Girl in the Mirror (13 page)

She followed Michael’s long-legged stride around the house to where she spied a tall, very thin young man with equally long legs and a wide-brimmed hat standing in the shade of a cypress, reading a small paperback novel. Michael called out to him as they approached. He looked up, waved briefly and tucked the book into his jacket pocket. Closer, she noticed that his skin, though a darker shade than her own, was still much fairer than Michael’s deeply tanned color. Yet, it still looked pale in an unhealthy way. Dark circles shadowed his eyes under the floppy hat, but the smile he offered her when she drew near was warm and open.

“This is my brother, Bobby Mondragon,” Michael said. Then turning to his brother, “Our new client, Charlotte Godfrey.”

Bobby reached out to shake her hand with one that was surprisingly soft for someone who did outdoor labor. “Ah, yes, Miss Godfrey,” Bobby said in a tone that implied he’d heard plenty about her already. He slid a telling glance at his brother, brows arched. “A pleasure.”

Charlotte murmured some pat phrase, wildly wondering what had been the topic of conversation in the truck on the way here. Michael frowned, confirming her suspicions.

“Will you help design the garden?” she asked Bobby.

“Good heavens, no. I leave that kind of high brow scribbling to Miguel, here,” he replied genially, nodding toward Michael. “I like to use what the nuns called my ‘native intelligence’ and throw paint on the walls of abandoned buildings in the city.”

“Don’t mind him,” Michael said. “He’s very proud to be a muralist.” He looked with affection at his brother.

“And I’m proud to say he’s one of the best. The park commission hired him to paint two more city buildings this summer.”

“What kind of murals do you paint?”

“No cacti or coyote,” he replied, teasing her. “I’m a mere step higher than a graffiti artist.”

Michael shook his head, chuckling. “We should get to work.”

For the next half hour Bobby and Michael walked the lot taking measurements, discussing where a few shade trees might be placed, where the best sites for future flower beds would be, and how to achieve privacy from the road. Charlotte felt the excitement of building something new. In contrast, Bobby was bored. He’d done this a million times before.

Later in the morning, Michael worked alone, noting in his book the sun’s patterns on the property, taking soil samples, getting a feel for the way the house sat on the lot. He walked to stand on a small rise that gave him full view of the expanse. Cragged rocks below met a smooth, grassy plateau and a sea of blue sky. The small, defiant house perched on the cliff caught his imagination. The landscape only interested him as far as it augmented the structure.

He missed working with buildings. Cement and mortar. Wood and tile. Yet his father was willful. After the two years, he felt more and more sucked into his father’s plans. His father had successfully eked out another season from his promise. “Build your own house here!” Luis prodded. “Get married. Raise beautiful Mexican children.” Michael looked over to where Charlotte was holding the measuring tape along the ground for Bobby and felt a sudden lurching of his heart. Such times as these, the idea of staying in California was very appealing indeed.

He looked back at the house, away from the girl. But it could never be. He would give his father this final season. Then he’d return to Chicago and the architectural firm that waited impatiently, that promised he’d rise as fast as any of the skyscrapers he helped design.

Charlotte looked up from the measuring tape and saw Michael standing alone on the small rise. The man seemed a part of the scenery as he stood, hands on hips, his hair whipped by the wind like the meadowsweet at his feet, his jaw set like the granite rocks.

“He must love his job,” she said to Bobby.

Bobby looked up and followed her gaze to his brother, standing alone and studying the house. “His job?” He offered a smile filled with irony. “Yes. I suppose he does. Pity.”

Charlotte looked at him, puzzled.

Bobby pulled back the measuring tape and tucked the pencil in his pocket. “We’re all done here. Let’s go catch up with Renaissance Man and see what he’s been scheming. Yo!” he called out.

Above, the gulls arced and cried out in reply.

“You’ve got the worst house and the loveliest site,” Michael said when they reached his side. “You could do a lot with it.”

