Authors: Karen McQuestion
“Oh yes. She said you were smart and funny and a great friend. And that you were a great writer.”
My jaw dropped; I was momentarily speechless.
He continued. “When she said you had a great personality, I thought maybe that was a nice way of saying you weren’t good looking.” He took a sip of wine before continuing. “But you’re really pretty, so I guess she honestly meant you have a great personality.”
“She actually said all those nice things?”
“Absolutely. We had quite the talk.”
He said I was really pretty.
I wondered if he meant exceptionally pretty, or just pretty considering he thought I might possibly have been ugly.
Antonio came to pour more wine, and then he took my salad plate away.
It was a shame to move from the topic of me being really pretty to the subject of the wedding, but it had to happen sometime. “I know Piper told you all about my sister’s wedding.”
“Yes, she did. I’ve already checked my schedule, and I’ll be in town that weekend. I’m willing and able to be your fiancé.” He gave me a two-fingered salute. “At your service, m’lady.”
“See, that’s the thing.” I exhaled slowly. “When I had the original discussion with Piper, I was just venting. My sister Mindy had me so upset that Piper came up with this grand plan for revenge. At the time I went along with it because, frankly, I was in a bad place emotionally, if you want the truth of it.” I shook my head at the thought. “And besides, I half thought Piper was joking. But now…” I drummed my fingers on the table and looked toward the back of the restaurant where the kitchen doors swung open like saloon shutters. Antonio came out carrying a large tray. Not our meal, though. Too many plates.
“Are you saying you don’t want to go through with it?”
“I’m not so sure it’s a good idea after all.” I glanced at Ryan, who looked dismayed. “I’m sorry you went to all this trouble, coming to my office and now dinner and everything.” He frowned slightly. I was shocked he was taking this so hard. “I’ll pay for dinner, if that’s the issue.”
He leaned forward to move the candle to one side, and then he placed his hand over mine. His fingers were warm. “Could you do me an enormous favor?” He spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes darting to one side. “Just go along with whatever I say, OK?”
“What?” I started to turn to see what he was looking at.
“Don’t look.” He squeezed my fingers so hard I felt the bones meet. “Just play along. I’ll explain later.”
I
looked up to see a tall blond standing over our table. “Hello there, Ryan.” She said his name with a sneer, and her mouth held the shape. What she wore reminded me of a jogger in a Nike commercial: cropped aqua-colored athletic pants and a matching zippered jacket. Her hair was pulled back in a thick ponytail. Despite the fact that she wore no jewelry or makeup, she looked better than I ever had in my entire life.
“Tanya.” He lifted his chin and smiled. “Imagine meeting you here.”
“Imagine, my ass,” she said. “I saw your car outside, you bastard. You haven’t wasted any time finding a new one, have you? Whatever happened to not wanting a relationship because your job is so demanding?”
He let go of my hand, and I massaged my tender knuckles.
Tanya turned to me. “Did he order the Primivito and then tell you how beautiful your name is? Does he act like you’re the center of the universe? That’s how it starts, sister, but trust me, that’s not how it ends.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but then I thought better of it.
Ryan held up his hands. “Tanya, please.” The tables surrounding us quieted in a ripple effect. “This isn’t a good time or place. We can talk later. I’ll call you.”
“Sure, we can talk.” She opened and closed her hand, like a puppet mouthing words. “You’re good at talking, but not much else.” She had the wild-eyed look of a woman who hadn’t renewed her prescription.
“Tanya.” Now Ryan looked serious. “That is really hurtful.”
“He’s a liar, too.” She stuck her finger so close to his face I thought she might puncture his eyeball. I caught a whiff of her musk perfume when she turned her head in my direction. A heavy, serious scent. “He says he’s an international consultant. Ha! I checked with the companies he supposedly works for and none of them have even heard of him. And his stories about his family? They don’t check out at all. The Jag doesn’t even belong to him—it’s leased. He’s all lies and promises and nothing else.”
I touched Ryan’s sleeve. “You know, I can just go home. We can get together another time.”
