Taming Romeo (17 page)

“I’m going to need help with my ten plates of
lechón
,” I yell at Jake, the new hire, and grab a couple of tray stands. “I’ll clear the salad plates now, but you better be ready when I get back.”

Carlos wipes the sweat from his face and swaggers over. “They should watch their cholesterol. Tell them to order something healthier. All this pig. I smell like pig. We set off the smoke alarms earlier. Why can’t they order?” he tears off an order slip, “vegan tofu bean sprouts or eggplant
sisig
?”

“What? No pork liver and pig ears?”

“No,
tempeh
bacon.” His voice is hoarse.

I take it he’s having some kind of breakdown. Right at that moment, Choco swings into the kitchen. “Where’s my order of
tokwa’t baboy
?”

“Hey, it’s got bean curd, tofu.” I push Carlos. “That’s a start.”

“Mired in pig grease, pork ears and belly, all deep fried, real healthy.” He stomps off, flapping his hands hysterically.

“What’s his problem?” Choco hooks the order onto the wheel.

“
Loco
. Don’t you go crazy working here?” I turn my finger in circles near my ear.

“They don’t call me Choco Loco for nothing. Let’s go prep the Sunshine table for all that pork grease.”

“Oh, you’re not going to like this,” I say as we powerwalk to the
bangus
room, “but Genie’s in the corner with a skater boy.”

“You’re just finding out? I told you she’s been sneaking out with him.”

“What? And you’re not doing anything about it?”

“Pssst. They’re coming this way.”

We duck behind the patio divider. Genie and the blond guy are on their way to the restroom. But why together? Most people at restaurants don’t abandon their tables at the same time.

At least she steps into the women’s room and he to the men’s room.

Choco grabs my arm. “Where are you going?”

“To cut Genie off at the pass. She’s probably checking to see if the coast is clear and setting up a rendezvous.”

“Are you nuts? This is mom and dad’s restaurant.” Choco shakes her head rigorously. “Just because you’re sneaking around doesn’t mean she’s about to have bathroom sex. I’m going to clear your tables.”

“Thanks, I’ll be back to help with the
lechón
.” I step into the bathroom.

Genie’s at the mirror reapplying her makeup. She doesn’t turn around. “What’s going on, you want to steal Greg from me too?”

“Uh, no,” I speak to her reflection. “Do the parents know you’re going to the prom with him?”

“Yes, and you’re not chaperoning anymore. Choco and Carlos are driving us.”

“What? When did this happen? How come you didn’t tell Romeo you’re ditching him?”

She dips her lip gloss wand into the tube. “This conversation is over. You’ve been gone five years. You left when I was thirteen. Then you come back and act like everything revolves around you, like no one’s changed. Screw up everyone’s plans and what? You’re going to turn around and fly back to Boston. So why don’t you go away already?”

“I’m sorry, Genie. I am.” I touch her arm. “Did you really like Romeo? I didn’t realize Mama and Tita Elena had plans.”

“He’s too stupid for me.” She slices me with a piercing glare in the mirror. “He’s just trying to make you feel better. Everyone knows Eric dumped you flat. So when Mama mentioned it to Tita Elena, I knew what was going to happen.”

I recoil from her words as if I’d been slapped. It’s true. Everyone has changed. Even Romeo. Especially Romeo. And he’s nice enough to make me feel I still have a part in his life. And Carlos, he’s still friendly and acts like a big brother. But yikes. Maybe he’s also sick of my demands. And my parents? My stomach shrivels and sinks.

Genie brushes her hair and continues talking, “Fortunately, I didn’t really care for him. He had his use, though. Made me popular having everyone think I had an actor hanging around.”

“Well, I’m glad it worked out. Right?” I swallow bile and paste on a smile. “No hard feelings. So, are you really into Greg? Is he nice? What college is he going to?”

She rolls her eyes. “Try the sister routine on someone who cares.”

“I do care about you. Honest. And I’m sorry if I’ve been wrapped up in my own problems not to see what’s going on here. Can you forgive me?”

She tugs me into her arms and kisses my cheek. “Maybe in five years when I gain more life experience.”

“Sure, I have plenty to spare.”

“Yeah, I hope you don’t keep screwing up your life and Romeo’s too.” She gives me a push and heads to the door. “Don’t take yourself so seriously.”

