I focused on all the things that were on my plate at the moment, and not on the pickle on the side that was staring at me. Because that was a pickle I was silly to even entertain. Who cared that he wasn’t working? He had plenty of money, he didn’t need to work. So why did this pickle prick at me so?
Pffft. Forget it—I had a fifty-cent tour to give right now.
I led my two best chickens through the house, explaining in great detail each finish and fixture that had been selected, painting a picture how it would all come together when it was complete. They made no comment on the fact that there was a toilet sitting in my dining room, which I greatly appreciated. I saved the best for last, and when I opened the French doors to the master suite, I saw gleaming furniture and polished oak floors. Mounds of pillows and the blue bay peeking through puddled curtains. What they actually saw were pine studs and yellow electrical wiring hanging from the ceiling, and that damn blow-up bed. But when they saw the claw-foot tub, even Sophia looked a bit wistful.
“This is kickass, Caroline,” she said, perching on the side. That’s her version of wistful.
“You gotta get in this tub, see how deep it really is,” I encouraged, sitting down in one end, and her eyes opened wider when she realized how luxurious it was. Wider still when I dangled my legs over one side, flashing my panties in the process.
“This is going to be so fantastic when it’s finished. How much longer until it’s all done?” Mimi asked.
“We’re on track to finish ahead of schedule, but I hate to even say that out loud. Who knows what else we might find?” Like the original knob-and-tube wiring that had to be ripped out, and the rotten subfloor downstairs, and the ghost that was living in the basement. Technically the ghost was a family of raccoons that had been relocated to a nearby nature preserve, but that was neither here nor there.
“I admit it, I never thought you two would be the first to get the house out in the burbs. How’s Simon doing with all this change?” asked Sophia, now in the tub with me.
“Oh, he’s having a grand old time. Yesterday he spent an hour examining the difference using a sandpaper with a forty grit versus eighty grit would make on the kitchen banquette. And don’t even get me started on how much fun he had with the chalk lines the crew used to ensure the sightlines were even on the new kitchen pass-through. There was blue chalk everywhere; I finally found him by following his blue footsteps,” I said flatly.
I couldn’t complain though, could I? Who wouldn’t want a boyfriend who was determined to create the most perfect home imaginable? And besides, once I found him, he quickly made me forget about the footprints. He showed me his tool belt, you see.
However, even the tool belt wasn’t enough to bring my O out of temporary hiding. It was temporary, right? Admittedly, it was hard to get down to the sexy times when there was a thin veil of drywall dust coating everything that would stand still, but still. Even the tool belt wasn’t making a dent.
If I ever saw Cory Weinstein again, I’d castrate him.
But seriously, it was just temporary. Right? I’d avoided sex with Simon for days now, something I’d never done. He was getting suspicious. I was getting frustrated. Even right now, I could feel the tension building up in my body.
Why wasn’t he booking jobs?
Wow, wrong tension.
This was why I needed to stop picking at this particular pickle.
“I’m glad we decided to wait until after we get married to look for a house. Too stressful while planning the wedding. Plus, I don’t want to live in sin. You know you’re hellbound, Caroline,” Mimi said with a wicked glint in her eye.
“Where do you think you’ll look for a house?” I asked, settling deeper into the tub while Mimi sat cross-legged on the window seat (a window seat in a bathroom? I can’t even) and looked out at the view.
“I think we’ll stay in the city for now, although I can really see the appeal of moving out here,” she said. The lot was wooded on either side of the house, and some of the trees in back had been cleared to see the water down below. It felt secluded, even though we weren’t far from our neighbors. Golden light streamed in, and it was so quiet. “I bet Sophia would never want to leave the city though, right?” she asked, turning back toward us.
Sophia didn’t answer right away, and that was the first time we noticed the tears.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” she whispered, rolling her eyes as Mimi immediately crossed over to us in the tub.
“Don’t give us that. What’s going on?” I asked, struggling to sit back up and flashing her more thoroughly this time. This tub was really quite deep.
