ACCENTUATE THE POSITIVE
Katie danced around her living room with her scrapbook in her arms. As if it was Fred Astaire himself, she allowed the book to take the lead. She flopped on the sofa, opened her calendar, and scribbled inside: Flowers again today! That’s fifteen weeks in a row. She drew a smiley face beside the words and marked the page with a small heart sticker.
Eileen, her oldest friend and current roommate, turned her face toward Katie from her odd yoga pose with feet pointed to the ceiling. “I don’t even have to see it to know what you wrote. I should think if it was so touching, you wouldn’t need to remind yourself in print.”
“Someday I’ll be able to tell our children all about their father’s warm touches when we were courting, and I won’t need to rely on my feeble memory.”
“You’d have to lose your brain altogether not to remember something he did for fifteen weeks in a row.” Eileen rolled down onto her back, then flipped over so she leaned on her elbows. “Are you planning on losing your mind?”
“No, I simply like tangible memories. Something I can hold on to.”
“What are you writing in your courtship diary about your vacation from your senses?”
“Pardon?”
“I mean, what will you write in there for your kids about how Mommy went to N’awlins with her rich friend in his private jet? Because that’s when the kids’ interest might be piqued—not in their father’s recurring standard flower order. They’ll be as bored over that as you are.” Eileen sprang into a downward facing dog pose.
“I’m not bored with it! I love it. There’s something so life affirming about fresh flowers. I can look into the kitchen pass-through at any time and know that Dexter is thinking of me.”
“Katie, no matter how many entries you put in that book, Dexter is not going to be a romantic. I mean, fine, you’re going to marry him. He’s a good man. I just don’t want you to be disappointed. No matter how many junior high school hearts you draw next to his name, Dexter is going to order you what the Internet says is the proper gift for each anniversary. He’ll probably have a program created that does it for him.”
“What’s wrong with that? You and I have a different view of romance, that’s all. You say potato, I say po-tah-to.”
“No, you say delusional, I say reality check. What does Dexter think about this trip with your ex-boyfriend?”
“Dexter trusts me.”
“Like I said, delusional. Any man who trusts his girlfriend with a billionaire—”
“He’s a multimillionaire,” she corrected.
“A billionaire who looks like Luc DeForges—in a private jet alone, is not romantic or practical. He’s dwelling on another planet. Where was Spock from again?”
“Dex is practical. He knows I need to go home to get my nana’s ring so that we can be engaged. He’s fine with it, for us. It’s a free opportunity and—”
“It’s free. Is that the pull for Dexter? Sending you home with a guy who makes your heart go pitter-pat is free?”
“Luc doesn’t make my heart go pitter-pat! That was a long time ago. I’ve grown up.”
“This is me you’re talking to.” Eileen stood up, her lithe little frame looking even slimmer in yoga pants and top, and smoothed a wrinkle from her shirt. She followed Katie into the bedroom and sat on the bed, causing a pile of clothing to topple. “Why haven’t you packed yet?”
“Dex is loaning me a suitcase. Mine is held together with duct tape.”
“This is ridiculous. Your mam can mail you the ring.”
Katie ignored Eileen and calmly refolded her forties-style gray skirt with the tiny wave of ruffles at the back. “Why don’t you come along if you’re so worried about me?”
“Maybe I will,” Eileen said.
“I haven’t been home since Paddy died. I don’t think an e-mail saying ‘Send me my ring’ is going to fly.”
“Planes go both ways, Katie. Your mam could have come out here more often.” She stood. “I’ve got dinner on. A lemongrass and shrimp soup. What time will Dex be here?”
Katie glanced at her watch. “Any minute now.”
She was glad Eileen liked to cook. Granted, everything she made was some kind of spa cuisine that needed a bulky piece of bread to make it an actual meal, but Katie wasn’t complaining. After shoveling foul-smelling baby food into kids all day, the last thing she wanted to do was cook.
“I’m going to get dressed,” Eileen said. “You should pass the vacuum, as our mams would say. This place could use it!”
