Hydraulic Level Five (1) (19 page)

A rattling sound coming from my desk drawer startled me. My phone. I’d forgotten that I shoved it out of sight when Hector called. In a better frame of mind, I fished it out of my drawer, expecting to see his number. Instead, unfamiliar digits flashed across the screen. 2-1-2…New York area code.

It was Samuel.

I held the unanswered phone in my hand, hunting for composure. Just as I answered, it went to voicemail. If it was important, he’d leave a message. He didn’t, and I dove into my work. Then, five minutes later, the same number flashed as my phone danced a jig across my desk. I took a deep breath and tucked it under my good ear.

“This is Kaye.”

“Hello, Kaye. It’s Sam.”

“Yeah, I know. Hey, Cliff-hucker.”

He chuckled. “Do I even want to know what a cliff-hucker is?”

“I’m guessing you already Googled it. By the way, tell Danita not to pass out my phone number, please.”

“I couldn’t get a hold of Danita, so Angel gave me your number. And you’re right, I did Google it.”

I heard a woman’s muffled voice in the background, something about flight times. “Where are you?”

“La Guardia. My return flight to Denver is delayed, so we’re killing time at the gate. I thought it’d be easier to call you instead of emailing, less chance of misinterpretation—I don’t do emoticons.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a famous writer? Can’t you get around the emoticons?”

“I’ve learned my lesson not to assume anything when it comes to you and my writing. I’d hate to have you mistake my very sincere words for sarcasm. Although sometimes, I wonder if you do it deliberately.”

I chose not to bite at his subtle baiting. “What do you want, Samuel?”

“To apologize for the photo. I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into the media again.”

“Wait, what photo?” My heart raced. Had the Halloween drag photo surfaced after all? But why would he apologize?

He groaned. “You didn’t watch
The Morning Show
. I thought maybe you tuned in. You used to.”

“I usually do, but I was a little preoccupied this morning with Boulder’s tiniest choir—which you’ll hear about,
believe
me. But what photo?”

“Someone at the café took a picture of me holding your hand. Now it’s all over the Internet, along with renewed speculation about my love life, whether I cheated on Indigo, that sort of tawdry thing. Typical tabloid garbage—they cheapen everything,” he snarled. “I know how you hate it when the spotlight’s on you.”

Breath whooshed from my lungs. The drag picture was still under wraps. But then I absorbed what he was saying. The café? Holding hands?

“Which website?” He rattled off several. I turned to my monitor, cringing as the slew of email notices that popped up from friends, family, even old college acquaintances clicked into place.
Crap crap crap, not good.
I pulled up a gossip blog, searched his name. Sure enough, there was Samuel and me in a grainy photo, his hand wrapped around mine. Caroline and Jaime were cropped out, making it appear as though we were enjoying a cozy dinner for two. The quality was poor, but it was still us, nonetheless. The headline read: “
Siren
Author and Real-Life Neelie?” Beneath the photo, a blurb:

Bad news for Indigo Kingsley if rumors are true that author Samuel Cabral and his ex, Aspen Cabral, are back on. Does this mean that Hollywood’s hot writer/actor couple is officially Splitsville? Both Cabral and Kingsley have yet to issue statements about the photograph, taken in Cabral’s hometown of Lyons, Colorado. Rumors have long persisted that the former Mrs. Cabral is the inspiration behind beloved
Water Sirens
heroine, Neelie Nixie, though Cabral has repeatedly denied it. Kingsley scored the coveted movie role last year.
Water Sirens
is set to hit theaters in November.

Ah, so that’s why Interns One and Two were making doe eyes at me this morning.

“Oh, this is bad. I’ll have to stay at Molly’s again.” One good thing about their lack of fact-checking, though—they hadn’t figured out I’d changed my name, so I still had a chance to tell Samuel myself.

“I think that’s best, especially with Indigo’s rabid fan following. You and I both know it was innocent, but the gossip blogs can be ruthless when my name is linked to hers. I was completely blindsided by Geneva Botsworth in the interview this morning when she pulled up the photo. Just a moment, please.”

