by Peggy Bird
Her whole, legal birth name was Juliet Greerson Payne. Her family called her Juliet, a name she’d dumped in high school when she’d gotten tired of Romeo and Juliet jokes. She’d chosen Greer, a version of her middle name, which was the family name of her beloved grandparents. No one in her family ever called her Greer, but everyone else had, from high school on.
This morning, she’d changed all that by introducing herself as Julie. She could be Julie if she stayed in Ashland. If she had the nerve to follow up on that conversation and call the guy who was leaving town.
It had some appeal. God knows she liked the feel of the town. She’d been made to feel at home by everyone she’d met, from the tow truck driver up to and including the two lawyers she’d just talked to, since the first moment she’d arrived in town. It wasn’t as if she knew what her plans were when she got to California. She’d done some online job searching while she’d been hanging around waiting for her car, but she hadn’t found anything that had caught her fancy. Not the way the conversation she’d just overheard had.
Even if she found something right away in California, she’d have limited usefulness as a practicing attorney until the following year when she could take the bar exam. She’d be able to get right to work in Oregon, where she was already a member of the bar.
With the obscene amount of money she’d gotten from the sale of her overpriced waterfront condo in Portland and what she knew she could get out of her Public Employees Retirement System account, she could probably buy into an existing law practice as well as purchase a house in Ashland. Who knew what she could buy in the expensive California market?
Even changing her name wouldn’t be a problem—her college and law school diplomas as well as her bar membership, hell, even the credit card she’d used to check into her motel, were all in her full, legal name.
A new job. A new life. Wasn’t that what she’d been running to? She might be able to have it all by staying right where she was. All she had to do was make a phone call and see what was out there. She looked at the business card in her hand and made a decision. She’d do it. Julie Payne would make that call. The hell with Greer and the problems she’d left behind in Portland.
Chapter 2
One year later
“So, what’re you planning to do to celebrate your anniversary, Julie?” Heather Branson asked.
“What anniversary would that be?” Julie asked her paralegal.
“You’ve been in Ashland a year this month. Don’t you want to celebrate?”
Julie thought about it for a moment. “You know, you’re right. I should.”
“How about a party? It would be fun, and it would be good for your practice, too. You could invite business people. Maybe some of the local government folks.” Heather got a sneaky look on her face. “I know a few men you should include. You know, just to make the party interesting.”
“Your matchmaking hasn’t worked any other time you’ve tried it. Why do you think it would work now?”
“Because I thought I was being more subtle this time.” Heather sighed. “I don’t understand you, Julie. You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’ve been successful in establishing yourself in town. You could probably have any man you wanted. But you’ve turned down anyone who’s asked you out. No one seems to interest you. Are you sure …?”
“I’m sure I don’t need your help fixing me up, but thanks.”
“Actually, I was going to say are you sure …?” Heather paused, dropped her eyes, and shuffled a few papers on her desk. “I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it if you are.”
Julie laughed at her assistant’s reticence. “I’m quite sure I’m not a lesbian, in spite of the rumors, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s just that, if you are, I know a couple women you’d like.”
“Heather, you’re a fabulous paralegal and you’ve been a good friend. Can we leave it there and not move into the matchmaking arena?”
“I just hate to see someone like you lonely.”
“I’m not lonely. I have tons of friends and a full life. I like being by myself.” Julie frowned slightly. “But the idea of a party isn’t a bad one. How about a costume party? For Halloween.”
“OMG! That’s fabulous! Halloween’s on a Friday this year. You could have the party right before the annual parade, and then everyone could go watch. Or take part. Whatever. Your house is pretty close to the parade route. It would be perfect.”
“That’s it. Find out the exact time of the parade. Put together a list of who you think I should invite, and we’ll get this puppy going.”
“Don’t forget a costume.”
“That should be easy in this town,” Julie said.
“I think I’ll be Wonder Woman. What do you think you’ll dress as?”
“That’s easy, too. Juliet, of course.”
• • •
Julie spent the rest of the day as she did most days—in client meetings and writing up documents for clients who were, for the most part, nice people. After spending almost ten years dealing with the scum of the earth in the prosecutor’s office of a largish city, she’d almost forgotten that the legal system wasn’t only concerned with nailing bad guys. Practicing civil law for the first time in her career, she had clients who needed lawyers for reasons having nothing to do with criminal law. Clients who were usually grateful for her help and pleasant to deal with.
In the year since she’d moved to Ashland, she’d written wills and small business contracts, and handled a few negotiations between angry neighbors. But the bulk of her work had used her expertise in consumer fraud to assist individuals or business owners who were being scammed. She’d even taught classes at senior centers and retirement complexes on how to avoid being a victim.
For fun, in her free time, she’d done pro bono work for several small local theater groups. Since she was no actor, it was how she had been able to become involved to some small extent in the vibrant theater scene in town. She didn’t know everyone in the theater community, but she was pretty sure that because of her pro bono work doing the paperwork for applying for 501 (c) (3) tax status or contract and copyright issues, she’d have a good turnout of well-costumed actors if she had a Halloween party.
