It seemed as though our brief stay in Texas had given us a little fun time together—time that we needed. Now we felt closer than we had ever been.
I put in two extra long days to catch up with work. J.W. was pleased that I was back and that my mother had shown such improvement.
On the third day, I took off at noon and wasted no time getting home, with Billy’s afternoon nap on my mind.
Juan’s car was parked at the curb. I found him sitting on the floor with Billy, building a house out of brightly colored blocks that the laughing boy scattered time and time again.
“Hey, how come you’re not up there doing your own building?”
Juan grinned up at me as he laid a blue block on a red one and said, “I’ve got a good crew doing just that.” Holding Billy back with one hand, Juan added another block.
Standing to his feet, Juan said, “C’mon, let’s all take a ride. I want to show you something.”
“Well,” I said, “that sounds familiar. I remember the last time you ‘showed’ me something. I don’t think…”
“Oh, Steve,” Rica interrupted. “Let’s go. I’ve been stuck at home for days.”
With that, she grabbed a blanket, wrapped Billy so snugly that all that could be seen were two sparkling brown eyes and a little pink fist still holding a block.
As we pulled away from the curb, I asked, “Where to this time?” wondering if he meant to show Rica his house.
We started up the hill. The trees announced the entrance of a late spring as the soft buds unfolded and presented to the world the soft green beauty of the misty city.
Rica was enchanted by the magnificent views as the car climbed higher. Her declaration, “Ah, Steve, this is just a step below heaven—can’t we find something here?”
That stung. I wanted to give her the world and I couldn’t even give her a house with a yard.
I was surprised as Juan ignored the path that had now become a circular driveway leading to his house. Looking through the trees I could see the workmen’s trucks and equipment.
“Hey, where are you taking us? Surely not through the back door.”
He didn’t answer, but turned left at the next intersection, then proceeded down a winding, overgrown green-canopied driveway. In front of us stood a large two-story house. Looking past the tangle of crepe myrtles and old boxwood trees, I could see the back of Juan’s house. I realized that the backyards were separated only by a low fence now overhung with pink climbing roses that had chosen to scramble haphazardly rather than climb.
The house was not Victorian, but many of the traditional accents of that era were evident. It was obviously vacant. No smoke was coming from the faded red-brick chimney that guarded one end. The soft patina of the gray, weathered shingles wrapped the big house in a protective embrace.
The big rain-streaked windows, like tears on the unwashed face of a child, looked desolate. Wisteria vines arched over the portico, bathing the area with a fragrance almost overwhelming.
“Whose house is this and why are we here?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“I have the key,” Juan replied. “Let’s look.”
He unlocked the door and we stepped into a wide entry hall with a cold, musty smell that told me it had been empty for a long time.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Rica enthused with a look on her face as though she had glimpsed heaven.
Walking with Juan, I sensed a trap.
“What do you plan to do with this house?”
He was vague. “I may rent it as an investment. I got such a wonderful deal on it that I couldn’t refuse.”
“Yes,” I said as we walked from room to room. I could hear Rica’s heels clattering ahead of us.
“This is a lovely house. I can see where you would get a very good return.”
“Depends on who I rent it to,” Juan replied, not looking at me.
The trap was set.
I felt a quick rush of anger and stared at him, but something outside the window seemed to have claimed his attention.
“Juan, there is no way I can afford this house.”
“Steve, please don’t be so pigheaded. I have so much—why won’t you let me share it with you?”
“I’ll be damned if I’ll let another man put a roof over my family’s head.”
Carrying this baby, who had awakened and was now wriggling like he wanted down. Now, I heard Rica call, “Oh, Steve, come look…”
Juan was holding out his arms. I deposited Billy and walked toward Rica’s voice. Looking back, I saw Juan’s dark head bent over my boy and heard the soft murmur of his whispered words as he put Billy down and bent to hold his hand.
One look at Rica’s enthralled face told me that this already was her house, and my intuition told me that Juan had planned it so.
Rica was ecstatic. We walked quickly from one room to another.
“Oh, Steve, look at this bedroom. It even opens to a small room—I’m sure it was a nursery. How perfect.”
“This house has got to be four-thousand square feet. It’s much too big for us…and five bedrooms—that’s a bit excessive.”
“That’s a library—for your office,” she answered quickly.
“This kitchen is huge—and you don’t even like to cook.”
“I’ll learn, I’ll learn. I promise.”
“All these big windows. Who will wash them? And that fireplace is big enough to roast a buffalo.”
“Think how nice it will be to sit in front of it, maybe even make love on a bearskin rug,” she added with a sly smile.
“Oh, now you’re resorting to bribery.”
“Steve, we’ll have more children. We’ll need those bedrooms. Please, Steve, this is my dream.”
Damn that Juan. He’d left me to do the dirty work.
“My darling Rica, it is a beautiful house, but you know that there is no way we can afford it and I will not—will not—take Juan’s charity.”
The instant tears and sobs that followed made me feel inadequate, less of a man.
Yes, Juan’s trap was sprung.
Furious, I retraced my steps to Juan. Billy had gone to sleep on his shoulder.
