“It wasn’t your fault. I couldn’t sleep, either.” Annabelle came over and sat on the bed.
Genevieve looked at her mother, her cheeks rubbed pink from scooching down into the pillow the way she always did when she tried to sleep and couldn’t. How young she looked in this light. And after all, she was young, only forty-one.
“I hate that you’re so worried about this trip, Mama,” she said. She put her half-finished whittling project back on the windowsill.
“I probably shouldn’t be, but I can’t seem to get it out of my mind that something important’s going to change.”
“That’s because it will, and for the better. This is the man for me.” She sat on the bed beside her mother. “But I hope you’re not scared that I’ll run off and get married and leave you to fend for yourself with Lincoln. I would never do that.”
“I know, honey.” Annabelle reached over and squeezed Genevieve’s hand. “You shouldn’t have to be thinking that way in the first place, but we’ve almost got Lincoln raised. Another couple of years and he can get a job to help out.”
Genevieve laughed. “Do you think by then he’ll have normal hair? I don’t think McDonald’s will take him looking like Uncle Sam’s goofy nephew.”
“Oh, that hair is just a passing phase. At least he didn’t want to pierce his tongue like Chad did.”
“You’re right. A stud in his tongue would really creep me out.”
“Me, too,” her mother said. “I think Lincoln’s doing okay, considering.”
“Considering nothing, Mama! You’ve done a super job. We don’t need a man around to raise Lincoln.”
“Well, that’s good, since we don’t have one.”
But they might soon, Genevieve thought, if matters progressed with Nick. She wondered how Nick would react to Lincoln’s patriotic hair when the two got to know each other. Having a guy around would be a real change for Lincoln, for sure. None of Genevieve’s boyfriends had paid much attention to him, and Annabelle hadn’t dated a man since Lincoln’s daddy took off. Genevieve had tried to talk her into dating, but Mama wouldn’t hear of it.
“The main thing is, Lincoln’s not walking around with a plug of tobacco tucked under his lip,” Annabelle said. “If we’d stayed in the Hollow, he’d have his chaw going by now and be measuring how far he could spit. I’m so thankful for the King’s undies coming to us. I hate that Granny Neville died, but I’m sure glad I got those Jockeys.”
Genevieve glanced at her. “You know, there’s something I’ve always wondered. How would anyone know for sure they belonged to Elvis? Why couldn’t a person have written his name on the label for a joke?”
“Because of the little notches.”
“Notches?”
Annabelle nodded. “When he was a teenager, instead of a notch in his belt, which his mama would have noticed, he’d cut a little notch out of his underwear label each time he got lucky. The fellow I sold those Jockeys to had a contact from Elvis’s early years who said it was true, and the writing matched a sample of his mama’s printing.” She snuck a peek at Genevieve. “All this time you never asked how Granny Neville happened to have them.”
“I always thought she’d found them at the Goodwill Store. You can find some amazing things in that store.”
“Well, she didn’t find them at the Goodwill.”
Genevieve stared at her mother, who had a definite twinkle in her eye. “You’re not telling me she was a notch?”
“She would have been, except they heard her daddy coming down the hall, so Elvis grabbed up his pants, shirt, and shoes and dove right out the window. He left his underwear behind.”
Genevieve flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “Granny Neville almost made it with Elvis Presley?”
“He wasn’t famous then, so I’m not sure it counts.”
“You haven’t told Lincoln this, have you?”
“Now, what do you think?”
Genevieve propped herself on her elbows, resettled her glasses on her nose and looked at her mother. “No, I guess you wouldn’t. He’d spread it all over. But he knows about the underwear, and sooner or later he’ll start asking questions.”
“If I think he’s ready to hear it and won’t go embarrassing us with the information, then I’ll tell him. If he isn’t, then I won’t.”
“It’s kind of weird to think of somebody related to us being in bed with the King.” Genevieve’s curiosity was killing her. “Did she say anything about…about what it was like or anything?”
“Only that he was the prettiest boy she’d ever seen and she never forgave her daddy for coming home so unexpected. The women in our family have a weakness for good-looking men.” She paused. “Good-looking men who love you and leave you to cry.”
Genevieve knew exactly what her mama was getting at. “Nick’s different. You’ll see.”
“I hope you’re right. Honey, I hate to ask you this,” her mama said, “but will you call me when you get safely to Maui?”
“Sure.” Genevieve sat up and gave her a hug. “Sure, I’ll call. Now go on back to bed, and I’ll go back to bed, too, I promise.”
Annabelle stood and walked to the door. “I’d also like to meet him when he comes to fetch you.”
Genevieve hesitated, not wanting to complicate things at this tender stage of the relationship. “I’m not sure we’ll have time. He didn’t say anything about coming in, and I wouldn’t want to make him late for his meeting.”
“Okay, then I’ll walk you to his car and say a quick hello.”
“Well, I’m not sure…” Genevieve thought it would be sort of embarrassing to have her mother walk her out, considering the nature of this trip with Nick. Then she saw the concern on her mother’s face, and she decided being embarrassed wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Leaving her mother to fret because she hadn’t laid eyes on her daughter’s lover would be a lot worse.
