Blue Diamond Read online

  My eyes flash open as the water suddenly turns piercingly cold and I’m jolted back to the present. I hurriedly rinse the remaining soap off my body and turn the hot and cold dials off.

  Shivering, as I blindly reach for my terry robe, I discover it’s not on its designated hook. “Ah, crap.” Remembering I put it in the hamper this morning confirms the fact that my laundry is way overdue. The idea of getting out and doing even the most mundane of chores makes me happy, though. Merissa time, as I like to call it.

  Not so long ago, I was existing and not living, so it doesn’t matter what I do, or where I go. I’m grateful to be doing anything for myself…

  Even if, it’s by myself.

  * * *

  Just under five hours later, I awaken before my phone alarm goes off. The alarm nothing more than a formality. I’ve never needed an alarm to wake up to since sleep has never been a luxury of mine. Setting one brings normalcy and routine to my life, a life that is now under my control.

  Excited for my little outing, I dash to the bathroom to get ready. Washing my face, I study myself in the mirror before applying light make-up and a nude lip-gloss. Deciding on a high ponytail, I go back to the bedroom to select one of my many pairs of yoga pants out of the drawer, loving that they are so trendy and hoping that the trend continues, or I’m out more than half of a wardrobe. I opt for my favorite pair, black with mesh inserts, while I flip through my drawer of shirts, selecting a tank with a built-in bra—thanking the inventor for their brilliance.

  Putting on my black and white Nikes, I scan the room for my purse and almost forget my canvas laundry bag on the way out.

  Walking over to my old Honda Civic, I throw my bag into the back seat and climb into the driver’s seat, praying that she doesn’t pick today to quit on me. “Come on, Lucy, Mike’s been taking good care of you, so be a nice girl and take me for a drive.”

  Ever since I could remember, I’ve named everything from plants, to an array of inanimate objects—my old clunker being no exception. I think it stems from the fact that I’ve always had a great appreciation for each and every thing, no matter where it falls on society’s perceived scale of significance.

  I’m the girl who won’t squash a bug and can’t watch nature shows for fear that it will show a helpless creature being hunted. Circle of life, my ass.

  I frown upon using chemical cleaners and use essential oils as my cure-all. With my very first paycheck from Graffiti’s, I bought a bundle of sage and walked around my apartment, smudging, aka burning, like a Shaman, to cleanse my space of negative energy.

  I’ll never forget the first day I met Brook. She came upstairs to check on me and find out if I needed any help settling in.

  “Dang, girl, you can smell your weed from downstairs.”

  At that moment, I knew Brook and I would become good friends… now we’re best friends.

  Hiccupping to life, my car starts on the very first try, only because after Mike saw that I knew diddly squat about maintaining a car, he’s taken Lucy under his wing and she’s been running like an old champ.

  “That ‘a girl, you make me proud.” Weirdly, I feel the need to offer encouragement to keep my car functioning without incident. I can’t just discard this beauty and turn her into scrap metal. I’m attached to her, which might be strange, but it’s my kind of strange, and I own it.

  Driving through this oddly pleasing neighborhood, it’s only a little over a mile before I pull up to the metered parking space, hugging the sidewalk right in front of the laundromat, Suds. Sure, I could have walked, and I usually do, if not for the fact that I have a laundry bag that rivals a college student returning home for a holiday break.

  Oh, yeah, I would look like quite the hipster carrying it into, Perks, my favorite coffee shop—never mind that it probably reeks of sage.

  Lugging my heavy bag from the backseat by its drawstring, I place it on the sidewalk, so I can I reach into the glove box where the only splurge I bought for myself sits, Kenny the Kindle. Kenny has been my adventure—my distraction—and having him keep me company inside Suds with this obscene amount of laundry is essential to my sanity. I deposit a few quarters into the meter and walk towards Suds.

  As my reward, I’ll head three doors down to Perks for my usual cup of steamy Hazelnut Mocha Coconut Milk Macchiato, which is fun saying quick five times fast.

