Thirteen... Fourteen... Fifteen... Sixteen... Seventeen. Listening intently, I strain to hear number eighteen but it never comes. Seventeen. That's two more than last time. I cover my face with a pillow to muffle my voice as I scream, "INSOMNIA SUCKS!" It's my own fault. Taking that nap this afternoon was a huge mistake, and I'm paying the price for it now. I look over at the giant red numbers on my alarm clock... 3:19 AM. I have spent the last two hours and thirteen minutes, counting the number of chirps of every cricket outside of my bedroom window. Before that, I was reciting state capitals... in alphabetical order. No... I am definitely not taking another nap as long as I live.
I sit up and turn on the lamp beside the bed, squinting as my eyes adjust to the change. Walking to the bathroom, I pray that a warm bath does the trick. As the water begins to fill the enormous ceramic bathtub, I retrieve the basket from the back of the toilet and try to decide on a scent. I have already tried the bottles of peach, mango, and kiwi. Tonight I decide to abandon the fruits as my hand settles on the bottle of vanilla. Vanilla in honor of abuela and my mother. Pouring a generous amount into the tap, I watch the water begin to foam, and I inhale the delicious vanilla- scented steam that is blanketing the air.
Undressing in front of the full length mirror, I pause before getting into the tub to look at my naked reflection. I study my face as I pull my hair up into a bun, fastening it in place with a clip. Although dark circles are beginning to etch their way underneath my eyes, I still look like me. Funny, I think. I don't feel like me anymore. In the four short days that I have been here, I feel monumentally changed. Like someone else is now living in my skin.
Shaking my head, I force those thoughts to the periphery of my mind as I sink into my vanilla cloud. Leaning back against the bath pillow, I close my eyes and cover them with a wet washcloth as I recount the events since my arrival on Sunday. I am quite pleased with the progress that I have made with abuela thus far. I explained to her that we must retrain the body to understand what the brain is telling it to do. There is a marked, albeit small, improvement in her strength and dexterity on this, her third day of therapy. Today we were rewarded for all of our hours of hard work when she was able to support her weight on her own two legs, without my assistance. Tomorrow we will try a few steps with the aid of a walker.
As the steam continues to billow up from the water's surface, Danny's visage pops into my mind. My eyes fly open and I sit upright, letting the washcloth fall from my face into the foamy water and disappear somewhere between my thighs. I have yet to see him once since Sunday afternoon in the courtyard with Ray, but his face has ingrained itself on my brain. Each night my subconscious plays a cruel joke on me as he comes to me in my dreams, encircling me in his arms and holding me firmly against him. I feel cherished and adored in his embrace.
But the real Danny Santos is nothing like the man in my dreams. The real Danny Santos returns home at around two o'clock in the morning, fumbling with his key in the lock as some woman giggles uncontrollably and whispers to him loudly. The voice of the woman is different each night, but he attempts to quiet them all in the same manner, with a firm, "Shh," as he finally opens the creaking door. They retreat up the steps to his bedroom on the second floor. Sometime before dawn, the woman slips out of the house into an awaiting cab.
The grandfather clock at the end of the hallway rips me from my reverie as it begins a slow, low-pitched song, and I count the chimes. One... Two... Three... Four. Four o'clock. An uneasiness settles over me as I wonder why Danny hasn't returned. For a brief instant, a vision of twisted metal and broken glass flashes before my eyes, and my pulse quickens.
I force the image of a mangled car from my mind before removing the stopper from the tub and stepping out onto the plush rug. Dragging the towel across my breasts, I watch as the thousands of tiny bubbles that cling to my skin disappear. As I pull on a pair of boxer shorts and a tee-shirt that was a gift from Jesse, I realize that the bath has left my throat dry and my lips parched. I pick up my Walkman, adjusting the headphones in my ears as Billy Joel begins to croon "Keeping the Faith", and leave my room on a quest for a bottle of Evian.
Forcing my eyes to adjust again, I pad down the dark hallway towards the kitchen, my bare feet slapping against the tiles below them. Pushing open the door, I feel my way towards the refrigerator on the opposite wall and tug on the heavy handle. The light from inside shines brightly, and it takes a while to scan the various items before I find what I'm looking for. I remove the cap and take a long swig. Feeling instantly refreshed, I wiggle my hips as I sing along softly with the chorus, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah / Keeping the faith".
Suddenly, the darkness that surrounds me evaporates as the soft, orange glow from the overhead track lighting illuminates the room. Yanking the headphones from my ears, I spin around to see Danny Santos leaning against the door frame next to the light switch, a smirk plastered across his face. My grip on the bottle loosens and I watch helplessly as it crashes to the floor with a loud thump, its contents splashing me as it forms a puddle at my feet. I can feel Danny's eyes boring into my back as he watches me squat to clean the mess, mopping at the spot with one dish towel after the other. I lift the dripping rags as I stand and throw them into the sink.
