Raquel's Abel Read online

  “I think I do write interesting books.” She always put me on the defensive.

  “But who’s interested in Queen Elizabeth I or Eleanor Roosevelt?”

  “Lots of people,” I snapped. “They are women that changed the world.”

  Maria Elena sat up. “I reading your book on Richard Burton, Raquel, and you no mention Elizabeth Taylor.”

  “Because it wasn’t that Richard Burton. I wrote about Captain Sir Richard Burton who lived in the Middle East and translated the Kama Sutra.”

  “He doing that when he married to Elizabeth Taylor?” Maria Elena asked.

  “I give up.” I raised my hands in despair.

  “She’s right,” Regina said. “I think you should write about important people like Tom Cruise or Matt Damon.” My sister hadn’t even finished high school. Why was I surprised she’d have this opinion?

  “Or like Ben Affleck and why he dumping Jennifer Lopez,” Maria Elena interjected.

  “I try to write about people who have contributed to the world, done great things.” I didn’t know how I had a sane thought in this house.

  “Your daddy always called you the smart one,” Grandmother said, smiling at me with a proud expression on her face “Not surprising since we are royalty.”

  “Daddy’s little favorite,” Regina spat out sarcastically. She never understood why our father preferred me over her—especially when it seemed the whole world preferred Regina. She was the one that had always had friends, boyfriends, admirers...

  I was always alone in my room with my books.

  “I think it’s time for us to go in,” I said as a hint for Maria Elena to take Grandmother up for her nap.

  In a bright pink cover-up, Regina sipped iced tea on our mother’s settee. She looked like she should be in a posh resort rather than sitting in our dusty living room in Richmond, Virginia.

  Out the front window, the trees on either side of the driveway were so dense they were almost growing together. I’d have to pay someone to trim them back. More money I didn’t have. There were those that said I should sell this house, but how could I sell a house that had been in my family for more than a hundred years?

  Regina ran her finger across the French provincial end table and eyed the dust. “How often is this place cleaned?”

  “There’s a girl that comes once a week, but the house is so big.”

  “And,” she held her glass in one hand and ran her fingers up and down the outside, making streaks in the condensation. “The way Grandmother is seeing things, I’m wondering if we shouldn’t consider putting her in a home.”

  Would she be happier in a place with other old people? “I don’t know about that.”

  Regina jumped, spilling some iced tea on her bare leg. “What was that?”

  I looked around. “A bug?”

  “No, it felt like something pulled on my sleeve.”

  Iced tea was running down her leg and onto the rug. It was an oriental carpet my mother had picked out on a trip she and my father had taken to Istanbul.

  I picked up the box of tissues that had been sitting on the coffee table. I carefully lowered myself to my knees and began to wipe at Regina’s shins and feet. I threw a few on the floor to mop up the overflow.

  “Grandmother belongs in a home,” Regina continued.

  I didn’t know why my sister thought Grandmother couldn’t just continue living here. “She seems to be doing very well here. Dr. Blake makes house calls when we need him.”

  “Old people belong with other old people.”

  I was still blotting at the tea on the rug and trying to think of a response when Regina screamed. I looked up at her.

  “Raquel!” I looked up to see the remainder of the iced tea spilling down her front. Pieces of ice were lodged in her bikini top.

  “How did that happen?” I wobbled to my feet and plodded to the kitchen for a towel.

  “You act like you don’t know,” she screamed.

  I came back with the towels, wondering what she was talking about.

  Regina’s eyes looked like they were on fire. “I was wiping the carpet when the glass was pushed then upended.”

  “You don’t think it was me,” I said remembering how Regina used to love to blame things on me when we were kids.

  “Who else could it have been?” She glared accusingly at me.

  “Regina, come on, I wouldn’t spill tea on you. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  She stood up and was busy pulling pieces of ice out from her cleavage and drying off her flat stomach.

  “Oh, Mother’s settee is all wet. I hope the tea doesn’t stain.” I wiped at the upholstery that had Williamsburg blue and cranberry designs on a white background.