The more she thought about it, the more she agreed with Heather. Deciding to stay in Ashland had been the best decision she’d made in—well, maybe in forever. It was well worth celebrating. Not only had she built a great new life, but she’d reconnected with a part of herself she hadn’t paid much attention to in a long time: the Julie part.
Not that she’d turned into a completely different person. Julie was book-smart, just like Greer had been. It would have been hard to ignore years of off-the-charts standardized tests, perfect grades, and professional successes. And what Julie saw in the mirror hadn’t changed. Like Greer, Julie was an attractive woman.
But what Julie had lost was Greer’s hubris. For years, being smart and beautiful had convinced Greer she was invincible, entitled even. Nothing could go wrong in her life. A federal investigation into her personal relationship with Paul Dreier had disabused her of that belief.
She had always been attracted to handsome men with an edge to them, in college even some outright bad boys. Sometimes it was part of the attraction. Mostly she didn’t care about their reputations. She was sure she could handle them. But when she came up against Paul Dreier, her lack of concern did her in. He was everything she’d thought she wanted in a man: he was good looking, a successful attorney, and well connected in the business community. Unfortunately his ethics were lower than the soles of his handmade shoes.
He’d tried to use her to get information about the D.A.’s office. She’d been blind to what he’d been doing. That’s what it boiled down to. She’d never suspected he was anything but interested in her and her life. After all, she was that fascinating.
Then Dreier was arrested. Her reputation took a nosedive so fast and so steep, she got the bends trying to get back up.<
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So, when she morphed Portland Greer into Ashland Julie, she decided to be more careful, to err in the other direction until she could figure out how to improve her evaluation of men. The result was, in the past year Julie had not gone out with any man. Not one. She missed having interesting conversations with a charming and handsome dinner companion, and she’d pretty much forgotten what sex was like. But if making a mistake was bad in a big city, it was fatal in a small town. And Julie had no intention of committing social suicide.
In spite of her dearth of a love life, she felt good about leaving behind the Greer she’d been. In this “Julie” incarnation of her life, she lived modestly in a small house with a yard full of roses and rhodies. The modern furniture she’d had in her riverfront condo had been left there. Her new home was furnished with pieces more in a shabby chic style (sans cabbage roses), which she actually liked better, but which had never seemed right for a residence full of stainless steel, marble, and granite.
Even her bedroom was different. In her oversize Portland room, she’d had abstract art on the walls; a huge, king-size bed with an elaborate metal canopy frame that almost touched the ceiling; a silk-covered duvet; and two chaises. She’d left it all in Portland and bought a double bed with a white, wrought-iron headboard for her new home. The curtains were white; so were the linens. Every night when she went to bed, she saw surroundings reinforcing the changes she’d made—confirming for herself that the woman who’d slept with the wrong man was no more.
Although she was without a love life, she had a full social life. She hung out with people from the legal and business communities. She had friends in the local theater crowd. But she made sure everyone knew she wasn’t in the market for anything more than a bit of fun. Heather was right: Julie fobbed off all offers of a date with light refusals. She’d apparently done it without offending anyone, because no one seemed annoyed with her for turning him down.
Heather’s intimation was also right: there were whispers about her being a closet lesbian. She ignored them along with the rumors that she had a lover stashed away someplace. She didn’t care what people said as long as no one found out what had happened in Portland. And, on that score, so far, so good.
There really was a lot to celebrate. A party would be the perfect way to mark the occasion.
Over the next week, she and Heather made a list of names and sent out dozens of invitations to business contacts, her theater buddies, legal and political colleagues, her neighbors. The invitations urged people to bring a friend or two so the event would be a way not only to mark her first year in town, but also to expand her social circle.
Heather located a Juliet costume for her: a batiste nightdress worn for the balcony scene in a local production of Romeo and Juliet, complete with a dark wig with a single long braid to cover Julie’s very blonde and totally un-Juliet hairstyle. A white, feathered mask trimmed in gold completed the costume.
The wig came with a promise from the wigmaker to secure it so it wouldn’t fall off during the course of the evening. The belt-and-suspenders approach he would take included the professional tape he normally used to secure wigs onto his actors, as well as spirit gum to make sure the skullcap stayed in place. Last, he’d tie a headband around her forehead. He teased her that the wig wouldn’t come off until Thanksgiving.
A caterer was hired and the menu set. The week before the party, Heather helped Julie carve pumpkins and string twinkle lights. The day of the party, Julie set out dozens of candles around the room to create the appropriate mood. Through it all, her anticipation grew as she became more excited about celebrating what was beginning to feel like her real birthday; the day when, out of the ashes of Greer’s life, Julie had been born.