I wash my hands and dry them, as per the rules of the restaurant, and head back to my tables. Jake and Choco have already brought out the trays piled high with
lechón kawali
, so I have nothing to do but help them set it on the table in front of the happy seniors.

For the first time since I returned, I stand back and observe my surroundings. Romeo and Alfredo are engaged in deep discussion. Mr. Dee is telling stories to the Sunshine ladies. Carlos steps from the kitchen and asks everyone if they’re enjoying the food. Choco’s joking with Genie and Greg.

No one needs me here. I plod to Papa’s office and extract my purse. My hands are shaking and the anxiety is back. Shallow breathing, facial perspiration, palpitations.

No one says anything when I walk out the back door.

# # #

Downtown San Diego is one of the cleanest inner cities in the country. The sky is blue and there’s an ocean breeze to wash away any traces of grime. The buildings are free of graffiti and there are few bums hanging around. I walk toward the stadium, past a coffee shop and stop at a convenience store.

 Closing my eyes, I take several deep breaths, but my heart is still galloping as if I’m falling into a bottomless pit. My hands shaking, I open the jangling door and step into the air conditioned store.

A clerk eyes me lazily and goes back to watching a soccer match on TV. I hurriedly pick up a pack of Marlboro Lights and a disposable lighter and pop it on the counter before I change my mind. Nicotine will calm me. It’s only one smoke while I figure out what I need to do.

There’s a small patch of green near the stadium with a bronze statue of a baseball player taking a swing. Sunbathers lie on beach towels and tourists take pictures with the stadium as a backdrop. I find an isolated bench under a tree and light up.

The first drag is always the best. It wraps me in a warm, comforting blanket. I hold it a little longer than I should, then spew out a smooth plume of smoke. It leaves me slightly light-headed, but carefree, with endless possibilities.

The stadium rises high in front of me. Empty and stark, a lonely contrast to the accolades on game day. A field of dreams and glory, but most of the time, empty.

Time to get back in the game, Evie, and face your demons. I stub out the cigarette and take out my phone. Three things.

I purchase my return ticket for the coming Monday. I can’t concentrate on studying while at home, but I owe it to my parents to help out at the benefit concert this Saturday.

I text Eric:
I’m letting you go. Please continue to not contact me. I no longer consider you a part of my life.

I text Romeo:
I’m leaving Monday. Let’s spend Sunday together and talk.

I didn’t expect my phone to pop alive so quickly, but Romeo calls.

“Where are you?” he says. “Is everything all right?”

I consider lighting another cigarette, but the air is so clean and several tourists gave me the gimlet eye while I was smoking, so I push the pack deeper into my purse.

“I took a walk to clear my head. It was getting kind of crazy in there.”

“Everyone’s having a great time. Listen, Mr. Dee’s son might be able to help me. He knows some local casting agents, and he has a chain of acting schools. I might be able to settle down here.”

“That’s great.” I’m trying to share his enthusiasm, but the truth is, whether he settles here or in the Philippines or in Antarctica, he is part of a life I no longer inhabit.

“I’m going to pay the bill right now and meet you. It’s such a beautiful day. Want to go to Seaport Village or walk around the waterfront?”

“Sure. I guess.”

“Okay, come back in fifteen minutes.”

“I-I don’t feel like it.” I stretch my legs and lean back on the bench. “I’m at the park in front of the stadium, the one with the plaques on the ground and the statue of Mr. Padre.”

“Great. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll meet you as soon as I can get out of here.”

“You don’t have to, really. I’m fine.”

“I want to.” He ends the call.

I scroll through the rest of my messages and re-read each one I sent to Eric. I can’t believe five years has come to this: a series of one-way messages. What happened to the fun times we spent together? The first date? The backrubs? Jogging in the park and driving to the Cape? The first time he took me sailing and I got hit by the boom and knocked overboard. The look of sheer terror and concern on his face when he thought I had drowned. The late night ice cream raids, necking on the T and missing our stop, then walking blocks and blocks chasing leaves, red, yellow, orange. And falling into a pile, pissing off the gardener, fighting and making up.

My fingers swipe to the photo albums. It’s a lurid curiosity, sheer torture, macabre. That happy, studious girl no longer exists. She was loved, desired, hopeful. She thought she had a new family, one filled with accomplished people: physicians, scientists, professors, and bankers.

