The Merchant of Venice Beach (10 page)

Be careful what you wish for.

Suzanna might need some space from the boys, but she wasn’t ready to think the boys might do just fine without her. If this remodel was going to happen, she was going to be an integral part of things! She stared at the design. Rio kept flashing through her mind, but she swept him aside.

Suzanna arched her eyebrows at Fernando.

“You did this?”

“Why do you look so surprised?” Fernando said, looking insulted.

“I’m sorry, Fernando,” Suzanna said. “I just didn’t know you could draw blueprints.”

“I can’t,” Fernando said, without a trace of irony. “I told Carla what I wanted to do and she drew them up . . . but it was my idea!”

“I can’t believe you’d bother Carla with this!”

“She said you’d love it,” Fernando said. “Does she know you, or what?”

“And is she planning on coming down here and helping with this?” Suzanna asked.

“Well, as a matter of fact, she is coming down,” Fernando said. “Eric asked her if she knew of any good contractors in our area who didn’t cost a fortune . . .”

Fernando looked so smug Suzanna could hardly stand it.

“She said she wants this done right,” Eric said, “and it would be fun to hang out with us for a while.”

I’ll bet.

Suzanna put her head in her hands. She knew that she should be happy that her only real female friend—a very well-respected architect—had drawn up such magnificent plans and was offering to oversee the renovation. But she wasn’t happy. She wasn’t happy at all. Although it seemed several lifetimes ago, Suzanna never really got over the fact that in their sophomore year of high school, Carla stole Eric’s heart . . . and body . . . away from her. Eric and Carla were both single right now. What if, all these years later, their romance rekindled?

But now Suzanna had Rio to focus on.

“OK,” Suzanna said. “Let’s do it.”

CHAPTER 8

From her second-story bedroom, Suzanna looked out her window. It was just past dawn, and the boardwalk was still silent. She was drinking a new tea she was thinking about trying out in the shop, a blood orange herbal. When she first opened the tea shop, she had to rely on Fernando to decipher teas for her, but she’d gotten the hang of it over the years. This new tea was sweet and naturally decaffeinated . . . it might be a good choice to introduce to older kids at the weekend afternoon teas. She made a note to discuss this possibility with Fernando and Harri. It might also be a nice selection for those misguided people who dismissed teas as “bitter.”

While she thinking about the blood orange tea, she noticed a truck pulling up in front of the building. Her lazy morning attitude was replaced by a supercharged jolt when Carla jumped out of the truck and looked up at the sign that proudly stated: The Rollicking Bun: Home of the Epic Scone. Suzanna quickly realized that Carla was not taking in the sign so much as taking in the whole structure. She had been on Suzanna’s turf for exactly four seconds and was apparently already in work mode!

Suzanna studied her as Carla studied the building. Carla’s hair was still dark and long, although it was caught up in a few erratically placed clips. At thirty-three, she looked great—even better than she had at twenty-three. How did that work? She had the figure of a woman who was always on the go, rather than a starved gym-rat—or, for that matter, a slinky dancer like Lauren. Suzanna smiled to herself as she watched Carla unload a large toolbox. No wonder she was in such good shape! Clearly, this was the body of a hands-on architect!

Suzanna rapped on the window and Carla looked up. She took off her sunglasses and the brilliant green eyes flashed so brightly that Suzanna could see their color from the second story.

Carla beamed up at her. Suzanna raised her hand in greeting, but found herself paralyzed mid-wave. Eric had obviously seen the truck, too, and he was bounding down the stairs, still pulling on a shirt. Suzanna watched, fingers still frozen in the air. She watched as he scooped Carla up in a bear hug. Suzanna tried to take another sip of tea, but couldn’t swallow. Eric was actually squeezing Carla’s butt cheeks and they were both laughing. The two of them were joined by Fernando, who was wearing gold paisley pajamas. He threw himself at Carla and Eric and the three of them leaped around in a tangle of limbs. Finally, they stopped and looked back up at Suzanna.

