Although, nothing could trump the topic of Lena’s wedding. She’d gone haywire since Lena took the cap off of the guest list. Mom began inviting everyone the family knew since birth.
“Everything is business as usual with me, but how are things going with you? Lena told me you’ve been getting out again and I think it’s great.”
“Oh, she did? What did she say?”
“She said you went out to the club with her and you had a date last night.” Three. Two. One. “I was worried all night about you making it home safely, but I swore to Lena I wouldn’t call and ruin your date. So how did it go? Promising, I hope.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t have the police on standby,” I joked knowing how much she worries. It must’ve taken all her restraint and something just short of a natural disaster for her not to call to make sure I made it home. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I was tempted,” she tried to laugh off the half-truth.
Knowing she would get the story out of me one way or another, I bit the bait. “Lena probably already told you it was with this guy I met online. But before you freak out, we decided to go to Della Vite, a nice public restaurant.” Through the receiver, I heard her exhale a relieved sigh.
“So, I wore that cute little black wrap-dress. You know the one that I got from Nordstrom that time. Not too revealing. A hint of cleavage, but a nice silhouette in case there was any potential. I was feeling and looking good. When I got there, it started off okay with light conversation and good food. There was something there, but at the time, I just couldn’t put my finger on it. We were hitting it off.” I embellished for her sake. I couldn’t possibly tell her about my whole blubbering episode. “We even kissed.” And as quickly as her hopes rose, I shattered them. “But it all went downhill from there.”
“The kiss was no good? I hope you’re not being your old picky self again, Laila. Otherwise, no guy is going to live up to your outrageous, unattainable standards. You know, the chemistry in a kiss is more telling than with sex.”
“Mom! TMI, really. I prefer not to think of you in that way.”
“What way? Of course I have sex, I had you, silly. I’m human. There’s nothing wrong with sex.”
“It wasn’t the kiss at all. Actually, that was the highlight of the evening. Would you believe that he looked just like… Ethan?”
She didn’t answer, but I knew her answer. I love my mother for what she doesn’t say, almost as much for just being herself. Her worrying is rooted in love and her silence lies in the adage by which she lives, If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all. For his cowardice, she despised him as much as I did. Though, she never cared for him, but settled on respecting my choice.
An echoing beep sounded in my ear. “Hold on Mom.” Call waiting.
“This is Laila.”
“Hello. Myles Donovan, please,” a woman breathed through the phone. The words were simple enough, but sounded a little too sultry to be calling from a bill collector. I’d only seen him the once, but it pissed me off nonetheless. I didn’t care how hot he was, he’d really taken it to a new level of rudeness. Now he was giving my number our to women, too?
Any manners I had went right out the window with Myles’ audacity. I didn’t even have the decency to tell her she had the wrong number. Under the boiling of my heated blood, I just hung up and tried without success to regain my composure.
“Mom, I’m back,” I huffed through the phone and continued filling her in on the date. “Anyway, he was a real nice guy, but I couldn’t get over him looking like Ethan. It was so embarrassing. In the middle of the kiss, I realized he could’ve been his twin. The thought of recycling the last ten years, literally repulsed me and my gag reflex kicked in. I nearly hurled on him. All I could do was thank him for the date, apologize, and run out. I felt so bad. The poor man was perfectly nice, but he got punished for being a body double. This morning, I left him a message online and explained why I left, apologized for the millionth time and shamefully discontinued my online membership.”
“Didn’t you know what he looked like beforehand? Why’d you agree to go on the date in the first place?”
“That’s the thing. He didn’t have a picture posted, but the website said we were compatible. At like ninety-nine percent, too. I’m so bummed. I’m thinking, this is a sign that I need to just be patient and wait for it to happen the old-fashioned way.”
“I’ve been telling you that all along, Laila. That’s the way we did it. In my day, they didn’t have these computerized meet markets and such. Men courted women. I refuse to believe that chivalry is dead. It’ll happen when you stop thinking about it.”
Physically exhausted from rehashing the story for a second time, since Lena pried it out of me hours beforehand, I had to change the subject or hang up on her. I chose the former. “Let’s talk about something else. So, you ready for the heat? You guys still having that neighborhood block party next week?”
And just like that, the tinge of worry in her voice faded. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for the summer heat here. I’ll take what’s left of May and savor it for its scattered showers and breezes because June is set to have record highs this year. It’s going to be unbearable. You remember Doris, my friend from Chicago? Well, she is having the hardest time with the weather now. I haven’t a clue how she’s going to make it through the rest of the summer. Did I tell you about her? Lord, that woman can gossip. She said, she caught her friend Lucy from the homeowner’s association flirting with the postman. It’s no wonder none of her children look alike. That Lucy is a rolling stone in every sense of the word. She got her breast done with silicone implants and one of them hardened up on her. She ended up having all this pain and having one breast for a week.” This is the mother I know and love and steer clear of when she’s on her gossiping rant.
I imagined her comfortable as ever in her favorite leopard chair, feet propped up on her tufted red velvet ottoman, settled and ready for hours of yapping. A full cup of coffee and Bailey’s, or given the hour, a glass of red wine.
