Tall enough to see into your grim future
We met Deandra in Palo Alto for brunch on the mild, sunny Saturday—typical California spring weather. Rafael made reservations at some fancy restaurant. I trusted his taste, if not his driving habits. I white-knuckled that ride to the tune of weird Euro-pop.
“Be prepared for people to stare and ask inappropriate questions.” Rafael helped me out of the SUV. “It happens every time I go out in public.”
“Is this what it feels like to date a celebrity?” I smoothed away the rumples in my blouse left by the seatbelt.
He scoffed. “This is what it feels like to date someone with a visual difference.”
Tension carved deeper lines into his face. He was sacrificing his comfort to make me happy.
I wove my arm through his and squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll fight ‘em for you. I’m scrappier than I look.”
Rafael smiled, eye crinkles and all.
Deandra spotted us from the corner and called out, “Where am I supposed to be going?”
It was nice to see her out of scrubs for once.
She’d been working doubles for a while to make some extra cash.
I didn’t know how she managed all that and still left the house on her rare days off, but she looked great as always.
Only Dee could pull off that much denim on denim in her matching patchwork top and jeans.
I jogged across the parking lot to her and gave her a hug. “Is that a new septum ring?”
She grinned. “Treating myself to get over Bolt.”
“Cute! Follow the big redhead.”
The big redhead nodded toward his right, and I led Dee across the street ahead of him. We rounded the corner and an incubator’s worth of tech bros plowed into us.1
I fell, landing hard on my knee on the pavement. “Ow, fuck!”
“Stupid bitch.” The blonde guy who’d knocked me down tugged angrily on his quarter-zip. Everything about him screamed ‘rich white asshole’.
A black and red blur shot past me. Rafael slammed the man into the side of the building with a forearm across his throat. The other guys swarmed us, yelling at him.
“If she is hurt, I will fucking kill you,” Rafael snarled at the bottom of his register.
The hair on my arms stood up. I hated how much that aroused me. Mostly.
Blonde bro clawed ineffectually at the pinning arm. “Fuck off me, you—”
Rafael pressed his forearm harder into the man’s windpipe, choking off the protests, and looked at me. “Are you ok?”
I blinked rapidly. A meltdown loomed on the horizon. “I’m ok, just a skinned knee. Rafael, let him go.” My voice came from far away. Not good. “Please!”
Deandra snapped in my face. “Hey. Keep it focused. Stay with me.” She squatted and examined my knee, ignoring the commotion. Only person I knew who carried pressure bandages and a bottle of saline in her purse. “Do you have your earbuds?”
“I-in my purse, I think.” Damn, my jeans were ripped.
Rafael turned back to his red-faced, purpling prey. “Apologize. Now!”
My hands shook. Deandra found my earbuds while the series of tech bros fluttered uncertainly around us.
Fear warred openly with pride on their faces.
What was it Rafael said about insecure men wanting to confront him?
From the muttering, they were hyping each other up to go after him. Nobody wanted to be first.
“S-sgghh-sorry,” the blonde man choked out.
“Elaine is fine, big guy. Nothing I can’t patch up,” Dee said in her best nurse voice.
We were drawing a crowd. Passing cars slowed as people rubbernecked. Not that I blamed them; I absolutely would have done the same. I popped the earbuds into my ears, and the rising panic leveled out.
I focused on Deandra. “Oh, your elbow is bleeding!”
She contorted to look at it. “Just a little abrasion from where I bounced off the wall.”
“Here, lemme at least put a bandaid on it.”
Watching me like a giant, terrifying hawk, Rafael finally released the man. The tech bro slid down the wall. A thin streak of blood marked his passage.
In a weak wheeze, he sputtered, “I’m gonna sue the fuck out of you!”
Rafael laughed. “Go ahead. Tell everyone about you threw a woman down on the sidewalk and got clotheslined for it.” He waved to the thicket of phones aimed in our direction. “Would you like my card?”
The man angrily waved away the friends trying to help him up. One of them—dark-haired but otherwise identical in every way—decided to be brave and stepped up, raising his fists. His bros hooted and hollered for him to “beat that freak’s ass”.
A wild spark lit Rafael’s eyes, spreading into a broad, crazed grin. His hands came up, and he dropped into a fighting stance with deadly ease, light on his feet.
“Oh, pretty please hit me! I would love the excuse to turn you and all your fuckhead friends into a bloody smear on the sidewalk.” Rafael rolled his massive shoulders.
Jesus. I’m dating a murderer.
