Hopeful Leigh (Literal Leigh Romance Diaries Book 3)

by Melanie James

  “And let’s dress up just a bit. Have some fun.” Kelly added, but it almost went without saying. Getting the right mix of classy casual was an important part of our big girl outings.

  “Mag mile? Or Old town?” I asked.

  “The mile!” Lindsey yelped. This was exactly what we needed, window shopping on the Magnificent Mile. Chicago’s premier shopping district on Michigan Avenue. Overboard, top of the line, much too expensive and exclusive for us, yet it was still fun to dip our toes in the pools of consumer excess. We always dressed up, but it’s not like we could afford to look pretentious. Besides, we were taking the L. That’s what Chicagoans call the elevated rail. Women looking to purchase the latest fashions, fresh from the runways of Paris, didn’t arrive on the L. Nor did they hop into shady and questionable, smoke filled taxi cabs, which would complete our last leg of the window shopping journey.

  “Whatever we end up doing, you are both staying here tonight. A good old fashioned sleepover would be fun. I have a few ideas rolling around for new books and I’d like to know what you think.”

  “That sounds awesome. Lindsey and I have been collaborating on a little romance story, and we could use another set of eyes to look it over.”

  “Good! Now I won’t feel like I’m the only one that dreams up crazy little love stories.” Once our plans had been set in motion, I went back to finish my tea and flipped through the papers some more. I looked again at the glaring words Galloping Gorillas in Grant Park, and flipped it over. “Meow.”

  “I agree. Fucking critics.” That one, which Luna had so blatantly pushed in front of me, was then quickly tossed in the trash. “Come on Luna, help me pick out something.” We walked to my room and Luna sat under the dress that Gertie had made for me.

  “Meow. Meow.”

  I looked it over and smiled. I really missed Gertie, but I knew she had her hands full on her paranormal plantation, even with Randy there to help out. And that was another thing, Randy is a bit of a scatterbrain himself. There is no telling what level of chaos those two could achieve, and I really looked forward to learning every detail.

  Chapter Two

  Daytripping

  Kelly and Lindsey arrived just before noon and to my surprise, they were wearing their Gertie signature line of summer dresses. Each different, yet all in floral patterns. I laughed when I realized that we each had the same idea.

  “Did you notice it yet?” Lindsey asked me.

  “Yeah, we all miss Gertie already.”

  “There is that, but… check this out.” Lindsey made a poor impression of a model posing the newest designer creation. A very poor impression.

  “I got it! You’re a tired and disgruntled waitress waiting on an order! No, wait. You’re a constipated school teacher!” I teased.

  Lindsey grabbed the hem of her dress and shook it. “Damn! Why isn’t this thing working?”

  I was really perplexed and worried about Lindsey. Kelly stepped into the middle of my living room and said. “Let’s try this. Lindsey. Unzip me, please.” Lindsey hopped over and worked the zipper down on the back of Kelly’s dress. When Kelly pulled the dress down and stepped out of it, I was momentarily dumbfounded.

  Kelly picked up the dress and the peculiar scene made me wonder what was wrong with the both of them. “So—does the exhaust leak in your car Kelly?” Kelly just stood there in her bra and panties and shook the dress a few times. “Seriously, what the hell are you doing?” I asked.

  “You’ll see. Just wait.” I didn’t have to wait long. With one more shake, the dress transformed its colors from yellow to a beautiful azure.

  This came as a real surprise to me. “That little witch! What kind of magic did she sew into that dress? What else can they do?” I was pleasantly surprised by Gertie’s creativity. “Do you suppose she knew that she did this? Or was it one of her accidents?”

  Lindsey pondered my questions. “I don’t know. She never mentioned this to any of us. So far, all I’ve noticed is that they can change colors and patterns with a few good shakes. Just keep doing it until you find one you like. They all seem to be very Gertie-ish to me. You know, flowery and cute.”

  “Well, the good thing is that we don’t have to all wear matching colors and patterns. I’m not walking down Michigan Avenue looking like we are part of some obscure cult.” Kelly whipped the material until it turned yellow and covered in the faint designs of delicate flowers. She gave it a satisfied look, slipped it back on, and we were on our way.

