Chapter 37
Cherry was going as Russ’s date to the mayor’s holiday party the next week, and she knew just what to wear.
She had a flowy green dress with a high ruffled neck and puffed sleeves. Silk chiffon. Deep forest green. It looked like something
hanging around her face. And she was going to wear metallic gold pumps with four-inch heels, even if it made her back hurt
for weeks.
She wore extra sparkly makeup that night. Gold eyeliner. A very pink shade of cream blush.
She put Stevie in her kennel before she even started to get ready—Stacia had agreed to come by later and take her out—and
stashed a mini lint roller in her evening bag. (Beaded. Black. With a wine-red-rose pattern.)
Cherry met Russ out on her porch, so that he wouldn’t get dog hair on his suit. He ran up the steps to get to her, then held
out his arms. “You . . . look . . . marvelous.”
He took her hand and spun her slowly around. Cherry laughed breathily.
“Look at this dress . . .” Russ kissed her cheek. “I was a little worried you were going to wear something goofy.”
“When do I look goofy?”
He grinned. “You, darling? Never.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“You did tell me that you loved Bjork’s swan dress . . .”
“If I had that dress, I’d wear it every day.”
“Guess I have to spend the rest of my life seeking to destroy it.” He kissed her again. “Where’s your coat?”
“I don’t have the right coat for this. I’ll be okay.”
Cherry didn’t get to see Russ’s outfit until they got to the party and he took off his own coat. She wasn’t really surprised
that he owned a black velvet dinner jacket. If they stayed together, Russ was never going to relinquish his side of the closet.
“You look very distinguished,” Cherry said, petting his collar.
Russ straightened his jacket. “Why would you bring up my hairline at a time like this?”
She laughed and brushed his hair off his forehead. “You’re not losing your hair. And even if you were, you’d still be the
best-looking guy here.”
“You haven’t even met anyone here.”
Cherry shook her head. She was wearing rhinestone chandelier earrings, and they danced against her neck. “I don’t have to.”
Russ slid his arm around her waist and leaned in close. “Let’s skip to the part of the night where we go back to my house.”
“Don’t you want people to see you in your fancy suit?”
“Right now I just want to see you take off your fancy dress.”
“I can’t believe you say things like that with a straight face.”
He kissed the skin behind her ear. “I work in politics, Cherry.”
The party was in a big house in an expensive neighborhood. Typical C-suite party. The mayor was the heir to a mail-order-steak
fortune. Russ kept his arm around Cherry as they walked into the living room. “You haven’t briefed me,” Cherry whispered.
“How should I be with your boss?”
“Be yourself,” he said. “You’ll like Mark. His wife, Molly, pours it on a little thick. Just smile and be noncommittal.” He
glanced over at her. “You’ll be fine. You’re great at this.”
Cherry caught his glance and held it. Russ’s color was high. Pink from the cold. It made his eyes look so blue. Cherry loved his sharp, smooth cheeks and the hint of a cleft in his chin. She could get used to this face . . .
Maybe.
Maybe she’d never get used to how good Russ Sutton looked.
“You were right,” she said, feeling warm, feeling stirred down the center. “Let’s skip to the good part.”
“Too late now, sweetheart—they’ve already seen us.”
A handsome older couple was heading toward them.
“Molly!” Russ said. “Mr. Mayor!”
The mayor was in his fifties and prematurely silver. “Russell,” he said warmly, “is this the girl you’ve been keeping from
us?”
“This is Cherry. Cherry—Mark and Molly Brooks.”
Cherry held out her hand. The mayor’s wife grabbed it with both of hers. “Oh my gosh—look at you. Mark, look. It’s Baby!”
“It’s Cherry,” Cherry said.
“No, I know—but it’s like you walked right off the page!” She squeezed Cherry’s hand and shook it with each syllable: “We
are such fans of Thursday.”
“We are,” the mayor agreed. “You know, we’ve tried to get your husband on the phone. The Chamber has an idea for him.”
Molly let go of Cherry’s hand, so she could clap. “It’s ‘The Guy in Omaha’! That’s the idea!”
Cherry was confused. “I think The Guy already lives in Omaha . . .”
“Right,” the mayor said, “but what if your husband did a special comic book highlighting that Thursday takes place in Omaha—for the Chamber?”
“The chamber . . . orchestra?”
