Читать книгу Elly in Bloom - Colleen Oakes - Страница 10

There had never been anything as beautiful as Elly’s couch. Never before, in the history of mankind, had there been anything as glorious or comforting as the soft tan leather couch upon which Elly lay face down. The day was done, the wedding deliveries were over. Elly had almost cried with relief when she walked in the door. She had dropped her purse, stripped to her underwear, and collapsed onto the couch. There she had stayed, dozing off and on, as the sun slowly dipped behind her curtains.

Two hours later, Elly awoke, ravenous. Before she even dressed, she was dialing the Chinese restaurant down the street, the Pearl Wok. Not totally sanitary; Elly had spied a cockroach on the floor once, but had forgiven them on account of their orange chicken and wontons. Plus, they delivered.

“June … hi, it’s Elly. Yes, hi! Again, yes. The norm. Mmm-hmm. And a side of wontons. Yes, I know. Twice this week. Okay. Thanks!”

She hung up the phone, determined not to think about what the implications might be of the Chinese food girl knowing her name and order by heart. It was best not to think about it. She opened the door to her bedroom and looked at her bed, which was covered with a white fur blanket. The white fur blanket lazily lifted its eyes and gazed at Elly, confused.

“Cadbury, get up! Off the bed! C’mon!”

The dog looked pissed off, but reluctantly jumped off the bed and followed her into the kitchen. Elly frowned at him. Kim had talked her into getting a dog. After many nights alone in her new apartment with a bottle of cheap wine, which usually resulted in Elly pacing around crying, Kim had informed her that she needed something to care for, something that wasn’t about her. Something to make her move on. Elly had pushed for something low maintenance, like a beta fish, but Kim wasn’t having it. She dragged Elly to the pound, where they looked at hundreds of sad faces behind bars before Elly had a nervous breakdown and demanded that Kim take her home. That night, as Elly sipped raspberry tea and looked out her window, she had remembered that growing up in Georgia her mother had an English sheepdog. And that was what she decided she wanted—a dog her mother would have loved.

The next morning Elly drove to a pretty blue farm house and sat down among a squeal-worthy litter of Old English sheepdog puppies. As the puppies climbed and licked every inch of Elly’s bare knees, the crowd parted and she saw another puppy lying in the corner, watching his brothers and sisters as if he thought they were the most ridiculous bunch of dogs he’d ever seen. His puppy face was still adorable, even though he projected what looked a lot like skepticism. She knew right then he was the dog for her. She carried Cadbury (once a year was never enough for those heavenly little Easter candy eggs) out of the farm and placed him in the front seat of the car. On the trip home, she talked to him. She cried about Aaron. She talked about starting the business and how no brides were calling her. She whispered her true feelings to this benign dog, and he gazed at her with something not like love, but more like the look a person reserves for crazy aunts.

It took months before Cadbury became the kind of dog she wanted to have. He was horrible at toilet training, peeing all over her Persian rug until she had to throw it away. He hated his food, he hated being alone, and he yanked on the leash so hard that most walks resulted in bloodied knees. Cadbury rebelled in every way possible, but he did love her eventually. That he did.

They had a camaraderie—much like soldiers; they leaned on each other with an understood world weariness, and the common need for each other. She took him out for daily walks and let him eat most things, and in return he slept by her side on the bed, and didn’t poop inside anymore. His puppy face changed, and he became a beautiful dog—one that strangers complimented with ease. She was proud. Proud that she had not killed him in his puppy years, but also that her mother would have loved Cadbury. They walked around Forest Park in the spring, taking in the pink blossoms on the trees, and in the winter, Cadbury bounded through the thin snow in the striped sweater that Elly wrestled him into. He saw her through the good days, when she was high on life, and through the down days, when she couldn’t believe it had been two years since she woke up that fateful morning and drove away from the love of her life. He was her dog through and through, even when he was being reprehensible.

Back in the kitchen, Cadbury finally proceeded to get excited about her being home, jumping on her and nuzzling his cold nose against her shoulder. She had been home almost three hours at that point.

“Hello doggie-love,” she murmured.

She donned her favorite outfit: big, comfy pajama pants with reindeer on them and a fitted tank top, sat down on her couch, opened a bottle of wine, and settled Cadbury across her lap. She flicked the remote. On the television, a beautiful woman dressed in a teal satin dress offered roses to different gentlemen. Each one smiled at her and kissed her cheek. Elly snorted. There was nothing like the idea of perfect, candle-lit romance to piss her off. She waved the wine bottle at the TV.

