Blue Diamond

by Dawn Umrie

According to Jim, and we all know what a reliable source he is, the new owner is supposed to visit the bar by at the end of the week, and so, it’s the end of the week, and he’s still a no-show. So, naturally, I’m becoming increasingly worried that my current job status will change from gratefully employed to sadly unemployed. But, tonight, I’m going to leave my gloom and doom behind and hope that this ghost-man doesn’t hand it back to me in a suitcase that says, have a nice life on the outside.

  Seth

  I wrap a towel around my waist, the water from the shower is still beaded on my chest. Technically, my Graffiti’s visit is still business, but I’m leaving the suit at home tonight, not to mention the fact that I’d stick out like a hooker in church.

  I run my hand across a sea of suits until I reach the other end of the closet that has my casual clothes. I choose a pair of soft denim jeans and a plain white cotton shirt and put them on, then pull a navy blazer off the hanger and go to my shoe rack and pick a pair of Vans. Back in the bathroom, I spray my cologne into the air and walk through it. I’ve been doing that shit since High School and never stopped. Old habits die hard, I guess.

  Before I do another thing, I need to call Tim, telling myself that because I’ve been able to wait, I don’t have an obsession with a nameless beauty.

  That’s my story, and I’m sticking with it.

  The phone rings three times before Tim picks up. “Hello, Mr. Vas. Is everything okay?”

  Being that I’ve never called him on his cell before, I could understand his concern. “Call me, Seth, especially since I’m calling your personal phone after hours. Is now a good time for you to talk? I won’t keep you.”

  “Sure, Mr. Va, I mean, Seth. What can I do for you?”

  “The young lady that I asked you to call…” I pause so he’ll fill in the blank that I’ve been eager to find out.

  “Oh, right, Ms. Merissa Manolas”

  I must have paused too long while I repeated the alliteration in my head like it was poetry.

  “Hello, are you still there?”

  I clear my throat, knowing full well my voice might sound like I just hit puberty if I don’t. “Yeah, sorry. So, I’m guessing you worked out a time to show her the property then?”

  “I was going to call you as soon as she got back to me. That’s the thing, she needs until Saturday to think about it.”

  “She needs to think on it. Am I hearing you correctly?”

  “Yes, you are. I’m just as shocked as you are.”

  “Alright, keep me posted.”

  “Absolutely. Take Care.”

  “Yeah, you, too.”

  This woman is fast becoming quite the conundrum, and I find that to be even more enticing, but I’m also confounded as to why she didn’t set up a showing immediately. This rental house is over twice her actual budget, and she didn’t strike me as a woman who didn’t understand what had fallen into her lap. The odds are the same as snow falling in Florida… in August.

  I need to leave now, or I’ll continue to sit here. Tomorrow I’ll know better what I’m dealing with and how to fix it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Seth

  It’s about a quarter after eight when I pull into one of the parking spaces directly in front of Graffiti’s. I decided on an earlier time before this place gets packed, so I could tour the bar with Trish. But knowing her the way I do, she’s most likely already inside starting without me with a purse filled with fabric swatches. After she catches a glimpse of Jim’s office, and that crazy ass painting hanging in there, she may run out the front doors like there’s a fire alarm going off.

  There’s maybe a dozen people sitting at different tables around the room and an older gentleman, nicely dressed, perched on a barstool. A cute blonde behind the bar is chatting it up with him enthusiastically by the way her hands are moving and the huge smile on her face. I don’t see Trish, but I’m a bit early, and if she’s in the back already, I’ll leave her to it.

  I approach the bar and sit a couple of stools over from the man, I nod at him before sitting, and he lifts his drink up. The same bartender immediately walks over to me with a friendly smile on her face.

  “Happy, Cinco de Mayo! What can I get you?”

  “You, too. Hey, nice shirt.” I say, then laugh at her shirt that says, “Juan a drink? It’s Cinco de Mayo!”

  She giggles loudly. “I bought a silly Cinco shirt for each person who works here, including my boyfriend, who obviously loves me beyond what I ever thought, let’s put it that way. Now, what’s your poison?”

