Georgia on Her Mind(60)

They have yet to hear about Dad’s job offer, Drag’s true identity and the kiss. The Dylan kiss.

“I just called to say I hope you don’t get the job.” Ah, the real Adriane Fox stands up.

“Funny.”

“I’m serious. What will we do without you?”

“You’ll fly to Chicago and we’ll have SSS reunions in a wonderful little bistro.”

“Not the same,” Adriane laments.

“I know. But this might just be impossible to turn down.”

“I’m going to miss you.”

My eyes water. “Me, too.”



The flight to Chicago is uneventful. I pay special attention to the leg from Atlanta, since I might be flying this route often in the days to come. It’s a short flight, as flights go, and on a bad day I could be in Beauty in less than five hours.

The moment I see Chicago from the air, I get that airy feeling of excitement in my middle and wonder if there is anything about this city I won’t love.

It offers hundreds of amenities that Beauty or Melbourne could never, ever offer: theater, fine dining, art, the Cubs, museums, Oprah.

From the airport, I catch a cab to the Sheraton downtown. As the driver weaves through city traffic, I autodial Lucy from my cell.

“I’m in Chicago.”

“How is it?” Genuine excitement reverberates in her words.

“Amazing. I’ve been here fifteen minutes and I love it already.”

“Did you remember your clothes this time?”

“Yes. I didn’t even check my bag. All carry-ons.”

She laughs. “Good thinking.”

I hear clicking in the background and know she’s typing a story while talking to me. The cab pulls up to the hotel, so I bid Lucy goodbye and give Tamara a super-quick call.

“Can’t talk. I’m here.”

“Go get ’em.”

The cabbie pulls up to the hotel and holds my bags while I find my cash stash. “Enjoy your stay,” he says when I pay him for the ride, including tip.

“Oh, I will.” But when he drives off, an odd alone-in-a-crowd sensation creeps over me.

Hello, cabbie, come back! You drove off with all my aplomb. I only brought one with me, and for some strange reason it’s in your cab.

Suddenly a gigantic, Lurch-like uniformed bellman is next to me. “Make I take your luggage, ma’am?”

I jump aside. “You scared me.”

Emotionless, he says, “Step this way.”

Well, then. He takes my luggage inside and waits while I check in. I glance over my shoulder. He watches me. I snap around to face the desk clerk.

“All right, Miss Moore. You’re in room 222. If you need anything, please let us know.” She smiles and slides the room key across the counter.

“Thank you.” I move for the elevators, and Lurch follows with my two little bags. He gets into the elevator car with me.

“Two,” I say.

He pushes the button for the second floor and the doors close. “Did you have a nice flight?”

I inhale and clear my throat. “Yes, thank you.” I look up at him. He must be seven feet tall.

Ding. The second floor.

Lurch leads the way to my room. When we arrive, I slip my key into the slot and push the door open.

“All set.” He backs away with a slight salute.

“Wait.” I reach into my purse and pull out a few singles.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He takes the folded bills.

“Thank you.” I notice his dark blue eyes are framed with thick lashes and topped with fuzzy gray brows. His name tag reads Gabriel.

“Don’t worry,” he says as he tucks away his tip.

I view him from the middle of the hallway. “W-wh-what did you say?” The door to my room closes, but I clutch the room key in my hand.

“God is with you.” Gabriel tips his hat.

Tears puddle in my eyes and blur the straight angles of the hallway. Gabriel waves and disappears around the corner.

The Lord is with me. Take that, you zit of discouragement. He sent that tall, pale, gray-haired, albeit kinda scary, bellman to remind me He’s watching out for me.





Chapter Twenty-Six




At eight-thirty the next morning I meet Steve Albright in the hotel lobby. I’m dressed up, hair properly coiffed and makeup applied with professional standards and taste.

I look for Gabriel, to tell him how much his words encouraged me, but two other bellmen work the lobby this morning.

“Macy Moore?” A sleek, tailored man with dark hair and narrow eyes approaches me with his hand extended.

“Steve?” I shake his hand. He’s pleasant looking, but a cliché “suit.” Right down to his manicured nails and Italian leather shoes.

“I have a car outside.”

By car, he means limo. I climb into the backseat and sink into the very luxurious leather.

“Do you mind if we stop for a cup of coffee?” Steve asks, reaching inside his coat pocket and pulling out a little packet of Tums.

“No, not at all.” But I’m not drinking any. Coffee breath combined with the look-at-me zit would be my undoing.

Steve pops a couple of chalky tablets and conducts a cursory interview on our way to the Myers-Smith Webware office on Michigan Avenue, detailing the fabulous career I would have with Myers-Smith Webware.