“Eat it up, sweetheart … it all starts like this, and then it’s late nights at the studio and new paintings and then all of a sudden you’re the unstable one, waving a wine bottle at the television!”

She looked at Cadbury to see if he found the humor in this moment. He huffed at her.

“Yes, you’re right. I’m bitter, I get it.” The doorbell rang. “Chinese food!” she sang out and ruffled his ears.

She opened the door and gasped.

An insanely beautiful man stood at her door. Despite his model perfection, she would have been disappointed if it had not been for his eyes; she was starving and looking for her dinner. But his soulful brown eyes were the color of molasses or deliciously rich soil. Framed by long lashes—almost girlish in their length, his eyes were almond shaped. He looked to be perhaps half-Hawaiian. No, Vietnamese. No, Hispanic. No. Elly was really bad at guessing countries of origin. Well, wherever he was from, he was exquisitely handsome. Dark curly hair, skin the color of coffee mixed with cream.

”Um, hello?” he said softly.

Oh Lord, he has an accent, thought Elly, slay me now. Quickly, she rearranged herself, pushing her hair out of her eyes, sucking her tummy in, and licking her lips.

“Hi. You aren’t my Chinese food.”

She immediately regretted mentioning food within the first thirty seconds of meeting a beautiful man—the first beautiful man in a long time. Fatty!

“No, I’m Isaac, Isaac Kamaka. I just moved in above the deli?”

“Oh, wow. That must smell delicious!” Elly mentally smacked herself. Food again!

“No, not really, it kind of smells like mustard.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

“So, are you just going around meeting all the neighbors?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

Swoon. She blushed. Noticeably.

“The guy next door—whew. He is a man to behold.”

Elly snickered. The man who lived next door was about sixty-five, portly, and had an odd aroma about him.

“He’s really nice. Gary. Although I think he steals my magazines.”

Isaac smiled. “Which ones?”

Weight Loss Weekly, she thought, but instead she tipped her head and smiled, “Oh, you know, swimsuit catalogs and the like.”

Cadbury, who was frantically trying to get past Elly’s legs, was whining and pushing against her as she tried to look elegant while shoving a dog back between her thighs.

“Cadbury, no! NO! Stop!”

“Cadbury. That’s a good name. Named after … ?”

“The butler,” she replied. “My family had a butler.” Oh wait, WHAT? “Yeah, he was a great treasure to our family.”

Well, at least I didn’t tell him he was named after a candy.

“Well, it’s nice to meet Cadbury, too,” Isaac said as Elly roughly shoved Cadbury back with her foot. Dog abuser. “So, this is kind of strange, but I don’t suppose you have a light bulb I can borrow? I’m trying to move stuff in, my instruments, and I can’t see very well with the two lights I have now.”

“Oh, yes. Sure. Hold on.” Elly closed the door behind her and locked it. She leaned against her wall. Everything inside her was trembling. Her brow was sweaty and the back of her neck was soaked. Her legs were tingling and her lips dry as a desert. She ran her tongue over her top lip. Ever since “the incident” she had hardly noticed men. Sure, sometimes men had taken some interest in her—the portly sixty-five-year-old neighbor for example, but Elly wasn’t used to it by any means. She was the sidekick. The one that men said hello to and were kind to, but only because they wanted to get with her friends. The cute but chubby friend, who was probably really nice and very funny. No one attractive ever noticed her. Until he did. Until Aaron. Aaron. A tightness squeezed her chest. She rarely allowed herself to think of him but when she did, the pain was deep and aching.

“Okay. Pull it together.” She shook her head to rearrange her thoughts. Light bulbs. She raced into the bathroom, yanked open the cabinet, and grabbed a light bulb. Elly looked in the mirror and gave a pained squeak. A very round, freckled, and tan face stared back at her. A small nose and big blue eyes peeked out behind tortoiseshell-framed glasses. Her chin-length thick blond hair looked insane, with curly strands going everywhere. Great—I have homeless hair. She quickly smoothed out side-swept bangs, tucking them behind her ears. Her dark-pink lips were pouty, as they always were. She smiled at herself, beguilingly. Yikes. At least she had nice teeth.