Their apartment was simple, but it had been built in the thirties and had that old-time feel that Katie felt such an affinity for. She loved the rounded doorways and original kitchen with its Wedgewood stove. She might have loved that aspect less if she actually cooked. The apartment thumbed its proverbial nose at the modern stainless steel styles and cold granite countertops.
But Eileen had obliged because of the price. The rent had originally been out of their income level, but Katie’s appreciation of every detail convinced the landlord, an older woman who owned the place and lived on the bottom floor, to lower it for them.
Eileen yelled from the next room. “Couldn’t Luc just teach some actress to swing dance?”
“I suggested that!” Katie yelled back.
“He could tell them Glee needs another dancer. Remember? They did swing dance with Will Schuester and Sue Sylvester.” Eileen’s voice got closer until she appeared in the room wearing skintight black shorts and a turquoise hoodie. “I just don’t see why Luc is back unless he’s interested in you.” She flipped her jet-black hair outside her collar and tied it up into a loose knot. “It makes no sense. No word from him in how many years?”
“Three,” she mumbled. “Ryan’s getting married. That’s why he contacted me.”
“I used to date Ryan, remember? I didn’t get an invitation.”
“That doesn’t prove anything, Eileen. Ryan and I were dance partners. That’s different from inviting someone he casually dated once or twice.”
“Maybe. But you know I wouldn’t trust Luc as far as I could throw him.” Eileen flexed her biceps. “Granted, I could probably get him across this room, but I still don’t trust him.”
“If Dexter doesn’t have an issue with it, I don’t know why you should.” Katie folded a red scarf. “I think I’ll bring this.”
Eileen laughed. “Really?”
“What? You don’t like this scarf?”
“I’m not talking about the scarf.” Eileen snagged the scarf, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it behind her. It landed in the corner amidst a few dust bunnies. “Told you you should have vacuumed. Katie, you’re not safe with Luc.”
“If I’m not safe with him, then I shouldn’t be marrying Dexter.”
“Why tempt fate? Luc’s not good for you, Katie. He breaks your heart. Every. Single. Time. He’s your Kryptonite, and even Superman is smart enough to know his weakness.”
Katie slid onto the bed and grabbed the bedpost. “It’s not true. I love Dexter for all the ways he’s there for me. He’s going to make the perfect husband. I can count on him.”
“You could set your watch by Dexter. I know you believe you’re past all this emotion and that Luc could never get close enough to hurt you again, but I think you’ve got too much faith in yourself. Those tears lasted a long time. If you would just admit to me that you still love Luc—at least some part of you loves him—then I’d feel better about your going.”
“I love Dexter. I’m not just marrying him for practical reasons. I’m marrying him because he complements me so well. I would never cheat on any boyfriend, much less my soon-to-be fiancé. What kind of person do you think I am?”
Eileen placed her hand on the pile of clothes Katie had restored on the bed. “A good one. A sweet and gentle, loving soul who is powerless against the hurricane force that is Luc DeForges. Know your weakness, Katie, that’s all I’m asking.”
“You’ve never liked Luc,” she accused.
Eileen fell back on the bed and stretched her arms over her head. “I liked him fine before he broke your heart.” She spoke to the ceiling. “Granted, I liked his brother better, but I couldn’t see you with a guy who danced better than you. It’s not right somehow. Ryan was always more like your brother than a boyfriend.”
“You didn’t like Luc in college. For one thing, you didn’t like that he went to Tulane instead of Loyola. You accused me of being a traitor.”
“No, you’re right. I didn’t like him,” Eileen admitted. “Why don’t you just pick out a new engagement ring with Dex? He’d love to take you shopping and buy you a ring. It’s practical. Just make sure I’m out of town when you do it, all right? I don’t want to hear him blather on about all the details of its perfection. Besides, your nana’s classic antique doesn’t seem to fit a Dexter marriage.”
“What do you mean? It’s my ring, and it fits me. What’s more practical than that?” Katie pointed at the brooch on her collar. “I don’t like modern things.”
“Tacori makes beautiful antique-looking rings. Buy one of them and save yourself some heartache. Yes, I know, the emeralds match your eyes,” Eileen said before Katie could protest. She lifted up onto her elbows. “Buy some emeralds that color and put them on the new ring. Dexter will buy you whatever you want. Even he can’t believe you’re marrying him. I’ve got to go throw the shrimp in the soup.” Eileen kicked her legs out and jumped off the bed. “I just don’t know how you two can be in love. You’re so . . . polite to each other. How will you ever solve serious issues like whether to watch Monday Night Football or The Bachelor?”
