The Last Page: Book 1 of Living, Loving, & Laughing

by Lacy Camey

  “Maycee! You’re going! You’ll look great! You’ll gain more readers this way,” I interrupted in sisterly annoyance.

  I watched her ponder it. “Yeah, I bet you’re right.”

  “I am right. Do a segment about ‘How to dress in an orphanage,’ and you’re sure to lose a few followers for swimming in the shallow pool!”

  “True,” she admitted. “Okay, you’re right. I guess that is a little shallow of me. But the scenery will work!” She got up and walked toward the kitchen. I could tell the idea danced in her mind.

  “Yes, this is brilliant! Just what I need. Out of the country.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it. Me, too,” I commented honestly. “So what are you going to do about your book?”

  “Well, it’s in the hands of a freelance editor right now, a designer is working on the cover, and then I’m uploading that baby to Amazon!”

  “Wow, that’s great, Maycee! I’m so excited for you, and truly just proud. I wonder what your publishers will think.”

  “Who cares, they’re missing out majorly on not signing me, and they’ll see soon enough.”

  There was a knock at the door. Who could that be? Please let it be Orien and not Truett. Please let it be Orien and not Truett.

  As I made my way past the hallway, the glass wall gave me a head start to who our visitor was. It was Chris. He was smoking a cigarette, and I watched as he put it out with the heel of his five-hundred-dollar shoes.

  What does he want? I groaned.

  As I walked to the door, I talked myself into having a good attitude. Things hadn’t gone very well in our last meeting, so why was he here?

  I opened the door.

  “Hi, darling,” he said as he let himself in as if he were family. I kind of admired the way he lived his life that way. It definitely came across as confident.

  I shut the door behind him and watched him take in the view. “Well, it’s true. This house holds up to its reputation.”

  “I didn’t know you would be in the neighborhood.” I shut the door with my back.

  “Well, I was visiting a friend, and I knew you lived nearby, so I wanted to swing by and not only see the most talked about glass house on the strand but, well…“

  Well what?

  But as his ADD nature would have it, his eyes went to the kitchen table covered with tape measures, invoices, copies of checks, cash, and little doggie couture creations midway through their inception.

  He took the liberty of picking one up. “Norah, is this for little people? Have you gone mental?”

  Before I could respond, he helped himself to my finances like an investigator. “Two thousand dollars?” His eyes opened wide. “Norah, do you have crack hidden in these clothes or something?”

  I had to laugh. Before I could even try to explain, he continued, “What on earth?” He looked at the pile of cash and another check for three thousand dollars. Apparently, he felt he had enough evidence, as he sat on the edge of the table. I hoped he wasn’t wrinkling any of the silk fabric.

  He folded his arms. “Do you have something you’d like to tell me?”

  I could play that game. “Do you have something you would like me to tell you?”

  “Is this what you’ve been doing with your time?”

  I couldn’t lie. “Yes, it’s-“

  “Well, clearly, whatever this is, it’s profitable! Your entire set of pieces from your current line wouldn’t have sold for more than five grand.”

  “Doggie Couture.” I smiled.

  “Doggie Couture. I love it. I like the sound of it,” he said, as he got off the table and ran over to put his hands on my arms.

  “This is brilliant, Norah!” He squeezed just a little too hard.

  “Well, thanks,” I said. “I didn’t mean for this to be created; it just happened naturally.”

  “Let me be your partner.”

  “Oh, well, it’s just for a handful of-“

  “I don’t care. We’ll outsource patterns. It will blow up. Trust me. We’ll call Susan in Marketing. She’s just perfect at branding. We could get you on QVC. You could become a lifestyle brand, like Jessica Simpson or Martha Stewart. Just think.”

  He put his right hand on his hip, as his left hand went to the sky. “Doggie Couture.”

  Coco ran down the hallway. Chloe had let her out of my room, where she had been held for the past few hours while we were gone.

