Confessions of a Call Center Gal: a novel (39 page)

Hours later, the doorbell buzzes and I pad to the front door in my worn out bunny slippers which are collectively missing one eye, two ears and a nose. Cracking the door ajar, I catch a whiff of Mika.

I inhale his sweet, intoxicating scent. He smells of soap.

Fresh, crisp and breezy…ocean breezy.

“C’mon in,” I say with a pleasant smile.

He holds up a DVD. “I rented
3:10 to Yuma
. Hope that’s okay with you. It’s a western.”

“Good choice!” I exclaim as I’d watch a western over a horror flick any day. “Make yourself at home; I just need to grab some popcorn out of the microwave.”

I dart to the kitchen, and in a hop and a skip, I am back in the living room. I find Mika on the sofa, messing with the controls.

The main menu is on the TV screen and he’s surfing through the options, programming the receiver so the movie plays in Dolby Digital Surround mode.

Oh, he’s such a man.

I ease myself onto the sofa and wedge the bag of popcorn in between us. Next, I cover our feet with a wooly afghan and settle back into the cushions.

“Okay, let’s start the movie,” I say eagerly.

The movie moves at a good pace, and the characters quickly captivate me. Russell Crowe plays the bad guy turned good guy, and like most Westerns, this movie is all about the measure of a man. How far will he go to fight for justice?

Two hours later, the movie ends and the credits roll. I sneak a peek at Mika and suspend my belief for a moment. I imagine the two of us in a dry and dusty desert in some old mid-western town. Somewhere in the distance, I hear the familiar whistling tune that’s played in all the old spaghetti westerns. The sound effect blared right before a showdown—Nah Nah Nah Naaaaaaaaaah NEOW NEOW NEOW.

Or is it Woo Woo Woo Woooooooo WEOW WEOW WEOW?

Anyway, you catch my drift.

“There’s a new sheriff back in town,” I drawl sassily, like I’m the seasoned gunslinger and Mika is the young punk stirring up trouble in my jurisdiction.

Our eyes lock.

There is a minute of silence as we stare each other down.
 

Our hands hover anxiously by our sides, ready to draw.

I don’t blink and neither does he.

Then all of a sudden, the scene turns Bollywood.

Consumed with raw passion, we throw down our weapons and run to each other. In slow motion.

Our bodies collide and we lock ourselves in a steamy embrace. Our lips mesh in a scalding kiss.

Abruptly, I’m jolted out of my
Western-turned-Bollywood
flick when I hear Mika ask, “Did you like the movie?”

“Yeah, it was pretty good. Although, I miss watching comedies and
not
hearing you laugh.”

He chuckles, and of course, no sound is emitted. After a long minute, he says, “So...”

“So...” I nervously adjust myself on the sofa. Our toes lightly brush and we immediately jolt apart.

His eyes crinkle. “Your toes feel like icicles.”

“And yours feel like hot coals,” I say with a silly grin.
 

We enjoy a brief and playful banter. “Would you like me to warm up your toes?” he asks.

I tilt my brow. “Would you
really
want to warm up my toes?”

“I’d love nothing else,” he says evenly.

My toes curl up in anticipation.

Seconds later, I feel his toes rubbing against mine, creating friction and instant warmth.

“Better now?”

I nod and tuck my feet under me.

He rises from the sofa and ejects the DVD from the player.
 

I play for time. “So what are your plans now?”

“Call of Duty: Black Ops awaits me.” He straightens himself and flexes his arms like Chuck Norris.

“You’re in the marine corps reserve?”

He laughs. “No. It’s a Xbox game. And what about you?”

“Oh, I’m staying in.” I stretch out my arms and legs. “I’ve got to book my ticket before the prices go up.”

“Book what ticket?”
    

“My plane ticket. I’m going home for Thanksgiving.” After a thoughtful pause, I ask, “Do you have any Thanksgiving plans?”

“I
plan
to be holed up in my dorm room since mostly everything will be closed. But the campus cafeteria will be open and they serve some pretty good turkey.”

“What?” I gawp. “Cafeteria food is like cat food. You need to have a
real
Thanksgiving meal.”

He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
  

“Hey, why
don’t you come home with me? It’ll be fun and I can show you around Chicago.”

To my surprise, Mika concedes without a fight. “Okay. Don’t you remember? I’d promised you I would.”

“Yes, you did. At the pizzeria. Great! It’s a done deal then!”

He smiles an endearing smile. “When do we leave?”

“In about three and a half weeks.” I hop off the sofa and fire up my laptop. “C’mon Mika, let’s book our tickets.”

Twenty Four

“
Y
o
u grew up here? This place is incredible!” Mika’s awe
struck eyes sweep the interior space of my home.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, I shrug. “Sort of a cross between Frank Lloyd Wright and Jeff Lewis, don’t you think?”

He continues exploring the floor plan. “This place is
huge
;
you didn’t tell me you lived in a five star resort.”

My gaze travels across the open and spacious room. “I guess you could say it’s
capacious,
” I say facetiously.

He conducts his own tour, his eyes keen and intense as he wanders around.

I find myself rifling through the stack of mail on the kitchen countertop. A student loan statement, a student loan statement, another student loan statement.
 

Minutes later, Mika asks, “Can I check out the patio area?”

“Sure.” I set aside my student loan statements. “I’ll join you.”

He swings open the glass door and we step out.

“I like this.” He grips the steel railing. “I like how this entire deck is wrapped around that oak tree.”

