by Mia Soto
“I’ll see you later buddy. High five,” Mark holds up his free hand, and Sam’s right on that with a slap. Mark laughs again, and Sam claps for himself. I close the door, and he starts to lead me around the rear to my side. When we’re at the back hatch he pulls me back into his arms and plants a kiss on me that is not even a little bit appropriate for public. A few elderly people walking out of the restaurant stop to gape.
I finally pull away, “Mark.” I don’t know what else to say. He is cupping my face with his hands and kissing it all over. I can’t even open my eyes it feels so good.
“I have to see you. This once a month, if I’m lucky, is not good enough anymore.” His mouth is back on mine firming up this deal. “Tonight,” is all he says before he walks away from me. My head is still spinning as I drive away.
***
I’m in the kitchen around ten contemplating eating something when I hear his knock. My Daily Diner grits and eggs are long gone, and I’m suddenly hungry. Once I hear the knock that hunger translates into something else. As I open the door, my neighbor’s music pours into my quiet place. She does this often. She blares her music for all of us to enjoy. I don’t have the energy to complain about her. I guess I should have realized Mark had arrived because the noise started minutes before he knocked. Maybe she’s trying to win him with her taste in music since her taste in pajamas didn’t work.
He’s inside, and I’m sitting on the counter where he’s lifted me while his mouth devours mine. When he breaks, the music is still floating around us even through the closed door.
“Is she always out there?” He asks with a smile.
“If you’re here, then yes, she’s always out there.”
He is about to kiss me again when he stops. “Really?”
I just nod, my smile widening. He really hasn’t ever noticed this. I can tell he’s thinking, and I can’t help but be a little curious about what. So I finally ask, “what?”
I see his attention sink back down to earth and settle on me. “I’m wondering how to get that interest in here.” He’s pointing at the top of my chest right about where my heart used to be. “I could drown in these brown eyes.” He’s kissing my bruised eye. His hand is cupping my face, and his thumb comes up to caress my mouth. “And this mouth,” he says staring at it. All of the men in my life, not there’ve been so many, have always loved my mouth. I don’t know why. I’ve seen better and I’m not just saying that, but for some reason, my mouth is it. “I love it.”
Alarms start to go off. It’s that word. It’s that dreaded, dreaded word. Please, let’s not go there and ruin everything. I don’t have time to panic because he’s already picking me up and heading down the hall with me. My ex couldn’t really do this. In fact, it might have worked out better if I had picked him up. But Mark can pick me up and make it feel like he’s carrying Sam and not me. I have to say I kind of like it. I’m not as enlightened as I once was.
***
I’m lying on my pillow just looking at him. He’s very nice to look at. He’s caressing my jaw line with the softest touch.
“How was the rest of your day?” he asks.
“Good, uneventful, no dead people,” I laugh. I’m feeling less and less upset about last weekend.
“Good,” he kisses me. “How’s Sam?”
The hairs on my neck stand up. He’s never asked about Sam before. I’m not so sure about this. I guess I think so long about what my response should be that he finally fills in the empty void.
“Hey,” he makes me look at him because I’ve turned my face away. “I was just wondering how Sam’s day went. Nothing else.”
I know this, but then he might wonder how it goes tomorrow. Then he might wonder why I’m parenting him the way I do. Then he might want to add his take on parenting. And then I start to breath unevenly and wish I’m alone with some ice cream and a trashy novel. Why is he asking me something like this now?
“Hey,” he makes me look at him again. “I’ve always wondered about him, Margo. I just never asked because you didn’t seem open to it.” And I do now? “But I’m not going to two step around you anymore. And if that means we go our separate ways then that would be easier for me if it happens now rather than later.”
