by Hebby Roman
Her father lounged in his big easy chair in the living room, reading the newspaper. It was a typical evening at home, except classes hadn’t started up yet after spring break, so she didn’t need to rush off and study. She missed studying, though. Or maybe she missed having each hour of each day filled. When you were busy all the time, it left little time to think.
She rubbed the back of her neck and wriggled her shoulders to loosen the tension. She’d worked long hours at the resort, and she should be ready to fall into bed and sleep, but she’d been having trouble sleeping lately. And tonight was more of the same. She just didn’t feel drowsy. The evening stretched before her. Maybe she should go to the gym and work out. That might dissipate some of her pent-up energy.
Bracing her hands on the sink’s edge, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Who was she fooling? Her pent-up tension had nothing to do with sleep or the lack of it. She remembered an old movie she’d seen on late night television, entitled, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.” She could definitely empathize with Maggie, the heroine. Adriana was just as sexually frustrated as the character—a condition foreign to her.
It had to be about sex. Otherwise, why did she think about Rafael day and night? He invaded her thoughts, even when she was working, even when she should have been busy and content. Several times during the past two days, she’d caught herself staring at the wall in her office—doing nothing, just staring, and thinking of Rafael.
It was enough to drive her loco.
Just saying the Spanish word in her head made her smile and reminded her of Rafael. Not like everything didn’t already remind her of him. What the heck was wrong with her? He’d satisfied her that day on the quilt, but it hadn’t been enough—she wanted more.
Gripping the sink edge tighter, she opened her eyes and shook her head. Everything reminded her of Rafael, and not just sexual things, either.
She remembered how his dark brown eyes lit up when he laughed, how he combed his hand through his hair when he was nervous, how he stroked her face or hair to comfort her, and how he listened, really listened, when she spoke. None of that had anything to do with sex.
Was sex all she wanted from Rafael? She wasn’t even certain if she wanted that, knowing he expected more from her. Which was ironic, to say the least. Usually it was the woman who wanted more, and the man was content with a one-night stand. But not Rafael, not her Rafael.
Could she be falling in love with him?
The thought terrified her. She wasn’t ready, not nearly ready. She hadn’t finished graduate school, and after that, she wanted to find a really great job and get established in her career. Love and marriage had to wait until later, until the proper time, when they didn’t interfere with her ambitions.
“Adriana,” her father called from the other room. “Come here. I want to show you something.”
She did as he asked, switching off the light in the kitchen. Her father held out the paper, turned to the want ads. Seeing the ads, she knew why he’d called to her. Her stomach twisted into knots. She didn’t like arguing with him because he got angry, and when he got angry his blood pressure rose. And besides, they’d been over this ground too many times to count.
She stood behind his chair. “Yes, Papá.”
“See this?” He pointed at a half-page advertisement for management trainees with master’s degrees. “There’s plenty of work here after you finish school. You don’t have to move away.”
She knew there was work in Vegas, but she had no desire to remain in her hometown for several reasons, not the least of which was that ninety percent of the jobs were in casino management. Gaming wasn’t a bad industry to work in, and it had provided her father a good living. But she’d seen the industry inside and out, and she craved a new challenge.
And, if she stayed in Vegas, her father would expect her to remain at home. Not that she minded living at home, but sometimes she felt suffocated by his powerful presence and expectations. He was a good man, and she loved him, but she couldn’t live with him forever. She had to strike out on her own someday.
Tonight wasn’t the time to take him on. She didn’t want to disagree with him. In fact, she needed to talk with him. And she couldn’t do that if they’d argued first.
“Yes, Papá, I know there are jobs here. Good jobs.”
He glanced up at her and frowned. “Well, I’m glad you finally agree.” He cleared his throat. “At least, that’s settled. Good. I feel better.”
Adriana gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. That was so like her father. She hadn’t agreed to find a job in Vegas, only that there were jobs available. But that didn’t stop him from jumping to the next conclusion, the answer he wanted to hear—that she would remain at home, a dutiful daughter, and live as he wanted her to live.
Sighing, she realized she’d spent her life trying to please him, but it was never enough. So why did she want to talk to him about Rafael? Her father would never understand.
No, he wouldn’t understand. But he might be able to give her additional insight, help to organize her muddled thoughts. She could listen to his opinion but keep her own counsel. And she had to talk to somebody, or she would fly into a thousand little pieces. She didn’t have a close girlfriend.
Her father shook out the paper and started reading again, having made his point. She pulled up a footstool and sat at his feet.
He lowered the paper a few inches. “Yes, m’ija. Did you want to tell me something?”
So she’d gotten his attention. Her hands started to perspire. How to begin? Heck, she might as well plunge right in.
“I met a man at the Xanadu, Papá, and I like him.”
His thick, black eyebrows lifted, and he pursed his lips. “So? In your job, you meet many men, but I’ve raised you to be careful. And the men you meet are unsavory, Adriana. Gamblers, womanizers, lowlifes, you know that. We’ve talked about it many times.”
