Chapter 9
Paul
Two days later, Paul received a text from Wanda at The Harbors.
Wanda: Any updates on your grandparents?
Paul: I’m afraid they’re being reluctant. Digging in their heels. Was meaning to get back to you. I’m still working on it.
Wanda: Okay. Please keep me in the loop. Remember about our time limit. We need to know by January 20th. These apartments don’t become available that often.
Paul: Of course. Thanks for sticking with us.
Standing in the middle of his condo, Paul reread Wanda’s message with trepidation. Pops. Such a stubborn old man. He’d called them again and gotten the same answer. They just didn’t want to do it. Whatever he said to convince them went in one ear and out the other—especially with Pops.
Paul’s heart softened. If it hadn’t been for that man, God only knew where he’d be. After his mother dying and his father’s overdose and then—
But he couldn’t think about that now. Jessica would be here any minute. His nerves sizzled just thinking about it.
He wondered what she would think about Albert—his life-size chimpanzee replica with a cigar in its mouth. Paul picked up the statue, which was standing in the corner of his living room, carried it to a closet in his bedroom, and shoved it in.
“Stay, Albert,” he said.
The chimp gazed back at Paul with a wise and steely look. He’d bought the statue at an antique store in Nolensville, thinking it would add a bit of spice to his decor. That was then. Now, he realized Albert was an embarrassment, to say the least. He pushed a button on the chimp’s stomach, and Albert’s eyes turned red for about five seconds.
Sorry, Al. He slammed the closet shut on him.
It was 5:30 p.m. when Jessica knocked on the door. Paul didn’t know why he was so nervous. This was just a business transaction. Wasn’t it? Yet the thought of seeing her again filled him with a kind of anticipation that was both exciting and scary. Here was this upscale interior designer woman about to step into his world—something not much better than a college frat brother’s apartment.
He bumped his knee against his worn-out ottoman as he stood up from his couch. Christ, that hurt! The couch was a pleather piece with some crumbling and worn areas in sitting spots and on the armrests. It had been fairly comfortable at one time but now it should be taken out and shot.
Rubbing his knee, he gave the ottoman the evil eye as he made his way toward the door, hands sweating. Checking himself in the mirror in the foyer, Paul ran a hand through his hair and put on a big bright smile. Breathe. Take it easy. You can do this. Breathe .
He opened the door and there she was. She was wearing an unzipped winter jacket along with a red V-neck sweater and black skinny jeans, and was carrying an iPad and what looked like some sort of infrared ruler. She looked stunning, and his heart quickened at the sight of her.
“Jessica! So good to see you.” Uncontained excitement laced through his voice.
“Hey, Paul. How’s it going?” Her eyes danced with light as her glossed lips curved into a smile.
He could hardly pry his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Please. Come in. It’s so good to see you—again.” He swallowed. “Did you find it okay?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve been in these condos before, actually. I did a remodel on one in the next building. An older couple. Retired physicians. Very picky.”
“I promise I won’t be picky,” Paul said.
“You seem pretty easygoing.” She smiled at him, an April-flowers-blooming, sunshiny smile, and as she entered, a trace of floral lavender perfume followed her—sweet and sexy.
“May I take your jacket?” He held out his hand.
“Sure.”
Paul took her jacket from her and hung it on a kitchen chair. “Had one of those frappés the other day, by the way,” he said, facing her as they remained in the foyer.
“Oh, really? How was it?” she asked.
“Tasty, actually. Got a sugar rush like you wouldn’t believe.”
Jessica lowered her voice as if they were coconspirators. “You didn’t splatter whipped cream on anyone, did you?”
“No.” Paul pulled a serious face. “But after I drank it, I had to do about two hundred push-ups because I was so buzzed.”
“Ah. That’s weird. After I have one, I can’t stop straightening out my desk, and everyone else’s.”
“Understandable.” Paul nodded. “So. Oh.” He furrowed his brow. “How’s your heart?”
She gave him an appreciative smile. “It’s fine, thanks. A few little extra drumbeats every so often, but otherwise, it’s beating like it’s supposed to. The doctor gave me a prescription that seems to help.”
“Well, that’s great. I’m really glad.” Their eyes connected, and Paul felt a thrill rush through his body. “So, you want to just look around and give me an appraisal?”
“Sure.”
Please. Just be casual. And don’t say anything stupid.
Jessica strolled past the foyer, the scent of perfume trailing her, and stepped into the spacious great room where Paul spent most of his time when he was home. She studied the arched ceiling, the hallway that led to the den, and the three bedrooms, one of which he’d turned into a weight room.
The large windows in the great room showed off a grand view of the Cumberland River and the sparkling lights of downtown Nashville below.
