I took my hand off the mouthpiece. “Either you do it or I hire someone else to do it,” the Ice Princess told Aaron. “Your choice but I want it done and I want it done as fast as possible.”
I heard Aaron sigh, I knew he was going to give in and I felt a quick charge of relief.
“I’ll see to it,” he assured me.
Thank God. One thing checked off the to-do list.
“Thank you, I’d be grateful for that.”
“Sadie!” Now it was Ralphie yelling from closer to the door and I knew he was climbing the stairs. “Double H is here.”
I covered the mouthpiece again and shouted, “I know! I’ll be right down!”
“Seems you’re busy. I’ll let you go,” Aaron said. “Stay well.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
Then I heard the disconnect.
I had the phone in the receiver and I was snatching up my purse when Ralphie burst in.
“Ralphie!” I whirled to the door. “I said I was coming.”
“I thought you were climbing out the window,” Ralphie retorted.
I wished I’d thought of that and made a mental note to remember it in case I needed it in the future.
“Get a move on, sweet ‘ums. I think I already taught you this all important lesson but I’ll repeat as necessary. We don’t keep hot guys waiting at the door. Skanky guys, yes. Slimy guys, definitely. Hot guys, um… no.”
I gave Ralphie a glare, my glare deflected off Ralphie’s grin and pinged around the room until it disintegrated.
I squared my shoulders, found My Ice and headed out my bedroom door.
*
It was debatable whether one could call Hector and my “just the two of us” date “enjoyable”.
Firstly, I dressed in my armor, head-to-foot (but not toe) silvery-gray. I had on a shimmery, boat-necked, long-sleeved, tight-fitting, knit shirt with a small, delicate pendant of diamonds shaped in the form of a flower hanging from a platinum chain at my neck and matching drop earrings. This was paired with a slim-fitting, just-above-the-knee, somewhat-shimmery, silvery-gray skirt with four, precise kick pleats, one at the front and back of each of my knees. Elegant, gray, patent leather pumps with a spike heel and black toe, a couple of scent-refreshing sprays of my signature perfume, a quick shake of my fingers coated in my favorite pommade (to define and separate the curls and waves) through my otherwise unencumbered hair and my black trench coat completed my ensemble.
When I walked downstairs and Hector, wearing jeans, boots, a skintight white, long-sleeved t-shirt and black leather jacket (what a pair we were!), saw I changed out of my nice but somewhat casual day wear into Ice Princess Gear, he gave me a little, amused grin and shake of his head.
I ignored him, bestowed goodnight kisses to my roommates and swept, head held high, out the door.
Secondly, Hector informed me in the Bronco that Buddy had given the police the keys to my storage facility. The “lab boys” found nothing to place Ricky at my apartment such was the immaculate cleaning job Ralphie and Buddy did, but they did find traces of blood and hairs on my couch and mattress. Some of it, he explained, they figured was mine, some of it, they hoped, would belong to Ricky.
I hoped so too but I didn’t share.
However, I did wonder how this was going to affect the auction of my “estate”. I didn’t share that either.
Lastly, Hector took me to a Mexican restaurant off Broadway, down south in Englewood. It was called El Tejado and it was not the kind of place where you wore a shimmery, silvery-gray outfit and little diamonds shaped as flowers.
I ignored my discomfort, walked into the casual, worn-in restaurant like I went there every day and sat down in the booth, planting my behind dead center so Hector would get no ideas that he was sharing my seat with me.
He slid in opposite me, still grinning and I got the impression my act didn’t convince him and further he found it highly amusing.
I ignored this too.
Dinner, luckily, didn’t last long. They didn’t mess around with taking and serving your order and I figured that had something to do with the line at the door. A line, incidentally, that we circumvented by Hector smiling at the lady behind the cash register, her face lighting up in recognition, the two of them exchanging rapid-fire Spanish and her elbowing her way through the crowd and seating us at a booth that was getting its finishing wipe down by a busboy. This, I noted with a glance at the door, was not greeted with delight by the waiting customers but I ignored that too.
There was barely any conversation due to my avid fascination of, at first, my menu then the restaurant’s décor then every person in line waiting to get in then my fellow patrons and finally, my newfound wonder at watching a no-sound Mexican soap opera on the television above the bar.
No matter how tasty the food was (and it was tasty), I hardly ate a bite (thank goodness Blanca wasn’t there or she would have had a conniption). Hector paid, we slid out of the booth, he walked me to the Bronco with his hand on my elbow and then it was over.