Out of Practice

by Carsen Taite

  “You were the only one there who captured the feelings,” Nancy said, her eyes never leaving the screen as they all watched the video play on.

  It was true. While the rest of the reporters on site had been peppering the women with questions about their plans, Roxanne had given them a forum to talk about their very personal wedding prep stories. She glanced at the stats under the video. It had gotten more hits than her most popular blog post, tenfold, and it was quickly going viral. “Who posted this?”

  “One of the reporters from KNOP,” Nancy said. “You didn’t know?”

  “I had no idea.”

  She tore her gaze away from the screen to find Nancy observing her with a smile on her face. “You’ll be perfect for the job. Frankly, your talent has been wasted behind the scenes. Your blog is great, but these interviews are next level. The difference is the personal touch. You made every one of these women feel like you actually cared about their plight.”

  Roxanne resisted pointing out that she actually did care about how they felt, or she wouldn’t have been talking to them in the first place, but she decided pushing back while getting a compliment wasn’t good strategy. Besides, a bigger concern was edging in. “I appreciate the interest, but I’m a blogger, a columnist. Being in front of the camera is not my thing. The Bride’s Best Friend was designed to be anonymous, so it’s never about me and all the focus is on the bride. Wouldn’t you rather have a big name launch this concept?”

  Nancy’s stare was intense. “Trust me, it is your thing. It’s my job to know. We’ll start filming right away. We’d like to have the premiere episode ready in a few weeks and we’ll use this story to launch the series. In the meantime, we’ll boost the attention to your blog with a combination of video spotlights to tease the new show. Stuart will be the producer, and he’ll be in charge of all the details.”

  Nancy pointed to the tablet screen where an image of her standing in the middle of the brides-to-be or BTBs as she’d started calling them was frozen mid-action. Roxanne was pretty sure that the next screen showed the BTBs throwing bouquets made of dead flowers at the front doors of Barclays. She’d gotten caught up in the excitement and apparently never noticed Mary’s crew was filming her in addition to the action shots.

  She stared at the screen with a critical eye along with the rest of the group, her mind whirring with changes she would’ve made to her wardrobe, makeup and other little details if she’d known she was being filmed. When the clip ended, she looked up to find everyone in the room staring at her. She shifted in her chair, certain Nancy was about to tell her that after a second look, they’d reconsidered their offer.

  “It’s the raw energy,” Rodney said.

  “She exudes empathy,” Nancy added. “All the other reporters were there to get a story, but she was there to get their stories.”

  “Rough around the edges, but there’s a lot to work with here.”

  Roxanne shifted in her seat, uncomfortable at being talked about like she wasn’t in the room, and focused on the man who’d made the last comment, Stuart Lofton, her new boss. He was pointing at the still shot of her on the screen, and she was pretty sure he was referring to her outfit. She rushed to defend herself. “I’d just landed from a trip to Puerto Vallarta, and I wanted to get in on the story right away. I assure you, vacation attire is not my go-to work wardrobe choice.” She wasn’t sure why she was defending her attire since she wasn’t entirely convinced she wanted this gig in front of the camera. She’d had a few on camera spots with KNOP during her time there, but nothing more than a couple of minutes. The idea of hosting an hour-long show had her stomach in knots.

  He nodded. “We can spin that. She’ll go anywhere, do anything to get the story. It’s like the Bride’s Best Friend meets Lois Lane.” His smile signaled he was pleased with himself for the retro reference. He turned to a young man sitting behind him. “Go ahead and start working on a tagline using that theme.” When the young man nodded but stayed put, Stuart motioned rapidly with his hands. “Now!” As the young man scurried out the door, he shouted after him, “And send someone up from wardrobe.”

  Roxanne looked down at her outfit and then back up at the appraising eyes of Mr. Bossypants Lofton. This was so not what she’d bargained for, but before she could respond, Nancy stood and Rodney rose with her.

