by Carol Rose
A few minutes later, Molly sat in her Celica in the parking lot of the Austin hospital, still in shock. She’d made the leap from interior designer to event planning earlier in the year and had made a pest of herself, hanging around Cheryl and other more seasoned planners. She’d developed skill in doing corporate events and kids’ birthday parties for parents who were too busy, too rich or too uninspired to arrange for even so small an event, but there was still so much she didn’t know.
She found herself scrolling through the Contacts in her phone, tapping on Drake’s number before she even realized it.
* * *
“Hello” Still typing out the thought he’d been working on when the phone rang, Drake answered absently, bending his neck to hold it against his ear.
“Hey.”
He stopped typing and reached up to grab his phone, recognizing Molly’s voice. Drake couldn’t help still feeling betrayed by her, but she’d been his best friend for too long to not answer. “Hey.”
Not even responding to what he knew was the guarded sound in his greeting, she said bluntly, “Cheryl’s hospitalized. She’s having a lumpectomy because a mammogram found a very small suspicious lump.”
“Oh.” He knew her mentor was an older woman named Cheryl. “Okay.”
Drake heard her take a deep breath. “She wants me to do the annual Austin Women’s League Easter Picnic in her place.”
“Okay.” He still didn’t know what was bringing the strained sound to her voice.
“The Austin Women’s League Easter Picnic?”
“Yeah. I think I’ve read about it. So what? I’m sure it’ll be a great way to make contacts.” It felt weird that the conversation didn’t feel weird. His friend was blackmailing him, after all.
“You don’t get it, Drake! This is huge. The annual Women’s League Easter Picnic is one of the biggest social events around Austin. Everyone will be there.”
He heard her wheezing a little, a sound he hadn’t heard since she was diagnosed with stress-induced asthma her first year in college when she’d taken seventeen hours and joined five clubs.
“Huh? Molly, are you alright?” It wasn’t often that tough, confident Molly struggled to believe in herself. This must have been a bigger deal than he knew. Drake pushed back from where his laptop sat on the work table by the window in his study.
“I know you’re probably really mad at me now,” her voice wobbled a little on the last word, “but I need someone to talk me down.”
Drake didn’t say anything for a moment. They’d done this for one another every now and then since college—one feeling overwhelmed and the other talking them through it. It had been easy for him because he didn’t know of a thing Molly couldn’t do.
“Moll?”
He heard her swallow.
“Yes.”
“You do know you’re the most capable, amazing person? I’m saying this even though you’re bailing on me and the blog and you’re blackmailing me. Just being totally honest here.” He paused a moment for effect. “I don’t know anyone better suited to do this picnic.”
She laughed. “Thanks for overlooking the blackmail thing and all I can say is that you don’t know anyone who can do this better, you must have a very small world. And you don’t know how big this event is.”
“Don’t be silly,” he admonished. “I’m a well-traveled, degreed journalist who just happens to write a home improvement blog. I know what I’m talking about. You can do this.”
Molly laughed again. “I’d be more impressed if you knew anything about event planning.”
Drake smiled into the phone. Leave it to Molly to point out his limitations at a moment like this. He said in a gentle voice, “You know you’re a pain in the ass, right? I’m trying to comfort you here.”
“Well, you need to try harder,” she recommended, still chuckling.
“Thanks. Hanging up now.” His finger hovered over the button.
“Don’t you dare!” she yelped.
“Did you need something?” Drake rocked back in his chair. He found the acerbic back-and-forth with Molly both familiar and comforting, in a strange way. Since he’d dealt with her rejection by accepting her friendship, they’d always been together. It wasn’t what he’d wanted back then, but it was damn good.
“Yes, asshole. I need you to help me remember that I’ve always pulled this kind of challenge out. That I’ve done tough things before.”
“You have,” he confirmed. “You always have. Every single time something was thrown at you. Remember the two week design job you had with that crazy owner in Buda? You know, the town right outside Austin?”
“Yes. He’d bought the house and was coming back from Europe with a new Russian bride.”
“And you did it. Right on time and in budget. In college, that play you were designing the sets for—“
“For the insane director. Yes,” Molly drew in a deep breath and released it. “Yes, I remember that. Must be something about me that I attract insane headcases.”
“And the time in your senior year when that inept professor kept saying she hadn’t gotten your final project—“
“And I produced time-coded emails. Yes, yes, I did handle that.”
“And you’ll handle this. Brilliantly. Why do you think I took this home improvement blog?” There it was. He’d thrown out the bone between them. What the hell was the matter with him?
Molly didn’t respond and he slogged on. “I took it because I knew you’d have my back. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
Only now she had. He cursed himself for having mentioned it. She was struggling as it was and he had to harp on this thing between them.
“I’m doing this for you, you know. Quitting giving you content.” Her words were abrupt, but softer. “Blackmailing you.”
“What are you talking about?” Drake could hear the hardening of his voice.
“Pulling out on this blog thing. Saying I’d tell your boss. It’s for you.”
Drake stared at the cursor blinking on his screen. She sounded kind, loving even, which made no sense in hell as she had bailed on him so completely.
