Breene, K F - Jessica Brodie Diaries 01 Read online

  Gulp.

  My ass fell asleep numerous times. My butt-sweat bled into the ripped canvas of the driver’s seat. My vocal cords were hoarse from singing at the top of my lungs for hours straight. It was a long trip, made longer with the lack of changing landscape in the desert. At one point I literally pointed out a rock: "Oh, look, a rock! Look how big the rock is! There it goes, a gray rock amongst all this brown."

  Later on I saw another cool sight. "Oh, look, a cactus! Wow, brownish green, like my eyes. Cool."

  New Mexico...now there’s a reason to speed.

  Three dog years later, I nearly cried when I saw Tartin Creek, 1Mile. I put down my hastily made noose and sped to the turn-off. I was almost there!

  A couple turns and a million street signs later, I left the traveler’s world and entered…

  “Holy shit—“

  Tartin Creek.

  Houses loomed and sprawled, pushed back from the carefully tended street devoid of even one pothole. I didn’t see one piece of trash. Whereas the trip was a tableau of brown, this town was one of green. Yards of grass covered front yards, decorated with plants, flowers and trees. More than one yard had a tire swing gently swaying in the afternoon breeze. Any cars in sight were luxury models. Any people well dressed. Flem was right, this place had money.

  What the hell am I doing here?

  After a double check to my directions, I finally pulled up in front of one of the massive residences that made up the norm of this town. The grounds were expansive and green, reaching to both my left and right as I parked at the curb in front of the walkway. The landscaping was immaculate, with trimmed bushes, gently swaying trees, and flowers in beds of soft dirt completely devoid of weeds. The house stood tall, intimidating in size even though it was so far removed from the quiet street it should've been smaller. The décor of soft tan and white window lattices gave the structure a refined look. The money here wasn't splashed around and thrown in your face, like so many celebrity residences I’d seen, it was subtle. Sophisticated. Like people who’d been rich all their lives. Here, money was a default setting. It would never run out. At least in their lifetime.

  It took me about fifteen minutes to get out of the car. I just sat there, staring. I had grease stains on my shirt. Neither my hair nor teeth hadn’t been brushed in two days. My whole outfit probably cost under $100.

  In this community, one of these things did not belong. Spoiler alert…it was me!

  I pushed open the door slowly and climbed out. Dusting potato chip crumbs from my pants, I trudged up the walkway with a slightly ducked head. A neighbor looking out the window was probably muttering, “There goes the neighborhood.”

  Rental agreement clutched in my hand like a shield, I gingerly rang the faintly lit, plastic doorbell.

  “Why, hello there young lady.”

  I spun around, losing the spit in my mouth down my chin, nearly wondering if someone was going to laugh at me and yell, “Gotcha!”

  An old lady was standing just off of the stoop wearing a kind smile. Her white hair was pulled back from her smooth, wrinkle-less face and hidden beneath a yellow sun hat with a large brim. Though slightly hunched with old age, she still showed traces of her once regal bearing.

  “Um, hi--” I stammered stupidly, scrubbing at my face. A chip flacked off and fell to the ground.

  “A young lady should never say ‘um’, it makes her seem dense. And you don’t seem dense to me.” She smiled in a playful sort of way, no doubt intending that “advice” to go down easier.

  I was not impressed. Intimidated, however, absolutely.

  “I’m Jessica, to rent, the uh...the cottage? I might have the wrong place…”

  I scanned the property as if a veil would lift and reveal the mediocre dwelling in which I belonged.

  “Oh Jessica, darlin. Yes, of course. I figured that was the way of it when I saw ya. I’m Gladis,” she said in an affluent Southern drawl. She stepped past me toward the house. “You don’t look like you brought much with ya?”

  “Oh, well, no. I don’t really have much so I thought I would head to Ikea.”

  “Of course. A fresh start. And you’re from California?”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled, her eyes slightly crinkling in the corner. She’d absolutely had work done to her appearance, but by expert plastic, and extremely expensive, plastic surgeons. Her face was nearly ageless. Her neck, however…

  “Well, then, let me show you your new home."

