The Woodworker

by Westlake, Samantha

  “You’re looking good,” she said, as we sat down.

  “You too.” Did she mean that, or was she just being polite? “I’m not taking you away from your new job?”

  “It’s the weekend,” she answered, one eyebrow slightly raised, and I couldn’t keep myself from laughing. That was the razor-sharp, sassy Eileen that I knew.

  It was as if my laugh unlocked something inside of her. I couldn’t put my finger quite on what changed, but her features had softened a little when I next looked at her, her smile a little bit more natural. “I’ve been working a whole bunch, so I sort of lose track of the days,” I confessed. “For which I blame you, by the way.”

  She blinked. “Me? Why me?”

  “Because you set up this stupid website that keeps on sending me new orders! Just when I think I’ve got a moment’s peace, the printer starts up, and I’ve got another project to tackle!”

  “Oh good, you figured out where new orders arrived,” she said. “I was worried that you would just stop filling them, and I’d be the one dealing with all the angry calls from spurned customers.”

  I laughed, and for a minute, it was like she’d never left, like I’d never forced her out of my house. But the moment passed, and a cloud fell once again over her face, the space widening between us.

  “This came in the mail yesterday,” Eileen said, reaching into her purse and producing a letter, stuffed back into its envelope. She handed it to me, sitting back and waiting as I read through it.

  “Yesterday?” I asked, once I finished reading. “But you called me today.”

  “I didn’t…” she paused, and I realized that she’d been nervous to reach out to me! Eileen Davies, nervous about something! “I didn’t want to disturb you until I’d checked it over.”

  “And it’s legit?” I asked, not calling her on her flimsy excuse.

  She nodded. “You’re a finalist. They’ve announced it on their site. And you’ve got two tickets to the gala where they announce the winner.” I’d seen the tickets already, tucked into the envelope with the letter. “You probably need to find someone to ask soon – the gala is just a week away.”

  “So soon? Seems like they’d benefit from having someone like you to kick their asses into shape.”

  I smiled with the comment, trying to show that it was a joke. Eileen smiled back, but I still saw a bit of sadness lurking at the corners of her eyes. Someone else might have missed it, but I’d come to know her micro-expressions well, learned to read her like the expense reports that still lay scattered around my house.

  “Are you going to go?” she asked.

  I paused, caught off guard by the question. I hadn’t considered whether I’d attend or not. Normally, I’d declare that I wouldn’t be caught dead at an event like this. It sounded like it would have everything I hated: competition and judgement from jealous outsiders, a requirement that I put on fancy, uncomfortable clothes, and a long night of accepting insincere congratulations from others while they needled me for every tiny instance that I was less than perfect.

  But on the other hand, seeing Eileen again, I found myself seized by a sudden lightness, rising up from my stomach. Maybe there was a way to make even a stuffy, stuck-up gala like this bearable…

  “Will you come with me?”

  Her eyes widened, and at least half of my brain cried out that I was making a crazy, stupid, idiotically impulsive decision in even asking. Even I wasn’t sure why I was asking her, the one woman I knew would be more pissed at me than anyone else, and not likely to consider forgiveness.

  And yet, despite it all, I didn’t want this to be the last time we saw each other.

  The question hung in the air between us, floating on the thickening silence, until-

  “Yes.” She looked just as surprised by the answer as I’d been by the question, but she’d given it. I couldn’t let her take it back, think better of the stupidly impulsive decision.

  “Great.” I stood up, deciding that it might be best for me to remove myself from the situation before I stuck my foot in my mouth and ruined whatever remained of her good opinion of me. I couldn’t help, however, giving her a wink on my way out. “I’m looking forward to seeing you get all dolled up.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but I quickened my pace, thanking my long legs. They carried me out of there before she could get out a biting reply.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Eileen

  * * *

  “What was I thinking, Lisa?” I moaned, leaning back further on her sofa and pushing the cushion down harder onto my face. “Why didn’t I just say no? I could have been out!”

