“Oh, well,” Rorie replied, a barb of sarcasm sharpening her usually mellow tone, “as long as I know right up front that I'm a charity case.”
“That's not what I meant, just that I … oh, just shut up and come to lunch with me, okay?” Cecily finished in exasperation.
Rorie laughed. “I guess. I mean, you put it so politely. And we wouldn't want you doing anything 'almost sinful' on my account, now would we?” Rorie winked. “We can’t have you getting into trouble.”
Cecily giggled nervously in response. That wink had sent a shiver straight to her toes. She detected something—a challenge perhaps?—hidden beneath the words. Whatever it was, it intrigued her. Given what little she knew of Rorie, whatever trouble this woman might dream up seemed strangely enticing.
The cafeteria was mostly deserted as Cecily and Rorie carried their trays from the lunch line. It was almost two o'clock, so the few students who remained were finishing their last bites before rushing off to class. Three girls were heading toward the exit, dressed like Cecily in pastel skirts and preppy blazers, with neatly bobbed hair held back with grosgrain ribbon headbands. They paused as one of the girls eyed Rorie's messy locks, head to toe black apparel, and scuffed combat boots with a look that was a mixture of curiosity and revulsion. Then she turned her attention to Cecily, a fake grin plastered on her face.
“Hi, Cecily!” the girl said, leaning in for a perfunctory hug that, for a friendly greeting, somehow telegraphed the very opposite of friendship. “Haven't seen you lately.”
“Hi, Amber.” Cecily had been hoping for a quick escape but was stopped in her tracks by Amber's choke hold. “Yeah, I'm taking some classes in the drama department this semester. It's taking up most of my time.”
“Oh.” Amber nodded. “I guess that's why your friend here's still in costume?”
The other girls snickered, and Cecily saw Rorie's posture tense.
“Did you want something, Amber?” Cecily asked, feigning to ignore the girl's rudeness.
“Yes, actually. I wanted to make sure you were still going to be volunteering for Greek Week?”
“Sure, maybe,” Cecily replied, glancing away. “If I can fit it in.”
“Great!” Amber chirped. “I'll be counting on it, then.” She took a step away, then turned and looked pointedly at Rorie, then at the buttons on Cecily's shirt. “Oh, and sweetie? You might want to button a few more of those. You wouldn't want to give anyone the wrong idea.” She trotted off and the other two girls followed closely behind, leaving Cecily confused.
“Wow. What's with the ‘Heathers’?” Rorie quipped, glaring after them.
“The what?” Cecily asked, puzzled.
“You know, like the movie?” Rorie raised her eyebrows as Cecily shook her head. “Winona Ryder, Christian Slater, the one with the mean girls in high school … seriously? You haven't seen that movie?” Rorie shook her head. “Unbelievable. So, what, are they friends of yours?” Rorie inquired, an edge creeping into her voice for a second time that day.
Cecily shrugged. “Technically. We’re in the same sorority.”
“Yeah, I got that from your matchy-matchy sorority girl uniforms.”
“Hey!” Cecily gave her an indignant look. “You don't like my fashion sense?”
Rorie laughed. “No, it's a great look for you. It's just a little creepy when there are three others just like you, like some sort of college version of the ‘Stepford Wives’. You've at least seen that movie, right?”
Cecily looked away sheepishly. “I've heard of it,” she said with a shrug.
“You've gotta be kidding me! That settles it. Movie night at my place. That is, if you're not too busy organizing ‘Greek Week.’” Her tone left little doubt about her opinions on Greek Week.
“I have no intention of doing anything with Greek Week,” Cecily said, rolling her eyes.
“Then why didn't you tell your friends that?”
Cecily shrugged. “It's easier to just avoid them. Their mothers are all friends with my mother, so if I do anything naughty, word gets back. And they can be vicious when provoked.”
“Like a pack of wolves. Yeah, I noticed.”
“I'm sorry about that. But Amber's just—I don't know. She doesn't like me.”
