Little Miss Red (13 page)

“Motel
schmotel
,” scoffed Grandma Roz. “It’s highway robbery the prices they charge here. You can stay at Art’s. He’s my gentleman friend.”

“Aw, I couldn’t do that,” he replied.

“Of course you can. I hate to see young people throwing away their hard-earned money, especially in this economy.”

She did?

“Well, maybe just for tonight,” he finally said.

She clapped her hands. “Now come on, kids—we need to hustle. Art’s probably
schvitzing
to death because he refuses to turn on the air conditioner. He says it wastes gas.”

Jack wasn’t an A student, but he was smart enough to know you didn’t argue with Grandma Roz.

I don’t know if you’d call what was between Grandma Roz and Art
love
, but they were soul mates in that they were a perfect match: she talked nonstop—mostly complaining—while he kept quiet, grunting just enough to let her know he wasn’t completely ignoring her.

They had met at the finals of the Twenty-second
Annual Garden of Eden Bingo Tournament two years after Grandpa Max had passed away, and as Grandma Roz liked to say, it was “comfort at first sight.” In addition to having the same kind of shaggy rug-like toupee as Grandpa Max, Art also wore a Windbreaker and Docksider shoes and Polo cologne. “Comfort at first sight” doesn’t exactly sound romantic, but I guess when you’re old, it’s the smarter way to go so you don’t have a heart attack from the passion.

Art kept his own place—which just happened to be next door—so that Grandma Roz wouldn’t look like what Devon’s mother called a “hussy,” having a man who wasn’t her husband spend the night. But every time I had been in Florida, I heard him in the bathroom at five o’clock in the morning clearing his throat so loudly it sounded like he was hacking up a lung. If that didn’t give it away, his booming, “Well,
bubelah
, looks like we fooled ’em again” as he left to go back to his own place did.

Even when Grandma Roz wasn’t around, Art wasn’t a big talker. In fact, as we sailed to the Garden of Eden in Art’s red Cadillac at thirty-five miles an hour, other than “Hi, Sophie” and “Nice to meet you, Jack,” all he did was add a few “Of course you’re right, Roz’s” to the conversation. But, as Grandma Roz liked to say, there was a lid for every pot—no matter how banged up and tarnished and scratched—and he had replaced Grandpa Max as hers.

After making him spend ten minutes arranging the candelabras on the mantle in the living room (“Art, what
are you, blind? I said move the one on the left
half
an inch—that was
three-quarters
of an inch!”) we went over to his condo so Jack could see his room.

“Wow, this is
great
,” Jack said as he checked out his reflection in the smoked mirror above the dresser. Decorated in black and mauve, the room looked like a floor display of one of those cheesy furniture stores that always had a huge
GOING OUT OF BUSINESS!
banner in front.

Jack turned to Art. “Thanks, Mr. Weinstein. I really appreciate the opportunity to bunk down here.”

Art gave a nod and a grunt as he walked over to the shelf that held his autographed baseball collection and started dusting them with the handkerchief he kept in the pocket of his high-waisted jeans.

Jack turned to my grandmother. “Roz, I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay here. You’re a real saint. Wait—do the Jews have saints?”

She patted his cheek. “You’re welcome, Jackie. You think I’d let you stay in a motel where there’s bedbugs?” She looked at her watch. “Okay, kids—it’s already ten thirty. Sophie, say good night.”

“But it’s only seven thirty L.A. time,” I pleaded. “I’m wide-awake.”

“No back talk, young lady.”

“Actually, Grandma Roz, I was wondering if it would be okay for Sophie and me to take a walk around the complex,” Jack said. “Get a little fresh air to fight off the jet lag.”

She smiled and ruffled his hair. “That’s a wonderful idea, Jack. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” She reached into her purse and took out a small aerosol can. “But you have to promise me you kids will be very, very careful and keep this pepper spray with you at all times. There’s been a series of break-ins around the complex over the last few weeks.”

Jack took it from her. “Don’t you worry—your girl’s safe with me,” he announced, putting his arm around me and giving me a wink.

I was so shocked at how much my life had changed in the last few hours, I felt like someone had sprayed pepper spray on
me.