  This one is adorable with her blue eyes shining with mischief. “In the spirit of the occasion, how about a Margarita.”

  “You got it.” She fills the shaker with ice, tequila, and triple Sec, followed by lime juice and shakes it over her shoulder. Turning the glass over, she circles the rim with a cut piece of lime and dips it into a small dish of salt before pouring the liquid in. She finishes it off with a lime for garnish and places it in front of me.

  “Thank you, looks great.” I take a sip. “Tastes great, too.”

  “Why, thank you, kind sir.” She curtsies at the same time.

  I see the blonde look at something or someone over my shoulder and smile. “Well, look who finally decided to take me up on my open invitation.” I stand and turn to see Mike standing there.

  We shake hands, do the one second, one shoulder hug-like move that most guys do, followed up with him slapping me hard on the back for effect.

  “Holy shit, man, love the fuckin’ shirt,” I say with a huge grin on my face. His shirt says, ‘I’m a hot Tamale.’

  “I’d wear a fuckin’ burlap sack onesie for my girl, Brook, and you know how itchy that material is.”

  “Aww, thanks, honey,” she says with both of her hands over her heart.

  I laugh at the horrible visual. “Yeah, don’t ever do that, not even in the name of love.”

  He laughs. “What brings you to these here parts?” He says in the worst country accent I’ve ever heard.

  “Funny you should ask. You’re now looking at the new owner of this here establishment,” I say, minus the country accent.

  “No, shit? That’s awesome, Seth.” He slides onto the stool right next to me.

  The little blonde’s eyes go wide. “You’re the Adonis?”

  Confused by her reference. “The what?”

  “Never mind, it’s so nice to meet you, I’m Brook Adler.”

  “Seth Vastola. My pleasure, I’ve heard all good things about you from Mike.”

  “You better have,” she says while winking at Mike. “Do you know Mike from the Gym?”

  “I do.”

  “Seth, how are you?” Trish says from behind me. “You’ve given me quite the challenge, but I believe you’re well aware.”

  I stand up and hug her. We’ve known each other for many years. “That I have. You’re still here, so that’s a positive sign.”

  She laughs and weaves her arm through mine. “I can’t say that I’ve seen worse because I haven’t.

  I laugh. “I don’t doubt that for a minute. Trish, I’d like you to meet Mike and his girlfriend, Brook.”

  “Yes, Mike and I met briefly when I came in earlier.” She reaches across the bar to shake Brook’s hand.

  I gesture to Trish with my thumb, “This lady is going to make this bar look like a million bucks when she’s done with it.”

  “After what I just witnessed, it’s going to cost you more than that, and I haven’t even finished looking around. Shall we?”

  “Absolutely. Mike, Brook, excuse me for a few, will you?” We take a few steps back.

  “Sure, boss,” Mike says while getting up.

  “And where are you taking my brother?” I hear Vee say. “He needs to buy me a drink first.” I give her a big hug, which ultimately lifts her tiny frame off the ground.

  “Behave,” I whisper in her ear smiling.

  “Neva,” She whispers back.

  “Mike, I don’t thi
nk you’ve met my sister, Sylvia. Sylvia, Mike.”

  Mike smiles warmly and gently shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you. I now see who got the good looks out of the two of you.”

  Vee lets go of his hand. “I like him, Seth, he’s a smart man, I can already tell. Sorry, Trish, hi, it’s always great to see you.” She gives her a quick hug, then slides onto the stool I just got up from.

  The guy who was here the day I met with Jim comes over just as she does.

  “Happy Cinco! Can I get you guys a drink?” He turns toward me with recognition on his face.

  “You’re the guy who was here to see Jim.” More of a statement than a question.

  “That I am. The names, Seth.”

  He reaches from behind the bar, and I move closer to accept his shake.

  “Nice to meet you, I’m Nate.”

  “Oh my God,” my sister yells like a cheerleader, “I love your shirt!” my sister says.