Sophia laughed, then two more tears fell. “I want a claw-foot tub, dammit!” she cried.
Mimi pushed her forward and slid in behind her, wrapping her tiny arms around her. “You sure it’s just the tub you want?”
“Yes. No. Fuck. Do I have to say it?”
“You want Neil in the claw-foot tub with you?” I asked, pulling a tissue from my purse for her.
She blew her nose loudly. “I do. I hate myself for saying it, but I do.” She looked around at the tub, then chuckled. “What’s funny is he wouldn’t even fit in here, the stupid lug. He’s so tall.” She blew her nose again. “I miss him so f**king much. Did I tell you he doesn’t even call me anymore? He stopped.”
She sniffed a great sniff, then looked up with determination. “I think—I think I need to call him. I’m going to call him,” she said, reaching for her purse as I met Mimi’s eyes.
“Sweetie, you sure you want to do that?” I asked, snatching up her purse and holding it just out of her reach. Impulse + Ex = Not Always a Good Thing.
“Why the hell not? You’re the one who’s been saying I should talk to him all this time.” She sniffled.
“Yeah, Sophia! Go! Go! Go!” Mimi chanted, always the Disney princess.
I gave her the purse and crossed my fingers. Sophia rarely made concessions like this. If it didn’t work, even after she’d put her butt on the line? I not only crossed my fingers, I crossed my toes too.
She took out her phone, then stopped. Started to dial, then stopped.
“Maybe you should think this through before you—” I started.
“Oh, stop it, Caroline, let her call him!” Mimi cried. “Do it,” she cooed in Sophia’s ear, like an angel perched on her shoulder. Or was she the devil?
Sophia took a deep breath, scrolled through her phone, and brought him up. The picture on her screen made her smile. Neil, covered in Gatorade at a 49ers game, when he’d gotten a little too caught up in a big game and the subsequent victory. That was the thing about Neil. People loved him. That’s why he was the most popular sportscaster in the Bay Area, maybe even on the West Coast.
Maybe this was a good idea. He obviously still carried a torch for her, and based on the stories Sophia had told about him in the bedroom, he carried more than a torch.
As the phone rang out, amplified by the porcelain acoustics of my bathtub, the three of us huddled close together.
It rang three times, then someone answered. A woman, breathless; then we heard Neil say, “Hey now, come on, gimme the phone,” and laugh.
Sophia hung up.
No one spoke.
“Wow,” Sophia muttered, then leaned back against Mimi. “I waited too long, didn’t I?”
“Maybe?” I allowed.
She gave a great sigh, then blew her nose again. No swearing. No screaming. No tantrums. That would have been preferable to this terrible quiet.
Her phone rang and Neil’s face appeared. She threw it across the bathroom, and it shattered on impact.
Mimi squeezed her little arms around her, hugging her close.
“Caroline?” she asked, her voice muffled in the napkin.
“Yeah?”
“I hate your tub.”
“I know, sweetie,” I said, turning around and leaning back against her. We pressed her together like a panini. I passed her Kleenex while Mimi braided her hair, in my hundred-year-old claw-foot tub with the sun setting in the distance.
When Simon came home and found us, he wisely said not a word. Not even when Sophia slugged him, blamed for someone else’s dick.
Before I went to bed that night, I overheard Simon on the phone with a travel magazine he’d worked with for years. He was offered a job in Greenland, highlighting the mineral pools and hot springs that drew thousands of tourists each year. He loved Greenland; it was one of his favorite places because of how beautiful it was.
He turned the job down.
I’ll give you a nickel to do something about that pickle.
chapter nineteen
Turns out if you don’t deal with a pickle, it just gets more and more sour. Ever seen someone who just bit into a really sour pickle? Yeah, that was my face. More and more often.
A week had gone by, and things were moving steadily along. The Claremont? Almost done. The launch party was in a few days and Max Camden had people flying in from all over to see his latest property. I’d worked with their marketing team to make sure the hotel was photographed for several design magazines, and it was being covered in both local and regional newspapers.
