This safely put me back into work-mode. “Want me to tell Holly?” I asked.
“No.” Will was firm.
This was so out of protocol that Barb actually gasped. The producer was always there to schmooze Agency.
But Will was gone. Holly appeared a few moments later. She stated flatly, “Will doesn’t want me around tonight. I’d tell him to fuck off but I’ve got to work with him next month on that cellular phone job. Agency’s going to wonder where I am. Ginny, you need to tell them I had a flight to catch tonight, or something. Make up some excuse.”
“All right.”
“I hate bastards,” she added and slammed out.
That was one the Rocket left out last night.
Barb gave me a long look. I smiled weakly and headed for the Santa Monica waterfront and Shutters Hotel.
The actual dinner was kind of a letdown. The Agency people wanted to talk to Will almost exclusively and once I’d explained Holly’s absence—her imaginary daughter’s car trouble—they let it slide. I managed to get into a fairly decent conversation with the agency art director, but I spent a majority of my time stealing glances at my wristwatch.
“What’s up?” Will asked, catching me in the act and frowning. I should have been hanging on every scintillating word from my oh, so boring tablemate.
“I’ve got house guests,” I said, not wanting to go into my mother’s surgery and Don the Devout’s ankle injury. I also didn’t know how to say that I just wanted to leave and go home and think about things.
Will didn’t like the sound of that. I hung around a little bit longer, then excused myself to place a call to Mom. She sounded cheery as a robin in spring. “Don’s doing so much better,” she enthused. “He might have a bone chip, though. They’re still checking. His tendons definitely were stretched.”
“Did you ever learn how it happened?” I questioned.
“What?”
“The accident. How he got his foot stuck in Schematic Man’s gate.”
“What?” she repeated, lost.
“That gate moves so slowly,” I explained. “Did he fall asleep? What?”
“I think he tried to slip through and it just came at him.”
“At snail speed? He couldn’t get out of the way?”
“Did you want to talk to him?”
Before I could say no, she called, “Don! Telephone!”
“Mom?” I waited. “Mom?”
Don picked up. “Hello.”
“Hey ...” I said. “How are you?”
“You really want to know?” He sounded pissed. “That machinery is a menace. I’m surprised there haven’t been more accidents.”
“I just don’t see it, Don. I mean, were your feet superglued down?”
“What does it matter?” he demanded. “It shouldn’t hit like that no matter what you do!”
I heard some kind of guilt in there somewhere. “Oh, come on, tell me.”
“Virginia,” he said through his teeth. I waited, half-expecting him to scream at me. But finally, tightly, he bit out, “I tried to squeeze through as it was closing and it caught my ankle.”
You must be the slowest person on the planet
, I thought in disbelief. Aloud, I said, “I’m sorry you got hurt.”
“You’d better report this to your homeowners association. Someone might sue.”
I didn’t feel I needed to point out that even Mrs. Farley, she of the poor eyesight and slow steps, had never been remotely threatened by Schematic Man’s gate. “Someone like yourself?” I suggested.
“I should,” he agreed eagerly, as if he’d just been waiting for an opening. “The gate company should know.”
“I know a good personal injury lawyer,” I said, playing along.
“You do?”
I gazed through the doorway into the private dining room I’d just vacated. Will was in deep conversation with one of the agency men. I said, thinking maybe I shouldn’t have baited Don after all, “Brad Knowles.” Ex-File Number Seven. Knowles-It-All.
“Maybe I’ll give him a call,” Don said. “I’ll get the number from you later.”
“Oh, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” he said, then hung up with a sharp click.
I slowly clicked off my cell phone, feeling bone weary. What had I been thinking?
Sometimes I really piss myself off.
