Authors: Sheila Roberts
She started toward the shelf where her Man Haters gingerbread mugs sat. I looked over my shoulder to make sure no new customers had entered the shop, then followed her. Hopefully, this holiday show-and-tell session would be fast.
We passed Aunt Chloe’s suckers coming down the aisle. They were each holding a mug. Behind them, Aunt Chloe was grinning.
“I sold two,” she whispered when we got to her. She pointed to the shelf. “Look, only two left.”
Mom’s smile was positively smug.
The store filled with more voices, and Aunt Chloe looked over my shoulder. Her eyes lit up, and she shoved a mug in my hand. “Say, look at this mug.”
I stared at her in horror, and she nodded her head in a direction somewhere in back of me and off to the left. She reminded me of a horse trying to get its rider to loosen up on the reins.
“Cute, isn’t it?” she said, prompting me.
I was sure her other victims could hear her. Would they notice she was like some figure in a ride at Disneyland, doing the same thing over and over?
“I don’t know anyone who’s getting divorced,” I said, and tried to set it back on the shelf.
Aunt Chloe put up a hand and blocked my move. “Yes, but you might know someone who’s broken up with their boyfriend.”
“It
is
clever,” Mom said, picking up one, herself. “And reasonably priced.”
“Oh, that is cute,” said a woman behind me.
I found myself turning and handing her mine. “It would make a fun gift filled with candy. And it’s affordable.”
Oh, no. What was I saying? What was happening to me?
Chapter Eleven
Whatever was happening to me, my mother and aunt approved. They both beamed on me like benevolent fairies.
Look. Princess Aurora has used her gift of baloney
.
The mug really wasn’t all that bad, I reasoned. And it was kind of fun helping Mom and Aunt Chloe push their merchandise. (I know. How sick is that?) They did have lots of creative ideas. They just needed their creativity directed in a more positive direction.
“I should have had twice as many of these done up,” Mom said as our satisfied customer departed with her new mug.
Thank heaven you didn ’t
, I thought. Then we’d have been down here every day, hawking them, and it wasn’t that much fun.
Aunt Chloe caught sight of new victims and went into her act again. “There’s only one left of that cute mug. You should let me have it.”
Mom held onto hers like it was treasure. “No, I saw it first.” From the comer of my eye I could see a woman approaching. She reminded me of a mouse smelling bait in a trap and coming for a closer look.
“But I have the perfect person for it,” Aunt Chloe protested, reaching for the mug.
Mom held it away from her. “Sorry.”
It was like I’d been swept away into Lucy Ricardo Land. I couldn’t help myself. I took the mug from Mom, saying, “There’s only one way to settle this.” I put on a smile and turned to face the mouse, er, customer. “Are you looking for a stocking stuffer?”
Of course, she was dying of curiosity. She reached for the prize and I gave it to her. “Oh, that is funny,” she said.
“Sorry, girls,” I said to Mom and Aunt Chloe, who were doing a great job of looking like covetous customers.
“But I don’t have anyone to give this to,” the woman said and handed it back to me.
I felt deflated, insulted even. I shot a look at my coconspirators. They were both frowning.
The woman moved on.
“No taste,” muttered Aunt Chloe.
I suddenly thought of Camilla, whose skunk boyfriend had dumped her for an older woman with tons of money. I took the mug. “Actually, I know someone who would really appreciate this.”
My aunt and mother stared at me. “There’s no one coming,” Aunt Chloe whispered.
“I know. I want it.”
Mom looked as pleased as if I’d told her she was going to be a grandmother, and Aunt Chloe patted my arm. “You’re a good daughter.”
Yes, I was.
I purchased my mug and we went home. Aunt Chloe stayed for a cup of sugar plum tea, then went on her way, and I grabbed a packet of Crabtree and Evelyn from my suitcase and went to soak in the tub.
By 7 o’clock I was bathed, perfumed, and primped, and psyched for my date with James. I had on my favorite L.B.D. (little black dress), the one with the square neckline. I’d accented it with a simple gold necklace and small gold hoops in my ears. I looked very classy, very New York. I should have, considering how much those clothes had cost me. My shoes alone had cost a week’s groceries. Not a very noble way to spend money when there are people starving in the world, but at the time I’d rationalized my spending by convincing myself they were an investment. You know, dress for success and all that.
