CHAPTER ONE
The ghost of boyfriends past
Grace O’Bryan didn’t believe in ghosts. She also
didn’t believe in witches, vampires, love at first sight,
that there was anything real about reality T.V. or the
ridiculous claim that you could lose ten pounds on the
three day cabbage soup diet (she’d tried it twice). If you
couldn’t see it, feel it, touch it, or taste it, then in
all likelihood it didn’t exist. Which made for some very
practical thinking on Grace’s part. Except for the one
ripple in the otherwise smooth seas of her personal logic.
Like her abuela Graciela, the Cuban grandmother Grace was
named after, what she did believe in was curses.
How else could you explain tonight?
She’d waited a whopping two months for Brandon
Farrell to ask her out, only to wake up this morning on her
period. Not that that in itself was a problem. She wasn’t a
have-sex-on-the-first-date-kind-of-girl. Nor did she suffer
from bad cramps. But she’d also woken up five pounds
heavier than she’d been last night (maybe she should have
given the cabbage soup diet one more try). So instead of
the outfit she’d planned to wear, she’d ended up borrowing
her best friend Sarah’s little black dress. Sarah had
excellent taste in clothes- the dress was a winning
combination of elegant, yet discreetly sexy. Sarah was also
a size larger than Grace and the dress had fit perfectly.
At least it had fit perfectly back at Grace’s townhouse. It
wasn’t until Grace had folded herself into her tiny red VW
bug that she’d noticed the dress was a tad too short.
And now, thanks to some heavier than average Saturday
evening Daytona Beach traffic, she was late for her date.
She tugged on the hem of Sarah’s dress and opened the door
to the city’s newest, most exclusive restaurant, Chez
Louis, only to find herself nose to aquiline nose with
Felix Barberi.
Grace sucked in a breath. It was a Dickensonian
nightmare. Too bad the man standing in front of her was
one hundred percent real. Grace might not subscribe to love
at first sight, but substitute lust for love, and in
Felix’s case she’d been a firm believer.
At first, Felix had been incredibly charming, despite
his annoying habit of wanting to make out to Celine Dion’s
number one hit, My Heart Will Go On. But Felix worked in
the restaurant business and the brutal hours had strained
their relationship and put a varnish on his charm. The
ultimate strain had come when Grace had returned early from
a business trip to surprise Felix on Valentine’s Day. She’d
gone to his apartment with a bottle of red wine and a
pepperoni and anchovy pizza only to catch Felix going at it
with a dancer from The Topless A Go Go.
Grace didn’t know which was worse. The fact that
Felix had cheated, or that the someone he had cheated with
had a rack that must have cost six months worth of lap
dances. The incident had confirmed however that The St.
Valentines Day Curse was alive and well.
The St. Valentines Day Curse was a standing joke
among Grace and her friends. Its roots went all the way
back to third-grade at St. Bernadette’s Catholic School
when Grace’s first boyfriend, Richard Kasamati broke up
with her on the playground on Valentines Day. The uncanny
thing was that over the years, no matter how serious a
relationship she seemed to be in, Grace always ended up
alone that day. If Grace began dating a guy in March the
relationship might last a whopping eleven months, only to
find herself alone again by the first week in February.
But joke or not, finding Felix in flagrante delicto
with his topless dancer had been no laughing matter. Grace
had driven back to her townhouse, packed up what few things
Felix kept there (including his Celine Dion’s Greatest Hits
CD) and ceremoniously dumped them on his doorstep.
That was nine months ago and she hadn’t seen Felix
since. Although she had to admit the sight of Felix in a
tux still make her mouth water. It was Grace’s one fatal
flaw. She was hopelessly attracted to hopelessly attractive
men.
Felix cleared his throat and straightened to his full
height and since Grace was wearing four inch heels it put
them at the exact same level. Felix wasn’t short, but
neither was Grace.
“Grace, you look…” he paused, taking in the dress, the
hair, the makeup, “you look fantastic!”
Felix’s eyes didn’t say fantastic. Felix’s eyes said
hot.
