This is the last one I have written. of the long night stuff, that is, not the last vignette ever, oh my goodness, no. I have plenty of other shit yet to come!
But this is the last bit of that dinner, though it certainly leaves the dinner incomplete. But, If I want to move on i figured I'd better go ahead and post this, finished or not.
So enjoy!
************
“Mr. Delaney?”
Jonah dragged his eyes away from Viola, feeling a mixture of irritation and shame. It wasn’t the first time that evening that he’d been more or less caught staring at his teenage daughter. He swallowed, adjusted his glasses automatically, and pulled his expression into one of polite interest for his daughter-in-law.
“Yes, Maggie?” He asked genially. “You don’t have to call me that, by the way, Jonah is just fine.”
She smiled shyly, though Jonah suspected that outside of the Delaney mansion she probably wasn’t half so timid and skittish. She had to have a spine of steel to have wrangled Grey into that gold band, after all. His smile deepened at the thought.
“May I ask—do you have any photos from Grey’s christening?”
Jonah didn’t know what he’d expected her to ask, maybe perhaps ‘would you pass the peas’, but nothing even remotely in the realm of what she’d just asked. He blinked several times.
“Because I didn’t see any in the beautiful album Mrs. Delaney gave to me—“ she pressed gently when he failed to respond.
Jonah smiled once again, but his mind was reeling. Grey’s christening? So many lines of thought were jockeying for position in his head he found it most difficult to form a verbal response. That day had been awful. He hadn’t even wanted to christen the boy. He eschewed organized religion and Velvet had expressed her ambivalence about the archaic ritual as well, but then, everybody has parents and aunts and even grandparents, each with firm beliefs on the subject, each with sets of vocal chords that never seem to rattle louder or more incessantly than when they’re lecturing you on how to raise your first child.
“Photos.” He said ponderously, hoping his mask resembled an aging father trying to recall if they had such an album and where it might be. “Hmm.” Out of the corner of his eye he caught her fiddling with the saint at her neck. She was nervous. He sensed she wasn’t interested in the photos at all. Not really. She needed to know if her new husband had been baptized a Christian. Jonah’d studied the world’s major religions for years, which is how he’d settled on his own agnostic tendencies.
His new daughter-in-law needed to know if she could make the sacrament with Grey before a priest. Jonah groaned inwardly at the thought of this poor little thing dragging his recalcitrant son off to a chapel and coercing him into a ritual he would neither respect nor adhere to. But, he reminded himself, it had been Grey that had offered. It had been his son who had, unprompted, made the willing concession to recite vows once again before the Ramirez’s family priest.
“I’d ask Grey’s mother, but she’s already put together such a wonderful photo collection, I don’t want her to think I’m ungrateful or that it’s wanting for anything.” The young woman rushed, rather self-consciously.
Jonah nodded conspiratorially. “Of course, of course.” He said, and made a ‘don’t worry about a thing’ hand gesture. “But between you and me, I’d bet money that the album she gave you will be but the first volume in a series.” He winked and chuckled, which seemed to put Maggie at better ease.
But she was still waiting. Nervously. Her whole world hinging on how he responded to her disguised inquiry.
Jonah reached for his wine and took a long sip to but himself time to formulate a response. Because the truth was, he couldn’t be sure the ceremony had been successfully completed. He didn’t know for sure if Grey had been baptized properly or not. Because he hadn’t been there. Because he and Nolan had had to escort a certain person from the premises about midway through the blessed event. And it had been quite an uproar. A scuffle. It had stopped the ceremony dead, as he recalled.
And no. He didn’t believe there were any photos around of that delightful little incident.
Maybe his mother had kept some? But those would have been lost in the fire.
“You know what, I don’t know if we have photos handy—I’m never sure where Velvet squirrels these things away, but I could probably put my hands on the christening gown.” He offered as a consolation.
Her eyes widened a bit, before washing over troubled. She bit her lower lip.
Jonah wondered if she’d have her baby baptized in Grey’s gown or if she had her own family heirloom for the eventual occasion. “He was baptized at First Presbyterian on Sycamore.” Jonah added helpfully. “Do you need a certificate, or, um, something to that effect?” He was educated enough to know that Grey would need to be a baptized Christian in order for the church to recognize their union, but he hadn’t studied deeply enough to have a grasp on the particulars of paperwork and other clerical requirements.
He studied her reaction carefully. She flushed lightly and looked quickly away from him, first across to where Grey sat and then down to her plate. Her dark eyebrows drew together in distress and she seemed to force her hand from their habitual spinning of the little medallion. When she’d taken a breath and folded her hands neatly in her lap, she pulled her spine up, sat a little taller and then smiled pleasantly at him once more, her chin higher than before, her chocolate gaze clear and direct.
“I believe that would be a great help.” She answered frankly. “The record, I mean, more than the gown.”
His mouth took on a wry curve. “You can have the gown when you find you have the need.” He told her gently. “But yes, I can understand that the document would be more useful in the immediate.”
“Right Dad?” a voice was pressing, sounding as though maybe they’d already asked once or twice, trying vainly to capture his attention. Jonah became aware that his end of the table had become very quiet and several pairs of eyes were fixed intently on him, awaiting some response.
He glanced around, an apologetic little smile in place. “I’m so sorry, I was chattering away over here—what was the question?”
It was Avalon who spoke again, looking miffed and icy when she repeated her assertion about folk lore and wedding customs, looking to him for confirmation. He smiled and nodded, confirmed what she’d said and then added some factoid of trivia about colonial brides and antiquated marriage law, and then the onus of the figurative spotlight passed from him once again.
When he turned to continue his discussion with Maggie he found she’d been pulled into a rather animated conversation with Keer and Genny about some tween heartthrob or other and a scandalous celebrity wedding.
So his eyes went back to where they’d been before she’d ventured her veiled request for Grey’s baptismal record. He lifted his wine to his lips once more and let his gaze slide slowly over Viola, who was seated at a comfortably significant distance from him this evening. Not by her choice of course. With so many guests her mother had made place cards and everyone knew there was to be absolutely no switching around. Velvet Delaney was a sweet, gentle, kind-as-can-be lady, but it was a well known household dictum to avoid foiling, either intentionally or through careless accident, her plans for a proper dinner party.
One did everything one could possibly do to ensure Velvet’s best laid plans went off without impediment or detour. Or one suffered days and days of lamentation and woe over the failed or botched event. Suffered hours on end of hearing about how it had all been planned perfectly but then somehow it had all, misery of miseries, gone horribly wrong!
So Viola sat where her mother had assigned her, a careful and deliberate placement made on the predication of a carefully calculated algorithm of Velvet’s design, which took into account personality types, conversation style, gender, age, and the ability to tolerate Celia, among other factors known only to Velvet herself.
And he rather liked the distance for conflicting reasons. For one, he was able to relax a little, knowing her foot would not find his below the table. Breathe easier without her constant and cloying attention. Think more clearly because she wasn’t near enough for him to smell her, to watch closely the mesmerizing rise and fall of her small but perfect breasts, to feel the pulsing need pouring off her, clouding his brain with relentless and wicked pheromones that muddled everything up completely.
He also couldn’t deny that at this distance he was able to appreciate how perfectly fucking adorable and gorgeous and delicious she looked this evening. And, in a sort of circle of reasoning, he was once again glad of the forced distance and barrier between their bodies.
He glanced around the table quickly to make sure he wasn’t being watched. He’d just about made it back around to Viola when he caught his brother’s curious and stormy stare. Fuck. He lowered the wine glass enough to flash Nolan a smile.
Nolan didn’t smile back immediately. Instead he lowered his brow slightly and squinted a little.
Jonah pointed at his glass and nodded appreciatively as if to say: ‘This is great wine you brought! Thanks!’
Nolan blinked, hesitated, and then nodded in return with a friendly-enough smile.
Christ. Jonah looked determinedly in the opposite direction of his youngest daughter and his too keenly observant brother.
He could hear his mother-in-law making some critical comment about the lamb, and he tried not to listen.
“When?” He asked Maggie when she finally emerged from the thrilling (to Keer anyway) debate over pubescent nickelodeon stars.
She sipped her water gingerly. Was she still struggling with nausea at this point? He scanned her plate. She seemed to have eaten well enough, though certainly not with much gusto. She was forcing it down to be polite.
“When is the—“ He wasn’t quite sure of the appropriate term for a redundant wedding. “When will you make the sacrament?” He asked, sounding more like he was asking if he’d said that right than about the event.
“Tomorrow.” She replied with a grateful smile. He couldn’t read whether he’d got the phrasing right, but at least he hadn’t screwed it up to the point of offense.
Tomorrow.
