Daring Chloe

by Walker, Laura Jensen

  I pushed my glasses up on my face — seriously, must go to the mall and get them adjusted — and read aloud: “Please dress dressy, but not formal. No evening gowns, but a suit or dress and heels are required. No Birkenstocks.” The last was underlined.

  “That’s weird.” I looked up at my roommate. “Mine’s totally different. Think Annette might have made a mistake?”

  “Sergeant Etiquette? Since when?”

  Becca and I pulled up in front of Annette’s house at 5:58 Saturday night. Although Becca was never on time for anything, I had an inbred aversion to being late. My mother had drilled into my sister and me that lateness showed a lack of respect and consideration for others, so I adopted that rule as my own.

  What can I say? I’ve always been a girl who follows the rules. Pretty much.

  And good little rule follower that I am, I showed up in my best dress jeans — but not pressed because, really, who irons jeans? — red sweater, and favorite black ankle boots.

  Becca had chosen a green jersey dress that went great with her coloring, and low-heeled black pumps. “I don’t care what Annette says,” she declared as she was getting dressed. “I’m not wearing high heels. I’d fall and break my neck. Besides, do you know how bad those things are for your feet?” She did, however, consent to wear the soft black cashmere cardigan studded with seed pearls across the bodice that I’d snagged from my favorite vintage clothing and thrift shop. She looked fabulous except for the big scowl on her face. “I still don’t see why you got to wear jeans and I had to dress up.”

  I pressed the doorbell. “Well, we’re about to find out, so quit griping.”

  Kailyn, who still lived with her parents, opened the door wearing jeans, a pink hoodie layered over a white tee, and pink Skechers.

  “No fair!” Becca said. “How come everyone else gets to wear jeans, and I’m in a dress and heels?”

  “You call those heels?” Annette, clad in gray wool slacks and a matching sweater with a string of pearls at her throat joined us and looked askance at Becca’s feet.

  “You’re lucky I even wore these.” Becca said as we followed the dynamic mother-daughter duo inside.

  Annette led us into the living room where we found Tess also in jeans, tennies, turtleneck, and a cropped denim jacket, Paige in a brown corduroy skirt and sweater, and Jenna . . . Jenna was a revelation. She wore a figure-hugging black cocktail dress with tiny rhinestones twinkling at the collar, a white pashmina shawl, and four-inch stilettos.

  “Wow.” I whistled. “You look dressed to kill.”

  “Yeah, she could definitely take someone out with one of those lethal foot weapons.” Becca backed up in mock horror. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

  “Better not, Birkenstock girl.”

  Our hostess clapped her hands to get our attention. “Thank y’all for coming and for followin’ your instructions.” Annette dropped a glance to Becca’s feet. “Most of you.” She nodded to a tray of crystal goblets on the coffee table and instructed us to each take a glass of sparkling cider. Annette never allowed alcohol in her home. Not after growing up with a “fall-on-the-floor-drunk-every-night daddy,” she said.

  “Mr. Knightley, in fact,” Annette recited, “was one of the few people who could see faults in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever told her of them.” She raised her glass. “To the Mr. Knightleys of the world.”

  “Here, here,” Paige said. “Especially if they look like Jeremy Northam.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Kailyn smacked her lips. “He was yummy.”

  “Has everyone read Emma?” Annette’s eyes zeroed in on her daughter. “Or did you just watch the movie?” she drawled.

  “Sorry.” Kailyn looked sheepish. “The movie was great, though, and I watched Clueless too. Does that count?”

  Annette closed her eyes. “Her character depends upon those she is with; but in good hands she will turn out a valuable woman.”

  Paige whispered to me, “I didn’t know we were supposed to memorize lines from the book, did you?”

  “Nope.”

  Jenna glanced over at Becca. “Give it up, book-quote girl. Are you in on this?”

  It was Becca’s turn to shake her head. We turned puzzled faces to Annette.

  Annette directed her gaze to our resident Janeite. “Could you please tell us what this month’s book selection was about?”

