Nobody's Fool

by Barbara Meyers

Open hostility radiated from the other woman’s eyes. When Jolie saw her nametag she knew why. Sarah Carter. Jolie winced at the memory of her and her friends giggling at the then considerably overweight Sarah during PE class. The back seam of Sarah’s shorts had split open during aerobics. Jolie could still remember Sarah’s embarrassment as she waddled to the locker room, the cruel remarks from those in her group and Sarah’s glare of resentment. Jolie hadn’t said anything, but she hadn’t discouraged the others either.

  “Hi, Sarah. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

  “Really?” Sarah glared up at her. “I recognized you the minute you walked in. In fact, I’d be willing to bet you haven’t changed a bit.”

  Jolie was taken aback by Sarah’s hostility. She picked up her nametag and followed Court to the bar. Tears pricked at her eyes. Maybe the reunion was a mistake. Right now, her whole life felt like a mistake. Court turned and smiled at her. “What would you like?”

  At least he was still her friend. At least he didn’t hate her. “White wine, please.”

  Several other reunion attendees were gathered along the bar and around the buffet tables. She thought she detected a few glances her way, but no one came forward to greet her. There were more vaguely familiar faces. Names flitted through her mind, but she had trouble attaching them to the individuals. It occurred to her that she hadn’t been close to anyone. The only person she knew at all was Court.

  He turned and handed her a glass of wine and a cocktail napkin. She studied his smile, his eyes. He wasn’t Courtney, the boy next door anymore. He was Court, the man, sure of himself and in control. She wished she felt half as confident about this evening as he seemed to.

  He hoisted his own glass filled with amber liquid—what did he drink anyway? Bourbon? Scotch?—in a silent toast. “Shall we mingle?” He took her elbow and steered her toward a group near the bar.

  “Court, I’m having trouble remembering anyone. Did we really go to high school with these people?”

  “Probably not all of them. Some are spouses, you know. You can’t expect to remember everyone.”

  But I don’t remember anybody, Jolie thought. How could that be? She’d had friends in high school, hadn’t she? She’d had boyfriends. Surely she’d not only remember them but recognize them.

  “Jolie? Jolie Kramer?” A blond, blue-eyed man who would have been more attractive if not for the extra fifty pounds hanging round his middle, broke off his conversation to address her.

  Jolie stopped, scrambling for a name, any indication of who he was.

  “Don’t break my heart by saying you don’t remember me,” he warned her with a jovial grin.

  Jolie stared, shock temporarily immobilizing her tongue.

  “Chip Sobeleski, I thought that was you.” Court stuck out his hand and Chip took it, clearly having no clue who Court was. “Court Harrison. You probably don’t remember me.”

  Chip reluctantly dragged his gaze away from Jolie. “Sure I do. You managed the football equipment. Weren’t you kind of a geek back then?”

  “That’s me,” Court supplied cheerfully.

  “He wasn’t a geek.” Jolie felt she owed Court for bailing her out. She still couldn’t believe this guy was Oak Ridge High’s star quarterback. She’d dated him the last half of her senior year and yet she hardly recognized him.

  “Sure he was,” Chip said cheerfully. “But look at him now. He outgrew it. Not me. I’m still the same dumb jock I always was. ’Cept I traded in my football helmet for a bowling glove.” He jabbed Court in the ribs with his elbow and guffawed at his own joke.

  His gaze returned to Jolie and he sobered a bit. “You’re sure a sight for sore eyes, Jolie. Still as pretty as you were in high school.”

  Jolie felt a stab of pity for Chip. “Thanks, Chip. It’s wonderful to see you.” She stepped forward with the intention of kissing his cheek. But Chip had other ideas. He grabbed her in a bear hug causing her wine glass to tip dangerously.

  “I see I was right about you. You haven’t changed a bit,” came a venom-filled voice from behind them. Chip set Jolie away from him, and she saw Sarah turn a thunderous gaze on Chip. “And neither have you.”