  “You’re in good hands with Stuart. The contract’s already in your inbox. This is going to be fantastic.”

  Nancy and her minion had barely cleared the door when Roxanne stood, intent on following. “I’m not sure this is for me,” she said, directing her comment to Stuart. “Let’s leave the on-camera work to someone else.” She started to walk to the door, but Stuart called out to her.

  “The stats on your blog are good, but people ultimately want to see a face. A face they like, a face that says ‘hey, trust me to tell you all about xyz.’ Not everyone who dispenses advice has that kind of face. Those who don’t go on radio or write blogs, but those who do, like you, have a duty to show up and let their followers see the person who’s leading them to their better life. You think you have a lot of followers now? You have no idea of the kind of reach you are capable of. Trust me. Together we can do great things.”

  Roxanne searched his eyes for sincerity, but found only a trace of it, which was fine. She wasn’t naive enough to believe Stuart really thought the purpose of the show was to change people’s lives, but she did and maybe that was all that mattered. She’d been looking for a bigger platform, and maybe it wasn’t in the package she’d expected, but lately life had been throwing her unexpected surprises—Abby being a prime example. She’d blown her opportunity there, but now she had a chance to take a risk on launching her career in a new direction. Was she going to blow it out of fear or because it wasn’t the direction she’d expected?

  No. No, she wasn’t.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m in. Let’s do this.”

  * * *

  Abby stood in front of her kitchen counter and willed the coffee pot to be faster. Much faster. What she really wanted to do was hop back on a plane to PV and dive back into the laid-back life she’d called her own for a week. But maybe this time she’d only stay a long weekend. A week had been too long because it had allowed her to become way too comfortable with sandy beaches, the sound of ocean waves, and pretty women. Make that pretty woman. Singular.

  Roxanne had had the right idea—stay a few days, make the most of them, and dash away before things could take an ugly romantic turn. She laughed at the irony. She was the one who never stayed the night, never made promises about the future, never stuck around for the afterglow. But she’d done all of those things with Roxanne only to have her dash off just when they were getting close.

  She shook her head. Time to stop thinking about the girl who got away and focus on work. She had a meeting with Tommy’s siblings and their lawyer tomorrow, and she was spending all day today finishing up her presentation to outline potential options for the business. She poured what she imagined would be the first cup of many and fired up her laptop, but before she could open her email, her phone rang. A quick glance at the screen showed her mother’s number on the display. Abby groaned but answered anyway. “Hi, Mom, I’ve only got a few minutes to talk. Big case. Lots of work.”

  Unaffected by the curt tone, her mother sighed into the phone. “It’s Sunday, Abigail. Maybe take a weekend off now and then or you’ll turn into a stick-in-the-mud like you know who.”

  Abby resisted the urge to correct her mother’s use of her full name, and instead focused on not snapping back about the thinly veiled reference to her estranged father, two husbands past. “I’ll take it under advisement.” She took a deep breath. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can make time for your mother. Today at eleven. Brunch at Moonshine. I picked it because it’s your favorite, so don’t let me down. I have important news. See you there.”

  “Mom, Mom…” Abby stared at the phone in her hand, but she knew her mother had
already disconnected in her usual dramatic exit kind of way. Ugh. She had two choices. Ignore the pseudo invitation to brunch or rearrange her day to accommodate her mother’s whims. Why did she have to pick one of her favorite brunch spots? And how could she have known that she was starving?

  Because she’s your mother, duh. Abby checked her email and guzzled her coffee. By the time she was finished, her stomach was rumbling, and she decided since she had to eat anyway, she may as well meet her mother and have a nice brunch doing it. She’d try to resume normal, post-vacation eating habits next week.

  An hour and a half later, Abby pulled up to the restaurant and left her convertible BMW with the valet, noting his whistle of admiration for her sweet ride. She’d owned the car for a year, but it wasn’t until she left her old firm in Dallas that she had time to drive it. Now she rode around with the top down as much as she could. She tucked the claim check in her purse, went inside, and glanced around for her mother.