The billboard on the side of the highway with a picture of a couple dressed in golf clothes billed the Garden of Eden as “Southern Florida’s premiere destination for luxury living in the twilight years,” but the truth was that the place was as old-looking as its residents, a.k.a. the Edenites. As long as you didn’t get too close, it all seemed okay. But if you looked hard you saw that the lounge chairs were frayed, and the tennis nets were ripped, and the shuffleboard court had weeds growing out of the cracks in the concrete.

But that night, as Jack and I walked in the moonlight toward the Pagoda of Delights (it sounded romantic, but it was really just an area with vending machines that sold
soda, candy, and first aid supplies), I
did
feel like I was in the Garden of Eden. Or, better yet, one of those super-exclusive islands in the Caribbean where movie stars went for Christmas.

“I just love that it’s a full moon tonight,” I sighed as Jack shook the vending machine trying to knock a package of Ring Dings free. Every time Devon met one of her soul mates it was a full moon, so I considered it a very important sign. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

After giving the machine a few punches, Jack stopped and looked up at the sky. “But it’s not a full moon.”

I squinted. “It’s not?”

He poked at his fist and cringed. “Ow. No, it’s more like…a half-moon.”

I pushed up my hat and squinted again. “Huh. I guess you’re right.” Oh no—was wearing my Chunnels indoors starting to ruin my eyesight? I’d have to Google it later to see if there were any documented cases of blindness due to wearing sunglasses indoors. “Well, whatever it is, it’s pretty,” I said, winking at him.

He peered at me. “You okay, Red?” he asked. “You got something in your eye?”

“No, I’m fine,” I replied as I took a step closer to him. I couldn’t believe how
bold
Jack made me feel. I felt like I was a science beaker, like when someone adds too much hydrochloric acid to it and it starts to smoke.

“Good. Just checking,” he said as he went back to
shaking the machine. “Ha! Got it!” he yelled a second later. He grabbed the package out of the bottom and ripped it open with his teeth.

I sighed. If Michael had done that, I would’ve found it gross, but with Jack, it just showed so much…
coordination
.

“Want one?” he asked after shoving a Ring Ding in his mouth.

“Okay,” I replied, suddenly starving. He was already thinking of us in terms of sharing everything equally.

Even though my response had come barely a second later, it was too late. Before I had even gotten the word out of my mouth, the other Ring Ding was already in his.

“Oh. Whoops,” he said with his mouth full.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“You sure?”

I nodded. “Let’s go sit,” I said, pointing at a pair of lounge chairs over near the Jacuzzi.

“You know, you’re really cute, Red,” Jack said as we sat listening to the Jacuzzi bubble. Because it was broken, the sounds it made were more like little farts than bubbles, but that was okay. If Jack was next to me, a jackhammer would’ve sounded good.

“I am?” I whispered back, pushing my hat up so I could gaze into his eyes. Right then, my iPhone buzzed, and I whipped it out, trembling. Although I was officially annoyed that Michael hadn’t responded yet—to the point
where, while Grandma Roz was showing Jack her magnet collection, I had texted him again saying, “Okay, I’m now officially annoyed that you haven’t written back”—now was not the time to have him do it. Luckily, it was just an e-mail from Claire’s about an upcoming sale.

He leaned in closer. “You gotta learn to turn that thing off,” he said, “so it doesn’t ruin the moment.”

“Sorry,” I whispered. I moved to push the power button off, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I just silenced it.

“Anyway, I was gonna tell you—I decided that red cowboy hat kinda girls aren’t cute.”

My face fell. “They’re not?”

“Nope. They’re
hot
,” he replied with a wolfish grin, and leaned in closer.

This was it. This was the moment that I would finally get to experience what Devon felt all those times when she was kissed by all those guys from all those different countries in all those books. This was the moment I would know what the real definition of the word “passion” was.

And then, just as our lips were about to touch, the webbing underneath my butt gave way, and I fell straight through the chair onto the ground. Luckily, my hat kept my head from smacking on the concrete, so I didn’t get amnesia, like Devon did in
Muddled by Memories
.

“You okay?” he said as he helped me up.

I patted myself to make sure nothing was broken.
My body was okay, but my soul was rattled. Everything happened for a reason. And I knew that even though my relationship with Michael was technically paused, this was clearly a sign from the Universe that until everything with Michael was settled, it was uncool to kiss another guy.

