The Jewel Box (25 page)

In the fall of ’80 I flew to Park City for a weekend with Randall, and stepped into the tiny private airport, where I was greeted by a glowing Randall, countless bouquets of flowers, a musical quartet, local television crew, and several scripted banners. The banners and Randall were covered with the proposal, “Cherie will you marry me?” Talk about mixed emotion city. I was being offered the freedom and happiness that supposedly comes with millions, but had never felt so trapped or mysteriously miserable. Surrounded by onlookers and a television camera, Randall whipped out a six carat diamond ring and popped the big question. Unable to answer, I placed a flimsy kiss on his cheek, and when a female reporter pushed a microphone to my mouth, I barely mustered, “Randall and I will talk about this privately.” TV chick looked like she was in the middle of her first televised
faux pas
, but Randall beamed broadly as he pulled me tighter. “That’s my girl, always upstaging me.”

When we reached Randall’s mountain home, I refused to let him carry me over the threshold, and told him I needed time to think. Didn’t exactly make for a fun filled weekend, and as usual, I fell back on my Biblical prerogative. By the time I arrived home Sunday night, I was questioning my judgment. This really nice, really wealthy man wanted me. And I wanted my really nice, really wonderful, Gabriel.

Time with Beau went from scarce to quick calls to voice message tag, and finally nada. I was busy, his business was booming and he was spending
any free time in Vegas after admitting two failed marriages and a few romantic fiascos made him miss the bright lights and forget-it-all environment. I missed him, and needed his sage advice.

Meanwhile, Randall proposed weekly, and most people encouraged me to marry him, Nikki being his number one proponent. The way she broadcast accolades about his kind and generous character, you’d have thought he was running for office—but that’s what happens when you give a teenager lavish gifts and cash. Or was it possible Nikki felt I should move beyond Gabriel, and Randall was her favorite candidate?

“Randall’s aura is too dark,” Patrice warned from her trip to France. “And I’m worried about his inability to give you cosmic orgasms.”

“I agree with your orgasm sentiment.”

“Not to mention he’s somewhat chauvinistic for insisting you end your association with Delilah.”

“Randall can’t stand her,” I admitted. Delilah easily annoyed many people.

“That doesn’t give him the right to indict someone based on egregious behavior.”

“C’mon, Patrice. You’re the one who said conversations with Delilah were so low-brow you could barely stay awake.”

“Yes, I did. But I’ve never once suggested you dissolve your friendship.”

“True,” I admitted. Delilah seemed intent on remaining my friend—so persistent in fact, after too much wine she often joked about revealing my illegal abortion to my new circle of friends. “Be careful in your adventurous travels, my gutsy, spirited friend.”

“Be careful in your amorous trials, my whimsical friend. Love you.” She ended the call.

16

Friday nights meant free drinks at the Cadillac Bar courtesy of our boss Arne, but I ducked out early and headed home for some “me” time. With Randall in Park City, I suspected he was the caller ringing my phone off the hook while I attempted to unlock the door.

“Hey Blondie,” Gabriel cheerfully greeted. “How was Utah?”

“How’d you know I’d been to the mountains?” My heart fluttered.

“Heard it through the grapevine.”

“Oh yeah? I’m guessing grapevine Gloria or Hope. How are you Carpenter Boy?”

“Better, now that I’m talking to you.”

He talked about the work he was doing in a house in Kemah, just off Galveston Bay, and sounded absolutely great. Okay. He could’ve been discussing hemorrhoid remedies and still sounded marvelous. The calm voice with the slow drawl was describing wainscot paneling when my stomach turned to knots. I was dying to see him, but he was still married to Victoria.

“I’d really like to see you,” he said softly. “I’d even let you buy me a Coke.”

“How about a Tab?” I waited for his usual response.

“Gotta have the real thing, Blondie. That’s why I called you.”

“I shouldn’t do this.” I thumped the phone against my forehead.

“Yeaaah? And I shouldn’t ask. But I did and I hope you will. For old times’ sake.”

“Oh pleeease. I remember the last time you said that.”