  Chip immediately turned repentant. “Now, Sarah, honey, we were just saying hello. I can’t help it if Jolie still can’t keep her hands off me.”

  “Chip!” Jolie squawked.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” Court broke in. “I think we’ll go say hello to some of the others.”

  He led her away and like a zombie she followed, glancing back only once to see Chip and Sarah in a heated exchange. Instead of joining another group, Court positioned her in a quiet corner.

  “You okay?” he asked without looking at her. He smiled and lifted his drink in acknowledgment to someone who waved from across the room.

  “I’m fine.” Her gaze darted back to Chip and Sarah. They were standing rigidly next to each other. Chip’s cheeks were red. Even from that distance, Sarah’s eyes shot daggers at her. “I can’t believe they’re together. Who would have thought? Chip and Sarah.”

  “They got married the year Chip got his AA degree from the community college.”

  “She lost fifty pounds and he gained it,” Jolie said almost without thinking.

  Court shot her a disappointed look. He probably thought that was a catty remark to make, and perhaps it was. It was also the truth.

  “He drives a delivery truck for the local beer distributor. Sarah teaches kindergarten,” Court informed her. “They’ve got two kids.”

  “Sarah and Chip,” Jolie repeated. “Who would have thought?”

  “We can go mingle some more if you promise to behave.”

  “I didn’t come on to Chip and you know it. He was the one who—” She stopped herself when she saw the twinkle in Court’s eyes. He was teasing her. How long had it been since anyone had teased her that way? She giggled. “Let’s go.” After Chip and Sarah, she was sure nothing about her former classmates would shock her.

  Two hours later, she and Court were facing each other across a Formica tabletop in a cozy booth at Mel’s Diner.

  “So Adam Stadler’s gay,” she said, as she looked over Mel’s menu. Nothing on it had changed in ten years, except the prices.

  “It would appear so.”

  She glanced up in time to see a sexy smile tug at the corners of Court’s mouth. She abandoned all pretense of disinterest in her former schoolmates.

  “He was holding hands with his—his—”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “I know it’s not a big deal in San Francisco, but it’s a pretty bold move for anyone inside the Oak Ridge city limits.”

  “True. Small Midwestern towns tend to come with their own rigid value systems, and a certain amount of intolerance.”

  “Did you know?”

  “Before tonight?” Court nodded.

  “How?”

  “I knew in high school.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Adam and I were friends. He was struggling with it. He needed someone to talk to.”

  “You never said a word.”

  Court frowned at her. Jolie sensed she’d just insulted him. Or Adam. Maybe both.

  “I can’t believe Rob Walters showed up. He was practically bragging about being in prison for drug trafficking.”

  “Surely that didn’t shock you. You know what he was like.”

  “He was a hood, that’s what I remember. Dumped Doreen Phillips after she got pregnant. He was always trouble.”

  “Doreen survived, though,” Court said as he closed his menu. “She moved to Chicago and met someone. I hear they own several hair salons.”

  Jolie closed her menu and looked at Court. “How do you know so much about everyone?”

  Court shrugged. “I keep in touch. Oak Ridge isn’t that big a place. Most everyone
’s parents still live here. It’s not that hard to find out what’s going on if you’re interested.”

  Jolie’s gaze slid away. She hadn’t been interested, hadn’t cared. All she’d ever wanted to do was get away from Oak Ridge, away from the knowing eyes and too-big ears.

  Now she saw not only the things she’d never had, but what she’d left behind. The sense of connection with her past, a history with the one person who knew her well. Court.

  She hadn’t had the confidence to stand up for what she wanted then. She’d been too busy hiding her insecurity and manufactured fears beneath a false front. She’d buried herself so thoroughly for so long she’d had to dig deep these past couple of years to track down the real Jolie Kramer.

  She was reminded of the old television game show To Tell The Truth. As a child she’d loved trying to guess which contestant was telling the truth and which were fabricating an identity.

