“You okay, Joey?” Dwight called.
Gabriel paused in mid-swing. Jorge the sea lion griped at him, a strident honk: Gabriel hadn’t released the nugget of silver and pink chum he had been about to feed. Joey? Again? The trainer scanned the empty amphitheater, saw the tall man in the mascot costume staggering near the bleachers, one furry grey boot on his foot and the other in his hand, which was wrapped around something remarkably like the neck of a bottle. The sea lion mask was askew — Joey, his vision as impaired as his gait, was moving at a precipitous angle toward the pool. If he fell in, in the heavy suit, and intoxicated to boot, he would need rescuing.
Gabriel flipped the fish to the waiting animal and sprinted toward Joey, intercepted him with a hand on the costume’s furry arm. “Slow down, big guy.”
“What?” came a muffled voice from under the mask. “Hey, hands off.” He tried to push free.
Gabriel tightened his grip, solidified his stance, and pulled backward. This gave Dwight time to catch up and grab the other arm.
"I'll take him inside." Dwight’s grip was a vise of iron. He dragged Joey back from the pool, put one arm around his shoulder, and steered him across the performance area toward the holding gate fence. The fence opened, he pushed the half-costumed mascot into the shadowy passage beyond.
Gabriel retrieved the chum bucket just in time — Pepper, noticing his trainer’s inattention, was trotting toward it — and tossed the smaller sea lion a bite. From out of sight came a resounding WHUMP, followed by the sound of barfing. Gabriel fed the sea lions a few more morsels, then set the bucket down, wondering when to feed them the other half of its contents. Splashes and some profanity echoed from the holding gate area.
A gentle slapping sound, only slightly fiercer than raindrops, preceded Dwight’s return through the fence. “Let him sleep it off,” he announced. His hands were wet. He had probably dunked the mascot face-first into the pool back there.
“Did you kick his ass?” Gabriel asked.
“Maybe just a little, but he won’t remember. If he asks, tell him he fell down.”
“Sorry I didn’t help.”
“Naw, no problem. I love the smell of vodka barf on a Monday morning. Hey, you see the new girl? She’s hot.”
“I didn’t. Come on, Dwight. A hot girl’s just another girl. The last thing I need in my life is one more attitude problem to worry about. These two keep me busy, and mi mama. You saw the other night, what she’s doing.”
“Yeah, she’s cooking dinner for the neighbors. That’s not so bad. I’d move into her building just for that, if my place wasn’t rent-controlled.”
They both looked up when voices sounded at the amphitheater entrance: the communications manager, Kevin Ahmed, in his tight slacks and tight pink shirt, and a medium-height young woman with wavy brown hair to her shoulder blades, wearing a pink blouse and a flared skirt, black with a red flower print near the bottom. White open-toed low heels completed the picture. Rachel had taught Gabriel to notice women's shoes so he could tell her later what they had on. He was done with Rachel, but still had the habit. Damn.
“Speak of the devil,” said Dwight. “Will you look at that hotbox?”
The young woman’s green eyes flashed as she looked around curiously, tilted her head up at the seats. “No, they don’t have one like this at Newport, but I was down in Miami for spring break, and I saw the ones at the Seaquarium. That big dolphin lagoon.”
Gabriel was impressed and didn't want to look away from her. In fact, he looked at her more closely. Her pert nose, her rose-red lips slightly parted with a smile of appreciation, the strain of firm breasts beneath her blouse, the sleekness of her legs under the skirt cut just above the knee, the delicate turn of the ankles and the bunching of the athletic calves accentuated by the heels — she was absolutely gorgeous. He quickly looked away, started counting the pieces of chum left in the bucket. He didn't want to give in to this desire to take in her every detail. Resisting was a struggle, though, and he stole another glance. He had forgotten what being turned on by a woman was like till he saw this one, her brow furrowed with concentration as she listened to Kevin’s chirpy tour-guide script, who bit her lower lip with thoughtfulness, whose legs shone in the morning sun.
“Hey, G, looks like you just got hit by the thunderbolt,” Dwight whispered, quoting his favorite movie, The Godfather. The thunderbolt was what happened when you became obsessed with a woman at first sight.
“No way, Candy-Ass.”
“You can’t hide the thunderbolt,” Dwight pressured. “Go ahead, make a move. I’ll bet fifty bucks if you try, you’ll be in bed with her within the week.”
“Stop.” Gabriel punched Dwight on the arm, but there was no time for more; the guided tour was approaching them.
Close up, she was even better looking. The soft curves of her cheeks, the blonde highlights mixed into her brown hair, the swelling of her full breasts as she breathed. Gabriel hoped she didn’t notice him looking there.
“Harper Wheeler.”
He accepted her outstretched hand. Her touch was an electric shock. Her hand felt perfect in his.