Ryan shook his head and stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the tile flooring. “That’s enough, Tanya,” he said evenly, and then he put an arm around her shoulder. I thought she might shake him off, but instead his touch seemed to relax her. As he guided her toward the front of the restaurant, I saw him speaking to her in hushed tones, and she responded with a limp nod. The transformation was amazing. It was like he was the Jilted-Girlfriend Whisperer.
While he was gone, I ruminated on the trend of seemingly intelligent men entering into relationships with women from hell. I’d spotted Kelly’s shortcomings right from the start, but Hubert fell hard for her glib talk and cosmetically enhanced beauty. And now Ryan, suave and educated, was somehow connected with this Tanya, whose mental health history was practically written across her forehead. It would be interesting to hear his side of the story.
By the time he returned, I’d devoured a breadstick and polished off another glass of wine. The alcohol was working its magic—now I saw the dining room through the rosy haze of semi-tipsiness. The sound of Dean Martin singing “That’s Amore” was a perfect accompaniment to the smell of tomato sauce and garlic.
“I apologize,” Ryan said, sliding into his chair. “I know that didn’t look good. I hope you don’t hold it against me.”
“She seemed a little unstable,” I said.
“You could say that.” I watched his face as he spoke and thought about the expression “easy on the eyes.” Watching a good-looking person is such a pleasure. Shallow, I know, but there’s a reason gorgeous models and actors get the big bucks while the rest of us schlubs struggle every day with face creams and control-top pantyhose and ultra-whitening Crest—always hoping small measures will make a difference. Right on cue, Ryan smiled; I could have sworn I saw a glint off his dazzling teeth. “I met Tanya at my health club, and we only went out a few times. I could tell it wasn’t going to work out, and she seemed agreeable when I explained. I thought we were good.” He took a sip of his wine. “I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m
really
sorry to have kept you waiting.”
I brushed the breadcrumbs off the table onto my hand and then held them indecisively for a moment before dropping them under the table onto the floor. “Not a problem. I’ve been fine here.”
“Tanya’s a really good person,” he said. “But kind of needy. She never understood how demanding my job is. When you travel three weeks out of four, there’s not time for much of a relationship.”
“Ahh,” I said in sympathy. Gone three weeks out of four? No wonder the neighbors never saw him. “So where do you go on your business trips?”
“Anywhere and everywhere.” He looked upward for a moment as if recalling. “It varies—Bangkok, Sri Lanka, Bangalore. Recently I’ve been to Eastern Europe and South America. The companies that hire me are international, so I go wherever they need me. And most of what I do is troubleshooting, so all my work is confidential.” Reading between the lines, he was addressing Tanya’s accusation. “Most companies don’t like to admit when they have to call in my kind of help.”
I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but he was easy on the corneas and a joy to listen to. He had the smooth voice of an anchorman or radio announcer, and I was willing to bet he could really sing. A beautiful baritone voice, if I had to guess. I looked at his mouth and tried to imagine him singing “Happy Birthday” to me during a private celebration.
Luckily for me, Antonio delivered our dinner before I could start drooling. We’d both ordered the same thing: angel hair pasta tossed in butter and topped with shrimp and vegetables. It was delicious. I’d only had an apple and yogurt for lunch. This meal filled a void I hadn’t even realized existed.
Ryan was an attentive listener. He asked question after question about my childhood, my parents, my sister. We were on our second bottle of wine, so I was more of a blabbermouth than usual. Mindy in particular seemed to fascinate him, maybe because he saw similarities with his older brother.
“She really pretended to be you at the gynecologist?” he asked, fascinated. “How did she pull that off?”
I felt my cheeks redden. Up until now I’d only shared that story with Piper. I hadn’t even told Hubert.
“I mean,” Ryan said quickly, “she must be good at pretense. Most people can’t lie convincingly.”
“Mindy doesn’t think of it as lying. Once she says something, it becomes the truth for her. She’d probably even pass a lie detector test.” I speared a piece of shrimp and popped it in my mouth.
