I have wanted to get my ears pierced for exactly seven months and eleven days, but mom said I had to wait until I turn ten years old. I watch the bedside clock's digital numbers change to 8:14 AM, smiling broadly as I sit up to stretch, knowing that the wait is over. Throwing back the covers, I leap from the bed and begin to pull on my favorite pair of blue jeans and a New Kids on the Block t-shirt. Sitting on the bed, I smooth my hands over the wayward curls that are attempting to escape from the ponytail I'm forming. Hearing a soft knock on the door, I lift my eyes and say, "Come in."
Mom walks in carrying a huge tray of pastries and fresh fruit, beaming as she sits beside me. "Well, I see that the birthday girl is dressed and ready to start her day. Happy birthday, sweetie," she says, stroking my face. "I was going to surprise you with breakfast in bed first but I see that you're anxious, so I'll just take this back to the kitchen and then we'll get going," she finishes as she starts to stand.
On the tray beside the plate of food, I notice a single yellow rose - my favorite - that mom has so lovingly clipped and placed in a ceramic bud vase, and I know that she has gone to a lot of trouble. As eager as I am for this trip to the mall and to pick out the three pairs of earrings I was promised, I know that I can't ruin this special moment. "Wait," I say, grabbing her wrist. She looks down at me and I finish, "The mall can wait for awhile. This looks delicious. Share it with me, ok?"
Watching as I happily stuff a danish into my mouth, mom smiles before taking a sip of juice and then hands the glass to me. Closing my eyes as I drink the remaining liquid, I notice the scent of vanilla that clings to the glass where her hand gripped it. As I reach to grab a blueberry, mom covers my hand with hers and I look into her eyes, waiting for her to say something. But when she opens her mouth to speak, the words are drowned out by an incessant ringing. It gets louder by the second and I pull at my ears, trying desperately to hear what mom is saying. I close my eyes tightly, willing the noise to stop. When I open them, mom is gone and the room is shrouded in blackness. I blink several times, waiting for my eyes to focus on the numbers on the clock... 5:22 AM. "That's impossible," I mutter, sitting up. It is not until I reach for the light switch that I realize that I've been dreaming.
Grabbing for the phone that must be on its seventh ring, I ask sleepily, "Hello?" I don't recognize the hoarse voice on the opposite end of the line at first, so I ask, "Who is this?"
"Michelle... it's Olga," comes the reply.
Sitting up, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and gasp in shock, "What happened? Oh God, Olga... you sound awful. What's wrong?"
I hear the congestion in her lungs as she coughs almost uncontrollably before answering, "I don't know Miss. I was feeling sort of poorly yesterday, but I thought it was just my allergies. But last night I started coughing and running a fever. And now, my body aches all over."
Remembering her weary eyes from yesterday afternoon, I wait for another coughing jag to end before insisting, "Say no more. You just stay in bed and I'll take care of everything here today, ok?"
"Oh no, Michelle. I couldn't possibly ask you to do that. Please... if you could just check on Ms. Maria this morning and maybe start her breakfast for me, I'd appreciate it. She'll be up in about an hour and she usually eats around 7:15. I'll be there... I'm just moving a bit slower than normal," she says, not letting me get a word in edgewise.
Sighing heavily as I walk to the closet to gather my clothes, I say, "Listen to me, Olga. It sounds like you've got the flu, so I demand that you stay in bed today. Understood?"
I can hear the rustling of tissues and the muffled sounds of her blowing her nose before she says, "No, Michelle. Please... I feel terrible asking this of you. You have company this weekend and you should be out enjoying your time off, not stuck in the house doing my work."
Cradling the receiver between my jaw and shoulder, my fingers make quick work of fastening the three hooks on the back of my bra. "No more arguments... do you hear me? You let me worry about how I spend my free time. I want you to concentrate on getting yourself well." I remove the receiver from my ear long enough to slip on a blouse and when I press it to my ear again, I hear her quietly crying. My maternal instincts kick into overdrive as I say, "I want you to get some rest and drink plenty of fluids. I'll be by to check on you a little later, ok?" I don't expect an answer and I don't wait for one, finishing, "I just need you to tell me what chores I need to do today besides the cooking."
"Well," she begins sheepishly. "Sunday is laundry day. But, Michelle..."
Out of sheer frustration, I bang the receiver against my forehead before cutting her off harshly, "What did I say about arguing with me? It won't get you anywhere. Listen... I think I can handle a few loads of laundry. You're sure there's nothing else I can do?"
