Forgetting Chuck Taylor

by Bailey Peters

  Eva could think of a good many things, not all of them work-related.

  27

  Eva

  Eva was grateful more than ever for Amanda. Despite the dirty looks she got from a few presenters and fellow conference goers, she couldn’t contain herself from texting her friend throughout the day to give updates about her situation and solicit her advice. You should start charging ME for your life coach services , Eva joked. You’d be great in a job like that.

  Listen, girl. You’re a pragmatist, not a throw-caution-to-the-wind type like me. I’d just go with my gut, but I think you should go about this differently. Maybe make a pros and cons list for both women and go from there.

  It’s like you know me or something, Eva texted back, adding a smiley face emoji. There was no way she could have this conversation with anyone else in her life, even as supportive as her parents had proven to be.

  On the blank back side of her conference handout on budgeting and tax prep for business owners, she started eking out her lists.

  Both women were driven and ambitious in their way. Both women had interesting hobbies they pursued in their spare time—Taylor’s boxing and Candace’s photography.

  They were also both sexy as hell, albeit in vastly different ways. Taylor had the kind of appeal that would make you take notice if you passed her on the street. Candace’s spark lit the second she opened her mouth to speak.

  Candace was an open book and quick to warm to her. Taylor was one of those slow-blooming flowers that was bashful but absolutely lovely once she let herself unfurl.

  If she was going to be practical, there was also the matter of proximity. Candace was hours away and frequently worked weekends just as Eva did. It was unlikely they’d ever be able to see one another.

  The most important thing, however, was that she still had no idea where Taylor stood. Sure, Taylor had left her a voicemail, but the message had made her nervous about returning the call. Taylor had said she was calling to tell Eva what she should have told her days ago, a week ago.

  That could be an admission of love or it could be a huge fuck you for the way Eva had handled the confrontation at Amanda’s wedding.

  Either way, she knew she owed it to both herself and Taylor to find out. She just wanted a little more time to brace herself for the impact.

  28

  Taylor

  Dalton was waiting for Taylor when she pulled into the library parking lot. He was perched on the bench in front of the door, smoking a Marlboro Red.

  “I know, I know,” he said, grinding down the cherry tip with his heel before picking up the cigarette butt to throw it in the trash can. “I’m not suppose to be smoking within two hundred feet of the building. You can spare me the lecture.”

  Taylor grinned. “You know better and yet you still do it. Just like you come to a book club that exists solely to give seniors insight on maintaining spiritual and physical health while insisting you keep hobbies that could kill you.”

  “We’re all going to die someday, kid. Smoking is one of my life’s finest pleasures. Remember this lecture when you’re eighty and eating cake for breakfast because you don’t give a shit.”

  She shook her head and feigned her best exasperated look. He drove her crazy but she had a soft spot for Dalton. Maybe it was because they suffered through senior book club together and both had to be patient with the others as they gobbled up the newest, hippest pseudoscience. They’d seen the other members go through phases: juicing, intermittent fasting, low carb, no carb, you name it. She was never outwardly judgmental, though. She didn’t want to scorn them for their hopeful optimism. If anything, that was the one thing that was really going to keep them healthy.

  “We don’t open for another hour, but if you promise me you won’t smoke again until at least lunch, I’ll sneak a book out for you.”

  “I’m not here for a book. I’m here for you.”

  He handed her a battered book with a broken spine, the cover soft and warn below her fingertips as though someone had rubbed away at it like a worry stone. It wasn’t The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck . It was a collection of poems by Mary Oliver.

  “I got your message, kid. You’re a little too young to be ready to give up on vulnerability. Leave that to old fuckers like me,” he said, shifting his weight uncomfortably. “The book was my wife’s. When she hurt too much to hold up the book, she had me read the poems that made her feel better out loud. The poems she loved the most are the ones that are dog-eared. They might help.”

  “Thank you,” she said, hugging the book to her chest. Then she hugged him.

  “You’re a good one. Don’t forget it,” Dalton said. “Now go clock in before I get you in trouble.”

  As soon as she was inside the front door and flipping the entryway lights on, Dalton was lighting another cigarette and easing back onto the bench. She pretended not to notice. If someone was going to give him hell this morning, it wouldn’t be her.

  * * *

  Taylor didn’t make it a habit to talk about her personal life with her coworkers, but her supervisor Marian managed to pull a condensed version of the Eva debacle out of Taylor on her lunch break. Taylor liked to think she was the type of woman that held her cards close, but apparently, it had been obvious to her coworker that Taylor wasn’t quite herself.

  “Why don’t you try to return the romantic gesture? Maybe send flowers to the hotel where she’s staying.” Marian swiped a glob of cream cheese over a stick of celery and then smoothed it down with her knife before going in for a loud crunch.

  Taylor shot her a dubious look. “I know she’s at a conference, but I don’t know where it is.”

  “That’s what Google is for.” Marian wiped her hands on a napkin and then started tapping away at her phone. Less than a minute later, she was sliding it across the break room table. On the screen was an advertisement for a wedding planning conference in Asheville.

