Falling in Luck, page 6
“What?”
“A ChewbacCA bra.”
Jean-Luc was totally lost.
“It’s a pun on Chupacabra,” I explained, hugging his arm like a lifeline, though I might have been exaggerating my need for support. “Terrible.”
A siren wailed a street over, and Jean-Luc pulled me closer. I let him.
“I can’t keep up but it’s amusant to hear you laughing so much.”
I totally loved it when he forgot to speak English. The more he drank, the more he’d resorted to his first language. I would have loved to hear him speak in full-on French and actually understand it.
Another siren-like horn screamed by, annoying me for disturbing the romantic perfection of this midnight stroll.
“Jean-Luc, say something totally in French.”
He said, “Mon dieu!”
“Come on. Something else. Even I know that one.”
“No, look!” He pointed further up the street where the sky glowed unnaturally orange.
Fire!
My apartment building was in flames.
“What in the actual fuck!” I yelled.
When we rounded the corner to my street, we encountered a barricade. Even though I lived there, they weren’t exactly going to let me run into a burning building. I couldn’t tell how extensive the damage was. I stared at the Halloween-colored night sky mesmerized by the billowing smoke and gravity-defying cinders.
“And just when my luck was going so well,” I said sardonically. I’d sobered up completely, yet my knees buckled, and though Jean-Luc was right there, I put my hand on Benji’s arm to steady myself. “What do I do, Benji?” My voice caught on a sob.
Benji opened his mouth, but Jean-Luc turned to face me. “You are welcome to come stay with me tonight. I have plenty of room, and we can set you up in a suite tomorrow.”
This morning, that would have been the answer to a dream, but right now, I was freaking out.
Majorly.
Benji took my hand and looked directly into my eyes. “Hey. It’ll be okay. You know you can always stay with me. We can figure this out. It’s going to be okay.”
My mind raced through every single object I owned, inventorying anything that I could never replace. Strangely, there wasn’t much. I realized it wasn’t the loss of stuff that made me feel like throwing up; it was the possibility of being displaced and lost. Before this apartment, I’d never had a place that I could truly call my own. At least not since I was ten. My Uncle Peter’s house always felt temporary. Then a string of dorm rooms came and went. That was why I hadn’t amassed a lifetime of priceless collectibles. Even though my apartment had been a veritable shit hole that I shouldn’t be sorry to lose, I didn’t want to go back to semi impermanence. I didn’t want to think about finding a new living situation all over again.
I looked at the spectacularly sexy Jean-Luc, processing his offer to stay in his hotel room. I couldn’t believe I was even hesitating, but at that moment, my need for familiarity, safety, and something constant won out over my desire for excitement and romantic fantasies.
Benji squeezed my hand. “We should go. It’s late. Tomorrow, you can call your landlord. What do you want to do, Mal?”
I leaned into him, grateful he was there. He was always there. “Thank you, Jean-Luc. I appreciate the offer more than you know. If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay with Benji tonight.”
7
Luck Be a Lady
“Wake up, Bozo.” A small pillow landed on my head. Benji held a mug of coffee in my general direction.
I stretched and tried to sit up but fell forward with my face at the other end of his sofa. “Merg.”
“Come on. I got you one of those chocolate croissants from the place downstairs.”
“But I—”
“—only like them warm,” he finished. “Yeah. It’s almost ready in the toaster.”
I dragged myself to his kitchenette and collapsed into a chair. My hair was disheveled, and I wore his undershirt and boxers for pajamas. Despite his average size, I swam in his clothes. He was already dressed in his suit pants and white collared shirt with his tie hanging undone around his neck. Very Father Knows Best. Except he wore his bunny slippers. An incongruous style to say the least.
A part of me yearned for this to be an everyday occurrence, to wake up and start my day with his company. He caught my eye, and I looked away in case my thoughts were written across my face.