  She gazed at Court as the waitress approached to take their order. The locket dangled on its chain warming her heart.

  Will the real Jolie Kramer please stand up?—she asked herself now.

  She will, Jolie replied. If I can find her.

  Chapter Five

  “Are you going to tell me how you managed to get a BMW as a gift?” Jolie asked on the way home from Mel’s.

  Court chuckled. “Actually, it was more of a bet I won.”

  When he didn’t continue Jolie stared at him. “And?”

  “You know I always loved sports. Always wanted to play, but wasn’t any good. Too damn uncoordinated growing up. I found any reason I could to hang out in the locker rooms, or on the field or the court. Reporting for the school newspaper, managing the equipment, working the score table.

  “In college I sort of fell into sports management. Became friends with a couple of football players who made it into the NFL but weren’t big-name stars. I got them some local gigs—doing endorsements for restaurants, showing up at charity events, that sort of thing.”

  “And the car?”

  “I have a client, a baseball player who’s been around awhile. Not racking up big endorsement deals, not a star. One of those guys like Cal Ripken who shows up for work every day and does his job without a lot of fanfare. I thought I could put together a deal with one of the major auto parts manufacturers with him as a spokesperson. You know, reliability, getting the job done right, that sort of angle. I talked to him about it and named the price I had in mind for his services.

  “He didn’t believe the auto parts people would go that high. I figured they would if I handled the pitch right.”

  “He bet you a BMW?” Jolie asked. “Unbelievable.”

  “Well, what he said was, if I could get that much money for him, he’d buy me a BMW. I figured he was joking.”

  “So you put the deal together.”

  “Yep. Next thing I knew, there was an M3 sitting in my driveway.”

  “Wow. You must be good at what you do.” Jolie couldn’t hide how impressed she was, even if she wanted to.

  “You know what they say. Those who can, play. Those who can’t—”

  “Get more money for those who can?” She chuckled.

  “Something like that. By the way, I have a client who’s developing her own clothing line. She’s looking for a designer. That’s not something you’d be interested in, is it?” Court asked. “I know you work in the fashion industry. I’m not clear on what it is you do, though.”

  Jolie crossed her arms. At one time she’d wanted desperately to be a fashion designer, but she’d been too impatient to work as an apprentice for years after she’d finished college. That’s what she told herself at the time, anyway. The truth was that she’d let fear hold her back. Fear of failure. Fear of making a fool of herself by putting her vision on display. She’d only recently come to grips with that.

  An internship her senior year at college had turned into a job offer, so she’d become a stylist, starting out much the same way Court had. Her clients were not top stars; often they were the wives of politicians, not the politicians themselves. Or they were the spouses of actors or musicians. Her clients were still in the spotlight, just not at the center of it. She’d built her reputation and her clientele had grown.

  “Right now, I’m a fashion consultant. A stylist. Which basically means I pick out clothes for other people to wear. I also write a monthly column for a fashion magazine.” She sighed. Even if the work wasn’t always creatively fulfilling, it paid the bills nicely.

  “But you studied to be a designer, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s what you always wanted to do, right?”

  “Yes.”

  He turned the corner onto Wildwood Lane and slowed to a stop in front of his parents’ house.

  “Sooooo.” He put the car in gear and turned off the engine. “Would you be interested in talking to my client?”

  Was Court offering her a job?

  “I know it’s not haute couture,” Court said when she hesitated. “But if Melina decides you’re the designer she wants to work with—”

  “Melina?”

  Court nodded. “Kyaskova.”

  “Melina Kyaskova is your client?”

  Court looked at her oddly. “Yes. Isn’t that what I said?”

  Jolie sat back stunned. “Melina Kyaskova is the biggest thing to hit the fashion industry in the last five years.” She was also the celebrity backer Jolie’d been in negotiations with.

  “She is?” He didn’t look like he was being sarcastic. Didn’t he know?

