A Toast to Starry Nights (17 page)

“Oh yeah. Can we do
A Clockwork
Orange
for a theme? Wear fake lashes on one eye and padded codpieces. And
you can do your lines in a cockney accent.
'Do you take this droog for a wee
bit of ultra-matrimony
?' It could work. Now that'd be original. Classy too,
with the accents. Think Dmitri can ditch the Eastern European slur and mimic a
Brit?”

“That'd be scary, is what
that
would
be.” No Kubrikesque weddings, thank you. Way too close to Trekkie Country and
Reaver Territory.

“But Cousin, you said you wanted a
Halloween wedding... you can hand out fake eyelashes to everyone as the wedding
favor.”

I find it scary how much Willow's voice
came out of Nita's mouth.

Addressed Jet as I squeezed out the
fixing solution from the hankies and set them on the table next to the plastic
dye station. “See what you've done? You've tainted my baby cousin, you
reprobate. She was all for my elegant aquatic endeavor until you pipe up with
your corrupting ways.”

Jet rolled her eyes. “Whatever floats
your boat. She's your relative, which means she's jaded and corrupted from
genetic factor alone. Has nothing to do with me, you said so yourself.” She
faced Nita. “Sorry, kid. You're screwed.” She turned to me again. “What's the
elegant aquatic endeavor? A boat in the bay? Ooh tell me you want to get
married at Alcatraz. Please let there be stripes involved.”

“Think less wind and more sharks.”

Nita smiled while Jet looked puzzled and
asked. “More sharks?”

“Think Wide Expanses at The Aquarium.”
It was Jet's photography of the facility that inspired the thought. Next to
books and her cat, layman marine biology catches her fancy. Fairly positive
that living on an island helped to contribute to her interest in swimmy things.

“That would be exquisite. Kudos, Kaylis.
That has a lot of potential.” Jet focused her attention on the customer
browsing some silk-painted Hawaiian shirts.

I lost myself in a brightly colored
tie-dyed world as Jet and Nita handled customers. Between them, they knew the
principles and mechanics of the arts to offer explanations for the curious.
Every now and again someone would order a custom dyed shirt and they got to see
firsthand how it was done. After the application of dye, I popped the bundle
into a grocery bag, stapled shut with a small plastic baggie containing a pair
of latex-free gloves, instructions and a small bottle of synthropal.

When the shirt finished curing, the
customer gets to don the gloves to rinse out and untie their purchase. They get
a thrill to have a part in its creation and consequently, word of mouth
advertisement is a nice side effect. In a town of liberal college hippies,
tie-dye always sold. And because our nation's Independence Day was nigh upon
us, red and blue dyes were doubly stocked. Good thing, too.

Business started off fast and stayed
brisk. The pace picked up to the point that Nita would help do custom orders
while Jet kept an eagle eye on customers and played cashier. Her scented idea
was a good one, if the decreasing volume of sticks in the display indicated
anything. When things slowed down, Nita made herself useful in greeting people
poking through the hangers of clothing. Her best technique was asking a
potential customer what dye pattern they liked best. Anita Ann honed in for the
kill by pointing out the various colors of that style. Every now and again,
especially if the customer happened to be male, Jet would pipe up with how such
and such color set off a feature, like eyes or hair.

Those two were thresher sharks circling
inside the booth.

Once or twice, I took stock of the
market's traffic volume. Very busy, every time I looked. I thought I saw Mike's
Impala twice driving down Main Street, but being that it's a college town, beat
up cars are pretty common. I hoped it wasn't Mike. It'd be nice to know he's
back in the bay area, far away from here. Far away from me.

The flow went unimpeded until around
noon when the heat upon parking lot blacktop made waves in the air. People tend
to prefer air conditioning over sun burns. Today's high hovered around
one-hundred-five. In a parking lot, the heat seems to go up exponentially.

Right before we were about to send Nita
off to fetch lunch and copious amounts of cold beverages, the groove entered
the Realm of Fucked Up-- close neighbor and ally to the Land of Awkward.

