Second Time Around

by Nancy Moser

  Her father sat back in his chair, shaking his head. “Forgive me, David, but I don’t think that’s the kind of advice you should be giving to an ignorant child.”

  “I’m not a child, Father.”

  David smiled. “No indeed. And I can see she’s far from ignorant.” He fingered the handle of his coffee cup, giving her his eyes. “Don’t give up on school, Vanessa. Figure out what’s wrong and fix it.”

  Her father put his napkin on the table. “That’s what I said. I’ll go fix—”

  “No!” That one word took all her air. She took a fresh breath. “I’ll fix it.” She stood, half expecting her legs to buckle. When they did not, she said, “Would you like me to freshen your coffee, Mr. Stancowsky?”

  He winked at her. “That would be nice.”

  When her father and David withdrew to the den to go over blueprints, Vanessa quickly cleared the table, settled things with the cook, and escaped upstairs to bed. At eleven fifteen she heard a tap on her bedroom door. She did not answer it. And when the door opened and her father peered in, she pretended she was asleep.

  There was only so much courage a girl could display in one day.

  Dawson—1987

  Lane and Brandy stood side by side at the bathroom sink. Lane leaned toward the mirror, her mouth open as she put on mascara, while Brandy tried to tame her hair. “It’s hopeless,” she said.

  Lane returned the wand to the tube. “What’s hopeless?”

  “My hair, my makeup, my everything.” She took Lane by the shoulders and stood behind her, glaring into the mirror. “Look at you. Against my advice you get yourself a tomboy cut in the land of long permed curls and big bangs, and you look magnificent. My hair looks like I put my finger in a light socket.”

  “Next time you’ll have to go to a salon for a perm. It’s partly my fault. I’m not very good at rolling.”

  “Sure, next time I have an extra thirty bucks sitting around, I’ll splurge.” She leaned her chin on Lane’s shoulder, looking at both their reflections. “Life’s not fair.”

  Lane hated when Brandy was pessimistic, but couldn’t argue. Her friend did seem to get more than her share of bad breaks. Lane tried to do what she could to even things out. Luckily, Brandy had moved beyond fighting the charity of it, accepting it as an act of sisterhood.

  Lane rummaged through her makeup bag. “Want to try this new lip gloss? Toby says it tastes like watermelon.”

  “And who, in my case, will care?”

  Never mind.

  They put the makeup away. “I did notice Simon Blalock looking at me funny the other day,” Brandy said. “I think he wants me.”

  “Yuck.”

  “Hey, beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “Don’t put yourself down. You know I hate that. Someday you’ll find the perfect man who will adore you, you’ll have tons of kids, and be ecstatically happy.”

  Brandy ran the water, cleaning out the sink. “I doubt it. I is what I is, Lane.”

  “You’re beautiful—to me. And you’re my very best friend.”

  Brandy put the hairspray under the sink. “That I am. Are you ready? The world awaits.”

  Lane guessed it wasn’t a good time to bring up the fact that she was engaged…

  Lane was just settling into her desk in German class when Brandy stormed in, slammed her backpack onto her seat, and faced her. “How could you?”

  Lane glanced around the room and was really glad Herr Schallert wasn’t around yet. “Shh! How could I what?”

  “Get engaged without telling me!”

  “You’re engaged?” Laurie Baker asked from two rows away.

  “Uh… yes, but—” Within moments, Lane was surrounded by the girls in the room. The boys faced forward.

  “When are you getting married?”

  “How did Toby ask you?”

  But before Lane could answer, Brandy grabbed her backpack. “I’m outta here.”

  “Brandy…” Lane had no choice but to follow.

  She ran into the teacher on his way in. “Where are you going, Fraulein Holloway?”

  Brandy turned the corner at the end of the hall. Lane had to hurry. “Emergency, Herr Schallert. I’m sorry. I’ll come in after school and talk to you.” She didn’t wait for him to argue with her.