  “Out?” she repeated. I couldn’t see her, the pillow obstructing my vision, but I heard the frown on her face. “What do you mean?”

  I punched the pillow. “I mean that I’m almost over him, past all this! I have a new job, I’ve got my check from Integrated Technologies so that I can get on with my life, and I’m ready to put all this behind me.”

  “All this, including Rick?”

  “Especially Rick,” I growled. I pulled myself back upright. The pillow dropped down to my lap as I shot daggers at Lisa. “The guy was a rude ass, and any redeeming qualities he might have are buried under way too much arrogance and bullshit.”

  She didn’t answer, just gazed back at me over the lip of her coffee mug. I loved her like the sister I’d never had, but in that moment, I felt an overwhelming temptation to smack the mug out of her hand and spill all her tea on her living room rug.

  “You’re thinking something,” I accused her.

  She shrugged – not a denial. “I’m often thinking, Ellie.”

  “Yes, but now you’re thinking something about me. About Rick and me. What is it?”

  She took another sip before answering, the noise digging into my eardrums. “You keep telling me how you hate him.”

  “I do,” I said, not sure if I was acknowledging that I told her these things, or that I truly hated the man.

  “Why?”

  I held up my fingers, ticking off the reasons. “Let’s take a tally. He’s rude, arrogant, and smug. He thinks he’s so amazing, God’s gift to humanity, that he’s got it all figured out.”

  “And he doesn’t?” she asked.

  “No! Look at the shambles of his business before I arrived! He had to rent out his room to me because he wasn’t making enough from his work. I turned that all around for him, got his life back on track.”

  “And he never thanked you for it, is that it?”

  I started to open my mouth, but my mind summoned up memories of long nights with Rick, leaning against him as we watched some silly action movie he’d insisted that I needed to experience. I remembered the warmth and strength of his arm around me, how I’d turn and look up at him, how he’d smile back down at me, and I felt suddenly safe and sheltered in a way I’d never experienced before. I remembered his amazement at what I did for his website, how he drew me into his bed and loved me. How he kissed me so fiercely, how that was true and real, nothing held back.

  Even when I saw him earlier today, when he asked me to this stupid gala – he’d still been annoyed, I could see that, but there’d also been something else there in his eyes. Something that compelled him to ask me to accompany him, to take the second ticket. Something that still tugged at me.

  I realized that I’d been silent for several seconds – more than long enough for Lisa to confirm her suspicions. I looked up at her, saw the same knowledge reflected in her eyes that I felt burning inside my chest. I groaned, turned and buried my face down in the cushion once again.

  “I really like him, don’t I?” I asked, the cushion muffling my words. “I really like him.”

  I heard Lisa laugh. “Like? Honey, you’re full-blown head over heels in love with Rick. And you must have been this way for a while, if you’re only acknowledging it now.”

  That dragged another groan out of me. “What do I do?”

  When I turned my head to see her face,
she wore a beaming grin. “You win him back, of course!” she stated, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “What?”

  She leveled a finger at me, like the barrel of a shotgun. “Go out and find something to wear that’s stunning, that smacks him in the head with how hot and perfect you are. Go to this gala thing with him, seduce him, romance him into bed and have his babies, and live happily ever after!”

  “Lisa!”

  She huffed. “Come on, Eileen! Get out of your head for once! You’ve always been so cold and calculating. You always listen to your brain instead of your heart. You’ve spent enough time with Rick for your heart to know that he’s a good guy, even if your brain is way behind. So stop fighting it and get him, before the best guy you’ve met in a long time goes slipping through your hands!”

  I opened my mouth, intending to calmly refute her argument. But that would be exactly what I’d do if I was thinking with my head.

  Was Lisa right? Was it time to act with my heart, to make those crazy, stupid, impulsive decisions? Was it time for me to stop acting like Eileen Davies, Modern Woman In Full Control, and instead act like the heroines in some of Rick’s films, making the wild choice to bet everything on the intrepid hero?

