Daring Chloe

by Walker, Laura Jensen

  Try as I might, my good-girl, white-bread self just couldn’t summon up the courage to attend, even when a small group from church invited me to go with them.

  “You really missed out,” Shannon from the singles group told me the next day at church. “It was so cool. The whole community turned out and the band played for almost three hours! At the end, everyone prayed, even the gangbangers.”

  “You’re afraid of lots of things,” Becca was saying. “Sharks, for instance.”

  “Anyone in their right mind would be afraid of sharks, Aqua Girl.”

  “Amen,” Annette said. “I know I surely am. And don’t nobody say nothin’ about my menopausal mind either.”

  “Okay, so sharks were a bad example. But what about,” Becca ticked off on her fingers. “Flying? And sushi? And pedicures?”

  “Cheap pedicures. Didn’t you hear about those women who got foot infections from salons where they didn’t sterilize their instruments often enough?”

  Becca rolled her eyes.

  “Chloe, that was a few years ago,” Kailyn said. “I read somewhere that it’s all regulated and inspected now. They can lose their license if everything isn’t clean and on the up and up.”

  “Maybe so, but how often do they do those inspections? I’m not going to chance it. I’d rather pay a little more than get some gross bacterial fungus or something.” I turned to Becca. “And for your information, I’m not afraid of sushi. I just don’t like raw fish.”

  “Then how come at the condo you told me you were worried about mercury poisoning?”

  Way to break the sanctity of the roommate confidences. Sure, I was a little concerned about mercury — you would be too if you’d read some of the scary things I had — but mainly the thought of putting raw fish into my mouth just turned my stomach.

  “Hey, I’ve read about mercury poisoning from eating too much raw tuna and other fish.” Paige wagged her finger at Becca. “So don’t be giving Chloe a hard time.”

  “Aw, but it’s so much fun.”

  Jenna deftly changed the subject. “Didn’t the Bay look inviting today? Really made me want to go swimming.”

  “In this cold weather? You’re crazy. You could cramp up and drown.”

  “Like Natalie Wood. She had a lifelong fear of drowning, and that’s how she died.” Paige was always spouting old movie trivia.

  “I read somewhere that what you fear the most — drowning, flying, whatever — is how you usually end up dying,” Kai-lyn said. “I have a fear of birds.”

  “That’s a crock. What, you think a bird’s going to peck you to death or something?” Becca said.

  “Happened in The Birds.”

  “Great Hitchcock.”

  “I’ll say. But scary. After seeing it, I couldn’t walk through the playground if I saw even a crow on the jungle gym,” Tess said.

  Becca sent Tess a surprised look. “I didn’t think anything scared you.”

  “We all have our fears. Even you, fearless leader. C’mon, ’fess up. What are you afraid of?”

  “Men in tights. That’s just wrong.”

  Annette sighed. “I was just trying to broaden your cultural horizons.”

  “What can I say? Ballet and art museums don’t float my boat. Guess I’m a Philistine.” Becca grinned. “I prefer McArt. A quick drive-through is more my style.”

  “Want fries with that?”

  “Yes, please. And ketchup.”

  “Becca, Becca.” Tess shook her head. “What are we going to do with you? Art can’t be wolfed down like fast food. You have to savor it, take your time with it, digest it, let it speak to your soul.”

  “It spoke to me all right,” Becca said. “It told me to go outside, get some fresh air, and enjoy the art of nature.”

  Annette groaned.

  Tess wasn’t so easily put off. She told my roomie that she was hoping when we got to Paris, Becca would have an art awakening. “If you can’t in Paris, there’s no hope.”

  “Don’t bet the farm on that.” Becca cracked her knuckles loudly, completely oblivious to her chichi surroundings and the frowns from neighboring tables.

  Or was she? My roommate liked to make statements, and they weren’t always verbal.

  “Anyway, adventures should be exciting and out-of-doors,” Becca said.

  “Says who, nature-girl?”

