Plum Girl (Romance)

  "Now, wait a second. This could be important," he warned sternly, pointing his finger at no one in particular. "Whatever you do, just do not give them personal information about yourself. Don't tell them your bank account number—"

  "Dad," Lonnie broke in, "please, she's not an idiot."

  "Jack, read your book. I'll deal with this," Margot chided, and Jack snorted in discontent.

  "Just so you know," Peach explained, "the prize is big because whatever logo the firm chooses, they're gonna get all rights to it and trademark it for all their products. The five thousand is their way to give an artist a big enough chunk that she can't later claim she's owed anything."

  "Mmm-hmm, the contest sounds great," Margot encouraged. "Still, it's only a one-shot thing so it won't hurt to look through those want ads I circled." Peach put a throw pillow over her face to keep from screaming. Margot didn't notice and crocheted merrily.

  "Well, I just have to tell you, Lonnie, honey," Margot said as she wielded her hook, "I'm a little surprised that Terry didn't make plans to be with you on Christmas." My turn, Lonnie thought. It was hardly a secret that Margot didn't envision Terry as her son-in-law—especially with the bevy of oh-so-slick comments she made to drive that point home daily. What she failed to realize, of course, was that Lonnie was now 100 percent sure that a future with Terry was the last thing she'd want. She didn't need any convincing; she wanted Dominick.

  "Don't get me wrong," Margot continued. "Terry's a nice boy and everything, but..." She stopped crocheting, looked from Lonnie, who was curled on her side, to Peach, who was lying flat on her back. "I just never want my girls to settle. You are my jewels. My jewels. And you deserve someone worthy of you."

  Like Dominick, Lonnie thought, but held her tongue.

  "Someone kind and smart and dependable."

  Like Dominick? Lonnie thought so, but only time would tell. The last time they'd spoken was right before he left the hotel the night before. He was going to Connecticut to see his family for Christmas, and he wasn't coming back to Boston until Monday. Lonnie had given him her cell phone number and hoped he would use it at some point.

  "In fact," Margot was saying, "now, Lonnie, don't say no"—Uh-oh—"but, I want you to meet someone."

  "Mom, please. " Lonnie pressed her face to the couch cushion. "How come you're never trying to set Peach up?" Unfortunately, her indignation was diluted by giggling when she heard Peach exclaim, "Hey!"

  "Because Peach is only twenty-two, and apparently she just met a nice young man at your law firm. You're the one I'm worried about, Lonnie. You're too picky; you close everyone off without giving them a chance." The "you're-too-picky" speech. Lonnie knew it pretty much by heart so she didn't feel that guilty about barely listening. "You think I would've gone for your father if I'd been as picky as you?"

  Jack just grunted and turned a page in his book.

  Margot went on as if Jack weren't there. "Maybe he wasn't exactly Big Man on Campus, but he was reliable. When he said he'd call, he called. And he's always been there for me. That's what's important."

  Lonnie never disputed that, but her mother seemed to think there was a fleet of nice, reliable men at her feet—whom she was mercilessly crushing with stiletto heels. Please. She almost never met anyone, much less had a selection to choose from. Okay, so she never particularly tried to meet anyone, but Margot didn't know that.

  "Mom, who could you possibly know who I would have any prayer of finding appealing?" Lonnie asked.

  "Now, what's that supposed to mean?"

  "No, I just mean—"

  "Let me tell you, I could set you up with a very nice young man who'd treat you well. But you never have an open mind about anyone—"

  "Uh-oh," Peach injected, "that doesn't sound good."

  "Who, Mom?"

  "Well... ," Margot began carefully, "what about... Thomas Ellabee?"

  "What?" Peach shot up into a sitting position, while Lonnie rolled onto her stomach and groaned in disgust.

  Margot's eyebrows rose. "What's wrong with Thomas Ellabee? He's an engineer. Not to mention, he still goes to church every Sunday, which is more than I can say for you two."

  "Yeah, too bad he also has a frosted, feathered bouffant," Peach countered, and Lonnie laughed into the cushion.

  "Oh, Peach, what—? A bouffant? What on earth are you talking about?" Margot asked, annoyed. "Thomas has a nice, thick head of blond hair. Many men would kill for that head of hair. Why do you have to always butt in when I'm trying to help her?"

