Unforgettable (11 page)

D
iana stared at the dummy invitation to William Bassett's masquerade ball while Chelsea explained the crazy idea she and Paula had cooked up. The whole thing sounded ridiculous. No way Marcel would take such a serious decision lightly—let alone allow his best friend to arbitrarily select his future wife.

“So are you going to attend?” Chelsea asked. “It should be a lot of fun.”

Diana shook her head. “I doubt it.” She handed back the invitation. “I'm not particularly interested in becoming Mrs. Marcel Taylor.”

“Then you're an exception.” Chelsea snickered. “What's not to want? He's gorgeous, rich, wonderful and rich. I'd die if he selected me.”

Diana just laughed. “What's stopping him from selecting you now?”

“Oh, don't spoil it for us with logic. This is supposed to be fun.” Chelsea pushed the invitation back into her hands and then winked. “Think it over. We all owe it to ourselves to have a little fun in life.”

 

Propped against a mound of pillows, Louisa delighted herself with the sheer entertainment Tim provided. Decked out in fuschia boas and the best wig Star Jones provided, he belted out a special rendition of the disco hit “I Will Survive.”

“Fabulous!” She clapped exuberantly. “You should be in show business.”

“You really think so?” Tim plopped down on the end of her bed. “There was a time when I used to wow the crowds at this cool club in South Miami Beach.” He leaned forward. “That's how I really met Caleb, you know.”

“Ah.” She rolled her eyes back and instantly recalled the thrill of dancing before a crowd. “There's nothing like performing in front of an audience, is there?”

“I bet you were great.”

Louisa nodded. “Yes, I was.”

The sound of the apartment's front door closing drew their attention.

“Diana, is that you?”

“Yeah, it's me,” Diana answered and followed the sound of her grandmother's voice to her bedroom. The minute she pushed open the door and saw Tim in his getup, her eyes widened and laughter burst from her lungs.

Tim timidly reached up and removed the wig.

“Sorry. I'm sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I just wasn't expecting—”

He held up his hand. “No need to apologize. I'm sure it was a shock.”

“Oh, Diana. You should have seen him,” Louisa said, pushing herself up. “He's great.” She glanced at Tim. “Go on. Show her.”

Embarrassed, Tim waved her off.

Diana sensed that she'd inadvertently hurt Tim's feelings and crossed over to sit on the bed, as well. “Yeah, what is it? I'd like to see it.”

“It's nothing,” Tim insisted.

“It's wonderful,” Louisa encouraged.

Diana brightened. “Then let me see it.”

Tim hesitated a moment longer and then quickly grabbed the wig and repositioned it on his head.

Diana's mood lightened when Tim jumped up and wrapped the boa around his neck. But nothing could prepare her for when he pressed the play button on his portable stereo. A few minutes later when he ended his performance, she applauded and bounded off the bed to embrace him.

“That was great. I didn't know you were a performer.”

“Well, it's about the only thing I keep in the closet nowadays.” He laughed.

“I think that you need to find a stage,” Louisa said.

“Nah,” he said. “It's just something that I like to do in the mirror when I should be vacuuming.”

“Liar,” Louisa and Diana said in unison and then laughed at themselves.

“Looks like I should give you the same speech I gave Diana about taking risks,” Louisa said, waving a pointed finger. “You're never going to get anywhere by keeping your dreams to yourself.”

“Really?” Tim looked over at Diana. “And what exactly is your dream?”

As she felt both sets of eyes centered on her, Diana's throat squeezed shut. “Nothing. I don't have one.”

Tim frowned. “Cut it out. We all have dreams or some deep, dark secret that we're afraid to admit even to ourselves.”

Diana shrugged as she delivered the lie without thinking. “Not me.”

“Someone is in denial,” Louisa singsonged.

Diana's mouth opened prepared to protest again, but the invitation in her purse crossed her mind.

“Jed, I think we've struck oil,” Louisa gushed.

Sucking in her bottom lip, Diana felt her belly swarm with butterflies. “A dark secret that we're afraid to admit to ourselves?”

“Yes?” Tim and Louisa looked at her with hopeful eyes.

Louisa stood from the bed and both she and Tim crowded around Diana.

Then as if realizing what she was about to do, she shook her head and waved the notion off. “Oh, never mind.”

“No, no,” they said. “Go on.”

Diana hesitated.

“Remember what I said about regret,” Louisa said. “A life full of regret is no life at all.”

Diana sat back on the bed and contemplated what she wanted to say. “There's this guy,” she began.

Like an avalanche, Tim and Louisa dropped onto the bed next to her, their attention rapt on what she was about to say next.

