Authors: Debra Salonen
Tags: #romance, #comedy, #sexy, #black humor, #aging and sex
"The battery needs charging
so I changed our reservation to seven-thirty. Thought we'd take a
drive first, if that's okay with you."
She tossed her head with a
laugh. "Okay? Cripes, there was a time in my life when I'd have
paid for the chance to ride through town in a convertible with the
top down. Can I practice my beauty queen wave? I used to have it
down pat." She walked toward him, the hand with the scarf shifting
back and forth.
A sudden memory struck. Eva
in the passenger seat, the blue scarf fluttering in the wind.
"We're keeping this car forever, Wiley. I mean it. Law is serious
business and you're going to need a safety valve to release all the
negativity you'll be surrounded by every day. What better way to
blow off steam than a long drive in a convertible?"
He jolted back to the
present when Judy held out her phone. "Take my picture with the
car. I need to text Pru," she said. "Bet they don't have cars like
this in Iceland."
"Sure," he said, glad now
he'd made the effort to wash and wax the car. His arms would be
sore tomorrow, but he'd enjoyed playing hooky in the garage with
the music turned up and his phone on vibrate.
Still no reply from
Fletcher, but even that didn't bother him at the moment.
She skipped down the steps
of the large, new-looking deck, tossed her purse on the seat then
posed, one hand on the chrome windshield. "How's this?"
"Too posed. Give your
friend something to talk about. Jump in the back and do the
wave."
Her grinned widened.
"Perfect," she squealed.
She opened the passenger
door, paused to slip off her sandals then lowered the seat back and
climbed in. A moment later, she settled into the pose, back
straight, bosom out. His brain flashed to the permanently etched
image from the night they met. Her lush, well-endowed breasts
peeking out from the black silk crushed to her chest. Wiley's
anatomy reacted. He bit down on his lip in
consternation.
Judy's smile fell. "Too
much? I know I'm not exactly beauty queen material."
She started to
move.
"No. Stop. You look great.
It's the light," he lied. "I can't see your face clearly. I need to
put the sun to my back."
She glanced over his
shoulder at the setting sun but didn't call him on his blatant lie.
"It doesn't have to be perfect. She'll think I photo-shopped it no
matter what."
He stepped to the far
corner of the deck, where the railing had the added advantage of
hiding his woody. "Much better. Now, wave and smile to your adoring
parade watchers."
Her grin made something
clench deep in his chest. Not his heart, he hoped. How cruel for
two men to keel over in her presence inside of a month.
Ten minutes later, after
dutifully cruising Main Street twice, he got the car up to sixty on
the open road. The wind noise didn't facilitate conversation, but
he had to ask, "Why will your friend think the picture is
fake?"
She turned sideways and
leaned toward him. Tendrils of blond hair that escaped from the
scarf danced in the wind. "She's the one who leads a glamorous
life. Not me."
Sitting in the back of a
car, pretending to be a beauty queen is glamorous?
A twinge of sadness segued to a sort of
big-brother protective feeling. He wondered who made her believe
she wasn't worth more?
His fingers squeezed the
white leather covering the steering wheel. "Would you like to
drive?"
Her jaw dropped. "Me?
Seriously?"
"Why not? I'll film it, if
you show me how. Then you can post the video on YouTube and send
your friend the link."
She sat back, digesting the
idea. "Wow. Okay."
He pulled over at the next
wide spot in the road. Dusk had fallen. They needed to turn around
and head into town. Judy hopped out of the car with an excited
skip. "This is so cool. Are you sure you trust me?"
He met her mid-way around
the front end. "It's a car, Judy. Just have fun with
it."
She started to say
something then changed her mind and grinned. "You're not the man I
thought you were. Get in. I'll try not to kill us."
She drove like a pro,
executing a perfect--if tire-squealing U-turn. The radio blasted
some country song Wiley had never heard, but Judy mouthed all the
words. Her happiness resonated through the camera he used to video
the first few minutes of the drive. He couldn't remember the last
time he felt more relaxed and...happy.