Benji slid his iPad across with a grimace. He’d pulled up the Jersey Journal, which reported the fire, but they had no further information. I was tempted to take a sick day to head over and do some sleuthing for myself.
I grabbed my phone and frantically scrolled through contacts until I located my landlord, but he didn’t answer my call, so I called the fire department, but all they would tell me was that the building was currently uninhabitable and I should find somewhere else to stay.
Ugh. Just ugh.
The toaster dinged, and Benji set the croissant in front of me. “Is there anything we can do?”
“Not until I reach my landlord. They’re not letting anyone go in the building.”
“I’m really sorry. How are you feeling?”
I took a huge breath and looked at the croissant, cursing myself for thinking of the calories. I’d lost my apartment. A little chocolate was warranted. I loved that he knew how to feed my psyche. “I’m a bit numb. In shock, I guess. But thank you for taking care of me.”
He dropped into his chair. “You can stay as long as you need to.”
I bit into the croissant, and the pastry melted in my mouth, making me temporarily forget all my problems. “Mmmm. Ohr mer gord,” I said with my mouth full. “Thers ers ser gerd.”
Benji sat across from me with a comical expression. “You got something on your face there.”
I ran the back of my hand across my chin and raised my eyebrows to question if I got it. He reached over and smashed the croissant into my mouth. Chocolate oozed out around my lips and onto my cheek. “No, there.”
“Mertherferk!” But the chocolate tasted so good, I licked it off my lips and shoved the rest of the croissant into my pie hole without much ceremony. I got up and smashed my gooey cheek against his face, making sure to smear him with a glob.
He grabbed my wrist and, at the same time, shoved my shoulder back, laughing. A knock at the door saved me from my imminent date with his floor. He straightened his shirt out. “Oh, yeah, I asked Sandra to come over.”
“What? Why?”
He wiped his face with a napkin, then opened the door. Sandra stood in the hallway holding two hangers with a ladies’ suit on each. “I wasn’t sure which one would be better, so I grabbed both.” She peered into the kitchen. “Oh, hi, Mallory. Heard your apartment building was on fire. Sucks.”
“Yeah.”
“Benji called and asked me to bring you some clothes so you’d have something to wear to work. I hope you can make do with either of these.” She laid them over the back of the sofa. “I’ve gotta dash. Let me know when I can come get these again, Benji. Bye, Mallory!” She pulled the door shut with a bang.
I stared at Benji, waiting for an explanation. He came back and sat at the table, ignoring the mental telepathy with which I attempted to communicate.
He was going to make me ask it. “So? Now you’re talking to Sandra?”
“Kind of hard not to. She does live in my building.”
“Isn’t that a little awkward?”
“A little.” He shrugged. “What am I gonna do? Move?”
“For starters. It’s a little weird after everything she did to you.”
“Look, Mal. It’s water under the bridge.”
I shook my head. “You let yourself be taken advantage of ALL the time. You deserve so much better.”
“Yup. I know.”
I heaved an exasperated sigh. It was his life, but I never wanted to see him hurt like that again.
I finished eating and tried on Sandra’s clothes, opting for the more appropriate of the two—a button-up blouse and straight skirt. Fortunately, I’d worn heels out the night before.
We caught the E train uptown. Benji watched me intently. We both held onto the pole as we surfed the subway, keeping our balance with the twists and turns of the ride. He bounced around, but his eyes never moved.
“What?” I wiped my face again. “Chocolate?”
“Nope.”
“So what?”
“Nothing, officer. You just look different in Sandra’s clothes.”
I followed his gaze. The top shirt button had come undone, and my cleavage was completely exposed to the world. “Oh, geez, thanks a lot, Magoo.”
He started pretending to read the signs along the top of the car as I buttoned my shirt. The train bounced, and my hand slid down onto his. I glanced up. He was looking at me again.
“What?”
