Capítulo 14: Chapter 14
I'm never late to work. Never. I'm the responsible member of my family.
"You're late," my brother Lennon says as I walk through the kitchen door. "Dad's pissed. He had to do your breakfast run instead of go fishing."
I have twelve siblings, but Lennon and I are the only ones still living with our parents. I'm number twelve in the family lineup, and he's lucky number thirteen. The others are spread out around the lake. Nobody has ventured far away. My parents may be loons, but they have a magnetic quality that's kept us close.
"He didn't make the renters his famous Eggspectacular. Did he?" I ask Lennon. "Please say he didn't."
"It was either that or his Velveeta fondue, which isn't exactly appropriate for breakfast."
Dad only knows how to cook two dishes. I shudder at the thought of my father's Velveeta fondue. I ate it every Wednesday for dinner for almost a whole year when I was seven years old, when my mother was busy taking a Reiki class. While she was learning alternative massage, her husband was packing her children's arteries with cheese product.
Now my twelve siblings and I are pretty anti-Velveeta fondue.
Lennon grabs a wrench off the counter and burrows under the kitchen sink. Every member of my family has a role in our family business. Lennon's the plumber. He has his work cut out for him. Not only do we have properties all around the lake, the family house is a pioneer-era sprawling building. Three stories. There's even a tower. It needs constant maintenance and upkeep.
I check out the list of guests and renters. I have a big shopping list to deal with and several lunches to prepare. There's not a lot of time to get things done, but I'm dog-tired. I put a pot a coffee on and sit at the kitchen table.
The door bursts open, and my mother and three oldest sisters storm in. I call them the triumvirate of terror. They and my mother rule the family with an iron will and an abundance of hippy logic. They're convinced they're living in Woodstock circa 1969. Each of them has gray hair that falls to below their shoulders. More than one kid has mistaken them for witches.
My mother throws her hemp shopping bag on the table and takes a look at me. "Your aura is off," she says, pointing at me, punching the air with her finger, as if she's testing my aura for durability.
"I'm tired," I explain.
My sisters, Serenity, Willow, and Moonbeam circle me, studying me.
"I'm sensing a disruption in Raine," Moonbeam tells the others, as she rifles through my hair.
"Maybe because you're sticking your armpit in my face, and you don't believe in using real deodorant or shaving," I say, swatting her hands away.
"I've seen this before," Serenity says. "Might be rabies."
"I don't have rabies," I growl. I get up and pour myself a cup of coffee.
"It's not rabies," Willow says. "It's something worse. Halitosis."
"Halitosis is not worse than rabies," I say. "Halitosis means bad breath."
Willow nods. "I know," she says.
Lennon pops his head out from under the sink. "She doesn't have rabies. She got laid."
My sisters laugh. The idea that I have a sex life is a laugh riot.
I slam my coffee cup on the counter, making half of it spill. "Why is that funny?" I demand. "Is it so crazy to think that someone would want to make love to me?"
They're still laughing. The idea of my sex life is like an Adam Sandler movie to them, but funny.
Of course, Lennon is flat out wrong. I didn't get laid. Nobody made love to me or even offered. No kiss. No cuddling. No flirtation. But that doesn't mean it's impossible.
My mother catches her breath and pats my shoulder. "Your aura isn't reading sex, Raine," she explains, as if I'm confusing a fork with a spoon.
"I'm telling you, it's rabies," Moonbeam says.
It's not easy having hippy sisters who are thirty years older than I am. They think they're my mother, and they believe way too much in the power of the colonic. It's just a matter of time before they chase me around the house with a hose. I need to nip this whole aura thing in the bud before they Niagara Falls my ass.
"Look at her hair. That's sex hair," Lennon says, wielding his wrench for emphasis. The four of them argue about my aura and the sex or non-sex aspects of my hair. It gets pretty heated for a group of pacifists. The only thing they can agree on is my halitosis.
