Midnight Brunch

by Marta Acosta

  “No luck, my dark lordish amigo. I am now impervious to chemical enhancements. I’m as sober as a nun.”

  “Pity you absorbed that ability.” We’d arrived at the house and he came close. “May I stay the night? I’ve been living on the memories of making love to you.” He drew me in his arms and a marvelous sensation pulsed through me.

  “No, Ian. I still love Oswald. I will always love Oswald.”

  “Oswald need never know.” His lips were on my cheek, then near my ear.

  I’d been so lonely, so hungry for affection. I had to make Ian leave before I gave in. “I’ll know, though. You’ll know.” I drew away from him.

  Ian let me go and smiled one of those world-

  weary, been-there-done-that smiles.

  “You’ll make me jealous.”

  “I can call and get a room for you at the Paragon. They have twenty-seven kinds of massage.”

  “No, I’ll drive on. I have something for you.” He went to the car and returned with a file folder. “Here.”

  I opened it and looked at the pages, half of them in a language that looked Eastern European. “What is this?”

  “The Grant family’s petitions to the council requesting your rights. The earlier statements, here,” he said, and pulled pages from the folder, “are Oswald’s refusal of council orders to give you up to custody in return for a sizable financial reward.”

  The amount was staggering. “If I’d let you stay, would you have showed this to me?”

  “Perhaps, but perhaps not,” Ian said with a wicked grin. “I can wait until this infatuation of yours is over.”

  “You don’t give up,” I said with a laugh.

  “Nor do you, my love.”

  I put my hands on the sides of his head, bent it down, and kissed his wide brow. “Thank you, Ian. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for giving me this gift.”

  “I’ll say good-bye for now,” he said. “You have my number. Do call if you get bored, or need an escort or want to practice making a baby.”

  After he left, I went to the bedroom and found a box wrapped in glossy paper on the dresser. I hadn’t seen him bring it in. I untied the pale blue ribbon and lifted the cover off the box. Nestled in tissue paper was a red dress almost identical to the one that had been ruined the night I’d been cut. The design and the color were the same, but even I could tell that the dress was better made, the fabric finer.

  Beneath the dress was a small box. I opened it. A beautiful ring glinted against black velvet. The dark, clear, red oval gem was set in a heavy gold band inscribed with symbols. I knew it would fit perfectly on my wedding ring finger, and it did. I felt a strange, guilty satisfaction at his attentions. I placed the ring back in the box.

  Twenty-Five

  Home is where the Heartthrob is

  W hen Bernie came by the next day, I returned the keys to his house and he loaned me a sackful of books. He patted me on the shoulder and said, “I’m glad to see that you’ve made a full recovery from the tragic demise of your beloved pet goat Pancho.”

  When I stopped laughing, I said, “Thanks for everything, Bernie. You’re a prince among tabloid writers.”

  “You were my muse,” he said. “Vaya con Dios.”

  The drive seemed to take forever because I was so impatient. I arrived at twilight. The automatic gate opened for me and I drove under the protective branches of the huge walnut trees. The fields had turned golden in the hot weather and the wild-flowers finished their season.

  The family was on the front porch, just as they should be at this time. When they saw my truck coming down the drive, they stood motionless, in a tableau that could have been titled “Happy Hour Con Los Vampiros.” The dogs, being dogs, had no respect for stunned silence and they raced to meet my truck, barking wildly, just as they had the very first time I’d come to the ranch.

  I parked on the drive and got out of the truck. Daisy leapt up and I caught her in my arms, which almost knocked me backward. Stumbling a step, I let her down and scrubbed her back with my fingers, getting nothing but the pleasure one gets from petting one’s faithful companion.

  My friends stared at me as I walked to the porch. Libby was in Sam’s arms, yanking at his earlobe. Winnie was leaning against the railing, the picture of casual elegance. Edna sat beside Gabriel. He had his arm thrown back over her shoulders and his hair had grown longer. But Oswald was not here.

