A Basic Renovation

by Sandra Antonelli

  That evening, after Officer Tilbrook and the Great Black Bear Experience, when he’d finally managed to take Lesley back to the house and unload all the flooring, he mentioned he’d been neglecting the store. She’d seemed happy to let him tend to his own business.

  No, strike that. She hadn’t been happy.

  She’d been relieved.

  He’d forgotten she’d accepted his help out of some sense of guilt for how badly things had started between them. The plain truth was a capable woman like Lesley didn’t really need him there for anything – besides heavy lifting. She was experienced with flooring, painting, drywall and power tools. Clearly, she could project manage as well. She’d ordered kitchen cupboards, lined up a plumber to install new toilets and had the full dumpster replaced with a new one. Organised, thorough, intelligent, everything about her renovation was going well because she knew exactly what she was doing.

  He wondered if she had any clue what she was doing to him.

  OK, stop that right now.

  Speculating something like that was not the path to go down now or ever. It had been ridiculous enough to realise he’d felt the need to protect her from a rampaging animal. He could chalk that up to instinct – or try to. It was impossible to deny he’d had a primitive response to danger, it seemed natural, but it was troubling to know Lesley had been responsible for the most prehistoric reaction.

  Why the hell did she have to be so likable? Why couldn’t she still be the tart, callous bitch with the kind of horns his mother pictured? Why was he wasting his time thinking about it?

  Yanking off his glasses, Dominic tossed a pile of advertising fliers on top of the desk and stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth. With all aspects of his life on track he should be relaxed, but Lesley had burrowed under his skin. She kept poking his mind’s eye. No matter how he tried to avoid the jab, he was so irritated, his vision was so impaired, he’d actually believed taking Greta to Kristi Arganda’s Friday night birthday party in Santa Fe would be the perfect salve.

  Oh, yeah, he’d been a big hit at dinner, regaling everyone with the hilarious tale of nature versus man, doing what he thought was a note-for-note perfect imitation of growling bear. He’d been an even bigger hit with Greta who growled in his ear and dug her claws into his thigh as he drove her home.

  She’d been so turned on and he’d been so uninterested. He’d had every intention to rid himself of pent-up sexual tension with such a willing partner, yet the inclination left him the second that glossy, cherry red pout sucked on his ear.

  Fabian hadn’t been wrong about the doe-eyed brunette being a feline on the prowl, she had the requisite short, tight dress and neckline that showed off a stupendous rack. She’d flirted brazenly with the young waiter at Casa Sena and turned out to be more hellcat than cougar.

  The scratches on Dominic’s arm were proof of that.

  Absently, he touched the raw, red marks. Kissing was one thing. Getting mauled was something altogether different. Glory days, Greta got mad when he’d asked her to stop. He wondered why she was so insulted no meant no the same way for a man as it did for women. There’d been part of him that thought, just give her what she wants and get it over with. Then he’d shoved her off his lap and hoped to God he’d never put any of the women he’d ever slept with in that frame of mind.

  Unfortunately, remembering the wild animal tussle with Greta had conjured up visions of the bear…and Lesley.

  The other night, when Tilbrook jerked open the door and shone his sturdy Maglight around the truck’s interior, the look on his face had been sheer disappointment. Lesley’s expression had been something else entirely. Dominic thought he’d been with enough women to know blazing, heavy-lidded desire when it hovered scant inches above his nose. It had taken that moment of interruption to realised how misguided he was.

  So close. He’d come so close to sliding both hands into her hair, so close to finding out if she’d still taste like the vanilla-mint lip balm he’d seen her smooth on, so close to embarrassing himself.

  Dominic crunched his popcorn and tried not to think about cougars, bears, or Lesley.

  GP had a swig from a bottle of Dr Pepper and rolled his eyes before he smiled. It looked unnatural and showed most of his teeth. ‘I like your band-aid, Toby. I’ve never seen a grown man in his fifties wearing the Sunday funnies on his face before.’

  ‘I don’t think SpongeBob runs in the newspaper, GP.’ He handed Lesley a foil-covered baking dish and turned to give his grandpa a kiss and one-armed embrace. ‘Where’re Aunt Gina and Uncle Pat?’

