You need to go to the dentist,” I informed the stank-breath mutt who was perched atop my bed, staring at me. “I hate Mondays.” He sat up, making it clear he agreed. He hobbled off the bed.
“Moving a little slow, are we?”
He cocked his head . The poor soul looked weary. He was used to sleeping on a down pillow in the air-conditioning . The concrete didn’t agree with him. Okay, I wouldn’t make him learn a new trick today . The poor soul just looked too beat-up.
Making my way to the bottom of the stairs to head out for some tilling time, I picked his leash up off the Asian altar table that takes up a large portion of the main foyer wall. Duke sat at the top of the stairs, simply staring at me.
“Don’t you want to go walk?”
He didn’t budge.
“Just a short jog?”
Was he glaring at me? This animal had never refused a stroll.For him to refuse the opportunity to sniff schnauzers and fire hydrants could only mean he had suffered severe psychological damage in just a few short days. I climbed the stairs to try to coax him. I attached the leash to his collar.
“Come on, we haven’t been together in days.” I headed down the stairs . That dog would have none of it. He planted his feet, and by the time I got to stair number twelve, his leash fully extended, his stationary weight forced me back to stair eight via my haunches. I looked back at him from my now-seated position. All four of his paws had scooted up to the front of his body. I was surprised he hadn’t wrapped himself around the iron railing to hold on for dear life.
I crawled up the stairs so I could stare at him directly in his deep dark eyes.“You really don’t want to go outside?”
I heard a brief whimper and then he dropped to the floor with a sigh as only his eyes looked up at me.
I rubbed his head.“She’s not out there.”
He raised his head slightly.
“I promise. I will not take you to the courthouse, or even make you walk on the sidewalk . We can trot in the grass if you want to.”
He sat up on that one.
“I will protect you from the crazy lady.”
It took some more coaxing, but he did walk slowly to the door. But as I opened it, the poor soul just couldn’t bring himself to walk through it. And I would not be remembered in his beautiful strawberry blond head as the woman who led him to undue anguish. No,Vicky would keep that title.
I walked out the door not knowing if Duke would ever till with me again. It was a sad day. Until I remembered my conversation with Paige . Then, the hope of redemption swept over me in my prison of unrequited love with the calming effect of a southern siesta . Well, if you’re from southern Mexico.
The sounds of Josh Groban filled my iPod. In the middle of his and Charlotte Church’s rendition of “The Prayer,” I began to say some of my own. But tilling today felt exceptionally challenging. Somewhere between naming and claiming my destiny with Grant, and binding my mother’s reckless foolishness, the receiving end of my tilling felt rather . . . empty. I pressed on anyway. Today was Monday. Not that I thought heaven had Mondays. But just in case it did, I would give it the benefit of the doubt.
Classy and elegant hangs in the closet across the hall. Classy and elegant has not been seen in my closet since I purged it of such nonsense after a quarrel over my refusal to wear a suit to a two-year-old’s birthday party.
As I scanned my closet for something to wear I longed for classy and elegant . Who knows why. I just felt the need to get away from anything in the dark and dreary family. I had been shopping last week at Banana Republic on Broughton, so I sifted through the new assortment, longing for something a little un-Savannah.
Tucked in the back behind my new acquisitions was a straight-lined khaki skirt of brushed cotton. It had been a gift from Paige, who once ate one too many bags of Doritos and couldn’t get into it the next morning. In her fit of frustration, I gained some rather cute separates. It was a fitting compliment to my calves, falling just below the knees. I matched it with a baby blue cotton button-down with three-quarter sleeves.
As I slipped on my flip-flops and studied myself in the mirror, the word dowdy came to mind . The look was sleek, but the shoes didn’t fit. But the khaki opened-toed Coach-emblemed slip-ons with a small heel, purchased by my mother, were a perfect complement. As I tucked my standard flip-flops back into the closet, I resolved not to tell anyone what I discovered today.
Feeling a little flirty, I pulled out a strand of pearls worn only on Sundays or to the occasional Saturday wedding. Today they seemed fitting. Finishing it off with dainty pearl-stud earrings, I studied myself one more time. Sleek ponytail: classic. Pearls: elegant. The entire look was, dare I say, perfection. I could compete with the best of them . This look could turn heads in windows. And I’m not talking pet-store windows either.
“Well, Savannah Phillips, you look like you stepped out of some kind of fashion magazine,” Louise said, stopping her dishwashing midstroke as I entered the back door of Jake’s.
I looked down, running my hands over my skirt, trying unsuccessfully to smooth out the two wrinkles that the trip over here had created. “It’s not all that.”
Then Dad walked through the doors and stopped midstride as well.“Well, what do we have here? I thought you already got a job.”
“So are you saying I only dress up for job interviews?” I refused to look at him and focused on my morning breakfast out of a fountain.
“I’m just saying it’s either an interview or church, and it’s not Sunday. Or it could be a funeral, but unless it’s slipped by the prying eyes and listening ears around here, no one’s died lately.”
“Somebody’s about to die.” I thought I heard Louise mumble as she returned to her dish washing.
