by John Oakes
Cody paused and took a breath before saying that, no, they didn't.
Ricky continued fidgeting and bent forward. He rubbed his face and left it in his hands.
"I'm sorry, Cody," Ricky said.
"He can just be such a god-dammed sanctimonious prick. Where does he get off, bringing dads and moms into things?"
"No. You don't understand. I'm sorry. This is my fault. I shouldn't have let this happen."
Cody looked at Ricky through the hazy light coming in from the patio. They had been friends for most of their lives. No yellow sunglasses were enough to hide the anguish Ricky was feeling, not from Cody.
Cody sat in the dark a long moment, feeling both puzzled and guilty over Ricky's apparent pain.
"No, Rick. No, man. It ain't your fault. You keep us all in line most of the time. But it ain't your fault when us idiots go off the rails."
Ricky stared out the broken front door, silent. Cody didn't know what to say, so he got up and walked gingerly over to where Ricky's jean jacket lay over a chair. He reached in a pocket and pulled out his cigarettes and lighter. He walked back to the couch, sat gingerly and pulled two cigarettes from the pack. He handed one to Ricky and lit one for himself.
They sat together in silence, smoke billowing around them in the dark.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Comfort
Cody veered right to exit the freeway toward the airport. When he turned the wheel, he felt a series of aches and pains beginning in his right elbow and ending in the small of his back where that doorknob had hit him, or to be fair, where the 500 lb combination of him and TR had hit the unsuspecting doorknob. But nothing was broken, apart from a door and a friendship, so Cody suffered in silence. It was proper penance for the sin of having such a passionately stupid friend.
Cody arrived at the concourse and waited by the curb, hoping he'd timed things so that he wouldn't have to park long enough to get hassled by an airport cop. Shortly after he found a spot, he looked in the rearview and saw Monica step onto the curb and look around. Cody honked his horn once, then twice and stuck a hand out the window and waved. Monica shot a wave back in recognition. She strutted down the sidewalk like a runway model, her hair, earrings and fur-lined coat all bouncing in unison with each step. Cody got out and took her rolling suitcase from her. Cody went to unlock the trunk, but she stopped him with a short embrace, grabbing his shoulders and kissing him on the cheek.
"Thanks for picking me up, sugar bear." She smacked on her chewing gum and let herself into the passenger seat while Cody stowed her luggage. Monica smelled amazing. He couldn't put his finger on the scent, but it hit Cody like a punch to the stomach.
Monica directed him to drive downtown. On the way she complained about her mother she had gone to see in Tulsa. "I had to fly back a day early. Couldn't stand anymore of that woman with her Virginia Slims and her Daytime TV and her gossip. The most nauseating thing is how happy she is about it all."
When Monica finished complaining, she turned to Cody, gave him the once-over and said that he "needed a woman's touch" in her usual unsettling manner. He tried to remember to be good about flirting, if only on principle, but he was too tired and sad. He'd have to settle for being agreeable.
Instead of dropping her at her hotel, Cody let Monica direct him to two nice clothing stores. He let her play dress up with him, only refusing to try on a graphic t-shirt and a pair of jeans that read, "slim fit" on the label. It was the first time Monica had ever helped him with anything, even if that thing was making him go shopping. It added an air of kindness to the outing that helped Cody embrace Monica's subtle jibes as friendly banter and, hardest of all, her compliments as genuine. For the first time, he could appreciate what a smart sense of humor Monica had. He'd never thought of her as funny or smart before, but that was probably because he had been too concerned with disliking her.
Maybe it was weird to like her now, and maybe it was a little twisted considering she'd tumbled the sheets with his grampa. But Grampa's challenge, ridiculously impossible as it was, had shown him how unhappy he was trapped in the pool house, only ever hanging with the same three people. They weren't the problem. He was. So if he couldn't win some stupid game, he could at least try to act more like a normal person.
What did he have to lose?