  It was Lindsey’s driving to the Metra station that changed our plans for the day. Our chatter about Hunter, Gertie, Randy, and his ideas for the plantation had completely distracted us. And they made us forget how easily Lindsey got mixed up on directions. Before we realized it, we were stopping in front of a café in the Old Town section of Lincoln Park, and not at the Fullerton Metra Station. To be fair, one would think, it’s just the same neighborhood, right? Not so much. I should clarify that when people refer to Lincoln Park, people know it as a college area. It’s flooded with young and well-to-do hipsters, and even has a fair number of older people trying to hang on to their youth. It’s trendy, expensive and even if you’re a fifty year old lawyer, you can live out your college days in perpetual bliss.

  Then there is the other Lincoln Park. The fringe outside of that scene. Still nice, still expensive but a tad bit more sleepy and residential. That’s where I ended up. I felt truly blessed to have landed my fist teaching job in such a great neighborhood. When I broke the news to my father, however, he wrung his hands in complete despair. He actually looked up to the heavens and held his hands out, and he begged God not to curse him by sending his youngest daughter to Lincoln Park. He was still living in1968, and he imagined that he would find me curled up in some jail, charged with inciting a riot. Yes, jailed with my bare feet, smudged with the dirt of the streets, peeking out from under an ankle length tie-dyed gown. Oy! And most certainly pregnant, after attending an imagined, outdoor orgy, while out of my mind on drugs. My mom was of little help. She brought me pamphlets that educated me on STDs and warned me about joining a cult, “like that girl we saw on television.”

  That Lincoln Park no longer existed. It went away along with the fading memories of Abbie Hoffman and the rest of the anti-establishment Yippies. It wasn’t until my parents finally visited that my father finally beamed with pride. “You see! Look what my daughter is doing here! To this place!” You would think I had single-handedly saved Sodom and Gomorrah from divine retribution. So, that’s my embarrassingly proud Dad. In my youth, I’m pretty sure I told hundreds of people that I was adopted, but now I’ve come to appreciate my parents for who they are. I wouldn’t trade them for the world.

  Lindsey stopped the car with a whiplash inducing jerk. “Where the hell is the station?”

  Kelly never missed an opportunity for some sort of snarky comment. “Follow your nose, hon. When you pick up the scent of bum urine, just follow it until you hear the raging schizophrenics. When you hear that, you’ve made it to the Red Line.”

  “And if you’re really lucky, you’ll get the added bonus of seeing a naked person jumping the turnstile.” I remembered that I had witnessed that particular incident myself. I looked around and then I sounded just like Lindsey. “Where the hell is the station? I should have been paying better attention. I think you went the opposite way, because now we’re in the campus area of Lincoln Park.”

  Kelly appraised the situation and after a few seconds she decided that she would rather stay right where Lindsey parked the car. “You know what? I really don’t want to go down on Michigan Avenue today. Really.” She waved her arms about. “Just look around. The atmosphere is less stuffy. And there are more than a few cuties in the area.”

  “I agree Kelly. What do you say, Leigh? As a matter of fact, check out that guy at the table. The one over there on the end.” Lindsey nodded towards a table on the sidewalk in front of the café. A very muscular man with a thick head of black hair was seated alone.
His back was to us and it appeared that he had a small cat carrier on the table in front of him.

  “Well, I could care less about looking at anyone but Hunter. And I mean that sincerely. But, I’m perfectly fine hanging out around here, if that’s what you want to do. There are a couple of new shops just a block over that I’d rather check out than some guy who carries his lunch in a cage. And as far as other cuties wandering about, I have no need to gawk at them.”

  “Hey, just because you’re on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t look over the menu.” Kelly gave me a nudge.

  “Now you sound like your Uncle Carmine.”

  “I’ve learned every cheesy line I know from listening to that man. Hold on! Let’s take a walk past that guy. There is something very familiar about him.” Kelly said and then she deliberately walked around to the other side of his table to get a look at his face. She slowly strolled back behind him and then quickly ran over to us. “You won’t believe it! Guess who that is?”