Chapter
16
I
met my friends for our usual Saturday morning breakfast at Sammy’s full of new information, only to learn I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Jill brought Ian again, which I’d determined would not quell my tongue, but I didn’t get a chance to say anything anyway because Daphne was a-bubble over Dr. Dick and blathering on about her self-professed “new best friend” in a way that made me want to pound my head against a wall. I chose instead to clamp my jaw shut like a vise. Once in a while I would wedge my teeth open with some ice from my water glass and crunch down hard and loud. This was less than effective as Daphne had the floor. I couldn’t even comment on the big surprise of the morning, which was CeeCee’s mode of dress. She was back to her cargo pants with chains and a wrinkled red T-shirt that said simply, “NO.” Her hair was still sans pink tips, but I sensed it was only a matter of time until they, or something equally interesting, returned. I managed to mouth, “What happened?” to her around my ice chips, but she merely shrugged. No more role playing, apparently. Maybe Gerald, the boss, went back to his ex permanently.
Daphne leaned forward as the waiter brought our orders and said in a conspiratorial tone, “It’s all set. Thursday’s the night we’re going to ‘Getting Able With Kane.’ I bought us all tickets.”
“Jesus,” I murmured.
“What?” Ian asked. He gazed at Daphne as if she were speaking Martian.
I couldn’t contain my snort of derision. Ian gave me a look. I explained, “Kane’s one of my Ex-Files. He’s a motivational speaker now.” His lips parted in query, but I said, “Don’t ask. Really.”
He closed his mouth and looked amused. I smiled. Ian and I shared a rare moment of understanding.
Maybe it would be okay if he married Jill,
I thought. He was actually tolerable when he wasn’t being an asshole.
“I didn’t actually get a ticket for you,” Daphne admitted. “But I can get another, I’m pretty sure.”
“No. It’s okay,” he said immediately. “Jill, honey, I think this is one of those events where you can represent both of us.”
Jill-honey gave him a long-suffering look that was nevertheless full of love. I suddenly wanted to tell them both—and everyone else—about my evening with Will. I opened my mouth to commandeer the conversation, but Daphne barreled on.
“It starts at seven and I think we should get there a few minutes early. That’ll give Blue enough time to reconnect before the program starts.”
“Oh, whoa.” I held up my hands. “I don’t want to talk to Kane ’till afterwards. Actually, I don’t want to talk to him at all, but I can see I’m doomed.”
Jill pointed out, “You said you would.”
“I know what I said,” I answered testily. “And I will. But not till afterwards. Hey, I’m going to see Black Mark as soon as breakfast is over. Rome wasn’t built in a day, as far as I know. Give me a break.”
“Black Mark?” Ian questioned.
“Again, don’t ask.” I glared at all my friends, then turned to Ian, relenting. “My friends feel the need to torture me about my past mistakes. Why I agreed to this, I can’t remember.”
“So Jill would eat, Daphne would stop picking losers, and I would straighten things out at work,” CeeCee reminded in that distant way she sometimes had that members of the opposite sex seemed to find so attractive. CeeCee had the attitude down. I often tried for it, but I couldn’t quite manage the ‘cool’ of it. For CeeCee, it appeared effortless. Even Ian gave her a reflective look, as if he, too, were trying to figure it all out.
“Carmen Watkins will be there,” Daphne said.
“This has something to do with us?” CeeCee asked.
Jill leaned toward me. “We weren’t friends with her, right?”
“She was a college acquaintance. Nothing more.”
“Then why do we care?” CeeCee asked.
“She just came into Starbucks and we started talking,” Daphne said with a shrug. “She brought up going to see Kane Reynolds.” She turned to me. “Did you know she knows Jack Wright?”
“Jackson Wright,” I corrected. “Yes, we all know Jackson. How did his name come up?”
“She said she had drinks with him.”
“She’s not dating him, is she?” CeeCee asked, slightly horrified.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” Daphne gave me a sidelong glance.
“What?” I demanded.
“You and Jackson are friends.”
Was it my imagination or was Daphne purposely needling me? Maybe she and Dr. Dick had indulged in a gabfest all about Ginny Blue and her many, many problems. Ginny might be frightfully well adjusted, but she was fodder, grist for the grist mill, nevertheless. I could picture Daphne and Dr. Dick, heads bent together, laughing in that raspy way of dirty old men over what to do about poor Ginny.
