“Well, I think it’s great. I’m happy for you two.”
“Says the guy who thinks commitment is actually writing down a woman’s phone number in case you want to use it again. Someday.”
His easy smile remained, but something flickered in the depths of his puppy-dog eyes that had her mentally kicking herself. If she was going to offer up her big life decision and plop it on the altar of their friendship, the least she could do was not waste it by taking giant steps backward into awkwardness.
“Give Dave a manly handshake for me” was all Grady said, his smile still a sincere one.
“What, no ‘Way to go, dude’ beer toast, followed by a macho ‘You’re-a-procreating-stud’ high five?”
“I’ll save that for when I see him in person.”
“And the womenfolk who would kick your sexist-pig ass aren’t around.”
He grinned. “That, too.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Then there was another slight pause, the beginning of an awkward moment. Grady stood up before it loomed any larger and lobbed his balled-up hot-dog wrapper in the nearby trash can. “Thanks for the nitrates and carcinogens.”
She wrinkled her nose and looked at the half-eaten hot dog still nestled in its aluminum-foil wrapper on her lap. “Anytime,” she said, knowing he was teasing her. But still. “What are friends for, right?” she added without thinking. Jeez. Apparently, she was a walking friendship time bomb.
There was a beat, then he looked down at her, all serious again. “You’re the best kind a guy could have. That’s why I know you’ll make a great mom.” And with that he took off at a loping run, down the wide path, heading toward the Washington Monument.
She watched him retreat through blurred vision. Sniffling, with a golf ball–size lump in her throat, she sat on the bench long after he’d disappeared, more confused than ever on what course of action to take next. It was clear Grady wanted her to leave it alone. But since when did Grady know what was best for him? That’s what best friends were really for. Right?
Chapter 6
Still intent on leaving, Lucy was already zipping up her suitcase when a knock came at the door. Squaring her shoulders, she marched over to it, prepared to battle Audrey to the death if necessary—or at least until her blazer wrinkled. Whatever it took.
“My mind is made up,” she said as she opened the door. “Oh. Sorry.”
Vivian didn’t wait for an invitation. She strutted right in.
Lucy glanced down at the four-inch black lacquer, gold-tipped spikes that Vivian was sporting and once again marveled at her ability to stay upright, much less strut. She closed the door and turned to find Vivian sifting through her things. “I beg your pardon?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Vivian replied, not looking the least bit abashed. “However, you should beg the pardon of whoever sold you this.” She lifted a khaki skirt, making a tsking noise as she observed the front placket pockets. “As a fashion statement, it fairly screams—”
“Elementary-school teacher?” Lucy queried dryly. She couldn’t afford to let Vivian intimidate her again.
Vivian laid the skirt on the bed, then picked up a cotton camp shirt in a pink-and-tan plaid, turning it this way and that, as if unsure just what to make of it.
“I work with twenty-two third-graders,” Lucy pointed out. “It pays to think stain camouflage wash-and-wear.”
“How . . . functional of you, darling.” Vivian tossed the shirt back on the bed, then finally turned to face her. “But you’re not presently teaching school, are you?”
Do not let her make you defensive. Do not apologize for what you do. “Not for a few weeks yet, no.”
“Ah” was all she said before returning her attention back to the contents of Lucy’s suitcase. She began unceremoniously removing her pleated khaki trousers, skirts, and blouses and placing them on the bed.
“I just finished packing those,” Lucy said, though in a somewhat less strident tone than she’d hoped for. She was too busy praying that Vivian would stop before she got to her underwear. So what if she liked cotton over silk? What was wrong with comfort, she wanted to know? Besides, silk always rode up.
“Forgive me,” Vivian said, not sounding even remotely repentant. “I’m simply looking for your other clothes.”
“What ‘other clothes’?”
“Exactly,” Vivian said, giving up her search, but not before casting a pitying look on Lucy’s comfortable brown flats. “You need us, you know.”
“That’s why I paid you the big bucks, isn’t it?”
Vivian didn’t even blink, though her expression did turn a shade more considering. “I understand you’re not happy with our services, thus far.”
“I was hoping for wardrobe and makeup help. And the only kind of analysis I’d figured on going through had to do with determining my season.”
“I realize that our methods might not be exactly as you’d assumed, but it seems a rather snap judgment, if you ask me.”
Lucy lifted a shoulder. “I just don’t see the point of it.” She gestured toward her suitcase. “All you have to do is look in there, and look at me, and you get a fairly good idea of the kind of help I need. So why the need for a bunch of psychobabble?”
“Because anyone can slap a fresh coat of paint on a dated piece of furniture and make it look all shiny and new. Would it be passable? Certainly. Interesting? Rarely. You see, the problem with the quick fix is that it buries the chance of finding the real potential of the piece. And that true potential is buried deeper with every cosmetic coat of paint we slap on.” Warming to her analogy, Vivian crossed her arms beneath her gravity-defying bosom. “However, imagine if that same someone had taken the time to chip away a little at the old paint. They just might discover the gorgeous wood beneath. Strip away those layers and you have something real to work with. With time and the right kind of attention, the original piece will glow to life with richness and depth that no one could have expected was possible. Place the pieces side by side, and there will never be any comparison.” She looked Lucy right in the eye. “Any day spa can slap on a new coat of paint, darling. We get paid the big bucks because we work on polishing what’s underneath.”
