Driven to Distraction & Winging It

by Tina Wainscott

  “I didn’t actually want to talk about it.” He leaned closer, his gaze on her mouth.

  He was going to kiss her again, and oh, she wanted him to, but it was such a bad idea because…well, precisely because she wanted that kiss. “Good, then let’s not talk about it,” she said briskly and headed out.

  She caught him glancing at the calendar as they walked out of the closet and wondered if she’d misinterpreted the whole thing. Maybe he hadn’t been about to kiss her at all. “Look, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the afternoon so you can get your work done. I’ll bring a pizza over for dinner at seven, and then we’ll head to the community room. We’ll only stay for a while, just to show up. Then you can go back to work.”

  “All right, but I’ll get the pizza.” He grabbed the last stack of chairs and carried them into the closet. She grabbed the folded tablecloth and followed him in. Again they ended up face to face in the dark closet, which smelled faintly of mothballs. He took the tablecloth from her and ended up grabbing her hands, too.

  And not even accidentally. He had the same serious expression on his face that he’d had when he might have, but probably didn’t, want to kiss her in the pool.

  “Stacy, have you ever done something just for yourself? Because you enjoyed doing it?”

  She shook her head even as her mind accused her of participating in the charade for less than unselfish reasons. “I mean, I enjoy working with the dogs. And organizing the canned-food party. And leading the workout class.”

  He increased the pressure on her hands. “What about pretending to be my girlfriend?”

  “That’s nice, too,” she said on a whisper. She cleared her throat. “But it’s only a charade. Don’t worry, I understand that.”

  “So the charade is only to help me out.”

  “Of course. Why else would I be doing it?” She sounded guilty and hoped he didn’t pick up on it. “And speaking of work, we’d better get you home. You’re running out of time.”

  He glanced at the calendar again, but his expression didn’t change from the tense one of before. “Yes, I am.”

  10

  THE LIE was haunting Stacy long after Barrett returned to work while she tried to motivate herself with some rigorous housecleaning. Maybe it was the effect of all the reminders of Granny around the house that was doing it to her. Granny who never lied, who never did self-serving things. The afghans, the quilts, all the small, loving touches that marked the life of an upstanding, honest woman.

  Stacy had done her best to follow in Granny’s footsteps. Didn’t she owe it to Granny to make her proud, even though she wasn’t around to see it? After all, Granny had given up her relaxing retirement years to raise a little girl who’d suddenly become orphaned. Stacy stopped in front of an old picture of her and Granny soon after she’d come to live with her. Granny’s husband had recently passed on, and she was faced with the reality of not knowing how to do anything on her own. They’d learned together, two orphans and a family of Sunset City residents who were always there when they needed them. Granny had sacrificed, she’d worked to support them, and she’d fought to raise her granddaughter in Sunset City.

  Granny had been a saint. From those early days when Stacy had picked weeds in Ernie’s garden, baked cookies for Valentine’s Day and spent her Christmas money on presents for others, she’d tried to be a saint, too.

  She was failing miserably. Not only was she lying to the people she considered family, but she was lying to herself and now to Barrett. She’d tried to think of one thing she did just for herself when he’d asked. One selfish thing besides having the baby. The only other thing that kept coming to mind was this charade. It had started as selfless, though, hadn’t it?

  She remembered the first time they’d met, his handsome face in the hedge. Already her feminine interest had been piqued. But surely her offer to act as his girlfriend had been completely—okay, mostly—unselfish, right?

  The doorbell kept her from completing that thought. It was probably better not to examine her motives too closely. Wanting Barrett and having him were two totally different things. He’d be off to save the rain forest, and then he’d be off to the next thing that piqued his interest, and then the next.

  She made sure there was no evidence of baby books or the profiles lying about before opening the door. Arlene and Betty smiled from the front stoop.

  “Hi, Stacy. Thought we’d come over and see how things were going,” Arlene said sweetly, walking right in.

  “He’s not here. He’s working.”

