“Yep.”
No fucking way. I felt like a fist had slammed into my chest, and I struggled for breath. I had wanted so badly to believe him.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“At Sherry’s place?”
“What? No, at school. He’s the Fire Captain. He came one day during career week to give us a talk on professional baseball and firefighting. I remember him because he’s fine.”
My breathing returned to normal, and I stared at her, speechless. First of all, because Danny hadn’t been at Sherry’s. But also because a, she went to school and b, she seemed to have lost her barrio slang.
“At school?”
“Well, duh.”
“What about the baby? From before.”
“I was babysitting for my neighbor. She had a doctor’s appointment. You thought he was mine, didn’t you?”
“What happened to your speech?”
“You know, it’s not a good idea to look too smart around here. People think you’re putting on airs and acting superior, they’ll want to knock you down a peg.” She gave me a pointed look and continued, “People see what they want to see. Doesn’t matter to me. I know what’s what.”
She was right of course. “I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, you’re not the only person I judged unfairly today, and at least I didn’t imply you killed anyone.” Nice apology, I thought. I was going to have to work on my people skills.
She shrugged. “I guess you’re worried about your fireman, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “He’s not my fireman, but yeah, I am.”
She gestured towards the photo in my hand. “Can I have that?”
I guessed she had a crush on Danny, and since I couldn’t blame her in the least, I gave her the picture, thanked her for her help and left.
I flung myself on the bed and tried not to think about anything. I didn’t know what I was doing, going around asking stupid questions and jumping to stupid conclusions. If I’d just believed Jimmy C when he said that Chambers had stumbled into the pyro party, I could have avoided the ugly scene with Danny. Plus, I wouldn’t have insulted a perfectly nice girl. I wasn’t helping Danny or Kevin, and I sure as hell wasn’t helping myself. I was wasting my time, driving around town, sweating and annoying people instead of doing my job. What I needed to do was go in the office and do some work, some real work that I could get paid for and that wouldn’t screw up anyone’s life or make anyone mad at me. I was going to get right on that.
Two hours later, I woke to the sound of voices. I tiptoed out of my room and down the hallway, stepping over the squeaky board, and peered into the living room. Kevin and Jack were sitting on the couch, drinking beer and watching a ball game. Jesus Christ, don’t these guys have homes? I wondered. I sighed and decided I wasn’t up to another fight today, so I went to the kitchen, grabbed a soda and a bag of potato chips and went to the living room to join them.
I must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing I knew, someone was kissing my neck. I opened my eyes and Jack smiled. Kevin was gone, the television was off and it was dark outside. Jack went back to work, tracing his tongue along my neck to the base of my throat. I closed my eyes.
“Mmmm, that’s nice, Danny.”
I know, I know. I heard myself saying it a split second too late to stop. I squinched my eyes into little slits so I could peek at Jack. He was sitting back looking at me. I sighed and sat up.
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“’Fraid so,” he said.
“Well, crap.”
He smiled. “I’m a pretty easy-going guy, darlin’. Not so easy-going that I’m going to make love to a woman who wishes I was someone else, but easy-going enough that I’m not going to get all bent about it. You and I are evidently supposed to be friends and that’s all.” He kissed the top of my head as he stood to leave. “I think I’ll be able to start on the bedroom floor tomorrow. G’night.”
I dragged myself back to bed, wondering what on earth I could do tomorrow for an encore.
CHAPTER SIX
I slept through the night and woke up the next morning starving, since all I’d eaten for dinner was a handful of potato chips. Okay, the whole bag, but still, that was only one food group, so it didn’t count as a meal. I wondered what it would be like to be rich and famous and just have to dial room service for breakfast, or ring a little bell for a partially-clad, tan serving guy to bring me muffins in bed. I sighed and shuffled my way into the kitchen in my undies and a t-shirt that said sexy across the chest, started the pot of decaf and threw two slices of white bread in the toaster. While the toast was toasting, I went to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, peering at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t know what had happened during the night, but my hair looked all snarled and bushy, and one side of my face was flattened and had lines imprinted on it.
I shuffled back to the kitchen, put the toast on a paper towel and smeared butter and apricot jelly on both slices, then poured myself a bowl of Cap’n Crunch and a cup of coffee. I slopped a little coffee onto my shirt as I went around to the other side of the counter and sat on the barstool to eat my breakfast.
I was slurping the last of the milk out of the bowl when the back door opened and Murphy walked in. I groaned. I’d had more privacy when I was married.
He took in the whole package, and his eyes strayed to my coffee-stained t-shirt. “Sexy? Really?”
I could see he wasn’t buying it. “Did you a favor last night, didn’t I?”
His laugh rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest, and he moseyed into the master bedroom, tape measure in hand.
Showered, dressed and adequately made up and coiffed, I was at my desk by nine o’clock. I did the email thing, deleting offers to enlarge my penis up to three inches, even though I was curious as to how they would go about doing that. The Garden Tour people had accepted my change and had sent their printing requirements. My brother Brian had emailed to say he would be stopping by at lunchtime. He didn’t say why, but I was sure it was to sell me insurance. And Leisure Land, a retirement and assisted living community located just north of Huntington Beach had inquired as to the status of their brochure. Thank God. I had plenty of things to keep me busy, so maybe I could manage to stay out of trouble for a day or two.