  “It says the host hotel has discounted rates for conference goers. My bet is she’s probably staying there.”

  Taylor thought for a moment and smiled. “I mean, I guess I can’t fight with my boss.”

  “In that case, why don’t you take the rest of today and tomorrow off? You already said your class tonight got canceled. You have plenty of vacation time accrued. That will give you plenty of time to think about how to welcome her home.” Marian winked at her. Was her boss really insinuating what she thought her boss was insinuating?

  Taylor hadn’t taken a vacation day or a sick day since she’d started. She’d been so grateful for the job that it felt like doing so would be taking her luck for granted. Now, she wasn’t sure if Marian was being nice to her or gently pushing her out the door because she’d been moping around too much.

  Seeming to sense her discomfort, Marian said, “You’ve made my life so much easier around here lately going above and beyond. I just want to make sure you don’t burn out in your job.”

  “Thank you,” Taylor said.

  Marian gave Taylor’s shoulder a squeeze on the way out. “I want a full report when you’re back in the office. I hope everything turns out well.”

  Taylor waited until she was inside her car to call a florist company in Asheville that was located in the same zip code as the hotel. What was one more thing on her credit card?

  She ordered Zinnias. A Zinnia wasn’t elegant like a Dahlia or an Orchid, wasn’t romantic like a Rose. She knew Eva would love them all the same.

  In the game where they texted quotes from novels back and forth at night, they’d discovered they shared the same favorite book as kids, Chasing Redbird by Sharon Creech. The main character was named after the Zinnia. She just hoped that Eva would recognize the flower and make the connection.

  29

  Eva

  Eva never would have guessed at Candace’s dancing skills. Regardless of whether it was rap or electronic dance music coming off the club DJ’s speakers, Candace’s movements across the dance floor were fluid and perfectly in syn
c with the music. In a manner of minutes, she’d blurred the moonwalk into the robot into something just shy of breakdancing, finishing out on the dougie. Or at least, that’s the dance Eva thought it was. Given the number of weddings she worked, she really should know the difference between that and the wobble and the cupid shuffle, but when it came to that kind of thing she was hopeless.

  Eva tried to mimic Candace’s motions. The tight leather skirt and stilettos she’d chosen for the club made it difficult. That, and the fact that her debutante days taught her the dances of generations past and nothing that would lend itself to remixes of Taylor Swift and Kanye West.

  In between songs, Candace gently shook Eva by the shoulders. “Girl, you’ve got to learn to loosen up. Live a little.”

  The command had the opposite effect on Eva. She felt herself stiffen even more. Eva did a lot of things well, but letting loose was not one of them.

  To buy herself some time, she suggested getting them another round. Candace was the designated driver, so her drink for the night was just a tonic water. As for Eva, she was grateful the well drinks were half-off and that the bartender had a strong pour. She sipped slowly, hoping the warmth from the booze would lubricate her limbs into submission, make them more pliable. By her calculations, she only had to make it through a couple more songs before the drag show took over the dance floor if the show started on time.

  Besides her company, the drag show was what she was most excited for. The neon strobe lights and professional go-go dancers gyrating on elevated platforms she could have done without.

  Candace was friends with most of the performers and had predictions about how the night would unfold. She’d filled Eva in with all of them on the ride over. The Reba McIntyre look alike would bring the house down with her lip-synced rendition of “Fancy”. The Brittany Spears impersonator would slay with her makeup and costume but would be a little clumsy in her bedazzled heels. She had a history of battling her performance anxiety with one too many Jager bombs.

  When the drag finally started, those predictions weren’t far off the mark.

  Candace disappeared to get her camera from her car, wanting to photograph a friend that was performing for the first time.

  Lana Del Vajayjay came on stage in a dreamy Lana Del Rey getup, batting fake eyelashes so big Eva had no idea how she kept her eyes open. Her set was more subdued than some of the others, but she held the audience’s attention captive as she crooned into the mic, swaying her long hair to sad songs about being young and beautiful.

  Eva peeled her eyes away every so often so that she could stand close to Candace, see the photos on the camera screen as they were being taken. “Those are going to look great for her website,” Eva mouthed into Candace’s ear, hoping she was loud enough to hear over the music.

  “Always up for helping a friend. That said, right now I’d much rather be taking pictures of you.”

  Eva took a sip of her drink. Liquid courage.

  “That could be arranged,” Eva said. “When your friend’s done up there, wanna get lost?”

  A grin spread like wildfire over Candace’s face. She nodded. “Anyone ever tell you that you have the perfect face and body for boudoir?”

  “Keep the compliments coming and you can have any kind of photoshoot you want.”

  Eva wasn’t feeling as brave as she was letting on, but she thought that might change if she could be with Candace alone. Despite working hundreds of large events, she had always been better with people one-on-one.

  30

  Taylor

  Taylor had been impulsive in her youth. It was how she had decided to pick up street-style boxing from the brothers that lived a couple of houses down on the block where she grew up, asking them to show her the ropes after spying them beat the hell out of a punching bag in their garage. Being impulsive was also how she got herself in trouble taking money from Shelly Jones.

