Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As promised, Winnie was knocking at my door the next morning. I was buried under blankets, face-down in my bed. I raised my head just enough to look at the digital readout on my alarm clock. Nine. Damn.

“Lori! Wakey-wakey! C’mon! Let me in! I drank a large coffee on the way over here and I really have to pee!” Winnie shouted through my front door.

I got up and trudged to the front hall to let her in.

“Would you can it? The neighbors give me enough grief on Sundays when I watch the races,” I said. I relocked the door once Winnie was inside. She dashed to my bathroom and I put on water for my own coffee.

“I can’t believe you’re not ready! This sale waits for no one!” Winnie said, joining me at the counter in the kitchen. I took out two mugs for coffee and pulled a box of s’mores Pop Tarts out of the cabinet. I let Winnie put in her own instant coffee and I scooped out mine. The breakfast of champions.

“Win, it’s my day off. My editor has been nice and is letting me relax on writing for the moment. I do have to call Kathy about a client, but I can do that later. I haven’t slept in for a long time,” – lie – “so forgive me if I indulged this morning.”

“Sor-ry! I just thought that some shopping would do us both good,” Winnie said, breaking off a corner of her Pop Tart.

“Both? What do you need shopping therapy for?” I asked.

Winnie sighed dramatically and sipped at her coffee. “I need a man, Loretta. Kevin and I broke up six months ago. I’m ready.”

I put another Pop Tart in the toaster. I knew what she was getting at; this was her way of asking me to set up an account for her at Love Me Tender. “Are you sure?”

“Very. It’s either that or fill the void with shoes.” She thought about that statement for a moment. “It’s not so bad. There’s a pair at that little place in the mall near Bally’s that I’ve had my eye on for ever.”

Winnie’s mood could always be influenced by a good pair of shoes or a sale. Must be nice.

I finished my Pop Tart and coffee and got ready. I put on my usual shop-till-you-drop ensemble of broken in Gap jeans, vintage 2002, a v-neck t-shirt, and the little black shoes. I grabbed my purse and locked up behind us.

“Your car or mine?” I asked, hoping Winnie would say hers as I had only a quarter tank and gassing Shamu would seriously cut into my shopping budget.

“Mine. I just made this mix CD I want you to hear,” Winnie replied, unlocking her Malibu Maxx.

While we headed toward the mall, I called Kathy.

“Loretta!” she barked when I identified myself. “I need you to stop in and pick up this ALC file. No one else will touch it. And I’m getting sick of Julie calling here. Work your magic on her. Or just do something to shut her up,” Kathy said before hanging up. I didn’t get a word in edgewise, so I told Winnie to make a detour to the Love Me Tender office so I could get the file.

I had heard about Julie Tibideaux. Her file had been passed around the office enough and we all joked that if anyone could get her in the “case closed” section of the file cabinet that person would quit, no questions asked. Sheila had it ready for me when we walked in.

“Holy crap! Sheila Lawrence?” Winnie said when we entered the reception area.

“I was. I’m a Moore now,” Sheila replied. Then recognition registered on her face. “Winnie George, I can’t believe this!” Sheila came from behind her desk and gave Winnie a hug. “Lori, you didn’t tell me you still talked to Winnie!”

I’m sure I had but who remembers? I just shrugged.

“Got the file?” I asked.

“Oh! Right!” Sheila reached over her desk and handed me a manila file folder with Julie Tibideaux’s name written on the top left corner in black marker.

“Okay Win, let’s roll!” I said, anxious to leave before Kathy caught my scent and made me stay for whatever reason she could cook up on the spot.

“I’ll get your number from Loretta. We should do lunch and catch up!” Winnie said, waving as I dragged her out of the office. When we were back in the car, she frowned. “What was that all about?”

“Kathy was in her office and if we had stayed she would have realized I was there and made me stay to work on the case,” I said, waving the folder. “She’s trying to institute a policy that we have to stay there to do work instead of work from home.” Working at the Love Me Tender office would mean suits and more attention to detail and I was happy holding client meetings at Bagels and Lox and calling clients to set up appointments while I was at the car wash or in my jammies.

When we finally got to the mall, my cell phone chirped. It was my editor, Neil.

“Loretta I’ve got a story for you,” he said by way of greeting.

“Fine, hit me,” I said, taking my little notebook out of my purse to take down the basic information.

“I’ve already arranged a meeting for you with the manager so all you have to do is go.”