“Right,” Rorie said, rolling her eyes. “Because her rudeness to me was really all about you. Narcissist,” she added teasingly.
Cecily studied Rorie for a minute, noting the hurt expression she was trying to mask. She wanted to put her arms around her, comfort her. But she refrained. “Point is, they're rude to everyone. They have a certain way of seeing the world, and they don’t understand things that don't fit in. And they don’t like anything they can’t understand.”
Rorie snorted with disgust. “I'm guessing they don't like much, then. So why are you friends with them?”
Cecily shrugged. “Mother pledged when she was in college. It's just what's expected.”
They found an empty table near one of the arched windows that overlooked the commons and sat down, spending a moment arranging plates and silverware on the table and setting their trays aside.
“Oh, damn,” exclaimed Rorie as she surveyed the table. “There's no hot sauce. Can you grab a bottle from the table behind you?”
Cecily reached back and grabbed a half-full container of bright red liquid. “This vile stuff?” she asked, sliding it across the table to her companion.
“Vile? You said you were from Baton Rouge. I thought y'all put this stuff on everything here in Louisiana.”
Cecily made a face. “Hardly. How did some Irish Yankee get a taste for 'authentic Cajun cayenne pepper sauce'?” She read the last bit directly from the label in her thickest southern accent, which made Rorie let out a roar of laughter.
“Oh my God, that accent!”
“See, I told you there was a reason I practiced every night to get rid of it.”
“No, you shouldn't! It's absolutely adorable, really,” Rorie assured her, still giggling.
“Right, that's why you can’t stop laughing,” Cecily countered, even as the compliment teased her lips into a smile. “But seriously, how did you end up down here in the Deep South?”
“I got a volleyball scholarship. At least, enough of one to make affording this place remotely possible.” Rorie shrugged. “It was nice while it lasted. How about you? If you want to be an actress, shouldn't you have gone to New York, or something?”
“Are you kidding? Family legacy. I think my acceptance letter arrived shortly after my birth announcements went out. And I told you, I'm not a drama major. Not really.”
“Right. Pre-law. So, you plan to be a lawyer when you grow up?”
“I didn't say that, either.” Cecily chuckled at the confusion on the other woman's face. “Mostly it's so I can carry on scintillating conversation at dinner parties when my future lawyer husband is trying to impress the boss.”
“Future husband?” Rorie sounded surprised. “I didn't notice a ring.” She grasped Cecily's left hand, turning it back and forth for a better view of the diamond that most definitely wasn't there.
Cecily felt the blood rush to her cheeks, suddenly aware of the warmth of Rorie's fingers against her cold hand. “It's not official yet, just implied. The Parker family has donated a small fortune to my father's campaigns.”
Rorie let Cecily's fingers drop back to the table. “Oh, shit. You're one of those DuPonts. So which one's your father? Congressman … senator … judge?”
“Senator.”
“Well, how convenient for everyone that the son of your father's biggest political ally just happens to also be the love of your life.”
There was something unreadable in Rorie's tone as she said it that gave Cecily pause.
“He's okay,” she replied quietly. Not everyone understood the realities of being born into a political family the way Cecily did. “He's nice, and rationally, it makes perfect sense for us to get married. There's no reason for me to make things difficult.”
/> “What about love? Does that factor in at all here? Because I'm pretty sure difficult and irrational are part of the definition of love, Cici,” Rorie countered. “And it's not like easy is an option for everybody.” There was a bitterness in her tone that Cecily couldn’t quite figure out.
Cecily sighed. “Would I love to be an actress? Sure, in some fantasy world. But I'm not dedicated enough to wait tables and live in a rat-infested closet of an apartment, and go to thousands of auditions. And I'm not cut out for the cut-throat political games I'd have to play to make partner at a big law firm, either.”
“So, what? You just get married, instead?” There was disbelief and judgment in her eyes. “I thought that kind of thinking died out during the Kennedy administration.”
