Wet Part 3

by Rivera, S. Jackson

  She looked out the window, hoping that seeing the sunshine outdoors would help soothe her anxiety. It didn’t. She wanted to be out there, farther away from Paul than the space between the showroom floor and the dressing rooms provided.

  She looked back again, knowing that he’d be coming out any second. She still couldn’t bear the thought of facing him. She looked out the window again and noticed a bar across the street.

  “Mi esposo, he’ll pay for the clothes.” She didn’t know enough words. She pointed at the dressing room. “Mi esposo. Dinero!”

  The girl looked bewildered and anxious, almost as panicky as Rhees felt. She didn’t know how to tell the girl that her husband would pay for the clothes on her back. She looked down and only then noticed her bare feet.

  “Dang it! I left my shoes in the dressing room too.” She shoved the hair away from her face and looked to the back of the store, dreading having to watch Paul coming for her, dreading having to see that look on his face again.

  A rack of shoes stood near the wall outside the dressing room and she literally ran to it, picked out the first pair of seven and a half sandals she found, and put them on. She handed the clerk the new tag. “These too, um . . . tambien. I’m wearing the shoes too.”

  The clerk seemed unsure, but put the tag in the pile with the others. They both looked back toward the dressing rooms and to Rhees’ relief, still no sign of Paul, but she was sure the clerk would rather see him coming out to save the day.

  “It’s all right—Esta bien. Mi esposo, my husband, he has money. Tengo—no, not tengo. Um, tiene, yeah, tiene dinero.” Rhees fumed at the double meaning of what she’d said. “Yeah, he has money, lots of it.”

  She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been to not know that the man she’d married had millions. Her anxiousness continued to swing farther and farther toward anger.

  “He’s loaded!” she said a little too heatedly. At that moment, she noticed the display of bracelets on the counter and grabbed a handful of them, almost throwing them at the clerk. “These too—Tambien!”

  That felt good.

  “In fact . . .” She stomped over to one of the racks and started rifling through the clothes for more to put on his tab. It had only been a few minutes since she’d walked out on him, and she knew he would emerge any second. The thought of facing him still seemed too much to have to deal with. She wasn’t ready. She looked at the rack of clothing and grabbed an armful, as many things as she could carry. She threw them on the counter like she had the bracelets.

  “Tambien!” Rhees ignored the nervous look on the girl’s face and looked back toward the bar on the other side of the street. She couldn’t help herself any longer. She grabbed the handle on the door and with a shaky voice, tried to explain to the clerk again, “Mi esposo, tiene mucho dinero.”

  Rhees felt bad that the clerk seemed scared, almost panicked about the situation. She thought the girl seemed too young and timid to be left alone, the only employee in the store, but Rhees knew Paul would make it right. He’ll give her a large tip too, knowing him. She pointed to the dressing rooms one more time.

  “I’ll be at the bar.” She pointed across the street. “Alli—or is it alla? Ugh!” She groaned at her inability to speak Spanish. “My husband will pay for it. He’s loaded,” she said, and walked out.

  She felt much better as soon as she walked into the bar. She convinced herself she’d found a suitable compromise. She’d run away after all, but not too far.

  oOo

  “She promised,” Paul mumbled when Rhees ran out of the dressing room, but he didn’t blame her. She was a runner and he was a terrible person, worth running from.

  He didn’t move. He knew he didn’t have long, but he needed every second he could squeeze out of the moment, to pull himself together, and then he’d have to go try and pull Rhees together.

  “Señor?” The clerk tapped timidly on the door.

  “Un momento.” He didn’t care about sounding gruff with her.

  “Señor.” The girl sounded nervous, almost frantic. She told him, in Spanish, how his wife had said he would pay for the clothes she wore out. The girl wanted him to verify that he would.

  “Yes. Si,” he answered. He heard the girl’s footsteps head away, and he closed his eyes, relieved that he didn’t have to open the door just yet. His eyes flew open.