  Lane heard the push bar of the front door and saw Brandy running down the steps. She ran after her. “Brandy! Stop!”

  Brandy turned and walked backward. “Why should I?”

  “Because you owe me.”

  That stopped her. Brandy set her jaw and strode toward her. “Don’t worry. I’ll never impose on your family—”

  Lane took her arm. “Stop. Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “How did you mean it?”

  Good question. “You’re my best friend. We owe it to each other to listen to each other.”

  Brandy pointed a finger in her face. “We owe it to each other to share important events firsthand and not hear them from a third party. A sixth, seventh, eighth party.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Lyla Jenkins.”

  “Who’s that?”

  She spread her hands. “My point is made.”

  Lane let her backpack fall to the ground. “Toby must be telling everybody.”

  “Wasn’t he supposed to?”

  “I… I don’t know. We didn’t talk about how to tell people.”

  “Or if you should tell people, in my case.”

  “I would’ve. But when you came last night, and then this morning… it didn’t seem the right time.” Brandy eyed her in that knowing way she had. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  Brandy slipped her hand through Lane’s arm. “I know what we need.”

  Every time Lane saw the sign for Olson’s Ice Cream Shoppe, she was bothered by the two p’s. She realized they were there to make it sound old and quaint, but considering the oldest thing in the place was Mr. Olson—and he was more quirky than quaint—it seemed fake. Put on. As an actress she was all for pretending, but she also knew that in order for the illusion to be a success, it had to seem real. Olson’s soda-fountain equipment and white ice-cream tables and chairs tried too hard.

  But the ice cream was super, and the shop was a favorite spot of farmers and local families, plus the occasional stranger passing through on the way to the Twin Cities.

  Since it was only ten o’clock, the place had just opened. A family of three sat at a table; the daughter of five or six was pouting with folded arms and a big lip, even though she had a dish of ice cream in front of her.

  Mr. Olson was refilling the chocolate-sauce container. “Shouldn’t you girls be in class?”

  “Study hall,” Brandy said. “French vanilla in a sugar cone, please.”

  Lane had to laugh. “Dozens of flavors and you choose vanilla?”

  “French vanilla.”

  Mr. Olson looked up from his scooping. “It’s one of the top choices. What’ll you have, Lane?”

  She looked through the glass at the tubs. “You got a new one. Cookies and Cream. I’ll try that.”

  They got their cones and sat at a table by the window. Once they’d taken their first bites, Brandy asked, “So tell me why you don’t want to marry Toby.”

  Lane got some ice cream on the tip of her nose. “Brandy!”

  She shrugged. “That’s the only explanation I can figure for you not telling me, not calling me the minute after it happened, gushing with the news.”

  “You’re way off. Of course I want to marry him. I’ve always wanted to marry him.”

  “Even if you shouldn’t?”

  “Don’t start. Mom and Dad love him.”

  “More’n you.”

  “That�
��s not true.”

  Lane saw the woman at the other table glance at them. The father was arguing with the daughter, who still refused to eat. But the woman appeared to be listening—to the girls.

  “Your mom and dad would love anyone who’s known. And they’ve known Toby’s family forever. Your dad plays Whist with his dad. If you marry Toby they know you’ll stick around Dawson. That’s their goal.”

  “And what’s yours?”

  Brandy took a swipe around her entire cone before leaning forward to answer. “I want to sit in a theater and see Lane Holloway on a screen twenty feet tall. I want to see you at the award shows wearing long sparkly gowns, posing for the cameras. I want you to have the chance to kiss Richard Gere and Sly Stallone, not just Toby Bjornson.”

  It sounded good to Lane, too. “But you said you didn’t know what you’d do if I left town.”

  Brandy bit into her cone. A piece fell onto her lap. “Small town life is great. But for some people, it’s not enough. It’s not enough for you.”

  Suddenly, the little girl at the other table flung her bowl of ice cream across the room. It narrowly missed Lane’s shoulder, landing on the floor between her and Brandy.