It was hard to choose her words mainly because it was the first time she had spoken them out loud. “It's not that I actually stand a chance with him or anything. In fact, as a woman, I don't think he even notices me. Except for that time we kissed.”

“What?” Tim and Louisa chimed.

“What do you mean as a woman, dear?” Louisa added. “How else is he supposed to know you?”

“And when did this kiss take place?” Tim wanted to know.

How much more should she tell them? she wondered. What if they laughed at her? Once again the invitation floated to the forefront of her mind.

“Because he only sees me as his dutiful secretary,” Diana said, but it came out as a low whisper. When she looked around, she noticed both had leaned in close to catch her words. Then she saw the slow dawning in their eyes.

Squealing, they grabbed her into a bear hug.

Being pulled in two different directions, Diana fleetingly thought that they were going to snap her in half.

“Guys, do you mind? You're hurting me.”

“I knew it. I knew it,” Louisa said, pulling away and then wiping her tears of joy.

“Marcel Taylor.” Tim sobbed. “
The
Marcel Taylor. I
knew it when I picked you up that day.” He kissed her cheek.

Diana frowned as she leaned back. “Ugh. Your wig is tickling me.”

“Sorry.” He snatched it off of his head and grabbed her again.

“Hold up.” Diana pulled away. “It's not like I've won him over or anything.”

“Yet!” Tim and Louisa said and then looked at each other.

“Great minds think alike,” Louisa said.

“I don't know about that,” Diana said. “A part of me thinks I should get my head examined.” She stood from the bed. “Mr. Taylor isn't the kind of man to settle down with just one woman. I should know. I've sent plenty of flowers and gifts to his legions of women over the past two years. I'm not looking to settle for a man that's considered community property.”

“Surely he's not that bad,” Louisa said, but then blinked when Tim and Diana gave her an
oh, yes, he is
look.

“Okay, then. Who said anything about settling? How come you just can't date him, change him and then marry him?”

Diana rolled her eyes. “Nana, that's irrational. No one should go into a relationship with the mind-set of trying to change someone.”

“Why not? Women have been doing it since the days of Adam.”

“People have to want to change. It's not something that you force on them.”

“Oh, pooh. We're talking about men. They don't know what they want. Nor do they know what's good for them. The art is in changing a man without him knowing you're changing him.”

“Amen,” Tim atoned.

Diana waved off their reasoning. “Marcel has probably been subjected to every trick in the book by now and by women more skilled than I. Besides, I don't want a man that I have to trick into liking or falling in love with me.”

Louisa looked to Tim. “Do you hear what I hear?”

“I hear a symphony,” Tim sang.

Diana stood and rolled her eyes. “I'm not going to talk to you guys if you're not going to be serious about this.”

“Okay. We're sorry,” Tim said.

“Yeah, we're sorry.” Louisa stared up at her. “So you hate my idea. What are you going to do?”

Diana blinked. “Do? I'm not going to
do
anything. I like the guy. That's it.”

Tim and Louisa glanced at each other.

“Though he might be looking for a wife,” Diana added.

Her grandmother and best friend exploded with new questions.

“I thought you said that he wasn't looking to settle down?” Louisa asked.

“How come he can't marry you?”

“It's just a rumor,” Diana said, shrugging.

“Any chance there's some truth to it?” Louisa asked.

“I doubt it.” Diana hugged herself as she thought it over. “Then again…”

Louisa stood with a wide smile and looped her arm around Diana's waist. “Then that settles it. You have to at least try to win his heart. Who knows? Maybe he really is ready to settle down. All playboys retire after a while and some go on to make terrific husbands. Not all, but some. And I have to tell you, I got a good vibe off of him a few weeks ago. He definitely has potential.”

Diana rolled her eyes again. “We're talking like I actually have a chance with this man. Let me tell you, I don't. He dates women with booties like J. Lo and Beyoncé. Women who were born perfect.” Her thoughts centered on Ophelia.

“What are you talking about? You're very pretty.” Louisa squeezed her. “Any man would be lucky to have you.”

“Yeah.” Tim also draped an arm around her. “Now tell us about this kiss.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that,” Tim and Louisa said.

Diana took a deep breath and explained what had happened the night she stayed at Marcel's. When she was done, she swore she could have heard a pin drop in Texas.

“Well, someone say something.”

Louisa cleared her throat. “So, you mean if this Nora person didn't show up—”

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to,” Tim said. “Wow. You have more skills than you're letting on.”

The invitation returned to her memory once again and she spoke without censoring her words. “There's this masquerade ball coming up next week. I was told that he might be looking for…a possible wife at the event.”

“That settles it,” Tim said. “You have to go.”