  She didn’t have to look long. Donna Wheeler always stood out in a crowd, and not for the first time Abby admired her mother’s tall, trim form and ageless face and prayed she’d inherited those genes. Otherwise, they’d have nothing in common.

  “I thought you’d never get here,” her mother said, sweeping her hand through the air with dramatic flair. “I’m famished.”

  “Thank goodness, since I’m pretty sure they can take care of that here.” Abby asked the hostess for a table on the patio. Once they were seated, she said, “I’m kind of mystified about why you chose this place.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Last time we talked you were replicating some movie star diet of warm water and lemon. Chicken and waffles loaded with butter and syrup doesn’t really seem like your thing.”

  Her mother scoffed. “Show’s how much you know. I have eclectic dining habits. Besides, I seem to recall you love this restaurant.”

  Warning bells went off in Abby’s head. “Are you about to ruin my appetite with some bad news?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Great. Let’s get in line.” Abby didn’t wait for a response before standing and motioning to the closest buffet line. She knew better than to think this was nothing more than a friendly mother-daughter brunch, but if a shoe was going to drop, it could wait until she had a full stomach.

  Once she’d loaded up on food. She met her mother back at the table and shook her head when she saw all she put on her plate was a salad. “Is that all you’re going to eat?”

  “I can always get more,” her mother said. “How was your trip?”

  “It was nice.”

  “Nice is boring. Was it really boring?”

  Abby sighed. “It wasn’t boring. I swam, I snorkeled, I parasailed, and I hooked up with the hottest woman at the resort. We had tons of sex.”

  Her mother lifted her coffee cup and took a long sip. “I got over you trying to shock me when you were in high school. That sounds way better than nice.”

  Abby sighed. “It was, but alas, I’m back to the real world now. I played hard, now it’s time to work hard.”

  “You’re going to grow old alone if all you do is work. I thought you girls started your own firm so you would have more freedom.”

  “Mom, you’ve got to stop calling us girls. It’s disrespectful. And we do have more freedom. I wouldn’t have been able to take an off the grid vacation if I was still at my old firm, but we’re still in the start-up phase so when I’m not on a beach, I’m working hard. At least I’m working toward my own future instead of lining other people’s pockets.”

  “Are you going to see her again?”

  “Who?”

  “The hot girl, uh, woman. The one from the resort.”

  Abby knew she shouldn’t be surprised at her mother’s one-track mind, but fashion, shopping, and relationships were the trinity of her life, and that was probably never going to change. “It was a vacation. It was amazing while it lasted, but we’re back to real life now.” She tucked into a bit of waffle to signal the conversation was over, but her mother picked at her salad and pressed on.

  “Are you seeing anyone here then?”

  Abby set her fork down. “Why the interrogation about my dating life?” It wasn’t new, but it did seem out of context.

  “I may be having a special event soon and I thought you might need a date.”

  Angst wound its way up Abby’s spine and her stomach soured. She set her fork down and took a deep breath. “Tell me.”

  “You don’t have to sound like you’re dreading what I’m about to say.”

  Abby forced a smile and a fake lilt to her tone. “Just excited to hear what you have to announce.”

  Her mother cocked her head like she was assessing the lay of the land and then reached into her purse and pulled out a small box. She took her time easing it open and slowly slipped the ring with the massive diamond on her ring finger. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? I said it was way too big, but Russell insisted. Go big and go home, he said. Get it?”

  Abby got it all right. Husband number four was lined up and ready to go. “When’s the big day?”

  “You’re mad.”

  “I’m not mad, Mother.”

  “You only call me Mother when you’re mad.” She folded her arms. “I thought you liked Russell.”