  Saving every nickel hasn’t been easy, so allowing myself a reward, however small, is a must to my well-being. In order to acquire a nicer place, preferably one that doesn’t have a business attached to it, means every nickel I make has to be accounted for carefully to meet my goal. Not having been able to feel the warmth of the sun through an actual window upon awakening in a very long time is motivating, and if the sunshine isn’t motivation enough, I don’t know what is. Living here in Ft. Lauderdale, it just might be a punishable crime.

  * * *

  Folding my last load of laundry, I realize I didn’t bring my actual laundry basket with me. Like every mom on the planet my mom used to say, “Merissa, you’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders.”

  I gathered the folded bundles in my arms and attempted to shove them back into the drawstring bag without messing up the folds… unsuccessfully. Pushing the door open with my hip, I walk over to Lucy and place my laundry inside, then go fishing at the bottom of my seemingly bottomless purse for loose change. Plucking out a couple of quarters, I add them to the meter.

  As if anyone would try to steal Lucy, I lock my door, then stroll down the sidewalk. Pushing the door to Perks open with my hip the same way, since public door handles gross me out, I’m hit with the best aroma known to man: coffee, or coffee-like drinks.

  Not bothering to study the menu, I wait my turn behind a woman ordering a shot of this and a pump of that. I can’t even frown upon her demands when I, too, am ordering a foo-foo drink.

  A teenager looks up from the register, “Hi, what can I get you?”

  “Yes, hi, can I have a large hot Hazelnut Macchiato, please?” Shortening the name because it sounds less pretentious.

  “The Mocha Coconut Milk?”

  “Yes, please.” The fact that it’s the only Macchiato on the menu other than the difference in temperature choices is beside the point.

  “Would you like anything else?” she says, pulling the cap off a sharpie.

  I take my wallet out. “No, that will be all, thanks.”

  “Name, please.”

  When did it become so much work to order?

  “It’s Merissa.”

  Stepping to the side out of the way to wait for my name to be called, I hear my phone chime in my purse with an incoming text.

  BROOK: Hey, Rissy, you getting your Macchiato on?

  ME: You know me so well. ;) I’m waiting for my name to be called.

  BROOK: Next time give them a fake name, in the event a potential suitor is standing close by.

  ME: Like what?

  BROOK: I don’t know, maybe, Kitten.

  ME: Kitten?

  BROOK: Well, men do like pussy… cats.

  ME: Talk to you later, freak. Ha!

  Probably looking like a complete dork while laughing at Brook’s text, I hear my name called.

  “Merissa?”

  Why my name is said in the form of a question when I’m standing close by, I don’t know, but I graciously accept my beverage and scout out a table next to the windows.

  Ah, yes, large windows, where the sun’s rays penetrate. I’m going to sit right in front of the glass and bask in all the possibilities beyond it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Seth

  I push open the door to the coffee shop, Perks, and with my hand on the small of her back, I guide Sylvia in ahead of me. Head Broker, who also happens to be my sister, oversees the residential real estate company I own, South Shores, which is located just beyond the imaginary line from Las Olas’s transitional neighborhood to upscale. Owning many businesses, I make it a point to make the rounds a
s often as I can, especially if it involves time with my younger sister, but the majority of my time is spent at my main company, Vas Enterprises. My command center, so to speak.

  Making our way over to the counter, I peruse the handwritten menu on the chalkboard for coffee—actual coffee. Sylvia wanted to try this place out after she heard one of the agents raving about their beverages. No, is a word that is rarely used in my vocabulary when it comes to her wants or needs.

  “Oh, yay! They have caramel frappes here!” Sylvia says while clapping. Yes, my little sister is clapping for something called a frappe.

  “Where is the coffee?”

  “Really, Seth? You can have coffee at your office. Try to expand your horizons.”

  “My horizons want coffee… black.”

  “There it is, see it? At the bottom of the menu just under the word, boring.”

  “I’d rather be boring before I’d ever order a fuckin’ frappe. Before you know it, coffee will be a thing of the past, and I’ll have to grow my own damn beans.”