  Both ladies raised an eyebrow. Betty’s went so high, it nearly disappeared into her hairline.

  “He’s got an important project, remember?” Stacy said. “We can’t be together every minute, you know.”

  Stacy noticed that Arlene was carrying a large tote bag. “Pooh, real romance knows no project deadlines.”

  “Wow, it’s just like it was when Mae was around,” Betty said as she took in the living room.

  “Yeah, well, every time I think of redecorating, I can hear Granny’s voice saying, ‘Why throw out perfectly good stuff to spend money on the same thing?”’

  “Practical woman, she was.”

  Betty honed in on the quasi-knitted booties still attached to the skein by an umbilical cord of yarn. “Are these for the Hansons’ grandson?”

  “That’s the intent, though he’ll probably be a teenager by the time I get them right.”

  Another way she’d failed Granny. No domestic skills. She’d be turning over in her grave when Stacy had a baby on her own.

  “All ready for the dance tonight?” Arlene asked.

  They scanned her outfit. “Is that what you’re wearing?” Betty asked.

  Stacy glanced at her ankle-length dress with tiny flowers and shrugged. “I don’t own many dresses.” No reason to.

  Arlene narrowed her eyes. “That’s one of Mae’s dresses, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s mine.” Stacy tried not to sound too insulted.

  Betty said, “You sure don’t look like a girl set to sweep a man off his feet.”

  “She sure doesn’t,” Arlene added with the appropriate tsking sounds.

  “I don’t want to be obvious,” Stacy protested.

  Arlene said, “It’s a good thing we just happened by. See, we’re going down to the dance studio. Their little dress shop is having a big sale. You’ll just come along with us and pick something out for tonight.”

  Betty took one arm, Arlene took the other, and Stacy didn’t have a chance to protest as they dragged her to the car.

  Etta’s Dance Studio was a stand-alone building adorned with glittering musical notes and dancing feet. The wood floors gleamed under the bright lights. A lively polka flowed from the speakers even though there wasn’t a class going on. Etta clattered across the floor in spiked heels and greeted them.

  “We’re here for the sale,” Arlene said. “And to find something for Stacy.”

  Etta sized up Stacy with a narrowed eye. “Size two?”

  “Seven.”

  “Come this way, child. I think we’ve got just the thing for you. It’s even more on sale than the rest because it’s been sitting here forever.” In a conspiratorial voice, she added, “Not many size sevens waltzing these days.”

  “We want something sexy,” Betty said. “Maybe even see-through.”

  “See-through?” Stacy couldn’t help but think of her nipples showing through her tank top.

  “At the top and over the arms,” Betty clarified.

  Etta rustled through the collection of the gaudiest-colored dresses Stacy had ever seen and several minutes later pulled one from the rack. “Tah dah! It’s a bright one.”

  That it was, a splashy mixture of reds, purples and yellows. Large crinoline ruffles that matched the hues in the dress adorned the sleeves and the hem. “It’s, uh, kind of low-cut.”

  “Well, you shoulda seen what Nita was going to send over,” Arlene said. “She thought we ought to loan y
ou one of our outfits, but we thought you should own one for yourself.”

  Stacy held it up. “Yeah, but it’s really low-cut.”

  “We want you to look seductive.”

  “Enticing,” Betty added.

  “Yummy.”

  “I think you pushed it a bit too far, Arlene,” Betty said out of the corner of her mouth.

  Stacy wondered what Barrett would think about it.

  “It has built-in booby boosters,” Arlene said, pushing her own breasts together to demonstrate.

  Stacy glanced down at her chest. “Yeah, well, you gotta have something to boost.” But she could hardly protest when they shoved the dress in her hands and ordered her to put it on.

  “It reminds me of the dress I wore years ago in a ballroom dancing competition when I was married to Harry. Before he left me for the instructor,” Arlene said, walking into the large dressing room with Stacy.

  “Too bad it was a man,” Betty said, genuinely dismayed, as she followed them in and closed the door behind them.

  “Go on, put the dress on. And it was a woman who liked to dress like a man.”