“Hmm.” He tapped his index finger on the table and looked thoughtful. “Has she always been this way?”
“Always. When she wants something, she goes after it. And she never gives up, no matter what it takes.” I shook my head. Why was life a competition for her? I’d always wanted to have a sister who was a friend. I grew up watching
Little House on the Prairie
reruns and envisioned Mindy as Laura and myself as Mary, her older sister. Before Mary went blind, of course. The two of us would weather all kinds of calamities, from natural disasters to sisterly quarrels, and only become closer in the end. I’d watched the shows where Pa played the fiddle and the girls danced in their little house, and I was jealous of their closeness. Our father had a harmonica, but the only song he knew was “Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore.” Listening to him play was a special kind of torture. Nope, we weren’t the Ingalls. Or the Waltons either, but maybe
that
was a blessing in disguise—all those people in one house and only one bathroom. I don’t care how much love there is in your family, if you can’t pee when you want to, your quality of life is pretty poor.
Ryan broke into my thoughts. “And what does Mindy do for a living?”
“Her degree is in business.” I twisted some pasta around my fork. “Like the world really needed another business major. She speaks French and Spanish fluently, so she was talking about doing translations for the UN or something, but her fiancé Chad would never leave Wisconsin. For now, she’s processing mortgage applications.” I made a face to indicate what I thought of that, and Ryan grinned. “Someone’s got to do it, I guess.”
“I guess,” he agreed.
When we were done with dinner, Ryan suggested coffee and dessert. He said the tiramisu was to die for, and after a few delicious bites, I agreed. Of course, in my slightly inebriated state I might have agreed to anything.
We finished our dessert and lingered over coffee. Ryan told me about the best coffee he’d had recently—in Panama, of course. “I brought home the type they don’t even export,” he said. “They usually keep the best for themselves.” That led to a discussion of restaurant customs around the world. When he spoke he looked right into my eyes, and when I talked he seemed to find my opinions enthralling. Not that I had much to contribute to a discussion of global cuisine.
Antonio had refilled my decaf for the fourth time when I noticed we were the last table in the restaurant. “Oh my, what time do you close?” I glanced at my watch.
“We closed at
nine
, but the bar is open until eleven.” He motioned in the direction of the lounge. I got the distinct impression he wouldn’t mind if we vacated the table.
“Would you like an after-dinner drink?” Ryan asked.
“Oh no, I have work tomorrow. I really should get home.”
Antonio presented us with the check. I went for my wallet to pay my own way, but Ryan waved away my offer. He pulled out a thick wad of fresh bills, peeled off a few, and left them on the table.
When we walked out to the parking lot, I felt the wine I’d consumed go straight to my head. “I think I had a little too much to drink,” I said, trying to keep my eyes focused. Ryan regarded me with concern. “I don’t normally have more than one or two.”
“Why don’t you let me drive you home?” He put a brotherly hand on my shoulder. “It’s not too far out of my way.” A joke, I thought.
“Well.” I looked at my car and hesitated.
“I can tell the restaurant we’re leaving your car overnight, and I’ll drive you here in the morning to pick it up.”
“Oh no,” I said, my mind clearing. “I have a friend staying with me. He can drop me off tomorrow.” And that’s when it hit me:
I’d never told Hubert I was going out after work.
I was so used to living alone, so used to never accounting to anyone, that it had never even occurred to me to give him a call. My cell phone, the only way he could have reached me, had been off all evening. I thought guiltily of his cheery send-off that morning—“See you at dinner!”—and hoped he hadn’t gone to the trouble of cooking. I would have called him right then, except it would have been a little like getting out the fire extinguisher after the shed had already burned to the ground.
No, it would be better to wait twenty minutes and explain in person. Even if I was a teeny bit wasted.
T
he inside of Ryan’s car smelled like leather and something else—a pleasing scent. It wasn’t like what you get from having a cardboard pine tree hanging off your rearview mirror—more like cinnamon potpourri. I didn’t see the source of the smell, which made me wonder if luxury cars came with their own air-freshening system.