  ‘Out on the patio. Dad’s firing up the barbecue. Hang on a second.’ Lesley pulled open a drawer. Things never changed in her parent’s house. The tongs were in the same location they had been when she was twelve. She withdrew the stainless steel utensil and handed it to Toby. ‘Can you bring these out to him?’

  ‘Sure.’ He pointed to the lasagne on the counter. ‘Mom said that’s supposed to go in at three-fifty.’

  GP sniffed after Toby left the kitchen and had another gulp of Dr. Pepper. ‘I see Nellie sent over her famous crappy lasagne. Is Number Four is coming today, or is she off someplace with that used car salesman she married?’

  In a few short steps Lesley crossed the space to where her grandfather sat on a step-stool. She grabbed the bottle of Dr. Pepper out of his hand. ‘I know you’re in a foul mood, and you want to bite someone with those teeth you’re still so proud of, but you be nice during lunch with this family or I’ll—’

  ‘Drink my Dr Pepper?’ GP shrugged and waved dismissively. ‘Pff, I have more.’

  ‘And I know where you keep it.’

  ‘Che palle!’

  ‘No, no bullshit. I’ll confiscate it and I’ll tell Mom.’

  ‘I’m your grandfather, you treat me with the respect I deserve.’

  ‘You want respect?’

  ‘Yes, Aretha.’

  ‘Then be nice to Toby.’

  He sneered. ‘He’s Fraciamata. You can see his ass-crack and—’

  ‘You be nice to Toby and Aunt Nellie.’

  GP’s mouth turned into a flat line. ‘Sheesh, who made you the head screw around this joint?’

  ‘Is it a deal?’

  ‘Is it a deal?’ he mimicked. ‘Yes, it’s a deal.’

  Lesley handed back his pop. ‘So what’s eating you?’

  ‘I’m living in a fuckin’ prison.’ He guzzled the bottle, belched and dabbed at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘With those manners I’m not surprised.’

  ‘Like you’re Little Miss Dainty? Remember who taught you how to burp?’

  ‘Remember who you also taught to pick her nose?’

  GP started laughing, no sound came out of his mouth, but his face crinkled and his body shook. He drew in breath and eventually sniffled, ‘Ahhh, your mother was mortified.’

  Lesley turned on the oven. It was eighty-five outside, not exactly the sort of weather for baking, but lasagne was the only dish her Aunt Nellie knew how to make. As much as GP complained about it, he was the one who went back for more. ‘So why do you feel like you’re doing time in Sing Sing?’ she asked.

  ‘Paddy and Number Five won’t let me move into my villa.’

  ‘You have a villa?’

  ‘No, I want to buy a villa.’

  ‘Where, in Tuscany or Sicily?’

  GP harrumphed. ‘No, wise head, the villa I want is a studio or one bedroom apartment at Aspen Ridge Lodge.’

  ‘Oh, like you’d really move into an aged care facility. You hate that place. You say it’s where people go to die.’

  ‘I’ve got emphysema.’ He coughed weakly.

  ‘You’ve got occasional bronchitis. Is this about Mr. Witteveen and John Tilbrook’s aunt?’

  GP slammed his bottle down on the floor. Luckily, it was made of plastic. It bounced and rolled across the floor. ‘You’re damned right it’s about him! He’s trying to muscle in on my…he’s putting his beezer in…minchia…OK, I’ll leve
l with you. She’s my girlfriend.’

  Lesley couldn’t help it, she laughed. ‘Does she know that?’

  ‘Close your head!’ he snapped. ‘Which one of us got trapped by a bear in the cemetery while,’ he raised both hands, both index fingers making quotes in the air, ‘looking at the stars? Oh, I’m sure that’s exactly what that man had in mind for you.’

  Lesley shook her head, more to get rid of the memory of Dominic hard against her hip than to disagree with her grandfather’s allegation. ‘Sure, whatever, if that’s what you think.’

  ‘Have I ever made fun of you when you’re being serious?’

  ‘All the time.’

  He made a disdainful noise far back in his throat. ‘And you talk about respect.’

  Lesley hid her smile. She turned to slide the lasagne into the oven. ‘OK. Sorry. Tell me about her.’

  ‘She lives at Aspen Ridge, right next to that toothy bag of wind.’ GP shifted on his stool and took off his glasses. ‘I think I need your help, Sweater Girl.’