“
I
can’t do anything with it,” she corrected him. “Since I don’t own it. An old widow owns it, and I think she’s just holding on to it for sentiment’s sake. She doesn’t want to do any repairs or even paint it, so I doubt we’ll get her interested in renovations.”

“Too bad. There aren’t many opportunities like this available anymore.”

“Forget the house,” Bobby said, coming up from behind. “She didn’t ask for an architect. The lady just wants a garden.”

“I realize that,” Michael conceded, shaking his head. “I can’t help but mention what seems so obvious to me. I’m just tossing out ideas.” He smiled at Charlotte with what she could only interpret as flirtation. “No charge, of course.”

“My brother,” Bobby confided loudly enough for Michael to hear. “He’s mad for houses. He’s an architect, did you know that?”

“An architect?” Charlotte replied, confused, looking at Michael. “I thought…”

“I design gardens now,” Michael replied firmly, cutting off any further discussion on the topic. He glared at his brother in warning.

“He’s stubborn, too,” Bobby added with another laugh. Michael’s discomfort only seemed to add fuel to his teasing.

“I’ll remember that,” she said, catching Bobby’s eye. She liked him, though he really was a rascal.

They were laughing when they reached the front patio.

“Would you like some coffee? Some water or something?”

“Water would be nice.”

She led them through the house toward the kitchen, stopping dead when she entered. Melanie was shredding lettuce in the sink, still in her bikini. Her incredible body, all bronzed and slick with oil, was displayed like a feast. Michael coughed as he entered the room.

Melanie turned her head and smiled, totally at ease in her attire.

“Sorry to bother you, Melanie,” Charlotte said, a little embarrassed. “We’re just passing through.”

Melanie, however, had eyes only for the two tall, handsome men who stood regarding her in silence. She offered a coy smile of acknowledgment.

“These are the men from the nursery I told you were coming. Michael and Bobby Mondragon.”

Melanie’s gaze flickered over Bobby, then rested on Michael, swallowing him whole. “Well, hello there,” she drawled in her breathy voice. “So, you’re the gardeners?”

Charlotte saw Michael stiffen and he pursed his lips, as though holding in a retort.

Bobby, who had a fine sense of the absurd, bowed slightly.

Melanie had a fine-tuned instinct herself where men were concerned. She arched her back as she turned from the sink, offering a full view of her ample bosom and generously curved hips and thighs. Charlotte glanced nervously at Michael and Bobby. Michael’s face was unreadable. Bobby was smiling, obviously very amused.

Charlotte thought now seemed an excellent time to offer drinks.

“I told Charlotte that I thought it was ridiculous for her to make you come all the way out here just to draw up a design for a flower bed. She has all these grandiose ideas, but she has no idea what she’s getting into.”

“And you do?” asked Bobby with a thin smile.

“Oh, sure. Did I mention that I once had a very large garden? With a pool?”

“How very fortunate for you,” Bobby replied. “We can recommend some very reputable pool companies.”

“What? No,” she hurried with a small frown. “We certainly don’t want anything so grand here. I hope Charlotte hasn’t been giving you the wrong impression. We’re in between films.”

“You’re an actress?” Michael directed his question to Charlotte.

“I’m Melanie Ward. You don’t recognize me?” There was an unmistakable hurt in the tone.

“You look familiar,” Bobby hurried to reply. “But I don’t see many movies.”

Melanie’s face fell.

“Melanie’s been in loads of films, but she’s a character actor,” Charlotte rushed in. “Everyone knows her face. Didn’t you see
Crazy Girls?
”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Bobby replied, smiling weakly. Everyone knew he hadn’t. An awkward silence fell.

Michael kept his questioning gaze on Charlotte.

“I’m just beginning,” she hedged, aware of Melanie beside her. “I’ve done a few small films. Nothing’s out yet. I’m still a nobody. You wouldn’t know me.” Her cheeks ached from holding on to the starched smile.

“Her first major role starts next month,” Melanie prompted with pride in her voice.

