It's Raining Men

by Julie Hammerle

  Darius chuckled. “I get it—believe me. If it eases your conscience, dining like this, away from people, is the only way I can eat in peace. Down there, we’d have to chat with people we don’t know, and as much as I love schmoozing new folks, I came here to get to know Annie.” He bit a piece of lettuce off his fork.

  Grinning, I set my napkin on my lap. “Good, because I’m here to get to know you.” Things had gone quite well with Rob last night, and I had enjoyed the simplicity of the two of us lounging in my house, eating pizza, but this with Darius was new and exciting. I wasn’t hip enough to know about new restaurants. I wasn’t part of the Chicago “scene.” Darius could open up a whole new world for me. And maybe that was what I wanted for my forties and beyond.

  I took a bite of my scrumptious lobster. “Since you’ve already interviewed me, I think it’s my turn to interview you.”

  He set down his fork. “I agree.”

  “Okay…” I narrowed my eyes. “Where are you from?”

  “Ah.” He smiled. “My origin story. I’m from a very small town in Kentucky. We had a farm.”

  “A farm? That’s so cool. I mean, I can’t quite imagine you milking goats in your fancy suit…” I waved my hand up and down to indicate his entire polished visage.

  He chuckled. “I’ve got a special goat-milking suit.” He smiled warmly. “My hometown is actually how I got started with reporting, interviewing the business owners on the tiny Main Street in the town where I grew up, hence the name of my segment.”

  “That’s really sweet,” I told him.

  “There are many more adorable stories where that came from.” He flashed me a smile.

  “I’d love to hear them.” Probably because he was a famous dude whose face was plastered on billboards all over the city, I thought I’d had Darius all figured out from the jump. But of course celebrities were more complex than their outward personae. I, of all people, should know that. I took their medical histories for a living. I knew about their vices and their sleep patterns and whether or not they were sexually active. “Okay…what were you like in high school?”

  He tapped his chin, thinking. “Again, small town, so everyone did a bit of everything. I played some sports but really enjoyed choir and theater.” He snapped his fingers. “We should go see a play sometime.”

  “Definitely. I’d love that.” I chewed a bit of asparagus. “In my office the other day, we talked a bit about our love lives—mostly about how difficult it is for us to date—but I’m wondering…have you ever been married? Or in love…?”

  He shook his head, smiling, though his eyes had darkened mysteriously. “Let’s not dwell on the past.” Waving, he flagged down a waiter to ask for some salt.

  My stomach sank. The two of us were talking about potentially spending our lives together. I didn’t think it was particularly out of bounds to ask about his dating history, but I supposed everyone had stuff they wanted to keep private. I focused on my food.

  He squeezed my hand, and I looked up. “All I meant was that we’re both adults. I’m sure we’ve each had a number of relationships, good and bad. All of that is over and done, as far as I’m concerned.” His eyes widened. “I’m focused on the future. I’m looking for someone strong, mature, dependable, and willing to commit. Someone who enjoys good food.” Grinning, he raised his fork, which held a bite of steak.

  I smiled back. “Focusing on the future sounds like a plan to me.” I watched him tuck into his food, with the notion that I might never actually get to know Darius. But who, honestly, really knew anyone? Darius and I were talking about being each other’s permanent plus-ones, not soul mates or best friends. I didn’t need to know every detail of his life, nor he mine.

  I currently had a hot bartender and his pooch living in my basement. We all had our secrets, and maybe that was okay.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Only You Can Prevent Forrest Gump

  Joanne quickly inserted herself into my daily routine. Every morning, as soon as she heard me coming down the steps, she’d bound up the stairs to greet me. Then I’d fill her food bowl and turn on the coffee machine. Once she finished her breakfast and while my coffee brewed, I’d clip on her leash and take her for a quick walk.

  Dax had told me when they moved in that Joanne wasn’t a big walker, but I was determined to prove him wrong. I knew she had it in her. At first she balked at the walks, dropping to the floor, limp, as soon as I put the leash on her. But I could get her to move by bribing her with a small piece of dog biscuit (the only kind of treat Dax allowed Joanne). With the promise of a tasty little nugget as her reward, I’d gotten her to walk two whole blocks. Today was Sunday, and we were going for three.

