Mirror, Mirror

by Judy Baer

  I glanced at the kitchen clock and gave a little gasp. Nearly two hours had passed.

  “I had no idea it was so late. I didn’t mean to move in and make myself at home.”

  At the front door Jack, his expression intent, reached out and touched my arm. “When can you start teaching Ben? Soon?”

  “We didn’t really have a formal interview. There might be questions you want answered before—”

  “As far as I’m concerned, the past two hours were your formal interview. I’m perfectly comfortable hiring you to work with Ben.”

  Ben, in the background, gave a thumbs-up.

  Jack’s brown eyes sparkled with good humor and he reached to shake my hand. His fingers were warm as they cupped my hand. “Any woman who can move mountains, volcanic or otherwise, is worth hiring. Welcome aboard, Ms. Hunter.”

  I stopped at Pete’s studio to pick up Dash. I knew Pete would be waiting to hear what had happened.

  He’d just finished a photo shoot for a local jeweler. The model, a woman I’d worked with before, was wearing a bronze satin blouse with a plunging neckline that showed the necklaces to their best advantage. And, because all the photos were from the waist up, she also wore a pair of ragged blue jeans.

  She took off the jewelry and handed it to Pete. “That’s over.”

  She fell into step with me as I headed toward the back of the studio. “I hope I get more work like this,” she murmured, as much to herself as to me. “It will give me time to get these thighs of mine back in shape. If I don’t, no one will want to hire me to wear their clothes.” Then she lifted a hand in salute. “See ya.”

  I couldn’t help watching her as she walked away from me. I’ve seen ladies with upper arms bigger than this woman’s thighs.

  Pete put his hand on my back and I jumped. “Is she still complaining about her thighs?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s going to happen until we quit sending the message that thin is good and anything else is bad,” Pete observed gloomily.

  “I find that very depressing. I’m waiting for Rubenesque models to come back into style. Ample features, plump cheeks and tummies—full, voluptuous women. Don’t you think it’s time? A full figure used to indicate wealth because that meant women were well fed.”

  “And then, as now, wealth was attractive. I wonder where the message got turned around so that thin and rich go together. Ironic isn’t it?”

  “It certainly is. It makes me hungry thinking about it. Do you have anything to eat?”

  Finally Pete laughed. “No, but I know a great little Mexican place around the corner. Fresh tortillas, refried beans…”

  “Sopipillas? Powdered sugar and honey?”

  “If you pronounce it, you can have it.”

  Manuel’s is a little hole-in-the-wall mom-and-pop operation decorated with garishly colored tile, stuffed birds and palm trees. The food is authentic and spicy, just the way we like it.

  Over chips and salsa Pete began his third degree. “How’s the new tutoring prospect? Do you think you’ll get hired?”

  “I already am.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I hit it off with the little Harmon boy. It would be impossible not to love him. He’s fascinated by any-and everything and totally uncomplaining. I didn’t expect that, knowing his condition. It certainly hasn’t taken a toll on his sunny disposition.”

  “You’ve told me about the boy.” Pete waved a waitress over to ask her to refill our basket of nachos. “Now tell me about the father.”

  “Pleasant. Easy to talk to,” I said vaguely. “He mentioned being a stockbroker and he works out a lot. Linda said he coaches kids’ sports.”

  “Good-looking, then?” Pete asked slyly.

  “He’s a client, Pete, not a candidate from a dating service.”

  “So he is a good-looking guy.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Quinn, you are an open book. The corners of your mouth lifted a little, like a Mona Lisa smile.”

  So much for keeping secrets from a man who can read my facial expressions.

  “How is Maggie?”

  “Once the photo shoot for the health-club gig starts, she’ll be fine. She’s really counting on that.”

  Pete stirred his refried beans into a disgusting little pile that resembled Ben’s volcano. “I saw Randy last night. He was out with a date.”