“Oh.” He said, not able to mask the surprise. “Should we, I mean, should Velvet and I? Did you tell us? That is, was Grey supposed to let us know—“
Now she blushed again. “It won’t be, um, we aren’t doing anything grand at all.” She apologized. “It will be sort of, private?” She searched the air in front of her for a better way to explain.
“A quiet ceremony?” He helped gently.
“Not even really a ceremony, more a, well.” She sighed. “It’ll be fulfilling an obligation. No frills. Nothing fancy.” She admitted.
Jonah nodded and pushed a piece of asparagus around on his plate idly. She wasn’t the only one struggling with nausea and lack of appetite. Though his sickness was much more grim and unnatural. His eyes flicked to Viola once again and her eyes flicked up at the same time. She smiled slyly and tossed her hair over her shoulder to better display her slim white neck to him. He forced his attention back to Maggie.
“Velvet will be devastated if she learns there was any kind of ceremony for the two of you, and we’d somehow missed it.” He said bluntly. He might have tried harder to couch that in more delicate terms. Afterall, he was basically inviting himself to a religious ceremony to which, it seemed, neither the bride nor the groom had intended to extend a welcome.
The girl looked mortified. Jonah felt guilty.
“Of course you can—I’m so sorry that we didn’t—I didn’t think you’d want to—because, well, you aren’t catholic—and it isn’t going to be anything grand or—I’m so sorry, how thoughtless of me—“
Jonah opened his mouth to apologize and reassure the girl when he heard his name being called again.
“Dad.” The voice said firmly. He glanced over. It was Grey this time. And he looked bullshit. His eyes jumped from Maggie to Jonah and back again. Jonah could almost hear the ‘what the fuck?’ reverberating in his son’s mind. Maggie looked more than a little distressed, and Grey was too many seats away to know why, or how to fix it, but he looked like he had no trouble pinning the blame on his old man.
Jonah heaved a heavy sigh. He hastened to soothe Maggie, assure her that everything was alright, that she hadn’t offended at all , and that there was no need to tell Velvet about the wedding service. He did this all with Grey’s pale green eyes boring furious holes into the side of his skull, and Maggie’s wide chocolate irises washing over with the threat of tears, and Viola’s electric purple stare daring him to look her way, and Nolan’s curious, heck, downright suspicious stormy blue gaze monitoring most everything Jonah did.
This evening was proving to be even longer than he’d dreaded.
Ay Dios Mio. Remember my writing? It emerges once more.
I went back and forth on this one. Wasn't sure I wanted to reveal what I reveal here, but. Well. What the hell?
In case you can't remember what in the hell is going on, go back and peruse this one (long night 7) real quick. Of course you are free to read all the entries about The Long Night, but the above mentioned should get you pretty well up to speed for this week's installment.
As ever, enjoy.
********************
Grey closed the door after Viola and stared Maggie down.
She looked shocked and confused and a little disgusted. “You use drugs?”
Grey shrugged.
Maggie frowned and studied him carefully. “How often?”
Grey rolled his eyes and pushed off the door, past his wife, and headed for his closet without responding.
“Grey?” She sounded sharp and edgy.
Still he ignored her. He was all kinds of pissed off, and he knew himself well enough to recognize that in this mood anything that came out of his mouth at present would be hurtful, spiteful, cruel, and entirely unnecessary. So he kept his trap shut. He needed to get them both through this charade, and for that he needed to make sure Maggie didn’t run crying from the house.
He moved quickly once in the large walk-in closet. He moved to the shoe collection, ran his finger down the neat rows, and automatically removed the last pair on the left. He reached deftly into the now empty space and slid a small piece of false backing to the side, revealing a shallow cubby he’d hollowed out of the wall when he was sixteen.
He could feel her watching him, but it couldn’t be helped.
With an enormous sigh of relief his fingers seized upon the small tin he’d left there, forgotten, for years. With his eyes closed he pulled it from the secret hole, replaced the innocuous false back, and carefully rearranged the shoes to look as though they hadn’t been bothered with at all.
He quickly opened the tin to make sure the contraband was still within, then snapped the lid back on and pocketed it smoothly.
Maggie was staring at him, puzzled and very clearly upset with him.
“The shit she found is mostly kid’s stuff.” He snapped gruffly. “I don’t want her getting a hold of this.”
Her eyes widened and she looked horrified. “Grey—“
“Spare me the sanctimony.” He rumbled. “What I do, and what I’ve done is none of your concern.”
She winced.
He suddenly wished he had simply told her the truth. Explained that sure he’d done recreational drugs—he was rich and privileged and more than a bit of a rebel against his Dad’s wholesome upbringing. He knew how to party and had been damn good at it.
But that he hadn’t taken anything illegal in years. He’d outgrown it. He was over that. Now he stuck to good liquor in large quantities, and, okay, maybe occasionally marijuana when it was around. He didn’t need the hard stuff.
But the look on her face just needled him and he felt the urge to scandalize her and push her buttons and tell her to go fuck her judgment and her disappointment. What right did she have to look at him like he’d let her down? She wasn’t his fucking mother. She wasn’t anything to him.
Then why did he feel like a heel? Why did he feel guilty and ashamed?
Fuck that.
“How are we on the trimesters—is now one of the bad times to experiment?”
She set her mouth in a grim line and turned on her heel to exit the closet.
He sighed. He didn’t want to care what she thought about him.
He followed her out of the closet, sourly wishing the night would hurry up and end, but knowing it had hardly even begun. He snapped the closet light off and closed the closet door just as Viola reentered.
She looked from Maggie to Grey with a mischievous little smile playing around her eyes and lips. She was way too fucking clever for her own good. Grey was more than a little pissed with himself that he’d left his casual collection in a place where his little sister might get a hold of it. Of course it had been well hidden and cleverly disguised, but he should have known better. Viola had always been smart and curious and hell-bent on misbehaving.
“What were you doing in the closet?”
Maggie looked at the floor.
“Just a quickie.” Grey responded.
Viola laughed appreciatively and Maggie glared at him.
“What’d you dig up?” He asked his sister, shrugging off the prickling guilt that the sight of Maggie’s welling eyes had evoked.
Viola promptly held out a baggie of assorted pills. It was nearly empty compared with how he knew he’d left it. Goddamn hellion. Jonah and Velvet had their hands full with this one and they likely didn’t even realize it. Grey almost felt sorry for his Dad. If the poor guy ever found out what his precious little girl was really like…
“I certainly hope you didn’t take the majority of it.” He said sternly.
Viola giggled and cocked an eyebrow at him. “What do you take me for?” She challenged him. “Do I look strung out?”
She looked healthy. And alert. And he’d never seen her looking anything but. He held out his hand and she delivered the little baggie to it promptly.
“Losers weepers.” He said and pocketed it.
“Hey!”
Grey shrugged. “Maybe if I could trust you not to be an idiot and sell them to your little classmates—“
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Why don’t you run and cry to Dad about it?”
She pouted and glared at him.
“I’m sorry, ok?”
“I don’t give a shit about your remorse.” He said with a laugh. “What the fuck good will ‘sorry’ do you if you get busted with intent to sell?”
She rolled her eyes and made a disgruntled noise. “So, what? Now you’re all grown up and married and suddenly you’re a fucking Narc?”
Grey smirked. “Don’t get all pissy with me because you’ve been acting like an idiot.”
Viola huffed. “Whatever.”
“Nice comeback.”
Viola opened her mouth to retort but Maggie spoke first.
“What happened to your cousin?”
The Delaney siblings turned in unison to face her. That was a bucket of cold water, alright.
Grey exchanged a look with Viola. He guessed his expression probably matched hers; sobered and chastened.
“Cole?” Viola asked quietly.
Maggie looked at Grey.
“It was a car accident.” He said gruffly. “Nolan was driving.”
His wife gasped and covered her mouth.
“It wasn’t his fault—“ Viola interjected weakly.
“They were hit.” Grey kept going. “From outta nowhere by some asshole vacationer.”
Maggie looked pained and horrified. Grey focused his eyes on the slim gold ring encircling the finger of her left hand, which was still pressed to her mouth. He could still remember vividly the night his dad had told him about the accident. Remember rushing to the hospital to wait, with everyone, to wait and what, pray? Beg?
Remember the way his aunt had fallen to her knees right there in the place they’d been asked to wait while a team of doctors had operated on his tiny cousin. Had fallen to her knees on the monotonous green linoleum when the grim faced surgeon had emerged, Cole’s blood on him, and delivered the awful, unfathomable news.
“Was, the other driver--?” Maggie whispered into the hush of Grey’s childhood bedroom. She kept her hand over her mouth.
“He was drunk.” Viola confirmed dully. “He was fine, too—could have walked away from the crash with a scratch or two.”
