by Eric Shoars
“Thank you, kind sir...”
“...and more of the magic java for me.” I sit and sip simultaneously.
Lorelei asks me how I like owning my own business; following up on what it is I do exactly.
“Being a solopreneur is fantastic. I work on my own schedule, commute to work is brief...just walk to my office from the kitchen.” I give her a wry smile. “What I do is help business owners with their marketing and advertising. I help them put together a customized strategy for their business and assist them in making the media mix choices that put them in the best position to reach the people they’re looking to do business with.”
“You know,” Lorelei observes, “for a guy whose stories all start in second grade today they’ve been very short.” She’s being playful. This reunion idea is superb if for no other reason than I would never have sought her out without it.
“Your lucky day,” engaging in her roguishness. “People I know are going to ask what your secret is for keeping my stories short and want to bottle it. Maybe something in a refreshing spritz.” I suggest amusing myself with my own ridiculousness. Lorelei snickers. Other patrons turn to look at us to see what is so darned amusing.
“What do you do for fun when you’re not qualifying for a gun show?” I ask.
“Paint.”
“Would I have seen any of the houses in town you’ve done? Do you have your own ladder?”
Lorelei snorts and spits simultaneously. A tricky double play. Clearly she’s been caught off guard. “Jerk!” She sputters for a few more seconds before she can fully collect herself. “No fair!”
Pulling my hands in and putting them over my heart I use the best Victorian-era voice I can muster, “You wound me, madam.” My voice reverts to normal, hands go palm down on the table top, and I lean in and say, “Gotcha.”
Lorelei stiffens her back straightening up to her full ability. In the best Victorian-era voice she can muster, Lori says “You have won this battle but the war isn’t over.” She playfully glares. “No, goofball, I go to Pinot and Pallette in Des Moines once a month. Gets me out of the house and socializing. Coincidentally, people I know get paintings as gifts.”
“Julie and I have done that. Our version in Rochester is called Canvas and Chardonnay. It’s fun.”
“It surprises me how well I do,” Lorelei admits. “Artsy stuff is important to me. Most times it’s me playing my keyboard in the house or singing karaoke at the Cellar Peanut Pub here in town. But neither unites me with people. Or challenges me. That’s what I appreciate about painting. It’s not just the art, it’s the challenge.”
“Outstanding,” I nod. The outward nod reflects the inner nod that took note of her keyboard and karaoke. Musical bents never came up with Laurel and Todd. This is a tasty little bit of serendipity.
Lorelei’s hands fly across the table and urgently grasp mine without warning. Startled, my body spasms in my seat, my eyes open wide. Realizing what she’s done is abrupt, Lorelei pulls back and slumps a bit in her seat. “Sorry, sorry,” she exhales to calm herself. “Didn’t mean to spook you like that. I just caught a glance of the clock and noticed what time it is.”
Eyes dart to my cell phone. It’s just after 11:30. Not sure of the significance.
“Hope and Faith are home for the weekend and we’re doing girl things. They decided to sleep in this morning and then meet me for lunch. They’re picking me up here and then we’re going to Bubba Q’s.”
“And you don’t want to be late?” Still not understanding her almost panicked action a moment ago.
“No, no,” Lorelei shakes me off. “It’s just that the girls are not...they’re...umm...they get unsettled when they see me with a man. Still strange for them to see me with someone who isn’t their dad, even if it’s not a date, even if it’s totally innocent.” Her hands go palms up in front of her and then arms sweep in different directions like she’s revealing something. “Like this.”
Now Lorelei’s action makes sense. “I get it. Listen, the last thing I want to do is cause a problem or trigger your daughters. Do you want me to leave now?”
“What a dope I am,” Lorelei admonishes herself. “Should never have reacted like that. Protection mode still kicks in occasionally. You’re fine.” She turns and looks at out the front window. “Besides, they’re here.”
