“It’s hopeless!” Lori threw her hands up in the air. “He hates me!”
“Jiff doesn’t hate you. Dogs aren’t capable of hating anyone.”
Jiff was the mutt Lori had adopted a couple of weeks earlier. After seeing a photo of the straggly-looking thing, I’d suggested that she call him Benji. But she’d opted for an acronym of her last four boyfriends’ names (James Isaac Felipe Finn) instead.
“Then, why won’t he sleep on the bed with me and why does he try to run away every time I take him to the park?” she asked.
“You haven’t had the dog for long. He just needs time to get used to you and his new surroundings.”
“I’ve done everything I can to make him comfortable. I bought out Petsmart so that he’d have his choice of treats and toys. I hand-painted his name on his food and water bowls. I brush his hair a hundred strokes every night before bed and talk to him like he’s a person. I even made him a doggie wardrobe with swimtrunks for the summer, a rain-repellent poncho for bad weather, and festive sweaters for the holidays . . . I need to find some patterns for pajamas, too. Wouldn’t he look adorable in some of those PJs with the little feet and the flap over the butt?”
Poor Jiff, I thought. He probably would have been better off if he’d stayed at the Humane Society.
“Lori, you know how we’ve talked about your tendency to overwhelm men with your love?”
“Uh-huh.” Distractedly, she pulled on one of her corkscrew curls, which had recently been restored to its original coppery color after the intervention of some of Lori’s co-workers at the salon.
“Well, you’re doing the same thing with Jiff. Enthusiasm is good, but you need to take it down a couple notches. If you come on too strong, the natural instinct of anyone, be they human or animal, is to retreat.”
Lori thought about it for a minute. “So, no PJs?”
“No. And when you’re with Jiff, just relax and let him come to you. He will eventually. Dogs are pack animals; they enjoy affection and the feel of a warm body next to them.”
“Don’t we all?” she remarked wistfully.
I couldn’t argue with that. For a second, I toyed with the idea of getting a dog myself, then I remembered that Izzy was allergic. Living with her was like having a pet anyway since she cost me a small fortune and I had to feed and clean up after her all the time.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the clock read nine ‘til the hour. “Looks like that’s it for today’s session,” I announced.
“Yeah, I need to get home and walk Jiff,” Lori said, standing up. “He hasn’t been out since lunchtime. His bladder’s probably about to burst.”
We both chuckled, and I led her out of my office. When I opened the door to the waiting area, I was met with a colorful surprise. Four crystal vases filled with arrangements of deep purple orchids and lily grass crowded the surface of Margo’s desk.
“Oh, my God!” Lori squealed with excitement and rushed over to the flowers. “These are gorgeous!”
“I’ll say,” I murmured appreciatively. “What’s the occasion?”
Margo peeked her overly-teased head around one of the vases. “You tell us.” She handed me a small white card.
My jaw dropped. “These are for me?”
“That’s your name on the envelope, isn’t it?”
I checked. Sure enough, it was addressed to Dr. Pilar Alvarez. I opened the envelope and drew out the card slowly, while Margo and Lori waited with bated breath.
“Read it aloud, Dr. Alvarez,” Lori urged.
“‘Rare, exotic beauties for the most rare and exotic beauty of all.’”
Lori clutched her heart and looked as though she might swoon. “That is so romantic.”
“Who are they from?” Margo wondered.
“There’s no signature,” I told her.
“A secret admirer,” Lori rhapsodized. “You are so lucky, Dr. Alvarez. Nothing like this ever happens to me.”
Secret admirer? Hardly. The ostentatious display and the accompanying poetically-worded sentiment had ‘Victor Liscano’ written all over them. I had to give him credit; the orchids were stunning. I bent down to smell one of the purple blooms. Mmmmmm, nice.
“Would you like to take one of the arrangements home?” I asked Lori.
“Oh no, I couldn’t!”
“Please.” I picked up one of the heavy vases and shoved it into her arms. “As lovely as they are, I certainly don’t need this many orchids. Margo, you take one home, too.”
“If they were mine,” Lori said dreamily, “I wouldn’t want to part with a single flower.”
“What can I say? I love to share.” I gently pushed my patient towards the door and waved her out.
“They’re from Victor, aren’t they?” Margo inquired after Lori was gone and I’d turned back to face her.
I nodded.
“The man is persistent.”
“Bordering on obsessed. Will you put one of these vases over there?” I pointed to the top of the table where the magazines for the patients were spread out. “And I’ll take this one for my office.” I hoisted one of the remaining vases up with a groan. It felt like it weighed more than I did.
I spent the next few minutes trying to decide what the perfect spot for my flowers was. Did orchids require sunlight or no? I wasn’t sure, so I placed them on a shady corner of my desk. Then, I sat down to admire them. They really were beautiful and they provided a vibrant splash of color in my shades-of-beige office. Although I’d never admit it to him, Victor had done well.
My phone intercom buzzed.
“Which line is he on?” I questioned Margo.
“Two,” she replied, and I picked up the phone.