Suzanna realized she had to go downstairs. She grabbed a robe on the way to the stairway. She plastered a grin on her face as she walked down the steps and into the front yard.

“Hi, hi, hi!” Suzanna said.

Carla squealed and hugged her as the guys looked on.

“I know it’s early, but I called Eric about an hour ago and he said to just head on down!” Carla said.

Suzanna kept her smile in place.

“Oh, you could have called me!”

“I know,” Carla said. “You’re sweet. But Eric and I have been talking about the remodel so much, it just seemed natural to call him.”

“Really? I would have thought since we’re remodeling the tearoom, you would have been talking to Fernando.”

Fernando had grabbed Carla’s suitcase and Eric picked up the tool kit and they all headed back upstairs.

“Oh, well, Eric and I have been going over the finances. That’s the big bugaboo, you know. The design part is easy.”

They all headed up the stairs.

“Well, we’re glad you got here safely,” Suzanna said, trying to shake off the image of Eric grabbing Carla’s ass.

“Uh, I am so happy to be here,” Carla said. “I was so burnt out up north. As soon as we finished the harvest, I told Eric I was coming down.”

Suzanna pictured Carla stomping grapes, gypsy skirts raised high, the ruffles gently grazing the crest of her lace bikini undies. As she danced through the grapes, Carla sent grape-stained kisses through the phone to Eric.

Suzanna discarded this scenario immediately. And not just because Carla wouldn’t be caught dead in bikini undies (not to mention a gypsy skirt). She chided herself for falling victim to such a hackneyed image. Stomping feet and squishing grapes were mostly fodder for fantasy—and an unhygienic fantasy at that.

“I can’t wait to see everything,” Carla said in the darkness of the stairwell. “Can we just dump the bags and go look at the tearoom?”

“You three go look,” Suzanna said. “I’ll make breakfast.”

“But it’s your place,” Carla said. “Don’t you want to come see?”

“You guys are the ones with all the ideas!” Suzanna said. “Go ahead!”

Eric, Carla, and Fernando headed back down the stairs. Fernando was still in his pajamas, Eric at least had buttoned his shirt. Suzanna started banging around the kitchen, angry with herself for being so passive, and angry at her friends for not begging her to go downstairs with them.

She started to scramble a dozen eggs and turned on her iPod to some hot salsa music. She started dancing around the kitchen and her spirits immediately lifted.

Quick-quick slow. Quick-quick slow.

She heard someone enter the room and quickly shut off the music. She turned from the iPod and saw Eric standing there watching her. His eyes met hers. She could see a sadness as old as time and felt she could sense his very soul. Her heart leaped with naked, otherworldly, unspoken bonding. Perhaps seeing her dance had unleashed a passion he had not realized was there. Suzanna realized she was turning red.

“You’ve got mold, Beet,” he said sorrowfully.

You have no idea.

“I guess you mean the building has mold?” Suzanna asked. “This isn’t a personal observation or anything?”

She tried to carry off her little joke, but found she couldn’t quite meet Eric’s eyes. As she turned back to the eggs, Carla and Fernando came tromping up the stairs.

“I had forgotten what a gorgeous place this is—mold notwithstanding,” Carla said.

“Is the mold a dealbreaker?” Suzanna asked, secretly hoping it was. Carla could return to Napa and the three of them could go on with their irritating lives.

“Oh, no. We can handle that. And I’m just bursting with ideas.”

Suzanna softened during breakfast. It was like old times, with laughs and good-natured insults flying around the room like superheroes.

“And how are the lessons going?” Carla asked Suzanna.

Eric and Fernando turned to Suzanna with twin quizzical expressions. Suzanna could see the dismay in Carla’s eyes reflecting her own. Thankfully, Carla—always a quick thinker—jumped back in.

“Didn’t you tell me Erinn was going to teach you Italian?”

“Oh, well . . . you know Erinn. Always talking,” Suzanna said. “In whatever language.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie, was it?