A muted voice asked for his autograph and he replied, his voice pleasant enough. Still, I could hear the subtle irritation. It was surreal, this Samuel—the jet-setter with fans, photographers, and celebrity acquaintances. He was all business, going through the motions like this happened every day. I could barely glimpse the boy who’d collected fossils and baseballs, read tirelessly, and test-ran everything for me, from tree limbs to bicycles. Grown-up Samuel was so familiar, yet I felt like I didn’t know him at all.

I don’t anymore, do I?

I studied the picture again, cringing at my faded sweater and frizzy hair. Samuel was as sharp and beautiful as ever. All things considered, it really wasn’t that bad. It looked like two friends having dinner…kind of.

“Back,” he said, breathless. “Anyway, I explained the situation to Geneva Botsworth as best as I could without going into too much detail—old friend of the family, my sister’s wedding. I’m truly sorry about this, Kaye.”

I sighed, wanting to muster anger that wasn’t in me, not after my lunch with Santiago. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known anyone would take our picture. It looks like whoever did it used a camera phone.”

“But that’s the thing. I know better.” I heard the voices around him abate. He must have been walking. “Usually, I’m so careful about appearances in public. I think being in Lyons has lulled me into a false sense of security.”

“Sam—”

“And now you’re right back in the press where you didn’t want to be. I never, never should have published
Water Sirens
without rewriting Neelie.”

Ugh, here we go again. I’d almost forgotten how exasperating Samuel’s tizzies could be. “You’re right, you should have rewritten Neelie. But Jacques H. Cousteau, quit beating yourself up over the stupid photo. There’s no reason you have to behave differently than the rest of us, in Lyons of all places.” I still sensed his self-inflicted knock-out, even over the phone. I needed a red herring, fast. “Don’t you have anything else you’d like to apologize for?”

“Do I?”

“I think you do. The crickets.”

There was a long pause, and then a chuckle. “Are you referring to the insect or that iconic be-bopping back-up band of the fifties?”

I smiled. “Impressive alliteration. The insect.”

“No. Nothing to apologize for.”

“Listen, Cabral. I have a hundred noisy buggers selling waterfront time shares in my bathroom. They’ve even opened an all-you-can-eat buffet in my closet. I’ve gotten a combined total of five hours’ sleep the past two nights. And, funny story—when I called an exterminator today, he scoffed at me. Want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because cricket infestations are seasonal. Which means someone
deliberately
loosed hundreds of those little suckers on my home.”

“Hundreds? A bit of an exaggeration, wouldn’t you say?”

“How many, Samuel?”

“Two hundred tasty crickets from neighborhood pet stores.”

“So when I said hundreds, I was correct.”

“Can’t you just be happy I saved them from certain death? They would have been eaten by lizards—imagine the trauma.”

“They’ll be dead anyway as soon as the exterminator gets here.”

“Tell you what. Let me pay for the exterminator and we’ll call it even.”

Hmm. Tempting. I had to admit, I wasn’t too keen to see what he’d come up with next. Spiders? Snakes? I shuddered. Then again, the idea of having Molly wreak her special brand of havoc on the massive Thursday night prank was also appealing. That decided it for me.

“Not a chance, Cabral. I’m going to see this one through to the bitter end.”

“So you’re going to keep pranking me, even if I fold?”

“Yes.”

“Those aren’t the rules.”

“I make my own rules now, Samuel.” I twisted a blond curl around my finger, letting it spring.

“I’ve noticed.” He cleared his throat. “So did Caroline. She wants you and Jaime to double-date with us, incidentally. You’ve painted yourself into a corner.”

I smacked my head with my palm. Son-of-a-shrew. “Um…please tell her thanks, but Jaime and I aren’t ready to go public.”

“Oh no, I’m not doing your dirty work. I’m very aware that if I hadn’t figured out your ruse on my own, you would have let me believe a lie. I’d still be thinking I was complete crap in bed.”