  “Court, where have you been? Didn’t you have anything to do with her being on the cover of just about every magazine in the country? She’s young, she’s gorgeous, she’s got a body that won’t quit and she’s created more fashion trends than Madonna.”

  “Maybe so, but her tennis career hasn’t really progressed—”

  Jolie waved her hands wildly. “Who cares about tennis? Melina Kyaskova won’t be remembered for her tennis. She’ll be remembered for all of the rock star hearts she broke and that mane of blonde hair. Not to mention her more outrageous nightclub antics.”

  “Yes, well, she is pretty exuberant off the court…”

  Jolie shot Court another look of incredulity. “Exuberant?” She grinned at his naive understatement. The twenty-something Melina was his client. Court probably felt duty-bound to protect her interests and her privacy. She smirked. “Okay. If that’s the adjective you prefer.”

  He opened his door and came around to open hers.

  “I had such a good time, tonight,” Jolie said as they walked to her door. “I didn’t think I would, given how the evening started.” She darted a glance Court’s way.

  He seemed deep in thought. “So…are you interested in testing the waters with Melina or not?”

  He hadn’t even heard her—or he didn’t want to go there. “Let me get back to you on that, okay?” She had no idea why she didn’t simply tell Court the truth.

  She’d worked on Melina’s photo shoot for New York Style a year ago. Melina had mentioned finding a designer for the line she had in mind and asked her if she’d consider the position. Jolie had found it hard to take Melina seriously. Didn’t every celebrity want to dabble in fashion? Most likely Melina would lend her name to items created by an established designer. But on the off chance Melina was determined to start a line of her very own, Jolie wanted the job. Melina’s outrageous antics, which kept her in the spotlight, had inspired Jolie, and she’d immediately begun sketching a few ideas—feminine lines featuring lace and ruffles, but also with hard-edged details in leather and metal. That’s how she saw Melina, sweet and ladylike but tough and uncompromising.

  Until the signatures were dry on the contract, however, Jolie hesitated to say anything to anyone. The volatile Melina could change her mind or alter the terms of the contract. At
dinner last night Jolie told her parents she might be designing her own line soon, but she hadn’t gone into specifics—not until she sealed the deal.

  “By the way, I’m going to close up my parents’ lake house on Tuesday.”

  Court’s mention of the lake house jolted Jolie out of her thoughts about Melina. “The lake house! Oh, my gosh, I loved that place.” Jolie had fond childhood memories of time spent at the Harrisons’ summer retreat fishing and swimming and hiking through the woods. “Want some company?”

  Court hesitated. “I’ll probably spend the night.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I’ll put you to work.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Sure, if you want to.”

  “I’d love to,” she told him.

  “Okay. Are we still on for tomorrow? The cookout at the park?”

  Jolie fished for her door key. After the reception she’d received at the cocktail party, she was ready to bow out of the rest of the reunion activities. But…there was Court, inviting her to go with him. That somehow made everything else okay.

  She smiled at the thought. He’d always been there for her. Always. She’d never given him enough credit, never took him seriously. She had forgotten how easy it was to be with him or how much fun they had together.

  “Uh-oh. What’s that smile for?” he asked, half joking and half wary.

  “Nothing. I just—” Spit it out, Jolie, she scolded herself. Tell him how you feel. For once in your life, be honest. “I enjoy being with you.” There. She’d said that much at least.

  He socked her gently on the shoulder. “Yeah. Nothing like an old pal to hang out with, huh? I’ll see you, what? Around noon?”

  Old pal? Is that all he thought of her as? Was it too late to change his mind? She thought of the hip-hugger jeans and spandex top she’d brought. She grinned again. That could change anyone’s mind.

  Court backed away. “You’re plotting something. I can tell. I hope it’s not water balloons or anything childish like that.” He went down the steps then headed for his parents’ house. “No flirting with your ex-boyfriends tomorrow. The ones that are married now, anyway.”