  She let me through the front door...and into a modern museum. The oval entryway could have been its own room with vast high ceilings and a pillar to each side. A large hall led away into the house and through the middle of a double stair case leading to the second level. Everything was marble, stone, and wood. An impressively large chandelier loomed above us, threatening to fall with the weight of the sparkling crystal.

  I gingerly stepped to the side just in case today was the day for spooky mishaps.

  We climbed the stair well and then turned right, into the large hallway. Since she was older, she didn’t have it in high gear, which gave me a chance to check out the well-lit and elegantly decorated rooms. As one would expect of a guest room, most were devoid of personal affects, but to make up for that lack, there were art and tiny decorative items that made a person feel more at home. As we walked, we passed a billiards room, which would have made me gasp in wonder if we hadn’t shortly thereafter passed a personal movie theater!

  She turned into one of the rooms on the left, which turned out to be the biggest bedroom I had ever entered. Ever. With the biggest, most extreme four-poster piece of furniture that she apparently called a bed. And what was a giant, over-the-top bed without matching night stands? Or a huge dresser for that matter? Forget celebrity, she probably had royalty staying over. Who else but an excessively rich person could afford the wardrobe needed for so much space.

  Gladis stopped near the window. “Have a look.

  She must have missed my bug-eyed entrance, because I’d been doing nothing but looking. And fawning. And drooling. And feeling more than a little out of place.

  Still, she stood with hands loosely clasped in front of her, eyebrows raised, expectant. Like a mime, I elaborately scanned everything a second time. I was an actor once, after all, I could get a point across.

  Her continued silence meant an answer was expectant.

  “Uh...I mean, it is very nice. Big. I thought, um--” I winced with that last um and lost my focus as heat rose to my cheeks. How did one bring up false advertisement to their landlady?

  Gladis’s eyes twinkled. “No, honey, not this room.”

  She beckoned me closer to the window.

  I went thither, as one does when they are awkwardly standing in a giant room, in which they don’t belong, looking for some answers but too afraid to ask, and followed her gaze to the ground below.

  A surge of excited adrenaline coursed through my chest.

  There it was. My cottage. I fell in love immediately. It was actually more of a pool house than a cottage, and I was happier for it. From the window, it looked like a decent size, pushed back from the pool a respectable distance, with its own little cropping of trees and landscaped backyard behind it. It was perfect.

  “I like to show the cottage from this vantage point," Gladis said in a hush, which strangely fit the situation perfectly. “It is a little more dramatic this way. Either you love it or you hate it, and this view brings out that emotion best. All the kids in my family hate it, which is why they aren’t invited over more than once a year.” She scrutinized my face. “But I can see that you love it.”

  I had been staring at it like a fat kid stares in a bakery shop window. In other words, like I was a kid again. All I could do was nod quickly.

  “I love it, too," she said with a smile, turning back to the window. “Every time me and the mister got in a tiff, I would hike up my skirts and head out to the cottage for a few days of peace and quiet. Now that the mister has pass
ed on,” she crossed herself, “I just don’t go out there much anymore. I thought it might be time to have a starving student make her way in the world, starting from my favorite place!”

  I finally turned toward her. She was clasping her hands in front of her, looking at me as if through a time machine.

  “Do you believe in fate, Jessica?”

  I blinked uncertainly. “I’ve never really thought about it, actually.”

  “Yes, young people not looking for Prince Charming seldom do, do they? Let me tell you, Jessica. When I put that ad in the paper, I was praying to God the person that answered my ad would be starting a journey, like I once did. She, or he, would be taking her first independent steps in life, with nothing but hope and a dream on her shoulders.

  “Well, Jessica, I received a lot of responses, many of which could have fit that description to some degree, but only one piqued my interest. A girl from California, just out of college, making a giant leap of faith. I knew right then God must’ve heard me, and intertwined our paths for a reason. Now, was I right?”