"You're a good driver," he
told her once they were seated across from each other at a quiet
corner table in Athena’s, the only Greek restaurant in town. He'd
come here fairly often with Julie and Fletcher...before the
accident. "What did you mean when you said I'm not the man you
thought I was?"
She took a sip of water
before answering. He knew a stalling technique when he saw one. "I
made some assumptions, mostly based on your demeanor that night in
the hotel room. Which--" She held up her hand to stop him from
interrupting. "--was not my best moment. I'm sure you made
assumptions about me, too."
True. "What did you
assume?"
Her fingers drummed the
blue and white checked tablecloth a moment. He almost could hear
the gears in her brain working to figure out how honest she should
be in her reply. "That you were disappointed. Your son let you
down. You wanted him to be more like you, and you never would have
been caught naked in a hotel room with several
strangers."
Her insightfulness
surprised him. He waited until the server brought their wine then
said, "You're right. I was disappointed, but not for the reason you
said. I'd honestly hoped that Clarice...Fletcher's
partner--"
"Oh. I know Clarice. Snippy
little gossipmonger. Go on."
"That Fletcher and Clarice
had had a lover's quarrel and he was using you--a woman named Judy
Banger--to get over her." He took a sip and shook his head.
"Foolish, huh?"
She reached across the
table and rubbed the back of his hand supportively. "You're a dad.
You're entitled to believe your kid is perfect right up to the
minute he proves otherwise." She looked at their hands and quickly
jerked hers back, nearly knocking over her wine glass. Her blush
made him want to smile but he maintained his judge face to avoid
adding to her embarrassment.
"Are you close to your
father?"
"He died in a car accident
when I was eleven. He's the only person who ever thought I was
perfect. I like to think he still would--even though I'm far from
it."
Wiley shrugged. "Perfection
is highly overrated."
She made a skeptical sound.
"Tell that to my mother."
He hated hearing the
bitterness in her tone, but before he could say anything, their
waiter brought a plate of spanakopita. Judy helped herself after
politely offering him one of the flaky layered treats. He put one
on his plate but didn't take a bite.
"My parents are both gone
now, but I don't remember either of them making me feel like I was
less than anyone else, my siblings included." He fought to keep
from reaching out to brush a flake of pastry from Judy's chin. "I
think they looked at child rearing as a job. They'd signed on to
raise decent, productive human beings and weren't going to let
anyone screw that up--themselves, included."
That made her smile--and
realize something was on her chin. She flicked it off.
"My folks weren't effusive
in their affection, but I'll never forget my mother storming into
my classroom one day. My civics teachers had given me a low grade
for something contrary to the woman's politics. What I wrote wasn't
wrong--it just didn't jibe with her opinion. Mom refused to back
down. She argued my case like a Supreme Court Justice. I've always
said she's the reason I went into law."
Judy tilted her head and
let out a soft "Oh." She paused a moment before adding, "I would
have killed for that kind of support growing up. I think I became a
reader because the parents in the books I read were like that. And
even if they weren't the kids still turned out okay."
"You turned out
okay."
She took a swallow of wine.
"You don't know me well."
He ignored the sarcasm.
"That's true, but I'd like to know you better."
Really? Why?
Judy wanted to ask. Fortunately, her mouth was
full of delicious spanakopita. She'd sampled frozen versions of the
appetizer at potlucks, but nothing compared to the real thing.
Every bite exploded in wonderfully rich and complex
flavors.
Once she could speak
without shooting tiny chunks of spinach across the table, she asked
about his siblings.
Over the salad, he told her
about his younger bother. "He owned a small chain of niche coffee
shops in Minneapolis and St. Paul. Super popular--especially with
college kids. He just got bought out by Peet's Coffee. Have you
heard of them?"
"My fave, you mean. Screw
Peet--whoever he is. They should have named it Judy's
Coffee."
