Dreaming in Technicolor

by Laura Jensen Walker

  Logging off, I flopped down in my toile-covered easy chair and mulled over my new job offer. Definitely head and shoulders above the last one I’d received, the one from Phil. Instead of finances and boring numbers stuff, I’d be writing about what I knew. All too well. And every writer since Jo March in Little Women has had that drummed into her: Write what you know.

  Although, on that whole knowing front, I don’t know a soul in San Diego.

  You didn’t know anyone in Cleveland when you first moved there either, my logical self reminded me, and look how that turned out.

  But I’m a business owner now. I have responsibilities. I can’t just go and leave my family in the lurch.

  Would you really be leaving them in the lurch? Think about it. They seem to be doing pretty well without a lot of help from you.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Lexie, her chubby face wreathed in smiles, thrust a grubby handful of golden dandelions at me. “An Beebee, I pickded dese jus’ for you.”

  And how could I ever leave my little Lexie?

  [chapter twenty-two]

  Going for It

  i’m sorry I was such a Bridezilla.”

  “You weren’t a total Bridezilla, Lins,” I said, picking flower petals from her hair.

  “Yes I was. I was the Queen of Bridezilla, the T-Rex bride, the Eva Peron of Bridezilla,” she said, her voice rising. “I put every other obsessed, controlling, dictator bride-to-be to shame.”

  “Okay.” I looked in the mirror of the cluttered dressing room at the church reception hall and touched up my lip gloss. “Yes, you did have kind of a wedding lobotomy.”

  “Pheebs, we’ve been over this,” she said, flouncing her satin and lace. “You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Can I have a do-over?” I went into full, reassuring, best-friend, maid-of-honor mode. “Lins, from my limited experience with all things wedding and white, this was pretty standard bride behavior—especially for someone with your Type-A personality.” I smiled. “Actually, I’m thinking it might even have been a God thing.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe he’s preparing you for a whole new career—as a wedding planner.”

  “Very funny.” She stuck her tongue out at me as she tried to remove her veil. It wasn’t as easy as it looked. It was long and flowing, and she kept stepping on it.

  I smiled and stood up to help her. Even tangled in her veil, my best friend made a beautiful bride.

  And she’d had a beautiful wedding. Small, intimate, and understated.

  I couldn’t decide what the best part was—the look on Phil’s face when he first saw her come walking down the aisle, or the way they both looked at each other as they said their vows.

  “So your mom seems to be holding up pretty well, considering you moved up the date on her and ditched the megawedding-of-the-century plan.” I shoved a plastic dress bag and a couple of bouquet and boutonniere boxes off a chair so I could sit down and remove my strappy high-heeled sandals. Since my trip to England, my tolerance for stilettos has dropped considerably.

  Lindsey snorted as I sighed in relief. “That’s her public face. You haven’t seen her—or heard her—behind closed doors. She started to hyperventilate when I told her I wasn’t going to have all my second and third cousins as bridesmaids—that I only wanted you, and Phil only wanted Scotty. Well, and little Teddy as ring bearer and Amanda as flower girl.” She looked down and gingerly extracted a few petals from her cleavage. “And the way it turned out, maybe I should have reconsidered Amanda.”

  “Oh come on. She was adorable, even if she did go a little wild with the flower petals. And little Teddy—I can’t believe how much he’s grown. Stood right there throwing Amanda superior looks. And he never dropped the ring.”

  “You’re right.” Lindsey looked down at the gleaming wedding ring on her finger, a soft smile curving her lips. “And cutting back on the wedding was absolutely the right thing to do. Phil’s my husband. I had to do what was best for him and me.”

  “You go, wifey!” I jumped up to high-five her. “Ow!”

  Lins whirled around, a concerned frown puckering her bridal forehead. “What’d you do?”

  “Stepped on a pin.” I sank back into the chair, nursing my throbbing foot.

  “If I’d known my wedding would be so fraught with danger for you, Pheebs, I’d have had caution signs posted. I mean, first your ribs, then your ankle, and now your foot.”

