How To Hook A Husband (And A Baby)

by Carolyn Zane

  Wincing, she snatched the polyester suits off their hangers and stuffed them into the charity bag. What on earth had possessed her to buy these things, let alone wear them? They looked like something straight out of her mother’s closet. And even her mother was far too young to wear this style in public.

  Well, she thought with determination, Mother wasn’t here to dictate her wardrobe today. The Sunday dresses followed the pantsuits into the bag, along with her ridiculously durable and clunky dress pumps. She felt a swift surge of exhilarating liberation from her past. It was no small wonder that no man had ever given her a second look. None of the models in the magazines she’d bought yesterday wore this stuff. She doubted that the models for a senior citizens’ magazine would be caught dead in her clothes. Whisking her summer shawl off the top shelf, she threw it into the bag with the rest.

  It was clear she was going to have to hit the mall, and hit it hard. And, she would need advice. All the advice she could get on everything she’d flunked in the Metropolitan magazine quiz. Clothing, hair, makeup…

  Hmm, she mused as she tossed her rejects to the middle of the bedroom floor. Travis would help her with the social skills, but she didn’t think he’d be much help on a shopping spree at the mall or on a visit to the beauty shop.

  Sagging down onto the edge of her bed, she racked her brain. No one in New Hope wore more makeup than Sue Ellen down at the New Hope diner. For that matter, the forty-five-year-old, thrice-divorced Sue Ellen also had the biggest hair. Maybe she should start the day with breakfast down at the diner, and pick Sue Ellen’s brain about the use of cosmetics. Maybe Sue Ellen would have some tips on the clothing front, as well. After all, Sue Ellen must be somewhat of an expert on how to hook a husband. She’d managed to bag three so far.

  That decided, Wendy dusted her hands and looked around for something to wear. She made a mental note to add casual clothes to her shopping list. But for now, she’d just have to make due with a postal uniform.

  After hurriedly dressing, she twisted her hair into its standard tight bun at the back of her neck. She would experiment with new hairstyles tonight. And, she decided as she adjusted her glasses, maybe a visit to one of those optical shops at the mall was in order. She could get some of those exotic-colored contact lenses. A shiver of excitement traveled up her arms, leaving a wake of gooseflesh as it went. This was fun.

  She’d been out from under her parents’ strict rule for more than three years now. Why had she waited so long to start living? Where had the time gone? Just yesterday, it seemed, she was graduating from high school. Well, every second that ticked by on the clock was another second lost.

  Today was the first day of the rest of her life, and all that nonsense. Time to get down to the business of living, she thought giddily, and rushed headlong to her living room to gather her small clutch purse and car keys.

  “And Wendy said when she was little like me she wore a really neat Indian costume and won first prize. She said it was made out of a burpy bag.”

  “Burlap bag?” Travis stopped waxing the hood of his truck for a moment and shot a sidelong glance at Dustin, who hovered in their driveway at his elbow, extolling—yet again--Wendy Wilcox’s virtues. Sometimes he thought if he heard Wendy’s name just one more time he’d lose his mind. The kid had a one-track mind. The Wendy track.

  “Yeah, Wendy said she would make me one just like it someday with feathers and arrows and everything. I could go Tricken Treaten in that!” he shouted up at his father, delighted with the fantasy that played in his mind. Moving along as his father polished his truck, Dustin scratched his nose with the palm of his hand. “Only this year I want to be Casper. Wendy said Casper would be easy to make. It’s only eight more days till Halloween and Wendy said…” Dusty spied Wendy coming out onto her front porch. “There she is, Dad!” Spinning on his heel, the child stumbled, feet after knees, across the driveway and straight into Wendy’s arms. “Wendy!”

  “Hiya, Sport-o!” Wendy ruffled Dusty’s hair affectionately and allowed him to tug her over to where his father stood buffing the hood of his truck. Travis’s shirt was unbuttoned and the tails flapped around his jeans-clad thighs with his efforts. No wonder he did so much business in the dating department, she thought absently. He was like something out of a diet soda commercial. The only thing missing was his usual drooling fan club. For a moment she stood, appreciating the way his muscles rippled and his skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration in the fall sunshine. She appreciated the view the way an art connoisseur would appreciate a painting. With objectivity.

