Slightly Imperfect

by Tomlinson, Dar

  Zac nodded, not sure to what the nod committed him.

  "I've got old photos of the area that go all the way back to the 1900 hurricane. We'll display those next to the artist's renderings of the completed project."

  Gerald went for coffee on a blueprint-laden counter behind his desk. He held the pot toward Zac in invitation.

  Zac shook his head, waiting for the meat in the plan.

  "The girls will rent, borrow and steal stuff to make models of all the completed units, but we'll tear walls out in each unit—or leave one undone—to expose the high-caliber, up-to-code mechanics behind the scene. We'll invite the press from Houston and Corpus—even Dallas," he expanded. "We'll invite all the politicians from the governor on down. And they'll come, Zac.

  "I'm meeting with a P. R. firm this morning to begin pushing Fischer's Landing. We'll project the caliber of buyers, the good the project will do toward turning the community around."

  "All this is going to cost a lot of money."

  "I have a lot of money. Money begets money. Remember that, son." Gerald eyed him. "You don't look convinced."

  Zac looked at the toe of his boot, remembering Victoria's fatalism on the phone that morning. "Victoria told me her father shut you out when you tried something like this in Puerto San Miguel a few years back."

  "Different era." This shrug was less jaunty. "A real unsettled period in my life. We were looking for a donor for my wife's bone marrow cancer, and she was going in and out of alcohol programs, blaming me, calling me a workaholic. Carron's health was deteriorating and her brother died of a massive heart attack on a ski slope in Brazil." He lapsed into thought, then rallied. "All my efforts switched, for a while, trying to get his body back. Pierce tunneled in under me. It won't happen this time."

  Zac studied his boot intently, his hands clasped loosely in his lap, as he borrowed an idea from Rodney King, wondering why they couldn't all just get along.

  "It's time we did some posturing of our own," Gerald claimed. "Are you still with me?"

  He thought of the assistance fund Gerald had funneled his way when the Ramona Dos blew up and Alejandro was injured, how it had eased the Abriendo family over a financial disaster. He thought of Carron's money and Gerald's insistence Zac have it, use it, stipulation free. He considered Marcus's joy every time he faced Gerald over a table in Taco Bell, every time Gerald hugged the child, or fished dollar bills out of his three-piece suit to play liar's poker, always managing to lose.

  "I'm with you unless—"

  "Unless it causes trouble between you and Victoria."

  Zac met his eyes, nodded.

  "I like a man with priorities. But she needs to know hers too, Zac. Does she?"

  "I don't know. Maybe not yet."

  "This could be a good test. I could walk you through it. I've failed the best of them."

  Zac laughed. "Comforting." He wasn't sure he believed in testing.

  "How attached are you to the Irish Lady?"

  "I don't have any great memories there."

  He and Carron had taken the yacht out only once, with Allie and Josh. She had wanted to go again, just the two of them, but his pride had deprived her and guaranteed him an undying regret.

  "Kick this around," Gerald said. "What would you think of selling shares in the boat to some upper echelon people? Politicians, bankers, developers. We?ll get the public relations people lining it up. You can have a party, on board, auction the boat off. We'll have plans on hand projecting the floating casino, raise our little gambling venture to a dignitary level—get them working for us."

  "I'll think about it."

  "Are you glum?" It seemed to have just occurred to Gerald, lowering him a little from his own exuberance.

  "Things are still disappearing off the building site. Little things like door hinges. Cabinet pulls. Wallcovering. Not a lot, just enough to stress the obvious."

  "Well?"

  "I'm working on it."

  "It needs to be handled quietly. No adverse publicity."

  Zac nodded as he stood, the Sun rolled club-like in his hand. Delilah came to attention at his side.

  "Stop by the desk out front and check the calendar with Peggy," Gerald directed. "She's working on a date for the Fischer's Landing extravaganza. Make sure you?re available." He called after him before Zac passed through the door. "Victoria too, Zac. We need her."

  A grimy hand snaked out and clutched Zac's gut.

  * * *

  "Let's have lunch, Maggie," he invited when he went onto the project site and found her there. "I need to talk to you."

