"You forgot your sunglasses!" I panted.
"Hey, thank you."
His smile was like the morning sun breaking over the horizon. My knees went wobbly as I gazed into his beautiful eyes. And as I melted toward him, I gasped, "You also forgot to kiss me."
"Pardon me?"
"Kiss me," I whispered, and this time I grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward me.
16
Bulldozer
I'D LIKE TO REPORT that the earth moved when our lips met, but unfortunately it did not. I did, though. The guy was a bulldozer! His mouth pushed me back against his car until I was leaning way back and sideways, with my cup of tea reaching for the sky.
"Whoa!" I mumbled, then shoved him back with my free hand and ducked clear. "Uh...well...uh...thanks," I said, and escaped to my car.
I sat behind the wheel for a minute feeling breathless--in a run for-your-life sort of way, not a fantasy-kiss kind of way.
How disappointing!
What a complete waste of a perfectly dimpled face!
On the drive home I tried to figure out what had gone so wrong. Robbie Marshall should have been a crimson kiss. The Starbucks guy should have been a crimson kiss.
Why weren't they?
There'd certainly been pre-kiss chemistry, but instead of worlds igniting, everything had just fizzled. How had I managed to pick a tongue thruster and a bulldozer?
Was it me?
Was I the horrible kisser?
Reading about kissing was obviously not the same thing as actually kissing!
I mulled it over for a few blocks, then started laughing out loud as the reality of what I'd done sank in.
I'd said, "Kiss me!" to a perfect stranger.
It was insane!
So impulsive!
So unlike me.
And yet, thinking about it made me feel...good.
Giddy.
Adrienne was going to die.
Mom was still in bed when I got home. And since I was still feeling giddy and strangely uninhibited, I delivered the tea and got next to her on the bed. "Tell me about your first kiss."
"My first kiss?" She sipped from the cup and said, "Ah, this is heavenly!" Finally she looked at me and asked, "Is there something I should know about? Someone I should know about? Is that why you're asking?"
I laughed. "No. I just want to hear about your first kiss. And I want to know if you've ever had a crimson kiss."
"A crimson kiss?" she asked, and I could see her trying to remember why the phrase was familiar. Suddenly her eyes got big and her mouth made a silent "Ohhhh" as she realized she was busted.
I grinned at her. "One of the hazards of having me clean house."
"I am so embarrassed."
I laughed. "Don't be. I actually liked that one." Then I asked, "So when did you start reading romance novels, anyway?"
"Kate Larson gave them to me--she thought it would get my mind off of...things."
"Did it?"
She shrugged. "More the opposite."
I didn't want to go down that dark, dank trail of despair, so I said, "Forget about the books. I want to hear about your first kiss, and any crimson kisses."
She took another sip of tea and said, "My first kiss was from your dad, and I would say that, yes, he's delivered more than a few crimson kisses."
"Dad was your first kiss?" I sat up straighter. "Wait. Does that mean you haven't kissed anyone but him?"
She nodded. "That's right."
"Your whole life?"
She shrugged. "My whole life."
I stared at her in disbelief. I knew they'd been high school sweethearts, but...I'd already kissed more guys than my mother?
I hadn't thought I could be any madder at my father, but now I was. She'd never even kissed another man, and he'd totally betrayed her!
My mother needed help.
Something had to change.
I took away her tea. "Get up," I said. "I'm giving you a makeover."
17
Cheap Trick
I LISTENED ATTENTIVELY to what Mom thought she wanted done, which boiled down to "A trim and very subtle highlights." Then I zipped off to the store and bought supplies for what I wanted done--a rich chestnut dye and ravishing red highlights.
When I returned, I found her reading Welcome to a Better Life. "Exactly!" I told her. "You need to live your fantasy!"
"You've read this, too?"
I nodded. "Speak your fantasy, see your fantasy, live your fantasy."
She sighed. "My problem is I don't know what my fantasy should be."
I smiled at her. "Well, get ready. This makeover will change all that!"