A tear slipped from Maggie’s eyes, slipped right over the gold ring.
“He killed himself.” Grey said emotionlessly.
Maggie wasn’t the only one to gasp at that. Viola hadn’t known that. That’s right, she’d been pretty young at the time. Dad hadn’t told her about that.
“What?” Viola whispered. “I thought he was in jail.”
Grey rolled his shoulders back. “He couldn’t take the prospect of prison, or maybe he couldn’t take the guilt.” He shrugged.
Maggie sank to sit on the bed. Viola wandered around the room, processing this.
There’d been no trial. Been no justice, no closure, no peace. Grey remembered the funeral. Remembered his Uncle’s decline into madness.
“One of the worst parts was, the guy had bought all his booze at the shoppe earlier that day.” Grey added after a few minutes.
“No.” Said Maggie, shaking her head as if he must have his facts wrong.
“Nolan had sold the motherfucker an entire case. Gave him the discount for buying twelve bottles.”
Maggie continued to shake her head and weep silently.
“They found six empty in his car.”
“He closed the shop.” Viola added. “For a while.”
“No more.” Maggie choked out. “I can’t hear any more. Not now.”
Grey reached over and squeezed his little sister’s shoulder gently. “Give us a minute?”
Viola nodded vaguely, staring at Maggie’s tearful display, and backed toward the door without comment.
When she’d gone, when the door clicked closed, Grey crossed to Maggie and opened his arms. She shook her head and wiped at her face desperately. He gathered her against him and she sobbed openly, wetting his shirt and blubbering what he suspected was a litany—in Spanish—of prayers for the dead.
He swallowed around the lump in his throat and rubbed her back. He wouldn’t have expected her to take it this hard—she hadn’t ever met Cole. But she knew and obviously cared about Nolan, and… Grey closed his eyes. And she had family, she could certainly imagine… and. And she was going to be a mother soon.
He didn’t entertain the notion that her becoming a mother would mean that he’d become a father. He focused on how she must be imagining what Zahra’d gone through. Chalked it up to her over-active hormones and her powerful tendency toward sympathy and empathy. He held her and said some kind things. The things his Dad would say. But he felt empty and hollow and lonely while she wept. She felt warm and sweet and so fragile in his arms. He wanted to lay her down on the bed and let her curl up next to him and weep until she fell asleep. And he had no idea where such an impulse was springing from, which irritated him.
They stood there, in the middle of his childhood room, until she managed to get a hold of herself.
He knew his family might suspect they’d been fooling around. He wished that were the case.
And when she pulled out of his arms, quietly thanking him for being patient, he washed over angry and cold. He nodded curtly, gave her terse instructions on how to locate the nearest upstairs bathroom so she could freshen up, and he strode from the room.
I haven't done any writing in some time. Snippets, maybe, here and there, but nothing real. Nothing worth saving or cultivating.
I believe the desire is still with me, to write, but something always seems to be getting in the way. Mainly my own self, but also time, exhaustion, environment (I can BLOG when Eric is around, but I really haven't been able to do any creative writing...), etc.
So I allow myself to occupy the time by doing other, less challenging things. I read. I watch shows. I play videogames (these are fun and challenging, but not anywhere near the creative payoff I get from writing.)
Currently i'm re-reading Harry 7 (because the movie got me all jazzed), The Dexter Book (the first one, season one stuff; I started reading it but had to stop because Aaron wants to read it together, which means we will never get through it. Gone are the days of leisure that afforded us the luxury of reading an entire book together. It used to be one of our favorite couple activities, which is why I think we're trying it again, but these days we're both so busy and then tired when we're done being busy that I despair of ever getting through it--and it is quite a short little novel too!) And also The Sexual Life of Catherine M. Which is very intriguing, but not work safe. Maybe I'll make a little book cover for it so I can bring it to work, since it is physically a more manageable size than Potter and since I can no longer continue Dexter on my own. we'll see. Or maybe i'll just grab some Margaret Atwood book off the shelf and go with that.
What i should be reading is plays. childrens plays. playsfor teens. All that bullshit. because i am, afterall, incharge of choosing and then producing 3-4 plays this year. Gag me. 3 for starline and possibly one for aftercare, where I've been tapped to run a drama enrichment seminar beginning in january. I want to stab my eyes out.
Why am i so completely uninterested in doing this shit anymore? Maybe because so much children's theatre is shite, maybe, but maybe because my heart just isn't in it anymore. Maybe I'll write something outrageous and inappropriate for them to perform like on arrested development. Imagining my nine year olds talking about chlamydia makes me giggle.
I wish so painfully that Aaron and I had never fought this weekend. I feel like at least two days are completely and irrevocably lost to all that terrible awfulness. And now i feel unprepared for the next month I have to get through before the holiday break.
This month includes a fucking parents night at starline, which, my friends, is wayyy worse than friends week. Friends week I get some extra kids to play with, try to make them have a good time and encourage them to join up. Parents week? yuck. It feels like they come in and sit there and judge judge judge everything I do and say. They are paying a good chunk of change to send their kids there, and they want to know if it is worth it. grosssssss. That's soon. Not this week, but next?? I am so underprepared for that happy horseshit.
And then there's the fact that working these hours makes it nigh, yes nigh, impossible to see friends. Friends. Who make life worth slogging through.
I had to cancel a fun evening at my favorite new mexican place because of the bullshit with aaron. And a fabulous movie date too. I want those days back.
W.E.
And that thanksgiving?? The most unfulfilling, lame, perfunctory thanksgiving I have ever endured. I kept regretting the decision to forgo our own veggie thanksgiving. Regretting it bitterly. I felt bereft and superfluous and untethered to any sense of family or belonging or purpose. I don't believe aaron even understands the depth of it. My heart is heavy over it. It was yet another wasted, useless day.
At least i didn't have to endure that reunion afterall. that was a small blessing.
Sorry for the grumpy tude this morning. It was one where i just did not want to get out of bed. pout pout fish.
I'm sure i'll snap out of it and cheer up. It's just going to be a rough week; I have alot of financial bullshit to sort through (since that got shoved to the back burner due to the fragile state of my entire being this lovely weekend), plus we never had the time\balls\energy to have the big convo with our roomate--so that's still hanging over me, plus I likely won't have time to see Danielle at all for another whole week, plus i need to figure out a way to get my car inspected with no time to get it done, the list of eeyore blues just goes on and on folks. When I'm in this sort of mood i am intolerable. Yucky. Maybe by writing it all down here i will have at least partly exorcised it?
Another thing that needs doing this week: making an appointment to 'see someone'. yup. I wonder where that will fit into the jam-packed schedule that has become my life.
Oh, and does this make me selfish\crazy\unreasonable? I have not had a moment alone in this house, not a fucking moment, in so long I can't even remember now. Either Eric or Aaron are always always always here when i'm here. Obviously I don't mind aaron so much (lol), except for this: I have not been able to lay down and relax with my vibrator if fucking forever, and even though the sex I've been having have been awesome (it really has been good. Orgasms, creativity, hawtness, all sorts of good things happening-- plus you can't beat the human connection), sometimes you just want to unwind, lube up, and go to town on your own, right? Am I the only one? Well, whatever. It's the truth. I want to have a lengthy, healthy, multi-multi0multi-orgasmic session all to myself. Let my mind wander to all the naughty\lovely\risquee\forbidden\erotic\whatever imagery i want and just float away into oblivion.
Aaron hardly gets more time alone here either, but he gets some, but either way he insists it doesn't bother him so much. He hasn't masturbated in forever, no alone anyway. He says it holds no interest for him. He gets regular and very pleasing sex, so jerking off isn't necessary. I don't know what it feels like to have a penis and to jerk off, and although I agree that I am sexually satisfied and don't NEED to masturbate... I kinda fucking want to.
TMI. Way too much. Thank christ hardly anyone reads this, and this isn't stuff I wouldn't share with you guys anyway ;)
Ok. Off to work with me. Feeling slightly better, having got some of that heaviness off my chest.
I need a coffee, a hug, an ear to bend, and a real vacation. And some time alone with my battery-operated pal.
At the dinner party last weekend aaron and I hadn our tarot reading done.
We both got this unpleasantness:
Which is a groundshaking, game-changer that you can't possibly see coming. (all I kept thinking was: Well, if I can imagine a pregnancy at least it won't be a pregnancy!)
This week we fell to pieces. Ground shaking, game-changing pieces.
It was quite terrifying. honestly.
I'm hoping that the worst has passed, and that there's no more evil tower in store for us. (Or unexpected pregnancies!)
