“Thank you, that’s quite kind. My toes are pruned already I’m sure.” I hit him with my most dazzling smile and got a scowl. Oh-kay. This nut was going to be hard to crack. But I was up for the job. If I could get his signature on a contract my father would have to finally admit that I was something to be proud of despite the fact that I liked to kiss men. I dug into my bag and pulled out a bottle of a fine fruity wine I’d pilfered from my mother’s wine cellar before leaving The Burgh. “I brought you a housewarming ‘hope we can be friends’ gift.” I held up the bottle of Moscato. “It’s one of my favorites. The peach and apricot flavors just burst to life on your tongue!”
“I don’t drink.”
“Oh. Oh. Well, uhm, sorry?” I shoved the wine back into my bag. Strike one as they say in the baseball movies. “Uhm, that smells good. Is it Kona coffee? I just love Hawaiian coffee. They say it’s a combination of the tropical sun, the afternoon showers, and the volcanic soil that makes it so delicious.”
He lifted the three-pound can from the counter, then showed it to me. His eyebrows were thin and nicely shaped, sitting proudly over those incredible slate eyes. And those lashes. Holy hell, if women had lashes like those, the bottom would fall out of the mascara industry. He was really attractive. So much more in person than in the few grainy images on his website. “It’s the store brand from the Friendly Shopper in town.”
“Ah. Well, I’m sure there’s some Hawaiian grounds in there somewhere. I like to buy the beans and grind it myself. It’s a little pricey but totally worth it just for the flavor and the low acidity. Sometimes when I drink too much coffee, my stomach gets sour. But with the lower acid variety, that’s not a problem. And the rich, full-bodied, earthy flavor is still evident.”
“Yeah, earthy.” He turned his back to me to rummage in a cupboard for mugs.
“Does coffee upset your stomach? Lots of folks have issues, but other than coffee, I’m generally fine in terms of reflux. Unless I eat too much peanut butter. Then I get burpy.”
You’re gushing just like you do anytime you see a good-looking man in flannel. This is work. This is our chance to knock Frank Jr. off his throne. Stop thinking with your dick!
I’m not gushing, I just like to be liked.
Ugh. How pathetic was that last thought? Terribly. “Sorry. That was far too much information. You don’t care about my gastric issues. Is there any chance that I could use your landline to call my father and let him know I arrived here in beautiful Crestwood Corners?”
Ah yes, Crestwood Corners, Pennsylvania, population 2,908 after the last census. Could be more now, but I highly doubted it. There was nothing here for anyone who wasn’t retired or trying to eke out a living from the earth. Farmers and old folks. Two groups that were always strapped for cash, which made those monthly checks so damn appealing.
“Over there by the stove,” he said without a glance in my direction.
“Thank you,” I replied as graciously as I could.
He grunted. I gently placed my bag on the floor by the kitchen table and then pitter-patted to the desk in soaking wet socks. The phone hung on the wall just like my grandmother’s used to. It was quaint. Standing with my back to the man slamming around in the kitchen, I dialed the home office, knowing that my father would be there. He never went home until well after six p.m. If he went home at all. Sometimes he went to “the club” which was a euphemism for his mistress’s condo. Everyone knew he fooled around. Mom knew too and had decided to play the old tit for tat game and got herself a lover on the side. Some Russian guy with a yacht bigger than Rhode Island. Adrastus never talked about his work, and we never asked. It seemed prudent not to ask too many questions about Adrastus.
“Hello, Paula, can you patch me through to my father?” I asked the executive office administrator who handled all the incoming calls to Dad. She didn’t reply, but the phone rang again. Dad didn’t take calls at work if they didn’t go through Paula. She screened all the “environmental nuts” who somehow continuously managed to get his extension number. Sometimes I thought she screened me as well. My father was out a lot when I called.
“Decker, did you get that oddball to sign?” Dad asked the moment the call went through.
“Hi, Dad, I’m happy to hear from you too. No, I’m fine. I just drove into an oncoming blizzard that Leander failed to tell me about. I ended up in a ditch, thank you very much. If not for the kindness of Mr. Melios, I’d have frozen to death in my car.” Acosta made a sound that could have been either a “thank you” grumble or a “I know you’re shining my apple” grumble. Hard to tell. I’d take it as a thank you grumble. I knew I sounded snippy, but fuck it, I was entitled to some snip.
“You expect Leander to check weather conditions for you too now? You’re a grown man, Decker, check your destinations on the Weather Channel before you leave. I told your mother Nanny Annie was making you soft.”
Soft being a secret code word for queer.
“Rest assured, Nanny Annie was anything but soft on me. She made me eat gruel for god’s sake. Gruel. Like I was some Dickens character.”
Acosta mumbled something about nannies, but I didn’t catch exactly what over the slamming and banging he was doing.
“It was supposed to put some starch in your spine. Stop whining about your nanny and tell me if that hippie has signed.”
I exhaled strongly out of my nose. “No, not yet. I’m just getting settled in. I thought you might be concerned that I had, with no help from Leander, driven into a blizzard.” The duck/cat twosome paraded past, the duck eyeballing me much like the rooster had. Did all fowl hate me? Probably. They could probably sense that I’d had a turducken for Thanksgiving dinner.
“Sounds like you’re fine. Get on it. We need to have that contract signed as soon as possible. If we don’t get moving on opening up a well on those parcels, we’re losing millions of dollars a day all because one jackass is worried about the noise.”
Would I disturb the cat and duck who were making themselves comfy on their beds if I primal rage screamed right now? Probably.
“Yep, I’ll get on it. Thanks for your concern. Do you think you can let Mom know I arrived safely? Dad? Dad, are you there?” The line was dead. I turned to look at Acosta, who was cracking eggs into a skillet. “I think your phone is dead.”
“Probably the battery,” he replied with as much rancor as he could jam into three words.
“Ah, yes, that could be.” I replaced the receiver onto the wall-mounted base and sure enough, a little red light started blinking. “Thank you for letting me call home. Whatever you’re making smells wonderful! And all those farm fresh eggs. Yum!” I rubbed my tummy. “Now, is it safe to eat eggs that come from chickens who run with roosters?” He gave me a look that screamed “idiot” so loudly my tummy rubbing faltered.
“I candle all the eggs.” He cracked another big brown egg into the pan with attitude.
“Great! Well, that’s just great. No worries then. Would you mind if I used your bathroom to wash up and dig out new socks?”