Chapter 3
Trace Watkins yawned, rolled his shoulders back a couple times, and turned up the music. The dramatic end to the Beethoven symphony would, he hoped, keep him awake for a few more miles. A complication with a customer he’d been working with for weeks had prevented him from leaving Portland as early as he’d wanted. Now, some five hours after the end of his already long day, he and his CRV were almost to the Ashland exit. It meant he would get to his destination before midnight. Barely before, but still … Although Fred Arnett, his old fraternity brother, had told him not to worry about when he arrived, Trace didn’t want to impose any more than he already would be.
He’d booked a motel room for most of his stay in Ashland, but they hadn’t had a vacancy on his arrival night, so Fred had offered to put him up. Actually, Fred had offered to put Trace up for the three days he’d be in town. However, Trace didn’t want to take advantage of someone who’d become essentially a stranger in the twelve years that had passed since they’d graduated.
Fred had visited Portland a few times, usually to go to the theater and to call Trace for dinner but Trace had never gone to Ashland. Not that Fred hadn’t tried to get him there, but something always seemed to stand in the way of making the trip south. Now Trace regretted not keeping in closer touch with the man who’d been such a good friend.
The directions to Fred’s house were easy enough to follow. It was near the university. After he pulled into the driveway, Trace sat for a moment or two and looked around. Even in the dark, he liked what he saw—a well-established neighborhood with Victorian and Craftsman homes, big, old trees, and shrubs. It looked welcoming. Comfortable. Like a small town should.
His friend met him at the door before he could knock. “Hey, bro, welcome to Ashland. It’s about damn time you came for a visit.”
“Thank you for letting me stay here.” Trace extended his hand for a handshake.
“Still the same Mister Serious, I see. After all these years, a stranger’s handshake?” Fred asked. “No way. You get this, not a handshake.” He pulled Trace into a bear hug accompanied by a clap on the back. In about two seconds Trace hugged him back with his one free arm. Fred had always been a force of nature and, in the face of it, Trace had always given in.
Fred grabbed the suit bag and small roller case Trace had brought with him and waved his houseguest into the living room, setting the luggage on the steps to the upper floor. Trace followed, a smile on his face as he realized that if he hadn’t changed much since college, neither had his friend. And he was damn glad of it.
“Of course I’m serious. I’m a banker, for God’s sake,” Trace said. “I don’t run a theater company in paradise like you do. I handle people’s money.”
“You were like that before the bank hired you. If you were a carpenter, you’d measure five times before you even thought about picking up the damn saw, let alone using it. Good thing I don’t have to worry about stuff like you do. I don’t have any money of my own, and the theater’s more interested in my artistic vision than my financial one. Nothing serious there.” He shrugged, as if it were no big deal.
Trace raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Well, if I take the transfer I’ve been offered, I’ll be around here full time. Maybe I can help you figure out a way to invest what you have to make it work for you.”
“You’re here for a job interview? You weren’t real clear on the phone.” He motioned Trace into the kitchen, where he pulled out two wine glasses and held them up in a silent question.
Trace nodded an affirmative. “Not really an interview. I’ve already been offered the job. But before I agreed to the transfer, I wanted to see what the town’s like, meet with people, get a feel for life in Ashland.”
Fred poured the wine and handed one glass to Trace. “Wow. You’re actually thinking about willingly leaving Portland? I thought you’d be there forever.”
“I’m tired of city life. It’s too smug and pretentious. I’ve been looking for six, eight months for something more comfortable for me, something more like where I grew up.”
“Portland? Smug and pretentious? Who’d a thought?” Fred’s laugh indicated he would. “So what’d Northwest Savings and Loan offer you?”
“A nice promotion—the manager’s job here.
The man who’s here has been on the verge of retiring for a while now. Which shows in the way he’s working, I guess. He’s not exactly taking care of business. The powers-that-be offered him a nice golden parachute, and he took it.”
“Three clichés in two sentences? Professor Georgia would be so disappointed.”
“You know I only took those English classes because of the woman I was dating. I was never as fascinated by the arts as you were.”
“Yet you might be moving to a place where the only games in town are theater and a university.”
“Which is one of the things I need to figure out—whether I’d like living here. The job’s not the issue. The banking business I already understand.”
“I’d be happy to show you around,” Fred offered. “I know where all the good places in town are.”
“Thanks, but I’m booked solid with meetings, lunches, and dinners over the next few days.”
“Then stay the weekend. The theater has a performance on Saturday night I have to attend, but I have Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday for the tour. You still a serious outdoor lover?”
“I’d like to be, but I never seem to have the time. Too busy with work.” He shrugged off his lack of a personal life. “Thanks for the offer, but I should be getting back to Portland.”
“For what? You got a girlfriend waiting for you?”
Trace shook his head. “No time for that either.”
“Switched teams and have a boyfriend waiting, then?”
“Yeah, right.” Trace took a slug of his wine to hide his smile.
“Then why do you have to get back up the freeway? Stay, and we can catch up with each other, maybe get in a hike or something. I might even pull out a surprise for you.”
The opportunity to reestablish ties with his college friend appealed to Trace. If he moved to Ashland, it would be nice to have a friend not connected with his job. “Okay. You win. I’ll stay.”
