Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Shannon Parsons, Coming in Hot
LORNA
On a moonless, breezy October evening in her adopted coastal California town of Hermosa Beach, Shannon Parsons had a brush with death as she stepped out of her hot yoga class to spark up a Marlboro Light.
Lorna Gray sat reading the Beach Reporter and having an espresso across the street, witnessing Shannon quietly exhale, letting the nicotine flood her system. Probably made for a nice little buzz after exerting the Warrior 1 pose in ninety-eight-degree heat.
Shannon ambled in the general direction of her 300ZX convertible while she took another drag.
She got a text and stopped mid-sidewalk when she heard someone shout, “On your left!” She looked up just in time to see two teen boys barreling toward her on electric bikes.
Confused if the directional yell meant her left or their left, Shannon jumped the wrong way.
One of the bikes caught the edge of her yoga mat, which was wedged under one arm, causing her to spin and lose her balance just as the other bike plowed into her, sending her yoga mat, phone, lip gloss, and cigarette pack sprawling all over Pier Avenue.
The teens looked back at her, worried expressions on their tanned faces until they realized she wasn’t hurt. “Sorry!” they yelled in unison as they hightailed it across the street, in the direction of The Strand, probably about to mow down more unsuspecting pedestrians.
“Little shits,” Shannon grumbled.
She bent down to collect her belongings just as an attractive Ken doll lookalike rushed to help her up.
Lorna peered over her paper, observing.
“Are you okay?” he said, as he held her elbow and pulled her up. The man had dirty blond hair, straight white teeth, and wore a linen button-down over expensive torn jeans. Surfer chic.
“I’m wearing bright pink spandex for exactly this reason!” Shannon said in an incredulous tone, the slight rasp of her smoker’s voice giving her a sexy quality her rescuer didn’t miss. “I practically glow in the dark.”
The guy smiled warmly. “It’s true. You are impossible to miss.” He had a dimpled grin, but then it crumpled as he lifted her arm. “Oh, your elbow … it’s bleeding.”
“Shit.” Shannon inspected her arm. A long scrape ran down it, more road rash than anything, nothing too serious. “Do you think I need medical attention or just some alcohol to fight off infection? I’ve heard a gin and tonic kills germs.” She winked as she asked.
Lorna was bemused by her straightforward charm.
The cute guy chuckled.
She spotted her pack of smokes and bent down to grab them. When she stood back up to face him, hoping to flirt a little more, she said, “Hi, I’m Shannon.”
Oh, big mistake, Lorna thought. His muscles were chiseled, the dewy skin of his late twenties firmly intact. This was a man who abused pre-workout protein powder shakes and self-tanning lotion, not nicotine.
He stared at the pack of cigarettes as if it were a live cockroach wriggling around in her hand. “Nice to meet you … I’ve uh … got a thing.” He gave her a small wave and walked on. “Get that taken care of,” he said, pointing to her elbow.
Shannon sighed and watched him go.
Lorna felt for her. Californians considered cigarette smoking as ghastly as human trafficking. Lorna put down her paper, drained her espresso, picked up the spare napkins, and sauntered over to where Shannon was standing.
“You okay?” Lorna asked, approaching with napkins like white flags proclaiming she came in peace. “I saw what happened.”
Shannon glanced up at Lorna, who was impeccably dressed in tailored linen pants and a striped sweater.
“Fine, no permanent damage done.” She looked at the man walking away with a forlorn expression. “I just … miss Florida. And the men who live there.”
Lorna looked in the direction of the surfer chic guy. “Too vain anyway. You’d end up in a locked-horns battle over the bathroom mirror.”
Shannon smiled at that. “He did smell of mousse and surf wax.”
“You look like you could use a drink,” Lorna stated. Catnip for Shannon.
Shannon hesitated and then shrugged. “I could. Where to?”
“Critters?” Lorna said, knowing from Oritte’s extensive notes that this was Shannon’s favorite haunt.
“That’s my favorite bar.”
“Good margaritas,” Lorna said.
“I’m partial to the Cosmopolitans.”
Oh, I know. Lorna said, “Shall we?”