  “Would you look at her!” He went to pick Coco up, but then stopped, probably because he didn’t want dog hair on his jacket. “Love the coral on her.”

  She was sporting a coral number—yes, that’s right-coral, the color his whack friend had been dying to see.

  “Yes, this is the way of the future. And I like being on the cutting edge.”

  What about my line? I wanted to ask.

  “Will you at least think about it, Norah? You can make some serious cash and still work on your line. Just think about it; this is what you’re producing now. Naturally,” he said, saying the right thing, dangling the right goods. Hoping I’d take the bait.

  I thought about Orien and how all my inspiration stemmed from him. He had suggested the business with the ladies in the first place. Had I not gone on a walk with him that night, I would have never met them. I had him to thank.

  “Well, sewing each outfit takes a lot of time. I simply don’t have time to make each order couture, uniquely made. I-“

  “Outsource, honey. We’ll make patterns. Hire seamstresses, that only you approve, of course, and be on our way. That’s how business is done.”

  Chloe couldn’t hold her excitement. “Norah, that’s great. I love it!” She jumped up and down.

  We both looked at her, forgetting a third party was taking part in our business discussion.

  “Oh, this is Chloe.” I motioned.

  He finished her last name for her. “I hear your dad’s running for president.”

  Taken aback, she asked, “Oh really?”

  I wondered how he knew that. No one was supposed to know.

  “Yeah, he might do a fine job. He has some pretty tough competition, if you ask me, but Texas’s economy has stayed pretty solid, so maybe he’s just what this country needs to balance the budget.”

  “Or Norah can create her doggie couture and make so much revenue that other countries are just dying to be a part of it, thus, they cash their bonds in for a doggie couture stock.”

  I knew what she was doing. She was trying to play down her intelligence in hope that he wouldn’t pry and would just leave her alone. It worked every time for her. I decided I would help her.

  “Well, Chris, thanks for stopping by. I have these orders that I promised these ladies I would have ready for them by their precious doggie and mom luncheon.“

  Taking the hint, he said, “Well, at least think about it and get back to me. Preferably by, say, no more than forty-eight hours. Then, we’ll talk a business plan.”

  He turned and left.

  We watched him leave through the glass windows. He got into his black Mercedes, lit another cigarette, called his next boy toy, and drove away.

  “Norah! This is so exciting!” Chloe jumped up and down. “Think about it, this could give you national exposure! This is a brilliant idea! In this single month alone, you brought in ten grand. That was just you and me working together, word of mouth. Think about the potential with a national, even world-level with an actual marketer, branding, PR! You could even be on, like, Good Morning, America or something. And when you are, not if, but when, you can wear one of your designs. When they say, ‘Oh, my, what a lovely dress you have on.’ You can say in full confidence in your savvy way, ‘Oh, it’s my own design.’”

  I let her excitement sink in. She brought a smile to my face. Good Morning, America? Regis and Kelly? Could that happen? Would that happen? There was so much potential. All I could think about was Orien, and how all of this was because of him. I owed him my gratitude.

  “Norah! I know! This will
be perfect. A doggie couture fashion show!” Her eyes lit up.

  My friend was brilliant. “You’re brilliant!”

  She shrugged. “I do what I can do.”

  Even with all the newfound excitement, I felt a tinge of longing, wishing I could share this moment with Orien.

  But I hadn’t heard a word from him yet. No returned calls or texts. What had happened to him?

  I guessed God was trying to give me the hint. The signs were clear. He had come into my life for a brief moment, given me a good business idea, and helped me through two emotional breakdowns. I just wish he would have stayed around a little longer.

  As usual, Chloe, living on the same wavelength, read my face. “Everything happens for a reason. If it’s meant to be, it will be. He will be.”

  Chapter Twenty

  A week later, I sat in Doctor Hood’s office.

  “So, how do you know when you’re in love, then?” I asked.

  “That’s easy.”

  “That’s easy? But I thought love was so complex.”