  “Rachel Lynn Caldwell!” The father grabbed the girl by the arm and marched her outside.

  The mother sped toward the mess. “I’m so sorry, so sorry…”

  Mr. Olson came to the rescue with towels. When he took the debris away, the woman stood, wiping her hands on a napkin. “I’ve asked you to forgive my daughter, but I need to ask you to forgive me on another count. For eavesdropping. Did I hear that you are engaged?”

  “Just.”

  “Aren’t you… kind of young?”

  Lane sat up straighter, as if that made her look older. “We’re both seniors.”

  Brandy chimed in. “She shouldn’t marry him. She’s a great actress. She needs to go to Hollywood.”

  The woman glanced out the window, where the girl was getting a scolding from her dad. When she looked back, she nodded at Brandy. “You said life in a small town is great, but for some people it isn’t enough?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Brandy said.

  “Though I haven’t thought about it in a long time, I remember my mother saying, ‘Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.’ Not that I’ve heeded that advice much…” She looked out at her family again, and her face suddenly looked weary and old. She looked back. “Nothing wrong with marriage and family and staying put in your hometown. But do it for the right reasons.”

  There was a tap on the window. The husband crooked a finger at his wife. They could barely make out his words. “Vanessa? Come on.”

  “I have to go. Good luck, girls.”

  Brandy and Lane watched the family walk down the sidewalk.

  “Whoa,” Brandy said. “That was cool.”

  Lane licked a drip off her hand. “Weird.”

  “But right. That lady was right on. Just because you can marry Toby doesn’t mean you should. Unlike some of us, you’ve got options.”

  “There you go again, putting yourself down.”

  “There I go again, talking sense. Hey, I know the limitations of my life. I accept them—unless you got an extra miracle lying around.”

  “Sorry. Fresh out.”

  Brandy evened off the top of the cone. “Just think about the marriage thing. No need to rush. Now I really wish you’d gone to that audition in the Cities.”

  “Me, too.”

  Brandy wiped off a drip on the table. “At least you’ve got Romeo and Juliet. You’re a shoo-in for that part.”

  Oh dear. That was the other thing she hadn’t told Brandy.

  “You did try out, didn’t you?”

  Lane ate her cone.

  “Why not?”

  It was going to sound lame. “Toby wanted me to spend more time with him, and then Melissa Peterson—”

  “I’ll skip the first reason and zoom to the second. Nothing Melissa Peterson says should have any bearing on life as we know it.” She stood and tossed her cone in the trash. “We’re going back right now and you’re going to talk to Mr. Dobbins, and try out, and—”

  “It’s too late. The cast list is supposed to go up today.”

  Brandy snatched Lane’s cone and tossed it after hers. “Then we’d better hurry.”

  Twelve

  The lips of the righteous nourish many,

  but fools die for lack of judgment.

  Proverbs 10:21

  Present-Day Kansas City

  Mac closed the door to his office. He wished it had a lock. He didn’t want to talk to anybody. He just wanted to be left alone.

  He hadn’t meant to say it. And the ironic thing was that it wasn’t the truth. But yesterday morning the answer had slipped out after he’d spent the night worrying about the effects of Cheryl’s “He’s my boyfriend” statement.

  When the reporter had caught him at his car and had asked, “Are you and Dr. Nickolby involved romantically?” he’d said, “No. We’re just friends.”

  No wonder Cheryl had not returned his calls. His pages at the hospital. His E-mails. His knocks on her door. It had been thirty-six hours since he’d seen her, talked to her, touched her. He was in pain.

  And how was he supposed to answer his son when Andrew continued to ask where Cheryl was? The boy loved her. He loved her. He wanted to marry her. Why had he been such a wimp?

  It didn’t help that Wriggens was mad at him. His boss didn’t care about the truth, he was just concerned with what the press perceived as the truth. And his comment to Mac, “Why couldn’t you keep your hormones in check?” was an insult to what he and Cheryl had.