“You need to feel strong. Independent. It’s no good, you being dependent on me. I said it before—you can do this, Drake.”
“Yeah.” He rolled over to back up to the words on the screen. “Yeah, you did say that before. Well, I gotta go.”
“Drake?”
“Yes,” he knew he sounded cold, but how the hell was he supposed to sound, what with everything the way it was between them.
“We need to do a project, You know, so you can learn,”
He didn’t respond. Drake wanted to tell her to take a flying leap.
“You don’t want to do this all on your own, do you?”
He’d never thought he’d have to do this on his own, but now that was how it felt. “No.”
She didn’t say anything to the bald word.
“No. No, I don’t want to do it on my own.” He looked down at his hands resting on the keyboard.
“Then we have to work together. I have to teach you.” She paused a minute. “Didn’t you say you have a sink that drips. That’s a simple fix. Want to help me? You should get a column out of it.”
“Okay. When do you want to do it?”
“How about Saturday afternoon. We can do it then—start to finish—and you can get it written up before your deadline.”
“Okay. Okay, I’ll be your plumber’s assistant.” Drake pushed the button to end the call. Molly had called him in her moment of distress, but she didn’t really need him the way he needed her.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER TWO
“Hand me that wrench. Yes, the crescent one over there. See,” Molly said, “it’s shaped a little like a crescent moon.”
She stood over the open back of his toilet. Wearing short shorts and a work shirt tied at her waist, her long tanned legs made her look young, healthy and surprisingly friendly, despite the very unfriendl
y position she’d taken about the blog.
Drake fought with a sensation of heaviness in his chest. He’d get through this. He always did, but it stunk that she was pulling the plug on their joint venture. Even though he didn’t know crap about working with his hands, he realized that wasn’t the only thing bugging him about her defection.
He’d enjoyed the weekly back and forth over her text. Him and Molly, together.
Well, after they’d moved beyond her ending things to go out with another guy.
The girl was right about one thing. She was no writer. On the other hand, Drake mused, looking at her poised over the toilet, she had skills he lacked.
And she looked a heck of a lot better in work clothes. The view was distracting him from learning anything.
“Yeah, that wrench there.” She pointed at the pile of tools on the postage stamp floor, clearly believing she was being helpful.
Drake’s hand hovered over the tools before he picked one. He handed it to her, reaching around the porcelain bowl again. “I was much younger the last time I hugged a toilet.”
She sent him a deadpan look from the other side of the toilet cubicle. “You weren’t that much younger. College wasn’t that far back. Here. Hold this.”
He received the wrench, shifting his back against the wall on the other side of the toilet. “Don’t kid yourself. It was a lifetime ago. Hey, I thought we were going to fix the kitchen faucet that drips.”
“We were,” she said, “until I heard your toilet running constantly. Hasn’t this driven you nuts? You must have heard it.”
“Of course, I’ve heard it.” And ignored it. He’d planned to get a plumber in here when he could.
The small bathroom was littered with items Drake couldn’t even identify. Molly had brought a bag from the hardware store when she’d come to teach him how to fix the leaky faucet, but that task had been abandoned and the bag now sat next to the toilet tank lid in the corner of the tiny bathroom. A second bag from the hardware—he was swiftly developing a dislike of the place—sat next to the first, Molly having decided they had to replace the toilet’s “guts”, whatever they were.
“Okay.” She moved back to examine the inside of the toilet. “Come look at this. Right here.”
He peered in the watery tank. “Umm. Yeah.”
“See this?” She pointed to a plastic tube that appeared to be affixed to the bottom of the water-filled tank. “This is the overflow pipe.”
“What’s the other pipe thing that’s standing up there?” If she was seriously not going to help him with the blog anymore, he figured he better try to learn something.
He still couldn’t believe Molly was not only bailing on him, she’d actually threatened to go to Mike about this. Good grief! They’d known each other forever.
“That’s the refill tube. The inlet tube. It has the valve attached. Here? See this? It’s got a cap that goes up and down and there’s this little tube—the fill tube—that’s clipped to the overflow pipe here.” Molly pointed at the first tube, continuing to list parts.
He tried to listen and absorb it all, but despite having written them at various times for the blog, Drake wasn’t sure how they all worked together. “So that tube—“
“...brings the water in to fill the tank.”
“And this thing here—“ Drake reached to pull loose a metal thing holding the small white tube.
“No!” Molly yelled just as he took the piece from the pipe to get a better look at it.
Water suddenly jetted from the small tube now free in his hand, hitting Molly in the chest and bouncing up into her face.
Jerking back, Drake grabbed at the tube, which sprang out of his hand as if it had a life of its own.
“Yeooww!!” Molly yelped as water erupted, spraying from the little hose, hitting the walls, the toilet and them both.
Drake grasped at it—the tube flipping around as if it were suddenly possessed by the devil—and he finally managed to shoved the thing back in the tube where it had been clipped, holding it there while he glanced over at Molly.
On the other side of the toilet, she leaned back against the cubicle wall, drenched. Her once-crisp shirt that had been perkily tied at her waist, now dripping, the fabric hugging her curves in clinging detail.