As I saturated the rayon gown with
magenta, purple and black, Jet's voice started talking about the different
resists used in silk painting as an answer to a customer's query. The voice
asking the questions sounded vaguely familiar. Husky and feminine. My fingers
worked the dye into the folds, and I kept my ears perked, trying to place that
voice.

Finally when I couldn't resist any more,
I glanced up and quickly looked back down. I kept my face down, hoping she
didn't see me. She dressed like it was 1997. Black tank top with flared jeans.
Heels. Black Watch plaid flannel shirt tied around her waist. Her hair in
artfully arranged curls to her rear-end and the full makeup on her face melted
under the summer sun like a candle left on a sidewalk.

Lorryn Wilhemina Clairbeck.

Granted, Chico isn't a large city by any
means, but I didn't expect to run into her. Oh well. Bite the bullet, I
suppose.
Sigh.

Then, Jet's voice said quite distinctly,
“Yep, the artist is right back there, working as we speak.”

Deep-cleansing sigh. Maybe she won't
recognize me.

Yeah, as if life is that kind and gentle
a mistress.

I kept my face down and focused on
creating. Getting paid to make the dress look neat, not messed up because Drama
Incarnate manifested herself.

“Hi... you make all these?”

“Yep.” I looked up with the
customer-service face I learned to cultivate years ago. Lorryn looked at the
colorful offerings before finally settling her gaze on me.

Wide brown eyes looked into mine, a
little quirk on her brow. Her head tilted to the side like a kitten pondering
something twitchy.

“Oh my lord Jesus, is that you, Kay
Woods?” She bounced in place like an epileptic rabbit. “Oh honey, I thought I'd
never see you again! I didn't know you moved back to the valley! Oh my lord,
let's get lunch! Right now!” This Christian-y side was new. So was the
tweaked-out squirrel energy emanating from her. Last time she and I were
'friends', Lorryn walked a fine line between chola and goth girl.

“Nice to see you too, Lorryn.” God didn't
strike me down from that polite lie. Although a glance past Lorryn revealed Jet
with a bug-eyed expression. “I can't bounce out, it's my booth, can't really
delegate to anyone because it's my name on the paperwork. Should anything
happen, it's my responsibility. But thanks for the offer.” But oh hell no.

One could see the mental hamster running
on its wheel as Lorryn changed tactics. “So what are you doing these days?”

I waved my latex-sheathed hand about.
“This, mainly. Took my schooling in textile arts and am making a living off of
it. Doing the booth and I've got a friend helping with a website so I can nail
that avenue as well. I also do classes and private lessons.” I focused on my
work. Since she identified me, no need to be particularly sociable or terribly
rude. Work hours... and time is money.

“Oh, that's great. Good for you, honey.
Still single?” Her voice intoned that I should at least be single and a
card-holding certified spinster by now.

Lorryn always liked to have a guy on a
leash. I witnessed a broken-hearted train of boy toys before she even moved
down to Sacramento. She was lost without male adoration. “No, I'm seeing
someone. Long term, too.” Lorryn's expression went from
vaguely interested
to
very interested
.

Jet piped up, the eavesdropping tart.
“She's actually engaged to get married.”

Customer Service Zen. Telling Jet with a
look that her participation in the conversation was unneeded, unwanted, and
that she should shut the hell up wouldn't be appropriate at this time. Although
I'm sure that wrinkle Jet claimed as her own made its appearance by now as a
banner of my irked nature.

Lorryn clasped her hands together in
glee. “You're getting married? Oh, let me throw you a bachelorette party! It'll
be great. Maybe around a theme, like Kitchen Fun. I sell Spoiled Sous Chef now.
I can get you a
great
deal. Or if you want, I also sell Avignon
Cosmetics. Cooking and primping, how's that for a girlie party idea? Hey! Have
room for another bridesmaid?”
Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.

