Home Free (12 page)

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“’Fraid so,” he said.

“Well, crap.”

He smiled. “I’m a pretty easy-going guy,
darlin’. Not so easy-going that I’m going to make love to a woman
who wishes I was someone else, but easy-going enough that I’m not
going to get all bent about it. You and I are evidently supposed to
be friends and that’s all.” He kissed the top of my head as he
stood to leave. “I think I’ll be able to start on the bedroom floor
tomorrow. G’night.”

I dragged myself back to bed, wondering what
on earth I could do tomorrow for an encore.

I slept through the night and woke up the
next morning starving, since all I’d eaten for dinner was a handful
of potato chips. Okay, the whole bag, but still, that was only one
food group, so it didn’t count as a meal. I wondered what it would
be like to be rich and famous and just have to dial room service
for breakfast, or ring a little bell for a partially-clad, tan
serving guy to bring me muffins in bed. I sighed and shuffled my
way into the kitchen in my undies and a t-shirt that said
sexy
across the chest, started the pot of decaf and threw
two slices of white bread in the toaster. While the toast was
toasting, I went to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, peering at my
reflection in the mirror. I didn’t know what had happened during
the night, but my hair looked all snarled and bushy, and one side
of my face was flattened and had lines imprinted on it.

I shuffled back to the kitchen, put the toast
on a paper towel and smeared butter and apricot jelly on both
slices, then poured myself a bowl of Cap’n Crunch and a cup of
coffee. I slopped a little coffee onto my shirt as I went around to
the other side of the counter and sat on the barstool to eat my
breakfast.

I was slurping the last of the milk out of
the bowl when the back door opened and Murphy walked in. I groaned.
I’d had more privacy when I was married.

He took in the whole package, and his eyes
strayed to my coffee-stained t-shirt. “Sexy? Really?”

I could see he wasn’t buying it. “Did you a
favor last night, didn’t I?”

His laugh rumbled from somewhere deep in his
chest, and he moseyed into the master bedroom, tape measure in
hand.

Showered, dressed and adequately made up and
coiffed, I was at my desk by nine o’clock. I did the email thing,
deleting offers to enlarge my penis up to three inches, even though
I was curious as to how they would go about doing that. The Garden
Tour people had accepted my change and had sent their printing
requirements. My brother Brian had emailed to say he would be
stopping by at lunchtime. He didn’t say why, but I was sure it was
to sell me insurance. And Leisure Land, a retirement and assisted
living community located just north of Huntington Beach had
inquired as to the status of their brochure. Thank God. I had
plenty of things to keep me busy, so maybe I could manage to stay
out of trouble for a day or two.

I called Super Speedy Press in Huntington
Beach and asked for Skip.

“Alex! So how’s life in the bosom of your
family?”

Like he’d believe me if I told him. I gave
him the edited version, then got down to business. “Okay, for the
Garden Tour poster.” I could hear him scribbling notes. “I need
four hundred on Strathmore Elements, the Pale Green with Squares.
I’m sending you an Illustrator file, and I spec’d Pantone
colors.

“You need a quote?”

“No, if it’s within five percent of last
year’s price, go ahead. If not, I’ll call Print Masters.”

“Bitch.”

“Thanks, Skip.”

“Anything for you, Alex.”

I sent the electronic file to Skip, then
crossed “Garden Tour Poster” off my to-do list.

Next was the brochure for Leisure Land. I had
digital photos the photographer had sent and text the copywriter
had sent. My job was to somehow unite the two into a comprehensive
brochure that was both professional and eye-catching. Not an easy
task, considering a disturbing majority of the photos were of
wrinkly, saggy octogenarians in swimsuits, lounging or worse,
strolling, around the pool. I was going to have to remember to
recommend a different photographer next time. My design was looking
more like a brochure for the California Raisin Growers than an old
folks’ home.

I shut off the computer a little before noon.
I wasn’t even close to being finished, but I wasn’t interested in
Brian’s opinions about my design skills or lack thereof. He’d
always been vocal about the impracticality of a career in art, much
as he’d always criticized Kevin for “only” being a mechanic. As if
Brian could ever put a motorcycle back together, or draw anything
other than a bath.

