Sizzle

by Whitley Green

  “Goodnight, Joelle.”

  9

  Joelle

  “Motherfucker!”

  I whisper it, because Dad still gets on to me for cussing in the house. You’d think even he would make exceptions for a pinky-toe-desk collision but I have reason to know this is not the case.

  It’s not even the first time I’ve stubbed that same damn toe today. I kick the leg of the desk with my uninjured foot, just because.

  It’s been that kind of a day.

  Days, really. Two days. Two days since that storm blew through town and I lost my goddamn mind and did something I shouldn’t have done.

  I cannot believe I did that.

  Even as the thought appears, the rational voice in my head starts in with It doesn’t matter now, don’t think about it. We’ll just go to work tomorrow like usual and pretend nothing happened.

  Because really, what else am I going to do? Alex didn’t ask for my number and I don’t have his. Maybe I’ll never see him again. And as for Elliot, he didn’t say a damn thing that night except—

  Except for the things he did say. But nothing else, and nothing since.

  Two of them. Two of them watching me get myself off as I dry humped Alex like a freaking horny teenager.

  I drop my head in my hands and groan.

  It was hot. It was so damned hot. It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me, big, strong Alex lifting me into his lap like I weighed nothing at all, rubbing me all over what promised to be a sizable erection.

  One I will likely never see thanks to a timely call from my dad, wondering why I was out so late after work.

  And Elliot, watching us the whole time. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him but he was there. I could feel him watching me, watching us.

  If he wants me, why doesn’t he just say so? But if he doesn’t, surely he wouldn’t have stayed the other night. And the two of them together…

  Just… just… what the hell?

  It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. All that matters is keeping my head down and getting my time in the kitchen. Otherwise, this has all been for nothing and Dad and I will be back to square one. It was foolish to put that at risk. Stupid, really stupid. Tomorrow I’ll apologize to Elliot before our meeting and we can just pretend it never happened.

  The absurdity strikes me then and I snort, even as I smack my own damn forehead. What exactly am I apologizing for again? Getting off on his best friend while Elliot watched?

  No, better just to pretend it never happened. And hope to God this doesn’t mean I’ve risked my job.

  The doorbell rings, yanking me off the train of thought that’s been driving me nuts for the last two days.

  “Joelle! There’s someone at the door!”

  “Coming, Dad.” It’s not like he doesn’t know I heard the doorbell or that he couldn’t get the door himself. I tamp down on the bubble of frustration before it grows. No time for that today. “It’s my friend from work, remember? She’s coming to spend a couple of hours with you today.”

  Dad sniffs as I cross to the front door.

  “I told you I don’t need some woman sitting here yapping at me all day,” he says, eyeing the door with disdain.

  “Just let me introduce you,” I say, trying to smile. “She’s great, I promise.”

  I open the door, pulling it wide when I see Connie standing on the step.

  “Morning, girlie,” she says. “Haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

  “Been busy,” I tell her, waving her in so I don’t have to elaborate. “Did you find the place okay?”

  “Easy as pie,” she says, letting me take her jacket and purse. “You must be Mr. Munroe. Joelle’s told me so much about you.”

  “I can’t say the same, Mrs.—?”

  “Dad! There’s no need to be rude to Mrs. Price.”

  “Call me Connie,” she says, waving him off. Connie takes a seat on the sofa next to Dad’s chair and crosses her legs.

  “You always just help yourself in other people’s homes?”

  “Dad.”

  “I was invited, wasn’t I?” says Connie. “And it’s a very lovely home, I’ll give you that. It does you credit.” She’s looking at me when she says this last part.

  “It’s my house,” says Dad, frowning.

  “I’m sure it is,” says Connie. “But as I understand it, you haven’t been up on your feet much the last couple of years.”

  Dad grumbles, but Connie talks over it.

  “In any event, I hear you’ve got yourself a team of proper physical therapists coming to see you tomorrow.”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” says Dad. I widen my eyes at him. I’ve never seen him be deliberately rude to anybody, not even when he was first injured. Suddenly he’s trying to set a freaking record.

  I start to apologize to Connie but she waves me off and keeps talking to him.

  “It’s my business to see that you’re taking your recovery seriously.”

  That pisses him off.

  “What makes you think I’m not taking it seriously? You only just got here. What the heck do you think you know about it?”

  Connie looks at him for a long moment.

  “I know that you got hurt several years ago. I know that you’re months past your last surgery and, from what Joelle tells me, won’t be needing another one for a good long while. And I know that for somebody who’s only fifty-some years old, you’ve spent too much time in that chair.”

  Dad’s face has gone a shade of red I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. Before he can say something I’m going to regret, I intervene.

  “Connie, I’m just going to make dad some tea. Would you mind giving me a hand?”

  She nods, rising gracefully. Dad grabs the remote control and turns the TV on, glaring at it as we walk past.

  As soon as we get to the kitchen, I stop to face her.

  “Look, I really appreciate you offering to stay with him but you don’t have to do this. I thought he’d come around to the idea, you know? But it’s not worth you having to sit through this. I’m so sorry.”