  My stomach tightened. “That didn’t take long.” I thought about Maggie’s conviction that the woman Randy left her for would be young and blond. “Was she pretty?”

  “Not really, not nearly as pretty as Maggie. Just an average looking woman. About five-feet-six-inches tall. She had light brown hair and a pleasant smile. Randy seemed dazzled. I would have said hello to him, but he only had eyes for her.”

  “Hmm.” I dangled my fork over my plate and frowned. “What do you think made her so special that Randy would drop Maggie for her?”

  Pete flushed and looked embarrassed. “I know why I would like her. I can’t speak for Randy.”

  “Now I’m curious.”

  He sat back and chewed on his upper lip for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “She’s not uptight.”

  That wasn’t what I’d expected him to say.

  “You know how Maggie is. ‘Is my hair all right?’ ‘Do I have lipstick on my teeth?’ ‘Do these pants make me look fat?’ And when you tell her she looks fine, she takes it as an insult.

  “‘Fine?’ she says. ‘Only fine? I worked for hours to look this way and it’s just fine?’”

  Too true. I’d heard it dozens of times myself.

  “Randy’s date appeared very warm and natural. If she had a compact mirror in her purse, she didn’t bring it out.” Now Pete really blushed. “Some guys appreciate that, you know.”

  Because Maggie makes her living being beautiful, it’s easy to fall into that trap. A job-related issue, so to speak, one that has caught Maggie in its tenterhooks. She thinks nothing of checking her lipstick or fluffing her hair all evening long.

  “When we go camping in the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota, you know how she changes. Makeup free. Grubby. Natural. That Maggie is easy to be around.”

  “And the minute we see the first signs of civilization, she gets out her makeup kit and begins to stew about how she looks. What are we going to do about her, Pete?”

  “I don’t know anymore. I wish I did. She acknowledges that God is responsible for her features and attractiveness, but she doesn’t trust that anyone—including Him—could care for her just the way she is.”

  “Maggie ignores her inner beauty for her outer one. Which reminds me, what are we going to tell Maggie about Chrysalis?”

  “What is there to tell? I’m not getting involved. There’s no reason to worry about it.”

  “Are you absolutely sure? This could be a huge break for your career.”

  “I don’t want to build a television career on the backs of vulnerable people who don’t like their looks.”

  “You make them sound like cave dwellers seeing light for the first time. The contestants audition and there’s a tight selection process. You aren’t protecting them from themselves by not doing the show. If you don’t do it, someone else will.”

  “Why are you pushing this?” I felt suddenly snappish. “Is it because of Eddie and your former friendship with his sister?”

  “It has nothing to do with her.” Pete reddened. “I like Eddie. He’s made good in a difficult business. He’s an honorable man in a tough industry, despite what it may seem like to you. National attention will bring you bigger, higher-paying jobs. If this show works, there will be more income for you. That would free you to do what you really love—to build your own business placing tutors with students.”

  “Stop it!”

  “Quinn, when you talked about that little Harmon boy earlier, your eyes lit up like stars.”

  I wish he’d be quiet. He’s a little too persuasive when he bring
s up the children.

  “I think it would be a perfect jumping-off point for your career.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. The sombrero on the wall behind him framed his face and made him look like a bandito. “You know perfectly well that you would be an ideal hostess for the show.”

  I rubbed my temples. “Drop it, Pete. I can’t think of a single circumstance under which I’d agree to do that show.”

  He shrugged helplessly and reached for the bill. Though disgusted with me, he obviously wasn’t mad enough to refuse to pick up the check.

  He loves me. He really loves me.

  Chapter Nine

  Dash loves it when I’m home and drilling through the television channels looking for something to watch. He—all sixty pounds of him—crawls onto my lap as if he’s a cat. Although he may be big in size, Dash and many of his counterparts are lapdogs at heart. He curled his rump onto my thighs, propped a shoulder against my chest, laid his head against my cheek and exhaled noisily, a blissful, home-at-last sigh that encourages me to never let his delicate little paws ever touch anything as crass as hardwood floors again. If he could, he’d ride around strapped to my stomach all day in a giant baby carrier.

