Too Broken(13)

He nods a moment, looking at his hands on the table, not speaking. Ian  appears suddenly and places a pint in front of each of us.

Pappy smiles up at his son and says, "Ta!" I give him a small smile  myself, and take a sip of what he's brought me. Cider. He brought me  cider. I go to say thank you, but he's already returned to the kitchen.

I look back at Pappy and ask, "Do you want to go on? Or we can stop if you like."

"What?" Pappy says, looking confused. "We ain't got started yet! No, no,  it's alright. Where was I? Right, Nellie had died. It was a shock for  all o' us, o' course, but Martha took it hardest. A year went by and she  was still sad. It seemed that no matter where she looked, she saw  somethin' that reminded her o' Nellie. A tree in bloom - Nellie loved  flowers. A blue umbrella - blue was Nellie's favorite color. A lass from  round the corner - one o' Nellie's schoolmates. Everywhere she looked,  she saw Nellie. Well, ‘bout a year later Martha was with child again -  with Ian - and I didn't think she could ever be happy with the memory o'  Nellie haunting her each day. Martha was such a kind soul, I was sure  she'd feel guilty for any happiness she had with Ian. I didn't want that  for her, and I didn't want that for the lad either." He pauses here and  takes a drink of his ale.

"I can imagine how difficult it would be," I say. And I can, I feel like  I'm there with this man and his wife thirty years ago in Ireland. Tears  come to my eyes.                       
       
           



       

He pats my hand and smiles a sad smile, "They are together now though,  darlin'. Nellie and Martha. They're probably lookin' down on us right  now, Martha gettin' impatient with me for not tellin' the story right.  She was always gettin' impatient with me."

He smiles and pauses again, lost in thought. Finally remembering himself  when I move and take another sip of my cider, he continues. "The birth  o' a child, ‘tis supposed to be a happy event. Children are such  blessin's. And since Martha couldn't be happy in Cork, well then, we'd  have to go somewhere she could be happy. This was in the eighties and  that movie, what was it now? Quick Times at  …  some school … "

"Fast Times at Ridgemont High?" I ask incredulously. I simply cannot  imagine Pappy watching Spicoli and Brad get up to their antics.

"Aye! ‘Tis it! Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Gah, ‘twas a funny movie,"  Pappy says and laughs. "American movies took a couple years to reach us  out in Cork, ye see. Anyway, that movie was fresh in me mind and so  California ‘twas!"

"And how was that transition? Did you like L.A. right away?" I ask.

"Well now darlin', what do ye think?" Pappy asks back.

I laugh and say, "Oh, I imagine there was a lot to get used to. I've  just moved here from the East Coast and I feel like I'm in a different  world. I can only imagine what it would be like to move here from  another country. Why don't you tell me about it? We can spend the first  few blogs talking about how California is different from Ireland."

Pappy says, "I expect ‘twould be a might easier tellin' ye how they are  the same, but I suppose that won't make for a very interestin' blog.  Alright, how are they different? Well, the drivin' for one - ye'd think  everyone was on their way to hospital with how urgent they are behind  the wheel. Then there's the way people dress, men and women alike. The  people come out o' their houses in pajamas or nearly naked. I swear, if  anyone walked about Cork lookin' like they do here … "

Pappy gets on a roll and my fingers fly across the keyboard. He spends a  good half hour informing me of all the ways California is different and  there are quite a few fun observations for me to write about.

After an hour, Pappy returns to the office and I stay in the booth,  refining my notes and trying to pull out a story for the blog. I get  into a zone and when I look up, it's 6pm and the motley crew are all on  their respective stools. From what I understand, a mid-week assemblage  of all five is rare and I wonder what the special occasion is.

I get up, stretching, and walk over to stand beside Ian behind the bar. "What are you all doing here?"

"It's Jaye's birthday, so we're having a drink before he goes out to dinner with his wife and kids," Tom says. "Poor bastard."

"Happy Birthday, Jaye!" I give him a big smile.

"Thanks," he says.

