Once Upon A Midnight

by Stephanie Rowe

  My face feels heavy with unshed tears. Tears I have held at bay longer than I realize.

  Darla’s emotion-filled words seem delivered on a cloud. “Do you feel exceptionally warm right now? Not hot, but loved?”

  I nod, barely able to utter yes.

  “Look to where you feel love strongest.”

  Tears seep out as I close my eyes, preparing for a vision I didn’t realize I have prayed years to see. I turn to the passenger seat, and upon opening them, a hint of a woman comes into view. My face burns with hope, love, and gratitude as I set sights on a beautiful face I have long missed. “Hi GranGran,” comes out so softly I only know I have said it because she smiles in return.

  Upon hearing my sobs, Darla asks, “Do you see her sitting there, looking like a modern-day twenty-year-old, ready to take on the world?”

  I fear wiping away the tears obscuring my vision for fear the image will disappear. When I muster the courage to dry them, GranGran not only becomes clear, I find her as a lovely woman with long brown hair and hazel eyes with hints of lines around them. “No, she looks about my age—like a modern, determined woman nearing forty, ready to take on the world.”

  “Then she is making a point of saying she is right there with you, helping you begin a new life.”

  GranGran’s tears and smile match mine. I’ve missed her so much. I’d give anything to hug her again. “GranGran, did you really once say I would need to get lost to come home?”

  Her lips pinch together as she swallows back the emotion she is trying to keep in control. Rapidly she nods, and there isn’t a doubt in my mind she also wants to tell me I’m finding my path to happiness.

  Darla’s voice hitches as she says, “Yeah, and with that bond, you can move on as if you never missed a beat.”

  Air locks in my throat. GranGran always knew what everyone needed. Decades after her departure from this earth, she still knows.

  Sobs bring tears rushing down my face, darkening my vision, yet the path before me shines. “I know what I was supposed to do with my life now. I didn’t before, but it is clear now.”

  “Which is why you never made efforts to open that school,” Darla says, sounding like a sage.

  I smear away tears with the sleeve of my sweater and sniffle back the pain of how I have disappointed myself. I have no room for that anymore. “I need to listen to GranGran and come home.”

  “Are you saying what I hope you are?” Darla asks. “It needs to come from you.”

  The noose I have felt around my throat drops off, and my words flow without apprehension. “I’m coming home—to Los Angeles and to myself!”

  Darla lets out a howl. “I’ll start cleaning out that closet my landlord claims is a second bedroom. There is no way I am letting you move back in with Mom and Dad. They get so clingy, in a week you will either be off to the funny farm or begging to move in with me anyway.”

  I feel so much relief that I laugh. My thank you is aimed at both of them. GranGran raises her hand for a high five, and when I join her, for the briefest moment we latch on to each other. The sensation of touch travels through my hand and enrobes me in a hug of stardust I sense in some ways will last a lifetime.

  GranGran’s lips mouth “I love you”, and she fades before I can return the sentiment. While seeing her go brings pain to my heart, she has left me so full of joy and resolve, my mind refuses to go off track—almost as if she is telling me what to say and to say it aloud. “Now I need to find a job that won’t suck me in so I can focus on taking business courses. If I am going to become a freelance beauty consultant, I need to know how to market myself and balance the books. I’ve got major changes ahead. Big, scary, exciting, heart-racing changes, and I can’t freakin’ wait!”

  Darla’s voice rings into my ear. “Umm, I hesitate to suggest this, but I might have the answer. We are almost ready to get that dating service going, so I am about to give notice. A crappy job answering phones for a place famous for making the worst candy known to man will definitely not suck you into getting comfortable. I’m pretty sure all I need to do is say the word and my old job is yours.”

  For some reason, having to pay off whatever balance remains on my lease no longer sounds scary. Happiness is more important than my pocketbook. “Sign me up! I’ll send you my resume tonight. Meanwhile, I’ve got a lease to break. See you soon!”

