Dreaming in Technicolor

by Laura Jensen Walker

  “The one and only.” Lindsey giggled. “She told me to tell you that the next time we talked. In fact, I think she’s planning to e-mail you herself. She said, and I quote, ‘It’s real, it’s funny, and it’s honest. And it’s nice to have someone telling it like it is for women whose lives haven’t turned out the way they told us it would in Sunday school—the whole happily-ever-after, white-knight bit.’”

  “Except for yours, Lins,” I said dryly.

  “Well, yeah, but until Phil came along, I was in that same single place—as you more than anyone knows. And even though I’m getting married, I can still relate.” She sighed. “Been there, done that. I only wish your column came out more often.”

  “Not me.” I took another swig of soda. “I wouldn’t have the time to write it. The bookstore, the column, and these teas pretty much keep me hopping.”

  “Do you ever miss being a reporter?” Lins asked. “I’m sure those emus really miss you.”

  “Uh-huh. And the goats and the pigs and the cows. And don’t forget the Miss Udderly Delicious pageant contestants.”

  “They’re pretty hard to forget.” We giggled together. “But seriously, Pheebs,” Lindsey said, “what about the writing? Don’t you miss doing it full-time?”

  Do I? I’d been so busy with the store, I hadn’t even had time to think about that.

  “Um, well . . . a little, I guess.”

  “You could have had a full-time writing job, but you turned it down.” She sighed. “And with it, untold riches and glory. But never mind. Who am I to say anything? Just your best friend, that’s all,” she murmured sotto voce. “And what do I care if you spit in my husband-to-be’s face? Just shaming him in front of all his employees?” More sotto voce.

  “Have you been watching reruns of Everybody Loves Raymond again?” I stretched out on the couch. “You’ve got the martyr-mother thing down cold.”

  “That’s ’cause I just got off the phone with my mother.”

  “So, how’s she doing with your decision to scale back the wedding and move up the date?”

  “You mean after she threatened to throw herself off the balcony?” Lindsey sighed. “She’s disappointed, of course, but she’ll live. And speaking of my mother, I apologize for turning into her and trying to guilt you into taking the PR job. I’m glad you didn’t listen to me. You’d have been miserable writing about stocks and bonds and investment portfolios.”

  “And Phillie would have been miserable when I put a decimal point in the wrong place and cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

  We laughed in happy agreement, and I felt almost like dancing. It felt so good to have my best friend back—and not either manic or mad at me.

  Shouldn’t have been surprised. Lindsey and I always manage to sort things out. It’s a little weird, though, doing it long-distance.

  “Pheebs, I have a confession to make,” Lindsey said, growing serious. “I was really jealous of your going to Europe, and then the whole time you were gone, I was kicking myself for not jumping at the chance when you offered it to me. That’s why I was such a total . . . well, you know.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “You’re not supposed to agree with me. Couldn’t you protest even just a little?”

  “Not in this lifetime.” I stretched out on the couch.

  “Okay. I get the message.” She laughed. “So give me the whole 411 now. Was England unbelievably wonderful? And did you absolutely love it?”

  “Quite,” I said in my poshest, plummiest accent—definitely not Hyacinth Bucket. “The theater, the galleries, the stores, the countryside, the churches . . . all brilliant.” I paused and went back to my normal voice. “It wasn’t just the country, though, it was the whole experience.” I thought again of St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey and St. Mary’s in Fairford with the glorious stained glass . . .

  “. . . are you feeling about Alex these days?” Lindsey’s voice brought me back. “Because if it will make you uncomfortable, Phil and I agreed that we wouldn’t have him in the wedding. You’re our nearest and dearest friend in the whole world, and even though he’s Phil’s buddy, he’s not at the same level on the friends-meter. We don’t have a problem telling him that if it would be too hard for you to see him in the wedding party,” she continued.

  “No, don’t do that.” I shifted on the couch. “I’m actually fine about the whole Alex thing now.”

  I tested my words. Were they really true? Or was I just saying them for Phil and Lindsey’s sake?

