by Mia Soto
“Is this a special night?” I ask. I do a lot of anniversaries and first dates.
“It is. I’m going to ask Gwenie to marry me,” he beams.
My smile widens. “Well she’s a lucky girl.”
He stops and looks at me in all seriousness. “Do you think so?”
“I do,” I say a little confused by his sudden insecurity. “How long have you been dating?”
“Lemme see, hmmm, fifteen years, give or take a few,” he says.
I do some math in my head. Either this guy looks great for his age or they were high school sweet hearts. So I ask, “Did you date in high school?”
He smiles, “We did. But she was really popular so it wasn’t straight dating.” Ok, I’m not sure what that means, but he helpfully clarifies. “So she had a lot of guys. She’s so pretty. But she loves me. She calls me her J-bear. And she always comes back.”
I don’t like the sound of that. “But then you’ve been dating after high school, exclusively.”
“Well,” he’s helping me butter the ramekins for the eggs. I can’t seem to stop his want to help. “We went to different colleges. So we both dated around.”
“You did?” That actually sounds like a healthy thing in this circumstance.
“Well, she did. She just gets prettier and prettier. You’re not going to believe it when you see her.” He beams at me before continuing. “I was going to Harvard, and she said I was going to be a catch someday. She’s always complimenting me.” So she held on. I don’t like this chick at all now. He’s still beaming.
“So then after college you got serious?” I’m trying to be hopeful here.
“Kind of. I went to law at Yale, and we dated off and on.”
I look at this guy and then take a look around his place. “What do you do Jacob?”
“I’m a lawyer,” he smiles.
“Why are you in Tampa?” This guy would be stupid rich, successful, and beating off the women in Manhattan.
“Gwenie lives here. She followed a boyfriend here after college.” He bites his lip and then looks up at me sheepishly.
“So you came after law school?”
He smiles again happy that I’m not going to judge him. “Yes. I was offered a position at a firm downtown. I’m a partner now.”
I shake my head with a smile. So basically, even in Tampa, he’s a catch, but that would be the last conclusion drawn because he drives a beaten up Honda and lives in this college inspired dorm room. “And what does Gwendolyn do?”
“Oh, Gwenie? She’s not working right now. She had such a hard time with her last boss. I bought her a condo and car so she wouldn’t have to worry about the payments and could just figure out what she wanted to do.” Oh, Jacob, say you didn’t.
“You did?”
“It’s for both of us.” He tries to cover up quickly. “I love the water, and it has a great view of the water. It’s right on St Pete beach.” This guy is pasty white. The last time he’s seen the beach is sometime around the millennium.
“Well, you obviously love her and take good care of her,” I sigh. I almost don’t want to cook anymore. I feel sick for this misguided soul.
“I do,” he gets excited again. “When she wrecked the first car…”
“You’ve bought her more than one car?”
“Well, the first one I bought on my student loans. I couldn’t afford that much. After she moved into the condo, everyone in the building was treating her terribly because of her car. I couldn’t have that, not when money’s not an issue. So I got her the Mercedes. But then she wrecked it, and we went with something bigger, safer. Now she’s in the Escalade.” I stand firm in my estimation of those who drive that car.
It’s taking all my will not to walk out of here because cooking for this manipulative witch is turning my stomach. Suddenly, I feel really hot and angry and then it occurs to me that I’m just hot. So I ask, “Is it hot in here Jacob?”
His face is flushed and he nods, “It is. Lemme check.” He fiddles around while I keep going, and he comes back fifteen minutes later. “I think it’s broken.” He has a panicked look on his face.
“What is?” I’m sweating bullets, and I’ve shed my chef’s jacket and button down for the fitted ribbed Gap T-back. Normally, I wouldn’t do this but something tells me Jacob’s cool with this.
“The air,” he cries and I cringe at his decibel. “Gwenie hates being hot.” Good, I think. Let her sweat a little, but I see his devastation.
“Ok, let’s fix this problem,” I say putting my knife down.
“You’re an electrician?” He’s dead serious.
