The Merchant of Venice Beach (20 page)

“So this is yours?”

“Yeah,” Suzanna said, with more than a little pride. “This and the bookstore and the apartment upstairs.”

“Wow,” he said. “You seem really young to be so established.”

“Oh, I’m not that young. I’ll be thirty-three in less than a month!”

“That’s still pretty young to have all this,” he said, gesturing around. “How did you end up here? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I don’t mind at all. Have a seat,” Suzanna said, gesturing to a sawhorse. “It’s my place, but I didn’t actually do it all by myself.”

She perched on a crate opposite him. She told him about moving to L. A. with Fernando and Eric and how they had started in a tiny apartment in Venice.

“The place existed as a tea shop for years before we got here. One of my friends, who you’ll meet in the tearoom—Fernando—landed a job as a pastry chef right away,” she said. “All the ladies loved him . . . especially the woman who owned this place. When they needed a waitress, he talked Mandy—she was the owner—into hiring me. My other co-worker—Eric—used to come pick us up after work and she got to know him, too.”

Suzanna pointed into the bookstore and makeshift tearoom. “Mandy used that alcove as an office and warehouse. It was Eric’s idea to put a bookstore in there . . . we call it the book nook.”

Andy nodded and Suzanna flushed as she realized how cloying that sounded.

“How did you come to buy it?” he asked.

“Mandy died and her troll of a brother came down from Oregon to run the place. He hated it here and sold it to me for a song . . . seems like only yesterday, but it was years ago.”

“And you guys have been running it together all this time? That’s pretty amazing.”

“Yeah. They’re great guys.”

“I guess so.”

“My friend Carla is doing the renovation,” Suzanna said, standing up. “I think she’s in the kitchen. I’ll go get her. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thanks. I think tea is just brown water.”

Andy smacked his forehead with his palm, realizing his faux pas.

“Man! You can’t take me anywhere,” he said. “Hope that wasn’t a deal breaker.”

“Not at all—as long as you’re better with a screwdriver than you are with your mouth,” Carla said, coming out of the kitchen.

From the smell of it, she had a huge mug of Egyptian licorice tea in her hands.

Andy laughed and Carla joined him on the sawhorse after the introductions. Suzanna never ceased to be amazed at the ease Carla felt around men. She felt awkward just standing in the middle of the debris and tried to excuse herself.

“Well, we just got a new shipment of books and they aren’t going to sort themselves.”

“Sweetie, let Eric handle the bookstore right now. I can’t hire Andy without your OK.”

Andy looked at Suzanna with a lopsided grin. He was not only office cute, she thought in surprise, he was dismantled-teahouse cute! Maybe Carla and he would hit it off and Suzanna could stop obsessing about Carla reconnecting with Eric. It was a distraction she didn’t need.

Worrying about Carla and Eric gives me less time to think about Rio.

“Well, I’m ready to hire him right now,” Suzanna said.

“That’s why they pay you the big bucks,” Andy said.

Carla laughed and squeezed his knee. Suzanna was shocked. Who squeezed a man’s knee during an interview? Clearly the words “sexual harassment” hadn’t made much of an impression in Napa Valley.

“Well, then, the job is yours,” Carla said. “If you want it.”

“I’ll take it on one condition,” he said.

The women waited. Andy stood up and looked at Suzanna.

“I’ll help you out if you promise to go to salsa dancing with me,” he said. “We need the practice.”

Suzanna could feel the heat creeping up her décolleté.

“Well, uh . . .” Suzanna said.

“She would love that!” Carla said.

The three of them turned toward the front of the shop just as Harri was letting herself in with her keys.

“Just make sure you don’t mention the salsa classes to the other employees,” Carla whispered to Andy before Harri was in earshot. “Suzanna likes to keep things professional around here. Sexual harassment issues . . . you know.”

Andy nodded. Suzanna was speechless at how smoothly Carla could handle any situation.