Oh, Crazy person. Does she not recall
that she stopped talking to me because Dmitri and I reconnected six years ago?
She literally wrote me off as being a tramp for finding out about Dmitri's
decade-long wait to apologize and her role in the situation. She hated me.
Blamed me for breaking her and Dmitri up, although they were already done with
when she tried setting me up with him back in the day. And now, back to
everything is peachy keen? It's obvious that she didn't know about Dmitri and I
getting and staying together. Maybe bygones are bygones. But somehow I
seriously doubt it. My spidey-senses were a-tingling.

“My Maid of Honor already has something
planned, but thanks for the offer.” I didn't respond to the bridesmaid
question. I couldn't think of a nice way to tell her no; not because she's
Dmitri's ex girlfriend and my ex friend, and not because she asked out of the
blue, as if we were still friends. I wanted to tell her no because she tried to
keep Dmitri and I from talking and reconnecting. Seemed asinine to invite, let
alone, permit a person who did that, to a wedding.

Jet piped up. “The only Chef I want to
see at the bachelorette party is a hunky stripper wearing a g-string and a
toque blanche, wooden spoon in hand. I'll spoil him good.” She winked and
clicked her tongue. “There's something hot about a man who knows his way around
the kitchen. Oh, Gordon Ramsey, how I lust for thee...”

“Sounds fun to me.” Nita lent her two
cents. When she saw my expression, she hastened to add, “I'll be eighteen by
then. Stop scowling at me, Kay. I want to see male strippers, dammit. Don't
deny me my youth and hormones and stuff. You were once young. You can remember
that, right?”

''My... goodness.” Looked like Lorryn
didn't know what to make of it. Me, with a man? Maybe she had a micro-stroke or
something. It'd explain the oddness that poured from her lips. “So you're
getting married, that's great. I just got divorced. Let me tell you, Divorce
Cake tastes a hundred times better than Wedding Cake. Mine had the groom
sitting in a dumpster of fondant and marzipan. I bit that son of a gun's head
off. Literally. Best bakery in all of South Carolina does a fabulous red velvet
cake with Nutella filling. You must try it sometime.”

I imagine the bakery and/or the
relationship represented in pastry cream has something to do with the taste of
cake. But alrighty. I do agree that divorce is a good thing, especially if it
is a toxic relationship. “Good to know. So you lived in the South and moved
back here?” Magenta got squirted on the bundle in abundance.

“Oh yes, bought a little house with some
acres out of Forest Ranch with my divorce settlement.” She smiled. “My ex was
in the Navy. It's amazing what I could get from that cheating bastard by
grabbing his balls.” Lorryn gestured with a little wave of her hand. “Your man
ever gives you issues, you take my advice and go for his balls. Make him cry
like a little girl and get everything you want.” She clenched her fist around
some imaginary testicles dangling before her face for emphasis. “It's empowering
to nail a man's nuts to a stump and kick him over backwards for his own
stupidity. He never should married a paralegal.”

Try as I might, I couldn't keep my
eyebrows from raising. This was a very different and somewhat disturbing new
incarnation of Lorryn. “Thanks for the advice.”

I smushed the bound rayon dress a few
times and got rewarded with gushy-wet sounds, then popped it in a grocery bag
with the take home kit. Leaned over the table and handed the package to the
woman waiting patiently. When she goes to rinse and untie, she'll discover
mirrored spirals of black and purple beneath the bust that will accent the
waist, with a magenta heart-shaped bodice. The point of the heart nestled
between the twin vortexes of color.

It'll rock.

“Well, you remember it. Here, let me
give you my number. Call me sometime when you can touch base more. Lunch or
something.” Lorryn snatched one of my fliers off the table behind her and dug a
chewed up ballpoint pen from the bowels of her purse. Ten seconds of chicken scratch
later and I found myself holding her phone number. She pulled out her cell to
gaze at the screen for a moment. “I must go, my boyfriend is waiting at Casa y
Cochina for margaritas and nachos. Gimme a call tonight, okay?”

After a fake smile and wee nod from me,
she was gone.

Jet left her post and came towards me.
Hands on hips. “That who I think it was?”

“Yup.” I looked to Jet with a bemused
expression on my face. Raised my hand with the flier up. “What do you make of
this?” Lorryn's adept use of the Shock and Awe tactic never ceased to amaze me.