“Next month? Then you’ll want this design in a hurry. I’ll work on it right away and call you, what? Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow would be fine,” she replied.

Melanie gave off an unladylike snort and slipped her sunglasses back on as though to punctuate her remarks. “I said it before and I’ll say it again. I don’t know why you’re going to all this trouble. It’s just a rental, you know.”

“So I’ve been told,” Michael replied. “However, I’m sure I can design a flower garden that will fit Miss Godfrey’s budget.” He turned to Charlotte again and looked at her as if she were the only one in the room. “And it’s no trouble at all.”

Charlotte was walking back to the kitchen, hoping to find out what Melanie thought of Michael Mondragon. She saw in her eyes that Melanie had found him attractive. That pleased Charlotte. She looked forward to flopping on Melanie’s bed, laughing with her pal again and giggling about boys, the way she’d always imagined sisters or best friends did.

She was about to push open the door when she stopped, hand stilled in midair.

Melanie was standing before her bureau mirror, staring at herself. Her hands slipped down to encircle her waist while she sucked in her tummy and pushed out her ample chest. Then she pivoted from left to right, one shoulder up, the other down, her cheeks sucked in and her full lips pursed in a sexy pinup girl pose.

Charlotte caught her breath and stepped back. This felt too personal, like she was a voyeur or a Peeping Tom. She’d taken another step back when she saw Melanie slowly exhale, like watching a balloon deflate. Her shoulders slumped, her breasts and stomach sagged, her head drooped and her mouth slipped into a frown. Melanie stood quietly and still before the mirror, her breath marking the rise and fall of her ample breasts. Suddenly, she hid her face in her hands and wept bitterly.

Charlotte winced and backed slowly away from the door, careful not to make a sound. Her heart ached for Melanie. She knew better than anyone the pain of not liking one’s own reflection.

In the pickup truck, Bobby was not letting his little brother off the hook easily. He was merciless in his praise of Charlotte’s beauty, her poise, her sweetness, anything he could think of, because the more he heralded her the more stone-faced Michael became. It was an old game they’d played years back when Michael was in high school and had dated scores of girls, but seldom the same girl for very long.

“
Madre de Dios,
the face of an angel she has,” Bobby exclaimed. “Those wide-set eyes, such an exquisite color. I’d love to paint her in one of my murals. I’d call it
Venus on the Taco Shell.
” He laughed, leaning far over the steering wheel. “Do you think she’d pose nude?”

Michael scowled. “Watch where you’re going.” He shifted in his seat. “And your mouth. Better yet, pull over. I’ll drive.”

“Not on your life, gringo. You’ve got your mind on that pretty little gringa, and there’s no way I’m going to put my life in your fevered hands. Who knows what you’ll be grabbing when you downshift. That Melanie, however.” He whistled softly. “What is it with that one? If I was a betting man, I’d have lost five bucks that she was going to fall out of the bikini before we left.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying.”

Bobby burst out laughing again.

Michael shook his head. “I can’t stand women like that. So obvious. There’s nothing left to the imagination.”

“Oh, I dunno. I’d say there was a lot left to the imagination. X-rated, of course.” He pushed the envelope. “You mean to say you weren’t thinking of that gorgeous Charlotte Godfrey in that way?”

Michael swung his head to glare at Bobby, but remained silent.

“Ah, I see how it is,” Bobby said, wonder mixed with a little pity. “No joking with that one, eh? Very interesting. Has cupid’s arrow finally hit your heart? Well, well, well.” He considered for a moment. “Papa won’t like it. He has his heart set on you marrying a nice Mexican girl and having lots of little Mexican babies.”

“Oh, no,” Michael replied, laughing now. “
You
are the eldest Mondragon son. Not me. That’s your job to fill.”

Bobby grew very silent, strangely so. They drove a mile more as an awkward silence settled in the cab. Bobby lit a cigarette and turned to look at him from time to time, his expression changing from cautious to pondering to resigned.