“Maybe for you Yankees, but not down here in the Bible belt, and definitely not for politicians's wives.” Cecily looked down at the table, away from the intensity of Rorie's gaze. “Look, my parents love Chet. They just want what's best for me, same as anybody.” She looked up again and smiled. “Doesn't your family want you to find a nice boy and settle down?”
“I'm sure they do,” Rorie responded testily. “It just isn't going to happen.”
“Oh, come on. You're, what, twenty-four? You can't possibly know that!” Cecily responded with a short laugh, turning her head to look out the window.
“Actually, Cici, I do.” Rorie shut her eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath. “Because I'm not interested in finding any boy, nice or otherwise, to settle down with. Never have been, never will be. If you see what I mean.”
Cecily sat wordless, motionless, still staring out the window. Seconds ticked by.
“Right,” Rorie finally said as the silence stretched on. “Not sure why I thought you'd be any different from the rest of your sorority clones. And God forbid if being friends with a lesbian hurt your Daddy's chances at the polls. I'm gonna go now.” She grabbed her tray and gave her chair a shove as she walked away.
The clanging of the metal chair against the table roused Cecily from her trance. “Rorie, wait!” She hurried after her toward the door, but it was too late. Rorie was gone. Cecily returned to her seat, swept the remaining tray aside, and buried her head in her arms atop the bare table.
Cecily’s head was spinning. She knew she wasn't a narrow minded person, not like her parents and their friends. But she'd never had this conversation before, and she'd gone completely blank and froze solid like an idiot. She felt tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Now the most intriguing, exciting person she'd ever met in her life hated her, and she had no idea how to make it right.
Chapter 6
“Rorie! Over here!” Susan's voice rang out over the din of the lunchroom crowd. “Oh, Mrs. Parker,” she added as Cecily approached from a few steps behind, “will you be joining us today, too?”
“Well, only if there's room,” Cecily replied with uncertainty. “And please, call me Cecily.” She'd grimaced inwardly at the deference with which the manager had treated her since her arrival. During the work day she'd rather be thought of as just another volunteer with a hammer, not as the donor whose name was stenciled on the patron wall in the lobby. What hope did she have of fitting in with the crew if no one felt comfortable calling her by her first name?
The table was crowded, but chairs and lunch bags were already being shifted to accommodate the two new arrivals. Rorie headed toward an empty space on one side of the table while Cecily sought out a spot far on the opposite side. Only after squeezing into her seat did Cecily realize that, despite all of her maneuvering, she had still somehow landed directly across from Rorie.
Foiled again.
“Mrs. Parker—er, Cecily, I mean,” Susan continued, “I've been hoping for a chance to talk with you and see how you're settling in.”
“Um, good, thanks,” Cecily replied, though her lack of enthusiasm was less than convincing.
“Ci—er, Cecily, I mean—witnessed kind of an unfortunate scene between some of the actors a few minutes ago,” Rorie volunteered.
“Oh, no,” Susan groaned. “Bailey and Phinn?”
“Oh my God!” squealed one of the other volunteers, staring wide-eyed at Cecily. “You met Bailey and Phinn? What were they like? What were they doing? You have to tell us everything!”
“Um, well, Bailey was screaming and throwing a lot of breakable props at the wall, and Phinn was mostly ducking,” Cecily said matter-of-factly. “I really don't know what started it, though.”
“Oh, honey, I think we all know what started it,” another volunteer chimed in with ill-concealed glee. “Phinn has had this coming for the last six months!”
“Phinn?” exclaimed the first volunteer with a splutter. “I think you mean Bailey! That girl's lucky Phinn is too much of a gentleman to throw that stuff right back at her traitorous little head. Don't you agree, Cecily?” The woman stared at her again, clearly expecting Cecily to back her up.
“I'm sorry but you've lost me,” Cecily said with a shrug. “Am I the only one who has no idea who Bailey and Phinn are?”
Now both volunteers stared at Cecily with their mouths agape, united in their disbelief at her confession. The rest of the occupants of the table appeared equally stunned.
“You mean you never watched Who Wants to be a Bride?” asked the first woman, clearly astonished at the possibility.
