Reconsidering Riley (29 page)

They all shouted happily, "If you look good,
you feel—"

"Okay, okay, that'll do." Everyone drooped.
Well, that was just too bad, Jayne told herself. It was time for
them all to get serious. "Now, the title of this workshop is
Karaoke 'Your Song' Into Submission. Its purpose is to desensitize
you to that special song that you and your ex shared."

"Me and Rodney's song was 'Shoo Doo Be Doo,'
Mitzi volunteered. "But I'm working on a
new
song these
days."

Her sideways glance caught Bruce as he
walked to the clearing where Riley's 'macho' workshop would be
held. The guide saw Mitzi wave. He blew her a kiss. She
giggled.

Kelly cleared her throat. "Tim and I first
danced to 'Your Cheating Heart' at a Patsy Cline soundalike
contest. Come to think of it...that should have been my first
clue."

They all commiserated.

"Brendan once burned a mix-CD of Lenny
Kravitz songs for me," Alexis told them. "I guess that's
pretty
romantic. Does that qualify?"

"Sure, it does," Jayne said, mustering a
smile.

"Marty dedicated 'The Way You Look Tonight'
to me on Buster Boogaloo's radio show," Doris said. "The Sinatra
version, of course. Marty was a traditionalist."

"Nonsense," Donna disagreed. "Marty was a
happening dude.
And
he dedicated that song to
me
!"

"You never even listen to Buster
Boogaloo."

"I might, if you weren't always hogging the
radio!"

"
Hogging
?"

"Ladies..." Jayne brought them both around
to the subject at hand. "Let's get started."

They practiced the various songs once
quickly, so everyone would be familiar with the lyrics and
melodies. Then Jayne began her demonstration of the technique.

She cleared her throat. "Now, the romantic
song I'm going to karaoke into submission is—"

"—'your song' with Uncle Riley?" Alexis
asked.

That
got everyone's attention.

Jayne nodded. That was what she'd planned.
But now, suddenly, she didn't want to destroy her fondness for that
song. Her techniques were effective. She believed in them. And she
didn't want to use them to sever the link 'their song' made between
her and Riley.

She was probably strong enough to skip this
step, Jayne assured herself. What could it hurt?

Switching gears, she mentioned the first
song that came to mind. "Umm, 'Born To Be Wild.'"

"Cool!" Alexis said.

"Really?" Doris and Donna put in, squinting
skeptically. "
That's
your special romantic song?"

"Is there something
wrong
with that
song?" Jayne asked. When they all shook their heads, muttering "I
guess not"s, she knew she'd successfully convinced them. "So, here
goes. Is everyone familiar with this one?"

She hummed a few bars. Everyone nodded.

"Good. Since we couldn't bring an actual
karaoke machine on the trail, your job—when you're not holding the
'mic'—" She indicated the hairbrush in her hand. "—is to be the
background music. Just hum, sing do-wops, do whatever comes
naturally to you. Okay?"

The group members nodded. Alexis looked a
little concerned, but she nodded, too. More than likely, the girl
was worried Jayne would ruin her uncle's special romantic song—and
this, after Alexis had revealed Riley's feelings for Jayne.
Reminded of that, Jayne felt reassured about her decision to switch
songs. Given how Riley had reformed so far, it wouldn't be fair to
do a search-and-destroy mission on their favorite ballad.

Standing up, 'mic' in hand, Jayne launched
into "Born To Be Wild." She rumbled on the bass, reached for the
high notes, and emoted as much as was possible with a song that
urged her to "get her motor running." She gestured wildly. Clenched
her hairbrush mic. Hunched over with musical passion during the
"yeah, I got to go make it happen," parts. Even jumped onto a
boulder for her grand finale.

Strangely enough, the song made her feel
invigorated for the first time that day. Singing felt good. Moving
felt good. Pretending she could actually be 'wild' in any sense
felt good. The rest of the women did their parts, too, pretending
to play electric guitars and acting as backup singers.

"Ta da!" Jayne said when she'd finished,
slightly out of breath. She flung her hair back and took a dramatic
bow.

The women applauded. The men at their nearby
workshop site hooted and hollered. Jayne blushed and squeezed her
'mic.'

