by Cass Sellars
As Syd backed strategically toward the door, Becky advanced toward her, fists clenched at her sides.
“You’re just a user. You’ll wish I stayed here once I am gone.” Becky searched frantically for her purse, finally spotting the pink silk clutch on the arm of the sofa. She swung the gold chain strap over her shoulder and fished for her keys.
Sydney was very sure that would not be the case; in fact, she was counting the seconds until Becky was gone.
“Look, I’m sorry you’re mad. I really am, but I’m not looking for a long-term thing, okay? I thought you knew that and we were just having some fun, beautiful.” She stroked her finger down the blonde’s cheek, hoping the last effort would reduce her raging fire to smoldering acceptance. Syd noticed that Becky’s caked-on makeup seemed to be sliding unceremoniously off her face. Syd mused that she had never seen Becky in full light before that second. Between the barely lit bar and the dimness of her car or dark apartment, Syd always succeeded to extricate herself in shadow.
Syd stepped back in shock as Becky launched at her again, this time with her lips, delivering a hard kiss against her mouth and planting Syd’s back against the large front door.
“I’ll make you forget you said that. We could be good together, Syd. Call me later.” Becky whipped a heavy pen from her purse and grabbed Syd’s hand. Before she knew what was happening, Becky had scrolled ten large digits across the length of her forearm, followed by a smiley face. A goddamn smiley face. Syd stared at her arm and before she could react, Becky spun on her impressive heels and disappeared through the door, clearly not requiring, or expecting, an escort to her car.
A stunned but grateful Sydney watched carefully through the front window, counting the seconds until she had backed the Jeep out of the slot and headed into the dark. The damn thing even had daisy decals on it, Syd thought, as she exhaled with relief now that she was finally alone.
She dragged the once-white blanket, smeared with makeup and smelling of cheap perfume, into a laundry basket and went to wash the graffiti from her arm.
*
Becky pulled to the curb and watched the light burn in her lover’s window. She adjusted the vanity mirror to finger away sex-induced smudges of eyeliner and lipstick. She riffled through the photo gallery files on her phone and found the picture she had surreptitiously taken of Syd at the bar. She added a heart frame and uploaded it to her Facebook page with the caption, Another perfect night with my baby. She glanced back one last time to the now dark loft and blew a distant kiss toward the window before driving away.
Chapter Five
At five a.m., Parker woke up in her new home. She deflated the painful reminder of what a real bed could be and dragged it up to the loft. She shuffled to what would eventually be the kitchen and plugged in the coffeepot currently perched on an upside down box, further balanced on an old pallet. She might not be able to cook here yet but she was having coffee. Microwave tea was disgusting and she couldn’t find her kettle, or her microwave for that matter, so coffee it was.
Five hours later, dirty and tired, Parker snapped the dust mask from her face to her head and appraised her handiwork. The twenty-five-foot expanse of brick, once dingy and painted, was now sanded and scraped nearly clean. To her surprise, the bubbled paint had long since resigned its hold on the hundred-year-old brick and had barely required the wire mesh disc wheel she had attached to her drill. She stood in two inches of paint chips and dust and began shoveling the debris into large black plastic bags. As she tied up the last bag, she heard the moving company arrive with her storage cube.
She guided them to a vacant spot of grass and hoped there wouldn’t be any complaints from the neighbors before she could empty it. As soon as she bid them farewell and slid her door shut, she heard another knock. She opened it again to see giant industrial sanders hiding three short men behind them.
“We’re with Modern Flooring, ma’am.” One of the men searched his work order. “An Allen Stevens sent us here to do some work.” He almost posed it as a question. Parker enthusiastically stepped aside with a sweep of her arm welcoming them in.
“Come in,” she said excitedly. “Call me Parker. Can I get you any coffee before you start?”
“No, ma’am, but thank you. Are you ready for us to get going? “
“More than,” she declared as she led them through the space.
