Magdalenas shadow, p.5
Magdalena's Shadow, page 5
Getting up angrily, Coco went to retrieve the storage room key only to be startled by her reflection in the entryway mirror. She wore an old Gucci T-shirt which reflected back the large GUCCI logo stretched across her breasts. It was stained pink on the shoulder where Bebe had burped up cough medicine. In the darkness, Coco could make out the lines of her beloved old Calvin Klein jeans looking as ragged and worn as the T-shirt. Ragged and worn: that was how she looked and felt. Biting her lip, she passed through the door toward the only fun she could think of.
The 30th floor entryway felt cold and empty when Coco stepped into it, her bare feet sank into the chill of the plush carpeting. The room felt far darker and colder than #2, existing as it did like a silent void: transitory and lifeless. Goosebumps rose on Coco’s arms when she slid her key into the storage room lock. She heard the satisfying click of the bolt as the door handle moved in her hand.
Boxes lined the walls like works of art: colorful, glossy, smooth to the touch, all filled with beautifully designed garments and accessories. It was not uncommon for each carefully shipped item to be individually wrapped in silk tissue to preserve the piece. Valentino, Prada, Dior, Jacobs, Cole, Chanel, Dolce & Gabbana, any one of them could be there. The possibility of new furs, evening gowns, sundresses, cocktail dresses, shoes, purses, and lingerie thrilled her. Coco loved the storage room; it was a continual cornucopia of gifts and material pleasure, all addressed to a woman who would never see a single box let alone wear its contents.
Magdalena’s assistant was supposed to collect the gift boxes but he never did. He was supposed to do a lot of things, like hire nannies to raise Coco and make her go to school, but he didn’t do that, either. Coco and the penthouse she occupied where no longer on his schedule.
The first box Coco inspected was blue with orange stripes. The designer was unfamiliar, probably a young label with little clout. Coco set the box down but didn’t discount it. Many of her favorite pieces came from small boutiques and independent tailors.
When she reached for a second box her long hair swung forward and caught on the shelf beside her. Coco carefully pulled the tress back, working it gently free from the bracket before winding it up high on her head. She shoved two pencils that lay forgotten on a shelf through the dark mass. The next box was from Tommy Hilfiger; she set it aside and moved onto a blue box that she recognized as being from Prada. Everything that came from Prada was worth her time. Coco lifted the box into her arms and turned back out into the lobby, only to bump straight into a man who must have just exited the elevator.
Coco froze in shock. Her eyes met his and held them. How had she not heard him? How had he moved up so silently beside her? The man was beautiful – not like the male models from her magazines but like an action star or a soldier. He had an amazingly tall and powerful body. She felt herself being assessed in the quick glance of his sharp brown eyes. He was Latin like her, dark like her, but his brown eyes were not flecked with gold but with silver.
“Hello.” He continued looking at Coco while she openly stared at him. The look in his eyes moved from curiosity to admiration, then to quiet restraint as he took her in. His black hair and bronzed skin paired beautifully with his perfectly tailored suit and black Burberry wool topcoat. Everything about him added up to perfection.
A sensuous shiver raised goosebumps along Coco’s arms as something other than the cold passed over her. “Hi.” Her voice was quick and nervous, embarrassingly high.
The attraction was instant. Coco felt a wave of dizziness hit her.
“I’m staying in #1 for a while.” His words exuded confidence. His smile shrank to a slight one-sided grin.
Coco remained still, her heart making the only noise she was capable of. This was the man who had fired up her imagination, the mysterious neighbor who had arrived without warning. Trapped by his gaze, Coco felt more the deer-in-headlights than ever, but the idea of running him off with her shyness terrified her. “I live here,” Coco blurted out. She stood half in, half out of the storage room with the box clutched protectively to her chest, her dark hair spilling wildly from the pencils that held the pile on top of her head.