  “Love is complex.” He held up his finger. “But knowing you’re in love isn’t. Get it?”

  I thought about that statement for a few moments. Umm, nope. Didn’t get it.

  “No, I don’t get it.”

  “It’s the bridge between the two that catches people. People either maximize and confuse the complexity of it altogether, or they minimize love and make being in love the complex part. When in fact, to be scared of love is completely normal. There is no fear in perfect love.”

  My brain hurt!

  He could tell. So he moved on. “I have a request. I’d like for you to go on a date with my grandson.”

  “You’re ordering me to go on a date?” I laughed. “Isn’t that, like, illegal?”

  “Well, good thing I’m retiring tomorrow.”

  “You’re retiring tomorrow? This is my last session?”

  I sat there feeling sadness creep over me. I was going to miss Doctor Hood. He had begun to feel like family to me.

  “I wish I could throw you a party or something, but I know that’s completely inappropriate. Will I still have a therapist?”

  “Well, my practice is going to go to my grand-” He stopped.

  “Your grand what?”

  “My grand partner from California is taking over the practice since he completed his dis-“ And then he stopped again.

  “His dissertation?” I asked, since the word was fresh in my brain.

  “Oh, did I say dis? I meant disembodiment research paper on social interaction.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yes. He’s a social expert. So anyway, you seemed just so, well, sad, and I wanted to remind you of the other fish in the sea.”

  “You seriously want me to go on a date with your grandson?”

  What if this didn’t work out?

  “Look, I think the signs have clearly shown and pointed that God is trying to hint for me to be single.”

  “Well, could you maybe just accompany him for a nice dinner? His, uh, dog died while he was away, and his girlfriend cheated on him.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “So, when is this date?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “This is so unethical.”

  “Well, like I said, good thing I’m retiring tomorrow.”

  “How will I know it’s him?”

  “What’s your favorite flower?”

  “Sunflowers.”

  “He’ll be at a table with a sunflower.” He smiled and folded his hands, closing the deal, like a good businessman. After all, he was a trained therapist. He knew how to push the right buttons to make someone do what he wanted. I felt tears come to my eyes. I liked Doctor Hood, truly.

  “You’ve done great, Norah. You will forever and always be known as my last patient. Look how far you’ve come this summer. Record-breaking strides.”

  Ignoring his compliments, I sat with my arms crossed. He was like Robin Williams, completely adorable, likeable, but something was cooking. Something was up his sleeve. He seemed to have taken on Robin Williams’s real life persona, his mischievous side.

  I smirked. “Pretty confident I would go, huh?”

  “Well, I’ve gotten to know you, and I know you have a heart filled with compassion.”

  My emotions kept somersaulting. One, I wanted to throw him a party. Two, I was going to miss him. Three, I just didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m going to miss you, Doctor Hood.”

  “Well, you always have a friend in me, Norah. I don’t tell most clients that, but you will always have a friend in me. I better get an invite to your fashion show.”

  * * *

  Hours later, I stood in my bathroom completing a fabulous smoky-eye on my left eye while Chloe and Maycee stood in the doorway.

  “Whatcha’ got going on, there? You look hot,” Maycee said.

  “You smell divine, too! What perfume is that?” Chloe asked.

  “It’s actually named after you! It’s Chloe.”

  “Sounds about right. They know how to build a brand,” she said.

  “I’m going on a date with my therapist’s grandson tonight.”

  Maycee opened her mouth to speak but stopped. Then, she decided to ask, “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah, I know. Pathetic, huh? Pretty lame, but I got suckered into it. I just can’t stop thinking about Orien.” I placed the eyeliner down on the counter and shook my head. “I just don’t think this a good idea.”

  “It’s not a good idea? Well it sounds like a great idea to me.” Maycee tried to convince me with much passion.

  I immediately cocked my head, furrowed my brows, and gave her the “what’s gotten into you” look.