I knew Jack had totally and completely won Grandma Roz over when she told him to take as much lox and whitefish as he wanted at breakfast the next morning. But it was what happened after she finished her stewed prunes that made it clear she
really
trusted him.

“Jack, did you get in touch with the motorcycle man?” she asked sweetly as she polished the candelabras for about the tenth time in thirty minutes. It was too bad Jeremy wasn’t around.

“I sure did, and unfortunately, ’cause of a family tragedy—turns out his brother’s arm was snapped off by a gator—he won’t be back in town till the end of the week. So I thought after breakfast I’d start calling around to find a motel.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ll just stay at Art’s,” Grandma Roz said.

“Thanks, Roz, but I couldn’t take advantage of your
kindness like that,” he drawled. Was it my imagination, or did Jack seem to really pour on the Southern thing with her?

“To be honest, in light of the break-ins, I feel better knowing there’s a strapping young man nearby to protect us. You know, Sophie, there was another robbery last night!”

“There was?” I said.

She nodded. “Yes. Myrna Gladstein, over in the Winds of Change building. The robber took her silver menorah, if you can believe that.” She pointed at Art, who was busy reading the racing form. “Art was taking his nightly walk at the time, but he didn’t hear a thing.”

“That’s because I had already taken my hearing aid out,” Art said without looking up from the form.

“Well, if it’ll make you feel better, Roz, I’ll stay then,” Jack said.

I knew it would make
me
feel better.

“So would you kids like to take the Buick and do a little sightseeing?” Grandma Roz said as she started polishing the other candelabra.

My jaw almost hit the floor. Her ’82 Buick was her pride and joy. She never let
anyone
drive it—not even my dad, her own son. She was so paranoid about getting a scratch on it that she barely drove it anymore, and when she did, she insisted on parking like a mile away in the most deserted part of a parking lot so there were no cars on either side.

Jack turned to me. “Whaddya say, Red? Want to do some exploring?”

“Sure,” I shrugged, still dumbstruck from Grandma’s offer.

A few minutes later, red cowboy hat on my head and Chunnel sunglasses on my face, I was humming along (a little off-key) to a singer named Jimi Hendrix on the classic rock station Jack had found as we inched our way down the main drag of Delray Beach behind other Buicks and Cadillacs. The music helped keep my mind off of Jack’s tailgating, but I couldn’t help trying to push the imaginary brake on my side of the car. As the song ended and morphed into something called “Stairway to Heaven”—which, according to Jack was a classic slow-dancing song back in Arkansas—I rolled down the window to get some fresh air. Right then, I understood more than ever what it meant to be alive. Forget the Urban Dictionary definition of Sophie Greene. The
real
definition was a girl who didn’t have a care in the world because she was out on the open road sitting next to her soul mate.

“Red?” Jack said as we turned off the highway a few minutes later.

His voice sounded far away, due to the fact that I was busy trying to recall what life had been like before I knew him. It had only been a day, but I felt like Jack had been in my life forever. That was probably because that’s how it is with soul mates.

I turned toward him. “Huh?”

He chuckled as he reached over and punched me in the arm. “That’s another thing I love about you—you’re a real thinker.” He winked. “That’s really sexy.” He tapped his head. “Most girls I seem to hang with…there’s not a lot going on up there, you know? But you—you’re real different. I bet you kicked ass on your SATs.”

I blushed. He appreciated me for my mind and not just for my body. Not that I had much of a body to appreciate, but still.

We stopped at a light, and Jack turned back to me. “I was saying, you know what else we did to this song?”

I shook my head.

“We would make out.”

“You would?”

“Uh huh,” he said, unlatching his seat belt and moving toward me. “Like big time.”

“You…your seat belt,” I sputtered.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to put it back on when we start moving again.”

“So…you’d make out during the dance?” I said nervously. “But didn’t the chaperones get mad?”

He started to scoot closer. “Uh huh.”

“Would you get in trouble?” I whispered.

He leaned in even closer. “Yup.”

I knew some people would accuse me of being too much of a romantic, but years from now, when my
daughter asked me where I was when her father kissed me for the first time, I didn’t want to have to say it was in a Buick with fast-food restaurants all around. I wanted to wait until we were in a nicer setting. Plus, there was the whole on-hold-with-Michael and Universe-not-yet-approving situation.