  His shirt says, ‘DTF—Down to Fiesta.’

  “And this little fireball would be my sister, Sylvia,” I say with pride.

  Vee rolls her eyes, “So nice to meet you, Nate. Could I have a Tequila Sunrise, please?”

  Mike chimes in. “Nate, you know you just met the new owner of Graffiti’s and his sister just now.”

  Eyes wider than saucers, he replies. “I knew it! I told everybody you had something to do with the takeover. So, does that mean we still have jobs?”

  “Without a doubt,” I say before I walked away with Trish to see what my investment looks like up close and personal.

  Merissa

  I’m running a few minutes late because I couldn’t find my keychain with every important key imaginable on it and that thing is sizable for this very reason. After going nuts, I remembered I had switched purses last night, so there it was, in the other discarded purse on the floor of the closet.

  While locking the door at the bottom of the staircase, Brook marches over to me with an empty tray in her hands.

  I breathe heavily. “So sorry I got hung up. I couldn’t find my key and—”

  Brook interrupts the rest of my sentence and talks in a loud whisper. “Never mind the key, the owner is out there, and he is hotter than an egg on a tin roof.”

  “Shut up! Where is he?” I try to peep around the room without making it obvious that I’m searching for him in particular.

  The two of us stride across the room to the bar. “He’s with, get this, his interior decorator. They must be in Jim’s office by now if they haven’t already gotten swallowed up by the monster made from his shit in there.” Brook walks away with a full tray of drinks.

  I say hello to Mr. Huxley before I step behind the bar. “You look dapper tonight, Mr. Huxley.”

  “Is that one of them Titanic quotes you two are always saying?”

  He’s so darn adorable and as sharp as a tack. “No, but would you rather I use one of the quotes to describe your appearance instead?”

  “Sure, let’s hear it.”

  “’You shine up like a new penny,’” Mr. Huxley.”

  He doesn’t respond right away. “That’s good stuff, kiddo.”

  “Don’t I know it. You and the Mrs. should watch it sometime. Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thanks, this old man is going to stay for just a while longer since it’s the Cinco de Mayo.”

  He says Mayo like the condiment and I have to stifle my laugh.

  Nate grabs my hand and kisses it. “Girl, where have you been? The new boss is here in all his fine glory. You also missed meeting his sister—and she’s also blessed in the looks department, I might add.”

  Damn you missing key.

  I sigh. “I get it, Nathan, he’s some kind of god, but I’m more worried about our jobs right now.”

  “You’ll still have them.” A deep voice replies, and I slowly find myself staring into two familiar arctic blue eyes. What are the odds that the man that has the leading role in my fantasies would be standing in front of me? Yet, I can’t win even a scratch-off ticket

  I could barely register what he just said, too busy drinking him in like I just got back from a hike in the Sonoran Desert and he’s a bottle of Gatorade. I can’t say for sure how long I did a commentary of his face in my head, but when I came back from the living dead, he continued staring at me, this time with a knowing sideways smirk.

  I brush my now sweaty palms on my pants. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  Nathan steps away to take an order at the end of the bar mumbling something that I’m sure has to do with the chubby boy, Cupid, who flew onto my shoulder, aimed and ready.

  “How about I introduce myself first since we’ll be dealing with each other… often. I’m Seth Vastola, the new owner, and what I said was that you still have them, meaning all of your jobs.”

  The worry over my job hidden in my brain’s anterior insula did a heel-click jump. And yes, I paid attention in Biology class. I internally relax the part of my brain that was worried about it, but I respond more casually than I actually feel, which is ecstatic, “Good to know. I’m Marissa Manolas. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Even though we’ve met, and I could have described you in detail to a police sketch artist before tonight.

  He reaches his large hand toward me, so I follow his lead. He accepts mine in a gentle grip and holds it for three seconds—because I counted with a Mississippi in between each number.

  “It’s nice to officially meet you outside of Perks.”

  Rats, he remembers.

  Mr. Huxley taps me on the shoulder, and I’m thankful for the much-needed interruption so that I could at least exhale. “I’m getting out of here, Merissa. Geez Louise, this place is getting too busy for this old fart.”