  “That guy! Oh yeah! He’s the guy that drinks a mocha latte with a caged animal.” I joked.

  Lindsey followed Kelly’s same stalker patrol route past the man at the table. She returned with a huge, knowing smile. “It’s Gertie’s fireman! What a coincidence. Come on, let’s go and see if he remembers me or Kelly. Come on!” I was really reluctant to just barge in on a complete stranger, with way the three of us can sometimes be. I was already embarrassed for what we were about to do, if that’s possible. Yes, I was embarrassed at the anticipation of what was about to unfold. And we hadn’t even gotten to his table yet.

  Chapter Three

  Table For Two

  We rounded the table and all three of us were lined up to face him as if he were an animal on exhibit in a zoo. The man could have been peeled from the cover of any romance novel. He had that rugged look, a dark tan and steely blue eyes. His tight t-shirt seemed as if it had been painted on his muscular body. His thick black hair was not long, but long enough that a couple of strands fell over one eye brow as he glanced up at us. The look on his face told me that he was completely puzzled about the reason for three young women lined up in front of him. If this was Gertie’s fireman, it would be easy to see how she had been so completely infatuated with him. Kelly took the first step on our foray through the experience of public humiliation. “Hey there! What a coincidence, seeing you again!”

  The man just stared as if he tried to place Kelly’s face, but he couldn’t. After a few seconds, he spoke. “Excuse me. I think you have me confused with somebody else.” I knew it. Kelly and Lindsey were completely wrong.

  Kelly was not about to give in that easily. “Oh come on. You really don’t remember me? Kelly? And you have to remember Lindsey here.” She looked at Lindsey who reenacted her coughing fit from the night of the fire. Enough was enough. I reached over and grabbed a handful of Lindsey’s dress. I gave it a tug to let her know, it was time to retreat from this stranger. The man had apparently lost interest in us, and now turned his attention to a black cat that was curled up inside the cage.

  I had forgotten about Gertie’s magical needlework and now I felt my mouth hanging open as gasped for air—or words. Lindsey’s dress had reacted to the tug I gave to the fabric by transforming into a shimmering gold color and then to clear. Yes, clear. As in no color, transparent, invisible. Kelly had the same fish-out-of-water look as I did. The man looked up from the little cat carrier and stared at Lindsey. Visible to everyone in the area, Lindsey was now standing there in a sexy, red, lace thong and a bra. She had obviously added what appeared to be fists full of tissues to the cups of her bra to fill out her dress a little. It had to have been a hastily done job. A last second decision made to use whatever bra padding material was handy. Her boobs looked like a pair of stuffed little Cornish hens, with bits of toilet paper hanging from their asses. More than a few honking horns and rude comments could be heard from the passing traffic.

  Kelly caught her breath and threw out a snarky quip. “You know something, Lindsey? There are these things called padded bras. You might want to look into picking one up sometime.”

  “Thank you Kelly. As if I needed a padded—” Lindsey looked down and finally realized that she was baring her lace skivvies and her freshly stuffed Cornish hens. “Jesus! What happened?” She shrieked and threw her hands wildly about as she tried to decide what to cover up first. I jumped in front of her to shield her from any more scrutiny by the handsome stranger. Kelly stood behind her and kept her mostly hidden from the amazed onlookers.

  “I am so sorry. Please excuse her. We were just taking her in for a psych evaluation. Poor thing, it’s really not her fault.” I stepped backwards and we moved our Lindsey sandwich slowly away from the table.

  Kelly was feverishly tugging on a piece of the invisible fabric in an attempt to bring some color, any color, back to the dress. “It’s not working, Leigh, it’s not working.” She said in a sing-song voice, as if nobody would otherwise detect the air of desperation that surrounded her.

  Once we had backed away a few feet, I spun around and grasped at where I thought the dress would be, until I found some material. I was pretty sure I had the hem. Like Kelly, I made several furious jerks on the fabric, to no avail. “Please! Come on. Change already!” Kelly had resorted to obscenities by then and Lindsey had joined in by grabbing and tugging invisible bits of material. A crowd was gathering and I realized that everyone must be under the assumption that we were a trio of deranged mimes, trying to pluck an invisible crop of fruit from the nearly naked girl. “Gertie! If you can hear me, now would be an awesome time to lend a hand!”

