Just Like Me, Only Better (3 page)

“Better,” the waiter said.

“Fine. I’ll have them. And the corn, whatever. Chowder. I haven’t figured out what I want for my main course yet.”

“No worries.” He turned and gave me a Lifetime movie-of-the-week smile. “How do you like your martini?”

“Good.” It was too strong. I’d really just wanted a glass of wine, but Nina had insisted I order something “fun.”

“Another one?”

“No, thanks.” I’d hardly had any of the first.

“Yes!” Nina slapped the table. “She wants one!”

“Fine,” I said. It was easier than arguing.

The waiter beamed at me. “Would you like to try something different? Maybe something not on the menu? Do you want me to surprise you?”

“Sure,” I said. “Surprise me.”

Nina watched him walk away and then said, “He is
so
into you. I told you that dress was hot.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s just looking for a good tip.”

“C’mon, he’s cute. Don’t you think the waiter’s cute, Terri?”

“A little flashy.” She continued to frown at the menu. “I think I’ll just get the steak.”

Nina wasn’t going to let it go. “I mean, he’s no Ken Drucker . . .” She grinned.

I rolled my eyes. Everyone thought Ken Drucker and I were a perfect match because we had so much in common. We were both divorced. We both lived in Fullerton. We both—well, that was about it.

I had no interest in Ken Drucker. I had no interest in the waiter. When I married Hank at twenty-two, I thought my life was set. I didn’t even know what interest felt like.

I slapped my menu shut and placed it on the table. “I’m just going to have a burger.” I selected a piece of savory bread from the basket in the middle of the table, slathered it with butter, and was about to take a bite when—

I froze and stared at the fit blond woman who had appeared at my side. She wore a simple white tank top, well-fitting blue jeans, and arty glass jewelry. When she saw my stunned expression, her smile grew even larger.

“Look how
white
that bread is.
Whole grains only!
You know that! As far as your body’s concerned, eating a piece of this bread is like eating a great big scoop of sugar.” Her voice was nasal, her accent vaguely Midwestern.

“I’m just—hungry.”

“Hunger is okay!” She moved her hands as she spoke. Her glass rings shone in the candlelight. “You’re listening to your body—that’s good! But you wouldn’t put cheap fuel in your car, would you? Same thing! You shouldn’t put cheap fuel in your body.”

“I put cheap fuel in my car all the time.”

The blond woman laughed like that was the funniest thing anyone had ever said. I checked Nina’s face. Was this some kind of prank? I wouldn’t put it past her, but I would have expected something more along the lines of male strippers bearing Jell-O shots. But, no: Nina and Terri looked just as confused as I did.

“I love your hair.” The blond woman reached out to touch a strand.

“Uh, thanks.” Nina had convinced me to curl it and wear it down. She’d also pressed me to wear makeup and jewelry. It was all supposed to make me feel festive. Instead, it just weighed me down.

“The blond was nice for a change,” the woman said. “But it was a little too Courtney Love, if you know what I’m saying. Besides, brown complements your complexion better. Have you ever considered auburn highlights?”

I shook my head in confusion—and then, finally, I got it. I would have figured things out much sooner if only the woman had been eleven years old and wearing a
Kitty and the Katz
T-shirt.

“I’m not Haley Rush.”

She smiled as if I were joking and then her face froze and her eyes grew wide. “You’re . . . not. Oh. My God. This is just—I’ve never . . . Wow.”

“Do you actually know Haley Rush?” Nina asked.

“Yes! I’m her food coach—we’re
extremely
close. Don’t tell anyone, but Haley has a
major
weakness for Twinkies.” She leaned closer to study my face. “This is just . . . astonishing. You could be twins.” She held out her hand. “Sasha Reese.” Her fingers were cold and bony.

“Veronica Czaplicki.”

“Really?” She stared at me for a moment more. “Is it okay if I take your picture?” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled out her cell phone and aimed it at my face.

“Sure,” I said, as she clicked.

“I can’t wait to show this to Jay.”

“Leno?” Terri asked, brightening.

Sasha gave Terri a once-over: the curled and sprayed hair, the conservative black-and-white dress, the double chin. “No.”