“Bit cramped, isn’t it?” The man’s teasing smile twisted up both corners of his mouth while his eyes surveyed the storage room.
“Not really,” Coco answered in confusion, her breath catching in her chest, making it ache.
Coco’s new neighbor smelled like a mixture of expensive cologne and fine fabric, yet there was more to the fragrance. There was the scent of the man himself. A slow heat crept up from under Coco’s T-shirt, spreading to her cheeks. She found herself wondering if he tasted as good as he smelled. The look he gave her said he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Coco’s eyes dropped in embarrassment only to refocus on her bare feet. Never in her life had a man seen her huge ugly feet. She slid one foot over the other in an attempt to hide them before looking up nervously at her new neighbor. Lifting a finger, she brushed one stray strand of hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. In that moment, she realized that her ears were also exposed. This man had seen her two greatest defects and yet he was still looking, smiling and drinking her in.
“Hi,” Coco said again, her voice now much lower. The man’s smile only grew as a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Coco,” she said, by way of introduction.
“Sure.” The man nodded still looking amused. “Sounds good.”
Coco laughed a high laugh that vibrated strangely in the small room, her lack of confidence becoming more evident. “No. I’m Coco,” she corrected with more control.
“I would still like some.” And with that she knew she was in trouble. He reached out, taking the box she held. “I’ll follow you,” he added, his voice thick with confidence. He stepped aside to let her out of the storage room.
Coco felt drunk and unsteady when she walked ahead of him toward #2. She felt his eyes on the swing of her hips and the curve of her back as she opened the door and let him into her flat.
Some small part of her rebelled in a voice that said, don’t let a strange and obviously interested man into your flat. She felt the madness of her actions like a distant scream, but the warning was drowned out by years of quiet obedience and a need for attention.
The beautiful man’s eyes flashed over the interior of #2, taking it all in with one glance. The penthouse was modern yet feminine; baby things lay everywhere. What stopped him where he stood was the enormous Salvador Dali that hung on the wall to his right.
“Dali’s Elephants.” His voice was hushed and low.
“That one’s my favorite.” Coco drifted over to stand beside him, breathing in his scent with slow satisfaction. A spotlight hung above the painting, illuminating it with soft light as long-legged elephants danced before them. Coco felt the man’s admiration, the bright colors glowing vividly before them.
“I’ll make the chocolate,” Coco offered shyly. She walked toward the kitchen wondering how this situation had come about and why on earth she was making hot chocolate.
Coco watched the man follow after her, his reflection multiplied in the black glass-fronted kitchen cabinets. He stopped again, this time admiring the Diego Rivera and the Warhol.
“You have expensive taste.”
“Yes,” Coco answered distractedly. She set a saucepan on the stovetop, hearing the woof of blue flame as the fire sparked on the gas range. He laughed at her response but didn’t seem surprised.
His eyes regained their earlier look of casual appraisal. He watched Coco unwrap two squares of dark Belgian chocolate, his eyes never leaving her.
The two cubes of unsweetened chocolate melted quickly in the pan and were followed in slow succession by raw brown sugar crystals, a dash of cinnamon, and a pinch of red chili powder. Coco’s fingers fumbled only when she glanced at her guest, finding the intensity in his gaze.
“You make hot chocolate like my mother used to.”
“I learned this recipe from my housekeeper, Tia. It’s Central American.”
“You have lived here a long time,” he stated more than questioned.
Coco’s brow lifted. How did he know? She nodded, trying to stay focused as she answered,
“All my life.”
The mixture began to simmer. Before it boiled, Coco whisked it to a froth, adding milk when all the chocolate and sugar crystals dissolved. Cooking Tia’s recipes relaxed her. For a moment, she felt totally herself, forgetting the fact that soon she would have to make conversation. After dividing the hot chocolate into two cups the work was done. With nothing left to focus on, conversation became inevitable. Coco felt fidgety, but she moved with a slow, deliberate calm that belied her feelings. The new neighbor followed her to the couch.