Paranoia. Not my usual problem. I shook myself out of it. It wasn’t always all about me ... was it?
“Okay, I’m in.” Jill glanced at Ian fondly. “And you don’t have to go. But you’ll owe me.”
He smiled, conceding the point. They’d definitely reached a new acme in their relationship. Maybe the upcoming wedding wouldn’t be the disaster I’d envisioned.
“As long as we have you both here,” I said, finally grabbing the floor. “When’s the big day scheduled?”
“The second Saturday in December,” Jill answered promptly.
My jaw dropped. I hadn’t really expected an answer. CeeCee and Daphne looked as poleaxed as I felt. “What?” I said, my voice sounding distant and tinny to my ears. “
What?
”
“So soon?” Daphne asked.
“We set a date,” Jill explained calmly. She knew the bomb she’d dropped but was determined to act like it was no big deal.
I nearly choked on a bite of toast. Tears filled my eyes as I reached for my water glass. I quickly tossed back several large gulps. It didn’t help. I coughed as if I were intent on hacking up a lung. Tears streamed down my face. I squeaked out, “It’s really happening?”
“It’s really happening,” Jill repeated, happy.
Ian sometimes had that effect on her: rounding out her sharp edges. Sometimes I appreciated it; sometimes I loathed it. He said to the group as a whole, “She’s eating better. We weren’t going to get married unless there was some improvement there.”
“Ian ...” Jill murmured, uncomfortable.
“I guess I have you guys to thank.” He gave me a slight smile. “And the purging of the Ex-Files.”
I stared at Ian in shock and surprise. Was the world coming to an end? Ian? Being sensitive? Actually acting as if Jill’s friends had value and worth? Actually
thanking
us? I sure as hell wouldn’t want my boyfriend bringing up my faults, problems and weaknesses to my girlfriends who knew them backwards and forwards anyway, but he’d done it so
nicely
. I stammered, “Um ... yeah ... weird ... who’d’a thunk it?”
“Wow.” CeeCee gazed at Ian as if considering him a new species. Maybe he was.
Daphne regarded Ian with a kind of female adoration only seen when the human male does something so rare, remarkable, and wonderful that they drop all their feminine defenses. The words “about to swoon” crossed my mind. I instantly felt real fear. But she snapped herself out of it and breathed, “I can’t wait for the wedding. It’s going to be fabulous. You’re really doing it.”
“And you’re all bridesmaids,” Jill said.
“God, NO!” I flipped out. “I don’t do bridesmaid dresses.”
“I won’t do bridesmaid dresses,” CeeCee added calmly.
“The wedding’s black and white,” Jill told her. “You’re all wearing straight black dresses.”
CeeCee rolled that over in her mind. I envisioned myself in a straight black dress. It wasn’t a terrible picture, but I was sure there was a pitfall in there somewhere. Jill simply shrugged her acceptance. Straight black dress. The best one could hope for. Daphne nodded eagerly.
“I need you to make some appointments pronto,” Jill said, acting as if we’d all acquiesced though the silence was deadly. She pulled out a card with the name of a shop where we were to go try them on. I glanced down at the pink and cream business card and swallowed hard. A wedding. Jill’s wedding. White lace and promises.
But a straight black dress,
I reminded myself like a litany.
Jill suddenly turned into an animated Bride from Hell, pulling out samples of items from her own big-ass purse—a new addition my mother would be proud of—and showing off satin and vellum and even pastel mints in cool wedding-like shapes. “And check this out,” she said, stabbing a snapshot with one fingernail. It was a chocolate truffle dressed up in a frosting/gel tuxedo.
“Too cute,” Daphne said.
“No shit.” CeeCee stared at the photo and absentmindedly ate one of the mints.
I murmured something appropriate, I think. In truth, I was kind of deflated. Here, I thought I’d had all this big news about myself and Will. My friends had trumped me with bigger, better stuff at every turn.
Daphne regarded me with sudden concern. “You okay, Blue?”