  I kicked my stiletto sandals out of the way with my uninjured foot. “That’s what I get for trying to do the noble, sacrificial thing and actually participate in the dreaded bouquet toss.” I rubbed my sore ankle. “That new Lone Rangers gal is sure desperate to tie the knot with someone; she was trying to take me out! What is she, anyway—twelve?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Well, she needs to get those skinny elbows registered as lethal weapons.”

  “Jake didn’t seem to mind,” Lindsey said. “He was following her and her bouquet around like a puppy dog.”

  “That’s just wrong.” I grimaced. “He’s old enough to be her father!”

  “Don’t worry. It won’t go anywhere. Jake is the original commitment-phobe. He’ll be single ’til his dying day.”

  “Hey, don’t knock it. Maybe I will too.”

  “I doubt it very much. But even if that happens, you’ll still have me.”

  “Actually, Lins, I’ve been thinking about that. You know how we always said we’d never let a man come between us?”

  She grinned at me. “Hey, we never said any such thing.”

  “Well, someone did.”

  Where had I heard those words before? They had such a familiar ring.

  Then I remembered. It was in White Christmas when Vera Ellen was telling Rosemary Clooney that she was engaged to Danny Kaye and had to break up their sister act—even though the engagement was just a ruse to try and push Rosemary into Bing’s arms.

  Back from my tangent. “Well, anyway, I’ve been thinking it wasn’t very practical to say something like that.”

  “I didn’t say it.“

  “Well, maybe I thought it. But what I’ve been thinking is that when you get married, things change,” I said. “They have to. They’re supposed to. It’s even scriptural.” I went into full-on philosophical mode. “Life is not static. Nothing stays the same. We’ll still be best girlfriends, but now I realize that I’m not the first one you’re going to call with exciting news. Or sad news. Or scary news. You’ll go to Phil, which is as it should be.”

  “I can’t imagine Phil wanting to know about my latest pair of shoes,” Lindsey said dryly.

  “Me either.” I snickered. “Okay, for things like that, feel free to still call me first.” I got serious again. “You know you can call me anytime, though. About the hard things too.” I bit my lip. “Lins, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you called me in Oxford after your fight with Phil. I feel really bad about that.”

  “Don’t, Pheebs.” She sighed. “I admit I was really hurt and angry at the time—even called you some awful names . . .”

  “So that’s why my ears were ringing. And here I thought it was just the church bells over there.”

  “I’ll church-bell you. Would you let me finish? I really need to say this.”

  “Sorry. Go on.”

  “Anyway, after I hung up on you, I railed and ranted for a while. At you. At Phil. Even at God.” She chuckled. “Even though you and Phil weren’t there—which was probably a good thing.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “But God was there. And He showed me what a self-absorbed, wedding-obsessed brat I’d been.” She chuckled. “I’m surprised Phil didn’t run screaming for the hills—I know he wanted to sometimes.”

  “Nah . . .” I started to protest.

  “Oh yes, he did, Pheebs. And that’s when he put his foot down. Which of course made me mad, which is why I called you over in England. But when you didn’t agree wi
th me and then didn’t have the time to listen to me, it made me all the madder.” She took a deep breath. “That’s when God and I had some serious one-on-one time. I realized that even though all the wedding planners and florists and caterers and everyone says ‘it’s your day, it’s all about you, the bride’— which of course, I glommed onto and ran with full-tilt—it’s really not that.” She sniffled. “It’s about God joining Phil and me together as one in holy matrimony. Emphasis on holy.”

  Lindsey continued. “It wasn’t just my wedding; it was Phil’s wedding too. And it’s not just a wedding; it’s the start of our marriage. I didn’t want our life beginning with us all fighting and stressed. So that’s when I called Phil and cried and asked his forgiveness and told him I’d scale way back and that we wouldn’t have pink cummerbunds or cauliflower at the reception. I’d never intended to have a plastic bride and groom anyway.”

  “Good girl. Way to get started on that whole submission bit.”