"And that's how it's done," she explained.
"You exaggerate the sad parts, parody the dramatic parts, and
repeat the process as often as necessary to rob 'your song' of its
power." She sat down again, leaning closer to confide in them. "And
to give
yourself
power. After you've karaoked your song into
submission, you'll never be at the mercy of a radio blaring love
ballads, or a mushy Muzak elevator ambush, ever again."

"Yay!" they yelled, applauding some
more.

They launched into their individual karaoke
sessions. Within minutes, the clearing rang with the sounds of
"Shoo Doo Be Doo," sung as sappily and as crazily as possible. With
the strains of "The Way You Look Tonight," à la the Squabble
Sisters. With the groove of assorted Lenny Kravitz melodies. And
finally with a shouted, over-the-top rendition of "Your Cheating
Heart," which was sung with particular gusto by every woman
there.

Watching them, joining them, Jayne felt a
cozy sense of sisterhood steal over her. This was what it was all
about. Helping people. Making a difference to people. Proving—to
Francesca and to the world and to herself—that her self-help
techniques really worked.

That her "gift" really existed.

Being with Riley hadn't derailed her, she
realized. It hadn't hurt her research—and her breakup-ees hadn't
found out about it, either. Now, her wilderness trip was almost
over. Even though she hadn't exactly become Hiking Monthly's new
centerfold girl, she'd survived.

Jayne's spirits lifted a little. Her posture
did, too. As it did, she felt a telltale prickle at the back of her
neck. Automatically, she felt behind her for the sticking-up
clothing tag she knew would be there.

She tucked it in. Her gaze fell to the hole
in her pants. To her shoes, with their toes pointing awkwardly—and
uncomfortably, Jayne realized suddenly—in the wrong direction. To
her fleece, which was inside out and...backward?

With a sense of awakening, she felt the wind
whoosh over her lipgloss-free lips. She felt the sunshine beat down
on her uncombed, un-hat-protected hair. She felt the
unaccustomed-to lightness of un-made-up eyes, and remembered
tossing her mascara into a bivvy sack with desperate laissez-faire
that morning.

Aaack! What had she done?

She'd abandoned every principle of
self-respect she'd ever espoused. Beautification. Fragrance
application. Hair stylization. She'd become the
before
in a
"Before and After" makeover shot. She'd become...ordinary.

Panicked by the realization, Jayne grabbed
for her pack. Too late, she realized it was stowed several feet
away, along with everyone else's.

Around her, the women continued to sing.
Apparently Kelly needed another round of "Your Cheating Heart" for
her song to be properly karaoked into submission. Joining in to
keep everyone on track, Jayne glanced sideways, hoping to see that
her pack—and the essentials-only makeup kit inside it—were within
reach after all.

Instead, to her horror she saw
Riley...headed straight toward her. Straight toward her
ordinary
self.

Chapter Eighteen

Riley strode nearer, bemused by the women's
enthusiastic singing. They'd chorused together so loudly, all the
guys had started humming along from a distance. Of course, he was
still confused by Jayne's "Born To Be Wild" routine—having heard
the subject of the workshop—but he figured that must have been her
and Bozo Boy's "song." It would be just like that heartbreak camp
loser to saddle Jayne with an unromantic "romantic" song.
He
and Jayne had shared a
much
more romantic tune.

He stood to the side until they'd finished
singing. As the group started to break up, Riley approached Jayne.
Despite her impromptu Steppenwolf routine, he wasn't convinced she
was okay.

He'd seen her skip the primping, after
all.

"Never knew you were so 'wild,'" he said,
grinning.

She looked away, as though distracted. "It's
just a song. And I'm, uh, pretty busy right now, Riley. Don't you
have a workshop of your own to do?"

"I'm tag teaming with Bruce. My session was
Perfect Poker Faces. His was Catcalls, Hoots, and Hooters: Impress
Her With Streetwise Sweet Talk. I aced wolf whistles, but I'd had
all I could take after the
hey, baby
s started."

Jayne nodded seriously. Then she seemed to
remember something. Rapidly, she visored her hand over her eyes to
shield them.

"Well, uh, good for you," she said, looking
down at the ground as though searching for something. "See you
around."