Uh oh. I hated assignments like this. This meant that I was either going under cover or experiencing some facet of life and was going to profile it for all of our faithful readers.

“What now?” I asked, not bothering to hide my disappointment.

“I want you to write a story about Joe or Sally Every Person. Basically, what life as a part-time retail person is like,” Neil said.

Ugh. I couldn’t wait. “So what you’re saying is you’ve gotten me a part-time job somewhere and I have to write a story about what it’s like,” I said, drawing little frowny faces in my notebook.

“You got it! You have an appointment with the manager of Payless at the mall at noon. Can you be there by then?”

“Sure. No problem. I’m already here actually. When’s this due?”

“Since I want you to get a decent feel for the job, you’re going to be there for 2 weeks.”

I hung up and put my notebook and cell phone back in my purse. “Looks like you’ll be able to get those shoes you wanted after all. I have to go to Payless for story,” I said to Winnie.

“Really?” she asked, definitely thinking about the shoes and not why I needed to be there.

* * *

That afternoon, with my recent purchases taking up temporary residence on one end of my couch, I opened up Julie’s file. It had the usual paperwork in it: the form she filled out with her biographical information and the quick paper survey we give clients to use as a quick reference while we help them find a match. It also is helpful in getting to know the client so that we can better relate to them. We also include a photo of the client so that when we have client meetings in public places, like mine at Bagels and Lox, we can spot them better in a crowd. I thought Julie looked familiar but couldn’t place where I’d seen her. I chalked it up to the fact that even though Potter’s Falls isn’t very big, I travel around the area a lot and probably had seen her someplace.

And then it hit me. I had seen Julie Tibideaux someplace – my high school. Only, at the time she was Julie White. I hadn’t put the name with the face since Tibideaux wasn’t a local name and it was oh-so obvious that Julie, Miss Prom Queen, Head Cheerleader, and all-around pain in the you-know-where, had had some plastic surgery done. She was looking less prom queen and more Stepford Wife nowadays. Same snooty expression and impeccable appearance though.

I took a swig of my beer and read through Julie’s biography. Recently divorced and kept her married name. No kids. Worked as an assistant buyer for Macy’s. She seemed to lead a normal life. She was looking for someone stable with a good job that didn’t want kids. Good luck, sweetheart, I thought, putting the papers back in her folder and tossing it on the coffee table. I’d deal with Julie later.

What I needed to deal with was my lack of relationship with Dylan. The Chelsea thing was bothering me. Where did he get off spending all this time with her and not with me? I’d very nearly sell my soul to spend some real quality time with him, just hanging out and such. I decided to call him.

“Hey,” Dylan said by way of greeting. “What’s happening, doll?”

“Just wondering what you’re up to,” I said, hoping I sounded causal instead of suspicious like I thought I did.

“Oh, not too much. I was just about to go out and work on my truck.”

Great. The truck. His baby. Whoopee.

“Oh yeah? Get a new toy for it?” I asked, faking interest.

“Yeah. It’s nothing big, just graphic decals for the sides.”

“I see.” Grumble. “Want to come over later? We could watch a movie or something. I’ll cook.”

Dylan chuckled. My last excursion into the culinary arena was less than spectacular, unless you count the mess I made of my kitchen.

“Thanks, but I’m going out with the guys later.”

“I see,” I said, suspecting “the guys” meant Chelsea. “Care if I tag along then?”

“It’s actually a Guy’s Night. We’re taking a cue from you and your friends,” Dylan explained.

I bet. Only my Girls Nights actually involved my girls.

“Oh. Okay then. When are you free next?” I asked.

“Not sure but I’ll definitely let you know. Later babe.”

I don’t want to settle for just talking to Dylan on the phone when he’s 7 miles across town, but I guess I can accommodate that. I have to look at it this way: it’s better than nothing at all. At the end of the day, when we say good night and he calls me babe or doll or sweetie, a little part of me thinks, “But you don’t mean it because you’re with someone else.”

I’m in a rotten, rotten position all of a sudden and I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. I decided right then and there that I was going to try to move on. It would be best for both of us. Dylan obviously didn’t want to be with me, that I was just a passing phase. So be it then. I would be okay. I had two great jobs, fantastic friends, and plenty of opportunities to meet Mr. Right. All Dylan was was Mr. Right Now.

But it’s hard trying to move on and away from the very person you know you don’t want to be away from.