A Half Dozen Fools (8 page)

Elyse smirked. "Yeah, well...I guess that's just the way it goes." She sighed and strolled over for a look at some pastels that had caught her eye on the way in.

Scrutinizing various shades of green, she began to conjure a forest scene with them, adding wild flowers in pinks and yellows. While she designed the entire image in her mind's eye, she lost track of time and space and didn't notice Keb watching her.

A few minutes later, Keb packed the hundred Make-Up Place flyers inside a brown paper bag and taped it shut.

"Flyers to go, Mizz Elyse," he called. "In spite of the simplistic design, let's hope they bring you lots and lots of business."

She came out of the spell cast by her imagination and rushed over to the counter. "Sorry. I got caught up thinking about a picture I'd like to draw."

"No problem. Are you an artist?"

"I've been known to dabble."

She paid him, and Keb took his time counting back change. He handed her the last quarter with an affectionate tap on the wrist.

"Don't look so glum there, beautiful!" he said cheerfully. "It'll all work out--you'll see."

"You sure about that?"

"Sure, I'm sure. You just gotta have faith."

That wasn't something she'd expected to hear come out of Keb's mouth. But it was time to move on. She had to get back to work.

"Thanks for your help, Keb. See you 'round."

"You're welcome, Elyse. Anytime."

Elyse leaned her elbows on the window ledge and stared at streetlights up and down the block. Behind her, Rick Giordano slipped his hands underneath her nighty and caressed her smooth, bare thighs.

"Mm," he cooed, "silky soft."

"Thanks," she said with a chuckle. Over her shoulder, she said, "So, you never answered my question, Rick."

"What question was that?"

"How come we never go to your place, only to mine?"

"Well, first of all, how many times have I actually stayed over here, Elyse? Like, three, so far?"

"So?"

"So, it hasn't been that long. What difference does it make, right now?"

"I just think it's weird you haven't invited me over yet, that's all."

She felt him tense, but continued, anyway.

"I mean, the past few times we've gone out, we come back to my place. Why can't we go to yours, too, once in a while?"

"Are you trying to piss me off, Elyse? Because you're doing a good job."

Abruptly, he ceased rubbing her thighs and pulled away.

Elyse turned to see him plop down on her sofa and guzzle merlot.

She was now getting a taste for yet another facet of Chef Rick's peppery personality.

"Look, Rick, I'm not trying to piss you off. I don't see why you should get so mad at me just for asking."

He emptied the last of the merlot from the bottle into his glass. "Listen," he said in a more reasonable tone. "I already told you the deal. My roommates and I agreed, up front, not to bring people home to spend the night."

"And your two roommates are girls."

"Right. They're just friends. Always have been, always will be."

Elyse narrowed her eyes and tried to figure out whether she smelled a fib or not. "And one of them is a flight attendant?"

"Right, Elyse, I've told you that, like, twenty times, already!"

Elyse parked herself on an arm of the overstuffed chair angled toward Rick seated on the sofa. "Right..." she mused. "And, you said sometimes other stewardesses spend the night, too, right?"

Rick looked over at her with an intentionally bored expression. "How many times we going to go over this, Elyse?"

"Until I meet your roomies, I guess."

"Well, that's not gonna happen. I told you, we have an agreement."

"So, I never get to meet them?"

"I didn't say that. Quit overreacting."

"Well, okay. Just tell me this, then."

The chef gave her a sourpuss.

"How many stewardesses stay over, on any given night?"

"Flight attendants."

"Whatever."

Rick shrugged. "Depends. Could be three, four...more, sometimes."

Elyse's eyes widened. "But didn't you say you share a two-bedroom? And you have your own room?"

"Yeah."

"So, where do all those girls sleep?"

"Anywhere there they can," he said with a chuckle.

"But, like, do they ever come in your bed?"

Elyse watched her lover's mouth twist but remain closed.

"So," she asked suspiciously, "they do? They crawl in your bed with you sometimes?"

"Maybe."

"That would be a, 'yes,' Rick?"

The chef exploded in anger. "What the fuck is this, Twenty Questions? Yeah, so, sometimes they do--so what?"