"Oh no. There's nothing. God is going to bless you, my dear." He already did, I think... the day he led me here to my second family.
After I hang up, I quickly finish dressing and tiptoe quietly from my room, stopping briefly at abuela's door. A smile lights my face when I hear her steadily snoring on the other side of the door. Opening the front door ever so slowly, I step outside into a thick fog that has settled on the ground, making my way to the set of guest houses. Knowing that Olga is sleeping, I bypass her house and knock softly on the door to Bill's.
Returning to the main house at ten after six, I stop in the kitchen to start a fresh pot of coffee before returning to my room for the quickest shower of my life. The last few drips are splashing inside the carafe when I swing the kitchen door open, and I congratulate myself on my timing. Heading to abuela's room with two cups of black coffee, I chuckle softly, muttering to myself, "Low maintenance." That's what Jesse always called me... 'low maintenance'. He on the other hand was 'high maintenance', taking his coffee with cream and sugar. Figures that abuela and I
take our coffee the same way... two peas in a pod.
I smile as I approach her room, seeing a hint of light peeking underneath the door, piercing the blackness of the hallway. I knock softly before turning the knob slowly, letting myself in. Abuela is sitting up in bed, pillows propped behind her back. She looks shocked to see me as I walk across the room and sit on the bed beside her, setting the cups down on the nightstand. "Michelle? What are you doing here so early? I was just about to let Olga know that I'm awake."
Reaching for her hand as it moves to push the button on the intercom, I grab it and hold it in my lap before saying, "No. Don't call Olga. She's not going to be able to work today, so I'm going to fill in for her."
Panic flickers in her eyes as she asks, "Oh God... what's wrong? Is she all right."
Rubbing her hand in slow, calming circles, I reassure her, saying, "She'll be fine, abuela. She just has a touch of the flu... that's all. Nothing for you to worry about. I promise."
She relaxes a bit, sinking back into the fluffiness of the overstuffed pillows before saying, "But Michelle, this is your day off. I can't ask you to tend to me on your day off. What about Bill?"
"Not you too. I have already had this little argument with Olga. You let me worry about Bill," I say, reaching for her cup and handing it to her. She takes a small sip before opening her mouth to offer more protest, and I cut her off, saying, "Listen... you know that I have been begging her to let me help out around the house this entire week. I think this is God's way of telling her that she should have taken me up on the offer sooner."
Studying me intently with a warm smile, she says, "You really are a special young woman... you know that, don't you?" I look away, feeling slightly embarrassed by the compliment, but she turns my face towards hers as she finishes, "You know... I never thought that I'd ever feel as close to another person as I did to my Pilar, but you and I have developed such a strong bond in such a short amount of time. It's overwhelming. I know that your grandmother passed away quite some time ago, but I'm sure that she would be so proud of the woman you have become. I'm glad that she's sharing you with me."
Tears trickle out of the corners of my eyes and I run a hand over one side of my face. Abuela's hand wipes the opposite cheek as fresh tears spill out over her fingers. All I can manage to utter is a weak, "Me too."
We finish our coffee in silence and as I head to the door, I turn, asking, "What would you like for breakfast? You name it."
With a finger to her lips and her eyes turned heavenward in deep thought, she finally says, "Surprise me."
Bypassing the kitchen, I head to the laundry room to start a load of clothes. There seems to be an overabundance of towels and washcloths in the massive pile, so I decide to tackle them first. I watch as they fall from my hands and disappear into the machine, one after another. With the washer nearly full to the brim, my hand reaches for the last towel in the pile - a burgundy one - and I know instantly that it belongs to Danny. Lifting it to my nose, I draw in a deep breath, taking in and memorizing his masculine scent. Suddenly feeling perverse, I turn to make sure that I am alone in the room before throwing it in with the rest of the towels.
I add detergent and fabric softener to the dispenser and select the proper setting, and then begin to quickly separate the remaining clothes into five smaller piles. Hmmm, I think... who would have guessed that Danny Santos is a sensible brief-man? I toss them into the white pile and watch as they make contact with my silky thongs. Feeling myself grow wet with arousal, I head to the kitchen, muttering, "Get a life!"
I open the refrigerator door and survey its contents, scanning each item, shelf by shelf. As I reach for the pitcher of orange juice, something grabs my attention out of the corner of my eye. There, tucked behind a pound of butter and a few bottles of soda, is a small package of blueberries. I pick it up, caressing the label as I close my eyes and remember the dream from this morning. Moments like the ones I spent with mom on the morning of my tenth birthday, as insignificant as they seemed at the time, mean everything to me now. I would give anything to have just one more day with mom... one more breakfast even.
