In Love by Design (The Adventures of Anabel Axelrod)

by Ellen, Tracy

  I offered my advice to Pam for two main reasons. The first was so that Pam allowed herself some time to think of her future without it being conditional on the love of another man. The second was I don’t trust rebound love as far as I can throw it, especially when one or both of the people involved were in a marriage when it began. Illicit love was rife with angst and drama and really hot, consuming sex. When all the dust settled, it was back to the everyday life of a real relationship and that’s got to pale in comparison.

  If I was really Pam’s friend, I should probably chain her up in the basement of Bel’s for a few weeks because, of course, Pammie didn’t hear a word I’d said. Wait, I take that back. She heard the part that she could tell Tarzan how she felt, so that he in turn can reassure her they will live happily ever after.

  Pammie has squealed off to take down her man.

  Do I think this was sordid and tacky behavior for a still married lady that calls herself a Christian?

  Hmm, don’t know and don’t care, if Pam’s happy, I’m happy.

  I do think Pam’s a good woman at heart, but she’s only human. She’s had a small taste of what it’s like to be wanted and loved, and that shined a glaring spotlight on the rest of her life. The past emptiness stood out in miserable relief under that unforgiving brightness. Maybe it would be smarter and look better publically for my friend to wait until after her divorce to pursue her lover, but it wasn’t as if I would take an ad out in the paper to shout to the world that Pam’s sneaking around having jungle sex. I’ve got her back.

  The day was so beautiful that I didn’t climb into the truck, but soaked up some more afternoon sunshine while calling my mechanic, Pete, at Witt Brothers Service garage. I should have done this first thing today and couldn’t believe it slipped my mind. I cursed Luke for this, too.

  I was careful what extra favors I asked of Pete because he’s had a crush on me for years. He’d jump off of a bridge, if it was me doing the asking. He’s also incredibly grateful that I helped his twin brother Patrick two years ago by investing in his start up business. Patrick’s an artist that works in metal and he had a vision of designing and building custom light fixtures. He had a business plan and I loved his work. Now Patrick’s vision was a reality, and I had the coolest, one of kind metal and crystal chandelier hanging in my apartment’s foyer.

  Thankfully, Pete was not only in today, but he eagerly offered to go to Bel’s Books and pick up Lady Liberty to bring her back to the shop, run a diagnostic, and get her fixed. In the middle of the afternoon on a Friday, I was grateful to accept all the help I could get from Pete.

  I got in the truck, backed up, and drove a short distance to a spot in the center of the lot where I could see in all directions. Rolling down the window, I rested an elbow and called Stella next.

  My niece answered by stating flatly, “Word is that I’m not supposed to talk business if you call because you should be naked with Luke.”

  “This isn’t business and shame on you, Stella. You’re much too young to be saying words like naked,” I scolded severely.

  She retorted, giggling, “Have you forgotten I’m pregnant and going to be married soon?”

  “Have you forgotten that’s because you say words like naked?” I accused, roundly.

  Stella protested on a laughing whine, “Auntie Bel, I thought you said you supported me!”

  I scoffed, “Well, duh. Of course I’ll support you publically. Privately, you can expect to be showered with the same abusive love and ridicule as normal.” I added piously, “It’s a proven fact children thrive on consistency, niece Stella.”

  “Oh, let me write down that little pearl of wisdom,” Stella drawled.

  I replied airily, “Gifts are always welcome as a token of appreciation.”

  Stella laughed, “Don’t I know it! That reminds me. Sammy, Callie, and I,” she said, naming her two best friends, “went to a holiday boutique in Apple Valley and met this woman creating the most amazing jewelry recycling vintage pieces!”

  “Oh yeah?” I responded, and that’s all it took for Stella to be off.

  I listened while she excitedly told me all about the earrings and bracelets the three of them purchased for themselves and for gifts. This led to her chattering about her own bridal shower scheduled a week from Saturday. That led to her latest details for her Dream Plan wedding day. This got her going about her research for finding the perfect birth plan. Finally, the deluge trickled down and I got a word in to let her know Pete will be coming by any minute for the spare key to the jeep that’s in my office desk drawer.