“It won’t be like that. We’re just good friends.”

“Well, that’s what friends are for—delivering Coca-Cola to their pals. Just give me directions, and I’ll try to swing by tomorrow.”

“Try?”

“Yes, try. Something tells me your directions may lead me to the River Styx.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Just pay the old ferryman and he’ll make room for you on a safe rowboat high above the fiery water.”

“I hope you get bit in the ass by a three headed dog for lying to me all these years about not knowing Greek Mythology.”

“Hey, be nice to me. We’ll both probably wind up in Hades one of these days, and you just might need my protection.”

“Uh huh,” I said. “Keep your nail gun in its holster and tell me how to find this house if you want me driving south.”

Jittery as all get out, I scribbled directions and hoped I wouldn’t get too lost.

On Saturday I took an Opium bubble bath and dusted in Opium powder, before trying on every casual piece of clothing in my closet. Opting for jeans, cashmere sweater, and Cole Haan loafers, I arrived at the job site in Kemah, but sat in my car a few minutes before walking inside. Gabriel rushed over, greeting me with his confident smile, and looking like a million undevaluated dollars. The sight of him caused me to stumble. Dammit. He placed his hand gently against my elbow attempting to steady me. “Still impersonating Gerald Ford?”

“No, Wiseass. I’m channeling for Charlie Chaplin.”

“That’s Mr. Wiseass, if you don’t mind.”

“Still trying to dignify your epithet, I see.”

“Trying is about as far as I get.” He leaned forward and lightly kissed my cheek.

I nervously stepped back. Engulfed by the smell of sawdust flowing from his body, I had forgotten what wondrous emotions his nearness could evoke.

“I was having a sinkin’ spell, before I saw you, but I’m wide awake now. Christ, you smell great. Whatcha wearing?”

“Opium,” I answered.
My forever fragrance beginning now.
He’d never complimented my perfume scent before.

As he stood smiling at me, seemingly oblivious to other workers who were busily working throughout the house, his eyes reflected a luminescence that said “I’ve missed you.” And after years of numbness, I felt sensitivity again. We hadn’t been intimately alone since that night in ‘73, before each of us married. I shook my head.
Stop remembering
.

“How are Victoria and Luke? And how’s small town living?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I love my son and I like living in a small town. Otherwise, I just exist. My house has great potential, but I’m not motivated to renovate it.” He held his right hand out and briskly rubbed his thumb across the tips of his four fingers. “So, what’ve you been up to Blondie?”

“Working at the law firm, running around the country with Randall, trying to keep Nikki in tow, yada, yada, yada.”

“You gonna marry Ole Moneybags?”

“I don’t know, Gabriel. It just doesn’t feel right. Money can’t buy love, you know.”

“Yeaaah, I know. I just thought it was prerequisite for you.”

“Prerequisite?” I tossed my hair over my shoulder. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“You can’t stand there in those overpriced clothes and deny liking money.”

“Pleeease, Mr. Sears Roebuck Wash-N-Wear. I only buy expensive clothes and shoes when they’re on sale. Most of my paycheck goes direct to savings.”

“Can you teach Victoria? Hell, she goes through money faster than congressmen.”

“And you my friend, embellish like one.”

“I’m serious. She’s perceives herself a ‘social climber’ and spends tons of money sucking up to prominent Pearlanders. At least those she can schmooze with her ingratiating bullshit.”

“Prominent Pearlanders. Isn’t that an oxymoron? Or are you referring to the ones without chicken coops in their front yards?”

“Blondie, that’s a fact and not a fiction. The small town now has million dollar homes in it.” He sounded slightly offended.

“Yikes, I didn’t mean to trespass on your farmland. I’ll change subjects. How’s business?”

“Ben and I are doing exceptional.” He blew a stream of smoke out the side of his mouth. “He’s great to work with and has really settled down.”

“You mean he’s learned to control his vulgar mouth?”

“Christ, no. But he keeps it shut for the most part. I still do all negotiating with builders and homeowners, and he oversees operations, keeping crews in line. Ben’s somewhat of a control freak.”