Finally deciding to make blueberry waffles, I begin a quest for the waffle iron, searching high and low. Just as I am about to give up, I spot the appliance stashed in the very back of one of the lower cabinets. Plugging it in to let it heat, I gather the remaining ingredients and begin to make the batter, adding a generous helping of blueberries. Retrieving a skillet from overhead, I turn a burner on and begin to fry sausage links. Humming as I cook, I smile when the entire room fills with a wonderful aroma. I smile at my accomplishment when I look at the prepared tray... two waffles, two sausage links, a tall glass of juice, and another cup of coffee. The only thing missing is a yellow rose, I think, as I slowly walk to abuela's room.
She raves about the breakfast before she even takes the first bite, but when she does, her eyes light up and I know that I've done well. Leaving, I tell her to call me on the intercom if she needs anything. She's too busy eating to reply, but when she nods in response, I head back to the kitchen.
Waiting for another waffle to cook, I walk to the bay window near the breakfast table and, noticing that the fog has lifted, I watch two squirrels chase one another up and back down a tree. Startled by the creaking of the swinging kitchen door, my head snaps to the right as a familiar deep voice says, "Olga... something smells delicious in here." Danny Santos in silk emerald green pajama bottoms and a matching robe, tied loosely with a sash, is walking aimlessly towards me, his head bent as he reads the morning paper. His feet are bare and his face and throat are covered in stubble, but he is the sexiest thing I've ever seen.
Stopping at the chair right next to me, he never looks up as he sits. Covering my mouth to avoid laughing, I compose myself before doing my best Olga impersonation, saying, "Gracias, Senor Santos. Coma esta?"
It takes a moment for him to place the voice, but soon his head snaps up to greet the person it belongs to, and I can't help but wonder if it's possible to get whiplash in the kitchen of your own home. "Michelle?" he asks as if his mind is deceiving him. Interesting, I think. Is there a chance that I pervade his dreams like he does mine? Lost in thought, my eyes glaze over and I have to shake my head to hear what he's asking, "What are you doing here?"
Suddenly remembering the waffle I left cooking, I leave his side to tend to my creation. It has puffed up the lid of the iron and I gingerly place it on a china plate as I answer, "Gee, Danny. I'm riding a bike. Can't you tell?"
Clearing his throat, he returns his attention to his paper as I pour more batter on the iron. "Don't be a smart ass, Michelle. You know what I mean. Why are you making breakfast?"
"Scared of my cooking, are you?" I ask, staring at the back of his head. I don't know why I'm being so difficult, but it sure is fun.
Sighing as he puts the paper flat against the table, he says, "Damnit Michelle... this is Olga's job. That's all I'm getting at. But if you must know... yes... I am surprised that you haven't burned the joint down. You don't strike me as the Betty Crocker type."
Leaning over him, I let my breasts rub against the exposed skin of his neck as I set the plate in front of him. He stares at the waffles and sausage, and I can feel him draw in a breath and hold it as I whisper in his ear, "Try it."
Straightening up, I walk to the coffee maker to pour myself a fresh cup, and I hear him clear his throat before saying, "I never eat breakfast. Thank you, but I'll just have a cup of coffee."
"How do you take it?" I ask, looking at him as I wait for a response.
Turning to look at me, his eyes linger on the naked skin of my belly as I stand on the tips of my toes, reaching for another cup from an overhead cabinet. "You don't have to do that, Michelle. I can get my own cup."
Ignoring his words, I pour the steaming liquid into the delicate cup, insisting, "Jesus, Danny. I'm right here. It's really no trouble."
"Black," he mutters, returning to his paper. A smile crooks the corners of my lips. Who would have guessed that Danny Santos was anything but 'high maintenance'? "Thanks," he says as I sit beside him, and our fingers brush each other in the exchange of the cup.
Our eyes lock briefly before mine settle on the untouched plate of food. I can feel his eyes watch the work of my hands as I cut a small corner off of one of the waffles, swirling it in the warm maple syrup. I lift it from the plate, cupping my hand underneath to avoid any drips as I bring it to his lips. "Humor me," I beg in a voice more seductive than I'd intended.
He looks into my eyes briefly before focusing on my offering. Leaning closer to me, he opens his mouth and I watch as his lips close around the bite, caressing the tines of the fork as he backs away slightly. My nipples strain slightly against the scratchy fabric of my bra as a vision of Danny's lips closing around one of the tight, pink peaks dances through my mind.