  “And good thing there’s that scripture that says ‘submit to one another.’” She chuckled. “Otherwise, I can’t see how it would ever work. Certainly not on my part.”

  “I hear ya on that. Glad they took that obey thing out of the vows too.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, my turn. I’m sorry too. For being jealous, even though I was—am —happy for you. But I have to confess that I was jealous of your getting married and worried I would lose our friendship.” I sighed. “But I had to realize that Phil comes first now. Not me. That whole ‘a man shall leave his mother, a woman leave her home’ thing. Although it doesn’t actually say anything about leaving friends . . .”

  “Phoebe, you know perfectly well—”

  But that thought had led me quickly to another. “So, was Alex hurt when Phil told him he’d decided to only have his brother stand up for him?”

  Lindsey shook her head. “Not at all. He completely understood. In fact, when we changed the date, it wasn’t going to work for him anyway. He had some longstanding family commitment he couldn’t miss.” She gave me a sharp look. “Which I’m guessing you didn’t mind?”

  “You got that right. I have a feeling Gorgeous George would have found a way to wriggle her Manolos over here with him.” I cut a wry glance at Lindsey’s beautiful gown. “And since blood spatters, I’d have hated for your wedding dress to get caught in the crossfire. Besides, murder tends to cast such a pall on a wedding.”

  “And the wedding night.” Lins giggled. “And speaking of that, help me out of this dress already so I can grab my man and get the honeymoon started!”

  Back in Barley a week or so later, I sank deep into a tub of Radox—that was another thing I’d brought back with me to the States, boxes and boxes of these amazing bath salts—and thought about Phil and Lindsey, now on their honeymoon in the Caribbean.

  I could picture them there on the beautiful beaches, the sand warm under their toes, the sea breeze tossing their hair, their eyes only on each other as they leaned in for yet another deep, passionate ki—

  Uh, maybe better not to think about honeymoons.

  Instead I weighed the newspaper job offer yet again. I needed to give the San Diego editor an answer soon. But what would my answer be? I’d gone over the pros and cons a million times.

  To work on a major daily at long last. And as a columnist, no less! Talk about dream job . . .

  But there’s no way I can. How could I even consider it what with just starting up Read a Latte and everything?

  But they don’t really need you. They’ve got it handled. And to work on a major daily at long last . . .

  The arguments kept running through my mind in circles like the English roundabouts, and I couldn’t seem to find a way to break free of the dilemma.

  But maybe that’s just it. I pictured MJ and me in that little Mini Cooper, driving round and round the circle while the traffic whizzed by us and horns honked, until finally MJ yelled, “Now! Go for it!”

  And I had. And everything had been all right.

  Is that what I need to do, God—just make a decision and floor it? But what if . . .

  The answer I heard then seemed to come from deeper within me . . . and completely outside myself.

  No matter what, no matter where you go, I’ll be there. I can take care of the what-ifs.

  I sat in the bath a long time, the soothing water going cold around me, thinking about everything that had happened the past six months. All the changes. The disappointments. The discoveries.

  The possibilities.

  And then, just as my skin turned pruney, I did it.

  I went for it.

  I made my decision.

  And hoped everything would be all right.

  [chapter twenty-three]

  It’s My Party

  i had just come back from my walk the next day and was changing my shoes when I noticed my toenail polish was chipped. So I decided to give myself a pedicure before washing the dishes. Just as I was polishing my last toe, my phone rang. Careful not to smudge the wet polish, I splayed out my toes and waddled to the phone.

  “Pheebs?” The voice on the other end was muffled.

  “Who is this?”

  “M-Mary Jo.” An indistinct sound, almost like a sob, escaped my friend.

  “Mary Jo? What’s wrong?! Are you all right?” I gripped the receiver. “Uh, physically, yes. But, I, um, can you come over? I really need to talk to someone.” More indistinct sounds muffled her words. “I-I’m really struggling with something, and I need your help. I don’t know what to do.”

  Mary Jo needing my help? That’s a first. Maybe I’m more of a spiritual giant than I think.

