“Thank you. I don’t know what his real name is. Blond. Beautiful. Blue eyes. An actor.”
Charley toed off her furry Uggs and began working her top knot loose, giving me an amused grin. “I hate to tell you this, honey, but you just described eighty percent of the male actors out there. Was he straight? That’ll whittle it down to ten percent. Maybe five.”
“Oh, just stop it!” I set down the mug of tea, so I wouldn’t be tempted to hurl it at Charley’s head. And I am so not a violent person. “Your revenge puppet. You hired him to hit on me.”
“Ah, no.” She shook out her hair, a long crimson flame of it, combing her fingers through. “I didn’t hire anyone.”
“Okay.” I oozed righteous sarcasm. “The guy you coaxed, bribed, or cajoled—I don’t know what.”
“A lot of good synonyms there,” Amy observed, cupping her own mug in both hands. “You want tea, Charley?”
“No, thanks. I have ten minutes to shower and get out the door again.” She headed toward the stairs.
“Well, it didn’t work!” I said. Okay, I yelled it. Really loud. Charley pivoted—total dancer’s grace—and both she and Amy stared at me with shocked expressions.
“Are you having a diva meltdown?” Charley asked, with a kind of infuriating delight.
“Maybe just leave her alone right now, Charles.” Amy picked up my mug and handed it to me again. “Drink your tea, honey, and sit. You can tell me about your bad day.”
“No.” Charley edged closer. “I want to see this. High and mighty Marcia is having a snit over a guy? A beautiful, blond, actor boy named Gabriel. Tell us more.”
“Don’t you have to hurry into the shower?” I regretted challenging her with it now. I should have waited until I had a cool head. Or just not said anything at all and let her wonder. That would have been the ideal way to deprive her of her revenge. Now I was just giving her exactly what she wanted, not setting her back at all. I’ve never been able to stand up to her. She’s just so all-around fabulous, where I’m simply… not.
“I can get in and out in five,” she said. “And I can be late. I’m just meeting Daniel.”
Just meeting Daniel. Ooh, tra-la, tra-lay. I’m only going to see my handsome, charming, wealthy boyfriend who happens to be utterly in love with me. No big deal. He’ll wait for me. Which he would.
“So,” Charley prodded, “what happened? Cutie guy hit on you? Spill!”
“You know what happened,” I ground out.
“Well, I don’t!” Amy said brightly. “Tell us the story!”
“There is no story.” They both stared at me expectantly. They’d never drop the subject until I caved. “You guys kill me. Fine. This guy—who says his name is Gabriel—sat next to me on the train. And he sees that I’m looking at this one Missed Connections ad—”
“Ooh,” Amy interrupted, “the ‘as you wish’ one? So romantic!”
“Reads like a stalker to me.” Charley tossed her hair over her shoulder, dismissing it entirely.
It was enough to stop me in surprise though. “You read it? I thought you never looked at the Missed Connections.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “You guys got me addicted.”
“It was totally romantic,” Amy insisted. “Any guy who quotes The Princess Bride and promises to grovel is a keeper, not a stalker.”
“Are you kidding?” Charley snorted inelegantly.
“You’re so cynical.” Amy shook her head.
“Look, if he’d been that into her, he shouldn’t have fucked up in the first place.”
“People make mistakes, Charley,” I said, pointedly.
“Oh, right.” She leveled an intent look on me. “Like I did, blowing off Daniel the first time—is that what you’re saying? Fine, I’m big girl. I admitted it. I apologized. I even did a grovel of my own.”
“You didn’t grovel all that much,” I muttered and she narrowed her eyes.
“I knew you were listening at the door.”
Oops. So, sue me. “I was invested.”
“Just a little.” She gave me a super-sweet smile, then dropped it. “Finish the story.”
“Daniel is waiting for you.”
She whipped her phone out of her bra—I guess she keeps it in there since she obviously has no pockets—and texted, saying it out loud as she did. “‘Will be thirty minutes late. Do you love me anyway?’ Now, tell me—” Her phone dinged and she glanced at it, her eyes going soft and a goofy smile crossing her lips.