The doorbell rang at ten after twelve and
scared the bejeebers out of me. I didn’t know Jack had fixed it.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen Jack since my breakfast fashion
show this morning. I glanced out the window and saw a shiny black
BMW parked behind the gray Ford across the street. So that’s what
Brian was driving. I guessed insurance salesman wasn’t the macho
kind of profession that demanded a truck built by one of the Big
Three. Jack’s Ford was gone, and Brian could have parked in the
driveway, but he probably didn’t want to park the Beemer too close
to my Honda for fear the weirdness might be contagious.

I opened the door and found the malevolent
cat sitting beside Brian’s foot, hissing. I made a hissing noise
back at it, and it raised its paw like a little wave, then circled
around and flopped down, stretching and purring. I let Brian in and
offered him a sandwich. He declined. Probably just as well. I
couldn’t see him eating peanut butter, jelly and potato chips. I
wanted to tell him to shove his insurance and his security system
up his disadvantaged ass, but I had decided to act like an adult
and hear him out, if for no other reason than to ruin his fun in
patronizing me. I invited him into the living room and we sat.

“Alex, I don’t know what it’s like in
southern California, but Minter is a small town.”

“Well, duh.” Darn, I already forgot I was
supposed to be acting like an adult. “I mean, yes, it is.” Duh.

“And you can’t just think only of yourself
anymore. Your actions have an impact on the rest of us, not to
mention your own reputation.”

“My actions? My reputation?” I felt the color
rise in my cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from rage. I took a
deep breath to steady myself and calmly, like an adult, said,
“Brian, maybe you should just go on back to work now. This isn’t a
conversation you want to have with me today.” Or ever, you pompous
jerk. I couldn’t believe we shared the same DNA.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry you don’t like
what I have to say, but it’s for your own good. It’s simply not
appropriate for you to have men over here at all hours of the day
and night, considering you’re not married.”

“Technically, I am married, so I guess I can
have men over whenever I damn well please, is that right?”

“Don’t be obstinate. You know what I mean.
People have seen Jack Murphy’s truck here before dawn. It reflects
badly on the family, and you need to see that it stops.”

I was wracking my brain, trying to remember
where I’d last seen Murphy’s nail gun, when the front door opened
and closed.

“Hey kitten, got time for a nooner?” Jack
stepped grinning into the living room, and then quickly apologized.
“Shit, sorry, didn’t know you had company. I only saw your car -
”

I got up and wrapped my arms around him and
gave him a big, wet, messy, loud kiss. He looked a little surprised
but didn’t fight me. Brian was fuming. I let go of Jack so he could
breathe and turned to my brother.

“I will do what I want, when I want, with
whomever I want. Nobody gives a damn about my actions, and nobody
casts their vote based on who the candidate’s sister may or may not
be screwing. So you can go back to not giving me a second thought,
and I’ll do the same for you. Now get out.”

He stood up slowly and turned to Jack. “Jack,
I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This conversation
is a family matter.”

“It’s
my
house!” Nobody seemed to get
that. “I told you to go, now fucking go.” I stomped my foot and
guessed I was going to have to act like an adult some other
day.

Jack took a step closer to me and just sort
of hovered there, large and threatening now that’d he’d caught up
with the scene. At only five feet, eight inches Brian is not much
taller than me, and standing next to Jack just then he looked like
a child. He stared at me for another beat, then nodded towards
Murphy and left.

I made an imaginary gun with my thumb and
forefinger and blew my imaginary brains out with it.

“What the hell was that all about?” Jack
asked.

“My slutty behavior is apparently ruining my
brother’s chances for election to the Board of Supervisors. Hey,
sorry about that kiss.”

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse. And you didn’t
call me Danny, so all in all, I’d say I’m ahead of the game.” He
checked his watch. “Your brother, your
other
brother, is
meeting me here in ten minutes. I need to install four- by
eight-foot sheets of three-quarter inch ply for the subfloor in
your room, and that’s a bitch with only one guy. My crew is working
on a drywall job, so Kev said he’d give me a hand. It won’t take
long, but it’s going to be loud with the compressor and the nailer
going, and kind of dusty from the saw, so you might want to work
with the office door closed.”