“That’s easy. Dexter doesn’t like football. So I’m sure we’ll solve it by finding something we love doing together.”
“Okay, Dexter wants to watch the Life and Times of the Dung Beetle in three parts, and you want to watch The Bachelor. Now who wins? How do you negotiate?”
“I don’t want to watch The Bachelor. I’ll be married. What’s the point?”
“So no married women watch The Bachelor? Your desire for tacky television evaporates on your wedding day?”
She didn’t answer.
“Katie, the point is, I’ve seen you go through an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food when the wrong bachelorette won on that show. You are denying who you really are. And, girl, face it, you’re tacky. You’re in the dentist’s office. Do you pick up US News & World Report or People?” Eileen leaned on the doorframe. “Wait, I’ve got another one. Dexter buys you a Kindle and he stocks it full of biographies on dead presidents and scientific heroes. Do you a) pretend to read them and scan them so you can discuss them at the dinner table or b) say thank you and go score some real books online?”
“Dexter is not that interested in what I read.”
The doorbell interrupted them, and they stared at one another, then scrambled—Eileen to the kitchen and Katie to the front door. She drew in a deep breath to clear her head. Dexter had nothing to worry about with Luc, and she’d be sure he understood that. She opened the door briskly and nearly jumped the UPS man before she realized he wasn’t Dexter.
“Oh.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” He grinned. “Usually people who get a box this big are happy to see me.”
Their UPS man was a burly African American with abs you could see through his shirt. Katie had definitely watched too many Bachelor episodes, because she always expected him to tear it off in the hallway.
She stared at the box. “Sorry. I was expecting someone else.”
“I figured. But you got yourself a nice present here.” He held out his electronic clipboard, and she signed for the package. He maneuvered the box, which was large enough to hold a small child, through the doorway and left it beside the entry. “See you next time.”
“Yeah, thanks,” she said absently, shutting the door.
“That wasn’t Dex?” Eileen emerged from the kitchen. “I put the shrimp in. They only need like a minute. I don’t want rubbery shrimp.”
“Relax, he’ll be here. You could set your watch by him, remember?” The doorbell rang again. “See?” She pulled the door open again, and the UPS man stood there again.
“Sorry to bother you. You forgot to print your name beneath your signature.”
Eileen ran to the kitchen and came back with scissors. “I turned the soup off.” She kicked the door shut with her foot behind the departing deliveryman and, without waiting for an invitation, sliced into the box and peered inside. “I think it’s clothes. Who would send you clothes?” She pulled out a lavender crepe paper bundle and ripped it open. A dress tumbled out.
“It’s a swing dress.” Katie grabbed it and felt the material. “It’s an original!” An accompanying tag announced the dress’s credentials. It was a navy polka dot sheer dress with a white sailor collar. Katie ran to the mirror that hung over the love seat. “It’s gorgeous!” She flattened the dress against her chest and twirled to let the skirt gain flight.
Eileen grabbed the dress from her and shoved it back in the box. “It’s from Luc. I’d recognize his carefully choreographed moves anywhere. Send this back.”
“It was part of the deal. If I go to the wedding, I get clothes from the era. I negotiated it. It’s mine.”
“Was this?” Eileen pulled out a Tattler magazine. On the cover was Katie’s backside slung over Luc’s broad shoulder.
On a Post-it he’d scrawled, I’m sorry about this, but at least I kept your name out of it.
The headline splayed across the picture read MILLIONAIRE BACHELOR, TARZAN; UNNAMED REDHEAD, JANE. Mortification washed over Katie, and she grabbed the magazine and thumbed through it until she came to the photographs. There was Luc’s face all bunched up as her ponytail connected with his nose.
“The pictures are like one of those cartoon drawings where you turn the pages. You know what I mean? Look at me! You can see my face in this one! Anyone who opens this rag is going to know it’s me.”