  “Most of the world.”

  “But our group’s not the most athletic bunch, except for you and Jenna.” My eyes scanned the table. “And I don’t know about you, but I was never any good at sports in school. I was always the last one to get picked for any team. And that saying ‘you run like a girl’? That was invented for me.”

  Paige and Annette bobbed their heads like those touristy bobble-head dolls you find at only the best truck stops.

  “It’s never too late to change,” Becca said. “That’s why we’re doing these adventures — pushing us out of our comfort zones.”

  “Like visiting an art museum?” Paige asked innocently.

  When we got home that night from our adventure in the city, there was a message for me on the answering machine.

  “Hi, Chloe. It’s Julia. Uh, Mom and I are going shopping for my wedding dress next weekend, and we wanted to look at bridesmaid’s dresses too. We’d love you to come, but if that would be too hard for you, I understand. Give me a call, okay?”

  Why would it be too hard? Just because you’re getting married to the man of your dreams and the man of my dreams dumped me.

  I slapped the delete button. Then I logged on to my laptop to update my checking account after today’s expenditures. Strange. My account balance looked unusually low. I scanned the transactions and quickly found the problem. There among the debits was a familiar amount. Becca’s rent check must have bounced.

  Hesitantly, I headed down the hall and knocked on my roommate’s half-open door.

  “Enter at your own risk.”

  Becca’s room was always a disaster zone, so I usually steered clear of it. I stepped just inside the door which was the only clear spot in the entire room. It looked like a robbery scene or the donation sorting area at the Salvation Army, with clothes strewn everywhere. And in the midst of all the chaos, Becca was perched cross-legged on her futon, the queen of her domain, flipping through a magazine.

  “Um, this is a little awkward, Bec, but . . . your rent check bounced.”

  “It did? That’s weird. I know I had enough in my account when I wrote you the check. Did you deposit it right away?”

  “No. A couple days later, I think.”

  “That explains it.”

  “What?”

  “Why it bounced.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “My paycheck was automatically deposited Tuesday morning,” Becca explained patiently. “I gave you the rent check that night and then Thursday made a few ATM withdrawals. And I had plenty in my account then, so maybe the check hadn’t cleared yet or something.”

  Was she serious?

  “But if it hadn’t cleared, why didn’t you allow for that? Don’t you balance your checkbook?”

  “Nope. Math isn’t my strong suit.” She picked at the polish on her left big toe. “What can I say? I’m always robbing Peter to pay Paul.”

  But how about paying Chloe? I took a deep breath. “If you like, I could show you how to balance your checkbook and set up a budget so you don’t run into this problem.”

  “Nah, that’s okay. I’m not big into numbers.” Becca bounced off the bed, yanked off her white tank, tunneled through one of the clothes stacks until she found a fresh tank top, black, and pulled it on. “Hey, want to go dancing? I’m meeting a couple friends from work at that new club that just opened.”

  “No, thanks. I need to get up early tomorrow for church.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. Well don’t wait up, Chloe the Good.” She smirked, grabbed her keys from her crowded dresser, and left.

  Yes, Chloe the Good had returned to church, but I mad
e sure I went to the early service so I wouldn’t run into Ryan the Wedding Killer. Also, it gave me a get-out-of-singles-Bible-study-free card this way.

  Problem was, my family, including Justin, Julia’s fiancé, all preferred the early, more traditional service and naturally expected me to sit with them — which I did for a couple Sundays. But I wasn’t sure how much longer I could handle Justin and Julia (or as I thought of them, the double Js) and their cooing wedding talk and general all-around lovesick gooeyness.

  Maybe it was time to check out another church.

  Mom’s eyes brimmed with tears as she gazed at her firstborn and favorite daughter in the dressing room of the bridal shop the following Saturday. “Oh, honey, you look so beautiful!”

  Julia examined her white lacy self in the full-length mirror. “Really? Do you like this dress better than the second one I tried on?”

