One Step Away (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 1) Page 5

  Her father exited the bathroom down the hall and sprayed yet another scent into the bathroom to disguise any odor. Spotting his daughter, he greeted her with a loving smile. “Your mother makes me spray – even for number one.” He met Marisa with an embrace that conveyed more affection than all of the hugs her mother had bestowed upon her throughout her life, which averaged about a handful per year. If forced to reveal a more accurate estimate, Marisa would put that number at twice annually (her birthday and Christmas Day), but she wanted to give Jaclyn the benefit of the doubt.

  “You look lovely as always,” said her father, separating from his daughter and heading toward the kitchen cabinets. “Sloppy Joes tonight.”

  “I told you I wanted Italian beef,” said Jaclyn from the bedroom at the other end of the house, just one of a dozen daily reminders about who wore the pants in their household.

  He said, “We’re celebrating your daughter’s promotion. It’s her choice.”

  Jaclyn grumbled an incoherent sentence.

  Marisa shook her head. Since Jaclyn wasn’t blessed with motherly intuition – or any interest in caring for her only child, for that matter – her father had to pick up the slack. Recalling the lonely days growing up with her mother (who watched soap operas and read erotic fiction when she wasn’t out spending money on clothes she never wore and trinkets that she often gave away to Goodwill only days after purchasing them), Marisa wondered yet again what it would have been like to have a mother who cared about her and didn’t treat her as an accident that had ruined her life.

  “Have a seat, honey,” her father said, tightening his orange apron that contained a huge question mark with the words “Who’s Your Daddy?” etched on it. Marisa smiled at her father’s obliviousness. He actually believed the words described a devoted father figure, rather than how popular culture had contorted that phrase into a disgusting perversity.

  That surprised her because a couple decades ago her father had started but recently sold – for an unspecified seven-figure amount – a local franchise similar to Jiffy Lube called Slippery When Wet, named after the Bon Jovi album. He had only hired female employees, aged between18-28, who wore skimpy outfits, and did plenty of bending (under the hood, inside the car to clean, etc.) and squatting (checking tire pressure, changing light bulbs, etc.). When the first of two employees were chosen as centerfolds of a well-known men’s magazine, her father had enough business savvy to have his employees sign a waiver, mandating that they model for a Slippery When Wet annual calendar if customers selected that individual as the most desired employee at that franchised location.

  It seemed his propensity for profit trumped his interest in sex: he married Marisa’s mother, after all. And Marisa was glad to have never heard or seen her parents in the act. She got the impression that the only time they made love was their wedding night, which according to her father, was the night they conceived her. It probably made for a more satisfying existence for her father.

  And since Marisa wanted her dad to be happy, she often wondered why he hadn’t left her mother long ago. Seeing her parents endure such an unhappy marriage inadvertently taught her that relationships were like everything else in life: if it’s broken, try to fix it. If it still doesn’t work, cut your losses and move on.

  Just as Marisa sat down, her mother, leaving a trail of cigarette smoke in her wake, plunked down at the kitchen table without so much as glancing at her daughter. She pushed back sleeves from a dress that Stevie Nicks would wear on stage while singing the Fleetwood Mac song “Gypsy.” With bony arms and a torso that looked like a lamp—a fat base thinning at the neck until the head protruded wide—Jaclyn took a drag on her cigarette and blew it off to the side, slinging a chain of smoke through the air.

  Although she knew how much Marisa disliked inhaling second-hand smoke, her mother seemed to take pleasure in making her daughter uncomfortable. “Mom, when you’re smoking in the car, you exhale out the window and even dangle your cigarette out the window. My question is…why?”

  “I don’t want it to ruin the upholstery.”

  “But it’s okay to ruin your lungs?” Marisa had no idea why, year after year of enduring one letdown after another, she still cared about her mother. “Why?”

  “The smoke in my lungs reminds me of my life. Constricting. Suffocating.”

