This Changes Everything (7 page)

Until she felt Sly’s presence behind her. Her hands stilled, and her last chord faded away.

She waited for him to say something, joke about her forgetting the rest of the song, but he was silent.

Oh God
. Her heart thudded against her ribs, more in step with a disco beat than the dreamy sonata she’d been playing.

Was she imagining this thing between them? Years of nothing, and now…

“Cleo.” His voice was rough.

Frozen, she closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath. Frantically she searched her memories for something silly and embarrassing that would return him to his Friend Box. She would stuff him inside, close the lid, lock it, and throw the key over the balcony outside this room and onto the rocky cliffs below.

He touched her hair. Softly, just a graze. “Cleo,” he said again.

“What?”

“You know what.”

Shaking her head, she closed the lid over the keys, stood, and moved so that the bulk of the piano was between them. Its curved surface felt cold and smooth under her palms. Soothing.

He followed her, his face hidden by the shadows. “You play beautifully.”

Her mouth was dry. “Thanks.”

He took another step, close enough for the cuff of his jacket to brush against her arm. The perfume she’d worn that evening had been too strong, overwhelming every other smell in her environment. But now his scent was close enough to detect. Familiar but dangerous, like a pampered pet that suddenly bared its fangs.

Her pulse, already racing, shifted into a higher gear. He moved, putting himself between her and the door. A shaft of light from outside reflected in his dark, gorgeous, almond-shaped eyes, pushing her over the edge into mindless wanting. He was actually taller than she’d thought he was, his shoulders broader. And she couldn’t see his handsome face at the moment, but she remembered it, not as a friend, but as a—

He caught her face in his hands and kissed her.

He was kissing her.

Fire engulfed her belly and spread throughout her body. Hot, wet fire. His mouth was warm and tender, barely touching her, but she felt as if she would collapse under the shock of it. Explode.

His lips slid across hers, gently nibbling. She tasted wine and something sweet, and was shocked by how good it felt for him to hold her, even just one hand on her cheek, the other digging into her hair. She imagined taking off his shirt and licking her way down his chest to his navel and beyond, she imagined liking it very, very much. And then he would take off her clothes too and treat her to the sexual expertise he’d acquired over his years and years as a handsome, rich, successful bachelor. She would be one of his women, one of the many, and she knew that as long as he was making love to her, she would enjoy it.

But then it would be over, like it was always over.

She breathed his air, her legs wobbling, desiring him so much she hated herself. And she hated him too, for teaching her that all this lust was inside her, just waiting for him to unleash it.

She wrenched herself away and strode to the door, not knowing where she was going to go but needing to be there as soon as possible.

“
A
t least return
my calls so you can get your clothes,” Sly said, finally leaving a voice mail message after days of Cleo ignoring his text messages. “And I owe you for the hotel room. That was… my fault.”

He didn’t know what else he could say, but he certainly couldn’t say it to a machine that was recording every mistake. After a quick good-bye, he hung up.

Talking in person was the only way they were going to survive this. He’d screwed up; he could admit it. But she had to give him a chance to explain and atone. Grovel.

He put his phone in the console and tapped the steering wheel. Sitting in his car outside her apartment was making him feel like a stalker, and as frustrated as he was, he knew it was time to drive away.

But instead of leaving, he watched a young guy, probably a Berkeley student, lift a bike onto his shoulder and walk into the apartment building. Coming to Cleo’s place always made him feel two hundred years old.

He slapped the steering wheel. It was Thursday night.
Their
Thursday.

But what if there was no longer any “their” there?

He dug his knuckles into his forehead and started the car, driving very slowly in case she called him back, then faster when she didn’t.

Maybe Uncle Hugo was around. The clinic was open late sometimes, and he often worked after hours anyway. Sly didn’t want to go back to his place right now and be reminded of what was missing in his life, that he was jobless, friendless.

Cleo-less.

When he pulled up in front of the vet clinic, Hugo was walking out the front door with the biggest dog he’d ever seen. The thin leash looked about as useful as dental floss would be to lasso a grizzly bear.

Sly rolled down the window. “Tell me his name is Yogi.”

“Afraid not,” Hugo said, patting the giant black dog’s head without bending over. “This is Mouse.”

“What is he?”

“Don’t be rude. You’ll hurt his feelings.”

Sly got out of his car and walked over, shivering as a blast of wind came down San Pablo Avenue. Mouse stopped lumbering, looked up at him with enormous, droopy, gentle eyes, and smiled. Sly held out a hand. “Can I pet him?”

“Try not to,” Hugo said.