As for the rest of her … she had large firm breasts that were poking out of the side of her tank top, and a small rib cage, but large, fleshy hips. To say she had an hourglass figure was generous. A rotund hourglass, perhaps. Or a bubble bowl. That is what she reminded herself of. She looked older than thirty-two, no doubt. There was no way around it. Best to keep sucking it in and smiling. She launched herself back out of the bathroom and toward the front door. She took a deep breath and opened it slowly.

“I managed to find one…. I hope it’s okay that it’s regular and not CFL.” Isaac smiled. He had perfect teeth, almost canine in nature.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “At least I won’t have to work in the dark.”

“What do you do?” Elly asked.

“I’m a musician. I write music for performers, mostly of the piano and guitar variety. Although—true confession—I am in a band. I don’t like performing….” He paused, making himself all the more darling. “There is something about being up in front of people that makes me cringe. It’s just so egotistical, but I understand it’s a necessary evil.”

Elly’s heart did flip-flops. Amazing, gorgeous, and humble. What kind of man made her feel this way?

“What’s your band called?” Elly asked. He smiled proudly.

“Everest Oppressed. It symbolizes how man, as a beast, has been oppressed by the imaginings of greatness…”

Her wild mental wanderings were curbed as a small voice interrupted him from somewhere in the hallway.

“Excuse me?” A small Chinese man maneuvered around Isaac’s hulking frame. “I have a delivery for El … Elly?”

“Elly, that’s me.” She hastily grabbed the bag from the man. Please Lord, don’t let him see how much food I ordered.

The man held the receipt up to his face, announcing, “I have one orange chicken and one Mongolian beef, with an order of wontons and two egg drop soups!”

Kill me now, Elly thought.

“It’s for lunches you know, for the week,” she mumbled as she dropped the bag behind the door, where Cadbury proceeded to dig into the wontons. She narrowed her eyes at the Chinese man.

“Thanks. Here is your check. Okay, bye!” She shoved the check at the delivery guy, who wandered down the back staircase that lined the apartments, mumbling angrily to himself.

Oh no, I forgot to tip him. Her eyes wandered up to meet Isaac’s. I’m not sure I care, she thought. It was worth it.

“Well, I should let you get to your feast,” he said jokingly.

“Oh yeah, it was a long day, so I thought a special treat would be nice….” What is the next lie you will tell him, she wondered? That you work out every day and really love soy milk?

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around. It was, er, nice to meet you,” he offered.

Elly was now trying to yank the wontons away from Cadbury, who was growling at her and batting her hands with his paws. She stood up and resumed sucking in.

“Yes. It was nice to meet you too. I will see you around. I own Posies—the shop downstairs. You should stop in for some free flowers sometime.”

Isaac rocked back on his feet, hands in pockets. “Maybe I will.”

“Okay.”

He put out his large hand. Elly wrapped her fingers around his coarse ones. Twisting tendrils of electricity snaked up her wrist. Her hand was moist. She pulled it away as he turned to go.

“It was really, really nice to meet you, Elly. Enjoy your dinner.”

Slowly she shut the door and then leaned against it. “Cadbury,” she breathed. “Did that just happen?”

Cadbury didn’t look up from his wontons.

“Wow.”

Elly reached up and felt her face. It was boiling, awash in pleasure and excitement. She took a deep breath and slid down the wall. How long had it been since she felt this way? This rush, this joy, coursing through her body, driving her to quick thoughts of future bliss. The last time … Elly’s joy abruptly dissolved. The last time she felt this joy was with Aaron. The deep abyss in her mind slowly opened: a small fissure on calm ground. She took a deep breath and let the painful memory wash over her, remembering the first time she had met Aaron Schuster.

In Georgia, Elly had worked for a large company, Global Trekking, which provided insurance for large shipping companies overseas. She had worked her way up the ladder until she was the executive secretary for the president, Jeff Burhope, and spent most of her days running his errands, typing his documents, and dealing with things way beyond her job description. On that particular Tuesday, Jeff had dialed her extension, as he did hundreds of times a day.

“Elly, love, are you busy right now?”

Elly glanced at the piles of papers on her desk. Yes, I am always busy, you ass, she thought, but instead she said, “Nope, I’m not. What do you need?”

“I need some artwork for my billiards room. Today. Something with women in it, you know, a little bit naked, but not too much. My wife will see them. Thanks.”