He shrugged. I decided to lock eyes with him and stare him down. As soon as he realized what I was doing, his eyebrows lifted, and his mouth transformed into an amused grin. He licked his lips and seemed to be preparing to do battle. I twisted my mouth to show him I meant business. We stared at each other through a stop, even as people loaded onto the car and jostled us. Staring at Benji wasn’t a hardship. It helped that his eyes were so pretty, blue like the Caribbean Sea, inviting, warm and clear. He blinked, and I envied his long eyelashes. Why was it always guys who had eyelashes like that? Not fair.
For a moment, his expression grew more serious, like he was about to ask me a question or tell me a secret, and I raised an eyebrow, drawing closer. He only had about four inches on me barefoot, so in my heels, I’d barely need to raise my chin and we’d be on a level. An errant thought breezed through my brain, whispering how easy it would be to lean in and kiss him. It wasn’t the first time I’d ever had that thought, and I naturally assumed he’d considered it as well. The subway wasn’t exactly where I envisioned testing out that hypothesis.
Someone bumped into me, and I put a hand against Benji’s shoulder to brace myself, but my eyes never broke contact.
He tilted his head back slightly. “How long do you think you can keep this up, doofus?”
“Aaaaaaaall day, dweeb.”
His impish grin gave way to a full smile. “Dweeb? I haven’t heard that word since seventh grade.”
His front tooth was ever so slightly crooked which made him somehow all the more endearing.
“Oh, because all urban professionals routinely use the word ‘doofus?’”
“Doofus, doofungus, dork, dope, douche, and doodoodunderhead.”
That did it. I doubled over laughing. “You’re like a thesaurus of dumb.”
“And you just lost, ding dong.”
Raquel emerged from her office and sat on the corner of my desk. “Jean-Luc wants to buy lunch for everyone. Can you arrange to have a variety of pizzas delivered by noon?”
Not even a “condolences on the loss of your apartment.”
Her immaculate auburn hair had the quality of a very expensive wig. I’d done what I could to control mine, but Benji didn’t have the vast array of products someone like me, or apparently Jean-Luc, needed to achieve perfection. And yet, Benji was always a sight for sore eyes.
I nodded as I jotted down her request on a notepad next to my laptop.
“Don’t forget to order some vegetarian. And get a couple of plain cheese.”
We’d ordered pizza in the past. I had a file where I kept the last order. It wasn’t rocket science.
The fourth time Jean-Luc had visited the office, he’d complimented me on the variety of pizzas I’d ordered, specifically pointing out how much he’d enjoyed the artichoke heart. I made sure we always had at least one pizza with artichoke. Even if only Jean-Luc ate it. He was paying for it, after all.
“Oh, and please send an email out to everyone ahead of time so they’ll know not to go out for lunch.”
“Got it.” Once again, not that hard.
Raquel straightened her skirt. “Jean-Luc and I will likely be busy for the rest of the morning.” And she returned to her office.
My Outlook was open because I’d been clearing out the one hundred and fourteen emails that’d come in during the night. A new email from Benji popped up, and I stopped what I was doing to read it. The picture attached showed me, asleep on his sofa, wearing a top hat. He’d written, Top of the morning to ya.
I wrote back, Asshat.
The pizza place put me on hold. While I waited, Benji sent another email. I opened it and snorted into the receiver. In the attached picture, I lay on the sofa still, but this time, Benji stood behind me holding a pair of scissors and lifting my hair, like he was about to cut it. He had a demonic look on his face—narrowed eyes, furrowed brow, evil frown.
The caption read, Hair today, goon tomorrow.
I blamed the booze. I could sleep through anything when I’d been drinking.
I wrote back, I hope you go bald.
Pizza ordered, I composed the email to invite everyone in the New York office to come get a free lunch. After I sent it, the next email from Benji arrived. I hadn’t moved in any of the pictures. I couldn’t believe he somehow managed to arrange his Rock Band instruments around me without waking me. My hand wrapped around the microphone. He’d moved my hair around so it looked like a wind machine blew it out of my face. Behind the sofa, he held a guitar, striking a very Rock Band pose. The caption read, Band name: Sleeping Hootie.
