by Anita Higman
“What do you mean?” Everett asked.
“I don’t have as much work as I used to, so I need to make some choices.”
“Career choices?” He wanted to study her expression but felt he’d better keep his eyes on the road.
“Yes. I’ve been painting with oils for a long time now. That’s my true passion. I nearly have enough pieces for a show. But I just need more time before I let someone see them. I mean someone from a gallery, that is. Change is always a little scary.” Lark smiled but without her usual enthusiasm.
“That doesn’t really sound like you.” Did he know her well enough to say those kinds of things? “The oil paintings I saw in your office and living room are extraordinary.” Just as you are, he wanted to add, but thought it might sound too cheesy. “I’m not an artist, but I think you should share your gift with the world.”
Lark looked at him as if he’d said something shocking. “I can’t believe what you just said. It’s the same thing my best friend told me.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I guess I should listen. It’s true, I would be free to follow my own vision rather than follow someone’s text. Although illustrating has been good work.” She fingered her pearl bracelet.
Everett wondered if the pearls were a gift from her biker friend.
“I’d love to know all about your mom and dad,” Lark said.
Everett could tell she wasn’t just making obligatory date conversation, but he would have given up his whole CD collection if Lark hadn’t asked that one question. He generally didn’t go out with a woman more than once or twice, so it rarely came up.
“You don’t have to talk about it.” Lark licked her lips. “I understand.”
Everett doubted Lark could identify with his situation, but he felt it was good of her to let it go. He mulled over Lark’s question again while he listened quietly to the music. He had to admit, her question had been a sincere one, and he suddenly felt compelled to give her an answer. “My parents and sister died some years ago. Car accident. Icy roads.” He switched the music off.
Silence filled the car. Everett knew why people shouldn’t talk about such topics. What could be accomplished by dredging up misery? The pain needed to stay buried.
Lark reached out and touched his arm. “That’s how I lost my parents, too.”
“Really? What? I mean, did I hear you right?” Everett asked. Oh brother. He’d lost all his smooth conversation skills.
“My dad sold insurance here. He never made a fortune, but people loved him. And my mom and I were best friends. We always laughed a lot and sang songs together. Until a drunk driver snatched them away from me. The two great loves of my life gone instantly.”
Everett swallowed hard. He’d had no idea. “I’m very sorry, Lark.” Maybe she really did understand. At least about the loss.
“I miss them.” Lark stared out the window.
Perhaps she expected his sad story in return. But if timing were everything, this wasn’t it. In fact, he couldn’t be certain the time would ever be right.
She smiled. “But I know where my parents are. So I try to do as they would do: grieve a little and live at lot.” Lark laughed. “Believe me, that is so my mother.” She shook her head and smiled as if she were remembering them again.
Everett tried not to grimace. How could she be so glib about it? Or had she simply made peace with the circumstances? He breathed a sigh of relief when the hotel came into view.
“I’ve been to The Majestic a few times over the years,” Lark said. “The hotel was built in 1887, but I think it’s still so lovely. Just like the whole area. Did you know we’re called Little Switzerland of America, and that we’re—” She chuckled. “Sorry, I get carried away.”
Everett pulled under the porte cochere. “No, I just think you love living here.”
“I grew up in the Ozark Valley. It’s truly my home.” Lark touched the window as she gazed beyond the hotel.
He wondered how it felt to have such passion for a place.
A parking attendant suddenly appeared out of nowhere and rushed over to open Lark’s door. When Everett got to her side, he offered his arm, feeling good he hadn’t become a total thug over the years.
Lark circled her arm through his. “Thank you.”
They strolled to the entrance as two doormen opened the massive, beveled-glass doors. Elegance seemed to usher them in as they stepped into the foyer. Expensive tapestries lined the walls, and silk rugs adorned marble floors. Everett felt himself nodding his approval.
Lark gazed upward. “I love chandeliers.”
Everett thought maybe she was trying to drum up some small talk.
