Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)(47)

She had it all covered. I let her open the champagne, poor two glasses, and we sat in the living room to live out 1946 when this kind of thing was normal.

When the doorbell rang, I paused.

“What’s a’matter, dear? Are you constipated?”

“Wha—Gladis, don’t ask people that.” Over her laughter I said, “No, I am waiting for butterflies.”

“Ah. Well, wait upstairs. I’ll bring him in.”

As we moved, Gladis glanced at her watch. “He is late, but no matter. Hurry on, now. Come down in ten minutes. Shoo!”

“Gladis, really, I--”

“Get up there girlie!”

I sighed, making sure she heard, and climbed the stairs. Then, because I had nothing else to do, I hid so I could spy.

The door was answered to a very confused Randall, who stammered while asking for me. Gladis, in all chipper cordiality, showed him in and I presumed poured him a glass of champagne. Then to small talk. Poor Randall was probably bored to tears, because he wasn’t a word smith.

Staring at my phone for time—also playing a quick game of solitaire—I started down the stairs in exactly nine minutes.

As I walked into the living room to greet my guest, Randall stood up in a hurry and accidentally ruined the moment by spilling his drink. Gladis then made it worse by clucking her tongue loudly and fretting while they cleaned it up.

Not a great entrance.

Finally both pairs of eyes looked up at me, whereby I immediately ignored Gladis’s frown. She would not like a botched entry, fearing my sails would deflate. If only she’d known my track record. At least this time I hadn’t been the cause!

Randall finally did deliver. His eyes were wide and starry. They slipped down my form fitting dress, a style which flirted with casual but still pointed towards glamorous. They snagged briefly on my br**sts before he shook his head to wiggle them loose, back to my face. He’d never seen me outside of work. Which meant, this was the first time he’d seen me actually try to look good.

Apparently I was a real dog at work ‘cause he couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Hi Randall. Are you ready to go?” I asked sweetly.

“Oh...yes. Yes. Sorry about the...” He gestured toward the dark spot on the rug.

“It’s fine.” I smiled to try and dispel his uneasiness. His face lit up. C’mon man, it is just a dress and a little make-up. It is not like I transformed or anything!

I led the way to the door. As I was about to open it, I was pushed aside by a frail old woman wearing a scary mask of disapproval. Through her teeth she whispered “Men should open a ladies door!”

She was scaring me, I will admit. I gave an apologetic smile and quickly exited. Randall was right behind me, jumping loudly when the door slammed.

“She, ah… hasn’t taken her meds,” I apologized.

He just nodded, risking a glance back.

Gladis wasn’t peeping through the windows, which meant she was probably finishing off the champagne.

It wasn’t until we were on the road that he ventured to speak. “You live in a really nice place.”

“Oh, thanks. I rent it from Gladis. It’s a pool house.”

“Nice pool house. Gladis must be a millionaire.”

I shrugged. “So it would seem. She is a really nice lady. I think she’s a little lonely and bored in her old age. I've become her best buddy. I don’t mind, though, she is a cool old broad!”

I loved calling her an old broad. One, because it made her seem hip. Two because she huffed at me every time. One time she even threw a pillow. Funny stuff.

“I don’t know if I would be comfortable in all that,” Randall admonished.

“All what?”

“Money. Too much. It would corrupt the soul.”

“Oh. I’ve never thought of that angle. It really isn’t like that with Gladis. She has money, but she values life and friends. Money just makes her life easier, and she shares that with me and whoever else is around. No soul corruption that I know of.”

“It is just a matter of time.”

Since we were talking about an old woman that’d had money her whole life…I opted to move on. The debate wasn’t worth having.

“Where are we going tonight?” I asked with a fresh-eyed, chipper tone.

“Well, we are almost there. What did you want to do after dinner?”

“How about a few drinks or dancing or something? Candace and Ty are out tonight. We can meet up with them?”

“Maybe. That sounds pretty good. Here we are.”

We were pulling into a Chili’s parking lot. I couldn’t help my look of disbelief. But really, Chili’s? I was dressed to impress, more formal than casual, and were are hitting Chili’s? Was he punishing me for living near money?

As if he heard my complaints, he said, “This is one of my favorite places. I wanted to share it with you. This one is a little more upscale as far as Chili’s goes, so I thought it would work. If you don’t like it here we can go elsewhere. Outback or something.”

“Oh no. This is fine.” I smiled. How can you say no when it is preceded with a speech like that.

The devil side of me: His favorite place? Does he have no taste?

The angel side: Don’t judge! He is a nice guy. Not everyone is lucky enough to live in LA with the infinite choices of good cuisine.