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She didn’t know where to look the moment she stepped inside Fidel Architect the architect’s glamorous home and its modern mid-century rustic vibe. Her head nearly twisted off. She was stunned by the indoor waterfall and the size of the kitchen and all its shiny toys to cook and clean with.

“You really live here?”

“Yes.”

“By yourself?”

“I have a cat.”

There was a meow, as if on cue. The girl had found him and was petting him roughly. “He’s a nice kitty,” she said.

“That’s Bergen,” Fidel said. “I named him after the coastal city in Norway where I have a summer house.”

“You have two houses?”

“I mean, yes. I make a very good living being an architect. But the home in Norway is much smaller.”

She rolled her eyes and half-smiled. “Must be rough.”

The cat ran off and soon the girl was up and chasing it around, all the while screaming.”

“Hey! Don’t do that, and you better not break anything,” Fidel called out after her. “If you do, I’m going to break you! And be quiet and don’t hurt the cat.”

“You don’t need to talk to her like that. She’s just a little girl.”

“So…”

“You’ve got some nerve.”

“Yes I do. Lots of them in fact. All over my body. I bet you could set some on fire.”

She scoffed, turned away in embarrassment, and that’s when she noticed the wall of picture frames. Family photos, she thought, and went to take a closer look. But upon further inspection, she realized the pictures were all of Fidel. Every single one. Thirteen of them to be exact, and in each one he was striking a different pose, a different expression, sporting a different hairstyle, and wearing different clothes. He had an entire wall dedicated to pictures of himself.

“What is this about?” she asked him, pointing to the photos.

“Ah, yes. I see you’ve discovered my wall of self-admiration.”

She laughed. “Are you serious?”

Fidel’s face became non-expressive. “Yes. I am. Don’t you like it? It’s a collage reflecting my life as a human being. It celebrates my highs and lows, my successes and rare failures, and how my expressions react to diverse situations. I’m going to add more over time.”

“You’re going to need a bigger wall.”

“I sense that you think it’s stupid,” Fidel said.

“It’s just that I’ve never seen someone hang pictures of just themselves. It’s kind of arrogant if you want my honest opinion.”

“Arrogant? It’s not arrogant. It’s me being proud of the person I am and wanting to display that for all to see,” Fidel said.

“Get many visitors?”

Fidel thought about it for a moment. “Usually just hot prostitutes.”

She moved away from him. He had been uncomfortably close to her. She figured he must have some kind of disease. “Congratulations?”

“You’re mocking me. Fidel doesn’t like to get mocked.”

“It’s just kind of weird, but hey, to each his own, right?”

“That’s right. Please don’t judge me for just being who I am… And by the way, who are you? What kind of a name do you have?” Fidel asked her.

“Kind of name?”

“Yeah. Is it a stupid name?”

“It’s Angela, and I don’t think it’s a stupid name.”

“Angela… You must be an angel.” He signaled with one finger for her to be quiet while he reached for his phone. He play dialed it. “Yes. Is this Heaven? Good. Well, I just wanted to let you know I found one of your angels on the loose. But don’t worry, she’s about to be in my arms.”

He set his phone aside and pulled her to him. He kissed her. She surprised herself and kissed him back.

“Eww,” the little girl said from some hidden spot. “Mommy! You just met him.”

They both laughed out loud like human Cheez-Its.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can spank you, too,” Fidel said to the girl with all seriousness. “Seems like your mother here doesn’t really know how to discipline you or teach you not to run around like a wild dog in a stranger’s house. You need to learn some manners.”

The girl quieted down. Angela looked at him with subtle outrage. “I’ll discipline my own daughter how I see fit, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay, okay, baby cakes. I was just trying to get the kid to settle down. What do you feed her anyway? Cocaine?”

Angela rolled her eyes at him and scoffed, but she enjoyed the kiss too much to cut her visit short. She was overwhelmingly unsure about the whole thing. But she still needed something in her life. A spark. An interest. A project. “Why don’t you go outside and play,” she told her daughter. Something besides just being a struggling single mother.

“Just don’t trample over my ornamental garden beds,” Fidel said to the girl. “I’ll throw you over a wall and onto the interstate if you do.”

The girl was scared of him now. She went to her mother and wrapped her small arms around one of Angela’s legs. Angela petted her head to soothe her. “Go on. Go play.”

The girl scampered off toward the lower patio doors. Fidel went to help her open them. “I’ll be watching you,” he said before she slipped out. He closed the doors and locked them. The girl outside turned to look at him. Her face was peppered with concern. Fidel slid two fingers across his throat in a menacing slicing manner. The girl ran off and Fidel laughed out loud.

When he returned to Angela, she had a beer in her hand. Heineken. “Ever hear of asking first,” he said.

She took a long pull on the green bottle. “You know, sometimes that straightforwardness of yours can come off as rude.”

“It’s not rude. I’m honest. Why is everyone so afraid of honesty?”

“Honesty doesn’t need to always spew out like lava.”

“Lava?”

“Like, hot and burning and destructive.”

“I’m not destructive.”

“You are. You totally destroyed my daughter earlier with the way you talked to her. I’m not cool with that. I’m not sure I want to stay.”

He reached out and took the beer bottle from her. He put her now empty hand on his crotch and pulsed his bulge. “Are you cool with that?” he said to her with a sly look on his face.

She waited a moment before she pulled her hand away from the throbbing warmth. “You’re moving way too fast for me. I’m getting uncomfortable. Maybe I should leave after all.”

She started to walk away toward the patio doors to call for her daughter. Fidel went after her and jumped on her back, forcing her to the floor face first.

“What the fuck are you doing!” she screamed.

He turned her over and pinned her down with his knees. “Are we having fun yet?” he grinned.

She tried to kick him between the legs. He laughed at her useless effort. “You’ll never hurt me, baby cakes.” He grasped one of her breasts and squeezed it. But then Fidel looked up and saw the little girl on the other side of the glass. She was crying and trying to open the heavy sliding doors.

Fidel grinned at her like an evil clown. “Mommy and I are just wrestling, honey,” he yelled through the glass. “Don’t worry. We’re playing.” He ferociously tickled Angela in a torturous way and her entire body convulsed, and she cried out. “Stop it! Stop it!”

The girl pounded on the glass with her tiny fist. “Mommy!” she called out in a voice muffled by the barrier.

Fidel finally moved off of her. He reached out a hand to help her up. She clasped it. “You’re an asshole,” she said.

“I was just playing with you.”

“Didn’t seem like playing to me.”

She went to the doors and let her daughter in. The girl clutched her mother as she cried. “I want to go home.”

“We are, honey, we are.” She gathered her things and made her way to the front door.

“Hey,” Fidel called out. “No police, okay. I have a reputation to uphold.”

She gave him a confounded look and shook her head. “You’re sick, bro,” she said.

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

“Thank you. Thank you for what?”

“For a great time, the beer, letting you squeeze my penis.”

“You’re a pig.”

“There’s that word again. Pig. Why do women keep calling me a pig?”

“Probably because you are one.”

“Well, I suppose you’re entitled to your opinion.”

“Fuck off,” was the last thing she said to him before her and the girl walked out.

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