Fixation (3 page)

I woke up the next morning, still on the couch, with the DVD menu urging me to make a choice and watch the movie, scenes, or special features. My mouth tasted like a bottle of chardonnay had crawled in there, mated with a wad of cotton, and died. Ugh.

Hitting the off switch on the remote, I sat up very slowly, morbidly aware I’d slept in clothes coated with sweat, dust, and dried leopard shit. A shower was imperative—after I drank a couple of gallons of water to counteract the dehydration hangover smacking me upside the head.

I had vague recollections of uneasy dreams, sweaty fever dreams filled with dark green jungles, lambent eyes glowing in the shadows, coiled snakes, constant peril coming from all directions. Who would have figured chardonnay to be such a harsh mistress?

Standing up was painful but I managed to lurch into the kitchen and down a few glasses of water along with a couple of ibuprofen. I started a pot of coffee and pulled out a can of cat food. It was well past time for Luna’s breakfast.

“Luna?”

I pulled on the tab and peeled off the top of the can, a sound that normally brought Luna running from whatever corner of the house she’d sequestered herself in, but there was no sign of her.

A vague unease filled me as I spooned out Seafood Treat into her bowl with no sign of her. “Luna?”

I went into the living room and looked under the coffee table, one of her favorite hideaways. She wasn’t there, so I systematically checked all the other nooks and crannies in my little house, trying not to panic when I tried to touch her mind and felt a fog of pain and exhaustion.

I finally found Luna in the bedroom. She lay under the bed, huddled up against the wall, her breathing so shallow it barely registered in the rise and fall of her chest.

An hour later I sat in the veterinary emergency room with Jack, who I’d pulled from bed when I’d pounded hysterically on his door after finding Luna. I still had on my dirty FPC work clothes and Jack had dried paint spattered on his face, hair, and arms from the previous day’s work. We were quite the pair.

In his early thirties, Jack had the kind of unassuming good looks and laid-back attitude of a lifelong surfer. Combined with a genuinely friendly personality, his looks kind of snuck up on women after they figured he was safe. You know, the “good friend” type. Unfortunately his attitude towards relationships was as casual as his attitude towards the exterior of his property, which is to say he didn’t believe in a lot of maintenance. I’d seen at least a dozen girlfriends come and go since I’d moved in three years ago, I’d never seen Jack angst over the departure of any of them. I was grateful Jack and I had absolutely no sexual chemistry to speak of. He was kind of like the big brother I never realized I wanted.

Right now, I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather have by my side.

Jack kept a comforting arm around me throughout the entire ordeal. It stayed there throughout the exam and afterwards while, hungover and shell-shocked, I listened as the vet on duty told me Luna’s kidneys had shut down. She went on to assure me it wasn’t my fault, that there was nothing I could have done. Jack’s arm tightened at the moment I had to decide whether to let Luna go or try to keep her alive a few more weeks.

The vet, an older woman who’d obviously been on the job for a few years, told me the decision to “help” Luna long to the “Rainbow Bridge” was the right one. As much as I hated the whole Rainbow Bridge analogy, I appreciated her compassion. It made it easier to give the go ahead to let Luna go, because I knew it would be easier for her. I held her while the vet administered the injection. Luna purred until the end. Then, after seventeen years, she was gone.

Jack helped me arrange for cremation. The vet’s office would call when Luna’s remains were ready for pickup. Then he drove me home, walked me into my house, and led me to the bathroom.

“You need to shower, sweetheart.”

“I do?”

“Yup.”

I guess I did kind of smell.

He opened the bathroom door. “I’m just gonna get changed and wait out front until you’re done. Then we’re going to the Cliff House for brunch.”

“Really?” The Cliff House was totally out of my price range. I’d only been there once with Jesse.

“Yup.” Jack gave me a hug. “My treat. Now go clean up.”

I don’t remember getting out of my filthy clothes or getting into the shower, but somehow I was standing under a spray of hot water sluicing away the grime from yesterday and drawing out the pain of Luna’s unexpected death. Tears mingled with the hot water as I washed and conditioned my hair and scrubbed myself down with citrus-scented bath gel. I kept telling myself she lived a long happy life and that she didn’t suffer at the end. And I believed it.

But bottom line, I missed her. And nothing but time would ease that pain.

