3

Brooke

Harris & Goode was tucked away on Hereford Street where it was a bit quieter than the foot traffic of Newbury Street. It didn’t matter that the location was quieter, though, because clients looking to hire a designer in this neighborhood usually weren’t walk-ins. The interior-design business relied on word of mouth, mostly the coveted referrals from prior clients to their friends with the money to pay for such services.

When I felt like walking, I got off at the Copley Station and followed Newbury Street down to where I worked. If the weather was unpleasant, I took Hynes because it was a lot closer. Today wasn’t unpleasant, though. A sunny and dry autumn day was always appreciated.

My small emotional breakdown on the ferry this morning with Herman had strangely helped.

In a way.

So I had let my guard down and remembered my sadness for a moment.

I’d become emotional.

I’d cried and scared poor Herman.

But we both survived it, and when the flurry of my sadness had passed, I’d felt much better. And I think Herman did as well. It wouldn’t be weird when we saw each other next time because now we’d sealed our friendship. That, as I pondered further, was a good thing.

I stopped at Starbucks to repair my makeup, and more importantly to supply my coffee addiction, before heading inside Harris & Goode at the next doorway. God, I loved that we had a Starbucks next door. One of the nicest perks about my job. There was a queue for the loo so I checked my messages while I waited. The one from Martin was unexpected. He wanted me to work a reception cocktail party this evening, six to nine.

My side job serving for Jonquil Catering was not my favorite, but it paid pretty well when I could fit a job in. I loved working at Harris & Goode, designing rooms for clients based on their visions, but couldn’t quite make the ends meet on a junior designer’s salary. Not yet anyway. So I took jobs serving on weekends and evenings if I had proper notice. Nine hours wasn’t enough time for me to arrange anything, and Martin knew that. I had to have a place to stay the night for one thing, because the last ferry left the dock at 8:30 p.m. on the dot, and if I wasn’t on it, then I was stuck in Boston for the night. I’d stay over with Zoe, but my friend was out of town for her sister’s wedding for at least another week. I didn’t have clothes for the following day of work at Harris & Goode or my black-and-whites for serving. There was no way I could work for Martin tonight.

I texted him my reply: Sorry, can’t do, Martin. I’m already on the mainland for the day. I need some notice to arrange where to stay, clothes, etc. –B

He’d be pissy with me now, but what could I do about it? Living on an island made for some challenges and I couldn’t control the ferry schedule. There wasn’t a lot of demand for a boat to Blackstone Island in the middle of the night.

I fixed my face in the mirror at Starbucks and thought I’d pass for normal. If Eduardo didn’t notice I’d been crying, then I’d call the whole thing a success. Straight blonde hair and very light brown eyes—that I’d been told were amber—had been inherited from my mum. Nan reminded me frequently that I looked just like her. I thought my mum had been very beautiful, so when Nan told me I could be Mum’s twin, it made me feel good inside.

I studied myself thoughtfully and came to the conclusion that I didn’t look bad, just a bit . . . sad.

Because I was.

It was no coincidence my favorite character from the movie Inside Out was Sadness. She was necessary—an important part of your life—and if you tried to keep Sadness out completely, and didn’t let her in once in a while, then the rest of the parts of you started to break down from the pressure of trying to deny yourself the right to be sad. It all made total sense to me. Maybe I’d watch it tonight after I visited Nan at physical therapy.

“Good morning!” Eduardo lambasted me with his standard greeting. “Looking very sexy today, mi condesa. Those boots are screaming ‘do me ’til I can’t take it anymore’ you know.”

I set my coffee down on the reception counter and unbuttoned my coat. “Good morning to you, too, and they are not screaming anything of the kind.”

“They so are, darling. I bet you didn’t notice the hunk in the sunglasses checking you out either, hmm?” Eduardo waved toward the full-glass front doors of the building where a hunk was indeed peering in as he took a call. Six-two, maybe six-three, with dark hair, a very nice wool coat in camel over an expensive gray suit, and aviator sunglasses was all I could make out through the window. But even through the glass and shadows, his handsomeness was apparent. There were men like him everywhere in Boston’s business center, though. I saw them every day, hurrying from one corporate deal to another. Trying to get ahead just like everyone else.

“He’s talking on his phone, Eduardo, not looking at me, you tit-head.”

“He did. You passed by and he checked you out real good, honey. He liked what he saw, mmm-hmm,” he informed me with a straight face, “and I love it when you talk dirty English to me.” It was all I could do to keep from laughing at him outright. Eduardo Ramos was good for my soul. I’d only known him since I’d started working at Harris & Goode four months ago, but we had clicked right away. He knew all about my past, and was nothing but supportive and compassionate about my situation. He loved the fact I was British and called me condesa most of the time—Spanish for countess. The thing with Eduardo was you had to overlook the outrageous and inappropriate comments he made on just about any off-limits topic for a place of business—and always at the most inappropriate times—because it was simply part of the package. A gorgeous Puerto Rican gay man with a mouth, and absolutely, perfectly lovely.

I shook my head at him slowly. “Do Jon and Carlisle know that you fantasize about the foot traffic when you should be working?”

He sniffed and frowned. “They do the same thing when they come through the front. But it’s right there, Brooke, right in front of me.”

“What is right in front of you?” I looked back toward the glass and noticed the hunk had moved on.

