Juliette and the Monday ManDates

by Becky Doughty

  "He looked exactly like Mike."

  "Ugh."

  "Yeah."

  "So did you wear your new dress?" Sharon had made Juliette model it for her when she returned to the office with it and had given it her vote of approval.

  "For about half an hour, yes. But honestly, it just made me look like a chubby, pink duck." She explained the whole duck phenomenon to Sharon.

  "Well, it's a good thing it was a blind date, then, right?"

  "Ha-ha," Juliette responded sarcastically. Then a silly thought occurred to her. "You know, if all my dates actually were blind, it wouldn't matter if I looked like a duck, would it?"

  "In fact, if we were all blind, the world would be rid of a lot of its problems," Sharon concurred.

  "Not if I still drove." Juliette swerved wildly, and Sharon squealed and punched her in the arm, making her swerve again.

  "Don't hit me while I'm driving!" Juliette hooted. They were laughing so hard neither of them noticed the flashing lights behind them, but the sound of the siren's whine got their attention without further ado.

  "Oh no!" Juliette gasped, as they exchanged horrified glances. The only other vehicle on the street was a pickup truck, and it was parked, so there was no doubt that the police car was hailing them. "I can't get pulled over again!" she wailed. "Where did he come from?"

  "Again?" Sharon looked aghast at her, trying to get her giggles under control. "When did you get pulled over, and how come you didn't tell me about it?"

  "Because it was stupid. I was only driving ten miles over the speed limit, and the officer lectured me, ticketed me, and treated me like I was a little old lady."

  "Juliette Gustafson got a ticket? For speeding? No way!" Sharon's eyes were wide with amused shock, and she covered her mouth with her hand, laughing again at the look on Juliette's face.

  "Stop making fun of me! I can't concentrate."

  She pulled over, resisting the wild-hair impulse to punch on the gas and lead the officer on a merry car chase. She rolled down her window and turned off her ignition, feeling like an old hand at the procedure now.

  "Hello, ladies."

  Juliette looked up, up, up into the face of the same officer who'd pulled her over not even two weeks ago.

  She had a momentary flashback to a night when she'd been sent to her room for cutting Renata's hair. Hiding under her bed, she waited for Papa to come home, her heart pounding in her chest, until her bedroom door opened, and his feet crossed the floor, stopping directly in front of her face. She slid just her head out from beneath the dust ruffle, and looked up, up, up at Papa, who towered over her, too.

  "Hello, officer," she squeaked. Sharon tittered helplessly.

  "That was quite some driving," he declared, as he bent down to study them, his forehead creasing above the top of his sunglasses. "What's so funny, ma'am?"

  "Nothing, sir." Sharon chewed her bottom lip.

  Juliette squared her shoulders, trying desperately to hold on to whatever dignity she had left. She started to explain. The whole talking thing, that was her first mistake. "I was just pretending to drive blind—' She stopped abruptly, and Sharon burst out laughing.

  The officer straightened, his shoulders and head disappearing from view, and a desperate Juliette turned to her friend. That was her second mistake. When their eyes met, she, too, began to laugh, and when the man ducked his head again and asked for her license and registration, she could only nod in response and hand them over.

  "This is getting to be a habit for you, isn't it, Ms. Gustafson?" Apparently, he recognized her, too.

  "Sorry," she hiccupped, afraid to look at him.

  "Have either of you been drinking?" He glanced down at the watch on his wrist as if to condemn them for even considering being intoxicated at this hour. He removed his sunglasses, braced his hands on his knees, and eyed them both, searching their faces for evidence of anything criminal. Juliette thought she saw his nostrils flare, as though sniffing the air for fumes.

  Sharon leaned forward to see him around Juliette and shook her head. "We don't drink, Officer." The way she said it must have set his mind at ease. He studied them for a few more moments, then nodded.

  "Driving blind, huh?"

  Juliette did look at him then, in a rash attempt to be bold. His face was rather close to hers as he leaned down at her window, and she was surprised to see he wasn't nearly as old and staid as she'd originally thought. In fact, he didn't look any older than she was. With his glasses off, she could see the humor in his deep-set gray eyes, almost the same color as her own, and she began to relax. She opened her mouth to say something clever. That was her third mistake.