  Repeating them in my mind, I waited to see what happened. Nothing. I really meant them. Emboldened, I continued. “Really, Lins. It just wasn’t meant to be. And God taught me a lot through the experience—showed me how I have a tendency to get too romantic too quickly and live in my fantasies a lot of the time.”

  I waited. She didn’t contradict me. So I chuckled. “Of course, you caught me on a good day. Don’t know how I’ll feel tomorrow.”

  “Just keep me posted, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  “And Pheebs?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re cool now. Right?”

  “We’re cool. Except for one little thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you’re not going to nix the bouquet-throwing torture, then I at least get a sit-out waiver.”

  Hanging up from Lins, I decided to check my e-mail and found the most wonderful surprise. Jeff and Amy wrote to say they loved Oregon and their new church, but what had them most delighted was that they were expecting a child.

  In a baby frame of mind after that exciting news, I decided to pop by Karen and Jordy’s and spend a little time with my namesake niece, Gloria Phoebe. I knocked on the back door, but nobody answered, so I poked my head into the kitchen. “Hello, where is everybody?”

  An answering roar met my ears, and my nephew came rushing at me full-tilt in his knight’s helmet, brandishing a red plastic baseball bat as his sword. “You bad witch, you can’t have the princess and lock her away in a tower. I’ll protect her ’cause I’m Sir Jacob.”

  Before I had a chance to react, Lexie came scampering in behind her brother, wearing a pink nightgown and her Princess Di tiara. “My hewo. You saveded me fwom da wicked witch.” She offered a grubby fist of sticky M&M’s to Jacob. “Heaw’s youw tweazhur.”

  “Where’s the princess Lexie and her trusty Sir Jacob?” Jordy came charging in, a tinfoil crown askew on his messy head and a stuffed lion under his arm. “King Aslan says it’s time for a nap.” He led my compliant niece and nephew away as his wife entered the kitchen, baby on her hip.

  “Well, that’s a nice sight, I must say—seeing Jordy playing with the kids again.”

  “I know. They’re in heaven having him around more, and so am I.” She gave me a quizzical look. “So what brings you by?”

  I stretched out my arms for little Gloria. “Just needed a little baby fix. Gimme, gimme.” Sitting down at the table with the chubby bundle in my arms, I nestled my face into my sweet niece’s cheeks. “Mmm, there’s nothing like that sweet baby smell.”

  And nothing like that not-so-sweet baby smell. I stood and held her at arm’s length.

  “Sorry. I just fed her a little while ago, and she always has really stinky diapers after that.” Karen scooped her up just as Jordy returned. “I’ll go change her.”

  My brother sat down across from me at the table and reached for the bowl of salted-in-the-shell peanuts. “Hey Pheebert, I’m glad you stopped by,” he said, cracking one of the nuts in his hand. “Been wanting to talk to you about something.”

  The “something” turned out to be a guy—a guy he wanted to set me up with. Tim was a jock friend of his from Lodi whom I’d met and talked to a couple times.

  “Nice guy,” I said. “And kind of cute too. But he doesn’t even know who Spencer Tracy was.”

  “So?” Jordy said. “I’ll bet you don’t know who Roberto Clemente was.”

  “What movie was he in?�
�

  My brother groaned. “He wasn’t in a movie. That’s the point. He was the greatest right fielder ever to play the game of baseball. The guy won four National League batting titles!” He sighed and shook his head. “Pheebert, you don’t have to have everything in common to date someone. Haven’t you ever heard of opposites attracting?” He gave Karen, who’d just rejoined us, a sexy smile.

  “Sure,” I said, “but there’s got to be at least a spark of chemistry.”

  Like you had with Alex? Look how well that turned out.

  It was my turn to sigh. “Actually, I’ve decided that dating is highly overrated,” I said with a sniff. “So I’m now entering a date-free phase of my life. From here on out my focus is going to be on God, work, family, and friends.” I stood up to leave. “And getting in shape for a certain upcoming wedding. I think I’ll go take my walk now.”

  The sun was just setting behind Therman Munson’s stock pond as I headed out from Karen and Jordy’s. Since returning home from England, I’d discovered that usually I managed my best times of quiet reflection just before or after sunset, and walking really helped. The cares of the day slipped away, and the rhythm of walking generated a lovely peacefulness that helped me sort my muddled thoughts, which were especially muddled tonight.

