Dia’s whole body was shaking against my waist now. Oh no, she was convulsing. “Just hang on. I’ll get you to the hospital.”
I started toward my car, but Dia gripped me tighter, holding me in place. She shook even harder. “No. Not . . . sick.”
“What?”
Dia stood up. Her face was red and tear-streaked. I reached for her again just as she burst out, “That. Was. Awesome.”
I got it then. She wasn’t in pain or sick. She was laughing so hard she was crying.
“Geez, Dia. You scared me to death. I thought you’d come down with the plague or something.” My exasperation quickly melted. “Did you see his face?”
We slumped against each other laughing like lunatics on the sidewalk as people passed by giving us strange looks.
Finally regaining my composure, I said, “Thanks for saving me. How did you know what Brice had planned?”
“I’ll tell you all about it over an early dinner at Mussels.” She wiped the tears of laughter away. “Can you close up shop right now?”
“It’s not Wednesday. Why are we going to dinner two days earlier than usual?”
Every trace of humor was erased as she said quietly, “I overheard some things at Myrtle’s that I think you need to know about.”
Dia was rarely this serious. Something was definitely wrong.
3
Dia and I walked along Harbor Street, saying hello to the locals we passed. Most of those greetings went unreturned which was unusual for our small town. I shrugged it off, maybe they hadn’t heard me. We waited in silence at the corner for the light to turn. Normally, Dia would have been talking a mile a minute. Whatever was wrong must be pretty bad for it to have affected her this strongly.
“Dia, what—”
A crash sounded from behind us. We turned to the bakery shop where a tangle of arms and legs could be seen through the window. A dog was licking what appeared to be icing off of any limb it could reach. Two little boys were giggling as a young woman tried to untangle them from the mess while apologizing. Dia and I looked at each other.
“Donut Dash!” we chorused and immediately started laughing.
“Wow, it’s been years since I’ve thought about freshman donut slavery. Man, were those seniors harsh if you didn’t deliver the goods by six a.m. Remember that first time when we got attacked by the horde of senior zombies?” I asked.
“Yep, late-night study session hangover cure. Coffee and donuts.” Dia frowned as she said, “I don’t think I ever got the pink icing out of that shirt and it was cute. But I found my bestie so it was worth all the sprinkles I had to pick out of not so fun places when they knocked us to the ground, donuts and all.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed as we crossed the street. “Hey, do you remember Petty Betty? Did you hear she got arrested for drugs? They found a whole marijuana operation in her basement.”
“Huh, maybe they helped improve her personality. Donut Dash day one she made me go back to the shop three times because her latte wasn’t the right balance of foam. Good thing she never found out I used Piggy’s blender to get it just right the rest of the year.” Dia cackled.
“Wait, wasn’t Piggy the one who hoarded food in her room?” We waved to our usual waiter and took our seats.
“Yep, that’s the one. Remember how the dorms stunk like bleach for days after the seniors graduated? The admins finally had to come in and clean out the room. I don’t know what all they found in there, but I never touched that blender without gloves.” She shuddered.
“I remember. That’s pretty gross, Dia. Betty could have gotten food poisoning.”
“Like you can talk. At least I didn’t make her break out in hives from rubbing a banana peel on her pillow. You totally knew she was allergic. Was that the time she broke your art pencils?”
“Yeah, I’d just bought those pencils too. I really shouldn’t have done that.” Remorse filled me as I thought back on the stupid things we’d done. “Her throat could have swelled up or something.”
“She was a meanie. And it was our mission to defend the oppressed, remember?” Dia put her hands on her hips in a classic superhero stance. “Lia and Dia, the Dynamic Misfits.”
“Defenders of the underdog.” I recited.
“Crusaders for freedom from mean girls everywhere,” Dia added.
“And supports for chocolate as a food group,” we chorused and laughed at our corny motto.
“All the pranks we pulled almost got us kicked out,” I sighed. “But at least we got people to stop calling us by our horrible names. Jillian and Claudia should be reserved for little old ladies.”
