23. Two very different phone calls
TWO VERY DIFFERENT PHONE CALLS
Atext from an unknown number lit up my screen.
The buzz woke me all the way up. I’d been lazing in the big bed by myself for the last hour.
Rafael was already off doing his Rafael thing; hints of cello playing drifted in.
He’d left me with a kiss on the forehead and a murmured apology for disturbing me.
I rolled over to reach my phone. A single red rose and a no-longer-steaming latte rested beside it. He must be trying making up for last night.
The text read: Hey hon, this is Kathy. I heard things got hairy last night. Are you ok?
Followed by three lines of broken heart and praying hands emojis. She’d really meant what she said about being there for me. My lip quivered. People so rarely actually meant that. I saved her contact immediately.
Me: you are so sweet. im ok.
Kathy called me. I cringed like a true Millennial, but I answered the phone.
Her rough, loud, and yet somehow soothing smoker’s voice filled my ears. “Hey, this is Kathy. I heard Molly Lively started a ruckus again.”
“Yeah, but she didn’t deserve what Rafael said to her. That’s not ok.”
That murderous glint in Rafael’s eyes, the rage in his voice, his clenched fists…
It was very different seeing him get so aggressive toward a woman versus when he’d clotheslined the guy who’d tripped me or beaten the ever-loving shit out of that Russian fighter.
A group of hostile men was an actual threat, and Boris the bear had signed up for the beating. But a mean girl I could ignore.
If I’d been able to control my reaction to Molly’s goading, none of that confrontation would have happened. It wasn’t my fault. I knew it wasn’t, but the feeling lingered.
Kathy clucked her tongue. Fitting. All too easy to imagine her in the role of the protective Lady Kluck.
“Don’t you worry your cute little tuchus about her. Molly uses that pretty face to get away with murder, and we all know what kind of person she is. Serves her right.”
It didn’t completely erase the guilt, but it helped.
I sighed into the phone. “I just don’t want her to suffer, you know? Sticks and stones. But you know her way better than I do, so I trust your judgement.”
“I knew you were a sharp girl. I could see it in your eyes. Maybe a little too understanding for your own good, so be careful. Listen, you call me if things get hairy again, ok? Give the phone to Rafael if you have to. I’ve known him for a long time, and I’ll straighten him right out.
“He’s a tortured soul, my Bubbeleh, but he means well enough.
So long as you’re not a fucking idiot, anyway.
That man has never abided a fool.” Wind crackled across the receiver.
Maybe she was already on a smoke break at 8am.
“He’s got it bad for you, hon. I’ve never seen him act like this about anyone. He’s smiling with his teeth!”
From the way she paused, I could only imagine she was mimicking Rafael’s smile. I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from giggling.
Kathy’s voice crackled over the connection. “You be good to him too, you hear me? Rafael Nazim might be all spit and vinegar on the outside, but he has a beautiful heart. He’s been hurt real bad in his life, and sometimes he doesn’t know how to behave.”
“I know, and I’m doing my best.” My lip quivered again. It felt good to know someone else genuinely cared about my beloved trickster god—and me, by extension.
“Now, I’m gonna say this and I want you to listen. You know he’s a little bit feygele, right?”
I almost dropped the phone. Did she just call Rafael a slur? “What are you saying?”
“My Bubbeleh is a little bit queer. Half a queer, he says. Been with plenty of boys, and some they/thems too.”
Why was everyone so obsessed with warning me about his sexuality, like it was something to fear? My protective instincts flared.
“He’s bisexual, Kathy. I know all about it, and it’s fine.” It came out more harshly than I’d intended.
“Hey, don’t get mad. I don’t know what you kids are calling it these days. I just wanted to make sure you knew because lots of girls can’t handle it. Some guys too. They run out on him, and it breaks his heart, and that breaks my heart.”
“Yeah, he told me about that, too. Their loss.” Their incredibly stupid loss, and my incredibly fortunate gain.
“Rafael’s always been real faithful—sometimes to a fault—so don’t you worry. He acts like a tough guy, but he’s a secret softie.” She meant well, even if she was biphobic in the process of trying to protect him.
I stifled my sigh. “Thank you, Kathy. It’s his temper, not his loyalty or sexuality, that worries me.”
“Ok, honey. I got the sense you understood, but you can never be too careful.”
“I’m glad you’re watching out for him.”
There was a sound like snapping fingers.
“I also wanted to let you know I passed the title of your book on to some friends. Maybe something will come of it, who knows?” She paused, her raspy breath fuzzing the connection.
