Layers: Book One (11 page)

She looked into my eyes—she was so scared—of what? The whole thing was beginning to really freak me out.

I begged her to tell me what was going on. Why was she shutting me out? What the hell was she so afraid of? Had I unknowingly hurt her? Was she hung up on the fact that she worked for Ryan? Was she stuck on someone else?

She just kept on telling me ‘no.’ Everything about me felt right—perfect. It was her—she kept on saying. “This—we should never have happened,” she said.

I asked her to explain to me why? She said she couldn’t explain why. And that’s how it ended—for her anyway—not for me.

I tried…I really tried to let her go—but I just couldn’t. I gave her some time then asked her out to dinner. She said no of course but I wasn’t about to let her end ‘us.’

I pleaded, begged, sent dozens of roses, sent her candy and cards, bought her emeralds and diamonds, bought her a year’s supply of coffee, wrote her a love letter, wrote her a poem, sent e-cards, sent X-rated texts, bought her entire department lunch for a week, sent her a singing telegram, sent her theater tickets to all the sold-out shows on Broadway, gifted her season tickets to the opera, the ballet, the Mets, the Yankees, the Knicks, the Jets, the Rangers, and the Islanders.

I refused all of her rejections. I kept on her until she told me she was going to quit, and then finally, I gave in. I decided it was better to have her as an associate and a friend than not at all. I was so fucking screwed.

A week later, Lane picks me up and drives me to the Ryan estate.

Lane introduces me to his mother. “Alexia this is my mother, Mary Frampton.”

She gives me a warm hug. “Alexia. I feel as if I already know you. Lane and Jaxson can’t stop talking about you.”

“Frampton, huh?”


“Yes, and before you ask, no relation to Peter.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”


She gives me a skeptical look.

“Okay, I so was.”


“No biggie, everyone does.”

Lane retrieves my luggage from the trunk of an Audi A8 and Mary guides us behind a multi-car garage then up a short flight of bricked stairs.

When we reach the landing, Mary turns. “Are you ready to see your new digs?”


“As ready as watermelon.”

She raises a questioning brow.

“I know, I don’t get it either. It’s something that my Gram says and I’ve yet to meet anyone that gets it.”

Mary opens the door and Lane and I trail behind. We pass through a brightly lit modern kitchen, down a long winding hall, passing room after room.

“We’ll get you settled, grab some lunch, then I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“Sounds great,” I say as we continue.

When we reach the end of the hallway it opens into a massive marbled and mahogany foyer. We trail through the foyer and up a split grand mahogany staircase.

When we reach the second floor, Mary points to the right. “The master suite is to the right.” She turns and winks. “All the guest rooms are on the left.”

Lane and I follow her down the left hall. We pass several bedrooms and when we reach the end bedroom she opens the door. “This is my favorite bedroom, Alexia. It’s filled with light and faces the west garden.”

I walk into a large sun-kissed room dominated by a king-sized metal and wood canopy bed. Flanking the bed is a mahogany mantled marble fireplace and two overstuffed green and blue floral print chairs. I drop my laptop satchel and duffle on one of the chairs and wander to the window. I scan the west garden. It reminds me of the formal gardens at Gram’s estate in Scotland. I miss Gram and her crazy
mature
friends.

I turn and walk over to the bed as Lane puts my luggage near a dresser then plants his ass in a chair. I look down at the duvet. “Who is this?”

Mary pops her head out of the in-suite bathroom. “Oh, that’s Justin Bieber.”

“Beeb bedding. That’s creepy.” I pull back the duvet. “Beeb sheets, super creepy.”

Mary saunters out of the bathroom. “It’s a Beeb bed in a bag set.”


“That’s just wrong.”


“Don’t look at me. It’s Jaxson’s idea of a joke. He said something about this being the only other guy you’ll be sleeping with in his house.”

I can’t help but giggle. “The Beeb’s a little young for me.”