Mom was still going, “I was rolling on the floor when I heard that. You know, Lucy’s in charge of the block party this year, so there’s no telling who’s going to be there or how it’s going to turn out. She can’t cook worth a dime, so it’s likely to be potluck or catered. I just hope she doesn’t come with all that skinny food. I can just imagine a buffet of celery sticks and sushi, and a whole bunch of fat free stuff. I have a second mind to march right up to that woman and tell her that I need some real food with real fat and preferably something that I can really sink my teeth into. Heck, I’ll bring something to fill me up. Maybe that photographer will barbecue. He really is sweet. And, good looking.”
There had to be a catch. Sure she was concerned with the wedding, but she’d never pass up the chance to marry off both her daughters and increase her chances of getting grandchildren. “Mom, how did you find out he was a photographer? What did you do, attack him at the post office?”
“I know what you’re thinking, Laila, and you’re right. Initially, I was thinking that I should fix you two up. He is a handsome devil. Kind of favors the doctor on that hospital show. Tall. Full head of wavy ebony hair, the way you like. Piercing steel gray eyes. A lot like your eyes, baby. Broad shoulders. Strong build. Definitely a man’s man, but gentlemanly, too. But, I did see this cute little blond girl waiting for him. If Barbie were human, I’m sure she’s her. Perfect, I’m telling you. Nothing but skin and bones, but a sweet little thing nonetheless. Reminds me of a modern Grace Kelly with Pamela Anderson’s body. Or, one of those Hefner bunnies. I could tell they were together, but I don’t know who she is to him because I didn’t see them kiss or hold hands or anything affectionate. But, you never know with you young folks.”
“You still didn’t say how you found out he’s a photographer.”
“Well, the other day, I was standing there in the line waiting to send a birthday present to Aunt Lib
by and he was on the phone with someone in front of me. He was talking loud enough for me to hear, so I overheard him telling someone that he was booked up for next weekend shooting three different weddings. Well, you know me. As soon as he got off the phone, I told him that I couldn’t help but overhear that he was a wedding photographer and that we might need his services for Lena’s wedding. He gladly gave me his business card and offered to show us his portfolio.”
“So, that’s it. Just wedding photography and nothing else, right, Mom?” I asked skeptically.
“Right.” A tinge of hesitation lingered in her voice.
“Mom, what are you not telling me?”
“Nothing…I just told him that my other single beautiful daughter was the maid of honor and in charge of the planning, so he would have to meet with you to talk about the details, that’s all. So, he’s coming to meet you.”
“Mom, tell me you didn’t take that wallet-sized headshot of me out of your purse again?” She is impossible. Talk about utter embarrassment. I don’t know how she did it, but she managed to take my headshot from years ago and shrink it to a wallet-sized version to keep handy in her purse, on the off chance she might meet my Prince Charming and not be able to bribe him into meeting me.
“Well, it couldn’t hurt. Really, Laila. Plus, I gave him your card and maybe he can refer you some business. Word of mouth is the best form of marketing.”
“Ugh, Mom. You are so embarrassing. I’m absolutely mortified. Now this guy, who probably thinks I’m a desperate old hag that needs to be fixed up by her mother, is not going to think I’m a professional. He’s going to think I need professional help.”
“Oh, Laila, what’s the worst that could happen? He’s married and maybe he refers some clients who need candy for their weddings. That’s not so bad.”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter now, Mom.”
“But, I can’t wait to find out if Barbie is his wife. You guys have so much in common, with him working the wedding circuit, too. He did say it wasn’t just wedding photography, but special occasions. He might do headshots. If you can’t get a husband out of it, at least you’ll have referrals and possibly some great pictures to show. You’re such a pretty girl, Laila. I really do wish you’d start modeling again. You used to be so cute in those catalogs and magazines. Why did you ever stop?”
“Uh, school. It was interfering with academics, Dad said.”
“Ooh, that really burns me up. Your father has always been by the book. Never thinks about how your future was affected. You could be a celebrity by now. There are so many good-for-nothings out there making it big off of nothing but their looks. There could be a Laila perfume or clothing line by now. I could be retired, playing keno and bingo whenever I want.” She sighed with evident frustration at my poor dad, who only wanted me to graduate with honors. She was the social butterfly and he was the bookworm. To him an education always made for better options and better backup plans. “Looks fade.” He’d say, but I didn’t know how he’d explain Mom’s unwavering, staggering, exquisite beauty. She still favors a young Priscilla Presly, post-marriage, pre-fat Elvis and botched plastic surgery.
A doorbell sounded in the background.
“Oh, shoot. That must be the cable man. They tell you outrageous hours, like ‘I’ll be there some time between twelve to five.’ Wastes my whole day away. Did I tell you I’m getting a DVR? I just can’t keep missing my shows because recording on that dang VCR is getting to be too much for me. Anyway, Laila, I’ll see you when you get here. Gotta go!” Echoing silence. Then, dial tone.
Saved by the doorbell. Normally, it takes at least ten to fifteen minutes to get off the phone with her. We either say bye a gazillion times or she ends up saying “one last thing” that takes about an hour to tell. At least I was able to finish my grocery shopping. Although I did get evil eyes from people upset that I bagged my groceries in the self-checkout while trying to hold the cell phone at the same time. I couldn’t blame them though because I’m usually the one glaring from that type of inconsideration.