“What about up there?” one of the men asked looking toward the loft. Parker explained that she would be tackling the old wood floors on her own later. They then moved to begin their work. The machines roared to life and she slipped out the front door with a small bag and her purse. She waved a mute farewell before they lowered respirators and goggles.
Parker found her car sandwiched between the flooring van and a two-door sports car. The license plate said >DRIFTER. She mentally matched the car to the studio guy across the hall. The blue Cadillac was the only other car in the small lot and its plate read CK CPA. No mysteries left in the world. She sighed at the dueling personalized plates. She briefly wondered if GAYDVRCE was already taken.
She stopped by Richard and Allen’s for a shower while they were running errands and soon lost herself in the home store for more than three hours. After her spree, Parker stuffed four large white bags into her trunk. The two enormous canvases were not going to go in no matter how she maneuvered them. Parker deposited herself in the driver’s seat and lowered the top inviting the blazing sunshine into the car. Instant pick-me-up, she thought, remembering the trip, several years ago, to bring home a grill for Dayne’s birthday. The Lowe’s guys lifted it up and over, into her backseat. The youngest loader had looked at her. “Lady, y’know this ain’t a truck, right?”
Parker had laughed happily, replying, “It is today.” She shook the memory out of her head and loaded the rest of her purchases into the backseat.
Pulling again into the lot at the warehouse, Parker noticed the Caddy was gone and the black sports car was status quo. The van was being loaded up with now even dustier equipment. The smallest of the crew was dragging drop cloths and plastic sheeting behind him.
She walked quickly toward her front door but was stopped by the yellow tape strapped across her open doorway.
Parker was dumbfounded. She stared across the glossy expanse of her new floors. In just hours, they had sanded rough, dull, marred gray concrete into a greenish-silver mirror finish, rivaling polished stone. She could see her home finally coming together. She heard one of the men enter the foyer behind her. Parker impulsively spun around to catch the surprised man in a hug.
“Thank you. Thank you,” she exclaimed. “It’s amazing!” She grinned happily as he bowed.
“You are welcome,” he offered shyly. “But no furniture in there until tomorrow, okay?” He handed her paper shoe covers as he waggled a warning finger in her direction.
She saluted as he took the check she handed him in exchange for the invoice now marked paid. She dug her phone from her pocket to send Allen a picture.
Parker spent the afternoon emptying the car into the storage unit and carrying debris to the dumpster. No one came or went save a bright-colored truck slowly driving by the building twice without stopping.
The final schedule and preparations for renovations went much faster when Allen and Richard arrived shortly after five and went to work.
The exposed lightbulbs swung haphazardly overhead. Unattractive Romex cables suspended from eight surface-mounted junction boxes taunted the room with their ugliness. Allen scaled a huge ladder and affixed wild abstract wire-and-glass globes over the fixtures, wrapping the dingy cable in decorative black cording. He cleaned the exposed ducts and dusted the center beam. The transformation was immediate.
Richard slipped out a few hours later, returning with pizza and wine. The friends stood back to admire their accomplishments. The floor gleamed against the newly exposed brick, and only a few sagging trash bags awaited their trip to the dumpster. Empty bottles of cleaning solution lined the windowsill
s, soon to join the bags headed for recycling. The would-be kitchen was now an empty hull, ready for Allen’s crew to arrive in the morning.
“I couldn’t have done it without you guys, as you already know.” Parker hugged them both.
Allen brightened and sprinted mysteriously to the car. Moments later he wordlessly handed over a wide white roll of drafting paper tied with a big floppy aubergine ribbon. He bowed slightly as he presented it to Parker.
She glowed and crouched to spread the roll across the floor. As she pulled the lead edge away, she revealed a color rendering of the most beautiful kitchen she could have ever imagined. A stainless slab topped a red enamel cabinet island which stood in the center of the room. The back wall boasted complementary gray cabinets and gleaming quartz countertops to finish the effect. A glass tile backsplash was set under subtle up-lighting and a red Danze faucet rose up beneath the back window. Parker launched herself toward her friend, almost knocking him down.