Suzanna grabbed Carla’s bag.

“There’s plenty of space in my room,” she said. “Come on.”

“Are you sure?” Carla asked. “I mean, the remodel is going to take some time. I can get a hotel.”

“Oh my God—are you kidding me?” Suzanna sounded like a highschooler, but a sincere one. “This is going to be awesome!”

Carla threw her arm around Suzanna in a way that took her back to those safe childhood days. The boys got to work cleaning up the breakfast dishes as Suzanna and Carla trudged down the hall.

They caught up on all the news from Napa as she unpacked. Thanks to Carla’s determination, her family’s winery was always looking for new and interesting ways to make a visit more appealing to tourists, and her design skills had made the place a premier destination. But she also never lost sight of the fact that “the wine’s the thing,” and in recent years the Caridi Winery had won some big medals for numerous wines. They were especially renowned for their merlot.

“Remember when that movie, Sideways, came out?” Carla asked.

Suzanna nodded absently, struggling with the instructions on an air mattress. One of her customers had had a garage sale and Suzanna bought the air mattress for five dollars “just in case.” That was three years ago. She was so happy when she remembered it; it made her feel like a willing and casual hostess.

It isn’t that I’m not a willing and casual hostess, I’m just out of practice.

“Napa Valley was holding its breath after that guy makes fun of women for drinking merlot . . .”

Suzanna looked up from the instructions.

“Napa Valley was holding its breath?” Suzanna asked, trying to suppress a smirk.

Carla shot her a look.

“God, you sound just like your snooty sister,” she said.

Carla was never a big fan of Erinn’s.

Suzanna shrugged and plugged the mattress cord into the outlet. It stunned her how fast the two of them could start bickering.

“All I meant was, the idea of Napa Valley holding its breath is a pretty hilarious statement, don’t you think?”

“OK . . . what would you have said?”

“Something like . . . ‘All the winemakers in Napa were concerned that there would be a merlot backlash.’”

“Your parents and sister would be proud that you’re guarding the English language so diligently.”

“It means the same thing, and is a pretty good sentence in its own right.”

“Bite me,” Carla said, throwing a pillow at Suzanna. “How’s that for a pretty good sentence?”

It turned out that there had been no merlot backlash after all, but of course, this news now came as an anticlimax.

While it was fun having all her childhood friends around, once again Suzanna felt afraid passion might be rekindled between Eric and Carla. She had to admit that she would begrudge the recoupling of her two friends while insisting to herself that she had made peace with the idea that Eric would never see her as anything more than just a pal.

When she had first bought the Bun and was working day and night to get the place in some sort of shape, Suzanna had developed a huge crush on one of her workmen, a smoldering Latino not unlike Rio. His name was Alamar. She and Fernando both thought that he was just the hottest thing ever. Luckily for Suzanna, he played for her team—exclusively.

Suzanna tried to remember if Eric had been jealous of her attention toward Alamar, but she didn’t think so. For one thing, Eric had a girlfriend at the time, and he was a really loyal, faithful boyfriend. Since Suzanna’s amorous laser beam was focused on Alamar at the time, she really admired Eric’s devotion. Fernando, on the other hand, kept trying to find a chink in his armor. One day Eric was moving a ladder and Fernando was in his way. Eric said, “Move it, gorgeous”—and Fernando was off in a fantasy. Suzanna couldn’t count the number of times she’d told Fernando that Eric wasn’t gay, but Fernando was adamant.

“No straight guy has ever called me ‘gorgeous’ and not slept with me.”

Well, much to Fernando’s disappointment, Eric didn’t sleep with him.

Short flashes of painting walls with Eric, buying cheap antique trinkets to add to either the book nook side or the tea shop side, making out with Alamar in the kitchen—the memories all sort of ran together. Those were fun days. Suzanna was firm with herself. She’d been as frisky as any of them. She needed to stop worrying about Carla and Eric. That was crazy. That was the past. Rio was the future.