  “Where is Oswald?” I said, panicking, wondering if I had been gone too long, and if he had manufactured a girlfriend out of spare parts from his patients.

  “Young Lady,” Edna said, “that is hardly an appropriate greeting from someone who has been so late in returning.”

  I came forward and threw my arms around her, jostling her drink. “I’ve missed you, too. Now where’s Oswald?”

  “He’s in the shack,” Gabriel said. He pulled me away from Edna and hugged me tightly. “Tell me you’re better.”

  When he finally released me, I said to everyone, “I’m better. No more homicidal rages.”

  Winnie kissed my cheek and said, “I knew you could do it.” She looked at Sam, her eyes communicating something. He handed the baby to me and said, “Libby refused to say ‘Young Lady.’ We’ll have to come up with another nickname.”

  Even though I believed I was well, this was my biggest test. I hesitated and then held out my arms. Libby smiled at me and clutched a handful of my hair. She felt like life and joy. I tucked my head down on her soft silver-gold locks, and felt happy and peaceful until she yanked down on my earring.

  “And that’s why I’m not wearing any jewelry,” said Winnie as she disengaged her daughter’s tiny fingers from my earring.

  “She’s got a thing about ears,” her father said with concern. “I hope it’s not a fixation. Winnie, did you check the book? Does it say anything about infantile obsessive-compulsive disorder?”

  Edna rolled her eyes, and even Sam laughed. It was grand to be here at last, but I was getting as shy as a schoolgirl at the thought of seeing Oswald again. Gabriel poured a margarita and handed it to me. “We were just thinking about you, Milagro.”

  I lifted the glass to him. “How’s your fiancée?”

  He grinned. “I regret to say that she was not heartbroken over my departure from her life. She got back together with an old boyfriend of hers, Xavier Pierce.”

  “Zave?” I said in shock. “He went for that My Little Pony confection of sissitude?”

  “Tell us how you really feel,” Gabriel said. He looked at his family. “When Milagro met Brittany, it was like watching a mongoose and a mouse, fascinating and horrible.” Lowering his voice, he said to me, “I’m sorry for all the hateful things I said. They had to have an element of truth so you would believe them, but they aren’t the truth, Young Lady.”

  I kissed his cheek. “All is forgiven.”

  I finished my drink and looked across the field to the Love Shack.

  “Go on,” Edna said. “We can catch up later.”

  I smiled at my friends and said, “Wish me luck.”

  I tried to walk sedately toward the shack but found myself moving faster and faster, until I was running, Daisy at my side. I fumbled with the gate’s latch, and then I was at the front door. Daisy scratched at the door, while I was deciding if I should knock or go in.

  The door swung open and Oswald said, “Daisy, stop that…”

  “Hi, Oswald. I’m back if you’ll have me.”

  A smile came to his mouth, the crazy crooked one of real happiness, and my shyness evaporated like fog in sunshine. I slipped my arms under his T-shirt and around his back, holding him tightly, feeling an incredible zinging go through me.

  He didn’t reciprocate.

  “Are you all right now?” Oswald asked.

  “Better than all right. New and improved.”

  “Can I touch you now?”

  “Oh, yes, Oswald, you can and you better and soon, or I will die of yearning.” I put my hands on the sides of his
wonderful face and kissed him. I pushed him backward into the shack and kicked the door shut behind me.

  We kissed and grabbed at each other, pulling off our clothes, and crashing into the wall in our haste and eagerness. Even as we were pressing against each other, I kept looking around the room, assuring myself that all was the same and that I was really back.

  Oswald’s marvelous hands were on my body and I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation of skin on skin and his smell, his taste, his essential Oswaldness.

  “Milagro, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you,” he said as he tumbled onto the sofa with me.

  “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.” And I did.

  I had thought that making love to Oswald was something that could not be improved upon. I was wrong. My new ability added a dimension of pleasure that I didn’t know existed. It was a pleasure that was as much emotional as it was physical.

