Life Reconstructed: Chapter Twenty-Four

Probably, he was so grateful to be done with the whole thing that he’d all but written her off. After all, it wasn’t like he’d volunteered for the job…well, except at the end there, but she still debated his ultimate purpose in being there. Grimacing gently, her thoughts roamed—bits and pieces of memories filtering through her mind as she let herself into her lonely apartment:

The walls of her narrow hallway darkened as she sank into her reverie, her feet taking absently toward her livingroom—in her mind’s eye she was back in her kitchen, the cabinets once again resembling the faded, slightly chipped exterior of two weeks ago. In her hands was the splintered door that she’d just tried to screw back into place. Even now, she could remember the uncontrollable rage that had stolen over her body, how her hands had shaken, her eyes biting back tears as she stared down at the door. “No good, rotten piece of—!” with a vicious flick, she’d flung the door as hard as she could against her kitchen wall. It had connected with a resounding, satisfying thwack! When it fell, it landed in two fractured pieces on the floor.

And then, suddenly she was back in the McBoy’s Hardware Store. A shamelessly eavesdropping Birdie’s powder-fine hand coming to rest on Cat’s shoulder, as though the simple touch would offer a lifeline (and it had).  Turning her large blue-eyed gaze on Cat, the older woman’s frightfully pink painted lips smiled. “Matthew here actually does some wood-working. Perhaps he can look at your door….”

Cat smiled when she remembered the look on Matt’s face—the compressed lips and his eyes narrowing. His oft repeated motto: “…I’m not a professional.”

For some reason that thought reminded Cat of Amelia’s photography studio—and that impressively hideous wardrobe cabinet she’d bought. But almost as soon as the thought occurred to her it was overridden by another.

“This is good practice for him,” Birdie had assured Cat. “You’re good for him.”  

“And she’d been right,” Cat said aloud to herself. “He enjoyed custom-making my kitchen door.” She could still hear the confident sound of his voice when he’d called to tell her the door would be done.

“It’s good.”

“Do you think—?”

            “They’ll never suspect a thing.” There was a smile in his voice.

            Then it was Birdie again, leaning in close, like a co-conspirator, to confide this simple sentiment: “…despite his growling, he’s absolutely tickled to be working on this project…This business,” she’d said, waving toward the hardware store, “It’s not his dream.”

“What about that?” Cat had asked Amelia, her chin jutting toward the mammoth wardrobe snugged up against the back wall. She felt her lips twist. It looked like something straight out of the seventies…. “I’ve got to be honest. It’s hideous.”          

            “Matthew here actually does some wood-working…”

            The memories swirled frantically past her ears now, coming to her in no particular order:

            “You mean, you’ll make me a door?”

            “Yeah. I’ll make you a door.”

            “Pish-posh…He did my bathroom remodel last year.”

“It wasn’t exactly a difficult design.”

            Cat staring down at the finished kitchen door. “It’s an exact match. Perfect. No one will ever now.”

            “Still, I’ve got to be honest. The wardrobe is hideous.”

            “Holy shit.” With a snap, Cat felt herself pulled back to the present.  Dropping down onto her couch, Cat felt her eyes widen at unexpected thought—or had it really been all that unexpected, at all? Bringing her fingers up to the wooden armrest, she felt them drumming quickly, rapidly.

“It’s really none of my business,” she assured herself, her nails tap-taping in tempo. “I really shouldn’t meddle. It’ll probably come to nothing,” she continued, but the image of Birdie kept popping back into her mind:

“Matthew here actually does some wood-working. Perhaps he can look at your door….”

If it hadn’t been for her pushing, Cat would still be one door short. And Matt would have successfully continued to hide his amazing gift away, sight unseen from the world….

“Oh, hell.” Reaching for her phone before she could think herself out of the perfectly half-baked idea, Cat felt her fingers dialing. Pressing the phone up close to her ear, she heard her feet keeping time with her fingers: tap-tap-tapping as the phone rang once, twice.

“…Hello?”

“Amelia?”

“Girl, I owe you a bottle of wine for the impeccable timing of this phone call,” came the harassed response. In the background, Cat could just make out the sound of a high-pitch scream.

“New clients?”

“Mother-daughter photo. The daughter’s five and she missed her nap,” Amelia said. Her tone was dry, but Cat could hear the irritation lining the words.

“Oh—”

“And mom’s quite the perfectionist and indifferent to her child’s wailing ways. So, yup, this call was a much-needed break.”

Cat laughed. “Gotcha.” Her teeth nibbled on her lower lip. “Any chance I can collect on that bottle of wine tonight?”

“Uh. Sure.”

“Great.”

“My place or yours?”

“Yours.” Cat cleared her throat. “Actually, it’d probably be best if we met at your studio?”

There was a slight pause. “O-okay.”

“What time are you done?”

“Officially? Half an hour ago.”

Cat smiled. “So?”

“Be here by seven.”

“Got it.”

“…oh, but you’ll probably have to buy the wine. I’ll repay you once you’re here.”

“I’m so sure.”

“…Amelia? Amelia? We’re ready!”

“Ah, shit,” Amelia whispered. Cat couldn’t blame her. Even from over the phone, the woman’s voice was loud, pettish, and high-strung.

“Good luck,” Cat offered.

“I’ll need it.”

 

 

 

At seven o’clock exactly, Cat pulled open the darkened door of Amelia’s studio. Breathing a sigh of relief that Amelia had, in fact, finished her session, Cat walked into the back room. The lights were on in there, but the room was empty. Setting the bottles of wine down on the floor, Cat looked around. The mirrored wall gleamed from the beam of the overhead lights. Grinning impishly, Cat was somewhat surprised to see it was still there. The hardwood floors were covered here and there with oriental rugs, giving the room an unexpected warmth in the otherwise sterile settings. Smiling as she pivoted around the room, her curiosity to see what had changed distracting her momentarily, she smiled as her eyes lit on a scattering of props lined up neatly against the far wall—blocks and towers and pillars sat demurely beside that horrible, horrible looking wardrobe.