  “So, what is Anna doing right now?” I asked, nonchalantly.

  I heard muffled noises and Stella said, “Wait, I’m in your office getting the key, so let me look out and see. Umm, looks like she and Uncle Reg have stopped fighting and…” Stella was moving and breathed heavily into the phone. At that sound, I flashed back to when she was a little girl and would brush my hair while making those same cute breath noises when she concentrated. I still can’t believe Mac’s and my baby was having her own baby. “Yep, Anna’s making party subs.”

  Shaking off my moment of melancholy, I asked, “Fighting? Why were they fighting?”

  “Reggie asked Anna to make food for his annual Christmas poker party tonight and she got mad.”

  “Uh oh, smooth move, brother Reg,” I said, laughing. “Anna said earlier they had a date tonight.”

  “He got the dates mixed up,” Stella answered, laughing, too. “How do men do these things, Auntie B? Not only forget the date of their own party, but have the balls, um, testicles to ask the woman you’re ditching for the night to make you some food--at the last minute!”

  She didn’t expect an answer and I was relieved. Those were the kinds of questions better women than me have been trying to answer about men’s brains for centuries.

  Stella’s voice was gleeful. “We all sure had fun watching Uncle Reg on his knees and begging for forgiveness for fuc...oops, I mean messing up.”

  Smiling at her efforts to not swear, I commended my niece and then said, “Geesh, Reg must be a master at groveling if Anna’s already over it and making him subs for poker night!”

  “Oh, it was revolting,” Stella replied, blithely matter-of-fact, “but I’d say Uncle Reg has more than his fair share of Axelrod shamelessness. We rated him an eleven out ten when he pulled out the big guns and recited poetry.”

  “Reg and poetry?” I echoed, doubtfully. “Do you mean a limerick?”

  Stella giggled and exclaimed, “That’s what I said, but Anna insisted it was poetry!”

  I smirked and said, “Well, as a subscriber to Entertainment Weekly, she ought to know.”

  I used my own unfair share of Axelrod talent to get Stella to report on store business and swear not to tell Anna that I asked. No need to spike poor Anna’s BP any more than her fiancé already had.

  Ending that call, I rubbed my forehead. Who knew taking forced time off from work meant I’d spend so much time working on the phone, instead of frolicking naked like I should be. Despite the happy sunshine, I felt a small head ache building.

  The last call I forced myself to make from my mobile parking lot office was to Mac. It was a quickie in the hope my sister had changed her mind about Night of the Ninjas, but she has not. Actually, it was the opposite. Mac was now more determined than ever to know what Diego was doing.

  I ran a few questions by my sister and reconfirmed Diego’s schedule for today. Assuming he’s telling her the truth, which seems rather illogical in light of the fact Mac’s accusing him of being untrustworthy, Diego should be at the store working until six o’clock. Hopefully, this was accurate and I begged my crabby sister to keep their family dinner date tonight at Diego’s mother’s house. She finally agreed she’d go and will contact me only if Diego doesn’t come home. Mac also reluctantly agreed to keep Diego out of the store tonight, although she complained she wasn’t sure how she could stop him if he was determined to go back to work.
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  I threw up my hand, but kept my voice level because Mac was stressed and not thinking straight. “You’re smart and you’re a nurse. Think about it this afternoon. Have some awful disease up your sleeve to get sick with if Diego tries to go back to the store, okay?”

  Mac was silent and then, just like her daughter seconds earlier, I heard the glee in her voice, “Okay. Yes. I can do that.”

  I listened patiently while Mac informed me that Diego came home late and left again early this morning. He was evasive, would only tell Mac that he’s very busy at work, and insisted everything was fine, just fine.

  Sighing at another example of a male stuck in stubborn mode, I pointed out, “See, doesn’t it sound like a work problem has him down?”

  Mac’s disgusted snarl promised untold vengeance. “He wouldn’t look me in the eye and kissed me goodbye on the cheek, Bel! The fucking cheek! I could have been the kitchen cabinet!”

  Taking off driving, I almost pitied Diego before I went AWOL’ing in fond remembrance over Luke’s tender treatment of my derrière last night. I’d have to disagree with my sister on this subject. I have nothing against a few cheek kisses.