"Mmmm. Not bad, Ms. Bauer. Where'd you learn to cook?" he asks, rescuing me from some dangerous thoughts.
Placing the fork down on the plate, I stand and walk back to the iron to make some more waffles, saying, "Self taught."
I watch as he takes several more bites before setting the fork down and resuming his reading. "So," he begins, stopping to clear his throat, "Where's the Ken doll?"
Fortunate that he isn't looking at me, my hand flies to my mouth to stifle the laughter building in my throat even though I answer in a stern voice, "Danny... that's not nice. What if Bill were to overhear you?"
When he pivots in his seat to look at me, I focus my attention back on the hot iron. Feeling his eyes boring into my back, I hear the bitterness in his voice as he answers, "I'm not afraid of him, Michelle." "So?" he asks, pausing for effect, "Where is he?"
I wait to hear the rustling of the paper before turning to look at his back and answering, "I sent him home this morning."
The rustling stops, but his eyes remain fixed straight ahead. "Lover's quarrel, eh?" he asks with a voice full of mirth.
Slamming the lid to the iron down as a new waffle begins to form, I don't bother to correct his characterization of Bill's and my relationship as I answer, "Nothing of the sort. I just didn't want to spoil the rest of his weekend. I'm going to be rather busy today filling in for Olga, and I knew it wasn't fair to make him hang around and watch me work when he could be off somewhere relaxing."
"What do you mean... filling in for Olga? Where is she?" he asks, confused.
Turning to make eye contact with him, I brace myself as I begin to relay the story for what seems like the hundredth time today. "She's a bit under the weather... the flu, I think. Anyway... she called me this morning and I offered to handle things for her here today."
Looking at me with soft, warm eyes, he says, "She should have called me. I could have tried to make other arrangements for the day. I'm sorry that she bothered you on your day off. This isn't your responsibility."
Sighing as I rub my temples, I defend myself, saying, "It's no bother, Danny. I'm glad to help out." Making a sweeping gesture with my hand, I insist, "I wasn't raised in all this opulence, so housework is not a foreign concept for me."
Smiling broadly, he offers, "Well again... I thank you." Turning back to his breakfast, he says curiously, "I hope that you and your friend didn't have plans today."
Knowing that he is needling me, I answer coyly, "Nothing that can't be postponed." I watch his shoulders slump slightly before asking, "What about you? Any plans today?"
"I've got some calls to make and then I'm heading to St. Michael's for Ray's nine o'clock mass this morning," he says.
After putting the finishing touches on another plate of food, I glance down at my watch before slipping my fingers through the handles of the tray and walking to the swinging door. With my back against it, I make eye contact with him and see the confusion on his face as I say, "Better get going then. It's five until eight."
Wiping at his mouth with a napkin, he asks, "Where are you going?" Then gesturing to his nearly empty plate, he implores, "Aren't you going to join me?"
Bending my head to nod at the tray in my hands, I say, "To answer your first question... I'm taking this to Olga. I told her that I'd be by to check on her this morning." With a slight chuckle, I mock him with his own words, finishing, "As for your second question... I never eat breakfast." With that, I push the door open with my body and listen to his faint laughter as I snake my way down the hall, making a brief detour at the laundry room to put the load of towels into the dryer and to start another wash.
I sit with Olga until she finishes every last morsel of food, encouraging her to drink the enormous glass of juice I've brought her. Despite the fact that she looks like death warmed over, she continues to insist that she's feeling better... well enough to get dressed and get to work. I shake my head 'no' and tell her that if she so much as sets foot inside the house today, I'll quit. My voice sounds so sure that I almost have myself convinced.
After leaving Olga to rest, I open the door to the other guest house and strip the sheets off of the bed where Bill slept. I remake the bed with fresh sheets and walk back to the main house with the dirty linens in my arms. Met with the loud buzzing of the dryer when I open the front door, I make my way back to the laundry room, mumbling, "Good timing, Michelle."
Tucking each towel under my chin as I fold, I breathe in the fresh, clean scent as my fingers glide over the plush fabric. Stacking them in neat piles inside the laundry basket, I leave the room as the washer and dryer start their familiar song once again.
Stopping in my room first, I place the pile of fresh peach and teal towels on top of a beam of brilliant sunlight streaking across the foot of my bed. Heading next door to abuela's room, I deposit the powder blue towels in the bathroom linen closet. Leaning against the door frame, I listen as she reads a passage from her latest novel to me. Closing the door behind me, I venture to the second floor, searching for Danny's room as I glance down at the remaining pile of burgundy towels.
