Hip to Be Square

by Hope Lyda

  “The best night ever. And not just for a retirement home version of a party. I’ve never seen people respond so well to each aspect of a gathering. The exhibit, the photos, the clothing display…”

  The song ends, and we return to the bench like teens at a school mixer. We don’t have much time left before he must return to the piano. For some reason I am determined to focus on the negative of this night rather than the possible romance of this moment.

  “Me too. I mean, I think that too. It has gone so well, and yet Rae cannot acknowledge that. In fact, she not only won’t compliment me, but she gives all the credit to some guy who has not worked here in years. She thinks the details are ideas from his file, and…and…I can’t take it anymore. I can’t compete with the golden boy of Golden Horizons.” My hands fold into fists and I hate how out of control I feel in front of this really lovely guy, who probably just came out for some air.

  He looks surprised by my emotional rant and then smiles ever so slightly.

  “That’s crazy. You should set her straight. Clearly this memorable gala is not the work of Beau, who, between you and me, knows diddly about pulling off these things.”

  My mind is scanning my words. Did I mention Beau by name? I certainly hadn’t meant to. “Please don’t tell Rae about this. Sadly, I will not be leaving my position here as soon as I had hoped. I’m stuck until…wait a minute…” I finally get what his comment means. “You don’t know him too, do you?”

  “If this were a movie, I’d string this out for another ten scenes so we could have zany run-ins with very Shakespearean moments of mistaken identity, but I’d rather not waste time that could be used getting to know you.”

  The fact that I am still confused at this point only serves to point out how distraught I am.

  He reaches for my hand, lifts it to his lips, kisses it, and says, “I’m Beau. And your friend Lysa told me who you are because I asked to see two people…the person who planned this incredible evening enjoyed by everyone, including Rae, and the beautiful girl in the amazing dress who helped me with my tie.”

  I pull my hand back and stand up. My stance is shaky, and I realize I have not eaten anything yet. My head throbs from crying martyr tears. I have to brace myself against the wooden rail of the bridge.

  “And though this won’t surprise you, I was amazed to discover that those two fantastic people are one and the same. Her name is Mari Hamilton. And here she is, doubting herself when she has pulled off,” he searches above to pluck the right word from the same sky I was cursing minutes ago, “a miracle.”

  I position myself toward the door that leads back to the center and quickly assess that it will take many awkward steps to exit. It will be better if he leaves first. “I’m feeling pretty stupid about now…” I cannot speak his name. “Could you leave me alone? I do…I do appreciate your effort, and the punch.” In the gut. “But I’m afraid nothing can rescue this evening.”

  Not even your beautiful eyes and a perfect dance.

  He stands near me for a few moments. As I look at the ground, Beau gazes at the water. I’m feeling dumber and more childish by the second. I want to start the entire evening over and retrace my actions so that I could be standing here, with him, sipping punch and laughing about the coincidence. But I can’t. It’s too late to be a grown-up.

  He then walks away, not with a stride of defeat but rather a stalled “what just happened” gait. Rae’s point was valid. The band did make the event. Beau and his band are responsible for elevating the evening I planned to a more magical experience.

  For now, my pride does not allow me to accept the other more upsetting truth: I really like this guy. And that just cannot be. You don’t get a crush on the enemy.

  The automatic door opens to allow Beau to disappear into the building. Sinatra’s voice wafts over to where I sit. For a brief moment I am surrounded by upbeat, catchy music and lyrics…“Luck be a lady tonight…”

  If I could just make nice with irony, maybe it would stop ruling my life.

  Blogged

  Gusts of wind blow into my face and adhere my contact lenses to my eyeballs as each car in the opposing lane speeds by. I am replaying last night’s incident, amazed at my bad luck. I consider small bits of dust pelting into my skin as just punishment for such Old Mari behavior.

  “Please, Mari. Put the window up. Sadie, don’t you have those parental controls up there?” Angelica seems agitated. Could be because we are trading breakfast for a walk.

  Since we all signed up for the Tucson Trot, a breast cancer research fund-raiser a few months away, Sadie suggested a practice walk might be in order. A smart idea because not one of us has been doing anything resembling exercise. Even Angelica, who is a spin class addict, seems to be in slug mode.

  And slug she does…my shin until I push the button to raise the window.

  “Everyone out.” Sadie takes on the voice and visage of a soccer mom more than happy to unload her car full of bickering children. It is the first time I see her clearly as a mom. A someday mom. My eyes drop to her hand just in case there is something she has not told us. You never know with sneaky, to-herself Sadie. While Angelica is always talking about how to get out of faux relationships, Sadie is quietly going about nurturing a real one.

  My mind goes to Beau. I haven’t told anyone about last night. I want to process it first. Maybe the walk will help.

  The morning is warming up, and we all take time to stretch our legs in the sun and step away from the topic en route. I lift my leg and place it on the back of a bench; my hip and lower back scream, reminding me of the other incident I have not yet shared.

  “I almost forgot!” Caitlin rushes back to the van and removes a large bag from beneath her seat. We are afraid to ask.