Twenty minutes later, Lorna and Shannon entered Critters Pub in North Hermosa, one street off the beach, and bellied up to the bar.
“How are you two lovely ladies this evening?” The bartender sidled up with a twirl of his mustache and a twinkle in his eye.
Shannon’s shoulders finally relaxed. Lorna didn’t miss a thing. “Hi, Nick, I had a run in with some hooligans on e-bikes.” She showed off her bloodstained elbow.
“That calls for a Cosmo.” Nick nodded at Lorna. “And you, madam?”
“Margarita,” Lorna said.
As he began chilling her martini glass, he asked Shannon, “How’s my favorite pharma rep?”
“Well, Viagra sales are stronger than ever. Same with antidepressants.”
“If that doesn’t sum up LA, I don’t know what does.” Nick assessed his vodka amounts before excusing himself to retrieve another bottle when Shannon gave a sad nod.
Lorna surveyed the bar for any decent possible Dinner for Six candidates.
Pickings were slim. There were some work associates in button-down shirts sitting on the other side of the bar, but both had rings on their fingers.
Next to them, an aging drunk who resembled a fat Tom Selleck was in midburp.
To his right were a couple of guys with neck tattoos wearing Dodger hats drinking whiskey with a beer back.
She mulled over these sad possibilities just as the drinks arrived.
Nick put a lemon twist in Shannon’s Cosmo and backed away with a flourish, but not before setting down a bar cloth with ice in it for Shannon’s injury.
She nodded and took a long sip before putting the makeshift ice pack to work.
“Los Angeles is tricky, isn’t it,” Shannon said more to herself than to Lorna.
“What do you mean?” Lorna inquired.
“It’s a city made up and for the ambitious, the thin, and let’s not forget the young.
Being forty here feels more like sixty-five.
It’s hard to keep up with coffee trends, mascara trends, dog breed trends.
People have hustles, side hustles, side quests, make content about cats and post it on TikTok, and then run 5Ks. And that’s just your average Saturday.”
“As if every minute has to be productive,” Lorna added.
“It’s psychotic. What I wouldn’t give to laze around and waste an afternoon with the smell of fried conch fritters wafting on a balmy Atlantic Ocean breeze, a faint twang of some Zac Brown cover band playing along the Intracoastal Waterway in Delray Beach.”
Shannon was right, of course, Lorna had just never heard it said so earnestly. Lorna could see she was trying to fit into a life that seemed thrust on her.
“What made you move out here?”
“You want the long version or the short one?” Shannon said as she took a big slurp of her cocktail.
Lorna took a sip, too. Salty. Strong. Perfect. “I’m a sucker for a good origin story.”
Shannon took a deep breath, just as a text came in.
She held up a finger, read it, and then said, “This text encompasses my angst. It’s from my sister.
It says, ‘Hey, how was hot yoga? In a few weeks when the benefits kick in, Matt wants to set you up with his work buddy. He’s got a boat!
’” Shannon frowned and took another gulp of her Cosmo.
“You don’t like boats?”
“I love boats. But I’m not fit enough to be invited on one yet.
What my well-meaning, CrossFit-obsessed sister means by ‘when the benefits kick in’ is when I lose a few pounds and tone up my flabby Florida ass.
When I got here, you know how my sister welcomed me?
With a hot yoga membership, the contact information for a girl who did hair extensions, and a fresh package of Nicorette gum.
The message was clear: ‘Let’s blow the Florida stink off you. ’”
“Ouch,” Lorna said. She gave Shannon a good once over.
She had stylish, yellow-blond hair that was up in a messy but cute bun, a disarming smile, and a spray tan that was wearing off.
She was a naturally bubbly person but railed against being so blatantly told she’d have to change.
It was hard to change at any age, but it got exponentially harder after the age of forty. People are who they are.
Lorna offered, “I like your hair the way it is.”
Shannon begrudgingly accepted her compliment as she held the ice against her scraped arm.
“When I moved here from Delray Beach, it was less about starting a new life and more about escaping my old one. My sweet, frail mom died after a short but brutal battle with skin cancer. Broke my heart. Lost my mind for a little while. Perhaps that explains why someone with my common sense could have made so many bad decisions in the days since. Take Mick, for example.”