  I genuinely laugh at my dear Mr. Huxley. “Before you go, meet the new owner of Graffiti’s, Mr. Vastola.”

  “Well, now, you seem like a classy young fellow, not like the degenerate that sold it to you,” he says while shaking hands with Seth. “Ah, nice firm handshake, too. You could tell a lot from a man’s handshake, you know? If it’s a strong one, it’s from a man you can trust.”

  “Thank you, appreciate that. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Huxley.” Seth’s voice is full of genuine warmth.

  “Same, here, kid,” he says as he waves his hand in farewell.

  Okay, where was I before Seth turned my brain into couscous. Work, yes, work. I need to do some so that he doesn’t change his mind if he sees me slacking. “Well, I need to get to work. Congratulations, by the way.” I turn around hoping I can walk away without tripping or worse.

  He calls out to my back. “Thanks, of course, don’t let me keep you.”

  Oh, you could definitely keep me.

  I call back without looking at him. “Have a good night, Sonny.”

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Did I really just blurt that out again like the first time I met him?

  By the deep chuckle I hear while I walk away, that would be an affirmative. I need to make a note to my irrational self, the one that gets a sudden onset of word vomit. He has a girlfriend, and from this day forward, their relationship will taunt me at every corner because Seth is the forbidden fruit. The unblemished red apple among the unripe ones.

  We’re always drawn to what is unattainable, craving the forbidden, willing to get bit by a venomous snake in the process. Only, I’ve been bitten so many times that I’m afraid the supply of antivenom has run dry.

  I reach for the tray from behind the bar and begin collecting empty glasses. Taking a few drink orders as I go, I watch as Seth stops to talk to Mike before walking out the door with a confident stride and straight posture. Maybe now that he’s gone, I can take natural breaths.

  Brook pours three beers from the tap and puts them on her tray. “Holy crap, Rissy, Mike told me he knew Seth for like, months from the gym. Says he’s a good guy.”

  I glance at table fours’ order on the receipt and start making their selection of mixed drinks. “Yeah, well, I’ve go
t one better. Remember the Sonny story I told you about at lunch the day before yesterday?”

  “How could I forget, what about it?”

  “He’s Sonny, Brook.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Seth

  What in the ever-loving hell just happened tonight? Merissa is now my employee? And as of tomorrow, I’m predicting, I’ll be paying a share of her rent every month. That is some twisted-up cosmos shit right there.

  I did my best to rope in my reaction when I saw her talking to Nate at the bar. She was standing there with worry lines across her forehead and a pout on her full lips.

  She looked so fuckin’ gorgeous.

  The moment she put two and two together in her head, she’d tried to play it off like we’d never met, but I saw the way she twirled her hair in her fingers and refrained from eye contact. I’d rather enjoyed her discomfort. That could only mean that I mattered to her somehow. That maybe, I left an impression on her that day, just like she had on me.

  When Mr. Huxley was leaving, I saw her momentarily let her guard down, showing a tiny window into her personality. And when I heard her laugh, it was the kind that could inspire a poet.

  She called me Sonny again, but all I kept thinking was that I wanted to hear my name come from her sweet mouth, to hear if it would sound breathy rolling off her tongue, which, then, lead to other thoughts about what else she could do with her tongue.

  My head tilted back onto the seat’s headrest when a popular song about secrets plays. It brings to mind how secrets are meant to be shared in order for a person to feel authentic again. I’m of the opinion that nearly everyone has at least one, but the cost of keeping a secret, or several secrets, is loneliness. You’re left all alone with the burden and responsibility. It’s like trying to push a car up a steep hill in neutral. It’s laborious and exhausting.

  As I listen to the words, I wonder what secrets she could be keeping.

  * * *

  I press the portable intercom on my desk. I seriously hate this fucker and its inventor. Don’t get me wrong, it serves its purpose, but hearing Janine’s already piercing voice bounce off the walls several times a day wreaks havoc on my sanity.