  As I walked and prayed, I replayed my earlier conversation with Lins and realized I really did miss writing on a regular basis.

  Leave it to my best friend to call me on it.

  Running the bookstore and everything was cool, and I had thought I’d really like the tea part since I’d loved the tea ritual so much in England. But enjoying a relaxing cuppa in the afternoon was one thing, and putting on a full-fledged tea complete with atmosphere and all those little finger sandwiches, scones, and stuff was another. Plus a lot of hard work. And if I was completely honest with myself, I had to face the fact that I wasn’t all that good at it.

  I certainly hadn’t inherited my mother’s culinary abilities. Or desires. All the time I was chopping celery, slicing cucumbers, or dicing chicken, my fingers were itching to be flying over the keyboard instead, crafting just the right phrase or sentence.

  So what exactly am I supposed to do about that now? Kind of late in the day to realize this, Ms. New Business Owner.

  I looked at my watch. Time to head in. I had an important date.

  And no, it’s not what you think.

  Showering quickly, I put on my jeans and headed over to Mary Jo’s, where I helped her rearrange her couch, love seat, and Frasier recliner. Afterward, we kicked back with a bowl of popcorn and some M&M’s and watched Bridget Jones’s Diary.

  “Now, this is the life,” I said, purring with man-free contentment.

  Hey, even Thelma and Louise need a little downtime.

  A week or so later, I got two phone calls that rocked my contented—well, mostly contented—little corner of the world.

  It had been a slow day at Read a Latte. Well, slow for me. As usual. Mom was busy baking, Karen was busy waiting on customers, and Jordy was still at school. (He did the bookkeeping for the store in the evenings.) Redmond was busy stocking shelves—with Ashley’s help.

  And I was busy doing absolutely nothing, as I so often did these days at the store. One can only wipe down the same counter so many times. And refill the hot water carafes. And adjust the window display.

  I know! Maybe the restrooms need cleaning.

  I had gotten pretty darned handy with a toilet brush and pumice stone after a brief stint—very brief—at Happy Holly Housecleaning in Cleveland last year. So humming under my breath, I pulled on my yellow rubber gloves and gathered up cleaning supplies to attack the loos.

  Only someone had already beaten me to it. Both the men’s room and the women’s room were pristine and sparkling. I sighed and went home early, feeling restless and out of sorts.

  And I wasn’t the only one.

  When I opened my apartment door, Herman streaked down the stairs to rejoin his siblings in Karen and Jordy’s backyard. If I’d had an alley, he’d have spent all his time there. I watched him disappear around the corner of the house.

  “Domesticated much?”

  Hungry, but wanting to be healthy, I grabbed the lone yogurt in the fridge and spooned up a mouthful. Bleeech! I spit the sour clots into the sink, then checked the expiration date: three month ago. Major ick. I grabbed my mouthwash, but the lonely drops at the bottom took too long to make their way to my curdled taste buds.

  In a frenzy, I yanked my crumpled toothpaste from the medicine cabinet and squirted it into my tongue, then grabbed my toothbrush and furiously scrubbed, trying not to gag in the process.

  That’s when the phone rang.

  I spat and answered, coughing a little as I did. “Hello? . . . Yes, this is Phoebe Grant . . . Uh-huh. Yes, that’s right.” I nodded my head, then gripped the receiver tight. “Say what?!”

  Ten minutes later, I hung up the phone in a daze.

  An editor friend of Gordon’s was calling from San Diego. Seems she liked my online columns. Liked them a lot. So much that she was offering me a full-time writing position at her major daily newspaper—with a once-a-week column geared toward women.

  At more money than I’d ever made from my writing.

  A full-time writing job with a weekly column? And in sunny Southern California, no less, with nary an emu in sight.

  Why couldn’t she have called just a couple of months earlier, Lord—before I went in with everyone on Read a Latte? Now what am I supposed to do?

  I told her I had a major commitment coming up—I did, Lindsey’s wedding—and asked her for a couple of weeks to consider.

  While I was still staring at the phone in my hand, it rang again.

