by Carolyn Zane
Sue Ellen fluffed and teased, spritzed and back-combed, hummed and flower arranged. “Take a deep breath and hold,” the beauty school dropout instructed as she applied a heavy mist of hair spray. “You know, I have a new blusher I want to try on you. It has little sparkles in it. For that luminous look. And I brought along some different eye shadows I want to test,” she continued, jabbering away as she worked.
Thirty minutes later Sue Ellen finally handed Wendy the cat’s-eye sunglasses and told her to take a peek.
Slowly, Wendy pushed the glasses up on her nose and her dark green image came into semifocus. Her heart leapt into her throat. As far as she could tell, her hair was now upswept into one of the most amazing floral displays she’d ever laid two blurry eyes on. She’d seen bridal bouquets with less fanfare. Ribbons and curls and baby’s breath and daisies and gladiolus and…oh, my.
This style would definitely take some getting used to. Perhaps it was the glasses that detracted from the overall appeal of the look, she thought charitably. Maybe if she only popped them on now and then during the evening, just to see where she was going, she would be okay. Reaching up, she lightly touched Sue Ellen’s landscaping job and even though she’d never seen anything quite like it on the cover of Metropolitan magazine, she knew it was probably better than the bland way she used to wear her hair. Bravely, she decided to rely on Sue Ellen’s expertise.
“Thank you, Sue Ellen,” she breathed, squinting up at her friend through the dark glasses. “It’s, uh, so creative.”
Sue Ellen beamed. “I just know the guys will love it,” she raved, clapping her hands excitedly. “Well, good luck learning all the little tricks of the trade tonight, honey. You couldn’t have a better teacher. Why, I see Travis down at Little Joe’s every once in a while on Friday nights, and I’m telling you, the women practically stand on their heads vying for his attention.”
Wendy bristled. Nothing like learning from the best, she thought churlishly, then wondered at her sudden irritation with his popularity. After all, it was the main reason she was going out with him tonight. To learn to emulate his charisma. To learn the confidence and sex appeal that Metropolitan advised she would need to snare a man.
Sue Ellen began tossing her beauty tools into their respective suitcases. “Soon it’ll be the same for you, honey.” She snapped her cases shut and winked at Wendy. “From what I hear, the men are already lining up in droves down at the post office.”
“I guess.” Wendy shrugged bashfully. It was true. And if she was in the market for a geriatric husband, she’d be on cloud nine. But however ancient thirty might be according to the magazine article, she wasn’t dead yet. She would hold out for a slightly younger man.
Grabbing her suitcases, Sue Ellen blew a couple of air kisses, wished her young friend the best, and was gone.
Wendy watched Sue Ellen drive away in a sea of dark green fuzz and sighed. Time to go strap her underwire bird cage to her chest and stuff her body into the minuscule purple cocktail dress that Beth had picked out for her.
Closing her front door, she slowly shook her head. She was beginning to think that other cultures had the right idea. Arranged marriages seemed infinitely more sensible than wasting all this precious time and energy trying to impress the opposite sex. Reaching up, she patted the stiff flower garden on her head. Darn. Sue Ellen had neglected to mention if she should water it or not.
“Travis!”
Travis could hear Faith calling him from the living room where she was resting with her feet up after having bathed Dusty and put him to bed.
“Yeah?” he asked distractedly. Why the hell couldn’t he find his lucky bolo tie? Threading his hands through his hair, he stood in the middle of his bedroom and thought. It had to be around here somewhere.
“Wendy is here,” Faith called.
“Tell her I’ll be out in a minute,” he called back. Damn. He hadn’t even finished polishing his boots yet. Why had it taken him ten times longer to get ready for tonight’s date than any other date he’d been on lately? And why the devil was he so worried about what Wendy thought about his appearance? He’d never cared what she thought of the way he looked before.
Must be the teacher thing, he thought by way of explanation to himself. He wanted to set a standard for her to observe. Show her the way it was done, so to speak. He wanted to prove to her that deep down inside, he had a gentlemanly streak.