  "Mom, I'm sorry," Peach persisted. "But I refuse to let my sister go out with a guy who looks like he has his hair 'set' at the beauty parlor." She made quotation marks with her fingers, and Jack audibly cleared his throat in irritation with the whole conversation.

  Margot huffily shoved her crocheting aside. "This is exactly what I'm talking about! Your sister's too picky—"

  "Hey, I didn't say anything!" Lonnie cried.

  "—and you're not helping matters, Peach. There's nothing wrong with Thomas Ellabee. In fact, he's one of the most courteous and successful young men in our parish."

  "I know, I know. And he says 'horse pucky' instead of 'bullshit.' He's still not in her league. Besides, I have an automatic distrust for anyone whose default expression is a contented smile. It's weird."

  Lonnie rolled back onto her side to face them. "Would you two mind not talking about me like I'm not here? I know that works with Dad, but—" Jack heaved a great, martyred sigh, and turned the next page with all his might. "Look," Lonnie went on, half giggling, "I'm not interested in Thomas Ellabee. And, no, it is not because I'm too picky. And it's not because of Terry. If you want to know the truth, Mom, I'm glad Terry isn't spending Christmas with me. I really don't like him all that much anymore."

  "Really?" Margot's eyes lit up, and Lonnie silenced her before she could push the issue.

  "Leave my love life to me, okay?"

  "But—"

  "I'm with Lonnie," Peach piped in.

  "Oh, mind your own business," Margot chided.

  "My sister is my business."

  "Enough," Lonnie said. "Now, please, Mom. I love you, but back off."

  Margot shook her head helplessly, and picked up her half-crocheted scarf to resume stitching. "All right, I'll butt out. I just love my girls too much, that's the problem. But that's it; I'm not going to say another word." Yeah, right.

  Peach closed her eyes dreamily, Lonnie rolled to her other side, and Margot pushed her recliner a little farther back, as a peaceful silence fell on the room. Until Jack's voice surprised everyone. "Finally! I thought that conversation would never end!"

  Lonnie and Peach both started to laugh. Soon Margot was laughing, too, and Jack was trying not to... and for that moment, in their little family room, everything was okay.

  * * *

  On Christmas Day, Margot and Jack Kelley's Brookline town house was filled with relatives. They wove in and out of rooms, mingling, taking pictures, and promising to stay in better touch from this point forward. Lonnie tried not to spend an excessive amount of time in the dining room, where Margot and Jack had laid out an elaborate display of food, but it was difficult. Jack had cooked prime rib and vegetables, while Margot had made penne alfredo, her famous stuffed mushrooms, and chocolate cream pie. Plus, half of the relatives brought pastries. Was this some kind of test of Lonnie's willpower? Because if it was, she might have to live with a little failure.

  "Lonnie!" Aunt Christy's voice sang through the archway to the dining room, where Lonnie had just been eyeing the food covetously.

  "Hi, Aunt Christy!" Lonnie greeted her sixty-year-old, favorite aunt with a tight hug. Christy was Margot's oldest sister, and the most cheerful person Lonnie had ever met. She was also soft, round, and she usually wore cashmere, which made her the cuddliest, too. "Merry Christmas. How have you been?"

  "Just perfect, baby doll," Christy answered brightly. "How about you?" She pulled back and scanned Lonnie's face with concern. "Your mot
her told me about that man from your office who died the other night. How are you holding up? Is it true he just had a heart attack right there at the party?"

  Lonnie sighed inwardly, feeling like an asshole. Here she'd been contemplating a prime-rib-and-cannoli sandwich, and she hadn't given one thought to Lunther. To the fact that his life had been snuffed out. Irrevocably. She knew it wasn't completely incomprehensible. He was an overweight, middle-aged man, and—from her memory of happy hour—a heavy smoker. A heart attack actually made sense. But that still didn't make it feel any less bizarre to think that this had happened to someone she used to pass in the hall at work every day.

  She sucked in a breath and told Christy what happened at the party—how no one had actually witnessed Lunther's heart attack, and how she'd found the body.

  "But what on earth was he doing in the coat closet?" Christy asked, her light green eyes wide with feeling.