  She knew that he would never in a million years ever take an interest in her. In a way, that’s what Wendy liked about Travis. Because of this fact, she was able to relax around him and just be herself. It didn’t bother her that he didn’t find her attractive. He wasn’t exactly what she was looking for in husband material, either. No. Wendy wanted someone who was ready to settle down. To commit. To put away the wild life and enjoy family life.

  “Dad, can I ask her?”

  Travis stopped polishing his truck and straightened. “Aw, Dusty, give poor Wendy a break, will ya?” He mopped his brow on his shirtsleeve and sent a beleaguered look at his son.

  “What?” Wendy asked, glancing back and forth between father and son.

  Dustin barreled ahead. “I want to know if we can make a Casper costume on your sewing machine pretty soon. It’s Tricken Treaten in eight more days.”

  “Sure,” Wendy said, and smiled at Travis.

  Travis shook his head and shifted the toothpick that he was chewing to the other corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to do that. We’ve imposed on you enough lately. I could just buy him a costume down at the five-and-dime.”

  Dusty’s lip began to tremble. “But, Dad, I don’t want a store-bought costume like all the other kids. I want Wendy to make me a Casper costume. Wendy said we can make a really neat-o one on her sewing machine. Right, Wendy?” He trained his large, liquid blue eyes up at her.

  It was at times like this when Travis was especially hurt by his ex-wife’s defection. How she could just up and leave a great kid like Dusty was beyond him. But luckily he’d managed to work through the bitterness he felt toward Elly Mae, and was left with only pity for her. She didn’t know what she was missing.

  Travis put his hands on his hips and watched as Wendy pulled his son up against the stiff fabric of her postal uniform and smoothed his longish golden hair out of his eyes. How Dusty craved a woman’s touch. He knew that his son didn’t care about the Casper costume as much as he wanted someone to think he was special enough to fuss over. Thank God, Wendy did. He was starting to think that maybe Dusty was on to something when it came to their stodgy neighbor. She was pretty special, really.

  “I think making a Casper costume sounds like almost as much fun as building a tent in the living room. Listen,” Wendy said, checking her watch, “I have some things I have to do in town today, so why don’t you have your dad bring you over later this afternoon and we can get started. I have some old sheets that will work perfectly and you can bring your Casper lunch box and we’ll do our best to copy it, okay?”

  “Okay!” Dustin shrieked and ran around in frenzied circles.

  Travis looked over his son’s head at Wendy and smiled a gentle smile of thanks. Wendy stood for a moment, smiling back, basking in his approval, then with a silent nod of goodbye for the father, and a quick kiss on the cheek for the son, she hopped into her car and was gone.

  “Hey, Beth, what are you doing here?” Wendy asked the cute blond teen as she settled onto a stool at the counter at the diner. “I thought you already had a job, working for Faith over at the Baby Boutique.”

  Beth grinned and poured Wendy a piping hot cup of coffee. “I do. I’m just giving Sue Ellen a hand for the Saturday breakfast shift. Ever since Kathy went off to college, she’s been a little shorthanded.”

  “Mmm.” Wendy nodded and took a sip of her coffee. “Travis is noticing her absence, to
o. He’s still looking for a nanny for Dusty.” She glanced around the funky interior of the diner. The smell of sizzling bacon permeated the room and the low murmur of conversation and clanking silverware underscored her question. “Is Sue Ellen here?”

  Beth nodded and tucked her pencil in behind her ear. “She stepped into the back room for a minute. She should be back any second. You want to order breakfast? There’s still time.”

  Wendy decided on a short stack of pancakes, and as Beth returned with her order, Sue Ellen emerged from the back. Spotting Wendy, she smiled broadly.

  “Hi, Wendy! What brings you to town on a Saturday morning?” She wandered up beside Beth and, leaning across the counter, moved the syrup bottle out of Wendy’s way. The diner was clearing out, so she and Beth settled in to shoot the breeze with the local postmistress.