“Gracias, Victor. The orchids are beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you, mi querida. I hope the flowers looked fresh; I had them flown in straight from Hawaii this morning.”
Damn, that must have been expensive.
“You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble.”
“It was worth the trouble if they made you happy. Did you notice how many orchids I sent?”
“Uhhhh . . . a lot?”
“A hundred and four, one for every day I’ve loved you.”
“So, that counts back to . . .?”
“The day we met, of course. I’ll never forget looking across my crowded restaurant and seeing your face for the first time. You were so lovely, so luminous, like a star in the night sky. You took my breath away. I stood transfixed, watching you for the better part of an hour, while I worked up the nerve to go over to your table and talk to you.”
I chortled with amusement at his memory of our first meeting. “You are such a liar! You weren’t paralyzed by my beauty for a minute, much less an hour. You noticed me and my friends as soon as we walked in the door of Liscano’s and you sent us a round of Margaritas right after we were seated. You were on your way over to our table when you got sidetracked by a pair of redheads at the bar who looked like they were underage, and you spent twenty minutes flirting with them before you finally sauntered over to put your patented smooth moves on me.”
“I like my version better.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Give me another chance, mi amor. I’ve changed, I swear. I am a model of maturity and trustworthiness now. No more partying, no more goofing off.”
I found myself wanting to believe him. Did I still have feelings for Victor? Or was the intoxicating aroma of the orchids making me go soft in the head? I moved the flowers to the other side of my desk just in case.
“I hope for your sake that that’s true, Victor. Regardless, a romantic relationship would never work for us.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m not what you need any more than you’re what I need,” I told him.
“And what do you think I need?”
“A playmate, someone who’ll devote herself to you 24/7, someone who’ll stroke your ego and make you feel like you’re the center of her universe.”
“I was the center of your universe for a while,” he pouted.
“No, you weren’t, and no man ever could be. I’m too independent, too driven. I need someone who doesn’t require my undivided attention, who’ll understand and support my devotion to my career, a partner, an equal in all areas.”
“I can be that for you.”
“Really?” I sounded skeptical.
“I know you think I’m all flash and no substance, Pilar, but there’s more to me than meets the eye. I have hidden depths.”
“Do tell.”
“Well, I’m sensitive for one thing. I have feelings and a heart that was broken when you left me.”
“You brought that on yourself, Victor, so don’t play the victim. You have to take responsibility for your own actions.” I wasn’t going to cut him any slack.
“You’re right and completely justified in your distrust of me. I just want you to know that I’ve suffered for my sins and I’m penitent,” said like the good Catholic he wasn’t.
“You can put away the sackcloth and ashes. What’s done is done. Hopefully, you’ve learned from the mistakes you made with me and you’ll be faithful to your next girlfriend.”
“I want to be faithful to you, mi amada.”
“Give it up, Victor.”
“Never! I will prove myself to you. I’ll show you that I’m worthy of your love.”
“Knock yourself out, but it won’t change a thing. Now, I have to go. I’m expected somewhere at six.”
“Where are you—”
“Thanks again for the orchids,” I said, then hung up before he could give me the third degree about my plans for the evening.
* * *
“Feel this,” Sara ordered, throwing a bolt of raspberry-colored fabric down on the cluttered table sitting in the corner of the warehouse where she worked.
Tentatively, I rubbed some of the fabric between my thumb and index finger. “It feels a little rough.”
“That’s because there’s polyester in it. POLYESTER! It was supposed to be a high-quality nylon/spandex blend, and they send me this crap.” She looked down at the cloth with an expression of revulsion that was usually reserved for the maggot-covered corpses on CSI . . . or sugar-free chocolate.
“I’m never using this manufacturer again. Idiots! Do they think that Serafina Swimwear is going to be hanging on the sale rack at Wal-Mart? I’d sooner walk into oncoming traffic than put my name on a bikini made from this cheap, hideous-looking excuse for a fabric.”
“It’ll be alright. Just sit,” I took Sara by the shoulders and pushed her down on to a stool, “and take a deep, cleansing breath.”
“I’m too angry to breathe. Why is everyone so incompetent?”
“It’s just a little snafu. Don’t let it rattle you.”
She sighed. “I know. You’re right. I’ve just been having a meltdown over everything today. I looked at a calendar this morning and realized that I’ve got less than two months to go until the show, and there’s still so much work to be done. I don’t know how I’m ever going to manage it.”
“Aren’t you the same girl who wrote two term papers, designed and made all the costumes for the UM Holiday Jamboree, baked twenty sweet potato casseroles for Thanksgiving dinner at the homeless shelter, and threw me an amazing surprise birthday party-slash-luau in just six days?”
“Yeah, that was me, but I took a lot of No-Doze back in college,” Sara said with a self-deprecating smirk.
“No-Doze might have kept you awake, but it didn’t make you clever, or focused, or talented. You’re all those things naturally. And when you put your mind to it, you’re capable of accomplishing great things.”
“I do thrive under pressure, don’t I?”
“Of course, you do.” I rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. “Just keep your eye on the prize.”
She glanced up at me. “You know what my secret fantasy is?”