  "I don't know," Lonnie replied, shaking her head. "That's the one part I don't get, because he was behind all the coats.... I still can't figure it out. The police were asking all sorts of questions, but then they confirmed that he'd had a heart attack. So, basically, I'm confused."

  Just then, Margot bustled into the dining room carrying a plate of cranberry bread. "Hi, you two," she said cheerily. "Do you need anything while I'm getting stuff from the kitchen?"

  "Margot, you didn't tell me how beautiful Lonnie's gotten! She looks terrific," Christy exclaimed, and Lonnie blushed at the over-the-top compliment.

  Margot set down the bread, absently wiped her hands on a dish towel, and said, "Yes, I know. Lonnie has a very pretty face." Implication: everything but her face sucks. Thanks, Mom, Lonnie thought, annoyed. Within minutes, six more relatives had come into the dining room, and they were all talking about what'd happened to Lunther. They couldn't believe Lonnie and Peach had to make official statements to the police.

  "Were you arrested?" challenged annoying, prepubescent cousin Joey. "Did you have to spend the night in jail?"

  Peach curved her mouth into a what-the-fuck? expression, while Lonnie answered in a consciously even tone. "No, Joey, my boss had a heart attack. No one was—"

  "Did they take your fingerprints?"

  "No, it wasn't—"

  "Mug shots?"

  "No, no—"

  "Then what's your point?" The thirteen-year-old rode out of the dining room on his scooter, even though Margot had asked him earlier not to ride it in the house, and Lonnie mentally noted the pitfalls of the rhythm method.

  "Peach, you should eat more. You're too skinny!" Aunt Kim squealed.

  Margot nodded. "Yeah, have more to eat, honey." And she cut Peach a large piece of chocolate cream pie. This was only minutes after she'd interrupted the discussion about Lunther to try to force a plate of boiled turnips on Lonnie, claiming it had "negative calories." Lonnie's fists clenched uncontrollably. I've had enough! Even if it is petty!

  She pondered how she could most efficiently escape the dining room, go into the bathroom, lock the door, and repeat "Serenity now; serenity now." Believe it or not, that really worked... most of the time. But before she could escape, Aunt Kim spoke again. "And, Lonnie, your hair is"—she reached her hand out to touch a few strands—"gorgeous." She sighed. "Glossy black hair. You get that from our mom." Lonnie's heart clutched a little at the thought; Grandma Deborah had died two years ago, but she was still very much with the family.

  "Really?" Margot said to Kim. "I've been trying to get Lonnie to lighten it. Just a little, you know, go for a more all-American look." A little! Margot had flat-out suggested on more than one occasion that she dye her hair ash blond. Although, as soon as Lonnie had threatened to go traffic-cone orange, the subject had been mysteriously dropped. Damn it all! Why can't my mother just accept me the way I am? Why is it never good enough?

  Luckily, at that moment Uncle Nicholas barreled in and announced he was taking pictures of the family in front of the Christmas tree and he needed them to come into the living room for a dorky, embarrassing group shot. Well, those weren't his exact words. As everyone shuffled out of the dining room, Lonnie used the exodus as the distraction she needed to sneak upstairs and hide. She turned on her heel and went the long way around through the kitchen. Peach followed her.

  "Hey, where are you going? Don't you want to be immortalized by yet another traumatizing family photo session?" She jogged up to Lonnie until she was next to her. Lonnie turned her head to look at her, and there was no mistaking the glare in her green-honey eyes. "What's wrong?" Peach asked.

  "Mom. That's what's wrong!" She was beyond irritated, even though she truly didn't want to be. "Did you hear that crack about my hair?"

  "Sure, but it's just her usual. She gets on me about my hair because it's not one uniform color," Peach said. She shrugged. "It's not like she knows what looks good."

  Lonnie's sigh came out more like a growl, and she brought her hands up to her forehead. "It's not just that. It's everything... It's... it's that 'Lonnie's got a pretty face' crap—"

  "You do have a pretty face," Peach said calmly.

  "Whatever—that's not what she's getting at. Don't you hear the way she emphasizes face? She's just trying to make me feel bad about my weight. For like the millionth time."

  "You're reading too much into it."

