Wish List

by Fern Michaels

  “I feel like life is zipping by. I need more hours in the day,” Ariel grumbled on a bright sunny day in early April. Today I take my driving test, Wednesday evening is the martial arts exhibition, and Friday night we face off against the men in the shoot-off. Saturday I’m having dinner at Lex’s and I know he’s going to want to . . . I think . . . maybe I should cancel . . . I don’t think I’m ready . . . men are . . . what they do is . . . it’s been a long time.” Her voice sounded lame.

  “It’s like riding a bike—it’ll all come back. Providing you’re interested. I had the impression you were more than ready. Let’s face it, Ariel, you need to get laid.”

  “Dolly!”

  “Well, you do. Who do you think is responsible for that smile on your face? Who’s putting that sparkle in your eyes? How come you ordered all those new clothes? Don’t insult me by saying it’s because of Snookie. Face it, Ariel, you’re falling in love and I think it’s wonderful. You deserve everything good that life has to offer. Lex Sanders seems to be that rare, one-in-a-million guy. I don’t think you should let him get away. I believe he’s already in love with you. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

  “If it’s meant to be, it will be. It’s that simple. That’s another way of saying if the moment is right it will happen. Stop worrying about my sex life. That’s a damn order, Dolly.”

  “You’re flustered and your face is flaming. Okay, I was teasing. I just want you to be happy, Ariel. Did you invite him to the dojo to see you do your routine?”

  “No, and I’m not going to, either. I’ve only gone up a degree on my brown belt. Lex might . . . sometimes men get intimidated when women can do things like that. I’m going to miss going to the dojo, but I’ll start up again when Master Mitsu comes back from Japan. Don’t say anything, Dolly. And, no, I did not invite him to the shooting range. Same thing. Promise me?”

  “I promise. He’d be proud of you, Ariel. That’s the kind of man he is. I personally don’t think the person’s been born yet who could intimidate Lex Sanders.”

  “I think you’re right, Dolly. He is his own person, a one-of-a-kind guy. I like him a lot,” Ariel blurted.

  “I knew it, I knew it! We have the perfect backyard for a wedding. I’ll cook everything. I’ll absolutely outdo myself. I want to be matron of honor and I’ll bet we can train Snookie to be the ring bearer. I knew it, I just knew it!” Dolly chortled.

  Ariel threw the dishtowel at her, her cheeks pink, her eyes sparkling.

  Lex Sanders looked as uncomfortable as he felt. Dressed in one of his six dark suits that he’d had custom made in Hong Kong, he looked every bit as professional as a Wall Street broker. He only dressed in what he referred to as his “Sunday-go-to-meetin’ ” clothes for weddings and funerals. Today he’d gone to the funeral of one of the ranchers who’d been a good neighbor and friend. He’d stayed just long enough to pay his respects and sample the carefully prepared luncheon.

  Saddened that a good friend had gone on to that other place, Lex headed for his car. The car, also his “Sunday-go-to-meetin’” vehicle, was never used more than the suits hanging in his closet. For one thing, the Mercedes-Benz embarrassed him, and he should have known better than to buy it. But the purchase had been made at a time when he thought he needed expensive things to make up for a host of other things he hadn’t come to terms with. He’d come to learn that trappings of any kind did not measure a man’s worth. He felt even more guilty sitting in the luxurious sedan now that he’d chastised Ariel Hart for buying foreign imports. Damn, he couldn’t do anything right. He jerked at his tie that cost more than some men earned in a week, and tossed it in the back seat. He yanked at the top button on his shirt and when it wouldn’t give, he pulled down and then across, the button sailing out the open car window. He stretched his chafed neck and swore at Tiki for putting so much starch in the pristine white shirt. He rolled up his sleeves and stretched his neck one more time before he put the car into gear.

  Within minutes he was on Interstate 5 heading home. Instead of taking his exit, he kept on driving when he remembered Ariel was taking her driving test on the Able Body rig. He risked a quick glance at his watch. If he drove like hell, he could probably be on hand to see if she passed or not. He wanted to be the first to congratulate her if she did. If she didn’t, he’d stay in the background and try to be invisible. His heart started to flutter at the thought of seeing Ariel in the middle of the day. He wondered if he was falling in love. If these strange feelings meant he was in love, he had to attend to some serious legal matters. The thought made his neck grow warm.