  There was a point when he brought out the scalpel and asked, “May I?”

  I took his wrist and moved his hand away. “No. No one is ever going to cut me again, Oswald. Do you mind?”

  He put down the scalpel. His hands caressed my thighs and I sighed with pleasure. “No,” he said, “I don’t mind.”

  A few hours later, when we were resting on the pile of blankets and pillows we’d dragged down from the bed to the floor, I told Oswald about the remarkable new sensations I felt when I touched people.

  He said, “This is where I usually say, damn Ian Ducharme. But he did save your life.”

  “There is that, but next time I hope he’ll just dial 911.”

  “He told Edna he visited you in La Basura.”

  “Yes, he did. I talked to him about my condition.” I entwined my fingers in Oswald’s. “We need to talk about children.”

  “Can’t that wait? We’re not even—”

  “Actually, it can’t. There is some uncertainty that we’ll ever be able to have children.”

  “Do you want children, Milagro?”

  “I think so. I think I’d like a few. What about you?”

  “I wouldn’t mind them,” he said. “I’m in no hurry, though.”

  I squeezed his hand. “So what happens if you decide you really want them, but we can’t have them?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “When I was taking care of those kids at the clinic, I was thinking that I’d like to give a child a home.” He gave me a tentative look, as if he expected me to argue with him.

  “I like that idea,” I said. “If my mother Regina has taught me anything, it’s that biology is irrelevant to family. Besides, I always wanted someone to rescue me.”

  “Like from a shopping mall?” Oswald said with a grin.

  “Did your mother tell you that?”

  When Oswald stopped laughing long enough to talk, he said, “Winnie never got into it like you did with my mother.”

  I hit him with a pillow. “That’s because Winnie is the perfect vampire professional and spouse and your mother loved her.”

  Oswald looked at me with astonishment. “Where did you get that idea? My mother thought Winnie would have spent too much time on her career and not enough on me. No one is good enough for Evelyn’s perfect son.”

  “How are we going to manage a relationship if your mother hates me?”

  My beautiful man grinned beautifully. “We let Grandmama run interference for us.”

  I sighed. “Can we forget about possible problems for a minute?” I kissed Oswald’s neck and moved downward over his smooth belly.

  “I’m forgetting, I’m forgetting!” shouted Oswald.

  Epilogue

  I now knew that I was a good teacher. I applied to a graduate program so I could start working on my credentials through extension courses. It seemed like a long, arduous process, but Mercedes said, “A little hard work won’t hurt you.”

  I wanted to tell her that writing was work, but I remembered Bernie’s opinion that it was not.

  I was disappointed to learn that my rewrite of “Teeth of Sharpness” was merely used to manipulate Mr. Famous Screenwriter to make changes, which he did. I added “Script Doctor” to my résumé and it looked swell there. I continue to send my short stories to publications, and I’m confident that someday soon an agent or publisher will recognize their worth.

  Whenever anybody asks me about my writing, I tell them, “I rewrote a screenplay, and Thomas Cook would swim naked in my pool every day.” They are always very impressed and ask me lots of questions, mostly about Thomas.

  Thomas does not swim naked in the pool at the ranch, or at least he has worn swim trunks on those occasions when I’ve seen him. He has taken to visiting us, or rather, he has taken to courting Edna. They are the oddest pair, but he adores her and she seems amused by him. I badger Edna constantly about the nature of their relationship.

  “Young Lady, you think everyone should be in love.”

  “Not everyone. Not the Pope.” I thought about it. “Yes, even the Pope. It wouldn’t be hard to find a date for him. He’s got the fabulous villas, the clothes, the bling, the cool Popemobile.”

  “Being in love is highly overrated.”

  I looked at her and skeptically raised one eyebrow.

  “Now she usurps my expressions,” Edna said to the ceiling.

  “Edna, does Thomas ever ask why the pool is covered and why you wear sunscreen and hats all the time?”

