Grandview, p.8
Grandview, page 8
“Imagine how I feel,” Leticia said. “Honestly, the longer I think about it, the weirder it is.”
Veronica put down her glass, and said, “Not to be a downer, but honestly the whole thing is really different. Has he called or anything?”
“No,” Leticia said, “but he will. I keep getting scared that maybe something isn’t right, but Robert isn’t like that. You know him. He’s just off somewhere, being himself.” She smiled, recalling his stuttering enthusiasm in the Grandview parking lot.
“Do you think he’ll give you a ring?” Kylie asked.
“I certainly hope so,” Leticia said, examining her naked left hand. “At least, I’m sure he’ll give me one eventually.” Until this moment, she hadn’t deeply felt the absence of that token. The briefest doubt passed through her mind, but she shook it away.
“Maybe he doesn’t believe in rings,” Kylie said. “Maybe he believes in some kind of druid thing, and you’ll have to carry around an urn full of prayer cloths or something.”
“¿De que hablas tú?” Veronica said, laughing. “You’re drunk, girl.”
“I am nicely buzzed,” Kylie said, “but I am not drunk. So get off me.”
Leticia’s phone rang. All three women froze, looking to each other with wide eyes. Leticia lifted her phone from the table and furrowed her brow.
“It’s my dad,” Leticia said, “gimme a sec.” She answered the phone and then got up and walked into the house. Kylie and Veronica watched her through the glass door as she continued farther in and disappeared into the downstairs guest bedroom.
“You think he knows about Robert?” Kylie asked.
“I don’t know,” Veronica replied. “We’ll find out shortly.”
“At least Alberto is over with. That guy is such a drag.”
“I must admit,” Veronica said, “he wasn’t my first choice for her.”
“Pshh. That dude’s my last choice for anyone living. What a tool.”
Inside, Leticia fell lengthwise onto the guest bed, beside Veronica’s open suitcase.
“What’s up, Dad?”
“You have company, mija?”
“Vero came down, and Kylie. You remember Kylie?”
“Oh, yes. Did she end up going pro with her surfing?”
“Yeah. She’s doing pretty well too.”
“Good for her. Tell her I’m proud of her.”
“I will. Where are you? It sounds like a party.”
“A party would be nice,” her father said. “I’m at a conference in Seattle.”
“Speaking?”
“Yes,” her father said, “but I’m finished for today. I don’t know why, but these crazy people keep asking me to come talk to them while they eat.”
“I know why,” Leticia said, “because my dad is the best. That’s why.”
Her father laughed. “Thank you, mija.” After a short silence, he cleared his throat. “Daughter, I spoke with Robert today on the phone.”
“Oh,” Leticia said, her pulse quickening. She felt unprepared and frightened about whatever would come next. Until now, all that transpired since Robert’s quasi-proposal had slipped quietly past her, cloaked in opaque, oneiric haze. The sound of Robert’s name from her father’s mouth lassoed her consciousness, yanking her roughly back inside the present reality. Not knowing what else to say, she managed to force out the question, “When did he call?”
“He and I just finished a long conversation,” her father said gently. “I was surprised when I saw it was him calling, but I was more surprised when he explained why. I’m hoping you can help me understand.”
All day, Leticia had not thought once of her father. “Um,” she said, searching for words. “Okay, he ... earlier ...”
“Mija,” her father said, “it’s okay.”
“Okay,” she said, suddenly fearful and full of doubt. “He asked me to marry him. But ... he didn’t propose, he—” Letty burst into tears and was unable to continue.
“My precious daughter,” he said, “it’s okay. Everything is okay. Take a minute.”
“I know,” Leticia said, regaining sufficient composure. “I’m just overwhelmed. The past couple days have been so weird.”
“So it seems. Are you going to be all right? Do you need me to come down?”
“No, that’s okay,” Leticia said. “I just don’t know what’s going on. I keep thinking I have a grip on what’s happening, and it just gets all smashed up.”
