Fools Rush in(50)

Finally, I stepped back to survey my work. My house gleamed and sparkled. My dog also gleamed and sparkled. Now it was my turn. I showered, using the expensive, fabulous-smelling bath products Curtis and Mitch had given me for Christmas. Carefully, oh so carefully, I shaved my legs. I blew my hair dry—the humidity made it a little tricky, but I managed to come out with fairly well-behaved hair. Next, the precise application of makeup. Too much and I’d look slutty; not enough, adolescent. On to the clothes. Cute cotton pedal pushers in black and cream, sleeveless cream-colored top, short-sleeved little black sweater. Black leather mules on the feet.

I took a long hard look in the mirror. I’d never be Trish, but still…I looked about as good as I would get. Stylish. Attractive. Not beautiful, but pretty damn cute.

It was now 6:30. I went to my stereo and picked out a few CDs for mood music. Elvis Costello. Sting. Norah Jones. Dave Matthews. Again, all calculated to set a mood of romantic, slightly funky, low-key homeyness.

I took Digger out again on the leash, warning him not to poop in the house on this night of nights. He waggingly agreed (or so I hoped), and flopped down in front of my chair to dream his doggy dreams.

I put the rice on and fussed around the kitchen. There wasn’t really much to do, since I had planned so very well. We would eat in the dining room, which had been used once when my parents had come over. It was a small room that I’d painted last month in a deep shade of rose. The little table was a mellow-stained maple, and I’d just set it with place mats instead of a table cloth. Didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard, although frankly, planning this evening had been harder than my surgical rotation.

I poured myself a glass of wine and took a healthy slug. It wouldn’t hurt to be a little relaxed when Joe came over. In ten more minutes, it would be seven, when, no doubt, I would start peering out the window for his truck. But hey, why wait? I peered out now. No Joe, just the promised steady rain pattering in the gutters. I turned on the porch light.

I decided I had time to call Curtis and Mitch for a check-in. Katie was working, and besides, she and I had had a nice chat earlier. I sat carefully in my wing chair so as not to wrinkle and called P-town.

“Good evening, the Pink Peacock!” Mitchell purred into the phone.

“Hi, Mitch! It’s Millie,” I said.

“Hallo, my darling! Is all in readiness?”

I giggled at the quaint phrase. “Yes, all is in readiness, including myself.”

“Which earrings did we choose?” he asked

“Little gold swingy thingies,” I answered. I heard Curtis ask if it was me. Mitch didn’t answer.

“Is that Millie, I said?” Curtis demanded in the background.

“Yes, it’s Millie!” Mitch huffed. “Am I allowed to talk to her without you?”

Uh-oh. The Golden Couple rarely fought. “Bad time, Mitch?”

He paused, then laughed. “We had a fight. I had the audacity to change the flower order—he wanted tulips, but they were twice as much as the roses—and now he’s ready to take my head off.”

I giggled. “Can this marriage be saved?”

“Let’s hope, shall we? Very well, my dear. Have a smashing night. Here’s Curtis. Hang on, can you?” I heard Mitch talking in the background, then the unmistakable sound of a kiss. Aw.

“Hi, Millie,” Curtis said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Is everything okay, Curtis?” I asked.

“Yes, now that he’s groveled. How are you, princess?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Just waiting for Joe.”

“That’s right! ‘Tonight’s the night,’” he sang. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes, of course. That’s why I’m calling you.”

“Well, don’t worry, sweetie. It will be wonderful. I want every detail tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” I smiled. “Thanks, Curtis. You’re the best.”

“I know. Love you.”

A truck rumbled up my street. I hurled the phone back into the charger and leaped up. Here! He was here! Digger continued to lie rug-like in front of my chair. Going into the kitchen, I peeked out the back-door window…no truck. No Joe. Not here.

Hmm. Well, it was only seven after. Not really late.

However, twenty-three minutes later, he was really late. It was 7:30. A half hour late was pretty late, right? But still acceptable, if he came right this instant. I covered the rice so it wouldn’t dry out and turned off the heat from under the étouffée, which still awaited the shrimp. Checking my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I saw that I looked worried.

Joe wouldn’t blow me off, would he? I finished my glass of wine, the alcohol lightening my head a bit. No, Joe wouldn’t do that. He had said he couldn’t wait, I reminded myself. And that I was the sweet one. And God, the way we’d kissed! No, I didn’t think he would stand me up. Maybe his truck had broken down? It wasn’t the newest truck, but it seemed to run well enough.

The phone rang, and I jumped. “Don’t sound worried,” I advised myself. Or pissy.

“Hello?”

“Hi, sweetness, it’s Curtis. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. How’s it going?”

My heart sank. “Curtis, he’s not here.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Well, how late is he?”