“Me and all the single women at the office. They're all going to crash the party, as well. But it's ridiculous. If Marcel wanted to date one of us, there's nothing stopping him. He has a rule about dating women he works with…though I do see him with Nora a lot.”

“Then don't let him know it's you,” Louisa said simply.

“Of course he's going to know it's me. I work with the man six days a week.”

Tim removed the boa from around his neck. “You just need a good disguise.”

“A new hairstyle,” Louisa suggested. “Maybe a good wig.”

“Color contact lenses,” Tim added.

“Oh, a tight, revealing outfit.”

“Oh, please. The minute he's in front of me, he's going to recognize me,” Diana reasoned.

Louisa snapped her fingers. “Then you'll also need an elaborate mask. It is a masquerade party, after all.”

“What do you suggest I do when I open my mouth? I still sound like me.”

That threw them for a loop for a moment, but then Tim snapped his fingers. “French. Wasn't French your minor in college?”

Diana shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Then you'll speak French the entire evening. That'll
add a mysterious aura about you. Every time you speak I want you to be very breathy with it. Be very dramatic, that ought to alter your voice a little.”

“And we need to teach you a new way to walk,” Louisa said. “I can teach you how to work those hips. The magic is in the hips.” She and Tim high-fived each other.

Diana's heart fluttered with excitement as she too began to picture what they had in mind. But could it work? “I don't know, guys.”

“All right. Enough of this,” Louisa said. “You need to make a decision. Do you want him or not?”

Diana returned to the edge of the bed. “But even if I did—”

“I didn't ask you that. Do you want him or not? No hedging or offering excuses.”

Diana gulped.

“Yes or no?” her grandmother pressed.

It was the moment of truth, Diana realized. Not because she was confessing to her grandmother and her best friend, but because she was admitting it to herself, as well.

Tim and Louisa waited.

Diana drew a deep breath just as she felt her eyes glaze over. “I want him with all my heart.”

Back at Joe Mugg's

“When the hell are we getting to this masquerade ball?” Ophelia asked, glancing at her watch. “I'll be eligible for Medicare benefits by the time you finish this story.”

Solomon frowned. “You're the one who asked for it, remember?”

“Yeah, but most people tell a story in a couple of minutes, not during the entire course of a presidential term. When are you going to get to the juicy stuff?”

“Patience. I'm getting there.” He smiled. “Or maybe I should stop and let Marcel tell you the rest?”

“I swear to goodness if you leave me hanging, you're limping out of here.”

“Well, I might be persuaded to finish if you tell me a little more about that prom you wanted me to take you to.”

Ophelia's shoulders slumped. “There's nothing else to tell. I wanted you to take me, you didn't ask, so
c'est la vie.
Then, of course, there was also the senior prom, but hey.”

Solomon stared at her. “I don't believe this. Why are we just now talking about this? I wanted to take you to both of those, but I thought that you had a thing for Marcel. God knows you were always around him.”

“I was always around both of you.” She shrugged. “I thought I was giving you plenty of hints on how I felt, but you just ignored them, or so I thought.”

“Did Marcel know?” He thought of his best buddy and
couldn't imagine that he would keep something this vital from him especially since Marcel knew of his feeling toward Ophelia.

“I never came out and said it, but I suspect that he knew.”

“And you and Marcel…?”

“Please. Marcel is like a big brother to me. But you… I don't know. I liked you the first time I tackled you in touch football when I was ten years old.”

Solomon swallowed. “You don't say.”

“I do say.” She smiled. “Now, back to this story.”

He blinked, but shook his head. “I have to ask another question about us first.”

Ophelia's lips drooped as her gaze locked on her coffee cup.

Solomon felt his throat constrict to the point that he could barely get air through, let alone words. “How do you feel about me now?”

She closed her eyes for so long, he thought she wasn't going to respond.

“Never mind. You don't have to answer that right now,” he rushed to say, fearful of her answer.

“I still care for you very much,” she finally said. “I've just come to accept that we weren't meant to be. We're where we're supposed to be: friends.”

Solomon stared into her honey-colored eyes and felt himself nod though he didn't want to. “Yeah. It's probably best.”

There was an awkward silence as the two sipped their coffee.

Solomon was first to recover. Mainly because he was
determined not to ruin the rest of the afternoon. Maybe some things were best left in the past. “So, where was I in the story?”

Ophelia cleared her throat and then flashed him a shaky smile. “Uh, I believe this Diana had just enlisted her burlesque dancing grandma and her ambitious, gay, cross-dressing best friend to help her transform herself for this mysterious masquerade ball.”

“Oh, yes. I remember now…”