I smother my smile, “no, I’m not.” But I was a semi-executive, and I can’t tell how many times employees came to me with problems they could have fixed on their own if they had been just the slightest bit proactive. “Get the phone book and look up air-condition service. I’m going to call my mom.” Mom always has random service men that family members have recommended. He nods and goes in search of the Big Yellow Book. I call Mom, and she gives me the number of a brother/sister team that Aunt Betty says is great.
“Ok,” I hang up. “Carmen is on her way.” Jacob is so visibly relieved he looks like he might kiss me. I hold up my hand. “Go shower and get ready. I’m going to keep going here.” Her majesty is due in less than an hour.
Carmen arrives while Jacob is getting ready. Carmen is a knock out, a knock down, drag out, babe. I’m having trouble not looking at her. She’s medium height, with the kind of curves Victoria Secret pays millions for and green cat eyes. I point her in the direction of the air unit in the back, and Jacob comes out while she’s working.
“They’re working on the air,” I say.
“You’re the best Margo!” He does hug me this time. He’s looks adorable in his office casual wear, and he’s changed to some Buddy Holly frames. “I’m going to recommend you to everyone I know.” Well, don’t send out the smoke signals yet. Let’s see if this Gwenie survives the night.
Carmen comes in, and I feel like I’m in one of those corny romance novels where the love interests are star struck at first sight. Jacob even drops the plate he is holding. She bends over to help and they knock heads.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, gushing over her.
“Is nothing,” her accent is sweet, dulce. “Lemme show you what I find.” She says to him walking back outside to the unit. He’s following her like a love sick puppy. I can hear them laughing and talking. Then she’s walking out to her car.
“I’m going to help Carmen get her tools,” he says. I guess his help in the kitchen has come to an end. I just smile.
“You like Star Wars,” she says appreciatively pointing to his movie collection.
He stops dead, “I do. Do you?”
“I see dem all. I can recite first three, from memory. I never forgive him for last three.” She might as well have said I’m the woman you are going to marry and love forever because I can see as they walk outside Gwenie is done. They’re talking Star Trek when they come back in. After awhile, I go back to find them sitting together. He’s handing her tools. He came in a little earlier to get her a glass of water.
“Jacob, Gwendolyn is late and I’m ready for the first course,” I say.
He looks unsure. I think he forgot another woman was coming over, and that he intended to propose marriage to that gold digger. “Well, we can wait. The air isn’t fixed so it’s good she’s late.”
He turns his attention back to Carmen who looks a little disappointed and says, “Gwendolyn is just a friend.” Carmen smiles and he smiles and I leave, smiling.
I wait another half hour. It is obvious Gwenie isn’t coming. No doubt this isn’t the first time she’s callously tossed him aside. I wish I could be there when she finds out it is the last time it will happen. I walk back. They are gazing in each other’s eyes.
“Why don’t you two eat?” I say once I tell him Gwenie still hasn’t called.
He beams. He wishes he had
thought of the idea. It’s an evening of Star Trek, new and old, Star Wars, Dune and every other sci-fi out there. They are in love, and when I slip out quietly, I feel so good I can’t wait to see Mark. He’s at the condo when I walk in with Sam asleep on my shoulder. I put Sam down and then walk back out.
“You cooked in this?” He’s looking at my form fitting sweat soaked white T trying to control his jealousy.
“You’re not even going to believe my evening,” I say as he pulls me in. I tell him my story, and he’s laughing by the end of it. “Anyway, I need a shower. I’m disgusting. I must have lost ten pounds tonight.” He’s kissing my neck, and I try to pull away. “Mark, I’m gross. Let me shower.”
“Only if I get to come too,” he says.
I smile, “you know, maybe this cooking power is turning to the light side. Darth tried to bring me over to the dark side, but I’ve fought it and won.”
He grimaces, “Stick with cooking metaphors. You’re much better at those.”
“Wait! I have to give you something.” I kiss him long, hard and wet. He’s picking me up before we finish. “That’s from Iris.”
He lifts his head with a comical look. “I don’t even want to know, but thank her for me.” Then we shower, and it’s the best, most relaxing, shower I’ve ever taken.