  Marisa turned to her dad, who slipped in between both women and placed a few plates onto the table. “I thought she quit smoking in the house?”

  “I’m right here,” Jaclyn said, glancing around for an ashtray. Seeing none nearby, she dashed the cigarette out on the table and flicked the ashes on the floor. “Acting like I’m not here, like I’m wearing some kind of invisible cloak or something.” She shifted to the side and waved her hands in front of Marisa’s face while glaring at her daughter. “Hello!”

  If her mother wanted to act like an immature child, Marisa wouldn’t resist the opportunity to play along. “Mom?” she asked, glancing around with a worried expression. “She was just here, I swear!” She looked at her father. “She disappeared right in front of us.”

  “If we could only be so lucky,” said her father.

  Marisa gave her dad a high-five. During her childhood, along with her father’s endless supply of support and understanding and love, Marisa relied on his sense of humor to help her through the disappointment of having Jaclyn for a mother.

  “Why are you here again?” asked her mother, far from amused.

  “Promotion?” Marisa prompted. “Second highest position in the library? Ring any bells?”

  With a slack expression and not even a hint of emotion in her eyes, Jaclyn said, “Well, I’m sure you worked hard to get it.”

  Marveling at how Jaclyn couldn’t even try to reflect the tiniest bit of joy in her voice, Marisa wished that her mother resembled the kind, thoughtful, caring mothers on television: Jill Taylor from Home Improvement or Marge Simpson from The Simpsons – hell, who was she kidding: she’d be happy to have Marie Barone, Raymond’s meddling, often manipulative, and sometimes cruel (but always loving) mother on Everybody Loves Raymond. At least she meant well and wanted her son to be happy.

  Discounting the years leading up to adolescence, Marisa only wanted to hear pride in her mother’s voice and see it in her expression upon achieving two accomplishments: six years ago when she received her master’s degree and today, after getting this promotion, because it all but guaranteed that she’d become a library director in the future. Why was she surprised that her mother let her down on both counts?

  Simmering with disappointment, yet blaming herself for hoping against reason that Jaclyn would show her a bit of affection, Marisa pushed back her chair with care and rose to her feet. She didn’t know whether she wanted to scream at her mother or—break down and cry.

  Jaclyn looked up at her, a judgmental stare on her face.

  Marisa took a deep breath and turned to go, but her father stood right beside her and wrapped his arms around her.

  “I know why you want to leave,” he whispered in her ear. “But know that I’m very proud of you.”

  Marisa, sensing that her tear ducts would unleash a torrent that would send streaks down her cheeks, nodded because so much emotion clogged her throat that it prevented her from muttering a single word. She clutched her father tightly then rushed from his embrace and strode toward the door without looking back. She neither walked too fast nor too slow, since either would allow Jaclyn to discover the depth of Marisa’s disappointment.

  After stepping through the doorway and shutting the door behind her, Marisa realized she was unable to hold off the storm of sorrow from overwhelming her. She let out a gasp, and tears blurred her vision as she almost collapsed in despondence. Never again would she expect the unexpected from her mother. This didn’t amount to anything beyond the norm, but it did mean finally giving up hope that Jaclyn would one day care about her.

  She sniffled, but refused to let moisture spill from her eyes. That reaction woul
d probably make her mother smile. From now on, Marisa wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction of knowing that she provoked any feelings in her daughter. She drew in a breath and released it with a somewhat steady sigh. Since her mother had disappointed her countless times, Marisa followed protocol: she took one step after another, hoping that this time she wouldn’t let her expectations drag her into an abyss of gloom.

  Then she realized that by not caving in to her inner turmoil, she had conformed to the same emotionless nature with which her mother lived life. It seemed that no matter what she did or how she acted, Marisa was doomed to become her mother.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  After entering Apocalyptica, an upscale bar with outrageous liquor prices that catered to young and successful clientele living just outside of Bedford Falls, Alexander walked through the dusky atmosphere that smelled of a combination of cinnamon and cloves. While the bar didn’t look like it had suffered the effects of a catastrophic event, its name attracted singles looking for something dramatic to shake up their lives, even though the décor didn’t offer anything beyond that of any other bar.