“Thanks.”

I swore at the squeaky hallway floorboard on
my way to the office, took Jack’s advice about closing the door,
and got going again on the brochure. A fight like that with Kevin
would have left me agitated, but Brian was another matter. He had
pissed me off, but basically I didn’t give a damn what he thought
of me, so it was easy to forget the whole thing, and I went back to
arranging raisins.

Even with the door closed, I could hardly
hear the phone ringing over the gunshot-like report of the nailer
and the whining scream of the circular saw.

“Hello?” I yelled.

“Can I speak to Alexis Jordan please?” an
unfamiliar female voice asked.

“Speaking.”

“Hi, it’s Angela. From yesterday.”

I remembered vividly. One of the victims of
my astonishingly bad judgment. “Hi Angela, what can I do for
you?”

“What’s all that noise?”

“I’m having some work done on the house.”

“Oh. Uh, I was wondering if you could come
over. I have something for you, but if you’re busy...” she trailed
off.

I couldn’t think over the racket anyway.
“Sure, I’ll be right over.”

I got my purse and keys and locked the door
on my way out. I didn’t leave a note for the guys. I figured they
came and went as they pleased, I might as well do the same. I
hadn’t been outside yet today, and I felt assaulted by the
oppressive heat. Day after day of hundred-plus degree weather was
starting to wear on me. I figured I’d get used to it eventually,
but I was out of practice from living in a milder climate for the
past decade, and I was tired of sweating. I remembered people
saying that, while Minter was hot, at least it was a dry heat. I
thought that applied to my oven as well, and I had no particular
desire to live there, either.

By the time the air conditioner in the car
had caught up with the dry heat, I was at Angela’s house. I parked
on the street, involuntarily looking over at Sherry Henderson’s
place. It looked the same as it had yesterday. And probably the
same as it was going to look tomorrow. I sighed. I didn’t need
depression on top of my heat stroke.

Angela saw me pull up and met me at the door.
She seemed shy, less cocky than she had yesterday.

“Hi, Angela. What’s up?” I had wondered all
the way here what it was she had for me. I figured it was something
about Lonnie that she hadn’t wanted to tell me before.

She reached inside the door and brought out a
piece of cardstock, about five inches by seven inches. “I thought
you might like this.”

I took the paper and turned it over. It was a
pen drawing of Danny, obviously made from the photo I’d given her
yesterday, and obviously made by a very talented artist.

“Did you draw this?”

She nodded.

I stared at it, open-mouthed. I went to art
school for four years, and I had nothing on her.

“I take art in school, but they don’t have a
lot of supplies because of the budgets, so I do a lot of pen
drawings on regular paper. I want to be an artist, and you’re the
first person I’ve ever met who is one.”

I protested. “I’m not an
artist
artist. I draw, and I paint, but just for fun. I couldn’t make a
living at it. I’m a graphic designer. I mean, some of them are
actually good artists, but a lot of us are more about marketing
something than about making something truly artistic.”

“Well, still, you could probably teach me
some stuff. I liked that business card of yours. We don’t get to
use the computers because there’s only one computer lab at school,
and they don’t have time for everyone. Do you want to come inside
for awhile?”

I nodded and went in. The furnishings were
simple, but clean and of good quality. Angela offered me a soda,
and I gladly accepted. We sat on the sofa in front of the fan, and
she told me her life story.

She was fifteen. Her parents had died three
years earlier in a multi-car pileup on the freeway in the fog, and
Angela Freitas had come to live with her sister and brother-in-law,
Liz and Stephen Pacheco. I found out she was Portuguese, not
Mexican like I’d thought, and I made a mental note not to assume
anything again, ever. Liz worked as a nurse’s aide while Stephen
attended college. He had finished his bachelor’s degree in biology
and was working on his teaching credential. He planned to start
teaching high school a year from now, and they hoped to be able to
move to a better neighborhood soon. Angela got some social security
money from the death of her parents, and she helped out by working
after school a few hours a week at a pizza place.