“Strange having cocoa in the summer.” She tucked her knees under her chin when she sat down across from him, feeling how pitiful her opening attempt at conversation was.
He seemed not to notice. “It’s never summer in this place,” he responded, indicating the skyscraper they lived in with a casual gesture. “They keep the air conditioning on so high I need a coat just to get to the apartment.”
“Yes, all year round. Have you lived here before?” Her eyes rose to his, blinking nervously as her curiosity grew.
“Not for a long time. I just inherited the place from my father. He died last week.”
“I’m so sorry.” Coco had no way of knowing how to empathize with death. There was a pause as nether of them spoke. “Are you going to live here again? #1 has been empty for a long time. It would be nice to have a neighbor.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think that far ahead.”
“Of course not. I’m sorry you just lost your dad.”
“Yes, well….” He shrugged before settling back into the couch, his eyes focused on his cup. “I’m Rob Banks.” He smiled, looking up. Coco felt trapped by his gaze, unable to look away. “I sort of forgot the introduction part.” Coco laughed. “Oh, the name,” he grinned, his eyes dropping in embarrassment. “I don’t usually shorten it the first time. It’s why I’m a lawyer and not a banker. I don’t think any bank would take me.”
“No, probably not,” Coco giggled. “I don’t think your parents thought that one through.” She traced her index finger over the rim of her mug, trying to stay calm.
“Oh, they did, Dad thought it was a riot. He always called me Rob.”
“Well if we’re being formal,” Coco said slowly, “I’m Coco Rodriguez.”
Rob extended his hand to take hers. “Pleased to formally meet you,” he grinned. His fingers felt warm. He kept her hand for a lingering moment before releasing her. The action was sweetly intimate and intensely stirring, especially for a young girl as isolated and sheltered as Coco.
Their conversation drifted from Chicago to the age and dignity of their building. Rob loved the location and Coco couldn’t disagree. It was central to everything she loved, everything she knew. As they talked, Coco’s hand still tingled from the earlier contact, short lived as the moment had been. When her heartbeat returned to near normal, she ventured to look up again. His eyes were as ever, glued to her with the same appraising look.
“How old are you?” Rob asked suddenly, his expression moving from interest to regret when he saw Coco’s startled expression. “Sorry, that came out far differently than I had planned.”
Coco shrugged, uncomfortable but determined to look nonchalant before looking away. If he knew her age, that she was legally a child, then none of this would be okay. Coco would be demoted from woman to girl and the relationship would become strained to nonexistent.
“It’s just that I seem to remember you, but… I can’t place it. The memory is so foggy and the timeline doesn’t work. You are so totally familiar to me.” He sighed as he watched her, lost for words. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“You’re not rude, you’re fine. Don’t worry about it. So, where’s home?” She changed the subject sounding surprisingly confident, even relaxed. Coco shifted on the sofa to sit cross-legged, determined to look more at ease. The movement was purposefully executed with a languid grace. When she looked up again Rob was watching her, his eyes drifting over her with open admiration. “Where did you live before?” Coco restated the question, drawing his eyes back to hers.
“New York City.”
Coco’s smile shone like an instant beam of light, her shyness dissolving into excitement. “I’ve always wanted to go to New York. I want to go for Fashion Week. I would love to see the designers and all the models–” Rob nodded but looked lost. Then Coco remembered that she was supposed to be a wealthy woman who could travel freely if she wanted to.
“So, what’s that?” Rob asked.
The shocked expression that transformed Coco’s face made Rob laugh. In her world, it was impossible that anyone could live in New York and not know about Fashion Week.
She waved her hand at his mocking grin, shaking her head in annoyance. “A true New Yorker would know about Fashion Week.”
“Maybe and maybe not. Where’s your child?” He changed the subject, his eyes focusing on the toys strewn across the room.
“She’s out with the housekeeper. She was more than I could handle today.”
“How old is she?”