I heard a knock, then my door opened and Mom poked her head around it.
“You look Special Delivery,” she said. “I hope your date is picking you up in a taxi.”
“Why’s that?”
“He won’t be able to take his eyes off you. He’s sure to run right off the road if he’s driving.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the door jamb. “So, why didn’t you tell your grandmother you had a date tonight?”
“You’re joking, right?”
Mom’s mouth lifted at the comers. “I wouldn’t have let her come with you.”
I pulled my lipstick out of my purse and turned to the mirror. “I’m just here for a visit, not to get involved with anyone. If she heard I was going out she might get ideas.”
I leaned into the dresser mirror and concentrated on my lips. But I could still see Mom reflected in the doorway, studying me.
“You could be dating more than one man. Gabe’s interested.”
“Been there, done that. Anyway, don’t you think the women in our family have given him enough chances?”
Mom shrugged. “Oh, I knew he and Keira weren’t a match. She was bored, and he was trying to find a substitute you.”
“Right.”
“That boy’s been in love with you since you were in high school.”
“Which is why he latched onto someone else the minute we broke up.”
“Wounded pride,” said Dr. Mom.
“Well, he’s had several years and several women to heal it.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Anyway, he’s here and I’m on the east coast. It would hardly work.”
“Things change, people move.”
Not me
, I thought.
“And you’re here right now. It doesn’t hurt to be open to possibilities. Who knows what the future holds?”
“Not me and Gabe together, that’s for sure,” I said.
And not me moving home either
.
The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Mom offered and disappeared. I heard her voice, then a low, male one. A moment later she called, “Andie, your date’s here.”
Instead of an image of James Fender, my mind flashed on Gabe Knightly. He was wearing a tux. I gave myself a mental shake to dislodge him and left my room before he could get back inside my brain.
James was dressed in jeans and a shirt and sweater with a leather jacket thrown over it. I suddenly felt humongously overdressed. I’d forgotten people rarely dressed up in the Northwest.
“Wow,” he said when he saw me.
Well, okay. The L.B.D. had been a good choice after all. “Is that a good wow or a bad wow?” I teased.
“It’s good.” He looked down at his jeans. “I feel like a bum.”
“You look like a musician,” I told him.
I grabbed my coat out of the closet, and he took it and helped me into it. A gentleman musician. He hadn’t learned those manners from my brother, I was sure of that.
“Have fun,” Mom said.
“We will,” James promised, smiling at me.
Oh, yes. This was going to be a great night. As we went out the door, I felt like Cinderella on her way to the ball.
Then I saw my coach. It was some kind of beater from the sixties, a gas hog special that was half turquoise and half gray primer paint.
“That’s quite a car,” I said, trying to sound open minded.
“It’s a ’67 Chevy Impala. Gonna be gorgeous when I get done fixing it up.”
James opened the door for me, and I got in. The air freshener almost covered up the musty smell. I wondered if I’d smell like my perfume or car mold by the time I got out.
“I’ve had some problems with the windows,” James explained after he got in. They leak a little.”
Which would explain the smell. He started the engine, and the radio roared to life. The system was first class. He’d obviously had no problem with the stereo.
“I’ve got reservations at Lulu’s,” he told me.
Looking at his unfinished car and knowing he was a musician, I had a moment’s guilt. Could James afford Lulu’s?
I know. It probably sounds like a hamburger joint. But it isn’t. Lulu’s is the closest thing we have to expensive in Carol. Billed as a Polynesian restaurant, it sports tiki lamps at the entrance and imitation Easter Island wood carvings. The menu features lots of fish and rice and pineapple, and drinks served in hollowed out coconuts with little umbrellas in them.
We pulled up in front of the restaurant, and James surrendered his car to the valet.
“Whoa,” said our valet. “Hot wheels.” He hopped in and backed up the car like he was at the Indianapolis 500, then squealed off.
“Maybe we should have taken the bus,” I said. “Is your car going to survive tonight?”