  Lex continued to drive as his mind conjured up one fantasy after another. Before he knew it, he was opposite the driving school where Ariel and the other employees of Able Body Trucking were taking their test. He maneuvered the silver Mercedes into the lot of a Taco Bell and parked. He got out, ordered food he didn’t want, and sat down at one of the outdoor tables that afforded him a good view of the driving course across the street. He saw Ariel the moment he sat down. He immediately got to his feet to watch as she swung herself into the cab like a pro. He crossed his fingers, his eyes glued to the eighteen-wheeler as Ariel put the rig through her paces. Twice he sucked in his breath and grinned when she did something better than he himself had done during his own test years ago. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until it exploded from his mouth like a gunshot. What the hell was he doing here? Spying. He hated the word. If Ariel spotted him she would . . . what? He knew he should leave, but his feet felt rooted to the concrete.

  Twenty minutes later, when Ariel brought the huge truck to a complete stop, Lex felt like he’d run a marathon. He stood up when she opened the door of the cab, her clenched fist shooting in the air. At that moment he felt capable of selling his soul just to be there with her. Ariel jumped down, slapped Dolly’s open palm in a high-five, and grinned from ear to ear. She did a little jig, twirling about in a dizzying circle. Lex’s eyes widened and then narrowed. He sat back down on the spindly chair, his breathing suddenly harsh and raspy. Once before, years and years ago, he’d seen a young girl do exactly the same little jig when she made the cheerleading squad.

  Five seconds later he was in the silver Mercedes. Super-spy Lex Sanders was going home where he belonged, to a world he was comfortable with. Memories were always comfortable.

  Thirty minutes later, Lex roared through the iron gates the moment they swung open with the use of his remote control. He parked the car next to an ancient Joshua tree. He was ripping at the buttons on his white shirt and kicking his Brooks Brothers shoes off as he reeled up the steps. He stepped into clean, ironed jeans, but not before he peeled off his dress socks. A freshly ironed Banana Republic oversize T-shirt was yanked over his head. He heaved a mighty sigh of relief when he pulled on thick white socks and his worn work boots. This was who he was. He smoothed back his dark, curly hair and was stunned at what he saw in the mirror. Surely this wild-eyed person wasn’t himself. But it was. And all because he’d seen a woman do a silly little dance that reminded him of someone he used to know. Not just someone; his wife.

  Lex walked back to his bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed. By God, he was not going to pep talk himself again. You goddamn well need a psychiatrist, Lex Sanders. You should have gone to one years ago or else you should have hired a private detective to find Aggie. You could afford therapy and a private dick, so why didn’t you do it? “Shut up,” he muttered to his conscience. The words hissed from his lips. But his conscience refused to be silent. Because you were ashamed. That’s it. You didn’t want to see the ridicule in the gringo’s eyes when you said you married an Anglo girl. You knew what they’d say behind your back. Even now you don’t want to believe it will be any different. You like being Lex Sanders. You buried Felix Sanchez. And now, you’re worried about Ariel Hart. What if she wants to share confidences and you blurt out something? How will she take that? Until you bury Aggie Bixby, you won’t be able to love anyone else, not even Ariel
Hart. Today was all the proof you need.

  Lex’s head dropped to his hands. His shoulders started to shake. Suddenly he wanted to be Felix Sanchez again. He longed for his smiling mother and his weary father who’d worked so hard to make sure their family survived the hardships of being poor. He cried then, because he needed to cry, needed to cleanse his spirit. And when he couldn’t cry any more he washed his face and combed his unruly hair that was becoming stiff and wiry now that it was turning gray. The moment he finished, he marched, with grim determination, to his study where he picked up the yellow pages. He called the first detective agency listed. In a cool, emotionless voice, he outlined what he wanted, gave a timetable, and then rattled off his credit card number. Until he could lay Aggie Bixby to rest, he was putting his fast-moving friendship with Ariel Hart on hold. To continue to see her when a simple thing like a little dance could throw him into a funk wasn’t fair. He could console himself by watching her old movies. He felt as if a truckload of cow manure had fallen on top of him.

  Lex’s fist crashed down on the top of his desk. If someone came to him with a story like his own, he knew what he’d say. What do you mean you’re still in love with a girl you met and married thirty-four years ago? Get real, man. That only happens in the movies. And, after an hour and forty-five minutes the star-crossed lovers fall into each other’s arms, right? Yep, that’s what he’d say. And, that’s why he never told anyone about his past. He didn’t want to see the pity and disgust in their eyes. Better to keep it to himself in the darkness of his own room.