We shared a commiserating nod. We’d adopted our nicknames and refused to go back to the stuffy ones we’d been born with.
We relaxed back into our seats at our favorite table at Mussels—on the covered patio in front of the restaurant with a view of the marina. Our waiter came over, and we put in our usual orders, then clapped in appreciation as he showed off his moves for his next bodybuilder competition. I loved this restaurant. The wait staff bustled around the tables in their tight, cream-colored, muscle-hugging polo shirts and black slacks that showed off their corded thighs. The restaurant was known for its mussels, the seafood kind, and the hot-muscled wait staff kind. It was like a male revue, with more clothing and fantastic food.
The waiter left to get our drinks. Dia had gone quiet again as she stared at me across the stone tabletop as if trying to solve a complex puzzle. I didn’t bother asking what had her so perplexed. She would tell me when she was ready. Dia didn’t believe in holding back her thoughts. She was the sweetest, funniest person I had ever met. And a ball of energy that talked a mile a minute and sometimes bounced around like a caffeinated Chihuahua. She had tempered herself a bit in recent years, but she was still unpredictable even after all the years we had been friends. Whatever was on her mind right now would be presented in its own unique Dia way.
She tilted her head to the side, studying me from a different angle. Her hair spilled over her shoulder and brushed against her hips in a wavy blend of every shade of brown. Most people thought she had it professionally colored, but it was all natural. Like everything else about my bohemian friend. She believed that bras were torture devices and makeup was only meant for clowns. Today there were brightly colored feathers hanging from several braids in her hair. Her azure blue eyes looked startling against her bronze skin. As usual, they were alight with some new excitement. She was wearing a long turquoise skirt and a peach-colored peasant blouse with Daisy Duck on it that hung off one shoulder.
Everything about her was my polar opposite. She was the exotic free spirit who lived out loud. I was the boring buttoned-down businesswoman who liked it best when no one noticed me.
Ignoring Dia’s staring, I leaned back in my seat and took in the beautiful spring day. Across the road, boats swayed in their slips at the Sea Salt Marina. Further out to sea, a large white sailboat powered through the water, kicking up waves. I watched in appreciation as the white sails rippled in the wind. Since I had grown up around boats, my dreams had always included owning one of my own someday. The sound of the water all around and the briny smell of the ocean on the breeze soothed me as nothing else could.
At least, it had before my world crashed down around me. Those dreams were long dead now. A sad longing filled me as I continued to watch the sailboat. And again, that same question nagged at me. What would my life have been like if that day had never happened?
My parents’ deaths and that year when darkness had consumed me were mile markers on my lonely highway. Ones that I never talked about. Not even with Dia. The day my parents died in the boating accident my perfect world had shattered into a million shards that ripped me to pieces. The obituary saying “survived by their daughter” was a cruel joke; my heart had been laid to rest beside them in Lakeview Cemetery. It had always been the three of us, and their deaths had destroyed me so completely that I’d run to the other side of the world to escape the
loss. Pain and rage had consumed me. A well of darkness had filled me and I’d sank into the depths of the underbelly of society. Eventually, I had pulled myself from the darkness and sought out the only person I had left in the world—Dia. She took me in without question and was by my side as I worked hard to find my place in this town. Gallery owner Lia had been born from those ashes, and I never wanted to go back.
I shook my head to clear away the memories. Dia gave me a sympathetic smile as if she knew where my thoughts had drifted. I pushed it all down and nodded, reassuring her that I was fine.
“Funny, you still look like the Lia I know,” Dia said giving me a puzzled look. “But the Lia I know these days is obsessed with her business and way too serious for her own good. Huh. You never know about people.”
“Dia, what’re you talking about?”
“The GG’s were at it again today when I stopped by to pick up some things for Mr. Skittles,” she replied.
“Did he puke up a rainbow again?” I asked. “I know you love those candies, but I don’t think they’re good for cats. And before you ask, the answer is still NO. Mr. Skittles is not getting an art show. Just because you hung up the stained comforter in your living room as evidence of his artwork doesn’t mean people would pay to see a showroom full of cat puked-on items.”