“No kidding. I noticed his need to be in command when he came home from the Air Force. Guess that’s indicative of being a military officer.”

“Absolutely. Ben’s the only sibling who boldly demands control. Maybe some is inherent considering Gloria’s tendency to dominate. Course she’s more subtle at swaying people.”

He was so sure of himself. So strong. So gentle. So calming. With just the wind for background music, we stood and talked for over an hour, until I realized I had to get away from him. Being near him felt too good. Would I ever stop feeling lightheaded by his presence? Would I ever stop feeling he was the perfect man for me? Would a lobotomy eradicate his memory from my mind or just remove vital facts necessary for me to function in life?

“I’d better leave.” I took a long, boundless breath, wanting to inhale as much of him as possible as we walked toward the front of the house. Stepping out into the cold wind, I blurted, “I love the smell of you and this silly sawdust.”

He flipped his cigarette butt into the air, pulled his sawdust covered T-shirt over his head, and handed it to me. “Here. You like my goddamn smell so much, take this shirt. Now is there anything else you want?”

You bet your ass there was. I wanted him to do delicious things to me for the rest of my life and then some. “I’d better take the fifth on that question.” I wasn’t about to say anything that might encourage the break-up of his second marriage. “It could lead me back to therapy.”

“Save your money.” He grinned. “Freud himself couldn’t penetrate your psyche.”

“That’s a fact and not a fiction,” I said, but wanted to scream, “I’ll love you till I die,” cling to his body and never let go. Instead, I turned to leave, clutching his sawdust covered T-shirt.

“See ya, Blondie,” he called out as I hurried down the sidewalk and he strolled to his van and pulled on a fleece jacket. Then he honked twice,
jumped out of his van, blew me kisses and waved while walking backwards toward the house. I got into my car and sped away.

T-shirt never got washed, and turned into my sleep aid on restless nights.

Beau phoned to explain he had been MIA due to remarrying his second wife, Lola. No surprise. He’d shown me photos of his five-foot-nine, stunning brunette wife who was blessed with sultry teal colored eyes. Modelesque Lola was four years older than me and about forty times hotter. Beau admitted he got terribly lonely after a nasty upper respiratory bout, thus worked double-time to rekindle their romance. It started with a diamond necklace, and he admitted that sentimental token soon turned into requests for more trinkets of love to keep her happy.
Whatever Lola Wants.
Thankfully his sports bar was going gangbusters and raking in the dough. Beau admitted he wasn’t truly happy with wife number two, but his fear of being alone motivated him to rejuvenate the love they once shared. He had always imparted so much wisdom to me; I was surprised by his actions. And somewhat shocked when he said Lola was a bit jealous of our friendship. “Forgive me if I don’t call as often,” he’d said. I understood. Beau wanted this marriage to work, and although I treasured our conversations, I respected his quest for a happy life. Our friendship in limbo meant therapy for me. I couldn’t handle a sassy teenager, pine over lost love, and navigate a relationship that wasn’t fair to Ole Moneybags without help.

Speaking of Randall, he flew to Texas for the Christmas holidays, but left Christmas morning for Park City, fairly upset I wasn’t joining him. I’d given him Christmas Eve and my warm natured ass wasn’t going to the mountains. Besides, Gloria had invited Nikki and me to stop by Christmas Day to visit with Hope, Troy and Conn with his betrothed, Kim. Barely eighteen and ready to marry? I accepted her invite after Gloria assured me Gabriel, Luke, and Victoria wouldn’t be at her home. While Conn spouted irrelevant commentary about Gabriel and Victoria, I tried to minimize my facial twitching. Gloria must’ve noticed my anxiety. She grabbed my hand, led me to her bedroom, told me Gabriel was miserable with Victoria, and ended by saying, “It’s obvious that other people in your lives are just filling
a void until you two can be together.” Maybe I should have felt sad about Gabriel being unhappy, but Gloria’s message made my eyes sparkle more than the lights on her Christmas tree.