“Let’s start with what we know,” her father said. “First, Robert wants to marry you. He does want that, mija.” As he said this, Leticia felt a warm, cozy swirl and another spell of transient calm. “He called me to ask my blessing,” he continued, “and I will give it to him, if that is what you want. I told him I needed to talk with you first, and he agreed to wait.”
At this, Leticia’s eyes welled once again, but with tears that felt good. Somewhere near, Robert was waiting for her father’s call. And while she was sitting with her friends, he had been speaking with her father, declaring his intent to marry her.
“I do want to marry him, Dad,” Leticia said. “I’ve wanted to marry him for, like, ever.” Her dad laughed.
“This is unexpected,” he said, “but I’m old and some things escape my watchful eyes. My concern was that Robert would be very sad when I had to tell him you did not return his affections.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Leticia said.
“Okay, the main thing is that I trust you, mija. You know, you are the apple of my eye. And if this is what you want, it is what I want as well.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“I love you, Letty. And I am happy. Will you be home next weekend?”
“Yeah, I think so. If you’re coming, I will be.”
“Yes, I will do that. Could you please have my house ready?”
“Of course,” Leticia said. “Food?”
“Sure,” he said, “you know the little things I like. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there is a young man waiting patiently for my call.”
Chapter 18: Champagne
When Leticia’s phone rang again, once more all three women froze. Kylie and Veronica looked to Letty, who picked up her phone from the coffee table and nodded. Kylie started dancing, and Veronica clasped her hands together as though in prayer. Leticia answered her phone.
“Hello,” she said softly. Robert said something that raised Leticia’s eyebrows. “Okay, uh-huh. Okay.” She hung up. Leticia sat looking straight ahead.
“Um, hello?” Kylie said. “You okay?” Leticia continued looking straight ahead. Kylie, her hands balled into tight little fists, stood up and said, “What did he say to you?”
“He’s here,” Leticia replied faintly.
“He’s here?” Her friends asked in perfect stereo.
“He’s in my driveway,” Leticia said. Veronica jumped up.
“Are you going out there?” Veronica said.
“He’s coming in,” Letty said, as though hypnotized.
They sat frozen, looking at each other, and then began scrambling about, picking up and throwing blankets, empty bottles and candy wrappers into their appropriate receptacles. Veronica ran into the kitchen with a jangling, clanking pile of dishes and silverware. Letty pushed her comfort blanket (an ancient Rainbow Brite sleeping bag with a broken zipper) into a convertible ottoman and slammed the top down, producing an unintentionally loud bang. Veronica and Kylie both started and stared at her.
“Your hair!” Kylie exclaimed, grabbing Leticia’s elbow. She pulled her into the powder bathroom and positioned her in front of the mirror. Leticia was horrified to see glistening morsels of cherry pie filling distributed unevenly through the tips of her hair.
“How did I even do that?”
“Clean it,” Kylie said. “Quick, Letty!”
Leticia leaned forward to put her hair in the sink when the doorbell rang.
“Aw shit,” Kylie said. Pulling a hair tie from her own wrist, in one movement she secured a neat ponytail on the rearmost meridian of Leticia’s head. Leticia checked herself in the mirror and turned to Kylie for approval. Kylie shrugged. The doorbell rang again.
Leticia grabbed Kylie and hugged her hard. She then straightened her cardigan and walked to her curiously unfamiliar front door. Through its panels of mullioned glass, she could make out Robert’s vague silhouette, shifting to and fro. Mustering what courage she could, she grabbed the door’s polished chrome handle and pressed the lever.
The door swung slowly inward, gradually unveiling her suitor’s Dickensian form. Robert stood beneath the wall-sconce, with his head hanging down. He wore a burgundy tonic, single-breasted three-piece suit. In his hands, he clutched a new, burgundy-ribboned bottle of Tsarine Brut Rosé and two delicately ornate crystal flutes. He raised his head, and for the second time that day they locked eyes and were silent.
