Such a Pretty Face

by Gabrielle Goldsby

  My nonsensical words cracked like thunder in the silent room.

  My breath caught. I gasped and inhaled hard. Another panicked breath forced air down my windpipe. Finally I heard a sound, like dry Þ ngers

  • 31 •

  GABRIELLE GOLDSBY

  snapping, and an object bulleted across the table and into Ned’s right eye. My chest stopped feeling like I was going to have a heart attack. A button was missing from the front of my dress. My bra and consequently my breasts had tumbled out like two escaped convicts during a prison break.

  Ned screamed, “Oh, my God, my God. My eye. She shot me in the eye.” No one moved as he pushed away from the table and stood, both hands trying to cover his right eye.

  My sister and mother reacted at the same moment, rushing toward him, trying to get him to let them inspect his injury. But Ned was swinging his elbows from side to side and they had to step back in order to avoid being hit.

  “Emanuel, we need to get him to a hospital,” my mother said imperiously.

  My father stood and calmly walked toward the front door. My sister led her husband down the hall by the arm. I could hear her telling him that he would Þ ne.

  “Mia, lock up before you leave,” Dad said just before he shut the door behind them.

  Hot tears streamed down my cheeks and hit the center of my empty plate.

  • 32 •

  SUCH A PRETTY FACE

  CHAPTER THREE

  Goody walked into my ofÞ ce, shut the door, and sat down, his hands steepled in front of his face. “Okay, I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I think we should. Have you heard from the skank yet?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call her that. I probably just jumped to conclusions. I don’t have any proof that she cheated on me.” My voice sounded more nonchalant than I felt. I hadn’t heard from Brenda. The only reason I knew she had made it to Fiji at all was because after days of not hearing anything, I had called her room and quickly hung up the phone when she answered. That was Þ ve days ago.

  “I think most people would have jumped to that conclusion.”

  “Most people would have noticed what was going on with their partner before it got this bad.”

  “Maybe.” He stood up and moved closer to my bookcase. I knew what he was going to do even before he picked up the framed picture of Brenda and me sitting with two of our friends enjoying one of Portland’s few really hot summer days. Goody did this often. I Þ gured it was a nervous habit, similar to his preoccupation with his Þ ngernails.

  I didn’t mind, since the only time the photo got dusted was when he got contemplative. The picture had been taken before Brenda and I had moved in together and it wasn’t a particularly good shot of any of us.

  We had lost touch with Saundra and Nora well over a year ago.

  “What’s your fascination with that picture?”

  Goody frowned at it and instead of putting it back down on the shelf, took it back to his seat and sat down with it. “You, I guess.” He

  • 33 •

  GABRIELLE GOLDSBY

  looked up. “In all the time I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans and a T-shirt, or with your hair down like that.”

  “Here, let me see.” I held out my hand for the picture and glared at it as if I’d never seen it before. According to Christina, my lips and hair were two of my best features. Both were full and thick, and I had to admit, both looked good in this picture. Maybe that’s why I had yet to replace the photo despite the fact that Brenda and I had probably taken better over the years.

  “I can’t even remember the last time I tried to get into a pair of jeans,” I confessed before I could stop myself.

  “Damn, girl, you act like you’re huge.”

  “Brenda thinks I’m well on my way.” I handed the photo back to him. “I have gained a few pounds since that was taken.”

  “Hmm, maybe a little. But I bet ten or Þ fteen of that is from all that makeup and those heavy-ass suits you wear.”

  I wanted to be mad, I really did, but it was hard to get mad at Goody when he was being honest. Besides, it’s not as if he knew I weighed myself every damn morning, butt naked and after a pee. Nor could he know that the scale hadn’t moved but one way in the last six months, and it wasn’t the good way.

  “So, have you heard from her?” he asked again as he slouched back into his chair.

  “No, I haven’t. I think she’s giving me time to think over what she said.”

  “And have you thought it over?”