"With you in it?"

"Well, I'm not giving up my bed so somebody else can have it!"

"Okay, but--and here's the really important part--does it lead to more than sleeping?"

He shot up off the sofa. "You know, Elyse, I'm not having fun anymore! I don't need this shit. We're not married."

"No kidding, Rick. That doesn't mean you shouldn't be honest with me. I'd just like to know what's going on here. I mean, you implied you want a relationship, and I finally sleep with you thinking we're, you know, going there, and then..."

"And then, what?"

"And then this!"

The chef heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, look. I do want a relationship. I just don't want to be nagged at all the time."

"I don't think I nag you all the time because I ask where you live and why I can't come over once in a while. I'm just trying to figure out what the story is."

"It's a flophouse, okay? A flophouse! Flight attendants crash there after long flights. Days of flying, sometimes weeks of it. I needed a place to live after my divorce. Stacy and Marie have always looked out for me since my marital problems began. I knew them from the last place I worked, and they've always been there for me. They happen to be very protective of me. I don't want to make them uncomfortable, so I keep certain things separate. That's all there is to it."

"But it's okay with them if you sleep with their friends who need a place to crash?"

"Fuck this noise," Rick roared. "I'm out of here!"

He stormed into the bedroom. Elyse shook her head trying to fathom what she'd done to piss him off so much. A moment later, he was back in the living room. He dropped his knapsack by the sofa and sat back down to pull on his shoes.

"Look, Rick, I didn't mean to get you all upset, but I think it's only fair to know what's going on. Don't you?"

"I told you what's going on, Elyse, and you just keep hammering away at me. I don't need it! I've got enough stress in my life with that fucking restaurant. I don't need to explain myself in my private life, and answer to you for the way I live."

Between the wine and upset emotions, Elyse was having a hard time keeping her thoughts straight.

"But, Rick, I...I mean, I don't think I was asking you to answer for the way you live or anything." She forced herself to remain calm. "I just think it's fair that I should be informed. And know the truth. Like, I should know what I'm getting into here, right?"

Rick wouldn't look her in the eye. As soon as he finished tying his black work shoes, he rose and pulled his jacket off the chair by the kitchen table. Next, he grabbed his knapsack from the floor and slung it over a shoulder. Elyse rose and went over to him.

"Listen, Rick," she began softly. "Don't you think I have a right to know what you're all about?" She caressed his hand. "I'm not trying to make you mad--"

"Well, it's too late for that!"

He snatched his hand away. She stepped back from the level of hostility he exuded.

"Wow," she said in a shaky voice. "If that's how you want to be about it--"

"It is! Fuck it! I want to be left alone!"

His knapsack almost whipped into her when he turned and stormed past her. He jerked the front door so hard it whacked against the wall.

Elyse gaped as it limply swung back to a close. She shook herself from complacency and ran out in the hall after him.

"Rick," she called quietly in stocking feet, "come back! Why are you acting this way? Let's talk--"

Too late. He'd already disappeared down the stairwell without waiting for the elevator.

Elyse ran back inside her apartment. She crossed the living to the window overlooking the street. When she spotted Rick coming out the lobby doors below, she unlatched the window and yanked it up.

"Rick! Please," she called down, "come back! Let's talk about this--don't just run away!"

But he trudged westward along the sidewalk with his head lowered against the wind. She watched him until he turned left and was out of sight.

Furious, she slammed the window closed and locked it tight.

* * * *

Sipping her chilled vodka, Elyse looked out the glass wall over the buildings and rooftops in Times Square. Seated beside her, Sharmaine sipped a margarita, while on her other side, Dylan drank a French martini. The platform of the rotating bar crept so slowly, the movement was barely perceptible, affording plenty of time to take in the sights while drinking a cocktail.

Elyse jerked a thumb back over her shoulder. "I miss that giant Five O'Clock coffee mug that used to blow smoke from its spout. It used to hang over that building back there--remember? I loved how it tilted and hung there for a minute before the steam came rushing out."

"Been gone for a while now," Dylan said.