Lark’s finger tapped her cheek. “Especially ones like this chandelier.” She pointed upward. “It’s an original Moiré, made of a rare, hand-cut and polished quartz, reminiscent of the rock crystal chandeliers of the sixteenth century.”
Okay. Guess that wasn’t small talk.
“Yes, very nice.” Lark winked at him.
Or is she pulling my leg? He knew he was grinning like a schoolboy, but he couldn’t stop himself. After checking their coats in, he steered Lark toward the banquet room where the party was being held. Everett glanced around, casing the situation. He could smell the usual party smells—people perfumed to the hilt as well as trays of steaming food at the buffet tables. Live jazz and bursts of laughter spilled around the room.
Company parties are always such circuses, Everett thought. One minute people were being pigheaded at departmental meetings and then suddenly jovial at company get-togethers. Guess he’d become a cynic at the ripe old age of thirty-five.
Okay, the big question: Who would run into them first? Oh boy, here comes Marge, the magpie. At least that was the nickname the other women at work used behind her back. But unfortunately Marge had earned it. She never stopped moving her mouth. Marge bounced up to them in her psychedelic dress. Somehow he felt sorry for her, but he hadn’t a clue how to help her.
After the intros, Marge began her spiel. “I love your evening gown, Larkspur. Where did you buy it? Don’t you just love it? It looks so perfect on you. Just like those fairy princess gowns we put on our dolls when we were little. You know, the ones with the billowy chiffon and all the little sparkles. Did you play with dolls, too, Lark?”
Everett felt a little bug-eyed, but Lark listened graciously to the voluminous questions. Eventually, his brain started absorbing the chatter as white noise. The ordeal took exactly eleven minutes.
When Marge was spent, Lark touched the woman’s arm and said, “It’s so nice to have someone ask me questions. Usually at parties people just talk about themselves.”
Marge’s chin did a shake. Was she about to rupture into tears of joy? He couldn’t tell. “No one has ever said that to me before,” she said with her hands gathered up to her heart. “Thank you. . .Lark.”
They moved on through the crowd, leaving behind Lark’s new friend for life—a woman named Marge. He just shook his head in amazement. Oh no. A man named Jamison Peabody moved toward them at an alarming rate. He was the guy at work who caused the fastest clearance of any break room. People ran from him like swimmers fled from jellyfish at the beach. It wasn’t just the odors fermenting on Jamison’s body, but the fact that he could literally corner people in thirty seconds flat. Give or take a few nanoseconds.
This is just great. Jamison lumbered over and stood right in front of them. In fact, so close, he’d burst their spatial bubble. Apparently, Jamison didn’t realize his abdomen extended so far out they were close enough to do a three-way hug. Once they’d entered the point of no return, Everett made the appropriate introductions.
Jamison slimed Lark’s hand with a kiss as he made a slight rap of his heels together and bow of his head.
Lark made no gestures of disgust but instead rose to the occasion and curtsied and smiled.
Jamison looked like he was going to pass out from elation. He added a few chortles, which made him nearly explode out of his cummerbund.
“What do you do at Ozark Consulting?” Lark asked.
Jamison began the tale of his brilliant skills, how he was the mastermind behind the company, the brain of the operation and true pulse of the company. In other words, he was a computer programmer. But Everett could tell from Lark’s questions, she wasn’t just nodding politely at Jamison, she was actually listening.
Everett squelched a yawn but caught a point or two of the dialogue. Jamison actually had some good ideas, but his social skills were so misplaced he’d never been able to relate his ideas to anyone of importance. Maybe he could mention Jamison at a meeting or two.
Everett moaned audibly when he saw the infamous Zeta bulldoze toward them through the crowd like a snowplow.
“There you both are,” Zeta said. “With Jamison?”
“Hi. Good to see you,” Lark said. “You know, Jamison was just telling us of his ideas to improve bandwidth on your corporate network. You must be very proud to have such talented people working here.”
