Not So Model Home - By David James Page 0,18
going to go up forever and ever. The rising tide was going to raise all boats, but ours was going to be a yacht. We were going to be stinking rich. And some of us were . . . for the life span of a fruit fly. Then the whole sorry mess began to collapse like a house of cards. Agents went bankrupt, walked away from their homes, drove those fancy cars off cliffs, or more dramatically, made their entire borrowed estate into a delicious bonfire. And there we stood, with sellers looking at us Realtors to bail their butts out of the sling.
The phone buzzed from the front desk.
“Yes, Gino?”
“Call for you from Jeff Stewart. He’s on the warpath again.”
“Great,” I responded. “Put him through, Gino.”
I looked at Alex for support. “Your turn to get shot,” I commented, handing him the phone.
CHAPTER 6
Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder. Does That Apply to Sluts Too?
I went home that night after a fruitless afternoon. Ken, my detective with the Palm Springs police and my cautious and perpetual dating partner, had let himself in and was cooking.
“How was the first day of shooting?”
“Like a drive-by.”
“That bad?”
“Actually, they didn’t do any shooting today, just a get-to-know-your-enemy meeting. It’s going to be a pit of snakes.”
“Well, Amanda, sit down and I’ll pour you a cucumber martini. That should make things right.”
Into a frosted glass, he poured my favorite drink with care, then topped it off with a cucumber slice. Perfect. Like my ex, Alex.
“I’ve got some bad news for you, Amanda,” he said, looking me straight in the eye.
“You’re gay. I knew it! You dress too well. You’re too handsome. You know how to cook. You have tasteful furniture in your condo.”
“I’m not gay. I’m metrosexual.”
I laughed like it was all a joke, when it really wasn’t. After my first husband turned out to be gay, I’ve been waiting for the other Gucci shoe to drop with Ken. He’s too much like a gay man to be straight. He assures me all the time. Fucks me until I’m crazy. And still I wonder. Once bitten, twice shy, I guess.
Ken continued, “No, I’ve got to leave town for a while. My mother fell.”
“Oh, my God, is she all right?”
“She fell down the stairs into the basement. Didn’t break a single bone, but she’s pretty bruised up and in the hospital. I have to fly home and get her on her feet. I might be gone for a while.”
“Of course, of course, Ken. Any idea how long this might take? A month?”
Ken shook his head.
“Two?”
Again, another sad shake. “Amanda, I really don’t know. I have to get her on her feet again, make her house more accessible, and find someone to look in on her.”
My face fell like a startled soufflé. “Well, okay. I’m sure I’ll find something to do in the meantime. Maybe I’ll take up snake handling. Or golfing. I need a hot, buff caddy following me around with a wood in his bag.”
“It’s only for a while, and you yourself said you wanted to take things slowly. This will give you some time off. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say.”
“They also say that while the cat’s away, the mice will play.”
Ken looked surprised. “You?! Naw!”
“Well, you don’t have to say it like I was made of pus. I do get other men who look at me from time to time.”
“I wouldn’t blame them.”
“Mostly they’re trying to figure out what happened to Kathleen Turner. Or they’re gay and like my shoes. But I do get cruised by real straight men in this town. All two of them.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. But for your information, not every man in Palm Springs is gay, you know. And don’t worry, I’ll come back eventually.”
Just then, the weirdest thought flashed across my brain. Just for a nanosecond, but it was there nonetheless: I would be single while Ken was gone. I immediately dismissed the thought, but it left a vapor trail in my head that remained there for weeks. What frightened me was that here I get the partner I was so desperately looking for, and now I was being seduced by the notion of looking for someone else. Or at least stepping out to play. I hated dating. Hated it. But the fantasy of a naughty fling, well . . . This was followed by a wave of Catholic guilt that hit me like an Indonesian tsunami, yet I hadn’t even done anything wrong .