Once out of the shower, I pulled on clean jeans and a violet long-sleeved shirt in soft cotton. I ran my fingers through my hair, added some mascara and lipstick, and called myself presentable.

Jack met me in the front yard in jeans and a blue denim shirt that matched his eyes. His shaggy, sun-streaked blond hair was already tousled by the wind kicking up off the Pacific Ocean.

Enfolding me in a bear hug, Jack held me for a minute before lifting my chin with one permanently paint-stained finger. “You okay?”

I shook my head. “No, not really. But I will be.”

“You wanna eat?”

My stomach growled in answer. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

We walked the six or so blocks to the Cliff House, wisps of fog wrapping around the houses along the way, shrouding the remains of the Sutro Baths. It was eerie enough to qualify for a horror movie set.

The Baths, for those not familiar with this little piece of San Francisco history, were a privately owned swimming pool complex built in the late 19th century by former SF Mayor Alfred Sutro. A fire in 1966 destroyed the building housing the baths, which were due to be demolished, and now all that was left were concrete walls, blocked-off stairs and passageways, and a tunnel in the cliff. It looked like the site of old Roman ruins and I loved living up the street from such a cool piece of history.

As we walked I told Jack about the message from Jesse. Jack shook his head in disgust. “I never liked him, Maya. He personifies smarmy. I mean, venture capital? Where’s the soul in that?”

I shook my head. “Obviously not in Jesse.”

Jack looked at me. “You okay?”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I mean, my boyfriend was most likely cheating on me and I just lost my beloved cat. How okay could I be?

Jack smiled ruefully. “Okay, stupid question. I mean, the whole Jesse thing. You gonna be okay with that?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Luna dying kind of puts his bullshit into perspective. She’s gone and it hurts and it’s going to hurt for a long time. But Jesse?” I shrugged. “My heart doesn’t seem to give a shit. Maybe I’m just numb, I don’t know. Ask me again tomorrow.”

“I’m plugging for the not-giving-a-shit option.” Jack slung an arm over my shoulders. “Because that smarmy fucker isn’t worth any heartache. If he were on fire, I wouldn’t even piss on him to put it out.”

“He might be telling the truth, you know.”

“And I might be the world’s worst lover, but I doubt it.”

That got a laugh out of me. “I’ll take that one on faith.”

We walked down the sidewalk past Louie’s Diner towards the Cliff House, a San Francisco landmark renovated and/or rebuilt at least four times, currently in a refurbishment of its original neoclassical style. The camera obscura was still below the restaurant, but I thought some of the charm of the old days had gone when they’d moved the Museum Mechanic to Fisherman’s Wharf.

I wasn’t going to complain. Sunday brunches at the Cliff House were amazing and expensive; the panoramic views of the ocean, crashing waves breaking over Seal Rock provided ample entertainment for the diners.

“How did you get reservations?” I whispered as a hostess led us to a prime table with an ocean view.

“I have connections,” Jack whispered back with a grin. I had no idea of he was serious or not, but again, I wasn’t gonna complain. Especially when a waitress immediately appeared with a bottle of champagne and a pot of coffee.

“Both,” I said before she could offer. She gave me a conspiratorial grin and complied.

Jack lifted a flute filled to the brim with champagne. “To Luna.”

I clinked my flute against his. “To Luna.”

We drained our respective glasses dry and the waitress magically appeared to refill them.

Jack grinned at me as if to say “Nice, huh?”

“Ooh, time for some food.” I could feel the first glass of champagne going to my head and my stomach gave a dainty little grumble as the alcohol hit it.

Jack stood up and gestured towards the buffet. “Milady, your feast awaits.”

A huge table in the center of the room was laden with platters, chafing dishes, bowls, and baskets of food. There was smoked salmon, poached salmon, lox, steak, pasta with prawns, orzo with sun-dried tomatoes, a variety of salads, fruits and vegetables, bagels, pastries, cookies, chocolate-dipped strawberries—and a basket of popovers fresh from the oven. A person could easily consume a week’s worth of calories in one meal, but it was
so
worth it.

Jack and I returned to our table, both carrying plates filled to capacity. I concentrated on fruit and seafood—I could eat my weight in prawns and salmon—this time around, with several hot popovers slathered with butter on the side.