As I pulled up to my shop, I was pleased to find that the sign had been installed. In large pink letters, “The Sweet Tooth,” glowed happily at me. My labor of love. As a child, I drew and built Play-Doh versions of my own candy shop. Instead of lemonade stands, I cracked open my piggybank and used all my coins to buy candy at the corner store to be able to have a candy stand. My parents thought it was so cute and encouraged my budding entrepreneurial spirit. But, when my interest never wavered through middle school and high school, they made a deal with me to fund my start-up costs for my first business once I graduated from college. They kept their promise and took me to file my formation documents that summer after graduation. I was ecstatic and couldn’t wait to make it all a reality.
The whole summer, I spent my time selecting the candy I wanted to sell, building a business plan, designing the interior and my logo, and figuring out my prices. A couple months from the proposed opening date, my dad gave me a heavy dose of business advice. “A great idea is nothing, if no one knows about it or where to find it,” he’d said.
Those words put things in perspective for me. From that day on, I continued putting the finishing touches on my products and the look of the store, but my attention had been dramatically swayed to getting the word out. So, I prepared flyers and sent postcards. Then, one morning as I was waiting for my coffee at the corner shop—located in the same plaza as my shop—the owner told me she was a member of the local chamber of commerce and recommended it to me.
I took her advice and attended the next meeting, when they were accepting new memberships. That was when I met Ethan, who was also looking to join to network for his financial planning firm. We were both young with startups, so we sort of gravitated toward each other. Listening to him talk about his business with such passion and ambition only added to my motivation. It didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes, either. I would’ve rather watched paint dry, than be at the meeting. It was speech after boring speech, but Ethan and I sat there chortling and making fun of the speakers with their penguin suits and super-serious monotone voices. We couldn’t wait to get out of there. Afterward, we exchanged phone numbers and often found excuses to meet up. Anyone I could find that needed financial advice, I’d call him. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, he’d call with ideas about candy he thought I should sell or marketing ideas. Not too long after, we submitted to our attraction and fabricated a relationship out of our business partnership.
At first, business was at its best. Despite the floundering economy, I’d stayed afloat. But it eventually caught up with me, indirectly. The plaza where my business was located raised the rent to a price I couldn’t afford and I assumed my customers wouldn’t follow me to a new location, so I closed my doors.
Leave it to Facebook to help drag me out of my rut. About a year ago, my customers found me on my dormant profile. The messages came pouring in, asking what happened to The Sweet Tooth. Kids sent stories about their experiences. Candy lovers, who missed the novelty candy, wrote to me. They missed the business and wanted it back. Then, it occurred to me, I hadn’t just given up. I’d given up on them, me, my parents’ faith, my childhood dream, and the possibility of passing the business to my future children.
A few months later, I decided to relocate and start over. Just seeing the sign up again, I felt hope return. A welcomed second chance.
I spent a few hours taking inventory, setting up a few display cases, merchandizing, and cleaning up before calling it a day. Halfway to Mom’s, I remembered that I’d left Lena’s planning bible at home. Everything she wanted in a photographer was meticulously outlined in the book. She left no stone unturned, from must-have shots to backgrounds and angles. I could’ve just taken notes, but then nature called, so I quickly made the U-turn toward the house.
Mom asked me to be there by five, and it was only a quarter to. I had a few minutes to use the bathroom, grab the book, and a couple snacks for the road. Anyt
hing more than that and she’d surely hold it against me. I knew she was likely whipping up some elaborate meal to impress the photographer. On the off chance that she wasn’t, I threw a granola bar and a noodle cup into my purse just in case her cupboards were bare. As I got my keys out to lock up, the phone rang and I dropped everything, trying to answer it.
“Damn it!” The soup cup fell from my purse and the paper lid ripped, leaving dried peas and noodles all over the place. Faintly, I heard a voice saying, hello. The phone must’ve landed on the talk button.
“Hello?” I answered, bending down to pick up the phone and my scattered noodles.
“Hello? City and state please,” the familiar voice said.
Pulling the phone away from my face, I looked at the screen. I’d called information when I was at the shop to get the phone number for the florist Lena wanted to use. The phone must’ve redialed information. “Is this information?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I dropped my phone and it must’ve redialed you by accident. It was the last number I called earlier.”
Silence. I looked back at the screen, but the call time kept ticking. There I was apologizing, and the rude operator said nothing. Just as I started to disconnect, I heard the voice again.
“Is that you, Laila?” the man said.
I tentatively replied. “Yes.”
“Laila, it’s Ethan.”
And then, I dropped the phone again.
TEN
He was still there. I knew it, but I couldn’t decide whether or not to pick the phone back up. Why was he calling me? The only explanation I could think of was the man radar. They always seem to know when a woman’s happy, or at least on the verge of being happy, in my case. I knew I was being given a second chance in life, but I thought that was exclusive to the business. Could he want me back, too? Did I want him back?
It's Got A Ring To It Page 7