James shrugged, unconcerned. “That happens a lot. Guys love it.”
Maybe that was because they didn’t have to worry about their perfume getting overpowered by
eau de mold
.
Once inside the restaurant it was evident that even the Polynesians were celebrating Christmas here in Carol. A fake tree sat in the lobby, decorated with little hula girl dolls and lights shaped like pineapples. I could hear Burl Ives singing his Holly Jolly Christmas song softly in the background. The old guy sure got around.
“Do you have reservations?” asked the hostess.
“Fender,” James said.
“Right this way,” she said and started to weave through tables of happy couples.
I followed, with James bringing up the rear.
Then I stopped, tripped up by shock. I didn’t mean to stop right there in the middle of the restaurant, making James nearly run into me. I couldn’t help it. A million thoughts started ricocheting around my mind, leaving me wrapped in indecision and holding me paralyzed.
This was supposed to be a great evening. How was I going to be able to concentrate on James with my father and The Girlfriend just a few tables away? We had to walk right past them. What was I supposed to say? And what should I do if Dad asked us to join them? That would be awkward and embarrassing. I could suddenly remember I was allergic to pineapple and ask James to take me somewhere else. I was sure I must be allergic to something here. My skin suddenly felt like I had hives.
Maybe Dad wouldn’t see us. Maybe I could pretend I hadn’t seen them.
There was a plan. I could just sort of slip by, looking the other way. If the hostess seated us at a booth in the darkest comer of the restaurant I could hide behind my menu, sit with my back to them. She was already homing in on a table by the kitchen, completely unaware that she’d left us behind six tables ago.
I took a deep breath. Okay. All I had to do was sneak past my father’s table and I’d be home free.
I was just about to sneak when one of Mom’s favorite sayings popped into my head.
Honesty is the best policy
.
This isn’t dishonest, I told myself. No, I decided it’s avoidance, which is different.
Now, get sneaking
.
Too late. James moved past me, veering off the escape route and approaching Dad’s table. “Brittany?”
Great. He knew The Girlfriend.
And how did he know her? Had he gone to Brittany for a haircut and a shrink session?
She looked our way, and her smile melted off her face. “James?”
Dad turned around to see who Brittany was looking at, and his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Andie.”
“You know him?” James asked me.
“Just a little,” I said. “He’s my dad.”
Chapter Twelve
“Your dad?” James stuttered in shock. Obviously James wasn’t familiar with the term
trophy wife
.
Not that Brittany was going to become one of those, I rushed to assure myself. Right now she was just a trophy girlfriend.
“Andie! Come join us,” said Dad.
I stood there, frozen like a snow woman, watching my perfect evening slip away.
James wasn’t suffering from any such immobility. He was already pulling out a chair. For himself. “You don’t mind, do you, Andie?”
Mind? Why should I mind? There is nothing I’d rather do than double date with my dad
. Was this normal?
I sort of fell onto a chair while James and Dad shook hands.
By now the hostess realized we had dropped out of the parade. She came to the table, menus in hand, and Dad explained that we were joining him, effectively barring the door to escape.
She gave us a polite smile, left the menus, then went off in search of someone more deserving of a nice, quiet comer by the kitchen.
Meanwhile, Dad was doing the introductions.
“Actually, Brittany and I know each other,” James said.
“She cuts your hair too?” Dad guessed.
James gave Brittany The Look, the universal Once-You-Loved-Me-But-Then-You-Betrayed-Me look that one half of every broken up couple wears when they bump into each other socially. The half giving it is always the one who wants to turn back time and be a couple again.
My appetite deflated like a ruined souffle and I wished I hadn’t bothered with the L.B.D.
Brittany’s expression toward me was decidedly less chummy than what she’d been doling out the day before. “So, you and James know each other.”
I opened my mouth and James said, “We just met.”
It looked like I was going to spend the evening as a well dressed ventriloquist’s dummy.
Andie, tell us how it feels to be dumped on your first date for the guy’s former girlfriend who just happens to be here with your dad. Okay, now tell us while James is drinking water. Wow, isn’t that amazing? His mouth barely moves
.