However, i must say, in doing a google image search for the tower card image (none of them, incidentally, seemed quite as threatening or ominous as did the one in andrea's beautiful deck), i came accross one that made me smile. Oh, sure, i know it's supposed to conjure all kinds of dire implications and shadows of patriarchy and sexual dominance and power and whatnot, but the thirteen year old girl inside me couldn't help but ghasp and giggle and then look closer... hmmmmmm....
anyway. How's this for a threatening tower?
See more of this intriguing and sexually-charged deck here: Nudie Tarot ;)
I was talked in to attending, despite my mounting anxiety.
Now I have to go without one of my best friends.
I am nervous and shaky and things are still feeling fragile with Aaron and to go to this tonight is making me a little manic.
Things happen. I get it. But.
I'm so worked up about this now. Ugh.
Now the number of people I want to see there numbers like, three? Four maybe?
And only really one in particular ;)
But I'm feeling so tense and insane about it at this moment. Grumblecakes...
And what will I even wear?
I need to relax.
Because I am going to see someone that i very much want to hang out with. And that makes it worth it. And we can leave whenever I want. And i will likely have some sangria before I go.
Fuck it.
Maybe a good amount of sangria.
But i don't want to be sloppy. I want to be on my game. I don't wanna be 'that' person.
It feels shaky, it feels tentative, it feels weary and cautious and all so touch-and-go.
Today is thanksgiving.
I am thankful for the love of my dearest friends. I am thankful that Aaron and i still seem to have love, despite us reaching a point yesterday which I believed there could be no coming back from.
I'm still not convinced. But we'll see.
I hope it's not always this feeling of holding my breath.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
So my marriage ended today.
Over.
I plan on telling my parents that I'm moving back in when I visit for thanksgiving tomorrow.
As for the rest of it?
No clue.
i mean clearly, right? Because I'm blogging about it instead of doing something productive.
Aaron called yesterday mondursday, since it was technically a monday but simultaneously the second-to-last day of the workweek this week. So today is sorta a fruesday, right? TGIfruesday.
One bad thing: In School Suspension day. Last time went so horribly that I entertained quitting the job I just aquired. No good terrible horrible very bad indeed.
Also I am just so tired I feel like I could curl up and sleep right through this whole extended weekend we have coming.
So right after I decided (after some advice from friends:), to go ahead with my plans for my first vegetarian thanksgiving, my very first thanksgiving on my own as an adult, with my husband, something that means a heck of alot to me, right after I decided to make it happen--guess what? Fucking eric's schedule changes and he is now miraculously available to make it to gramma's by noonish, which means now Aaron wants to make it to gramma's for noonish and my whole fucking day gets tossed out the window.
So I'm back to the bleak prospect of attending a thanksgiving I am not invested in, that I do not care about, that I, infact, sort of resent. With a whole passel of people I honestly could not be bothered to see again if they were not my inlaws. Seriously. And I sincerely don't mind if that sentiment makes me callous or awful. It is the truth.
So we're doing that. And Then Mum's for desert later on, which is only mildly more tolerable.
I'm over the whole blood relative thing. Well. I love my brothers and sisters still, at this point, and probably wouldn't mind a thanksgiving with them. But they all have their inlaws to do. So i guess it is only fair to let aaron spend his thanksgiving with his fucking brother, huh?
Whatever. You all know me, right? ou know how clearly my face telegraphs my inner monolgue? I have to get myself in a cheerful frame of mind wuick, or thanksgiving is going to be a bitch-face extravaganza!
Something fun to look forward to: The movies on friday :) so happy.
And then that damned reunion. I'mma approach it as a fun little social experiment and hope I don't say awful things to anyone. heeeheehee.
Oh and can I just say? I doubt any of you have ever been addicted to a videogame, but when you are a gamer and you purchase a brand new video game? You think about it all day at work, for real, and all you want to do is come home and play said purchase. That is the way it is. It may not be lovely, or glamourous, or even socially kosher, but it is what it is. The new game is more important than sustinence, sex, and most niggling responsibilities. It overshadows all the other activities that you normally engage in for recreation. It is a siren song, a golden fleece, an obsessive crush.
This glow lasts for just a little while, really, just a fleeting and thrilling time before you either beat the game (for the first time), or get accustomed to playing it. But while it lasts it grips you in a singlemindedness that is fierce and powerful.
And other gamers know this, have felt it, and ought to respect it.
Did you see me go anywhere near that Xbox when aaron and Eric pourchased Halo Reach? Did you? hm?
NO. i did not. I wouldn't dream of meddling with the new-game-fever of a pair of gamers. Out of respect. Out of courtesy. i mean, someone lays a good chunk of hard-earned change on the counter for said game, and they have clearly been looking forward to playing, then why the fuck would I ever dream of hogging Xbox hours at that time?
Yeah.
I think you can guess.
I come home, after a long ass work day-- a day punctuated with very few highlights (but those few are precious to me and made me smile quite a bit), tired, downtrodden, strained, and all I want to do is dfisappear into the vivid fantasy of being a magical queen or whatever, and guessthefuckwhat?
yeah. I actually don't really want to talk about it.
But the part that pisses me off is that Aaron says I have no one to blame but myself for not kicking him off the xbox. Really? And say that I do, just suppose I come home and am like: Listen Eric, get the fuck off the box, I got a darkness to fight and a kingdom to save!
Suppose i do this? what then, praytell, does my bortherinlaw do with himself then? Aaron is on the computer, and it seems to me that besides xbox and computer, the kid has no other hobbies to occupy his time. So then I'll be trying to enjoy my game while dealing with the passive agressive huffs and sighs of a bored person who has no means of just getting up and out of the house for a while on his own.
Gross. And the house is too small, way too small for that bullshit.
And there is no fucking way I want him using my laptop. I can't say why precisely, but I do not. It is my personal computer and I don't want him near it. I kinda hate when he uses my phone and I try to avoid letting him do that too, because it's like: GET YOUR OWN FUCKING PHONE.
And guess what? He isn't going to work today. I swear, I think that kid has maybe worked one full week of work since he got this job. UGH! he pisses me off so the fuck much. So he'll be here all day, fucking off, nursing this imagainary sickness he's suffering from (laziness and can't-handle-the-real-grown-up-world-itis), and playing his fucking videogame al the livelong day.
So yeah. When I get home this evening, you bet your fucking ass I'm kicking him off the system. And No, he's not using my laptop, and no, he's not using my phone, and I don't even give a fuck.
Sorry wells fargo, sallie mae, wachovia, bank of america, citibank, suntrust, AES, lane bryant, notheastern, the US government, mom, and whoever else I was supposed to deal with this weekend. Sorry, too, to all the residents of Cedar Falls, USA; I know your lives wait for me... but a new game came out!
And I truly regret the sorry state of my home at present. It is a wreck, and it doesn't smell too lovely either...
And this is why I entertain the notion of maybe not having kids at all...
I did manage to feed the cats. Feeding ourselves went less successfully.
And today I have to leave the vividly imagined and wartorn world of Albion behind and get my lazy ass to work.
Continuing with the lazy sloth motif, I've decided not to do anything about thankisgiving. Much in the same way I did nothing about St. Patrick's day. I'mma just go to the BHS football game, go to Gramma's, Got to Mum's, and not give a flying fuck about any of it. That sounded unpleasant.
Aaron says we'll plan on doing our own vegetarian thing next year. Meh.
At this point I think I'd rather go with his other, more outlandish idea: Change the thanksgiving holiday to Second Halloween! Costumes, haunted things, ghost hunts and so many days off to celebrate properly!
Seems like more fun than trying to replace turkey on a day centered around turkey...
Oh, right, sorry. Thanksgiving is about family, right? Is that why Gramma says we have to eat strictly at noon because the patriots are on at 12:30 and once that magical minute ticks into place we lose half the members of the family to the fucking television? Yeah. Forgive me if I'm a little jaded about the family bullshit.
Whoa. All I had meant to do here was post the picture and call it a day. Apparently whilst I was defeating tyrants in Albion, my subconscious was cooking up one hell of a tirade! Sorry folks. Happy monday?
Just two days of work this week. Just two. I can do this...
For my Bestie, who is taking the fucking MTEL today, as I type this little ode to her awesomeness.
Here's hoping you kick some test ass! You will score big, girlfriend!
I thought i'd make you a little pictorial blog post of images for TEST and MTEL and TEST TAKING, ala Google Image search. So the above came up whilst searching MTEL. From one of the MTEL support sites prolly. however, along with some more lameass clip art and some southamerican telecommunications company that is also apparently called MTel, the following image also showed up, and I thought you might fancy it. (I did).
Yummiest MTEL Pic on the Net! Woot!
Ok. So then I just searched TEST for you...