I called Super Speedy Press in Huntington Beach and asked for Skip.
“Alex! So how’s life in the bosom of your family?”
Like he’d believe me if I told him. I gave him the edited version, then got down to business. “Okay, for the Garden Tour poster.” I could hear him scribbling notes. “I need four hundred on Strathmore Elements, the Pale Green with Squares. I’m sending you an Illustrator file, and I spec’d Pantone colors.
“You need a quote?”
“No, if it’s within five percent of last year’s price, go ahead. If not, I’ll call Print Masters.”
“Bitch.”
“Thanks, Skip.”
“Anything for you, Alex.”
I sent the electronic file to Skip, then crossed “Garden Tour Poster” off my to-do list.
Next was the brochure for Leisure Land. I had digital photos the photographer had sent and text the copywriter had sent. My job was to somehow unite the two into a comprehensive brochure that was both professional and eye-catching. Not an easy task, considering a disturbing majority of the photos were of wrinkly, saggy octogenarians in swimsuits, lounging or worse, strolling, around the pool. I was going to have to remember to recommend a different photographer next time. My design was looking more like a brochure for the California Raisin Growers than an old folks’ home.
I shut off the computer a little before noon. I wasn’t even close to being finished, but I wasn’t interested in Brian’s opinions about my design skills or lack thereof. He’d always been vocal about the impracticality of a career in art, much as he’d always criticized Kevin for “only” being a mechanic. As if Brian could ever put a motorcycle back together, or draw an
ything other than a bath.
The doorbell rang at ten after twelve and scared the bejeebers out of me. I didn’t know Jack had fixed it. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen Jack since my breakfast fashion show this morning. I glanced out the window and saw a shiny black BMW parked behind the gray Ford across the street. So that’s what Brian was driving. I guessed insurance salesman wasn’t the macho kind of profession that demanded a truck built by one of the Big Three. Jack’s Ford was gone, and Brian could have parked in the driveway, but he probably didn’t want to park the Beemer too close to my Honda for fear the weirdness might be contagious.
I opened the door and found the malevolent cat sitting beside Brian’s foot, hissing. I made a hissing noise back at it, and it raised its paw like a little wave, then circled around and flopped down, stretching and purring. I let Brian in and offered him a sandwich. He declined. Probably just as well. I couldn’t see him eating peanut butter, jelly and potato chips. I wanted to tell him to shove his insurance and his security system up his disadvantaged ass, but I had decided to act like an adult and hear him out, if for no other reason than to ruin his fun in patronizing me. I invited him into the living room and we sat.
“Alex, I don’t know what it’s like in southern California, but Minter is a small town.”
“Well, duh.” Darn, I already forgot I was supposed to be acting like an adult. “I mean, yes, it is.” Duh.
“And you can’t just think only of yourself anymore. Your actions have an impact on the rest of us, not to mention your own reputation.”
“My actions? My reputation?” I felt the color rise in my cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from rage. I took a deep breath to steady myself and calmly, like an adult, said, “Brian, maybe you should just go on back to work now. This isn’t a conversation you want to have with me today.” Or ever, you pompous jerk. I couldn’t believe we shared the same DNA.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry you don’t like what I have to say, but it’s for your own good. It’s simply not appropriate for you to have men over here at all hours of the day and night, considering you’re not married.”
“Technically, I am married, so I guess I can have men over whenever I damn well please, is that right?”
“Don’t be obstinate. You know what I mean. People have seen Jack Murphy’s truck here before dawn. It reflects badly on the family, and you need to see that it stops.”
I was wracking my brain, trying to remember where I’d last seen Murphy’s nail gun, when the front door opened and closed.
“Hey kitten, got time for a nooner?” Jack stepped grinning into the living room, and then quickly apologized. “Shit, sorry, didn’t know you had company. I only saw your car - ”
I got up and wrapped my arms around him and gave him a big, wet, messy, loud kiss. He looked a little surprised but didn’t fight me. Brian was fuming. I let go of Jack so he could breathe and turned to my brother.
“I will do what I want, when I want, with whomever I want. Nobody gives a damn about my actions, and nobody casts their vote based on who the candidate’s sister may or may not be screwing. So you can go back to not giving me a second thought, and I’ll do the same for you. Now get out.”
He stood up slowly and turned to Jack. “Jack, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This conversation is a family matter.”
“It’s my house!” Nobody seemed to get that. “I told you to go, now fucking go.” I stomped my foot and guessed I was going to have to act like an adult some other day.
Jack took a step closer to me and just sort of hovered there, large and threatening now that’d he’d caught up with the scene. At only five feet, eight inches Brian is not much taller than me, and standing next to Jack just then he looked like a child. He stared at me for another beat, then nodded towards Murphy and left.
I made an imaginary gun with my thumb and forefinger and blew my imaginary brains out with it.
“What the hell was that all about?” Jack asked.