  “The clothes she wore out? Aw shit!” He jumped to his feet and almost broke the door, trying to get out of the dressing room. “Rhees!”

  The clerk stared at him with fear in her eyes. “Se fue,” she said nervously.

  “Where’d she go?” he bellowed.

  The girl explained how Rhees had left the store and ran to the bar on the other side of the street. Paul rushed to the door, spotted the bar and was about to run out, but the girl called to him in a desperate plea.

  “Señor, usted dijo que pagaría por la ropa!”

  “Pay for clothes? What clothes?” he barked. “Que ropa?”

  The girl’s face flushed as she pointed to the tags and the large pile of clothes on the counter. She looked frightened, and he felt bad since she’d tried to avoid this very scenario.

  “My wife wanted all of that?” He repeated what he’d said again, but in Spanish. Rhees hated spending money so he had trouble believing she’d want everything before his eyes.

  “Ella dijo . . . he’s loaded.” She spoke the English words slowly, making sure to repeat them correctly.

  Paul closed his eyes and let out a long sigh before a wide smile spread across his face. He broke into a loud laugh, understanding what Rhees had done. He asked the clerk if his wife would be safe at the bar and she assured him that she and her friends stopped in there often, after work.

  Paul relaxed, figuring that if a timid girl like her wasn’t afraid to hang out there, Rhees would be all right for a few more minutes. He motioned for the girl to proceed with ringing up the clothes. He glanced back toward the bar every few seconds to make sure Rhees didn’t get away and hadn’t really paid attention to the items the girl was charging him for until one shirt caught his eye.

  The blouse the girl held looked about twenty sizes too big for his Rhees, and he’d never seen her wear such bold, hideous colors. “My wife has better taste than that.” He asked the girl if she was sure Rhees had picked it out.

  The clerk shrugged her shoulders. Again, she seemed nervous and took a minute to respond. Paul grew increasingly frustrated with her tentativeness when he was so anxious to get to the bar so he could drag Rhees out of there—by her hair, caveman-style if necessary. He resorted to what he knew worked.

  He placed his hands on the counter and leaned toward the girl with a warm smile. She was young and pretty, but Paul felt no attraction to her. He wanted nothing more than her cooperation. She backed away, but when she finally got a good look at his eyes, she blushed, and smiled back. After a little more prodding, she described Rhees’ behavior, explaining how she hadn’t even looked at the things she threw on the counter.

  “Okay.” Paul rattled his head with another chuckle and continued in Spanish, “Go ahead and ring it all up, every single item. This is going to be fun.”

  The girl nodded, as though she was in on his game. Paul wasn’t sure she really was and he didn’t want to explain it any further.

  “Esta bien,” he said, waving his hand toward the merchandise and she proceeded to do her job. He raised his eyebrows at several of the items. Some were just so not attractive, but they made him laugh all the more. He noticed the tags on the counter and picked them up, curiously. The girl explained how Rhees had worn some of the store’s clothes out when she’d left, declaring that her husband would pay for them.

  “Hmm . . . un momento, por favor? He walked back to the dressing room. A pang of remorse washed over him again as he took another loo
k around the stall. He finally picked up Rhees’ scrubs and tossed them into the trash can. He couldn’t undo what he’d done, he had no choice but to suck it up and move on. He picked up her purse and shoes, and grabbed all the clothes that Rhees had picked out to try on, and carried them to the counter.

  “Estos tambien, todos ellas,” he said with a halfhearted smile. The girl thought he was smiling at her and she smiled back, no longer acting nervous and frightened, but more like a giggly schoolgirl with a crush. It helped his cause, but it annoyed him, making him feel even more like the antihero.

  oOo

  Paul walked into the bar carrying three large bags, full of clothing. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dark room, but he finally spotted Rhees sitting at a booth against the wall on the right. Several men in the bar watched, with disappointment, when they saw the look on her face as he walked over to her table and sat down. Paul was sure their hopes of swooping in and getting lucky with the cute, inebriated young woman were dashed.

