Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out (11 page)

“This is
pleasant
.”  Ben
met me back at the oysters
,
apparently
having
dispatched the mysterious “her
.
” Before
he
could reach for one,
Cassandra materialized from the shadows of the warehouse and grabbed Ben’s arm
, cutting him off from the food
.  She leaned heavily against him as if she had no energy to stand up straight by herself. 

“This turned ou
t
very nicel
y.” I said as kindly as I could.  I pocketed my phone and held out my hand for another serving of delectable oyster.  You never know when you will next meet complimentary Hog Island oysters. I was stocking up. 
My new friend with the oyster knife handed me another.

“You can have your wedding here too.” 
Cassandra rallied
,
turned her back to me and offered the place to Ben.

“Thanks
,
but
we aren’t sure wh
at we’re going to do for such a
scary event.” He eyed me and I answered by downing another oyster.  He nodded, if the myths are true, it will be a good night for him.

Why not marry in Cla
i
m Jump? Why not get married in our new house?

I paused still holding the empty oyster shell.  That would work, that would make
sense, which
would even be,
dare
I say it, fun.  We could hold our reception in the Lucky Masters memorial building at the fairgrounds.  No.

Ben and Cassandra had fallen silent.  Oh hell, so it was up to me
.
“We
could
get married in Claim Jump.”  I offered as a way to keep the conversation from falling flat onto the
flagstone
patio. “My grandmother
would love to
help, and it would put your mother at a disadvantage.” 

I carefully set the shell back on the crushed ice and virtuously rejected another.
“She knows I won’t marry in Marin again.” 

“No, that wouldn’t work for you at all.
”  Ben
extracted
his arm from Cassandra’s grip.  “
M
y mother would
be happy to
offer her house, or the courtyard of the De Young
,
o
r Grace Cathedral, whatever you want.”

I frowned. That would be magnificent. But I think I’m too mature for over the top magnificent.  “I’m not even sure I want to wear white.”

He shrugged.  “Wear purple, wear a toga, that would work just as well.”

“Oh
,
now you’re just being silly.”  Cassandra perked up a bit and gently slapped Ben’s arm.

Ben
rolled his eyes and obediently
ushered Cass
andra to another knotted group.  He owed me
.
I was acting the part of the perfect, understanding fiancée. If I pushed, I probably could negotiate for any kind of wedding I wanted.  I watched the two make
their
way awkwardly back to the tent.  After a few words and another pointed extraction from her grip, Ben moved away from Cassandra and with visible relief, greeted
Carrie and Patrick who were heading to the wine tasting room. 

Carrie had bundled her dark brown hair up in a twist and wore brilliant dangly earrings
that looked like long strands of genuine rubies.
She wore a brilliant fuchsia
strapless
dress
that
complimented her skin and wide happy eyes.
It was also the official wedding color
:
fuchsia and hot pink
, no it was pink and tangerine, orange. I couldn’t remember
. 
Patrick was as dapper as
usual;
his perfectly cut suit spoke of tailoring rather than off the rack.  I watched as Ben, towering over both
of them,
hugged Carrie,
then
surreptitiously ran his finger under his collar. He caught my eye and I nodded.  He stripped off his
own
silk tie with a Chippendale’s flourish.   

Cassandra
had gracefully abandoned Ben and now
hung onto
a
tall handsome guest in
a
ten-gallon hat
as if
reaching for a life preserver
. She paused, eyeing Ben, then steered her new guests to the tents anchored over the parking lot.
She seemed to be lurching from one man to the next
, like a ship with no mooring
.  I on the other hand, was well
ballasted
by oysters.

I reluctantly bid g
oodbye to my oyster shucker and
grabbed a glass of something red as I launched into the sunlight.
It was a good event.  Ben’s mother cancelled at the last minute
so I didn’t need to
face her and make small talk.
My mother was not here.
I was
feeling good.

It didn’t last. 

The crowd
milling
around the entrance of the tent abruptly parted, and
there he was.
I blinked, the first thought that chased though my addled brain was, that
can’t
be right.

