Miami Spice

Chapter 2

"You know, I think we should go with the textured fabric for the walls in the den. Preferably in a buff, or maybe a desert taupe with sage accents. What do you think?" Sacha Kahlo, the other creative genius at Prestige by Design, cleared his throat. "Hello-Hola! Are you in there, Rica?"

Erica, who had been sitting at her drawing board, looked up from the container of untouched latte still grasped in her hands. She finally noticed Sacha Kahlo and the piercing look he gave her. "Oh, oh, yeah, sure. I think it's a great idea."

With a huff, Sacha clasped fists to each narrow hip. "All right, then what did I just say?"

"Sandy...something." Sighing, Erica stretched and set her cup aside. "Sorry. I guess I'm off in lala land."

He raised his tweezed and pampered brows. "Oh? What's his name? Anyone I know?"

Erica smiled. "No, I don't think so. It's nothing really."

"Well, it has to be, girlfriend, to have you off in the clouds like that. If anyone knows romance it's moi!" Taking up a colored pencil, Sacha leaned his slender body over the work table and pointed the tip in Erica's direction. "You're going to have to spill all over lunch. I insist, because I'm going to pay. But until then, can we get back to Mrs. Weissman's multi-million dollar hacienda? She's not paying us for a pink flamingo motif. She wants Southwest in the middle of Miami."

Opening her carpet swatches book, Erica came back to the present. "All right, then, let's give her Hopi pottery, yucca stalks and adobe."

* * *

The beautiful day called for them to eat al fresco on the patio, beneath a fawning umbrella. As Erica dug into her shrimp and spinach linguine, she related her tale between polite mouthfuls. As a firm believer in any story involving love and s*x, Sacha ate up every word between bites of his pita sandwich. When she finished with her story about her upstairs neighbor and his s****l antics, Erica sat back and played with the ice in her peach tea.

"You must find out," her friend pronounced, "all about the man! This is just too juicy a predicament to ignore. Of course, I have the perfect solution!"

Crossing her legs, Erica smiled thoughtfully. "Somehow I knew you would, dearest."

"How are you fixed on housekeepers?"

She gave a small frown. "Housekeepers? If you mean do I have one, then no, I don't."

"Well, I'll lend you mine." Sacha's cocoa eyes grew wide with excitement. "Her name is Rosina, and she's a font of information. In fact, she can pry information from sources better than one of those FBI G-strings."

"You mean G-men."

"No, darling, I mean a G-string! I always picture those guys wearing red spangle thongs beneath their regulation black suits."

Erica chuckled. Dear, sweet Sacha lived and breathed for the lively and the entertaining. As one of the South Beach crowd, he trod the boardwalks with flamboyant zeal. "So, you think your Rosina will be able to ferret out everything there is to know about my mysterious neighbor in 5C?"

Sacha's slim hands rose in the air. "Darling, she'll not only get the scoop, but tell you his blood type and the regularity of his poo-poos! Just give her a week and you'll see results."

"I don't think I'll need a full blown report, but if she's willing to do some housekeeping in between, then she's hired. Those results I can live with."

"Good. I'll have her see you the morning after next. This will give Rosie time to adjust her schedule. Now, she'll do everything you ask except walk your dog, but since you have a cat, that's a moot point."

"I like to do my own laundry, but if she's willing to iron, all the better."

"Girlfriend, ironing, scrubbing, dusting, and vacuuming are her middle names. She works from eight till three, with a half hour for lunch. Oh, and she gets ten bucks an hour."

Erica threw him a perceptive look. "Just when will she have time to scope out my neighbors? You do know I'm willing to pay her for the time she works as a housekeeper and not as a private detective."

"Don't worry, darling, she'll deliver!" After adjusting his salmon-hued ascot, Sacha took up their check. "I've always loved," he ruminated as he perused the bill, "the way they used to call those guys private dicks." His eyes took on a mischievous glint. "You know what I would tell one if he wanted to investigate me? 'Frisk me, darling, and don't be gentle! The harder you search, the easier I become!' Of course, I like the big, hunky he-man type who carries a loaded midnight special in his waistband!"

Erica couldn't help but laugh. Sacha came up with these little provocative gems just about every day. Like herself, he was in between significant others. The only time she found her friend down in the dumps had been when his last live-in lover unceremoniously dumped him for a female impersonator who performed at one of the nightclubs on the strip. It took all of two weeks before Sacha snapped out of his sorrow and got back on the horse so to speak, in his case a particularly feisty Italian stallion.

After reaching for her pocketbook, Erica offered to get the tip and put down a generous amount. As a working girl herself and a daughter of hard-working immigrants, she knew every little bit counted.

"Well then!" she declared. "Shall we return to Mrs. Weissman and her desert casita?"

Of course, in this case, the lady's little cottage happened to contain seven bedrooms, eight baths, a home gym and spa, and a large entertainment center. Oh, well, Erica sighed agreeably, if you got it, then flaunt it!