She's Out of Control (32 page)

The Novaks' love of self and plastic surgery reminds me of that really old
Twilight Zone,
where the woman has several operations and cries at the end because she's a gorgeous woman, not a “beautiful” ape like the rest of the planet. There's something so mystifying about people who think they are the be-all to end-all—the yardstick, if you will, for all others. It makes you want to steal their mirrors and see what you're missing.

I wish I had a magic mirror, don't you? I want to believe that my body is Uma Thurman's. Just think if a mirror could solve this problem—how many “Extreme Makeovers” could be avoided? You just go into Home Depot, and there they are:
This mirror is the fat thigh model—makes you look like Britney Spears when you turn around. Flat chest? That would be the Jessica Simpson model.
I get up and look in my own mirror over my dresser.
Clearly, I have too much time on my hands.

I sink to my knees and start my day in prayer, thanking God that I've excelled at another job for a month. I'm hopeful that He has a bigger, better opportunity somewhere else. Maybe there's a little wishful thinking in my prayers this morning, but God's bigger than my issues.

Kay raps at my door, and I open my eyes from prayer. “Come in!”

“Hey there. Did you do something at church on Sunday?”

“Why?”

“The mail came bright and early and there's all these thank-you notes for Thanksgiving.”

“Cool.” I nod my head.

“Ashley?”

“What?” I ask in an overly innocent tone while I straighten out my sheets.

“Are you going to be here this morning? The contractor is supposedly starting.”

“I'll wait for him.”

“Kevin called again early this morning. He hopes he didn't wake you up.”

“He didn't.”

“Are you going to call him?”

“I haven't decided yet.”

“At least talk to Brea about it before you do anything. At least you listen to her.” Kay starts to shut the door, and then sticks her head back in. “Whatever you did on Sunday, thank you for that.” She waves the cards at me.

“You're welcome.” I plop back on my bed, not quite sure what to do with my overly calm lifestyle of late. I need a little excitement, so I call Brea. She's finally home.

“Hello, Ashley,” she breathes into the phone.

“Brea, how's life with your mom around 24/7?” As if I couldn't tell by her tone.

“Am I a complete putz? Because I know I'm not exactly book smart, but I did manage to score myself a pretty good man, a pretty good life here, did I not?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Is my child not the most gorgeous little Baby Gap man you've ever seen? Do I understand the concept of dressing him without Garanimals?”

“Things going that well, huh?” I crinkle my nose.

“Come get this baby and take him out for a while, Ashley. He's being nitpicked to death, and I worry we're about to have a shower scene from
Psycho
.”

“You know, I really resent being called the drama queen here. Your mother thinks I'm the drama queen because you'll go and be all nice to her and then unleash on me. And you know what? She's going to rip my head off for trying to take baby Miles out of the house.”

“But I'm your best friend, and you're coming anyway,” Brea states.

“I have two words for you: Dan Hollings. I had a date with Dan Hollings for you.”

“That was nearly a year ago, and he wasn't that bad. Quit your whining. It made Seth jealous.”

“Could we not mention his name, please?” Now Rhett is whining. “I have to take the dog out and wait for the contractor. I'll be there in a couple hours.”

“You better come, or I'm calling Seth in India and telling him you miss him and want to bear his children.”

We both start cracking up. “You are such a terrible liar.”

“Bring me an espresso on your way, will you? Decaf, of course.”

The doorbell rings. “I think the contractor is here. Gotta run.” I open the door and my mouth pops open like one of Kay's Christmas choir statues. The contractor has light brown hair (the color of a golden leaf in fall), honey brown eyes, and a chiseled build that probably has a twelve-pack hiding within. I'm so pathetically shallow. But I feel like it's a sign. When the hotties come in on
Average Joe,
does the gal not react? It's a sign. It's perfectly acceptable that I'm attracted to Dr. Kevin Novak.

The left side of his mouth curls slowly and reveals the most perfect set of teeth I've ever laid eyes upon. Clearly, his parents spent some money at the orthodontist. He's packing a tool belt, and it pulls at his Levi's dangerously.