  He slipped into the round booth and scooted close to her, setting the bags on the seat to his left. After a pause, he finally dared to look at her.

  “Sorry,” she said, eyeing the bags. She grabbed a shot glass on the table, tossing the contents down her throat. She cringed and stuck out her tongue at the burn.

  He too glanced at the bags and grinned. “For future reference, a three hundred-dollar shopping spree won’t really make a dent in our pocketbook.”

  She raised an eyebrow at his use of the words, future and our, and played along with new hope. “Okay, so next time I should buy a Ferrari?”

  “Closer . . . but no. I had one of those. I also had an Aston Martin, and a Koenigsegg, to name a couple—all in my former life.”

  “I have no idea what those even are.”

  One side of his mouth quirked up.

  “Just cars. And that was kind of the point, with the Koenigsegg, anyway. It irritated my dad that I’d pay so much money for a car no one had ever heard of. Very few people know what they are, and dad thought the money would be better spent on a more recognizable status symbol.” Paul smirked at the memory. “But I’m no longer earning millions every year, so if you were to buy one now, we might notice. Well, probably not.”

  “We might notice?” She emphasized the word we.

  At first he mistook her bewildered expression to mean that she wasn’t familiar with the car, or its price tag, but he finally realized she was fishing for a confirmation about them. He cast his eyes down, feeling miserable for hurting her. There were so many things wrong with what had happened.

  “Yes. We would still be financially sound.” He looked up at the ceiling, trying to think of something to help her put it into perspective. “A private jet—if you were to buy a private jet—let’s say, anything more than a six-seater, we’d probably notice that. I’d have to rearrange, liquidate an investment or two.”

  “A private jet.” She stared off at nothing, thinking about it. “Huh.”

  Paul noticed what she had on the table in front of her. He stared at her neatly lined row of guaranteed memory loss. Three shot glasses and three beers alternated evenly, starting with a shot, and ending with a beer. The first and second shots were empty as well as the first beer in the line, but she hadn’t started on her second beer, yet. She caught him eyeing her strategy and dared him to say something about it. When he didn’t, she grabbed the second beer and chugged down half the bottle.

  “Tequila and beer?” he asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

  “Uh-huh. I had one of Taye’s Iced Teas, first.”

  He whistled through his teeth.

  “That ought to do it.” He looked down and closed his eyes. He licked and pressed his lips together a few times.

  “Do what?”

  “Make you forget.”

  “That’s what I thought, but it isn’t working.”

  He looked at his watch. “Give it a minute.” He tried not to smirk. They sat in silence for a few minutes. “Rhees. I am so very sorry.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But, I am.” He frowned.

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.” She shot him a cold glare, picked up the unfinished beer and guzzled down the remaining half. She slammed the empty bottle onto the table, a little too forcefully, making everyone in the bar turn to look at the foreigners visiting their bar. When they didn’t give their spectators anything to see, everyone turned back to their own business.

  “I’m the one who needs to be sorry,” Rhees said quietly.

  Paul reached for the last shot of tequila and tossed it back.

  “Hey! Get your own.”

  “You’ll thank me later, I promise.” He leaned back in the seat and put his arm across her shoulders. She didn’t protest. She reached for the last bottle of beer and pulled it to her mouth, but before she could take a drink, he took it away from her and downed the whole bottle.

  Rhees pursed her lips into a pout but didn’t say anything. Her head had started to feel light, and she knew he’d just done her a favor. She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. He tightened his hold, pulling her even closer. Neither of them said anything for a while, again. They sat and watched the men playing pool on the other side of the room until Rhees broke the silence.

  “I just want to go home and pretend like none of this ever happened.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  “No. Baby, don’t say that . . . please! Give me a chance to work this out. Don’t run home to Utah—I’ll work this out. I will, I promise.” His voice was raw and desperate.