I try to tune them out and drink the rest of my coffee. If I don't start making sandwiches, the Goldstein family across the lake is going to be foodless on their picnic. I cut thick slices of homemade brioche and take a chicken I roasted yesterday out of the refrigerator.
"Rabies!"
"I'm telling you, she got nailed! Boned! She took a ride on the screwed express!" Lennon shouts over my sisters' assertions that I have a terrible disease. Meanwhile, my mother is still poking the air at my invisible aura.
There's a knock at the door, which shuts everybody up. My family has a well-known open door policy, so a knock raises suspicions. Who would knock on the Harper family's door?
"The cops?" Willow mouths.
"Should we hide?" Serenity whispers.
Lennon raises his wrench high, like it's a weapon.
I wipe my hands on a towel and answer the door. "Yes?" I ask.
"Muffin!"
It's not an exaggeration to say the air molecules in the room warp and twist into something totally different, proving the theory of an alternate universes. If I turned into bubble gum, my family wouldn't be as surprised as they are by our guest.
"Muffin?" my mother asks. "Who's muffin?"
I have no idea who Muffin is, but movie star superstar Dirk Adams seems to know, because he's standing on the threshold, and he shouted it with absolute certainty-if I'm not mistaken-right at me.
He's blindingly handsome in the daylight, tall, built, and dressed in worn jeans and a tight t-shirt. He's clean-shaven, but his hair is slightly too long. Thick blond hair that's been blown off target by a windy day. Big brown eyes that are focused entirely on me.
I stumble back a step, and he catches me in his arms, embracing me, as if I'm his long lost lover.
Lennon is the first one to snap out of our communal shock. "Holy shit! It's-It's-It's-" he waves at Dirk and hops up and down.
"A man!" Moonbeam finishes for him, clapping her hands.
Here's the thing. I'm not a monster. I'm twenty-three years old and have had my share of boyfriends. Not Madonna's share of boyfriends, but a normal share of boyfriends. But my family doesn't know that, because I've never brought any of my boyfriends home to meet them. No sane man would stay with me after seeing my father's all-squirrel Polka band.
Dirk hugs me, my face smooshed against his chest. He smells so good that I could eat him. I'm not entirely sure why he's here, but I have a sneaking suspicion it's about something he told me in the wee hours of the morning. Something about making Wade jealous.
I didn't take him seriously, but here he is hugging me. So, I guess he's all in.
"It's not a man!" shouts my brother. "It's Jake Storm!" Jake Storm is the name of Dirk's character in his Space Ho series. Space Ho has made more money than Star Wars and Avatar, combined.
Lennon tears Dirk and me apart and pumps Dirk's hand, like he's trying to bring up water. "Jake Storm! Jake Storm! I can't believe I'm meeting you in person! I mean, you're real, man. You're real!"
"This is Mr. Adams," my mom corrects him. "He's staying at the Turkish cabin."
My sisters nod together like the witches in Macbeth. "The Turkish cabin," they say in unison, as if that says it all.
Dirk wraps his arm around my shoulders. "I just came to pick up Raine for the day," he announces.
"You what?" I ask.
"I'm not going to spend any precious time away from my Muffin," he says.
It's amazing that he gets paid thirty-million a picture, because this is the worst bit of acting I've ever witnessed. Still, my family seems convinced, even if they're shocked, and I'm giggling like a schoolgirl.
"Oh, dude, that scene in Speed Freak II: Freakier where you jump off the cliff, land on the car, jack it, drive off the bridge into the water, down the waterfall, steer to shore, and go right on driving until you hit downtown Los Angeles.... Dude, that was epic!" Lennon says. His face is lit up with excitement. He's a kid on Christmas morning, faced with a new bike, a puppy, and a PlayStation.
"Are you in the theater arts?" my mother asks. She and the triumvirate of terror don't believe in movies or television.
"He's a god, Mom. A god," Lennon informs her.
"Vishnu's a god," she corrects him. "This is Mr. Adams."