To cheer you and make you smile, allow me to present the following series of images.
Ahhh. Lovely. Japanese School Girl taking a test. Thought you would enjoy this thoroughly.
If you get stuck on any answers, maybe this terrifying fellow will help you out. Imagine him like one of those shoulder angels. Only instead of a traditional cliched angel and devil, you get a bizarre foreign test-taking mascot with kicking sneaks! 'C' is for Creeped the fuck out...
Lateral Thinking should always be applauded. This kid should write for Cedar Falls. ;)
If all else fails... bubble in a dick 'n' balls on your standardized test sheet :)
This is why you got yourself up at the asscrack of dawn and put yourself through it. So proud of you and happy for you. And I'll be glad to share a drink with you as soon as you are ready!!
Eggplant Parm that was, no lie here, fucking perfect eggplant parm. Plus delicious penne with a homemade and very dynamite sauce, and a fresh salad with apples and cranberries and this fabulous fig dressing. YUM! My hosts were great, the conversation was fun, and it was a really, really nice way to wrap up the week. I brought a pinot noir that was meh, but I drank it, so, i guess it was worth the price, lol.
It is wild to be around people at such different stages of relationship. Old married (that's me and A), engaged, and brand spanking new. It is always tricky for me to accurately remember what I must have been like at those phases of our relationship, and try to empathize and offer sound advice.
I hope I did so, though.
I belive in love.
And I believe in laying yourself out there, completely, and not holding back.
Sometimes it is easier to believe in something than to do it.
Wisdom. Courage. Strength. Balance. Passion.
Just some words that are on my mind right now. We did Tarot readings too and those are just so nebulous and cryptic and intriguing. I think, as much as I tend toward spiritual and the goddess and energy and all that, I think sometimes I am still too fucking Irish for such things. I want some definite, clear answers. And being a libra exacerbates everything! It could be this OR it could be this....i'll never be able to lean one way or the other, folks, not left to my own devices! I don't make choices! sheesh.
I thoroughly enjoyed the deck though. Beautiful art and very thought-provoking imagery.
And I enjoyed the time we spent on the readings, speculating, pondering, theorizing, and philosophizing.
If I have regrets, I own them as my own fucking fault.
next dinner party I will be awesome.
Aaron was perfection :) He is a good party guest, no? Je t'adore.
Am so relieved it is friday. Yesterday was excruciating. More on that some other time. Right now I want to bask in the pefectly friday-ness of today.
I need to pick up a nice bottle of red tonight for the dinner party :) I'll probably get a chianti, but I think I'd also like to grab one of those Zacchanigni ones. That was a completely butchered spelling, but the little bottle with the piece of grape vine stem. SO yummy and versatile (and affordable!)
I'd also like to give a big shout out and GOOD LUCK to Danielle on her MTELs tomorrow!! Woot woot! So proud of you and excited!! You will rock the socks off that Communication Skills and Literacy test!
And even thugh he doesn't read the blog, I'd like to thank my husband for being infinitely supportive, understanding, encouraging, and sublime. He was an angel to me yesterday after my worst day of work so far, and I just love him to pieces. Besides, he's being beyond perfect about some other fun things too... ;)
The verdict is still out on thanksgiving. Keep ya posted.
Plus-- let's talk Aaron's high school reunion!?!?!?
So, for fun, Aaron and I have learned the words to Cole Porter's "You're the Top" from Anything Goes. We've created our own little duet with it, Louis and Ella style.
We did this sunday night while learning to make pretzels for FOOD WEEK (Our theme week at After Care this week!). We did this for no real reason, other than the fact that we both like to sing together, both enjoy catchy fun tunes (Who doesn't adore Cole Porter?), and both enjoy a challenge. We did this fueled by MaryLou's coffee and I have to say it turned out to be an infinitely better decision than taking a nap, which we were both sorely tempted to do. Instead we hopped in the car, got some Lou's, got back here and started being goofballs, singing and playing and generally enjoying being a couple of weirdo geeks together.
needless to say, eric was not in the casa. lol.
I have suggested that we perform this charming duet at dinner parties. Aaron has said 'no way in hell'. I replied: "Maybe with enough booze...?"
Maybe, maybe never. keep your fingers crossed. I'm not saying we're GOOD, I'm saying we're highly entertaining.
Also in our repertoire at this stage:
Elephant Love Medley from Moulin Rouge!
Walk the Line
The Long Black Veil
The Boxer (simon and garfunkel... don't ask me why this song, in particular, but it is a favorite for roadtrips...)
and Part of That World from The Little Mermaid. Aaron is especially adorable on this one.
We also tend to sing Leavin on a Jet Plane, Blowin' in the Wind, Love Rescue Me, Haleluia, and assorted others-- but the above listed are among our more practiced duets.
I missed my true calling as a folk singer... but that's a blog entry for another day.
Any requests? Anything you think we should learn?
I'm thinking "You say Potato, I say potAhto" (Let's call the whole thing off). We love this one, but just haven't focused our attention on learning it.
Ciao for now friends. Tomorrow is wednesday, which means a long day with a sweet reward at the end :) Coffee and naughty literature? We sahll see what the night brings.
Wasn't well yesterday. An entire day wasted to feeling ookie, lethargic, uninspired, achy and gross.
;Felt alot better by the nighttime, which was something, but I still wasn't in the wirting frame of being. so instead I picked up a book to read. The girl with the dragon tattoo?? anyone read it? It's a hit, I guess. Movie and everything. So I read the prologue. no, make that- I read the first three paragraphs of the prologue and resented the book for being so fucking well written. For real. That's a slice of my psychosis for you. It was really good, this prologue. It hooked me, it held me, it hinted to me and it was a really good prologue. So much better than I was expecting a piece of pop fiction to be.
And it made me simultaneously want to read this book and give up my clumsy efforts all at once! So... fun fun.
I've always been that way though. Oh, someone else is good at something I like doing? fuck this, then, now I won't even bother doing it anymore, pouty face.
With acting it took me a long time to get over this ridiculous compulsion. and learn from those who were more skilled and talented. A long time and thousands of dollars.
With directing? Not there yet. I'm in the 'inspired by other directors' phase, but this goes hand in hand with the 'I'm not good enough\smart enough\committed enough\ talented enough\inspired enough\creative enough\skilled enough to do this' phase of my journey in directing.
And writing? Forget it. if you think the above mentioned phase is kind of a down-on-yourself bummer, then you couldn't imagine the litany of invectives i have hurled at myself about the writing.
And teaching too. I'm most definitely in the 'i don't wanna do this ever because I am not capable or equipped to do this' phase with teaching. for real. I wanna run the other direction and never look back. Which is a sunny sort of attitude to have whilst working in three different school settings!!
Anyway. Just an update on my headspace and heartspace at present.
Sounds like A is done in the shower, so I gotta get my shoes on; we lost a whole day yesterday and need to get a hell of alot done right now.
Hope you all are enjoying a lazy sunday :)
Oh, before I forget; I floated the idea of maybe not going over Aaron's gramma's for thanksgiving and actually having our own little vegetarian thanksgiving here at home and guess what? He didn't reject it out of hand. He didn't dismiss it outright! I mean, listen, i can wait to have my own thanksgiving, I can, I understand the tradition and the family and all that hooey, but I can't express how much I've been fantasizing about having our own little day here together. i've been making tentative menus, trying to see which dishes could work as a thanksgiving sans turkey. And I think I want the challenge. Want to start our own traditions and memories and all that.
We'll see. I think if not this year then definitely next year. I'm champing at the bit to be our own little family, you know?
Also, I don't know if you know this, but I went vegetarian the day after thanksgiving last year, so I anticipate this holiday will be a very challenging one for me. My first thanksgiving without turkey?!?!? I am so nervous.
Will keep you posted on that.
In case you're wondering:
Stuffed Acorn Squash
Harvest Bake
Vegetable Pot Pie (or maybe vegetable shepherd's pie!)
Cornbread
Maybe a bechemel lasagna?
Anyway, I have to dash right now because I woke up late and then dawdled doing my makeup and such, so now I'm running behind. HOWEVER. I would like to ask my avid reader a poll question.
When I get home I want to post some fiction, but am having trouble deciding.
So:
Do you want me to continue with the Nolan\Zahra backstory? I have some cute things written for that.
OR
Do you want me to get back to present-ish with some Maggie and Grey? I didn't finish that 'long night' stuff, but I could just move on and maybe get back to that shit later, maybe...
OR
Is there something else you're in the mood for? I have little vignettes written for most every character at this point, so if you have a special request lemme know...
Ok, can't wait to see what you decide! I'll be home this evening.
LOVE!
Beth
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Sometimes things don't work out the way you plan, or hope, or fantasize about.
