Plain Jane

by Fern Michaels

  She looked better than she’d ever looked in her life and instead of complimenting her, he compared her to Carlotta, or Collette, or whatever the hell her name was.

  When dessert arrived, Jane excused herself to go to the ladies’ room she had no intention of visiting. In the lobby, she walked toward the exit and out to her car. She put the car in gear and headed for Trixie and Fred’s. The two of them were the one constant in her life, her port in any storm or squall. Was this a storm or a squall? By God she would not cry. She simply would not cry.

  “I think you better come over here, Fred,” Trixie shouted over Flash’s and Olive’s furious barking. Fred trundled his way from the office to take up a position next to his wife. “Why is Jane sitting in the car like that? How long has she been out there? Is something wrong?”

  “She just got here, Fred, and yes, I’d say something is wrong. She’s crying. Today was her Christmas luncheon. She was so excited. She got her hair cut this morning. Wait till you see the dress she’s wearing. Our Janie turned into a beautiful swan. Okay, she’s blowing her nose and wiping her eyes. She’s getting ready to come in. Quick, sit down at the table and pretend you weren’t watching. I’ll make some coffee.”

  Jane entered the kitchen, a sickly smile on her face. She dropped to her knees to cuddle with the dogs before she sat down at the table. “Make it strong, Trixie, and put three jiggers of something in it!”

  “You got it! Wanna talk about it, kiddo?”

  “Look at me! Tell me the truth, have you ever seen me look better? No, you have not! I struggled to lose all those pounds. I didn’t just struggle, I battled. I got sick and tired of wearing those granny dresses and those damn boxy suits. Not to mention those baggy sweat suits. I also got sick and tired of trying to do something with my hair so I don’t always have to wear a hat. I can manage this style in minutes. When I walked into that banquet room, every man turned to look at me. Well, maybe not every man, but a lot of them did. That never happened to me before. It felt good.”

  “So what happened to upset you so?” Trixie asked as she poured a dollop of Kentucky bourbon into the coffee mug.

  “I said three jiggers, Trixie!”

  Trixie continued to pour. She risked a glance at Fred, who was trying to look everywhere but at her and Jane.

  “I might have three more, too,” Jane said in defiance.

  Flash threw back his head and howled. Olive minced her way over to Jane and sat down on her foot. Not to be outdone, she barked.

  “You were saying,” Trixie prompted.

  Jane gulped at the hot coffee until her eyes started to water. She swiped at them with the back of her hand. “I thought for sure Mike’s eyes would bug out of his head when he saw me. I guess they did but in the wrong way. He said I looked like Coletta, his old girlfriend. What do you think of that? Then he said if he wanted another Coletta, he would have gone out and found one. And . . . and he said I should have told him I was cutting my hair. Who does he think he is?” She pushed her coffee cup toward Fred and laid her head down on the table between her arms. “I left during dessert,” she mumbled. “I paid a hundred bucks for that crappy lunch. I had salmon that was watery, broccoli that was soggy and pukey green, and some kind of potatoes that were cold and tasted like glue.” She sat up, a grimace on her face. “I’ll have some more of that coffee, Trixie. This is the best coffee you ever made. How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to go with it?” She kicked off the strappy shoes and sent them flying across the kitchen.

  “I guess what you’re saying is the luncheon wasn’t up front and personal,” Trixie said.

  “Not one, warm, fuzzy moment. Thanks, Fred,” Jane said, reaching for the sandwich he handed her. “There’s more unfortunately. Are you ready for this? Dr. Thomas, the one I took over for while she was recuperating—She had the audacity to tell me to stay away from Betty Vance. She was downright ugly about it. I wanted to smack her face. I hate attitudes, and boy did she have one. I’m so glad I’m getting out of this business. I hate it. I hate all those stuffy doctors. I hate it that they can detach themselves from their patients at the blink of an eye. I hate it, hate it, hate it.”