His skull was the size of a soccer ball, and his long fur was soft as velvet. White flecks of drool spotted his jowls. “Newfoundland, right?” Sly asked.

“I couldn’t resist. His mommy couldn’t bring him to Hong Kong with him. New job.”

“Mommy?” Sly shook his hand to dislodge the fur and drool sticking to his fingers.

“The woman who used to own him.” Hugo scratched Mouse behind his floppy black ears. In response, the big dog closed his eyes with rapture and sat down on Sly’s shoes.

It hurt.

“He’s got to weigh two hundred pounds,” Sly said, stroking Mouse’s soccer ball of a head.

“Oh, no. Only one sixty-three. On the small side for a male. It’s selfish of me, but I figure a vet’s the best home for a dog like this. He has a few health issues. Can get expensive. Besides, he’s great with everybody, other dogs, lies around all day, keeps me company.”

“When I said you needed company, I was thinking you might find a woman,” Sly said. “A human woman.”

“Have plans tonight, actually.” Hugo clucked his tongue and began walking, and Mouse immediately hauled himself to his feet and followed. “I told Trixie Johnson I’d come by and see how Luna’s doing. That Chihuahua that got run over when you were here.”

“And then you have a date? What’s her name?”

Raising an eyebrow, Hugo opened the passenger door of his Fiat and shoved the seat forward. “For a smart kid, sometimes you’re pretty slow.”

Sly’s mouth dropped open. He tried to picture his uncle and Mark’s mother together. He loved Hugo, but he was a gloomy, difficult old bachelor, and Trixie was a sunny, tirelessly happy grandmother. “Trixie?”

“I think she’s ready for a relationship,” Hugo said. “Now that her kids are all paired off, she can think about herself.”

Mouse stared into the backseat of the tiny Fiat and then up at Hugo, as if thinking,
You’ve got to be kidding
.

“Go on, you’ll be fine,” Hugo told the dog.

If a dog could shrug his shoulders, Mouse would have. But he put one paw in, then the other, and after a short struggle he was sitting in the backseat, facing forward with his head brushing the sloped rear window.

Hugo slammed the door. “Hope he’s not too afraid of Trixie’s Chihuahuas. Barking gets on his nerves.”

“If they don’t get along, your relationship will be strained from the start.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m bringing him now. Lay the groundwork. Get everyone used to each other.”

“I had no idea you felt that way about her. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“For one thing, she insists she’s given up on romance,” Hugo said. “Only for herself, obviously—she’s always talking to me about setting you up. And you’re friends with her son. I thought it might make you uncomfortable.”

“But now you’re getting me used to the idea,” Sly said. “Like the dogs.”

Hugo flashed a rare smile. “Laying the groundwork.” He walked around the car and opened the driver’s side door, suddenly frowning. “Did you need something, or were you just driving by?”

Sly glanced down at Mouse, who was watching him through the window, a string of drool hanging down from the left corner of his mouth. He could fit both Chihuahuas between those jaws and still have room for a ham sandwich.

“Just driving by,” Sly said with a wave. “Good luck with Trixie.”

Cleo picked up the phone for the third time and stared at the screen, feeling ridiculous about the way her heart was pounding. If she was worried about losing Sly’s friendship, refusing to talk to him and then standing him up on their Thursday night was an irrational method of rescuing it.

Biting her lip, she hit the button. He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey,” he said. Then a pause. “Thanks for calling back.”

“Sorry I didn’t earlier.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s all my fault.”

“You keep saying that,” she said. In his texts, in his phone message.

“It’s true.”

She moved the phone away from her mouth to let out her breath. Hearing his voice, so familiar, took the edge off her nerves. And whatever lust had driven her wild down in Carmel seemed to have vanished. This was just Sly, her old friend. They could get past this.

“You’ve probably made other plans for tonight,” she said, “but I thought we might get together next week. Or the week after. Pick up where we left off.”

No, had she said that? A smoky hot memory of his lips dragging across hers blasted through her mind. That wasn’t the leaving-off place she’d meant.

“On TV,” she added.

“I know what you meant.”

Awkward silence swelled between them. After a moment she strode over to her work area and played a silent song with one hand on the powered-down keyboard. Maybe they couldn’t get past this after all.

“I don’t think we should wait that long,” he said. “I’ll come by tonight.”

“It’s already eight.”

“We have time for one episode.”

She looked down at what she was wearing. If she didn’t change into her usual pajamas, he’d think she was coming on to him. But now, going without a bra and panties carried an entirely different message. Convenient access.