“What did he say?” Amy demanded, but Charley tucked the phone away again with a secretive shrug.
“He loves me. The man is nuts. Finish the story, Marcia, or I’ll sit on you. Prince Charming plops himself next to you, sees that you’re romanticizing the stalkery post and…”
“And nothing! I figured out—pretty much right away, for your information—that he was an actor, so I knew you put him up to it. What was the plan? He’d walk me from my L stop, and, oh, then we’d stop at some cute little bar and—”
“No, that pastry shop you love,” Amy inserted.
“Oh yeah.” Charley nodded. “Marcia would fall for the guy who says ‘let’s stop at The Last Crumb, have a cupcake and an espresso and talk.’”
“I am not that fat, you guys!”
“No one said you were,” Amy replied after a moment. “You really are in a snit. How many points?”
“What?” I felt stupid. This would have gone better if I’d planned it out.
“Marcia, Marcia, Marcia,” Charley quoted on a long-suffering sigh, folding her arms and shaking her head. “The points, darling. How many?”
“Three,” I muttered. “Maybe four.”
“Across all five categories?” She pinned me with a knowing stare.
“No.” Amy nodded to herself. “She never scores on Rhythm. That’s four points on four criteria. A five-pointer for the rest of us, I’ll bet. Major score, Marcia.”
“Well, yes.” I threw up my hands. “Because she groomed him. He even smelled perfect. So, okay, Charley—you totally win. He hit on me. He was awesome. I fell for him at first sight. Can we just skip the part where he kicks me to the curb and breaks my heart by telling me it was all a joke?”
“Wait.” Charley held up a hand, pointed crimson nails gleaming. “You seriously think I got some friend of mine to seduce you and then break your heart so I could have my revenge?”
“Of course. It’s so you.”
Charley actually flinched, as if I’d slapped her.
Amy gave me a strange look. “Um, maybe we—” she started, but Charley stopped her.
“You know, Marcia, I’m aware that you and I are not besties. I tease you about the virginity thing more than I should. And, yes, I was pissed about you interfering in my life, and I said some things about vengeance. I know I’m a dramatic person, and self-involved, so I don’t always think things through like I should. And I might not have as much in common with you as Julie or Amy—or even Ice—do. But I still thought we were actual friends. I can’t believe you think I’d set you up to have your heart broken—” Her fluid singer’s voice cracked and she looked at her bare, pedicured toes, then at me again, her eyes full of tears. “I wouldn’t be that cruel. I just… wouldn’t even do that to someone I hated. Certainly not to a friend.”
I didn’t know what to say. Even Amy looked disapproving. I had no idea how I ended up being the bad guy in this situation. “I was just sure that you…I mean, I figured…”
“Well, you were wrong,” she snapped, wiping her eyes and regaining her usual fire. “And now I’m going to take that shower.” She turned to climb the stairs.
Amy gave me a shrug, both helpless and accusing.
“Charley…” I said, trailing off because I couldn’t think of what else to add. She stopped with a hand on the rail and waited. When I didn’t say more, she sighed.
“Marcia, I’m fully aware of the irony of me saying this, but the world doesn’t center on you and your angst. Get a grip.”
~ 3 ~
What if Gabriel had been the real thing and I’d blown it? The horrifying thought had me sitting on the couch with a whuff, my stomach clenching. What if he’d been the One? I’d rejected him out of hand, and now I’d end up just like my mother, old and fat and alone, without even a daughter to keep me company. And bitchy. I’d gone so over the top, lashing out at Charley like that. I did need to get a grip.
I sipped the tea, letting the warmth and spicy perfume spread through my sinuses, over my tongue, and down to ease my stomach. Amy buys her teas special and keeps them in hermetically sealed containers, blending them herself and brewing at the exact temperature in a loose-leaf tea strainer. Her Nambé ceramic teapot would be sitting in its silver warmer over a tea candle on the kitchen counter. With tea, which is as much scent as anything, Amy was almost more of a chemist than I was.
“Thank you for this,” I said. “It’s really good. I’m sorry I didn’t say so before.”
“But you did. You’re always polite. And you’re welcome.”