“Hi, I'm Colin. Colin Law.” He wipes his hands on his jeans and thrusts one toward me.

“Ashley Stockingdale. Nice to meet you.” I open the door a bit wider. “Come on in, I'll tell you where to get started.”

I start to walk down the hallway, and I'm realizing this guy is behind me. With all his muscles and rigid cuts on his stomach, what can he be thinking?
When was her last time at the gym? 1980?
“It's just right in there.” I point.

“You look very familiar,” he says.

“Do I?” I giggle. Yes, I giggled and I can't take it back now.

He's pointing at me trying to place the face. “I can't remember her name. She was in
Pirates of the Caribbean
. You look like her.”

More giggling. Just shoot me now and put me out of my misery. I point at the round metal hole in the middle of what used to be the bathroom. “We really need a toilet.”

“I've got to get the floor in first.” He apologizes with a shrug.

“Well, Colin, you've got two women here trying to get ready.
If
we both have a date.” See there, just let him know we're not together. So very subtle. This is why I am a lawyer. “Well, if we both have a date, it's just misery.”

He looks at me. “Did you want to get that?”

“Get what?”

“The phone. It's ringing,” Colin says.

“Right. The phone. Getting the phone.” I back up toward my room, lest he get another view of the full moon. “I'll just be on the telephone if you need anything.” I reach for the phone just as it stops ringing. And no ID either. Sigh. I let the answering machine get it.

I clamber into some Halogen jeans (only brand that makes the legs long enough for me), and don a Gap T-shirt under my Juicy sweatshirt. Brushing some powdered foundation over my face and dabbing lip gloss, I figure this is as good as it's going to get without appearing high maintenance. I grab Rhett's leash, and we head up the hallway. Rhett whimpers at the sight of Colin. “I know, huh?” I say to the dog.

“Leaving me?” Colin asks.

“Um, yeah. Gotta babysit today and I'm—”

“Are you a nanny?” he asks.

“No, I'm a lawyer. A patent attorney.” You know, a contract geek.

He nods at me, as though he has no idea what I do.

“I write patents.”

He starts to laugh. “It's okay, I understand. I'm an engineer by training.”

“An engineer?”

“Mechanical engineer. But I found I didn't get to work with my hands enough. So here I am, designing bathrooms and kitchens, and doing what I love.” He grabs the hammer with gusto. He's looking at me with those wide brown eyes, and I've just forgotten where I am. Good thing Rhett is here to lead me like a guide dog.

“The telephone!” I say, realizing it's ringing again.

He nods like I've got a screw loose upstairs, and you have to wonder.

“Hello?”

“Ashley? It's Kevin.”

I think I let out a groan here. “Kev . . .”

“I've been trying to get a hold of you for days. Are you avoiding me?”

I'm silent. Just the sound of his baritone makes me feel guilty. My stomach tingles at the sound of his voice, and I realize Colin in there is just another way for me to avoid what's at hand. My heart is galloping toward Kevin, and I'm grabbing the reins hard trying to halt it.

“Ashley, you there?”

“Uh-huh. I'm here.”
Your parents are bigots. Your parents are bigots
.
Just spit it out.

“Is there something going on?”

“Yes, actually there is.” I am breathing hard here.

Colin asks me for a drink of water.

“Is there someone there, Ashley?”

I look at Colin, who I've pointed to the kitchen. “Just the contractor. I think it's something we should discuss in person, Kevin. There is something I need to tell you.”

“There's something I need to tell you, too, Ashley. Are you busy this afternoon? Could we meet on your lunch hour?”

“I have no lunch hour. I'm not working at Gainnet any longer.”

He says nothing about the job. “Good, then can we meet at ten thirty at Evvia?”

“How about one o'clock at Fresh Choice? I promised to take baby Miles out for a few hours to give Brea a break from her mom.”

“One at Fresh Choice. I'll be there.” He pauses for a minute. “Oh, and Ashley, since you're not working, you're going to be wearing jeans, right?” He makes a clicking noise.

Now I wonder. Should I change so I don't look like I was trying to impress him?

Gulp. I come out of the hallway and see Colin swallowing water like he's a camel. He lets out a belch, and then sees me. “Sorry about that. I thought you were on the phone.”

