Love on the Lido Deck

by Barbara Oliverio

  “Yikes! Would you look at that? I have a client meeting I forgot about!” I lied. “I gotta go.”

  I kissed my mother’s cheek and stuck my hand out stiffly to Russell.

  “Very pleased to meet you. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” I blurted out in what I hoped was a polite tone.

  “Bye, Mother.”

  “Keira—” Her disappointed voice trailed after me as I dashed through the house, took the steps on the porch two at a time, jumped into my car, and tore down the driveway.

  Chapter Three

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Coming over?”

  “Nearly there.”

  Alex and I had reached the point in our phone conversation that would frustrate anyone attempting to listen in on it. We had known each other for so long that just by half-phrases and inflections, we could convey volumes. I had immediately punched in her number on the Bluetooth in my car as I skidded out of my mother’s driveway, and began to fill her in on this disastrous meeting with my mother and her new beau. I had just reached this cryptic portion of the conversation. The only factoid I had left out was the age difference between the two of them. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to tell Alex that over the phone.

  We hung up for the last portion of my drive, and I turned my radio up to full blast so that I wouldn’t have to hear the voices in my head screaming, “Your mother is a cougar!”

  I reached my best friend’s restaurant in the trendy Highlands area of Denver, jumped out of the car, threw the keys toward the valet stand, and didn’t even take my usual minute or two to bask in the flirtation of the cute parking attendant.

  Pushing open the door, I flew past the hostess stand and through the busy establishment to plop in my favorite corner seat of the enormous solid-oak back bar.

  “Wow! That’s a record for even you, Speedy,” said Alex as she pushed open the kitchen doors and walked through. She wiped her hands on a towel and pulled the chef’s cap off her head. As she flopped onto the barstool beside mine, she signaled to the bartender to pour us each a glass of iced tea.

  “No comments from the girl who made it from south Denver to Boulder in 20 minutes,” I snapped, referring to an infamous drive she’d once made, cutting a normal drive time in half when we were in danger of being late for a concert.

  “Ah, those were different times,” she said importantly. “Now I’m a conservative, married businesswoman and mother.”

  “Pfft.” I tossed my ponytail over my shoulder. “That was a month ago.”

  She kicked me.

  “Hey! Don’t let Cam hear you!” she reverted back to her sassy self, referring to her husband.

  “As if that man didn’t know exactly what you were like when he chased you and married you!”

  A cat-eating-the-canary grin stretched across her impish face.

  “I guess there were no secrets there, were there? I did get the better end of the deal when he caught me, though didn’t I?”

  At that moment, the object of our conversation appeared, shirtsleeves folded up and tie askew, with their young son perched on his shoulders.

  “Ahem.” He coughed. “Who exactly caught whom, Ally-Cat?”

  Alex reached up and pushed an errant black curl from his forehead as I had seen her do so many times.

  “Oh, that’s an old story. I’ll put it in my memoirs someday.” She grinned. “Where are you boys going? Didn’t you two just get back from the office, babe?”

  Cam handed Marco to his mother for hugs and kisses and gave me a brotherly buss on the cheek.

  “We’re going for a quick walk by the lake, then off to bed,” he said, referring to nearby Sloans Lake, which was one street over from their cozy brick bungalow. Cam was the vice president of engineering at a local software firm that had an excellent day care facility. On occasional days that Cam and Alex needed to take advantage of the day care because of their schedules, one or the other of them spent extra time with Marco in the evening.

  “To what do we owe the honor of this visit, Keir?” he continued, leaning on the bar.

  I shot Alex a look to let her know that I didn’t want to talk with him about my mother just yet. Cam and Alex didn’t have any secrets and he had always been like a brother to me, but I needed to process this latest news a bit more before I shared it with anyone other than my best friend.

  “Oh, you know the Princess feels she needs to check up on the Queen occasionally,” said Alex, using the abbreviated versions of our nicknames “Drama Queen” and “Ice Princess” that had stuck from our college days.