  “Gertie? Did you say Gertie? Gertie O’Leary?”

  I continued my apparent mime act of picking cherries while I responded to the handsome stranger. “Yeah. Gertie. Are you her friend, Brad the fireman?”

  “Yes! Oh, you must be her—” Brad was interrupted by the arrival of his apparent lunch date, a beautiful young woman.

  Actually, she was stunningly beautiful. Enough to be described as irritatingly beautiful. And that’s only because she has achieved a goal that you had been trying—and failing—to reach since middle school. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with how I look. There are just certain things you’d love to have, just once. For example, she had a deep bronze tan just like Brad. As for my complexion, I’ve seen snowmen with better tans. Oh, I’ve tried those tanning salons. A few disappointing attempts were enough to make me avoid them now. With my blonde hair and pasty skin, I look like Queen Frostine going in. Before long, I’m screaming out of there looking like a scalded Oompa Loompa.

  This goddess of the café had everything going for her. To best describe her, I can just say that she might as well have been peeled off of the same romance novel cover as Brad was.

  The new arrival froze in place as she stared at the trio of clowns before her. Then, she addressed Brad directly. “What the hell? Who are these women?” The tone of her voice, and the words that she chose, made it seem obvious enough that there was something between her and Brad. At least that was my assessment.

  In an instant, Kelly and I finally got something right. Suddenly, Lindsey’s dress transformed to yellow with small white flowers. Fortunately, the romance cover couple wasn’t looking at us when the dress magically transformed. However, the small audience on the sidewalk certainly witnessed it. They began applauding at the apparently surprise twist that we performed for our magical mime show. We scurried away to the other side of the sidewalk café and found a quiet place to regroup.

  Kelly wasted no time in ribbing Lindsey. “Nice choice with that lace thong for today, Lindsey. Got some pole dancing planned for later?”

  “I was thinking about it, but you’re always hogging the pole—”

  “Hey! Didn’t you two hear him? That’s Brad. Gertie’s Brad.” I had to take their focus away from the smartass comment slinging, and bring it to what bothered me more than Lindsey’s slutware. Gertie’s Brad was having lunch with a beautiful young woman.


  “Well, I don’t know if I would necessarily describe him as Gertie’s anymore.” Lindsey then nodded towards the couple that were now seated together.

  “I don’t think it’s the end of the world. Gertie just met him. Big deal. Besides, it was your magic that brought him to her. Just the way it goes sometimes.” Kelly then shrugged her shoulders.

  “I know. I know. Still, you know Gertie. She is absolutely the sweetest, most innocent person I have ever met. And you heard how she was bubbling over Brad. Apparently, he said all of the right things to Gertie. She may not have any right to have any expectations about their meeting, but I can’t stand to see her at the hands of a skilled player. What happens when she comes back up here and they meet up? He will just bounce on over to Gertie for a few days and then bounce back over to the other girl—or girls. You know the type.”

  “I suppose your right, Leigh.” Kelly looked over at Brad and shook her head. “Just look at him. Player. Damn slithery player. A guy that looks like that is just like a bumblebee buzzing around from one pretty flower to another. Tasting every one that he can get his tongue on. Sorry, but it’s true.”

  “Oh, I am looking at him.” Lindsey’s eyes were fixed on Brad. “Player? I don’t care. He can come over and play anytime. Besides, how can we be sure that the woman with him is another of his little flowers? It may be something completely innocent.”

  I suddenly remembered a magazine article I had read. It was about how men talk during a conversation with a woman. A psychology study was completed by a Dr. Matilda Schmidt, in Plattsburgh, NY a couple of years ago that found out some interesting facts. It reported that men’s voices changed, according to their attraction or romantic involvement with the other party. “I know! I just remembered something I read about. There is one sure way to tell. Listen to how he talks to her. See if we can notice whether he changes the pitch of his voice from how he normally speaks. Whenever a guy is interested in a girl—you know, really trying to charm a girl, his voice supposedly changes. I’m not sure if I can quite describe it.”