They had lunch at a trendy restaurant called the Tuesday Bistro. While they were being seated, Cody noticed that there was a lot of red leather and cruddy old light fixtures in the place. He hadn't been to a fancy restaurant in a few years, but figured this was the décor equivalent of stuck-up celebrities dressing like homeless people. When the waitress came to take their drink order, Cody asked, "Why's it called a bistro?"
"I'm not sure, sir. It's just...a bistro." She waved a hand unhelpfully toward the kitchen.
"So, is a bistro a sort of restaurant or just a fancy word?"
"I'm not sure sir," the waitress said again with a strain in her voice. "I can ask my manager, if you like."
While the waitress was away fetching their drinks, Monica said, "Cody, don't bother the poor girl. Besides, you should never seek to be educated by people who move food from one part of a room to another for a living."
When it was time to order, Cody realized he hadn't even looked at the menu, since he'd been on his phone Googling the word "bistro." Turned out the word was French.
That figured.
To make matters worse, he picked up the menu and saw a bunch of French words. What he didn't see were any pictures or even English words. He was about to curse when he found a heading that looked close enough to the word "sandwiches." He brushed his finger up and down the list and said to the waitress, "I'll take whichever one of these has the least brains or snails or other weird French stuff in it."
Monica took a long drink from her pink martini before ordering something for herself in French with a practiced smile on her face.
She took another sip and said, "I saw the news piece that dreadful reporter did on you."
"That so?" Cody's expression darkened.
"I did, before I went back up north."
Monica couldn't even bring herself to say the word "Tulsa."
"Then you now know what a horrible person I am," Cody said.
"Oh, don't be a gloomy Gus. You're going to be a businessman. You must get a thicker skin. Learn from your father, Old Vinegar Veins. If you shoved a cucumber up his ass, it'd come out a pickle."
Cody chuckled. "Too true. But I ain't gonna be no kind of businessman. Not now."
"But you were?"
"I thought I might. But now, I guess not."
Monica took another thoughtful sip on her drink. "When did the family business bug finally bite you?"
"Oh, I dunno if I'd say I got bit so much as stung." Cody shook his head. "I really don't want to talk about it. It was just a dumb phase. I didn't even mean for it to be a business. I was just helping Raul, our head caretaker at the house. Then it sort of..." Cody made a billowing, ballooning motion with his hands.
"Anyway. It's over now."
"What? No more midget performances? Just because of that reporter?"
"Nope." Cody met Monica's intent gaze. "It was really fun, actually. It's sad." He shrugged.
Monica peered at him. "I don't know what to make of you, Cody."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I just wonder what you will do to support yourself one day if you ever want to have a family of your own or move out of that pool house."
"I haven't really thought that far ahead."
"Is that something you want? To get married? Have kids?"
Cody leaned back and considered the question. He nodded, reaching for his own drink. The ice tinkled as he brought it to his mouth. He held it there.
"Yeah. I think I'd like to have kids and a wife. The whole nine yards." Then he drank.
"Do you see yourself getting married anytime soon?"
Cody laughed out loud at that. People at some of the nearby tables glanced in h
is direction.
"Golly no. I'm light years from marriage I think."
"I see. I was wondering if you were trying to impress someone with all of your antics lately. Thought maybe it was some girl."
Cody just shook his head earnestly. "No girl."
Not anymore, anyway.
"I guess in all the time we've known each other, I've just never seen you leave the house that much. Your recent activities seem such a departure."
"I'm a creature of habit...fairly stationary habits."
Monica was asking a lot of personal questions, but at least she was being nice about it. He couldn't fault her for wanting to get to know him better.
"How about you?" It seemed only appropriate to ask her the same. "Any desire to have kids?"
"Oh, I don't know," Monica said, touching her hair gently. "I don't really want any now, but I don't want to be sixty and not have kids or grandkids, either."
"Why are you spending so much time in San Antonio? I thought you were a dyed-in-the-wool Dallas girl."