  A teenager with pink hair addresses us. “Umm, hi. Uh, what can I get you—you both, I mean?”

  I can’t help but wonder what’s gotten this young lady so flustered—it’s only coffee for Christ’s sake.

  My sister interjects, “I’ll have a medium Caramel Frappuccino with extra cream, please, and he will have a large, very LAME, hot coffee, black.”

  I’m damn open-minded, just don’t screw around with my coffee, that’s all I’m saying. Elbowing my little shit of a sister, I throw a twenty-dollar bill down on the counter and step off to the side while she gives the girl our names, which she then writes on the cups with a Sharpie.

  Names.

  Apparently, one needs to introduce themselves to the coffeehouse staff before they can serve up your coffee.

  The young lady holds out the change from my twenty. “Um, sir—excuse me, but I, um, have your change.”

  “Just put it into the tip cup, it’s all yours.” I watch her eyes light up like I gave her a winning lottery ticket, as she thanks me.

  I nod and begin to peer around at all the colorful artwork on the walls, undoubtedly from local artists. Fort Lauderdale is a hub for artists and enthusiasts alike. I dig this place—it has a laid-back, chill vibe that I can appreciate. A welcome change to the stuffy dinner meetings and events I’m forever attending.

  “Sonny? Cher?” The same girl yells out.

  Oh, for fuck's sake, my sister clearly has a death wish.

  “Go get your coffee, Sonny.” She says while sashaying by me, holding up her cup like it’s a first-place trophy.

  Shaking my head at this devil incarnate, I accept my, now retro cup from the barista, while she lets out a mouse-like giggle. Sylvia, on the other hand, is making her way to an empty table, but not before high-fiving the patrons along the way.

  High-the-fuck-five-ing!

  The poor woman in the very back corner with her back facing me—most likely seeking privacy based on her choice of seating, probably feels obligated as she obliges my crazy sibling.

  I can’t help but smile while I spy Sylvia sitting there alone with a big ‘ole grin on her sweet and innocent face, a total contradiction to her less than so personality. In reality, she’s filled with mischief, disguised as a tiny girl with pink lipstick.

  “You know what they say about paybacks, Vee.”

  “What do they say, Seth? I got you, babe?”

  “That was a horrible joke, even for you, but then again, so is that song. I’m just giving you fair warning, so don’t say later that I didn’t”…. And she laughs in my face.

  The laugh I was attempting to hold in as not to give her the satisfaction of thinking she embarrassed my ass—which she did not—broke free.

  Typical, Vee. Seven years younger to my 35, I was like a second father to her growing up… I still am. But when it comes to managing South Shores, she’s all business, consistently being the top producer. No doubt, she could charm the wings right off a butterfly.

  “Aha! I knew it! You do know about Sonny and Cher, or you wouldn’t have caught the “I got you, Babe” reference, which FYI was their hit song in 1965.”

  Regarding her like she grew an additional head, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Can we talk about the agency, or shall you continue to drag me down I-could-give-two-shit’s-road.”

  “Hardy, har, har, Seth,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes. “You’ve seen the numbers, so don’t pretend you don’t know how amazing business is. Word on the street is that this neighborhood is going to become an extension of Las Olas Boulevard. You know, without the obvious other side of the tracks’ aura it’s giving off now. Speaking of, did you know that Sonny and Cher were actually residents there back in the day?”

  Las Olas Boulevard is considered the Rodeo Drive of Ft. Lauderdale, complete with outdoor cafes, boutiques, art galleries, museums, you name it. It also happens to be where South Shore resides.

  “What’s with your obsession with Sonny and Cher? You weren’t even a thought in mom and dad’s head when they were popular. Hell, I don’t even know what the fuck their deal was.”

  Rolling her eyes at me, yet again, “It’s called streaming, Seth, ever hear of it? Horizons… expanding them, remember?”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of it, smart ass, but why in God’s green earth would I stream Sonny and Cher? Let’s just say for the sake of argument, I did. I would be required, as per guy code, to fork over my man-card, capeesh?” understand?