"Sure, but I remember when I first saw it, My dad took me to see
Damn Yankees
with Jerry Lewis on Broadway eons ago. I thought it was so cool because my dad used to drink that coffee at home, and there it was, an icon in Times Square."

"I liked it, too," Dylan added, "that vapor pouring out of it. Had a certain nostalgia, the design. Harkened back to the twenties. 'Course, that was before the giant video screens took over, when there were only billboard ads."

"Before the theater district turned into Vegas," Shar drawled in disgust. "Look at the frigging place. Where'd the charm go?"

Dylan sniggered. "Probably the same place as the hookers, pimps, and drug dealers--across the river to Jersey!"

"Well," Shar said, "I prefer a little sleaze to what's here now. A commercial cluster fuck. You can barely walk down the street, it's so crowded--and the noise level!" She grimaced and shuddered. "Yay, ra-ra, technology."

"For the tourists, darling," Elyse interjected drolly. "All for the tourists."

"Right," Dylan added. "Got to make it worthwhile for them to come and spend their paychecks."

Shar lifted her drink. "Well, fuck that, I say. It was more fun before." She sucked the last drops of her margarita through the straw and motioned the waiter for another. "Just one more reason to get the hell out of Dodge."

Elyse blinked. "One
more
reason? How many do you have?"

Shar looked at her. "I told you retirement's on my mind."

Before Elyse could ask Shar more about her retirement and "getting out of Dodge," Dylan asked Elyse how the Make-Up Place was doing.

"Kind of depressing," she answered. "Sales are down. Rod is all over us to build our clientele. There's a free skin care consultation and application with every makeup session."

Dylan chuckled. "Same shit as always."

"Yeah, but at Black's, last year, we had free gifts for the holiday. Rod expects miracles with nothing. It's tough competing with big department stores these days and what they've got to drive sales."

"I know," Dylan said. "Believe me, I lived it for years."

Shar looked at Dylan. "How lucky, your ex-boyfriend happened to be head makeup artist for
One Day At A Time
."

Dylan sounded slightly defensive when he said, "Hey, I happen to be a damn good makeup artist, I'll have you know."

"I never said you weren't. I'm just saying, how serendipitous Murphy got you onboard sooner rather than later. I mean, you have to admit that's a beautiful thing."

Dylan shrugged. "You want me to lie? Sure, it's a beautiful thing. I finally got my big break. But I also paid some serious dues, let us not forget. I spent years in this town doing freelance makeup."

"Well," Elyse said, "I only pray it happens for me, too. I'd love to get into soaps or movies."

"You're such a great artist," Shar said. "You can paint anything and make it beautiful. Faces, canvas--whatever you decide, it comes out great."

"Believe me, petunia," Dylan said to Elyse, "the first opening I hear about, you're top of the list. I know what you're capable of. It's just--nobody leaves the show once they get on. You'd have to be nuts to leave such a sweet gig!"

"Oh, I totally get it," Elyse said. "But, man, would I like to shift the whole way my life's been going lately. It's nutso! Know what I mean?"

"I
do
know what you mean." Dylan reached out and plunged a fist into the bowl of plump cashews at the center of the table. Between crunches, he asked, "What's making you nuts--besides the dopey Hoffenzimmers?"

"Well..."

Elyse puckered her mouth as if formulating the right words to explain. At the same time, the server placed new drinks all around.

Sipping her fresh margarita, Shar cast her friend a derisive glance. "You are
not
still seeing that Sicilian douche bag, are you?"

"Oh," Elyse said, blushing, "he's not such a douche bag, really."

"What? After the way he treated you that night?"

Dylan looked fast from one to the other in an effort to keep up. "Wait a minute, who's this--the chef?"

"Yes, the chef," Elyse said meekly. "Rick Giordano."

"Rick, the prick," Shar said dryly.

"The one with the harem, right?" Dylan asked.

Shar giggled maliciously.

"Not a harem, no," Elyse said defensively.

"He just lives with a bunch of stewardesses," Shar explained.

"Flight attendants," Elyse corrected.

"Whatever," Shar said with a wave. "A bunch of chicks there at his convenience. Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am!"

"Well, we don't quite know if he bangs them all or not," Elyse added sheepishly.