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“Ok.”
He started to turn away from me, and then said, “Oh! Don’t forget to deactivate the alarm system. It would be a bad thing to forget.”
“Yeah, I could just see the whole SFPD showing up to arrest me,” I grinned.
“Worse. When my alarm goes off, the mafia that shows up.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Ok,” I said, “so tell me the code.”
He turned and started to walk out of the kitchen, and said cheerfully, “I don’t need to tell you. You already know it.”
“No I don’t. You never told me your security code.”
“Right, I didn’t. But you know it anyway. Oh hey, I have some really good pasta puttanesca in the fridge. Come over early and have it for dinner if you want to. And make yourself comfortable. Watch a movie, maybe. Or whatever you want.”
I trailed him into the living room and caught his hand, then came to a stop, acting like an anchor. He turned to me with a grin and a raised eyebrow. “Tell me your code,” I said, “if you’re serious about me coming over tonight.”
“It’s your date of birth, lover,” he told me with a smile, then kissed my lips and started to walk away again.
“What? You’re kidding! You are kidding, right?”
“Nope,” Dmitri said as he left my apartment with me right behind him.
“When did you make it my birthday?”
“I changed it to something you’d remember the morning after I met you.”
“I’d be able to remember a random code as well,” I pointed out.
“I know. But that’s just what people do, right? They use their loved ones’ birthdays for things like that. Then there’s no forgetting, either the code or your birthday.”
Loved ones – that was nice. And wanting to remember my birthday was nice, too. I followed him downstairs and asked, “How did you know when my birthday is? Oh wait, I forgot: the illegally obtained scan of my driver’s license.”
“You gave it to my bouncer willingly and let him scan it. As far as my criminal activity goes, that one’s gotta be way at the bottom of the food chain,” Dmitri said with a grin.
Somehow, he’d scored the parking space right in front of the building after he’d dropped Jess off last night. Dmitri turned and kissed me, oblivious as ever to the fact that we were in public. I loved that about him. Then he said, “Do you actually want to use the car today? I said that earlier to make your ex jealous, but it’s yours if you want it.”
“Nah. I’m good, thanks.”
“That you are. Bye, baby,” he called as he got in the car. “I miss you already.” The powerful engine roared to life, and he glided out into traffic with a wave out the window.
Chapter Eleven
After he left, I dropped off Dmitri’s nearly destroyed shirt and pants at the dry cleaner’s (after removing the smooshed donut from the pocket), and then had lunch with my friend Liam. This was a little awkward. Liam had known both Charlie and me since high school. And apparently most people we knew felt they had to pick one or the other of us to remain friends with after our break-up.
Not that everyone knew it was a break-up. Only a handful of friends had known we were a couple. Most people just thought we’d had a falling out. But even so, they felt obligated to align themselves with one or the other of us, since apparently it was too awkward to try to be friends with us both…as Liam was now illustrating.
Anyway, after lunch I drove to my mechanic’s and bid farewell to the pea green shit machine. I’d become inexplicably attached to that hideous car, and was actually a little sorry to see it go. But I was thrilled to have Lucy back in my life.
Lucy was my 1968 VW van. She was yellow with a white roof…mostly. The damp San Francisco climate really didn’t agree with Lucy, and she was losing the rust battle in a big way. Some day I’d come outside and find nothing but a pile of brownish orange flakes where my beloved van once stood. But for now, she was held together with some bright paint, crossed fingers, and a few strategically placed strips of duct tape.
I loaded her up with my surfboard (which was Lucy’s main purpose in life), wetsuit, and an overnight bag, then went and visited Jess at the boutique she managed. She was the only one in the shop when I got there, and was unpacking a selection of women’s hats and lining them up on the jewelry counter.
“Hey, Jeff Spicoli. Are you coming or going to the beach?” Jess asked, dissing my outfit as usual. I was wearing an unbuttoned white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and electric blue board shorts, so she was pretty dead-on with today’s jab (I needed to do laundry in a big way, and was saving my new stuff for a special occasion – i.e. time spent with Dmitri).