  “You should have thought of that when you spilled it all over me.”

  “Don’t say things like that.”

  She stood there looking at me like she was going to cry. “You probably think Carter was justified in leaving me.”

  I strained my arms pulling myself to my feet. “Oh,” I pushed out between breaths. Standing up took all my strength.

  “He said I’m not warm enough.” She sniffed.

  I fell into the chair behind me. “What does that mean?” I’d hardly known Carter at all. As usual, my sister had entered into a whirlwind romance and married him before I’d even met him.

  “He said he didn’t like spending time with me.”

  “Oh, he’s crazy,” I said wanting to console her. Regina didn’t have enough education to be much of a conversationalist, but Carter shouldn’t have said that to my little sister.

  “Just like Daddy. He didn’t want to be around me, either.” Regina pouted.

  Daddy not caring much for Regina had always been a mystery. Ironically, Regina looked exactly like him, whereas, no one knew where my red hair came from, and I was the only one in the entire family with a weight problem.

  After I’d calmed Regina down and said goodbye, I went upstairs. Grandmother was up from her nap. “I saw what happened.”

  I glanced back downstairs. The circular stairway gave anyone in the second floor hallway a bird’s eye view of the living room. “What did you see, Grandmother?”

  “I saw that Abel Rollins pour tea on Regina.”

  “I was right there, and I didn’t see this Abel Rollins.”

  “I’m not sure why that is,” she said, bringing an arthritic hand up to her mouth.

  “Grandmother, you are seeing things that aren’t there.”

  “Balderdash. You just need to open your eyes.”

  “Grandmother, do you ever think you’d be happier somewhere else?” It pained me to even think about this.

  “Do you mean like back in Russia?”

  I covered my face so she wouldn’t see me laugh. “No, I mean like a place where people would take care of you.”

  “Oh, I know what you’re suggesting.” Her wrinkled face turned hard, like corrugated steel. “You want to send me somewhere to die, to waste away into nothingness.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” I’d miss her if she were gone.

  The thin skin around her old eyes tensed. “Maybe that’s what Abel got so upset about. He heard you two plotting to put me away.” She pointed her finger at me. “If you aren’t careful, I won’t tell you two where the Romanov jewels are hidden.”

  “I thought you might be more comfortable…”

  “I suppose you want to send Tatiana away, also.”

  “Grandmother, please forget I said anything about this.” I kissed the top of her head. “I want you here with me.”

  “Hmmph,” she grunted, then pressed the button on her wheelchair and sped down the hallway toward her wing.

  I walked into my bedroom and immediately, the phone rang. “Hello,” I said, wondering if it were Regina. You thought people would get used to breakups when they had one every few years, but Regina never did.

  “Raquey-el,” Owen drawled into the phone. “Are you about ready, girl?”

  I�
�d completely forgotten. “I’m running a little behind.” Owen was my very gay, very sweet dance partner.

  “Me too, but I’ll be over to get you in just a few, and I hope you’re wearing that turquoise number.” He hung up the phone.

  The only good thing about being fat – you mesmerized people if you could actually dance. Even though I trudged up stairs and felt like I was running the gauntlet just getting into a car, for some reason, when I got out on that dance floor, I was more of a fairy or a ballerina than an obese woman approaching middle age.

  Owen had been referring to a turquoise pants suit that had sequins all over the top and had wide legs that fluttered when I moved. Tonight we were dancing at a supper club that was having us as entertainment during intermission.

  I put on the outfit, slipped on a pair of silver heels, and swept my hair up on top of my head, letting my red ringlets fall down to my shoulders. As I was walking down the hallway, I closed my eyes, imagining doing the foxtrot one hundred and fifty pounds lighter.

  I opened them again and saw a form in front of me. “Maria Elena,” I called, not knowing why she’d be on this wing. She didn’t answer. Haze surrounded the form. I reached over and flipped the hallway lights on.

