Miss Fortune (15 page)

Great, he groused. I go to the trouble to paint for you and that is the thanks I get?

Oh right, like he cared what she thought of his paintings. No, the thanks you get is a place to store them. Tata, Myron! she called, and waved him out of the bathroom. Come back when youre not stoned, she added as she started to swing the bathroom door shut.

Muttering under his breath, Myron backed up, banged into the doorjamb, and grabbed it to steady himself on the way out. But then he stopped, looked over his shoulder at her. What about the other paintings? What did you do with them? he demanded.

Oh those! she said. I threw them away. And with that, she shut the door.

On the- other side of the door, she heard Myron laugh. And then gasp, Thats hilarious!

She locked the door, lit her candles, and crawled into the steaming water to read what her medieval knight was up to today. Saving the woman he loved from a burning castle, apparently. Wouldnt it be nice if he could come around and save her from the bungalow?

After reading awhile, Rachel closed her eyes, felt the hot water and bubbles sliding over her body. She saw Flynns face peering down at her in her minds eye, only he had long, shoulder-length wavy hair. And he was wearing leather. Lots of leather. And there was deep concern etched into the fine lines around his gray eyes, that lock of hair falling across his brow

A muffled but persistent knock on her front door brought her up with a splash and a toppling of at least one candle as the book went flying across the bathroom.

She sat for a moment, straining to hear. It couldnt be Dagneshed walk on in. If it wasnt Dagne, and it wasnt Myron

Flynn.

She heard the second round of raps on the door more clearly and managed to get out of the tub and throw the towel around her, but her hands were wet, and she wrestled with the doorknob for a moment before the thing finally came open. Flying across her bed, she panicked at the sound of another series of knocks, and vaulted down the stairs, skidded across the polished oak floor, almost slamming into the front door, which she managed to throw open at the same time she grabbed for her towel before it slipped from her body.

WHAT? Dagne demanded on the other side of the screen door when Rachel groaned.

Why didnt you just come in?

I cant find my key. She adjusted the heavy stick thing she was holding.

Rachel peered at the thing. What is that?

Its a coatrack. I got it off eBay, Dagne said proudly, adjusting it again. But its really heavy.

Rachel pushed the screen door open and stepped aside, let Dagne struggle through with her big wooden coatrack, which she managed to get inside by taking only an inch of skin from one of Rachels shins. Rachel closed the screen door, grabbed the front door, and was shutting it when she saw a sporty blue car drive by that looked vaguely familiar. But not so familiar that she was willing to stand there and freeze to death and figure out whose it was, so she shut the door.

Why dont you have any clothes on? Dagne asked, standing there with her ridiculous coatrack.

Because, Dagne, I was taking a bath. What do you think? And why did you bring a coatrack here?

Its for you, Dagne said, beaming. I bought it for dirt cheap from eBay and figured you could use it. I dont have room for it in my apartment. She put the coatrack next to the door, stood back to admire it.

Im going to ask a crazy question here but why do you buy things you dont need? Rachel asked, looking at the coatrack.

Who says I dont? Id keep it, but its too big for my place. She walked into the living room and tossed aside her coat. It smells funny in here, she said thoughtfully. Has Myron been here?

Yeahhe brought my phone. Listen, Im going to go get dressed.

Wait! Dagne cried. Did he call?

With one foot on the stairs, Rachel glanced over her shoulder at Dagne. No, she said, feeling absurdly disappointed, like shed just missed winning the lottery by one number. Nothing. Not even a message. Those words tasted bitterly familiar in her mouth, and without waiting for Dagnes response, she ran up the stairs to dress.

She returned a few minutes later in a mock turtleneck and a pair of faded overalls. Dagne was sitting on the couch going through her spell book, having helped herself to a glass of wine, some crackers, and the last of the cheese. Rachel didnt get paid for another week. She sure hoped she could make a box of mac and cheese and saltine crackers last that long.