“Love the view,” she said, looking around. “It’s a fine, open architecture.”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with tons of ways to improve it.” He furrowed his brow as he looked around. “It’s still a work in progress, as you can see.”
“Aren’t we all?” she said, turning to him, her face softening.
Paul swallowed, caught off guard by the vulnerability of the question. For a moment, it seemed like nothing moved in the universe, not even the molecules in the air. He managed to say, “Trust me, whatever you suggest, I’ll probably agree with it. I’m all yours.”
All yours? Seriously?
Her gaze started dancing over everything once again. The ancient-gray walls. The picture of a Bud Light can and a dog sitting on its hind legs staring at it with its head cocked at an odd angle. He’d won it in a poker game—pulled out a straight flush. Another measly attempt at decoration. Sad.
There were several photos of space taken from the James Webb telescope hanging in the room.
Jessica studied these for a moment. “Space, the final frontier,” she said. “You’re interested in space?”
“Yes, I’ve studied the stars for years. I thought about putting an observatory in the den, but the cost was . . .”
“Astronomical?” she filled in.
He raised a finger in the air. “Exactly.”
She perused the sorry-ass couch, the old ottoman—as ancient as the Ottoman Empire itself, practically—and the scuffed-up flooring, which definitely needed replacing. He followed her into the kitchen, where she appraised the table—old and wobbly and marked up. Only three chairs were parked around it, and it clearly needed a fourth. It all made him feel so . . . inadequate.
“Yes, yes,” she said noncommittally. She kept looking around at the wooden cabinets, the scratched-up stainless steel sink, and she peeked into the pantry. “Interesting. Very interesting.”
What was she thinking? The odd starkness of his lifestyle was coming into clear view. Paul lived like a college kid. What was wrong with him? He’d moved here after fleeing Victoria’s house in Green Hills, just slammed his things into a U-Haul and hauled ass.
They ambled over to the dining area, which was empty—he always ate at his kitchen table, sitting on a rickety wooden chair. Pathetic . And then into his den, which was devoid of furniture as well, except for an old table with a lamp on it and two bookcases crammed with books of all kinds. Jessica stopped at the shelves, her eyes lingering over the titles.
“You like to read?” she asked, turning to him.
Paul smiled and shrugged. “Surprised?”
“Honestly, in a way. I just thought . . . Oh, never mind.” She blushed.
“You mean you thought I was some protein-shake, muscle-bound meathead who hadn’t opened a book since God knows when, right?”
She averted her eyes.
He laughed. “Actually, I love to read. Right now, I’m into Chekhov’s short stories. And before that, I did Turgenev. Have you read Fathers and Sons? It’s amazing. Such a great depiction of the conflicts between generations. It digs deep. I love Russian literature.”
Jessica’s eyes brightened, and he felt something relax inside him.
“I read Fathers and Sons back in college,” she said. “And Chekhov as well. Did you read Saunders’s A Swim in a Pond in the Rain or The Kiss by Chekhov?”
“Loved The Kiss !”
Again, they just stood there, faces turning toward each other.
She was so unlike the other women he’d dated. Once he’d asked Victoria, “Don’t you ever get worried about climate change?” and she’d shrugged and responded, “Not really. I’ll just have to double up on my iced lattes. See ya!”
Next, Paul led Jessica to his workout room, where free weights lay scattered on the floor.
“Oh, sorry,” he said.
He gathered up the weights and put them in the corner. A picture hung on one of the gray walls, the paint chipping. It was of Paul, wearing a leotard with “USA” printed in big letters, a silver medal around his neck, his smile broad, his eyes shining.
“Impressive,” Jessica said, staring at the photo. “An Olympic silver medal in weightlifting? Wow.”
Paul shrugged. “My big moment.”
“Bigger than big,” Jessica said. “So many try for something like that, and so few ever get it.” Awe tinged her voice.
Paul shrugged as they strolled side by side toward the great room. “It wasn’t easy, trust me. I practically killed myself in the process. But overall, I got really lucky. Want to see the b-bedrooms?” A sudden unease welled up inside him.
She gave him a wan glance before answering. “Let’s have a look.”
The master bedroom was huge, with a tray ceiling and crown molding, and the bed was king-size, plainly made up with brown sheets, a plaid comforter, and two pillows. A nightstand with a reading lamp stood next to his side, a Gore Vidal novel resting on it— 1876. Paul loved that book. A framed picture of Paul skiing down a snowy slope hung on the wall facing the bed. And there was another picture on his nightstand of Pops and Gran, a younger-looking Paul standing in the middle with his arms around them both, smiling widely.
Several women had seen this bed. He hadn’t cared about the decor with any of them at the time. And they hadn’t cared about that either, or so it seemed. But that was then, and this was—
“Cool pic,” Jessica said. “When was it taken?”