  Trixie sat down across from Jane. “Janie, you know how men are. They’re forever saying things ass backwards. I don’t think Mike meant to insult you. In his own way, I think he was complimenting you. He loves you. I’ll bet you anything he was just trying to say that he didn’t think there was anything wrong with the way you were before.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jane snorted. “This is the best coffee. What kind is it?”

  “It’s called one-hundred-proof Kentucky bourbon,” Trixie said tartly. “You didn’t tell him to kiss your ass, did you? You have a penchant for saying that when you get pissed off.”

  “No, but I thought about it. There were too many people standing around who would have heard.” This time when Jane took a sip of her coffee, she missed her mouth and coffee sloshed down her chin onto the table.

  “You’re drunk, Janie!” Fred said, grabbing a kitchen towel to clean her and the table up.

  “On two cups of coffee! Don’t be ridiculous. That’s assurb !” Jane slurred, her eyes crossing at the bridge of her nose.

  Trixie giggled. Jane was always so in control.

  “Why don’t we put up your Christmas tree? I need to get some Christmas spirit.”

  Fred glanced at Trixie, a worried look on his face. “It’s already up, honey. Eli did it yesterday when he came to hang the outside lights,” Fred said, referring to the local handyman who had worked for them for years. “Trixie and I decorated it last night. Wanna see it?”

  “No. I think I’ll go home. Thanks for taking care of Olive for me. She loves coming here for doggie day care. Is Flash off today?”

  “Yes, it’s our day off.”

  “Then how about if I take him home with me so you two can have some time alone. I need the company. Besides, that . . . that . . . doctor might come pussyfooting around, and Flash can chase him off. I’m not ready to deal with him. Give me some more of that coffee in one of those slurpy cups so I can drink it on the way.”

  “Coffee, yes. Bourbon, no,” Fred said, both his voice and his expression stern.

  “You sound like him,” Jane charged, getting up and heading toward the door in her stocking feet. “You never told me what to do before, Fred, so don’t start now. So what if I’m feeling good? It’s been a long time since I felt good. I’m not hurting anyone. My car’s on empty. I need to borrow your cruiser. I’ll bring it back in the morning. I’ll drive across the field.”

  “You’re drunk, Jane,” Fred reminded her.

  Jane looked at her coffee cup and saw two of them. “You could be right. But if I am, then that means I’m impaired. So, Flash and Olive can run home and I’ll drive myself. Five miles an hour. I promise.”

  “No!” Fred and Trixie said in unison.

  “Yes! Don’t go there, you two! I mean it. Now, where’s that slurpy cup? I’m watching you. You can keep the shoes,” Jane said, leaning against the doorjamb.

  “Okay, Janie, but this is against my better judgment,” Trixie said, winking at Fred.

  “What are you up to?” he asked.

  “I figure if I can stall her, she’ll fall asleep in the car, and I’ll drive her home. You follow me and tomorrow she’ll think she drove home herself. What do you think?”

  “I think it will work.” Fred planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek. He reached for the keys as Trixie herded Jane out to the police cruiser. “Now, Janie, this vehicle is not as easy to drive as it might look. I want you to sit on the passenger side while I slide in and explain everything. Are you okay with that?”

  “Ass-bo-lutely!” Jane said, gulping from the cup.

  “See all these gadgets? Here’s the switch for the police scanner and here’s the thingy to turn on the siren. Now lean back, close your eyes, and see if you can visualize them. When I count to fifteen, you open your eyes and tell me where the siren is and
where the ignition key goes.”

  Ten seconds later, Trixie called, “Okay, she’s out!”

  Trixie got out of the car to let the dogs in. “In the car, Flash. Olive, hop to it!” Behind her, Fred gunned the Bronco.

  A few minutes later, Trixie stopped the cruiser by the front steps of Jane’s house. She got out, went around to the passenger door, and pushed Jane into the driver’s seat. So what if her godchild had a few bruises on her ass from sliding over the console. “Okay, we’re here,” she shouted, shaking Jane’s shoulder. “What do you think? Doesn’t it drive like a tank?”

  Jane blinked her eyes open and tried to focus.