Bad puns were Benji’s crack. I wrote back, Creep.
The next picture came fast on the heels of my reply. There I was asleep, just like before. But my body was obscured by Benji squatting next to me, head resting on the cushion by mine, playing opossum, with my arm draped over his shoulder—like we’d fallen asleep together on the sofa. It was meant to be funny, but there was something sweet about it that made me want to make it my screensaver.
He wrote, Was it good for you?
I wrote back, No. You have a small penis.
As soon as I hit Send, I realized Benji had sent the last picture as a response to the pizza invitation email, and we’d both hit Reply All. Habit.
“OH, MY GOD,” I said too loud.
Within moments, the whole office was laughing.
Raquel’s door opened, and Jean-Luc stepped out. He eyed me as he passed. I couldn’t read his expression. Concern? Pity? Disdain? Raquel followed behind him and threw a pointed glance my way as well. Had they seen the picture?
Benji. He always managed to take things too far. I watched helplessly as Jean-Luc and Raquel pushed through the double doors to the elevator bank. I wished I sat near Grace where I could eavesdrop on them.
Hmm. Maybe that could be arranged. I pulled out a five-dollar bill and walked over to Grace’s desk. “Hey, you got any stamps?”
I pointed my ear at the double doors, straining to force up the volume. There was definitely a conversation happening in the vestibule, muffled but heated. I caught the word, “Email.” Jean-Luc’s voice.
Grace said, “If you’re trying to listen in, you’d hear more if you moved closer.”
I blinked my eyes in feigned offense. “I’m not trying to listen to anything.”
“Yeah, sure. Tell it to the judge. Just go stand over there by the ficus.” She shooed me with her hands. “Before the elevator comes?”
I’d been working at this company for years. Was this a thing? I walked over to inspect the ficus, and sure enough, voices came in clearer through the space between the door and the wall.
“…walk away.” Raquel’s voice.
“You’re right, but I can’t.”
“Have some self-respect, Jean-Luc. What’s he going to do?”
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. The last thing I heard was Jean-Luc. “He could . . .” and then it all became muted.
The doors slid shut, and they were gone. I looked sheepishly back at Grace. “Couldn’t make anything out.”
I slipped back to my desk and tried the landlord again, this time leaving a very needy voice message to return my call ASAP, then I started going through my morning correspondence. After a while, boredom tempted me to check Jean-Luc’s Instagram. The most recent had been posted when he’d arrived in New York. The obligatory Times Square scene. I should have thought to take a picture of him with my phone the night before.
Just before this, he’d shared an image of his mom and his sister engrossed in a deep conversation, frozen in animation, cigarettes making valid points in the air. I imagined a heated and intense political argument that divided the generations. Nathalie would gently chide her daughter for having more passion than wisdom. Marie-Laure would tell her mom that the world was changing and they needed to learn to adapt. They’d disagree vociferously, but deep down they were still family. I touched the picture, wondering what it would be like to have a mother I could battle with and still know she loved me once the dust cleared.
Two hours later, Raquel stood at the end of the conference room table and announced that we could all thank Jean-Luc for his unexpected generosity—although he sprang for pizza every time he came here. She glanced briefly over at him, then moved to the far corner of the room, arms crossed, eyes squinted, and mouth twisted in some degree of dissatisfaction.
In contrast, Jean-Luc’s bright smile lit up his features. “I don’t want this pizza to become cold.” He made sure to look directly at each person standing around the table as he spoke. “But I did want to thank you all for your hard work. We in the Paris office are aware how important you are to our organization. Please give yourselves, ehm, how do you say acclamation?”
Everyone shuffled uncomfortably. I stepped forward to save him. “A round of applause?”
“But yes. A round of applause.”