"I came to make sure you're okay."

"Fine! Fine." Now she tugged her hair with
her free hand, smoothing it. "I'm fine. Just busy."

Riley hunkered down, trying to look into her
face. "Are you sure you're all right? Because this morning—"

"I'm great. Just peachy. So you can go...do
whatever you were planning to do. Thanks for stopping by!"

She shooed him away with her hands. The
motion seemed to remind her that she'd left her eyes unshaded and
her hair unsmoothed, because Jayne jerked her hands back into
place. If possible, she huddled even more into herself.

Now he was
really
worried. She was
acting so strangely. Riley took her hands gently in his and tugged.
Jayne yelped, and moved them back into place.

"What's wrong?" he asked, frowning.

"My eyes! I...I have something in them."

"Both of them?"

"Ow! Ow! You'd better...leave, right
away."

She swiveled on her log seat, turning away
from him. He examined her. Having apparently decided to leave her
hair alone, she'd covered her entire face with her hands.

"Let me see," he urged. "Maybe I can
help."

"No!"

Riley rocked backward slightly on his heels.
Recovering from her vehement refusal, he said, "I don't mind. Come
on."

"Don't look at me!"

"I'll
have
to look at you," he said
reasonably, "to help you."

"Not now!" Jayne surged to her feet, hands
still over her face. She moved them to fix her hair, to tug her
shirt, then to cover her face again, all in rapid succession.
Nearly jumping with frustration—or was it pain?—she clapped her
palms over her eyes again. "I'll take care of this. You...go find
Carla and see if you can help her, okay? She's not feeling
well."

"Oookay."

The minute he agreed, she galumphed to the
pile of backpacks, pulled hers free with an expression of profound
relief, and then scurried to the edge of the trail. Riley would
have sworn Jayne muttered something about, "Can't
believe
I'm a 'before!'" but that didn't make sense. Did it?

He got to his feet, and went to find
Carla.

The air was cooler high in Catsclaw Canyon.
The surrounding territory felt remote, even though it was closer to
a settled area. Riley rounded a stand of trees and found Carla
exactly where the other guidance groupies had said he would—alone
on a boulder.

She had her feet propped on a pile of rocks.
Her nose ring gleamed in the early-afternoon sun. Her hiking
clothes were ripped, layered, and twisted in unique ways that lent
them a punk edge. As he watched, she stuck the end of a pen in her
mouth and stared thoughtfully at the tablet of paper on her
lap.

"I brought you some instant chicken soup,"
Riley said, approaching. He eyed her carefully, noting the wariness
in her gaze. Carla was the only group member he hadn't been able to
win over yet. It didn't sit well with him. "Here. It's not bad if
you put enough Tabasco in it."

He produced the miniature bottle that was
always part of his gear and handed it to her along with the
cardboard carton of hot soup. "Every camper's best friend."

She accepted both with a nod and a distinct
lack of eye contact. "Thanks. See you around."

Riley frowned as he watched Carla balance
the soup and Tabasco on her lap. What
was
it with women
today? Every one he encountered told him to get lost.
Surreptitiously, he checked his breath.
That
wasn't the
problem. He tried another tactic.

"That's a cute nose ring."

"Save it. Men think my nose ring blows."

"Well, isn't it kind of tough to blow with a
nose ring? I once photographed a Kikuyu tribesman who said—"

Interrupting his joke, Carla shook her head.
She actually paused in her Tabasco-ing of the soup, too. "Look,
I'm, like, trying to have a little privacy here. So if you don't
mind...?"

He did mind. He was going to earn her trust,
damn it! Now, what else could he do?

Riley rubbed his hands together. "I'll bring
you a blanket to cushion that boulder. Jayne said you're not
feeling well."

"Don't bother."

"Some water?" He offered the bottle strapped
at his hip.

"Not thirsty."

He frowned. "Soup taste okay? I made it
myself."

Pointedly, Carla set down the carton. As
ridiculous as it was, Riley's feelings were hurt.

"Could you just, like, leave me alone,
please?" she asked.

"I could." He sat down beside her
instead.

"But you're not going to. It figures." She
threw up her hands. "The one man I want to pay attention to me
won't, but I'm a magnet for everybody else."