As I grow up I've come to see this as opportunity, rather than as disappointment. When I was a kid I used to get so awfully let down when things didn't work out according to how I'd imagined them.
Now I usually smile a little, say 'oh well', and look forward to the next little surprise.
And you know what? Delaying it makes the gratification more powerful, doesn't it?
*************
On a separate note: i am in a pissy mood today. I have to go stack wood on my day off because my parents live in the stone age. Then I have to teach drama class to what will likely be drastically diminished class numbers because my stupid employer decided to have class on a federal holiday. gross. I can't express to you how much I wish I didn't have that looming over my already largely wasted day (due to the wood complication at noon).
On top of this, Aaron is sick and thus, even though we have the house to our fucking selves for once in a blue moon while eric is at work and we have a morning off of school, we aren't having sex. I would like to be a better person about this, but honestly? I'm royally pissed off right now. I want to come, I want to get fucked, I want to do all the loud, raucus things I can't do when our third wheel is present, and I'm not getting to do any of it. Wah, right? whatever. so I'm a selfish fucking cunt. I don't even care right now. I'm all wound up, for tons of reasons, and I am craving release like WHOA! And the thing is? I never pull out the old vibrator when aaron isn't in the mood-- it is awkward and kinda rude, you know? like if he was willing to be up there with me but just too weak or tired and sick to get me off, then maybe, maybe we'd pull out the toys and have some fun, but he is SOOOOOOO not in a sexy place at all, and If I go up into the bed and pull out the vibrator? ick.
I mean, imagine if your guy did that to you? He'd be a pig. Like, 'oh you're not feeling well and not in the mood? ok, you go watch lifetime and I'm gonna jerk off by myself up here for a while...'
I'd probably feel very unhappy about that. So I'm doing everything /i can think of not to go crazy from wanting to relive this awful tension.
Grumble.
Why does this flip-side of desire make me a raging bitch? not sexy, just a gross, awful human being.
Zahra was still kind or reeling from that kiss by the time he was coming around to open the card door for her. Good thing she hadn’t been wearing socks, because he’d have knocked them right the hell off. Nolan Delaney knew how to kiss a girl. Woohoo.
Sure she’d made some minxy little comment about it, something that had made him laugh and place a smaller, follow up kiss on her lips before helping her into the car and closing the door gently after her. Sure she’d kept up a witty repartee and flirty banter on the long-ish drive up to Cedar Ridge. They’d laughed and teased and played the take-turns question-y game. Sure, she’d played it cool.
But in all honesty she was shaking inside. Her knees were distinctly untrustworthy—they were a rebellious amount of watery at present and she wondered what she would do to recover from falling on her ass at La Buggia Bella 5-star restaurant and winery.
And don’t even get her started on the damn lily. Now who needed to be pinched? And no matter how she scolded herself for over-reacting to the symbolic combination of red, yellow, and silver—the sight of it, in this man’s open palms, had thrown her for such a loop.
Because thinking about forever was a stupid ass thing to do on a first date. And he wasn’t Indian; he had had no idea that he was handing her a color combination that screamed ‘wedding wedding wedding’! She smiled to herself. And hadn’t she worn white? For her white wasn’t first and fore-most a wedding dress (in fact, her mother would have a conniption to see her wearing white outside of a funeral—her mother could be so old fashioned!), but for him? She wondered if that look that had crossed his face when he’d turned around and seen her garbed in white and silver with an up-do—she wondered if he hadn’t had a breathless vision of the future like she had when he pulled out that damned flower.
Probably not. The dress may be white, but it certainly didn’t look like a wedding gown. Probably that expression that had stolen over his face had had more to do with how dynamite her breasts looked tonight. She smiled down at them just as her door opened and he extended his hand for her. They looked spectacular. ‘Looking good ladies’, she told them silently, before slipping her hand into his waiting palm and stepping from the vehicle.
Would it always tingle like this when they touched? It was unlike anything she’d ever felt with anyone before. She tried not to let that fact get her all carried away. No sense putting carts before horses or eggs in baskets or whatever idiom was appropriate. He was a good-looking guy, an interesting guy, a funny guy, who was taking her out on a date. No sense jumping the gun (there’s another one!) and ordering monogrammed towels or anything. Sheesh.
But damn if he didn’t look like he wanted to kiss her again right now, as she stood close to him, a repeat of how close he’d stayed when he’d helped her up from her beach blanket that afternoon. She chuckled at him. “Save something up for the proverbial ‘good-night’ kiss, Nolan Delaney.” She teased, her eyes sparkling.
He nodded sagely. “Thanks for reminding me.” And he offered his arm again, buttoning the button of his sport coat casually. Damn he was a sexy piece of man.
She let him take the burden of conversation as they walked up toward the graceful, sprawling restaurant building that attached to the main winery, nestled nicely over cliff with an exquisite drop, and no doubt an equally exquisite view. He talked about some of the winery’s long history, named a few stats about what kinds of grapes they grew, what kinds of wine they produced.
“Hey.” She said, a sudden thought occurring to her.
“What’s up?” He asked, not the least bit ruffled that she’d very rudely interrupted something he’d been saying about altitude and late-harvests. “Boring you?”
“No, no, ice wines, got it, no—“ She looked around. There was valet parking but he’d opted to park rather far away and walk up. Strange. And he’d parked off to the side, the view was great, but she hoped he’d put on his emergency brake because it seemed like someone could walk by and look too hard at it and it might topple over the ridge and meet a fiery doom on the rocks below. “No, you work at The Riverside Bistro.”
They walked quietly for a moment. “Yes.” He said.
“The Riv is one of the fanciest places in town—in fact, one might say it’s the main competitor to this place.”
She watched him purse his lips and nod. “One might.” He agreed.
“So why are we here?”
“I’m not gunna take you to the place I work—not on the first date.” He laughed. “Would you take me to the dentist’s office?” He’d finally gotten around to asking her what she did for a living during the car ride up.
“You have a great smile, by the way.” She said, not for the first time.
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you—it’s great to look at.” She said distractedly. “So you just wanted to take me somewhere swanky and since you work at one of the two best restaurants, you had to take me to this one by default?”
He made a non-committal sound. “Well, I used to work here.” He offered with a funny smile. “And the wine selection is pretty much unrivaled in the area.” But he wasn’t telling her everything.
They mounted the wide steps and approached the tall, wide entry doors.
“You used to work here.” She restated. Yeah, he’d said something about that earlier in the afternoon, but she hadn’t given it a second thought at the time.
“Mmmhmm.” He responded, looking up and ahead of them as they climbed. “Did my apprenticeship here, worked as a cater-waiter, bartended through college.” He murmured.
He was smiling at someone. She followed his gaze to where a large, good-looking black man stood, apparently waiting for them, wearing a wide grin and shaking his head slightly. Zahra had seen this guy at the lakeshore that afternoon. He’d been teammates with Nolan. They’d lost several rounds, but not because of this man. Nolan had been playing lousy. This guy hadn’t been half bad.
“What happened?” She asked sassily. “You get fired?”
Nolan tucked his chin to his chest and smiled at the ground as they made it to the top. “Yeah, actually.” He said humbly.
She stopped and pulled her arm from his to get a better look at him. It was dark out now, the valley below twinkling with the tiny dots of streetlamps and headlights and porchlights. The entrance to La Buggia Bella was illuminated in a very warm amber. He looked like a Hollywood star. “Then why the hell would you want to come here?” She asked with a half-laugh. “I got fired from Bombay Grille in the city when I was in college and I still tell people they have roaches and that they use expired milk in everything to this day.”
He laughed. “Well, this place is the best, whether I got my ass fired or not.” He said.
“Plus, he knows the owner.” Rumbled a deep baritone-almost-bass voice as the tall black man stepped toward them. Nolan grinned and embraced him heartily. Then the two men turned their full attention on Zahra.
“Len, this is Zahra Keerthani.” Nolan said, stepping to her side and placing his hand casually on her mid-back. Her nipples hardened immediately. Dammit. It had been a while since she’d had sex, but not so long that she could expect her body to respond like a horny teenager at the slightest male attention. She hoped Len’s eyes stayed on her face. “Zahra, meet the owner of La Buggia Bella vineyard and winery—and my best friend—“ The men smiled. “Lennox Knight.”
Wow. Yeah, she’d read about him. They had a few copies of the month-old magazine with his face on the cover in the waiting room at the office. He was even better looking in person. She held her hand out reflexively and he didn’t hesitate to take it and bend over it in a smooth but tame kiss. “Pleased to meet you Mr. Knight.” She said. She’d felt Nolan’s hand press more firmly into her back when Len bent to pay courtly tribute. Oooh. He didn’t seem like a jealous type.