  “I met him once. Frankly, he didn’t seem like your type.” Abby recalled the quick meeting less than a month ago when her mother brought a housewarming gift by her condo with her new boyfriend, Russell, in tow. Abby recalled he had some kind of government job and drove a Ford pickup. She didn’t have any issues with either, but since her mother usually went for trust fund types who drove fancy cars, Abby figured Russell wasn’t long for her world.

  “I don’t have a type.”

  “Sure. Right. Look, Mom, I like all the guys who fund your way of life, but that doesn’t mean you have to marry them in quick succession.”

  “Well!”

  Abby wished she could reel the words back in, but they were out there, and she’d actually meant them, so there was that. “I’m sorry for being a jerk about it, but I’ll never understand why you keep feeling the need to take a vow to spend the rest of your life with someone when you know full well it’s not going to play out that way.”

  “Is that so?” Her mom looked like she was about to cry. “I take leaps, big, risky jumps to see what happens next. At least I’m willing to make commitments.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Abby kept her voice to a whisper, but she could tell the people at the tables near them were starting to listen in.

  “Do I really have to say it?”

  “Since when has that ever stopped you?”

  Her mother made a show of setting down her fork and leaning forward. “I’m going to ignore your bitchy tone and tell you exactly what you’re too scared to admit. You are afraid to find someone and settle down and that’s why you criticize everyone else who does.”

  “‘Settling down’? Is that what you call the few years you spend with ‘insert name here’ until you’re ready for the next?”

  Abby was barely finished speaking when her mother stood and tossed her napkin on the table. “Abigail Keaton, you’re out of line, and just for that you can pay for brunch. You’re invited to the wedding, but I’m begging you not to come if you can’t show up with a better attitude. I love you, but I won’t have your toxic take on love ruining my special day.”

  She finished her speech and strode off, leaving Abby sitting at the table stunned into silence, acutely aware that everyone at the tables around them had heard the exchange. What just happened? Had the queen of serial monogamy just called her out for failing to commit? As if. She committed to plenty of things way more important than a romantic relationship. She was committed to her work, her friends, her independence. Falling in love was the kind of thing that derailed all that other stuff.

  She looked down at her chicken and waffles. She wasn’t hungry anymore and
the food she’d eaten so far was like a lead weight in her stomach, and to top it all off, her mother had stuck her with the bill. She tossed a few twenties on the table to compensate for the scene and slunk out of the restaurant. At least her mother’s abrupt end to the meal meant she had more time to work. Too bad the case she was working on was just a bunch more angry brides-to-be. More proof marriage wasn’t the fluffy, sweet wonder it was promised to be.

  Chapter Eight

  Roxanne reached up to brush away a strand of hair, but the man standing over her swatted her hand away.

  “No touching until I’m done,” he said.

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Very funny.” Luther, the stylist for Best Day Ever, gently stroked a brush along the edge of her hair, and then stood back with his hands on his hips. “Okay, we’re done. And I lied before. No touching period. You’ll be tempted to fool with my masterpiece, but don’t do it. What we have here is a delicate balance, and one unskilled move and it will all fall to pieces. Understood?”

  “Did you just call me unskilled?”

  “I may have. Am I wrong?” He whirled her chair around so that she was now facing the brightly lit mirror. “Behold!”

  Roxanne sucked in a breath. Plenty of people had told her she was attractive, and she knew she’d been blessed with good genes, but she barely recognized the reflection in the mirror. “Wow. Just wow. You, sir, are a miracle worker.”

  Luther shook his head. “Hardly. You were gorgeous when you walked in here. I just added a little pop here and there.”

  Roxanne couldn’t tear her eyes away. Luther’s version of pop included a new hairstyle and makeup color combinations she would’ve never considered on her own. When she rolled out of bed this Monday morning, she’d never imagined she’d be transformed into a beauty queen before noon. “I feel like I should buy a fancy dress and go out on the town.”

  “Perfect timing,” a loud voice called out from across the room. Roxanne and Luther both turned toward the sound, and Roxanne groaned inwardly at the sight of Stuart Lofton heading toward them.