Zeta made all sorts of movements with her mouth. First a look of shock, followed by a glimmer of revulsion. After a brief sputter of confusion, she settled on what all big shots liked to land on. Awareness. “Of course, Jamison is very good. I always keep alert of new talent.” Jamison then shook hands with Zeta, said something miraculously quick-witted, and walked away a new man.
Life was full of surprises. At least it was while standing near Lark. Maybe Everett really needed to just buy a ticket and watch from the stands. But for now, his mouth felt like paper. The rough parchment kind. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Root beer, please.” Lark smiled. “Lots of ice.”
“Oh, icy root beer sounds so yummy,” Zeta said. “But I’m afraid I’m dieting. Definition: eating flavored air.”
Zeta released one of her laughs, and Everett willed himself not to cringe. In fact, he decided to take the high road and smile at her.
“Nothing for me.” Zeta shot Everett a cagey look.
“Okay.” He noticed when Zeta opened her mouth, her bright red lipstick stuck to her canine teeth. He decided not to take that one any further in his mind.
Everett tromped away, deliberately straightening his shoulders. Great. I get the evil eye for the kind act of offering a cool beverage. That’s Zeta. The woman who had made his professional life miserable. Definition: to be made exceedingly uncomfortable. Kind of like trying to hug a porcupine.
Somebody he knew said, “Hey. How’s it going?” Everett was about to tell him, but the guy just kept on trucking toward the food tables. Oh, well. What did he expect when he hadn’t spent any real time chewing the fat with these people before?
When Everett had finally made it through the drink line, he stood there for a moment observing Lark from a distance. A few days before he wouldn’t have thought to leave a fellow human being alone with Zeta, but somehow he knew all would be well. Lark could handle herself better than he could. She seemed like some elfin creature from those animated movies he watched as a kid. Lovely. Mischievous. Magical. Maybe he was good at romantic feelings when he had something to work with.
Uh-oh. Why did Zeta look so ecstatic, and why was Lark hugging her again? Zeta appeared to be crying. What in the world was happening over there? Should he barge in, or let the scene play itself out?
Everett took a sip of his cold sparkling water. He wished he could pour it over his head instead. He hadn’t realized until now how exhausted he felt from worrying about losing his biggest client as well as his big salary. “The more one gains, the more one has to lose,” his father used to say. And he certainly had a lot to lose.
But no matter the status of his coffers, he’d had about enough of Zeta. Surely he could express his views without getting fired. Some way to keep her from reducing him to a sniveling fool. He strode toward them as his hot hands gripped the cold glasses. Warning bells went off in his head. The pile of bills at home needing to be paid came into his mind’s eye. You’re a Christian. Don’t say anything rash. Nothing you’ll regret.
The second Everett arrived in their midst, Zeta threw her arms around him. His arms rose in the air to keep the drinks from spilling. The expression on his face must have looked peculiar. He would give a sizable chunk of his income to know exactly what Lark had done.
“I guess I’d better explain,” Zeta said as she disengaged. “I’ve wanted to quit my job for ages. I already had my resignation written, but I just wasn’t quite ready to mail it. All month I’ve had confirmation after confirmation. And now Lark has just given me yet another one. It’s finally time to leave this miserable job and live my dream. So I quit.” Zeta revved up her machine-gunfire laugh again, and Everett thought it was the most inspiring and lyrical sound he’d ever heard.
Twelve
Amidst the shock of it all, Everett lost the motor control in his fingers. The drinks fell out of his hands and crashed to the floor, sending wetness and shards of glass across the carpet.
Suddenly, men in crisp, white outfits came to his aid. They seemed to emerge right out of the mirrored walls and within seconds had whisked away all debris with a broom, dustpan, and mop.
Zeta took in a deep breath. “Well, I guess my announcement comes as a bit of a surprise to some people.” She laughed, only this time she sounded more ladylike. “My vision has always been to open a day spa, but I always got sidetracked with making money instead of doing what I was born to do. I’ve saved a fortune, and now it’s time to take a chance. To live!” Her voice had escalated to the point of drawing a small crowd.