I started by applying the chestnut dye. And when that process was done, I wrapped her shoulders with a towel, combed out her wet hair, and asked, "So what do you want to hear?"
She knew I was talking about music. "Cheap Trick," she said after a short consideration.
I decided not to comment on the irony of the band's name where my dad (or her haircut) was concerned. I just cranked up the CD and got busy snipping, not letting on that "subtle" was not part of my master plan.
"I Want You to Want Me" shook the walls. We had a little shout-along as I snipped and clipped and shaped up the back of her hair. Mom seemed to forget about what I was doing as the band powered through "Ain't That a Shame," "Surrender," and "If You Want My Love." By the time we'd made it through "I Can't Take It" and "Walk Away," she had sexy-long bangs and some razor-cut layers.
"You are looking amazing!" I said, very pleased with my handiwork.
She wanted a mirror.
"Forget it!" I told her, then blew out her hair. And when it was dry and I could see where streaks of ravishing red would look the best, I got busy on the final phase of my evil plan.
Cheap Trick was done playing and I was mixing up highlights, contemplating what CD I should put on next, when the phone rang.
"Hello?" I said, cradling the phone against my shoulder.
"Evangeline? This is your dad. Please don't hang up. I--"
"We're sorry, you've reached a number that has been disconnected. Please hang up and don't try again."
My mom sighed after I clicked off. "That's getting pretty old, sweetheart."
"His calling here's getting old! What's up with that? Why can't he just leave us alone?"
Very quietly, she said, "He and Janelle have split up."
"What?" I moved around to face her. "So she got tired of him and now he wants to be 'dad' again?"
"He broke it off. Quite a while ago."
My whole body felt flushed. The tops of my hands, my cheeks, my rib cage...everything suddenly felt hot. "Well, lucky Janelle." I cocked my head. "And how do you know all this?"
She was quiet a moment, then said, "We've met for coffee a few times."
"What?" But then I shook my head. "Never mind. I don't want to know." I wagged a finger at her. "When I'm done with you, you won't have time to have coffee with that two-timer! Men are going to be pounding down the door!"
I dug up The Who's greatest hits CD.
"Won't Get Fooled Again" seemed very appropriate.
18
Ravishing Red
I WAS IN THE MIDDLE of giving my mom's hair a final rinse at the sink when the phone rang again. Fortunately, it was Adrienne, not my dad.
"Hey," I said, holding the phone with one dripping hand while I sprayed my mom's head down with the other, "can I call you back? I'm rinsing out my mom. I gave her a radical cut and color."
"Radical?" my mom asked, banging her head on the faucet as she tried to pop up.
I pushed her back down, and into the phone I said, "Uh, I mean hot. She's gonna look hot."
My mother was not convinced. She bobbed up again, saying, "Is that why you won't let me see a mirror? What have you done? I trusted you!"
Before I could answer, Adrienne asked, "Did you really kiss a guy at Starbucks this morning?"
I pushed my mom down again and said, "Quit it, Mom! You're
going to love it. Now let me finish rinsing!" And then into the phone I gasped, "Where'd you hear that?"
"Penelope Rozzwell, of all people. She heard it from Mary Blythe, who heard it from who-knows-who. So you're saying it's true?"
Mom was bobbing up again. "Just let me do it!"
"I'll call you back!" I said to Adrienne, and clicked off.
It was a real challenge keeping my mother away from a mirror. But I managed to blow her dry, style her, and apply a little makeup without letting her have a peek.
Finally I dug a pair of chandelier earrings out of her jewelry box, and after she'd slipped them in, I handed over a mirror.
She gasped when she saw herself.
She covered her mouth.
She turned side to side, touching the red highlights.
"Oh!" she said, sweeping aside the bangs, fluffing the layers. "Oh, wow!"
"Exactly," I said, feeling very proud of the transformation. "Everywhere you go, that's exactly what people are going to say. Oh, wow!"
She looked at me with glistening eyes and that all too familiar I'm-about-to-cry wrinkle pattern on her face.
So much for the makeup--it was about to get washed away.
But then something strange happened.
She blinked back the tears and giggled.
