Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,46

down to speak through the window, dropping my voice to a low growl. “If you’re so freaking excited about speed dating, why don’t you go?”

“Please.” She sat back against her seat, patted her belly with her right hand and wiggled the ring finger of her left hand in my direction. “I’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

I pointed at my head. “Like I won’t?”

“Sassy,” she called out, but I was already in motion, headed straight for the safety of my house.

I was completely focused on whether or not I’d ordered anything from the hair re-growth infomercial I’d seen a few nights earlier, when the most wonderful sound captured my attention.

The heels of my new boots clicked sharply against the front walk.

Alive. Powerful. Sexy.

I smiled.

My hair might look like shit, but from the knees down, I was hot.

A long, low whistle stopped me in my tracks, but a strange sense of disappointment slithered through me when I spotted the source.

Freddy.

Who had I hoped for? Number Thirty-Six?

“You look incredible, Mrs. M.”

Even though the sun had begun to slip, a sheen of perspiration covered Freddy’s forehead and a smattering of dirt clung to his arms where he’d peeled off his sweatshirt and worked in his snug-fitting T-shirt.

I shook my head and laughed a bit, wondering if I had enough cash to give the guy a big tip. “Thanks,” I called out as I pushed open my front door and stepped inside.

It had been a long time since anyone had told me I looked incredible.

I stole another glance at Freddy as I shut the door.

Diane might have been wrong about most everything today, but she’d been right about one thing.

My landscaper was one fine specimen of the male gender.

I fought the urge to channel Demi Moore and focused on a more urgent matter.

Speed dating.

I muttered expletives and planned Diane’s demise as I climbed the stairs, headed for my bedroom. When I caught my reflection in the hall mirror, I froze, my homicidal thoughts going silent.

What would I think if I didn’t know me? If I saw me on the street? Or at the mall?

I didn’t look half bad...if I squinted hard enough.

Maybe Diane had been right.

Nah. I shook my head, sneaking one last glance at my reflection as I stepped away.

Even if she had been right, admitting so would only result in additional interventions. She’d already breached the worlds of skin care, footwear, hair and dating.

I shuddered to think what might be next.

Lingerie? Alcohol consumption? Sugar intake?

What Diane didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. Hell, it couldn’t hurt me. Any more of her interventions and I might lose the ability to recognize myself.

I stretched to catch my reflection in the mirror over my bureau.

Maybe, just maybe, not recognizing myself wasn’t such a bad thing.

Maybe it was exactly what I needed.

And maybe, Diane had known that all along.

o0o

“You will do foolish things, but do them with enthusiasm.”

-Colette

FOURTEEN

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I ignored my answering machine all weekend. Diane had called several times to check on me...and my hair. I began to feel guilty for ignoring her when she called to squeal over my letter to the editor after it ran in Sunday’s paper.

Number one, she was a great friend, always had been. Number two, it wasn’t as if she held me down while the stylist cut my hair to within an inch of its life. I did have something to do with Friday’s events.

So, here I sat bright and early Monday morning wondering just how late Diane was sleeping these days. I owed her an apology, but didn’t want to wake her up to deliver it.

When Poindexter nosed the back door, I never thought to listen before I let him outside.

He’d no sooner cleared the back steps when I heard the drone.

Had to be a 737. Or bigger.

“Shit.” I shoved my hands up into my hair--yet another reminder of my near baldness.

Poindexter was off like a shot, bounding across the yard. He barked up at the sky without a care in the world, without a thought as to how quickly Mrs. Cooke would dial my number to deliver her latest lecture on dog control.

I stood poised with my hand over the phone, ready to try out the new answering machine message I’d been practicing.

Then the doorbell rang. That noise, I hadn’t been prepared for.

I shuffled toward the front door and smoothed the front of my sweatshirt. At some point in the rebirth of my life I