Do or Di (21 page)

“You must have a lot of problems if figuring out my life is a distraction.”

“You wouldn’t even believe the trouble I can get myself into.”

Diana gazed down the street watching cars zip back and forth.

“Okay. We’ll stay with you.”

I held out my hand to seal the deal. She looked at it for a second, then shook it quickly, dropping it fast as if I were red hot, which was understandable given I looked a touch leprous.

* * *

Diana came home with me. She had a roller bag suitcase that was missing one wheel that she had been keeping in the back of the clinic. She took her things out. Each item of clothing was folded with tidy creases. She was either far more organized than I was or had OCD issues.

“I can lend you some things if you need anything. You’ve already been in my closet so feel free to help yourself.” I caught her looking at me while I rummaged around trying to clean the place up a bit.

“I could have told you that the fake tan was a bad idea.”

“As your mentor, can I give you a suggestion? Giving advice after things have already gone to shit isn’t so useful. For example, me mentioning at this point that Princess Di’s idea of marrying Prince Charles wasn’t the smartest move she ever made wouldn’t do her much good now.”

“Marrying Charles was exactly what Diana needed to do.” Diana ticked points off on her fingers. “If she hadn’t married him she wouldn’t have her two sons that she was totally crazy about, she wouldn’t have been able to make a huge difference in how people viewed AIDS, she started a whole bunch of charities, not to mention the progress she was making with the land mine situation.”

“She most likely wouldn’t be dead either.” I held up my hand to ward off her evil eye. “Don’t give me the look.”

“If she wasn’t around, I wouldn’t be here to help you. She was the one who suggested I stick with you.” She shot me a look. “And based on how you look, you need all the help you can get.”

“Fine. I get today’s lesson. When life throws us lemons we should make lemonade.”

I moved around her. I was trying to clean the house. The irony of cleaning my house so that my homeless houseguest would feel comfortable was not lost on me. Diana trailed behind me as I Swiffered the floor. Despite the TV commercials I had never been overtaken by the orgasmic thrill of cleaning. I never sang 80s songs, danced, or had illicit thoughts about what I would like to do with Mr. Clean. I suspect he might be gay anyway; the tight white pants and hoop earring looked a bit
pride
to me.

“Lemons into lemonade? Please. Coating yourself in faux tan without knowing if you have an allergy is not a lemon. It is simply poor planning. Secondly, the lesson is trying to be something you’re not, never works. Instead of celebrating the uniqueness of you, you were trying to be someone else. Someone who can tan.”

“Did you do something to that tanner?” I asked, whirling around to face her.

“What?”

“You know what I said. Did you break in here and put something in the tanner crème?” She opened her mouth to say something. “So help me God if you bring up doing a patch test I will chase you down to whatever level of the underworld you and your princess pal hide in and smack you silly.”

Her mouth shut with an audible click.

“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about the tanning solution any longer. I wasn’t trying to bug you. I was trying to use the situation as a metaphor.”

“Even without the benefit of Diana’s fancy Swiss boarding school education on needlepoint or whatever her major was, I did learn about metaphors.”

“You’re in a bad mood.” She trailed her toes around on the carpet, making patterns.

“I’m orange, blotchy, and my skin is falling off like old wallpaper. Yes, I’m a bit irritable. I’m not mad at you, but this whole wiser-than-your-years thing isn’t needed. I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving you advice, remember? That’s the whole point of the program.” I shoved the Swiffer back in the closet.

“Just because I’m younger doesn’t mean that I don’t know things. Why do adults always think they have the corner on intelligence? You want to be successful, but you seem to think the way to do that is by being someone else.”

“I’m not trying to be anyone else. Why does everyone assume that I’m not happy? I accept sometimes you have to settle. You have to make do. That doesn’t mean I’m unhappy.”

Diana shook her head, her blond hair falling to cover her blue eyes. Her fingers reached up to rub her temples. “There is a difference between accepting reality and taking less than you deserve.”

I put down the stack of outdated magazines I was collecting and looked at her.

“Please don’t tell me that a sixteen-year-old girl who channels the ghost of Princess Diana is telling me about learning to accept reality.”

“Why do you date Jonathon?”

“Why do you change the topic?” I gave her a look. “If you are looking for something to lecture me about, you can choose something else. There are plenty of people in my life who already have this topic covered.”

“Do you date him or just sleep with him?”

“Excuse me!” I felt my face flush red-hot.

“Sorry. I just wondered if it was a physical thing.”

“Let’s drop it.”

“You’re pretty, you know. Smart too.” She trailed after me as I moved around the condo.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t fish for compliments, it’s unattractive.”

“I’m not fishing. I’m confused.”

“Confusion isn’t that attractive either.”