That was me. Polite. Until I blew my lid and flipped off a guy who was just being nice. We sat there in silence for a minute, drinking our tea. Overhead the shower water began running.
“Did this Gabriel really offer to walk you from the L stop?” Amy asked. An olive branch, bless her.
“No, not really. Actually, he didn’t even hit on me. This little kid was screaming, so he sat next to me and was making conversation.”
“Ah,” Amy said knowingly, nodding.
“And when I said that Charley must have sent him, he assumed I was talking about a guy and said that if I was worried about someone pestering me, then I shouldn’t be walking alone.”
“Which is good advice,” Amy pointed out. “Thoughtful.”
“Yeah.” Who knows? It didn’t matter either way. Real or not, he was gone. “I should go call my mom, talk to her about Thanksgiving.” Make sure at least she wanted me around. “Thanks again for the tea.”
“And sympathy.” Amy smiled. “Sure thing. Back to work with me. If I have this assembled by tomorrow, Adelina says she’ll look at it.”
“Wow.” Adelina ran the design studio for Exhibition Way, one of Chicago’s hippest fashion design firms. “That’s huge!”
“Well.” Amy wrinkled her nose. “Lots of ‘ifs’ in there, but Brad’s really excited about it.”
“You’ll rock it. I know you will.”
“Thanks, girlfriend.” She high-fived me, then laced her fingers with mine and hugged me. “Don’t dwell. You know she won’t.”
That was true. Still, I dashed up to my room and shut the door, making it in plenty of time not to have to confront Charley again.
* * *
I didn’t look for Gabriel on the train the next morning. That would be stupid, no matter what. If he wasn’t Charley’s shill, there’s no reason he and I would cross paths again. If he was, well then, I’d done the right thing by nipping that debacle in the bud.
The more I thought about it, the less convinced I became that I’d really hurt Charley’s feelings. I mean, she’s an actress and a really good one. Drumming up tears is part of her skill set. She’d stayed the night at Daniel’s and hadn’t come home by the time I left for work, so that made things simpler.
I checked my phone again—nothing new from my mom. I’d worry, except she’d texted me back the night before. My mom does not text. In fact, I didn’t know she even had a phone that could text. Maybe her dinosaur of a flip phone had finally died and she’d been forced into a new one, but odd that she hadn’t mentioned that. A new smartphone should have sent her into a tailspin of confusion and hourly requests for tech support. But when I called the night before, not only did it go to voice mail—with a new outgoing message that sounded downright chirpy—she texted me back thirty minutes later saying she was out, would be out late, and could I call her the next day, maybe on my lunch hour.
I couldn’t even with all that was weird in that message. It left me unbalanced. With what happened the day before, I didn’t need anything to add to my rampant insecurity.
Fortunately, work consumed a lot of my attention that morning. It doesn’t always—hence the occasional sneak reading—but with the holidays coming, my department heads were scrambling to get projects finished before everyone functionally disappeared until after New Year’s. Which meant a lot trickled downhill to me. So, yeah, I’m basically an office drone. That’s the “entry” part of the job. They don’t let you near the actual perfume part of the industry until you’ve put in your time understanding the business end. And then only if you’re really lucky or very talented.
I didn’t have a lot of luck going for me, so I hoped diligence and my talented nose would win out.
The crazy busy morning meant I didn’t escape until after one. Normally I brought my lunch—cheaper, less fattening—but since I planned to call my mom, I’d hit the building food court and find a private corner somewhere.
Holt Tower isn’t all corporate offices. A lot of it is, but one side—it’s really a trio of towers—is a mall for the first three levels, with a food court in the middle that’s kind of nice because it’s in an atrium. Unfortunately the place was mobbed. Who were all these people? Tourists, maybe. The place was already festooned with Christmas decorations and they had carols playing. Maybe people were already coming into town to shop and stuff, then stay for the parades.