  “Emma is a comedy of manners with a matchmaking heroine who manipulates people and circumstances to what she wants or thinks is best,” Tess said, “including whom they should be with romantically. Ultimately, though, it’s a celebration of the power of love.”

  “Exactly.” Annette beamed.

  “Exactly what, Mother?” Kailyn asked, frustration evident in her tone. “And how does this translate to our first adventure?”

  “Chloe, what kind of heroine did Tess say Emma was?”

  “Uh . . . ” I shot a quick glance at my aunt, whose eyes registered dawning comprehension and dismay. “A matchmaking one?” I said weakly.

  “Mom! You’re not playing matchmaker again!”

  As one, we all turned in horror to Annette.

  7

  I always deserve the best treatment because I never put up with any other.

  Emma

  Annette plumped the pillows on the couch and adjusted the coasters on the end table before fixing us with a serene look. “And what would be so wrong with that? Y’all are always complaining that there’re no good men out there, that all the good ones are taken.”

  Jenna crossed her long, athletic legs. “They are.”

  “Oh, no, they’re not,” Annette countered with a satisfied smile. “As you’ll see in,” she looked at her watch, “ just a few minutes.”

  “What?” Kailyn squeaked. “You set us up on blind dates?”

  “I’m so not going on a blind date with some stranger,” Becca said.

  “Me either.”

  “It’s a double date,” Annette said. “There’s safety in numbers, which is why I split y’all into pairs. And why you’re not all dressed the same, either.” She consulted her PDA. “Chloe and Paige will go out for a casual dinner; Jenna and Becca will dine at Antoine’s, and Kailyn, you and Tess will go bowling.”

  My normally unflappable Aunt Tess threw me a look of horror.

  “Bowling? ” Kailyn screeched. “You’ve got to be kidding. I don’t know how to bowl.”

  “I know. That’s why this will be a new adventure for you.”

  “The last time I bowled was over twenty years ago. I dropped the ball on my husband’s foot and fractured it,” Tess said.

  “Well, try to be more careful tonight.” Annette handed each of us a slip of paper. “These are your dates’ names. I’ve personally selected each one, and I know for a fact that none of them are married, ax murderers, or escaped convicts.”

  “That’s comforting,” Tess said.

  Kailyn read the name on her paper. “Henry Meeks? What is this, freaks and geeks night? He’s such a dweeb. And goofy-looking, besides.”

  “Remember to look beneath the surface, baby girl,” her mother said.

  I shot a desperate glance at the doorway, wondering if I could somehow make my escape without Annette noticing. Times like these made me wish I had my own invisibility cloak.

  “James MacDonald?” Tess frowned at her slip of paper. “That name seems vaguely familiar.”

  “It should. You booked him on an Alaskan cruise with his kids last year a few months after his wife died,” Annette said. “He said he’s lookin’ forward to meeting you in person, said you were very kind and understanding.”

  This James guy was already scoring points with me. I just hoped he was the real deal. Tess deserved a nice guy. Uncle Ted had died almost ten years ago. She’d been alone far too long. And I hoped she’d have fun bowling with him tonight. But as for me? I edged toward the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Um, I’m really not ready to start
dating yet, Annette.”

  “I know, honey. Bless your heart. That’s why this is just a fun, casual evening with friends. Don’t even think of it as an actual date.” She giggled. “You and Paige are going to have such fun! I almost wish I was going with you.”

  “So come along. If it’s just a fun evening with friends, why don’t you join us?”

  “No can do. I’ve already made plans with that good-lookin’ hunk of man of mine.” She smiled as big as Texas.

  The doorbell rang, and Annette hurried to answer it.

  Jenna smoothed her skirt, Tess rifled through a magazine, Kailyn glared at her mother’s retreating back, Becca scowled, and Paige and I exchanged anxious looks.

  Annette ushered in an attractive, silver-haired man in jeans and a polo shirt, followed by a younger, bookish-looking guy, also in jeans, but wearing a T-shirt that proclaimed “Revenge of the Nerds.”

  Kailyn shot daggers at her mom.