  "It gets better. I was pretending to be a chubby, pink duck driving blind."

  Sharon laughed so hard, she doubled over in her seat, barely able to catch her breath. Juliette, mortified, stared straight ahead. She waited in silence while her friend got herself under control. The officer waited in silence, too.

  Finally, a subdued Sharon reached a hand over to lay it on Juliette's shoulder. "Oh, Juju." She looked past her at the man still standing beside the window. "Officer, please don't give us a ticket. You caught us in the middle of childish fun, and we're sorry if we were being a little reckless. We'll be more careful, we promise."

  Juliette nodded silently. Without warning, a tear slid from the corner of her eye, and she swiped it away as quickly as she could.

  "Are you all right, Ms. Gustafson?" The officer spoke gently, his voice low.

  She nodded again, wishing for all the world she would wake up to find this was just a bad dream, but two more tears betrayed her, forming cool tracks down each flaming cheek. "I...I'm fine. Allergies." Sharon patted her shoulder but didn't say anything.

  "I see." The policeman reached into his shirt pocket, then held out his hand, offering her a folded tissue. "Don't worry. I haven't used it yet." Undone by his kindness, she covered her face with the tissue and nodded.

  Sharon got out, and she and the officer met at the back of the car. Juliette could hear them speaking in low tones, and at first, she tried to eavesdrop, but after a few moments, she realized she didn't really want to hear what they were saying about her. She thought instead about moussaka, and how glad she was that The Fat Greek made one with zucchini, as well as the standard eggplant. She much preferred the color of eggplant to the taste and texture of it. Zucchini, on the other hand, she loved.

  The conversation stopped, and Sharon came around to Juliette's window. "Out with you, girlie. I'm going to drive." She spoke gently, but in a way that brooked no argument. Juliette obeyed and walked around to the passenger side where the policeman held the door open for her. Before she climbed in, she paused and looked up at him, in spite of her embarrassment.

  "Thank you, Officer. I'm sorry for behaving so badly in public." She didn't think that sounded right. "Not that I behave badly when I'm alone or anything." He nodded solemnly, but she could tell he was trying not to smile. "Oh, never mind," she muttered. "Quack." She plopped her duck butt down on the seat, and refused to look at him again, her humiliation complete.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “QUACK?" HE SAID THE word out loud, his brow furrowed as he watched them pull away. Was that supposed to mean goodbye in some secret code? She did say she was pretending to be a duck.

  "Women," he muttered, shaking his head as he thought about his own sisters. They drove him crazy with their secret codes and their secret societies, their members-only secret activities designed that way to intentionally exclude him. It was one of his pet peeves; people making secrets out of things that shouldn't be, creating subterfuge for fun at the expense of everyone else. He preferred facts; straight-talking, clear-headed, sure-footed facts. He couldn't count the times he'd wanted to halt someone's tirade with a raised hand, and pull out his best Sergeant Joe Friday; "Just the facts, ma'am. Just the facts."

  Victor Jarrett liked things predictable. He liked things in order, and he liked things rational. Emotional outbursts and errat
ic behavior of any kind made him uneasy, and he found great reward in setting things right. Being a police officer soothed that angst in a way even he couldn't explain. He didn't mind the discomfort of the initial confrontation knowing he would do everything in his power—it was his job!—to bring resolution, to restore peace and order.

  The woman he'd pulled over twice in so many weeks was anything but predictable. Or rational. Laughing hysterically one minute, sobbing uncontrollably the next? He thought he'd handled himself pretty well, all things considered, but Ms. Gustafson needed help, and not the kind of help his job description required, or even qualified, him to give.

  So why was he standing here worrying about her and the soap opera she was living? Why did he care that, according to her friend, her recent break-up from a man who'd strung her along for years had her feeling vulnerable and a bit off-kilter from her normal self? Off kilter? Unbalanced was more like it. Who pretends they're blind while driving a car?