  I gasped. There was a man standing a few yards from me. Who could have gotten inside the house? The gardener wasn’t on the grounds and he never came upstairs. I squinted as he took a step closer. This man’s hair was dirty blond—definitely not the Hispanic gardener. It was parted in the middle and combed back. Kind chocolate brown eyes peered at me. He certainly didn’t appear to be menacing, in fact, he wore a very elegant smoking jacket. Wait. That was my father’s.

  “How did you get in here?” I demanded. “And, have you been going through my father’s clothes just taking what you want?” Grandmother had mentioned the man she saw had on my father’s smoking jacket.

  “My dear, I have been in this house longer than you have been alive.” His voice sounded more flirtatious than intimidating.

  I stared at him, thinking that was absurd, since he looked like he wasn’t a day over forty. In fact, he was very handsome. My heart beat faster as his eyes raked over me. Then I realized, except for Maria Elena and Grandmother, I was alone in the house.

  “What do you want?” I backed up. “Do you want my wallet, my jewelry?” I held out my purse with one hand and jerked my earrings off with the other. “Here, take them and don’t hurt us.” Maybe he hadn’t seen them. “I mean me.”

  “Not to worry, I’m no common thief.” He moved under one of the hallway lights. A pencil-thin blond mustache outlined his top lip. “I want to tell you that you are a lovely woman and, as a man, I like you just the way you are.”

  I always thought if I were going to be raped, I’d figure a way to talk myself out of it. “Sir, I’d like to tell you that I was just diagnosed with AIDS.”

  He pinched up his face. “It sounds dreadful, really, but I have no idea what that is.”

  I trembled, wondering what he’d do next.

  With his hands locked behind him, he started to walk around me eying me as if I were a fine racehorse he was thinking of buying.

  “What are you doing?” I might go down, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. I turned to face him. “Whe-where did you go?” The hallway was empty. Had he entered one of the rooms? I tried a few doors, but they were locked as always.

  “Maria Elena,” I screamed and ran for their wing.

  She wheeled my grandmother out into the hallway.

  “Why you yelling?” she asked, staring at me as if I were a lunatic.

  “You look lovely, my dear,” my grandmother smiled. “That dress does you justice.”

  “Never mind that. A man is in the house.” I raised my hands up. They didn’t react. “Did you hear me? A man!”

  Maria Elena’s eyes got big and round. “Where the man?”

  “I don’t know. He was right down there. I was talking to him and then he was gone.”

  “Was he fair-haired with piercing dark eyes? Was he very handsome?” My grandmother gave a deep giggle.

  I thought back on the man. His voice had been cultured as if he really knew how to speak eloquently. In fact, thinking about him sent a thrill from my toes to my head.

  “Was he wearing your father’s smoking jacket?”

  I stared at my grandmother who looked like she was ready to laugh out loud.

  “That’s Abel Rollins,” she declared with delight.

  Maria Elena looked at my grandmother then back at me. “You was seeing him, too?” Her mouth dropped open as I nodded my head. “Oh, no,” she gasped.

  Chapter Two

  I was still shaking when I got into Owen’s old pickup truck.

  “What’s the matter?” Owen said when I slammed the rusty door shut. “Looks like you’ve seen yourself a ghost.”

  I slid my eyes my gaze over to him. His dark red hair was combed into a mini pompadour. “You don’t know how right you are.”

  “Wouldn’t surprise me none if that ol’ place is haunted.” The rusty truck made all kinds of ghastly sounds as he drove down the half-mile driveway then out onto River Road.

  Visions of the man Grandmother referred to as Abel Rollins paraded through my mind. I felt a tingle inside. How could I be turned on by a ghost?

  “Hope that ghost was tall, dark, and handsome?” Owen was always between boyfriends, which was good since each one was always rotten to the core.

  Abel’s fair hair had been parted in the middle and combed back in that way you always see in old photographs. “His eyes were dreamy.”

  “I tell ya, these days I’d even settle for a ghost, girl.”

  “It’s not funny. I was scared to death.”