  Home to Los Angeles! To the people I love! I can’t believe it! While I appreciate all my career here has given me, the only thing I will really miss is Katherine, but with her job, she spends a solid chunk of her life in LA anyway. This is perfect!

  I blow a kiss to heaven. Thank you for loving me, GranGran. Even though you are with me, I will always miss you.

  #

  My tires screech as I round the last corner and swoop into the lot of my apartment complex. I am out of this lease, even if it means going into debt.

  After parking in my spot and slamming the car door, I make across the lot for the house-like office sitting to the side of a trio of two-story buildings, each holding four apartments. While recently I have trudged through this lot with steps of dread, today my stride bounds.

  A bell dings as I push open the office door. I’m plunged into a tiny, wood-panel lined room containing a metal desk. One wall is covered with a dozen calendars, each turned to different months and sporting photos of puppies and kittens begging me to scoop them into my arms. Mrs. Grady nearly sings, “Be right there.” The smile it brings reminds me this quest isn’t only about fixing my life; it is also about being happy.

  She dashes out looking like the perfectly hip great-grandmother she is by sporting a bejeweled, lavender tracksuit. As usual, her short, blond hair is curled and sprayed into place so perfectly if I didn’t know how to tell the difference, I would swear she is wearing a wig.

  Shoot, I’m still not sure she isn’t. It is that perfect.

  Her singsong style of speech continues. “Hi, Bailey! Do you two have more questions for me?”

  “Questions?”

  “I went over everything with Carlos a few days ago but … ” She shakes her head and sighs like she wants to call him an idiot. “The poor boy seemed a tad confused.” Glee hits her eyes, and she chuckles. “Then again, the good-looking ones always are!”

  Carlos was checking on the lease? Maybe he bailed! Could I get that lucky? No, and the stress of knowing I have to deal with him tonight shoots my words through my teeth. “Well, when it comes to stereotypes of stupid men, Carlos fits the bill. Would you please give me the rundown on where we stand?”

  She flaps her hand my way. “Oh, sure. When your lease expired you went month-to-month. All I need is thirty-days notice and you’re set. Your deposit gets refunded after any damages are repaired, which usually takes under a week.”

  The lease already expired? The inner me bounces and squeals, then holds its breath. “Do we both need to give notice or will just one of us do?”

  “Since you both signed a revised lease when he moved in, I need written notice from both of you, else the other is liable for at least another month.”

  Oh, this is interesting. “Did Carlos give notice when he talked to you on … Gosh, when was it you had that conversation?” I’m betting she says yesterday, the day after Carlos and I had it out over the iPad.

  “Yesterday. And no, he said he looks forward to being here with you for a long time.”

  Yep, he must be pooping boulders over how I can bail at any moment.

  Mrs. Grady’s eyes shift before her arms whip into a fold. Her voice is as scrutinizing as her expression. “In fact, something about him seemed a little shady.” She gives me a once over before her words come out with the gusto of an aunt busting you. “I know your personal life is none of my business, but your comment about stereotypes was a tipoff. Spill!”

  Oh, she is good.

  I’m not one to dish my drama, but dammit, I’ve had it. “That money-mooching man tart has been fantasy-banging pre-teen wannabes! Oh! And he has done
it while hiding the fact his secret bank account is about to run dry. Now he’s panicking that I’ll kick him out and he’ll be screwed.” I toss up my hands. “Ha! Kick him out? I wish! The deadbeat won’t leave!”

  Mrs. Grady doesn’t look at all surprised as she wags her finger at me. “Girlfriend, you have got to ditch that loser and do it now!”

  “No shit!” Crap! Did I really sailor-mouth a woman who is in her eighties, if she is a day? Actually, she is probably more resilient than I am. “That’s why I am here. I’m giving notice for the end of next month. That gives Carlos nearly six weeks to find a job so he can pay rent thereafter. I made the full deposit when I moved in, so if he sticks around and you have to evict him, you’re still covered for yet another four weeks.”

  Again I get a hand flapped at me. “Oh, screw that! You need to get away from that ass canoe. Do you have a place you can go now?”