“To make wild, hot monkey love to Johnny Depp?” I teased her.
“No. I mean, I wouldn’t mind that, but this is a work-related fantasy, not a personal one.”
“Okay, so what’s your secret work-related fantasy?”
“I want to wow everyone at the Miami Summer Fashion Extravaganza,” she said, staring off into the distance with a faraway look in her eye. “I want to blow their minds with the sexiness and originality of my suits. I want the other designers to hate themselves because they didn’t think of my ideas first. I want the fashion press to call me ‘a visionary’ and I want the buyers to throw fistfuls of cash at my feet and beg me to sign exclusive contracts with their stores.”
“If anyone can turn fantasy into reality, it’s you,” I told her.
She gave me a grateful smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence and for coaxing me back from the brink of insanity.”
“That’s what psychologists do.”
“No, that’s what great friends do.” Sara rose to her feet and gave me a hug. When she pulled back, I could see the fatigue in her bleary eyes.
“You look exhausted. Why don’t you take a break from all this tonight?”
“Is that an offer?”
“No, sorry, I really need to go home and get some work done. Why don’t you call Matt? A quiet, romantic dinner for two is just the distraction you need.”
“Matt?” Sara acted as though she didn’t know who I was talking about. “Oh yeah.” She started to straighten her work table. “I forgot to tell you. We broke up.”
“What?!?! Why?”
“He was stifling my creative genius.” She dropped several colored pencils into a coffee mug that she’d made the last time we were at Paco’s Pottery.
“How’d he do that?”
“Oh, you know, he was making too many demands on my time and he just didn’t get me or my work. I need to be free . . . free to create and free to experience life. I can’t be tied down with some boring, left-brained guy.”
Not for the first time, I wished that I could break up with guys as easily as Sara did. When she was done with a boyfriend that was it, no discussion, no angst, just ‘thanks for the memories and don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.’
“Well, that’s too bad. He seemed nice.”
With a dispassionate shrug, she said, “He was, but we were just too different. What they say about opposites attracting is true. I just don’t think that they can stay together for the long haul and be happy.”
“That’s probably why things didn’t work out for me and Victor.”
“Victor?” Her expression was puzzled. “He’s not still bugging you, is he?”
“I’m afraid so. My continued rejections only seem to inflame his desire for me. Apparently, he likes a challenge. I got a delivery of about a zillion purple orchids from him today, along with an equally flowery note in which he praised my ‘exotic beauty.’”
“The man has style; I’ll give him that.”
“He claims he’s changed, that he’s perfect boyfriend material now.”
Sara stopped in the middle of stacking her scattered sketches and fixed me with a penetrating gaze. “You’re not buying that, are you?”
“No, not really. But he does have to grow up and start behaving like an adult at some point, right?”
“Hmmmmm,” Sara’s response was non-committal.
“Do you know something I don’t?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to mention this, but I saw Victor at Mynt the other night. He was in the VIP room, drinking Cristal out of Leighton Meester’s La Perla bra.”
“She wasn’t in it at the time, was she?”
“No, he won the bra from her in a game of strip limbo.”
“Strip limbo?”
“Yeah, it’s the new thing at clubs. Everyone in the VIP room at Mynt was playing. Adam Levine was down to his tighty whiteys when I got there.” Sara pursed her lips thoughtfully as if she was flashing back to the incident. “His body is amazing, although I could really do without all those tatts. What is it with musicians and body art?”
With a frown, I queried, “Isn’t Adam Levine married to Gwyneth Paltrow?”
“No, that’s Chris Martin from Coldplay. Adam’s one of the judges on The Voice and he’s the lead singer of . . . oh, never mind, it’s not important. What is important is that your ex is still a skirt-chasin’, alcohol-guzzlin’ sleaze with the emotional maturity of a 16-year-old, so don’t believe for a second that he’s changed. He’s just telling you what he thinks you want to hear. He’s trying to make you believe that his love for you has had a transforming influence on him.”
“The only thing that’s going to have a transforming influence on Victor is an STD,” I grumbled.
“Exactly, which is why you need to cut this guy off, Pilar. Once and for all. Stop being nice. Stop talking to him. Stop accepting his conciliatory gifts. Stop trying to save him from himself.”
Had I been doing that? Yeah, I guess I had. I always wanted to help people and believe that they were sincere. It was my fatal weakness.
“Alright, I will.”
She looked doubtful. “Promise?”
“Promise. Next time I see, or hear, from Victor Liscano, I will tell him that he’s a jerk and . . .”
“And?”
“I don’t want anything more to do with him.”
“Excellent. You might want to threaten him with a restraining order, too.”
“But I would never—”
“It doesn’t matter. The threat’s enough to show you mean business.” Sara threw an arm around my shoulders. “Now, how about you buy a hot fudge sundae for a struggling fashion designer? I haven’t had any chocolate all day.”
“That’s probably why you’ve been acting so mental. Chocolate’s addictive, you know.”
“A girl’s got to have a vice, doesn’t she? Come on!” She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up.
“But my work . . .,” I protested half-heartedly as Sara dragged me out the door.