Chapter
6

My stomach clenched at the sight of him, I stepped back into the shadow of the building as he worked
his way
through the party guests
, glad-handing everyone, to
the front patio area. Had he seen me? I fervently hoped not. Then again, when had he ever really seen me?  I glanced around, but I was too far from the
tasting room
entrance
for
a
quick exit
inside. 
Besides, a
sudden movement would telegraph my presence for certain. 

I eyed him while
arranging strands of
my hair around my face as a pathetic disguise. I felt like my nieces and nephews who
used to
hide behind a door and close their eyes because if they couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see them.  I always saw them, so I knew my ploy did not have longevity on its side.

He had lost some hair. He had gained some weight
. We
all look a little older in our late thirties, but he had aged more. Much more. And his face
looked
like
his features had been moved around like
Mr. Potato Head played with too vigo
rously then returned to the box all the features intact, but rumpled, never the same as when the toy was new.
Maybe
Mark
had spent
too much time
baking in the sun,
not because he toured the world on his yacht or because he volunteered to rebuild communities in Haiti, but because he didn’t pay attention pool side and always managed to get sun burned.

Mark was accompanied by a young lady
, no surprise
.
  I blinked, why was she familiar?

Because she had arrived with Peter O’Reilly, hit on Ben and now was latched onto Mark more tightly than
a panicked
abalone.
As Mark worked the crowd, he failed to introduce her,
funny;
I hadn’t caught her name when she was attached to Peter
either
.

Mark
introduced
himself to one couple,
then the next, then
the
next.
  I could hear him in my head even before he was close enough for me to hear him in real time.

“
I’m Mark Cincet, damn glad to meet you.
”
He held the girl and his wine glass in his left hand and shook with his right hand. The
girl obediently
followed him and seemed unconcerned that he wasn’t bothering to introduce her.
She had been completely devoted to Peter
a half hour ago,
and yet
here
she was
glued to
Mark’s
side
as if they were joined at the hip.  She only
offered a closed lipped smile if anyone thought to address her. 
I admired her d
iscipline
and focus if nothing else. I rarely stay by Ben’s side for very long.
I am constantly disengaging from Ben every time I see something shiny.

Peter
’s feelings were
the least of my concerns.
I took a deep
breath,
Rosemary insisted that I needed to do more Zen deep breathing. For once
I wished I had listened to her.
A text or a phone call would be a welcome distraction right
now,
or I could fake it, I could pretend I needed to answer my phone.  I eyed him as he approached. Now
I
could
hear
him.  From his practiced
patter, he was just working
on
the
h
i
, how the hell are you, bull
shit
and not delivering any real, useful information.

What a surprise.

I took a deep breath
, not exactly the
prescribed
Zen deep breath, but it helped my fluttering heart
.
At least I was dressed for battle. 
I
had
found
a draped
,
low cut cocktail dress (blue, not
fuchsia
)
on sale at
Chico’s
.
My
hair
was currently bouncy and shiny
since I had just escaped Robert’s ministrations.  Plus
, I was wearing my new,
light catching
engagement ring.  All I needed was my new
eye catching
fiancé
, but Ben was
nowhere
to be found, he was off saving another damsel.
Damn it.

As Mark approached I glanced around, tamping down
a rising
bile in my throat that had nothing to do with the mollusk family.
Where were my people? They were clearly in the parking lot tents or out back. 
I was surrounded by faces I did not recognize
.  Was Mark one of the workers?  Did he work for Patrick?  That would be rich.

He stepped closer. I had half a mind to make a dash for it and hide in the wine tasting room, or behind Carrie in the pergola.  I knocked back
the rest of the
wine and wiped my lips.
My fucking worst nightmare was
right
here
in sunny daylight
.

He greeted another
cluster of
guests and had just tossed his head back in a laugh when he caught sight of me.
Well, that was it.
He lowered his head and frowned as the wheels turned round and round
(fairly laboriously in Mark’s case)
as he
struggled to
place
me
. C
ome on, how many girls did he leave at the altar?  Should I
even
ask?

“Allison
?
A
l
lison
!
”  He exclaimed loud enough for a
bout a
hundred of the guests to hear.  “Allison Little.”

It was, I hoped, loud enough to be heard at the pergola, but I wasn’t holding out any hope.  I glanced nervously behind me.