Cecily shook her head. “I'm not really a television person. I mostly just watch the news.”
“And Melrose Place,” Rorie murmured under her breath.
Cecily glared at her from across the table. Really discreet of you, Ms. Mulloy.
However, everyone else in the room was too busy trying to understand how any human being could have failed to watch the most talked about television event of the year to pay any attention to anything else. The table erupted into a dozen explanations of the show at once, and Cecily pieced together that Bailey and Phinn had been finalists on a reality show where the audience voted on absolutely every detail of a dream wedding, right down to choosing the lucky bride and groom.
“So let me get this straight,” Cecily said, “Bailey and Phinn were strangers, until a bunch of other strangers decided they should get married?”
“Weird, right?” Rorie muttered. “Now, if their families were politicians … .”
Cecily gave her a warning look, then continued. “And then they wisely opted not to go through with it, and people thought that was unreasonable?”
One of the volunteers shook her head. “I don’t think you get it. Phinn loved Bailey. She broke his heart.”
“Oh yeah?” the other volunteer piped in, “Then why did he marry the runner up, Janessa? That skank. You call that love?”
“Come on, they had that thing annulled in Vegas faster than Britney Spears.”
Arguments broke out around the table as everyone weighed in with their support for either Bailey or Phinn. The only thing they seemed to agree on is that no one liked Janessa. Apparently, Phinn dumping Janessa was the one decision even his detractors could get behind.
When it quieted down again, Cecily looked from one volunteer to the other in horror. “And these people are going to be starring in this show together? Someone could get killed!”
As she spoke, Cecily's glance fell on a familiar red condiment bottle in front of her and she absentmindedly slid it across the table toward Rorie, who grabbed it and doused the salad in front of her with a liberal shake.
“That's funny.” Susan looked from the hot sauce bottle to Cecily, a quizzical expression on her face. “How did you know she'd want that? No one in the world puts hot sauce on a salad, except Rorie.”
Cecily glanced down at the bottle, her insides tensing as she realized what she’d done. She'd slid that same type of bottle across the table to Rorie hundreds of times before, so much that the action was little more than a reflex. But that wasn't exactly intended to be public knowledge.
“Oh, Susan,” Rorie said, “you won't believe it. Did you know that Cecily an
d I went to the same college?”
“Really?” Susan replied, eyeing each woman suspiciously. Or so it felt to Cecily. “Small world.”
“Yeah. I just discovered it myself on the walk over here. She looked vaguely familiar so I asked, and it turns out we had a class together senior year. What are the odds?”
“Uh huh. And she happens to remember your addiction to hot sauce after all these years?” Susan cocked one eyebrow. “Does she remember how you take your coffee, too?”
Cream and two sugars, Cecily answered in her mind. Aloud, she said, “It must’ve been the college memories kicking in. Everyone in our school was addicted to that stuff. It was the only thing that made the cafeteria food edible.”
“That's completely true. It's probably the one thing all us alumni have in common. In fact, here I am hogging the bottle when I'm sure you'd like some, too.” Rorie slid the bottle back across the table.
A look passed between them. Cecily found even the smell of this sauce repulsive and Rorie knew it. She sprinkled the bottle over her own meal as timidly as she could and forced a forkful of the now-defiled food into her mouth.
Payback's a bitch.
“See, Susan,” Rorie continued, “it's just another one of those weird southern things you're always teasing me about. You know, speaking of Bailey and Phinn, I'm dying to know how you convinced them to sign on to the show.”
The subject deftly changed, Susan launched into a detailed recounting of her contract negotiations with the two stars and their agents. Cecily sighed in relief. The past was buried where it belonged, and no one seemed to care. She chatted with the other volunteers, finally enjoying the chance to make new friends, and feeling relief that the truce between her and Rorie seemed to be holding. Although, as she poked her fork around to find anything remotely edible, she wondered if it would risk their detente to hide that sauce where it would never be found again.
Love's Encore Series (Books One and Two) Page 4