“Yes, I know we have. But this man is different. He’s not a high roller.” She hesitated. She wasn’t about to admit how Rafael had “played at” being a high roller. Her father would condemn him without listening to how Rafael took responsibility for the stunt.
“So, he’s not a high roller. But he must be a tourist, staying at the resort. He’ll be gone in a few days. We’ve spoken of this, also.”
“He doesn’t live here, of course. But he’s not just another tourist. He’s here on business. He’s—”
“Does ‘he’ have a name?”
“Of course.” Thinking about Rafael, her face heated. Why was she blushing? She shouldn’t blush, or her father might guess her secret thoughts. She prayed that the subdued lighting would conceal her reaction.
“Yes, his name is Rafael Escobedo.”
“Ah, a Latino.”
“He’s a Mexican-American from Texas.”
“I don’t know much about Mexican-Americans, except that many are poor and uneducated, and often day laborers.”
“Oh, not all, Papá. He’s well-educated and a college professor,” she explained. “He’s here to interview with UNLV for a position.”
“A professor!” He exclaimed. “That’s worse than a day laborer. At least, a day laborer’s work is honest. They earn their keep from the sweat of their brows.”
Astounded at her father’s reaction, she started to jump to Rafael’s defense. But before she could speak, her father threw the paper aside and got up.
Towering over her, he said, “Forget him. He’s beneath you, Adriana.” He shook his index finger at her. “Remember the saying: ‘Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach.’ And remember this, too, with all that learning, this Rafael should be ashamed of himself. On a teacher’s salary, he won’t be able to provide for his family. If he’s so well-educated, he should be in a career where he can make money. Not teaching.”
He cleared his throat again and shook his head. His features softened, and he leaned down to kiss her forehead. “There are plenty of men, Adriana, any number who would be
grateful to be associated with you. But you’re young. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t put the cart before the horse. Your career comes first.”
He dismissed her with, “Buenos noches, m’ija. Sleep tight.”
She fisted her hands and felt her manicured nails bite into her palms. She should have known how her father would react. She’d accomplished nothing. He’d cut her off before she’d even begun to explain her feelings and confusion. But that shouldn’t surprise her. He’d never allowed her to speak her feelings. Why had she been so foolish as to think he would now?
Chapter Seven
“Hey, what are you doing?” It was Rafael’s voice on the phone.
A sensation of warmth spread through Adriana at the sound of his voice. Since she’d come to work this afternoon, she hadn’t been able to concentrate, waiting for him to call or text, wondering if he would. Considering the way she’d treated him on Saturday, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t.
“Hey, yourself. How are you?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Really? That’s good.” She paused, wondering if he would discuss his interview. But she couldn’t contain her excitement. “Okay, I’ll cry uncle. I’m dying of curiosity. How did your interview go?”
He chuckled. “Pretty well, I think. At least, I got past the first interview. They want me to come back in a couple of weeks and meet with the president of the university.”
“Oh, Rafael,” she squealed, “that’s wonderful!”
And she meant it. Joy bubbled inside of her, delight for him, for his success. It was a strange sensation, this sharing of happiness. She couldn’t remember sharing her feelings with anyone, except her mother.
“I’m glad you’re happy for me.” His deep voice reverberated over the phone, making chills run up and down her spine. She closed her eyes and wished herself in his arms with his mouth pressed against hers and . . .
“And there’s more. The Dean of Humanities was impressed by my credentials. I’m under consideration to head up their new multicultural department.”
“That’s a promotion, isn’t it?”
He laughed. “Yes, it’s quite a step up. I’m not even tenured yet. Heading up a department is beyond my wildest dreams.”
“You deserve it, Rafael. You know you deserve it.” She felt so proud of him.
“Hey, I appreciate that. You’re kind of special, too, you know.” He hesitated. “I missed you, Adriana.”
She didn’t want to talk about him missing her or her missing him—that would open a Pandora’s box of emotions. Instead, she said, “We’ve got to celebrate tonight. You’ll be leaving tomorrow, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
She would have never thought that a simple one-syllable word could convey such sadness, such haunting regret. She’d missed him these past two days, and she would miss him when he went home. But she didn’t want to think about that now. They had tonight.
“What about tonight?” she asked.
He laughed again. “I could get used to this, you know. You asking me out. I like it, and I’m game. What do you want to do? Dinner and a show?”
“That’s fine, but this time, let me make the arrangements. Okay?”
“Sure, you did the asking.”
“See you in the lobby at eight.”
“I’m counting the hours.”
He wouldn’t be the only one.
#
They lingered over drinks in the lobby bar. For Rafael, it was obvious that neither one of them wanted the evening to end. They’d had a wonderful time, dining at an Italian restaurant and seeing the latest Cirque du Soleil show at the Bellagio.
“It’s getting late.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his.
“Do you have an early morning flight?”
“No, early afternoon. I mentioned the time because I was concerned about your schedule.”
“Tomorrow is a free day for me, one of the few. My classes haven’t started back yet, and it’s my day off from work.”
“I should have stayed one day longer.” He smiled and squeezed her hand and then let go.
“I would have liked that.”