Grace felt a moment’s vindication, but then her
instinct for survival shifted into overdrive. Felix didn’t
hand out compliments without an ulterior motive.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the Versailles rip-
off gilt framed mirror behind the reservation desk. Grace
had never thought of herself as beautiful. Her older
brother Charlie had hogged all the beautiful genes. A
better word to describe her was interesting. She’d
inherited her mother’s big brown eyes (a plus) and her
father’s Irish complexion (a negative- there wasn’t enough
sunscreen in the world to keep her from freckling). Her
shoulder length dark hair, usually an asset, wasn’t
cooperating tonight. Her upsweep with the side swept bangs
was supposed to be going for Julianna Margulies, Good Wife.
But the humidity outside made her look more like Julianna
Margulies, ER. She’d have to admit, though, Sarah was
right. Too short or not, the dress did look good on her.
Maybe Felix’s compliment was genuine.
“Thanks,” Grace said. “You don’t look too shabby
yourself.”
It suddenly occurred to Grace that she’d never worn
anything like Sarah’s little black dress when she was
dating Felix. She’d always been more of a jeans and
sneakers kind of girl. Maybe if she’d dressed sexier, Felix
wouldn’t have been tempted to cheat.
Wrong.
It shouldn’t matter if she wore granny panties or
tiny silk thongs. Cheating was about the cheater, not the
person who’d been cheated on. How many times had she
consoled Sarah with that exact same platitude?
“So, how long have you been working here?” she asked
Felix.
Was she really making small talk with Felix Barberi?
“I was hired to open the restaurant. I’m the general
manager.” He gave her a funny look.
“Congratulations, Felix. That’s great.” She meant it
too. Why should she be a shit just because Felix was one?
“There was a big article in the paper when the
restaurant opened last month. Lots of corporate types from
all over Florida gunning for the job. My picture was on the
front page of the local section. You sure you didn’t see
it?”
Grace shook her head. What was she supposed to say to
that? Polite small talk was one thing. It meant she was an
adult and that she’d moved on. But she wasn’t about to
throw her arms around Felix and give him a congratulatory
hug.
“How’s your job going?” he asked. “Still working at
that tourist shop?”
“Florida Charlies is a family business. Of course I
still work there.”
“I saw a billboard the other day on I-95 claiming you
now have the world’s largest alligator tooth on display.”
The alligator tooth display had been her father’s
idea. Grace had found it tacky but she wasn’t about to
admit that to Felix. “It’s pretty cool, actually. You
should come by and see it sometime.” Who knows, maybe it
belongs to a relative of yours.
Felix came in close. So close she could smell the
starch radiating from his crisp white shirt and the
expensive Acqua Di Gio cologne he always wore. A vision of
writhing naked body parts (his and hers) made Grace’s pulse
race. Then she remembered more writhing naked body parts
(his and not hers) and her pulse raced again- this time in
anger. She hated to admit it, but a part of her was still
reeling from Felix’s infidelity. She thought she’d moved
on, but seeing him again was like pulling the Band-Aid off
an old cut only to find that that you’d accidentally ripped
the scab off too.
“Grace,” he said in a low, intimate voice, “it’s me,
remember? You don’t have to put on an act. I know how much
you hate working for your father.” He placed his hand on
her bare elbow. “Baby, you’re better than that. You have to
break free. Be all you can be.”
Career advice from Felix Barberi? This was too much.
She’d like to break free all right. Free enough to clobber
him over the head.
Patience, Grace thought, trying to squelch Mal Genio.
Which more or less meant ‘Bad Tempered One’ in Spanish. Her
brother had christened her with the nickname at age five
when Grace had kicked him in the shin after he’d told her
there was no Santa Claus. The temperamental alter ego had
proven convenient over the years. Whenever Grace did
something she didn’t want to own up to she’d say, “Mal
Genio did it!” It didn’t get her out of any punishments,
but psychologically it made her feel better to know there
was an inner demon inside her that she couldn’t completely
control.
She regretted that she’d confided her job woes to
Felix. But she couldn’t let Felix mess with her head. Not
before her big date with Brandon. She stepped back to
reclaim some of her personal space.
“Felix, I never said I hated working for my
father.”
The smell of butter and garlic and freshly baked
bread floated through the air reaching out to tentacle
itself around her stomach. It smelled even better than
Felix and his Acqua Di Gio. Grace felt herself sway. Five
pound weight gain or not, she should have eaten today.
“I wish I’d known you were stopping by,” Felix
continued. “I’m filling in for Pierre, the maitre d’, so I
really can’t take a break right now. But maybe in another
thirty minutes?”