  “I sure do, and if my sister gets sick of me, I’ll beg Mom to take her sewing stuff out of my old room. Actually, it wouldn’t take much begging. She would probably roll out the red carpet.” I’d do it, too. Mom can’t drive me any crazier than Carlos does.

  “Honey, I will make you a deal. Backdate your notice and leave before the end of the month. When the first rolls around in a couple of weeks, I will tell Carlos to pay up or go. If he causes a stink, I’ll let the police remove him. As long as he doesn’t trash the place, you’ll get your deposit back with the exception of the cost to repaint and clean the carpets. If you can somehow get him to repaint to earn his keep, we will call it good and you will get every penny back.”

  Carlos paint? Yeah right! However, staying through the end of the month so I can collect another paycheck, along with getting my twenty-five hundred dollar deposit back, would put me slightly ahead. Could I possibly make this work? Mrs. Grady is an angel, but does she realize she is putting herself out on a limb? “Rent isn’t past due until the tenth. That means you may be stuck with him over a week without getting money in return.”

  She is quick to let me know her mind. “When you start pushing ninety and looking toward Heaven, you will see it is long past time to rack up all the karma you can. Now get your hiney out of here! While you are at it, don’t forget to grab your self-esteem.”

  My self-esteem is along for the ride all right. Right now, it is pushing through my throat and shoving me forward. “Got a pen so I can declare my independence?”

  With swift movements, she slips me a pen and paper. Now I need to figure out how to escape without Carlos catching on, else I may come home to find that weasel has long left with my stuff. I’d be less than shocked, since he is five hundred dollars short of broke and can’t afford flashy hotels for his suckers—I mean, for his female companions who are as stupid as I am—anymore.

  I hand over my official notice, appropriately backdated. Mrs. Grady double pats my arm. “Well, dear, you let me know if there is anything I can do to help. Sly dogs like Carlos think we are too dumb to outfox them, which makes it all the more glorious when we do.”

  The gears in my head go from a spin to a whirl. I’ll outfox him all right, and I will do it while getting my deposit back!

  This Nearly Was Mine

  DALE

  Brandon sits across from me, chin in hand, eyes searching the hotel bar, and wondering why he flew across the continent to spend his weekend with me.

  His hand drops to the table. Brandon’s cocked head and locked glare scream he wants to rip the phone out of my hands. I actually wish he would. Traveling on business for weeks on end sucks enough; having to take lame call after lame call on a Saturday night is ridiculous. Given my workload though, I can’t find how to avoid it. While yesterday I delivered a contract putting me on the verge of closing a deal that will nearly force the big shots to promote me into their ranks, I’m still expected to stay on top of my own team. I need more hours in the day.

  Screw that. I need to get promoted so I can go back to having one job instead of also picking up my counterpart’s pieces in Canada.

  “Is this how you treat your dates?” Brandon asks, sounding uncharacteristically sharp. “No wonder why you don’t have a girl friend.”

  I kind of wish he’d grab this thing and flush it, since I don’t have the cojones to do it myself. Man, when did I become the damsel awaiting a savior? Instead of ending the call, I cover the mouthpiece. “Well, it is rather dark in here. Kind of romantic, don’t you think?” I wink and air kiss him. Gross, but watching him nearly squirm out of his seat is worth the creep factor.

  “Gah!”

  I expect to get hit with a retort. Instead, he jitters his foot, going faster and faster in a race with itself. He’s also gazing down out of the corner of his eyes, like his vision is locked on an image only he can see. With a sudden jerk, he reaches for his beer and knocks about a third down. He has a right to be pissed. I’ve been on this phone too damn long. I cut the call.

  “What are you in the mood for tonight?” I casually ask.

  His eyes lock on the TV across the room. “Whatever. You’re in charge.”

  That will be the day.

  I wait for the usual disclaimer stating anything sleazy, strip clubs, and pick-up places are off the table, but it doesn’t follow. It takes a lot to really get to Brandon, so while he may be pissed, he may also be messing with me to make sure he really has my attention.