“It’s about time you got here,” Fernando said, coming out of the kitchen and wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

This was Fernando’s standard greeting to Harri, but by the look on his face, he hadn’t expected an audience. Suzanna introduced Andy to Fernando and Harri, both of whom gave him the once-over.

Are all my friends sex addicts?

“Well, I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Andy said, and headed out the door Harri had left ajar. They all looked after him.

“He is cute,” Carla said.

“So cute,” Harri said.

“Great butt,” Fernando said.

“I have books to unpack,” Suzanna said. She didn’t have room in her brain for any more cute men.

The bookstore was already open when Suzanna crossed the hall. Eric was at the front counter, studying. He looked up as she stepped into the store.

“Morning, Beet.”

Suzanna gave him a nod.

“We got a shipment?”

“Yeah,” Eric said, indicating a large box. “Over there. But don’t worry about it. I’ll unpack as soon as I finish this chapter.”

“That’s okay,” Suzanna said, as she took a box cutter and sliced open a sturdy cardboard box. “I’m pretty worthless next door right now. I’m happy to help.”

“Let me at least get it off the floor,” Eric said as he effortlessly picked up the box and put it on the counter.

“Thanks,” Suzanna said. “Hey, you can go study in the office if you want. I’ve got this.”

Eric gave her a thumbs-up, snapped his book shut, and headed back toward the office. Suzanna watched him go, and as she habitually did, closed her mind to the thoughts that were about to invade it.

She lifted out several used books on the Spanish Armada—obviously a special order for her sister. She registered them quickly and put them in a recycled bag. She looked at her wrist and for the tenth time that day realized that her watch was still with Rio!

She was debating whether she could casually stop by the dance studio to retrieve it or wait until the next class. She shot a look at her sister’s bag of books. The dance studio and her sister’s house were only a few minutes apart. She could deliver the books and just drop in at DIAGNOSIS:Dance! on the way home. It might seem a little awkward, showing up at her sister’s uninvited. She had never actually delivered books to Erinn before.

But still . . .

She shelved the other books quickly and made a speedy inspection of the tables that were now functioning as the tearoom. She wiggled the table with the shim under it. It was nice and sturdy. She wiggled another one. Wobbly! Suzanna dropped to her hands and knees and crawled along the floor, studying the bases of the bookcases for another one of those handy shims Eric had used. She found one and tried to nudge it out from under the wooden bookcase. The bookcase didn’t budge. Suzanna stood up and threw her whole weight against the bookcase, which titled back against the wall, surrendering like a fugitive trapped by the police in an alley. She kicked the shim out from under the bookcase base, settled the bookcase back in place, and hoped for the best. She gingerly poked the bookcase. It certainly wasn’t what you’d call sturdy, but it wasn’t going to topple over, either.

Just like Jenga.

She wedged the shim under the offending table leg, grabbed Erinn’s pile of books, and headed upstairs long enough to change into black yoga pants, black shoes, and a yellow T-shirt with a large sunflower on it. She thundered down the stairs and into the backyard to retrieve her bicycle, but decided that riding meant she risked being sweaty when she stopped in—ever so casually—at the dance studio. She rummaged in her purse to make sure she had the keys to the car. It was a shame to miss out on a beautiful bike ride, but a girl had to have her priorities straight!

She crossed the palm-tree-lined streets of Venice into Santa Monica and pulled up in front of her sister’s impressive Victorian on Ocean Avenue—one of the last of the old homes on the ocean-front boulevard that was now lined mostly with imposing glass condominiums. The house had been a mess when Erinn first rescued it, but now it was a showcase. The clapboard-clad building featured boxed eaves, bay windows, balconies, elaborate molding, and a steeply pitched roof. There was also a two-story round tower, which reminded Suzanna of her own book nook. Suzanna thought back to the years of helping her parents renovate their barn–house, and often wondered if she and her sister were genetically programmed to save old buildings from disrepair.