This was stupid. She’d never been his type and wasn’t now. Every one of the women he’d dated over the years she’d known him had been tall, thin, and athletic, well suited to their conventional, professional lifestyles. They were also brunettes, for the most part. She was so blond that some people, from a distance, mistook it for white. Sly was in his midthirties, a classic age for a midlife crisis. Because the two of them were so close, he was grasping at anything that would give him comfort as he hurtled toward his inevitable approaching death.

Perhaps she should tell him that.
Then
he’d stop trying to kiss her. In fact, she’d probably never see him again.

“I’ve already eaten,” she said, “but how about you bring the beer? Lager, not that pee you like to drink.”

He laughed. “See you soon.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she compromised on the fashion dilemma by changing into a pair of yoga pants and a sweatshirt but leaving on her undergarments. When he rang the buzzer, she felt almost normal.

When she opened the door and looked into his eyes, she told herself she really did feel normal. And then when he walked in, took off his jacket, and held out a six-pack of Rolling Rock, she knew it was true.

“Went all out, did you?” She took the budget beer from him and hugged it to her chest. “Listen, Sly—”

“You don’t have to say anything. I got the message.”

“It’s not that you’re completely disgusting or anything—”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She gathered her thoughts. “The thing is, you’re… we’re…”

“Please, let’s not drag this out. I’ve been trying to understand what happened, and the best I’ve come up with is that I’ve been a little confused lately about my life, about the future, who I am, and you were there, it was dark, and you smelled good—”

“I smelled good?” Here she’d been blaming it on the dress. But she’d guessed the life crisis part correctly.

“Not that you usually smell bad,” he added.

“Neither do you, sweetie.”

He looked startled, then laughed softly. “I’m doing this all wrong.”

“You’re doing fine.” She went into her galley kitchen, opened two bottles, grabbed the bag of popcorn she’d microwaved, and joined him on the sofa—where, she noticed, he’d sat at the far end. A pony could’ve sat between them.

“You know how goal oriented I am. I couldn’t let go of it once I’d gotten the idea into my head,” he said.

“Is that where it was?”

Eyes widening, he flushed. Then laughed again. “Go ahead. Mock.”

“Unless you hid something from me, it’s been over six months since you had a date,” she said.

“Eleven.”

“No wonder,” she said.

“I really am sorry.” He held her gaze. “Your friendship means more to me than I can say. I promise to keep my hands to myself from now on.”

“And your mouth,” she said.

“Oh, all right. That too.”

She had to laugh. It was going to be all right. “I’m glad you came,” she said, handing him a beer.

Relief showed all over his face. “Me too.”

They reached over the wide middle cushion to click their bottles together, then started the show.

T
he following Saturday
, Cleo found herself looking up at Trixie Johnson’s house again. This time, however, she was ringing the bell next door. Trixie’s son Liam lived there with his wife, Bev, who wanted to learn how to play the new piano they had sitting in their living room. Trixie, apparently, had bought it for her first and only grandchild. Since the baby had only recently learned how to walk, Cleo wouldn’t be teaching her just yet.

She assumed Trixie had given her number to Bev, and here she was. She hoped the lessons were serious and not just another excuse to interfere in Sly’s life. Their relationship was edging back to normal, and she didn’t want to rock the boat.

The door swung open to a dark-haired, statuesque woman in yoga pants and a Fite Fitness sweatshirt. Her bright blue eyes crinkled at the sight of Cleo as she drew her inside. “Welcome, I’m Bev. We’ve got the house to ourselves for an hour. It’s so nice for you to make house calls.”

“I have such a small apartment, it’s nice to get out of it,” Cleo said, looking around. “Wow, what a gorgeous view.”

Huge windows overlooking the bay spread across the living room. A baby grand piano, littered beneath with stuffed animals and plastic blocks, sat between a sofa and a red-and-yellow nylon play tent.

“I tried to clear some space around it,” Bev said. “I’m ashamed to admit it was covered with Merry’s unfolded laundry a few minutes before you got here. You wouldn’t believe how many garments a baby wears in a single day.”

Smiling politely, Cleo studied the piano. “It looks brand-new. Has it been tuned?”

“Yes, Trixie sent somebody over a month ago when she had her own done.” Bev rubbed her hands together. “So, what do we do first? Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m fine.” She knew how nervous people got, especially adults, about their first lesson. Small-scale performance anxiety. “Just have a seat and play whatever you remember how to play from when you were a kid. And don’t worry about being good or bad or anything. You’re doing this for fun, for yourself.”

Bev gave her a grateful glance and sat on the bench. “I’m so nervous.”