“The Chamber of Commerce,” Russ said flatly.
“Baby could be in it, too!” Molly said.
“We think it would be impactful,” the mayor said. “People need to see that Omaha is a vibrant, affordable city for the creative
class.”
“Everyone wants the creative class,” his wife said in a pretend whisper. “You should see the metrics.”
Cherry smiled and nodded. “Mmm.”
“You have to link us up with your husband,” the mayor said.
“Have him call me,” Molly said. “People can’t say no to me.”
“I’m afraid,” Cherry said lightly, glancing at Russ, “that I don’t have as much sway with him these days.”
“Oh, that’s right.” The mayor’s wife laughed. “Well, lucky Russ, right? I’m going to have Russ give you my personal number
to pass along to your husband. I’m telling you—people can’t say no to me.”
“I’ll pass it along,” Cherry said.
“It can’t hurt, right?”
Cherry shook her head. “It cannot hurt.”
Molly put her hand on Russ’s arm. “Russ, get this woman a drink. Oh my goodness, I’m just seeing you.” She slapped his arm.
“You’re such a dish.” She looked at Cherry and loud-whispered again—“Isn’t he a dish?”
Her husband rolled his eyes. “Don’t me-too my staff, Molly.”
“I’m not me-tooing anyone! I’m being honest!”
Russ was smiling warmly. Everyone was smiling warmly. The mayor smiled warmly at Cherry. “It’s a real honor to meet you, Cherry.
We feel like we know you already.”
“We really do,” his wife agreed.
Russ was leading Cherry away. “Come on, I’ve been ordered to get my lovely date a drink.”
“The bar’s that way.” The mayor pointed.
“There’s a question he can always answer,” his wife cracked.
“It was so nice to meet you,” Cherry said.
Russ was tugging at her waist. She followed him to the bar. He ordered a Coke Zero for Cherry and a scotch and soda for himself,
and immediately took a long drink.
Cherry held on to her Coke Zero. It was poured into a highball glass.
Russ wasn’t looking at her. Or anyone. The corners of his eyes were tense.
Cherry leaned into his gaze. She made her eyes big like, That was crazy.
Russ smiled. He goggled his eyes, too. He leaned over to whisper. “I had no idea they were going to do that.”
Cherry laughed. “It’s okay.”
He put his arm back around her. “Let me introduce you to a few more people. How do you feel about wealthy Republicans?”
“Some of my best employers are wealthy Republicans.”
“See, we have that in common.”
Cherry met the rest of the mayor’s staff and several city supervisors. Cherry already knew a few of them from her work in
public affairs.
Meg Jones herself was there—which made sense now that Cherry thought about it—and she didn’t blink when Cherry introduced
Russ as her date. Meg was extremely good at not blinking; Cherry had learned it from her.
Thursday kept coming up. (That fucking movie trailer . . .)
“Oh, right,” a county commissioner said. “My daughter loves your books.”
“I haven’t written any books,” Cherry said.
“The books you’re in,” he said. “She can’t wait for the movie.”
“Oh my gosh,” one of the mayor’s aides said. “Are you the Cherry from Thursday?”
“I, um . . .”
The woman was flustered. “Sorry, it’s just—I know your name from the dedication.”
“Ah . . .”
“And I wasn’t expecting you to look so much like the character!”
“Well . . .”
“I’m so sorry, it’s just—it’s my favorite book. This is so embarrassing.”
“What the fuck,” a drunken lawyer said. “That’s Baby! You are so fucking Baby!”
“What the fuck, Joe,” Russ said, shoving the guy’s shoulder.
“Sorry, Russ,” the guy said. “Sorry, miss.” He started laughing again and elbowed Russ. “But you’re dating Baby! From the meme!”
“From the comic,” said another lawyer, standing next to him. This one seemed more high than drunk.
“That’s like dating a celebrity!” the first one said. “Not a celebrity, a concept. That’s like dating Lisa Simpson.”
The other one frowned. “It’s more like dating Garfield . . .”
“What the actual fuck,” Russ said. “Ignore them, Cherry. They’re drunk and bad at their jobs.”
“Or like . . .” the high one said, “. . . Lois Lane.”
“What’s it like to be a concept?” the first one asked Cherry. “You’re immortal. You’re one of the faces on Mount Rushmore.”