Dreaming in Technicolor

by Laura Jensen Walker

  “But what about the paper? With Alex gone, and now me . . .”

  Gordon scratched the nicotine patch on his upper arm. “Esther and I ran the Bulletin by ourselves for thirty years without any problems. I think I can manage for a few weeks without you.” He squinted at me over his bifocals. “Besides, young Ryan Moore wants to get some newspaper experience before he goes off to college, so I thought we could do a little internship like you did back in high school.”

  He gazed thoughtfully out the front plate-glass window. “Don’t you tell your mama I said this, but sometimes you’ve just got to go after what you want. If you don’t, you might lose your chance. Or someone else might get there before you do.”

  All right. Now I understood. Gordon had been sweet on my mother for years. She first caught his eye her senior year in high school. But he was nearly ten years older, and she was too young, so he’d bided his time and waited. Unfortunately, he had waited just a little too long. My father had come to town the summer after Mom graduated from high school. And once they met, no one else had stood a chance.

  Do I want to wait around and take the chance of someone else swooping in and stealing Alex from me?

  “What’s that Latin saying—carpe diem?” Gordon was saying. “Well, I think you need to carpe your diem over to England posthaste, young lady. And if you have time, maybe you can even squeeze in a quick trip to Paris while you’re there. They’ve got that Chunnel now; you can go right under the English Channel.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “But if you go to Paris, you need to make sure and have a drink in Harry’s Bar for me. That was one of Hemingway’s favorite haunts.”

  Ernest Hemingway was one of Gordon’s favorite authors. I remembered Esther mentioning Hemingway too, when she talked about her European adventure. And Hemingway wrote To Have and Have Not, which was made into the movie where Bogart and Bacall fell in love. And For Whom the Bell Tolls—that great scene where Gary Cooper gives Ingrid Bergman’s character her first kiss . . .

  Is this a sign, Lord? Telling me Alex is the one and you don’t want me to lose him?

  A Yodalike voice sounded in my head: It’s not all about Alex. The journey is what’s important. And Esther’s words replayed in my head like an old summer rerun: “Don’t wait as long as I did. Enjoy these things while you’re still young.”

  “Gordon, do you still have yesterday’s Chron?”

  Sure enough. There it was in black and white: supercheap airfares to London. Cheaper than flying to Cleveland, as a matter of fact. Definitely affordable. “But what about hotels? I hear London’s pretty expensive.”

  “He—I mean, heck, you could just stay with Alex,” Gordon said. “Then it would be free. I’ll bet he has plenty of room.”

  I raised my chaste good-girl eyebrows at him. “Uh, I think it’d be better to just find an inexpensive hotel. Besides, if I go—and that’s a big if—I want to surprise him.”

  “Well, you’re a journalist. You know how to research.” He gestured to my computer. “I’ll bet if you go online you could find some reasonable places to stay.”

  “True.” I snapped my fingers. “And if I have someone go with me, that would cut the lodging cost in half.” I beamed. “Lindsey and I can finally do our European grand tour like we’ve always wanted! At least to London. Maybe Paris too.” A satin-and-lace thought intruded. “I wonder if I can get her to forget about the wedding for a while and come along?”

  “Don’t know unless you ask. So call her already.”

  Bouncing off the four walls I was soon to leave behind, I punched in my best friend’s work number, glad she’d gotten over being mad at me.

  “Lindsey Rogers,” she chirped in her professional but perky human resources voice.

  “Hey, Lins, have I got a deal for you. How’d you like to—”

  “Oh Pheebs, I’m so glad you called,” she interrupted. “I was just looking at the latest Bride’s magazine, and they have all these great bridesmaid dresses, but I’m having a really hard time deciding between the floor-length navy or the tea-length silver.”

  “I thought you were going with classic black?”

  “I was, but now I’m wondering if that might be too austere. My mother, of course, thinks so; she wants me to go with all these boring pastels . . .”

  “Hold that pastel thought. And hold on to your veil too, while you’re at it. I have something exciting to tell you.” I grinned into the phone. “Are you sitting down?”