  Ian stopped screwing a cabinet hinge, listened openly for her reply. Zac's eyes drifted to their interloper, to his hands. Zac had used gloves all those years of fishing, relentlessly, his hands plied with Vaseline inside those gloves, warding off chafing from the elements. The Aussie's hands were stubby, the backs of his sausage-like fingers covered in reddish-gold hairs, nicked and scraped, his nails jagged. Zac wondered if Ian knew how Maggie loved being touched, stroked, held, how responsive she was—or had always been with him. Was Ian playing to her needs now, with those careless hands, reaping the benefits of his touch?

  Maggie interrupted his painful thoughts.

  "I can't go to lunch." Her black-onyx eyes moved over his face, igniting a connection they'd never really broken. When she reached up, he unconsciously bent for her extended hand to rake through the hair at his temples. Her eyes softened. He was aware of Ian stiffening a little. He deposited his powered screwdriver on the bare countertop with a quiet bang.

  "Come for dinner and a haircut, Zac," Maggie said. "We'll talk then."

  "I have a class, and a couple of other things."

  She smiled knowingly, her next invitation not as gregarious. "Then come for the haircut. I'll wait up, like I used to."

  * * *

  They stood at her screen door, watching Ian back down the drive, his headlights catching their silhouettes as he swung his Nissan hatchback into the street. Zac had gone straight into the bedroom where Angel slept, feeling the need to be close to her, and to give Maggie time to cut her connection with Ian.

  Now he felt the urge to disinfect the house.

  He knew his sentiment was in his voice. "What do you know about that guy, Maggie?"

  He rested his hand on the back of her neck, just below the cropped, mass of jet hair. She arched her neck into his touch, then turned, circling his waist with her arms. She wore jogging shorts and a printed T-shirt proclaiming some segment of the world's plight. Her feet were bare, her toe nails painted hot pink. He detected Ian's sour smell. She pressed her cheek against his chest, then looked up into his face, smiling.

  "Nice perfume," she murmured. "What's she like, Zac? Other than classically Anglo?"

  "You first." His hands rested lightly on her shoulders. "What do you know about Ian?"

  She stepped back, pushed the glass-paneled door closed, shutting out the stifling summer night.

  "He's fun. He makes me feel good."

  "How good?" He eyed her in the dim foyer light.

  "He's married. He has two little girls."

  "Hell, Maggie." The sour smell moved into his stomach.

  She walked toward the living room as he followed. "They're separated," she called back.

  "More fun that way, huh?"

  She stopped, whirled around. "Was it, Zac? More fun after you moved out on Allie and me and declared your cause with Carron? Or were the stolen delights—before that—sweeter?"

  He followed her into the bedroom, sufficiently chastised for the moment. His scrutiny of her immaculate bed eased some concern about Ian. He sat before the vanity mirror, and she took up scissors and comb.

  "How's the house coming?" He questioned her reflection in the mirror, the harsh bathroom light denying either of them camouflage. "Do you have time to work on it and Fischer's Landing too?"

  "Not much, anymore."

  Since Ian. He kept his thoughts to himself.

  "I've table
d it for now, I guess. But the money from the house I sold in Houston is in the bank, drawing interest, and I'm drawing interest on the time I'm spending at Fischer's Landing— in experience. It will all balance out."

  "Don't loan Ian that money, and don't let him move in here."

  She laughed, seeking his gaze in the mirror as she fingered a heavy clump of hair out from his head and snipped delicately.

  "I mean it, Maggie. He'll start telling you how hard it is to keep up two places, and you'll start feeling responsible. When he's gone you won't have the money to finish this house. It's as simple as that."

  "Then I'll borrow it from you, Zaccheus. Interest free."

  "But your independence and pride will be shot all to hell."

  She pulled and snipped, studying his head intently. "Gorro blanco," she said softly. "Daniel Zaccheus Abriendo, the mystical guy in the white hat."

  "It's no mystery, Magatita. I care like hell. And it's a little deeper than that even. You have to trust me on this." He smiled, hoping. "Even if my credibility is tarnished with you."