  He looked around at the comfortable room he’d built with his own hands. The solid oak bookshelves were filled with thousands of books, and he’d read every single one of them. The furniture was burgundy, a man’s color, deep and extremely comfortable. Oftentimes he slept on the couch if he was too tired to go up to the second floor. He’d chosen the burlap fabric for the draperies and Mrs. Estrada had sewn and hung them, a perfect match for the wheat-colored carpeting. He’d made the desk, too; since childhood, he’d been good with his hands. The lamps were solid brass with burgundy shades that cast a warm, mellow glow to the room. His housekeeper, Tiki, had contributed flowering plants and ferns that she kept trimmed and watered. But it was the watercolors painted by the children of his workers that gave the room life. An exquisite gold frame adorned a cow—he knew it was a cow because the five-year-old artist used a red crayon to print the word cow above the animal—jumping over a yellow moon that had a point at the top. Brilliant stars shone down on tents, fluffy green clouds floated above a blue meadow filled with red daisies. His favorite was a train with nineteen box cars drawn on butcher paper. The elaborate custom-carved frame was worth every cent he paid for it. This was the room where he spent most of his spare time, a room that was his, built by him, for him. The only things missing were the Wurlitzer jukebox, Coke machine, and gumball machine. For years now he’d been trying to get originals, but no one wanted to part with their treasures. They were part of his youth, a youth he’d never really experienced. He’d placed orders up and down the coast, sent out letters all over the country. Just recently a dealer in Las Vegas who handled memorabilia had called and said he had a lead on all three items, but the price was astronomical. He’d decided that the word astronomical meant different things to different people. When you were trying to fill in missing pieces of your life, cost took a back seat.

  His plan, if he was successful in acquiring the treasures, was to sit here in this room and play all the old records from that time in his life. He’d pop a dime into the Coke machine and drink the sweet drink until he was dizzy. Then he’d put a penny or a nickel into the bubble gum machine and chew until his jaws ached. In the basement he had sixty-four cases of long-neck Coca-Cola. Sitting next to the soda were four cartons of bubble gum, the bright little balls every color of the rainbow. Upstairs in his closet he had stacks and stacks of records that he was going to play by the hour, records he’d bought from collectors from all over the country. He wondered what Ariel Hart would think about his obsession—and it was an obsession—if he ever confided in her. “You have a screw loose, Lex Sanders,” he muttered. “You can’t go home again—some writer said that, and you know it’s true. Memories are just that, memories. That’s why they’re called memories. They happen once and then life moves on. But I want . . . need to know what it feels like to sip a Coke and listen to a jukebox. I want pennies in my pocket to pop into the machine, I want to chew those little suckers and blow bubbles. I want to experience that part of my life. Just once. It won’t be the same, he argued with himself. I don’t care, I want to try. I need to try. I goddamn will try. Then I’ll close that chapter of my life.

  “Tiki,” Lex bellowed.

  “Si, Señor Lex,” Tiki said, waddling into the room.

  “I won’t be home for dinner. I’m going across the border. Do you want me to take any messages or bring anything back?”

  “Si. I will make the list. Two baskets for the padre, Señor Lex?”

  “As many as you want. Pack up some candies for the children and some of those picture books that were delivered the other day. Get Manny to load the truck. We might as well fill it up.”

  Tiki twisted the hem of her snowy white apron between her fingers. “Señor Lex, the house telephone rings many times today. No one speaks. I say, hello, hello. No one says hello back. Many times yesterday, too.”

  Lex frowned. “Has that ever happened before? Sometimes people dial the wrong number and hang up when they don’t recognize the voice on the other end.”

  Tiki shook her head. “I say, ‘señor Sanders telephone’ when I say hello.”

  “If it happens again tomorrow, tell me and I’ll call the telephone company. They might be able to trace the call. Are you frightened, Tiki?”

  “No, señor. The gates are closed. Manny is here as well as Jesus. I don’t want a problem for you, señor.”

  Lex hugged the elderly woman. “Don’t worry about me, Tiki. Did the ice cream for the children come today?”

  “Si. Early this morning. It’s in the freezer. Tonight I will call the children and give them chocolate. Tomorrow strawberry, and the day after, vanilla. Little Toro doesn’t like chocolate. He says it’s mud. I will give him strawberry.”

  Lex smiled. “Mud, huh? He’s only four—how does he know what mud tastes like?”

