Cat's Meow, page 20
“Sis, you’ve been staring into space with a goofy smile for the last minute. What gives?”
I started, realizing I had indeed drifted into my own orbit. “Oh, nothing.” My face heated, which gave me away, I couldn’t resist smiling, and I knew my cheeks were pink.
“And I’ve got a tree house in my living room.” Nora jabbed my arm with one finger. “C’mon, Sis. Spill it.”
“Fine. If you must know, I’ve got a date tonight.” There. I’d said it. Spilled the beans. Opened the barn door. There was no taking it back now.
“Oh. My. Word.” Nora spoke each word as if it was its own sentence. “Are you serious?”
Her voice rose with each syllable, and Herc begin to stir restlessly. My face was getting warmer, and a damp patch spread under each arm. Fantastic. If I was this nervous just talking about it, how in the world would I act when the real thing was happening?
“Well, yes, I am serious. But that’s not until this evening.” I motioned to the pile of phone records strewn over the table. “Right now, we’re trying to help Shelby.”
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Nora shook her head. “What are you wearing? And don’t tell me it doesn’t matter. Of course it does! We’re talking serious dating material here, girlie!”
I shrugged, but my cheeks were getting hotter.
“We can do this another time.” Nora tossed down her phone and turned to look at me with an appraising eye. “We need to get going if we’re going to make it to the stores and the nail salon before your date.”
I stared at her, my eyes widening in panic. Stores? Nail salon? “Absolutely nothing doing. He asked me out when I looked like this, and I’m not changing now.”
“I’d be willing to bet he didn’t see you yet this morning, sitting there in that old shirt and those disgraceful jeans.” She wrinkled her nose as if she’d smelled something on the bottom of her shoe. “I’m telling you, Sis. No man wants a woman who looks like a model for Goodwill.”
She looked so bothered at the thought that I had to laugh. “Nora, believe me when I say that Roger isn’t that way. He’s never once mentioned anything about my sandals or my hair or the way I dress.”
Nora snorted contemptuously. “And what man would?” She paused a moment. “Well, okay, so my second husband had some sort of weird skirt fetish. And number five didn’t like to see me in anything but pink.” Her nose wrinkled again in disgust. “If I never see anything that color in my house again, it’ll be too soon.”
“I’ve seen you wear pink before. And you’ve got pink nail polish on right this minute.”
Nora laughed delightedly, looking at her hands. “This, Sis, is what he would’ve called ‘Jezebel pink.’” She shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe she’d actually married a man who tried to dictate her wardrobe. “Anything but a sappy little girl color he hated. Makes me wonder if he had some sort of hang-up.”
I shuddered at her words. I’d only met one of her husbands, in spite of our closeness, and it sounded like a good thing. Besides, she never seemed to stay married long enough or to choose someone who wanted to meet any of her friends.
Nora continued to stare at me appraisingly. “Well, if you’re not going to let me take you shopping, at least let me take you to my hairdresser. You need to have someone show you how to fix up that bird’s nest you’ve got there.”
“Nothing doing.” I thought about the disastrous perm she’d had last year. “You shouldn’t talk, anyway. Your own hair is barely recovering.”
She shrugged with a chagrined smile. “True. So, we choose another salon. This is Portland, not the back forty of some Podunk town.”
“No thanks. And I mean it. Thanks, but no thanks.” I reached up to touch my hair, mentally seeing the graying strands I’d pinned up that morning. “If Roger doesn’t like me the way I am, then, well, he just doesn’t.” It was my turn to lift a shoulder. “I’ve managed fine without a man so far.”
“You’re a marvel among women. I could tell you some stories that would curl your hair. Wouldn’t you like to have some of your own?”
“What, curly hair?” I teased. “Don’t be silly, Nora.” I picked up another handful of papers and waved them at her. “Let’s focus on getting Shelby out of trouble before we make some for me, okay?”
“Fine.” She began to click through the internet once more. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
We spent the next couple of hours searching for something that might indicate a connection between Babs’s telecasts and upset callers. The longer we looked, though, the less optimistic I was about finding any such link.
Around noon, I pushed away from the table, groaning aloud as I gave my lower back a twist to relieve some of the stiffness from prolonged sitting. Glancing across at Nora, I saw she was paging through something that looked suspiciously like an online gossip magazine.
“See anything interesting?”
She looked at me, a guilty expression on her face. “Just the usual. You know, who’s dating who—”
“Whom,” I correctly her automatically.
“Fine. Whom’s dating whom—” She looked at me with an impish smile. “Was that more like it, Miss Grammar?”
I ignored her. Instead, I started gathering up the scattered pages of Babs’s phone records, stacking them into a neat pile.
“Are we quitting?” Nora set down her phone and lifted both arms above her head in a catlike stretch. “I sure could use some coffee.”
“And I could use a nap.” I stood and gave my back a final twist. “You’re welcome to snooze on the sofa.”
She looked at me as if I’d just asked her to recite Hamlet’s soliloquy. “A nap? Why would I need a nap?”
“Because you’re tired? That’s usually why I take one.”