“Okay,” she said. “Then you’ll be able to see that he looks exactly like Cary Grant, just like I was telling you.”
Matt Murphy sat at his favorite open-air bar and nursed a gin and tonic while he watched the waves roll in on Waikiki Beach. With the moon shining on the water and a couple of sailboats rocking at anchor, it was a postcard view, and he was tired of having nobody to share it with.
“Last call, Mr. Murphy,” said the cocktail waitress, a pretty redhead who was too young for him.
“Then hit me again. I feel sobriety creeping up on me.” One advantage of giving Theresa the big house on the hill as part of the divorce decree was that his new apartment was within walking distance of this bar, so he could come down here every night, drink himself silly, and not worry about getting a DUI while he made his way home.
It wasn’t a particularly good habit to get into and he knew it. Yet he hadn’t come up with any healthier ways to spend his evenings, so this filled the gap for the time being.
Tonight he was feeling particularly gloomy. He’d never liked the way Nick ran through the company secretaries, and he’d had several arguments with his partner about it. But Nick had rightly pointed out that he hadn’t twisted anybody’s arm. A woman was free to turn him down with no fear of reprisal.
True as that was, Matt still didn’t like Nick’s behavior. A few years ago his partner’s love life had amused him, but the joke had worn thin. Nick had worn thin, unfortunately. When they’d met in an economics class at Hawaii Pacific, Matt had really liked the guy. But during that period, Matt’s judgment of people had been suspect. Witness his marriage to Theresa.
Matt had finally caught on to the self-centeredness of both his wife and his partner, but not until he was very married to Theresa and locked tightly into a partnership with Nick. That aside, Nick had turned into a damn good salesman, and the increasing value of Rainbow Systems was due in large part to his efforts. The company was now worth so much that Matt couldn’t afford to buy out his partner even if he wanted to.
During one of their arguments Nick had said the
y should sell the whole shooting match, retire early, and loaf for the rest of their lives. Matt couldn’t imagine such a thing. The fact that Nick could showed how much of a narcissist he’d become. Matt had learned that term during a counseling session prior to the end of his marriage to the other narcissist in his life, Theresa. Matt would have been hard-pressed to hand Nick his share of the company’s net worth even before the divorce stripped him bare. Now it would be impossible.
So he was forced to keep his mouth shut as Nick continued his Don Juan activities. Each time Matt prayed that the chosen secretary would tell Nick where he could put his little trip to Maui. But Nick apparently knew how to pick ‘em, because no one had turned him down yet. Not even Genevieve.
Matt had thought for sure Genevieve wouldn’t fall for Nick’s routine, but apparently she had. Having Farley go with them probably wouldn’t make much of an impact, but Matt was glad he’d sent the programmer along, for several reasons. Farley would definitely handle the Aloha Pineapple situation, and it was always good for the software creators to see how the actual customers used the product so the programmers weren’t working in a vacuum.
Besides, the trip might jolt Farley out of his rut. The guy needed to get a life, and this little trip might help him realize that. There was also the slightest chance that he’d louse up Nick’s planned seduction, and no one would be happier to see that happen than Matt.
The waitress came over with his G and T, a lime slice hooked over the rim of the glass instead of a wedge of lime in the glass. A few nights ago Matt had made a comment about liking the look of a lime slice on the glass, and she’d been doing it that way ever since.
“Here you go,” she said. “We don’t have any other customers. Mind if I sit down a minute?”
“I’d be honored…uh…” Cindy? Sherry? For the life of him, he couldn’t remember her name.
“Celeste.” She said it with a smile, as if she wasn’t the least insulted that he’d forgotten.
“Celeste. Thank you. I’d buy you a drink, except I don’t think you could have one while you’re working, and you’re probably sick of looking at glasses of booze, anyhow.”
“I don’t drink,” she said.
“Smart girl.” He polished off the last of his old drink and reached for the new one she’d brought. “I’m thinking of giving it up for Lent.”
She laughed, showing off teeth that probably set her parents back several grand at the orthodontist’s. “But this is July. Lent isn’t for a long time. Months.”
“I know.” He squeezed the lime juice into his drink and dropped the slice in with a satisfying plop. “I don’t want to be hasty about a big decision like that.”
“You’re so funny.” She gazed at him. “I assume since you come down here so many nights and you don’t wear a ring that you’re not married.”
“Not anymore. We split.”
“I sort of thought so. Dating anyone?”
“I think I’ve forgotten how to date.”
“That’s too bad.”
Any idiot could see where this conversation was going. Might as well nip it in the bud. “Celeste, I’m forty-three years old, and if I’d stayed married I would have celebrated my twenty-first wedding anniversary this year. I don’t happen to have any kids, but if I did, I could conceivably have a daughter your age.”
“So?” She seemed totally unfazed by his statistical review.
He leaned back in his chair and studied her. Smooth, unlined face, red hair in little ringlets down to her shoulders, perky breasts, small waist, nice legs. “The thing is, I can’t imagine what a beautiful young woman like you finds interesting about an old fart like me.”
She braced her chin on her hand. “Then I’ll tell you. For one thing, you have a very compassionate face.”