 

 

Dinner was okay. The burger filled me up, and I got a kick out of all the diners sneaking glances my way. When he brought my second custom martini (which I disliked as much as the first, only for different reasons), the waiter actually said, “I love your work.”

I said, “I love yours, too.”

And he laughed and laughed and finally said, “This isn’t my real work,” because, you know, he’s just waiting tables until he can break into “the business.”

I said he just had to believe in himself, and can I have some ketchup to go with my burger?

As we ate, Terri asked if I thought that Hank had fooled around before Darcy. I shrugged and said, “Dunno,” as if the thought had never crossed my mind. And then I took a really big bite of my burger so I wouldn’t have to say anything more.

 

 

As Nina was finishing up her third cosmopolitan and Terri was sucking down the last bites of her fudge pecan brownie, a man dodged around the tables and stopped next to me. He wore a black T-shirt, torn blue jeans, black Vans sneakers, and an expensive-looking silver watch. His brown hair was straight and overgrown—just long enough to tuck behind his ears. His eyes were dark and sharp.

He stared at me for an uncomfortable moment. “Amazing.”

Was he going to ask for an autograph? I squirmed in my seat. “I’m not Haley Rush.”

He crossed his arms and continued to study me. “I know.”

“Then why—”

“I’m Jay.”

“I’m confused,” I admitted.

He smiled, which made his eyes crinkle. “I’m Haley Rush’s manager.”

“Oh. Well.” That explained things. Sort of. “Congratulations. I guess.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Does it happen a lot—people mistaking you for Haley?”

“Sometimes.”

“Constantly,” Nina blurted.

Terri took a break from licking the chocolate off her fork to say, “You know, I don’t really like that show, what’s it called?
Kitty and the Pussies
?”

Nina howled, but I don’t think Terri was trying to be funny. She continued, “It’s just not believable that someone could go to medical school and tour with a rock band at the same time.”

If her assessment bothered Jay, he didn’t let it show.

“You even sound a little like her,” he told me.

“I sing like her, too.”

“No.”

Jay’s cell phone rang. Well, actually, it sang: some tinny pop sound. He held up an index finger to tell me to wait. (We hadn’t gotten the bill yet; of course we’d wait.)

“See?” Nina told Terri. “You got to meet a celebrity.”

“I don’t think he counts,” Terri said.

“What is it?” Jay said into the phone, sounding tense. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Just tell her I’ll get it on my way home.” He crossed his spare arm over his chest. “Realistically? Twenty minutes. Thirty, tops.”

The waiter appeared with the bill. “It was an honor to serve you,” he told me. Seriously. He said that. And then he placed the bill between Terri and Nina, which I appreciated far more than all of his sucking up.

Nina opened the leatherette folder. Terri leaned over to look.

“Should we just divide by three?” Nina said.

“Well, you know, I didn’t have any alcohol.” Terri straightened in her chair. “So it’s really fairer if we divide the food by three and then you and Veronica split the rest.” I’d assumed Terri would split the cost of my meal with Nina, but, whatever. Nina could afford it.

Still on the phone, Jay hissed,
“Just tell her she has to wait.”
He pushed the end-call button hard with his thumb and slipped the phone into his pocket. He smiled. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem.”

“So . . . Veronica, is it? That’s what Sasha told me.”

I nodded.

“Are you local, Veronica?”

“I live in Fullerton.”

“Where?”

“Fullerton. It’s in Orange County.”

He wrinkled his nose, just a little.

“Just north of Anaheim,” I added.

“Ahh.” He wrinkled his nose a lot.

Terri held up the bill. “Okay, so I owe thirty-six dollars and you guys each owe sixty-one.” Un-frickin-believable. She’d eaten more than Nina and I combined.

Nina reached for her Liz Claiborne purse. I felt bad that she was getting stuck spending so much for the two of us, but bringing Terri along had been her idea. She pulled some bills out of her wallet and dropped them in the middle of the table.

Wait a minute: three twenties and a one? That covered her, but what about me? Nina knew I couldn’t afford a place like this. I caught her eye and waited for her to register the mistake. Instead, she grinned drunkenly and said, “We could go dancing. You want to go dancing?”

“I’ve gotta get home,” Terri said, rubbing her belly. “The boys won’t sleep until I’ve kissed them good night.”