“Call me Len.” The man said smoothly as her straightened. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you Zahra.” He shifted his eyes to Nolan for a moment and his expression sparked of mischief.
“Thank you.” She said breezily. “Tell me Len, why did you fire Nolan?”
Len threw his head back and laughed richly. He gestured for them to continue on into the restaurant. They walked, Nolan gave her a small smile and kept his hand planted on her back, though now it slipped a little lower, a more comfortable location for him—a decidedly more distracting place for her.
“This was years ago—“ Nolan started to explain.
“I was still a bus-boy cater-waiter when all that went down.” Len reminisced fondly. “So I’m not privy to why Old Mack gave Delaney the boot.” He chuckled. Zahra suspected he knew exactly why. These two were best friends and had been since at least their college cater-waiter days? He knew. “But I can tell you, it’s the stuff of legend, and there are quite a few juicy rumors about it, still to this day.”
As they walked, employees in fine La Buggia Bella uniforms were opening doors and gesturing mute directions, preceding them now with menus and preparing a table for two by a wide expanse of windows overlooking a view that gave Zahra pause. She glanced around. This had to be the best table in the place. She furrowed her brow curiously. “Drinking on the job?” She offered teasingly. She would find out. She had an inkling that whatever had happened somehow played a key role in making the man who was now deftly guiding her to her chair, shooing the gawky college aged waiter kindly so that he could hold her chair for her.
“He can’t help himself!” Len laughed. “Always an open bottle when this guy’s around.”
Nolan slid the seat in beneath her like a pro. Well. She supposed he was a pro, wasn’t he? Nolan Delaney was no amateur in the hospitality department. “I’d better be careful, don’t want to lose my head over some wino.” She joked, wishing Len would go away so she could focus on Nolan.
Nolan sat, wearing an expression that communicated a fondness for having his balls busted by her. She flashed him her dimples and he smiled broadly in return.
“I can take his keys now, if you think this lush’ll make a scene.” Len offered smilingly.
Nolan gave him an arched eyebrow. “You going to be our waiter, wise ass?” He asked. He talked to Len the way she did to her brother.
Len chuckled. “Nah.” He said, waving a hand dismissively. “As much as I could use the hefty tip, I’ve got other things to worry about without worrying that I’m turning this lovely lady’s head with my unstoppable game.”
Nolan laughed, but he shot her an almost nervous little glance. It was subtle, it was barely perceptible, but Zahra caught it and it made her like him more than all his charming confidence could have done in that moment. She laughed a full throated laugh, winked at him, and then turned her eyes up to Len. “Well, I saw you both looking at the beach today.” She said wickedly. “Was it his turn? Or did you flip a coin?”
Len looked startled and then laughed approvingly. “Either way he’s the lucky one who gets to sit here with you tonight.” Nolan’s best friend replied suavely and gave her a very warm, but’ definitely friendly--rather than more-than-friendly—smile. Then he turned to Nolan. “Alright Delaney.” He said, his tone changing to a more ball-busting one. “I’ve done my part—walked you in, got my staff in a tizzy, got everyone looking; anything else you needed?”
Nolan glanced around the restaurant approvingly. “Nah, that’ll do Len. Nice work.” He busted right back. “Too short notice for the harp music and red carpet, huhn?”
“Well now you’ve ruined the desert surprise. Good going.”
Zahra smiled for their back and forth. The royal treatment they’d received hadn’t escaped her notice. All eyes in the restaurant, server and patron alike, were turned their way. Now she watched Len shake Nolan’s hand, saying something about ‘anything you need, just say the word’, and Zahra was sure she caught the flash of something shiny exchanged from his hand to Nolan’s. Then he was gathering up her hand once again and placing another warm, but passionless, kiss thereupon. Zahra rewarded his loyalty to his friend with a dazzling smile and a murmured ‘thanks’.
Len nodded goodbye and stepped away, pulling a waiter aside with a litany of low-voiced instructions.
One young waitress approached rather timidly to light a candle on their table. A rather bored looking young man approached with a pitcher of ice water and wordlessly overturned their glasses and poured without splashing one drop. Yet another different face followed on his heels with two handsomely bound menus, an attractively done list of specials, and then a veritable book that read ‘Wine List’ in scrolling silver script across the front.
When at last they were left alone for a moment, Zahra finally let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and laughed gently. “Well, if I was the kind of girl that could be bought, Nolan Delaney, you’d be getting lucky in the restroom right about now.”
Nolan let out a surprised laugh and his eyes sparkled. “I understand the coat closet offers more space.” In truth, though, he looked a tad rueful about all the fuss. The good-looking, shirtless, lousy, beach volleyball player seemed just slightly ill-at-ease with being on this end of the hospitality service. He looked, to Zahra, as if he might pop out of his seat, throw on an apron and settle in behind the bar or something.
She shook her head, puzzled. “You’re good looking, good humored, and seem pretty good all around.” She stated. He tilted his head in a question. “You don’t need to woo a girl with all this, is what I’m getting at.” She explained.
“Oh.” He said, and scratched lightly at the back of his collar. “Thanks.” He responded lamely. “I don’t usually—“ He trailed off.
She huffed a little puff of air from her nostrils. “You seem to be doing a lot of things around me that you don’t usually do.” She noted cannily.
He met her eyes and she wondered if she’d ever get used to the way those stormy blue-gray depths made her heart thunder in her chest. “You aren’t a usual woman.” He replied bluntly.
She arched a brow but took it as he’d intended it—as a compliment. “Well you certainly make me feel like something special.” She confessed, edging the candid words with a playful spark to cover the vulnerability behind them.
His eyes went soft and he smiled. They had one of those long, wordless moments of just staring at one another. If someone had told her she’d one day enjoy just staring like an idiot at a guy on a date, she’d have called them delusional. But, damn, if she didn’t enjoy just gazing moon-eyed at Nolan Delaney. His face was so expressive, his eyes so rich and full of a language all their own.
“So, a place like this have a sommelier?” She asked at last, when neither of them had spoken in a minor eternity. She could feel the waiter Len had assigned them hovering not too far away, waiting on tenterhooks for the right opportunity to ooze over to them.
Nolan blinked, seeming to shake himself just barely, and then smiled a roguish little smile. “Naturally.” He said with a playful arrogance. “Full-time.” He added impressively.
“But it’s not you.” She said.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
He opened his mouth and looked very close to speech, but then reconsidered. He reached for his water, sipped, and then gestured to their menus. He waited for her to lift hers before taking up his own. “I got fired from this place, remember?” He said, his eyes scanning the menu, but, Zahra suspected, not really seeing it.
“When you were a kid—“ She protested.
“Would you go back to work for the Bombay Grille?” He asked casually.
“Maybe if they offered me a cushy sommelier job and the ownership changed hands to my best friend.” She said off-hand.
She made a show of poring over the menu but out of the corner of her eye she saw him startle and then grin before setting his menu down.
The waiter took Nolan’s unoccupied posture as an invitation to approach. He was young and polite and more than a little nervous. Zahra’s heart warmed at the way Nolan was instantly able to put the kid at ease by making light jokes and being subtly complimentary. “I used to have your job.” He told the kid after a couple minutes of chatting with the lad, during which time Zahra watched the kid’s shoulders go from somewhere around his ears to the relaxed, easy posture of a person at a party. “We’ll try and make it easy on you—and I’ll put in a good word with the boss.” She responded to the down-to-earth tone he used; another man might have sounded like a condescending, stuffed-shirt prick.
Nolan Delaney sounded like a genuine guy. Like a bartender. She sipped her ice water to cool down. Bartenders did it for her.
When he was comfortable and smiling the young waiter recited, with little flair, the specials for the evening, and mentioned a wine that had just been added. Zahra watched Nolan for his reaction but he kept his smile polite and controlled. He had a poker face afterall. Why was he an open book almost all of the time when he looked at her, but he could throw on a neutral mask of affable charm with other people?
As he was leaving, the waiter casually tossed-off that he’d send the Sommelier their way. Nolan opened his mouth to respond, but the water was already gone. He looked at her and shrugged.
“Oooh.” She teased. “Two sommeliers in one day. When it rains it pours, Zahra.” She said wonderingly.
He chuckled.
“You worried I might have a thing for sommeliers and maybe I’ll take a shine to this one? Leave you high and dry?”
He raised his eyebrows, seemed to consider this for a moment and then gave her a devilish grin. “You’re a sommelier groupie?” He played.
“Maybe.” She purred. “If they all look like you, then sign me up for autographed posters and road trips following behind tour busses.”
He had the best smile. “They don’t.” He broke it to her. “And if you keep complimenting me like that I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my head on my shoulders.”