  Lonnie felt like she was going to explode. She wasn't sure where all this rage had come from, but Peach's comment just increased her blood-boiling frustration tenfold. She stopped on the top step and looked squarely at her little sister. "Fine, I'm reading too much into it. That's why your stocking was filled with Twizzlers and chocolate jingle bells and mine was filled with single-serving packets of sugar-free oatmeal. Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to be alone!" She stormed into the bathroom and shut the door—careful not to slam it, though, because of the guests downstairs. (She wasn't exactly an expert on this rage thing.)

  She waited until she heard Peach go back down to the party before she started chanting into the mirror: "Serenity now; serenity now..."

  * * *

  Lonnie's mood picked up after the hordes of relatives had cleared out and she was comfortable in her hearts-and-stars pajama pants and NYU sweatshirt, sitting in front of the flickering Christmas tree, and her cell phone had just rung. It was Dominick.

  "So, how's it going with your family?" she asked him, moving a little closer to the fireplace to feel heat off the still-burning embers.

  "Uh... pretty good. Unless you consider five masses in two days excessive." He started telling her about how his born-again brother David added myriad religious twists to the Carters' Christmas—which had always leaned more toward an all-American agnostics-giving-gifts kind of tradition. Lonnie laughed, amused and giddy with liking him. Then she gave him the abridged version of her Christmas. Leaving out the part where her mother had made her feel like Elvira the Heifer. And the part where she'd started crying a little thinking about Grandma Deborah, but it was probably because she'd had too much wine.

  "It's snowing here," she said, unconsciously hugging her legs to her chest and resting her cheek against her knees.

  "Yeah? You should go outside and make a snowman," he teased. "Or, showperson."

  "Showdiva, " Lonnie corrected, smiling to herself. God, she wished he were there to hug.

  Dominick's tone turned more serious when he asked, "So, how are you doin'?"

  Lonnie sighed. "Okay. I'm still having trouble believing it all really happened." They talked about Lunther's death only for another minute or two because there didn't seem to be much to say that wouldn't be obvious and pointless.

  "Oh, shit! I just realized," he said. "I'm using up all your long distance minutes."

  "Don't worry about it." She wasn't. She was having too good a time talking to him, hearing his low, sexy voice, picturing him on the other end....

  "I'll let you go anyway," he said.

  "Okay."

  "I'll see you Monday. Merry Christmas."

  "You, too. Bye
, Dominick."

  "Bye... Miss you." Click.

  What? He missed her? Well, hell, she missed him, too, but... wasn't it too soon to be saying it? Was this a bad sign? Who was it who'd told her that when guys fall in fast, they also fall out fast? Oh, wait, it was B.J.; he'd been hovering at her desk one morning, offering unsolicited observations on the sexes. Well, considering the source, at least she could disregard that warning immediately. Still...

  She had to be careful. She wasn't going to pull away from Dominick like she'd done before, since he didn't seem to be a big fan of that approach. And more importantly, it wasn't any fun for her. But she'd have to keep her guard up. In her own mind. He'd never have to know how skeptical she was about the relationship. He'd never have to know that she was mentally preparing herself for it not to last. And with any luck, she'd never get her heart broken again.

  Chapter 13

  Lunther's wake was on Thursday, the day after Christmas, and in the proverbial spirit of the season, Lonnie was trying not to show just how desperate she was to leave. There had been a brief, closed-casket service that morning, followed by a lunch at Lunther's home. Honestly? It was depressing, awkward, and morbid.

  His older brother, as his only next of kin, had organized everything, since Lunther had lived alone since his divorce several years ago. His house was a large, six-bedroom colonial in Cambridge. Lonnie had borrowed her father's car to make the drive through the snow, and now, after having been at the wake for nearly an hour, desperately wanted to go home and not see anyone from Twit & Bell again until the office reopened on Monday.

  She thought she'd make the rounds and be sure to say good-bye to all her coworkers. First, she approached Delia, who was sitting alone on the window seat in the far corner of the room. Lonnie figured she should get her over with first since she promised to be the most unpleasant. Because of the thick carpet, Lonnie's boot heels were soundless as they traipsed over to the window, and she wasn't sure if the element of surprise would be good or bad with Delia.

  "Delia?" Lonnie said softly, and watched a matted broom of white-blond hair whip around as Delia turned to face her. Her expression conveyed something less than elation.