“Two bottles?” Amelia asked, the disembodied question shortly followed by its petite owner, entering from the front entrance.

“Oh, there you are,” Cat sat, turning in greeting. Her eyebrows lifted quizzically.

“Yeah. I’d had to pee for like forty minutes, but Mrs. Marsen was not to be kept waiting,” Amelia joked, pulling a face for comedic effect.

“Tough customer?”

Reaching for a thin grey sweater hanging on one of the rows of pegs against the wall between the main studio and front entrance, Amelia shrugged into it. “I’ll say. Still, she tipped well, especially considering the session went way over her time limit.”

Cat smiled absently. Running her hands up and down her jeans, she considered how to start. Her eyes flickered over to the mirrored wall and then, just as quickly, they dropped down to the floor.

“Shall I grab the glasses?” Amelia asked, already moving toward one of the two backend rooms, where she kept a few pieces of glassware.

“Umm, no.”

Stopping, Amelia turned to look at Cat. Cocking her head a little to one side, she smiled slowly. “No?”

“Not, not yet.”

“All right,” Amelia stated, placing both hands on her hips. “What’s going on?”

“Going on?” Cat cringed at the high octave of her voice. Clearing her throat, she shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Okay, okay.” Holding both of her hands up in surrender, Cat capitulated. “The thing is…I don’t want you to take this the wrong way or anything—” Now that she was here, Cat was having some serious reservations. Never mind how Matt would react, she didn’t want to offend her new friend.

“Conversations don’t tend to end well that begin that way,” Amelia confided to her, but she was still sporting the same easy grin. Brushing her long hair over her shoulder, she waited.

“Well, I was thinking about your wardrobe—”

That clearly knocked Amelia for a surprise. “My what?”

Pointing toward the bulky wooden structure, tucked away against the far wall, Cat shrugged. “Your wardrobe,” she reiterated. The top of her shoe toed against the polished wooden floor. “It’s an eyesore.”

“So you’ve said,” Amelia returned dryly.

“And you agreed,” Cat returned breathlessly. This was probably not the most tactful way to go about this conversation, but now that she’d started…well, now that she’d started she couldn’t seem to stop.

Amelia nodded. “And?”

“And?”

“Is that all you were thinking?”

“No, I just—” Cat shook her head. Her eyes moved toward it frantically, her gaze taking in the jumble of blocks and towers beside it. “I remember you said you used it for props.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, wouldn’t you rather have a custom-designed piece for the studio? You know, something that actually fit all your pieces, was specially designed for all your pieces, even the odd-shaped ones?” Cat’s hand flickered to the excess items leaning against the bulky structure. “And, you know, something that wasn’t hideously ugly?”

Amelia was silent for a moment, her large eyes taking in the thick furniture in question. Her lips pulled up a little. “You really have been thinking about this.”

Cat dug in a deep breath. “Yes, I have—”

“I think we need to get you laid.”

At the words, Cat sputtered to a close. “Wait. What?”

“You’ve been sitting at home, thinking about my wardrobe. My wardrobe, Cat. I think that says it all.”

“No, no…”

Snapping her fingers together, the sound reverberating off the walls, Amelia laughed. “Aha!”

“Aha?” Cat’s voice was weak, nervous.

“This is about getting you laid, isn’t it?”

“Would you stop saying that?” Flustered, Cat let her eyes shift away from Amelia’s penetrating gaze. Unfortunately, that meant looking into the mirrored wall beside them. The dusky rose settling, blooming, over her cheeks only further riled her.

“Oh come off it, you were on the verge of oh-so-innocently offering Matt up to the task, weren’t you?” But it was clear Amelia wasn’t expecting a response. She already knew the answer.

“You told me you wanted to get a new wardrobe.”

“Yeah. Maybe someday,” Amelia reminded her. “It’s far and away a low priority right now.”

Cat made a face. “But it’s godawful.”

Amelia only laughed, her lips splitting open to show her straight, white teeth. “True, true.”

“And it obviously doesn’t hold all of the equipment you have.”

Amelia nodded thoughtfully. “That’s also true. And convenient.”

“How so?”

“Because before walking in here, you didn’t know that.”

“Oh…well, still.”

“But let’s be clear at least—you weren’t thinking about my wardrobe. You were thinking about Matt.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I won’t agree to your little scheme until you say so,” Amelia sang.

Cat considered the words. Feeling her fingers tighten into little balls at her sides, she hitched up one shoulder defensively.

“Say it.”

“Fine! Okay, I was thinking about Matt. But I really do think he’d do wonders for the wardrobe.”

Amelia’s lips pulled down in thought. “And you think he’ll do it?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Groaning, Amelia eyed the wine. “So, you haven’t even asked him yet?”

“No, I thought I’d wait to make sure you were on board?”

“And if he says no?”

“Well,” Cat shrugged, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “It’s far and away a low priority for you right now, anyway.”

“Brat.”

“But you’ll consider it?”

“Depending on the price…” Amelia hedged, “yes, I’ll consider it.”

Clapping her hands together, Cat smiled. “Grab your coat.”

“My what?”

But Cat was already heading for the front door. “It’s still a bit chilly outside.”

“You’re going to ask him now?”

At the words, Cat stopped. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled sweetly. “No. We’re going to ask him now. Hurry up.”

“Oh, hell,” Amelia muttered, trailing after her. “I should have insisted on that bottle of wine.”

“We’ll have it in celebration.”