  When she went on probation, she told herself that she had to leave that part of herself behind. If she wanted a good and steady life, she needed to take calculated and predictable steps. There wasn’t a lot of room for the element of surprise.

  But after years of going methodically from one obligation to the next, always doing what was expected, she knew that constantly adhering to routine wasn’t much of a life. At least, that’s what she told herself before filling her tank with gas and throwing enough toiletries and clothing for an overnight trip into her book bag.

  The trip to Asheville put more miles than she expected on her odometer and ate up plenty of money in gas, but her car made the trip despite having put up a protest on the incline up some of the steeper mountain roads. On the way, she listened to the playlist she’d made for Erica’s parents, belting along with power ballads as though she had an audience greater than the bugs splattered across her windshield.

  Taylor had rolled into town about 8:00 PM, an hour after the dinner advertised on the conference schedule ended, which seemed like perfect timing. At a rest stop just before she got off the highway, she took the time to pin up her hair and apply the tiniest bit of makeup. That morning, a romantic rendezvous hadn’t exactly been a part of her plan as she’d gotten ready. She still didn’t exactly look like a heroine primed to sweep someone off their feet, but it would have to do.

  Inside the hotel lobby, she found a leather armchair beside the fireplace and made herself at home, hoping she’d look like a hotel guest and not an interloper. When she whipped out her phone to an empty inbox, her heart sank a little. Either Eva hadn’t seen her flowers yet, or she didn’t like them.

  She took a deep breath and zapped Eva a text. The Zinnias in the room were your first surprise. The second surprise is in the hotel lobby beside the mantle. If you want to see me, that’s where I’ll be waiting.

  And wait she did. After staring at her phone for a solid fifteen minutes, she pulled a book out of her purse—a collection of short stories by Shirley Jackson that Eva had recommended.

  After reading the first hundred pages in a blur, looking up occasionally to scan the room and check her phone, she decided to call. Straight to voicemail. When she finished the book an hour later, she moved to the hotel bar. It was closer to the entrance.

  One cheap beer later, she saw Eva breeze in. She’d traded her typical pearls and cashmere for a leather skirt. Nothing about her ensemble screamed conference wear. More surprising, a woman with a black backpack of her own was guiding Eva through the room with her hand on the small of Eva’s back.

  Taylor’s first instinct was to hide behind the pages of her book, knowing full well Eva was clearly too engrossed in the conversation she was having to notice Taylor’s presence. Hell, the way Eva was looking at the other woman, Eva might have forgotten Taylor’s existence .

  There was also the fact of the woman’s backpack. Apparently, Taylor wasn’t the only person that had intentions to spend the entire night in Eva’s hotel room.

  In seconds, both Eva and the stranger had disappeared down the hallway toward the elevators.

  Taylor weighed her options. She could throw a ten dollar bill down on the bar and run to catch up with them, or she could admit defeat.

  All of the desire to continue the chase evaporated and was replaced by something else. Anger at herself that she’d waited too long to accept Eva’s apology, to try to get things to go back to normal. Anger at Eva for being so quick to replace her after making such an elaborate show of affection.

  There was also exhaustion, both physical and mental from the surge of adrenaline she had felt in her pursuit of a second chance and the disappointing crash that followed. The drive had also been long. Too long for her to get in the car while she was upset and drive the four hours back home.

  She knew better than to think that she should charge a hotel like this to her credit card. She also knew that curling back up in the cozy armchair and dozing off for the night wasn’t something that would be overlooked when guests were dishing out hundreds of dollars to stay here.

  He
r options were curling up to go to sleep in the back of her car or finding a Motel 6 equivalent.

  Taylor lingered a little longer in the warmth and comfort before paying her tab and heading out into the night.

  31

  Eva

  Eva smelled the flowers before she saw them on the far bedside table. The blooms were a cheerful assortment of yellow, red, and purple, all a little anemic looking given that they were clearly grown out of season. She didn’t recognize the type.

  She was plenty accustomed to floral arrangements given her line of work, but she was very rarely the intended recipient.

  “Looks like you have an admirer,” Candace said.

  “I think it must have been the conference—I don’t think anyone would have sent me flowers.”

  Candace raised her eyebrows, clearly skeptical, but remained quiet as she unzipped her backpack to get out the camera equipment. As Candace laid out different lenses and light attachments on the bed, Eva dropped her purse on the floor and went to the bouquet so she could breathe it in.

  There was no card that she could find to identify the sender.

  “Now tell me how this works,” Eva said, biting back disappointment that they likely weren’t from Taylor. “Like this?” she asked, plucking a flower from the vase and putting it between her teeth like a Tango dancer she’d once seen on television, thrusting her body into an over-exaggerated attempt at an America’s Next Top Model style pose.

  Candace shook her head, laughing. “The beautiful thing about boudoir photography is that it’s totally up to you as the model. I can help guide you with things like props and poses, but the whole point of the shoot is to make you feel gorgeous. This is one of the rare cases that a photographer just gets in the way.”