She mopped the drops from her face and speared her fingers through her short white blonde hair to push it back off her face. “This is why it’s called the fill tube.”
Struggling to keep a tremor of laughter out of his voice, Drake said, “I can see that.”
“Okay, smarty pants. You’re just as wet as I am.” She pushed the tube further into its position, clipping it back on to the bigger tube.
“True.” He straightened, leaning back against the cubicle wall behind him. “But it looks better on you.”
“Ha ha.” Raking her hand through her hair again, she made a face.
“Here.” Molly reached behind the toilet, near the wall. “Tell your readers to do this first. Turn off the water here and then flush the toilet to drain the tank.”
Drake looked under the toilet. The cut-off knobs seemed clear enough. “Okay. Turn those off and then flush.”
“Go ahead.” She braced herself against the wall again. “You do it. We learn by doing, not listening.”
“Are you always this snippy when you’re teaching plumbing?”
She glared at him, more comical because she now looked like she’d entered a wet t-shirt contest. “Shut up and do it.”
Reaching behind the toilet to turn off the valves, he reflected that in certain circumstances—with the right partner—home repairs could be fun.
* * *
“Did you take notes?” Aaron shoved back his glasses. “Because Emma’s been after me to fix the toilet in the cabana.
“Seriously? You have a high-paying job, you handle million dollar accounts and you have to fix the toilet yourself?” Drake looked at his friend as he lifted his glass to drink.
Laughter from another group at a table nearby mingled with cheers from people playing at a pool table in the back of funky Austin area bar.
His friend’s mouth turned down. “You know we live on a conservative budget.”
“Yeah, so says the man with a cabana.”
Sitting at a corner table in the darkened bar, the two friends sat in silence for a few minutes.
“Well, Emma says men who can work with their hands are hot,” Aaron admitted before lifting his own glass to his lips.
“She wouldn’t say that if she saw a toilet actually being repaired. Besides, she married you. You’re even less of a Mr. Fixit than me.”
His friend returned his glass to the table. “I don’t know. You’ve got to admit though—from everything you said—that the wet shirt thing was pretty good.”
Drake shrugged. “Of course, but it was Molly. Not like we raced to the nearest bed and got it on. Sadly.”
“Who needs a bed?” his friend asked, leering at him.
“You gotta be kidding me!” He gave a shout of laughter. “You’ve been watching too much porn. Do you expect me to believe that after ripping the wet shirt off of Emma, you’d have dropped to your knees and gone to town on her tits right there in the bathroom?”
“No,” Aaron said after a gloomy moment. “Not a bad idea, but no.”
Shaking his head and still laughing, Drake said, “I still can’t see you fixing the toilet. Or me, either, for that matter.”
“I can see you fixing one,” his friend said, surprisingly.
He sat his glass down, having lifted it to take a drink. “You can?”
“Sure. Just because you haven’t done it before, doesn’t mean you can’t. You figure out what you need to figure out. You’re just that kind of guy. Once you set your mind to something, you make it work. Remember that time we were all going to Cancun for spring break? You were short on cash for the trip, but you realized you could write Levi’s resume for him and make the money to come with us.”
“Yeah,
I wrote my way out of that one.” Drake couldn’t help the sarcasm in his voice.
“Still. You figured it out. We all knew Levi had graduated early and was looking for a job. Hell, he always had too much money. You just found a way to earn it from him.”
“Long way from fixing a toilet. Maybe Levi could use a writer now.”
“You know he’s a big time agent in California now. Unless you want to go into acting, I’m not sure he could give you a job. Still, he proves my point,” Aaron said doggedly. “You had a problem back in college; you fixed it.”
Drake let out a gusty breath. “Maybe so, but I never wanted to be a fix-it guy in the home improvement sense. Maybe I should have gone to law school instead of journalism. Better than having to learn to fix roofs and toilets.”
“Being handy has its benefits.” Aaron seemed envious. “Women like men who are good with their hands.”
Shaking his head, Drake laughed. “Emma must watch a lot of HGTV. It’s mild girl porn, all those hot contractor guys.”
“Women don’t need porn. They have the real thing, not that they need it. We’d give them sex anytime they want it.”
“Maybe Emma just doesn’t want to be limited to fantasizing about you.”
He was only half-serious, but his friend just shrugged, seeming to accept his limitations equitably.
They sat in companionable silence again, looking up at a football game that silently played out on a big screen above the bar.
“So, Molly’s not going to help with the blog anymore,” Aaron mused after a few minutes.
“No.” Drake felt his mouth twist into an ugly smile. “She’s all caught up in the Easter gig she got.”
His friend looked mildly interested. “Easter gig?”
“Yeah, an older friend of hers usually does it, but the woman’s having some sort of surgery, so she’s handed the Women’s League Easter picnic off to Molly.”
“Wow.” Aaron blew out an impressed whistle. “That’s a big deal, working with the Women’s League. On the Easter celebration? They go all out for that one. It’s their biggest fundraiser of the year.”
“Well, Molly’s really excited to be doing it. I think she’s auditioning bunnies today.” Drake took another sip of his drink.