Oh God, I can hear where this is going. Now I’m panicking. Why can’t I just have meaningless sex? All of my friends did it in college. I wanted to but couldn’t. Now I’m divorced, and I think I’m doing a good job of gathering manly attention to help ease my ego, and then this. Even though we’ve known each other for almost a year, Mark and I have only been doing this little dance for six months maybe. And honestly, despite his take on things, it has been more than once a month. It’s more like four or five times a month, enough to take the edge off without jumping right into the deep end. This past week was a major exception. Slipping into each other’s lives once in a while keeps it uncomplicated. What he’s talking about is complicated.
He rolls back onto his pillow and is glaring at the ceiling. I can tell my lack of words and generally panicked face is not the reaction he is looking for. In another minute, he’s out of bed dressing angrily. He leaves without another word. First fight? Last fight? Who knows? Who cares? I guess I do because I’m crying again.
***
It’s Thursday. I tell mom that the church called and really wants me to cook tonight. It’s a lie. They are fine with my taking the week off. I’m expensive for them so they don’t like to have me every single day of the month anyway. But I need a babysitter and she’s it. If I tell her I just need a break, she’ll tell me how she never got a break. The little lie just makes it all easier. Then I call Camilo.
“Run?” I’m pulling out of Smoothie King. I’m breaking a fundamental running rule, but I’m hungry, and I won’t get far anyway if I don’t eat something.
“Gorgeous,” he sounds happy. “Where have you been?”
“I’m pulling up to Bayshore. You have my number too, remember? You can call.”
“I like the ladies to call me.” I can tell he’s enjoying this.
“That must be why you always answer when I call.”
“Ouch,” he says. “Where are you?
“I’m at Bayshore. I’ll run up.” His building is much closer to the beginning of the trail.
“Hmm, the long route? I get you for awhile then.” He disconnects. I really, really hope it is just lust that’s driving this strange interest in my company. I can’t handle much more drama right now.
We run the long route through Davis Island and then back onto Bayshore. I might even run back to my car which would be the longest I’ve ever bothered with this running bit. We slow down by the open grassy area where runners and other exercisers come to stretch and do calisthenics. I feel good. My body is pulsing, and I’m not even thinking about Mark. It’s for the best. Things were getting out of control. Camilo is looking at me funny.
I smile, “what?”
“What are you thinking about?” He’s standing too close again.
I shrug. “I’m thinking I feel good right now. Better than I have in sometime.”
“And you want to thank me for showing you this sense of peace?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Maybe some other time.”
“Come with me. I want to show you something.” He’s holding out his hand and pointing at his building. I give him a disbelieving look. “Seriously, it has nothing to do with sex, unless you want it to.”
I have some free time so I take his hand, and we cross over the speedway that is Bayshore. We ride the elevator up to the tenth floor. He has great views of the bay. His place is immaculate and expensive. Camilo doesn’t do much except be rich and gorgeous. Camilo’s money comes from the sort of questionable source that feeds many of the negative stereotypes of our kind. His father cannot come back into this country, and if Camilo leaves, neither can he. He grabs us a couple of waters from the huge refrigerator and then leads me on to the back. He’s bought a couple of units and had them remodeled int
o this sweeping four thousand square foot Zen den.
Once at the back room he opens the door to a studio. I look around surprised. Camilo is an artist. Who knew? He’s still leading me by the hand as we approach a canvas that’s facing out. He turns it to show me a picture of me. It’s not me though. I mean my image is in it almost like mist and then between the mist is what looks like rain or the ocean. It’s all very dark. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know whether to be flattered or awed. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen, but I’m no art critic.
“Wow.” I finally look at him. He’s trying to tell if I like it so I smile. “I didn’t know you painted.”
He nods, “I’ve been working on this for awhile.”
“Do you sell these?”
“It’s sold.” He assures me.
“It is?”
“Yes, I work with a few New York galleries. The buyer came a few weeks ago to look at it. It was love at first sight.” He’s standing way too close again, caressing my hair. “I told him it was understandable. It’s not a common image.”
I’m feeling a little uncomfortable. “This is serious Camilo. I’m not used to this Camilo.”
