This Lullaby(15)

“Why are you here?” she asked him.

He looked up, hardly startled. I had to admire that. “Applying for a job,” he told her.

She looked him up and down. “Is that a clip-on tie?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding at her. “It sure is.”

Lola looked at me, then back at him, then burst into laughter. “Oh, Lord, look at this boy. And you want to work for me?”

“Yes, ma’am, I sure do.” He was so polite I could see him gaining points, quickly. Lola was big on respect.

“Can you give a manicure?”

He considered this. “No. But I’m a fast learner.”

“Can you bikini wax?”

“Nope.”

“Cut hair?”

“No, I sure can’t.”

She cocked her head to the side, smiling at him. “Honey,” she said finally, “you’re useless.”

He nodded. “My mother always said that,” he told her. “But I’m in this band and we all have to get jobs today, so I’m trying anything.”

Lola laughed again. It sounded like it came all the way from her stomach, bubbling up. “You’re in a band?”

“Yes, ma’am. We just came down from Virginia, for the summer. And we all have to get day jobs, so we came here and split up.”

So they’re not Mormons, I thought. They’re musicians. Even worse.

“What do you play?” Lola asked.

“Drums,” he said.

“Like Ringo?”

“Exactly.” He grinned, then added, in a lower voice, “You know they always put the redheaded guy in the back. Otherwise all the ladies would be on me.”

Lola exploded in laughter, so loudly that Talinga and one of the manicurists, Amanda, poked their heads around the corner.

“What in the world?” Amanda asked.

“Good God, is that a clip-on tie?” Talinga said.

“Look,” Lola said, catching her breath, “we’ve got nothing for you here. But you come down to the coffee place with me and I’ll get you a job. That girl owes me a favor.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “But come on. I don’t have all day.”

He leapt up, the pen he was holding clattering to the floor. He bent down to get it, then brought the application back to me. “Thanks anyway,” he said.

“No problem.”

“Let’s go, Ringo!” Lola yelled from the door.

He jumped, grinning, then leaned a little closer and said to me, “You know, he’s still talking about you.”

“Who is?”

“Dexter.”

Of course. Just my luck. He’s not just in a band, he’s in that band. “Why?” I said. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, shrugging. “You’re officially a challenge. He’ll never give up now.”

I just sat there, shaking my head. Ridiculous.

He didn’t seem to notice, instead just patted his hand on the desk, as if we’d made a deal or something, before walking over to Lola.

Once they’d left, Talinga looked at me and said, “You know him?”

“No,” I said, grabbing the phone as it rang again. Small world, small town. It was just a coincidence. “I don’t.”





In the week since Jonathan and I had split, I’d hardly thought about him or Dexter the musician or anything else other than my mother’s wedding. It was a distraction I needed, not that I’d ever have admitted it aloud.

Jonathan had called a bunch, at first, but after a while he just stopped, knowing I’d never get back to him. Chloe pointed out that I’d gotten what I wanted, really: my freedom. Just not exactly the way I wanted it. But it still burned at me that I’d been cheated on. It was the kind of thing that woke me up at night, pissed, unable to remember anything I’d been dreaming. Luckily, I had Lissa to deal with too. She’d spent the last week completely in denial, sure Adam would change his mind. It was all we could do to thwart her calling/driving by/going to his work impulse, which we all knew never led to any good in a dumping situation. If he wanted to see her, he’d find her. If he wanted to get back together, she should make him work for it. And so on.

And now, the wedding was here. I got off work early, at five, and drove home to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. As I walked up to the front door, I realized the house was just as I’d left it. In chaos.

“But there’s just no way they’ll get here in time!” my mother was shrieking as I walked in and dropped my keys on the table. “They’re supposed to be here in an hour or we won’t be able to make the dinner!”

“Mom,” I called out, instantly recognizing her close-to-meltdown voice. “Calm down.”

“I understand that,” she said, her voice still shrill. “But this is my wedding!”

I glanced into the living room, which was empty except for Jennifer Anne, already dressed for the dinner, sitting on the couch reading a book entitled Making Plans, Making Dreams, which had a picture of a woman looking pensive on its cover. She glanced up at me, turning a page.

“What’s going on?” I said.

“The limo service is having some problems.” She fluffed her hair. “It seems one of their cars was in an accident and the other is stuck in traffic.”