Quickly pulling on his half-polished boots, he gave them a lick and a promise with an old rag. Listening with half an ear to the murmur of female voices coming from his living room, he popped a breath mint into his mouth, dabbed some after-shave on his jaw, checked his hair in the mirror and finally decided with a broad grin that, yes, he’d surely knock her dead. Lucky little thing. Getting an experienced guy like himself for her very own Henry Higgins.
Bounding down the hall to his living room, Travis reached the doorway and stopped dead in his tracks.
Good grief. What in tarnation had she done to her hair? It looked like something a racehorse would wear after winning the Kentucky Derby. He blinked rapidly to keep his eyes from popping out of his head. Slowly, he allowed them to travel south, and his jaw dropped.
“My stars…” he murmured as he stared at the scrappy, strappy, teeny-weeny purple cocktail dress that clung tenaciously to her nicely proportioned curves. He fought the sudden urge to rip off his jacket and throw it over her shoulders. She turned slowly to face him, wearing a funny, rather glazed look on her face.
“Hi, Travis.” She smiled politely, looking just over his shoulder.
“Doesn’t Wendy look nice, Travis?” Faith asked loyally. “Sue Ellen did her hair and makeup and Beth picked out the dress.”
“Oh,” Travis said, finally starting to come out of shock. That explained everything. Maybe he should tell her he liked it better when she did her own hair and makeup. He had a feeling ninety-nine percent of the male population of New Hope would agree with him. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea to mess with her self-image at the moment. From the blank, almost unseeing look in her eyes, he could see she was feeling a little out of sorts.
“I feel kind of self-conscious,” Wendy admitted, turning to stare wide-eyed just over Faith’s shoulder. “Normally, this isn’t the kind of thing I would choose to wear, but…” She sighed, a quirky smile tipping the corner of her mouth. “I’m trying to change my stodgy image. I know it needs work—” she grimaced and fingered a gladiola that drooped over her ear “—but for now, I’m leaning on the experts.”
Her eyes shifted dully back to somewhere behind Travis, and he grinned at her, hoping to restore that sparkly, brighteyed look she usually wore.
Faith nodded. “Sue Ellen is certainly an expert in the husband-hunting game.” She moved over and slipped a supportive arm around Wendy’s waist. “And I think with your darling figure, you are one of the very few women in New Hope that could successfully pull off this purple dress.” She looked ruefully down at her own waist. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever be able to wear something in my old size again.”
“Sure you will,” Wendy assured her. “And you’ll have the added bonus of a wonderful bundle of joy to call your own. You’re so lucky.”
Travis watched a powerful look of yearning flash across Wendy’s face and was surprised by the intensity he saw there. It was obvious that there was nothing she wanted more in the world than to get married and have a baby.
Once, a long time ago, he’d known that feeling. Babies really were a lot of fun. He’d never been able to understand how Elly Mae had been able to turn her back on her own baby. Especially one as wonderful as Dusty.
Well, he sighed, glancing at Wendy as she stood awkwardly in the middle of his living room looking like a scared rosebush caught in the headlights, he’d do everything in his power to help her accomplish her mission. She would make a wonderful mother. This he knew from the way she was with Dusty. She’d probably make a pretty darn good wife, too. She was a gre
at listener. Criminy, she’d dragged the story about Elly Mae out of him without too much trouble, and he’d always hated to talk about that ancient history. Funny thing was, after he told her all about it, he’d been more at peace with that whole phase of his life than ever before.
And, knowing how ill at ease she felt at this very minute, he had to admire her courage. What she was doing took a lot of guts. Yeah, good ol’ Wendy. She was just about as different from Elly Mae as anyone could possibly get. That must be one of the things he liked so much about her. He glanced at his watch. They’d better get a move on if they were going to make their reservation at Antonio’s.
Hopefully, he thought, darting a glance at the flora and fauna on Wendy’s head, Antonio would give them a table in the back. Way in the back.