I turn to face Danny, averting my eyes to a spot on the floor six inches in front of me as I am met with his intimidating stare. "Well Ms. Bauer, I see that you have made yourself right at home. Billy Joel, huh?" he asks, and I can feel my cheeks blush as he finishes, "Good taste."
I want to crawl in a hole and die. But somehow I find my voice and say apologetically, "I'm sorry Mr. Santos... I didn't hear you get back. You startled me."
"Waiting up for me, huh?" he asks in a condescending tone. I feel the urge to slap his face, but I suppress it.
I study him for a moment, noting that even though he still needs a shave, he is quite handsome in his black slacks and crisp, chocolate colored shirt. The first two buttons are undone, revealing his beautiful olive skin. I feel vulnerable and exposed in front of him as I suddenly remember how it is that I am dressed, and my eyes travel from my chest to the tips of my pedicured toes. I look back up and notice that his eyes have followed suit, blazing the same path down my body. He turns eyes black with passion and frank desire back to mine. Even as a chill runs the length of my spine, I feel a warmth spread from the pit of my stomach down to the center of my thighs.
Shocked by the effect this man has over me, my voice comes out a pitiful squeak as I say, "No, of course not. It's just that you are usually home by about two o'clock." I instantly regret the response. The minute the words leave my mouth, I close my eyes and bite down on my lower lip, wondering why it is I can't keep my foot out of my mouth.
There's that smug grin curling the corners of his mouth once again. "Keeping tabs on me... are we, Ms. Bauer? I guess I should be flattered that you were worried about me."
"Concerned," I correct. "And you may call me Michelle."
He saunters across the tile, stopping directly in front of me, reveling in my uneasiness. I am taken aback when he reaches out a hand and places it on the side of my face. Slipping it behind my neck, he cradles my head in his palm and draws me towards him. I offer no resistance. Closing my eyes as I feel his warm breath on my neck, I draw in a deep breath of my own, taking in his scent. I detect a hint of some type of cheap alcohol mingling with his expensive cologne, and I begin to tingle in anticipation of his words when I feel his lips graze the sensitive flesh of my ear. "Michelle it is, then." I have never heard my name sound as beautiful as it does coming from this man's mouth.
I lick my lips, trying to get up the nerve to turn them to meet his in a fiery kiss, the likes of which I have only dreamed about. His voice pulls me out of a sensual haze, and nothing can prepare me for what he is about to say. "Let's get one thing straight Michelle. I... am not... your concern. I am a grown man, and I will come home when I am good and goddamn ready to come home. Do you understand me? You are an employee here, not the lady of the house. You just keep your mind on your work, and keep your nose out of my affairs."
I push my palms against his chest as hard as I can, sending him stumbling backwards. I wobble on shaky legs to the opposite side of the island, keeping my back to him so that he cannot see the tears cascading down my cheeks. I manage to regain my composure enough to bark, "You're drunk! You stink like cheep booze!"
"And you smell like vanilla... so what? What's it to you?" He is screaming now. I know that I should flee, but something stronger forces me to stay and challenge him. This is only my second encounter with this obstinate man, but I already know how to push all of his buttons.
Knowing that his grandmother is his only weakness, I say, "You have avoided me like the plague since I've been here, so just in case you were wondering, your grandmother is getting stronger every day. In fact, today while you were out getting drunk, she was standing on her own for the first time." I know my words are cruel, but he hurt me and I want to hurt him back.
"I am not neglecting my abuela, I assure you," he asserts. "I call from work every day to check on her," he says with a sadness so strong in his voice, I am moved to new tears.
I feel a tiny bit remorseful, but I don't relent. Wiping away my tears, I challenge, "No you don't. I am with her every minute that she's awake, and you never speak to her."
I can tell that he is on the verge of exploding again when he very slowly says, "For your information, Olga has been keeping me informed about the progress you and abuela are making." He pauses briefly as he chooses his next words, "Look lady... you don't know me, and you have no right to judge me in my own house." I hear the refrigerator door open behind me, a blast of cold air blowing into the already frigid room. A door slams shut, and I hear the distinct sound of a bottle top being popped off. I hear him swallow a huge gulp. Beer. Just what he needs... more liquor to dull the pain.
"I know enough," I quickly retort when the room is plunged into silence once again. What is wrong with me? Why don't I just give up? "I know that she misses you. I know that you should be asking her about the therapy instead of Olga. I know that she feels like you are a stranger to her now. I know that since she's been home from the hospital, you have barely said two words to her. I know that if it wasn't for me, she wouldn't have any visitors. I know that you blame yourself for the accident... for Pilar... even though it wasn't anyone's fault."