  “Yep. Usually do at work. So what’s up?” She gave an excited gasp. “Please tell me you’ve decided to accept Phil’s job offer and you’re moving back home soon!”

  “Uh, well, I’m still praying about that, but that’s not why I called, Lins. You see—”

  “Oh. Well then, please, please tell me you found the perfect wedding headpiece in San Francisco. I can’t find diddly here.”

  Down, wedding girl, down.

  “Even better. How would you like to be Thelma to my Louise—without the guns of course.” I paused for effect. “Only go to London. And maybe even Paris with me?”

  “What? What are you talking about?” Lindsey giggled. “Did you win the lottery or something?”

  “I think you actually have to buy a lottery ticket to do that.”

  A muffled snort sounded across the miles. “So when were you thinking of doing this Thelma-and-Louise trip?”

  “I’m not exactly sure yet, but it would probably have to be within the next few weeks to take advantage of this great airfare deal that’s going on right now.”

  Lindsey gave an incredulous laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding. There’s no way I could go anywhere right now. I have too much to do to prepare for the wedding.”

  “But that’s not ’til late September.” I counted on my fingers. “Seven months.”

  “I know. But there’s a million and one details to take care of. You have no idea.”

  “Actually, I do.” I’ve only been hearing about every one of them nonstop for the past month and a half already.

  “Lins, we’ve always talked about how we want to go to Europe together. Here’s our chance.” Another idea struck. “It could be our last hurrah before you get hitched. Sort of an early bachelorette party! What do you say? Bet you’d be the only bride on your Cleveland block who shops for wedding favors and bridesmaid gifts in London.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry, Pheebs. Much as I’d love to, I just can’t. I have way too much to do. Plus we’re using all our vacation time and money for the wedding and honeymoon. My parents are paying for a lot, but I am thirty, after all. Since I’ve been living on my own for ages, I can’t expect them to cough it all up—especially since Phil and I both have good jobs. Besides . . .” She lowered her voice. “You know me. I’ve always been a champagne girl, and I’m not about to settle for a beer budget at my wedding. I’m only getting married once, and I want to pull out all the stops.”

  You’re definitely doing that. I slumped in my chair. “Okay. Sure. I understand. Maybe another time.”

  Yeah, right. Like after she’s married? You can kiss your girl time goodbye then. Note to self: Remember not to become so wedding obsessed when I get engaged—if it ever happens—that I alienate best friends and everyone else in my life.

  In the background I could hear the ringing of another phone. “Sorry, Pheebs, I have to run. That’s the wedding planner on my other line, and we have to talk about flowers. I’ll talk to you soon, maid of honor! Love ya. ’Bye.”

  No problem. But next time why not just use a chainsaw to pop that balloon?

  “Where’s my best friend, and what have you done with her?” I muttered as I hung up. “It’s like Invasion of the Stepford Wedding Snatchers or something . . .”

  [chapter seven]

  Chicks on the Road

  you’re right,” Gordon said, ignoring my glum face. “London’s pretty expensive, but I’ve found a few places online that are a lot cheaper and ‘just a twenty-minute train ride away’ from
town.”

  “Train?” My best-friend depression lifted at the magic word.

  The smoke swirled about us, and the train whistle blew as we clung to one another, unwilling to say good-bye . . . Alex cupped my face between his strong yet gentle hands and kissed me tenderly. As the train pulled out of the station, my beloved ran in slow motion outside my compartment, his leather bomber jacket flapping in the breeze . . .

  “Phoebe?”

  “Sorry.” I looked over Gordon’s shoulder and read aloud. “Twenty minutes to the heart of London: Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, and West End theaters. Wow! To see plays on London’s Broadway. How cool is that?” I sighed. “But it won’t be as much fun to go alone.”

  I sent up a quick prayer asking God if this was such a good idea. And if so, if it wasn’t too much trouble, could he please maybe send me a traveling companion?

  The bell over the front door jangled.

  “Mary Jo!” I leapt out of my chair and enveloped my friend in a bone-crushing embrace. “You’re an answer to prayer.”