Several glasses of champagne and countless prawns later, I leaned back in my chair. “I’m taking a break.”

“Wuss,” said Jack, tucking into a pile of orzo salad with black olives and feta cheese. Jack ate every meal as if it were going to be his last.

“How do you stay so skinny?” I asked, sipping more champagne and feeling pleasantly tipsy.

A wounded look crossed Jack’s face. “I prefer to think of myself as lean and muscular, thank you very much.”

“Okay, fine.” I waved one hand dismissively. “How do you maintain the body of a skinny Greek god the way you eat?”

“Dunno. Maybe one day my metabolism will fail and I’ll wake up rolling in fat.” He took a hefty bite of a bagel overflowing with lox and cream cheese, washing it down with an entire glass of champagne.

“Hah. I’d love to see—”

I stopped mid-sentence as my gaze focused on a couple following the waitress to their table. I didn’t recognize the woman, a skinny brunette in a tight green knit dress, her hair, makeup, and expression screaming “high-maintenance bitch.” But maybe I was biased, seeing as her date was none other than Jesse.

If Jack was the epitome of a sun-kissed surfer, Jesse embodied the San Francisco Financial District hungry up-and-coming venture capital maverick. Designer labels even on the weekends, chocolate brown hair trimmed by one of the top salons to frame a lean, strong-jawed face with just enough five o’clock shadow to prove he could grow a beard if he wanted to, but would shave it off come Monday morning.

And here he was, five o’clock shadow, designer jeans and all, not five feet from our table. The phone message was bad enough; this was like being slapped in the face with a wet fish. Funny how I could have such a hollow feeling inside after eating so much. It wasn’t that I’d been in love with Jesse, but for him to bring his date to a place six blocks from my house took either enormous balls or an almost sociopathic cluelessness.

Jack caught my expression and turned to follow my shocked stare.

“That son of a bitch.” Several other diners looked over in surprise as Jack shoved his chair back. I reached across the table and grabbed his hand before he got to his feet.

“Don’t do it.” I kept my voice low in the hopes of avoiding any more attention than Jack’s growling obscenity already attracted.

“Why not?” Jack stared daggers at Jesse’s receding back. I was surprised Jesse’s Ralph Lauren polo shirt didn’t have holes in it. Luckily he and his date were being seated at the far end of the room.

I tightened my grip on his hand. “Because he’s not worth it. You said so, remember?” Jack didn’t look entirely convinced so I added, “I haven’t hit the desserts yet. I am not going to let him spoil the best meal I’ve had in weeks.”

“Well... all right, then.” Jack slowly settled back into his chair, although his body was still poised for ass kicking.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” I stood up. “It’s dessert time.”

A few minutes later Jack stabbed a piece of cheesecake with a viciousness that told me he was probably picturing Jesse’s head on the other end of the tines. “It takes a real asshole to cheat on a gal six blocks from her house.”

“He probably figured I couldn’t afford coming here without him paying my way.” I sighed. “Which is true.”

“Still, you could have been walking by easily enough. I mean, this is
your
neighborhood, not his. He should take his skanks to Lusk 25 or one of the other SOMA trendouts and stay the fuck out of your turf.”

I snorted. “Okay, it’s not like we have the Sharks and the Jets here, okay?”

“Fine, but it’s still incredibly tacky.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

I risked a glance over at the buffet, where Jesse’s date was making her way around the dishes, nose wrinkled as if it were all too disgusting. I resisted the temptation to read her; I figured the thought pattern would be something along the lines of “Food, bad!” I saw her plate as she walked by. It contained a few pieces of fruit, some shrimp salad, and not much else. Why was I not surprised?

“Stick insect,” I muttered, stabbing another bite of torte.

Maybe the Fates had decided I’d had enough dumped on my head for the weekend, but we somehow got through the rest of the brunch without Jesse noticing our presence, thus sparing the rest of the diners an ugly scene. I managed to enjoy a chocolate torte so rich it defied description, and more champagne despite the fact my cheating ex was less than twenty yards away with his incredibly tacky date. And while there would have been a certain satisfaction in seeing Jack punch his lights out or maybe “accidentally” dropping a plate of hot scrambled eggs down his front, I was just as glad to leave without Jack being led off in handcuffs and with my dignity more or less intact.