“This is nothing like I picked out,” she exclaimed.
“Of course not, you picked from the prefab page in a catalog. What would I tell my architect friends?” He gestured grandly. “Friends don’t let friends buy prefab.”
“How can I thank you? It’s absolutely beautiful.” She turned to hug Richard’s neck.
“With pizza of course.” Allen lifted the box from Richard’s drooping arms.
They sat in a circle on the floor lined with a paper drop cloth. Parker took an inelegant bite of the veggie pizza, still grinning broadly. Richard passed out wineglasses and began to pour.
“Real glasses?” Parker lifted hers in salute.
“Life’s too short to drink wine from a plastic cup,” Richard declared royally.
“Amen,” Allen said, raising his glass to his husband and his best friend.
Richard’s expression grew serious as he looked between his partner and Parker.
“Park, we love you. You have had one remarkably shitty year…until now. We will stand by you no matter what, but being here now, we can see your new beginning and your new life. The universe is going to give you positive stuff and happy moments from here. We can’t wait to watch you shine.” The words faltered slightly as he finished and looked at Parker.
Tears streamed down her dusty cheeks. Both men moved toward her when she held her hands up. They sat again.
She took a deep breath and raised her glass. “Don’t worry,” she said with a laugh, “these are happy tears.” They refilled their wine and dug out the next slice.
By eleven p.m., she’d settled in for another restless night on the air mattress. Parker pulled out the drafting roll and perused the sketches Allen had done for the bathroom. They were equally stunning, and she could already feel her first hot shower as she curled up in the otherwise vacant space and fell into a much needed sleep.
*
Parker’s week of vacation had dumped quickly into her last weekend before her scheduled return to the office. She decided she just wasn’t ready to head back yet.
The kitchen now boasted a full set of cabinets but, as yet, no appliances since the sizing required some special ordering for the space. She was able to polish the counters and could even do laundry in her efficient utility closet. Still, overwhelmed by the to-do list which kept populating in her mind, she called Jenny before she called her boss.
“Hi, girlfriend. Would you mind if I stay out another week?” Parker began.
“Of course, silly.” Jenny laughed. “Not much going on this week anyway. We’ll be fine.”
“Thanks, Jen. All okay with you and Mack?”
“I can’t complain. We’re trying the AI again, so keep your fingers crossed.” Jenny sounded cautiously optimistic as she filled her in on the expensive artificial insemination process they were beginning for the third time.
“I will cross everything I have for you two. Let me know if you need anything. Come for dinner over here when the kitchen is ready, okay?” Jenny agreed, and Parker disconnected to call her boss.
Chapter Six
Syd rolled over and patted the nightstand for the source of the shrill and unwelcome noise. Finding her phone, she pushed it as close to her face as the pillow would allow. “What is it?”
“Really? It’s noon—on a Monday.” Steve’s voice was exasperated.
“I worked all night, ass,” she responded in a grouchy tone, recalling her grueling project depicting a multiple homicide, finally nearing completion thanks to the all-nighter.
“Well, I just thought I would warn you.” Steve’s voice was ominous.
“About friends waking you up?” she groused at him.
“No, charmer. About your Bad Idea Blonde from last week. She showed up a couple of nights ago looking for you. I said I hadn’t seen you. She showed up again as I was opening for inventory today. When I told her I still hadn’t seen you, she spun back to her car, saying she was headed for your house.”
“Fuck me,” Syd groaned.
“Seems that’s what got you into this mess, my dear. Since when do you take your pickups home, anyway?”
“Apparently, I lost my damned mind,” she whined, now sitting in bed with her hand fisted into her spiky hair.
“Well, be careful, please. I think this one’s got issues.” Steve disconnected without waiting for a response.