“Look at it this way; they’d have to admit to buying a tabloid first. So are you planning to tell me why Luc has you hoisted midair like a tub of crawfish?”
Katie stared at the image on the cover again. “You can’t tell that’s me.” She grabbed the magazine and scrutinized it from all angles, then she shrugged. “You can’t tell it’s me!”
“But I know it’s you. This is exactly what happens when Luc DeForges is around. What is Dex going to say to this?”
“Where would he see it? Dexter probably doesn’t even know that magazine exists.” Her mind raced. She knew she had to come clean, but it would just be easier to do so after she got back with her engagement ring.
“You’re not going to tell him?” The doorbell rang, and Eileen giggled in her trademark knowing way.
“What is so funny?”
“I was just thinking how you said Luc’s mother wanted to have a Cinderella-style lineup.” Eileen raised the cover back at her. “Wouldn’t it be something if instead of a glass slipper, they were looking for a glass girdle? Spanx?”
Katie raked her fingers through her hair and groaned. “What have I done?”
The doorbell rang again.
Eileen threw the magazine into the box. “There’s more.” She brought up a gold box the shape of an oversized hatbox.
“Not now. Dex is here. I have to think about how I’m going to tell him about the photos.”
“A picture’s worth a thousand words. Show him!”
Katie stared at the door, then at the box, and without willpower, she tore into the gold cardboard.
“You always did have to eat dessert first,” Eileen said.
Katie tossed the lid off and tore through the tissue paper. Inside shone the coup de grace. The Holy Grail for vintage lovers. She could very nearly hear the heavenly host singing. She had to stop and take a moment. “Luc knows me better than I know myself.” She got choked up. “I can’t touch it.”
“Well, what is it?” The doorbell rang a third time, and they both ignored the sound.
“It’s a replica of Ginger Rogers’ iconic ostrich feather gown in Top Hat where she danced with Fred Astaire.”
Eileen placed her fists on her boyish hips. “A replica? He bought you a replica? What’s the point of being a gazillionaire if you can’t buy the real thing? I mean, Nick Cage bought a real dinosaur skull before he went broke.”
“Maybe that’s why he went broke. The real dress is light blue, too close to white maybe for a wedding?”
“You better put that away for now until you figure out how you’re going to explain the picture to Dexter. And you’re going to explain it to him, or I will. The moment you start protecting Luc, it’s over.”
“No, you’re right.” Katie snuggled the dress to her collarbone. “Oh, the feel of it. Eileen, feel it!”
“Did they kill something to make that atrocious thing?”
“No, it’s ostrich feathers.”
“So what’s the ostrich wearing now?”
“Ginger fought for this dress. Had lots of tantrums over it, in fact. Look what Luc wrote on the card.” She thrust the card toward Eileen. It’s been defeathered and is ready for dancing. Of course, by defeathered, he meant edited. A feathered dress would always lose some of its feathers. She imagined birds had no better luck. She pressed the card to her chest. “I love Luc.”
“You did not just say what I think you did.” Eileen crossed her arms. “Because only a crazy person would say such a thing, especially when her fiancé is on the other side of that door, and she has to explain why her heart-shaped bum is on the cover of a tabloid. Katie, Luc’s trying to manipulate you, can’t you see that? He sends over what he wants you to wear.” She started to dig through the box, throwing pieces of small, feathered fluff all over the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m looking to see if he sent you lingerie too, with a fake note about what Ginger wore under the dress.”
“It was just a figure of speech. I meant that I loved Luc for knowing that Fred Astaire was annoyed by the feathers. It took sixty takes to get the dance right, and the dress shed everywhere. Astaire was a perfectionist, and his temper flared over the extensive takes.”
Eileen snatched the dress from her hands. “This is all fascinating, but your fiancé is here.” She shoved the dress back into the box and dragged it across the room. “I’ll put this in my bedroom until you’ve had a chance to explain yourself to Dexter over dinner.”
Katie waited for Eileen to disappear into the hallway before flinging open the door. Luc filled the doorway, leaning on the doorjamb. But before either of them could say a word, Dexter appeared at his side.
All that Katie could think of was Bette Davis saying, “Fasten your seat belts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.”