  He looked from one to the other of us, and his emerald eyes didn’t miss the fact that we needed a sisterly talk.

  “Come on, Marco my man,” he held his arms out to the child. “Mama and Auntie Keira want to talk about the sweaters on sale at Anthropologie.”

  “Nice,” Alex said. “If I didn’t know you weren’t an evolved member of the male species, I would think that’s all you really think we talk about.”

  “Well,” he grinned. “I’ve sat at many a dinner with just the two of you, so—”

  “Out!” Alex planted a kiss on his lips, then swatted him. “Take this child for his walk before he wears a hole in the floor jumping up and down.”

  “Seriously. Keira, can’t you be a little less picky about these guys that chase you?” Cam teased. “Keep one around long enough so the four of us can learn to play canasta or something, and I’d have another guy around and half a chance against the two of you.”

  “OUT!” Alex wagged her chef’s cap at him as he swooped Marco back on his shoulders and cantered toward to the door.

  “Honestly. Canasta?” Alex smiled lovingly as she watched her two men go toward the door and heard Marco’s gleeful laughter as Cam dipped him from side to side as they weaved through the regular clients, who laughed along with him.

  I looked after him wistfully as well. I wanted to tell them both that it wasn’t my fault I couldn’t find as great a guy as Cam. Maybe they only make one in a generation. It’s not like I was jealous of Alex. No one was closer to me than she was, and when she found her soul mate, I couldn’t have been happier. It’s just that I had not been able to find anyone to connect with. Shoot, even my mother had found someone now.

  My thoughts screeched to a halt.

  “What up, Keira? I know that look,” said Alex as she swiveled her barstool back toward me.

  “Drat, drat, drat, Ali.” I pounded my head on the bar.

  “Stop it, Keir,” she said. “We can’t afford to rebuild this bar just because you’re having a bad day.”

  My head shot up.

  “First of all, the bar is six-inch-thick oak, and my head could not possibly do damage because the physics of the situation—”

  “There.” She grinned. “I knew I could count on your penchant for correct information to pull you back.”

  My eyes slightly welled up.

  “Hey, come on.” She put her arms around me. “It can’t be that bad that your mom found a nice man to get serious with. Your dad has been dead a long time, sweetie.”

  I took a gulp of my tea.

  “It’s not just that she has a serious boyfriend, Ali. It’s who he is.”

  “Who? Is he an axe murderer? A drug trafficker? A frequent eater at the Olive Grotto?”

  This last one was probably the worst insult as far as an Italian chef like my friend was concerned.

  “No, he’s a perfectly nice Catholic man. As a matter of fact, he works at the archdiocese.”

  “Ah, diocesan-approved,” she nodded.

  “Ali, I’m sure he would even pass Nonna’s approval,” I said, referring to her deceased grandmother and a woman of high standards. “It’s just—”

  “Oh, for crying in the mud, Keir, how bad could he be, unless he’s a jillion years old or something.”

  “Oh. No. Not that direction,” I said pointedly.

  She paused, and her eyes widened
as she got it.

  “He’s ... younger?”

  “Yep.”

  She took less than a second, waved her hand, then said, “So what? Men marry younger women all the time. Society just has a weird hang-up about the age difference going the other way. What’s the age difference, two or three years?”

  I shook my head from side to side slowly.

  “Five?”

  “Um. I’m going to say a minimum of ...” and I held up ten fingers.

  Her big blue eyes got even bigger.

  “Come on, Keir, I think you’re imagining things.”

  “Well, I don’t think he would have appreciated it if I’d asked him to let me shoot a picture of his driver’s license on my phone so I could prove it to you,” I snapped.

  “What makes you think there is such a vast difference?” she asked.

  “Look, Alex. Either he’s that much younger or he has the best plastic surgeon in town. Plus, not a smidge of gray hair.”

  “Oh. Right, I forgot that there wasn’t a way for people to change their hair color.” She gave me a whap on the back of the head.

  “Ow. It’s not just that. Clothes. Shoes.”

  She stared at me.