  “I thought it was a man who liked to dress like a woman.”

  Arlene waved that away. “Whatever.”

  “Good news!” Etta called from the other side of the door. “I’ve got a matching shirt for the gentleman.”

  Stacy’s mouth quirked. “Oh, he’ll love that.” She was tempted to try to get him out of wearing it, but then figured, if she had to endure the costume, so did he. She was doing this for him, after all. Well, mostly.

  “What do you have to go with the dress shoe-wise?” Arlene asked as she helped Stacy strip out of her clothes.

  “Basic black pumps, low heels. They’ll go good with this dress.”

  “Just like your granny,” Betty said, shaking her head. “Practical.”

  Stacy said, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “A woman’s got to have some unpractical clothes, too. Seductive clothes. I’ll bet your underwear is practical, too.”

  “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the kind of girl who does seductive well.”

  “We noticed,” they said in unison.

  So that was why the men hightailed it out of her life.

  “That’s better.” Betty pointed to Stacy’s pink thong underwear. “Ooh, la la.”

  “No panty lines,” Stacy said, wondering why she felt the need to justify or make them seem practical. She slid into the dress and decided she did feel more exciting in it than in her other dress.

  “Very nice,” Arlene said, surveying her.

  “Can you zip up the back please?” Stacy turned her back toward Betty.

  “It is zipped.”

  She groped around the back and felt skin. Lots of it. The dress made whispery sounds as she walked out of the dressing room and over to the three-way mirror. The back plunged to just about her panty level. “What did Nita’s dress look like?”

  “Like that in the front.” Arlene popped the clasp on her bra. “Can’t wear that. But it’s got those boosters, so you won’t need it.”

  She barely needed it anyway, but she didn’t point that out. She maneuvered out of the bra and looked at the front of the dress. The front did some dipping, too, and amazingly enough, it did give her cleavage.

  “Betty, you want hair or makeup?”

  “I’ll take makeup.”

  “You can’t do anything with my hair,” Stacy said. “It’s wispy.”

  “We’ll just see about that.”

  The women were all business when they steered Stacy into the rest room. The front part of the room was a large dressing room. The walls were red-and-black-flocked velvet. A long counter stretched along the wall, and three ornate, red velvet chairs were tucked beneath it.

  Arlene pointed to one of the chairs. “Sit.” She pulled a curling iron out of her bag and plugged it in.

  Betty dug through her purse. “I have some makeup in here, since you don’t own any.”

  “I do, too!”

  Betty narrowed her eyes at Stacy’s face. “Who taught you how to fix your face, anyway?”

  “Well…no one.”

  “I guess Mae wasn’t much into making herself up, was she? A simple woman, your granny.”

  “Practical all the way,” Arlene agreed as she clamped the curling iron around a lock of Stacy’s hair. Stacy tried not to blink at the tickle of the eyeliner or when Betty swiped mascara on her lashes. Had she ever worn mascara? Had anyone ever put makeup on her like this? It made her feel all warm and gushy inside that they were doing this. But it did raise the question. “Why are you two doing this? I thought you wanted Barrett for Denise and Tanya.”

  Both women paused. “Well—” Betty met Arlene’s gaze “—if you’re interested in Barrett for yourself, we want to help give you the best chance for it.”

  “But only if you really are interested and not pretending.”

  “I’m not pretending.” Wow, she sounded convincing.

  “Well, then, you haven’t got a thing to worry about.”

  “There.” Arlene leaned back and surveyed their work.

  “Beautiful.”

  Beautiful? No way. She turned to the mirror. Her straight, wispy hair waved in soft curls. Spiky lashes accented brown eyes that looked enormous. “Wow.”

  “Is that all you can say, wow?”

  Stacy nodded. “I think so.” She turned to the side, getting a glimpse of the open back and all the ruffles. Some emotion bloomed in her chest as she saw the sexy woman looking back at her from the mirror. She was sure she’d never been anything close to sexy before. This was close. Real close.