“My slutty behavior is apparently ruining my brother’s chances for election to the Board of Supervisors. Hey, sorry about that kiss.”
He shrugged. “I’ve had worse. And you didn’t call me Danny, so all in all, I’d say I’m ahead of the game.” He checked his watch. “Your brother, your other brother, is meeting me here in ten minutes. I need to install four- by eight-foot sheets of three-quarter inch ply for the subfloor in your room, and that’s a bitch with only one guy. My crew is working on a drywall job, so Kev said he’d give me a hand. It won’t take long, but it’s going to be loud with the compressor and the nailer going, and kind of dusty from the saw, so you might want to work with the office door closed.”
“Thanks.”
I swore at the squeaky hallway floorboard on my way to the office, took Jack’s advice about closing the door, and got going again on the brochure. A fight like that with Kevin would have left me agitated, but Brian was another matter. He had pissed me off, but basically I didn’t give a damn what he thought of me, so it was easy to forget the whole thing, and I went back to arranging raisins.
Even with the door closed, I could hardly hear the phone ringing over the gunshot-like report of the nailer and the whining scream of the circular saw.
“Hello?” I yelled.
“Can I speak to Alexis Jordan please?” an unfamiliar female voice asked.
“Speaking.”
“Hi, it’s Angela. From yesterday.”
I remembered vividly. One of the victims of my astonishingly bad judgment. “Hi Angela, what can I do for you?”
“What’s all that noise?”
“I’m having some work done on the house.”
“Oh. Uh, I was wondering if you could come over. I have something for you, but if you’re busy...” she trailed off.
I couldn’t think over the racket anyway. “Sure, I’ll be right over.”
I got my purse and keys and locked the door on my way out. I didn’t leave a note for the guys. I figured they came and went as they pleased, I might as well do the same. I hadn’t been outside yet today, and I felt assaulted by the oppressive heat. Day after day of hundred-plus degree weather was starting to wear on me. I figured I’d get used to it eventually, but I was out of practice from living in a milder climate for the past decade, and I was tired of sweating. I remembered people saying that, while Minter was hot, at least it was a dry heat. I thought that applied to my oven as well, and I had no particular desire to live there, either.
By the time the air conditioner in the car had caught up with the dry heat, I was at Angela’s house. I parked on the street, involuntarily looking over at Sherry Henderson’s place. It looked the same as it had yesterday. And probably the same as it was going to look tomorrow. I sighed. I didn’t need depression on top of my heat stroke.
Angela saw me pull up and met me at the door. She seemed shy, less cocky than she had yesterday.
“Hi, Angela. What’s up?” I had wondered all the way here what it was she had for me. I figured it was something about Lonnie that she hadn’t wanted to tell me before.
She reached inside the door and brought out a piece of cardstock, about five inches by seven inches. “I thought you might like this.”
I took the paper and turned it over. It was a pen drawing of Danny, obviously made from the photo I’d given her yesterday, and obviously made by a very talented artist.
“Did you draw this?”
She nodded.
I stared at it, open-mouthed. I went to art school for four years, and I had nothing on her.
“I take art in school, but they don’t have a lot of supplies because of the budgets, so I do a lot of pen drawings on regular paper. I want to be an artist, and you’re the first person I’ve ever met who is one.”
I protested. “I’m not an artist artist. I draw, and I paint, but just for fun. I couldn’t make a living at it. I’m a graphic designer. I mean, some of them are actually good artists, but a lot of us are more about marketing somet
hing than about making something truly artistic.”
“Well, still, you could probably teach me some stuff. I liked that business card of yours. We don’t get to use the computers because there’s only one computer lab at school, and they don’t have time for everyone. Do you want to come inside for awhile?”
I nodded and went in. The furnishings were simple, but clean and of good quality. Angela offered me a soda, and I gladly accepted. We sat on the sofa in front of the fan, and she told me her life story.
She was fifteen. Her parents had died three years earlier in a multi-car pileup on the freeway in the fog, and Angela Freitas had come to live with her sister and brother-in-law, Liz and Stephen Pacheco. I found out she was Portuguese, not Mexican like I’d thought, and I made a mental note not to assume anything again, ever. Liz worked as a nurse’s aide while Stephen attended college. He had finished his bachelor’s degree in biology and was working on his teaching credential. He planned to start teaching high school a year from now, and they hoped to be able to move to a better neighborhood soon. Angela got some social security money from the death of her parents, and she helped out by working after school a few hours a week at a pizza place.
I had thought she was an unwed, uneducated, teenaged single mom with no family and no hope. It turned out her family was a helluva lot less dysfunctional than mine, and she was definitely more focused than I was at that age. Or at this age.
“Which pizza place?” I asked when she got to that part.
“Main Street Pizza.”
“Oh, good, when I call in an order, maybe you can give me extra cheese?”
She smiled and agreed.
“Here’s the plan,” I said. “You check with your sister and see if it would be okay for you to hang out at my place sometimes, when you’re not at school or at work. Do you have a bike?”
She looked at me like I was a Martian. “Duh.” Focused, maybe, but still a smart-assed teenager. Thank god.
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