  With a thunderous clap of my hands, I play into his game. “Okay, after we finish here, we’ll head down the block. There’s a little restaurant with some of the cutest waitresses. It’s also ladies night over at The Gin Joint. The pickings seem to be slim there though, so—”

  “If you’re only out to hook up, why not head straight to the place where the odds are in our favor?”

  What the—

  Nice try. That straightforward tone actually had me for a second, but the lack of eye contact reinforces the game concept. If he looks at me, he’ll lose his straight face. I can keep playing, too. “That’s my man! I didn’t know you had it in ya!”

  With a smile that pops off as fast as it went on, he taps his beer to mine and polishes it off before flagging down the waitress for another round. My perspective shifts. Brandon isn’t exactly a saint, but warped halo or not, his glassy eyes are screaming something isn’t right. “Hey,” I say, “I know it’s just beer, but you gotta pace yourself.”

  His gaze stays diverted. “Pick a place so we can go load up.”

  My eyes narrow in on him. “I’ve never seen you load up. You know, for all the time we’ve spent in bars, you’ve never been close to wasted. That’s another thing I didn’t know you had in you. In fact, I’m rather skeptical now.”

  “Well, there’s a first for everything. Where are we headed? Pick the place where you’ve had the best luck, and that’s where we’ll go.” His second beer arrives, and he is sure to get the last drop out of the first one before handing the waitress the bottle.

  My body feels dragged into muck. I only wish Brandon were pissed. His silent scream of forced optimism under a shield of survival tells the real score. He is a book—a closed, curled one.

  He’s a runner, evading his personal nightmare.

  Now I understand why he is here—to turn into me. People tried to call me out when I got like that, but all I did was deny there was a problem. I challenge him to prove the real Brandon is still in its shell. “Let’s head over to The Gold Club.”

  He toasts, “To The Gold Club,” and takes a swig while my suggestion sinks in. “Hold on. Is that a strip joint?”

  “Yep. A strip joint with a buffet, so we can go straight there.”

  His eyes widen, and my friend pushes the inner demon aside so he can speak for himself. “Food? You pick up girls in a strip joint? I thought the only girls you could pick up there were hookers, and I know you refuse to pay for it.”

  Now we are getting somewhere. “I thought you were only out for a good time. And yes, food. The place is aimed at businessmen. You’d be surprised by the number o
f deals that go down there.” His eyebrow cocks. I suspect his stomach may have turned as well. “Legitimate deals. What I shell out at those places I get back ten-fold in commission.” Now my stomach sours, because I have essentially called myself out as a pimp for helping women sell themselves so I can make money.

  Brandon seems stunned back into being himself, yet his foot won’t stop pounding on the gas. “I may be open to a lot of things,” his words sound like a warning, “but if I’m going to hook up with someone, I hope she has some kind of interest other than my pocketbook. Besides, I don’t get why guys are willing to get hard-ons while their business partners watch. How often do you wait for your client while he is in the bathroom?”

  Images of my experience with Kyle a few nights back come to mind. Although the thought creeps me out, melancholy hits, wondering if Sable managed to swing an interview at the jazz club. How I may never know makes me feel disconnected from the world.

  I can’t slip out of the game. Brandon’s touchiness reminds me of when I first saw Fedora Guy. Amber’s memory has always haunted Brandon, but I’ve never seen him this far gone. Something more is getting to him. I need to stay in the game and kick Brandon’s butt back into shape, else he may wind up more broken than he is.

  Broken like me.

  For years I wanted him to loosen up. Now that he is threatening to, I’m going to slam on his brakes. He won’t get this way, and my tone demands it. “Okay, Wayne. Cut the crap. What’s going on?”

  “I’m here for a good time, remember?”

  If he wanted a good time, his jaw would not be so tight it is nearly locked. I lean in and bust him. “Yeah, you may be here, but where is the real Brandon Wayne? I’ve never seen him even remotely interested in picking up someone. Besides, you, whomever you may be, have both tone and body language more geared towards kicking someone’s ass than partying.”