I took a long sip of my Coke. “You’re crazy. I’m a working woman . There is nothing unusual about me looking nice to go to work.”
“Whatever you say . Well, have a good day.” He kissed me on the head and started back to the front.
“Still washing dishes?” I asked.
Louise mumbled again . This time I was pretty certain a death threat was involved. Even Mervine wasn’t smiling today. And that is enough to cause anyone to ruminate over the current state of affairs. I scurried to the front, before Louise was finished mumbling and Mervine took to imitating a scene from Psycho with that knife she was washing.
“Anyone willing to listen to correction that can lead them to life can consider themselves in company with the wise.” Jake’s thought for the day. Dad watched me as I read. “How do you know everything?”
“Savannah, you’re the crazy one. I don’t know half of anything.”
“Yes, you do . You know all of most, and the rest of all.”
“I just want to be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?”
“Prepared for living.”
“You’re prepared, for everything from skinned knees to natural disasters.”
He laughed.“I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“Am I prepared?”
“Only you can answer that. Are you? Are you prepared for your article tomorrow?”
I rested my chin in my hands and looked up at him. “I know the topic. But not the details. How is that for prepared?”
“Shaky, but at least you have a topic. Anyway, if you can’t think of anything, at least you’ll look like a professional.”
“Well, I’m so glad I’ve given all of you something to talk about today.” I said with a smirk.
The chime on the door announced the entrance of the cappuccino-loving television personality. Every head turned in tandem.
“Told you she’d be back,” I stated with shameless pleasure.
Dad’s face filled with regret.“Ooh, look. Maybe I’m smarter than I thought.” Our raised right eyebrows mirrored each other’s, and I headed to a place that would respect my newfound discernment and my professional attire.
Old Betsy hiccupped when I turned her off. The Saab still looked good (on the outside at least) for its eight years of age and close to 150,000 miles. Reaching across the seat, I grabbed my taupe Coach handbag that matched my shoes. I laughed at my mother’s diligence in making sure I possessed some sense of style. With her out of sight for a while, I could enjoy carrying it without her taking credit for instilling me with good, albeit expensive, taste. I opened the car door and practically collided with the last face I needed or wanted to see, standing there grinning at me.
“Why are you in the parking lot when you ride a bike?”
“I don’t want it to get scratched.” His grin absolutely grated. “And how was your evening?”
“It was fine.” I would try to ignore him . Taking a step forward, my perfect grace and elegance was held back by the fact that I had shut my skirt in the car door. My attempt to walk jerked the ensnared skirt so hard that the force pulled my feet out from under me and flung them underneath the car. My purse flew out of my arms, and all of its contents ended up at Joshua’s feet. And there I was, held in place by the fabric of my skirt, elbows digging into pavement and sleek ponytail covering my face.
“Oh, Savannah!” He tried to catch me, yet unsuccessfully thwarted my fall.“Here, let me help you.” He opened the door and my knees came down to the concrete with undue pain and suffering.
“Ow!” I declared of both my pride and my body. He helped me squirm out from underneath the car and lifted me to my feet. He was about to brush the gravel from my now miserably stained skirt and shirt. I slapped his hand.“Well, pardon me, but I am more than capable of wiping myself off.”
He tried to hide his intense delight but proved totally incapable. I brushed the residue of embedded gravel from my unfortunate apparel and looked in horror at the contents of my purse, displayed across two parking places . We both saw them at the same time . The feminine items. Everyone knows a woman has feminine issues that require feminine products, but no one wants them exhibited across a parking lot and stared at by their latest affliction.
But he never made a remark as he picked up every item, including those “products,” and placed them back inside my purse. I snatched it from him and straightened, refusing to give him any glory in my plight. Then I tucked the dangling hair back behind my ears and made a mental note to fix that as soon as I could get to a bathroom.
He opened the back door for me without saying a word and let me go to my desk without further comment or insult. As soon as his back was turned, I made my way to the ladies’ room. Long gone was the classic and elegant look of the morning. Here in the mirror stood a pavement-stained skirt, gravel-pitted blouse, scuffed-up sandals, ratted hair, and bleeding knee . The trashed pride wasn’t even worth mentioning.
Halfway into trying to salvage any semblance of being well-groomed, Jessica—my boss’s abrasive secretary—walked in. Just what I need to top off my morning.
“I’ll come back when you’re through,” said the snippy petite blonde.
“I’m through . Trust me.” I made my way to the door.
“You might want to rethink that.” She said in a perfectly pain-in-the-behind tone while backing away from me.
“What? Are you afraid I’m going to kiss you?” I referred to my kissing her on the cheek last week, assuring her I would make her like me. Looking back now, I wasn’t sure of that small fact at all.
“No!” But she backed up even farther.“You better not anyway.”
“Well, as I said, I’m through.” And with that I walked around her to head out the bathroom door that she was holding open. I lunged for her as I walked through. Poor child about crashed into the paper-towel dispenser. I didn’t even feel like laughing. So I just walked slowly to my cardboard world that needed walls and a door and an intercom system so I didn’t have to come out until all the world had fallen into the ocean.