There wasn’t much Lucy could say to that. She sank down on the edge of the bed, quiet in her defeat.
“Come now,” Vivian admonished. “Where is the challenger from moments ago?”
“Buried under coats of chipped paint.” Lucy kept her gaze on her sensible flats, probably looking as miserable as she felt. But then, she’d just been compared to a major restoration project. Surely she was allowed at least a moment of self-pity.
“Now, now. You obviously have some sense of what lies beneath, or you wouldn’t have dumped out your piggy bank to come here and let us help you find it, now, would you?”
She sighed and finally looked at Vivian. “So, okay, I talk to Aurora or your shrink and reveal my most torturous secrets. When do we get to the polishing phase?” She frowned then. “You do always get to the polishing stage, don’t you?”
Vivian’s perfectly painted lips quirked at the corners. “Of course we do.” She came over and sat down next to Lucy, taking her hand between her own and urging Lucy to maintain her gaze. “If I didn’t think yours was going to be particularly gratifying, I wouldn’t have come in here to talk to you in the first place.”
Lucy snorted before she could stop herself.
“You’re thinking I say that to everyone.”
“I’m thinking this whole intervention is very good for public relations, and a way to safeguard the investment I’ve already made in your company.”
Vivian’s smile spread. “I’m no fool, that’s for certain. Glass Slipper’s sterling reputation means a great deal to me.”
The thing about Vivian that had struck Lucy from the moment they’d first met was that she didn’t seem to have any problem speaking her mind. And while it wasn’t always easy to hear what she had to say, blunt as she was about it
, Lucy did appreciate her honesty. In fact, it was a relief of sorts, knowing she could trust at least one person around here to tell her the unvarnished truth.
“But though I am a businesswoman,” Vivian added, “and a smart one at that, I also excel in making sure the services I provide here meet with success.” She leaned closer. “We’ve each already made our fortunes, Lucy, but we’ve never once discussed retirement. Why? Because we honestly enjoy helping people find the best within themselves. It’s extremely satisfying, and quite selfish when you think about it.”
“‘Selfish’?”
“Knowing you can alter someone’s life for the better is a major power trip, darling. It gives me a real—what do they call it these days? ‘Buzz’?” She grinned and her eyes gleamed. “Quite addictive.”
“I imagine it would be,” Lucy said, fighting a surprising urge to smile. Vivian was both a power trip and just a plain trip. Lucy found herself almost liking the older woman, despite her initial misgivings.
“Much like it must be for you,” Vivian told her, “shaping those young minds. Powerful stuff. Quite empowering, I would imagine.”
Lucy had never really thought about it that way. Most days it was about keeping her students in line, praying nothing got destroyed, no one got hurt, and, if she was really lucky, that something of what she’d taught them sank in. But there were other times . . . Like when she got “The Look.”
“The Look” occurred when, after struggling with a concept for what seemed like forever, something she said finally made the information click into place with a particular student. That young face would light up, the eyes would glow with triumph as understanding dawned. There was little in life that made her feel better than those moments. “I guess it is kind of empowering.”
“What made you decide to teach?” Vivian asked.
“My parents are both college professors,” she said, giving the stock answer.
“So it was expected of you?”
“Not really. My parents would have been content with whatever I’d decided to do, as long as I was happy with it.”
“So, did you choose it to make them proud of you?”
Lucy laughed. “Hardly. Of course, when I told them I’d decided to go into teaching, they were pleased, but if I’d wanted to make them proud, I’d have had to shoot a lot higher than teaching at a local public school.”
“So why did you choose to teach?”
It occurred to Lucy that she’d left Aurora’s boudoir office to avoid being poked and prodded, only to find herself grilled once again. But somehow with Vivian, it seemed more imperative to make her understand. “Teaching just seemed a natural course for me. I was a good student. Learning new things was always easy for me. Intellectually, anyway. When it came to learning anything that required physical coordination, I was a disaster. I grasped the concepts easily enough. I just had trouble with the execution.”
“That’s why life doles out checks and balances. Keeps one from becoming insufferably perfect.”
Lucy snorted. “Oh, I was hardly that. And being smart wasn’t always a bonus, either. I was also the tallest kid in class pretty much from kindergarten on. I never did like standing out in a crowd, but I always did. Literally. I hated that. Maybe if I’d have been less of a klutz, things would have gone easier on me and I’d have minded less. But I was both a dork at sports and a spaz in general, always tripping over things. Mostly my own big feet. Now factor back in the whole scholastic-geek thing, and, well, I was hardly a triple threat by anyone’s standard of measurement. Quite the opposite.”
“And yet you chose to teach. Talk about standing out in a crowd. You must have known it would put you directly in front of one.”
“You’ve heard the saying, ‘Those that can’t do, teach’?” Lucy responded. “Like I said, I was very good at grasping the concept of just about anything, but I didn’t seem to actually excel in doing anything other than learning. So, it was either vent my vast storage of knowledge on the unsuspecting youth of today, or become a reference librarian.”