  “Probably just a figment of your imagination—you know, wishful thinking.”

  It was hard to be serious with Owen. “I’ve got big news.”

  “Bigger than your ghost?” He angled his head down, his dark blue eyes blinking at me.

  “I’m almost positive I’m going to do it.” I took a deep breath. “The gastric bypass surgery.”

  He splayed his long fingers across his chest. “Raquel’s going to be a lean mean dancing machine.”

  I felt little chills run through me just thinking about being slender.

  “You know what this means.” He took his eyes off the road and gave me an impish smile.

  “Yeah, if I do it, I’m having major surgery.”

  “Next year, we can be in one of the competitions.” He smiled so wide I could see which of his molars were missing.

  “I’m sorry I’ve kept you from the big competitions because of my limitations.”

  “Oh, Raquey-el, don’t talk like that. You’re one of the best dance partners I’ve ever had. I can just see you doing a tantalizing Tango with a rose in your mouth.”

  I imagined myself doing those quick, tight-legged, hip-twisting steps that were impossible now because of my girth.

  “We are going to knock their sequined socks off next year.”

  “You know, Owen, you don’t have to be so loyal. You could’ve won a competition long ago if you hadn’t insisted on dancing with me.”

  “So many of those dancers are such bitches.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  He was just the loyal type. We’d hit it off a few years ago and had become fast friends. He didn’t want to hurt my feelings by leaving me in the dust.

  We walked across the parking lot toward the restaurant. A couple of waiters were obviously taking a break beside the front door. “Sorry, we’re all booked up,” one of them said as he stamped out his cigarette.

  Owen pushed his chest out, making himself look like a bantam rooster.

  The other waiter said under his breath, “And we ain’t got enough food for that one.”

  I heard every word and tried to ignore it. Owen’s hearing wasn’t that great since his father used to box his ears when he was a kid. I looked at Owen, afraid he may have heard it. He may ha
ve seemed like a stereotypical gay, but being from coalmining country, when provoked he turned right back into an Appalachian hillbilly, ready to take anyone on.

  “We are the dancers.” Owen spread out his arms so they would notice his sparkly white top with a wide collar. His black slinky pants tapered out into wide bells.

  “A fruit loop and an elephant are going to entertain us,” whispered the same one who’d spoken under his breath before.

  Again, I searched Owen’s freckled face for a reaction. Thank God he hadn’t heard either comment.

  Luckily, the maitre d’ stuck his head out the door and recognized us. “Come on in, we’ve been waiting for you.” He ushered us backstage where we waited in the wings for the first half of the play to finish.

  “Why wouldn’t those two just let us in?” Owen shook his head. “Some people are so danged ru-u-de.” He angled his eyes at me. “But I’m most intrigued by this ghost of yours.” He winked.

  Just thinking about him caused my skin to warm.

  “My goodness, must not have been Casper by the way you’re blushing.”

  “Don’t be silly. There are no such things as ghosts.”

  “I don’t know about that.” He waved his nicely-manicured finger around. “Granny Mills, on my father’s side, says a Civil War soldier shows himself on her staircase from time to time.”

  His grandmother was probably as loony as mine, but I didn’t want to say that. “This one seemed awfully flesh and bone to be a ghost.”

  “Well, if he’s hot and he’s haunting you, just go for it, girl.”

  I admired Owen, the way he enjoyed life in whatever form it came.

  A few minutes later, the actors filed past us from the stage and the MC introduced us.

  The music started up and we whisked on stage. I followed Owen’s very masculine lead into a sumptuous Latin salsa. At first we heard a few catcalls, to be expected, even in a high-dollar supper club. Then, as my feet made quick steps, adeptly showing how the sexy rhythm should be performed, the audience fell silent. As we moved in time to the beat and I followed Owen’s strong arms into tight pirouettes and extended twirls, I left the fat Raquel behind. I savored the feeling knowing it would soon be gone. We ended our performance with a foxtrot and a sexy pose at the end. Clearly mesmerized by us, the audience applauded.