  “Joanne, this walk isn’t just for you; it’s for me, too,” I explained to her outside my house. “I have podcasts I want to listen to, so if you could extend these walks a little bit, I’d be very appreciative.”

  She made it halfway up the second block before wanting to go home. She did this frustrating thing where she’d turn all the way around before dropping to the ground in a down-dog position, nose pointed in the direction of home.

  “Okay, fine. You did a good job,” I told her as we headed back toward the house. “It’s like I tell my patients all the time”—yes, I was talking to the dog out loud, in public, but it was fairly early in the morning on a Sunday, and Chicagoans had seen worse—“you can’t simply jump into a new exercise routine full throttle if you’ve never been active before. You’ll get hurt, and you’ll get frustrated. This is supposed to be fun.”

  She glanced back at me, panting.

  I stiffly patted her on the head.

  As we neared the house, I pulled out my earbuds, silencing the voices on my favorite podcast, the one where a trio of actor friends interviewed other famous people. The front door to my house stood ajar.

  “What the heck?” Had I forgotten to close it? I racked my brain. No, I definitely remembered leaving the house and closing the door on my way out. When I went walking, I never bothered to lock my door, because I wasn’t going far. Now someone had broken into—or, well, not broken in to so much as “walked” into—my house.

  I started running, but Joanne refused to engage in that much exertion, even if it would only mean jogging one whole house length. I pulled the beast as hard as I could, dragging her toward the house. Suddenly, a woman’s voice from inside yelled, “I’m calling the cops!”

  That perked Joanne right up. She barked and dragged me the last twenty feet. I dropped her leash on accident, and she dashed up the steps and through my front door. I ran after her.

  “Please! Don’t call the cops!” a male voice yelled. “I’m supposed to be here.”

  “Oh my god! What the hell?” came the woman’s voice.

  I ran down the stairs, into the basement, to what used to be the garden apartment of this three-flat. There I found Dax (naked from the waist up, wearing only a pair of lightweight, gray pajama pants—I averted my eyes from the vee pointing downward from his very toned stomach) facing off against Kelly, who had been knocked backward onto the couch by a wagging, licking Joanne.

  Dax rushed to his dog, pulling her away from the intruder. I helped Kelly up from the couch, noting that she was holding her keys in her hand like a weapon, like she’d been ready to attack Dax.

  “Annie!” Kelly yelled, shaking me off. “Call the cops! This jerk broke into your house and has been sleeping in my bed.” She pointed her keys at him.

  I extracted the weapon from her grip. “Kel, it’s okay. Dax and the dog are supposed to be here.”

  Kelly’s eyes snapped to Dax. “Dax?” she said, narrowing her gaze. “You’re the bartender from O’Leary’s.”

  “Yes, he is. We know him. He’s not a random person off the street.” At least not completely random. I grabbed my friend’s arm and pulled her toward the stairs. I glanced back at Dax and mo
uthed, I’m sorry.

  “We should let Dax go back to bed. He didn’t get home until after three this morning.”

  “He didn’t get home…?” Kelly tried to turn around again, but I forced her up the steps. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

  I led her into the kitchen. “Dax and Joanne are staying here for a little while.”

  “Joanne?”

  “The dog.” I gestured toward one of the stools at the counter. “Why don’t you sit down. I’ll get us some coffee and explain everything.”

  Kelly didn’t sit. She stood stiff, glaring hard at the basement stairs.

  I poured her a cup and set it down at the spot where she was supposed to be sitting. “Kel?” I said. “Take a seat. Let’s chat.” My eyes stung. “I haven’t seen you in…” We hadn’t crossed paths since the night she announced her engagement.

  “Can’t. I’ve got to go. I’m just here to pick up something for my sister…” She turned toward me, her jaw clenched. “Where are my things, anyway?”

  “Up in the top-floor guest room.” I pointed toward the ceiling.