Leticia could see that Robert was terrified. Somehow, this observation allowed the tightly wound springs in her shoulders to relax. At first glance, his brogue boots and bow tie had served only to heighten her own sense of being unpresentable. His eyes revealed, however, that from his perspective her outfit was unimportant.
“I’m overdressed,” he said.
“I have pie in my hair,” she said, showing him. They both laughed.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Oh, of course,” she said and stepped aside. He entered, his steps wooden and his back straight. “Wanna sit on the couch, or—”
“Yes,” he said tersely and walked quickly to the couch. As he placed the glasses onto the table, his shaking hands caused their bowls to rattle together. Leticia followed, now completely at ease, compassion for Robert eclipsing her own insecurity. During all their life together, she had never once seen Robert this way.
“Maybe next time,” Leticia said, undoing her ponytail, “you could let me know when you’re on the way.”
“Sorry,” he said, “I meant to.”
“It’s okay,” she said, pulling a wet wipe from a container next to the couch. “I really don’t know how I did this, by the way.”
“Were you eating pie?” Robert asked.
“Yes, I was,” Leticia said, focusing her will on keeping the edges of her mouth from rising. Robert nodded gravely. Dear heavens, thought Leticia, how am I going to get through this without laughing? More than two years had passed since Leticia first understood her love for Robert. From that time until minutes before now, Robert’s proposal had taken many forms on the stage of her mind, from the utterly mundane to the wildly fantastic. None of those forms bore any resemblance to what was now taking place. Robert cleared his throat.
“Would you like some champagne?” Robert said.
“Sure, okay.” Leticia said.
Robert took the bottle and—despite his still-shaking hands—managed six expert twists and a quiet turn of the bottle. He did pour too fast, however, and spilled some onto the table.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s fine,” she said, and pulled her sleeping bag from the ottoman. She wiped up the spill with its flannel lining while a broad smile appeared on her face.
“I remember that thing,” Robert said. “Is that the same one?”
“Yeah,” Leticia said. “As you can see.” She showed him the threadbare, just-recognizable image of Rainbow Brite.
“Oh my gosh,” he said, “didn’t we hang that over that hedge or whatever at your dad’s house, and we would go under it and pretend we were stranded? Remember?”
“Oh, yes, and I remember you broke the zipper jumping around in it.”
“Dang,” he said, “you’re right. Sorry.”
“I forgive you,” she said.
“Thanks,” he said.
They grew quiet and sat together, sipping the champagne. Leticia noticed Robert’s hand returning to his ticket pocket. Behind the woolen surface, she could see the edges of something rectangular.
“Would you like some more?” Robert asked, picking up the bottle. Leticia covered her glass, from which she had taken little, and shook her head. Robert set the bottle down and leaned back without speaking. His hand returned again to the rectangular shape in his jacket pocket. Leticia could see sweat forming on his face. Poor guy, thought Leticia, he’s completely paralyzed. Robert’s head was drooping slightly again, as it had been when she’d first seen him on the porch. His breath was audible and short. He began to tap the edge of his boot against the leg of the table.
“Robert,” Leticia said.
Robert nodded slightly.
“This is really hard for you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” he answered in a half-whisper.
“It’s okay,” Leticia said. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
Seeing Robert in his weakness, she loved him so powerfully and with such strength that she felt able to do whatever was needed of her. He now appeared truly paralyzed, no longer tapping his boot, only hanging his head and breathing. She stood up, gathered together the sleeping bag, and took a seat next to Robert on the couch. He tilted his head to look at her, and she tilted hers to match his. In this way they looked at each other for quite some time. Neither said a word. Leticia took the sleeping bag and pulled it over both their heads, creating for Robert a tinier world, where only he and she existed, softly lit and alone.