  Annette introduced James and Henry to everyone, then hurried them along with Tess and Kailyn. “Y’all don’t want to be late now. I booked your lane for six thirty.”

  Tess winked at me as she left.

  Well, all right then. This James guy definitely has promise.

  Annette consulted her list. “Next up are Becca and Jenna. You have reservations for dinner at Antoine’s with Michael and Thomas. And afterward you’re going to see Swan Lake.”

  Becca groaned, and culture-vulture Paige quickly offered to take her place.

  “Uh-uh.” Annette wagged her finger at Paige. “This is supposed to be an adventure. Something you haven’t done before.” She gave us a sweet smile. “I’ve got something else planned for you two.”

  That something else was a sushi/karaoke bar.

  Great. Raw fish and singing in public. So not two of my favorite things.

  I nearly bolted from the car when our new male friends informed us of where we were going, but I didn’t want to leave Paige holding the seaweed. At least Annette didn’t hook me up with a young guy. Will Thompson was in his mid-thirties, decent-looking, and, I learned, a real estate agent who owned his own home. Daniel Lund, Paige’s date, who worked in the same agency as Will, was a couple years older.

  Both guys were pleasant enough, and I was delighted to discover that neither one was a jock, so we didn’t have to spend the entire evening politely pretending to be interested in boring sports talk and statistics.

  The sushi, though, was a problem. I’ve never been able to stomach the thought of raw fish, no matter what they call it or how they dress it up in seaweed. I stuck to teriyaki chicken.

  “Come on, try it,” Will urged, holding something called sashimi under my nose.

  I bolted to the restroom.

  “Chloe?” Paige’s worried face appeared behind me in the mirror above the sink where I was rinsing out my mouth a few minutes later. “You okay?”

  “I will be. Got any mints?”

  “Altoids okay?” She offered the tin to me.

  “Perfect.” I popped one in my mouth, enjoying the heady peppermint rush.

  “So,” Paige said, “I’ve been thinking of what we can do to get back at Annette.”

  “You mean besides piercing her belly button and making her go to church in bleached and torn low-rise jeans and flip-flops?”

  “The pierced belly button is a great touch!” Paige rubbed her hands and looked at me from beneath her brown bangs. “You do know we have to do the karaoke thing, don’t you? It’s part of the rules. We agreed to do whatever adventure each person set up.”

  “Were we on drugs or what?”

  “No, just caught up in the Becca excitement.” Paige snapped her fingers. “Hey! I know how we can get Annette back.”

  “How?”

  “Have Becca insist she go skydiving after we read that lady pilot’s memoir.”

  “That’s a little scarier than karaoke, don’t you think?”

  “Not much.”

  “Besides, we didn’t choose the flying memoir.”

  “Oh yeah. Well, we’ll just have to think of something else. Like maybe hiding all her Paula Deen cookbooks or something.”

  We decided we’d better come out of hiding and rejoin our friends so they wouldn’t think we’d bailed on them. And fifteen minutes later, when the karaoke night kicked off with a remarkably good Will and Daniel doing their Righteous Brothers impression of “You’ve Lost that Loving Feeling,” Paige and I followed with “My Heart Will Go On” from Titanic.

  We went for broke and sang as loudly and out-of-tune as we could, each trying to sing louder than the other, and frequently breaking into giggles — particularly when we thumped our chest every time we sang the word “heart,” the way Céline Dion had done at the Academy Awards. Afterward, we stumbled off the stage to our seats, laughing helplessly.

  Will and Daniel high-fived us. “You girls rock! That was absolutely awful.”

  “Thanks. You guys weren’t so bad yourselves.” I blotted my forehead with a cocktail napkin.

  When I looked up, a man stood by Paige’s chair, studying me.

  Ryan.

  “Hello, Chloe. Having a nice time?” Was that disapproval in his voice? I bristled. How dare he show up here and judge me. Chris left me, not the other way around. And it’s not like I was on a date.

  “I hope you punched him out,” Becca said later that night when I told her of Ryan’s comment at the sushi bar.