She grunted. “And that’s because you’re turning into an old lady.” She stood and stretched and gave a wide yawn. “Okay, maybe a rest sounds good right now.”
“Yep,” I grinned. “That’s because you’re turning into an old lady.”
I was still chuckling when I closed the door behind her.
I awoke refreshed, Herc stretched out beside my bed, softly snoring. He was such a good dog and got along with other dogs without any problems. That was a good thing, especially since the man I was interested in had two of them.
I ate a late lunch, careful not to get too full. If Roger was taking me to dinner, I wanted to be able to enjoy the food as well as the company. If I had a pet peeve, it was a woman who picked at her food in front of a man and then gobbled everything in sight once she was alone. Never let it be said that Gwen Franklin was that type of woman.
Of course, I didn’t want to appear gluttonous either. How did Nora manage to get around this conundrum? Staring at myself in the bathroom mirror as I brushed my teeth, I hoped I’d be able to enjoy the evening. Dating seemed like a chore, in my opinion. Maybe if I thought of it as an evening with a good friend, I’d be able to relax. With that cheery thought, I set about getting ready for my evening with Roger.
* * * *
Roger was right on time, his car drawing up to the curb at precisely seven. I hesitated a moment with on hand on the doorknob. Should I wait for him to ring the doorbell? Walk out to the car on my own? Let him come in and see Herc for a few minutes before we left?
I was still pondering these questions when a light tap sounded by my ear, causing me to jump and hit my elbow against the metal doorknob. Rubbing the offended joint, I opened the door.
“Good evening.” Roger smiled at me, sending my heart soaring up into my throat. “Do you mind if I come in for a sec?”
“Not at all.” I stepped back from the doorway, catching a whiff of something that reminded me of patchouli as he walked past. “Would you like something to drink?”
“That would be nice.” He shrugged out of his sports coat and hung it on the back of the armchair. “Anything warm would be fine.”
Thank goodness for that. I didn’t keep alcohol in the house, except an old bottle of cooking sherry that probably needed to be tossed. Coffee and tea, though, I had aplenty. Pushing the button on my Keurig to heat the water, I looked over my shoulder at my date. No, not my date. My friend. I needed to eliminate that “d word” if this evening was going to be successful.
“Would you prefer a flavored coffee or one that isn’t?”
He looked up from patting Herc and smiled. “Unflavored is fine. I’m not too picky.”
I hid a smile as I busied myself preparing two cups of my favorite Ethiopian blend. If only Nora could hear that. There was one man on this planet that wasn’t picky. Of course, my inner voice chimed in, he’s taking you out to dinner. Did that mean he wasn’t picky about his choice of dinner companions as well? I decided to overlook that thought.
By the time we’d had our coffee and chatted about the dogs, the weather, and the latest Portland news, I was feeling as relaxed as I’d ever be. In fact, I was probably more at ease with Roger than I ever was during a classroom visit by my principal.
* * * *
A chilly breeze blew in from the Willamette as Roger and I left the car and walked toward the small Italian restaurant’s entrance. I was glad I’d added another layer to my ensemble. Who said denim shirts were out of style?
Mama Mia’s Trattoria, housed in a historic downtown building, was abuzz with dinner conversation. I’d eaten here once or twice before, and my stomach was beginning to rumble out a greeting to the various aromas that met my nose.
Roger, one hand holding my newly bruised elbow, guided me behind the hostess as she led us to a table near the back of the restaurant.
“Would this be all right?” Our hostess appeared as young as Rachel and Addie, and I caught myself examining her face closely for signs of recognition.
I’d love to have one evening out without running into a former student, especially since I was out with a date. A friend.
A man.
So far so good, though, and I slipped into the chair Roger held for me with a feeling of satisfaction. No goofy Brent, no hormone-addled Nora, no problems.
No such luck.
Chapter 19
I’d taken one bite of my caprese salad when the skin on the back of my neck began to prickle. It didn’t take me long to understand why.
“Fancy meeting your two here,” said the cause of my discomfort. “Marcus, grab that waitress and get another chair.”
“I’d be careful with my wording if I were you.” I spoke automatically when I saw the broad grin on Marcus’s face as he trotted off. My mind, though, was whirling as it tried to comprehend the stuff of nightmares. My best friend and her man had just crashed my very first date with Roger. I sincerely hoped there was a good reason behind the intrusion, not just uncontrollable curiosity. Of course, it might have been a coincidence. And pigs might fly.
Roger seemed to be taking it all in stride, however. He clearly enjoyed Marcus’s company, and Nora, if I was being honest, knew how to keep a conversation going. I, on the other hand, had slipped back into my role of observer rather than participant.
I should have offered to bake a frozen pizza at home.
Over a dessert of cannoli and cappuccinos, Roger asked me about my family. Nora had already told several hilarious stories about our earlier years as friends, which had us all laughing, and now Roger put the spotlight squarely on me.
I gave a self-conscious laugh. “There isn’t much to tell, really.”
Nora began to protest. “You had a much more interesting family than I did, Sis. I am an only child. You have four brothers.”
“And are you the oldest?” Roger asked.
“Yes,” I said, “I am the oldest.”