  Trixie released the back door and the dogs jumped out. “C’mon, Janie. Get out. How about a nice shower and some real coffee? You did real good.”

  “Get off it, Trixie. You drove me home, and we both know it!” Jane mumbled as she struggled to get out of the car. “What happened to my shoes?”

  “You kicked them off, dear. How’d you know I drove you home?”

  “Because I wasn’t asleep, I was thinking. You can think even when you’re three sheets to the wind, you know. You can both go home now. I appreciate your looking after me. I’m okay.”

  Trixie whistled sharply. Both dogs and her husband came on the run. “We’ll be over in the morning. Take it easy, sweetie, it isn’t the end of the world, and alcohol isn’t the answer. All alcohol does is dull the pain until the next time. Take a nap and when you wake up, call us, okay?”

  “Sure. Okay, dogs, let’s go!”

  Trixie and Fred watched as their unhappy tipsy godchild wobbled up the steps to the front porch. They continued to watch until she opened the door, ushered in the dogs, and stumbled through. When they heard the sound of the lock snicking into place, they looked at one another.

  “I can stay, Trixie, if you think it’s a good idea. I can hang out on the back porch. The spare key is still under the windowsill, isn’t it?”

  “No, Fred. We’ll go home and come back later. She’s going to sleep it off. She must really be hurting to drink like that. I wonder if there’s more to this than she said.”

  “When she sobers up, we’ll ask her,” Fred said, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for that girl, Fred.”

  “I know that, honey, and so does she. She doesn’t want us here, so that means we go home and, like you said, come back later.”

  “All right, Fred.”

  Jane wobbled through the rooms, past her office and out to the hall that led to the second floor. The steps looked insurmountable, like a giant mountain she had to climb. Holding on to the railing, she made her way to the top. A wave of dizziness washed over her as she tottered to the bathroom, where she peeled off the designer dress and tossed it in the corner. She was never going to wear it again. Never. Ever.

  The shower’s needle-sharp spray pummeled her body as she jiggled under the hot water. She turned the hot water off and turned on the cold. She gasped, holding on to the towel bar for support. She felt black-and-blue and cold to the bone when she stepped onto the bathroom rug. Her movements were clumsy as she toweled dry. Goose bumps dotted her arms as she reached for her sweats, hanging on the back of the bathroom door. “Yeah, Jane, this is your speed. This is what ugly ducklings wear. Plain Janes don’t deserve anything better than this.” She eyed the black dress in the corner. “Screw it!” she mumbled as she ran a brush through her short-cropped hair.

  Both dogs sat in the open doorway staring at her with unblinking intensity. “What happened to that old saying, ‘be the best that you can be’? Does it just apply to the military and the pretty people of the world? Can’t the people who aren’t pretty try to look pretty? What’s wrong with that? That was just the outside he was looking at, and he made a judgment. I’m the same inside. Why didn’t he see that? I waited all my life to look like that. My mother should have named me Cinderella. I’m back to my rags now. Speaking of mothers, I hate you, Mother!” Jane screamed at the top of her lungs. “Do you hear me? I hate you! Look what you did to me! You did this. It’s your fault I feel like this. Couldn’t you have loved me just a little bit? Did you always have to be so damn critical? Couldn’t you have said one nice, kind word to me? Just one nice fucking kind word. I hope you’re roasting in hell!”

  Jane dropped to the floor, her back against the old claw-footed bathtub, and sobbed. Both dogs flew across the room, each vying for her lap as she continued to cry, her whole body shaking uncontrollably. “Some killer dog you are, Flash,” Jane hiccuped, as the Malinois licked at her tears. “I’m just going to curl up here for a minute. Just one little minute.”

  The dogs looked at one another as Jane curled into the fetal position. When her light breathing told them she was safe and asleep, Flash trotted out to the bedroom and tugged an afghan with a huge bouquet of purple tulips crocheted in the center from the back rest of the rocker. He dragged it to the bathroom. When he whined low in his throat, Olive took one end while he took the other. Together, they tugged, inched and nosed the light coverlet until it covered Jane completely up to her neck. Flash’s “officer down” training had just kicked in. One of the first things he’d learned was to cover a body. Both dogs returned to the open doorway and stretched out, their heads on their paws, their eyes wide and alert.