“Not a lion, huh?” Lane says.

Mary and I look at him.

“It’s cougar you idiot,” Mary says while shaking her head.

“Whatever,” he replies.

“If you think this is creepy, take a look in the bathroom,” she adds.


I stroll into the bathroom. I take in the overwhelmingness of JB. There is a large stack of JB imprinted towels and wash clothes. A matching shower curtain, rugs, soap dispenser, toothbrush holder, trashcan and toilet lid cover complete the JB ensemble. I sit down on the covered lid.

“I had no idea that they still made these” I say and wiggle my ass.

“Yeah, they still make them.” Mary pouts.

“I have never understood the purpose of covering a toilet seat lid.”

“Me neither. Who the hell knows why?” Mary smirks. “But just think, you’ll be able to say you sat on the Beeb’s face.” She laughs.

“Not something I’d even confess to.”


“I put extra plain white sheets and towels in the linen closet. I agree—all this Beebness is a bit much.”

We walk out of the bathroom. “Well Alexia, we’ll leave and let you unpack and get settled. I’ll come and get you noonish for lunch.”

“Okay, and Mary, thanks for everything.”

“It’s my pleasure. We’re all excited to have you here.” She wanders to the door, exits, and then shuts it behind her.

Two seconds later she flings open the door. “Lane,” she calls.

“What?” He gives his mother a cheeky grin.

“Lane,” she says again in that “mom voice”. You know that voice—the one that says “Don’t mess with me, boy”.

“Okay, I’m coming.” He hops up and shuffles to the door.

“See ya later Lex.”

I nod.

He winks. Mary swats his head. The door shuts, and stays shut.

Mary comes and gets me noonish as promised. She gives me a quick tour, then introduces me to the house staff. Lester Bing, is the cook/Jack-of-all-trades and Mary’s BFF. He’s a big man with a bare noggin. Mr. Clean in the flesh. I wonder if Jaxson sees it, too.

“Alexia, great to finally meet you,” he says as he gives me a big bear hug. “I’ve been experimenting with some new vegetarian recipes and I can’t wait for you to try them.”

Mary cringes. “I hope you like tofu,” she says quietly as we walk out of the kitchen.

“That bad, huh?”

She turns and counts off on her fingers. “Tofu burgers, tofu tacos, tofu pizza, tofu lasagna, tofu-loaf, spaghetti and tofu-balls, sweet and sour tofu, tofu chow mien and several unnamed tofu culinary delights.”

She rolls her eyes. ”We’ve had tofu in every meal for the last two weeks.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. It keeps him out of my hair.”

We, trek down a hall and out to the back gardens. “That’s it for the house staff. I hire additional help when I need it, which is rare. We don’t see much of Jaxson but I have a feeling that will change now that your here.” She gives me a knowing wink.

We walk through the west and south gardens, or was it the east and north?

Whatever.

Mary waves her hands and shouts. “Louie!” A smallish man with a Mets cap, a huge grin and a matching huge-normous nose, waves back.

When we reach him, Mary introduces us. “Louie, this is Alexia.”

“Oh yes,” he says with a raised brow. “Jaxson’s Alexia.” Louie removes his worn garden gloves and takes my hands, giving them a light kiss just above my knuckles.

“Louie is the Head Gardener and the Head Flirt.”

“Me?” he says in mock disbelief. “I’m no flirt, I just love women, especially beautiful women.” He winks.

“The gardens are spectacular Louie. Best part of the estate” I say and his grin floods his face.

“Thank you my dear. Do you like to garden?”

“I’ve never really tried it.”

“A virgin,” he replies in a deep, seductive voice. “Could my day get any better? It would be an honor to be your first horticultural instructor.”

Mary’s lips thin in disapproval. “Oh good God Louie. Alexia is the same age as your granddaughter.”

“But she’s not my granddaughter, now is she? Beside, you can’t put an age on true love.”