***
“Well, hello, m’dear,” Father McCleary walks into the small kitchen with his beaming smile where I’m unloading my groceries. It’s a bright little house which has a big round kitchen table where they take their dinner at night.
“Father McCleary,” I smile over my shoulder. “How are you?”
“I could be worse. I could be better,” he laughs. Father McCleary has a witty comeback for that question every time.
“Well, here’s hoping you’re better soon!” He laughs.
“Did you bring your fire extinguisher this time, my dear?” He laughs at my outraged look then adds, “I tell you what. You see a rat here you have my permission to burn the place down!” He and I shared a mutual dislike of the rectory infestation. Many discussions were spent on how disgusting the problem really was. The rats would get on their tables and eat big gaping holes out of the fruit in the fruit bowl. Yuck, ick. He picks up a peach and says, “Well I’m off to the doctor. Wish me luck that my cholesterol is down.”
“Buena suerte!” I say and he smiles. He speaks even less Spanish than I do. That he’s Irish gives him a much better excuse than I have. As he’s leaving, Iris is walking into the kitchen with a big smile and my phone starts ringing. It’s Mark.
“Oye,” Iris calls happily. There’s a general sense of elation floating around us. We’re all just very happy to be together and employed. I hold up my finger to her so I can answer Mark first.
“Hi,” I say happily. I can hear chaos in the background and him talking to someone. Then he’s talking to me.
“Hi, how are you?” He asks, nonchalantly.
“I’m ok. What’s up?” I’m unpacking the groceries and smiling at Iris who’s asking if it’s Mark. When I nod, she shakes her hands and wiggles her brows.
“Um, are you at the church?” He sounds uncertain.
“Uh huh,” I frown a little. This is kind of a weird conversation. He does call me during the day, but it’s usually to tell me things like ‘I can’t wait to see you’ or ‘I can smell your perfume on my shirt’.
“So I need a favor.”
“Anything,” I say as I stoop over to fish out the cake pans. I told Father Morales I’d make my world famous carrot cake. Poor guy has just gotten raked over the coals because of the sock ordeal as it’s come to be known. He loves carrot cake and he loves mine above all else. He loves it so much that I can’t even buy the local store brand one when I’m in a hurry. I’m flattered, but when I’m time stretched that can be annoying.
“Can you pick me up?”
“Sure, when?” Is his bike going into the shop? Why didn’t he mention this earlier?
“Now,” he says.
I stop. Something isn’t right. “Ok, what’s going on?”
“Well,” I hear him hesitate for too long.
“What is it, Mark?” There’s an edge to my voice.
“Calm down baby.”
“I am calm. What is it?” I’m not calm at all and if he says what I think he’s going to say I’m going to fall apart. I can feel it.
“Well there was a little accident.” He says it. My heart is in my feet, and I’ve sunk to the floor with my hand over my mouth. Iris is squatting in front of me with a look of worry on her face. “And…”
“Are you ok?” I interrupt him. Of course, he was on that damn bike when he left this morning. He refuses to acknowledge that people drive nuts and now they drive nuts in humongous tanks they call SUVs. I know; I have one.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he says calmly.
I almost breathe a sigh of relief before I hear, “sir, you have to lie down until we finish wrapping the wound.”
“You are hurt!” Now my heart is in my throat and tears are springing.
“I’m not really.”
Then I hear, “sir you need to get off the phone so we can finish addressing your wounds.”
Wounds! “Quit lying to me.” I’m choking hard now.
“Baby, I’m not. It’s just some scratches and bruises. Are you crying?” I nod because I can’t answer through the tears. He waits while I calm down. I can almost see him smiling on the other end and that annoys me. When he hears my sniffle he says, “Better?”
“Not really,” I’m able to say through my sniffling. Iris has gotten me some tissue.
“Can you come get me? I’m late for a meeting.”
“You’re going back to work?”
“I’d like to at least catch the end of the meeting.”
He tells me some random place downtown. Hivebar, I’ve heard of it, but since I don’t really go out that much anymore I don’t know it. “Ok, I’m coming.”
