What A Girl Wants (7 page)

Audra's eyes widened and she pulled a gold compact with a larger mirror out of her purse and moved it around. “Oh, God, you're right. The blotches are becoming hives. This is too much.” She chewed on her lower lip and added, “I want you to see Bruno. Please, Hay. I really want to contribute.”

“Who's Bruno again?” Hayley asked.

“Bruno Maffri. He's Audra's personal coach,” Diane explained. “A specialist in success-visualization technique. He's quite good. Helped me pass the GMAT. It was actually much cheaper than taking a month's worth of study prep courses.”

Suz rested her chin on her palm and watched Audra fuss with the hives. “You just can't stand it that I might have more to offer than you.”

Audra glanced up at Suz, gave an exasperated squeak, and tossed the compact back into her purse in a gesture of surrender. She spread a napkin on the tabletop, then laid her head on top of her crossed arms. In a muffled voice she said, “I'm sorry, Suzy. I'm just jealous. You know I hate to lose.”

“This isn't a competition, people.” Hayley looked from one girl to the other. “This is my life. Look, Aud, you know I appreciate that you want to help me, but it looks like I'm getting things under control.”

Audra blew her nose loudly in response.

Hayley cringed at the sound and said, “Maybe you should keep that appointment for yourself.”

“I don't think Bruno's equipped to handle this. I need to see somebody else. Somebody who specializes in nervous tension. Please take the appointment.”

But Hayley was feeling cocky this morning. She'd had a day to recover from her hangover and now she was fully able to appreciate Friday night's success. “Thanks, but I think I'll pass.”

This triggered a rather alarming coughing fit. “Please take it, Hay. Consider it reinforcement. And even if you've got the personal part under control, you're going to need a new job.”

Hayley shook her head and tossed her crumpled napkin on the table. “Thanks, but I'm going down to the Tech Job Fair at the Exploratorium. I'm sure I'll find something. Besides, to be totally honest, psychology mumbo jumbo really isn't my thing.”

“No, but this is different. He's not a licensed psychologist,” Diane explained.

“Oh, well, that makes me feel so much better.” Hayley pushed her empty latte mug away. “Thanks—really, thanks—but no, thanks.”

Suz slapped the table gleefully. “Sorry, Audra, but that settles it. Hayley's doing fine under
my
tutelage, and I think we'll stick with that. As a matter of fact, I've got phase two of my plan in the works already.”

I
ndeed, there was no rest for the weary. Suz called a couple of days later. “It's time to execute. We're going to Fred Leary's memorial service.”

“How depressing.”

“It's not depressing. It's an opportunity to turn the Beer Garden triumph into lasting results. It will do you good.”

“I'm not seeing how that's the case. It's a funeral, not a morning jog.”

“Good things always happen to me at funerals. There are lots of single men who need comforting. We can practice what we learned on Friday night.”

“You've got to be kidding me.”

“Did I steer you wrong before?”

Hayley didn't answer. The truth was, she did feel anxious to get out of the house. She'd spent the day slumped on her black IKEA couch wrapped in her charcoal-gray, pin-striped Calvin Klein comforter watching her black television. The grayscale environment was beginning to depress even her.

“Look, the paper says Fred's thing starts in an hour. I'll come pick you up. Oh, and put on some cute high heels. You'll need something that really shows off your calves. 'Kay? Oh, and see if you can find something black to wear.” Suz laughed and hung up.

Hayley managed to find a halter dress in black cotton eyelet that was summery yet respectful, which she paired with a black straw purse and black platform espadrille sandals. She had just enough time left to create her signature bedhead look and slap on some makeup before Suz arrived, screeching up to the curb outside the apartment building in that giant metallic green boat of a seventies Chevrolet she called “the cruiser.”

When she opened the car door, Hayley instantly recognized the smell from Friday night, even though she couldn't actually remember riding in the cruiser at all. She peered into the backseat. It looked fuzzier than usual, but she didn't say anything, since it was a free ride.

Audra called the cruiser “a cesspool on wheels.” Diane used “the rolling petri dish.” Hayley just called it better than nothing, since she hated to drive in the city.

There was nothing about it that was remotely appealing. It wasn't so bad that it was cool . . . it was just plain bad. It disturbed all five senses. You didn't want to be seen in this thing. Ever. Not only that, but the thing could not be parked.

After a harrowing ride through the streets of San Francisco, which involved being unable to turn off Market Street for a solid fifteen minutes, going down not one but two one-way streets the wrong way, and nearly mowing down an entire eight-person Chinese family at Broadway and Columbus, Suz whipped the cruiser into a spot next to a fire hydrant. She noted that they'd be okay because of Hayley's new “connections” with San Francisco law enforcement.