Mary places her hands on her hips. “In your dreams Louie.”


“Yes, a man can still dream and even you, my dear Mary, can’t control what or who I dream about.”

Mary shakes her head. “You’re a sick man Louie.”

He laughs. “And you love it.”

Mary rolls her eyes. “Tomorrow we’re having a welcome dinner for Alexia. Cocktails will be served at seven. Make sure you’re on time and your hands are dirt-free.”

“Yes, Mother.” He snorts.

We say our goodbyes and head back toward the house.

As we walk, I recall some warm memories and chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Mary asks.

“I was just thinking about my Gram’s head gardener Liam.”

“Is he a horny toad like Louie?”

“No, not at all. At least I don’t think so. He’s at least ninety, nearly blind, near toothless and hasn’t picked up a rake or spade in years.”

“Good God. What do her gardens look like?”

“Her gardens are grand. Fortunately, Liam has loads of help. He drives around the estate in an old tractor mower yelling orders and cursing like a drunk whore.”

Mary giggles. “Your Gram must be quite a character to keep someone like him on.”


I smile. “Gram is most definitely a character. I believe Liam learned most of his colorful words from her.”

“Lane says that your Gram is Scottish.”

“Her estate is in Scotland, but Gram is originally from LA.”

“Really? How did she end up with an estate in Scotland if you don’t mind me asking?”

“No, not at all. My great-grandparents were—I guess you would call them Hollywood B—listers. Gram says they struggled for years trying to get a break. She remembers living on PB&J sandwiches and grape juice for months.

One night they went to a party in the hills and one of their actor friends introduced them to a stockbroker from New York. This broker and my great grandfather hit it off, becoming close friends. One day, this broker called him and told him to take out all their savings and buy shares in a company called IBM. Well, the rest is history, as they say. They made millions over the years, finally making it, but not in the movies.”

I continue with part two of Grams story. ”Years later Gram went on holiday with her two best friends. After partying for two months in London they set off for Scotland. Gram told me that they got bored with the Brit men, but I found out from her friends that they got kicked out of their flat for being loud, lewd and loose Yanks.”

Mary laughs.

I continue. “So anyway, they were on their way to some ruins outside of Edinburgh and got lost. So they stopped at a pub for directions. Gram walked in and spotted a handsome Scot sitting at the bar. She went up to him and asked him for directions. He told her if she’ll have a drink with him he’d personally drive them to the ruins. She agreed. They never made it to the ruins but they got married three weeks later.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow. The ruins that they were looking for happened to be part of my grandfather’s estate, the largest in Scotland. Gram says they were destined to be together. So, that is how she ended up in Scotland.”

“So what about your parents?” she asks.

“That’s a story for another time.”


“Okay” Mary says as we walk into the kitchen.

Two weeks residing at my new digs and I’m going a little crazy. I establish a routine hoping to ward off the crazies. Run, eat, read, e-mail, hangout, eat, run yada, yada, yada. But in the last two weeks I’ve fallen in love with everyone at the estate. Their love for Jaxson is ferocious and they love telling me stories about his past…like proud parents. With each story I grow closer to him, and that scares the crap out me.

Mary told me that Jaxson wet the bed nightly until he was fourteen. She said he was so mortified that he would stay up and wash and dry his sheets and pajamas. Then replace them before anyone noticed. He was so exhausted each morning that he would fall asleep while eating his breakfast.

His parents were very supportive and told him it was no biggie that lots of kids wet the bed and he would grow out of it. However, Jaxson continued with his late night routine. After about a year his parents were desperate.

They had tried everything. Jaxson, was almost fifteen and starting to really notice girls. So Jaxson Sr. informed his son that his bed-wetting was genetic. Ryan men had been bed wetters for generations because they had large penises and their bladders just couldn’t keep up. He just needed to hang in there and in the end, it would be worth it because he would become the envy of his friends. Jaxson never wet the bed again.