He smiles and nods. “I can imagine.”
He holds my sweaty hand and walks me around a few of his other works. Then he stops in front of an empty canvas. “This is next.”
“What is it?” I like this game.
“It’s you.”
I look up at him. “Again?”
“Until you are out of my head.” He’s stepping into me and I’m backing up. “Come here, gorgeous.” He reaches out to pull me up to him. He’s lightly skimming my skin with his lips. “You taste like salt.” His hand is wandering up under my shirt.
“Well, I have been running.” My eyes are closed, and I can barely stand. His hand has wandered into my pants and is pulling me even closer. His mouth is on mine in the softest way I’ve ever been kissed. It’s hard to know when his tongue joins in the fun, but when it does my knees buckle. He lifts me up, and my legs wrap around him easily. My back is pressed into the wall and things are careening out of control in frenzy when my cell rings. We stop, a little shocked. It’s a nervous laugh that pulls us apart. It’s my mom. Sam comes first, always.
She’s hysterical. “Marga, Marga!”
Now I’m hysterical, “what, what, what?!” I start shaking.
“Sam fell off the bow wow in the park.” He loves the dog. It rocks back and forth, and he likes to get it going really fast. He’s fallen more than once. He’s all boy. “He’s holding his arm and won’t stop crying.” She’s hysterical, but I can understand the gist of it. I calm. I never knew what kind of crazy could run through my mind until I became a mom.
“Ok, ok,” relief is washing over me. “I’ll be there in a minute.” I’m sweaty and wet, and she’s going to know I wasn’t at the church but screw it. Sam comes first.
Camilo has been caressing my hair with a concerned look. “What happened?”
“Sam fell at the park.” He looks confused. “Sam, my one year old son.” I see shock flash, and I smile. Some things wrap up nicely all by themselves. “I’ve told you before. I’m not your type.” I’m walking out of the room when he recovers from the shock and grabs me by the arm. His mouth is on mine again, and he’s angry when he lets go.
“That is my decision to make, not yours.” Then he kisses me again much softer. “Don’t keep any more secrets from me. I don’t like it.” Like I said, he’s all hombre. “I’ll drive you to your car.”
“I’ll run.” I keep walking, but he holds me back with a vice grip on my hand.
“I’ll drive you.” He’s leading me to the front where he grabs his keys. We’re in his convertible Bentley sport thingy. He drives just like a Latino, loco. It’s only maybe five minutes in a car to where I park. It takes us, oh, a minute and a few close calls with runners and bikers. He pulls up to my hulking Volvo, and I feel like a real mom getting out of his machine to get into mine.
I half smile as I finally let my white knuckle grip go. “I’ll run next time.”
He’s smiling. “I have some frustrations to release.”
“May I suggest more running?”
“I have other ideas.” He’s caressing my face.
“I’ve gotta go.” I say as I’m getting out of the car.
He pulls me back gently and caresses my hair before he says softly, “tell, Sam, I hope he feels better.”
This time a real smile comes. “I will.”
***
Sam has a broken wrist, and Sam is an actor. I fully expect to exploit his talent so that I can be rich and live the lifestyle he affords me. Ok, probably not, but Sam is drama. If Sam falls, everyone knows it. And Sam falls a lot because he’s a boy and because he’s a little accident prone like his mother.
So Sam’s new cast is right up his alley. It’s a Sesame Street cast, and he loves it. Everyone he sees he says, “bow wow” and then points to his arm. He’s shown everyone from us to the grocers to strangers on the street. It’s almost embarrassing how much he enjoys the attention. We’re supposed to keep him quiet for a few days, but this is a child that doesn’t nap and never sits still. This is not an easy thing to do.
I drop him off around five on Friday and head off to my first cooking engagement since last Saturday. I’m feeling a little nervous but not so worried. I’ve been talking to Denise, and we have an easy menu picked out. It’s should be pretty textbook. I find the key right where she said it would be, and I head in. They have a nice home, but I can tell they won’t be regulars. They can’t afford me.
