Chapter 7 Lusciously
T he likelihood of me sleeping through the weekend proved high, as I rarely left my bed until Monday morning. The mix of stress from running the store and mourning the loss of my friend had taken a silent toll on my body.
When I finally did remove myself from the sheets, I found a new lightness in my step, partially brought on by the thought of getting to see Lauren again and partially by the hibernation I had not known I needed. Together, they formed a smile on my face that even Lauren could not help noticing as she stood waiting outside the store.
“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you to be here so early.”
“Oh, I hope you don’t mind,” she said, probably doubting her pretense of the offer to help this week.
“Not at all. I feel like we have momentum now, and I don’t want to lose that.” I smiled, leaving the true meaning of my words to filter through her thoughts. With a jingle of the keys, I pulled open the door for Lauren. As we moved inside, I left the sign flipped around as “Closed” and locked the door once again.
A subtle churning inside my stomach reminded me of my oversight in eating breakfast. With the viewing from ten until twelve, I felt it was my job to be there the whole time, and now I would be facing most of the day on an empty stomach.
“Have you had breakfast?” I asked, seeing how it might be beneficial to take a break before we started working.
“No, not yet,” she admitted, but offered a smile as she opened up her purse. “I brought some doughnut holes from the bakery down the street. Since you were so nice to provide lunch, I wanted to return the favor.”
“So that’s why you carry such a big bag around?”
“Ha, I suppose it comes in handy for storing snacks on the go,” she laughed.
“That’s perfect actually. I’ll put on a pot of coffee in the breakroom, and we can dive into the boxes.”
“Picnic style?” she called as I turned for the breakroom.
“Of course. Go ahead and make yourself at home, and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
I could not help myself as I stood watching her walk away. The meekness that lay beneath her usual showy appearance shone through the modest black skirt she had chosen for the funeral, paired with a white blouse that resided along her neck, unlike her usual breast-revealing cuts. Strangely, I found my heart begin to beat faster and I shook my head, considering my own thoughts were too much. I had a job to do and I needed Lauren’s help, and that was it.
Settling the pot under the stopper, I braced my hands against the counter and waited for it to begin perking as the obituaries from the week before began to take hold of my thoughts. I had known that Ms. Debbie had lived in numerous places, including New Mexico, but she had never mentioned Arizona or why she moved around so much. I could not help but think that perhaps Lauren was right; everything had been left for me to find. Moving from state to state was not uncommon by any means, but Ms. Debbie, at some point, had made the transition from the Southwest to the Southeast. Seeing that she had no family here but only the bookstore business that she had started, I could not help but think that her motive for moving was something to be classified as abnormal.
“Whatcha doing?”
I jerked away from my overbearing stance above the coffee pot to the sound of Lauren’s voice.
“Waiting for the coffee to finish,” I said, before noticing the pot was already full. Instead of poking at the obvious, she opted to smile, so I continued like I knew what I was doing. “Black or with cream?”
“Creamer, please, and I don’t suppose you have any sugar, would you?”
“Basic,” I mumbled under my breath. “No, I’m sorry; we don’t.”
“Oh, that’s alright.”
I turned to grab a few packets of creamer, all that was left from Ms. Debbie’s stash. By this time, Lauren had walked up beside me to assist with the mixing of her coffee.
“I heard what you said,” she managed.
“Oh?”
“Yeah... Do you really think I’m a basic white girl?”
I let out a large sigh. It was too early and beyond the scope of our relationship to discuss such thoughts, but I had incidentally slipped in my morning pre-coffee brain fog. “Look,” I began. “I didn’t mean anything by it, but you have certain basic tendencies.”
“Oh, really? Like what?” Her tone did not convey anger but more curiosity mixed with a feeling that she had failed to notice herself.
“Well, for one, the big bag. Many women have to bring everything with them wherever they go.”
“Okay... so I guess you don’t want any of the doughnuts then?” she laughed.
“No, but in my defense, you aren’t as basic as you first seemed.”
“Fair enough, the old judging-a-book-by-its-cover apology. What else is there?”