Stopping by? Did Felix think she’d come here to see
him?
“I’m meeting a date,” Grace said. “Maybe you’ve heard
of him? Brandon Farrell? He’s been named Daytona Beach’s
most eligible bachelor two years in a row by Central
Florida Magazine. He’s my new boyfriend.”
Felix raised a brow.
Okay, so maybe that was a little over the top. Since
this was their first date, technically Brandon wasn’t her
boyfriend. Not yet anyway. But the petty side of her liked
rubbing it in Felix’s face. See? I’ve moved on. With a
mature man who knows what he wants!
“Of course I know Brandon Farrell. He’s a regular
customer,” Felix said, “he also happens to not be here
tonight.”
Grace began to feel uneasy. Brandon was running late
too? “Well, can you just go ahead and seat me?”
“Sorry but we’re completely booked and there’s no
reservation.” Although there was no one around to hear
them, he lowered his voice. “When Farrell wants a table he
calls ahead and we always accommodate him, regardless of
how busy we are. I’ve been manning the phones all night and
I can guarantee you he hasn’t called.” He gave her the same
consoling look he’d given her earlier when he’d brought up
the alligator tooth display.
“There must be some sort of mix up.”
“Grace, you don’t have to make up a story to come see
me. The truth is I’ve been thinking about you too.”
“Felix, I really do have a date with Brandon
Farrell.”
“Then why don’t you call and find out what’s holding
him up?” Felix challenged. “Like I said before, Farrell’s
an excellent customer. If he tells me to seat you, there
won’t be a problem.”
Only there was a problem because Grace didn’t have
Brandon’s phone number. She’d been so giddy when he’d asked
her out last Thursday night after Zumba class that she
hadn’t thought to get it. Come to think of it, he didn’t
have her number either, but she didn’t want to admit that
to Felix. She tugged on the dress again and tried not to
fall off the unfamiliar four inch heels. Working in
sneakers all day put a girl at a distinct disadvantage in
the heel department.
“Um, funny thing, Felix. I don’t know Brandon’s
number by heart. It’s programmed in my cell but I
accidentally left it at home.” Not the truth, but not
exactly a lie either. In her haste to get out the door, she
really had forgotten her cell phone.
The house phone rang. Felix put a finger in the air
to signal he wasn’t done with their conversation. “Chez
Louis.” Was it Grace’s imagination, or did Felix suddenly
have a French accent? “Yes, of course,” Felix said into the
receiver. He glanced at her, his hazel eyes wide with
amazement, “she’s right here.”
“Is it Brandon?”
Felix nodded and handed her the phone.
Grace squelched the urge to say I told you so.
“Grace, listen, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be
able to make it,” Brandon said. “I had a rugby game
scheduled for four. I thought we’d be done by six but the
game went into over time and we just finished. I didn’t
realize until now that I don’t have your number.”
Grace didn’t know which was worse. Her disappointment
over the broken date or the embarrassment of being stood up
with Felix as a witness.
“It’s okay,” she said, trying to sound mature. “Maybe
we can do it some other time.”
“Damn, you’re being too nice about this.”
Grace wasn’t about to argue with that.
“I really want to see you tonight. The thing is…
I’m heading over to this bar across from the field. I
scored the winning try and the guys want to buy me drinks.
I wish like hell I could get out of it, but they won’t take
no for an answer. I know it’s not Chez Louis, but… maybe
you could meet me there instead?”
Grace knew the bar he was talking about. She’d never
been inside The Wobbly Duck but she’d driven by a few
times. The outside looked like it was falling apart.
Probably not the best venue for her shrinking black dress
and her four inch heels. But the alternative was to go back
to her place and spend the night alone, or worse, go back
to the store for her book club meeting and have to face
Sarah and Penny and Ellen and tell them she’d been stood
up. On the other hand, if she went to the bar, she could
show Brandon what a terrific sport she could be. Fifty
years from now, at their golden wedding anniversary
celebration it would be one of those cute “first date”
stories to tell their party guests during the toast.
“I know the place,” Grace said. “Sure, I’ll meet you
there for a drink.”
“Really?” he said with such boyish enthusiasm that
Grace couldn’t help but feel convinced she was doing the
right thing. The Wobbly Duck might not be Chez Louis, but
she was still technically going out on a date with Brandon.