“Fishing for a compliment, Cabral?”

“Only confirmation, Cabral.”

I picked apart a brownie, grumbling. “Fine, you were great in bed. Best sex ever. Much better than lesbian sex, not that I’d know.” I could practically see his cocky grin all the way in New York. “I’ll see if Jaime wants to go skydiving. That’s all I’m willing to offer.”

“You might want to check with Danita before you invite her.”

Argh!
“You think I don’t know that? Look, Samuel, I’m the one who sees Danita every single weekend.”

“Point taken.” He paused, the silence between us curdling like soured milk. “Sometimes I forget you know my sister better than I do, now. I understand how much time has passed, but it still catches me off-guard…” He cleared his throat. “Kaye, I really am sorry about the hand-holding, if it made you uncomfortable. You looked like you were ready to bolt out of the booth when Jaime and Caro went for blood, and I had to keep you there.”

Ah. He’d been trying to soothe me by holding my hand—that was it. I felt a little let down, and I couldn’t fathom it.
You should be relieved, Kaye.

“Samuel, I’m not upset. We’ve done that since we were children. It was just…natural, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Memories washed over my head and trickled down my fingertips. The feel of Samuel’s hand. How it grew and changed from a boy’s hand, fitting mine perfectly, to the point where he could wrap his long writer’s fingers completely around my fist. “Do you remember the first time we held hands? I was eight.”

“Of course.” A smile was in his voice. “Just before your ninth birthday, actually. It was our first Rocky Mountain Folks Festival, at the Tripping Marys concert. You told me you wanted to learn how to play a guitar. Your fingers were sticky from eating cotton candy, but I held them anyway because I didn’t want to lose you in the crowd.”

“Wow.”
There. There’s my Samuel again.
Man had a memory like a steel trap. I swallowed the lump building in my throat. “So…I’m not upset about the picture.”

“I’m glad.” I heard the buzz of a gate announcement, and more movement. “Kaye, my flight’s boarding and I have to let you go—I’m not keen on sharing my conversation with other passengers.”

“Just a sec.” Crap! I hadn’t even asked him about Nicodemus in
The Last Other
.

“Kaye, my flight—”

Answers, answers, answers.
“Samuel, I need to talk to you about something important. Several things, really, but I can’t right now,” I said in rush. “Can we meet tomorrow? We could do dinner in Boulder, or I could drive to Lyons.”

“Kaye, slow down, please.” I had a hard time hearing him above the boarding calls. “Can you repeat that?” I did, more clearly. He met my request with silence, then, wariness. “Tomorrow won’t work.”

“Oh.” I tried not to be disappointed.

“Hold on.” I heard him speak to somebody, followed by Caroline’s distinct shrillness. After that, Samuel must have put his hand over the phone because there was only rustling. “Change of plans, tomorrow is fine. Can we meet at the art gallery in Boulder, say four o’clock?”

“Four o’clock works.” Ha.
Eat it, Caroline.

“Great. I’ll make arrangements for a conference room there. I’ve got to run, Kaye, or I’ll miss my plane.”

“Okay. Have a safe flight.”

“Enjoy your afternoon with the exterminator. Your digression with the crickets was well-played, by the way,” he said, and I laughed. Never could fool that man. “I appreciate your distracting me, but sometimes…just let me take the punch when I need it.”

“Go board your plane, Samuel.”

“Goodbye, Kaye. See you soon.”

It was with immense reluctance that I hung up the phone. I exhaled, feeling the weight on my chest lift as I turned back to my work. Maybe Molly could dig up Geneva Botsworth’s
The Morning Show
interview with Samuel. If that prying host with helmet hair and pastel suits had him this flustered, I really needed to see it.

Then there was the next step in Jaime’s master prank plan, assuming my
Answers Answers Answers
chat with Samuel didn’t completely implode in my face. After Jaime all but slapped Samuel with his drug record, I didn’t trust her not to cross the line. But Molly knew when to say when.