A Perfect Life?. Dawn Atkins
Valentine’s Day,” Kitty said. “It’s just a plot by the jewelry industry to soak men for big bucks and make single women feel like roadkill.”
“I’m so sorry, Claire,” Emily said. Emily’s advice would be practical and down-to-earth, which Claire valued, even if it came via bulldozer, aka, Emily’s way or the highway.
“I really thought he loved me,” Claire said.
“I’m sure he does love you.” Zoe pulled her into her banana-paba-smelling arms for a quick hug. “He’s just a little…well…mixed-up.”
“Well, duh,” Kitty said.
“Did he explain himself?” Zoe asked.
“His wife and he have grown apart. He didn’t realize it until he met me.”
“And started getting regular blow jobs,” Kitty added.
“Kitty!” Zoe said.
“It’s true. I bet Lindi-with-an-i hasn’t delivered since she got him to say ‘I do.’”
“It’s more than that,” Claire said, though Jared did seem stunned and grateful when she performed that particular act. “Anyway, he says we can work things out.”
“And of course you told him to go piss up a rope,” Emily said.
Claire didn’t answer.
Kitty shook her head and tsked. “I wish you’d help yourself the way you help us.”
Claire felt another tear escape and roll down her cheek.
Zoe hugged her again and they all remained supportively silent while Zoe frantically patted Claire’s back. And patted.
When she felt welts forming, Claire gently extracted herself. She blew her nose on the tissue Emily proffered, forced a watery smile and lifted her wineglass in a toast. “Come on. No sniveling!”
“You just snivel away,” Zoe said. “This is a special occasion. Right, girls?”
The four clinked glasses, then took a solemn drink in Claire’s honor.
“What do you want us to do to Pinkie?” Kitty demanded, her eyes gleaming in the golden light. “Blow his cover with Lindi-with-an-i? Slash his tires? Trash his apartment?”
“Kitty!” Zoe said. Zoe kept trying to tone Kitty down, but they all knew it was no use and loved her for trying anyway. And Kitty for refusing to change.
“It’s the company’s apartment,” Claire said gloomily. “He was going to move in with me on Saturday, remember?”
“So, we graffiti the walls. He’ll be responsible for the damages,” ever-practical Emily said.
“Yeah, baby. That’s the ticket!” Kitty said. “Nobody messes with our crew.” Kitty jutted her chin and thrust out her chest in a seated strut.
Claire felt a stab of satisfaction at the idea—and a rush of gratitude for her friends.
“That would be bad karma,” Zoe said. “Negative energy boomerangs. And besides, maybe he’ll leave his wife.”
“You think so?” Claire asked more hopefully than she felt.
“Forget it,” Kitty said. “Men who cheat want to have their cake and eat it, too.”
“But maybe Jared’s different,” Zoe said.
“They’re all different until they get what they want,” Kitty said to Zoe, then patted Claire’s hand. “Speaking of which, wasn’t Jared splitting the rent on your apartment?”
Claire nodded. “I can’t really afford it without him.”
“Not to worry,” Kitty said. “I’ll move in with you.”
Claire gulped. “But you just moved into that great duplex….”
“I’ve barely opened a few boxes. The landlord’s driving me nuts already—whining about my music and the water bill. Life’s not worth living without a daily parboil and loud tunes. Besides, that place isn’t really me.”
“What about your lease?”
“She’ll let me out of it. Trust me. Deposit and all.”
“But, you’re kind of a night owl, aren’t you?” Claire protested weakly.
“A night owl?” Kitty gave her a steady look, her mouth tight. “Don’t worry. If Thor and I are going to get out the whips and leather we’ll go to his place.”
“You’re seeing a guy named Thor?”
“She doesn’t mean literally, Zoe,” Claire said. “I’m sorry, Kitty.” She knew that under her friend’s hard-candy coating lay a marshmallow center. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“Eh, forget it. My moving in will be good for you. I’ll introduce you to some new men and you’ll forget all about Pinkie.”
“But I thought Pinkie—I mean, Jared—was the one.”
“There are lots of ones,” Kitty said. “It’s like a deli where the men take a number and every day we start over with number one. Rex knows some single guys. Don’t worry.”
Soon the four Chickateers were toasting the new roommates, and Claire began to woozily welcome the idea. Kitty would help her be strong. A tiger didn’t change his spots or a rat his whiskers. With Kitty as a reality check, she’d be less vulnerable to Jared’s soap-opera pleas.
When it was time to leave, Barry and Emily dropped Claire at CityScapes. The building that had seemed exciting and full of possibilities the day before now seemed hollow and lonely—and expensive. She trudged up the stairs, rode the elevator in sadness, plodded down her hall to her door…
And found an impossible surprise. Resting in front of her door were a dozen red roses, bright as blood. The typed card said, “To my dearest love. Jared.”
She picked up the roses and pressed her face into their velvety softness and dusky perfume. She was Jared’s dearest love. Her heart warmed…then turned to ice. She might be his dearest love, but she wasn’t his only love. Lindi-with-an-i was going to get her own dozen blood-red roses next week, courtesy of K-BUZ radio. Claire stomped through the apartment, opened the window and tossed the roses out.
An hour later she was plucking the bright blooms from where they’d scattered in the newly planted hedges of her building. They were roses, for God’s sake. Even when your boyfriend turned out to be a rat, you deserved a little beauty, didn’t you? Especially a week before Valentine’s Day. Hugging the flowers to her chest, Claire knew exactly how to think of them: a lovely parting gift.
TRIP OSBORN packed up his guitar, sorry that he’d missed the lively brunette who’d crashed into him yesterday. Her name was Claire, he thought—someone had called to her the first day he’d played on this corner.
She’d caught his eye from the first moment with her forward-leaning stance and bouncy walk. She looked his age, but seemed younger somehow. She was certainly more driven.
He wondered how she was doing today and what she was wearing. Yesterday, she’d marched down the sidewalk in a business suit and punishing shoes, upset as hell. Her brown eyes had been watery, her nose pink and she’d slumped instead of bounced. He’d had the urge to protect her—as if from oncoming traffic.
You’re critiquing my outfit? He smiled to himself, remembering the jab. She had an edge to her. And maybe she was right about the haircut.
He’d get a tip on a good barber from Erik Terrifik, the blues giant he was taking class with. He’d come to Phoenix because of Erik and the visiting philosophy professor whose class he was taking at ASU.
He was sorry he’d missed a morning exchange with Claire, but