Everett shook Zeta’s hand and wished her the best. He’d no idea she hated her job, but it must have explained her unpleasant attitude.
“And so now I must take my leave.” Zeta’s hands went up in a flourish as she made a theatrical exit out the doors like an aging actress on her last curtain call.
Everett felt grateful he had nothing else in his hands to drop. He stood in stunned silence along with Lark and a few of his coworkers. They mumbled words of surprise and relief. He tapped his face.
Lark took told of Everett’s hands. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
He looked at Lark but wondered if he was really focusing. Who was this woman? The night suddenly had a Twilight Zone kind of feel to it. Really good, but really weird. What a strange marvel had appeared in his life.
“I had no idea Zeta would do what she did,” Lark said. “One minute I was telling her what a good time I had at one of our spas, and the next moment, she was crying. I hope you’re not upset with me.”
Everett opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. He felt overcome with gratitude. He hadn’t lost his biggest client, only Zeta.
“Maybe we need some fresh air,” Lark said.
Sounded good. Everett hurried back for their coats and then escorted her right through the French doors and out into the garden. It was time to give Lark a big kiss or a large amount of cash. Whichever she’d prefer. He kept them walking until they were alone. The full moon dazzled the night sky, the fountain burbled and splashed, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so good. “Who are you?” Everett laughed.
“I am Larkspur Camellia Wendell.” She seemed to enjoy his odd question. “My mother loved flowers.”
“I guess so.” He stepped closer to her. “It’s a beautiful name.” He needed to come up with a new word besides beautiful. Mental note: Buy thesaurus.
“Thank you. I like your name, too. And your parents and grandparents must have liked it, too, since you are the third. Did everyone end up calling you Junior?”
“No. They tried. But I put a stop to it. Too infantile.”
“I agree,” Lark said. “So are you wanting to name your son Everett Holden IV?”
“No. It wouldn’t even be a good name for a dog, let alone a kid.” He’d never understood the need for male family members to have the same name. It reminded him of dogs marking their territory. It was a ludicrous custom.
“So. .
.do you like. . .kids?” Lark fingered her earring.
Everett thought for a moment. A long moment. Slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. I like kids. Always thought maybe I’d want a couple someday.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” Lark said. “I’m curious about something else. Did you have a dog growing up?”
“Boy, and I thought I had all the questions.” Everett smiled. “Yeah. I had a dog when I was a kid. But I’ve never had one as an adult.” He put his hands in his coat pockets. “They require a lot of attention.”
“And that’s why Igor is living with me instead of you?”
Everett nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of time for a pet.”
“Well then, what makes you think you’d have time for a child?” Lark teased.
Oh, didn’t she have all the piercing questions? Everett took in a breath of air. “It’s a matter of priorities, I guess. Pets aren’t a priority for me. Children would be.” He suddenly wondered how committed he was to those words. She seemed bent on having him think through his whole life-agenda in one evening.
Lark gave him a smile. “Since you’re busy, I’m so glad you had time to talk to me.”
“Well, I guess I hoped there’d be a bit more than just talk.” Did those words actually come out of my mouth?
Lark’s mouth came open in surprise. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Holden?”
Everett wondered if his timing was off. “Maybe a little.”
“Maybe you’d better tell me about your objectives so I can decide if I approve.” Lark pretended to straighten his bowtie.
He decided to throw caution to the wind and just say it out loud. “Well, I’d like to kiss the palm of your hand.” Did that come off nerdy or appealing?
“That’s honest.” Lark fluttered her eyelashes. “Permission granted.”
Everett reached for her hands and held them for a moment. Warm and soft. The way he imagined them. He brought one of her hands to his lips, slowly turned it over, and did just as he’d promised. When he looked back at Lark’s face, she had a contented expression. “I guess I didn’t answer your question from before. I’m not upset with you about Zeta. I won’t lose Ozark Consulting as a client just because she’s leaving.”