“Don’t be. There’s nobody here but—”

The front door banged open. “Hi, Bev. Hi, Cleo. Hope I’m not interrupting.” Trixie walked into the living room with a garden tub filled with monster-sized squash in her arms. “I can’t let anyone escape without taking some of my zucchini. The neighbors won’t take any more. That crabby woman down the street sicced her nutty schnauzer on me.”

Bev groaned. “I don’t think we can eat any more squash, Trixie. Merry cries at the sight of it.”

“I know how she feels.” Trixie set the tub down and pointed at Cleo. “But I brought it for our lovely pianist. What she doesn’t want herself, she can give to her other students. Or Sly.” She said this last part as if the idea had just occurred to her.

“I love fresh vegetables,” Cleo said. “I don’t have any land to grow my own, so sure.”

“Hope you really, really like zucchini,” Bev said quietly.

Trixie stood there beaming for a moment, watching Bev at the piano and Cleo standing behind her. “Well, that’s settled then. Are you supposed to be playing, Bev?”

“To be honest, I’d rather not play in front of you.” In spite of her words, Bev’s tone was warm. “You’re so good, and I haven’t played in decades.”

“Of course, of course. I’m intruding. But I was wondering…” Trixie flushed. “Cleo, would you have a moment when you’re through to come by my house? Just next door?”

With Bev there, Cleo didn’t want to get too personal and ask why. “Sure, I’ll have a few minutes.”

When Trixie was gone, Bev began to play, with effort, “Deck the Halls,” cursing at herself as she stumbled over the keys.

Finally, she gave up and looked at Cleo. “I wanted to impress everyone on Christmas Eve. Looks like that’s not going to happen.”

Cleo assured her she was doing fantastic for a woman who hadn’t played since the twentieth century, took out a book of Christmas carols, spread it open at an easier arrangement of the song, and began the instruction in earnest.

An hour later, after setting up the next lesson, then putting the tub of giant vegetables in her car and a few of Bev’s homemade oatmeal-raisin cookies in her belly, Cleo went over to the house next door.

Trixie led her into the house, her three little dogs circling her feet. “This is very embarrassing.”

“Look, I’d rather not talk about Sly if that’s—”

“No, no, not exactly.” Trixie picked up one of the dogs for a cuddle, avoiding Cleo’s gaze. Her cheeks were pink. “You know what? Never mind. You go on. Thank you. Did you remember the vegetables? I can’t ask any more than you taking those off my hands.”

Seeing her obvious distress, Cleo was both sympathetic and curious. She hadn’t seemed uncomfortable when she’d been trying to set up Sly, so maybe it was something else. “Come on, you can’t leave me hanging like that. What is it?”

Trixie closed her eyes. The dog began french kissing her ear. “It’s my vet,” she whispered.

“Sly’s uncle?”

She nodded, turning a brighter shade of red. “I shouldn’t call him
my
vet, as if I were a parakeet.”

“I knew what you meant.”

“I’ve known him for years. We’re friends. Kind of like you and Sly.”

Cleo let that one go without comment.

“But now…” Trixie set the dog on the floor and finger combed her short white hair. “Well, you get the idea.”

Not exactly, but Cleo didn’t know what to say. “What can I do?”

“It’s this trip to Las Vegas.”

“What trip?”

“The one Sly gave to Hugo. He won it in an auction. I thought you’d been there?”

“Sly bought the Las Vegas trip?” Cleo thought back to the silent auction in Carmel. She’d been too preoccupied with other things to notice if Sly had purchased anything.

In a tiny voice, Trixie said, “Hugo has invited me to join him.”

“That sounds nice.” Cleo said, trying not to smile too broadly, which might seem like she was being patronizing. “Isn’t it?”

Trixie studied her hands. “I’ve been on my own for a long time. I’m not sure I want to change that.”

“It’s just a weekend. You’re not agreeing to marry the guy.”

“It’s Las Vegas. Years ago, that’s exactly what it meant.”

Cleo squatted down to pet the ugly dog with the floppy tongue. “Not anymore. But if you want to take it slow, maybe you could get separate rooms.” Then she bit her lip, afraid she might’ve offended Trixie by suggesting she
wouldn’t
get separate rooms.

Trixie sighed. “Since my husband died, I’ve only dated a few times. I made it to third base once, but that was it. Do people still say that? You probably don’t even know what it means. It’s when, well, you—”

Cleo stood quickly. “No need to explain.”

Trixie smiled. “You’re as prudish as my children. They never want to talk about sex.”

“You are their mom.”

“But I’m not yours.”

Cleo slipped her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “OK, I admit it. I’m a little uptight.” She would never have admitted that to anyone her own age. It was very uncool.

“That’s all right. I’m sorry to drag you into this. And here I gave you all those vegetables that look like penises.” Trixie smiled.