  Connie looks at me and laughs.

  “You think I’m done just because he doesn’t like me? Girlie, this ain’t shit.” I half expect to hear Dad yelling from the other room to protest the swearing, but the only noise comes from the television.

  “Are you sure? Because I can—”

  “You can what?”

  I stutter, then frown. Because I don’t exactly have a backup plan here, and she knows it.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “He’s done okay on his own.”

  “Okay, maybe. But he could do better,” Connie says, raising her voice.

  “It’s been hard on him,” I say. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  “I have no doubt the accident was hard on him. Recovery’s never easy and anybody who says otherwise is a fool or a liar. But recovery means getting better, not getting waited on while you sit on your ass and make your daughter take care of you.”

  I wince. Even over the TV, there’s no way Dad didn’t hear that part. Connie pats my hand before turning to open the cabinet behind her.

  “Don’t you worry, girlie. Me and your dad, we’ll work it out. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Barring kicking her out of our house, which I have no desire to do, I don’t see another option. We can’t afford to hire a nurse, and I don’t know of anyone else who’d do it for free.

  I show her where we keep the tea, then leave her to it when she shoos me out.

  I head back through the living room, collecting my things. I’m not sure I should leave the two of them the way things are, but if I don’t head out soon, I’ll miss my bus.

  “Going to work?” says Dad.

  “Yep. I should be home before dark. Connie will be here until two, so if you need anything before then she can take care of it. Okay?”

  Dad glares at the air behind me.

/>   “Dad,” I say, bending down to catch his eye. He doesn’t look at me and now I’m getting pissed.

  “All right, you don’t want to talk, fine. I’ll be back before dinner.” I head for the door.

  “We don’t need her,” he says.

  “I disagree,” I say, keeping my voice calm.

  “She comes in here disrespecting me in my own house, talking about how I’m not working on getting better. I don’t need that kind of talk in my own house, Joelle. I won’t have it.”

  All this time I thought Dad resented his therapists because he was in pain. I know he resents being dependent on me. But maybe I’ve had things backward—not that his pain is magically gone or something. Maybe what he really resents is me doing things for him that he should be doing himself. Maybe he resents the therapy team because they push him.

  Maybe this is more about hurt feelings than it is about pain in his leg.

  The anger comes bubbling up, overflowing before I can get ahold of it.

  “You don’t have a choice, Dad. Not about this.” I’ve never talked to him like that, not once in my life.

  “Connie is staying,” I say. “She’s going to stay with you because I cannot be here twenty-four hours a day anymore. If you have a problem with it, maybe it’s time you thought about what you can do about things, instead of all the things you can’t.”

  “Just what the hell are you getting at, young lady?”

  He’s swearing. That’s not a good sign, but this time his agitation only serves to fuel my own.

  “I’m saying maybe Connie is right. You’ve spent way more time in that chair the last couple of years than is good for you, more than would be good for anybody. You only get out of when the team makes you. You only exercise when they make you, and you spend every minute of it complaining. Ever think that maybe it’s time you started taking some steps on your own?”

  He scoffs.

  “You’re off at work all hours of the day and night anymore. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t I? Aren’t I the one who makes sure you take the right meds every day? Aren’t I the one who actually keeps track of all your insurance? Aren’t I the one who knows down to the last goddamned penny how much longer we’ve got before I have no choice but to go to work?”

  “Language, Joelle.”

  “Hell with it.” I start packing up my things. “I’m going to work. You can kick Connie out—or try, anyway. I don’t think it’ll work. If you want to sit here and fester for another five years, fine. It’s your life.”

  “Young lady, you get back here. We’re not done with this conversation.” I stop at the door, hand on the knob, but I don’t turn around. I’m so mad that if I turn around, I’ll say something I can’t take back. I’ve already said too much.

  “You don’t get to talk to me like that in my own house,” he says, too loudly. “I’m your father. I raised you to show some respect.”

  I can’t turn around. I can’t even speak now because I don’t want him to know I’m crying.

  Instead, I hear Connie, mugs clinking together in her hand.

  “You want respect, Hank? You get off your ass and earn it.”

  10

  Elliot

  I reposition the tray for the fourteenth time trying to find a better angle, but the whole damn platter looks stupid. Everything looks stupid. But I followed Joelle’s instructions to the letter, so maybe the only stupid here is me.

  Considering my behavior the other night, I’m pretty sure that’s accurate.

  I haven’t seen Joelle since the night of the storm. Alex either, for that matter. The power came back on during the night so we opened Duckbill right on time the next day, but she’s had two days off and Alex’s been out of town for work. Which is just fucking priceless because he only has to travel, like, twice a year. Why did it have to happen this weekend?

  I guess I could have called him but what am I supposed to say? Hey, so about that night you made Joelle come through her clothes and I got to watch…

  Even thinking the words has me going rock hard. I mean, I’ve had my share of hot sex—which is to say, not enough. I’ve had threesomes before. Well, one threesome back in college, with two girls.