So listen, Dagne said, flipping through the pages of the spell book as if they were a fashion magazine, dont be too upset that he didnt call.

Im not upsetwho said I was upset?

You didnt say it, but you looked it.

Whatever, Rachel said. I just saw him last night. If he calls, he calls. If he doesnt, no skin off my nose. I can take him or leave him, really. And that was such an enormous lie that Rachel couldnt even look at Dagne.

Dagne kept flipping through the pages of her spell book. After a moment, she said, I read in Cosmo that they did this study of who are the sexiest people, as in nations? And the Hungarians were the sexiest, can you believe it? I would have guessed Spaniards. *

Spaniards?

Like Antonio Banderas, Dagne said with a dreamy sigh. Anyway, the Hungarians have sex like a million times a week. And then it was the Russians, and the Americans were up there, too. But guess where the British were?

I dont knowwhere?

Almost at the bottom. Just above Iraq.

Rachel laughed.

Im serious, Rach. The British are not a sexy people. You might be better off if he never calls. He probably didnt call because he doesnt think like most guys.

Huh? Rachel asked as she walked into the kitchen to get herself a wineglass.

I mean, most guys think about sex all the time, something like once every seven seconds

No way!

Yes, its true! They reported it in Mens Health magazine. But Flynn is British, so he probably doesnt think about it all that much, maybe something like once every seven days. Therefore, he doesnt call.

She said it as if she had some scientifically controlled study to back it up.

So you think that (a), that kiss was just a fluke, and (b), his interest in me was just about sex? Rachel asked, reappearing with an empty wineglass. Because (a), that kiss was fabulous, maybe the best kiss Ive ever had in my life, and (b), if it was only about sex, I should be insulted, but Im not. Im okay with just sex. Just sex is great! Actually, just sex would be beyond fantastic. But I dont see how a basically British guy, and therefore a basically sexless guy, could kiss like that.

Good point, Dagne said in all seriousness. Okay, so maybe hes not sexless, just really repressed. Theyre all repressed over there. I mean, look at the queen. Can you see the queen doing it?

Dont! Rachel protested. Thats like imagining Grandma and Grandpa eeew , gross! Besides, there are lots of Brits probably sitting around their flats sipping tea right now trying to imagine the president doing it, and therefore, using your example, theyve probably come to the conclusion that Americans are sexless, too.

Ah. But Cosmo has the study to back up my example, Dagne politely corrected her.

Oh, thats right. Cosmo , Rachel said, and nodded thoughtfully as she poured a glass of wine. Heres a different theory for you to chew on, she said, lifting her glass to toast Dagne. Maybe he didnt think the kiss was all that great, and maybe he didnt call because hes not that interested, which is really okay, because I have enough on my plate trying to figure out how to pay my bills around here without worrying if some temporary British guy is going to call me or not, she said, and sat on a floor pillow across from Dagne.

First, dont worry about your bills, Dagne said, waving a hand at her. Things are going to work out for you. Youll see, she added with a confident nod.

Oh right, Rachel said with a roll of her eyes. Well, thats great. Ill pay all my bills and die a lonely old woman.

Oh God, here we go, Dagne exclaimed to the ceiling.

Well, what would you think if it were you? Rachel challenged her. I mean, we have this absolutely amazing kiss, and he gets my number, says he is going to call, and doesnt! What am I supposed to think?

How about thisthat maybe he really did like the kiss, so much that it scared him, and hes not sure how to act on those feelings, so he pours himself into his workwhat is his work, anyway?

Computers.

He pours himself into computers and tries not to think of you because he knows he is really drawn to youwitchcraft, hello ! she shouted, jabbing her hands to the ceiling. Of course hes drawn to you! But hes afraid because if he starts anything, he wont be able to finish it because he has to go back to England. Did you think of that?

No, Rachel said truthfully. We had one night outit wasnt like he had to declare the rest of his life or anything. Whats wrong with having a little fling while hes in town? And what about my class? He signed up for my weaving class, dammit!