  With great excitement and care, she removes four small, strapped pouches that look like fanny packs—something I have not seen much of in the past decade, except during my vision of Denton surveying the hills and shrubbery for birds with long hair and even longer legs.

  I was wondering when Caitlin would introduce her next big idea.

  “Great. A fanny pack is perfect for my keys and pack of gum. Thanks, Caitlin.” Sadie is delighted to find that this offering is actually functional.

  Caitlin gleams. “Close…but think lower.”

  Now we are very afraid. None of us really wants to drape straps around anything lower than our hips.

  We get a “duh” look as she unhooks one and wraps it around her thigh, which happens to be the size of my bicep, which happens to be large by female arm standards but quite small in terms of legs.

  “Ta-da. It’s a thigh purse.”

  We consider this without a direct response.

  “See? It doesn’t bounce up and down like a fanny pack. It is still easy to reach down for a cell phone…or for keys and gum.”

  “Honey, for those of us with real thighs, this might not work out to be a good idea,” Sadie says, examining her bright yellow nylon bag.

  “The straps are adjustable. I know that women come in all shapes and sizes. In fact, I like to base my ideas on that very premise.” I’m sure this has just occurred to her, but she speaks it with conviction.

  I extend my strap; its full length unfurls to a yard’s length. “You did consider a large mama leg. However, those of us with meat on our bones still might—”

  “Rub our skin off. Hello?” Angelica does not tippy-toe around the possible pain we could endure.

  “I was going to say chafe…but yes…rub our skin off.”

  Caitlin thinks for a moment and seems to decide I am the best model of meaty. Cinching the black strap, she places the neon blue purse at the first place left leg does not touch right leg. This, sadly, is barely above my knee region. “There. I could call it a leg purse so women could place it anywhere without feeling left out of the product’s original purpose.” She seems satisfied with her solution and we all nod to the logic.

  We are off. Soon we are lost in conversation and
don’t even notice the small zipper tab making a “chink, chink” sound with each step.

  I try to avoid bringing up my recent disappointments, but the job hunt and the anniversary party have been my primary topics for the past three months. Eventually the conversation cycle returns to these.

  Well, almost.

  “I completely forgot my big news for you, Mari.” Angelica is delighted to recall something of great importance.

  “What?”

  “It will explain a lot of recent events.”

  We offer blank stares as we wait for her to stop gloating and start informing.

  “All this time, Mari wanted a new life and she has one. Only it isn’t really hers. And she doesn’t even know it exists.”

  I’d like to know why God has apparently put Angelica in charge of being the first to know anything about my life.

  “Is there a beginning part to this conversation? Because I didn’t get any of that.” Sadie extends her stride, and Caitlin and I hurry to keep up with both of them.

  “Ditto.” I say. I’m perspiring but not from walking bowlegged to avoid the knee chafe. The sweat is from anticipation.

  “Well, you know how some of the guys you have met lately seem to know your name? And those phone calls, the ones you dither on and on about? I have found the secret.”

  My mind cannot get past Angelica’s usage of dither. Who says that?

  “It’s beyond crazy, but it answers my biggest question. When I went to the flash with Angus and Roger, it occurred to them again how weird it was that they both knew your name, and somehow they connected it to emails.” She is about to burst with the news but leans over to catch her breath. We have been speed walking inadvertently. “Well, yesterday Roger comes by my office and says he figured it out and wants to show me this big news.” She stalls again and bends down to tie her shoe.

  “Spit it out!”

  Angelica steps out of our walking order and comes over to me. She places a hand on each of my shoulders and looks me squarely in the eyes. “You, my friend, are somewhat of an online novelty. I don’t know how it happened, but a very, very loose version of your life is being shared in a popular blog. So popular, in fact, that it is the number two blog listed on the Personally Speaking website, which closely monitors the number of hits each diary gets. Your site receives more than 40,000 a month.”

  “Please speak English to me.” Sometimes I think I have dyslexia of the ear. Only a few words are coming back to me in any logical order, but none of them make sense.

  “These are online diaries, Mari. People share their thoughts, their hobbies, how they take their coffee or prefer their toast, and in your case…what they like in a good date.”

  It is still sinking in. Ever so slowly.

  Angelica feels compelled to lead me. “Like flowers sent in advance of a first date…ring any bells?”

  “You’re wrong. I don’t even read my work email regularly, let alone send people notes about my life on some blong.” But a bell has been rung. All those calls and the talk of flowers from strange men. They had taken their cues from someone or something. Apparently it was my cyber self.

  “The word is blog. And believe me, I know you didn’t create this. You are not savvy enough. But someone is telling whopping tales about you and your amazing life.” She uses those annoying finger motions when she says the word “life” to bug me because I do that to her for the same effect.

  “This makes no sense.” This is all I can say over and over until we are circling back and the car is in sight.

  “I know. It didn’t make sense to me either. Forty thousand hits is a lot. A very impressive number for blogs, which are usually read by relatives, bored friends, and boring Web surfers. But I figured out one of the reasons…they posted a picture of you. Only it isn’t you; it’s the lead actress on that show about the agents who pose as nurses. It was canceled about three weeks into the season.”