"I'm thinking about moving down here more permanently. Dallas is being overrun by foreigners. I can't walk down the street without tripping on burkas and dodging Asians spitting. And, well, let's say my social circle doesn't interest me the same way it used to. And look, I'm making new friends as we speak." She flashed a sweet smile in his direction.
After lunch, Cody drove Monica to her hotel. A valet walked up to open her door for her. Cody took her bag from the trunk and handed it to the valet.
"Well, I had a nice time. Thanks for making me buy clothes."
"Where are you off to? Aren't you going to walk me up?"
After she checked in at the front desk, Monica waved the bellman away.
"I brought my own muscle."
Once in her luxurious room, Cody set her bag on the foldout baggage holder near the large closet. "Cody, be a dear and fetch some ice, would you? I'm going to freshen up and step into something more comfy."
Cody grabbed the ice bucket and stepped into the hall.
He walked aimlessly. His head was a beehive of spinning thoughts. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't say what. What did "step into something more comfy" mean? That's what ladies said in movies before they seduced you. If he had a reason not to get seduced, he better figure it out quickly. He knew that if he went back in that room and she put the full court press on him, he would fold like a freshly-laundered sheet.
He realized he was hopelessly lost and looked around for some sort of sign to guide him.
There. The ice machine was down that way.
Cody returned with the ice, and set it on the bar between the door to the bathroom and the small sitting area by the window. He heard the shower turn off and a few minutes later, Monica emerged in a pair of deep purple, satin pants and a matching top with small straps that ran over bare shoulders. The outfit managed to accentuate all the things Monica normally liked to accentuate, but it was definitely too comfortable to be considered lingerie.
"Oh, darling I am bushed. Fetch me out a bottle of something nice in there, and one for yourself. Put it over some of that ice."
"These are really expensive, I've heard." Cody said pointing to the refrigerator with genuine concern in his voice.
"Oh Cody," Monica laughed. Her beautiful mouth parted and her graceful neck bent back as she chuckled. "You really are a character and a half. Don't be such a Jew!"
Cody recoiled on the inside. There was that hard "J" Jonathan had been talking about his first time at Darla's.
She waved an arm. "You're a rich man! Act like it for once."
Cody turned back to the bar and poured two little bottles of vodka in a glass of ice for him and one for her. He sat down on the other side of the couch from her and handed her the drink.
"Those airplane seats do a number on my neck." Monica strained to reach what must have been an immense pain considering the way she winced.
"Cody, those look like strong hands. Why don't you help me reach this knot?"
Cody didn't see a polite way to decline. He scooted a little toward her and put his drink down. She turned her back to him and pulled her hair to one side. He kneaded Monica's shoulders the best he could, trying to be strong but gentle, not wanting to show his trepidation. She rolled her head from side to side and directed the movement of his hands. He followed her direction, but reminded himself he couldn't do too good of a job. If he tried to seduce her, that seemed creepy. But if she jumped him...well...he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.
Cody took a deep breath and reminded himself that he needed to relax, or Monica would pick up on his anxiety. Dammit. He was with a beautiful, if somewhat complicated woman, who many men would die to be with. He tried to dampen the swirling thoughts in his brain and just focus on the task at hand. He soon got lost in his own rhythm, the intoxicating, subtle scents of her perfume and the smoothness of her skin.
She scooted back toward him until her bottom was touching his lower leg.
He was struck again with her scent.
Of Monica's considerable appeal to the senses, that above all, stood out today. He closed his eyes and leaned in ever so slightly closer to her. He let his wandering touch find the line between remedy and pleasure and linger there. Her body responded, leaning ever so slightly back into his hands. He wanted her, but he didn't burn uncontrollably with sexual desire the way he had feared he might. He wanted most to hold her, to wrap her up and feel her warmth. He wanted to bury himself in her aroma. It was flowery and sensual, but most compelling because it mingled with something rich that whispered in Cody's ear of comfort, of love, of a time long ago. A time when...