  Not exactly, no. But I wasn’t planning on revealing that little nugget. I wanted that cottage, and I was prepared to fabricate to get it.

  “A fresh start in a distant place is exactly what I am looking for. This is just one of the places I was looking into; Texas I mean. I got a job, so I found the ad and applied.”

  “You see? God was listening. I am heading to the end of my days, and I desperately needed to give back. Charity is great, and feels great, but I wanted to give on a personal level as well."

  Ordinarily I would be irritated that I was her Petri dish. Or that she was under the impression I needed charity. But with a sweet little setup like that cottage below, in a price range that wouldn’t hurt my pocket too much, I’d be her Oliver any day. Hell, put a red wig on me and throw some coins at my feet, I’m in.

  Her smile widened in a good-natured way. “Okay, darlin, let’s go have a look!

  We walked out the way we came. Big rooms, long hallway, grand staircase. We went out through the front door. We walked around the north side of the house to a little stone path. A large wooden gate with spikes on the top barred our way until she tapped in a code.

  “The access number is already written down and placed in the cottage for your convenience," she said as she continued along the path. “You’ll be safe from your admirers here.”

  Yeah, like I had any of those.

  Across the gate and through the woods, little red riding hood followed her filthy rich and slightly eccentric Godmother. We crossed a large patch of perfectly manicured lawn with various well positioned flower beds. As we neared the cottage, we walked by a BBQ station with a giant grill, counters, a small fridge, patio tables and chairs, and a fire pit. I could throw one hell of a garden party on this lawn.

  If I could find some friends to do it with.

  Beyond that was an Olympic sized pool. At the far side it had a stone wall with ivy and a waterfall that appeared to double as a slide. And I would absolutely make use of that slide. I was still a kid where pool play was concerned!

  The closer we got to the cottage, the harder my heart thumped. It was like I was going on a date with the hottest guy in eternity. I had to wipe my palms on my jeans, knocking off a few chip flacks as I did so.

  She opened the front door and handed me a key. Then stared, again expectant.

  Into my dumbfounded stare, she said, "Well? This is your new home. Take the keys, enter, and give me a tour.”

  She was cracked. Give her a tour to a place I had never been before? Oh, okay. So, you want to watch me wander around blindly, do you? I’ll bite.

  The entryway was spacious with high ceilings and a marble floor. It had a staircase off to the right. Instead of following it, I went through one of the doors on the left. That led me to a living room, also with ample space, centered around a sweet little fireplace. Furniture was ornate and stately, the leather hiding that it was slightly out of date.

  I continued through an archway into a dining room big enough to seat six people. The room had a china cabinet filled with fine China and crystal. I almost instructed her to take those away since I wasn’t adult enough to be in the vicinity of such items. What if I sleep walked one night and sold them all on ebay?

  I continued on, my tour totally forgotten. This place seemed like home. I fit here. As odd as that sounded with me never, ever having this sort of finery around me, I fit. I found my niche, and I was going to stay here as long as I could. I loved it.

  After my self-tour was concluded, and I realized I’d left Gladis somewhere behind, I backtracked through the house and down to the living room. There she was, sitting on the couch, gazing out the window with a dreamy smile. She looked up as I came in.

  “Well?” she asked. “How do you like it?”

  I could feel my face alight with glee. "I love it! Love it!"

  She got up slowly, as old women do, and gestured toward the sliding glass door. I followed her out to a patio overlooking the slightly distant pool. It was some minutes before she spoke, her southern drawl coming out tenfold.

  “I designed this lil’ old house. Pool house, my husband called it. I always thought of it as my retreat. Back in those days, it was not uncommon for the woman of the house and the man of the house to have separate bedrooms. Well, I had a separate house of my own when I wanted it.

  “It was the man’s way back then.” She gave me a look that showed what she thought of that foolishness. I agreed. A grand mess, altogether.

  “The man was the boss," she continued, "the ruler of the house. He brought home the money, and cash was king. Before women’s lib and all that, the men paid the bills, and the women stayed home with the children.”