We’d integrated environmental concerns into the hard materials we used in construction, so we had that angle to promote as well. In the land of California, ecofriendliness is taken seriously. But what we were really generating a great buzz about were the ongoing sustainability practices central to our design concept, which had made us stand out to the Camden team. These included little things like barrels for the collection and storage of rainwater to be used in cleaning. The vegetable and herb gardens created for use not only in the on-site restaurant but for the community. The classroom space dedicated for elementary schoolchildren to learn about composting.
And my favorite? The rooftop garden that helped to reduce the heating and cooling costs and turned it into a gorgeous space at nighttime, where we’d planned to host Movies Under the Stars evening all yearlong. Weather permitting.
The community was responding well to what we had created already, and with the opening of the hotel, we hoped the buzz would continue.
With Jillian back at work, I was able to focus once more on taking on new projects and continuing to mentor Monica. Business was booming, and I was actually busier than before. I’d even volunteered to speak to the senior design students in the program at Berkeley, the one that I had graduated from not so many years ago.
I was sitting in Jillian’s office, waiting for her. She’d scheduled a planning meeting with me to set up for the summer season. Which was great, because I wanted to make sure I could take some vacation time.
I badly needed some time away. I felt like I’d been underwater for months now, and was hoping to get out of town for at least a week. I hadn’t talked to Simon yet; I thought I’d see where things stood with the house. Maybe we could put Rio back on the table?
Simon was ready to put anything on the table, especially me. Sexually, he was at critical mass. He needed it; hell, I needed it. But O? Fucking fuckity fucker.
Can’t think about that now.
So, back to Jillian and planning. We usually tried to schedule three to five months at a time, allowing us to see spaces for smaller jobs. When we planned like this we usually bounced ideas back and forth, getting inspired and stretching budgets to accommodate the grander concepts we had. I always brought my sketchbook and a stack of colored pencils along; they came in handy.
“Sorry I’m late, got tied up at lunch with Benjamin,” she announced as she sailed into the room. I raised an eyebrow, and she realized what she just said. “Oh my, imagine that,” she mused, getting a faraway look in her eyes.
I wrote TMI on my sketchbook and held it up to her.
“Let’s try this again. I went to lunch with Benjamin, and it was longer than I thought— Oh, I give up!” She threw up her hands. “Anyway, thanks for meeting with me today, Caroline. We’ve got some things to talk about—exciting things.”
I sat up a little straighter. “Is it the Vandertootes? I heard they were thinking about making some updates to that freaking castle, but I never thought they’d actually go through with it. Please tell me it’s the Vandertootes! I’d kill for that job!”
I got my own faraway look in my eyes, thinking of the huge turn-of-the-last-century mansion. It was the Holy Grail of design jobs in San Francisco. Owned by an incredibly wealthy, eccentric couple, the house took up almost an entire city block and allegedly hadn’t been touched by a designer’s hands since 1977. And I thought I had it bad with my mauve wallpaper?
My brain began to buckle with all the possibilities, and I almost didn’t hear Jillian calling my name.
“Caroline. Come back, Caroline; come back from wherever you are.”
“Sorry, got lost in a shag carpet daydream. Anyway, are we pitching the Vandertootes?”
“No, we’re not talking about the Vandertootes. I’m making some changes around here. Big changes.” She sat back in her chair. “I’m semiretiring.”
“Semi . . . retiring?” It felt like the floor had just opened and was threatening to swallow me whole. I pulled out a colored pencil and began to chew.
“Yep.” She grinned. Why the hell was she smiling?
“Okay, I totally don’t get what’s going on here. Do I need to get my résumé together?”
“Why, you planning on leaving me?” she asked, still grinning.
“What the hell is going on, Jillian?” I half shouted, my voice sounding more than a little crazy.
She swung her laptop around to face me and started scrolling through pictures. Her and Benjamin under the Eiffel Tower. Her and Benjamin in an alpine meadow. In front of Prague Castle. On a gondola in Venice.