I saw
Carrie
’s head
jerk
up
like a deer sensing the h
unter.  She took one look at me, patted Patrick’s arm
and
determinedly
ma
d
e her way to my side.  God bless the woman.

“
What are you doing here?
”  Mark
reached me first
,
but h
elp was on the way.  I kept my expression pleasant, professional. 
I regretted that I held no sharp objects in my hand, but the oyster knife wasn’t far.
I’m sure the nice young man would loan it
to me
for just a few minutes.
Picturing Mark with his heart cut from his chest and still beating as I held it up to the Aztec gods
calmed me
better than the damn breathing
.

“Wow
,
Allison, it’s been a long time.”  He stopped three feet from me, the girl s
till clinging to his left side.
He took the wine glass from her hand and sipped, then absently handed it back to her.

“Yes, it
has.”  On closer inspection, he
looked ravaged
. H
e
really
had not aged well.
I was uncertain if this was his signature look: early debauchery.  No question he
had definitely spent the last few years doing too much of something. Maybe I dodged a bullet after
all;
it was a pathetically cheerful thought.

“You look the same
,
”
h
e offered lamely.

I
stretched an insincere smile across my face
. “You look pretty changed, what have you been up to?”

“Yeah, I’ve lived pretty hard.” He gave the girl a squeeze but she wasn’t paying attention to either him or me
, her attention had wandered
.  “But I’m not sorry
.
I had a
lot of deals both good and bad,
my one weakness is I take it so personally when a promising company doesn’t reach its full potential.
I think this one
will do great, don’t you agree? 
You know, I swim with the sharks, that’s where the good eating is.”

Great, his thirty second elevator speech.  He stood me up at the altar at the Marin
C
ountry
C
lub in front of 250 guests and what do I get
:
h
is thirty
-
second elevator speech.

I continued to grin like a
gargoyle;
my face was beginning to hurt
. I heard Carrie breathing behind me.

“Of course, many people do take their investments personally.”
For instance,
I
bought
stock in Ben & Jerry’s
, did well on the buy out
.
And
continue to patronize the product. 

“I
heard
you’re engaged.” He said, finally acknowledging me as an individual separate from himself.  Was that always a problem? I couldn’t remember. To be honest, I didn’t really want to.

I merely nodded
,
my
ghoulish
grimace frozen in place
. But before I could launch into my how great is my
fiancé
speech, Carrie interrupted me.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” Her tone was as icy and imperious as the
most onerous
matrons i
n town. When she wanted, Carrie
could mimic both Martha Anderson and Suzanne Chatterhill, rolled into one.  I wasn’t sure how I felt about her
newfound
skill but I was happy it was turned against my most hated enemy.

“I’m Mark Cincet,
I’m one of the
new
investors in the winery
, as of yesterday
, lovely isn’t it?
”
 
Mark disengaged from the girl as if she may hurt his chances in charming Carrie.
He vigorously pumped her hand.
  “Damn, nice to meet you.  You must be the blushing bride
, Cassandra told me about you
.”

“Are you enjoying the winery?”  Carrie pulled her hand away as quickly as she could.

“It certainly is elaborate.”
The girl muttered.
What was her name? Had O’Reilly introduced her
in any other capacity than her work aspirations
?

“I’m sure the columns aren’t rea
l antiques
,
” I assured her.

“So,”
Mark shoved his right hand into his jacket pocket, he gestured in a general way, and this
girl
obediently sided up against him once more
like a
tiny
Remora
attached
to a moving shark.  (Enough oysters for me.)

“
H
ow’ve you been?”
  What he really meant to say was,
y
ou’re
probably wondering
why I left the club
five minutes into the wedding march.   His eyes were
cold;
he
wasn’t interested
in me any
more.  He had moved on to someone younger and tastier.

The appropriate thing to happen next was for the DJ to play 
“I
W
ill Survive
,
” but it only played in my head.

I did wonder, but I was not going to
admit
it out loud.  I was not going to admit
that I
spent a minute pining for him.  As far as he knew
,
I spent exactly
forty
seconds
ditch
ing
the dress and the tiara
and another
twenty
seconds selling
the engagement ring on EBay
.  I was not a victim, pining away for someone who was clearly an ass hole
.
I was the Real Estate Diva
.
I was the queen of my own life.