Saturday
A flight home can be quite productive when you stay up until dawn composing emails to send out the next, very important day in a ten-day plan. Racking my brain and straining single threads of connection to people of relative influence, I have a checklist in hand of those who will be instrumental in the dismantling of my new life and the resurrection of the old.
Before I even finish breakfast I have taken care of my first order of business: use my “change of financial circumstance” clause to free myself of the lease for Canyon Crest. This decision also means I will not have to pack up my belongings. I have saved myself endless hours of labor right there.
I give the remainder of my cereal milk to Elmo to make up for my three-day absence.
The landline rings and triggers my jet-lag shakes. “Hello?”
“Caitlin reporting for duty. I have Angelica here with me, and we are going to pick up Sadie. Should we meet you at the Sante Fe so you can tell us exactly what you are scheming?”
I wipe a Sugar Rice Puff crumb from my lip. “Sure. Meet you there.”
“Do we get a hint? I mean, getting your old life back…does that really involve a master plan? Couldn’t you just play Sweatin’ to the Oldies and go back to calling bingo numbers?” Angelica shouts into Caitlin’s phone.
“Believe me, a plan is needed. And why don’t we meet at Freddy’s for ol’ times’ sake?”
The girls are seated at our usual table by the time I arrive at the restaurant. From the enthusiastic reception I receive, an observer would assume I have been gone for weeks. Even Angelica seems joyful, and this is before coffee.
First, I insist that everybody else share what is going on. It seems like so long since we have talked to one another. Caitlin is eager to begin.
“Well, I started blending some of those Mexican textiles with more conventional fashion fabrics and have come up with some pieces I think could really take off. They aren’t too out there, but just clever enough to get people’s attention.”
“Oh, I like that already,” chimes in Angelica.
“Thanks.” Caitlin pauses and actually blushes. When the hiccups start, I know she is holding out on some important information.
“What is it?” I give her my “divulge” look.
“I might…might…have a second date with officer Jim.”
“Second?” Sadie says.
“I didn’t tell you all about the first because, well, what are the odds I will like a police officer?”
“With great eyes,” I add.
She smiles and bites her lower lip. “And the eyes have it…second-date motivation, that is. Why not, right?”
A busboy comes up to fill our coffee cups.
“Where’s the waitress?” I inquire.
“She’s running late. She had an early morning seminar at college.”
This surprises me a bit. I had never thought about what Cruella did when she didn’t serve tables. I tug on the guy’s apron. “Do you happen to know what class she is taking?”
“Something tied into her master’s degree, I assume. Samantha’s a real brain. I think it’s psychology, but there is a more specific term,” the teenager scratches his red ear, seemingly embarrassed by the attention of a table full of women. “Oh, yeah. It’s behaviorial science. I remember because she took this job so she’d have material for her thesis on patterned social behaviors. Anyone need decaf?”
A big round of no’s follows this question.
Sadie looks around at each of us. “Can you believe it? We are all dating. This has never happened.”
“Wow.”
“True. That is strange,” I say, still thinking a bit about being a test subject for Cruella…or Samantha.
Angelica holds up her hand in protest. “I’m not dating Peyton.”
“Isn’t that just semantics, really?”
“No. I like the guy a lot. A lot. But…I’ve decided not to date for six months at least. I need to get my focus straight again; dating always throws me off-kilter. You all tease me about my breakup dramas, but living that way really isn’t all that fun or funny. It’s tiring. Peyton says he’ll wait, but I’m not asking him to. I don’t want any pressure to have to date until I’m ready.” Her eyes peer over her coffee cup as she drinks in our first responses.
Out of surprise and respect, we give her a round of applause.
“Miss Verity? The table is yours.” Angelica volleys the conversation back to her friend.
Sadie looks across at me. “Our talk…it really helped. I needed to clear my head and stop focusing on the baggage.” She turns slightly to look at the others. “Carson has a former wife and a ten-year-old son. I was doubting everything. His past. Our future.” She waves away the air in front of her face as if clearing out cobwebs. “Anyway, I’m better. We’re better. I’m not going to second-guess him or where this is going. I plan to enjoy it for what it is right now.”
“Good for you.” Caitlin pats her friend on the shoulder.
“No more stalling, Mari. What are you up to?” Angelica taps her fork in my direction.
After a few stories about my trip home and about the amazing inheritance, I summarize my theory about how one good fund-raiser could be my ticket back to the slow-track life. They all nod in agreement and start to offer some long-term ideas.
I destroy their mundane suggestions one by one. “No wrapping paper campaigns or walkathons or monthly bingoathons. I have the most fabulous solution, and it will happen in ten days.”
“Ten days!” Sadie grimaces. “I get testy with a fund-raiser every six months at the Botanical Society.”
“No frowns. Golden Horizons would have to have the money before the end of the year, so ten days will have to do. Besides, it’s a fabulous idea.” I lean in toward the center of the table and they all follow the secrecy gesture. “It’s a fashion show and auction.”
Caitlin squeals as she did when we discussed the London royal hats.
“That is fabulous. And very trendy right now,” Angelica encourages.
“So you’d part with your inheritance?” Sadie looks at the big picture.
“Only a few select items. If these pieces are worth what Caitlin and Gisele say…it won’t take many. And you know, that last day I saw Tess, she was wishing she had a way to save Golden Horizons from their financial troubles. This event will support and create awareness for the recreational program’s ongoing needs.”
Sadie’s concern turns to support. “She’d be very happy. So let’s get busy.” She counts off on her fingers. “With such short notice the key factors might be tough, Mari. Just be prepared. You need a location. Immediate promotion. An emcee. A caterer. Maybe even cosponsors, if that is at all possible.”
“Wait a minute. Ten days…that’s your birthday.” Caitlin is also counting on her fingers.
“I thought that would be appropriate since I’ve been carrying around this crazy, but perhaps conceivable, notion that I would have it all…or at least a large stake in the life I want…by the time I am thirty. Of course, now that life looks different than I imagined.”
“Isn’t that the way it goes,” says Sadie, sighing.
“Hold it. Ten days would be a Monday. You don’t hold trendy fundraisers on a Monday. It has to be the Saturday before.”
The blood rushes from my face to my heart, which is racing. “So only eight days to plan the show? Lord, help me.” There’s that prayer again. This time, I mean it. “Well, it’s a good thing I have taken care of one very important piece of this ambitious plan.”
“What’s that?” Sadie has a pen poised over the napkin she is using for notes.
“I have three fabulous models who are willing to work the runway for the mere price of a Saturday breakfast.”
“That is, if we ever will get breakfast!” Angelica raises her voice and shows a bit of her old self.
Samantha approaches us in a shuffle. It is the fastest I have seen her move. “Orders?” she says, still tying her apron.
The others order their recent usuals, but she pauses when she gets to me. “Blueberry crepes?”
“You remembered. I’m touched. But no…I want the Senior Sunrise Delight, thank you very much. There, that wasn’t so hard to say.”
“Coming right up.” She is surprised by my sunny disposition today; I see her scribble some extra notes on her order pad.
“Can I ask you a question about your thesis?”
Samantha looks around her and directs her ballpoint pen in the busboy’s direction. “Did Willy tell you?”
“Yes, but don’t be mad. We find it fascinating. I’m just curious. Did I make your thesis?” I bat my eyelashes.
“Are you kidding? You’re one of the main subjects. But don’t worry. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.”
If only she knew I am the diner formerly known as Chanel.