  But before I could let the flood of inquisitions rise, Chloe interjected, ”What she means is, it will help your mind.”

  They exchanged a glance.

  Okay.

  “Well, how about I drive you then? Drop you off?” Maycee offered, with the same heavy persistence.

  “How would I get home? What if he’s awful? What if he’s horrible? What if he’s a psychopath, and I end up in a ditch somewhere?” I waved my bandage-free arm. “Absolutely not! I don’t want him to know where I live!”

  “Let your date bring you home,” Maycee continued.

  “No. Why are you being so insistent? Are you insane? I’d never let you do that!”

  Chloe pinched Maycee’s arm.

  “Just let me drive you. I want to. I’ll even pick you up if I have to. I just want you to not drive, is all. I had a bad dream about you being in this accident, and I don’t know what I would do if I lost you,” Maycee continued.

  They exchanged another look.

  “Why do you two keep looking at each other like that?”

  “No reason,” Chloe quickly defended.

  “Well, we’ll be waiting in the living room. Let us know when you’re ready for us to take you,” Maycee said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A half an hour later, after I let them convince me to be dropped off, which I thought was a horrible idea, but they kept insisting.

  I walked into the restaurant wearing my prize-winning dress, the one I had worn the night I confronted Truett-my black, strapless, fabulous-looking dress that made eyes and heads turn everywhere. I looked better than I ever had. I had a nice tan, but I was also truly radiating peace from within. They say your face radiates what lies within your heart. And my heart was free from the dross; I was actually happy once again.

  As I approached the hostess at the desk, out of the corner of my eye, I saw, of all people, Orien! Immediately, I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled so he wouldn’t see me. My stomach flipped with nausea. He looked so good. I felt like I might cry because he was probably there with someone. Why hadn’t he returned my calls?

  “Miss, are you okay?” the hostess bent down to ask me.

  She really shouldn’t have
bent down in such a tight outfit. I could practically hear the stitching pop. I peered up to see if Orien could see me. It appeared that he couldn’t.

  What a close one. I had to get out of there. He couldn’t see me, not after all that had happened. He couldn’t see me with another guy. I had to leave, get out of there and call everything off with Dr. Hood’s grandson.

  “Miss?” the eager-to-have-everything-in-order-to-please-her-attractive-manager-she-was-secretly-in-love-with hostess continued. She had that look written all over her.

  “Oh, I just lost my mother’s diamond earrings. Worth a fortune. Been in the family, type of thing”

  “Oh, no. Everyone, she lost her diamond earring that’s worth a fortune and been in the family. Help her look!” she practically shouted, calling all who were nearby with eager hands, charismatically directing the way.

  Crap.

  At her sudden urging, everyone crouched down around me and began looking for my non-existent diamond earring.

  Yeah, you’re never going to find it. Because it doesn’t exist!

  I continued to fake look for my non-existent earrings, but then a nice pair of shiny shoes greeted me. I looked up and saw the very person I was trying to hide from, Orien.

  “Norah, what on earth are you doing down there?” he asked with his arms behind his back.

  Trying to hide from you.

  “Oh, hi. I…” I sat on my knees, hopeless.

  And then suddenly, he touched my nose with a yellow sunflower that had been behind his back. “Hi, I’m Orien Jones, Doctor Hood’s grandson.”

  It was him all along?

  “It’s you? You’re Doctor Hood’s grandson?”

  My mind went back to all the memories that should have hinted, maybe. The day my wrist was sprained, my dad had asked if I was in the hood or at the Hoods. The way Doctor Hood had stumbled over his words earlier about grand and dis. Grandson. Dissertation. The fact that Doctor Hood was at that concert and Orien’s dissertation defense. The evidence was all there for me to have put two and two together, but I guess his obvious skin color difference, his gorgeous tan skin, and Doctor Hood’s pasty white skin, had made it kind of hard for me to naturally do so. I didn’t care, and I was glad I didn’t know then.