"It doesn't even look like me!" she gasped.
"Yes, it does. It looks like a refreshed you. A new you. But still you."
She gave me a hug, then looked at herself in the mirror again. "Oh, thank you, angel. Thank you!"
Then she turned to me, and there it was.
Her glorious, glowing smile.
19
Visitors
I GUESS I TOOK TOO LONG TO CALL ADRIENNE BACK, because around three o'clock the doorbell rang, and there she was.
"You can't avoid me," she said, pushing past me. "Best friends are not to be avoided."
"I wasn't avoiding you! I've been really busy with--"
Then she saw my mom. "Lorena?"
My mom had always asked Adrienne to call her Lorena, but this was the first time it didn't seem weird.
Maybe because it was the first time in a long time my mom didn't look like a mom. She'd put on some flattering jeans and a flowing olive green cami and she looked hot.
Adrienne gaped at me. "Wow, you have been busy!" She made my mother turn around. "That hairstyle is outstanding!"
"You're next," I said. "I'm on a roll!"
"I don't know...." She shook her head and focused on my mom. "Wow! Wow, wow, wow!"
My mom seemed stoked. And after a dose of Day Quil, she didn't even sound sick. "You girls want to go to a movie? Out to an early dinner? Shopping?"
I laughed. "How about all three?"
But then the doorbell rang again, and when I answered it, I found myself face to face with my dad.
I hadn't seen him in months, but he looked exactly the same. His hair was stylishly scruffy; his mustache was trimmed neatly off his lip, swooping around into little "boots" beneath the corners of his mouth. He looked relaxed, but more dressed up than usual in fitted jeans and a sports coat.
"What about 'we don't want to talk to you' don't you understand?" I asked.
"Evangeline, please. I was a jackass and I know it. But I don't really want to discuss it on the stoop. Can I please come in?"
"I think you've summed it up nicely," I said back. "And there's really nothing to discuss, so please go away!"
I started to close the door, but he stuck a boot in and called, "Lorena?" into the condo.
Suddenly my mother appeared, a purse on her shoulder, her keys in hand. "I'm sorry, Jon. Whatever it is will have to wait. The girls and I were going out."
Before he could fully process her hot new look, she'd locked the door and breezed out to the sidewalk, pulling Adrienne and me along with her.
"Lorena, wait!" he called after her.
For once, she didn't listen.
20
Biology Experiment
ADRIENNE WAS FASCINATED by my Starbucks encounter. Not that I mentioned it in front of my mom--I had to slip it in piecemeal as we tooled around town eating and shopping. But by the time we were at The Bargain Boutique, waiting as my mother tried on yet another outfit, Adrienne was fully informed and liked the idea of trying to land Justin Rodriguez. "He's a much better choice than some random guy at a Starbucks!" she whispered. "And a romantic setting is a great idea. Delilah and Grayson were by the lake with swans and weeping willows and twittering birds."
"You read it!" I said.
"Well, most of it." She gave me a mild version of her trademark squint. "And I get it about the kissing, but Evangeline, really, it's not that great a book."
"It is too!"
She shook her head. "You're projecting something into it." Then she really squinted. "And I hate that Elise dies! Why does Elise have to die? No eight-year-old should have to die, fictional or otherwise!"
"But that's what drew Grayson and Delilah together."
"It's so manipulative. I hate books like that."
I crossed my arms. "So you hate my favorite book."
"No, I don't hate it. And the romance scenes are really great. I'll finish it and get it back to you on Monday, okay?" She grinned. "You're probably going through withdrawal, huh?"
It was kind of true.
She gave a knowing nod and said, "But back to the real world. I think Justin Rodriguez is a good prospect. He's actually sorta dashing-looking, and you're right--he seems like a romantic. He might actually be worthy of you!"
So with Adrienne's blessing I started mulling over ways and places to meet up with Justin Rodriguez, and by Monday I'd come up with the perfect setting.
The Prager Park gazebo.
It was a lovely gazebo--white, with elaborate scrollwork near the roof and trumpet vines climbing the latticework--and it was nestled among flowering magnolias and honeysuckle shrubs on a little grassy knoll.