  Swallowing her bite of pancake, Wendy set her fork on her plate and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Well, actually, I had a favor to ask you,” she said, and peeped up at Sue Ellen over the heavy rim of her glasses. Then she shot a shy glance over at the trendily togged teen. It was obvious that this kid had her finger on the New Hope fashion pulse. “You, too, Beth.”

  Sue Ellen and Beth exchanged curious glances. “Shoot, honey,” Sue Ellen demanded, patting her hugely teased bouffant hairdo with her long, blindingly bright press-on nails.

  Wendy licked her lips and cleared her throat. She felt like an idiot. Here she was, nearly over the hill, for crying out loud, asking for help picking out clothes and makeup. It was worth it if she ended up with a husband and a baby, she decided. Setting her chin with determination, she forged doggedly ahead. “Well, the other day I read this article—” She fished the offending article out of her purse and tossed it on the countertop in front of Sue Ellen. “I found the magazine in the recycling bin over at the post office.”

  Beth and Sue Ellen scanned the article. “What’s the problem?” Beth asked, not making the connection.

  “I’m going to be thirty on December first.” Wendy looked balefully up at them.

  “Ohhhh…” they breathed, and looked sympathetically at her.

  “I know I need to make some changes in my, uh, look,” she admitted, casting her eyes uneasily at her hands. She blinked up at them. “I flunked the Metropolitan magazine quiz this month.”

  “The Do You Have What It Takes To Snare A Man quiz?” Sue Ellen asked.

  Wendy nodded.

  “Ohhhh…” they breathed again, and exchanged knowing glances.

  “My goal is to be engaged by the Russo wedding.” Noting the surprise in their expressions, she cringed. Suddenly the plan seemed so ludicrous.

  “Isn’t the Russo wedding Thanksgiving weekend?” Sue Ellen frowned. “Honey, that’s only a little more’n a month away.”

  “I know. It’s the weekend before I turn thirty.” Wendy looked desolately at them. “Forget it. It’ll never work. It was a dumb idea.”

  Sue Ellen reached out and grasped her hands. “Don’t say that, honey. I love a challenge.” She glanced at the calendar on the wall. “I’ve often thought that with a few modifications you would be a real beauty. You have all the basics. We just need to…enhance them,” she said, reaching across the counter and tilting Wendy’s chin up toward the light.

  Wendy’s brow puckered. A real beauty? Was Sue Ellen talking about her? She glanced around to see if someone was standing behind her. Someone with the potential to be beautiful.

  “We have plenty of time to whip you into shape and snare you a man.” Laughing, she gave Wendy’s arm a quick pat and batted her false eyelashes teasingly. “I should know, I’ve done it often enough. But…” She suddenly frowned. “We should probably get started right away…hmm. Second shift will be here in half an hour. How about if I go home and get my supplies from my beauty school days. And Beth—” Sue Ellen turned toward the teen “—why don’t you take Wendy to the mall for a while, and I’ll meet you both at her place at say…” She checked her watch. “one-thirty?”

  “Perf.” Beth nodded, untying her apron and tossing it onto the counter. Looking expectantly at Wendy, she announced, “We’d better beat cheek if we’re gonna catch all my fave sale racks.”

  “Uh…” Wendy scrambled off her stool and, tossing some bills on the table, hurried after Beth. “Okay, sure.”

  “I’m kind of rusty on this color thing, so you’ll have to bear with me,” Sue Ellen explained, mixing Wendy’s hair color like a mad chemist at the kitchen sink. “I never did like doing color. Always scared the hell out of me.” She held the bottle of Sunblond Goddess No. 8 up and squinted thoughtfully. “Do you want to be a goddess or honey-streaked?” She pursed her lips and poured a little of each tint into the container. “You’ll be a honey-streaked, sunblond goddess.”

  Beth giggled.

  “You’re not making me feel very confident,” Wendy moaned, barely daring to move her mud-caked lips. Sue Ellen was giving her the works. She glanced over at Beth, who sat at her kitchen table hunched over her sewing machine doing heaven only knew what to one of her postal uniforms.

  The teen had dragged her at top speed through the mall, shoving the most outlandish outfits into her arms. Wendy grimaced at the thought of her next credit-card bill. “Sue Ellen?” she squeaked, holding her mouth very still.