“I don’t know. Nothing important.” My lack of honesty was apparent in her returned expression. I could see that she was hurt by the fact that it sounded like she was the one who was not important. Placing her plastic spoon in the trash, she walked away in silence. Realizing my mistake, I slid the pot into the coffee maker and followed after her.
“Lauren,” I called upon reaching the edge of the breakroom. She stopped at the sound of her name but did not turn around. “I didn’t mean you weren’t important. I just meant my initial thoughts were stupid.”
“You know,” she said, revealing the frustration and hurt on her face as she turned to address me. “You’re not the only one that appreciates total honesty.”
I nodded my head and walked closer, hoping to remove the distance between us. Then, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her into me. To this embrace, I could sense the stiffness of her muscles begin to relax. I waited a few moments, offering her comfort before I conveyed such judgment. While wanting to choose the right words, I failed to think of anything but my genuine thoughts. So, when she finally began to pull away, I told her exactly how I felt.
“When you first started coming to the store, I tried to avoid you.” She raised her eyebrows, questioning me, but I continued to explain. “You see, I avoid women who wear revealing clothes, mounds of makeup, or appear showy. Those women aren’t for me. In my mind, they are either looking for a one-night stand or a guy with a paycheck to keep them up. I’ve never been a one-nighter type of guy, so to avoid getting hurt, or hurting someone else, I just avoid the situation altogether.”
“So, instead, you just call me basic behind my back?”
“Not at all. Only in my head... well, until a few minutes ago.”
“But why would you think I’m basic for asking about the sugar?”
“Because...” I stammered, “because looking at you today, I realized I was wrong. You’re not that basic girl who comes in at the same time every day. You’re Lauren, a girl who has an amazing vibe that she covers up with glam. When I heard you say you wanted sugar, that whole feeling of how I saw you seemed to unravel.”
Lauren stood motionless, receiving my criticism like a child. I was unsure if she was truly thankful for my honesty or if she was getting ready to walk out the door once again. The difference today, though, was I kept my cool and tried to explain my irrational thoughts as best I could. If that type of transparency was not what she wanted, then perhaps she never was the type of girl that, on some level, I hoped she would be.
“Ouch,” she finally whispered.
“I know, but you said to be honest.”
“No, I just never saw myself as basic. I mean, sure, I know I dress flashy, but—” she broke off.
“But what?”
“Nothing.”
“We said we were going to be honest,” I persisted.
Her next words landed as a punch to her own gut, as the pain radiated not only from her voice but also from her body. “I don’t think I’m an attractive woman. I haven’t for a long time.” Lauren began to rub her arm, as if a chill had filled the room. “There, I said it,” she mumbled, allowing her eyes to fall and the protective layer she had worn to drop as rags to the floor. When her eyes finally found the courage to rise again, I saw the broken side of her for the first time. “Is that really how you see me?” she asked.
“As basic?”
“No . . .” she muttered. “Ugly.”
“Lauren, I think you’re beautiful, but the makeup and revealing outfits you wear take away from how amazing you really look.”
A slight smile began to form against her cheeks. I wanted to walk over and kiss her, melting her worries away, but then the misplaced self-consciousness became a mirage, leaving me to question if I had indeed seen her securities shatter.
“So, you think I’m beautiful, huh?” she teased.
“I think you know how to ruin a moment.” Somewhere between feeling frustrated and getting ready to step away from the emotional tug-of-war, I walked past Lauren and headed into the backroom, calling for us to get started if we were to accomplish anything before the funeral.
“What’s the plan for today?” she asked, settling down on the floor while picking up a doughnut hole and placing it in her mouth.
“I think we need to take a step back and start making a timeline with everything we know thus far. I think that will allow us to see the bigger picture, and hopefully in a new light.”
“What can I do?”
I looked at the whiteboard that was stationed along the wall. Ms. Debbie had been the last person to write on the board. It was her daily doings to come in here: write a line from a poem or some kind of saying. I had never paid it much attention, but looking at the last note she had left behind, I could not bring myself to erase it.