“Sixteen months.”
“My daughter will be a year next week. She’s a handful, too.”
“What’s her name?” Coco brightened at the idea of playdates and more time with Rob.
“Mila. Her mother named her after the actress.”
Rob sighed, looking repulsed but Coco laughed. “I named Bebe after a fashion house, so I guess I’m no better. What’s your wife’s name?”
“Her name was Chloe.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be, we’re divorced, nothing worse.”
“Oh.”
“What about Bebe’s father? Does he live here?”
The question startled Coco; she hadn’t thought about Bebe’s father. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, casting her eyes toward Dali’s dancing elephants. “No, he’s off… somewhere… in the world.” Her words were slow but truthful. Who knew where Bebe’s father was? Or who he was.
“He sounds like Chloe. Off somewhere doing God knows what.” He shrugged before smiling his crooked smile, sending another sensuous shiver running through Coco’s body.
A pause followed, which turned mildly uncomfortable. The initial attraction coupled with their missing spouses, both real and pretend, made further conversation difficult. Rob sipped his drink and Coco watched his hands as he held his mug. They were strong like the rest of him, and tan, darker even than her own. Their silence was interrupted by the sound of Tia’s key in the latch. Rob and Coco watched the door slide open. Moments later Tia pushed a sleeping Bebe into the room.
“I wore her out,” Tia proclaimed, smiling as she set her bag down and rolled the stroller into the living room. She scanned the sofa for Coco but found Rob instead.
“Hi,” he smiled politely.
Tia stared at him, her smile fading. With pursed lips, she surveyed the pair before turning a suspicious eye on Coco. Leaving Bebe asleep in her stroller Tia walked quickly to the kitchen.
“She’s not the friendly type, I take it?”
“Oh she is. She’s just very protective of me. It’s been hard living here alone with a small child.”
“Well, I won’t stay. Mila’s flying in with her nanny tomorrow so I have a lot to do to get my place ready.”
From the kitchen came the sound of dishes and saucepans being moved without care. Rob rose slowly to his feet, his expression preoccupied. He glanced toward the kitchen and then back at Coco as if trying to make sense of the situation. “I’m glad we met.” Rob offered Coco his hand a second time.
“Me too.” Another soft blush colored Coco’s cheeks. She felt his fingers a second time before they slipped from her grasp. No part of her wanted him to leave, yet in a moment he was gone.
“That’s our new neighbor.”
Tia looked up from her work, catching sight of Coco’s glowing complexion.
“Hmm…” Tia murmured.
“He’s nice!”
“Did you happen to mention you’re not yet seventeen?” Tia scowled with disapproval. Coco blushed but said nothing. “No, I didn’t think so.” Tia shook her head with dismay. “You need to be careful, not just for your sake but for his as well. You look so mature that you could easily confuse him and that would be wrong – totally and completely wrong.”
Coco’s heart sank in her chest. She liked Rob, but he was basically the first man she had talked to in years. “He’s just a neighbor,” she murmured as she left the room, the empty place in her heart expanding painfully as the momentary joy fled.
Chapter Seven
August brought dry heat and that special kind of baked-city smell: a mixture of hot concrete and exhaust with the occasional addition of fried food, garbage, and industrial smoke. The mixed scents spun between pleasant and suffocating on the back of the constant breeze. The city looked dirty in the midsummer warmth, the smells mingling as they drifted over deep-fried donuts and a burning cigarette that sat on the curb, its smoke and ash blown lazily up into the breeze.
Coco felt the life around her – the roar of traffic and the jostle of moving bodies, everyone bent on their own plans and destinations. Bebe babbled in her stroller looking up at the tall buildings cast in hues of blue, grey, and purple by their far flung shadows. Coco breathed in the scent of the street and became part of the city, melding into the chaos and rumble of living. Like all the other ants with plans, she moved through the sea of humanity with a purpose that said I belong here as much as you do.