Two tall brunette twins get out of a Ford Fusion and proceed to walk across the street to us. They have their mother’s looks. “Are they anything like you?” is my question as I return my attention to my coffee companion.
“They have a lot of Dom in them but they’ve got a healthy streak of me too.”
“Must be a handful.”
“Oh, you bet they are,” she confirms. The ring-a-ling of the bell on the door heralds the twins’ arrival. The two move in unison toward us upon seeing their mother.
“There are my girls!” Lorelei lights up. It is a mother’s joy as seen on Julie’s face when she sees our girls.
“Mom!” The two young women protest. “We’re 28!”
“I don’t care how old you are you’ll always be my girls,” Lorelei brushes off the protests. “Come here.” She wraps both daughters in a vice grip hug.
“Mom, geez! You just saw us this morning.” The protests continue.
“Don’t care. Happy to see you no matter how long it’s been.” She releases her grip. “Come meet my friend.” Hope and Faith move toward me flanking their mom, one on each side.
She turns to her right and then left. “Faith, Hope, this is my friend Eric. He’s a friend of mine from elementary school who is passing through town. We’ve been catching up.”
“Hi,” says Faith. “Hey there,” greets Hope. Their tone is neutral but not unfriendly. I extend my hand to each of them and return the greeting. Faith has a small, crescent-shaped scar just to the side of her right eye. It’s the only way to tell them apart.
I turn back toward the table and grab my cell phone and say, “Your mom mentioned you’re going to lunch so I should be heading out. I don’t want to delay your plans.”
Lorelei’s shoulders droop slightly. “Eric, I don’t want to push you out the door. Stay a few more minutes. Please.”
The two young ladies echo their mom’s sentiment. “Oh, don’t run out on our account,” Faith pleads. Hope nods in agreement.
“No, no, you’re fine. I should go anyway,” I hold firm about my departure.
Lorelei doesn’t hide her disappointment. “I understand. It was just so much fun hanging out and chatting. Thanks for letting me know you were passing through. This was terrific. Please let me know if you get this way again.” Lorelei throws caution to the wind and gives me a quick hug in front of her daughters. If the girls are bothered by a man embracing their mother, they don’t show it.
“Oh, I will. Kudos on the choice of the coffee shop,” I say taking one last look around Smokey’s. “Faith, Hope, very nice meeting you. Thanks for letting me spend some time with your mom during girls’ weekend.” I smile and shake hands with both of them. They smile and nod at me.
My path to the door takes me between them and the wall of booths. I’m out the door and into the noon day sun in ten steps. Half a block after that I’m in my SUV and on my way back to Minnesota. Using the hands-free device in my vehicle I command my phone to call my boo. She answers three rings later.
“Hey, sweetie, how are you today? Any news for me?”
I guffaw at the last question. “Boo, I am on cloud nine-point-five. You won’t believe all that’s happened since we talked last night.”
“I’m sitting on the couch with a glass of wine and a jazz CD in the background. Talk to me,” Julie encourages.
“After we talked last night I jotted some notes to record my impressions and what I learned from Laurel and Todd. Oh! Don’t let me forget to do that for Lorelei when I get home. Important to jot down t
houghts while they’re fresh.” I momentarily take myself off track.
“Come back to me, Eric,” Julie directs. “You were jotting notes last night.”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Getting my thought train back on the rails I continue. “Got done making notes and got a flash of inspiration for songs that the band could sing. Five! Five songs! Brain going a million miles an hour. Some of the inspiration came from Laurel’s and Todd’s experiences and some from experiences we had as kids. Got an idea for at least one more song after talking with Lorelei today.”
“What did you do with your ideas? Did you write the songs?”
“No. I sent Lis the outline themes with a few lines for context. She’ll take that and write the lyrics. Goal is to have at least eight songs. Well on my way there,” I respond.
“What was Lorelei like? Was she nice?”