“Mick?”
“Ah, Mick,” she said wistfully. “A brawny, blond-headed pool installer. He was not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he had dimples, biceps the size of my thighs, and a Harley. He’d pick me up and we would ride toward Islamorada in the Florida Keys, visit beach bars and drink rum runners until it numbed all my pain. ”
“Acceptable grieving method.”
Shannon wagged her eyebrows and called for another drink.
“Which is why it took me a minute to figure out Mick was also screwing my roommate, Jackie. It is easy for me to believe men are mangy, horny, unscrupulous dogs. That’s not a stretch.
Especially in Delray Beach. But for my friend to do this to me took solid, incontrovertible proof. ”
“I sense a foreshadowing of events to come.” Lorna took a sip, riveted by the story.
“I came home early from entertaining a pharma client and saw Mick’s head buried between Jackie’s thighs on our washing machine—which—” Shannon tipped her drink at Lorna, “was on the spin cycle. My illusions vanished.”
“Oh, girrrl,” Lorna said as she drew it out.
Shannon sniffed and sat up a little straighter. “So, I took the last scrap of my self-respect, wrapped it around me like a Kevlar vest, picked up an aluminum softball bat on the way out of the house, and took out all my anger, pain, and feelings on Mick’s unsuspecting Harley.”
“Oh, dear God.” Lorna laughed and sat up straighter, rooting for Shannon and her motorcycle violence. God knew, she had wanted to bust some taillights in her own time. Not her style, but she definitely saw the efficacy of it.
“Yeah, I basically rage-quit my own life. With one last smash of the taillight, I threw the bat down, lit up a smoke, and climbed in my 300ZX convertible and drove all the way to California, my eyes as dry as the Mojave in July. That was over a six months ago. And here I sit.” Shannon raised her glass to toast to Lorna. Then she downed the rest of her Cosmo.
“Like I said, I love a good origin story.” Bartender Nick had already produced Shannon’s second Cosmo and walked away to tend to one of the Dodger fans.
Lorna thought she noticed something. “You guys have a thing?” Lorna asked on the down low and waved her finger toward Nick when he wasn’t looking.
“Us? No. He’s more like my psychological triage coach. I come here for drinks, emergency healing, and the soothing, mindless chatter one can only hear in a bar.”
Lorna let out a mental breath. She didn’t want to go back to the drawing board on her next dinner party, and if any woman deserved to find true love, it was this one. “Always good to have a neighborhood bar.”
“Couldn’t survive in this town without one.” They clinked glasses at that and Shannon drained her second drink dry.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Shannon,” Lorna said. “Let me buy you another drink.”
Shannon stiffened. “Um, thanks, but I don’t want to give any false impression. I’m fully…” Shannon put her arm straight out toward the bar, “into the man meat.”
Lorna chuckled quietly. “Same here, girl. It’s just nice to meet a new friend.” Lorna gently pushed her empty glass to the edge of the bar, and Nick, out of nowhere, put a freshly made margarita in front of her. The guy was good. “So, no luck on the dating front since you’ve been here?”
“I feel like I’m a little too broke and a little too imperfect for this beach town.”
“Nonsense.”
“Most nights I’d rather stay home and play video games. Not waste the makeup.”
“You just need to find someone who appreciates you.”
Shannon went on as if Lorna hadn’t said a word. She stared into her Cosmo and added, “Listen, I don’t expect to find love, but is it too much to hope for a connection? I have set the bar low.”
Lorna stirred her margarita, sizing Shannon up. Her chipped nail polish, her muffin top, her hint of Florida vibes but she was pretty, and warm, and real. Shannon shifted in her seat under her scrutiny. Lorna finally spoke. “What if I set you up on a date?”
“Like a pimp? No, absolutely not—”
“Like a matchmaker,” Lorna interjected as she handed over her pale pink business card.
Shannon looked skeptical at first, squinting at Lorna, then at her card. Then she shrugged as if she was opting in for ordering a conch fritter. “Sure. What have I got to lose?”
She really liked Shannon.
“Excellent,” Lorna said.
One more seat at the table filled.