As I’m chopping the ingredients for the lobster bisque, I hear a loud thump. I’m supposed to be the only person home. So I freeze with wide terrified eyes. I don’t hear anything else so I start up again. My ears are trained, though, listening for noise. It comes and this time I turn around with my large knife in my hands. I should leave. I keep saying this to myself, but something propels my feet forward. I hear more noises as I approach what looks like a little office. Maybe they have a dog, and it’s locked in. I hear scraping, and I open the door. The unexpected vision of a naked man and woman stuns me. They are no less stunned. I slap my hands over my eyes and turn around.
“I-I-I’m so sorry. I’m cooking dinner for Denise and her husband.” Shuffling sounds behind me as I run off to the kitchen. My pot is boiling for my lobster tails. I don’t know what to do. I need a new career. What had been a mundane and pedestrian job has turned into a shock a minute event. I like it when it’s mundane that fits much better with my sour outlook. I’m gathering my things when the man walks through. He’s a good looking guy not much older than I am. He’s smiling from ear to ear.
“I’m Brian, Denise’s husband,” he says holding out his hand. That was not Denise in there. I’m so shocked I actually shake his hand.
“I’m Margo.” What else do I say?
Brian makes it easy. He walks over to the stove and picks up a lid. “What’s for dinner?”
I hesitate before I answer, “Lobster bisque, grilled grouper and chocolate molten cake.”
“Hmmm, sounds good.” He’s smiling at me again. “Can’t wait.” He leaves then without another word.
I’m standing in the middle of the room with my mom purse and a dumbfounded look. Should I stay? This is crazy. I need the money, and it’s none, none, none, of my business. I don’t even know this lady that well.
Dinner is still cooking when Denise bursts through with her three kids. It’s her youngest that’s Sam’s age. She looks haggard because she had to pick them up at daycare since Brian is working late. I just look down and pretend like I can’t speak English. I help her get the kids situated and even make them something quick to eat. I am guilt ridden with my silence. She runs upstairs to change into the little something she’s bought for Brian. She hopes he likes it. Brian comes in while Denise is upstairs, and now I just want to slap that horrible grin off his face.
“How is ever
ything?” He’s testing the waters.
“Fine,” I say pretending that I need to stir the soup. “Denise is upstairs changing.”
“Surprise,” Denise calls happily from the kitchen entry. Brian’s kissing her, and I’m resisting the urge to shake my head. We get through dinner and everyone is happy, happy, touchy, touchy. Brian is holding Denise from behind as she writes me my check. I notice one of the kid’s bikes is in the middle of the street. I point it out.
Brian curses. “How many times have we told them about this?”
Denise just nods, “I know. I know.” Brian heads out to get it. Denise says, “Thanks so much. It was great. We’ll pass the word on.”
“Thanks, I’ll see you in class.” We’re chatting about Gymboree when a loud screech sounds then the horrible noise of a heavy thud. We both look out of the window to see Brian on the street lying flat. Shocked, we’re in the street with him in another second. I’m fumbling for my phone. For some reason, I didn’t put my purse down when this all happened. I dial the police and call for help. Oh my God, what is going on in my life? Shake it off, Margo. There are bigger things to deal with right now. Denise is in shock, but for a split second I think I see a strange smile cross her eyes. Then she’s in shock and grief again. The driver is out of the car shouting and stumbling around. If that guy isn’t drunk, then I don’t know what.
The ambulance arrives. The police arrive. Information is exchanged. After a little bit, Brian and Denise are whisked off to Tampa General, and the drunk is hauled off to jail. I’m left in the middle of the street shaking. Holy shit! The kids are at a neighbor’s house. Brian is alive. I can only hope he stays that way. Holy shit! I need a drink. I pull out my cell phone and call mom.
“Hi there,” she laughing at something Sam is doing.
“Can you keep Sam for me?”
“Why?”