Still, seeing the decorations perked me up some, even if they were early. I like Christmas. I even liked going home for Thanksgiving. Cooking with my mom was fun, and we always talked a lot, catching up in ways that phone conversations don’t replicate. And we’d spend the rest of the holiday wrapped up in furry blankets, bingeing movies, eating leftover pie, and drinking peppermint-schnapps-spiked hot chocolate. At least with my mom I never felt self-conscious about what I ate. I didn’t know why I’d been grumpy thinking about it the night before, except that the Gabriel thing had knocked me for a loop.
The pretty boys of the world didn’t matter. My mom and I had each other. Always had and always would.
In anticipation of the next week’s nosh-fest, I got one of those boxed-up Cobb salads from the to-go section of the deli. I hated eating refrigerated salad when it was cold out, but feeling virtuous was nice. Angels smiled on me, because I found a one-top behind a potted palm in a relatively secluded corner. It would’ve been nice to take my salad up to my desk, but my boss frowned on personal conversations at work. And she thought me being at my desk equaled being at work.
I slipped in my ear buds, laid the phone on the table, hit the button to call my mom, and began spreading around the piles of salad ingredients so they’d be evenly distributed.
“Hi, pooky!” my mom answered.
“You have a new phone,” I replied. With my number programmed in and everything. Would wonders never cease?
She giggled. Was this my mother? “Yes. It’s rose-gold. A seven! Aren’t you proud of me?”
“I am proud of you. Shocked and amazed, but proud.”
“Oh, you. Even old dogs like me can learn a new trick or two. Woof woof!”
I had to laugh. “You sound happy.”
“I am happy. And you, pooky? How are you? I’m sorry I couldn’t talk last night.”
“I’m fine. Where were you anyway—you went out somewhere.”
“Yes, well, I’ll tell you all about that. But it’s kind of a long story. I’m thinking about coming to Chicago. Maybe we could have lunch?”
Coming to Chicago? “Well, sure, but…I’ll be home next week. I figured you’d want me there on Tuesday?”
“Well, about that.” She clicked her tongue, her stalling sound. Uh oh. “I wanted to tell you in person, but I don’t see how…Hmm. See, I met somebody.”
“Met somebody?” The avocado mushed in my mouth. It wasn’t fresh anyway. I pushed the salad away. “Somebody like…a man?”
She laughed. “Yes, Marcia, exactly like a man. George. His name is Geor
ge. He’s from Minneapolis originally, so he invited me to go there with him and meet his kids. Adult kids, that is. He has a daughter your age and a son two years older.”
My brain spun, trying to process all this new information. Mostly I got stuck on wondering how long she’d been seeing this guy and why she hadn’t dropped the least hint about it. I felt like more like an abandoned orphan than ever. He had adult kids she was going to meet. What about our traditional holiday, just the two of us? All I managed to get out was, “Minneapolis, Minnesota?”
She giggled again. So much giggling. “Yes, Minnesota, silly! And we want you to come, too. We’ll take the train to Chicago and then we can all—”
“Mom. I am not going to Minneapolis to have Thanksgiving with strangers. It’s freaking cold there!”
“Chicago is not exactly the Caribbean, darling.” The tartness in her tone took me aback.
“I’m sorry. I just…” I didn’t know what.
“I know this is new, but I thought you’d be happy that I finally did something.” No more giggling. She sounded annoyed, which was unfortunately more like the mother I knew. I couldn’t seem to do anything right. “You’re forever telling me to lose weight, get my hair done, go out and meet people. Well, I did.”
I was torn between protesting that I’d never told her I thought she should lose weight and wanting to ask if she really had. And, if so, how she did it.
“I want you to meet George, at least,” she said briskly, while I mentally stalled, my brain a little blue wheel of crashing systems. “We’ll be in Chicago on Tuesday. We’d like to have lunch with you and I expect you to mind your Ps and Qs. If you want to come with us to Minneapolis then, you can. Or don’t.”
All of these “we’s” that didn’t include me all of a sudden. “You’d just ditch me. On Thanksgiving.”
“No.” She had on her patient voice now. “I’m inviting you to come with us. Or you can stay and celebrate with your friends. You’re always telling me about the wonderful spread they put on and how you miss it to come see me. Now you can finally do that.”
Missed Connections Box Set Page 13