“Oh, God. You really know how to hurt a guy, don’t you?”
She laughed again. “I guess you’d rather hear that you look a little bit like George Clooney.”
“Yeah, right. Me and George. Like twins. We both have two eyes, a nose, and a mouth.”
“More than that! There’s something about the way you grin, and your eyes are that same warm brown.”
He sat forward as he realized that, unbelievably, she was edging them toward decision time. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? You’re hitting on me.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”
He considered what it would be like to make love to this young sprite, and the concept had definite appeal. He’d been a long time without, and here she was, bypassing all that awkward dating business, something he’d been dreading, thus postponing. But he couldn’t imagine what would be in it for her.
Maybe she thought he was rich. “Do you know what I do for a living?” he asked.
“Haven’t a clue.”
“Well, that’s good, because my title sounds very important, but after the divorce I have zero liquidity.”
“Mr. Murphy, I’m not interested in your money.”
He should turn her down, but damn, this was balm for his bruised ego. “Under the circumstances you might want to start calling me Matt.”
“Matt.” She gave him a slow, assessing smile. “Matt is perfect for you.”
“My name used to be George, but I had to change it because people kept getting me mixed up with that Clooney joker, and that was so annoying.”
“See, that’s one of the things I find so attractive about you. So many guys my age take themselves too seriously.”
“They have to. Nobody else does.” He paused, still wondering if flirting with her was such a good idea. “This isn’t about you getting ignored by your father when you were a little tyke, is it?”
“Nope.” She grinned. “My father dotes on me. So does my mother. Look, Matt, I’m not hoping to get engaged or anything. I don’t even see this as the beginning of a long-term relationship. In two weeks I’m moving back to California. I just happen to be hot for you. I’m available, you’re available. I say let’s take advantage of the moment.”
Amazing. How times had changed since he’d played the dating game. Maybe Nick had the right idea and Matt was the one out of step.
He set aside his drink. “Your place or mine?”
“Oh, mine, definitely. I have the most awesome collection of condoms. I’m guessing if you’re recently divorced, you haven’t stocked up yet.”
“You’d be right about that.”
She smiled gently. “First time with a new woman?”
He nodded.
She leaned forward and touched her finger to his mouth. “Then just relax and go with the flow, Matt Murphy. I’m going to be your transition babe.”
Genevieve was up an hour before she had to be, which gave her uninterrupted time in the bathroom. She used a new razor on her legs and under her arms. She put on her glasses to check her bikini line and was relieved to discover it still looked good from the last time she’d used hair removal lotion on it.
Her tummy quivering with nervous anticipation, she rubbed lotion everywhere she could reach and misted herself with cologne. Thanks to her mother’s coaching, she knew not to put on too much. She switched scents according to the season of the year. Because it was summer, her cologne was called Seaside.
As she put in her contacts, she wondered if Nick knew that she wore them. She thought about tucking a pair of glasses into the suitcase, then decided against it. Glasses made her look like too much of a nerd. She ought to be able to make it from the bed to the bathroom in the morning without bumping into anything.
Next she gave the ends of her hair a touch with the curling iron and did her makeup. Last she put on the dress she’d chosen after much inner debate. It was white with red hibiscus flowers on it, and the color combination made her hair look more blond than brown. With the jacket on, the dress was fairly conservative. But without the jacket, the skimpy little slip dress wasn’t even slightly conservative.
Genevieve wore the jacket to the breakfast table, but ther
e was no getting something past her mama.
“Loaded for bear, I see,” Annabelle said when Genevieve appeared in the kitchen.
“Once you meet Nick, you’ll understand.”
“I expect I understand now. I poured you some juice.”
“Thanks.” She eyed the stove where her mother was cooking up a mess of grits. “Juice is probably all I’m going to have this morning, Mama.”
“Some grits will help settle your stomach.”
Genevieve smiled. Her mother had said that very thing on so many occasions. She’d eaten her mama’s grits before cheerleading tryouts, before final exams her senior year in high school, before her job interview with Rainbow Systems.
“Go on, sit down.”
Genevieve sat down and ate a bowl of grits.
The cure worked pretty well. Or maybe it was the calming effect of sitting across from her mother, each of them in the chairs they always used at this table. Annabelle took the chair closest to the stove. Genevieve sat across from her with her back to the wall. Lincoln’s chair, nearest to the back door, was empty this morning because Annabelle let him sleep in during the summer.
The fourth chair was usually stacked with things, mail and magazines and the daily paper. Genevieve noticed the front section of the paper was folded back to the weather report. Her mother had been checking on their flying conditions, no doubt.
But Annabelle didn’t talk about the weather. Instead she told Genevieve about a client at the salon who was having an affair with a man on the Internet. Genevieve listened to the familiar sound of her mother’s voice and remembered that Annabelle used to sing around the house back in Tennessee.
“Mama, how come you don’t sing anymore?”
Her mother looked startled. “I don’t?”
“If you do, I never hear you.”
Annabelle gazed off into space for a few seconds. “I don’t know. Got out of the habit, I guess.”
“You should get back into the habit. I liked hearing you sing.”
Nerd in Shining Armor Page 3