They climbed out of the car and walked half a block before escaping from the fiery outdoor heat into the somewhat more humid but no less fiery indoor heat of St. Elton's Church of Divine Oneness and Heavenly Togetherness.

Suz fanned herself with her hand. “If there is a God, you'd think He'd have enough pull to wire His home for air-conditioning.”

“Suz, St. Elton's is a gay, Catholic, New Age San Francisco church with a cross-dressing priestess. It's probably not at the top of His/Her maintenance list.”

Hayley looked around. The tiny church was absolutely packed with people, which was odd because of Fred's fairly antisocial behavior. She was the only person from work she could see, but maybe he just didn't like people from work. Couldn't really blame him.

Instead, there were about forty other people at the service that Hayley had never seen before. Most of them seemed to be holding . . . were those what she thought they were? Yup. Forty people holding tiny origami designs in their hands.

Origami? Suz and Hayley looked at each other. “I'm having a
Twilight Zone
moment, how 'bout you?” Suz asked.

Hayley just nodded. Then, “Oh, my God. Look at that woman's tote bag.”

“The Northern California Paper Folding Society? Well, that's different.” Suz grimaced and slid into the nearest open pew. “Say, do you think there'll be a fruit platter or something afterward?” She reduced her voice to a loud whisper. “Funerals make me hungry. Do they make you hungry?”

“Oh, my God . . . oh, my God.”

“They're getting started,” Suz said. “Looks like there's gonna be some praying.”

“Suz . . . Suz.”

Suz picked up the prayer book and opened it to shield her mouth. “What is
wrong
with you?”

Hayley tried to swallow but her mouth had gone completely dry. “Oh. My. God.” It was all she could muster up.

“What?”

“Shh!” Hayley scrunched down in the pew.

Quieter. “What?”

“It's him. I think it's him.” Suz looked puzzled until Hayley added, “The investigating detective. The one I. . . you know. But I'm not sure. No. Noooo . . . nope. Wait! Oh, my God, it
is
him. I think. Okay, I'm going to indicate his general direction, but don't look now.” Hayley bobbed her head up from behind the prayer book in the direction of a man sitting slightly to the left, two pews up.

“Suz! I said don't look now. Could you be a little more subtle?”

“You want
me
to be subtle. You look like you've got Tourette's.” Suz craned her neck. “Anyway, I don't know who you're talking about. That woman's hat is the size of a small child. Can't see a goddamn thing. You're telling me the Big Dick is here?”

“I'm not positive, but I think so. That guy. The one with the white shirt . . . and I guess he's wearing a tie . . . from this angle, his upper-body measurements seem about right.” Hayley held up her hands, trying to estimate in the air what she could remember of his size and shape. The woman in the pew next to her gave her a dirty look.

“Hey! Here's your chance.” Suz dug her elbow into Hayley's side. “People are already getting up to pay their respects. You can check out the guy while you go up and tell Fred how sorry you are for disrespecting him.”

Hayley pointedly ignored her and murmured, “I wonder why he's here. . . .”

“Probably to tell Fred how sorry he is for disrespecting him.”

“Shut up. You're supposed to be supporting me in my time of need.”

“I am. I'm going to walk you through this. Now I want you to just slip into the line. You're gonna go up there and give Fred his moment. And on the way up, verrrry casually I want you to tilt your head and maybe make like you're wiping away a tear.” Suz demonstrated the technique. “As you do so, you can look at the guy's face and see if it's him. Once we've established it's him, we'll figure out the next best move. Got that?”

“Wipe away a tear?” Hayley grimaced. “Jesus, Suz, you're cold. Poor Fred.”

“What's the problem? It's very simple. It's not like Fred is here to judge. I'd be more concerned about how many times you've taken the Lord's name in vain in the last thirty minutes, not to mention the last three days alone. What could possibly go wrong?”

Indeed. What could possibly go wrong? “Wait. I don't have a paper thingy to put by Fred's casket.”

“What?”

“All these people have cute little origami animals and stuff. I can't go up there without an offering.”

Impatiently Suz unfolded Hayley's four-panel memorial service program, smoothed it flat, and with astonishing speed produced a surprisingly realistic miniature F-16 Falcon. “Here.”

“Wow. My own personal MacGyver.” Hayley took the airplane and scootched forward in the pew to get up, but at the last minute she turned to Suz. “What do I do if it's him?” she blurted out.