  She chuckled and patted my arm. “Well, you try telling a southern lady, born and bred, that she has to answer to her man, and she will kindly smile at you and go on doing as she pleases. Now, don’t take me the wrong way. We did step aside for our men as often as not. But we weren’t ruled. Oh no. No way.”

  She paused for a beat and looked me over, the sun sinking behind her into the horizon. “You might wonder why I am telling you all this?”

  Yes...I certainly did. But she had a way of talking. Her southern drawl fascinated me. It was its own music, and I couldn’t help but listen to the slow flow of it.

  Into my polite shrug, she went on. “This house was my sanctuary when that man of mine tried to assert his law. And he did, often enough. I caught him with other women, we had fights like any married couple, and there were times I wanted to slit my wrists just to get out of his house!”

  Hel-lo. Didn’t see that coming...

  She was chuckling to herself, probably reading my face if not my mind. “Not that I would, dear. No. But it was a time of no escape for women. You young women have so many options now. So much freedom. So many luxuries. This cottage, this pool house, was my sanctuary. It was the only place I could be myself. I wanted to rent it out to a free spirit that could make use of it like I always wanted to."

  The twinkle in her eyes said I was the free spirit to which she was referring. I didn't bother to correct her. Some people's free spirit was everyone else's hot mess. Ami found that out the hard way.

  “I want you to have people over." Gladis continued with a wave of her hand. "Decorate how you want to. Go skinny dipping. Have plenty of men over to share your bed. Do whatever you want to. Just treat it with respect. Treat it like your own, dear. That’s all I ask.”

  Despite the fact that a woman my grandmother's age just told me to sleep around, I was touched. She was offering me a home. A life. A place to put down roots, if I wanted.

  I smiled like a fool.

  "I will have friends over, if I can find any, ha! And, you know, take care of it, obviously. Did you, um--" I winced with the word slip up. "Should I get some furniture? I was going to hit Ikea..."

  She laughed, probably at my foot-in-the-mouth stuttering, and shrugged me off. "Do what you will
, dear. Use mine, put it in storage, I leave it up to you. By the by, you don't have any food in that kitchen o' yours. Come to the Big House. We'll have dinner. Get acquainted."

  “Oh. Awesome, yeah. That would be great. But I’d like to get some things. Would you mind giving me some directions to a corner store or something close?”

  “Of course, of course.” She looked out over the grass, not moving an inch.

  I had nowhere to be, so I just sat with her. Things seemed a little slower here. There was less bustle. Things were laid back and easy. The silence that fell was not awkward, as I thought it might be. It just...was. We sat. We gazed. I waited for her to get up, or talk, or move. She just looked ahead.

  Chapter Three

  I pulled into the parking lot of something called the Piggly Wiggly. As my car rolled toward the large, boxy store, I got a moment of indecision. I could literally park anywhere. Up close, further away, down the block--anywhere! I hadn't seen this much parking since I showed up to school on a holiday without knowing it.

  Spoiled, I chose one near the door. Why not, right? I didn't need to walk if I didn't want to. Or fight for any spaces. Luxury!

  Halfway to the entrance I realized I forgot my list. I stopped dead and tilted my head up, trying and to remember when I’d last had it… Wait, I should have it... Somewhere…

  Lifting my bag away from my shoulder with one strap, I dove to the bottom, fishing out a small, crinkled list. As I rummaged, feeling like the bag was swallowing my arm, I heard a deep male baritone say, “Ma’am.”

  One, not being familiar with that phrase, and two, wondering if someone was talking to me, which was very un-L.A., and hence, very strange for me, I gave a quick questioning glance in the speaker’s direction. I met a plaid chest. Obviously a little closer than I thought.

  I still had my hand stuck at the bottom of my over-sized, over-filled handbag, walking lop-sided with no real perspective on where I was in relation to the door, when I looked up and met two deep blue eyes in the most breathtakingly, ruggedly handsome face I had ever seen. Watch out Marlboro man, you ain’t got nothin’ on this cowboy!