, flat on his haunches, struggling with the fasteners on his life vest while Lizbett worked at getting his white rubber boots on him. Randy hovered.

  "I am not going out today, Zaccheus."

  "Yeah, you are, Papa. Luke needs shrimp, and he's counting on you to catch it. Marcus has been looking forward to this. He wants to fish with you. You can't let him down."

  His father raised his somber, coal-black eyes to his. "I am not the one who is letting him down, hijo."

  "You are if you go out with that attitude. Children are sensitive. He'll think you don't want to fish with him."

  "The way I believe you don't want to fish with me."

  Zac laughed. At least part of him did. "It can't be helped this time. Government inspectors are due at Fischer's Landing this afternoon. They're on us like a rash, for some reason. I can't leave Gerald to deal with that—and Maggie and Jan. You wouldn't want me to. You taught me to take responsibility. Let me take it."

  Alejandro shrugged, an elaborate, dismissive gesture for a stroke victim. A blatant lie.

  Zac swallowed another laugh. "Randy will take care of you."

  The therapist nodded affirmatively in Zac's side vision, patting Alejandro's shoulder.

  "I've taught Josh everything you ever taught me. He can handle the Ramona Tres as well as I can."

  "That is not true, Zaccheus." His mouth trembled.

  Alejandro had learned to whine, an absent trait before the stroke. Zac was sure his whining hinged on not being able to get out of that chair and kick butts, mainly Zac's.

  "You aren't afraid, are you, Papa?" Maybe he was, after the accident.

  "No, Zaccheus. I am not afraid. I wanted to fish with you. I am disappointed."

  Zac knelt, hugged and patted him. "Thank you for telling me. It will go a long way toward making me miserable as I go about my responsibility." He had hoped for a smile. None came.

  "Between the time you spend with that woman—"

  "Victoria." Zac straightened, sinking back on his boot heels, feeling rancor prick his spine. "Say her name, Papa. It's Victoria."

  "—and the time you spend with Gerald Fitzpatrick, I no longer have a son."

  Zac stood, nodded to Randy, then to Josh, calling out in general, "Have a good day. Catch the big one." Zac and Randy made moves to lift Alejandro and the chair. Josh hustled forward to assist. "Marcus, keep your vest on," Zac called, catching the child's eyes. "Do you understand me, niño?"

  "Sí, compadre." He grinned and waved.

  Zac could only hope. "Lizbett?"

  "For sure, Mr. Zac." Her grin beamed bigger, her nod assuring.

  "Josh, if you let anything happen—to anybody—just keep going, because I'll kill you when you get in." He smiled amiably, meeting Josh's gentle eyes.

  "I hear you, Mr. Z."

  Zac watched them pull out, savoring the rough, uneven feel of the warped wooden dock beneath his feet, ingesting the diesel engine smell. The diminishing call of the gulls followed in the boat's wake, edging into the reserved recesses of his mind.

  He took a moment to ponder how life had evolved into such complexity from the simple, comforting routine he had once enjoyed before meeting Carron and throwing it all over. It didn't take a philosopher to understand Alejandro's childish reactions or his skepticism toward Victoria. Of course Gerald was no more than a reminder of Carron and the ruinous consequence she had leveled on Alejandro's life. Zac allowed himself the luxury of Victoria's image, her green eyes, which at times seemed vacuous of all emotion other than hope. He and Victoria shared a plague: consequences of former decisions. Recalling Marcus's satiated grin of a moment before assured him Victoria's hope had merit. He would find a way to juggle it all, and when everything came out perfect, in the end, his endeavors would be justified.

  He couldn't see the situation with his father improving in the immediate future. Not unless Zac could introduce the concept of their sharing the priority factors of Victoria, the children and Gerald. Their efforts could be centered on the same principles Alejandro had once introduced to him, before Zac had become the parent and Alejandro the child.

  * * *

  He called Victoria from the truck.

