Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight (19 page)

He was just so beautiful to look at. Very
different. What was he? I couldn’t decide. Not Hispanic. Not Indian
(the Native American kind or the Asian kind). Usually I could guess
a person’s ethnicity accurately—it was a secret talent of mine. But
I’d never seen anyone in real life or on TV that looked like him,
so I had no frame of reference. He was a completely new kind of
gorgeous—a very pleasant mystery, too. I think what was throwing me
off were his eyes. They didn’t seem to go with the rest of his
‘décor’.

He had black, sort of curly, medium length
hair. No beard or even the hint of one—he seemed too young for that
any way. His nose was perfectly straight and there was a suggestion
of a cleft in the center of his chin. His skin tone was like a cup
of coffee where the normal proportions of java and cream had been
reversed. But his eyes, the very best part of his face, seemed so
unlikely, yet there they were. They were bloncket: a soft, light
color, not quite blue, but not grey either—something in between
that sort of changed back and forth the more I stared at them. And
those eyes were staring a hole through me now, too.

How long had I been gawking? I suddenly
remembered that I had been ringing the doorbell, so I should be
doing the talking now.

“H-hi…I’m…uh…(what was my name
again?)…Ellery…” I struggled to concentrate and communicate, “I-I
live…next door.”

Yeah, in the group home for mentally
handicapped people, he was probably thinking by now.

I commanded myself to breathe and took a
generous gulp of air. His expression was like a parade, something
new every second. First it looked like shock, then it was
inquisitive, next it phased into confusion as I gawked, standing
there speechless. When I had finally stumbled through my
introduction his expression looked amused.

My mind was racing to chase down the reason
I had come here.

Oh, right.

“I was hoping to see if I could borrow the
bags to your corn-hole game?” I asked, spitting the request out in
double time.

There was no comprehension in his face. To
help explain myself I used a hand gesture, pretending to throw
something from my open palm up and away, while slowly enunciating
the words “C o r n - h o l e?”

A glorious, bemused smile broke across his
face, like a solar flare. It warmed me. He must have gathered that
I was questioning his local language skills and he wanted to put me
at ease. In perfectly articulated English with no discernable
accent, foreign or American regional, he said, “Oh…I mean yes.
Certainly. You’re welcome to whatever you need from me. Any
time.”

I thought about how wonderful it would be to
have him make good on that promise…

He was still smiling at me and it was
disrupting my thinking ability. I couldn’t decide if he was
gorgeous, or adorable, or handsome, but the sum of his
attractiveness was greater than the combination of the individual
adjectives that described him.

After another embarrassing interval, I
realized that I was copying him…just standing and smiling, except
my mind was whirling in a way that I doubted his was.

I almost thanked him and excused myself.
Then I had a moment of clarity, the first I’d experienced since
looking at his face. The clarity didn’t translate into anything
cool or pithy. It just made me repeat myself.

“C o r n - h o l e ?” I asked, gesture, and
all.

He gave a short nervous laugh and said, “Oh
yes. Okay…I have to admit, I don’t know what that is, exactly.”

I laughed too and replied, “Oh, sorry. It’s
the game where you throw the bag of corn into the hole…” I knew it
sounded ridiculous. I started again. “Did you clean out your garage
after you moved in?”

This must have seemed like an odd question.
He looked like he was struggling to come up with the right answer.
I continued.

“It’s just that if you didn’t move it or
throw it away, I probably know where to find what I need…”

He seemed to accept that and immediately
stepped aside, indicating for me to enter, and proceed. As I moved
through the door, it occurred to me that this might be hard for me.
The nostalgia and sentimentality might be too much. Reminding
myself that I was here on a mission seemed to help me maintain my
focus, and keep the emotions at bay.

He followed me through the foyer, down the
hall and into the kitchen, where I turned and headed out into the
garage. There was a bank of cabinets just outside the kitchen door,
and the corn-hole set was stored in the nearest section. The bags
were sealed in a clear plastic container.

That was smart.