  “No. But I wanted to.” Boy, had I wanted to. But I’d been avoiding Ryan at church and everywhere else ever since Chris dumped me. Dumped. A word I’d rather not think about.

  New subject. Church? Did I really want to think about that either? Not only had I been avoiding Ryan at church, I’d been avoiding church altogether. And feeling guilty about it. I just couldn’t handle all the clichés and platitudes. “God has something better for you. It just wasn’t God’s will. Maybe God’s trying to teach you something, blah, blah, blah.”

  I always love the way everyone else seems to know what God is thinking. To me, it’s more of a mystery.

  Sitting down on the couch and shucking off my boots, I turned my attention to my roommate. “How was dinner and the ballet?”

  “Good, but a little stuffy.” She made a face. “I liked the food better than the ballet — too prissy for me. And way too long.”

  “And your date?”

  “Like I said, the food was good.” Becca yawned and stretched and said she was heading to bed. “Long night.”

  Sure was. Although I had to admit, it had been kind of fun, too. Until Ryan showed up. Who did he think he was getting all snarky with me? He’s not the boss of me. Besides, I just know he had a hand in Chris’s breaking up with me.

  Be fair. How can you know that?

  You don’t think he shared any of his misgivings about our engagement and upcoming wedding with his roommate, the groom-to-be?

  Maybe. Probably. Since they did live together, after all. Then again, maybe not. They are guys. They don’t talk about relationships the way women do.

  Whatever.

  I ended my internal ping-pong match and jumped in the shower to get rid of my karaoke flop sweat. As I shampooed the lingering scent of sushi from my hair, I sang one of Rosemary’s old hits, “Mambo Italiano,” to get my mind off Ryan and Chris.

  Chris.

  I sang even louder, until Becca’s voice outside the bathroom door made me jump. “Hey Sinatra, shut up, will ya? Some of us are trying to sleep here.”

  Finishing my shower in silence, I rinsed and toweled off, then padded quietly into my bedroom where I slipped on a comfy oversized T-shirt and slid between the sheets.

  Only I couldn’t sleep.

  “Mambo Italiano” kept playing over and over in my head like a broken record. I tried to drown it out by humming “It’s a Small World,” but then I had a new broken record playing over and over in my brain.

  I tried counting books. Sheep never worked for me.

  Neither did books this t
ime. Maybe if I counted up all Chris’s bad qualities . . .

  Immature.

  Sports-obsessed.

  Irresponsible.

  Bad with money.

  Controlling.

  Didn’t read.

  Fun.

  Carefree.

  Cute.

  Unafraid to take risks.

  Loved kids.

  Told me I was prettier than Julia . . .

  Don’t go there.

  At last, knowing sleep was impossible, I picked up our next book club selection from my nightstand and lost myself in the delightful children’s story of the two kids who ran away from home and hid out in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

  How fabulous would that be? To be surrounded by all that beauty 24/7?

  I could think of worse things.

  Part 3

  8

  She didn’t like discomfort. Even picnics were untidy and inconvenient: all those insects and the sun melting the icing on the cupcakes.

  From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler

  I wasn’t big on discomfort any more than twelve-year-old Claudia. But it was a crisp spring day over three months since my break-up, and I was feeling good. The sun was shining, the wisteria was blooming, and the Paperback Girls were headed out on another book-club adventure. This time, we were combining our March and April selections, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and Rosamunde Pilcher’s epic Coming Home, into a two-part, one-day adventure in San Francisco.

  Paige, Becca, Tess, and I were leading the way to the City by the Bay in our two-car caravan in Paige’s gas-hog but comfortable Taurus, while Jenna, Annette, and Kailyn followed behind in Jenna’s sporty red Jetta.

  “I’ll sure be glad when next month rolls around and we can get to the outdoor stuff,” Becca grumbled.

  “We are outdoors,” Tess said.

  “Yeah. In a car. Driving to a museum.”

  “Have you ever been to the California Palace of the Legion of Honor?” Paige asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, then it’s a new adventure for you, isn’t it?” Tess turned around in the passenger seat and batted her eyes at Becca.