“Just fine.”
“How’s it going with Don the Devout and your mom?”
“Mom’s great. Don’s tolerable.”
“Do you think you’ve worked things out with him?” Daphne asked seriously. “I mean, so that he can be put to rest?”
“Amen,” CeeCee murmured.
I was in a bitchy mood. In truth, it wasn’t Daphne’s fault. Her liaison with Dr. Dick definitely pissed me off but it was my problem, not hers. With an effort I shook off my bad feelings and launched into the tale of Don and Schematic Man. By the time I was finished the waiter had cleared our plates. The mood had definitely lightened. Daphne actually leaned over and hugged me. “You are so funny,” she said, which made me feel like a worse heel for being so annoyed with her.
“So, Dr. Dick’s going to be at ‘Getting Able’?”
“With his wife,” Daphne revealed on a sigh.
“Ex-wife,” I reminded.
“Are you sure they’re divorced, Blue?”
“Positive,” I responded promptly, but I could feel my certainty eroding even as I spoke the words.
“I just get the feeling ... I don’t know.”
“God, maybe you’re right.” I felt like I’d been hit with a low blow. Was it true? Not that Dr. Dick had lied to me. I’d just assumed by the snippets of conversation I’d overheard now and again whenever I barreled into his office a bit early—as I’d been wont to do before I was nicely, but pointedly, asked to wait for my appointment. That was from Dr. Dick himself, not the snotty Janice. But I’d been so sure he was well and truly divorced. Now, I couldn’t say why I’d been so certain.
“I’m pretty sure she’ll be there with him,” Daphne said.
“Along with Carmen ... and maybe Jackson.” Did my voice really sound as depressed as it did to my ears? I was dreading this Kane event more and more. The only good news was it was making my forthcoming trip down to San Diego to see Black Mark seem like less of a chore.
“You’re not going to back out, are you?” Jill demanded, surfacing from her coma of wedding bliss long enough to snap at me.
“Did I say I was?”
“It’ll be okay,” Daphne soothed.
“Yeah.” CeeCee was ironic.
I got up from my chair, throwing down my part of the meal cost and a healthy tip. “Love to stay and chat, but I’ve got an Ex-File to see. Number Six. Wish me luck.”
“Luck,” Ian said, sounding totally serious.
I saluted them all on my way out.
I headed down the 405 to San Diego, leaving early enough to
almost
make the freeway a breeze to drive. My mind drifted to my burgeoning romantic relationship with Will, the one I didn’t get to tell my friends about. Since the Rocket had nearly taken my head off he’d phoned me a number of times. He didn’t offer any more information about his supposedly ex-girlfriend and I didn’t ask. I had my hands full with my own Ex-Files; I didn’t need the aggravation of his.
Our conversations went like this:
“Hey,” Will would greet me.
“Hey,” I’d respond.
“Are we getting together tonight?”
“I can’t. I’m getting off late and I have house guests.”
“When are they leaving, again?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I’ll call later.”
“Okay.”
This left me to figure out what to do at home with Don, as he’d extended his trip indefinitely. He’d been needling me for Brad Knowles’ number—my own fault for being a smart mouth—and I’d finally given it to him, hoping he would just vamoose. But it didn’t happen that way. If anything, Don seemed more ensconced in my place than before. He explained that he really just couldn’t get around like he should and therefore couldn’t meet with his prospective dealership sellers. It sounded like an excuse for a free vacation to me, but hey, I’d gotten past caring. I had enough balls in the air with wrapping the Tuaca job, trying to scare up future work, and obsessing over what Will Torrance and I were becoming. Whenever I was home I chose to hole up in the sanctuary of my room rather than deal with Don. Mom checked on me every now and then, to make sure I wasn’t sick, but whenever I complained about Don she
tsk
-
tsk
ed me and said he would be leaving soon enough, as would she. I could tell she was disappointed in me. She wanted to see me in a committed relationship.
I
wanted to see me in a committed relationship—but not with Don.