  “Oh yes. It’s much prettier and fits you like a glove — just needs to have the hem taken up a little. More you, don’t you think so, Chloe?”

  What I think is that I’m going to run screaming from this room full of tulle, satin, and lace any minute.

  “Uh, yeah, Jules. I like that one better.”

  Julia fingered the soft satin at her waist. “You don’t think it’s too form-fitting?”

  “On you, dear?” The bridal boutique manager sent Julia an admiring glance. “You’ve got the figure for it. I wish all our brides were as slim and trim as you. It would make things so much easier. Don’t worry about a thing. You look absolutely beautiful. You’re going to take his breath away.”

  Julia’s shining eyes met Mom’s shimmering ones in the mirror.

  I turned away and started rummaging through the rack of bridesmaid dresses that looked like a giant box of Popsicles. “What color pink did you have in mind, Jules?”

  “I was thinking of a happy cotton candy pink — all light and fluffy and swirly.”

  Of course you were. Fits me to a T. Light. Fluffy. And swirly.

  Two hours and forty-seven minutes later, after trying on countless pink bridesmaid dresses — strapless and spaghetti-strapped, with sleeves and without, V-necked and scoop-necked — I “swirled” myself into my car, stuck in Rosemary singing “Don’t Fence Me In,” and punched in Tess’s number.

  “How ghastly was it?” she asked.

  “On a scale of one to ten, I’d give it a seventy-five.”

  “As bad as all that?”

  “Worse.”

  “Meet me at Dunkeld’s in twenty. I’ll stand you to a double latte.”

  “Make it fifteen and a triple, and you’ve got a deal.”

  Arriving before Tess, I headed to the travel section and started flipping through Paris guidebooks. I shoved my fear of flying down and began reading about the myriad art museums the City of Lights had to offer, besides the Louvre. And they were legion.

  “Going somewhere?”

  I whirled around and came toe-to-toe with Ryan’s blue Chucks.

  “As a matter of fact, I am. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  His face flushed a dull red. “I was just trying to make pleasant conversation.”

  “But you and I don’t do pleasant conversation.”

  “We used to.”

  “Before your roommate dumped me, you mean?”

  “No. Before you and Chris started dating.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Not that long. Less than a year.”

  “Seems like an eternity.”

  “We used to be friends, Chloe. I’d like to think we could be again.”

  “And I’d like there to be world peace in my lifetime, but I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

  “Chloe?” Tess popped her head around Ryan’s broad back. “Are you ready for that latte?”

  “More than ready.”

  “Hi, Tess.”

  “Ryan!” She hugged him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that was you. How’s it going?”

  “Not bad. How are those two sons of yours? They’re juniors this year, right?”

  “Oh, yes. They’re sixteen. A wonderful age — especially when there are two under one roof.”

  “My mom felt the same way when my brother and I were in high school.” He grinned. “Once we got jobs, though, it gave us a place to work off all that energy.”

  “I keep encouraging my boys to find jobs, but so far, no luck.”

  “Are they strong?”

  “Relatively speaking. Why?”

  “My boss is always looking for grunt labor on the weekends and especially in the summertime.” He fished a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Have them give me a call if they’re interested.”

  “Oh, they’ll be interested. I’ll make sure of that. Thanks, Ryan. I owe you.”

  “No problem.” His eyes flickered to me. “Well, I’d better be going. Nice seeing you both again. Enjoy your lattes.”

  Tess watched him as he walked away. I could tell she was checking out his legs. “Too bad he’s so young. Story of my life.” She turned to me with a speculative look.

  “Don’t even go there. I’m so not interested.” I steered her to the café. “I need caffeine and now.”

  “Hey guys, what’s up?” Becca appeared at Tess’s side. “Good timing. I’m just taking my break. Any chance one of you can loan me a couple bucks for a mocha?”

  10

  If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.

