“It’s funny how you remember certain things. Someone was burning leaves that day, so everything smelled like smoke—you know that smoky smell that you only get in the fall? I remember that, and how cold the water was. Nobody caught anything that day, not even a nibble,” he finished, his eyes faraway.
I let my hand tangle in the back of his hair, slipping down to smooth over his brow, feathering my fingers there. “Sounds like a good day.”
“It was a good day.” He smiled down at me, pulling me closer still. The band began to play Duke Ellington, and I was twirled and whirled and dipped by my Wallbanger.
This was a good day too.
Made even more so by nary a dick ending up in a hot dog bun.
chapter eight
“Okay, all your extra linens and towels are in closet down the hall, extra blankets in the cedar chest, hmm . . . what else? Oh, the window next to the bed tends to stick a little when it’s raining, but not too bad. I left notes on all the remotes with instructions on how to use everything—it took me forever to learn how to just turn the damn thing on . . . let’s see, oh! Let’s go back into the kitchen and talk about the burners. There’s a trick to getting the back one to turn on high and—”
I followed Jillian through their Sausalito house Sunday afternoon, while Simon went through the same thing in the garage with Benjamin. House-sitting isn’t what it used to be; you can’t just bring in the mail and have a party.
As we toured the house, taking notice of everything we’d need to know while staying there, I was reminded of how perfect it really was. Situated in the hills just above the main street, the house was two stories in almost a triangular shape, so that practically each room had a view of the bay and, in the distance, San Francisco. Along with a multiterraced outdoor seating area, dotted with benches and fire pits, there was the in-ground hot tub they’d installed. Perfectly isolated, perfectly private, with a killer view.
The hot tub is where we found Simon and Benjamin, hunched down by the controls. Simon was having a great time, turning the interior lights from pink to blue to green to purple with a big grin.
“Caroline, look! It’s like having a light show!” he exclaimed excitedly.
“And I think that’s everything,” Jillian said. “Car keys are in the bowl by the front door, alarm codes you’ve got written down, you know how to work the hillevator. Oh what am I forgetting?” She pulled her notebook out, frantically checking her notes.
“Don’t worry about anything—we’ve got this. You two just enjoy your trip,” I replied. “And you’re not allowed to call and check in for at least a week. Go have sex with your husband.”
“Yes, go have sex with your husband,” Benjamin chimed in, closing her notebook and wrapping his arms around her from behind. “Thanks, guys, we really appreciate it.”
“You sure you don’t mind? You don’t have to stay here every night; just maybe a few nights a week?” Jillian asked.
“Oh my God, shut up already, will you? It’s a real big hardship, staying here— what a sacrifice.” I laughed, gesturing to the house.
Benjamin said, “All right, let them get outta here. Simon, thanks again for everything. And make sure you check out those bike trails; I left the maps with everything else.” As Jillian went for her notebook once more he told us, “I’d make a run for it if I were you.”
“Oh, let go you big oaf, I need to hug her,” she protested, engulfing me in her arms. “Thank you; you have no idea how much I need this,” she whispered. When she let me go, there were tears in her eyes. “And remember, I’m just a phone call away.”
I hugged them both and let Simon pack me into the Range Rover for our trip back over the bridge. We were both quiet as we entered the city, winding through the streets toward our apartment building.
He parked, then walked around to my side to open my door. Taking my hand, he said, “You know, this might not be so boring after all. It could be fun, having a house.”
? ? ?
Later on that night, Clive and I were playing Kill the Ponytail—a game we’d created a few years ago when I made the mistake of lying down next to where he was sleeping, and swishing my ponytail in front of him. He woke up to a giant piece of dancing hair in his face and went utterly apeshit. The object of the game, as closely as I could understand, was for Clive to chew on, bat about, and all but dangle from my ponytail.
Did I have to wash my hair thoroughly after this game? I did, but to see his eyes light up, and his little sideways crab walk across the floor when he knew it was time to play, was worth it. The game was taking place under the coffee table when Simon came over.
“Kill the Ponytail?” he asked as I poked my head out.
“Yup,” I replied, wincing as Clive took my inattention to grab a mouthful and tug.
“Who’s winning?”
“Who do you think? Ow!”