“Man heaven,” Eduardo sighed dreamily. “Big . . . hard . . . cocks . . . just walking—walking past us all day long. Ay, Dios mío!” He fanned his face with both hands flapping.

I lost it and had to either laugh out loud or explode. “Probably not so hard as you imagine if they are walking. I think it would be quite painful to walk around with a stiff cock all day.”

“You have a point there, condesa, and please say stiff cock for me again in your pretty accent.”

“No, I will not say it again, and you can stop being cheeky with me.”

Eduardo knew I wasn’t annoyed. It was a game we played for fun. Jon and Carlisle, the owners, didn’t give a toss, either. It was part and parcel of working with three gay men who were interior designers. It came with the territory, and the setup worked for me just fine.

“MARTIN, I’ve already explained why I cannot do it. I do not live in Boston. I have no place to stay overnight nor do I have clothes to wear tomorrow. If you want me to work for you, then you will have to give me at least twenty-four hours’ notice next time.”

Seriously, the man was dense. What did he not understand about the situation? More likely he just didn’t care.

“Why can’t you stay the night with your friend?” Martin suggested.

“Zoe is away, and even if she was here, there’s still the matter of clothes.” I wanted to smack him.

Eduardo, who had the habit of listening in on all conversations in the office if he was at all able, spoke up. “You can stay with me if you need a place to go tonight.” Too bad he said it rather loudly.

“I heard that,” Martin informed me. “So it’s settled, then?”

I stayed quiet and glared at Eduardo. He would get payback in a minute.

“Brooke?”

“Yes, Martin?”

“So I’ll see you at six. I’ll text the address when we hang up.”

“Wait. I don’t have my black-and-whites with me.”

“What are you wearing right now?”

If Martin were in my line of sight, he would be writhing in pain from my death stare. “I have on a chartreuse-and-emerald-green blouse with a black skirt and over-the-knee boots. Totally inappropriate for serving. I can’t do it as I’ve said.”

“So you go buy a white blouse on your lunch hour and wear the boots. It’s some sort of corporate celebration and most of the guests will be men. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the boots over your beautiful long legs.”

Ewwww. What a grotty little arsehole. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just make a sexually suggestive comment about my performance on a job and move along to payment, shall we, Martin?” Serving in heeled boots wasn’t going to be easy, plus I’d be out the cost of a new shirt as well. If Martin didn’t like it, then he could fuck on off.

Eduardo giggled and gave me two thumbs up.

“Double time, Brooke, just be there.”

As much as I wanted to decline, the extra money would be helpful right now. “Fine, I’ll do it, but Martin, if you want me in future—give me some notice so I can make arrangements for the night.” If there would even be a next time. Maybe a job search was a good idea.

After I ended the call, I pointed a finger at Eduardo and gave him only a slightly less violent version of my death stare. “You are in trouble in case you didn’t realize. You are to go tell the bosses we are leaving to shop for a blouse for me and will return with their lunch. And you get to pay for mine today.” I then smiled sweetly before getting up from the desk to put on my coat.

“Yes, my condesa,” Eduardo sang before bolting up to the second floor to get Jon and Carlisle’s lunch order.

While he was busy upstairs, I needed to let Nan know I wouldn’t be over to see her tonight. She would get a kick out of me having a sleepover at Eduardo’s place, though. I tried to see her every evening for a short visit and didn’t want her wondering where I was when I didn’t show. My call went through to the front desk, which wasn’t a surprise. Nan rarely stayed in her room, especially when there were activities going on.

“Blackstone Therapy Center, Lilah speaking. How may I assist you?”

“Hi Lilah, this is Brooke calling.”

“Your grandma is in a painting class right now, working on a seascape.”

“Ah, sounds lovely and I can’t wait to see it. Can you please let her know I’m working for Martin tonight? She will understand, and tell her I’ll visit tomorrow as usual.”

“Sure thing, Brooke, and thanks for letting us know so she doesn’t worry, because she would you know.”

Placing Nan in a temporary nursing facility while she recovered from a knee replacement had been our only option. She couldn’t be left alone in the cottage all day trapped in a wheelchair while I was working in Boston. She never complained, but I knew she would rather be at home, as anyone would.

I wished she could have in-home nursing care and that I could provide it for her, but it just wasn’t possible on her very fixed income, or mine. Once the Blackwater estate closed and she was forced to retire, her money had to be carefully managed to make ends meet. She wasn’t old at only sixty-one, and I suspected she missed her job very much, as well as the camaraderie with her workmates. In fact, the fall that resulted in the need for her knee replacement had happened after she’d lost her job, while she was bored stiff all alone in her cottage. Thank God her friend Sylvie was due for tea later on that day and discovered Nan at the bottom of her cellar steps—frightened and in terrible pain.

I often wondered if the Blackstone family who’d employed my nan bore any kind of conscience at all to dismiss a loyal servant after more than three decades with hardly a thank-you and good-bye. No pension or departure compensation—nothing at all. Deplorable came to mind. Selfish arseholes did as well. There was no defense for their behavior. None at all.

Blackstone Island was primarily a place where a few very rich people, with oceanfront vacation homes worth millions of dollars, came to play at summer holidays. Unfortunately, it was also a place where a great many poor people worked very hard to serve those same rich people and had little to nothing to show for it.