Ten Thousand Words (25 page)

I exhaled loudly.

“First things first, send out the darn swag. Then, maybe she’ll think of forgiving you,” Mandy suggested.

“Consider it done.”

“Good. We’ll be in touch, all right? And if Xanthe…well, I’ll be in touch.”

“Is she doing all right? Can you at least tell me that?”

She was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think she is, Ollie. I really think you broke her heart.”

“I understand. I broke mine, too.”

“Well, I think that’s only fair, don’t you?”

I did. “Yes.”

From Helmersen’s, I made my way to Flight of Fancy with two espressos and a couple of joints I rolled in my pocket for when I got home later. Peering over the window display inside the bookstore to make sure there was no one in there who would be after my man parts, I saw Ellen stacking some shelves. I pulled the door open and greeted her with a smile.

“Is it safe?” I asked as she glanced toward the door.

Her face broke out into a huge smile, making her eyes crinkle. “You’re safe.”

“Espresso?” I held out the cup.

She walked up to me, and then she sniffed. Taking a step closer, she inhaled deeply, and a flush crept into my cheeks. Before I knew it, she’d shoved her nose onto the pocket of my jean jacket with the joints.

“Lock the door,” she commanded as she turned around.

My jaw dropped, but I did as she’d told me. She headed toward the back, and I just stood there by the door, not knowing what I should be doing.

“You coming?” she called out.

I hurried down the corridor. She was halfway up a flight of steps.

Ellen led me into a wonderful flat that had me instantly at ease with its warm colors, oversized brown sofas, an armchair that had seen better days, and a low coffee table made of wood. I was surprised to see framed posters of Frank Zappa and Jefferson Airplane on the walls along with all sorts of interesting-looking stuff. On one of the windowsills sat a fat orange cat. He was gorgeous, and he looked as though he wanted to cut me.

“You live up here?” I asked.

“It’s been my home since 1972.”

“Who’s that?” I asked, pointing to the cat.

“That’s Beefcake. He likes to stay with me when Xanthe is away.”

“Ah…my competition.”

Ellen laughed as she opened up a chest drawer and pulled out an ashtray. “Have a seat,” she said.

I decided to sit on the far end of the couch that didn’t have such a deep rump imprint. Obviously, Ellen had her favorite seat.

Sitting down, she dropped the ashtray on the table and snapped her fingers at me. I placed the espressos down and produced a joint. Appraising my handiwork, Ellen found it satisfactory and whipped out a lighter to spark it.

“Oh, that’s lovely.” She sighed. “Nice blend you have.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “Does Xanthe leave town often?”

“No. A couple of times a year to England. Do you?”

“Yes, but not for long periods. I’m a photographer. I go for a day or two, here and there—Paris, Berlin…”

She nodded, taking a champion hit off the joint before passing it to me. “I know.”

“You and Xanthe are very close, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

The hit I took penetrated the blood-brain barrier, and I eased into the squishy couch. Beefcake came up, gave me the evil eye, and jumped into Ellen’s lap.

“Who’s a special little man?” Ellen crooned.

Shit, I was even falling for Xanthe’s damn cat. The sentiment wasn’t returned. Beefcake glared at me, watching me with squinty yellow eyes. I passed back the joint and reached for my coffee.

“So, what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Ellen asked.

“I really enjoyed our time yesterday. And you said you liked strong coffee.”

“Helmersen’s does make the best,” she replied.

“It’s my favorite.”

“I bet. Their weed is pretty good, too.”

“Yeah.”

“So…I blabbed about my niece yesterday. I think it’s time you tell me what you plan to do about your little, uh…predicament.”

I nodded, embarrassed. “I fucked up.”

“I know. Why is that?”

“Because, apparently, I can be an absolute prick when I’m in a mood. I was pissed, thinking that she hadn’t told me she was Elaine, and I…”

I confessed everything to this woman, and she sat there and listened. I told her about how jealous I had gotten over seeing Xanthe with Ronen, which made her laugh.

“How could you be jealous of Ronen, looking the way you do?”

“She loves him,” I replied simply.

Ellen nodded, and I looked into her bloodshot eyes. I had a feeling mine were pretty raw-looking, too.

“She does love him. She loves Rex and Ricki, too. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No. I understand it’s not like that…except she’s slept with Rex. And lives with him.” I looked at the cat and admitted, “I think I’m mostly jealous of Beefcake though.”

“You don’t need to worry about Rex. He’s a fudge-packer through and through—”

As I’d been taking a huge hit, I choked on my smoke when Ellen provided that startling description of Xanthe’s roommate. Wheezing, gasping for breath, I handed her the joint and coughed up a lung in the process.

“Oh my God, just finish that already,” I told her.

The old woman laughed at me. Happily, she smoked the rest as I tried to locate my missing lung.

“Do you plan on having a relationship with Xanthe then?”

Nodding, I wasn’t sure if my throat was still where it was supposed to be. I sucked down my coffee, but it had grown cold, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Need a glass of water?”

“Please,” I gasped.

It was a few minutes before we could continue our conversation. Beefcake glowered at me for having Ellen get up and fetch me a glass of water.

Settled back on her sofa, Ellen picked him up. “What about the women you keep?”

“Keep?” I asked. “It’s not like I have women locked up in my attic or something.”

“I don’t imagine you’d need to. Jaime mentioned that you’re a bit of a player. Just curious as to what that means really.”

“I only want to be with Xanthe. I won’t be keeping any other women.”