I flip through the memories. Birthday dinner at the country club with Eric’s parents. Celebrating his younger sister’s piano debut at Carnegie Hall. Bringing home Desiree, his Alaskan husky, from the puppy farm. Chinese New Year’s banquet. Passing out red envelopes, receiving flowers and kisses.

A fat teardrop splatters my phone and a shadow blocks the sun. Romeo takes the phone from me and sits down next to me.

He swipes through the pictures while I keep my eyes closed, my face tilted toward the blistering sun.

“You two were in love,” he finally says. “What happened?”

“No clue.” My throat feels like gravel is caught in it.

“You must have theories.” He gives my phone back.

“He’s going to start his internship next week. Maybe he doesn’t want to deal with anything but his job.”

“Then why couldn’t he tell you?”

“I would have pestered him, been accommodating, told him not to worry about me, done anything to stick around. Maybe he doesn’t want a doormat.”

“No.” He takes my hand and squeezes it. “No one wants a doormat.”

“Sorry for dumping all this on you. I guess I’ll go back to the restaurant and finish my shift. Did you still want to spend Sunday together?”

“Even better, let’s spend the rest of the week together. Let’s go to Mexico or San Francisco or Vegas.”

“Seriously? Don’t you have to work?”

He stands and pulls me to my feet. “They’re changing the script again. Hiring another co-star, so nope, got a few days off. We’ll be back for the benefit concert and we’ll still have Sunday. Besides, Genie ditched me for the prom, so I’m all yours.”

The twinkle in his mischievous eyes is so charming I don’t care that he’s only doing this to make me feel better. So what if I’m the latest project between co-stars? This is my last fling before I consign myself to a life of toil and loneliness.

I paste on an eager smile. “Okay, where to?”

“Put on your sexy biker skirt. We’re going for a ride.”

# # #

My legs are wobbly and I can barely walk from straddling a motorcycle for the last few hours. Romeo took me up winding mountain roads in the backcountry, past charred remains of the last wildfire and all the way to the summit of Mt. Palomar .

We’re parked in the gravelly driveway of a small hideaway cabin. Romeo takes off his helmet and clips mine together with his. My shoulders are about to fall off. I let the laden backpack slide to the ground.

He picks it up and gives me a kiss. “Sorry you had to carry it. Told you to pack light.”

“I’m sore all over. I hope they have a hot tub.” I walk toward the tiny cottage nestled underneath a grove of pines. A picnic table sits behind granite boulders and a latticework arbor of roses.

“After I get you in the hot tub, you’ll be sore somewhere else too.” He waggles his eyebrows and wiggles his lip ring with his tongue.

I give him a tiny shove. “This isn’t one of your sitcoms.”

He removes his motorcycle gloves and digs the keys out of the lockbox.

“This,” he gestures grandly when we enter, “is our life. As real as it gets. Me and you. Like it?”

Nice, real nice. The outside might have been a plain A-frame, but the inside is paneled in knotty pine and plush. There’s a river-rock hearth under a vaulted ceiling and floor-to-ceiling windows look out to the valley below.

“Look at that view,” I exclaim. It’s unobstructed toward the west, the ground steeply sloping down, littered with giant boulders. On a redwood deck, a hot tub steams under its cover.

“I take it this meets your approval.” Romeo smiles smugly.

“Definitely. Everything you do exceeds my expectations.” I hug him around the neck and shower him with kisses.

His hands wrap around the small of my back and slide up the bottom of the motorcycle jacket, while his lips work over mine, soft and firm, delicious.

“I’m a little grimy,” he says. “Want to check out the shower?”

“Oh, yes, shower, bed, hot tub, everything. You know how to spoil a girl.”

“I do, don’t I?” He pulls away and knocks his forehead on mine. “I’ve also ordered a caterer to bring our food. Let me text him to let him know we’re here.”

“I don’t have to cook?”

He thumbs a message and grins. “Would I be such a caveman to have you cook?”

“No, you’re a dream come true.”

He tosses his head back and laughs. “Who’s writing your lines, Evie? Are you going to tell me you love me next?”

“Romeo!” I pretend to huff and stomp away. He’s constantly teasing, but getting too close to stirring up that squirrelly feeling, the hornet’s nest in my belly all tangled and frightening. The ride up was harrowing enough, what with the hairpin turns and the gnarly leans. That must be why I’m still feeling disoriented and dizzy.