  “What? Not wearing any? What ABOUT his clothes and shoes?”

  I became impatient.

  “You know. They were YOUNG.”

  “Holy Guacamole, Keir. People of all ages are welcome to shop in all stores. Well, maybe except for Arbor and Fletch. They tend not to even glance at you if you don’t fit their demographic.”

  I shook my head.

  “You just don’t get it. He is YOUNG.” I jumped up and started to pace.

  Alex pulled me back on the stool.

  “Shh. Don’t drive away my business.” She waved and smiled at a few of the diners who had begun to look at me quizzically.

  “Look,” she continued patiently. “Allegedly, he’s—”

  “Not allegedly. He IS—”

  “Okay, okay. He IS a bit younger—”

  “Not a BIT younger, a LOT younger—”

  “Keira!” She was on the border of angry now. “You have no proof of age, and no, his clothing and hair color are not proof!”

  “Fine,” I allowed. “But, Ali, if he is at least 10 years younger—”

  “So what?”

  “SO WHAT?”

  “Yes.” She shrugged. “So what? Are they happy?”

  I stopped kicking the bar.

  “Um, I guess so.”

  “You guess so? Didn’t your mother say she was happy?”

  “Well, yeah,” I allowed.

  “I repeat, so what? If they’re happy, then it doesn’t matter.”

  I thought for a moment, then pointed up, aha fashion.

  “Everyone will call her a cougar,” I said triumphantly.

  This earned me another whap on the back of the head.

  “I cannot believe you just said that,” Alex said, shaking her head.

  “Well it’s true.”

  You can say anything you want about the fact that it’s no different than older man/younger woman, but the stigma of older woman/younger man is way different. It’s an amazingly acceptable joke.

  “Didja think that maybe, just MAYBE, if people would call her that, then, um, her DAUGHTER should be just that much more supportive?”

  Oh.

  Right.

  I slurped my ice and pondered.

  “You know, Ali, I hate it when you’re right,” I finally admitted.

  “That’s because you are usually the level-headed one, Princess.” She punched my shoulder. “I’ve always been the Drama Queen, remember?”

  I smiled halfheartedly.

  Then I remembered another point.

  “Well, how about this little melodrama, then, oh newly crowned wise one,” I said. “It occurred to me earlier that part of my annoyance with this situation has nothing to do with my mother’s new beau at all.”

  “Go on.”

  “It’s just that, when Cam pointed out that I don’t have a guy, it occurred to me that not only have I not found the right one yet, but even my MOTHER beat me to the punch. How’s that for messed-up thinking?”

  Alex blew her bangs out of her eyes and began patiently. “First of all, you know that Cam was not saying anything to hurt you, right?”

  “Oh, I know, I know. He wasn’t being mean in the least. But eventually you guys are going to get tired of having Auntie Keira around when all of her date prospects have vanished.”

  “Oh. Sure. You are always at the house in your saggy cardigan and sensible shoes with tissues stuck up your sleeves. That’s you, all right,” Alex laughed. “Keira, Cam and I can’t keep track of all the guys who swarm around you. As a matter of fact, I made a bingo card and am crossing them off one by one: blond, blue-eyed doctor; brown-eyed sales manager. Just let me know when you date a redheaded musician, will ya? I need that one to fill my card.”

  “Ha-ha. That’s the POINT, Alex. Lots of guys may be interested. Just not the right guy.”

  Her tone softened.

  “He’ll come along, Keir. When it’s right, you’ll know it. Remember all the frogs I had to kiss before I found my prince?”

  I laughed. “And you’re telling me that he’s just a prince while you’re the queen?”

  “There’s my snarky girl!” She hugged me. “And Keira, you can’t compare your situation to your mother’s. You’re in different stages of life and looking for different things in a relationship.”

  “You’re right,” I nodded finally.

  “Wow! Two rights for me in one conversation! Put it on the calendar, ladies and gents!” Alex hopped off her barstool and struck a pose.

  I swatted her. “Don’t get too comfortable in an uncommon position of being right, missy.”

