“Oh. Does he like lighthouses?”
“I don’t know. I just saw them in this catalogue and thought it would be a nice collection for him to have from me.” She began to thumb through a catalogue. They looked like a product of the Thomas Kinkade Gallery. Something her grandmother would relish. “Look at this.” She pointed to another lighthouse, much larger and fancier than the little ones that sat on the counter. “I’m going to order this lighthouse and give it to him the day he leaves for his tour.” She further explained that the top of this revolving lighthouse lit up and played “You Light Up My Life” when plugged into the wall. “It will be the final gift for the collection. I’m going to attach a note that says, ‘Jimmy, you light up my life.’”
“That’s very sweet of you.” For some reason she had a hunch that guitar-wielding Jimmy probably wouldn’t have come up with the idea to collect hand-painted lighthouses on his own. But maybe he had a soft, sentimental, gay streak.
“I’m going to hide them in the storage space above our parking places,” Justine said. “I hope he doesn’t find them. When you meet him, don’t tell him where they are.”
Elise thought it odd that they were discussing a collection of hand-painted lighthouses while a helicopter combed the area for an armed fugitive.
“He’s coming back in a couple of weeks. I miss him so much.” She headed for the kitchen cabinets. Elise had added some of her dishes to the cupboards and caught a glimpse of them when Justine pulled opened a door. Over the years Elise had acquired a mishmash of stemware and kitchen accessories from garage sales, thrift stores, and her mother’s hand-me-downs. She’d never owned a set of matching dishes and felt slightly self-conscious when she noticed her World’s Greatest Mom! mug next to Justine’s even rows of matching white mugs.
Justine looked over her shoulder as she poured coffee. “So, what are you up to today?”
“Working on my book.”
Elise was heading to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal when a startling knock at the front door nearly sent her sprinting for cover in the utility closet. “Who do you think it is?” she whispered, fully envisioning the knocker in red plaid.
Stealthily, her roommate tiptoed to the front window. Elise watched as she moved, as quiet as a bunny on grass, toward a slit in the blinds. She spent a few seconds squinting through a narrow slit before she whipped her head back to Elise. Judging from the panicked expression that contorted her face, Elise knew it wasn’t the Girl Scouts. “Quick! Hide!”
Elise darted toward the utility closet, taking the cordless phone with her.
“No! Not you,” she huffed. “The lighthouses!” Her harsh whispers came out between gritted teeth as she raced to the counter.
The lighthouses? Elise’s concerns actually centered on whether or not they should call 911. “Who’s out there? Are they wearing red plaid?”
“No. It’s a friend of Jimmy’s. I don’t want him to see these.” Frantically, she stuffed each figurine back into the box.
“Maybe you should let him in.”
“I will in a second.” She rearranged a row of cleaning supplies before sliding the box beneath the sink. “Coming,” she called as she stood up, running her hands over the front of her jeans.
She offered a wide-open space in the doorway and signaled for him to enter.
“Hi, Max,” Justine said. “This is my new roommate, Elise. She’s Stan Sawyer’s sister.”
“Hey, Elise.” He set down a guitar case to shake her hand. A small black tattoo of a star covered the space between his thumb and index finger.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
“Max fixes Jimmy’s guitars.”
“Jimmy said that I could just drop this off here, and you’d get it to him.”
“Of course.”
He pointed an index finger upward. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Elise. Nothing like a helicopter hovering over your apartment to make you feel at home.”
“It’s definitely not Tucson.”
“No. It’s uh . . . interesting. I used to live over here. You guys should really get a better dead bolt for your door.” He glanced at the simple security device above their door handle. “And for just a few bucks you can install little alarms on all the windows.”
“I don’t know how to put any of that stuff in.” Justine seemed bothered.
“I’ll show you. It’s easy. You just go to Home Depot, get the parts, and I’ll help you install them.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Elise added.