I will the strength to push Dirk away. His touch is way too distracting. I can't think clearly when he gives me skin contact. "I have to prepare the Goldsteins' picnic," I say. "I don't have time for whatever this is."
"I'll put the picnic together," Dirk offers. "You can go get cleaned up and get dressed."
My hand flies to my hair. I forgot that I haven't brushed it since yesterday. And I'm wearing yesterday's clothes. I take him up on his offer to make lunch. "The bread's there. So is the chicken. Just make it simple and delicious, okay?"
I run out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I live in the tower on the top floor. It's enough out of the way to afford me some privacy, and I have a spectacular view of the lake and each evening's sunset.
I hop in the shower and wash off the night's run and let the hot water loosen up my back. Dirk did a good job massaging it, but it's still a little sore. I squeeze a dollop of wickedly priced anti-cellulite cream into my hand and smear it all over my body.
"Shrink. Shrink. Shrink," I urge my body. I'm down to five days until Wade arrives. I know what I'm going to wear when I see him. I have the dress in my closet, waiting for the moment. Sure, it's a size too small, but I'm trying to be optimistic.
Cellulite cream, training, and a movie star to make Wade jealous are all stacked on my side in my effort to snag the love of my life. I also have the wish I made at the fountain two days ago. I can't forget about that. I used an entire roll of quarters to make sure the wish would have a shot.
I stood at Esperanza's famous centenarian fountain and ripped open the quarters, squidged my face, focused on my wish-please let Wade love me. Please, please, please-and threw the ten dollars' worth of quarters into the dry fountain. They bounced and ricocheted, cracking the old plaster.
I watched them roll around the bottom of the fountain until they were stopped by years of debris. "Huh," I said. "That's all it takes?" I didn't feel any different, but what could it hurt? The fountain is famous. People come from all over to make wishes in it.
As I stood there, a young woman in round-rimmed glasses approached me, I guess attracted by the noise of the coins. "Interesting," she said. "Is this a form of charity, or are you engaging in the pagan ritual of using a fountain or a well or likewise containers of water to make a wish?"
"Charity," I lied.
"Interesting."
"I've seen you around," I said. "At the university, right?"
"I'm Marie." She held out her hand for me to shake. "PhD candidate in chemical engineering."
"That's right. Wow, you're young for a PhD student."
"I started college when I was thirteen." Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was wearing jeans and a man's t-shirt and flip-flops. She was way too pretty to be a genius, but she was dressed a lot like Einstein. It dawned on me that I could use a genius chemist right about then.
"I'm Raine," I said. "I catered a lunch for the engineering department. Chemistry, huh? I've been doing an experiment in chemistry."
"With the coins?"
"Well sort of. I'm trying to figure out if where there's no chemical attraction, one can be built or appear-you know, where it wasn't before."
Marie pushed her glasses up on her nose and seemed to think about my experiment. "Interesting. A spontaneous chemical reaction between two hitherto indifferent forces. Between what objects?"
"Humans."
"Interesting. Interesting."
"So, is it possible?" I asked.
"Everything's possible."
"How about making it happen? Can you do that with your chemical engineering?"
"Hmm..."
I might have twisted her arm, but the scientist in her couldn't resist studying my dilemma. So, I have science on my side, too. We have an appointment today right after I deliver the picnic to the Goldsteins.
Am I crazy to feel optimistic? Is this how Patton felt right before the Battle of the Bulge?
I step out of the shower and wrap one towel around my body and one around my head. I wipe the mirror and study my reflection.
Sigh.
I look the same.
"Why? Why!" I yell at my reflection.
"Is that the way to talk to a beautiful woman?" At first, I think the mirror is talking to me, but then I realize Dirk Adams has invaded my mirror. His reflection is right next to mine. I spin around, and there he is, standing in the doorway of my bathroom. I must have forgotten to close the door.
"I'm in a towel!" I yell, horrified, waving my hands to block his view.
And then my towel slips.
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