Page 5 of Rosie and the Dreamboat
“Ha ha. Very funny.” I wait for her laugh. Silence. “You’re serious?”
“Rosie, listen to me.” She is on the other side of the tank, speaking into the sealed crack. “I want you to trust me. This is all going to work out. Trust me. Trust me. TRUST ME.”
“Okay. You’re right. We don’t want to ruin both of our days. Have fun.” The effort it took me to sound so upbeat leaves me sinking down into the water, completely submerged, with just my nose poking out.
This will be the moment the funny fireman persuades her into staying. But incredibly, he says, “Off you go, traitor. I’ve got her from here.”
“See you later, Rosie,” Bree says, sounding like she’s already halfway out of the room.
“She really left?”
“Your heartless sister’s gone, Miss Rosie Clamshell. It’s you and me now, kid. Frank is just our third wheel.”
“Shuck me out of this thing. I’m begging you.”
His helpless, barking belly laugh is an absolute dopamine hit. “Are we shuck buddies? My God, Frank, whoever is in this fancy water coffin is cracking me up.”
Frank replies, “You’re supposed to be working your magic, Romeo, not saying words like ‘coffin.’ God’s sake, boy, you’re our PR department. Hoooo-ey, look at these hinges. Day-spa lady is gonna have to accept the inevitable.” Then he says something faintly, and I think I make it out: “The things people waste their money on.”
If he knew what some people pay for a fiddle-leaf fig tree, he’d faint.
“She said this thing is worth eighty-five thousand dollars,” my funny guy—Romeo?—says with awe in his tone. “Hear that, Rosie Clamshell? You’re in somethingveryexpensive. You’re one lucky lady.”
“I’m truly blessed.” I’ve got a new occupation now: making him laugh. “I’m actually on a sun lounger in the Maldives.”
“You are?” His big smile is in his voice. “I coulda sworn you were sleeping on a couch in Buckingham Palace. Yeah,” he says to someone. “She’s fine. Brave little Rosie Clamshell.”
I’m touched that he’s taken on this role of looking after me. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Romeo.”
“Nah. This fuckin’ asshole calls me Romeo to annoy me. I’m Leo.”
Frank booms in his big voice, “We call him Romeo because he’s a dreamy fucking dreamboat.”
“Yeah, yeah, fuck right off, Frank, you day-old hot dog. But he’s right, Rosie. I’m a dreamboat. Picture it in your mind, how dreamy I am.”
All I can picture is the waiting room’s headless torso portrait. “I am in sensory deprivation right now. My ears are full of water. You’re nothing but a voice.”
“Adreamyvoice.” Leo’s laugh has a color. It’s all the colors, actually. They’re rainbow and melting, filling my pitch-black world like opalescent soap bubbles. He warns Frank, “Day-spa lady doesn’t want you disturbing all the clients. Go check and see whether she got through to customer service.”
There’s silence, and then Leo says, “How you doing in there, Rosie?”
“I’ve got a problem I should probably tell you about, if my sister didn’t already.”
“Shoot.”
“Uh ...” I put my hands on my cheeks. They feel warm. “I’m like, sort of ...”
“Yeeees . . .”
“I’m naked, so when we get this thing open ...”
“I will blindfold everybody, including myself, and we’ll get you a towel.”
“I can’t believe she left me.” Even through an inch of Japanese steel, anyone could hear my desolation.
“You let her off the hook too easy. But we don’t need her. It’s you and me. I am going nowhere until you’re out. I can promise you that. I’m just glad you weren’t about to tell me you need to use the bathroom.”
“Give it time. This thing doesn’t flush, I guess.”