“Really? I would have thought you’d rather see me off and away.” Why had he said that? It sounded so pathetic. Wanting to recover the moment, he snapped his fingers. “Here today, gone tomorrow.”
She stiffened and clasped her hands together, resting them on the table. “I don’t know what gave you that idea, Rafael. I’ve enjoyed your company. And I’m more than pleased about your job interview. I really hope you get the job.”
“So I can be here full time? Would we date if I lived here?”
“Of course, we’d see each other.”
“But not too much. You wouldn’t want to get involved, would you?”
She recoiled, pushing back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t think that’s a fair question, do you?”
“Answer a question with a question, that’s classic. And my question seems fair to me.” He ran his hand through his hair. He’d had enough cat-and-mouse games to last him a lifetime, and he was thoroughly sick of them. Sick and tired. Better to put his cards on the table.
“I used to think I was the silent, macho type. But I lost a fiancé that way, not noticing what she thought, or how she felt.” He picked up a cocktail napkin and started shredding it into long strips.
“My fiancé and I, we never talked much, because I was impatient with that kind of conversation.” He laughed. “I guess I’ve gotten older or changed or something. Anyway, now I want to talk about that stuff—you know, about emotions and feelings and ... stuff.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “Okay, so when our relationship started to fall apart, she never said a word. Not a word.” He snorted and tossed the strips of napkin onto the table. “She didn’t have to say anything. I got the message when she stood me up at the altar and ran off with one of my buddies.”
Adriana gasped.
“At least, I thought we were buddies. Evidently, he couldn’t talk to me, either.” He gazed directly into her eyes. “But that’s not going to happen again. I won’t lose someone I care about because I can’t communicate my feelings.”
Reaching across the table, she offered both her hands. He accepted her offering, savoring the feel of her slender fingers entwined with his own. It was obvious that she wanted to comfort him. And tonight she’d wanted to share his joy. It was a start. And at least, he’d finally gotten up the courage to explain where he was coming from.
Telling her about his fiancé’s rejection had been a calculated gamble. He might have turned her off completely, seeming like a pitiful figure. But as he searched the depths of her indigo eyes, he only saw warmth and concern there, not the slightest trace of pity.
“I’m so sorry, Rafael. It must have been terrible. How long ago did it happen?”
“Two years. But don’t feel sorry for me. The last thing I want is your pity. Losing my fiancé taught me a lesson. I’ll never hide my feelings again.” Leaning across the table, he loosed one hand from her grip and reached up to run the pad of his thumb down the sweetly curved line of her cheek. “That’s why it’s so important for me to know how you feel.” He paused and withdrew his hand. “I’ve tried to be open with you, letting you know that I care about you and want to see you again. And I’d like to know how you feel about me.”
She flinched then, and pulled back, freeing her other hand from his grip.
His heart ground to a stop, and his stomach clenched. Por Dios, he had his answer, and it definitely wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for. He guessed he should feel relieved to finally know, but he didn’t.
It was over. Better to end it quickly.
“I understand. Let me get the check.” Raising his hand, he signaled for the cocktail waitress.
“Wait,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “You didn’t let me tell you my feelings. I thought that’s what you wanted to know.”
“You don’t have to explain, Adriana. It’s obvious.”
“How?”
“Your face, your body, the way you reacted when I asked you.” He looked away. He didn’t want to argue. He wasn’t up for that. He just wanted to end it and go back to his room.
“Well, I’m glad you’re so perceptive, but I think you should allow me to talk. Otherwise, you don’t really believe what you said—that you want to know my feelings.”
“Speak. Talk,” he said. “I’m sorry I cut you off.”
But he wasn’t really sorry. Truth be known, he couldn’t take much more of this: her weirdo reactions and the barriers she threw up at a moment’s notice. It made him feel like a Crusader, throwing himself against an impregnable wall with flaming pitch being poured down on him. It was a silly analogy but that was the way he felt.
The cocktail waitress came with their check, and he paid it.
When the waitress had left, Adriana said, “I care about you, Rafael. And I’d like to see you again. Other than that, I can’t promise anything else.”
He let out his breath. Here it was finally, the truth. And he’d asked for it.
Better suck it up and take it like a man.
“I’ll be graduating in a few weeks. Then I want to find a promising job and concentrate on my career. My career has to come first, Rafael. That’s the way it is with me. There will be time for ... for ... other things later.”
“I see. And those other ‘things’—are you talking about love and marriage?”
She’s even afraid to say the damned words.
She blushed and ducked her head. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”
Well, that was that then. He knew where he stood ... nowhere. Gripping the table with both hands, he thought about arguing with her, trying to convince her that loving someone was more important than a hundred careers. But what good would that do? She had a right to her feelings.
“Let’s go,” he said. He got up and held her chair for her.
She glanced up at him, a kind of plea in her velvety blue eyes, but he hardened his heart and looked away, taking her arm and steering her from the crowded lounge. Expecting her to leave him in the lobby, he was surprised when she continued to cling to his arm. When they reached his bank of elevators, he gently disentangled himself and offered to shake hands.