"You don't know anything," he returns bitterly. "But, can I tell you what I know about you?" he asks, not waiting for a response before continuing. "I know that you have been nothing but a pain in my ass since you set foot in this house. I know that you judge people before you've got the whole story. I know that you have ingratiated yourself into my home and taken my spot in the garage. I know that you are so afraid to have a life of your own that you spend your every waking minute with an old woman, and then take it upon yourself to keep a record of my comings and goings. I know that you have everyone... Ray, abuela, Olga... fooled into believing you're a saint that we simply cannot live without. I know that if my abuela didn't believe the sun rose and set on your sorry ass, I'd throw you out fast enough to make your head spin."
Hearing him take another generous swig of beer, I can only imagine the sneer that must be plastered to his face. Strangely, I don't feel like bursting into tears. I am mad as hell and am shocked at the venom in my voice when I say, "What's the matter Danny? You couldn't find a piece of pussy tonight, so you decided to get wasted instead?" I don't recognize my own voice. This is not me. Michelle Bauer doesn't say things like this. Where is this coming from?
I can hear him approaching the island and I brace myself for whatever he has in store. He stops just on the other side of it and slams his palms down on the counter while saying through clenched teeth, "Jealous?"
I spin around with what I hope is an incredulous look on my face. Noticing the angry vein that is throbbing and pulsing on his forehead, it is all I can do to suppress my laughter. "Hardly," I manage to spit. "You are no prize, buddy." I almost have myself convinced. But the truth is that I am so jealous of the whores that share his bed every night, I can barely see straight.
Neither of us makes a sound as we stand, facing each other in the middle of this huge kitchen. After several minutes, our breathing has returned to normal and we have both calmed considerably. I want to turn back the hands of time and take back everything I just said. But I know that it is too late for that. We both search for something appropriate to say to pacify the other. When we both start to speak at the same time, he points to me and says, "Go ahead."
"Danny... um... Mr. Santos, I don't know what came over me. I lost my temper and am very sorry. My behavior has been very inappropriate, and I am ashamed of what I have said. You are absolutely right... this is your home and as such, you deserve my respect." He looks at me blankly and I continue, "Look... I know that we will never be friends, but could we please agree to act civilly toward each other in the future, should our paths cross?"
"Of course Michelle. And please do call me Danny," he offers, and I smile stupidly as if nothing just happened. "I trust that you have gotten settled into your room and that everything is to your liking? Is there anything you need?"
The tension between us is almost unbearable, but I am determined to be cordial to this man that I have just spent the last few minutes insulting. "No sir, I don't need anything. Your home is lovely. Olga is wonderful. I try to help her with her chores or the cooking, but she won't hear of it. And abuela is such a kind woman. We hit it off, right off the bat."
What looks like a genuine smile spreads across his face as he says, "Well, thank you about the house. I'm glad to know that you are adjusting to the change." There's sincerity behind those words before he asks sheepishly, "My grandmother asked you to call her abuela?"
"Yes she did. I don't have any living grandparents of my own and I felt an instant connection to her, so it seemed natural. You don't mind, do you?" I ask timidly, afraid of setting him off once again.
"Of course not... no indeed. It just strikes me as funny, that's all. She really does think the world of you, you know? Olga says that her face lights up when you walk into the room."
"Believe me, I feel the same way about her," I say honestly. "This big house can be very lonely with Olga always so busy, so I really have been enjoying abuela's company."
Looking at me, he says in a soft voice, "You know Michelle, if you would like to invite a guest over... male or female... you are more than welcome. I know how lonely it can get here."
"Well, thank you very much. I appreciate that. I was planning on going to my brother's home this weekend, but he called today to let me know that he and his wife are going to be out of town. So if you really don't mind, I think I may invite my friend Bill over." Waiting for his response, I watch as his entire body tenses once again.
There is something strange and unreadable in his eyes as he nods his head and nervously smiles, saying, "Like I said, you are more than welcome to have whomever you like over. Now if you will excuse me, I think I should get some sleep. I've got a busy day tomorrow."
He turns and walks quickly from the room as I mutter, "Good night," at his now retreating back.
I hear his footsteps, heavy on the staircase, as I walk to the front door and retrieve my car keys from the table in the foyer. I stumble in the darkness outside to the garage, and turn on the overhead light. I replay Danny's words in my head, '...you have ingratiated yourself into my home and taken my spot in the garage,' making quick work of cranking my car, backing out, and reparking it in the vacant middle spot. I don't want to do anything more to upset him, and this is an easy problem to remedy.
I quietly slip into the house and back to my room. Lying down underneath the cool sheets, I look over at my clock... 4:51 AM. Great... therapy starts in three hours and I have yet to get any sleep. Something tells me I won't be getting any sleep now either, as I remember the look on Danny's face when I mentioned Bill. I laugh inwardly, wondering who the jealous one is now. If he only knew that Bill is like my brother. Oh well, I don't think I'll set Danny straight just yet. This could be fun.
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