  “Yeah, a little.” I stomped down my annoyance at receiving the third degree. I had been on the other side of the desk questioning Goody about his relationship choices too many times to count. Now that I was the one under the microscope, I didn’t like it one bit. “And part of me knows she’s right. I mean, she had no right to cheat on me—if she did—but…I guess I just don’t get it. Our relationship was never bad…”

  “Was it ever good? I mean really good? Did your heart leap into your throat the Þ rst time you saw her? Did you ache for her at inopportune moments?”

  I chuckled, “Are you serious? I haven’t felt that way about anyone since high school.”

  Goody’s expression was somber. “I am serious. Don’t get me

  • 34 •

  SUCH A PRETTY FACE

  wrong, Brenda is a beautiful woman, but I always got the feeling that you two led completely separate lives. She’s been gone almost two weeks, right? Has your life changed that much?”

  His words shocked me. Of course my life had changed since Brenda had left. How could it not? I searched my brain for speciÞ c instances where Brenda’s absence was the most acute, but aside from sleeping alone and the monthly brunch at my parents’, I drew a blank.

  “Having a hard time coming up with stuff, huh?”

  I was saved from answering by a ß ash of white just outside my line of sight. My ofÞ ce has two ß oor-to-ceiling windows on either side of a glass door, so when the blond construction worker stopped in front of my door, I could see how startled she was when she realized I was looking at her. Before I could gesture for her to come in, she had already walked away. I was on my feet so fast you would have thought someone had just yelled Fire!

  Those long legs had already taken her halfway down the hall. I called after her. “Hi, we aren’t busy. Do you need something?”

  As she turned around, I put on what I thought was a warm and encouraging smile. The natural reaction to that would have been to smile back. She didn’t. Instead, she cleared her throat and held up a piece of white shiny plastic, a stencil. “I need to put this on your door.”

  “You do that too?”

  She did smile then and I felt myself wanting to move closer to her.

  The smile, though genuine enough, seemed tired, tentative, and, well, uncomfortable. Who in the hell has a hard time smiling? Especially someone as beautiful as this woman?

  “May I ask you something?” I had already begun to ask before I noticed that her body had become rigid and she was looking off to my right as if preparing to be reprimanded. “How did you learn to do all this stuff?”

  Confusion transformed her face once again and she murmured something I didn’t hear.

  Apparently my clitoris didn’t need to hear the exact words to give an answering throb. I felt my face heat. Because she seemed awkward, I said, “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

  “You didn’t.” She spoke so quietly that I had to lean forward to hear her. I found myself wondering what her voice would sound like after a night of making love. Where the hell did that come from?

  • 35 •

  GABRIELLE GOLDSBY

  “My grandfather,” she was saying. Her voice changed the same way that mine did when I talked about my grandfather. “He was a carpenter and a Þ x-it man. He taught me most of what I know.”

  I was going to ask her another question, anything to keep her speaking, when the smell of expensive cologne inte
rrupted my train of thought. I tensed even before I heard Brad Jackson’s affected voice.

  “Things seem to be moving along quite quickly on your new wing,” he said as he came down the hall toward us.

  The statement might have sounded like friendly commentary to a complete moron, but I had been dealing with Jackson’s barely hidden condescension toward me since I had inherited Henry’s book. “It’s not a wing. My new ofÞ ce s are coming along nicely, thank you for noticing.”

  “Good, glad to hear it. You do realize you have caused some strife amongst the other assistants because you’re giving Matthew Good an ofÞ ce?”

  “I’m sure they’ll feel less upset when they realize that they could have an ofÞ ce if they helped their brokers get the assets needed to go Business Formula. Of course, that would require some of the brokers to give up that round of golf or that extra-long lunch so that they could talk to clients about their assets.”

  “Well, most of us didn’t have the opportunity to inherit a book.”

  I could see the construction worker’s eyes going from Jackson to me and back again. I liked the fact that she hadn’t walked away.

  I liked the way her eyes had taken in Jackson’s impeccably tailored clothes and hundred-dollar haircut with no more interest than if he were a mannequin in a store window.