  “No,” she said, trying to hide a smile. “He has a talent for being incurious about anything that doesn’t directly affect Thomas Cook.”

  As to my condition: Winnie sent a sample of my blood to the family’s top medical research lab in Minnesota. The researchers found no trace of any infection. “I don’t understand,” I said. “I have these changes in my system.”

  “Many things are still mysteries,” Winnie answered. “You’re definitely one of them.”

  Gigi called and asked for my advice on a landscape contractor to install my garden design. She invited me to stay at her house while the crew worked, and I went for two consecutive weekends. Bernie was ensconced in her mansion, and he was contemplating the idea of becoming the next Mr. Gigi Barton. “Don’t know if I’m ready to be on this side of the tabloids,” he said. “But she’s a great broad once you drag her away from the stores and salons.”

  The heiress looked affectionately at the paunchy man beside her and said, “He’d be a cheap husband. All he ever wants is books.”

  When I left she presented me with a generous check.

  “I didn’t expect to be paid,” I said.

  “Take the check, honey. It’s like prostitution—if you don’t get paid you’re just an enthusiastic amateur.” Gigi referred me to her friends. I’ve done a few modest designs, and I always take the check.

  A job here and a job there, and I’ve been cobbling together a living even if I still can’t devote myself to one career. I haven’t used the credit card Oswald gave me, but I’m more open-minded about sharing the wealth.

  Winnie, Sam, and Libby moved to their house, which was a huge adjustment for the rest of us. I worried that Edna would feel lonely, but she announced that she wanted to move into the Love Shack. Once Oswald and I traded places with her, Gabriel began visiting more often, and he frequently brought Charlie Arthur along. They’re just friends now, but I have hopes.

  When Nancy returned from her honeymoon, she called and I told her about my writing job at the Paragon. “Thomas Cook swam naked in my pool almost every day.”

  “Naked is the new black,” she said. “After my private beach on my honeymoon, I can hardly bear to wear clothes, they’re so passé. Trust me, in New York next season, no one will be wearing clothes. When will I see you?”

  “You may not want to get together with me. Todd must really hate me after the wedding.”

  She gave a giddy laugh. “You’re so silly, Milly. Why should that stop our friendship? Todd’s always hated you.”

  Trevini moved north and works just
over the mountain from us at the hippie nudie spa. The place is a little run-down, but they’re on the cutting edge of mind-body therapies. She’s been trying to invent her own massage techniques and so far the frontrunner is something she calls the Piñata, where she uses small wooden bats to “activize” pressure points.

  Summer ended and the first rains came. The fields were muddy, but the air smelled crisp and promising. I took a stroll by the creek, which showed a trickle of water. Oswald found me there. I was thinking of the winter to come, of the seeds that would lie dormant, waiting, and of the growth to come.

  “Milagro,” he said.

  I reached out my hand and took his. We stood together and he said, “I’d like to take you out tonight, somewhere special.”

  My boots were once again covered in mud and there was hay in my hair from helping unload bales in the barn. “I will require several hours of intense work to get ready to go out. Can’t we open a bottle of champagne and sit in front of the fireplace and smooch fiercely? I might even let you get to third base.”

  “You don’t want to go out?”

  “Not when it’s so much fun staying in.” I looked at Oswald’s eyes, the color of the rain clouds above, the stones in the creek, the weathered fence posts. “I like how you’re color-coordinated with the landscape.”

  “I knew there was a reason you liked me. I thought it was because of my vast intellect.”

  “That’s the second reason. Why do you like me?”

  “Because of your vast intellect.”

  “That’s a very good reason,” I said. “I was worried it was because you’d heard that writers make a fortune.”

  “That, too,” he said.

  His rich chestnut hair was brushed back neatly, the way he wore it to the office.

  “Do you want to hear a poem?” I asked.

  This is my dream,

  It is my own dream,

  I dreamt it.

  I dreamt that my hair was kempt.

  Then I dreamt that my true love unkempt it.

  I put my hand in his hair, mussing it up.