  “You mean Cecilia Jade!” Caitlin says, all excited about my glamorous life double.

  “Yes. Her. She. Whatever.”

  Sadie, who has been silent throughout this entire dialogue, reminds us of Angelica’s first comment. “So what big question do you get answered by all of this?”

  “How in the world Mari could possibly become more popular and known than me, of course.”

  We all look at her expectantly.

  “The answer had to be fiction. Absolute, pure fiction.”

  On the way back to town we strip off the thigh purses and the group votes to go look at the blog together at the local library. Though I would rather see it alone, I think it best if I have people who understand the world of such things.

  As we are about to pull into the parking lot, Sadie asks yet another clarifying question. “No offense, Mari, but who would waste their time fabricating a blog on your behalf? What could they possibly gain?”

  All of a sudden, I know where we will find the real answers.

  Back in Charlie’s Angels mode I lean forward, my troubled face poking between Sadie and Caitlin and my outstretched hand pointing straight down the road.

  “Change of plans. Golden Horizons, and step on it.”

  Though I am disgusted by what I have deducted, the rush of adrenaline is delightfully more invigorating than the rush of desert wind just an hour and a half earlier.

  Caught

  I raise my weekend employee pass up to the scanner and the door swings open with a creak. It occurs to me that if this pursuit leads to what I think it will, this might be my last tromp through these halls. One’s pride can only fall so far.

  My first stop is to check in on Tess. I ask to be alone with her for a few minutes.

  “We’ll go get coffee in the cafeteria,” Angelica offers.

  “It tastes like tar,” I warn.

  “Better suggestion?”

  Nope. “I’ll call you, Sadie, when I’m ready. See that room with the orange door and the ‘keep out’ stickers? That is where we will meet.”

  “This is all so exciting. And I don’t even know what is going on.” Caitlin’s eyes are bigger than usual and her feet are tapping to use up her mounting energy.

  I can see Tess rocking in her chair through the window in the door.

  “Morning, Tess,” I say, greeting my friend and ally warmly.

  “I’m still humming from last night. Splendid, my dear.” She claps her hands and then stalls midclap. “Shouldn’t you be resting after the big night?”

  “Tess, what do you know about the bets going on regarding my social life?”

  “Well,” she purses her lips and thinks a moment. “I know only that my twenty dollars is on you finding love. When I saw how Beau was looking at you, I was most certain I would cash in big. Big enough to retire from retirement.” She chuckles.

  “You knew that was Beau?” Of course she did. She moved here a year before I started.

  “A few of the gang who are betting on your love life encouraged Rae to ask Beau back for an encore, so to speak. They meant well, honey. Didn’t you like him? I had forgotten how handsome he was. Did you notice that?”

  I did. That’s the problem. “I’m afraid I have bigger concerns right now, Tess. I think that this group has been using our computers to talk about me. Or a version of me.”

  “You mean advertise your availability?”

  “That’s certainly a nice way to put it. But do you see how invasive this is? Strange men have my phone number, Tess. And apparently they think I do things like rock climb and attend art gallery openings…” As I say these things, a bell is ringing from a past conversation. “And they posted the picture of that actress…”

  “Cecilia Jade.” She laughs at being in the know on this part. “I do recall a dinnertime vote on who they think you most resemble who is currently on television. I had no idea it was to be used in such a way. How can I help?” Her little shoulders hunch forward and her small eyes peer into mine. She’s all business.

  “Who would have the most to
gain from this?” I repeat Sadie’s question.

  “Of the residents? Well, I suppose Maggie, Sally, and, of course, Chet.”

  “Why ‘of course’ Chet?”

  “He was a politician, you know. The man is not worried about taking big risks.”

  I ignore the fact that she just called betting on my finding love a big risk. “Thanks, Tess. I’ll keep you out of this.”

  “So back to Beau. I saw you two, dancing on the bridge. It’s exactly as I envisioned it…in that dress.”

  Since the evening crumbled so soon after that brief dance, I had wiped her prediction from my memory.

  “Beau and I…did not click. I have been hearing about him for years. I certainly know enough to know that he is…”

  “Perfect?” she says in a flighty, romantic way.

  “Not for me.” I focus on my cell phone to avoid looking directly at her. “You know, Tess, this whole promoting my love life thing might be it for me. The catalyst I needed to head for the Pearly Gates.”

  She nods, affirming how I feel. “Could be. Though I think the biggest catalyst for change will be that dance on the bridge. Mark my words.”

  I ignore her optimism and make the call to Sadie. At this moment, getting a grip on my “now” seems far more important than wagering bets on my future.

  I decide first to gather evidence before confronting the guilty residents. I call Lysa, a much more active computer user, to come in and help me check a few of the residents’ online accounts.

  Once she arrives, I barricade the door with an orange plastic chair and we start our investigation. First we go to the site. Angelica shows us some of the major collective blog libraries. My site’s link is accessible through several of these sites.

  “Wow! There’s Cecilia Jade. Get a load of the list of positive attributes that preface the blog.” Caitlin looks as though she has won the lottery, jumping up and down and grabbing my shirt. I don’t see the list because my hand is over my eyes.