  Gorgeous women in their late twenties and early thirties wearing suit coats over trendy blouses or fashionable dresses with belts to show off their curves formed tightknit groups beside tall, cocktail tables. The choice to omit chairs allowed the bar owner to add more tables throughout the room, thereby allowing more people to enter the building. Men in stylish business suits that cost more than Alexander earned in a month made him look like he’d gone shopping at the Salvation Army.

  Despite being upstaged by the wealthier men in attendance, he didn’t feel overpowered by their affluence. Not after suffering the biggest loss in his life. Animosity grew in his heart, and he decided he needed a few drinks to quell his agitation. Spotting Damon Durand at the bar chatting with a cute blond bartender, Alexander made his way over to them. “I’d like a shot of Effen.”

  Interrupted, Damon didn’t immediately turn to Alexander. He held his stare on the attractive bartender, broke into an easy grin that never failed to charm any woman he set his sights on, and said to her, “Let’s make that three.”

  “Three?”

  “He’s going to need a couple, and I’ll need one just to deal with him tonight.” As the bartender went off to gather some shot glasses and a bottle of liquor, Damon pivoted toward Alexander. “Congratulations on the promotion, buddy. The extra dough is already turning you into a high-class drinker, huh?”

  “I want Effen because I’m effing pissed.”

  “Somehow I figured that.” Watching the bartender return to pour their shots, Damon said, “But you interrupted this lovely lady and me, and she deserves an apology.”

  Alexander, watching the woman staring at him to see how he would respond, also realized that he’d ignored his friend’s compliment. He felt like an ass for acting like one. “This is the worst day of my life. It’s no excuse, but I apologize.”

  Before the bartender could respond, Damon said, “The worst day of his life, yet he got a promotion and netted another fifteen grand per year.” He picked up a shot glass, and after Alexander did the same, he clinked their glasses in a toast before downing his drink.

  Alexander followed suit, then finished off the other one. “One more for each of us,” he said to the bartender. To Damon, he said, “Sorry, but I’m just…” When the bartender poured another shot for each of them, he swiped his drink away from the counter so quickly that he spilled some liquor on the bar. He swallowed the second just as quickly.

  “Okay,” Damon said, after swigging his own drink. “That’ll do for the drinking portion of our evening. It also serves as a toast since I moved into the area.” A couple weeks ago, he’d purchased a condo only a few miles from Alexander’s townhome.

  “So, Marisa – what did she say?” Damon removed a black sports-coat and draped it over the bar stool. A charcoal-gray polo hugged a muscularly defined frame, directing attention to a slim waist, black slacks, and dark shoes. All told, his attire couldn’t compare to the high-priced duds the wealthier men in the bar wore, but regardless of his surroundings, women always noticed him and found him more appealing and interesting than anyone else.

  Alexander met him in a geometry class during their sophomore year at Southern Illinois University. At that time, Damon was spending his semester mired in self-loathing after his girlfriend, Katrina, split up with him. He wore grungy clothing that he rarely washed, attended a class each day just to collect points for showing up even though it was always with a major buzz, and disturbed Alexander’s concentration by reminiscing about his relationship while writing poetry to his ex, hoping that one day she would take him back, and he could prove his undying devotion to her.

  Horrified yet captivated by how someone could fall apart so drastically after suffering a breakup, Alexander encouraged Damon to spill his guts; he wanted to understand (and hopefully avoid a similar outcome in the future) the mind of the brokenhearted. Since his university life picked up right where his high school life had left off—without a single date— he consoled himself with the knowledge that Harrison Ford and Kevin Costner had also suffered the same poor luck before hitting college. Regardless, Alexander was drawn to meeting someone else who had endured such desolation. And while they took different routes to get there, they still arrived at the destination alone and longing for human connection.