  “In the top-floor guest room.” She stared at me for one more beat, her mouth set in a line. Then she clomped all the way up to the third floor. I poured myself some coffee and sat down on one of the uncomfortable couches in the front room, noting a thin layer of dust across the back of the baby grand piano in my front bay window.

  Okay, so maybe I was kind of a dick for moving her stuff upstairs, but what did she expect? She was never around anymore, and she’d announced she was moving to Galena. Was I supposed to leave her room intact, like a shrine to Kelly, for the rest of my life? Even my mom had turned my brother’s room into a workout space as soon as he graduated from college.

  A few moments later, Kelly stomped back down, mouth set in a line.

  “I’m sorry the dog jumped on you,” I said. “She’s actually really sweet.”

  “I’m sure she is.” Kelly focused on something in her purse, and I got the sense that she was not looking at me on purpose. “We’re shopping for dresses today, remember?”

  “Of course I do,” I said, too cheerfully. She was mad at me right now? Really? After she kept the existence of her serious boyfriend and now fiancé from me for months? After she dropped the bombshell that she was moving out? I was the bad guy here?

  “And you won’t have to leave in the middle because of doctor stuff?” Now she looked at me, eyes flashing.

  “Yes,” I said in a measured tone. “It’s going to be fine.” I didn’t know that for sure, but Sunday mornings tended to be slow for me, as far as patient calls went.

  “Ten o’clock. Don’t be late.” She yanked open the door, and then she was gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The I Do Crew

  I braced myself outside the bridal boutique on a Gold Coast side street off Michigan Avenue.

  Kelly had always been known for her fiery temper, but she rarely—if ever—directed it toward me. Maybe I should’ve alerted her, sent her a text at least, like Hey, friend, just wanted to let you know that I need your old room for that hot, young bartender from O’Leary’s and his big, slobbery dog, so I’m moving your mom’s quilt and your grandma’s ceramics up to the top floor. I’m sure you won’t mind, since you’re already living with the guy you kept secret from me for months, and if your grandma’s painted Christmas tree from the eighties was so important to you, you would’ve taken it with you by now.

  I exhaled. No. Not helpful. I had to be the bigger person today. Kelly was under a lot of stress, and I, as her maid of honor, would do my part and make sure dress shopping went smoothly.

  I gripped the door handle at Angel Heart Bridal Boutique and readied my most pleasant and agreeable smile. I vowed to keep my opinions to myself unless asked and my sarcastic comments to a minimum.

  A bell chimed as I stepped over the threshold. Kelly, Yessi, and Kelly’s younger sister, Kendall, sat together on a plush pink couch, poring over a catalog. They looked up as I walked in.

  I swallowed, steeling myself for Kelly’s rage.

  But instead of berating me or biting my head off, Kelly, smiling brightly—too brightly—jumped up, wrapped me in a stiff hug, and rushed me over to the couch.

  Good. Either she’d gotten over her annoyance with me or she’d come to the same conclusion I had: repress feelings until the anger subsides.

  Yessi, grinning, squeezed my hand. “Hi, Annie.”

  “Hey.” I beamed at her. “This will be fun.”

  She handed me a mimosa and leaned in to whisper, “We are way too old for this shit.”

  Damn it. Yessi and I had always bonded over our mutual distaste for rituals like this. But I would not be drawn into her web of sassy bitterness today, even though I had not been in a bridal shop in ten years, and even though I’d felt too old for this shit all the way back then. I just smiled and repeated, “This will be fun.”

  Yessi eyed me suspiciously and backed away.

  “Now that Annie’s here, we can get to work.” Kelly pulled an old photograph up on her iPad. “This is what we’re looking for.” She passed the tablet to Kendall, who then passed it to me. On screen was a photo of a bride surrounded by seven bridesmaids wearing the same long maroon sheath dress with a plunging neckline, which was covered by a matching feathery overcoat that gave off a lingerie robe vibe. These women looked like they were headed to only the classiest 1970s key party.

  I pressed my lips shut.

  I passed the iPad to Yessi, whose eyes bugged out.