  “I kind of like it here,” she preened.

  I hopped off my stool and hugged her tightly.

  “I better scoot. You need to get back to the kitchen and let them know you’re still the boss.”

  “Ha! As if they don’t know! But you’re right. My sous chef is more than capable, but I need to get back to help before the dinner rush really picks up,” she agreed. “Are you going to be okay? Want to come over to the house and dig in to some leftover lasagna later?”

  I laughed.

  “Your Nonna would be proud. Solving the problems of the world, one lasagna at a time! No, I need to get back to my place and do some work.” I paused. “I should call my mother.”

  “Maybe stop over on your way home?”

  “Fine.” I squinted. “I’ll stop over, but not if my daddy-to-be is there. You have to give me that, Alex. I need to visit her alone to make things right.”

  Alex nodded.

  “Sure, sweetie, but whatever you do, don’t go to sleep without talking to her, okay?”

  I hugged her again.

  “Will do. And Alex, thanks for letting me freak out on you.”

  “Always, babe. It’s what we do, right?” She smiled, placed her chef’s cap on her head at a jaunty angle, and walked back to the kitchen.

  Chapter Four

  “Morning!” Juliet trilled from behind her computer as I entered the office the next day.

  I removed my oversized designer shades from my eyes and perched them on top of my head.

  “You are amazingly cheerful this morning,” I said. “Did you talk the barista into an extra shot of espresso or something?”

  “Oh, but even YOU will be cheery when you hear the news this morning, my maddeningly patient colleague. What is the one thing that we’ve been hoping for more than anything?”

  “A winning lottery ticket?”

  “No, and you do realize you have to actually purchase one to win, right?”

  “Oh, is that how it works?” I asked innocently.

  “Keira, focus. What would we both love to have?”

  “A date with Chris Hemsworth?”

  We both sighed.

  “Unfortunately, n
o. He’s married, remember?” She walked me to my chair and pushed me down by my shoulders and handed me a message slip.

  I glanced at it.

  “This? A note from”—I paused to read the name—”Alfred Sanford?”

  Juliet nodded expectantly.

  “Jules, I’m not a mind reader, dear. Who or what is an Alfred Sanford?”

  She crossed her arms and pursed her lips.

  “Think! What have we said would break us through from the Denver market to show how relevant and hip we are regionally and nationally?”

  “Juliet! Seriously, now. I’m going to Java Junction and telling them you are absolutely banned. Alfred Sanford doesn’t sound like someone hip, he sounds like someone who needs a new hip. People with those names are usually on the boards of—”

  My eyes widened, and I jumped up. We both shouted together: “Food conglomerates!”

  “OMG Jules, he’s not related to SanFoods?”

  Juliet nodded furiously and beat her fists on my desk.

  “He IS SanFoods, Keir.” She did an impromptu salsa. “The CEO of the largest international food conglomerate wants to hire us to coordinate an event—on a cruise ship, no less!”

  “Whaaat? How did that happen? And just this morning before I arrived? Why didn’t you call me?”

  Juliet sat back on her own desk and began the story.

  “What? And miss that look on your face?” She pointed at me. “Remember the Groveston wedding? Apparently, he was a guest of the groom. It turns out that SanFoods is sponsoring a specialty cruise for food lovers, and he was impressed with our “Around the World” theme at the Groveston reception and thought our company could handle their project.”

  I remembered that wedding. What an event. The couple were both seasoned world travelers and wanted practically every single cuisine that they had encountered around the world represented at the reception dinner—and they wanted the decor to seamlessly match. Not easy or cheap, but it was a fantastic challenge to tackle.

  “Did you actually talk to Alfred Sanford?”

  “Hey! Are you worried that I wouldn’t represent?”

  I threw a pen at her.

  “No. If I didn’t have faith in you, I wouldn’t have hired you, silly.” But I couldn’t resist adding, “And it helped that you had references from here to forever. And, of course, if I didn’t hire you, you would have set up your own shop and been my biggest competition.”