  At the end of his freshman year, Damon transferred to Colorado College, while Alexander remained at SIU. Although time and distance separated them, Damon refused to end a relationship with someone who had shown so much compassion and understanding, and he kept in touch with Alexander through email a few times each month, which centered around their experiences with the opposite sex: Damon highlighted his countless relationships and dalliances, not to mention his newfound popularity as one of the most successful romance novelists on the planet.

  For his part, Alexander finally felt secure in sharing his difficulties in relating to women. Considering that he forged friendships from middle-school on through college with people who more often than not used his insecurities against him to increase their own social standing, Alexander found it difficult to trust others with his feelings, which in turn explained why he had so few friends. Damon, however, changed that. In fact, without this relationship, Alexander never would have trusted Marisa with his innermost thoughts.

  “She didn’t want to lose her best friend. Or a colleague at work.”

  Damon, quirking an eyebrow in thought, pushed aside thick black bangs that hung just below his eyebrows. “Okay, go on.”

  Alexander explained everything that happened, inserting how he felt about certain aspects of the situation, as well as including Kelsey’s theory that Marisa would need distance from him because he’d changed their relationship. “What do you think?”

  Damon eyes grew wide. “It’s not good.” He signaled the female bartender for a bottle of Miller Light. Accepting it, he nodded at her, but acted as if they hadn’t just shared a flirtatious conversation earlier. The woman, biting a lip in confusion, kept her eyes on him for a long beat before another customer down the bar gestured for her. “Jesus, where do I start?”

  Alexander ignored the rhetorical question and realized that, based on his friend’s look of consternation, he’d really messed up. He just didn’t know where.

  “You shouldn’t have told her that you love her.”

  Alexander stomach dropped. He’d feared that response. “Why?”

  “If you’re attracted to a woman, you show her immediately. You don’t wait a couple years. By waiting, you basically told her that you weren’t into her, or in your case, you didn’t think she’d want you. You knew this, so why did you even bother?”

  “I didn’t think she’d be into me.”

  “Ah, so she didn’t put you in the friend zone. You put yourself there.” His expression cleared, looking like he’d just picked up some pertinent information. “Right now, I want to get an idea for w
ho she is. You never really told me much about her, probably because you knew I’d bust on you for not acting on your feelings when you first met her. Which turned out to be fairly accurate. So go ahead: tell me about her.”

  Alexander needed a moment to describe her. “You know how the gossip magazines always show beautiful actresses on their worst days? Those stars wish they could be as beautiful as Marisa – on their worst day. What else? She’s intelligent. Has a good sense of humor. She’s strong-willed and won’t give up on someone or something she believes in it. I love talking to her. We can talk about anything: politics, sports, movies – you name it. And she goes off on these weird tangents before coming back to her main point. And her voice…it’s like music. I mean, every time I hear it, I smile. I can’t help it. It just happens. Oh, here’s something that makes no sense to me: she has low self-esteem, which I just can’t understand. And I keep trying to make her see the woman I see when I look at her. But she won’t believe me.”

  Damon lowered his head, looking like all the attitude in his persona had vanished.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “That was actually kind of touching – that last part.” He stayed silent for a few more seconds. Then he brought the bottle to his lips and gulped down some beer. And just like that, his candor returned. “But there’s a reason she won’t believe you. And if you handle the way she tests you well, she’ll eventually come to believe you. But right now, tell me: why are you attracted to her?”

  Alexander sighed, reluctant. Although he’d never been to a therapist, he imagined it felt something like this conversation. But he trusted his friend, so he gave in. “She’s exciting: always trying new things, whether it’s food or activities or hobbies. I really wish I could be more like her, and sometimes she brings it out in me. Like last weekend, she treated me to a few shots and convinced me to go out dancing with her. Me. Dancing! Can you believe it? It’s crazy, right?”