  Yet something about the way she'd looked at him, her eyes traveling up, up, up until they met his, made him want to pat her on the head and promise her everything would be all right. She'd seemed like a lost little girl at that moment, and he had to force himself not to feel sorry for her. He knew better than to fall for that wide-eyed innocence; it never ceased to amaze him the helpless appeal cornered women could project.

  He'd seen more than his fair share of it before he was old enough to leave home. His mother had worked her slippery charm on man after man, and then his sisters followed in her footsteps. He knew personally the false promises behind those soft-eyed gazes. He'd hated growing up in a house full of women, especially the manipulative, self-indulgent women in his family, who treated men like they were the latest fashion to be worn a few times, then tossed away.

  James Victor Jarrett was named after his father, a man who came and went so quickly that no one, not even his mother, seemed to remember much of anything about him. When Victor was little, she told him his father was a police officer who swept her off her feet, who loved her with wild abandon for one sweet year, then died in the line of fire, his last words to his partner, "Tell James I love him. Tell my boy...I...love him." Every night he'd beg to hear about his father, and every night Loreena would recount the same story about his valiant life and tragic end, often shedding a tear or two in the telling. He'd heard it a hundred thousand times, but it was the story his little boy heart wanted to hear a hundred thousand times more; that his father was a hero who loved him.

  In third grade, when he was eight, his teacher asked if anyone wanted to read to the class what they'd written about heroes in their journals. James shared his precious story about his father, Officer James Victor Jarrett, while his classmates sat enthralled and envious that their fathers—accountants and doctors and construction workers—weren't heroes like James' daddy. Mrs. Hopper called home that evening, and his mother came to his room where he lay sprawled on his bed, fingers laced behind his neck, still basking in the glow of his newly-acquired stardom. She kissed him on the top of his head, then his nose, then each cheek.

  "You are my boy, Jamie, no one else's. Don't tell anyone else about your father, okay? It's just our story, honey."

  That was when he knew it wasn't true. He never asked her to tell it again, and she never offered. He wanted to believe that at least he had his father's name, but he wasn't so sure of that any longer, either. When he turned nine a few months later, he announced from that day on, everyone was to call him by his middle name, Victor.

  THEY ORDERED THEIR moussakas to go and headed back to Juliette's place. The rest of the evening, Juliette alternated between laughing over her second encounter with Officer Jarrett, and moaning about the fool she'd made of herself.

  "You're totally hormonal today, Juju. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were pregnant!" Sharon eyed her. "Are you sure you're not?"

  "Of course not," Juliette bemoaned. "That wasn't in the plan yet."

  "You and your plans. Why can't you just let things happen instead of having everything so perfectly planned out? Things don't really work that way, you know." Sharon eyed the row of binders on the bottom shelf behind her friend.

  "I know. It's not like I planned to act like an idiot tonight. In fact, every time I opened my mouth, I planned to sound intelligent, maybe even witty. But that's certainly not what came out."

  "Uh...no. You made a complete ninny of yourself," Sharon teased, then sighed dreamily. "He was so cute, too."

  "I know." Juliette cringed, remembering the moment she'd noticed. "See? This is why my sisters are worried. It wouldn't matter if men were blind; I'd still open my mouth and send them running scared."

  "Officer Jarrett didn't seem scared."

  "Officer Jarrett? Well, I don't ever want to see Officer Jarrett again in my entire life."

  "Don't drive blind then," Sharon quipped, glancing down at her watch. "Or speed. He's got your ticket now, pardon the pun." She stood and stretched. "Take me home, Juju. I need my man. I need my bed. I need my man in my bed." She offered Juliette a hand up. "Are you going to be okay?"

  Juliette nodded. "I'm glad you're not ashamed to be seen with me. Thanks for putting up with my charming social graces."

  "Put up with them?" Sharon squeezed her tightly. "I live for them! You make me laugh more than anyone else I know, including Chris, and he's pretty funny."