Despite the ease of our dinnertime chatter, I found myself silent during the ride home, content to look out the window at the office buildings and strip malls on the way to our neighborhood. I hadn’t been a passenger in a car for a long time, and it felt good to sit back and let someone else navigate lane changes and watch for merging traffic.
Ryan had the radio set to Milwaukee’s cool jazz station. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the fingers on his right hand tapping the beat on the steering wheel. The saxophone riff put me in mind of Lisa Simpson. I almost said as much, but then I decided against it. It’s one thing to be a rube, another entirely to advertise it.
When we pulled up to the curb in front of my house, I was surprised to see that the lights were on and there was movement behind the closed drapes. It looked like the scene the burglars saw in
Home Alone
, when the kid rigged up mannequins and cardboard cutouts to give the house a party look. Who the hell was in my house? Would Hubert have invited his poker buddies over without checking with me first?
“Looks like your friend has guests,” Ryan said. I made a move to open my door, but he squeezed my arm to stop me. “I’ll get it,” he said and exited the car, only to appear on my side. Such an odd, old-fashioned courtesy, but one I could get used to. He slammed my door shut and motioned toward my front door. “Is everything OK?”
“I think it’s fine, thanks.” I squinted at the house. My first impression was correct—there were flickers of movement inside, like moths inside a lampshade. It wasn’t just Hubert in there, by the looks of it. A window must have been slightly open, because I could hear the hum of conversation and what sounded like a dog whining.
“All right then. This was fun. I’ll give you a call, and we can work out some details before the wedding.”
The wedding? Oh shoot, hadn’t I made it clear I’d chickened out on the fake engagement? I couldn’t really remember how I worded it, but I knew the issue had come up at dinner. I cleared my throat and stood, fuzzy-headed, for a second. I was torn between wanting to clear things up right away and needing to head inside and find out what was going on with Hubert.
“Maybe we could do dinner and a movie later in the week?” His tone was so sweet, so tentative, like he wasn’t sure I’d want to go out with him. I found that so appealing.
“I’d love to,” I said.
“Great.” The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He leaned over and gave me a quick embrace, and then he pulled away to look at me and leaned in for another hug. A European good-bye without the cheek kissing. “I’ll just see you safely to the door, and then I’ll be on my way.”
I thought of Hubert and company possibly seeing Ryan and me from the front window and felt as self-conscious as a teenager on her first date. I motioned to the house. “That’s sweet of you, but I can take it from here.”
“OK then.” He nodded approvingly. “Goodnight, Lola.”
I liked the way he said my name—drawing out the two syllables—Lo-la. If life were a Barry Manilow CD, he would have burst into song just then.
Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl…
I headed up the walkway and heard Ryan whistling as he got back inside the Jag. I paused on the porch to wave. He waved back before pulling away from the curb. Oh, I did hope I’d see him again, and not just around the neighborhood. I thought back over the last several hours. Conversationally I’d held my own pretty well, and he
had
laughed at my jokes. Always a good sign. If only I hadn’t had too much to drink. But maybe he found my low tolerance for alcohol to be a charming quirk rather than a character flaw? I could only hope.
As I approached my front door and turned the knob, I could hear a murmur of voices, which only got more distinct when I entered the small foyer. I dropped my purse inside the front closet and walked into the living room. The group didn’t notice me at first, but I saw them clearly enough. Hubert stood with his back to me. Seated on my couch were Crazy Myra, Brother Jasper, and Ben Cho. Belinda, with her husky dog at her side, stood in front of my wing chair. I had a sudden sick feeling that the neighborhood watch committee now met at my house.
The dog spotted me at the exact moment I saw him. He got up and scrambled past Hubert to assault my crotch with his nose.
“Lola’s here,” Brother Jasper said, rising to his feet. “Oh thank the Lord. What a relief.”