Paul couldn’t reply. Having her in his bedroom absolutely stumped him. Words seemed like a foreign concept all of a sudden.
What’s wrong with you? Cat got your tongue? His broad-shouldered uncle had teased him when he was a boy because he used to grow awkward around people. It had taken him a long time to outgrow it. It had begun when his father died—the entire thing had thrown him. They never knew if his father had intentionally overdosed on prescription drugs or not. His mother’s death had sent his father into a downward spiral. Paul had never been the same either.
“Uh, yeah, I was seventeen then,” he said finally, feeling his ears turn red. “S-sixteen years ago. Sorry, I just get . . . sometimes . . . you know . . . flustered?”
“I understand.” Her voice grew softer, and her sweet, sympathetic look bored into Paul’s brain.
What was it about this woman?
He took a breath. “Thanks,” he said.
She nodded at him.
Jessica checked out the bathroom, flicking the light on and looking around.
“Nice bathroom. How’s your closet space?” she asked.
Before he could stop her, she traipsed back into the bedroom and opened the bedroom closet. She met none other than—Albert. Full on.
“Ahhh!” She screamed and shut the door quickly, as if she’d just spotted a naked woman in there. “Is that a chimp?” she asked, turning around to look at him.
“I’m afraid it is.”
She opened the door again and stared at it, this time breaking out in laughter.
“Just something I used to keep around for fun,” Paul said. He pushed the statue’s belly button, and Albert’s eyes flashed red.
“Does he smoke?” Jessica asked, looking at Albert, then Paul, then Albert again.
“Only when he drinks.”
Back in the main room, she sat down on the scuffed-up couch and Paul planted himself on a creaky chair facing her. He’d put duct tape over the crack on the seat—so embarrassing.
“Would you like something to drink? Water? Beer? Tea?” he asked. “A frappé?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m good.”
“So,” he said, taking a long breath. “What do you think?”
Jessica gazed around one more time and then looked off into the distance as if contemplating the meaning of interior design itself. He thought she was going to say something like, “I’m sorry, but there’s just too much wrong with this place to even begin to help you,” and walk out the door.
She sat up straight. “Well, you certainly have the space to do some amazing things here. There’s lots of potential.”
“Honestly, I think so too. I’ve even started looking at models of condos online to see what’s what lately.”
Jessica’s eyes lit up, and Paul was entranced by the stars he saw inside them. For a moment, he lost his train of thought. He scratched his head.
“There’s so much out there,” she said.
“Exactly. When I moved in here, I figured if I had some basic furniture and a bed, I was good, you know? But lately . . .” He rubbed his chin.
Jessica clasped her hands together. “Of course. I get it. Times change. Your taste changes along with them. You want something to match the way you feel about life at the moment. You’re successful at what you do, and now you want a place to enjoy when you come home. That’s what interior design is all about. Creating a space you can feel good in.” She glanced around. “I’ll work on some suggestions and options, and then we’ll review them once I have everything in order. Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
“What I’ll do is recommend things like—” her tone grew excited, her eyes, luminescent—“a gray sectional sofa paired with charcoal-colored swivel chairs. That would be perfect in here. You’ve got a beautiful view of the river, so we should definitely take advantage of it.”
His heart pounded harder when she said “we.” He loved the sound of that. God, he was like a hormone-addled teen.
“Do you have any idea what kinds of things you might be interested in?” Jessica asked.
Paul shifted in his seat. Should he show her what he was thinking? He didn’t know anything about interior design, and she probably wouldn’t like his ideas. And yet, why not? He brought out his iPad and showed her some of the things he’d been researching. Tables, chairs, art for the walls, rugs.
“These are just some of my c-concepts,” he said. He was afraid of how she’d judge his sense of decor and his heart pattered. “I mean, I don’t know. Just something I kinda picked out. I was thinking this, uh . . . Oh, never mind.” He shrugged.
“What? Tell me. Don’t be so shy.” Jessica smiled at him.
Paul swallowed. “I was just thinking, this, uh, l-loom blue Vella Estrella area rug for the den, perhaps?”
“Yes! That’s nice,” Jessica said, looking amazed and impressed. “That’s very interesting, Paul.” She stared at him and blinked rapidly. “You really are prepared for this meeting, aren’t you?”
“I’m excited about the possibilities.”
“Anything else?”
“Just this.” Paul showed her a coffee table he’d picked out.
“Hmm. It’s elegant and modern. We could put it in here along with a low-slung media unit—abstract art on the walls with big, powerful colors and brush strokes. Also, wallpaper’s coming back in style, did you know? You’d be amazed at what it’s like these days. What are your favorite colors?”