“And I think her parents had her first so they’d have a built-in babysitter and housekeeper,” added Nora. “Made me glad I am an only child.”
“So, you were the oldest of five,” Roger, smiled. “I have it the other way. I am the youngest of four.”
Marcus, who’d been concentrating on his cannoli, looked up. “So am I. And I am the only son.” He shook his head. “It was pure hell, growing up with three older sisters. I swear they lived to torment me.”
Roger laughed as he raised one hand to flag down our waitress. “More coffee? Cannoli?” When the next round had been taken care of, he said, “You and me both, pal. My oldest sister, Rena, loved to dress me up as a little girl and braid my hair.”
The idea of Roger in a frilly dress and bows was amusing. He turned to me. “So, what did you do to your brothers? Put makeup on them? Teach them ballet?”
The idea of my bratty brothers sitting still long enough to have makeup applied was amusing.
“No, nothing like that. They were constantly getting into things and places they shouldn’t be, and somehow, it was always my fault.”
“That’s probably why she’s never been married or had kids,” chimed in Nora, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. “I, on the other hand, had no idea just how rotten men could be.”
“Oh, come on,” protested Marcus. “I think I’m a pretty good specimen.”
Before this side conversation could descend into a Nora-esque embarrassment, I said, “How about your parents, Roger. Did they spoil you?”
His cheeks reddened. “Maybe just a bit.” He shrugged, taking a sip of coffee. “Being the youngest and the only boy made some things easier.”
“Not my parents.” Nora was clearly finished antagonizing Marcus for the moment. “They made me ‘stand on my own two feet,’ as my mom liked to say.”
We fell silent for a moment as we drank the cappuccinos. I liked the flavor of the creamy coffee, not sweet and not bitter. Would it be too difficult to make this at home?
“I wonder,” began Roger, “if boys are more ‘spoiled,’ to use your word, Gwen. Do girls ever get treated that way?”
Marcus gave a short laugh. “In my clan, the girls are treated like royalty. The guys are expected to work their butts off and take care of them.”
“Sounds promising,” murmured Nora into her cappuccino.
“I know I wasn’t,” I said. “But it doesn’t bother me.”
“It did back then.” Nora looked across at me, froth from the coffee decorating her upper lip.
I decided to ignore her comment until I heard what else she had to say.
“Remember that time when those brats made a blanket fort in the living room and knocked over your grandpa?”
I laughed, thinking about it, and motioned for her to wipe her mouth.
“Knocked over your grandpa? Was he hurt?” Roger’s voice was concerned, making me laugh harder.
“No, he wasn’t hurt,” I managed to say. “It was his urn.” I stopped to wipe my eyes, thinking about that day and the expressions on my brothers’ faces as they stood, mouths agape, staring in horror at the pile of ashes strewn over our mom’s best quilt.
“I was spending the afternoon with her just to give her some female company. You should have seen them trying to scrape Grandpa off the floor before their parents got back from the airport with Granny.” Nora chuckled and I smiled, remembering the look on my granny’s face when she saw her late hubby being vacuumed up and replaced in his urn.
How I’d escaped getting the blame for that little escapade still amazed me.
“I just read an article about a mom who tracked down the kids who were bullying her son.” Marcus pressed one finger into the crumbs left on his dessert plate. “She actually went to their school and threatened them. And recorded it on her phone as well, which might not have been the smartest move.”
“Some parents are like that,” I thought about some of the characters I’d met over the years. “One student in particular was a holy terror, and how he got into my class, I wasn’t sure.” I shook my head as I told them about the time he’d filled the keyhole on my desk with superglue. “And he denied it, even when the principal found the superglue tube in his backpack.”
“What’d his parents do? If he’d been mine, I woulda hit ’im where the good Lord split ’im,” Marcus said.
“Not his mom,” I said. “She was mad, all right, but at me for taking him to the principal and at the principal for searching his backpack.”
“Some parents just can’t see the truth in front of their noses.” Roger drained the last of his coffee, setting the small cup on the saucer with a tiny clink. “I might have been treated a little special, but I would have never gotten away with something like that, I can tell you that right now.”
“We always hear about how solid a mother’s love is.” I lifted my cappuccino to my lips but didn’t drink. “It makes it sound as though it’s the strongest force in the world.”
“Unfortunately, it can be blind as well. That student you had is a prime example.”
I nodded at Marcus’s comment. A memory began to stir in the back of my mind, a quote from a novel or play or poem about a mother’s love being a terrible thing. Or maybe it was a beautiful thing. Either way, it could be a consuming thing.
I didn’t have long to dwell on this rather depressing thought. Roger suggested a walk around the courthouse square, a recently renovated area in downtown Portland.
“It’s getting cold.” Nora pulled the edges of a short leather jacket around her more firmly. “Maybe I should break out the furs.”
“Or wear thicker clothes,” I suggested, giving her a jab with my non-bruised elbow. “I know just the place to find them, too.”
“Not on your life, Sis. You won’t catch me shopping there.” Nora affected an expression of repulsion as she gave my denim shirt a tug. “Don’t tell me. You found this there.”