After slipping the maitre d’ a healthy tip, Travis propelled Wendy after the small man as he led them to an intimate table for two in the farthest corner of the seldom used wing of the dark Italian restaurant. It would be worth the extra money to spare Wendy the humiliation of running into someone she knew with that weed patch on her head, Travis decided thoughtfully. Agnes would surely melt the phone lines over this one, he mused as he watched Wendy’s delightful purple derriere weave its charming way through the restaurant. The maitre d’ gestured to their table, then headed back to his station.
Travis pushed her hands away from the back of her chair. “Would you knock it off?” he said under his breath. “You’re supposed to give me a chance to help you into your seat.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, her face growing pink as she stepped around to the front and then crouched and waited. Darn. She’d had a feeling she would forget this part. Lifting her behind slightly, she hovered in midair, while Travis positioned her chair for her. How silly, she thought, and readjusted the chair to a more comfortable spot after he’d finished. Why didn’t the men just take care of their own chairs?
“Remind me to help you practice sitting down next time we have a lesson together,” Travis said dryly as he took his own seat and tossed his red checkered napkin into his lap. “You don’t have to lean over that way. Looks like you’re trying to ski in a downhill race.” Although he had to admit, with her firm little curves, she created a fetching picture. Probably would make a dandy little skier, too. Grinning, he leaned back in his chair and glanced around. Luckily they were completely alone. “And another thing. I’m supposed to handle your wrap. I’ll help you in and out of it, okay? And when I open the car door for you, give me your hand. I’m supposed to help you up. Got that?”
“Well, for heaven’s sake,” she snapped, beginning to feel a little like her old self now that they had made it to the restaurant without mishap due to her nearsightedness. “I’m not an invalid.” Unless he counted the fact that she couldn’t see a blasted thing without her glasses.
“Well, if you want to learn the art of dating, you have to listen to me,” he groused. “Personally, I couldn’t care less if you want to bring your own chair and carry it in on your back. But then again, I’m liberated.” His lips twitched with humor. “However, lots of guys don’t like that in a woman. So, until you get used to the whole dating scene and find the guy that makes you comfortable, let’s stick to the basics, okay?”
“Okay.” She sighed and picked up her menu.
“New sunglasses?” Travis asked, puzzled as to why Wendy would be wearing dark glasses to study the menu in the already dark, romantic interior of Antonio’s.
She glanced up and touched the ugly rims. “Uh, no. Actually, these belong to Sue Ellen. I borrowed them for tonight because as I was getting ready I washed my new contacts down the drain.”
Travis chuckled. Well, that would explain the death grip she’d had on his arm ever since they’d left his place. And the strange, blank look in her eyes. She couldn’t see. As she removed the dark glasses and fumbled them into her purse, he leaned forward and studied her, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to tell.
He had to admit, he liked her eyes the milk-chocolaty brown that they were now a lot better than the almost eerie, vivid blue contact lenses she’d been wearing. Her eyes were very lovely, really. Especially without her old glasses. Too bad she insisted on gluing those horrible false eyelashes to her lids. He liked her so much better in light makeup. Kind of like the way she looked the other day. During their dancing lesson. Reaching for his water glass, he took a swig as his mouth went suddenly dry.
Deciding to bite the bullet, Travis plunged into the subject of her new look. “You know, Wendy,” he began after the waiter had taken their order, “you really don’t need to wear quite so much goop on your face to attract a man’s attention.” Aw, geez. That didn’t sound as diplomatic as he’d have liked. But it was too late to retract it now. Besides, it was true. If she ever wanted to catch a decent guy, she’d have to tone down the flashy accoutrements.
“But—” Wendy’s brows drew together in obvious puzzlement. “I thought…I mean, Metropolitan magazine said—”
“Forget those stupid magazines for once, will you? You’re letting them run your life.” He leaned forward and studied her face in the candlelight. “Besides, I think you have a very nice face, just the way it is. Hey, when you don’t have your hair pulled back into that painful bun, and hide behind those disgusting glasses you used to wear, you’re really kind of dishy.” Grinning, he reached out and playfully squeezed her hand. She had such graceful, feminine, soft hands, he noted as something akin to an electrical current zapped him in the gut. Letting go of her hand, he picked up his fork and twiddled it absently.