  A Moveable Feast

  The following Sunday afternoon, Becca was at work and I was taking advantage of the alone time in our apartment to simply bliss out and read, as a light spring rain softly pattered against the windows. Between work, the book club, and Becca, I rarely had any time to myself these days.

  In my pre-Chris days, I can remember in the wintertime making a big mug of hot chocolate and walking across the creaky hardwood to the window seat in my cozy little apartment. Right outside the single-paned windows was an ancient oak that kept me company, and I would read away for hours, all warm and curled up in a thick quilt.

  Although my new place didn’t possess the charm or the solitude of the old one, it did have its advantages: two bathrooms, a modern kitchen — including a dishwasher. No more washing dishes by hand or schlepping to the laundromat with six loads of laundry on a Sunday afternoon.

  Honestly, though? I kind of missed the laundromat. I could get all my clothes done in one fell swoop and read my latest paperback at the same time. But that was then and this is now, and it’s time to forget what lies behind and press on toward what lies ahead — which includes Paris. Ooh-la-la.

  California Chloe was becoming quite the daring world traveler. First, the Mexican Riviera and now France. What next? The Amazon?

  Maybe not. Don’t go overboard.

  I knew our trip to Paris was still several months away, but I believe in being prepared. And to that end, I’d gone to the library and checked out a raft of books set in Paris, including The Hunchback of Notre Dame, A Tale of Two Cities, Madeline, and Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast.

  I’d read A Tale of Two Cities when I was in school, but that had been a long time ago, and I needed to refresh my memory beyond the great opening line: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

  Today, though, I stretched out on the couch with Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame instead, hoping to get farther into the tragic tale of the lonely, hunchbacked Quasimodo and his unrequited love for the beautiful gypsy Esmeralda.

  About Victor Hugo though? That guy really liked his description. I mean thirty or forty pages about the layout of medieval Paris in the fifteenth century?

  So not happening.

  Maybe I needed something a little lighter, both in weight and tone. I picked up Madeline and quickly lost myself in the enchanting story and wonderful drawings of Paris.

  That night, to continue my
Parisian education, I went over to Tess’s to watch some movies set in the French capital with her and Paige. She’d invited the whole book club, but everyone else was busy with work stuff or something.

  When I arrived, my cousins Timmy and Tommy were playing toss the baguette.

  “Go long,” Tommy shouted to his twin, just as I opened the back door and stepped into the kitchen to see a loaf of French bread come sailing through the air. Startled by the sound of the door opening, Timmy missed the baguette, and it bonked me on the forehead.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry, cuz. My brother never was a very good catcher.”

  “Oh yeah?” Timmy lobbed an orange from a bowl on the kitchen island at his twin, who lunged for it and missed. Just. He sniggered. “What were you sayin’ again, bro?”

  “I was sayin’,” Tommy grabbed a clump of grapes and began flinging them at his brother, one by one, “food fight!”

  Timmy volleyed the grapes right back.

  “Hey, cease fire! I’m injured here.”

  “Aw, don’t be such a wuss, cuz. It was just a piece of bread.”

  “A piece of bread that’s hard as a rock.” I picked up the long, now-chipped baguette from the floor and tapped it on the counter, where it made a loud knock. A couple more chips of crust fell off.

  Tess appeared in the kitchen doorway, her brow puckered. “What’s going on here?”

  “Nothin’, Mom, we were just playin’.”

  “Yeah, we were just goofin’ around.”

  She took in the splattered grapes on the floor and a stray one stuck to the wall. “Well quit goofing around and clean up this mess. Now.”

  I tossed the baguette into the trash can.

  “What happened to my bread?”

  The boys dropped to the ground and began scooping up all their grape ammo, their heads bent in studied concentration.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I kind of broke it.”

  “But I was going to serve that with Brie.”

  “Crackers would work too.” A grape rolled in front of my flip-flops, and I kicked it sideways to Tommy.

  Tess frowned, but the front doorbell rang. She left to answer it.

  “Hey, thanks for getting our back,” Tommy said.