I pushed the dog away just as Hubert turned around. His face had a troubled look that melted into joy when he realized it was me. “Lola, thank God,” he said, giving me a hug that nearly lifted me off my feet. He had such a tight hold on me that my nose and mouth pressed into his chest, making it hard to breathe. He pulled away to look at my face. “Where were you? I’ve been so worried.”
The others gathered around him, asking the same question and nodding in agreement. Belinda patted the big dog’s head and murmured, “Good boy, Roger. Good boy.”
He was worried about me?
“Oh no,” I said. “I’m sorry. I just went out after work. Something came up at the last minute.” I looked at their faces and realized my words weren’t working. “I got so caught up in what I was doing, I completely forgot to call.”
Hubert dropped his hands to his side. “You forgot to call?” He turned to the group. “She says she forgot to call.” I’d never seen him so aggravated. The way he clenched his fists made him look downright angry. I tried to think of the right way to apologize, but I was distracted by the pulsating of his Adam’s apple.
“I know I should have, but honestly I forgot you were staying here. I know that sounds terrible, but I’m used to coming and going on my own.”
“But you did call, Lola. You left me a message.”
He looked so sure, but I knew it wasn’t true. “I should have called,” I repeated. “I’m really sorry. I just—”
Hubert held up a hand to stop me, and then he leaned over the end table and hit the button on the answering machine. I heard my own voice. “Hi, this is Lola. He’s driving a dark blue car, two doors, I think it’s a Mustang. License plate number
MOR
-007.” Then there was a long pause. “He’s about six foot two, with dark hair and brown eyes. He said his name was Ryan.” Even to my ears it sounded like I was reporting a crime.
When the machine shut off, there was a silence a person could slice with a knife. Hubert spoke up. “What does that mean, Lola?”
“I was just…” I pressed my hands to my cheeks for a moment, trying to fend off the embarrassment of a red face. My neighbors stood looking for an explanation; Ben Cho cleared his throat and shifted his weight. I blurted out the story. “I went out to dinner with someone Piper knows, but since I didn’t know him I thought it might be a good idea to take down his license plate and description. Just in case.” It sounded lame. The dog cocked his head as if weighing my logic.
“But I called Piper, and she had no idea where you were,” Hubert said. “All she could tell me was that you hung up rather abruptly when she was talking to you at work, which I found really troubling. And then I called your parents, and they didn’t know anything, but they weren’t worried at all. ‘She’ll turn up eventually,’ your mom said.” He looked disgusted. “After that, I drove back and forth between here and your office six times looking for you. I knocked on doors in the neighborhood to see if anyone had any idea where you might be. No one had a clue, but at least they cared enough to drop everything and come help me out. I thought you were kidnapped, or in some kind of accident. And the police wouldn’t do anything because not enough time had gone by.”
“You called the
police
?” Talk about overreacting. Next he would have had my photo on a milk carton. “Why would you do that?”
“I thought something terrible happened. I thought you were
dead
.” His voice reminded me of my mother at her most irrational.
“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I wasn’t dead. I was just out on a date.” I knew as soon as I said it that it was the wrong response. I saw the look on Hubert’s face and knew I’d been too flippant, but there was no turning back. He threw up his hands and walked out of the room. Stormed out, actually, his shoes making more noise than necessary on the hardwood floor. I didn’t miss his point.
“Well,” Brother Jasper said, addressing the others, “since Lola is safe and sound, I guess we can all return home.” He smiled in my direction. “I’m very glad you’re back and it was just a false alarm.” Then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Hubert was sick with worry. He really cares about you.”
I nodded. Like a flight attendant, I stood by the doorway while the group shuffled out. “Thanks for your concern,” I said to Myra, who just grunted. Brother Jasper and Ben Cho each gave me a smile as they passed. “I’m sorry for the mix-up,” I said as Belinda passed over the threshold. She stopped to hand me a sock, one of my own. From the dirty laundry hamper, judging by the smell of it.
“We were going to have Roger try to track you if you weren’t back by midnight. I really think he could have done it, too. Did you see how he shot right over to you as soon as you came in the door? I was so impressed. He’s got some bloodhound in him, I’m sure of it.”