“There’s a rolling whiteboard in the breakroom. Can you bring it in here?”
“Yeah, sure.”
This time as Lauren walked off, I pulled my eyes away from the door. Instead of letting my attention drift, along the floor I placed the important pieces of information we had discovered. Scrambling them around, I set up a timeline of events, starting with the obituaries. Next were the name changes, and then... Well, that was it. Even after all the boxes we had searched, there still remained over half a room full. Yet, my mind began to question if, at this rate, we would ever discover enough to piece together something definite.
Ms. Debbie was the type to keep a paper copy of everything. I had tried to get her to move to a web-based bookkeeping system, filing our taxes online, but she said she did not trust the web, and why bother when she had a perfectly capable bookkeeper and CPA?
I stood upon seeing Lauren return, struggling to maneuver the rollers through the door. Her light frame being teased by the overpowering reluctance of the rollers to move was cute, but I knew better than to laugh. Offering a hand, I explained they were not the best wheels.
“Well, the good news is we won’t have to worry about filling up the board anytime soon,” I joked.
“Is that everything?” she asked, looking down at the floor.
“Yeah, but that’s alright. If it were laid out in plain sight for us to see, then we probably wouldn’t have questioned the different names.”
“True,” she said, pulling a dry erase marker from the holder of the other board. With a twist of the cap, Lauren positioned herself in front of me, bracing her hand against the white surface while writing out the dates and corresponding names.
“You have great handwriting.”
“Thanks; you too,” she chimed, implying the awkwardness of my gesture.
“I just mean most people have a hard time writing on vertical surfaces.”
“Okay, Matlock, you caught me,” she laughed. “It’s not my first time writing on a whiteboard.”
“Ah, so you are a teacher,” I continued, playing out the courtroom skit.
“Was,” she quickly corrected.
“And why did you leave the scene?”
“Life,” she stalled, returning to the board before attempting any further confession. “I needed more money for support, and teaching no longer could pay the bills.”
“Oh,” I said and considered pressing no further, seeing our tirade was venturing out in a more serious matter. However, I was more curious as to how truthful she was willing to be or if the subject at hand would breach a personal line she had drawn. “Is it anything you would want to talk about?”
Lauren paused again, turning away from the board. She knew very well what I was thinking and had a solid answer. “Maybe, but now’s not the best time.” Placing the marker back on the stand, Lauren stood back to assess the dates at hand.
“Maybe add her birthday and her age for each date.”
“Good idea,” she said, reopening the marker. “Anything else?”
“Hmm...” I pondered, before taking a sip from my coffee.
“What about the states she lived in, including here.”
“You know, I’m not sure when she moved to the Southeast.”
“What about the store? When did she open it?”
“That was ten years ago, so I guess we could assume she arrived a year earlier.”
“What else do you recall her telling you over the years?”
“I don’t know. I mean, when you put me on the spot and all...” I joked, but as Lauren began to laugh, something did pop into my head. “The name changes.”
“Yeah, we already have those, silly,” she laughed, pointing at the board.
“No, I mean, did you notice the state where the papers were filed?”
Without a reply, Lauren bent down beside me, curious to see if we had both overlooked something. Her hair teasingly brushed along my shoulder as she blindly reached for a doughnut hole, but her presence had no effect as my eyes focused from Maine to South Dakota on the other paper.
“Who moves that often and that far apart?” Lauren spoke in unison with my thoughts.
“Apparently a very different Ms. Debbie than I thought I knew.”
“Didn’t you say she had mentioned moving around?”
“Yeah, but nothing about her changing her name along the way.” I shook my head, confused and a little jaded by the fact that my only friend had hidden something important from me. “I don’t even know if I should call her Ms. Debbie anymore. It’s like I didn’t really know her.”
“Perhaps a nickname?” Lauren offered, in a feeble attempt to help.
“Maybe, but what would that be? Ms. Many Names?”
“How about just Minnie?”
“Like the mouse?” I questioned.
“Ha, yeah. It’s light and secretive, very suitable.”
“That’s not a bad idea. It seems to fit and is easier to say without adhering to her other fabricated aliases.”