“Can I leave the dog here? Will he bother you?” I ask the hottie pseudoengineer with bodily function issues.

Colin takes a gander at Rhett, and then at me. “Suit yourself. Your house.”

Perhaps that's what Seth felt for Arin. Just a momentary rush that makes you question everything you know to be true. Kevin is true, but not necessarily for me.

33

A
shley basks in the warm Hawaiian sunlight, the gentle lull of the ukulele's strings bringing her in and out of a restful sleep. She inhales deeply and slowly turns over to allow the rays to reach the bottoms of her feet and the backs of her legs.

“This is the life,” Ashley coos.

“Would you like something more to drink?”

Ashley shoots up from her reclining position. “Kevin?” The elegant doctor is clad in Hawaiian shorts, carrying a slushy strawberry drink with a tiny umbrella in it.

“I'd love something to drink.” She reaches up for him and Kevin takes her hand.

“Wouldn't you rather have a plain iced tea?” Seth appears, also clad in Hawaiian shorts, and Ashley turns away to avoid the flash of white in her eyes. He removes her hand from Kevin's and takes it into his own, but Ashley is concerned.

“Seth? You better get some sunscreen on.”

Seth ignores her warning. “I'd go to the desert for you, Ashley. You don't want that sugary-sweet thing. Simple is what it's all about, Ashley. Simple is what you prefer.” She takes the proffered iced tea, and Seth squeezes a lemon into the drink, careful not to splash any on his black socks. She then places the drink on the table beside her without touching it.

“She needs something stronger. A good margarita with a touch of salt at the brim.” Colin, the very brawny contractor, appears out of nowhere, flexing his double six-pack stomach and strong legs in flip-flops, clad in black shorts with a purple shark.

“What she needs is a touch of the European. A wine spritzer, perhaps?” Hans, dressed to perfection in his Armani suit, holds out a glass of bubbly wine on a silver tray. The crush of ice is heard as he holds the bottle out to fill Ashley's drink to the brim.

Ashley shakes her head. “No, I want water. Pure, filtered water.”

Ashley looks to her suitors. “Over crushed ice.” All of the men stare at one another, unsure of where to get the simple offering. Then, in a flash of light, everyone looks skyward and shields their faces from the sun. “Never mind.” Ashley pushes through the men. “None of you has what I want.”

“Ashley, get out of your dream world and come in and get Miles. Brea's waiting.” Mrs. Browning is tapping her toes, as I sit behind the wheel of my convertible, lost in a better world than this one.

My mind is far away from Mrs. Browning's moving mouth.
I mean, I wish I really looked that good in a swimsuit. I have one of those special mirrors in my dreams. That's a nice place to be.

“You didn't bring that mutt with you, good.”

And then my dream is magically gone. Lost in Mrs. Browning's angular face. Brea's mother has the pointiest nose you ever saw. You almost expect it to start growing as she speaks, like Pinocchio. Not that she lies. It would almost be a blessing if she did because what she really thinks is so much worse than something she might temper with a kind white lie.

“It's nice to see you too, Mrs. Browning,” I remark, grabbing my bag and getting out of the car. I'm not in the mood for falsehood this morning, and if Mrs. Browning can't be bothered, neither can I.

“Don't get smart. I've been waiting around all morning, and I'd like to get to the club and work on the Christmas party. Brea said you were coming, and I count on you. Not that I shouldn't know better.”

Something in me snaps here. “You know, Mrs. Browning, every parent I have ever met loves me. Even boyfriends who dumped me in high school, I still get Christmas cards from their parents. What on earth makes you hate me so?”

Her lips purse together like an angry bird in a Hitchcock film. “I don't hate anyone. I'm a Christian. And as such, I feel there are certain standards to be upheld. Ashley Stockingdale, do you have any idea what time it is?”

I'm scratching my head here. Not only do I know what time it is here, I also happen to know what time it is in Taiwan, India, and England.

“I'm not late, Mrs. Browning. I'm actually early. I told Brea I'd be over when the contractor arrived.” I shut the car door.