Rusty Nailed
Page 58
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?
“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?