“Interesting which choice you made.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Just that given the option of hiding yourself in the stacks or standing out in a crowd, you chose the latter.”
“I hated the spotlight because I never knew what to do in it. I was afraid I’d do something dorky, mostly because I always did.”
“Maybe it was simply a self-fulfilling prophecy. Had you expected a different outcome, perhaps you’d have achieved it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“You’d be surprised,” Vivian murmured.
“Avoiding situations where the probability factor of me looking like a loser was even remotely high doesn’t mean I was shy or introverted. Teaching itself isn’t intimidating to me. But I did choose my venue carefully.” She smiled. “Why do you think I teach eight-year-olds instead of high school or college students?”
“It’s been my experience—not directly, mind you—that young children usually have the best ‘loser’ radar on the planet.”
Lucy laughed. “True, in many respects. It’s funny, but rather than worry about looking foolish in front of them, I worry more about not living up to their expectations. I think they sort of automatically put their teacher on a pedestal. So I try and teach them to laugh at themselves when they make mistakes, and lighten up when others do, as well. I tell them none of us are perfect, even their teacher.”
“So you teach children as a way to make up, perhaps, for your own school experience.”
Lucy shrugged a little self-consciously. “I can’t deny that wasn’t part of the decision to teach grade school. It’s obviously something I’m empathetic toward. But it’s not like I’m on a crusade or anything. I’m not even sure if something their third-grade teacher says to them will really matter in the scheme of things. I just know it would have helped me feel less alienated at their age.”
“And how does it go over?”
“I think for the most part it’s a relief to them. To sort of be given permission that it’s okay to be wrong sometimes, to screw up, to look silly in front of others.”
Vivian turned her focused, far-too-intuitive gaze directly on Lucy. “So,” she asked with a challenging smile, “why aren’t you taking your own advice?”
“I—I’m not sure I get what you mean.” Although she suspected whatever it was, she didn’t want to hear it.
“The way I see it, you’re a schoolteacher with an obvious love for what you’re doing. You’re content with your career choice. You have friends you enjoy. A lifestyle that is comfortable for you. Am I pretty much in the ballpark with that assessment?”
“Yes,” Lucy responded, still wary.
“You don’t wake up every morning and get ready for work worrying about being judged on what you wear, how you look, what you might say.”
“Not really. That doesn’t mean—”
But Vivian didn’t let her finish. “So you’ve left high school and college behind and become a successful, stable working woman who has supportive friends and family. You lead a pretty decent life.”
“I’m not ungrateful for what I have, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“I said nothing of the kind. I’m merely pointing out that, day-to-day, you’re fairly confident in yourself and what’s expected of you.”
Lucy nodded, still bracing herself for what was to come. Not that she had a clue at this point, but she was pretty certain it wasn’t going to be good.
“And then along comes this invitation to your high school reunion. An invitation to revisit memories that were, from what I gather, less than wonderful, with a bunch of people who helped make them that way.” She lifted her hand to stop Lucy’s rebuttal. “But rather than trot your all-grown-up, confident, successful self off to the event, unconcerned about these people—strangers to you now—and their opinions . . . you immediately revert to the same insecure, hate-the-spotlight, self-described ‘spaz�
� you long ago left behind.”
“Except that’s where you’re wrong,” Lucy pointed out. “I didn’t leave that self-conscious spaz behind. I’m still the uncoordinated smarty-pants dork who will trip over her own feet given half a chance. Sure, I love what I do. So what? I’ve gained the respect of a bunch of eight-year-olds. Yes, I have supportive friends. Friends who have been with me since grade school precisely because they’re a lot like me and therefore don’t pass judgment. But that doesn’t mean I’m content with who I am, or that I haven’t dreamed of being more than I am.”
Vivian’s silence encouraged her to continue.
“I’m not secure and self-assured. I still feel like that dorky schoolgirl because I am that dorky schoolgirl. Nothing has changed. Not really. Look at me, for God’s sake. I can teach, sure, but I’m still fashion challenged, date challenged, everything challenged. When I got that reunion card in the mail, I didn’t make an appointment here because I was worried about looking like a nerd in front of a bunch of people I don’t even know anymore. I made the appointment because the fact is, I don’t want to feel like that nerd anymore. I don’t want to go back and knock them dead to prove a point to them. I want to go back and knock them on their collective asses to prove a point to me!”
She’d gotten so wound up she’d emphasized that last part by thumping her chest with her fist. Feeling self-conscious and not a little like a drama queen, she let her hand drop and looked away.
Vivian snagged her arm and gently turned Lucy around.
When Lucy met her gaze, Vivian gently rapped her knuckle on Lucy’s forehead. “Now,” she said, eyes gleaming, “now we’re getting down to the wood.”
Chapter 7
Darling, can I be frank?”
“You mean, you haven’t been?” Lucy blurted.
Vivian barked out a laugh. “You see? That’s why this is going to work. Just hold on to that edge. It really works on you.”
Lucy couldn’t help but smile. “Okay. Work on keeping my edge. Check. Was that it?”
Sleeping with Beauty Page 8