“That’s good to hear. You know…Xanthe is no prude, but she hasn’t had many relationships. She doesn’t let anyone get too close. For her to want more, I think that she must have seen something special in you.”

“Did what happened with George make her that way?”

Ellen’s eyes flashed with anger. “That bastard. I hope he rots in hell. After what he did, she completely closed off. She even stopped seeing her regular beau—well, he lives in England, so I suppose it wasn’t too hard. But they had the occasional hook-up. I think George made it difficult for her to accept male attention for a long time.”

I wasn’t too thrilled at hearing that, but it wasn’t like I had room to talk. Thinking of it…the sex Xanthe wrote about was so amazingly hot that I had to wonder what—or fucking
who
—had inspired it.
That
burned a hole in me.

“She’s a good girl, Oliver.”

“She is,” I agreed.

“And I believe she likes you very much. I’m rooting for you. I truly am.”

The front door to the shop chimed, and Ellen turned surprised eyes on me. “You locked it?”

“Yes,” I replied, alarmed.

“Aunt Ellen?” A woman’s voice came from below. “Are you up there?”

“Shit!” Aunt Ellen hissed. “Go hide! It’s Jaime!”

“Where?” I hissed back.

The old woman could move. I stood up.

She started shoving me toward a door. “It’s my bedroom.”

“Ellen?” Jaime called out, her voice closer. “Are you up there?”

“Yes, dear!” she called back. “Fire escape!” she whispered at me.

“Are you okay?” Jaime called out.

“For the love of all that’s holy!” Ellen yelled, slamming the bedroom door. “Can’t an old woman decide to have an afternoon nap?”

Jaime’s steps came up the stairs. “What? You decided to smoke out and crash in the middle of the day?”

“I’m eighty-two years old, Jaime. If I want to close shop and get baked, that’s my damn right.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I clapped my hand over my mouth to control my fit of laughter. Aunt Ellen was quite possibly my favorite person ever—after Xanthe, of course. Here I was, a twenty-six-year-old man, about to sneak down the fire escape from an eighty-two-year-old woman’s bedroom. I had to get out before I lost my shit.

As quietly as I could, I opened the window, grasped the ladder, and slid the whole way down. Unfortunately, I couldn’t sneak around the back. I had to go around to the side or end up climbing through God knew how many back gardens. Hopping the fence, I eased my head around to peek into a window, checking if Jaime and Ellen had come back down. The woman must have a key.

It was empty in there, so I casually walked along the side to the shop front—where Ricki Conklin was leaning next to the door, smoking a cigarette.

The man had a slender but muscular build. He was heavily tattooed. He even had small ones on his face that I couldn’t make out from this distance. He had long brown hair, and a beard even I was impressed with graced his cheeks and jaw. He looked straight at me, and then he did a double take. His dark eyes grew wide and then narrowed.

He pointed a finger at me
. “You!”

In reflex, I grabbed my crotch. “Fuck. Don’t touch my man parts!”

I didn’t wait long enough to see if he’d leave my man parts alone. Spinning on my heel, I hauled arse down the street. I didn’t get very far before that wiry fucker jumped on my back.

“Augh!”

“You fucking piece of shit!” he screamed in my ear.

My eardrum might have burst.

He was light, and I kept running with him attached to my back. This was a bit redundant, and I stopped in an attempt to shake him off. He had his arms and legs wrapped around pretty much all of me. I found a decent piece of turf not far from where we were wrestling, and I threw myself back onto the ground. The air
whooshed
out of both of us, but he was stunned, so mission accomplished.

“The fuck you…doing…creeping round…Ellen’s?”

I rolled off, sitting up next to him, trying to catch my breath. “Have you talked to Ronen?”

Ricki wheezed and nodded. “Still…gonna…kick…your arse.”

“Pfft. That went well for you.”

He sat up. “That took me…by surprise.”

“You don’t say.”

We just sat there for a few minutes.

“Don’t tell Jaime, but I’ve been visiting Ellen, okay? I want my Xanthe Love back,” I said once I’d stopped panting.

Ricki’s eyes bugged at me. “What?”

I nodded. “I just want her back. I’m not going anywhere, so get used to it. I’ll wear the woman down if I have to. If you tell Jaime you busted me sneaking out of Ellen’s bedroom, you’ll get her into trouble.”

“Her
bedroom
?”

“Yeah. We got stoned and had coffee. Now, shut it, or we’re all fucked.”

I stood up and held out my hand to help him to his feet.

He stared at it and then glared at me for a second. “You’re serious? No fucking with her head?” The man was straight out of London with that accent.

“Dead serious. No mindfucks.”

He grasped my hand. “All right. Fair warning though—it’s my wife you should be bloody scared of.”

“Duly noted,” I told him as I pulled him up. “Tell Ellen I can’t visit tomorrow. But I’ll see her on Thursday.”

Ricki nodded. “All right. Get the fuck out of here.”

No need to be told twice

The rest of the evening and well into the night, I holed myself up in my dark room. A project started forming in my mind as I watched photo after photo of Xanthe come to life. It was said that a picture was worth a thousand words. To me, there were no words more poignant than Xanthe’s.

Every word she had ever spoken to me was something precious.

Every word she had ever written was something I craved to read.

I had a hundred thousand words of Xanthe to develop, and I cherished each second I spent with her in my dark room, hearing her voice, even in the silence that enshrouded me.

“I felt it, too.”

If she had felt it, too, then she was still feeling it. It wasn’t leaving me alone. She was in my mind, she had seeped under my skin, and she sang in my blood.