  “Get ready to rumba!” Arlene said.

  BARRETT HAD CALLED Stacy to tell her he’d ordered the pizza, and she’d told him not to put a shirt on. That had him perplexed, but he didn’t dwell on it. He was too distracted by the kiss they’d shared that afternoon. He had kissed women before, of course, and there wasn’t anything particularly different about the kiss with Stacy. Not in the technical sense, anyway. But in every other sense, it was largely different. He’d lingered, for one thing, really enjoying the feel of her mouth against his. Totally immersed, yet not thinking or analyzing. It made no sense.

  No more sense than feeling all the things he’d written about in his paper on romance—the rush, the charge of adrenaline and all the physical signs of arousal. There was yet another element he couldn’t put his finger on, and it certainly hadn’t been in any of the literature he’d read. He’d felt…lost, as if he were spinning out of control, throwing caution to the wind, bordering on crazy. When he’d started to feel it, he wanted to analyze it. That was another strange thing—he couldn’t. It flew out of his mind before he could even try to get his thoughts around it. He would have snagged another kiss in the closet if she hadn’t been so closed to the possibility.

  Stacy arrived at Barrett’s two minutes after the pizza did. When he opened the door, they both stood there taking in each other. She looked like Stacy, only more vivid. She radiated like the phosphorescence of the seashore. Her mouth glistened red, but her eyes captivated him. They were full of fire. All manner of thought fled his mind, and all he could do was stare at her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked at last.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “Really? I mean…thanks.”

  “And you’re bright.” He stepped aside to let her in.

  “You’re half-naked,” she said.

  “You told me not to put a shirt on.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” She knelt down and patted Elmo’s head. “Hi, fella.”

  She made a rustling sound as she walked into the kitchen with a bag. She held up a bottle of wine. “For rhythm. Or courage, whatever’s needed first.” Then she pulled out a long-sleeved shirt with ruffles on the sleeves that matched her dress. “And this is for you, courtesy of Arlene.”

  “It’s…bright.”

  “Yes, it is.”
She handed it to him, then opened the cabinet and took down two wineglasses.

  He’d set the table. All the papers that he hadn’t worked on this afternoon sat in a pile on the counter, along with his laptop.

  He put on the shirt. It only buttoned halfway up his chest. “Some of the buttons are missing.”

  “It’s supposed to be like that.” She patted him on the chest. “Sexy.”

  He glanced at her hand. His chest hair curled over her fingers, and a hot feeling curled inside him.

  She quickly removed her hand. “We’d better get it on. I mean—” she cleared her throat “—get going.”

  Stacy seemed interested in the tree snails as they ate. In fact, she was so interested, she asked what their names were again. When he listed them off, she let out a little sigh similar to the sound Elmo made whenever he curled up on Barrett’s lap.

  Could it be that she liked tree snails? She did have a rather dreamy expression on her face, and he wondered what it would be like to have that dreamy expression aimed at him. Then he realized that he was watching her with a dreamy expression.

  After they ate and cleaned up, she said, “Don’t worry about getting the dances right. We’ll dance for a while, sit and watch the rest of them dance for a while, and then we’re out of there. Got it?”

  “Got it. Are we going to be kissing again?”

  She stopped mid-movement. “Probably not.”

  “Are you sure? Do you think there were any doubts left by our kiss this afternoon? They’re awfully skeptical. Maybe we’d better make sure.”

  “Oh, I doubt there were any doubts. We did a good job out there.”

  He caught himself grinning like a hormone-driven teenager until she said, “Such a good job, I don’t think we need to do it again.”

  He ran his finger across his mouth. “Too bad. I was looking forward to it.”

  “I, uh…you were?” She was staring at his mouth. She blinked and cleared her throat.

  “Weren’t you?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Yes, but it’s more complicated than that. That kiss today was a little too good, you see. We’re supposed to be convincing them we’re involved, not each other. It might be easy—for me, at least—to forget that. And then you’re leaving to disperse your seed in the rain forest for two years—”