  ‘With what? You want me to talk Mom and Dad into letting you buy a place at Aspen Ridge?’

  ‘Yes. No. You leave that to me. I’ll figure something out. Right now I need you to keep Witteveen busy.’

  ‘How am I supposed to keep him busy?’

  ‘You bought his house, Einstein, complain or something. Better still, ask him the history of the dump. Oh, he’ll get a kick out of that, the ol’ flim-flam artist. Yeah, that’s good. Oh, that’s really good.’

  Lesley picked up the bottle and tossed it in the trash under the sink. ‘You want me to ask your poker pal Mike Witteveen about his old house? It was built in the sixties and had its original kitschy ‘60s décor. What do I need to ask him about?’

  ‘Just do it. Keep him busy so I can be alone with my new kitten, Eilish. Minchia, can you believe I’ve fallen for a Mick?’

  Forty minutes later, Patrick Samuels, backyard chef, had burned the Sunday lunch. A blackened chunk of what had once been a chicken breast sat hidden by a hollowed-out baked potato skin on Lesley’s plate. She crumpled up her paper napkin and dropped it on top, just to further conceal what she hadn’t eaten. ‘Well, I’m stuffed,’ she announced, pushing back from the table, hoping to take her dish inside and dispose of the food before her father noticed.

  Unfortunately, her father always noticed everything. ‘Stuffed?’ he shook his head, eyes on her plate. ‘Are you doing the anorexia thing these days?’

  ‘Dad, please. You burned the chicken. Maybe Toby can eat it, but I can’t. I’ll save it for him.’

  ‘I read anorexia is an issue of control. Do you feel like your life is out of your control or something?’

  ‘Seriously, Dad.’

  ‘I am being serious. Women need a bit of body fat to stave off osteoporosis. Ask Toby when he comes back outside.’

  Lesley glanced at the sliding glass doors beside the patio. Her cousin was inside the house. He waved at them and shrugged an apology, pointing to the phone at his ear. ‘Toby’s an electrical engineer, what does he know about body fat?’

  ‘Just look at the boy,’ GP cackled and finished his last bit of Aunt Nellie’s lasagne.

  Patrick continued, ‘A bit of fat increases your chances of conceiving too. You need every ounce of help you can get to have a child at your age.’

  Lesley glanced at her mother. ‘Who is this man?’

  Gina reached for the salad tongs on the table. ‘Don’t look at me,’ she held up a hand, ‘I thought we were going to have a discussion about why you should move back here for good. Get your hair off your face, Tootsie. It’s so much prettier out of your face.’ She dumped a pile of mixed greens on her plate and began to eat it with her fingers. ‘Why don’t you tell everyone how you made it to the Frijoles Cup Golf Tournament in Vegas, Patrick? It’s sometime in July, isn’t it?’

  GP squawked. ‘Why don’t we talk about me buying a studio at Aspen Ridge.’

  ‘Daddy, we’ve already settled that.’ Gina licked dressing from her thumb.

  GP scowled. ‘Says who, you and the Mick who can’t cook? You two treat me like a child! Be home by ten, Daddy. What the hell is that? Be home at ten my ninety-two year old culo!’

  Patrick stroked the corners of his silvery moustache and ignored his father-in-law and wife as they launched into an exchange of barbs. He fixed his green eyes on his daughter. ‘Have you ever considered a sperm bank?’

  The insulting stopped. GP snickered while Gina crunched a piece of iceberg lettuce.

  ‘Who are you?’ Lesley stared at her father.

  ‘I’m much more liberal than anyone ever gives me credit for.’

  ‘Liberal? My father, the man who told me if I ever got knocked up out of wedlock he’d throw me out of his house, did not just suggest artificial insemination.’ Lesley shook her head. Her laugh was more a grunt. She was having a surreal moment. Someone had replaced her conservative parents with alien cyborgs.

  ‘One day you’re going to wish you had a child.’ Her mother sighed. ‘You’ll be like Toby, dressing like a teenager because you won’t be able to face how alone you are. Can’t you find another way to wear your hair? A ponytail isn’t becoming for a woman in her for—’

  ‘Oh, please. Toby’s happy the way he is. So am I. This is all about you and Daddy. You want more grandchildren.’