  Two days later, the same battle warred in my head as I stood in the middle of Nordstrom’s, looking at seas of expensive dresses. I’d tried on half a dozen different dresses, now, and honestly couldn’t tell whether they made me look amazing or like a bag full of potatoes. I normally considered myself a great judge of fashion, but I was now realizing that my experience fell off a cliff once I left the professional space. I knew exactly how to pair a blouse with gray slacks and a light blazer to look confident and capable of landing million-dollar deals. I didn’t have the slightest idea how tight a dress should cling to my ass, or where to draw the line between sultry and scandalous.

  “Eileen! Yoo-hoo – is that you?”

  I turned towards the voice, wondering why it sounded familiar. It made sense when I saw the face – Jack O’Toole, of all people, stood in the middle of the sea of fancy clothing and beamed as he rushed towards me!

  I only had a second before his arms were around me, squeezing and giving me a single lungful of his flowery cologne before he released me. “Oh my god, it is you!” he exclaimed, as if there’d been any doubt. “I can’t believe it! How are you?”

  Possibly in love, and definitely in way over my head. “I’m doing well, Jack,” I replied, some of the natural formalness snapping back into my voice by reflex. “And you?”

  He sighed. “Things are awful, let me tell you. I could tell you some stories that would make you want to rip all that gorgeous hair of yours right out.” He sighed, gazing dramatically off into space. “But,” he continued, the drama abating as fast as it had appeared, “it’s great to see you! What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to find an outfit.” No point in lying about why I looked lost in the middle of the formal women’s wear section. “Want to help me out?”

  He beamed. “What is this? The chance to play dress-up with my former boss, the only one who was halfway nice to me? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He turned and looked around at some of the outfits on racks around us. “Now, what are we dressing for?”

  Briefly, trying to not mention Rick directly, I explained that I’d been invited as a guest to a gala held by the San Diego Fine Woodworkers’ Association. Jack absorbed this without comment, but I saw his eyebrows creep steadily higher on his forehead.

  “My god, you really have come out of this smelling like roses, haven’t you?” he asked when I finished. “Look at you. I was a little concerned when you got canned, but you’ve totally got things even better than before. Who’s the guy?”

  “What?” I hadn’t said anything about Rick!

  Jack laughed, apparently at my expression, as he grabbed a couple dresses off their racks. “You can’t hide it from me, Miss Davies – or is it Eileen, now that you’re not my boss?”

  “Eileen is fine, I suppose,” I said, still trying to work out how he saw through my obfuscation so quickly. “And the guy is named Rick, Rick Morgan. He’s the woodworker who invited me to this gala.”

  “And you’re totally head over heels for him, so you need to pull off an absolute knockout look to win him over,” Jack finished, again demonstrating his uncanny ability to seemingly read my thoughts. “Gosh, can I be the one to help? You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to play dress-up with you.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him. “Oh, not like that – no need to call HR on me,” he sighed, reaching past me to flick through the outfits I’d picked up so far. “None of these are going to work, by the way. You’re shopping in the ‘old lady’ section of the store.”

  I followed after Jack, growing steadily more concerned as I looked at the outfits he was pulling off the racks. “So how’s work?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the thought of how much skin he clearly wanted me to put on display.

  “It’s awful, let me tell you,” he replied immediately over his shoulder. “Ooh, this is a great little black dress. You need to try this one on. You were really the bright spot of working there, and now that you’re gone, it’s all stuffed shirts and overpriced suits, most of whom don’t notice that they’ve put on twenty pounds since they last got the outfit fitted to them.” He rolled his eyes back at me. “Guts sticking out everywhere.”

  A picture of Rick on full display swam into my thoughts, and I blushed. Certainly no gut sticking out on him! It wouldn’t break past his chiseled abs. Woodworking certainly built up a lot of sexy muscles on a man…

  “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Jack guessed, making the blush on my cheeks grow five shades darker. “You definitely need this one.” He thrust a dress out at me.