He had the type of haircut that suggested he had just rolled out of bed but was also very stylish. Thick yet nicely trimmed eyebrows framed his dark, round eyes, and he had a nose that would only look good on a male. A rugged strip of facial hair grew just below his bottom lip, tracing its way to his chin. He was gorgeous, and she was open to a security system.
He turned back to Elise, and she suddenly felt very silly in her pink flannel pajamas. A Christmas gift from her aunt Caroline in Vermont, the pj’s were cut from a lively cloth that featured dogs holding balloons. “So you’re Stan’s sister?”
She nodded.
“Cool. Your brother’s a good guy.”
She wasn’t surprised he’d said this. As irresponsible as he was, Stan had tons of friends, and they all loved him. He was a blast to hang out with, always the life of the party.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked.
“Just a couple days.” She made a mental note to wash her face and apply a moderate amount of makeup before even setting a toe outside her bedroom door every morning. “What about you? Do you live in this area?”
“North Park,” he said. “In a loft above my shop.” They chatted a bit about the neighborhood and helicopters, and she noticed the inky outline of a couple other tattoos peeking from beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt. A closer glance revealed a sultry high-heeled female foot dangling from a sensuous fishnet-clad leg. So he definitely wasn’t someone she’d take home to meet the parents. But he could be fling material, and boy did she ever need it. While her parents watched The O’Reilly Factor, they’d never have a clue.
“So, what do you do?” he asked.
“I’m a novelist. I write mysteries.”
“That’s great. I’ve never met a published writer.” He rubbed the little crumb duster beneath his chin. “Mysteries, too. That’s really impressive. Anyone can sit down and write a story about everyday life, but to incorporate plot twists and turns, you’ve got to be pretty genius. I’ll have to pick up a copy of your book.”
The phone rang, and Justine’s eyes darted to the caller ID as if she were hungry. Judging from the glow that came over her face, Elise knew it was Jimmy. In fact, even if Justine hadn’t been radiating bliss, it would be safe to assume it was Jimmy. Yesterday he’d called about ten times. By midafternoon Elise was starting to wonder if he called just to tell her he had pooped.
Her voice became low and singsong. “Hello, Chee Chee Cheechers.”
Max and Elise exchanged glances.
“How’s my Chee Chee Cheechers this morning?” she continued.
The way she said Chee Chee sounded like she was speaking to a monkey. “Max is here. Do you want to talk to him?” the zookeeper asked. “Okay. Hold on.”
Smiling, she handed the phone to Max.
“What do you call him?” Elise asked in a pleasantly curious tone.
A wistful smile turned the corners of her eyelids. “Chee Chee Cheechers.”
And he lets you?
“That was the name I used to call my teddy bear who slept next to me every night. But now Jimmy sleeps next to me. So he’s Chee Chee Cheechers. We’ve kind of made a little game out of it. He calls me Meechee Meechers. They’re our little names.”
“Cute.”
Justine took a heavy swig of coffee and then dumped the remaining contents into the sink. She pulled out her rubber gloves, turned the faucet to scalding hot, and proceeded to scrub the mug for a solid minute with a bristled
sponge. Steam wafted around her face as her lips tightened with determination. After finishing, she dried the cup, examined it for water spots, and returned it to its exact spot in the cupboard, perfectly aligned with all of her other matching dishes. These were the standards Elise had to live up to.
Max clicked off the phone and set it on the counter. “All right, girls. I’ve gotta go. It was nice meeting you, Elise.”
“Do you want to take a knife or something with you to the car?” she asked as if she were suggesting he might need to borrow an umbrella for the rain.
He threw his head back with laughter. What was really funny was that she was only half kidding.
“Thanks for the offer,” he said. “But I doubt I’ll get carjacked on my motorcycle. Let me know when you guys want to go to Home Depot. And tell your brother I said hi.”
She locked the front door behind him.
“So, he seemed nice,” Elise said, subtly providing an opportunity for Justine to elaborate on Max’s personal life.