  “I’m pretty sure if you ever do inherit a book you’ll be able to add the extra million and a half needed to go Business Formula.” I raised my eyebrows. “But let me know if you want some pointers. I’d be happy to help in any way I can.”

  Jackson had this little writhing vein thingy on the side of his forehead that signaled that he was about to get pissed. Goody once said he thought it was sexy. I thought it was gross as hell.

  “Thanks for the offer,” he said, but the turn of his lips informed me that he felt there was really nothing I had to offer him. “I actually came down to speak to you.” He turned to the construction worker and I could tell by the way her body tensed, she didn’t like the shift

  • 36 •

  SUCH A PRETTY FACE

  in attention. But where I got the cold shoulder, he was all charm and friendliness with her. It was like watching a bug skate on an oil slick.

  “I have a few shelves in my ofÞ ce that need to be reinforced. I was hoping you could help me out with that, in between your building of Ms. Sanchez’s new wing, of course.”

  “It may be a few days before I can get the time.” I loved the fact that Jackson didn’t get the smile that I did. In fact, with the exception of the ß aring of her nostrils, it looked to me like the woman had gone out of her way to show no expression at all.

  I waited, as did Jackson, for a clearer timeline as to when she thought she would be able to get to his ofÞ ce. When none came, he looked annoyed, said a curt, “Thank you. No rush,” and without so much as a glance in my direction, walked away.

  Relief didn’t set in until after he was out of sight. “Sorry you had to be a part of that.”

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “Jackson’s got a problem with me. He’s had one since my senior partner ended up taking early retirement and I inherited his book. He felt the book should have been split amongst the more senior brokers, but,” I shrugged, “that’s not how it works. I had been working closely with Henry Ballard for a little over two years. The clients knew me.”

  “So, is that why you’ll have a bigger ofÞ ce than anyone else in this place?”

  I must have inadvertently moved closer to her because I could clearly see that her eyes were no longer as distant, and she acted as if she was genuinely interested in what I had to say. “You cut right to it, don’t you? That’s the consensus around here, but the truth is, the accounts I inherited constitute less than half of the assets I manage. I just plain bring in more money than he does. Twice as much, actually. It means I get to take home a higher percentage of the income.”

  I’ll admit to a little bragging here, but my ego was quickly downsized when she didn’t look anymore impressed than she had for Jackson.

  “Does Mr. Jackson know that?” she asked.

  “He knows it. He needs something to accuse me of because he’s unhappy. Even before I reached Business Formula status, he always had something to complain about.”

  There was something disconcerting about the way she was

  • 37 •

  GABRIELLE GOLDSBY

  watching me. For a brief moment her eyes came to rest on my hair, and as if in reaction to her gaze, the clips that I used to pull it away from my face felt as though they were digging into my scalp.

  “I’m sorry, I’m probably boring the hell out of you.” I gestured to her hand and she held up the plastic material as if she had forgotten about it. “You needed to do something with that?”

  “Since we’re going to reuse the door, I Þ gured I would go ahead and put these on now.”

  “Oh, okay. Sure, go ahead.”

  What in the world made me think she was looking at my hair? She was probably looking past me to my door. All the poor woman wanted to do was add the stencil, and instead, she’d been forced to listen to my life story. I muttered something about getting back to my ofÞ ce, where Goody would still be waiting to Þ nish our conversation. I was acutely conscious of the fact that she was walking behind me. I felt like my clothes were shrinking. Who was I kidding? I should have moved up to the next size months ago, but I hadn’t because I didn’t want to have to tell my sister when she picked out my clothes.

  “You didn’t bore me,” I heard her say in a soft, caressing voice. Or had I imagined that?

  I glanced back at her and smiled. She looked surprised and then slowly smiled in response. A dash of red at her cheek caught my eye and I remembered Goody’s comments about the scar. I wasn’t sure how I could have missed it before. It was certainly vivid enough. Her smile faded and we continued to my ofÞ ce.