I took the rectangular container out and
closed the cabinet door.

“Here they are. So I just need them for
tonight. I can bring them back when we’re done… or…” a wonderful
plan had just materialized in my mind, “or would you like to come
over and… be my partner?”

His eyes widened and some inscrutable
thought flashed through them, and then out again. His smile was
soft, and a little sad, it seemed. Maybe he already had plans. I
pushed ahead anyway.

“I mean, if you don’t have plans, that is. I
made dinner…and there’s plenty,” Duh! That was stupid, he could eat
my share if there wasn’t plenty, “and when we play, well, you’re
supposed to play on teams, and well…we could be a team.”

I wondered if he had any notion of how much
I wanted there to be a double meaning to that last part.

I was starting to feel embarrassed because
he hadn’t said anything since I had walked in. Finally, he broke
the silence.

“Amazing! I just went from a TV dinner all
alone to a gourmet meal and a game night. I gladly accept your
invitation. What time should I arrive?”

He was radiant with pleasure and it warmed
me again. I had to gather all my focus to wrap my mind around his
answer.

So that was a YES! What did he ask me at the
end, though?

I knew I was just smiling stupidly now.
Seconds passed. I was so happy he said yes I didn’t know what to do
next. He helped me.

“Shall I escort you home now, or would you
like me to stop by a little later?” he asked very sincerely.

His expression held no trace of the mockery
I deserved.

“Oh! You can come with me now,” I said in a
tone that was overly enthusiastic.

Then like a gentleman from one of my Jane
Austen novels, he took the box from my hands. Then he held out his
elbow for me and I looped my hand through and around it. I was
smiling so big it was almost painful, but in that ideal moment of
receiving acceptance from the most handsome man I had ever
encountered—just by a nose, but still—I could have been hit over
the head with a frying pan and felt no pain!

He escorted me back into his kitchen and
then out through the back of the house to the yard and on to my
own. The whole time I clung to his arm as if he might
de-materialize if I loosened my grip by even a fraction. Could I
hold on to him and still eat dinner or play corn-hole? My mind was
on random access, searching for a way to work that problem out
while I switched to the issue at hand: introducing our fourth.

Of course I hadn’t thought about what my
original guests would think about the addition of my new one to our
dinner party. As different as their reactions were, they both
seemed as though they were trying hard to control them.

Ray seemed pleased. At first I thought maybe
he was glad to have another man present, but I realized that wasn’t
it. There was something more, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Conversely, Lidia seemed displeased. It was as though she didn’t
like him, but how could that be? I knew that I was missing
something here, and I wished that I could understand.

I embarrassed myself when I attempted to
make the introductions.

“I found some corn-hole bags, and someone to
help us play. Lidia and Ray, this is…my neighbor…whose name escapes
me…at the moment.”

They all laughed at me. I was still too
happy to be overly self-concerned. I looked up at the nameless
angelically beautiful one for his assistance. He wasn’t nameless in
my mind, but he needed to think so.

“I’m Ash,” he said to me alone.

A drift of smoke from the grill reminded me
that I was supposed to be cooking.

Oh no! How long had it been? Did I burn the
chicken after all?

“I have to check on dinner…I’ll be right
back.”

Then turning, I sprinted to the grill. A big
cloud of smoke released when I opened the top, but thankfully, the
meat didn’t appear to be burned.

Lucky.

With relief I marched into the kitchen to
retrieve the platter from the oven where it was being warmed and
then set about arranging the miraculously perfectly cooked chicken
on to it, piece by piece. Then I toted the platter into the
kitchen, setting it onto the counter so that I could finish
garnishing each breast with more glaze and fresh cherries that had
been warming on the stove. Then I carefully covered the platter
with its matching lid. Next I checked the progress of the rice. It,
too, was perfect and ready to serve. I transferred the contents of
the rice into a ceramic bowl, replacing the lid to keep the
contents warm.