  When the room grew dark, Olive got up and with one paw, flicked the light switch. She returned to her position in the doorway next to Flash. Their gaze never wavered until eight o’clock, when Flash’s ears went straight up in the air. A deep growl erupted from his belly. Olive turned her head to stare into the darkness of the open hallway. Neither dog made a sound as they raced out of the room and down the steps. The moment headlights arched on the dark living-room wall, Olive ran to the front window and nosed open the plantation shutters. Flash watched her before he, too, raised a paw to press the spring release on the opposite shutter. They waited, their ears flat against their heads, their tails between their legs. The motion light on the peaked roof turned night into day as Mike Sorenson stepped out of his car.

  Flash pawed Olive as much as to say, is this the enemy? Uncertain as to what was going on, Olive trembled. The Malinois picked up on Olive’s uncertainty. His lips curled back as he snapped and snarled at the paned window. Mike, one foot on the step, the other poised in midair, carefully removed his foot from the step and backed up, his eyes on the snarling dogs at the window.

  Flash growled, the hair on his head and neck standing on end. Olive backed away from the window, as did Flash. She used her nose to close the shutters. Flash followed suit. Both dogs ran through the house to the back door. Once again, the motion light over the back porch sprang to life, illuminating Mike advancing up the path leading to the back porch. He stopped in his tracks when he heard a bloodcurdling howl. He backed up slowly, dropping the key in his hand. The dogs waited until the sound of the car’s engine sprang to life in the quiet night. The moment the noise from the engine faded into nothingness, both dogs made their way to the second floor.

  Jane slept deeply and peacefully on the bathroom floor, her guardians ever watchful.

  Mike Sorenson drove his sleek sports car into the crowded parking lot of Snuffy’s Bar and Lounge. He sat down at the bar and ordered a scotch on the rocks. Snuffy’s had long been a favorite watering hole for many of his colleagues. He looked around now to see if he recognized anyone he could strike up a conversation with. Not that he felt like talking.

  What in hell had gotten into Jane? And what was up with the two dogs that were set to eat him alive? Olive acted like she didn’t even know him. More to the point, where was Jane and what was she doing? His heart started to flutter when he recalled the conversation they had in the lobby. He’d been stunned at her appearance. So stunned, he babbled the first words that came to his mind. Big mistake, Sorenson. What had he said that had been so awful? Didn’t he have a right to act surprised? Damnation, he loved her curly hair, loved having it tickle hi
s face when they made love, loved to run his hands through the springy curls. She could have mentioned it. Mentioning something like cutting your hair wasn’t a sin. Shit! He realized more than ever that he knew absolutely nothing about women.

  Mike took a healthy pull from the scotch glass as he swiveled around to survey the room. He saw a few people he had a nodding acquaintance with but no one he cared to unload on. He turned back to the bar and reached for a pretzel. He’d finish the drink, go home, and call his mother.

  He felt rather than saw someone sit down next to him. Familiar perfume wafted its way to his nostrils. He turned. “Coletta!”

  “Mike! I thought it was you. How are you?”

  “Fine. You?” He had to get out of there and he had to do it right then. The last thing he needed was for Jane to find out he had a drink with his old girlfriend.

  “Fine. Why are you drinking by yourself? Holidays getting to you?”

  She was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. He narrowed his eyes to see her better. She looked like she’d been shellacked. He wondered if her face would crack if she smiled or grimaced. No one had eyebrows like hers. Perfect arches. Once he’d thought he wanted to drown in those dark eyes. Once. Light-years ago. He studied her hair, which was longer now and swept back from her face. There wasn’t one hair out of place. Like the rest of her, her hair looked like lacquer had been sprayed on it.

  “Actually no. I love the holidays. I was on my way home and was hoping to see Jonesy in here,” he said, referring to a mutual friend. “He’s not here, though, so I’m going home and work on a couple of case histories. What are you doing here?”