With the buzz of Lauren’s phone, our brief lapse in reality was interrupted as she pulled the device from her purse. I watched as she unlocked the screen and read over the text. With a quick reply, she smiled and slid the phone back into her purse.
“Sorry,” she said, realizing she had left the conversation at the beckoning of her phone.
“That’s alright. If you need to go . . .”
“Nope. I’m good.”
“Good. It makes it easier to work through all of this with you around.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“You are?” I teased.
“Yeah, because you’re stuck with me all week, remember?”
“Oh, how could I forget?” I joked, rolling my eyes to embellish my point.
“Hey, now,” she quipped, slapping my arm lightly. “I’m not that bad.”
I began to laugh—the kind of laugh that squinches the eyelids shut. At first, it was a mere joke, but as I opened my eyes to the sight of her scrunched-up, not-so-thrilled face, I could not help but continue—this time, not for making fun, but for grasping just how adorable she looked.
“You can be a jerk, you know.”
“Oh, Lauren, you aren’t telling me anything new, but it’s just...” I sighed, catching my breath. “You’re adorable when you get mad.”
“I wish I could say the same for you, but I can’t.”
“That’s fair,” I said, settling my breath. “This is nice though.”
“What is?”
“Just cutting up with someone. Life has been too serious, especially lately.”
“I know what you mean.”
Her own seriousness would have driven me to be more curious, but noticing the clock on the wall, I ceased my laughter and recalled the purpose of the day. Gathering my feet underneath me, I stood from the floor.
“Where are you going?”
“As much as I would like to stay here and banter with you, we should probably start making our way to the funeral home.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said, raising her arm for assistance.
Clasping her fingers in mine, I pulled Lauren from the floor as she anchored her skirt to her legs with her free hand. Thanking me, Lauren bent over to gather our coffee cups and toss them into the trash as I snagged the box of doughnut holes.
“I’ll put these on the table for later. Something tells me we’re going to need them.”
“Me too,” she laughed.
Walking back to the front desk, I gathered the coat of my suit and shrugged it onto my shoulders.
“Here,” Lauren offered, placing her hands around my neck to adjust the collar. As she finished centering my tie, she flattened the breast of my shirt with her hand, leaving her fingers to linger along my chest. “That’s better,” she whispered.
“I agree,” I answered just as softly.
The pounding of my heart began to echo louder in my head, and surely Lauren could feel the quickness of my pulse through her hands; however, neither of us budged. I could feel our bodies falling forward, closer and closer, in anticipation. But just before the point of no return, Lauren’s hands pushed her body away.
“Um,” she said, clearing her throat. I let out a deep breath as we considered the electricity flowing through the room. “You know...” she began.
“Know what?” I groaned with slight agitation.
“I can’t help but think, seeing how quick you were to pin Ms. Debbie—I mean Minnie—with a nickname, that you probably thought of something in regards to me.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“Yeah, but it’s probably something like Red Flag Reba or Bad News Brenda.”
“Brenda? You don’t look like a Brenda.”
“Good, because I don’t like that name, or the other for that matter.” I began to walk toward the door, almost dismissing the conversation in hopes that she would not question me further. “So, is that a no?” she asked with disappointment in her voice.
“I never said that.”
“Oh, so I do have a name,” she said with a trace of hope.
“Yeah, you do,” I said dismissively. I felt as though I would be able to skirt around Lauren this time, but as I turned to leave her pondering, I revisited her eyes. There was no hope, relief, or curiosity, only sadness. The expression pained me to see, eating away at any wall I had hoped to leave between us. So, placing my hands on her hips, I waited for Lauren to lock her sights on the pupils of my soul. Then, softly, I whispered her name. “Four-Thirty Girl.”
With a smile, she leaned closer, gently gliding her hand along my chest. The electricity between us intensified as our mouths slowly drew together and her bottom lip glided between mine. The moment in time froze in my mind, as I never wanted to forget the first taste of her lips. Yet, only as she pulled away did the glow of her face rival such a feeling as she spoke, “It’s perfect.”