  “Mark has very specific ideas for this wedding,” Kelly said. “He’d like us to try and recreate his parents’ wedding motif as much as possible, but since we’re getting married in August—”

  My eyes snapped to her. “Wait,” I said. “This August? As in, like—”

  “Yes,” she said, sighing. “Six weeks from now. You knew that.”

  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t.” Another thing she hadn’t told me. This was becoming a pattern.

  “Sure you did,” she said stiffly. “Mark pulled some strings and was able to book us the inn at the resort in Galena on short notice.”

  “Oh…” Calm down, Annie. Be agreeable. Don’t poke the bear. I relaxed my nostrils, which were threatening to flare. “Neat.”

  Kelly rolled her eyes. “Is that a problem?”

  I paused and reaffixed my calm and relaxed smile. “Nope. No problem at all.”

  Kelly turned to Yessi. “What do you think?”

  “These dresses are…” I watched Yessi hunt for the most tactful phrase, but all she came up with was, “I’m not sure a dress like that can wrangle in my lactating boobs.”

  Kelly snatched back her iPad. “They don’t have to be exactly the same. Obviously.” She studied the picture for a moment. “Mark says maroon isn’t a deal breaker, either, if we can’t find anything that exact color. Brick red or burgundy would also work fine.”

  Yessi elbowed me in the side. “Those are all the same colors, right?” she said under her breath.

  I folded my hands in my lap and bit my tongue.

  “Heaven forbid we accidentally choose a claret red!” Yessi whispered. “Mark would positively perish!”

  I snickered. Then I let out an inadvertent snort. Yessi, that comedic temptress, had gotten me to break. I clutched my hands together harder and pressed my lips together, my eyes watering.

  Though Yessi had been the one who made the joke, Kelly’s eyes shot daggers right at me.

  “Sorry.” I lowered my gaze in shame and sipped my beverage.

  “Do we even have time to order dresses?” Kendall asked, holding an extremely short gold dress up to her lithe twenty-something body. Oh heck no, my friend. The almost-forties outnumbered the younger ladies in this group. We’d wear housecoats before we’d agree to a micro minidress
. “My best friend got married last summer, and we had to order the dresses months and months in advance.”

  “We don’t have time, Kendall,” Kelly snapped. “I’m aware of that. We’ll need to find something off the rack.”

  “In burgundy? That fits everyone?” Yessi muttered. She, Kendall, and I weren’t exactly the same size and shape. “You know, this is why Polly and I told our friends to find their own black dresses—”

  “Well, we’re going to try at least,” Kelly barked. She slammed her iPad down on the coffee table and stormed off to the dressing rooms. Kendall followed her.

  “Shit,” Yessi said. “I haven’t seen her like this since she was trying to pass the real estate exam. Is this all wedding stress?”

  “I don’t know,” I lied.

  “She’s usually good at this party-planning stuff. It’s like her version of yoga.” Yessi chuckled. “Remember when she organized that surprise party for my thirtieth birthday, and every single thing possible went wrong?”

  “Oh my god, yes,” I said, smiling. “They put, like, a cup of salt in your cake.”

  “Kel was cool as Fonzie when that happened.”

  The two of us glanced at the doorway leading to the dressing rooms. Kelly and Kendall were pawing through a rack of dresses, arguing with each other.

  “This whole thing is moving pretty fast,” Yessi said softly.

  “Well…” I sipped my drink. “We’re not getting any younger. I’m not surprised she wants to have the wedding as soon as possible.” I couldn’t fault Kelly for that. I was currently in two budding relationships that promised to bypass dating altogether. Why waste time?

  “But it’s like, just take a beat and relax. It’s only a party. And if it’s going to stress you out that much, just elope.” She grabbed another mimosa for herself. “We’re almost forty. Who needs a wedding?”

  “I’m not sure this is all wedding stress today,” I said, glancing again at the doorway. The sisters were still at each other’s throats. I stood, motioning for Yessi to follow me away from the dressing rooms, toward the front of the store. She and her mimosa trailed me to a rack of sale dresses in all colors of the rainbow.