I pass several open doors on either side of me, but glancing inside, I see that they are merely guest rooms. At the end of the hall, I spot a closed door. Bingo, I think. There is no response when I knock softly, so I knock louder and wait, straining to hear the sound of approaching footsteps. I contemplate turning to leave, but my eyes catch sight of the hands on my watch. "Ten until nine," I say aloud. "He's probably already left for mass."
Turning the knob slowly as I push the door open, I call out, "Hello? Danny?" When I get no reply, I open the door fully and walk inside. There are very few decorations and no pictures, but when I take in a deep breath, I recognize the familiar scent that is uniquely Danny. The room is decorated in deep shades of burgundy and gold and the tousled bedcovers on the king-sized bed are thrown back, revealing black sheets. Figures, I think.
When I am halfway to the bathroom door, it suddenly swings open and Danny emerges, completely nude from head to toe, his body glistening with fat drops of water. My mouth agape in shock and my eyes stretched wide, I cannot seem to summon the strength to turn around. There is no shame in Danny's eyes as he stands before me, comfortable in his nakedness, waiting for me to speak. But when I try to force the air over my vocal cords to say something, the only sounds that form are unintelligible grunts. That perverse little smirk starts to curl his lips and I force myself to drop my eyes from his face.
'Look away', my mind begs even as my eyes become transfixed on the seven inches of manhood dangling between his legs. Studying him intently, I drop the laundry basket, ignoring the ache in my crushed toes. My eyes follow the narrow tuft of hair that starts just above the navel and broadens as it descends across the pubic bone. Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I marvel at the thickness of his base and my eyes slide down the smooth length of his shaft, settling on the perfectly sculpted head. I've seen one other naked man in my life, but I can't rip my eyes away from my first glimpse at a circumcised penis. The difference between Jesse and Danny is unbelievable, I think, mentally comparing the two in my mind. Who knew that underneath that tiny bit of foreskin, lurked such beauty. I glance briefly at Danny's hands as they hang loosely by his sides, imagining them tangled in my wild curls as I kneel between his legs and take that beautiful tip into my mouth. Although I never shared that type of intimacy with Jesse, I feel some sort of primitive urge building inside me, and I wet my dry lips with my tongue and close my eyes, lost in the fantasy.
Danny clears his throat and my eyes fly open, propelling me back to reality. "Is there something I can help you with, Michelle?"
Turning around on wobbly legs and gasping in horror, I shriek, "Why are you naked?"
"That's the best way to take a shower, no?" comes the reply, and I hear the laughter behind the words.
Stomping my foot and placing my hands on my hips, I spit, "What are you doing just walking around like that?"
"This is my room, right Michelle?" he asks, and I know that I have no good response. Before I can utter a syllable, he continues, "I was out of clean towels and I really wasn't expecting any company."
Keenly aware that he is still very much naked and probably only five feet behind me, I bend and reach for one of the fresh towels in the basket and toss it over my shoulder, barking, "Put something on for Heaven's sake!"
Hearing the soft fabric rub against his skin, I close my eyes and release a shaky breath. "I'm decent now," he very nearly sings.
"Hardly," I mutter under my breath as I turn to face him, trying to mask the disappointment I feel when my eyes skate over the burgundy towel that hugs his hips. "Why aren't you at St. Michael's anyway?" I demand, fixing him with an icy stare.
I watch the rippled muscles of his torso expand and contract as he leans back, running his fingers through his damp hair in frustration. "Not that it's any of your business, Miss Busybody, but one of my business calls ran longer than I expected so I decided to go to the ten o'clock service instead. Happy?" he spits, challenging me with his eyes.
"Ecstatic," I whisper. "You need it." With that, I pick up the basket and turn it upside down, spilling the neatly folded towels into one disorderly heap on the floor.
Tossing my head back, I turn on my heel and walk from the room with more determination than I feel. I know that I have no reason to be angry with him. He is guilty of really nothing more than delighting in my uneasiness, but I always seem to lose my manners in his presence just the same.
Slamming the door behind me, I hurry down the steps, looking back over my shoulder in the direction of his room one last time. The photographic image of his naked body pushes its way into my mind and a shiver runs down my spine. "Wow!" I say to myself when I reach the bottom of the stairs, fanning my warm cheeks with my hand. I don't know what kind of business call Danny was making before nine o'clock on a Sunday morning, but I do know that I wish that I could kiss whoever was on the receiving end of it. Maybe fate isn't exactly the bitch I thought it was.
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