  She placed her palm on his forehead, drew him back gently for a moment, his shoulders against her firm little breasts. "I miss you, Zac. I'm never going to have what we had again...with anyone. Letting myself think about that is a license to sin." She let go. Combed. Lifted. Snipped. Her eyes burned like coals in her bronze face, echoing his reflection in the glass.

  "I know. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I can't believe you're not there," he confessed. "I miss the times when we were together with Allie, so much. So, I lie there and go over it again." Their eyes met in empathy. "The fault comes down to me every time, though. Me, not you."

  "Do you still want me back?" Her hands stilled, her heart racing in his chest.

  He revolved on the stool, drew her down onto his lap and caressed her shoulders, enjoying the fact she maintained that muscular and soft blend of femininity. "I'd say yes, Maggie, if we could go back to the days when all in the world either of us needed, or wanted, was one another. Your life has changed as much as mine. I'm not sure we could ever get back there."

  "How much does Marcus have to do with your thinking that?"

  "A hell of a lot."

  "I've been thinking, too."

  His heart constricted.

  She slid the comb into a shallowly perfect widow's peak at his forehead, combed the heavy hair back, let it fall. "We have Angel, and she worships you, Poppie." She smiled. "What if we could adopt Marcus? The only thing keeping you and me apart is Allie's death. His memory. You love Marcus. I'm trying not to, but I could, so easily. Having Marcus would be like starting over at that sweet point in our life when we were a family."

  "If you knew Victoria, you'd know we can't do that, Maggie."

  "What if we could? A hypothetical fantasy."

  Even thinking about her proposal wasn't feasible. "Victoria is standing between us and getting back to that sweet point in our life. She has twins, too. Alexander and Ariana. I love them along with Marcus. The four of them are part of my life now."

  She didn't stiffen, rise off him repelled, or look daunted. She smiled ever so softly, touching her lips to his.

  "You think about it, Zac. I have been."

  * * *

  Victoria wanted him on hand for the Aura shoot. Lizbett opened the door to him, bearing Ari on her hip. The long legs Ari had inherited from Christian extended down Lizbett's thigh.

  "Mornin', Mr. Zac."

  "Hi, Lizbett." He reached out and Ari came into his arms eagerly.

  "Am I late?" Lately, he felt rushed, grievously short of time.

  "No, sir. They's just gettin' ready to take pitchers of Miz Victoria."

  Victoria occupied a straight-back chair, her hands clasped loosely atop a black pillow nesting on her lap. "Oh... Zac," she called across the big room. "Come meet everyone."

  He crossed to her carrying Ari, offering his much used us against her smile, directed to where Marcus and Alex perched expectantly on the sofa. Balancing Ari, he dipped, to kiss Victoria's temple. An out of character crimson color coated her nails; the huge diamond she had worn in Portofino and her plain gold wedding band adorned her fingers.

  Logic told him to consider the wedding ring a prop.

  "This is Sheila Massey," she announced. The woman hovered like a handmaiden, close to Victoria's chair. "Aura's head cosmetician. She's been making me up since I was an ingénue."

  "You're still an ingénue." Zac took Sheila Massey's extended hand. "I'm Zac Abriendo. Victoria's keeper."

  Victoria smiled tolerantly.

  After meeting the cameraman and Lucy, a younger woman whose function went undeclared, he took a seat on the sofa alongside the rest of Victoria's entourage. Hoisting Alex onto his free leg, he high fived Marcus and felt him settle into him, his tiny shoulder pressed against Zac's upper arm.

  They watched for almost an hour until Lucy took the pillow from Victoria's lap.

  "Okay." The cameraman spoke with authority. "Let's have Victoria and the twins in front of the window while the light's still good. Bring her chair over. Put a twin on each side of her. Standing positions for them."

  Zac sought Victoria's eyes.

  She appeared engrossed in her new assignment. When she rose, Lucy swooped in and carried the chair to the window.

  "Ari? Alex? Come here," Victoria called. "They want to take your picture."

  Marcus stirred, then stood. Zac set the twins down and Marcus followed his siblings.