  “Pheebs,” Lindsey’s voice on the other end sounded strained. “I have something to tell you . . .”

  “You’re pregnant?”

  “No!” She sucked in her breath and got all huffy. “You know we’re waiting ’til we get married.”

  “I’m only kidding, Lins. Sheesh. Guilty much?”

  She laughed. “As charged. It’s getting harder and harder to wait. Now I know why so many Christian couples have short engagements. Or even elope. There’s a lot to be said for that.” Lindsey sounded wistful.

  “Excuse me. Let me just get the wax out of my ears. I don’t think I heard you right, Ms. Star Jones has got nothin’ on you, wedding planner.”

  “I know. I know. But who knew planning a wedding would be so stressful?” She giggled. “And we don’t even get the benefit of sex as a stress releaser, like the rest of the world.”

  “Hang on, Lins. Only a little while longer.” I studied my thighs in the mirror and sucked in my stomach. “I’m going to have to step up my exercise plan if I want to look good in that slinky pink bridesmaid’s dress.” I drained my Diet A&W. “But back to what you need to tell me. If you’re not pregnant, then what is it?”

  She hesitated.

  “Lins,” I put on my best stern voice. “You’re not going back on your promise to give me a waiver from the bouquet toss, are you?”

  “Never. I want to live to make it to my honeymoon.” She gave a shaky laugh, then sighed. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, Pheebs, but Alex and that lady lawyer—and I use the term lady loosely—well, they’re dating.”

  Full body slam to the solar plexus.

  Breathe, Phoebe, breathe. Relax. I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. I thought I was so over Alex.

  “So George finally got her claws into him, huh? I knew it was just a matter of time.” I gave a wry half laugh. “His dad should be happy.”

  “Yeah, but is Alex? I wonder,” Lindsey said, growing thoughtful. “Phil said he’s a changed man—all stressed and everything. Not fun and easygoing like when we knew him.”

  “It’s that stiff upper lip she requires him to maintain. Plus, she’s so skinny she probably cuts him with her cheekbones when he hugs her. That’s gotta hurt.”

  “Pheebs, you are evil
, and you must be destroyed.”

  “Aw, I bet you say that to all your best friends.”

  There goes the last nail in the Alex coffin, I thought as I hung up. I called Mary Jo to tell her the news, but she already knew. I suspected a little birdie from across the Atlantic had been singing.

  “Are you okay, Pheebs?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. If he’s with George now, then he was so not the right man for me. Oh well. Just wasn’t supposed to be. Besides, they have that whole shared-neighbor-history thing. Kind of hard to fight that.” I glanced out my window at the grassy field behind Jordy and Karen’s. Just two months ago, that field had been dotted with clumps of golden daffodils.

  Your history was so much shorter . . . “Wonder if they’ll send their kids off to boarding school too?” I mused. “And Oxford. Keep that Spencer family tradition going.”

  Spencer. Wonder how Grace feels about all this? And Delia?

  It had been a while since I’d written Alex’s sister. We’d kept in touch pretty regularly since my return to the States, but I hadn’t heard from her lately.

  Now I knew why.

  To: Learschild

  From: Movielovr

  Hey Delia, you can come out of hiding now. My friend Lindsey just let the lawyer out of the bag; I know Alex and George are a couple. And I hope they’ll be very happy. Just like Cameron Diaz and Dermot Mulroney in My Best Friend’s Wedding. Anyway, thanks for keeping your promise not to tell me.. But it’s okay. Really. I’ve moved on.

  I know you’re really busy with work these days (any word about your promotion?). But Mary Jo and I really hope you’ll find time to come out for a visit soon so we can play tour guide. We’re already fighting over whose place you’ll stay at. Hers is bigger, but mine is cuter. Decorating’s really not her thing.. Maybe we’ll take turns.

  How’s Ian? Does he talk about Mary Jo all the time? She plays it cool, but I know she’s enjoying their e-mail connection. Say hi to your family—yes, even Alex, if you think it’s appropriate. And ask your mom if she’s done any ladder rolling lately.. (BTW, you don’t need to pass on my regards to George.) All the best. —P.