Elly sighed loudly as she hung up the phone. Her “errands” for Mr. Burhope were always of the ridiculous nature, like finding exotic chocolates that he tasted once in Asia, or calling his wife to request his favorite dinner (beef butt roast with BBQ sauce), or stocking up on foot cream for his weird toes. She was less executive secretary than personal assistant. She had spent a good portion of that morning noting highlights from his favorite blogs. Per his request that fateful day, Elly had packed her bags and headed out to a local gallery to find some pictures of women who were a little naked.

The gallery was light, starkly clean, and full of art Elly did not understand—a red line splashed on a white canvas here, a giant phallic cucumber statue there. It was overwhelming. There were also some beautiful pictures of flowers on the wall. Up close they were messy and had an air of amateurism, but they were bright and vibrant, and captured the essence of flowers—Elly’s favorite things. The more she studied the pictures, the more she realized that she was looking at erotic flowers. Twisted throughout the flower were the shapes of women—naked women, hidden in the stems, petals, and blooms. Naked women and their lady parts everywhere. Oh my goodness. She blushed.

“Do you know what you are looking at?” asked a deep voice behind her.

She turned around and smiled. Aaron stood before her. He was tall, with dark blond hair that drifted below his strong cheek bone. He had soft green eyes, dotted with tiny gold flecks. He was wearing thin, well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved maroon shirt. Elly found herself instantly swept away.

“No, what am I looking at?”

“You … are looking at my latest collection, which highlights the female body within the realms of nature.”

“Oh … that’s … ,” Elly told herself not to sound stupid, “that’s very … thought provoking.”

Aaron smirked at her. “You don’t know a lot about art, do you?”

“Umm … no.” Elly confessed. “I have no idea what I am looking at.”

“Well, it’s a study of different kinds of women. Like a garden. You have some lush flowers,” he trailed his fingers over his painting, where plus-sized women were woven in among peonies. “You have some sharp flowers,” his finger passed over calla lilies that were filled with lean, athletic forms, “and you have some typical women.” A rose blooming underneath his fingers was filled with dense, erotic forms. He looked at her. “What kind of flower are you?” The dark passion in his eyes took her breath away. Elly rocked back on her heels. This guy is intense.

“I’m, um … a gardenia. You know, refined but made primarily of frosting.”

He laughed. “Funny. I like you. What is your name?”

“Elly.”

“Hi, Elly,” he said, reaching out his ink-stained hand. “I’m Aaron.”

And with that, her heart had ripped wide open.

Back on the floor of her apartment, Elly wiped tears off her face, as the sound of Cadbury retching brought her back from her all-too-clear memories. She never allowed herself to think of Aaron. She never spoke his name. She denied his existence and refused to talk about her past with anyone but Kim. The life that she watched fade away that last morning in Georgia was a dream of her past. It never existed. Because if it didn’t exist, neither did he. Aaron. The man who threw her heart onto the floor. The betrayer. The love of her life. Ugh, why was she thinking of him? She was sitting on the floor, by a bag of Chinese food, crying against the wall.

“Cadbury, STOP!” She yanked his collar, hard. He looked at her, betrayed.

Elly picked up the food and set it on the counter. Isaac. Incredible. The way he had looked at her. Those dark eyes. And so funny! She shook her head violently. No. No more men. It was a silly idea, a flight of insanity. He was just her neighbor. Besides, he was cool. He had it. She did not have it—she was wearing reindeer pants. Her heart a jumble, Elly shut the door softly behind her, and slipped down the narrow stairs to the studio. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. She walked softly into the yellow room, rubbing her arms as the goose bumps rallied. She opened her cooler, flooding the space with neon light, and listened to the comforting hum of the electricity.

Reaching inside, she grabbed randomly from black buckets. Slowly, she gathered peach garden roses, pink lisianthus, bright-yellow tulips, and a pale-blue scabiosa. She then selected a narrow bronze bucket from the vase wall, and arranged the flowers one by one. With each flower, she felt her memories heal over, smoothed over with a soft balm. Aaron disappeared, a shadow of her past. She clutched her arrangement to her chest and stared out the large windows of her studio as the cars drove past, their headlights illuminating her face, one by one.

This is my place, she thought. I’m okay here. Nothing can touch me here.

Cadbury’s whine sounded overhead. Elly’s stomach rumbled at the thought of her warm Chinese food. Slowly, she headed back upstairs, back up to the light, with a new vase of flowers clutched in her hand.