Unfortunately, it was also near the basketball courts and a parking lot, but being there in the moonlight would be as close to a lake with swans and weeping willows as I'd be able to find.
The trouble was getting Justin there. Or, actually, finding him at all. I looked everywhere for him Monday morning, scoured the campus at break, kept an eagle eye out for him between classes...he was nowhere.
How was I supposed have a romantic rendezvous with a guy I couldn't find?
Once again Adrienne came to my rescue. She ran up to me in the quad during lunch and panted, "I tailed him to Room Five Twelve. He's eating lunch in there with Blaine York and Travis Ung!"
"In Mr. Webber's room?"
She shifted her backpack and nodded.
No wonder I couldn't find him. Mr. Webber might be nice, but nobody in their right mind would eat lunch in the bio lab. The walls ooze death and dissection, the air stinks, and after finishing biology last year, I swore I'd never set foot in that classroom again.
But I was in hot pursuit of a crimson kiss, so I grabbed my book bag and said, "Let's go!"
We entered Room 512 to curious looks from Justin and his friends. They were obviously thinking, What are they doing here? and Travis Ung actually volunteered, "Mr. Webber's not here."
"Good," I laughed, and pulled up a seat next to Justin.
"Wassup?" he asked.
I took his hand and wrote my phone number on his palm.
"It's vanishing ink," I whispered in his ear. "Use it tonight, or it disappears."
Then I grabbed Adrienne and left.
21
Rendezvous
"WOW," ADRIENNE GASPED as we hurried away. "You have become so gutsy!"
I giggled. "Is this living a fantasy or what?"
"No kidding!" She hesitated. "But what if he doesn't call?"
"Then I won't have wasted a bunch of time pining over someone who doesn't have my crimson kiss!"
Fortunately, this was not a problem.
He called at 7:02.
"Hey, Evangeline, it's Justin. W
assup?"
All of a sudden my mouth went dry. But I managed to sound passably confident as I said, "Meet me at the Prager Park gazebo in fifteen minutes."
"Why?"
My mouth now felt stuffed with cotton. "Hmm. If you have to ask, maybe you shouldn't come."
Had that even been intelligible? And what was I thinking? What if he said, "Why would I want to meet up with you?" How embarrassing would that be?
But then my ear buzzed with the sweet sound of "I'll be there."
I hung up, greatly relieved.
And slightly shocked!
It worked!
I was going to be meeting a romantic guy at a romantic setting.
We were going to do some romantic crimson kissing!
Since Prager Park is only a five-minute walk from the condo, I had plenty of time to take out some crimson-kissing insurance. I refreshed my lip gloss and mascara, then sprayed on some of my mother's musky perfume. It was sultry and very...smooth.
It occurred to me as I was spritzing my neck that there was no mention of Delilah's wearing sexy perfumes in A Crimson Kiss. It also occurred to me that if she did wear perfume, it would probably be more flowery than musky.
"Who cares?" I said out loud, then stalled for another ten minutes. Showing up five minutes late would be cool. Showing up five minutes early would not.
By the time I left the condo, I was completely giddy. It was a beautiful clear night with a nearly full moon; the air was crisp but not cold, I was meeting a dark-eyed, dashing-looking guy at a gazebo.... I actually twirled around twice as I strolled down the sidewalk. I wasn't just seeing a fantasy, I was actually living one!
Unfortunately, when I strolled up to the gazebo, I discovered that Justin Rodriguez had not yet arrived. The setting was perfect, but I couldn't enjoy the moonlight, or the sweet smell of honeysuckle, or the cool night air. Instead, I stood around for what seemed like an eternity feeling like a total dweeb and picked at a cuticle. I hate when I rip cuticles. They get all bleedy and oozy and gross. But once I start, I can't seem to stop until the whole thing's torn off.
By the time Justin appeared (out of nowhere, scaring the hell out of me), I'd ripped away the entire cuticle of my left thumb, worrying that I'd been stood up.
Confessions of a Serial Kisser Page 4