“Well, you have my son in your arms and my wife is heartbroken in your house. I used to think I had it all, but you make me feel as though I am still digging potholes and herding sheep. I’ll live in a tent before you’ll give me this house.”
Walking past him, I said, “I’ll catch a ride, don’t wait up.”
I walked across the connecting yards to Juan’s house and caught Mr. Carter leaving and happy to give me a lift.
“Just drop me off at the Chronicle. I have some things I need to finish.”
But once back at my desk, I couldn’t concentrate. So I walked down the street to a little bar where the guys who work on the paper hung out and where I occasionally stopped in for a beer.
I wasn’t in a beer mood. I ordered a shot of bourbon on the rocks from the cute little redheaded barmaid. That shot burned all the way down. I ordered another with the same result. Then the barmaid kept them coming—I think.
Turning my head, I saw Juan walk in and go to a pool table. When I looked again, I saw two of him playing with one cue stick. That’s when I realized I was definitely over the top and thought I’d better leave. Juan walked over and said, “Let’s go home. You’re going to have a big head tomorrow.”
“I’ll go home when I please. Why don’t you mind your own business.” I had the pleasure of seeing his face flush.
The little redhead said, “Say, honey, I’ll take you home and we can stop at my apartment for a nightcap. I’m just going off shift.”
“Good idea,” I slurred as I tried to get upright.
I hung on to the bar, slid off the stool and got both my feet headed in the same direction. She put her arm through mine and we made a couple of false starts toward the doorway.
Juan caught up to us there, put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. I tried to move, but the thr
ee of us seemed stuck in the entry.
“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t stay mad just because we had a little disagreement,” he said as he planted his lips on my cheek.
I tried to push him away, but I was held mostly vertical by the girl, the doorjamb, and now his arms around my waist holding me tight.
“You know you and I go back a long way, sweetie. What would we do without each other? Let’s go home and get some sleep. I’ll even make you breakfast in bed.”
The girl looked from one of us to the other, then realization dawned. “You’re gay,” she exclaimed.
“Honey,” Juan laughed, “we are so gay we are probably the happiest men you’ll ever know.”
In a second, she had untangled herself from my arm. Without her support, I started to fall. Only Juan’s arms kept me upright.
Struggling to regain my balance and free my arm so that I could take a swing at him, I finally got one arm to respond and swung a haymaker, which he merely pushed away with his hand. Then my legs betrayed me and I collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Picking me up, Juan flung me over his shoulder, stuffed me into the car and took me home.
I woke up slouched down in our big chair and managed to call J.W. I told him not to stop the presses because I had food poisoning. His response to that bit of information was ominous.
“You had better make me believe that or I may reconsider the raise I gave you a few months ago.”
Rica was outraged and not speaking to me. She took Billy and the car keys and was gone all day, completely ignoring my sudden close relationship with the commode. She remarked unsympathetically, “You may as well say your prayers; you’re in the right position.”
I was going to remind her of that part of our wedding vows that said “in sickness and in health,” but she was already out the door.
For the next few days, I worked overtime. Just as well; it seemed that I was an outcast in my own home.
Finally, after days of solitude and dinners of tacos and beans, the silence was broken. Shattered, really, with Rica’s shocking statement.
“I’ve bought a house with a yard.”
I choked and coughed until the prospect of widowhood entered her mind and she gave me a glass of water. When speech returned, I spoke furiously, only a few octaves below the mating call of a bull alligator.
“You can’t be telling me you’ve spent our savings on a house I’ve never even seen or we’ve even discussed. You can’t be telling me that.”
I stood so suddenly from the table that a plate splattered to the floor.
With a voice as cold as an Arctic glacier, Rica said, “Sit down, Cowboy. I’m in the saddle. I’ll lead you to water and if you don’t drink, you’ll die of thirst. I’m moving and you’re sure going to get thirsty in that tent.
“Yes, I bought a house from an old lady who recently acquired it, but then decided she didn’t want to move. The payment is the same as our rent and there is no due date on the deed.”
In my mind, a tiny seed of suspicion sprouted.
“Where is this house?”
“Telegraph Hill.”
“Does it happen to have five bedrooms?”
“No, four bedrooms and a library.”
“I guess Juan wants to see me sleep in a tent.”
“Juan has no part in this. It was put together by myself, with your mother’s encouragement, and Sara Rafferty.”
“How did Sara come by this property?” I asked.
“Juan said that he had no use for it and gave it to her to do with it what she pleased.”
“And she was pleased to sell it to you with such incredibly generous terms?” I asked, not without sarcasm.
“Yes, and your mother offered to make a down payment, which was refused. Mamá Sara suggested that the monthly payment be put in a special account for Billy’s college.”
Apparently, I had been bested by three women. Three women whom I loved.
But in my heart, I knew that Juan had made it happen.
With complete disregard for my feelings on the matter, Rica had gone over my head and bought the house—and then dared to give me an ultimatum. I had no choice in either matter—I would move or I would live in a tent.
And how many times had I told her not to call me Cowboy. Who was wearing the pants in this household?