  Patrick wiped his mouth with a napkin, paying careful attention to the line of the lasagne’s tomato sauce under his hairy top lip. ‘Is that a crime?’

  ‘Aren’t Sean’s four kids enough for you?’

  ‘We never see your brother,’ disappointment weighted his voice, ‘Maine is a long way to come with four babies.’

  ‘Those babies are teenagers and Sean’s out here at least six times a year.’ Lesley screwed up her nose.

  ‘Which is triple the number that you are.’

  Her mother had endive on her front tooth. ‘Listen honey, we’d really like it if you’d stay out here. Toby lives close to his mother.’

  ‘What does that have to do with having a baby?’

  Her parents glanced at each other.

  ‘What?’ Lesley’s shoulders tensed. ‘What is this?’

  There was a long pause. GP took off his glasses and rubbed them with the tablecloth. Lesley knew he loved watching this sort of thing. He sat back in his seat, an amused smile on his wrinkled, olive face.

  ‘You’re middle aged, Lesley. Despite the fact you insist on dressing like you’re twenty, you’re getting older,’ Gina finally said.

  Did her parents honestly think she didn’t see the grey hairs, the slackening skin under her jaw, or know all those damnable anti-ageing products advertised on TV were aimed right at her? ‘Duh,’ she said.

  ‘But we’re getting even older.’ Patrick sat back in his chair like his father-in-law had. Only he was deadly serious.

  ‘And I should have a baby and move in with you so you can look after your grandchild while I look after you?’

  ‘You’d have your own room,’ her mother said. ‘You could come and go as you please – just like GP – ‘ GP interrupted with a ha and string of Sicilian and English curses, but Gina paid him no mind and continued, ‘as long as you’re home by ten.’

  ‘By ten?’

  ‘Ten’s a reasonable hour. I’d worry if you were later.’

  ‘My culo!’ GP grumbled.

  Lesley’s father cleared his throat. ‘Be serious, Geen. We both know there’s another option. You already have the house,’ he leaned forward towards his daughter, ‘so why don’t you live there, just like you are now. Stay in that house you bought. Refurbish places in town.’

  ‘Uh-huh. So you were kidding about the artificial insemination?’

  ‘That was over the top, Patrick.’ Gina’s mouth was full of greens when she shook her head. ‘I think the other thing is a better idea.’

  ‘What other thing?’ Lesley demanded.

  Her dad suddenly looked uncomfortable.

  ‘What other thing
?’

  Her mother sighed. ‘Well, at your age a woman should be interested in security, stability, a man who respects her. You cousin’s friend, Boyd, is coming over. He’s a nice man. Toby can tell you more about him…’

  GP’s staccato laughter spewed forth like an eruption from Mt Etna.

  Lesley would have flopped face forward onto her plate, but a chunk of burnt chicken was in the way.

  It hadn’t taken long for Kyle to teach Clementine to sit, stay and come, but she couldn’t seem to master housebreaking. She’d whizzed and taken a dump on nearly every floor surface in the house.

  ‘Jay-zus kee-rist,’ Dominic yelled, ‘I’ve had it with that whiney little crap factory!’ Barefoot, he’d just slid across the kitchen tiles after he stepped in a fresh mound.

  Kyle scooped up the puppy and set her on his shoulder.

  ‘No, no, no, Kyle! Don’t pick her up, pick that up!’

  ‘If I leave her on the floor she’ll get curious and step in it.’

  ‘You mean the way I just did?’

  Kyle grabbed a roll of paper towels and some spray cleaner from under the sink. He kept Clementine balanced on his shoulder while he tidied up her mess. He thought he was doing a pretty good job, considering it was all one-handed. ‘You’re really annoyed you went with dog instead of car, aren’t you?’

  On one foot, Dominic leaned against a chair at the table and rifled through the morning paper, half-moon reading glasses on the top of his head. ‘Aside from the crying at night, the barking in the morning and the little surprise she left on my shoe, I’d have to say…’ he paused to wipe off his soiled foot with a page from the sports section of the Albuquerque Journal, ‘…not on your life.’

  ‘Don’t you like Clementine?’

  ‘She has all the charm of a tick.’

  ‘Just like you.’

  ‘Careful, Flash. I may just make you wash my foot.’

  ‘Oh I’m quaking.’

  ‘Take her outside and tell her to poop.’