"Kelli," Abby pulls our attention. "We were talking about Halloween costumes. What are you going to be next week?"

"Oh goodness, I hadn't really thought about it. Ian said I'd be working,  so I assumed I'd wear my normal jeans and a tank top. Maybe an orange  one to be festive?" I respond.

"No way! We should come up with a joint costume - that'd be amazeballs!" Abby decides.

"Amazeballs?" I can't let that go without questioning it.

"Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?" Ben suggests in his normal ill humor.

"I know!" Abby exclaims triumphantly, ignoring both me and Ben. "We'll  get Tracey in on this too and we'll be Charlie's Angels! Ian can be  Charlie!"

"I'll be Bosley," Jaye volunteers.

"Who do you want to be Kelli - Cameron Diaz or Drew Barrymore? I think  Tracey should be Lucy Lui since they're both Asian," Abby says. "I have a  slight preference for Cameron, but I'm good either way."

"Does it strike anyone as odd that she's referencing the actresses, not  the characters?" Jaye asks. Apparently not, because no one responds.

"I hate to rain on your parade," I say, "But we don't look anything like  Cameron or Drew, and although Tracey and Lucy are both Asian, that's  about as far as their similarities go. I have no idea how people would  know who we were."

"I suppose," Abby sighs, resignedly. "Well, what else?"

"Playboy bunnies?" Tom offers hopefully.

"Women's beach volleyball players," Jaye throws in.                       
       
           



       

"You might be onto something there," Ian pipes up. We are all a little  shocked that he's entered this debate, and we turn to look at him.  "Little black bikinis? All cleavage and thighs, that'd be good for  business."

I shoot him a disgusted look, "You can't be serious."

"Why not?" he asks. "You work out, I'm sure you'd look hot in a bikini."  He's staring at me as he says this, and while the words should delight  me, they don't. It's like he's challenging me. Does he think he can peer  pressure me into showing my thighs in public? Well, if he does, he'll  soon come to learn how stubborn I am, because there is no way in hell  that is going to happen.

"What do you say guys, perfect costume idea, right? Let's give the ladies some encouragement," Ian says.

"Perfect!" Wilson says.

"It was my idea, so yeah, I'm okay with it," Jaye agrees.

"Can they be string bikinis?" Tom asks. "I know they normally wear more  sports-friendly suits, but string bikinis would be nice."

"I'll even buy them. I'll deduct it as a business expense," Ian says.

What the hell is going on? This is so unlike Ian. He's not sexist, nor  has he ever shown a desire to take advantage of a woman's body for  profit. If he had, he'd have asked me to wear low cut tank tops. No,  he's clearly pushing me after our brunch conversation, but I don't know  why and it is pissing me off.

I snapped back with, "Why stop there? You want to boost business, why  don't Abby and I mud wrestle? You can charge a cover at the door."

Tom and Jaye whoop at this, and high five each other. "Now that's one  damn fine idea," Jaye says. Even Ben raises an eyebrow in reluctant  interest.

"I like your business acumen," Ian says, smirking in that most annoying way of his and pointing at me.

Everyone laughs and I turn and head into the kitchen. To my surprise, Ian follows me.

"What the hell was that?" I ask.

"What?" he says, playing dumb.

"Why on earth would you suggest I should wear a bikini as my Halloween costume?"

"We were just brainstorming," he says. Right, that explains it.

"Well, the next time you decide to brainstorm about revealing my body in  public, how about you don't! It's my body, not yours asshole, and I'll  thank you very much to keep your opinions about it to yourself," I say  heatedly.

He stills then and I wonder if I've taken it too far. I can't imagine  he's okay with being yelled at, especially in his own establishment, at a  volume where the others out front are sure to hear.

When I look into his eyes to gauge how annoyed he is with me, what I see  there shocks, and thrills, me. There's no trace of annoyance, no  measure of anger. What burns there immediately puts me on notice, and  causes my breath to quicken. He has clearly continued to think about my  body; his eyes strip me naked and speak of languidly licking every inch  of my body, and then fucking me until my voice is hoarse from screaming  his name.