“I’m not sure.” Paul bit his lower lip. “I’d like something that stands out. Something cool, with calm colors. Maybe a muted, sea green?” He thought of her eyes.
“What do you think of this?” Jessica opened up her iPad to wallpaper selections. “This is one of the latest wallpaper patterns created by Christian Lacroix. It’s a garden atmosphere with a tangerine sky, dappled with glimpses of green fauna and richly colored flowers. What do you think?”
He studied the pattern carefully. It was impressive. “I like it.”
“I think it would go well in here. It stands out. Also, arched floor lamps, ceramic decor bud vases, and a leather swivel chair. Oh my, I could go on and on. But you get the idea. I won’t get too matchy-matchy, I promise.”
Paul didn’t know what was wrong with getting too “matchy-matchy,” but if she wasn’t into it, he knew he wouldn’t be either. He trusted her opinion.
“Sounds fantastic. When can we get started?” he asked.
After she’d taken measurements and photos, she said, “Okay, then. Let me go over everything and put some ideas together, and I’ll get back to you in a week, once I figure it all out. How’s that sound?”
“Perfect. I can’t—”
Jessica’s phone went off, and she said, “Mind if I take this?”
“Not at all.”
Paul studied her face, unable to take his eyes off her as she listened and nodded.
“Oh, no,” she said. Lines of disappointment crossed her brow, edges of worry and tension forming along her downturned lips. She was pale when she was done with the call, and a hollowness in her eyes made him think someone had just died.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
She let out a long exhale.
“Oh, man. There’s this project I’ve been working on, and honestly—it’s like life or death, and I just learned . . .” She stared at Paul. “Oh, it’s nothing. Really. Don’t worry about it.”
“No. Tell me. I’m all ears. It doesn’t sound like nothing.” He leaned forward and spoke encouragingly.
“Well . . .” She looked down, choking up. “I just learned from my assistant that I’m out of the running.” Jessica’s gaze darted around the room. She twisted the watch on her wrist, then finally said, “Honestly, I was really counting on this Buchanan Company job. A lot. It was major.”
“Buchanan?” Paul asked. “As in Tom Buchanan?”
Jessica nodded. She rubbed the side of her face. “Yes. Have you heard of him?”
“I’ve been training Tom Buchanan and his wife Alice, for around a year now. We’re buds. The guy’s in great shape, too. He knows how to dig deep when he trains.”
“It was this amazing chance to design all these hotel lobbies and bar areas and I was in the top five to get the deal. So close. I can’t—”
Paul snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute. I have an idea.”
Jessica gave him a confused look.
“What if I have Tom and his wife meet me for dinner one evening, and you can come along as my, uh, date.” Paul stood, pacing now. His mind was spinning.
Jessica stared at him. “Your . . . date?”
“Yes!” The idea was fantastic. Brilliant. “Then he can meet you, and you can schmooze him with your facts and figures, and maybe you can turn the deal around. Who knows? I’ll give you a major recommendation too. We’ll take on Tom together, you and me.”
Jessica squirmed and ran a hand over her jeans. “But it wouldn’t be a date-date, right? It would be more like, um, a kind of covert operation of sorts?”
“Sure. You could call it that. Look, Tom and I are tight. I know nothing about interior design and can’t promise anything other than a chance to talk to him in person, but I think it’s a shot. A damn good one, as far as I’m concerned.”
Paul could practically see her mind whirring, the levers and the gears. She could tell this was a good idea, right? She had to.
“I-I don’t know,” she said cautiously.
“Look, it wouldn’t be a real date,” Paul said. “I promise.” He raised his hand as if he were taking the no-date-allowed oath from the Single Man’s Handbook. “I already asked you out once, and I won’t do that again. But since this is a chance for you to change Tom’s mind, or at least to get in his good graces, what have you got to lose?”
“We shouldn’t say we’re just on a date, though,” Jessica said, going with it now. “If we’re going to do this, we should say we’ve been going out for a while and that we are in a real, you know, relationship. That would be much better.”
“Yes!” Paul agreed. “Exactly! The Buchanans are always wondering when I’ll get a new girlfriend, and if you’re the one, trust me—they’ll be a lot more open to your ideas.”
The one. Had he really just said that?
“Okay, Paul,” she said finally, standing and gathering her jacket which he’d retrieved from the closet. She looked him straight in the eye. “Let’s give it a try. If this is a chance to make Buchanan take a second look, I can’t afford not to. And thank you. Really. Thanks a lot.” She flashed him a grateful smile.
He felt like he was rescuing her again, just like he’d done at the Trot, and it was as if a river of warmth flooded through him. He wasn’t carrying her in his arms this time, but it felt just as good.