  However, I do have something against Falsifiers, so our truck wasn’t heading west with the sun back towards Luke’s farm and my Dark Prince’s bedroom instructions, but east a few blocks to reconnoiter supermercado de Dos Santos.

  Faribault’s population was around twenty-three thousand people. Over three thousand are Hispanic. My brother-in-law’s grocery store was the largest Hispanic market in the town and a thriving gold mine, another reason why it makes no sense Diego’s asking Mac for cash.

  Diego attributed this success to his late father’s foresight in advertising and displaying his wares in Spanish and English. The store catered predominantly to the Hispanic culture, but the rest of the town’s ethnic populations have always felt comfortable shopping at Dos Santos’ as well. If they initially had doubts; the friendly, bilingual employees tipped the scales. This was a smart marketing plan by Diego’s family because there was a lot of resentment simmering in the townspeople of Faribault over the insurgence of the Hispanic population in recent years. As more of the downtown’s established businesses failed and people lost their jobs during the recession our country hasn’t been having, more of those empty storefronts were being filled with Spanish signs. The resentment was rising ever closer to the surface.

  I lucked out and pulled into the spot just vacated by another truck near the front of the busy store. Strolling towards the entrance, I looked around me with interest. I don’t grocery shop in Faribault and have been to Diego’s store only once since he and Mac got married last June, and that was at night.

  The U.S. flag and the Puerto Rican flag hung from tall flagpoles near the double front doors. It was Mac’s idea to repeat the red, white, and blue palette of both flags when Diego was redesigning the outside façade of his store. I applauded her style and sense. The one storied, red brick building with the plate glass windows trimmed in crisp white and topped by navy blue awnings was neat and welcoming, not glaringly foreign.

  Inside, I accepted a wire basket and returned the friendly greeting from an attractive, older Hispanic woman wearing a navy blue smock. I continued strolling sedately up and down the busy aisles while trying not to move to the Latin music playing throughout the store. It was a catchy beat, but I didn’t want to embarrass Diego on his security camera tapes by doing the gringo rumba, so I made my hips behave.

  Today my goal was to familiarize myself with the store’s layout and covertly examine all the female employees. You show me a cheating spouse, and nine times out of ten, I’ll show you a co-worker. I never noticed before how cute Hispanic girls are until I started looking at them as potential home wrecking sluts.

  Seeing a sign for the restrooms, I walked down a short, cement staircase to a semi- basement level. Sure enough, I recognized where I am from my visit with Mac. There was a restroom on either side of a short hallway. Just past the bathrooms were a set of double doors with the words “Employees Only” and a swipe card door lock.

  On tiptoe, I peeped through the small window on one of the doors and my luck was holding. A teenage girl in braids was walking my way and I ducked back.

  Braids buzzed the doors open while talking on her phone, and I smiled widely while mouthing, “Thank you!”

  Walking past her like I belonged, I didn’t look back and after a moment, I heard the door swoosh close behind me.

  At the very end of this low ceilinged, cement block hallway was a gray metal door with a push bar and the red emergency exit sign hanging above. The door was propped ajar. A cool stream of air and sunlight filtered in through the opening. I passed a large break room on my right and waved casually at a guy glancing up from his phone with that certain glazed, unfocused look in his eye.

  ‘You gotta love phone games!’

  On my left was an empty room with a long table in the center that could be used for training or meetings. The next door on the left is closed, and twisting the door knob, locked. A few steps farther down on the right was another door into the same break room. I walked past, careful to step softly on my toes in my high-heeled, black boots to keep my footsteps quiet on the painted cement floor.

  The last door on the right before the emergency exit was Diego’s office. A few feet away from my goal, I heard hushed voices rising into a heated argument. I slowed down, but the conversation taking place was in rapid fire Spanish. Eavesdropping didn’t do me much good. I had an idea and quickly pulled my phone from my purse. Opening the voice memo app, I inched forward quietly to the open doorway and started recording.