She hoisted the bag of books, locked her car, and headed toward the front door, threading her way through her sister’s prize rose garden. After she had gotten the house restored to its original glory, Erinn had rototilled the entire front yard and replaced the grass and hedges with a massive rose garden. The new landscaping was not universally loved by the neighbors, but that was something Erinn never seemed to care about . . . or even notice. Suzanna stopped to admire the flowers, with their heady scent, then knocked on the front door.

No response.

Oh, hell!

Deep down, Suzanna realized that she didn’t actually have to deliver the books to Erinn in order to stop in at DIAGNOSIS:Dance!, but when she created a scenario, she liked to see it through. She waited another minute, ringing the doorbell and knocking, and finally admitted defeat. She turned—and was startled by Erinn’s huge cat, Caro, who had lain down at her feet.

“Caro!” Suzanna said. “You scared me to death.”

Caro stood up and leaned heavily against Suzanna’s legs. She put the bag of books down and scooped up the cat, which hung limply in her arms, purring in fits and starts like a badly tuned engine. Caro’s attention span was pretty short and after a few energetic pats from Suzanna, he jumped down. Suzanna watched him as he padded lightly toward the backyard. He stopped just as he was about to round the corner and meowed at Suzanna.

Surprised, Suzanna followed him. She stood open-mouthed as she realized the cat had led her to her sister, who was photographing flowers in the backyard. Erinn was completely focused, pointing a gigantic black camera with a telephoto lens at a sunflower. Suzanna knew that photography was one of Erinn’s hobbies, one that she focused on when she should have been writing. Suzanna cleared her throat and Erinn looked up.

“Hi,” Suzanna said.

“Hello,” Erinn said, hanging the camera around her neck. “This is a surprise.”

“Oh, I know! Sorry!” Suzanna said, holding out the books. “Your books came in and I just thought I’d deliver them.”

Erinn took the books. She blinked at them as if Suzanna had handed her dirt samples from outer space.

“How is the play going?” Suzanna asked, unnerved by her sister’s silence.

“It’s about as big a catastrophe as the Armada was for the Spanish.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” Suzanna said. “Don’t be depressed.”

“I’m not depressed,” Erinn said. “Just honest.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Hope springs eternal, Suzanna,” Erinn said. “As Longfellow once said, ‘Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat the stronger. ’ Of course, that didn’t exactly work for the Spanish, but perhaps it will work for me.”

Suzanna remembered why she rarely stopped in to see her sister. She tried another avenue of conversation.

“Caro led me around to the backyard,” Suzanna said, bending over and patting the cat. “Who says cats aren’t as good as dogs?”

“I don’t know,” Erinn said. “Who?”

“I better go,” Suzanna said. “I know you want to get back to
work . . . photographing the flowers.”

Erinn had lain flat on her stomach, shooting at a tangle of ivy.

“Go into the guesthouse and grab my 200-millimeter lens, would you?”

“Uh . . .”

“It’s the big one. It’s sitting on the desk.”

Suzanna looked at the guesthouse that was tucked into a corner of the yard. It was a miniature Victorian on which Erinn had lavished a lot of attention and money.

“Okay,” Suzanna said, noting the closed door. “Where’s the key?”

“The guesthouse is in my backyard. I don’t lock it!”

“You keep your photography equipment in there,” Suzanna said. “You should lock the door.”

“I will not surrender to that kind of thinking.”

Suzanna got the lens and held it out to Erinn, who took it without ever looking up, so engrossed in the ivy that speech, apparently, had left her. Suzanna scurried around the side of the house, down the path toward the safety of her car. She turned when her sister called out her name. Erinn was now sitting cross-legged on the grass, tightening the new lens onto the camera. She was not looking at her and Suzanna wondered if it had just been her imagination, and Erinn hadn’t called her at all. Suzanna turned back down the path, when Erinn asked, “Where is your watch?”