“Gabriel Castillo.” He used the Spanish pronunciation, gahb-ree-ehl, and silently cursed himself a split-second later. Hijo de puta! That pronunciation sounded more exotic and mysterious to white women. Why was he trying to impress her? That was a bad idea. “Gabe,” he corrected, and smiled, showing teeth as Rachel had always trained him to do.
Harper gave him a return smile with a kindness and openness that made his twenty-four-year old belly quiver like hummingbird wings, but then she quickly pulled back. “Umm…” She looked over his shoulder and fidgeted.
Gabriel realized that the two sea lions were splashing out of the pool behind him, coming to greet her, as they did with carefully screened guests during shows. Jorge was seven feet long and about six hundred pounds; Pepper was only a little smaller.
Harper took several steps back, but it didn’t help; Pepper was faster than anyone could ever be walking backwards in heels. She emitted a little peep and sidestepped the animal’s approach. Clunk! She’d upset the chum bucket, splashing the blood and guts of fish onto her feet.
Gabriel clapped his hands and raised one. Pepper posted up, raising his nose to touch Gabriel’s palm. This was his father's old strategy to refocus the animals when they had forgotten what they were supposed to be doing. “Sorry,” he said.
Harper was breathing a little faster — and Gabriel loved watching that chest rise and fall -- but she regained her poise quickly. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve gotten scared. I mean, I grew up around farms and with big dogs, and my good friend lives on a horse farm, so large animals don’t scare me, but I just didn’t want to be in her way.”
“His way.”
“Sorry, his way.”
“This is Pepper — he’s a male. And that’s Jorge. Anyway, no harm done. Sorry about your shoes.”
Harper had an incredibly sexy voice, with sweetness, a little breathiness, and a touch of country about the vowels. Flushed with embarrassment, her skin took on an appealing pinkness that accentuated her eyes. “Well, darn it,” she said. “That’s pretty smelly stuff, isn’t it? I wouldn’t care if they were my shoes, but I borrowed these from my landlady… Oh, never mind. Maybe it’ll wash out.” She looked at the sea lion, who had settled down again, and reached her hand toward him. Jorge, apparently bored, splashed back into the water. Pepper put his nose into Harper’s hand, sniffed.
“Do I smell good? It’s just Dolce and Gabanna.
“You probably smell more like the chum.”
Dwight leaned in. “I think my friend likes Dolce and Gabanna,” he said in a fake whisper.
“Callete, comemierda,” Gabriel snapped at him. He looked at Harper; she hadn’t understood his vulgar Spanish, gracias a Dios! The words came to him: If you want to meet me here before you leave work today, I’ll try to help you get some of the smell out. He had a perfect opening, and Harper Wheeler was absolutely gorgeous, and she wasn’t stuck up or unfriendly at all, seemed more embarrassed than anything — and what? He didn’t say those perfect words. No, he had to spout off something practical.
“First you should wash the blood off,” he said. “Not in the tank, though; salt water’ll dry out leather shoes. My dad taught me that.”
“Your dad? Does he work here too?”
“He used to. He’s passed away.”
“Oh, so sorry.” She touched his hand with a few fingers and half her palm, a gesture of sympathy that was clearly automatic. That soft touch made him wish his work shorts had a little more give in the front.
“Did you want to get over to see the sea cliffs, or swing around to look at the bathysphere first?” Kevin asked Harper.
“Oh, you know best,” she answered.
The moment between them was over. Gabriel let a deep breath go once they were out of easy earshot.
“What did I tell you?” Dwight said. “She’s your type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
“You do now, Gabe, and she’s it. Listen, you need a woman ASAP. Sorry to be the Zen groundskeeper, but you need some balance in your life. Come on, admit it. You wanted to hook up with her the minute you saw her.”
“Yeah, I did, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”
“Why? Because your mom wants you to be with a Cuban girl?”
“Well, there’s that, but it’s not the reason. You know, man. I need to focus on my career. I need to, I want to. My dad is up in Heaven looking down at me, right?”
Dwight pursed his lips. “Of course. What every father does in Heaven is watch over his son and supervise which girls he goes to bed with.”
Gabriel squatted and righted the chum bucket, then shrugged and dumped it out on the ground in front of Pepper. He looked up at his friend. “Why’s it so important to you, anyway?”
“You seriously don’t know?” Dwight said. “All right, here goes. As soon as you’re out of the way, I’m moving in on Rachel at, like, warp speed.”
“You’re kidding me!” All Dwight had ever done, when Gabriel and Rachel were a couple, was to tease and annoy her.
“Deadass,” said Dwight.
“Well, you have my blessing,” Gabriel said, “but be careful.”
“But what about Harper? You have got to at least try to get a little somethin'-somethin'.”
“You’re crazy. No, I’m not doing that, and don’t bug me about it, either.”
“Heard,” said Dwight. “Ignore me if you want, but I wasn’t wrong about that thunderbolt.”