  “What? The chocoholics prayer?” She disentangled herself from my suffocating clutch and held up a bag. “How’d you know I’d be bringing Valentine’s truffle brownies from your mom? She stopped by to watch Elizabeth’s lesson and asked me to drop them off.” Mary Jo licked her lips. “Said I could have one too if I delivered them, so I stopped at Books ’n’ Brew on the way and picked up some mochas to go along with them.”

  I waved off the chocolate. “Do you have a passport?”

  Her eyebrows raised at my cavalier chocolate dismissal. “Yes. From when I went on a mission trip to Guatemala two years ago.” She shot me a suspicious look. “Why?”

  “How’d you like to go to England ?”

  Mary Jo looked at Gordon, and then glanced over at the mass of daffodils on my desk. “I think those flowers must have gone to your head or something. They from Alex?”

  “No—I mean yes—look!” I thrust the newspaper at her. “They’ve got super low fares to London right now. Otherwise I couldn’t afford it. Would you go with me? We’d have a blast!”

  Her eyes slid from a beaming Gordon to me. “You’re going over to see Alex, aren’t you?”

  “No.” I met her penetrating gaze, but couldn’t maintain it. “Okay, partly. But I’m also seizing the day. Carpe diem and all that. Remember Dead Poets Society?” She looked blank, so I added, glancing at Gordon, “I’m taking a page from Esther’s book. She encouraged me to travel while I was still young and not to wait like she did. Besides,” I added softly, “there’s something I need to finish for her.”

  Gordon gave me a puzzled glance, but Mary Jo tilted her head. Was she actually considering?

  “Well, if it’s for Esther, that’s a different—”

  “Yippee!” I jumped up and down and moved to hug her again. She held up her hand. “I haven’t said yes yet. I’m not that crazy about flying.”

  “No problem. We’ll just get you a couple of Xanax for the trip.”

  Gordon and Mary Jo both raised their eyebrows.

  “What? I learned that from an old air-force friend who was afraid to fly.”

  Their eyebrows raised higher.

  “Never mind. Here’s what you do. Go to your doctor, tell him how anxious you are about flying and he’ll prescribe you a limited number of pills just for the flights.”

  “You had me worried there for a minute, Pheebs. Thought there was this whole secret life you were keeping from us,” Mary Jo teased. Then she frowned. “You do realize it’s cold over there, don’t you? Most people wouldn’t go to England in the winter. They’d go to Hawaii or Florida. Somewhere warm.”

  “March isn’t winter. It’s spring. And we won’t be outside all that much. We’ll be inside cathedrals and theaters and museums and restaurants.” I put my hands on my hips. “Besides, when was the last time you had a vacation?”

  “Christmas—when I drove down to San Diego and saw my sister and her family.”

  “That doesn’t count. I’m talking a single-girl vacation. You know, like Thelma and Louise . . . ”

  “Without the guns,” Gordon parroted wryly.

  “. . . with fun, adventure, excitement, and . . .” I saved my best zinger for last, “lots of history.”

  Mary Jo had been a history minor in college.

  Her eyes brightened. “I have always wanted to go to The British Museum. Did you know that’s where the Rosetta Stone is? And I’d love to see some of the cathedrals, especially Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s.”

  “Don’t forget Abbey Road.”

  She began to salivate. Beatles fan Mary Jo had all their music on CD and even a few original record albums displayed in her den. “Let’s do it! Where do we start? Should we use the same tour company that Esther did?”

  “Nah, that was pretty much geared for seniors. Besides, we don’t want to get locked into someone else’s schedule. Let’s be adventurous and just do what we want, when we want.”

  You know who you really want—

  All right, enough already, I told my nagging voice of moral reason. Besides, he sent me flowers.

  Books ’n’ Brew was empty when we arrived. Except for a huge bucket of wildflowers on the counter.

  “Hel-lo. Anyone here?”

  A red-faced Amy appeared from the back room, followed by our grinning Pastor Jeff wiping some lipstick off his mouth.

