Chapter Eight - Rochelle
After Quin leaves I have a sudden wave of loneliness. Adley sleeps past lunchtime and if we were home we’d be getting ready to go out to our special pool in the hot springs.
Home? Why did I just refer to Pagosa as home?
That’s not my home. This place isn’t my real home either, but it’s the closest thing I have. I grew up in Palm Springs. The desert. Mild winters and summers so hot, you really can fry an egg on the sidewalk.
I hated it there. Hated it. And yeah, most of my hate has nothing to do with the city or the weather. But that hate lingers.
My cell phone rings about an hour after Quin leaves. I know who it is, so I pick it up and say, “How can I help you, Mr. Bricman?”
“That went well, right?”
“Better than I could’ve hoped,” I say, trying not to sound disappointed.
“What’s wrong?” Bric asks, picking up on my melancholy.
“How long do you think he’ll want to do this?” I ask. “The three of us? Forever?”
“Forever?” Bric laughs. I roll my eyes, because I know his view on relationships and forever. “Nah. Why, you’re tired of me already?”
“Not you, really. Just… I’d like something normal. Eventually.”
“What’s normal?”
“Well, Bric, it’s definitely not a ménage à trois.”
“Says who?”
It’s a losing battle with him. He thinks everything that happens in that Club is normal. “Never mind.”
“Hey, if I’m a third wheel, just let me know and I’ll bail.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s Quin. We kinda talked and he’s into it.”
I can almost hear Bric smile on the other end of the phone. “So what’s the problem?”
“Nothing, yet. But like you always say, there’s no such thing as forever.”
“So just enjoy it while it lasts,” he says.
“I don’t want to lose this new game,” I admit.
“Well, you won the last round. Your chances of winning are good, brat.”
“Did I win?”
“You’re here, aren’t you? That’s never happened before. In fact, Rochelle, you’re a whole bunch of firsts for us. First girl to play for three years. First girl to get what you wanted. First girl to make Smith Baldwin quit early.” We both laugh at that. “First to turn back and play again.”
“I don’t want to play though. I want it to be real. I told you that.”
“It’s real,” he says, frustrated. “What’s not real about it?”
Good God. This man. He has no clue.
“I’m serious,” he says. “What part of this is tripping you up?”
“He wants me with you, Bric.”
“So?”
“So what if you leave? Where will I be then?”
“Why would I leave, Rochelle? I’m the guy who never complains. I’m the guy who sticks around. I’m the guy who makes it work, no matter what.”
Right. Back to the game he’s playing. I should run away right now. Never look back. Because Bric is always playing. He’s always got a motivation. And that motivation has nothing to do with me. Or Quin, for that matter. As much as he likes to play up that tight friendship the three of them share, it’s just a screen to keep the world from knowing who he really is.
“And you don’t want me. You want us.”
“Right,” he says. I’m boring him, I can tell. “Which is why I don’t see the problem.”
But I do. I see it very clearly. As long as I want them both, we’re fine. But the minute I don’t want Bric, we’re right back to where we started last year when I told Quin I loved him.
“You want me to bail out, Rochelle?”
“No,” I say. I don’t want him to bail. I need him to keep Quin.
“Good. Because I like that baby.”
“What?” I laugh.
“I’m serious,” he says. “She’s so fucking cute I just want to squeeze her. She had her little fingers all wrapped around my hand while I was feeding her today. God, I can’t stand it. We make good babies together.”
“I have no idea what to say to that, other than you don’t know for sure that you’re her father.”
“Doesn’t matter. I like her. I’m digging that little pumpkin and I’m gonna spoil her rotten.”
“That’s what I call her,” I say, laughing a little. Feeling maybe just a little better.
“She’s like a little chubby pumpkin. Did she trick-or-treat this year?”
“She was five months old, Bric. No.”
“Good. Next year will be her first time and I’m gonna pick that costume out.”
“Whatever.”
“Holy fuck, you know what I just realized?”
“What?”
“Christmas is coming up. OK, I gotta go. I have so much shit to do. See you tonight and kiss that pumpkin for me.”
He hangs up before I can respond. Again.
What a strange turn of events. Never in a million years would I have pictured Elias Bricman as a doting father.
Maybe he’s not so bad after all.
At five-thirty Quin knocks on my hotel-room door with a bellhop and a luggage cart. Ten minutes later we’re downstairs packing all my things into Quin’s Suburban. I’ve been telling him about my car since he appeared at the door, but he waves me off and pays the hotel to have it driven over to wherever we’re going.
Our destination is a building on Wynkoop Street, near Union Station. I know where we are before Quin even pulls into the garage.
“This is Bric’s place, right?”
“Is it?” Quin asks, shutting off the truck and taking a look around.
“He brought me here that first time we met. I was telling him about how much I loved the new lofts near the station and he started bragging about his new place. So he brought me here to show it off.”