  “I’ll be right there.” I threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and sped off into the night.

  Seven minutes later I knocked on her back door. “Mary Jo?”

  She opened it, her head hanging, a wadded-up tissue clutched in her hand. I’d never seen her so down in the mouth. Actually, I couldn’t even see her mouth, since most of her face was obscured by her curtain of hair.

  “Mary Jo, have you been crying? What is it? What’s wrong? Is it one of your horses? Your sister? Something with Ian?”

  She shook her head and didn’t answer, just turned her back to me and headed toward the living room.

  I caught up to her and put my arm around her shaking shoulders. “Good idea,” I said in my most soothing tone. “You go and sit down. Just let me put the kettle on . . .”

  Her shoulders shook even harder.

  “Okay, never mind the kettle right now. We can do that later. Let’s just get you into the other room where we can be comfy and talk.” I pushed open the door and steered her through.

  A chorus of shouts assailed my eardrums. “Happy Birthday!”

  My mouth dropped open at the sight of wall-to-wall people. I swiveled around to look at Mary Jo, whose head was no longer down and whose shoulders were shaking with laughter. She no longer needed the tissue to cover the grin she’d been hiding.

  “An Beebee, An Beebee!” I felt a tugging on my jeans. Looking down, I saw Lexie sporting her Princess Di tiara and a dazzling smile. “Did we supwise you?”

  I scooped her up in my arms and nuzzled her cheek. “You sure did, you little pumpkin. You really got me good.”

  She clapped her hands in delight. “We got An Beebee good, Daddy, an I din spoil de supwise.”

  Jordy relieved me of his daughter and gave her a big kiss. “That’s my good girl.”

  The rest of my family crowded round for hugs and birthday greetings.

  It seemed like the whole town of Barley was in Mary Jo’s living room.

  Thank goodness I helped her rearrange the furniture.

  “Happy birthday, Phoebe.” Norm Anderson, holding Betty Martin’s hand, enveloped me in a crushing bear hug. “And thanks for that picture of Tiddles the cat. Sure brought back some fond memories.”

  Betty giggled. “See, honey. I knew you liked cats.”

  All the people I’d worked w
ith on the Save the Bijou campaign were there, as well as Bruce and Sylvia Ann, who gave me a sparkly bag filled with shampoo and nail polish and a coupon for a free haircut. “You could use a little trim, honey,” Sylvia whispered.

  Christy and Bob Sharp proudly presented me with a pair of Big Ben salt-and-pepper shakers, and everyone crowded around, munching on hors d’oeuvres and chattering.

  I shook my head, unable to take it all in.

  Mom came up to me and squeezed my waist. “Having a nice birthday, daughter?”

  “I’ll say. You guys really went to town. And it’s not even a milestone one either. Not like the big three-oh or forty or anything.” I chuckled. “Actually, thirty-two seems like kind of a nebbish age to me.”

  “Nebbish-schmebbish,” Gordon said, appearing at Mom’s side. “There’s nothing about you that will ever be nebbish, Phoebe.” His eyes sparkled as he squeezed my mother’s shoulder. “I’d like to give you my present now. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  He reached down to pull off a silky cloth that was covering a bulky object on Mary Jo’s coffee table. Beneath the cloth stood a gleaming black, ancient Royal typewriter. “I thought you might like this,” he said. “It was Esther’s when she first started working at the paper.” He shook his head in fond remembrance. “Even though we had electric typewriters by then, she preferred this old thing. Said it kept her from getting lazy.”

  Esther, old girl, are you giving me a sign?

  “I couldn’t have asked for a better present, Gordon.” I hugged him tight. “Thank you so much.”

  “I have a surprise for you too, daughter,” Mom said. “But you have to close your eyes. And no peeking!”

  Dutifully, I shut my eyes. I heard a door opening and then sounds of rustling and whispering around me.

  “Okay, you can open them now.”

  Ashley and Elizabeth stood in front of me, grinning from ear to ear as they held up a big white sheet. “What?” I gave my mother a sideways look. “Is this turning into a toga party now?”