  “So what is it? The Home and Garden Television or Discovery Channel? There’s a special on rhinoceroses right now.”

  Dash whimpered a little and put his paw over his eyes.

  “Home and Garden it is, then.” He doesn’t like anything with tough, leathery skin or horns. Offends his sensibilities, I guess.

  We watched people landscaping, reorganizing their closets, discovering masterpieces in their attics and shopping for new homes. Dash fell asleep between installing a water fountain and cleaning out a garage. By the time I moved him, my legs had become heavy and numb as tree trunks.

  “We’ve got to do something other than overdose on television, Dash. What do you suggest?

  He scrambled off the couch and came back carrying his leash in his mouth.

  Where Dash leads, I follow.

  We managed to coordinate ourselves into a synchronized lope that gobbled up city blocks. Because our rhythmic walk is soothing and Dash, oddball dog that his is, rarely stops to sniff shrubs, signposts or small children, we covered the miles quickly.

  My thoughts often sail along at the same rapid speed as my feet and today I couldn’t keep from thinking about the television show Chrysalis and its allure.

  Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.

  It doesn’t help that Eddie keeps sending me material about the show, dangling the proverbial carrot in front of the gullible donkey.

  Weekly, before the audience’s eyes we will release a new contestant from her ugly cocoon to reveal the beautiful butterfly that exists inside. On the final week, these stunning butterflies will compete with each other and the audience will vote on the most beautiful….

  That’s a recipe for bruised self-esteem.

  Led by the leggy Dash, we found our way to Linda’s street, which is several winding trails away from mine. As long as we were in the neighborhood, I decided to see how Nathan was doing with his construction of the galaxy. Better yet, I could introduce the little boy to Dash. I’d spoken of my dog so often that Nathan had pleaded to see this doggy wonder of mine.

  Linda was in the backyard watering flowers and Nathan was with her, decked out on a lawn chaise longue and listening to his iPod. Linda dropped the hose she’d been using and came toward us.

  “Now, this is a surprise! Aren’t you a little far from home?”

  “I just kept following the dog and he covers a lot of territory. Since I was passing by, I thought I’d drop in.”

  “Can I see the dog?” Nathan laid his iPod on the grass.

  Nathan reached out and Dash put his chin in Nate’s hand and looked with big liquid eyes at the little boy. I could practically feel sparks as Dupid’s arrows—my idea of a doggy Cupid—sailed between them.

  “He’s cool!”

  “Troublemaker,” Linda muttered under her breath. “He’s been asking for a dog for months. Now, when he sees yours—”

  “Can I have one just like him?” Nathan chirped as Dash scrambled onto the chair with him.

  “See what I mean?”

  “I know just where you can get one,” I assured Linda. “There are several greyhound rescues with whom I can put you in touch. You couldn’t ask for a better pet. Of course, I’d never encourage you if you weren’t sure. Adopting a greyhound is commitment for the life of the dog.”

  “Shh….”

  “Can we, Mom? Can we? Quinn, could you go with us and help us pick one out? The doctor says I’m doing really well and…”

  “See what you’ve done?” Linda inquired cheerfully to the sound of Nathan’s giggling as Dash helpfully washed his face. Then she winked at me and mouthed the words we’ll talk later.

  “Glad to help. Have you got anything cold to drink around here?”

  “Freshly made lemonade and homemade cookies. Will that do?”

  “Perfect.” I sank down onto a chair near Nathan’s. He and Dash were deep into some boy-dog conversation that only the two of them could decipher.

  When she returned from the house with the lemonade and cookies, Linda sat down on a third chair and grinned at me with a smile of self-satisfaction that immediately made me suspicious.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?” I took a swallow of the icy drink and felt it seep deliciously down my throat. “Like the cat that ate the canary?”