“I’ve never even been here. I knew he had a place, but I always pictured him down in Cherry Creek with all the other assholes in this city. He stays at the Club as far as I know.”
If it bothers Quin that Bric is bringing me to his home, he doesn’t show it. I get the baby and put her in the stroller, and then help Quin with the stuff I’ll need right away. The spot we park in is very close to the elevator, right next to Bric’s car. Quin punches a button—which acts like a buzzer.
“Buzzing you up,” Bric’s voice says through an intercom.
The elevator doors open, we load all my stuff inside, and a few seconds later the elevator doors close and we ascend up to the top floor.
I remember that first night pretty clearly. I’d been in town a while, but I’d been living in a hotel room. So when Elias Bricman, all dressed up in his five-thousand-dollar suit, asked me if I wanted to go home with him, I said sure.
We were at a party. A corporate event that I crashed because I knew he’d be there. I knew a lot about Elias Bricman before I met him at that party. I lost track of him at one point, so I went outside and there he was, looking up at the sky, unlit cigar in his mouth.
He turned and looked at me, pointed a finger, and said, “You don’t belong here.”
For a second I thought that meant he knew I was a crasher. But then I realized he was flirting. Bric is… kinda hard not to notice. Tall, dark, and handsome are just the first words that pop into your head when you meet him. The others are sexy-as-fuck, hot-as-fuck, and boy-I’d-like-him-to-fuck-me.
His body is big with muscles, but not too bulky. He’s well over six feet tall. And his face. Damn, that face. A perfectly-shaped square jaw, full lips that know exactly how to lick a girl between her legs, and the most unusual eyes. Dark, indigo blue. They look brown, almost black if you don’t see them up close and in the light. But they’re not. They’re blue, like ink.
I was wearing a gold velvet dress I bought at a vintage clothing booth at a local antique mall. It was low-cut and in excellent condition, but very unusual. It got me noticed by Elias Bricman that night. And then Quin Foster too. The rest is history. I called it my lucky dress from that day forward. In fact, I think I met Chella wearing that dress as well. That day she bought my book.
The elevator doors open to half a dozen people bustling about. A few are dressed like maids and a few more look like workers. Some guy messing with the TV. Someone over by one of the windows with a drill. And another one talking to Bric off to the left.
Elias Bricman owns the coolest, trendiest loft condo in the whole state, I’m pretty sure of it. As soon as you step out of the elevator you know it’s a special place. The design is that unique combination of modern and rustic you only find in the Rocky Mountains. Exposed brick walls and aged metal accents complement the honey-toned wooden ceiling beams that make you think of a very expensive barn. The floors are an ash-colored hardwood that might clash with the beams and the brick, but the metal accents pull it all together.
The main room is huge and long, with two distinct living sections. Right in front of the elevator is an intimate seating area with three chairs that face a tall window framing the city outside. I’m pretty sure Bric puts chairs in front of all his windows for Smith, even if Smith has never been here.
The loft is right in the heart of lower downtown Denver, or LoDo, as it’s called by the locals, facing the west. Three blocks from Coors Field, across the street from Union Station, and a five-minute walk to the northern edge of the 16th Street Mall. The view of the mountains is worth a million dollars all by itself.
Off to the left is the main living area. Comfy couches and chairs surround a square glass and metal coffee table in front of the TV and gas fireplace. That whole wall is brick.
Even the pipes snaking down the walls and across the ceilings are decorative. None of those gaudy silver air vents to disrupt the decor. All the metal in this condo was made by an artist, and that includes the hot water pipes.
The dining room and kitchen are across the living room. An amazingly modern take on the crystal chandelier over the long wooden table complements the others hanging in the living area. The kitchen is white and sleek. Quartz countertops, industrial-sized stainless steel appliances, and a huge island big enough to have sex on.
But it’s the bedroom that steals the show in this place. Of course it is, right? Bric is a man who knows how to do up a bedroom. It doesn’t have doors, per se. They are sliding barn doors that stand twelve feet high and open at least ten feet wide—like he’s planning on driving a tractor through them. And they’ve got alternating panels of aged wood and opaque-smoked glass.
Everything about this place says… man. And yet it’s done so well a woman can’t help but see herself living here.
I might’ve gasped for air when I saw this condo that very first night.
I might’ve pictured myself sleeping in that bedroom forever and ever, even if my reason for coming to Denver had nothing to do with forever and ever.
I might’ve said yes to his weird offer just to see if I could make things happen.
Of course, I ended up in the Club apartment. Which was disappointing, but only a little bit.
Bric is standing in the kitchen talking to some worker and pointing to the cabinets when he notices Quin and me. “Oh, good,” he says. “You’re here. OK. Everyone out. Thank you for coming on short notice. Send Margaret your invoices and she’ll pay you tomorrow.”
“What the hell is going on?” Quin absently asks as he pulls open one of the massive fridge doors and grabs a beer.