She was completely unfazed by my stern look. “Party pooper. I’ll have you know that Mr. Skittles is a kitty Picasso. I’m thinking of starting a new T-shirt line. Didn’t he do a great job on your birthday present?” she asked proudly.
Oh, holy hell, I was going to have to burn that T-shirt. “Uh, yeah. I loved it. Didn’t know Mr. Skittles was the, uh, artist.”
“Of course, it’s a Mr. Skittles original. He wanted you to have one before he got famous. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Have you been to Myrtle’s lately?” When I shook my head, Dia continued. “I thought the GGs had started an X-rated book club or a PA group. I was ready to sign up even if they made me listen to them talk about how good girls wear bras. You would think they’ve never heard that good girls die young.”
“Then I’m sure you’ll live to be a hundred. Is a PA group like one of those parent-teacher groups?” My brow wrinkled in confusion trying to follow Dia’s typical subject changes.
“Pornoholics Anonymous. I doubt the PTA is into dildos and bondage. Although the bondage would probably come in handy with a few of the parents who want to tell me how to do my job. Do you think the school board would approve ball gags for the more troublesome ones?”
The picture of Dia in leather as she cracked a whip at a bunch of first graders’ parents wearing ball gags had me cracking up. “I doubt it. Why would you think the GGs were starting a ‘PA’ group?”
The GG’s liked to gather at Myrtle’s every Wednesday night. No one knew exactly what those little old ladies did there, but if anything was going on in this town, they knew about it. They were the rumor mill, and when they had something juicy to grind their teeth on, the whole town would hear about it.
“Mrs. Kingston—the old hag—was talking a bunch of crap. She said she talked to Brice about you over lunch today. She wanted to make sure her son was not messing around with the kinky stuff that you’re into.” Dia snorted. “Brice apparently laughed like crazy, then ran off mumbling about making plans. Left her with the bill too.”
Not having her only child cater to her every wish must have been a real shock to Mrs. Kingston. And if there was one person in the world Dia despised, it was Brice. I had the feeling that it wasn’t only because of his treatment of me. Dia had grown up in this town and they were about the same age. I could only imagine that Brice had been even more obnoxious as a child.
“Mama Kingston was totally horrified by that. I’m sure Brice’ll be getting an earful.” Dia smiled gleefully. “I didn’t like the sound of him having plans, especially when your name was mentioned. I dropped my groceries in her lap and ran to your gallery. You should have seen the look on her face! Anyway, it was a good thing I did. Imagine forcing a date on you. That’s pathetic. I was glad to help foil his evil plans. But I want to know about the dildos and bondage. When did you turn into a sex-monkey?”
“Wait. What?” I asked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Dia scooted next to me and dropped her voice low. “Sweetheart, I hate to tell you this, but rumors are spreading fast around town about you being into all kinds of kinky stuff. They’re saying that’s why your boyfriends keep leaving you. And that your employees quit because they didn’t want to be part of your real business. An underground porn network.”
My mouth dropped open in horrified shock. “Oh my god. What? I wouldn’t . . . I’ve never . . .”
Dia wrapped her arm around my shoulders and pulled me in for a hug. “I know, sweetie. I knew it had to be a mistake. People in this town respect you. I’m sure they’ll all say it’s ridiculous and the rumors will die down. It was probably Surfer Ken and Psycho Barbie. They’re both a few french fries short of a Happy Meal. They were pretty frosted when you walked in on them, right?”
“I guess so. What am I going to say to people?” I wanted to crawl under the table. “Uh, I hate this!”
“I know you do. Just ignore it. The rumors will go away, I swear.” Dia rubbed my arm in sympathy. “Remember when Dan and I first started dating?”
“Old Daniel Walters and the hot young substitute teacher.” They had started dating right before we graduated college, but I hadn’t met Dan until I moved here. Dia had told me all about being the star of the town gossip and labeled “the other woman” although her boyfriend had been divorced. “I’m still not sure what you see in a guy fifteen years older than you, but I guess everyone has their kinks.”