“Yeah, my dad was all about sharing his living space with nature. He was a tree hugger…like you.”

“Tree humper, polar bear lover, forest freak, Eco Nazi. I’ve heard worse.”

“No, I said tree
hugger
, not humper,” I laugh, gesturing to his Earth Day T-shirt.

He glances down at his shirt and smiles. “Yep. We’re all in this together. We must take steps to conserve energy and reduce our carbon footprint,” he lectures in a comical tone.

“
Okay
.” I nudge him playfully.

Mika can be such a colossal dork at times, but I happen to find it especially endearing. For a little while, we rest our elbows on the railing and gaze out into the distance.

“See that hill over there? Me and my dad used to belly-slam our sleds down that hill.”

He shoots me a sidelong glance. “I wish I could’ve met him.”

I return his gaze and smile wistfully. “Me too...”

Mika and my dad would have surely hit it off. My mom is not even here to welcome me home. To welcome
us
home.

I pull my cardigan tightly around me. “Let’s go inside. I can show you your room.” I usher him indoors, away from the ominous winds.

While Mika disappears to gather his things, I cross the living room and head for the kitchen. I’m about to grab a drink out of the fridge when a yellow post-it note catches my eye.

I peel the note off the fridge.

Hi honey,

Sorry I couldn’t be there. I’m at work, not sure when I’ll be home tonight. See you tomorrow?

Love, mom

I breathe out a heavy sigh. Just like old times. Crumpling the note in one hand, I hurl it into the trash.

Seconds later, Mika finds me in the kitchen. “Lead the way,” he says, lugging a clunky Samsonite suitcase.

Since we’re only visiting for a couple days, I packed light. And the fact that Mika packed an entire suitcase somewhat baffles me. “What have you got in your suitcase? A dead body?” I raise a delicate brow.

“Something like that...” he says in all seriousness.

It takes us approximately five minutes to trek to the far end of the east wing, and Mika makes some smart comment about me living in a manor, calling it Maddy’s Manor.

“Here’s the guestroom,” I announce airily.

At one time, this used to be my playroom. And true to the design of Frank Lloyd Wright, colossal
stained glass windows dominate the space, sending
shards of rainbows across the room.

While my dad tried his best to mimic the style and design of his famed architect, the result isn’t always comfortable, nor is it practical. I immediately feel a draft in the room.

“There’s some thick quilts in there if you get cold.” I gesture toward a wooden chest.

He nods, depositing his suitcase at the foot of the bed.

“Make yourself at home. Grab whatever you want from the fridge; my mom’s stocked it up. I’ll hop in the shower now and then we can grab a bite to eat.”

“Sounds good. Will your mom be joining us?”

“Nope,” I say with a slight frown. “Not tonight, anyway. She’s at work, but she’ll be here for our Thanksgiving feast tomorrow.”

He shrugs off his jacket. “I’d like to take a shower too. Not with you, I mean,” he quickly adds. He winks playfully. “But if you want to save water and conserve energy, we could always shower together. We’d only be helping out Mother Nature.”

I release a nervous laugh. “Um, as you can see, you’ve got a bathroom in here and the towels are in the closet to your right.”

He undresses and starts shirtless for the bathroom.

Eyeing his half naked body, I clear my throat. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

I bound athletically up the stairs two at a time, fly into my bathroom, fling off all my clothes and step into a scalding hot shower. I’m lathering soap over my body when my mind elicits erotic images of Mika in
his
shower.

Unwittingly, I envisage hot water sluicing over his shoulders, coursing past his washboard abs, dripping down his muscular legs...drops of water glistening and clinging to the tuft of fuzz between his—
Eeeps
! An image of an elephant trunk pops into my head.

Shaking off that disturbing image, I step out of the shower.

As I’m toweling myself dry, I smirk at the thought that while my body feels squeaky clean, my mind is filthier than ever.

Emerging from the steamy bathroom, I hastily throw on my usual attire. Next, I dig in my closet and drag out my reliable North Face parka, the one that makes me look like a grotesquely engorged Michelin Man.

Waddling down the stairs, I find Mika looking resplendent in a suit. A very Gucci looking suit.

A light bulb goes off in my head. “Oh! That’s why you packed such an enormous suitcase!”

“Hey, a wrinkled suit is a fashion faux pas.”
 

Much to my chagrin, when Mika takes note of my attire, he chides, “Maddy, go change!”

I dither on the stairs. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“I’m taking you to a fancy restaurant.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” he retorts.

“Um, okay,” I hesitate. “I guess I’ll go up and change then.”

He shoots me a winsome smile.

Decisions, decisions. What to wear? After much deliberation, I finally settle on a Tracy Reese dress. The chic bodice is a throwback to the Chanel classics, and the Oscar de la Renta-ish skirt is detailed with intricate embroidery.

I feel very ‘old Hollywood’ glam in this pretty frock, like I’ve just walked onto the set of
Mad Men
.

Next for my makeup, I opt for the
au naturale
look. I want my skin to appear dewy and luminous. But creating the natural look is one tough task to pull off. It takes loads and loads and
loads
of makeup to achieve
ze au naturale
look. As I’m caking on my fourth coat of foundation, I check the time.

Zoinks! Mika has been waiting downstairs for almost half an hour. Time to switch things into high gear.

I inspect my appearance in the mirror. My lips look understated with my nude lip gloss. But tonight, I feel bold.