“Robert,” she said, “you don’t have anything to worry about.” She touched his cheek lightly with the tips of her fingers, took hold of his beard, and pulled him into the lightest of kisses. This time, he neither pulled away, nor pressed against her, but merely received her lips to his own.
To Leticia, the act felt altogether correct and consummately appropriate. It afforded her a benign pleasure, similar to what she would receive almost daily throughout the many years of their long marriage. To Robert, it was unlike any previous experience, radiant with holiness. Not until their final kiss would Robert, gray-bearded and weeping, feel so subtle a thing. Robert reached into his pocket and produced a black, velvet box.
“This was my mom’s,” he said, opening the box. A significant emerald shone proudly from the center, refracting what light it could find. Circling the emerald was a little faerie ring of twinkling diamonds. “I don’t remember who she got it from, but I’ll find out. We could look it up together if you want.”
“I’d love that,” Leticia said.
Robert took it from the box and slid it onto Leticia’s finger. It fitted perfectly.
“I had it sized,” Robert said. Anticipating her question, he said, “Remember the team ring for that thing in Monterey? My jeweler had it all written down.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Leticia said, “you rascal.”
“Ha. I know. I’m glad your left finger is the same. I was nervous it wouldn’t fit.” Again, Robert cleared his throat. “Leticia,” he said, with sparkling eyes, “will you marry me?”
“Yes,” Leticia said, putting her arms around Robert’s neck. “Yes, I will.” As they prepared to kiss for the third time in their lives, from outside the tent they heard a gasp.
Leticia pulled the sleeping bag from their heads to find Kylie standing over them, apparently having recorded the entire transaction on her iPhone.
“Don’t worry,” Kylie said, “I won’t post it or anything. I’ll send it to you and delete it. Or whatever.”
Chapter 19: Stiletto
Heather sat opposite another woman in a little black dress and heels, of similar height and build. Their hair and jewelry differentiated the two; otherwise they appeared as a matching set. The woman Heather had known as Pat Pat Robinson was now Patricia Wong, and answered not to “Pat Pat” or nicknames of any kind. The Johnson’s fundraiser had brought them together for the first time in years.
“Does he know about them?”
“Some. If he asks.”
“If he asks?”
“Yeah, keeps it spicy. Same for me, but I don’t care what he does, so I usually don’t ask. As long as he’s careful, he can have his fun. God knows I have mine.”
“It doesn’t bother you, not even a little?”
“Not at all.”
“What about when you’re over there together? Does he still see them?”
“Hong Kong? I haven’t been there in years. Anyways, that’s when I have my special time out here, so it’s a trade-off.”
Heather had accepted eagerly the chance to meet up with her old friend, and her expectations for the lunch date had been simple. Their conversation had soon drifted into sex, and from that point Heather found herself following Patricia’s lead.
“I guess if it’s working for you two,” Heather said, “then that’s great.”
“Not just us. Trust me, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Well, I think my Catholic guilt will keep me right where I’m at.”
“Guilt?” Patricia pointed her stir stick toward a handsome, well-dressed young man seated at the bar. “A good poke from a guy like that, and you’ll forget all about your ‘Catholic guilt,’ believe me.” The man looked over at Patricia and then Heather and smiled. Heather blushed.
“I think he heard you,” Heather whispered through her teeth.
“I hope he did,” Patricia said and shrugged. “But really, Heather, can you look me in the eye and tell me you’re satisfied?” Heather hesitated, and Patricia winked. “Take our guy. He’s what, late twenties? I know two things about him. He’s hot, and both you and I have something to teach him. James isn’t here, and it wouldn’t change a thing between you. You go back home, and bring all that energy to bed ... boom. You’re both happy. No harm done.”
Heather would not have described the man as “hot.” He was not her type. But he was handsome and well-dressed. Had he been her type, the idea of casual sex with a stranger would have seemed no less strange. Heather wrinkled her nose.
“I don’t think I could do it,” Heather said. “It would just be too weird.”
“What if James was on board?”