“But,” she argued plaintively, ignoring his compliments, “don’t you think I need all this stuff to catch a man? I mean, I thought that’s what you liked about BambiAnn.”
Travis pulled his cheek between his teeth. She had a point there. He did like the buxom, blond, bimbo look on BambiAnn, and all of his other Saturday night specials that he’d yuck it up with down at Little Joe’s Café. He just didn’t like it on a nice girl like Wendy. For pity’s sake, Wendy was the kind of girl you brought home to mother.
“Well…” he hedged, not wanting to sound like he had a double standard. “Makeup and sexy clothes are fine, but, you know, just not so much.” To his mutual surprise and relief, Wendy looked glad.
“Oh, good,” she sighed. “I know I couldn’t have kept this routine up for too much longer. First of all, I’m not getting enough sleep. Do you know that it takes me two hours every morning to get my hair to stand on end the way Sue Ellen showed me?” With a sardonic glance down at her neckline, she brought her large, brown eyes up toward his. “Plus, the wires in my underwear are killing me.”
Me, too, Travis wanted to say, daring a quick peek at the lush hills of her creamy white cleavage. He was tempted to tell her to keep the underwire underwear and the low-cut, peek a boo blouses. But something deep inside didn’t like the idea of her future boyfriends getting a load of this view.
“Trust me,” he said instead. “You don’t need all this stuff to catch a man. Just be yourself. It will happen.”
“Travis,” she sighed, propping her chin on her elbow and rolling her eyes, “I’ve been just myself for nearly thirty years now, and look where it has gotten me. I’m still as single and inexperienced as the day I was born.”
“So what?” Travis asked, finding the fact that she hadn’t been out with a lot of men refreshing. Somewhat titillating, even. “I’m not married, either. Lots of people our age and older aren’t married and live very happy and productive lives.”
“True,” she murmured slowly as she thought about his words.
“You should count your blessings.” Holding up his hand, he began to count them on his fingers for her. “You have a wonderful job that you really seem to like. You have the respect and friendship of almost everyone in the town of New Hope. You live in a great house and have super neighbors.” He chuckled. “What more could you want?”
“A little boy, like Dusty,” she said softly, lifting her liquid gaz
e to his.
His heart skipped a beat. “In a way,” he said, his voice as low as hers, “you do. He loves you like a mother.”
The candlelight from the small dancing flame on the table sparkled in Wendy’s eyes as she beamed up at him. “I feel the same way about him.” Her smile was beguiling.
“He knows,” Travis assured her, and reached out to take her hand in his. Might as well teach her how to hold hands, he reasoned. The way her skin looked so smooth and soft and milky and…kissable there in the dim glow of the restaurant, he could almost begin to understand his son’s fascination with the girl next door.
Later that evening—after a fantastic meal at the terminally romantic Antonio’s, where Travis had discovered that talking to an intelligent woman could be a turn-on—they slowly climbed the stairs to her front porch. Reaching the top, they stopped and turned toward each other. Travis clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling suddenly nervous and awkward. Not since he’d shared his first kiss with Elly Mae had he felt quite so.so.excited. What the devil was the matter with him? It wasn’t as if he was the novice here.
“I’m sorry, I forgot to leave the porch light on,” Wendy apologized as she felt around the inside of her purse for her house keys.
“That’s okay,” Travis said, lifting the gargantuan purse from her arms and plopping it on the porch floor. “For this part of the lesson, moonlight will work just fine.”
“What part?” Wendy asked, pursing her lips in consternation.
“The good-night-kiss part,” he explained patiently. If she was going to date, she’d have to learn to handle the goodnight kiss. Better from him than from some stranger. And he had a feeling from comments she’d made throughout the week that she was woefully inexperienced when it came to this particular art. Lucky for her, he’d had lots of practice in the area, he thought smugly. For some juvenile reason he was looking forward to giving the straitlaced postmistress the thrill of her life. Showing the wallflower how the big boys played ball. When he was done with her lips, she wouldn’t know her own name.