“Nice?” The word is completely inadequate. “Lorelei is a live wire. The fear of awkward got tossed out the window the moment we said hello. Very friendly. Wicked sense of humor. Can’t wait for you to meet her. You’re going to hit it off immediately.”
“I look forward to it,” Julie says. “Sounds like you had fun.”
“I did but the conversations did get serious at times,” my voice drops. “Long story short, Lorelei’s husband died a few years ago. Cancer.”
Julie’s voice exudes sympathy. “How awful. Does she have kids?”
“Twin girls – Hope and Faith – who are a little older than Nicole. “Had a chance to meet them.”
Julie’s voice rises in surprise like I was someplace I ought not be. “How?”
“They were in town to spend time with their mom and Lorelei asked them to meet her at the coffee shop we were at before going to lunch. She introduced us in passing as I was leaving and they were entering. Didn’t have a chance to say much to them other than ‘hello and gotta go’.”
“Interesting,” she says. It’s the ambiguous, non-committal use of the word that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Julie has been very understanding and very supportive of this trip down my personal rabbit hole but sometimes I wonder how far I’m pushing her out of her comfort zone with all my activities to get my childhood friends back together.
“Interesting but not interesting,” attempting to cut that train off at the pass. Or train off at the past might be more appropriate. “Nothing to see here, boo. I’m yours now and forever and happily so.”
“I trust you but not always other women,” she asserts. “If you’re going to be a rock and roll star, there’s going to be groupies throwing their panties at you.”
“I don’t even know what to do with that,” is my response. “Are you serious?”
Julie says, “About the not trusting other women, yes. About the groupies, maybe.” She chuckles. “Anything else from your coffee with Lorelei you’d like to tell me?”
“Hmm...as a matter of fact, yes. She has an artistic side and likes to play her keyboard and sometimes goes out to sing karaoke. How about that?”
“That must be exciting to learn,” Julie replies. “What about Laurel and Todd? Do they play or sing?”
“They still play their guitars in their spare time from what I gathered looking on Facebook but beyond that I don’t think so. It didn’t come up. Hadn’t planned on talking about it with Lorelei but when I asked her what she does to cope and socialize with her husband being gone, that was one of the things she mentioned. Talk about the dominos lining up. Oh.”
“Oh, what?” Julie follows up.
“It just hit me that her deceased husband’s name was Dominic so I shouldn’t use clichés that involve derivations of his name.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t fall to pieces over dominoes or anything else but it’s nice that you’re concerned for her well-being.”
“Yeah, I’m probably being silly. Anyway, one of the positives is that Lorelei might be an easier sell than I thought. Todd will be the toughest. That I’m sure about. Laurel...” my voice trails off, “can’t get a read on her. Worry about all that when the day comes.”
“When are you going to be home?”
A quick glance allows me to notice that I’m at the Story City exit. “I’m at Story City. Little over two hours from home.”
“You should be focusing on your driving. Why don’t you fill me in on the rest when you get home? There’s a spot on the couch reserved for that fine ass of yours,” my wife flirts.
“Better set the cruise so I don’t speed,” I flirt back. The call ends and I check to make sure my cruise is set on 70 miles per hour on the nose.
What a weekend.
***
March 31, 2018
Who knew having so much fun could be so exhausting?
Rolling out of bed at 8 a.m. on a Saturday should be less strenuous. Feel like a truck hit me and then backed over me to see what it hit. Sure, it’s easy to chalk up dragging my body out of bed to getting older but it’s not aches and pains that make me feel a crane is the proper method to extract me from the mattress. No, this sensation that makes hauling my carcass out of bed so challenging is the impossible schedule I’ve been keeping.
The pace of life is now warp speed since getting back from the coffee meeting with Lorelei and my ol’ bod is putting up a very effective protest. Among life, work, and the band reunion I’ve left little time for sleeping. The descent from the bedroom to the main floor necessitates a tight grasp on the railing...just in case gravity tries to gain the upper hand and pinwheels me down the staircase. There’s more grunting and groaning than I’d care to admit. Finally a successful navigation of the stairs and a deliberate amble brings me to the kitchen where Julie is pulling an egg bake from the oven.