“I better use the potty, then,” Nina pushed back her iron chair. It squealed against the worn bricks. “Come with me, Terri.” She grinned at Jay and then at me, wiggling her eyebrows.

I scowled at her. Not interested. It’s not that he wasn’t cute enough; actually, with his dark hair, dark eyes, and trim build, he was just my type. (Hank hadn’t been my type at all.) But if and when I ever started dating, I’d limit myself to guys with normal jobs and grown-up clothes.

Once Nina and Terri were out of sight, Jay slipped into Nina’s chair. “Do you mind?” he asked (a little late).

“Of course not.”

He nibbled on his thumb and studied my face. “Do you work, Veronica?”

“I’m a substitute teacher.”

He nodded, considering. “So, your hours are . . . flexible.”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

His phone rang (sang) again. He angled away from me, but I caught every word. “I said I’d get it and I’ll get it. Soon. She can wait. Twenty minutes. Well, I mean it this time.
Don’t leave her alone!
”

“Problems?” I asked once he’d hung up.

“Oh, no.” He chuckled. “Haley’s got this addiction to Pinkberry—you know, the frozen yogurt? It’s tart instead of sweet? Her assistant was just calling to see if I could pick some up for her.”

“Her assistant works Saturday nights?”

“He’s not working, really, he’s just—hanging out. They’re friends.”

Our waiter came by, obviously thrilled to have an excuse to hover, and asked Jay if he wanted something to eat. Or to drink? Some bread? Water? Anything?

By the time Jay finished saying no, no, no, no, no, Terri and Nina were winding their way around tables.

Jay pulled a business card out of his pocket and pressed it into my hand. “I’d love to talk to you about a possible job opportunity,” he said quietly. “Later. Away from all of these people. Just—don’t tell your friends about it, okay?”

I didn’t agree, just slipped the card into my pocketbook.

He popped out of the chair.

“Jay! Don’t leave!” Nina said, approaching the table. “We’d love to have you join us for coffee. Or maybe a drink?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got to be somewhere. Nice to meet you all.”

Nina’s chair squealed as she pulled it back in. “They have three espresso makers but only one ladies room. That’s just wrong.”

Terri checked the pile of bills on the table. “Do you need any change, Veronica?”

“What? I don’t think so.” I unzipped my purse and pulled out the money, which was roughly what I made, after taxes, for a day of subbing. I put the bills in the middle of the table, looking at Nina one more time, to see if she’d offer to pay my half.

She didn’t. Instead, she asked, “Did that guy ask for your phone number?”

I stood up, slung my pocketbook over my shoulder, and looked Nina straight in the eye. “Of course not.”

 

 

 

B
y Monday morning, life was back to normal. In a bad way. At eight-twenty, Ben was strapped into the minivan, his Ninja Turtles backpack on his lap. I was dressed and caffeinated, car keys jingling in my hand, standing in the doorway of what Ben and I called “The Big House.” It wasn’t that big, really, just a normal beige ranch house. But compared to our guest cottage, fifty feet away, it was a palace.

Both houses belonged to Deborah and Paul Mott. Their kids, Shaun and Shavonne, went to Las Palmas Elementary with Ben. I hadn’t known Deborah very well before my divorce, but when she heard I was looking for a rental, she offered what I thought was a smokin’ deal. For nine hundred dollars a month and “occasional” help driving her kids to school, we’d get two rooms, use of a spacious backyard, and an address that would allow Ben to remain enrolled at Las Palmas.

“I don’t like to send the kids off without a good breakfast,” Deborah Mott told me now, leaning against the refrigerator.

At the kitchen island, Shaun Mott, shoeless and rumpled, sat hunched over, eating Cocoa Puffs with loud, slow slurps.

“Right.” I forced a smile. “It’s just—I’m subbing today, fifth grade, so I’m supposed to get there early.”

“Shavonne’s in the bathroom, anyway.” Deborah sipped coffee from her silver travel mug (which never left the house) and glanced down the hall. “So Shaun might as well finish eating.”

I looked back at the driveway. Ben sat perfectly still in the minivan, eyes straight ahead. After all these months of “carpooling” with the Mott kids, he was used to being late, to going to the office for a tardy slip.