  "No, Marcus, darling," Victoria said distractedly.

  She sat, guided the twins into their positions, flipped her hair back and moistened her lips. Marcus stood glued to the spot in front of her, his brown hand on her knee, his smile frozen. Victoria glanced at him. "It's just the twins. Please wait with Zac, darling."

  Some unknown volition propelled Zac to his feet, his firm verbal directive disrupting the business at hand. "Lizbett, please take Marcus upstairs and pack a bag for him."

  Victoria's head jerked up; her hand fell from Ari's hair, a brow crease materializing.

  Zac addressed Lizbett, his gaze fastened on Victoria. "Enough clothes for a few days."

  Marcus eyes darted from Victoria to Lizbett to Zac, seeking confirmation.

  "Go ahead, amigo." Zac kept his directive soft, but his pulse hammered in his voice.

  "And bring your Spanish book."

  "Zac—"

  "Let's talk, Victoria."

  He whirled on his heel, going into the study, not wanting to risk the sensual aspect of the bedroom. She entered behind him and closed the door. The latch engaging echoed profoundly in the silence. He closed his mind to her flaming cheeks and glistening eyes, to all of her pale, vulnerable beauty.

  "What the hell is going on here?"

  "What?" She appeared genuinely perplexed.

  "Photographing you and the twins? Excluding Marcus. What gives?"

  "They aren't real takes. He just wants light readings, and to see how we will photograph—eventually. They may use the twins and me for an up-coming advertising campaign."

  "And Marcus won't be included?"

  "No." She frowned quizzically. "They want a blond image. They may name the product after us. Luminesque. It's a wonderful opportunity, Zac."

  "Haven't you looked at his face? Didn't you see his reaction?"

  "I'm trying so hard—making every effort to go along with them." She raised her eyes to his. "I need this money."

  "I'll be damned if that's so. I have more than you'll ever need, and I've told you I want to marry and take care of you. And the children."

  She closed her eyes, wrapped her breasts, trembling.

  "Look at me, novia."

  Her eyes opened, feverishly bright.

  "There isn't enough money in the world to erase that look from Marcus's face."

  "He's a child. I'll have them take some shots of him when we're finished. He won't know—"

  "He's a child now. What about when he's sixteen an
d the actual photos are on the family brag-wall?" He glanced around the picture-laden room pointedly. "Do you think he'll notice there aren't any real ones of him?" He watched awareness dawn. "Do you want him to hate the twins? Hate being Mexican? Hate you for adopting him and making him play the race card all his life?"

  She shook her head again. Drawing her bottom lip into her teeth, she hugged herself tighter.

  "I'll take him out of here, Victoria. You can face that problem in ten years. At least he won't have to face it today."

  "Marcus is—He's my son. Not yours."

  He stilled himself against the heaving of his chest, waiting to trust his voice. Maggie's proposal screamed through his mind. "No. He's not my son or yours. He's Tommy's. If Tommy were here maybe he'd lie down for this charade—I don't know—but I won't. You'll have to call security to keep me from taking Marcus." He dared her with narrowed eyes. "You wanted him to see Mexican culture, well he's seeing it first hand. It's called Chicano pride. Screw Aura Cosmetics. If you consider him your son, you call me when you're ready to think like a mother." Jarring her, he brushed past, then turned, his hand on the doorknob. "And by the way, novia. I'm angry now. I'm goddamned mad—in case you have any question."

  He swiveled, shutting her out, opening the door.

  "Don't take him."

  So quietly spoken he thought he'd only hoped it. He felt his anger run slack, felt that maybe he should have handled it another way when he saw the thin river of mascara slide down her cheek, drop onto her breast.

  "Please don't go. I need you so much."

  They met in the center of the tiny room. She moved into his arms, crying openly now. He pressed her face against his chest, hating himself.

  "It's all right," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

  She pushed back, shook her head. "No. You're right. It's just—I have so many things to consider, Zac. Marcus has so much—" She gulped, couldn't stop sobbing, it seemed. "The twins have—I should never have married Christian."

  "Then you wouldn't have Alex and Ari. Think about what you're saying."