“Morning, sweetie,” she greets. “This has to cool but should be ready to eat shortly. Coffee?”
“Please. On an I.V. drip.”
Julie pours the morning roast in my Batman mug. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?” She asks, handing the mug to me.
“Slept great. That’s the problem. Last night was the first restful night’s sleep I’ve had in a week. Too much go and not enough whoa,” a slight interruption of the thought to introduce the day’s first wave of caffeine to my system. “Hoping my body shakes off the fatigue once the protein and caffeine take hold.”
Julie pulls a table knife out of the drawer as the ceramic bakeware holds the egg bake, steam rising ever so slowly from it. A spatula goes in and comes away with a corner piece. Julie places it on a small ceramic plate and delivers it to me.
The corner piece has a perfect char on two sides. Charred enough to be crunchy and maintain the structural integrity of the piece but without the burned taste. I pick up the fork at my place setting and plunge it into the egg bake. The first bite is a warm, savory “howdy do” that is about to announce itself to the rest of me. The one-two combination of coffee and the egg bake course through my being.
“This is my favorite thing you make for breakfast, boo.”
“Thanks. I do enjoy the savory side as well.” Julie makes sure the oven is turned off and then says, “Is there anything else you need? If not, I’m going to start organizing the basement. We neglected it over the winter. It’s a mess.”
Shaking my head, finishing the next bite before speaking, I reply, “Nope. I’m fine. While you organize I’m going to get ready to face the day and figure out some logistics for the band.”
“Logistics?” Julie poses.
“Trying to figure out when to get the four of us together so I can finally tell them about the reunion. You know, the where, the when...all the little stuff,” I say with a quick raise of my left eyebrow.
“What are you thinking?” Julie asks.
“Beyond the business side of things, I think it’s time to get everyone together and pitch the idea. I want to check with everyone to see if the second Saturday in April
would work to meet for supper. Most efficient path would be to find a place to eat in Ames...close enough to make it easy for them to attend. That’s what I have so far. Am I missing anything?”
“Let me see if I’m clear on this...you’re planning on just the four of you meeting but you’re asking them individually with them not knowing it’s a group thing?” Julie clarifies.
“That’s it.”
“Follow me on this, Eric. Todd and Lorelei aren’t married so no problem there but what about Laurel?”
“What about Laurel?” I reply not following my bride’s thought.
“First you ask her to coffee and it’s you two alone. Now you’re going to ask her to meet you for supper? If I were her husband I’d be suspicious to no end. Besides, I’m your wife and I want to meet these people you’re so desperate to reunite,” Julie closes the loop on her thought.
She raises some fine points. The band took so much focus that the practical, relationship aspect escaped me. Seth and Laurel – individually and as a couple – would and should be suspicious if I handle this the way Julie has pointed out.
“Wouldn’t it be more natural to say we’ll be in the area and want to get together?” Before I can answer she advances her thought. “Not only that but won’t Laurel need to talk with Seth about what you want to do? Shouldn’t you have all the decision makers at the table?”
Her words hit me where I work. One of the key fundamentals in marketing and in selling is to make sure all the decision makers are in the room. Always. No exceptions.
“And here I thought I married you for your egg bake.” I smile. “Obviously all of that was staring me in the face and I still flat overlooked it. You’re absolutely correct. And it makes sense for me to say ‘we’ll be in town let’s get together’ than just a solo meet again. Second Saturday in April work for you?”
“Yes it does,” Julie agrees.
“Let’s hope getting the others on board for supper is as easy as you are.”
Julie walks up to me and gives me a little peck on the cheek. As she walks away, Julie looks over her shoulder and says, “Glad I could help...and don’t call me easy.”