Cody stopped cold.
His stomach turned sour and slammed up into his throat. The warmth he had felt building in him went clammy. Cody bowed his head, blinked and swallowed hard. Monica hadn't seemed to notice the split second event. So, Cody kept at it, letting his clumsy hands move around her neck and shoulder blades, while his mind went cartwheeling. He told himself to not over-think things and just calm down. But no. Now her fragrance stood out like a neon sign. It was all he could smell. His senses soaked it in, recognition deepened, and painful tears welled in his eyes.
Cody stopped and cleared his throat. "Can you excuse me for a moment?" Cody asked trying to keep his voice flat. He stood up before Monica could turn to see his face and walked quickly away.
"Sorry. French food." Cody turned, patted his stomach and then stepped into the bathroom. Cody saw Monica flinch, like she was going to tell him to go drop a bomb somewhere else, but then she relaxed back on the couch.
"Yes, of course." She picked up her drink and drained it.
Cody closed the door behind him. He didn't have time to regret his lame excuse. Why was the theme song from Mission Impossible running through his head? Couldn't his subconscious take anything seriously?
Cody whipped his eyes around the room. He saw a toiletry kit the size of a small tackle box resting on the sink. He deftly unzipped it, and it unfolded like a book. He examined the contents, being careful not to move anything. He saw hand mirrors powders, brushes, lipsticks, and there...
Two small bottles resting in a mesh pouch.
One was slightly rose colored. The other had a golden tinge. Cody picked up the slightly pinkish one and removed the cap. He smelled a floral, citrusy fragrance. It was very pleasant and sweet. Cody pulled the cap off the second bottle and inhaled.
Moments later, Cody was on his knees, still clutching the small bottle in his hands. Such a small little bottle, but also a time machine. It had hurtled him back through time and space to before his world had torn open, back to the last place Cody had felt whole, the last time Cody had felt truly ok.
The small bottle held his mother's favorite perfume. He didn't know the name, but he didn't need to. That smell was his mother's smell.
And Monica had been wearing it like a lure.
Cody held both bottles up to his nose together and sure enough, they worked in
harmony, though their notes were sharper without being blended on the skin.
His mother had died. His father had withdrawn. He went to college and failed to find himself, failed to find a girlfriend, failed to find a career path to give his life meaning again. Monica had said that no one had ever shown him a life worth living. And that was true, but only since his mother died.
Cody's suspicions over Monica's intelligence were doubly confirmed. But his suspicions that she was not out to get him were shattered. There was only one reason to manipulate him in such a disgusting manner, only one reason to wear his mother's perfume. Cody was a sort of orphan. Monica, suffering from daddy issues of her own, fully understood the void a parent could leave.
And she had used that knowledge against him.
Memories flooded through his mind each time he inhaled his mother's perfume. It was overwhelmingly nostalgic, but instead of grief, a sort of relief poured through him to remember a long lost time in his life when everything had been ok. Far from debilitating him, it was like sunshine on his heart.
Life before her death had not been without its issues, but it had been fundamentally sound and in order. Then...without her, he had never been the same. Her death was a bomb. It sent him flying, spinning through the atmosphere, deep into orbit. And nothing had ever come to piece him back together again or draw him back down to earth. No matter what he had done to attempt a descent, to try and get his feet back on solid ground, he'd always ended up spinning in space again, seeing the things he couldn't touch, orbiting a life he couldn't really live.
After the minutes of pain had passed, a new and liberating thought emerged: If he had that feeling once – that sunshine on his heart – well, then dammit, he might be able to have it again.
He was just going to have to build it for himself.
He had to find a way back down.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Right Kind of Stupid
"Boy!" Cody said, exiting the bathroom. "Do not go in there!" He waved low behind his buttocks. "Listen, I ain't feeling well. I need a lie down."