Adding fuel to the flame was the knowledge that Juan had made all this possible. Momentarily, I shuffled his goodness to the back of my mind—even the fact that he had saved my drunken self from disaster only days ago. Then there was my deserter mother.
With my thoughts in a civil war, my anger simmered.
Slowly, the unbidden thought pushed its way into my reluctant brain. Okay, this did seem like a golden opportunity—Ma had said so—that I had brushed aside. I wanted to be angry until it was clear that decisions stopped at my desk first. An apology from Rica might get things into perspective again.
But then the right side of my brain appealed. “Why are you spoiling this for her?” Answering myself, my manly pride shouted, “Because I wanted to find the house. I wanted to do it.”
• • •
The apartment was so quiet; we spoke only when necessary.
Juan’s car had not stood at the curb for a week. Billy was irritable and whining, probably cutting a tooth, I lied to myself.
Like the drip of a leaky faucet, the steady knowledge that I had made an ass of myself persisted. Still, my stubborn pride did not know how to put Humpty Dumpty back together again without losing face.
Dr. Teddy solved the problem.
She called me at work. “Let’s have lunch, Steve. Meet me at that little café around the corner from my office.”
After a quick hello, we ordered coffee and a sandwich. Then she fired from the hip. “Steve, how long are you going to act like a spoiled child?”
“Dr. Teddy, you sound just like my mother.”
“I’ve been thinking I should call her,” she replied.
That brought me to my knees.
“Steve, you’ve put your pride before Rica’s happiness. You ought to be proud of your wife. She made a sound decision. Sara has made herself happy in the process. Sara’s happiness makes my life complete. I’m sure Rica’s happiness is your priority as yours is to her. You and yours are Juan’s life—don’t hurt him. No one will ever love you more.
“I find it almost impossible to believe that a man of your intelligence would allow macho pride to hold Rica’s happiness hostage.”
Surely macho pride doesn’t rhyme with manly pride, I thought.
“I love you, Steve. Take off your spurs.”
Driving back to the office, I felt thoroughly chastised. Dr. Teddy had forced me to tell the truth. No stalling, no excuses, just the plain, unvarnished way it was.
I had shattered the happiness that had been Rica’s dream—the house that had been given with such love. My foolish pride had stolen her pleasure with the house. I was so ashamed and embarrassed to have made such a fool of myself.
Now, how to make amends?
“Face up to it like a man,” I heard my mother’s voice as clearly as if she were standing next to me.
On the way home I fumbled around in a florist shop and chose two dozen long-stemmed roses. As the girl behind the counter wrapped them, she laughed. “Got caught, did ya?” I felt myself blush as red as the roses.
I knocked on the door of our apartment. She will probably tell me to go to my tent. Then what will I do with all these damn flowers?
I knocked again and the door opened. Rica looked at the flowers, then up at my face, then threw her arms around my neck.
The flowers fell to the ground and I heard them crunch beneath our feet. With my face buried in her hair, I whispered, “I’m so sorry, so ashamed.”
She stopped my words with her kisses. “I love you, Steve. Love you, love you…”
I whirled her around and kissed her every place I could reach.
“Shh, you’ll wake Billy.”
> “You mean he’s actually asleep?” I whispered, disbelieving my good fortune.
She sat down on the bed and pulled off her shoes.
“Sound asleep,” she said as she held out her arms.
• • •
The phone finally woke all of us.
It was Sara. “Mrs. Mackey has made a soufflé like no other. Please come over. Let’s see if it’s as good as she says.”
Sara met Rica and Billy at the big door in front, but I made a dash for the back entrance and bounded up the stairs to Juan’s apartment. I pushed open the door to the room and found it empty, then opened the door to his studio. There he stood, holding a paintbrush and looking surprised. He reached his hand out in welcome.
I pushed his hand aside. “Juan, I’m so sorry,” I mumbled as I hugged him with both arms around his waist until he grunted.
He laughed and held me off saying, “You weren’t nearly this affectionate the last time I saw you.”
I had the decency to feel that prick of conscience for the ugly things I had said to him then. Trying to speak again, Juan stopped me, holding up his hand.
“Don’t say it. Don’t tell me something I already know.
“Let me tell you about this house situation. Of course, I wanted you to have it. It’s perfect for you both—and close to me.” He smiled. “But how to go about it? I know your stubborn pride. Rica went to Mamá Sara in tears about her stubborn husband. Her heart was broken and she was angry with you. At that time, Mamá Sara turned to me and asked me if that house wasn’t actually hers. I told her that, of course, it was—because how could I refuse her anything? Then she put her arms around Rica and told her not to cry, that she would deed the house over to her tomorrow and everyone will be happy. She added that Steve may find that ‘pride goeth before a fall.’
“So…exit Juan and Steve—we’re in the clear.”
I had to laugh. We’d both been outwitted. And when I allowed myself to think about that lovely big house, I knew it would be perfect and that we’d never leave it, nor would we forget the generous gift.
When Juan and I walked out, the company below looked up to see us—both tall, but there the resemblance ended. He so dark, so graceful; me, blond and broad. A study in contrasts.
And Yesterday Is Gone Page 26