  “Utah. Is not. My home!” she said. “The shop! I was talking about the shop. I just want to go home, to the shop.” She took a second to keep from crying.

  “I want to go home and pretend—act like . . .” Her voice tapered off and she gulped in a few breaths. “Pretend like we didn’t screw everything up by falling in love.” She buried her face into his shoulder and he squeezed her to him, rubbing her back, smoothing her hair, and kissing the top of her head—touching her—so very grateful his actions hadn’t catapulted her back into the untouchable zone.

  “Yeah, we can do that.” Her idea sounded as good as anything he’d come up with so far.

  “Good . . . but we’d better hurry.” Her head still rested on his shoulder, as relaxed as he’d ever seen her. “Cause, I’m gonna be sick.”

  He got her outside to the gutter in time, barely.

  oOo

  Paul tore a hundred dollar bill in two, and handed one piece to the taxi driver. “I’ll give you the other half if you’ll wait here for me and keep an eye on my wife,” he said in Spanish as he got out of the car in front of the familiar building. He’d wanted to do this since the hijacking, but never had the chance.

  Rhees slept soundly in the backseat, and the driver checked them both over as if thinking Paul might be trying to ditch her. The amount of money won over any reservation he may have had, and he nodded his agreement.

  When Paul came out of the jeweler’s, the very store where he’d bought their first wedding rings, he climbed into the taxi and situated Rhees so her head rested on his lap. Once they were on their way to the coastal city where they could catch the ferry, Paul slipped a ring onto her wedding finger, and held his left hand next to hers, admiring what he saw. The jeweler had done a remarkable job of replicating both rings, identical to the ones they’d lost.

  ‘We’re really married now’, her declaration rang in his mind, and he couldn’t help his smile. That was the one bright, shining side of all the regrets weighing on him about how it happened. He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on her lips to seal the deal, even if she was unconscious.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning, Rhees woke up alone in her own bed. The devastation of w
aking up alone eclipsed the disorientation she felt at not remembering how she got there. She almost cried but her pounding head wouldn’t allow it. Her neck hurt and her mouth tasted like something vile had climbed inside and died, but she mused at how, though she felt a little nausea, she didn’t need to throw up.

  “Hmm, looks like I can finally take down the ‘Drinker in Training’ sign,” she mumbled.

  She rolled out of bed, but her hand snagged on the sheet, bringing her eyes to the huge ring on her finger. She closed her eyes, trying to remember how it had gotten there, but she had nothing. She thought about TV shows she’d heard people talking about, and almost laughed to herself. The idea that it had all been just a dream, everything from the hijacking, to running away from the dressing room, and Paul, it all got blurry after that, but she remembered enough to wish it really had been a dream.

  It still didn’t explain where Paul was now, or how her ring happened to be back on her finger, as if it had never been removed. She stared at it while she brushed her teeth.

  “How did he do that?” she mumbled. “After what I did— Why?”

  “What was that?” Paul’s rich voice quickened every cell of her body as he appeared at the doorway, shirtless, and holding two cups of coffee. Her eyes darted quickly to his ring finger and she almost cried at the sight of his own ring in place. She looked up at him, consoled that he hadn’t left her after all, but so confused.

  He’d left the top two buttons of his jeans undone, and she noticed they weren’t the same jeans he’d worn when they’d . . . she blushed and glanced down, wondering what he thought about it now, after a good night’s sleep. She hoped he’d had a good night’s sleep.

  “Think you can hold this down?” He raised one of the coffees, offering it to her.

  She could tell his mood wasn’t the best, but she still had to fight off the happy sob of relief she felt at seeing him. As soon as she took the offered cup, he moved to the twin bed and lowered himself down, diagonally, half laying, half sitting, leaning against the wall behind him. He watched her with stoic eyes for a few seconds before taking a sip of his coffee.