The challenger visibly swallowed and took a step back. The rest of the bro brigade clustered around their fallen bro, lifting him to his feet. An onlooker jeered from across the street. Dark-haired bro re-joined his friends. They all mumbled macho threats as they shuffled off together.
I snorted. Deandra shared a knowing look with me. Almost a shame the guy didn’t try it.
A chorus of onlookers called out, “How tall are you?”
Rafael sneered. “Tall enough to see into your grim future if you ask me that again.”
Whew, he is way too activated to stay out here. So am I, for that matter.
I reached for his sleeve, holding back at the last moment in case he reacted badly to touch. “Let’s just go get our food.”
The restaurant was blessedly quiet, calming my adrenaline shakes.
Every eye followed the giant composer, just as he’d predicted.
Whispers swirled in his wake. We passed through the main dining room, paneled in white and festooned with plants spotlit by skylights.
I felt sorry for whoever had to water everything.
Rafael had reserved a private room in the back; a choice I was extra grateful for. Someone turned the instrumental music down as we entered. Twitchy, eyes down, my date ducked into the bathroom as we sat.
Deandra expelled a huge breath. “That was some shit. Are you really ok?”
“Yeah, I—”
A heavy thud landed nearby, and we both jumped. Rafael rejoined us, stone-faced. He sat with his back to the corner, facing the door. Staring at it as though he expected an attack at any moment. He pushed the table away from the wall to accommodate his legs.
The server came by. Deandra and I ordered mochi pancakes and coffee. Rafael ordered half the menu from memory, shaking his hand out under the table. The server brought the blessed caffeine quickly.
Dee stirred two teaspoons of sugar into her latte with a deliberate clink-clink. “You were ready to beat some ass out there.”
“Yes,” Rafael said, grimacing at the sound.
She grinned at him. “That was fucking hot. I’ve never seen a man stand up for his woman like that. They all say they will, but they punk out when it comes time to throw hands.”
“It really was,” I agreed. “Maybe overkill, but you got your point across. Nobody’s ever defended me like that before.”
Rafael’s severe expression relaxed. “Sorry you had to see me that way. When you cried out, I lost my shit.”
He’d really meant what he said about protecting me.
I reached for his hand. “I was more startled than anything. Are you ok though? You got pretty worked up.”
“If you are, then I will be.” Rafael raised my hand to his lips.
“I try not to start fights, but I especially fucking hate that brand of asshole. Yelling on speakerphone and bulldozing everyone in their path because they think no one else deserves to take up space. Did you note the AI logos on their stupid pullovers?”
“That figures.” I frowned into my coffee. “I probably won’t have a job much longer thanks to that shit. Who needs a data analyst when you can have a hallucinating machine spit out nonsense?”
“Now I really wish that one dickhead had tried it.” Dee set her latte down. “Just this week, AI fucked me over and I got yelled at for it. They’ve been pushing for us to use it in our charting at the hospital, but it keeps changing my notes to nonsense no matter how much I double-check.”
“This shit is a virus.” Rafael frowned into his coffee cup. “Replicating our creative DNA to eat us alive from within.”
“That’s so emo. Is that why you wear all black?” she teased.
He huffed. “I lack your denim matching skills.”
I couldn’t help myself. “He’s my big tiddy goth boyfriend.”
Rafael stared up at the ceiling, patently ignoring our middle school snickering. Dee and I chewed on our pancakes. They were the perfect blend of fluffy, sweet, and chewy.
I almost blurted out something about his failed abduction attempt and veered off at the last moment. “How did your meeting go in LA? What did you call it, spotting?”
“A spotting session. I watch the film or game footage with the director, and we make decisions about the music.”
“How does your big ass fit on a plane?” Deandra interrupted.
“First class or private charter. I met with Kathy Friedman—my favorite director to work with. Gives me complete creative freedom and has an impeccable ear, unlike the majority.” Rafael grinned.
“You would like her. Chain-smoking Jewish lady in her late 60s from Manhattan. She calls me Bubbeleh and always asks if I am getting any good pussy.”
I choked on my coffee.
Howling, Deandra slapped the table, stood up, and did a little spin. “She does not! What do you say to her?”
Rafael dialed up his accent, theatrically placing a hand over his heart. “I say, ‘not since you ruined me for other women, kuzum. Shall we run away together?’”
Dee smacked my arm repeatedly, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin. I fought off a round of hilarity-induced hiccups.
“Kathy acts scandalized and says she is a married woman, even though her husband is a putz.”
“What does kuzum mean?” I asked when I could finally breathe again.
“‘My lamb’.”
Rafael picked up the seasonal menu, producing a pair of black-rimmed readers from his pocket. I held my breath as he perched them on the bridge of his nose.