I didn’t know what she was talking about half the time, but she was starting to grow on me. I could see my reflection in the bistro mirror that hung over my dining room table. She’s right; confusion isn’t a good look for me.

“Why don’t we just call it a truce for now, okay?”

“Okay.” Her foot made patterns in the carpet again. “Is it okay if I go out for a while?”

“Sure. Where are you going?”

“I have to meet up with some people.”

“Some people?”

“You sound like someone’s mom.”

“Fine. When are you coming back from meeting up with ‘some people’?”

“It’ll be late.”

“I don’t like the idea of you being out wandering around. And you don’t want to wear Rooster out, he’s still recovering.”

Diana rolled her eyes.

“I talked to the vet too. Besides, my mom doesn’t worry about me this much.”

“I don’t consider that a selling feature.” I had my hands on my hips.

“Rooster and I will be home by midnight.”

“You’d better be, princess. That’s when the coach turns back into a pumpkin you know.”

If Diana was going to be out late I didn’t see any reason that I should sit around waiting and I owed Jonathon a dinner. I sent him an e-mail alerting him of the state of my orange-ness. Even with the heads-up, when I opened the door to the condo his eyes widened slightly.

“I warned you,” I said.

“No, it was just a bit surprising. I think you look cute.”

“You are attracted to women who are blotchy orange?”

“Not women, just one.” He kissed me lightly on the lips.

“I’ve got dinner started.”

“Mmm. I’d rather start with you.”

He nuzzled my neck and I turned liquid. I reminded myself of the amount of work that went into the meal. At some point he was going to leave his wife and we should know how to have a regular relationship that included conversation. We had plenty of time until Diana would come back, and I wanted to have a proper date.

“Dinner first.” I made roast chicken stuffed with lemon and rosemary, mashed garlic potatoes, and a salad. I also made his favorite, lemon tart, for dessert. I’ll freely admit I was showing off a little. Jonathon sat on the stool next to the kitchen island and watched me while swirling the wine he brought around in his glass. I told him about the television interview while I made the gravy.

“It sounds like you handled the situation well. I wish this whole ruse about having a relationship with Colin wasn’t required.” Jonathon sounded like he was ready to pout.

I turned from the pan; the steam was making my hair curl. “To be honest, I don’t think about it much. I wasn’t crazy for the idea, but if it works I can live with it for a few weeks. I’m more worried about the live shows. Dangling from a rope on the side of a mountain doesn’t thrill me.”

“You thrill me.” He poured another large glass of wine and passed it to me, holding my fingertips as I took the glass. I fought back the urge to yank my fingers back. Did every line out of his mouth have to include a double meaning?

“I’m hungry, so this chicken is going to thrill me.” I put on my oven mitts shaped like fish that my mom gave to me as a housewarming gift. I’m no fish expert but I’m pretty sure one is supposed to be a salmon and the other a walleye. I opened the oven door and a wave of savory lemon, chicken, and rosemary steam poured out, filling the kitchen. I pulled out the roasting pan and turned. My grip on the roasting pan loosened and there was a second when it was at risk for hitting the ground, but I grabbed back the hold, sort of giving the chicken a wee toss.

“Jesus, Erin! Watch what you’re doing,” Jonathon said. I slid the pan onto the stove top and turned back around.

“Why does everyone think I need to be told what to do?”

“I didn’t mean to yell, I just thought you were going to drop the pan.” Jonathon ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t seem to do anything right these days. My wife is snapping at me. You and I can never find any time to ever be together. When we do, everything goes wrong. At home I’m sending you e-mails and text messages in the dark after my kids are in bed, looking over my shoulder the whole time.”

“Does your wife suspect?” I asked.

“No, I don’t think she knows. God, I hope she doesn’t. It would break her heart. I’m the center of her world along with the kids. I know this sounds absurd given the circumstances, but I don’t want to hurt her.” I gave a disbelieving snort and then covered my face. It snuck out. Jonathon didn’t even pause, he heard it. “Brenda is a good wife and mother. We just don’t have anything in common. We haven’t for a long time. Once we had the kids our lives drifted into different directions. One day I woke up and I was lying next to a complete stranger. We wanted different things. The kids were the focus of her life. I could have been her roommate. I love my family, but I also want something for myself. Is it so bad for me to be happy?”

It annoyed me that Jonathon annoyed me. It wasn’t what he was thinking; it was how he was thinking it. He sounded like a trite soap opera. The kind of dreck I would turn off.

“Jonathon, don’t do this to yourself.” I put my arms around him. He leaned into me. I could feel him humming with tension.

“I don’t know if I can do this.” He mumbled. I sat back in the other stool.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. You know I care for you, but I’m messing up your life.”