  "Victoria Chandler."

  "Hi."

  "Oh, Zac... how nice."

  "Too nice." Thinking of her was an erotic challenge. "I have half an hour. I could skip eating and meet you at my house."

  Her soft laughter didn't help. He thought of her lying on her back, arms above her head, eyes daring him.

  "I'm expecting a call from the cosmetic company—Aura. I can't leave. We're working out the shoot schedule."

  "Subscribe to call forwarding. I'll pay."

  She laughed again, but with no comment.

  "Is it nap time for the twins? I'll come by. I'm quick."

  Silence. Then, "Andrea is coming tomorrow—she's in New York today. I want to get the hotel in immaculate shape before she arrives."

  "Got it." Even her rejections were polished. "You are coming tonight, to hear my speech?"

  "I haven't decided. I'm not ready to take a stand on gambling."

  "You missed the point. It has nothing to do with gambling. The marina is close to my house. It'll take less time to get you in bed from there. That's now the main objective in life."

  "That's sweet."

  "Are you coming?"

  "I haven't decided. Maybe I should meet you on Bay Shore after the meeting. I just don't know."

  He hung up not knowing either.

  * * *

  Zac and Gerald watched the building inspector pull his government truck away from Fischer's Landing.

  "Hell if I know what kind of bee they have in their bonnet." Gerald's bewilderment sounded in his voice.

  Zac nodded, feeling grim.

  "I've rebuilt half of Ramona and this is the first time they've ever made me tear out a wall rather than take my word for the hidden wiring being up to code. This will really slow us down if we have to wait for them to show up and inspect at every stage of the game."

  "Did you see that editorial on public housing in the Puerto San Miguel Sun this morning? And that article on Fischer's Landing?"

  "Piece of work, huh?" Gerald grinned wryly.

  Pierce Chandler had made print noise about the project, invoking a clever turn-around on the phrase "gentrification"—the process in which the rich push the poor out of old neighborhoods. He intimated Gerald's endeavor would allow the opposite to occur. Zac could stil
l taste the sourness that had manifested in his gut when he'd read the article. Now he grappled with the nebulous notion that had resulted.

  "It may have something to do with me."

  "How's that?" Gerald cocked his pink and gray head, and the sun glinted on his steel- rimmed glasses. He closed the door of the Lincoln, interested.

  "Some people resent Hispanics being in a position of power or authority. My name was mentioned a lot, if you noticed."

  "Well, if that's it they'll just have to get over it. Almost all the housing inspectors are Mexican, if you haven't noticed, and that's the real position of power. Your people will basically be the ones benefiting from Fischer's Landing if we can keep the costs down."

  Zac kept his expression benign, assuring Gerald an out if he wanted one.

  "Fischer's Landing won't break me," Gerald continued, "even if they try to shut us down. You're doing a good job with what little knowledge you have, and you're learning fast."

  The earlier dock scene with Alejandro filtered through his mind. He wondered if Marcus had managed to thaw Alejandro by now, if Lizbett was keeping her word concerning her charge, and if she was leaving Josh free to concentrate on his responsibilities. "There are a lot of guys— "Who would want the job more than they wanted to fish.

  Gerald held up his hand, silencing him. "I am concerned, though, about the way materials are either being wasted or pilfered. I know the girls are cutting every corner. I hate waste, son. I hate theft more. The raised costs on the bottom line will get passed to the wrong people. Got any ideas about that?"

  "A few. I'm working on it."

  "Got your speech polished for tonight?"

  "I've got it canned."

  Gerald laughed, opened the car door to let the interior cool off before slipping inside. "Knowing you it's probably canned in platinum. See you there."

  "Got it."

  * * *

  "Gerald, this is Victoria Chandler."

  She could have predicted the reaction when Zac introduced them. Recognition flashed in Gerald's eyes. He looked at Zac quickly, back to her. She extended her hand, smiled.