  “I hear it went well at Jack Harmon’s place. Ben told Nathan it was the best day he’s had in a long time. ‘Better than a baseball game,’ he told Nate.”

  “Wow, and the Twins are winning right now, too.” I hesitated before speaking again. “Is Jack overprotective with Ben?”

  “Not really. Just careful. I would be, too, with a precious package like Ben. One day I overhead Ben tell Nathan about his exercises. ‘Even when my body feels like lying down, I make my head tell it to stand up. If I don’t, it will hurt even more tomorrow. Dad says I’m brave but I’m not. I just want to get better, that’s all.’ How sweet is that?”

  “I wouldn’t want to discourage a child like that, either.”

  “I told Jack it was impossible for you to do that.” She eyed me speculatively. “I painted a picture of you that practically had a halo on it.”

  “I hope you tipped it sideways and made it tarnished.” I leaned back in my chair and sipped from the sweating glass. “I can’t work miracles, you know.”

  “If you can help and encourage Ben, his father will be forever grateful. You might even be responsible for some healing on Jack’s part.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Because Emily is gone, she’s become a bit of a saint in Jack’s eyes. He’s very loyal to her memory. He remembers all her good points and none of her imperfections.”

  “You said she was a wonderful person.”

  “She was. The best. But she was also the first to tell you her flaws. She was perfectly wonderful and perfectly human. She wouldn’t want Jack to put her on a pedestal and keep her there. Life isn’t a museum and Emily would want him to move on.”

  As I reached out and poured myself another glass of lemonade, Linda studied me slyly. “Jack’s cute, isn’t he?”

  “Cute?”

  “Okay, gorgeous. But I’m married. I’m not supposed to be looking.”

  “You aren’t blind, either.”

  “I’d have to be, I suppose, not to see that Jack is incredible. He’s as kind as he is good looking, too. I’m sorry he’s had to suffer so much.”

  Linda looked pensive. “After his wife died, he turned off the fun, social part of his life to channel his energy into caring for Ben. Maybe, with your help, that will change.”

  “How would I be able to help? I’m hardly a social director.” I stretched my legs as we talked and wriggled my toes. Ironically, during my last pedicure the stylist had painted tiny butterflies on
my big toes. Butterflies. Chrysalis. Was this a new theme in my life or what?

  “He’ll have free time to bring some fun back into his life.” Linda’s tone changed, drawing my attention back to her. “Or you could be the fun. Maybe he’ll ask you out.”

  “Linda!”

  “You’re both single, aren’t you?”

  “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like only one of us is.”

  “You may be right. In his mind, Jack is still very married.”

  “And that’s a competition I’m not willing to fight.”

  “I suppose you’re right. It’s a shame, though. You would make a cute couple.”

  Nathan and Dash walked into the kitchen. “You should show your dog to Ben,” he announced.

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” Showing up on the Harmons’ doorstep didn’t sound like a good idea, especially after my conversation with Linda. I wouldn’t want Jack to even think that I had interest in them beyond Ben’s education.

  “It’s a great idea,” Linda countered. “I’ll put some cookies in a container for you to take to them. A dog and cookies—what more could a little boy want?”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “You don’t have to stay. Show the child your dog and give him the cookies.” Linda practically pushed me out the door.

  Get it over with, I told myself as the cookies burned a hole in my hand. Dash and I were halfway up the walk when Jack and Ben rounded the house and stopped to stare at their visitors. We make quite a pair, Dash and I. We are both long, leggy and have slightly unusual looks that often make people stare.

  Ben, eyes wide, moved toward Dash, but Jack put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Does he bite?”

  Ben squirmed away from his father. Ben looks as spindly and fragile as Dash, I realized, but Dash is meant to look that way and he, at least, is anything but fragile.

  “Not unless you’re a doggy treat.’

  “Can I touch him?”

  “Of course. If it’s okay with your dad, that is.”

  And I thought this kid’s eyes couldn’t get any wider.