“We'll deal with that when you get back.” Suz put her hand on Hayley's back and shoved. Hayley lurched forward and stood up,
then stumbled her way to the center aisle, silently cursing the espadrilles.

She smiled politely but not too cheerfully, as would befit the funereal circumstances, and wedged herself into the line between a very handsome man holding an intricate Roman-chariot origami and a woman with a less decorative but no less poignant teddy bear origami. Hayley sheepishly concealed her paper airplane with her hand.

As the line inched its way up toward Fred's casket, there was a point at which Hayley was directly parallel to the mystery man's pew. She glanced back at Suz who egged her on with a wave of her hand.

As a compromise, Hayley tilted her head and sort of wiped under her eye, more like she was wiping mascara than tears because it seemed at least incrementally less offensive.

And even though it seemed as though her glance was the subtlest thing in the world, eye contact was definitely made. It was without a doubt Grant Hutchinson. Her heart lurched and she just stared at him.

She'd turned the corner around the long end of Fred's casket now. It was a closed casket and Fred's picture was propped up on an easel as a substitute.

A very distraught short man just in front of the Roman chariot guy was taking his time speaking with Fred's image, so Hayley had a bit of spare time for analysis. She used it to stare directly at Grant staring back at her, trying to gauge what he might be thinking.

She hoped she was mistaken, because in the final interpretation, he seemed to be looking at her the way a guy looks when the most unpopular girl in junior high is crossing the gym floor to propose
a slow dance in front of all his friends. It was somewhat discouraging in the big picture.

The line inched closer to Fred, and as Hayley stepped forward, still staring at Grant, her feet hit a footstool but her torso kept moving.

To prevent herself from falling, she had to fling her arms out and grab on to a combination handful of lily arrangement and casket cover, both of which were draped over the top of Fred's casket.

The sound of memorial service programs fluttering in the air stopped short as Hayley's yelp echoed throughout the cavernous space.

A single chord hummed, held by the organist's paralyzed hands. Everybody looked up and followed the paper airplane as it lurched out of Hayley's grasp and floated lopsidedly to the back of the church.

Not surprisingly, Hayley was expecting the worst. What she got was the entire forty-person membership of the Northern California Paper Folding Society bursting into spontaneous applause.

Maybe there was something to the whole God concept, because it would have been a complete disaster at just about any other funeral. Hard to believe, but she was at a funeral with the only people who could possibly construe her mishap as some sort of tribute.

As they clapped, Hayley released her death grip from the side of the casket and slowly stood upright. She managed a weak smile for her fellow mourners, then turned and straightened the casket cover and prettied up the loose lilies as best she could.

She looked at Suz for a clue, but her friend's face was now entirely hidden by her program, so Hayley swallowed and turned back toward Fred.

And nearly knocked his portrait off the easel.
Whoa
. Hayley took a step back and squinted. The picture didn't look anything like Fred. Probably because it was one of those heinous high school yearbook pictures. Hayley flicked a bit of lily pollen off the glossy and tried to compose her thoughts.

Okay. Uh, hello, Fred. Gosh, um, I've never seen you in a coat and tie before. You look great, and I'm not just saying that. . . . Okay. So I just wanted to say that I hope you didn't think that I was disrespecting you when you were dead and the policeman and I were . . . well, you know. Really, it was just one of those things. Has no bearing on our friendship. Er,
had
no bearing. Right. Well, I guess we're squared away now.

She put her fingers to her lips, then touched them to Fred's glossy high school forehead.

Hayley quickly made her way to the steps from the casket, and continued back down the aisle. She couldn't resist taking a peek at Grant.

And maybe it had nothing to do with God or no God. Maybe it was just Fred's way of telling her he knew no disrespect was intended. But things started to look really good right about then, because not only did Hayley just manage to avoid almost certain widespread public humiliation, but Grant Hutchinson was looking right at her with both eyebrows up and a huge smile.

So what if it could be interpreted as a smile of disbelief.

When Hayley finally reached the safety of her pew, she slid in again next to Suz to wait for the remaining guests to pay their respects to Fred. “It's definitely him. Did you notice we made eye contact? I think he wants me.”

Suz didn't answer. She seemed to be scanning the crowd for something . . . or someone. “The guy with the Roman chariot. He was standing in front of you in line. Did you see where he went?”

Hayley ignored her question in turn. “Do you think Grant's here to see
me
?”

Suz unfolded her memorial service program and proceeded to wipe her underarms with it before crumpling it up and tossing it in her purse. “Could be.”