  “But you will watch the Dukes of Hazzard!” She says it like she proved her point.

  “Have you seen Daisy’s shorts? Of course, I watch it. Me and every other man and prepubescent boy.”

  “Whatever, tomayto, tomahto. What I’m saying is, you should snatch up some real estate over here while the prices are so low. I, mean, we knew the neighborhood was up and coming, but the buzz is out, brother. Like Uncle Chaz always says, “‘Strike while the iron is hot.’”

  Always on top of market gossip, I nod my head, “Alright, see if there are any available listings and email them to me.”

  “You could also contact a few of the business owners personally, maybe convince them to sell… everyone has a price.”

  “Continue, by all means, educate me on how to buy up real estate,” finishing the sentence with a smirk

  “You’re such a suit sometimes, Seth.”

  “Maybe so, but it is an Armani, sis,” I respond with a wink.

  She puts her index finger in her mouth to mimic barfing, “I’m going to use the powder room, so I’ll meet you out front, okay?”

  Powder room? My sister is such an old soul.

  I get up with our empty cups in hand, and I’ll admit they make a good fuckin’ cup of coffee. Tossing them into the trash can, I proceed to exit when the woman that sat buried in a Kindle, who my sister practically mauled, is just ahead of me. I reach my arm out to hold the door for her with my right hand as she fumbles through her suitcase of a purse.

  What do women need such a large purse for?

  She pulls out a set of keys on a huge Lucite keychain with the name, Lucy on them and drops them out of her hand at the same moment.

  I stretch down to pick up her keys while she blurts out, “Oh, sugar.” Letting out a small chuckle at her granny lingo, I straighten my back and position my arm to return her keys.

  Her hair, the color of ravens and eyes so dark, they could draw you into their almost obsidian depths. I stood there with my hand outstretched in midair, her keys in hand for what could have been seconds or several minutes.

  This woman before me is breathtaking.

  I clear my throat in hopes that it will also clear my head, “Here you go, Lucy,” I said in a voice that sounded strange to my own ears.

  “Thanks. Yeah, no, that’s not my name, it’s my car’s name.”

  Her car’s name?

  She quickly takes the set of keys out of my hands like she’ll be zapped if she doesn’t, and the way my body is ac
ting, it’s a distinct possibility.

  Turning on her heel, she takes a few steps toward an old model car, but stops mid-stride to glance over her shoulder at me.

  “Thanks again, Sonny.”

  Frozen in place, I watch the finest body I’ve ever seen in a pair of yoga pants walk over to the parking meter. Without so much as a second glance back in my direction, she unlocks her car, tosses her purse in the front passenger seat, then pulls out slowly, heading in the opposite direction that I will.

  “Earth to Seth, come in, Seth.” Sylvia waves her hands in front of my face. “Do you copy?”

  “Yeah, I copy.”

  Threading a hand through my hair, mostly out of habit, I turn toward my half pint sister and put my arm around her shoulder, “It’s time you and I get back to work.”

  Merissa

  Looking in my rear view mirror, I see “Sonny” walking in the opposite direction, his arm draped around a gorgeous woman’s shoulder. Not just any woman, either, but his “Cher.” Hell, I was even caught up in the moment when she came over to my table with her hand up seeking a high-five.

  I, like everyone else in the coffee shop, waited to see what his reaction would be to his girlfriend’s joke. I pretended to read and lifted my eyes to the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen as he walked in her direction, an affectionate smile on his face.

  He had a confident stride as if he wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest by what just transpired. Dressed in charcoal gray slacks and a crisp white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, showed off the intricate black ink that climbed up his muscular forearms. Quite a contradiction to his expensive business attire.

  Maybe he conceals the tattoos at work to hide his true personality. A superhero of sorts.

  That. Is. So. Hot.

  Eyes the color of a clear, summer sky, when he looked down at me, I swore I saw a spark of interest in them, or more than likely he was internally mocking me after I told him Lucy was the name of my car.