  None of it ever made my heart stop like watching Joelle work herself over on Alex.

  What I can’t figure out is how the hell is it that I’m not pissed at him right now. It makes no sense. I should be furious, or at least… I don’t know, resigned to the idea of them being together. I all but set them up, for God’s sake.

  Resignation is not what I feel. Pissed off is not what I feel.

  What I feel makes no sense at all, so I’m busting my ass at work. Joelle will be here any minute for one last QC. If all goes well, we’ll start pushing this platter today.

  Jimmy and I took another look at the books last night. Even with the extra sales from the holiday crowds, there’s no way I’m going to make that lease payment in a few weeks. Joelle’s new menu is my last shot.

  A tap at the door finally stops me from staring daggers at the stupid platter.

  “Hey,” I say, holding the door to let Joelle in. Rain mists the floor around my feet.

  “Hey,” she says. She doesn’t look at me. God, it’s all over her face.

  “How’s it going?” It’s the best I can do, because the chill in the air brought out roses in her cheeks and I’m breathless at how beautiful she looks this morning.

  “Not bad,” she says, hanging up her raincoat. “Cold today.”

  Still not looking at me.

  I say something unintelligible about the weather and wave her over to the prep table where I’ve set things up. We’re just doing a short taste test this morning so the rest of the staff will be here soon.

  I don’t get her alone very often, not when there’s nobody else around. It’s like stepping outside in a downpour and finding a single warm patch of sunshine.

  “Oh, it looks wonderful!”

  I try to cover my double-take, checking her face for any sign of sarcasm.

  Huh. Guess the shit-tastic filter in my head really was just me.

  “Did I get it right?”

  “It’s exactly as I imagined it,” she says turning the platter one way, then the other. “Well done on the plating.”

  “Thanks.”

  I pass her a small appetizer plate and the tongs she’d listed in the instructions. I watch her meticulously compiling her sample: first the crusted baguette, a drizzle of rich olive oil, a razor thin slice of dry chorizo, a hunk of Spanish cheese, and one perfect half of a yellow grape tomato. She sprinkles a pinch of herbs from the tiny dish in the center of the platter and lifts the creation to her mouth.

  Watching her mouth while she moans like that transports me instantly back to the night of the storm and suddenly I’m shifting in my seat like I’m fifteen again.

  Christ.

  “My God, Elliot,” she says, her voice thick with pleasure. “I think we’ve got a hit.”

  It’s a charcuterie board, for fuck’s sake. Not an orgy.

  My breathing goes fast and shallow and she’s going to notice if I don’t knock it off, so I grab my own plate and start building a sample. I’m less careful, splashing a couple of drops of oil on my wrist as I pile the food together.

  “Here,” she says, reaching across the table with her linen napkin. Her fingertips brush the back of my hand as she catches the oil.

  I didn’t imagine her gasp this time.

  “Sorry, let me just—” Joelle stands like she’s going to leave and I catch her hand before she can step away.

  “Joelle.” It’s all I can do not to growl at her and still she won’t meet my eyes. “Joelle.” I wait until she looks at me.

  God, her every thought is there for all the world to see. I make a mental note to warn her someday about never playing poker if money’s involved.

  It’s all there, everything I was afraid of. Shame, certainly. Nerves most of all. And the on
e that nearly guts me, fear.

  “We need to talk about this,” I say, though I don’t have a goddamn clue what I’m going to say. But I have to make it better. I can’t have her walking around afraid. What is she afraid of, exactly? Of me? God, I couldn’t live with myself.

  Joelle jerks her hand away and my world goes a little dark.

  “I don’t think we do,” she says coldly. “If you’re going to fire me, I’d appreciate it if you’d just get it over with. No need to drag it out.”

  My jaw hits the floor.

  “That’s what you’re worried about?”

  She glares at me, waiting for the final blow.

  “You’re not getting fired. If anything, I owe you an apology.”

  Now it’s her turn to be shocked. I’m sorely tempted to trace the O of her open mouth with my fingertips, but now is not the time and this is definitely not the place.

  Which reminds me that me and Joelle… we don’t have a time and place, not as long as she works for me. My stomach knots up at the thought.

  “I should never have intruded on you and Alex the other night. What you do in your off time is entirely your business. I never meant to make you uncomfortable in any way. It was unprofessional of me and I’m sorry. Doubly so if you actually thought I’d fire you over it.” I force myself to look her in the eye while I say it.

  Joelle seems not to know what to think of all this.

  “Are you saying…” she starts. She swallows hard and tries again. “Are you saying you don’t—that you didn’t want—”

  I reach for her hand, slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she so chooses. Her fingers are delicate, but I have reason to know their strength. Against my better judgment, I lift her hand to my mouth, holding her fingers against my lips for a long moment, not kissing them, not moving. Just to hold her there a moment before I lower her hand and let go.

  “I have never wanted any woman the way I want you.”

  Her eyes go wide.

  “Then,” she says slowly. “Is it Alex? Do you not want—”

  I don’t know how to answer that.