“Pull yourself together before you get behind the wheel Margo. I’m serious. I don’t want you crying while you’re driving.”
“Whatever, then don’t call me to tell me you’re in motorcycle accidents.” I hang up and refuse to answer him when he calls me right back.
“I gotta go,” I tell Iris who’s still sitting beside me. “Mark was in an accident.”
“But he ok?” Her eyes are wide with worry.
“I don’t know. He’s calling so I guess that’s a good sign.” The sight of that dead motorcyclist flashes in my head and the tears spring again.
“Don’ cry mi hija. He ok. If he call, den he ok. Go get him. I tell dem you no cook tonight.” I nod and she’s stroking my hair out of my face. My hair is always falling in my face. Sometimes she’s like a mom to me. “It’s good to see you like this…amoroso.” I just smile a watery smile. She saw the very worst of me after the divorce, when I had become like a ghost consumed by failure. I can’t deny I love Mark and that he’s a big reason for why I’m no longer at that hopeless point in life. I just can’t say it yet. It took me quite a while to build up this wall. I don’t know how to knock it down. Sometimes I think all I can do is let Mark chip away at it until he knocks it down for me.
***
I’m lost and angry, but I’m not crying anymore. Now, I’m thinking about all of the conversations Mark and I have had about this bike and how much I hate it. In my ramblings, I’ve somehow gotten myself completely lost. It’s taken forty five minutes to get somewhere that should have taken only fifteen tops. He’s been calling, but I haven’t answered because I’m furious. I never want to feel this way again, never. He gets rid of that thing. It’s me or it. Oddly, I know he loves me, but I’m not sure which one he’ll choose in the long run. He’s calling again. This time I answer.
“I got lost,” I snap.
“Don’t be angry. I’m just worried. You should be here by now.”
“I told you I got lost. I had to ask for directions.”
“Why didn’t you c
all me?”
“Because I can’t talk to you right now. I’m angry.”
“Why are you angry? I’m the one who was in the accident.”
Tears are falling again. “I’m angry because you know how much I hate that thing. And you keep riding it.”
“Ok, pull over Margo. I don’t want you driving like this.”
“No, I’m turning onto the street now.” And I am. I can see the crowd of people out in front of the bar. There are a couple of cop cars and a whole bunch of young, nubile waitresses, and from what I can see, they are fawning over Mark who has his head wrapped in a bandage, his arm in a sling and a huge square patch on his leg. His pants leg is torn and there is a huge rip across the back of his light green button down. He’s smiling at something one of the women just said before he sees me. I don’t know how it’s possible, but his smile seems to grow when he spots me. I’m not smiling as I storm toward him. He’s standing to meet me.
“Don’t smile at me like that.” I’m pointing and my voice is angry and a hush overtakes the group. The women stop in horror and maybe hope that this crazy Latin chick will do something insane like break up with him. No such luck, ladies, he’s mine now. I’ve got a vested interest, which is kind of funny because these feelings are all new for me with regard to him or any man since my ex. I wouldn’t say I’m jealous. I’d say I’m possessive.
“Baby,” he’s trying to gather me into his arms. I can see his plan – kiss her and erase all memory of anger. Not this time buddy, we’re having this out.
I push him away and walk off a few steps. The interested onlookers can still hear, but at least I can pretend like we have some privacy. “Don’t baby me. I’ve had it with this. Get rid of that bike or I go.”
He looks stunned. “Baby,” he’s trying again to take the upper hand here. He’s got me in his arms, but I’m turning my head so that he can’t use those lips to totally confuse me.
“I’m serious. I’m not ever going to have another call like that one. Do you here me?” He swoops me up. “Put me down. What about your arm?” He just smiles as his mouth closes in fast. “Fine kiss me, it’s not going to work this time.” My words are muffled because he’s in the process of trying to prove me wrong. He does, and not so eventually, I’m kissing him right back, but I don’t give up the argument. “How would you feel if I called you after being in a motorcycle accident?” His grasp tightens. Maybe I just found my answer to this! “Would you be happy if you walked up and saw me like this?” He’s not kissing me anymore or smiling and his blue eyes are piercing me.