  Tiki shrugged. Lex smiled again. He was still smiling when he climbed behind the wheel of his truck. As always, before he turned on the ignition, he let his eyes scan the vast acreage that made up the Sanders ranch. “Thank you, God, for all that you have given me, and allowed me to do for others.”

  Seven

  “Dolly, can you believe it’s almost the end of April? Where has the time gone?”

  “Is that another way of saying it’s been almost a month since Lex Sanders called?”

  “I guess that’s what I’m saying. I must have done something wrong. Was it wrong to call him and brag about passing my driving test? He didn’t call after that. He faxes everything to the office. He’s been paying his bills in seven days like always. I just wish I knew what, if anything, I did. I guess,” Ariel said, her eyes misting, “he realized how bad my face really is. Don’t say it, Dolly. We were getting along so well. We actually had fun together and I was looking forward to the date that never materialized the Saturday after my test. He said he’d call on Friday and he never did.”

  “You could have called him. This is the 90’s, Ariel. He might be busy—you don’t know what’s going on in his life. He could very well be having some kind of family crisis. Things like this happen all the time. And, as my old mother used to say, if it’s meant to be, it will be. But, I always tended to believe that was baloney. Think, Ariel, of a reason, a business reason, to call him. There’s nothing wrong with that. You might get some kind of clue as to what’s wrong.”

  “Not in a million years. This is not a shy man. He stopped me on the highway and convinced me to go to his ranch. We’ve had six d
ates—dinner, movies, and a picnic. Then, nothing. Somewhere along the way, something happened. What ticks me off is I had myself convinced I was going to go to bed with him if the opportunity presented itself. Now, I’m glad I didn’t. Damn it, he even told his workers he was marrying me. Yes, I took it as sort of a joke, but his eyes were serious. He meant it. I’ve never been dumped before. I damn well don’t like the feeling.”

  “Call him,” Dolly said.

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  “Then you’re never going to know.”

  “I’ll live with it.”

  “You’re always going to wonder. Aren’t you the one who always said, ‘look it in the eye, deal with it, and get on with it’?”

  “Yes, of course, I did say that. However, I was referring to other types of problems. This is emotional. It’s different. I can forget he exists. You can take care of his business at the office or assign his account to one of the other girls. From this moment on, Lex Sanders is someone I knew briefly.” Her voice was lofty, airy, as she fastened Snookie’s leash to her collar.

  “That’s about the biggest lie I’ve ever heard you tell, Ariel Hart,” Dolly muttered as she went back to paring vegetables for dinner.

  Outside, the early evening closed around Ariel like a soft cloak. She sprinted with Snookie and then settled down for a brisk walk around her three-acre estate. She felt like crying. She wanted to cry, but what good would that do her? Besides, her bad eye would puff up and made her look lopsided. She was falling for Lex Sanders. At the age of fifty, no less. Did people still use that term, falling for, she wondered.

  Snookie woofed softly, her signal that she wanted the leash removed so she could have her own private run. Ariel obliged. “Make sure you get back here in five minutes. I don’t want to lose you, too.” Her voice was hoarse, her eyes tear-filled. The shepherd nuzzled Ariel’s leg, but didn’t go off on her private nightly run. Ariel crouched down to wrap her arms around the dog’s neck. “It’s important to believe things will get better,” she whispered. “You know what, Snook? Upstairs is my very first report on Felix. I’m going to read it tonight before I go to bed. I was so excited when I got it, I couldn’t bear to open it up. I wanted to be by myself, in my own room, with the door locked. Now, isn’t that silly?” The dog inched closer to her legs, her long snout searching out her petting hand. “I wonder if Beverly what’s-her-name found out anything important. I think I need to put that time in my life to a final rest, if you get my drift. It’s always been there, hanging over my head. There was no closure. We all need closure. Like with Lex. Damn it, maybe I will call him. Maybe I’ll tell him to take his business somewhere else. I deserve better than this. We’re adults, for God’s sake. He’s hanging me out in the wind like a sheet off his bed. I would never do that to someone. I hate men. I really do, Snookie. C’mon, Dolly probably has our dinner ready and here I sit moaning and groaning. Tomorrow the sun is going to shine and it will be a whole new day for everyone. You can do a lot with a brand new day if you really want to.” She heaved herself to her feet, the dog sprinting ahead of her. The urge to cry again was so strong, Ariel could feel her throat start to burn. “No tears for you, Lex Sanders.”