“Baby-proofing,” Bric says, smiling at Adley. “So the pumpkin can’t accidentally eat cleaning products and what not.”
Quin shoots Bric an annoyed look over his shoulder, then pops the top off his beer with a bottle opener and takes a swig. “Baby-proofing?”
“Yeah, you know?” Bric says, walking over to me, grinning down at Adley. “Kids do weird shit like shake cleanser canisters and then lick the dust up off the floor. You gotta be one step ahead at all times.” He reaches down to tickle Adley’s chin. “Right, pumpkin?” She squirms in my arms and shoots him a gummy smile. “What do you think, Adley? Do you like it here?” Then he looks up at me. “You do, right?”
I nod. “You know I love this place.”
Quin walks over and sets his beer down on the island. “How come I thought you lived in Cherry Creek?”
“I have a place there,” Bric says. “But I don’t live there.” He almost snorts. “With all those rich assholes? No thanks. I’m fine at the Club. This place rents out on one of those internet sites for a thousand dollars a night. But it’s gonna be home base for Rochelle and the pumpkin from now on.”
“That’s awfully nice of you,” I say, looking around. My dream, right? But when I glance at Quin, he’s not reacting quite the same way. “Hey,” I say to him. “I’ve never seen your place, Quin.”
“No,” he says, taking another sip of his beer. “Never have.”
“Well, this is your bedroom, Rochelle,” Bric says, pointing to my fantasy bedroom. “That one’s for Adley.” There’s a second bedroom down the hall—if you can call it a hall, since it’s eight feet wide, wide enough to have a small settee against the wall and not even notice. “I have a crib coming, but it won’t be here for a few days. Assholes said they only had the floor model left in the store. And we’re not letting our baby sleep in a floor model.”
Our baby.
Quin’s look quickly turns to annoyance. “You picked out a crib?” He leaves off the words, Without me. But we all hear them anyway.
Bric looks a little regretful. “Sorry, man. It was all last-minute, you know?”
“Whatever,” Quin says, exhaling loudly.
A buzzer breaks the awkward silence that follows and Bric says, “That’s the food,” as he walks over to the elevator. “Rochelle, look.” I follow him over to the elevator and watch as he points to the security panel. “When someone comes to visit, they buzz from the lobby or garage. There’s a camera here, so you can see who it is. And a speaker, so you can ask them what the fuck they want. Then you buzz them up the elevator by pressing in the code. The code is just 1234.” He pushes the buzzer and we watch the delivery guy get in the elevator. There’s cameras in there too. “I only had two parking spots, but I bribed another tenant out of his this afternoon. The paperwork’s not done yet, but it’s open for you. It’s right next to the one you parked in, Quin. We’re all three right by the elevator.”
“How many people in this building?” I ask.
“Ten. One condo for each floor. But there’s two elevators. One on this side of the building, one on the other. So you only share the elevator with five.”
“Cool,” I say.
“Where’s the outside space?” Quin asks.
“Well,” Bric says. “This place doesn’t have any.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” Quin says, his tone slightly sarcastic. “I guess Rochelle will have to bring Adley to my place for outside time.”
“There’s a park,” Bric says, pointing to the window. “Down there by the river. Chella is only a few blocks away.”
“Not really,” Quin says. “It’s not walkable. You have to go all the way around Union Station and then down 20th.”
“Well, it’s just temporary,” Bric says. “And besides, Rochelle has a car. She can go to any park she wants.”
Quin shrugs, like he’s not crazy about the idea of me living here at all.
“Where do you live, Quin?” I ask, mostly to take his mind off whatever he’s dwelling on right now. But also because I’ve never been there. And I’m interested. “A man’s home says a lot about him.”
“Down by the convention center,” he says, a hint of regret in his answer. Like it’s not a great place for parks either.
The elevator doors open and Bric walks off to get the food delivery.
“I’d like to see it,” I say. “Whenever you have time.”
“Sure,” Quin says, looking around at Bric’s amazing condo. “But it’s nothing like this. So I hope you’re not disappointed.”
“Do you have outside space?” I ask, hiking Adley up on my hip. She’s getting so heavy now. Her tiny baby days are almost over.
This is the right question. Because Quin smiles big. “You’re gonna love my terrace. Bigger than this whole condo.”
“Really?” I ask, trying to imagine his place. Then why would he think this is better than a Central Business District condo with a two-thousand-square-foot terrace?
“I have my own park.” He laughs, feeling better about the arrangements. “Just wait.”
“OK,” Bric says. “Food’s here.” He holds up three giant white bags that say “Anna Ameci’s South” on them. “I hope you like pasta.” And then he looks at me. “I wanna see that pumpkin eat noodles.”
“She doesn’t eat noodles.” I laugh. “She’s six months old.” But when I look back at Quin he’s… thinking again.
What’s going on with him?