“I mean it, though; you call me if you need me, Elaine. Calling, not this texting thing you kids love so much. I only texted you first so you wouldn’t screen my call by accident. I talk too much for all that typing.”
She hung up without saying goodbye. I grinned at the screen. Rafael was right again. I adored this woman just like he did; rough edges and all. Though she couldn’t have been more opposite, she somehow reminded me of my Gramma.
Rafael’s raised voice from the den drew me out of the bathroom, still toweling my hair. I had no intention of eavesdropping, but damn, did that bass carry.
“WHAT?” he roared from somewhere near the kitchen.
“Is everything ok?” I called
The front door slammed.
Fuck. I grabbed the nearest clean clothes and threw them on. The house slippers would have to do. The elevator stood empty; Rafael must have taken the stairs.
Shitfuckshitfuck! I dashed for the stairs too, fear weighing so heavily in my stomach it might as well have dragged along behind me. Fucking goddamn stairs. Why did we have to live on the top floor?
Gasping, I burst into the café. Three big, burly, unfamiliar white men in black, tactical-looking clothes confronted Rafael.
Nowhere near as tall as he was, but one likely outweighed him.
They were an ugly smear on the colorful canvas of Telve.
Even the composer added color with his striking red hair.
The baristas were nowhere to be seen. Thankfully, neither were the regulars.
“Get the fuck out of my building,” Rafael snarled.
“We’re just concerned citizens.” The tallest one, a youngish guy with dark hair and one of those fuckass mustaches—caught sight of me. “Miss, are you aware of how dangerous this man is?”
“I have a hunch he’s about to get real fucking dangerous for you.” I drew myself up, realizing belatedly how ridiculous I looked in My Little Pony pajama pants and a t-shirt that said, ‘Would you still love me if I was a wyrm?’.
“Elaine, go upstairs.” Rafael moved to block the man’s view of me. “You talk to me, not her. Get out or I will throw you out.”
“What in the Kentucky fried fuck is going on?” I couldn’t help myself.
Rafael risked a glance over his shoulder. “Elaine, go.”
Fuckass Stache reached for his sleeve. Rafael whipped an uppercut into the man’s jaw so fast I barely saw his fist move. It lifted the guy clean off his feet. His buddies shouted and rushed forward, catching Stache’s unconscious body before he hit the floor.
Holy fuck, Rafael wasn’t joking about his startle reflex. My heart skittered in my ribcage.
“I’m calling the cops!” the heavier man bellowed.
Rafael’s voice dropped into a chilling growl, and he rolled his shoulders significantly. “Get the fuck off my property or the cops will have to vacuum you out of the carpet.”
They looked at each other, looked at the enraged giant, and wisely dragged their sleepy-timed friend out the door.
Rafael stomped after them and locked it as soon as they were through, flipping the sign to ‘Closed’.
He leaned against the window, breath fogging the glass as he glared through it.
His thumbnail dug into the spaces between his opposite thumbs and forefingers.
A soft voice peeped a question in Arabic from the kitchen. Zainab.
Rafael released a grinding sigh, forcing his shoulders to relax. He replied in kind, and she emerged. Hasan, the owner and manager, followed her, nervously plucking at his thick grey mustache.
Amazing the difference styling made with facial hair. Hasan had a kind, approachable face versus Mr. Cop Cosplay, who’d instantly put me on guard. God, I hoped that wasn’t an actual cop Rafael had just cold-cocked.
Hasan asked a question in Turkish. Rafael straightened, answering. Now that my ear was accustomed, I was embarrassed at ever having confused the two languages.
“Guys, I’m sorry for being an ignorant monolingual, but will someone please tell me what’s happening?” I hugged my arms, anxiety gluing my feet to the floor.
Zainab turned fearful dark eyes to me. “These men showed up asking weird questions about Mr. Nazim and making me uncomfortable.”
“Those ratfucks stink of that tech jackass from the other day.” Rafael sneered at the door.
“Language!” the barista admonished him.
“Zainab, not today.” He gave her a flat glare, and she shrank. To me, he said, “I have not forgotten our discussion, but they were hassling her when I got here.”
I raised my palms. “Oh, no, that guy deserved to get his ass knocked out for trying to grab you. Who were they?”
“Hired muscle meant to intimidate me.” Breathing deeply, Rafael laid a hand on the counter.
He argued with Hasan in Turkish. The owner tossed his hands up. I heard a few Allah Allahs from Hasan—the Turkic equivalent of a frustrated, “oh god.”
Zainab pressed her lips together and sidled over to me. “They are arguing about closing the café for the day. Mr. Nazim is for. Hasan Amca is against, naturally.”
“I thought you didn’t speak Turkish.”