  Their conversation was easy in the car on the way to the Scovilles' little home a few miles away, and Juliette parked in the driveway behind Chris' car. They were still talking when he came out to meet them, and Juliette greeted him with a hug, and thanked him for loaning her Sharon for the evening.

  Then she climbed in her car, backed out onto the street, and waved to her friends who stood together on the front lawn of their beautiful little world.

  Home again, she took a quick shower, donned her pajamas, and made a cup of chamomile tea to settle her still buzzing nerves. It wasn't quite ten o'clock, and she knew if she tried to fall asleep this early, even as weary as she was, she'd toss and turn for another hour.

  Juliette flipped through the channels on television, but could find nothing she wanted to watch. Finally she switched over to a music station and perused the bookshelves for a good read instead. Her eyes fell on the row of binders, and she bent over to pull out the largest one, labeled Wedding & Honeymoon.

  Returning to the couch, she opened it to the first section where she'd collected sample wedding invitations. On impulse, she tore one out of the book and shredded it into a neat pile on the floor at her feet. Then she did the same to another, and another. It was like cleaning out an old wound; although painful, relief came with each empty page.

  She turned to the next section; wedding dresses. It was a little more difficult to destroy them, but she did anyway, albeit with a few tears. The last one she stared at for a long time. It was her favorite. Leaving the neck and chest bare in an old-fashioned square neckline, the dress fell from a slightly elevated waistline in yards and yards of shimmery fabric. The skirt wasn't full and poofy, just fluttery like a fairy dress, and feminine in every way.

  She ran her fingers over the page as she imagined herself walking down the aisle in the gorgeous dress. Waiting on stage was Sharon, her matron-of-honor, and each of her sisters, all beaming at her. On the bride's side of the church she found John, Renata's husband, and their four boys, in white shirts, black pants, and slicked-back hair. Granny G sat beside them, and next to her, was an empty seat where Grandpa would join her after giving Juliette away.

  In front of them sat Papa and Maman, Simone with her head covered in a stylish black hat and birdcage veil, the netting muting the contours of her face. She never wore a veil in real life, but as Juliette's memory of her mother's features faded over the years, the veil made her feel less ashamed of not being able to recall every detail. Her father, who should have been walking her down the aisle, was seated beside the beautiful Simone; Juliette could only imagine Papa and Maman together ever since tha
t terrible day almost fifteen years ago.

  IT WAS GRADUATION DAY, and she and Sharon could talk of nothing except the trip they were taking to Hawaii together in a week. Their families had combined resources and purchased the girls a four-day vacation, just for the two of them, and they thought they were the luckiest eighteen-year-olds in the world.

  As the last of the fireworks flared in the sky, Juliette looked out over the friends and family gathered to celebrate their graduating seniors, anticipation for the future bubbling up inside her. As she scanned the crowds, she spotted Ren and Phoebe, jumping up and down, waving frantically and cheering loudly, while people around them covered their ears and leaned away. She laughed, pointed at them, and blew kisses. She grabbed Sharon's hand and started tugging her in their direction.

  "Where's Maman and Papa?" she asked, hugging the two girls simultaneously.

  "We were hoping you might have seen them," Renata squeezed her in return. "They were supposed to meet us at the back before the ceremony, but we waited until the pomp and circumstance started and finally just sat down."

  "I haven't seen them," Juliette said. "Why didn't you come with them?" Sharon had located her family nearby and was caught up in her own set of congratulations.

  Renata rolled her eyes. "Maman was running late as usual, so we came in my car."

  Juliette looked over at fourteen-year-old Phoebe who was back up on the bench, looking out across the crowds, her hand up to shield her eyes from the brilliance of the outdoor amphitheater lights overhead. Juliette hopped up next to her and looked in another direction.

  "They're not here," Phoebe said in her carefully careless drawl, but the flicker of concern in her voice made Juliette's heart beat a little faster.

  "I'm going to the back to look," Renata said, reaching up to squeeze Juliette's hand, a proud grin on her face. "Congratulations, Juliette." She turned to walk away, but Phoebe grabbed a handful of Renata's long hair and pulled her to an abrupt stop.