“Haha. Funny.” She elbowed me. “The rumors died off after a couple of weeks. I have it on good authority that we are now considered a ‘cute couple’ and the GGs are betting on when our wedding will be.”
“You’re probably right about it all blowing over soon. Damn Natalie and Daron! The GGs will have told everyone in town. I hate having everyone watching me and talking about me.” I grimaced, then took a deep breath and let it out. “Ok, enough about me. How are things going with Operation White Dress?”
Dan, the stuck-up bastard—or Geritol, as I often called him—was never going to put a ring on her finger. Dia was the eternal optimist, though. She kept dropping hints that inevitably led to a blow-up from Dan about the pressure and what he called her “immature antics.” My hope that she would see him for the condescending asshat that he was hadn’t come true in the five years they had been dating. Dia suddenly became very interested in the bottom of her margarita glass, taking large gulps from the straw.
“Did you and Dan have a fight?”
“Dan is just acting weird,” Dia mumbled dismissively. She finally glanced up at me and attempted a smile that fell flat. “Hey, I want you to know that I was ready to storm your condo the other night. But Dan convinced me that you needed a little time. I’m sorry, Lia. I should have been there for you after finding Natalie and Daron that way.”
“Stop. There’s nothing to apologize for. You couldn’t have possibly done anything except catch my cold,” I reassured her. “The Lia and Dia team will always be together no matter what. Dan is only jealous of my awesomeness.” I winked, trying to cheer her up. “You have assured him that there was never an ‘experimental phase’ to our relationship, right?”
A bit of that vibrant spark returned to her eyes as she laughed. “No way. I told him your nickname in college was Lickalotapuss, and he could take pointers. It was totally worth the lecture to see the look on his face. He even got me a book on developing healthy friendships.”
Imagining the look on Geritol’s face sent me into another fit of laughter. “Glad you’re helping Mr. Geriatric maintain a healthy heart with the occasional stress test. No wonder he always has you glued to his side whenever he sees me. He’s afraid my sexual magnetism might be too much for you to resis
t.”
“If I ever feel the urge in that direction, you’ll be the first person I call.” She giggled. “By the way, a friend told me about something I think you should check out. It could be just what you need right now.”
“Uh, if this has anything do with servicing females, I’m not interested. I may have a bad track record with men and consider myself on hiatus, but I’m not into women.” I eyed Dia sternly, hoping this wasn’t another Save Lia campaign. Like the time in college when she thought I was eating too much junk food and slipped detox powders into my juice bottles. I’d lost ten pounds and a boyfriend in a week from those side effects.
“No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. No sexual servitude required. Unless you want to, of course.” She giggled at my expression. “This is a game hosted by some group of gazillionaires. Special invite-only. I don’t have a lot of details, but I heard about it from a woman in my yoga class. She said she went last year, and it was the most amazing experience of her life. The contestants are taken to a remote location for a series of competitions, and they give big prizes to the winners. Like millions of dollars. She said it’s all pretty swanky, and the people you meet are just there to have a good time. She gave me an invite. Hold on, let me find it.”
Dia went digging through her large pink messenger bag that had pictures of dancing giraffes on the front of it, mumbling to herself about whatever treasures she was finding in there. It was like the clown car bag. You never knew what would come out of it or how it all fit into it.
“Ah-ha. I knew it was in here somewhere.” Dia beamed at me and plopped what looked to be an index card on the table in front of me. I hesitantly picked it up, flipping it from one side to the other. The card was blank. Although, maybe my cold was still messing with me because when I looked again, there was writing on the card. I set it down on the table and frowned at Dia as she sipped her drink. She was now practically bouncing in her chair with her natural level of energy. Either the alcohol was starting to hit, or she had managed to dismiss whatever was going on with Dan that had been worrying her earlier.
Paldimori Gods Rising Box Set Page 3