  “Hmm?” The older woman sounded slightly befuddled.

  “How come you never worked at a beauty shop?” This little tidbit concerned Wendy.

  “I flunked out of beauty school.”

  “Why?” Wendy asked tentatively.

  “I accidentally used hundred-thirty-volume peroxide on a lady’s head. Melted her damn hair off.” She laughed boisterously. “You should have seen her run screaming out of the beauty school salon. I wasn’t far behind her. Turned in my teasing comb, as they say.”

  “Oh.” Wendy didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but really, mousy brown hair was better than none. Quite frankly she didn’t think she’d be happy with a man who was attracted to the Kojak look. “So, Beth,” she queried, more to take her mind off her hair than any real curiosity, “how’s Faith doing these days?” Eight months pregnant, Faith Harper was the owner of New Hope’s Baby Boutique where Beth worked part-time.

  Beth stopped sewing for a moment and grinned. “Huge. Says she can’t wait to have Amelia Rose.”

  “Amelia Rose, huh? She knows it’s going to be a girl?” Wendy asked, wincing as Sue Ellen—in preparation for tinting—raked a snarl out of her hair.

  “No.” Beth shook her head and shrugged. “Just a gut feeling, I guess.”

  Wendy’s brow furrowed slightly. “But what if it’s a boy?”

  Sue Ellen stopped ripping the tangles out of Wendy’s hair long enough to snort. “Well, with a name like Amelia Rose, he’ll have to be a tough little bugger.”

  “She’s going to be a great mom,” Wendy said wistfully, wishing for the day when she would bring her own baby into the world. A little child to call her own. A little child like Dusty.

  “Yeah,” Beth agreed. “She still won’t tell anyone who the father is,” she mumbled around a mouthful of pins.

  Wendy wondered grumpily if the poor thing had been anywhere near her wild-man neighbor eight months ago. No, that wasn’t fair, she thought. Travis might have an overactive social life, but he wasn’t a cad.

  Faith’s pregnancy was the most intriguing mystery to hit New Hope in years. Wendy knew that the identity of the unmarried Faith’s lover had more than one tongue wagging down at the post office. And, even though Faith was nearly as straitlaced as Wendy, there didn’t seem to be any wedding in sight. The whole thing was so unlike Faith. Wendy guessed that’s what made it so interesting to everyone. It sure gave the New Hope Senior Citizen Stamp Collecting Club—also known as the N.H.S.C.S.C.C.—something to flap their jaws and clutch their bosoms about.

  The sounds of feet stamping on her back porch drew Wendy from her ruminations.

  “Hello,” Travis called, letting himself
and his son into her kitchen through the back door. “Figured you’d probably be back by now—” His eyes widened imperceptibly as he moved toward Wendy.

  “Wow, Wendy.” Dustin raced over to her chair and stared at her facial mask and perm rods in awe. “Is that what you’re wearin’ for Tricken Treaten?”

  Travis coughed and clapped his hand over his son’s mouth. “Son,” he explained, unsuccessfully attempting to swallow the mirth that swelled into his throat, “this is what ladies do to make themselves look beautiful.” Unable to hold back, Travis guffawed rudely at the ceiling.

  “But I think Wendy’s beautiful just the way she is,” Dustin staunchly defended the love of his life.

  “Well, in a way you’re right,” Travis drawled, and winked broadly at his seething neighbor. “I guess you’ll understand when you’re older.”

  “You always say that,” the boy complained.

  Travis covered his grin with his free hand. “That’s because it’s true.”

  Sue Ellen nudged them out of the way. “Hey, Travis. Dusty. Why don’t you guys beat it? I’m trying to mix these chemicals and I don’t want to screw it up.”

  “But Wendy is going to sew my Casper costume now,” Dusty explained up at the beauty school dropout.

  “Sweetheart.” Wendy held her hand out to the worried boy. “This is taking just a little longer than expected.” Travis snorted and Wendy shot him a quelling glare. “So why don’t you come back in a couple hours and we’ll get you all fixed up. You and your dad could come over for dinner.”

  “Promise?” he asked, shades of his mother’s desertion creeping into his small voice.