  “Okay you two, get a room. You’d think you were newlyweds or something,” I grinned. “But before you check in, can you recommend some good travel books . . . on England ?” I could barely stand still from the excitement. “Mary Jo and I are going to London on vacation!”

  The couple exchanged a look. “How cool!” Amy said. “When?”

  “Probably within the next three to four weeks. That’s why we’re here. We want to do some research before booking our flight. The only thing we know is that we don’t want to do a tour.”

  “Definitely not,” Jeff agreed. “On a tour they just rush you from one tourist spot to another and you don’t get to wander around and discover things on your own. What you girls need is one of these budget guidebooks that will take you off the beaten track.” He pulled out a green-and-gold paperback and handed it to Mary Jo. “And make sure you don’t limit your visit to London only. It’s one of the great cities of the world, but England has some beautiful countryside too.” He exchanged another look with his wife. “Um, Phoebe, does this trip have anything to do with Alex?”

  Mary Jo shook her head as she flipped through the guidebook. “Already been down that road. And Phoebe’s admitted she’s looking forward to seeing him again, but basically we’re doing this Thelma and Louise carpe diem thing . . .” All of a sudden she gasped. “Check it out. The British Library has copies of original Beatles lyrics!”

  Within the hour we booked our tickets and our hotel.

  I decided to tell my family at Sunday afternoon dinner with the whole family gathered around, but I waited until dessert, when we were all enjoying Mom’s pineapple upside-down cake.

  Clearing my throat, I glanced across the table at Gordon, who gave me a slight nod. “Hey everyone, wanted to let you know I’ll be going on a little vacation soon.”

  “That’s great, dear.” Mom passed Gordon another slice of cake. “Are you going back to Cleveland so you and Lindsey can work on wedding plans together?”

  Incoming! Watch out. Friendship guilt, friendship guilt.

  “No. She doesn’t need me this soon. Actually, I’m going to . . .” I made the sound of a drum roll on the table with my hands, “London! With Mary Jo. For two weeks.”

  “What?” Ashley squealed.

  “London—as in England?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Yep.” I smiled. “Gordon turned me on to some cheap flights he saw in the Chron, and Mary Jo and I jumped at the chance.”

  Everyone peppered me with questions while Mom gave Gordon a thoughtful look.

  Later, after he had left and all
the kids were watching a video, Mom looked at me across the dining room table, a worried frown puckering her forehead. “Men don’t like to be chased, dear,” she said gently.

  “I’m not chasing. I’m seizing the opportunity to go to Europe, just like Esther did.” I examined my nails. “Getting to see Alex is just an added bonus.”

  Careful. Breaking one of those Ten Commandments now.

  I’m not lying, I assured my Sunday-school conscience. I’ve always wanted to go to Europe. Besides, I need to complete Esther’s unfinished mission.

  Interesting timing, though.

  So I’m killing a few birds with one stone. Shut up, already.

  Jordy shared Mom’s concern. “Pheebert, if you want a little brotherly advice . . .” (My big brother had given me that nickname when we were little and I was enraptured with Bert and Ernie on Sesame Street. He was the only one allowed to call me that.)

  “I don’t.” I gave him a warm smile. “But thanks for caring. Don’t worry,” I added. “I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing.”

  In preparation for our English adventure, I tore through my closet, trying to put together a wardrobe that would befit the cosmopolitan world capital we would soon be visiting, yet also retain my own California-girl stamp of individuality.

  Clearly I’d have to do a little shopping.

  I invited Mary Jo to come along when I went to the Sacramento malls, but she said she had all the clothes she needed.

  That’s what I’m afraid of. Mary Jo is a fabulous person, great singer, good Christian, and an inspiration to all. But a clotheshorse she’s not.

  “Besides, Pheebs, can you really afford a shopping trip?” my frugal friend asked. “I thought one of your New Year’s resolutions was to be more careful with finances . . .”

  Yes, but you don’t have to remind me of that now, thank you very much. Besides, that was before I knew I’d be going to England! Plastic was invented for such a time as this.

  “. . . and I don’t think Alex would care whether you have new clothes or not,” she continued, rubbing her dusty, scuffed boot on the back of her faded cords.