  Ten minutes later, my cheeks felt like they were permanently dyed scarlet as I stepped out of the dressing room. “This is way too short!” I protested, attempting to tug down the hemline to cover at least half of my thighs.

  Jack, on the other hand, gasped and clutched his hands together. “No, it’s perfect!” he insisted. “You don’t even need to try on the others. Come on, Eileen. Look in the mirror – no, even better, wait! Cover your eyes!”

  He tugged me in front of the dressing room mirror, hands reaching up to fluff out my hair, pulling it out of my ponytail. I obediently kept my eyes shut, although I was sure that I’d look like a stripper.

  “You’re sexy, not slutty,” Jack said, as if reading my thoughts. “And you’re standing all slumped and frumpy. Come on, straighten up. Butt and boobs out. Chin up. God, you don’t even need makeup. Just some product in your hair, maybe some curls.”

  I tried to match the shape that he pushed me into, tried to keep my chest out and my head up. It felt weird to be posing with my eyes closed. “Can I look now?”

  “Now,” he affirmed.

  I opened my eyes – and stared at the gorgeous, domineering woman whose eyes flashed as she looked back at me through the mirror’s glass. The little black dress clung to her curves, highlighted them while somehow preserving their elegance. She looked like a Valkyrie of high society, an unstoppable force.

  That was me, I realized after another second of wonderment.

  “That is a real woman,” Jack murmured behind me. “The kind of woman who could march back into Integrated Technologies, plant her stiletto on Sanders’ crotch, and demand to get his job – and he’d give it to her. That’s the kind of woman who can get any man she wants.”

  I believed him. “Integrated Technologies is falling apart?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. Buy this dress right now, buy me a drink, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Coffee. Not alcohol.”

  He pouted, but nodded. “Deal. You don’t have any opportunities for me, do you? Because trust me, I’d abandon this place in a heartbeat…”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Eileen

  * * *

&nbs
p; I stood just inside Lisa’s front door, staring out through the little windows in her house’s entrance, desperately fighting the urge to dance back and forth on the ungainly high heels. Lisa and Shay worked together to style my hair, and it hung in a cascade of curls that spilled down my back. It was just one more odd point, alongside the tight little black dress, the high heels, the makeup on my face that I had to resist the urge to touch and smudge.

  What if Rick didn’t show up? What if asking me was just one last sick joke of his, a way to get back at me for meddling in his life, even though he’d asked me to help him? What if he came by in jeans and a sawdust-splattered shirt, the outfit he usually wore, and informed me that the gala was casual dress? What if this was all just a plot to humiliate me?

  I heard soft footsteps down the hall, and looked back – then down. “Hey, Shay,” I said, never totally sure what to say to the little girl.

  She smiled up at me. “Are you going to have a fun time and dance a bunch?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Is he a prince?” She frowned. “In all my books, the princess gets swept off her feet by a prince who takes her to the ball.”

  “All your books?” Lisa needed to get Shay some new reading material.

  “In the best ones,” she replied, very seriously. “Ooh, someone’s coming!”

  Sure enough, a set of headlights had turned into Lisa’s driveway. I stepped back from the window before Rick could spot me peering out at him, brushed nonexistent dust off my dress.

  “How do I look?” I asked Shay.

  She examined me critically, then beamed. “Like a fancy modern lady!”

  It wasn’t a princess, but before I could worry if that was really a compliment, Rick knocked on the door. I took one last deep breath, tried to tell myself that I wouldn’t hyperventilate, and then reached for the handle.

  I opened the door. He stared at me. I stared back at him.

  “Wow,” he finally got out.

  I could have said the same about him. From somewhere, and I couldn’t imagine where, Rick had managed to find a suit. Not a tuxedo – I couldn’t even picture the guy in a tuxedo – but a suit, inky black, contrasting against a cream-colored shirt. Jack would have zero complaints about how the suit fit him, that was for certain. He filled it out perfectly, had even swept a comb through his hair (although a couple unruly tufts still slightly sprung up in the back). He looked utterly different from the everyday Rick I knew, had pictured greeting me.