Syd launched herself out of bed and into sweats and an old T-shirt. Since she wanted to be gone in the event Becky showed, she would at least go work out. She sped toward the gym to avoid any forced unpleasant encounter at her home.
Syd relished her chosen solitude. She didn’t even know her neighbors except to wave in passing. Since leaving the dysfunction of her family and a short painful relationship, she simply enjoyed knowing that no one would ever again reorganize either the furniture in her home or the precariously arranged pieces of her psyche. It had worked for years, up until some uptight chick in heels threw her off her game. If her dance partner had just fallen under her practiced spell instead of Becky, Sydney wouldn’t be running from her own bed now. Regardless of the hard press Becky was playing, Sydney Hyatt would always be single, and very happily so. She rubbed at the tension building in her shoulders and shook off the feeling of the last hands she remembered there.
*
Dragging a borrowed hand truck behind her, Parker headed to the storage cube to start the process. Loading boxes onto the dolly, she dragged carton after carton to the threshold and deposited them in their new home by hand, out of respect for her new floors. Allen’s crew had been hard at work, running electrical to the island and across the backsplash.
By the time the afternoon light began to wane, the cube was empty. Parker had been able to drag the couch onto the dolly and muscle it through the large door. It hadn’t been pretty and she hoped nobody was watching the inelegant tugging and shoving she had done. The construction crew had taken pity and lugged her mattress and box spring to the loft before they left. Very proud and very tired, she rolled the door closed and fell across her couch.
Within minutes, Parker was jolted off the cushions by a loud pounding on the lobby door. She finger combed her hair into a deconstructed ponytail as she slid her front door open. She saw an incredibly blond sexy figure in a miniskirt and impossibly high heels waving her arms and apparently wailing like a banshee at her through the glass.
Parker debated for several seconds whether to open it. She decided that the overgrown cheerleader couldn’t possibly be an axe murderer. She released the lobby door, and the woman bounced past her with flowers and a pink box of some sort of baked goods.
Before Parker could react, the visitor whirled back and introduced herself. “Hi! I’m Becky,” she announced as she zipped down the hall to the unit across from Parker’s.
Becky enthusiastically explained that her honey lived here and she just wanted to bring a surprise. She turned back to the door and knocked politely once and then banged louder, almost screaming, “It’s Becky!”
Parker leaned against the
wall and watched in amusement. She wondered what guys found attractive in all of that try-too-hard fake sparkle. Parker loved women but she preferred an edge and a lot less decoration. Her mind wandered involuntarily to her last dance at TPL.
Becky knocked several more times as if she just simply wasn’t being heard. Parker thought everyone in a four-block radius could hear her.
Finally, after the glittery girl stood expectantly at the door for far too long, Parker said, “Doesn’t seem to be anyone home. Do you want to just leave those at the door?” The woman looked down as if she’d just remembered she had the armful of presents.
“I guess I will. I can just stop back later. Maybe I’ll call.” She looked crestfallen for a moment before bouncing back out the door, a feat that seemed quite unlikely given her shoe choice. She waved over her head and trotted toward the parking lot.
Parker glanced at the gifts waiting at the door and headed back into her place. She tried to envision Becky’s boyfriend, imagining a male-model attorney-type in designer suits who only dated beautiful model-type girls. She immediately discounted the chances that she and the neighbor would have anything in common other than a hallway to their respective homes.
Parker slid the door closed and climbed the steps. She accomplished a perfunctory birdbath with soap and a washcloth at the old sink and pulled on her favorite silk nightshirt. She poured a generous glass of wine into a large tumbler. Tucked into the sofa with her tablet and searching out a new book, she chose a new mystery by a favored author and settled in. A few pages into chapter three, a thundering knock traveled through her thick front door, jolting her unceremoniously out of her solitude.
*
After two uninterrupted hours of pushing weight and growling at her poor decision making abilities, Syd was sweaty and fatigued and spent.