  Goody was still sitting where I had left him. I could tell by the expression on his face that he had heard everything. “I don’t know why Jackson is so horrible to you,” he said. “He treats me like a queen, and I mean that in a good way.”

  I shrugged, acutely aware of the construction worker standing just inside my ofÞ ce while she worked. Goody was perfectly comfortable talking with her there, but I felt tongue-tied. I realized that I hadn’t asked her name. Her back was to me, and once again I marveled at how well her jeans Þ t. I wondered how she got away with wearing jeans that tight without having a panty line. Maybe she doesn’t wear panties.

  The thought sent heat right to my face and I hoped she hadn’t picked up on the fact that I was imagining her jeans hitting her in just the right spot as she bent down to pick something up off the ß oor.

  • 38 •

  SUCH A PRETTY FACE

  “So anyway, back to that ex-girlfriend of yours. You know what I say, the best way to get over them is to get even.”

  The background noise that was Goody’s voice stopped. I ripped my eyes from the construction worker’s ass long enough to notice that he was grinning at me like he had just been given a large raise. It dawned on me that he had outed me in front of a complete stranger, but my surprise was eclipsed by the realization that I wasn’t at all angry about it.

  “You’re not listening to me, so I’m going to go.”

  “Goody, don’t go. I was just about to—” Actually, I was about to lie, but I was saved from having to do so because my telephone rang.

  Goody rolled his eyes, stood up, and walked out of the ofÞ ce as if I had wounded his ego.

  The caller was a client, Beth Margolis. I greeted her warmly, and she said, “I hope you got my card thanking you for the wonderful ß owers you sent for Tony’s funeral. Everyone commented on how lovely they were.”

  “I did get your card. And you’re very welcome.” Tony and Beth Margolis were two of my inherited accounts. Although I had never met Beth, Tony had come to the ofÞ ce once to have lunch with Henry. I had found him delightfully funn
y and full of life. Henry had called and told me about Tony’s death, and although I hadn’t felt it appropriate to attend the small funeral, I had enlisted my college roommate, Fiona, in Þ nding a funeral arrangement. Thinking about Tony Margolis’s death made me think of my own grandfather, causing the dull void that I always felt when I thought of him to reappear.

  “I won’t keep you long, but one of the things Tony and I discussed before he…passed away was a college fund for my grandson, Hugo.

  I don’t know that he ever got around to it. I don’t remember signing anything.”

  “If you wouldn’t mind holding for a few moments, Mrs. Margolis, I would be happy to check the accounts for you.”

  “Of course, and it’s Beth. Take your time.”

  Ordinarily I would have just put my call on hold and yelled to Goody, but since the construction worker was still working on the door, I used the intercom instead. “How about lunch on me?”

  “Is that code for, ‘Will you go get me lunch because I’m hungry and I have to take this call?’”

  • 39 •

  GABRIELLE GOLDSBY

  “I’ll let you pick the place this time.”

  “Then I want sandwiches from the deli.” Goody’s voice took on a pitch similar to my nephew Justin’s when he was tired or hungry. I hated when he did that. I also didn’t particularly care for the deli. They always managed to put too much mayo or too much mustard on my sandwich. But I agreed and quickly brought up the Margolis accounts with a few keystrokes.

  “Thanks for holding, Beth. It doesn’t look like Tony opened an account for your grandson. Is this something you’d like me to handle?”

  I looked up from my computer screen just in time to see the construction worker turn away from my door in order to stiß e a sneeze.

  Without thinking I reached for a tissue and held it out to her. She hesitated, stepped into my ofÞ ce, and took the Kleenex. I don’t know what possessed me, maybe it was because of a small frown I thought I saw, but I held on to the tissue longer than I should have and when her eyes met mine, I felt the heat of attraction burn throughout my body again. She gave me a curious smile, and I ß ushed and released the tissue. As she returned to her work, she swung a covert look my way, as if trying to Þ gure out what I was playing at. Since I could not answer that question for myself, let alone her, I forced my attention back to my client.