“I think I can handle a few phallic squash.”

“Handle them all you like,” Trixie said, breaking out into giggles.

“I think I will. Right before I chop them up into tiny pieces and sauté them. Or bake them into muffins.” Cleo peeked at her phone. “I should be going. I’ve got a lesson at my place soon.”

“Of course, of course. But I haven’t—oh, I haven’t asked my favor yet.”

Cleo’s grip on her phone tightened. Somehow she knew what was coming. “Oh?”

“I was hoping you and Sly would join us.”

“I don’t know, Trixie. I work on weekends—”

Trixie clutched her arm. “Please. I know we barely know each other, and I’m much older than you, but I feel a bond. Maybe it’s the music. Maybe I’m as crazy as my children think I am. But as soon as I saw you I felt it. Will you come? Will you at least consider it? It would make it so much easier for me.”

Cleo was touched. “I’d love to help, but Sly would have to—”

“He’s going to invite you,” Trixie said, patting her arm and releasing her. “I’m begging you to say yes. I wanted you to know it wasn’t his idea so you can accept. It’s just to help out two lonely old farts.”

“It depends on—”

“Whenever works for you,” Trixie said. “We’ll work around your schedule.”

Cleo was still trying to understand what she meant by
it wasn’t his idea so you can accept
. “But I don’t—”

“Don’t tell me now. Just think about it.” And then, with a quick hug, Trixie shoved her out the door.

“Please,” Hugo said. “Trixie won’t go unless you and your friend come with us. The prize you gave us is good for four.”

Sly stroked Mouse’s head, distracted for a moment by how huge it was. “I think Mouse is part mastodon,” he said. The Berkeley café where they sat had an outdoor area that allowed dogs, at least informally. Mouse had rested his chin on Sly’s knee, which required the large dog to slump. It also increased the amount of drool seeping out of his jowls onto Sly’s jeans. The wet spot had spread halfway down to his ankle.

“You’d only have to go to dinner with us, maybe a show,” Hugo continued. “The rest of the time would be your own. Hit the casinos, whatever.”

“I’d like to Hugo, but I don’t think she’ll do it.”

“At least ask her.”

Sly wiped his hand on a dry patch of denim before lifting his coffee to his lips. Maybe he should confide in Hugo about the recent complications in his relationship with Cleo. It had been two weeks since Carmel. She’d been as warm and funny as ever, but he thought they were fooling themselves. They couldn’t go back to the way they were. He knew
he
couldn’t. Maybe women were different, or Cleo was, but now that he’d kissed her once, he frequently thought about kissing her again. He thought about doing all kinds of things with her he hadn’t before, not seriously.

Before, if he’d noticed her body and felt a little curious about sleeping with her, he’d dismissed it as mundane heterosexual male lust, nothing deeper than that. Now, however, he’d felt her respond to him. He’d tasted her interest.

And that enticing knowledge was keeping him up at night.

“I’ll ask her, but no promises,” Sly said. “The last time we spent a weekend together, I got a little too friendly.” He held his uncle’s gaze over his mug.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Sly said. Mouse’s nose prodded his upper thigh, probably looking for scone crumbs again as he dragged drool strings across his lap.

“When was this?”

“When I bought the Las Vegas trip for you. The charity auction in Carmel.”

“But that’s perfect,” Hugo said. “It’ll be a real double date then. Me and Trixie, you and—”

“We’re just friends.”

“I don’t understand. You changed your mind?”

Sly scratched Mouse’s skull, nudging him away from his balls, a location he’d rather keep drool-free. At least from a dog. “She’s not interested.”

“Of course she’s interested,” Hugo said. “She must be.”

“Thanks, but there really are women on this earth who don’t find me irresistible.”

Hugo narrowed his eyes. “Were you drunk? Maybe she didn’t think you were serious.”

“That wasn’t the problem.”

“I never did understand why you spent so much time with a woman you weren’t sleeping with.”

“It’s called friendship. We enjoy each other’s company. You don’t have to want to have sex with somebody to enjoy her company.”

“But you do want to have sex with her,” Hugo said.

Sly looked past Hugo to the sidewalk where a panhandler was talking on his cell phone. “Yes,” he said softly. “It seems I do.”

Hugo tapped his foot against Sly’s shin. “Weekend after next. Friday flight out of SFO. I’ll set it up and email you the itinerary.” He stood and snapped his fingers for Mouse, who, after shooting a longing glance at Sly, turned to follow.

“I can’t promise anything,” Sly said.

“I’ve known you your whole life. You always get what you want.” Shaking his head, he patted Mouse’s rump. “Eventually.”