  Only a few seconds later, a female voice let loose a torrent of words and then I heard the clicking of high heels marching towards the door. I had just enough time to drop the phone into the shopping basket on my arm before I was abruptly face to face with a beautiful Latina woman about my height, but much younger.

  We both blinked in surprise.

  I pasted on my extremely blonde smile before sticking out my hand and saying brightly, “Hi, I’m Anabel Axelrod. Umm, is Diego here?”

  Beauty’s nostrils were slightly flared, her deep brown eyes were snapping in anger, and her slanted cheekbones were flushed pink. I couldn’t help appreciating her control when she instantly smoothed the signs of temper from her face and managed a polite, if cautious, smile in return.

  Shaking my proffered hand briefly, she introduced herself, “Hola...”

  But then she lost me after that because Beauty spoke rapidly in Spanish again. I shrugged my incomprehension with wide, vacuous eyes.

  The hard, intelligent eyes that stared back into mine were much older in experience than the early twenties I’d guess her age to be. Even as I wondered what has caused this veneer of toughness, Beauty blinked again, softly exhaled, and relaxed. The frown of suspicion disappeared and her features softened into youthful innocence.

  ‘Wow! This girl was good!’

  She stepped away, curling ringlets of long, dark hair swinging at her movement. Even dressed in the shapeless navy smock and dark slacks of an employee, Beauty was voluptuous and alluring.

  Switching to fluent English, she said, “Excuse me, hello! My name is Mia Besosa and yes…”

  Diego came to the door of his office and interrupted, “Anabel! I thought that was your voice I heard. How nice to see you, but this is a surprise!” He looked from me to Mia before saying, “Mia, this is Anabel, my wife’s sister. She doesn’t speak Spanish.”

  Mia spoke briefly in Spanish, and I pretended not to see the lightning swift glance that passed between them before Diego’s slight frown had Mia demurely lowering her long, curling lashes.

  ‘Mmm, love her way with the liquid eyeliner,’ cooed the sex kitten voice.

  Diego courteously finished the introductions, “Anabel, this is my employee, Mia Besosa.” He added lamely, “We were having a meeting.”

  Not allowing any expression on my face except ch
eerful politeness, I responded, “Gee, I’m sorry to barge in on your work day uninvited, but I was driving by and thought I’d stop in for a few things.” I raised the basket up, showing off the Dos Santos secret recipe salsa and the warm bag of freshly made corn chips. I moved closer to the open doorway to Diego’s office and smiled teasingly. “Now Diego, admit you’d be hurt if I didn’t come and say hello to my favorite brother-in-law.”

  “I do believe I am your only brother-in-law?” Diego answered, his shoulders held rigid with tenseness, but smiling slightly.

  I put up both hands and protested lightly, “Well sure, if you want to get technical, but don’t you agree Kenna’s bound to remarry again by next week and you’ll soon have some stiff competition?”

  Diego’s eyebrows rose, and then seeing my big grin, he chuckled and agreed while I giggled.

  Mia had been closely observing me, but now politely excused herself saying she had work to do. There was barely concealed disdain in her voice before she hurried off. As she dashed away from us down the hallway, I noted Diego didn’t follow her swaying hips with his eyes, but continued to chat with me about trivial topics.

  I pointed to the emergency exit door and stated the obvious. “Do you know that door is open?”

  Diego glanced over at the door and replied, “Yes, we can’t get the temperature regulated in here today and it’s been uncomfortably hot on this side of the building.” He added with a small grimace of irritation, “The alarm on that door is broken anyway.”

  I commiserated over the endless problems of owning an older building and the required continuous maintenance while I observed Diego for any distinctively overt signs of guilt or shame.

  Luke may act like a Spanish Conquistador, but Diego Esteban Tomas Dos Santos looked like one. His noble features gradually lose more of their tenseness as we talk. He took my arm while flashing a naturally sensuous smile that I find so attractively prevalent in many Latino men.

  Dressed casually in dark slacks and a navy polo shirt with the Dos Santos logo, Diego has movie-star good looks that belong on the cover of Playgirl magazine. I resolutely didn’t speculate what the rest of him would look like inside a Playgirl because the dude was married to my sister, but I’ve been told he was totally centerfold-worthy.