“Max. Yeah, Jimmy loves him. He is nice.” She reached beneath the sink and pulled her box of trinkets from their hiding place. A little vein bulged from her forehead as she returned the box back to the counter. “I hope I didn’t break any of these.”
“So he owns a guitar shop?”
“Yes.”
“And drives a motorcycle?”
“Uh-huh,” she mumbled, totally engrossed in her lighthouses. She was worse than Stan when it came to providing details. Being a writer, Elise naturally had a nosy side. People fascinated her, and gathering details about their lives often gave her better insight into creating well-rounded characters. She wanted to know if he was married. Divorced? A single parent? Was he a womanizer? Okay, she was interested in him. And she was bored. Her love life was as exciting as watching golf. She needed someone to at least daydream about, even if her parents would probably peg him a Hell’s Angel. Anyone with tattoos was trouble, as far as they were concerned. Different generations.
Instead of providing details about Max, Justine grabbed the box of figurines and headed for the front door.
“Do you think it’s safe to go out there?” Elise asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I have to go to work though. Have fun today!” With that, she and her lighthouses were off.
Elise ate breakfast on the fluffy cream-colored couch that Justine’s parents had purchased for her on their last visit. While munching on raisin bran she watched the news, hoping to find out what the man in red plaid had done. After thirty minutes of traffic, weather, and sports, she realized that there wasn’t going to be a broadcast about the events in her neighborhood. Chasing armed renegades in City Heights was too mundane to make the headlines.
The sound of the blaring helicopter had been replaced with a very honest rap song. “So I grabbed the bitch’s neck and I told her hold my fo-tay. You better do me good cuz I’m feelin really ho-nay.”
The song was stuck in her head, and she mindlessly sang under her breath as she called her sister. “You better do me good . . .” Ring. Ring. “Cuz I’m feeling really horny . . .”
“Elise?”
Good grief, she hadn’t realized she’d been singing aloud until she heard Melissa’s voice.
“What are you singing?”
“Sorry, this rap song was stuck in my head.”
“That’s so weird,” she said. “I was just thinking about calling you! I want to hear all about your new place and your new roommate.”
Elise was about to give her all the details when Melissa spoke instead.
“Jeffrey, it’s Aunt Elise. Do you want to say hi to her?”
“No.” A small voice squeaked. Elise had sent him a Wiggles video for Easter, and this was how he thanked her?
“Here. Say hello to Aunt Elise. Tell her you love her.”
“Me no want to.”
She listened to the muffled sound of the phone being passed to a new hand, and then the sound of shallow breathing. “Say, hi, Aunt Elise,” her sister’s voice sang from the background. There was more breathing, and what sounded like the sucking of candy. “Jeffrey. Say. Hi. Aunt Elise.”
“Hey, Jeffrey,” Elise said. “How are you? I can’t wait to see you!”
More sucking.
“All right. You’re welcome for the Wiggles video. Why don’t you give the phone back to your mom now?”
Then he spoke. “Aunt Lise.”
“Now say, I love you, Aunt Lise,” her sister said quietly.
“Love you, Aunt Lise.”
She loved being Aunt Lise. Stan got to be Uncle Tan.
“Isn’t that the cutest thing ever?” Melissa said as soon as she took the phone back. “You’re Aunt Lise. I love it!”
“He is cute. When do I get to see him? I miss you guys.”
“Well, I had an idea. I know you’re scraping by and Mom told me about your new place and how you can’t afford to live without a roommate. I was thinking you could do a little baby-sitting for me while I run errands tomorrow. I’ll pay you well.”
She hadn’t baby-sat since high school when she’d looked after kids who were eight and ten. She’d taught the kids how to play a couple of card games before letting them stay up past their bedtime to watch Jaws and pig out on snacks and sodas that were usually off-limits. The kids had apparently never mentioned what kind of babysitter she was, because the parents called her over and over again. She’d never been left with a toddler. However, quality time with her little nephew would be fun, and it was true. She could use the money, and if she ever wanted to get out of City Heights, she was going to have to start earning more. “All right. I’d love to watch Jeffrey.”