They said their goodbyes and she handed the phone
back to Felix.
Grace put on a fake smile. “Silly me! I got
everything totally confused. We’re meeting somewhere
different.”
“Grace, I know the… incident last February must have
been a blow to your ego, but you shouldn’t let it drag down
your self-esteem. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought
I’d done that to you.”
Grace felt her face go hot. Of all the conceited…
“Good news, Felix. You can go on breathing because my
self-esteem is just fine, thank you. Now, where’s your
bathroom?” She needed to check out the hem situation. And
touch up her lipstick. And empty her bladder. She certainly
didn’t want to do any of that in the bathroom at The Wobbly
Duck. She wasn’t even sure the place had running water.
He sighed and pointed down a hallway to her
left. “Remember, Grace. I’m here whenever you need me.”
“Gee, thanks. I’ll keep that mind.”
Just a quick touch up and she’d be on her way to meet
Brandon. After tonight the Felixes of the world would be
behind her forever.
She took the first empty stall and pulled the tiny
shrink-wrapped tampon from her black clutch purse. Trying
to balance herself mid-air (Abuela had always warned her
against the evils of actually letting any part of her
anatomy touch a toilet seat she hadn’t personally cleaned
herself) she tried to work the shrink-wrap off the tampon
by wiggling it between her fingers, but the outer wrap
didn’t budge. Grace blew out a frustrated breath and tried
again, this time working the plastic more vigorously.
Nothing happened.
Obviously, she was dealing with a defective product.
She fished around the bottom of her clutch to produce
a lipstick, her driver’s license, a credit card, dental
floss, car keys, and two pieces of unwrapped bubble gum.
Ew, gross. She tossed the bubble gum and upended her purse,
but no more tampons. There was no choice. She’d have to
open this one.
She tried to use the edge of her car key to rip into
the plastic but that only ended with her jabbing herself in
the palm of her hand. She could always use her nails, of
course, but she’d gotten a manicure for tonight’s date and
she didn’t want to chip her color. Bringing the end of the
tampon up to her mouth she gnawed on the plastic with her
teeth. After a minute of struggling, the plastic finally
gave way.
Thank God!
Still, someone in the feminine hygiene department of
Proctor and Gamble was going to be the recipient of a very
serious email come Monday morning.
She finished up in the stall and washed her hands.
Huh. Something felt weird. It wasn’t her contact lenses,
was it? She blinked. No, they felt fine. She rubbed her
tongue against the edge of her bottom teeth. There was
something stuck in there. It was probably a little piece of
the plastic shrink-wrap that had dislodged itself while
she’d done her beaver imitation. Good thing she always
carried dental floss in her purse.
She checked herself out in front of the full length
mirror. It was just as she suspected. The dress was too
short. It had looked fine back at her townhouse with Sarah
urging her on, but she could see now that she was showing
too much leg. At least too much leg for Grace O’Bryan.
Despite being a jeans and sneakers kind of girl, she did
occasionally dress sexy. But this was too sexy and she
wasn’t the kind of girl who could pull off too sexy without
worrying that she looked ridiculous while doing it.
She grabbed hold of the dress by the back of the neck and
twisted around to read the label. There was giant P next to
the size. Of course. Sarah was barely five foot two. The
dress was a petite. No wonder the cut felt strange. Kind of
the like the plastic stuck between her teeth. There was
nothing she could do now about the dress, but she could do
something about the plastic. She gave a great big smile to
expose her teeth and leaned her face into the mirror to get
a better view.
What she saw made her freeze. There was no plastic
stuck between her teeth to get rid of. What felt so weird
was that a tiny piece of one of her bottom teeth was
missing.
Grace snapped her eyes shut. This wasn’t happening.
Maybe the lack of food today had made her delirious. Yes,
that was it. She’d open her eyes and find the whole thing
had been a mirage. She was like those people who wandered
through the desert, dehydrated, and thought they saw a
swimming pool, only instead of seeing something good, she’d
conjured up something bad.
She took a deep breath and slowly opened her eyes.
It wasn’t a mirage, because there it was, staring
right back at her. Her previously even row of straight
white teeth was no more. Somehow, she’d chipped off part of
her tooth while unwrapping a tampon.
Who did that happen to?
People who were cursed.
That’s who.