I smiled weakly. “Thanks for coming, Belinda.” I didn’t really mean it, but it came out automatically, like putting a napkin on my lap at dinnertime.
“Oh,” she said, “my pleasure. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
I closed the door and locked it, and then I clicked the dead-bolt for extra protection. I pulled the curtain back and found the open window, and then I closed that as well. What was Hubert thinking, letting them all in? And why had he gone so berserk? I knew my message on the answering machine sounded odd, but really—the police? And even if he was worried, I didn’t understand the advantage of having the neighbors over. Their butts sitting on my couch didn’t speed up my homecoming. If anyone should be irritated, it was me.
I’d heard him go upstairs, and even now I could hear him walking around in his room. Later, after he’d cooled down, I’d apologize and we could sort it out. I suspected he was still reeling from his breakup with Kelly and this was just a symptom.
I went to straighten up the newspapers and magazines on my coffee table and came across two photos from my distant past. Hubert’s—they had to be. One was my senior picture from high school; the other was a four-by-six of Piper, Hubert, and me taken the year we all graduated from college. Well, actually Piper had graduated a semester early, but it was the summer after our graduations, anyway. Piper and I were on either side of a Hubert sandwich—he had an arm around each of our shoulders. All three of us were grinning. My hair was really shiny that day, I noticed. I looked on the back side of the pictures; neither one was dated. The group shot had our names printed neatly on the other side. On the back of my senior photo I’d written, “To Hubert, the best friend anyone could ever have. Love, Lola.” My handwriting hadn’t improved since then.
I glanced down at the coffee table again and spotted an index card on top of the magazine pile. I picked it up and turned it over to see this: “Lola Jane Watson, Height 5’5”, Weight 118 pounds, brown hair, hazel eyes,” in Hubert’s handwriting. Oh. He’d really thought I was missing and cared enough to write down my description.
I was touched by his concern. I was also touched by the fact that he gave me an extra inch and lopped off twelve pounds.
But mostly I was moved that Hubert had gone to so much trouble. He’d really been worried that I’d been abducted or killed. My own parents hadn’t been alarmed, but Hubert, old buddy Hubert, had knocked on doors and driven the streets searching for me. I thought back to what Ryan had said in the restaurant:
Having people look out for you, that’s a gift.
He was right—it
was
a gift, especially when I thought of the alternative, which was having no one care at all.
I went upstairs to apologize, but Hubert’s door was closed and all was quiet. I whispered, “Hubert?” but there was no response. I stood outside his door for a few minutes, giving him a chance to answer, before I gave up.
Later, after taking a shower and climbing into bed, I regarded the whole situation in a better light. Hubert was just being Hubert, looking out for me like he always used to. That’s how we met, in fact, when we were in seventh grade. Three older girls had been harassing me every day on the way home from school. They taunted me, threw pebbles at my back, and just generally made my life miserable. Why me? I never knew. Maybe it was simply because I was a grade younger, or smaller, or walked home in their direction. Who knows what sets off bullies? I tried taking different routes, hanging out at school a little longer, or dashing out the moment the bell rang. It didn’t seem to matter—they always found me. And by trying to avoid them, I made it a game.
One day they moved in for the kill, cornering me in the back of the school by the dumpsters. They didn’t seem to want anything—just to see me squirm.
“You think you’re so great,” the leader of the group said, pushing me so hard that my head slammed against the brick wall. Christina Olson was her name. All the girls in seventh grade knew to avoid her.
One of her friends said, “We saw you giving us the bird, you little bitch. We’re gonna teach you a lesson. Your ass will be grass.”
I did not, in fact, know exactly what they meant by the bird. I also wasn’t sure how my ass could actually become grass, but I thought it was safest to say nothing. They had me blocked in now. The three of them pressed against me while I had my back against the school building. I looked around, hoping the janitor might bring out some trash and I’d be saved. Near my feet was a small pile of refuse that had missed the dumpster, a rotting banana and some wadded-up wax paper.