Driven To Distraction: Driven To Distraction / Winging It. Candy Halliday
music too loud again.”
“Bunny music?” Barrett asked.
“Hip-hop,” Stacy clarified.
Jack nodded to Barrett. “Glad you got to meet me.” And then he was off, humming a jaunty tune as he walked away.
“He said you didn’t get the job.”
Word traveled fast, as always. She waved that away, as though it didn’t matter. “That job I applied for at the dog grooming salon…”
“You’re not disappointed then?”
“No…well, a little. Mostly in that it’s the fifteenth job I’ve applied for over the last year, and not one of them has panned out. But, like Jack said, I’ve got a lot here to keep me busy.”
“Jack, the king of Sunset City who collects taxes.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s his little fantasy. We indulge him. He only collects a quarter a month. In January he throws a big Christmas party with the money.”
“January?”
“All the Christmas stuff is on sale then.”
Barrett seemed to contemplate all this. “Are the people here considered…normal?”
“Define normal.”
“Conforming to the standard type. Usual. Not abnormal—”
“I didn’t mean for you to actually define…oh, never mind. Normal is relative. If I were hanging around with your supersmart scientific friends, I’d probably consider them abnormal. See what I mean?”
He was considering her in that speculative way. “I understand. Interesting, this relativity. My only real gauge as to what people are like outside my own circle is my sister. She’s a housewife with four children. The things she’s concerned with are beyond my level of understanding. Entering sweepstakes with insurmountable odds of winning. Spending hours clipping coupons and consulting sale fliers to spend the saved money on gas driving all over town. Do you know, she’ll spend an hour on her hair to make it look like it did when she woke up?”
Stacy laughed, even though she’d done all of that. “Is your sister normal? I mean, not supersmart like you?”
“She’s of average intelligence, like my mother.”
“So, you get along with your sister then?” Watch it, Stacy. You’re getting your hopes up.
“Get along…I suppose we do. We don’t have much to talk about, though. I bore her with my latest research, and she bores me with talk of every detail about her offspring. It’s amazing what amazes her. Every tooth lost, every word spoken. The first time they use the pottie is a big celebration. That is, after all, the normal progression of a human being.”
Oh, boy. Well, it wasn’t like she cared, right? “You’ve obviously never had to change a diaper.” His horrified look gave her her answer. “Where’s your mother?”
“She’s doing a stint on a cruise ship as a blackjack dealer. We get a postcard from her every week.”
Postcards reminded her of Florida tourists, which reminded her of pink flamingos, which reminded her of something else. She glanced at her watch. “Oh, shoot! I didn’t realize how late it is. I’ve got a workout class to teach in ten minutes.” She looked at the dog. “Which means I don’t have time to take you back. Guess you’re staying the night.” She caught herself mid-sigh. “Well, guess I’ll see you around.” Better not to see him at all. He didn’t get why a mother would celebrate every achievement her child made, something Stacy hoped to be doing on a regular basis soon.
Barrett asked, “Would you like to come over for dinner? I’ve got plenty of food.”
Say no, you’re busy, you’re not hungry, you gave up food! “Sure.” Maybe he just wanted to ditch some of that awful food. “Why not?”
Why not, indeed. She could think of a few reasons offhand. Let’s see, gorgeous guy who was out of her league brainwise. Didn’t have a clue about committing to a direction in life. Afraid—no, uncomfortable around dogs and babies. Got bored easily, and when he did, he just went right out and got himself another degree.
She trudged through the too-high grass and knew she was a bigger dummy than she’d ever suspected because she still couldn’t wait to see him again.
4
“HE’S A HOT MAMA,” Nita said as the class did a second set of bicep curls.
“A man can’t be a hot mama,” Frieda said. “It’s against the laws of nature.”
Nita chuckled. “I’m against the laws of nature. And I’ll be personally checking that man out tonight.” The petite woman looked at odds with herself, a lascivious grin coupled with her graceful movements.
Ernie, the only male in class, grinned. “I won’t even have to use my sonic ear to hear what’ll be going on.”
Nita rolled her eyes. “You’re such a dirty old man.”
His grin widened, nary a trace of shame on his face. “Yes, indeedy.”
Sunlight poured through the rows of windows along the wall and glinted off the water in the community pool.
Arlene said, “He’s got an eight-pack, too.”
Nita said, “It’s a six-pack, goofball.”
Arlene sniffed. “I’d think an eight-pack would be better than a six-pack.”
“And here we thought he was going to be a dork,” Maureen said. “Boy, were we wrong!”
Stacy cleared her throat. “Ladies—and Ernie—can we please focus on our arms?” This was the fourth time she’d had to steer the conversation away from Barrett.
“Moon River” played in the background. She’d tried to introduce them to Janet Jackson, Billy Ocean and ‘NSYNC. The whole class had been out of sync, bumping into each other, kicking each other…it was back to Barry Manilow, Barbra Streisand and “Moon River.” And every now and then Maureen insisted on playing battle hymns. Which were better, she supposed, than working out to the hymns Annette sometimes brought in.
Even Weasel Boy looked like he was trying to cover his ears. His face was snuggled between his front paws.
“Oh, come on, he’s the most exciting thing that’s happened here in Snooze City for a long time,” Betty said. “We’ve all got someone we’d like to fix him up with.”
Nita chuckled again. “I sure do.”
“He’s afraid of babies. Isn’t that right, Arlene? She heard him say it,” Annette said.
Arlene waved her hand. “Ah, all men are afraid of the little buggers. Until they hold their own in their arms, that is. Then it all changes.”
Stacy let out a sound of exasperation, and not because everyone had halted in their movements, all thinking and planning and conniving. “Maybe he doesn’t want to be fixed up with a woman. Did you all think of that?”
All eyes swiveled toward her at the front of the community center’s rec room. “What, is he gay?” several of them asked simultaneously.
Okay, it was tempting—very tempting—to tell them he was flaming gay. She even opened her mouth to say yes. But she couldn’t do it, not when those broad shoulders and that very fine behind came to mind. “I doubt it.”
A wave of relief swept over the group of women in their pink, purple and, in Nita’s case, slut red—Nita’s words—leotards.
“It’s a darn shame when a good-looking man is gay,” Frieda said.
“A real waste,” Nita said.
“Except