“Great. So, how is everything going?”
She began to tell her about the helicopter until she was interrupted very early in the story.
“Jeffrey, don’t touch that. Here. Give it to me. Sorry, go on.”
“So, as I was saying. I was jolted from my sleep, and when I walked outside—”
“Okay, sweetie, let me make you a peanut butter and honey sandwich.”
She had forgotten what it was like to talk on the phone with people who had small children. Ever since her sister had given birth, Elise’s side of the conversation had been interrupted with some form of cooing, soothing, or whining. She understood though. Jeffrey was just a small child, and his needs were much more important than any of her stories. They could catch up later. “Listen, Melissa. I’ll let you go. What time do you want me to be there tomorrow?”
They agreed on a time and said good-bye.
She was excited to baby-sit her nephew. Spending more time with her family had definitely influenced her decision to move back to San Diego. She missed them and especially felt as if she were missing out on a lot of stuff with Jeffrey. After Elise hung up with Melissa, she realized it was nearly noon and she’d accomplished nothing in the way of writing.
A half hour into her work, the phone rang. Carly Truesdale popped onto the caller ID. “You must be on your lunch break,” Elise said.
“Sure am.”
Elise could hear her chewing. “What are you eating? It sounds good.”
“A Chinese chicken salad.” She swallowed then took a loud slurp from a straw. “How is everything going over at the new place?”
“Well, let’s see. My apartment is smokier than a drug rehab center. There was a manhunt for an armed criminal in our neighborhood this morning. And some hot guy with tattoos of naked women and a star on his hand came to our apartment to drop off a guitar. At least there is never a dull moment!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. One thing at a time. You met a hot guy?”
Never mind the helicopter story. “Yes, but I don’t know if he is my type. I mean, he is. He’d be good fling material, but just not take-home-to-meet-Mom-and-Dad material.”
Carly paused to finish chewing. “Well, I have another love prospect for you, and he is take-home-to-meet-the-parents material. Marcus wants us to go on a double date with y
ou and his friend Toby. He wants to set you up with him.”
Marcus. Elise had practically forgotten he’d existed, mostly because he gave Carly the same amount of attention a crack-addict prostitute would provide to her crack-addicted child. “Have you met Toby?” Elise asked.
“No. But Marcus said he’s a Realtor and doing really well. Please say yes,” Carly said. “You have to come.”
“I’ve never been on a double date before, but it could be fun.” She paused. “All right. What the hell? What do I have to lose?”
“Yeah! It’ll be so fun,” she announced before lowering her tone. “I think I’m in love with Marcus,” she whispered. “But at the same time I think I’m cursed.”
“Cursed?”
“No one has ever called me their girlfriend, including him. I have never been able to make it out of the gray phase.”
“What’s the gray phase?”
“It’s the phase where nothing is black or white. You don’t know if you’re just having fun or if you are committed. The white phase is when you are just having fun, seeing where things go, and everyone knows it’s too early for a commitment. The black phase is when you are fully committed to someone, like how you and Tim were in college. I am perpetually stuck in the gray phase. I’m in the phase where we spend enough time together that we’re past the white phase, but we don’t check in with each other or take each other home to meet our parents. Everything is gray and foggy, and that’s pretty much always where I am.”
It was true. Carly had never had a real boyfriend. She was smart, cute, and fun. But no one had ever been willing to commit to her. Elise had reasoned it was because of the lack of quality men in the world. For every ten great girls there was one okay guy.
“I really like him, Elise.”
“Maybe you should tell him. It’s been four months. Ask him where the relationship is going. Maybe you’re always in the gray phase because you’ve never discussed anything with anyone.” She thought for a moment. “At least you’re in a phase. I’m in the phase of fantasizing that I might hopefully meet someone who could potentially lead to something in my uneventful love life. What phase is that?”
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