She shrugged languidly. Nolan spotted someone approaching and stood with an effortless grace that Zahra found particularly delicious. He sucked at volleyball, but this man was in-shape, athletic, and yummy from head to toe. She could imagine easily, because she’d spent all afternoon conjuring it, that he’d be dynamite in bed. She imagined he’d have great stamina, be able to last and last, and recoup quickly for more.
Shit. He was introducing her to someone.
Zahra looked up, a little startled to see a stunningly attractive woman beside them. What was this?
“Zahra, this is my good friend Simone; Simone, Zahra.” Nolan spoke warmly.
Zahra was immediately struggling to hold her head above the tidal wave of insecurities that washed over her at the sight of this knock-out. It threatened to swallow her whole. She extended her hand to the beauty, hoping that she wasn’t trembling as noticeably as she felt like she was inside (she suddenly felt very much like a giant jell-o sculpture), and she smiled automatically to hide the pang of jealousy, confusion, and disappointment she was experiencing.
This woman was lithe and bronze and looked every inch a Calvin Klein model. “Zahra.” The woman spoke with a liquid, smooth, feminine voice that threw Zahra’s own rhaspy speaking voice into sharp contrast. She found she couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so she kept her tongue frozen and just smiled warmly.
Simone didn’t seem to notice the lack of verbal response, she just kept on as though Zahra were pulling her conversational weight. “My friend is a lucky man indeed tonight.” She said coyly. Great. She had an accent. Simone was lithe, bronze, model-esque, and now add to that: exotically European, sophisticated, and undeniably alluring. She was some kind of poster-child of male fantasy. Zahra doubted very much that the woman was wearing any undergarments of any kind beneath that slinky black dress.
Simone flashed a devastatingly perfect smile at Nolan, who kissed her cheek before turning to Zahra. “Simone is the Sommelier here at Bella.” He said simply.
Oh, spectacular. Even better.
Zahra couldn’t wrap her head around it. Was this why he’d wanted to bring her here tonight? Because surely these two smoking hot sommeliers had had a steamy sommelier romance. That much was obvious. Maybe that’s how Nolan had gotten fired! Maybe these two were sneaking a torrid affair down in the wine cellars and, in the throes of a vigorous, passionate fuck they had knocked over row after row of wine racks, and, in an awful mockery of dominos, bottle after bottle of rare, priceless wine had been smashed to smithereens while they climaxed together gloriously. Zahra imagined Simone the Sommelier moaning ‘Oooh, la, la!’ as Nolan brought her to an earth-shattering and wine-cellar destroying orgasm. Viva la France.
“Thanks entirely to Nolan.” She murmured, all milk and honey.
Nolan smiled humbly and resumed his seat. “Not at all.” He said dismissively. “You earned your place.” He insisted.
Simone raised an eyebrow. So did Zahra.
“We studied abroad together.” Nolan explained to Zahra with a perfectly innocuous smile.
Wonderful. Zahra immediately pictured the two of them fucking up against the Eiffel tower. Maybe Simone wore a beret and held a baguette suggestively while they did it.
“So what is this?” The French vixen hummed sensuously. “A pop-quiz?” Her laugh was light and musical. Zahra wished she was at home on her couch with a pint of the chocolaty-est of chocolate ice creams in her lap and a cheesy movie on the tube. “Am I being evaluated?” The lady sommelier was flirting, but Zahra detected a note of sincere concern underneath her words.
Nolan shook his head with a chuckle. “No, Simone, honestly, I didn’t expect them to send you over, but the waiter is new.” He glanced at Zahra. “I’m definitely not here on business this evening.” Pleasure was the implied flip side.
But Zahra wasn’t in the right headspace to enjoy the compliment. She was too preoccupied with subtracting the probable difference between her dress size and Simone’s. She wasn’t comfortable with the resulting numeral.
“Good.” Simone said, playing up the relief she felt for dramatic effect. “It is a little intimidating trying to sound knowledgeable to the man who practically wrote the entire wine list here.”
Zahra liked that Nolan had the grace to look embarrassed. “It’s good to see you, Mona.” He said affectionately, but quellingly. “We’ll likely start by the glass, no decisions yet.” He smiled pleasantly.
Zahra searched and searched the two for a hint at their sexual history, but she couldn’t be sure of anything. But surely they must have. Look at the two of them! And how many female sommeliers were there in the world? They probably felt obligated to do it together. Maybe one day soon they’d be forced to copulate to ensure the survival of the sommelier species.
Simone was buzzing on in that all-too sexy accent of hers, but Zahra was past the point of being able to listen and focus. Whoa. She was bone-rattlingly jealous. She’d never, ever, ever, been jealous like this. It was ridiculous. He wasn’t even hers. They hadn’t even been to bed together! They’d only met that afternoon! What the hell was this?
She didn’t like it, whatever it was. And she didn’t like feeling enormous, and frumpy, and plain. She wanted to be home in her PJs fantasizing about some cute guy she’d seen at the lake.
Instead she was sitting across from that guy and wondering what in hell he was up to, getting her all dressed up like an elephant at a wedding, and trotting her out for his old girlfriend to look-over. And Simone had--looked her over, that is--more than once. Zahra felt ugly and fat and on-edge, where before she’d felt gorgeous and curvy and on top of the world.
The table was silent when Simone melted away. It was not one of those comfortable, electrically charged silences Zahra had liked so much.
“So.” He said. “You going to up and leave me for Simone?” He asked lightly.
She glowered at him and his smile evaporated.
“I was only kidding—“ He said, his brow coming together sharply, his beautiful mouth in a grim line.
“More like the other way around, isn’t it?” She challenged, wanting to sound cool and detached but managing only bitter.
Nolan blinked. “What?” He asked plainly.
“If you’re trying to make her jealous, I think you should be more discerning in who you pick next time.” She felt her throat grip up and blinked back a heat in her eyes. What the fuck was wrong with her?! This was ridiculous. “I don’t think she finds me at all threatening.” Zahra took a breath. “And maybe just give a girl a heads up next time. I’d have been only too glad to help you get back at your ex if you’d been upfront about it.”
Nolan ran a hand through his hair. “Zahra—“ He said, his voice tight.
“Look, I won’t embarrass you in front of your friend Len, and I’ll pretend we’re into eachother for Frenchy, but let’s you and me drop the bullshit ok?”
“There’s nothing between me and Simone—“ Nolan protested, leaning forward, his face earnest and a little desperate.
“I saw her looking me over, sizing me up.” Zahra said. “And she’s gorgeous. And she’s the only woman sommelier I’ve ever heard of, and you two make a very handsome couple.” Shut up shut up shut up, Zahra! She silently begged herself. Be cool, bitch. Nobody likes a jealous harpy. You sound like an insane person.
To her utter surprise Nolan laughed. She wanted to slap him. But he laughed.
“I’m glad it’s funny to you.” She said heatedly. “But the joke’s on you, pal, because as long as I’m here and all dolled up, I’m going to order the most expensive everything I can find on the menu.”
He managed to stifle his merriment, but not his smile. He cleared his throat, tossed a glance around them, and then said in a low voice: “She wasn’t sizing you up, Zahra, she was checking you out.”
She stared at him. Yeah. What was the difference?
“I mean checking you out.” He repeated. “Simone’s a lesbian.” He clarified.
Oh. Oh. Ohhhh. Zahra closed her eyes and wanted to just melt into the floor. “I’m so sorry.” She said immediately. And she was. She was sorry she’d ever agreed to this date. He was so perfect and she was such a moron.
“Forget it.” He said gently.
“No, I’m an ass.” She said miserably, unable to look him in the eye.
“Not at all.” He soothed quickly. “I didn’t realize how that would look if you didn’t know Simone and if you didn’t know me.”
She looked up tentatively.
“I’m clearly not her type.” He said with a soft smile. “But she wouldn’t be my type even if she were so inclined.”
Zahra could feel the heat lingering on her cheeks. She felt shamefaced and all jumbled up. “Oh yeah?” She inquired numbly. “Gorgeous isn’t your thing?”
He laughed a short laugh and then fixed her with a smoldering stare. “Oh, no, gorgeous definitely does it for me.” He said firmly. “You’re gorgeous Zee.” He told her.
The spontaneous nickname made her smile despite her abject mortification.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” He went on, without a hint of pretense or agenda. It was humbling and exhilarating and strange, this bald honesty of his. “And judging by the way she was ogling you, I’d guess Simone feels the same way.” He grinned brightly.
Zahra laughed deeply; grateful for Nolan Delaney. “Well.” She said, reaching for her water. “Now I have something new to fantasize about in the way of sommelier sex dreams. My cup runneth over.”
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