  Had? Past tense?

  The by-product of his personal upheaval was that he truly didn’t care what happened on the Toby-Yardley-Dina front. Let the whole world talk to the press. What did he care? And yet, handling this was his job.

  He turned on the television, hoping some world crisis had usurped any Time Lottery coverage. Unfortunately, the world had behaved itself. Toby Bjornson was on yet another talk show. How many was this? He’d been working on his fifteen minutes of fame for three days now. What else could the man possibly say? He was far from eloquent. “Uh, yeah” seemed to be his credo.

  The interviewer leaned close to Toby, crossing her legs. “I would really like your reaction to the latest news regarding your Laney.”

  News? Mac felt as confused as Toby looked. He turned up the volume.

  “Uh, sure. What news?”

  “We’ve heard that Ms. Holloway’s true reason for going back to Dawson, Minnesota, in 1987 is not to rekindle her relationship with you, but to explore what would have happened if she had not gone to the national audition that landed her the part of Bess in Empty Promises, the part that made her a star.”

  Toby’s jaw hung low.

  “You didn’t know?”

  He shook his head.

  Mac slapped the credenza. “No!”

  The reporter feigned concern, touching Toby’s knee. “I’m so sorry. I know this must be a blow.”

  Toby’s head was shaking like a dog in a car window. “It can’t be true. She loves me.”

  The reporter broke for a commercial. Chicken.

  Mac slapped the TV into silence. How had the information leaked? He was glad he hadn’t told Cheryl. He didn’t want to deal with that kind of suspicion on top of their other problems.

  Only three people knew Lane’s secret: Mac, Dr. Rodriguez, and—

  Mac nearly upset his chair on his way out of the office.

  “How could you?”

  Wriggens was on the phone. “I’ll call you back” He hung up and faced Mac. “I suggest you calm down and lower your voice.”

  Mac closed the door
—which would take care of only one of Wriggens’s concerns. He stood at his desk. “Why did you tell the press Lane’s secret? And don’t you dare deny it.”

  Wriggens sat back in his chair, the epitome of nonchalance. “Why would I deny it? It’s a stroke of marketing genius—if I do say so myself.”

  “Genius? I gave Lane my word.”

  “Conditions changed. Your word was no longer applicable.”

  “Applicable? Since when is a promise applicable?”

  “Since that moron Toby has managed to stay in the news.”

  “But Lane didn’t want the world to know she is exploring a life devoid of fame. She didn’t want them to think she doesn’t appreciate the success that they have made possible.”

  “Yes, yes, she will have to deal with that if she comes back, but I decided she’d rather deal with that than a lovesick nobody who might prove to be a menace. That guy’s trouble. I can feel it. He had to be stopped.”

  “At the expense of Lane’s career.”

  Wriggens flipped a hand. “Oh please. If she can’t handle a few questions about her motives for going back to 1987, then she’s not as good an actress as we thought.”

  Mac was sick of the whole thing. And he was especially sick of dealing with Wriggens. The man was ruthless. “What if I arranged my own leak? A leak about a leak?”

  Wriggens sat forward. “We have an arrangement, Mac. You deal with me as chief administrator—and all that entails—and I let you stay on indefinitely. Of course, if you’re tired of your cushy job, feel free to leak away.”

  Mac loved his job. He was meant for this job. He wanted to keep this job. But he couldn’t continue to do it with Wriggens in charge. The TTC deserved better.

  “By the way,” Wriggens had a horrible smile on his face, “I wouldn’t push things if I were you. You haven’t been the essence of ethics yourself. Sleeping with one of the winners?” He shook his head and made a tsk-tsk sound. “What got into you, Mac?”

  There was nothing he could say about his relationship with Cheryl that this man wouldn’t turn into something dirty. It didn’t matter that all they’d ever done was kiss.