Over the perfectly cooked
lamb kabobs, he told her about his older sister. "She retired from
teaching last year and jumped into volunteering. Right now she's
helping kids in Central America. Loves it. Sends me YouTube videos
all the time."
When the
baklava--melt-in-your-mouth delectable--arrived, he skimmed over
his various nieces and nephews. All doing as well as expected from
this solid, all-American family. Nothing, she noticed, came up
about
his
past
or
his
son.
He lifted the tiny coffee
cup to his lips and blew on it. "So, tell me more about the Banger
family. Where'd you grow up?"
She eyed the fragrant steam
rising from the cup in front of her. She didn't drink coffee in the
evenings. She'd pay for this if she gave in and took a sip, but the
aroma wormed its way into her weak resolution, which seemed
chronically determined not to pass up anything potentially
wonderful and worth remembering.
"Born in Nebraska but
raised in Davis. Northern California," she added out of
habit.
"Really? I went there for
my undergrad, then transferred to Stanford."
Stanford. Tied with Harvard
for the number two spot in the nation, if she remembered her trivia
right.
"I got two years under my
belt before I met my husband and got married."
"You never went
back?"
"I did the supportive
spouse thing, working to put Shawn through school so I could go
next. Of course, next never happened." Suddenly, she couldn't taste
the sweetness of the almonds and sugar in her mouth. She pushed the
dessert aside and took a big swig of coffee. "How 'bout I give you
the Cliff Notes version? It isn't a bestseller, but I know it
verbatim."
His nod made the overhead
lights flicker in this silver waves. She squeezed the tiny cup to
resist the temptation to reach out and brush back the lone, errant
curl. His son sported the exact same curl. She didn't say that.
Instead, she told him, "My parents grew up in the Midwest. Mom was
working in a diner when she met my dad. He was a traveling
salesman." She made a face. "Cliché, I know, but...I only remember
Mom's version, and according to her, Dad swept her off her feet and
before she knew what happened, she was--" Judy held up both hands
to make air quotes the way her mother always did. "--'in the family
way.' They eloped to the next county so their families wouldn't
raise heck. Six months later my sister Nancy was born."
"Your only
sibling?"
Judy nodded. "I'm quite
sure I was a mistake, too, because Mother candidly admits she
doesn't care for babies. Maybe that's why I was closer to my dad.
He worked a lot--traded in his route for a desk so he could be with
his family, but he also moonlighted as a bartender. Which,
apparently, wasn't such a great job choice since he had a bit of a
drinking problem."
Wiley grimaced. "I've seen
that happen a lot over the years. DUIs?"
She shook her head. "Not
that I know of. But one night after closing up, he either fell
asleep or passed out on the drive home and wound up hitting a
train." She hesitated before adding something she rarely spoke of
to anyone. "At the funeral, I overheard one of his sisters say he
probably took the easy way out to escape from the harridan." She
snorted softly. "I had nightmares for a year. In my mind, a
harridan was a huge, evil monster with red eyes and fangs. Finally,
my art teacher asked me about a painting that showed this monster
ripping off a man's head. She walked me to the dictionary to look
up the word. There it was in black and white. The definition of my
mother."
"What did it
say?"
"A scolding, vicious woman.
A hag, a shrew."
"Ouch. Did you ever tell
her about your dreams?"
"Mom? Heck, no. But I did
sleep better after that. Unfortunately, that's when I discovered
comfort food. I was never skinny like my sister, but I didn't start
to put on extra weight until after my dad died." She patted her
belly, which was overly full at the moment. In fact, she felt a
little ill...although that might have been from sharing her
family's history. Usually if the subject came up, she'd make a joke
about her screwed up childhood. Why confirm someone's suspicion
that she was a loser? But she'd given Judge Wiley Canby a
wide-angle look into her soul. A subconscious test to see how fast
he grabbed his keys and drove her home? Probably.