Lidia joined me now and we worked together
to transport the food to the table outside. At my instruction she
retrieved the bowl of salad from the refrigerator. The men joined
us on the deck and my three guests took their seats. I remained
standing as I removed the covers from each of the dishes. All the
while, I carefully observed their reactions to the site of my
culinary productions.

Everything looked great, and I knew it. So I
should have been insulted at the surprise that unfailingly
registered on every face at the table.

What were they expecting? Spaghettio’s?

I couldn’t feel the proper affront, though.
I was just too happy with myself. To her credit, Lidia’s surprised
expression transitioned more quickly than her male companions,
morphing into approval and, was it possible, pride? I wasn’t sure
which was more satisfying, the fact that I had pulled off a decent
meal or that there were witnesses to that fact. I must have been
reveling in my triumph for too long because I awoke to the
realization that no one was eating, and everyone was looking at
me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked as I sat
down.

Ray spoke up.

“So…I’m guessing you’re not that serial
killer known as the Teen Gourmet, are you?”

The aura of self-satisfaction around me
burst like a bubble.

Why would he say that?

Lidia shot him a dark look, dripping with
disapproval. Ash’s expression was negative as well, but something
more like disappointment, it seemed.

Ray chuckled nervously and continued, “Well,
it looks like you’re not planning to eat, and I was just curious
about that.”

What?

I was starving. I hadn’t eaten all day. Of
course I was planning to eat. As the faces all turned back to me, I
looked down nervously and it made sense now. There were only three
place settings on the table and I was sitting at the end that was
empty.

Why do people feel the need to tease me all
the time?

Scraping together what little maturity I
possessed, (which seemed to be more than Ray had, at least) I
smiled graciously, with just a hint of chagrin, and said, “Oh.
There are four of us now, aren’t there? I’ll be right back. Or
would you feel better if I did a safety taste test first?”

I was all pleasantness and no sarcasm.

They laughed in unison, and with that, the
intensity around the table evaporated. Lidia began to serve herself
a piece of chicken. Ray started to spoon into the rice. I noticed
that Ash was still looking at me, his expression unreadable. Being
caught in his gaze made me feel warm again. In a mental aside I
thought that having him around in the winter would be very good for
my comfort, temperature notwithstanding.

I noticed that he had nothing to drink so I
asked him about it.

“What can I get you to drink? There’s wine,
beer, soda….or you could help me finish off the Kool-Aid.”

They all laughed again. It was a relief to
get laughs when I was actually trying to be funny. More often than
not, my comedy routines tended to be unintentional in nature.

I rose from the table to go retrieve some
eating utensils for myself and see to Ash’s beverage requirements.
To my relief, he’d asked for whatever I was having. This was good
for a couple of reasons. It took the childish edge off of my not
drinking wine, though his reasons for abstaining were obviously
different than mine, and it spared me from having to explain that
the Kool-Aid offer was just a joke. Though making it clear that I
did not actually ever drink Kool-Aid probably would have been good
for my self-esteem.

Dinner was pleasant. I was happy to realize
that I wasn’t nearly as nervous with these three people that I
didn’t know very well as I could have been. There was this strange
sense of familiarity at the table that I couldn’t understand, but
couldn’t deny, either. We plied each other with polite questions
and the conversation kept moving forward in an admirable way,
considering the hostess’ nearly disabling tendency toward shyness.
Again, I felt very happy with myself. I was looking people in the
eye, I was asking questions, and I was being the kind of person I
actually wanted to be for once.

Ash jumped up to help me clear the table;
and I couldn’t hide my pleasure with this chivalrous notion. He was
the first male I’d ever encountered to do that. Because I’m short
and I appear to be much younger than I am, or maybe because I just
exude ineptness, it seemed like everyone was always trying to
assist me with everything, except the dishes. There was never any
help to be had on that front…until tonight. And I couldn’t have
imagined a more fantastic way to break that streak. It felt surreal
to be standing in front of the dishwasher, of all things, in
company with this perfectly beautiful boy. It was a good thing that
he was doing most of the work. It freed me up to stare unabashedly
at him while he labored.