There you go! Dagne said brightly. Youll definitely see him at class next week!

But thats a whole weeeeek ! Rachel moaned, and laid her forehead on the coffee table. If hes going to call, he has to do it before next week! I cant wait that long, Ill be a basket case by then, and Ill make a fool of myself at class, and were in the middle of looms !

Not to worry, Dagne said, reaching across the table and patting Rachel on the head. Well do a little spell.

Jesus, Dagne, is that your answer to everything?

Its a lot better than moping, she said, lifting her chin a little. Anyway, I have got to do something about Glenn! Dagne snorted, and muttered, So stupid! You should never play around with magic.

Excuse me, but what do you think youre doing on a fairly routine basis here? So, anyway, what happened?

Dagne sighed. Okay, here it is. I wanted to do a spell on Ricky Bayless. Remember him?

The greatest sex of your life? That Ricky Bayless?

That Ricky Bayless, Dagne said. Man, the guy was goodhe did things I didnt even know you could do ! So anyway, I was going to do a spell on him, but I wanted to make sure it was right, so I practiced it. And and I sort of used Glenn instead of Ricky. And then the next thing you know, I run into Glenn down at the hair placeyou know, where his sister works?and hes all smiles and goo-goo-eyed.

Thats because hes always had a crush on you.

Rachel reminded her. Thats why you quit going to his sisters place.

But shes so much cheaper than anyone else! Well anyway, apparently the spell worked, because he was so gaga. How have you been, Dagne? she mimicked him, making huge moon eyes. Ive been thinking a lot about you, Dagne. She laughed. And now he keeps calling since I invited him over

You what ? Rachel cried. Why did you invite him over?

Because he was sort of cute that day, and besides, I had to! How was I going to break the spell? The only problem was, I couldnt break it without the spell book, and now he wont leave me alone! I have to do a spell that drives him away before he makes me completely bonkers, she said, and looked down at the book, tapped on a page. Do you think we could get Mr. Valicielos cat to pee into a cup?

Oh please no, God, Rachel groaned* and dropped her forehead to the coffee table again. Only this time, she banged it against the table. Three times.

That night, when Dagne finally gathered her spell things to go home (having been astoundingly unsuccessful in finding the right ingredients, or substitutes, for her spell), Rachel walked with her to the door. Ill call you tomorrow, she said as Dagne walked down the steps of the porch.

Okay! Dagne said.

Bye! Rachel called as Dagne loped to her car, then glanced at her watcha little past one in the morning. She glanced up again to make sure Dagne was in her car, and from the corner of her eye, she saw the blue car turn onto the next street. Odd, she thought, but it looked like the one she had seen earlier. Where had she seen that car before?

With a shrug, she waved to Dagne, closed the door, and headed to bed.

FLYNN was awakened the next afternoon by the ring of the telephone, and stumbled out of bed to retrieve it. Hello, he mumbled into the phone through a yawn.

Flynn, darling?

Hi, Mum, he said, sleepily scratching Ms bare chest.

Have you been sleeping ? his mother asked, sounding terribly offended.

Ive had quite a lot of workall day yesterday and well into the night.

Oh Flynn, I dont think this particular assignment is very good for you. You sound absolutely ill.

Thanks, Mum, but Im fine. Really, he said, standing and stifling another yawn. Hows Dad? he asked as he stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water.

Oh, hes quite all right. He hung tartan curtains in the guest rooms all morning, and this afternoon, he nearly took off a finger hanging that sign that says a hundred thousand welcomes in Gaelic. You know, whatever it is the Scots say.

Flynn lowered his glass, stared straight ahead for a moment before asking, Why ?

Why? Because the Americans and Japanese love that sort of thing, Mum explained matter-of-factly, as if it was perfectly natural to own a B and B in Butler Cropwell, otherwise known as smack-in-the-bloody-middle-of-jolly-old-England, and dress the place up as if it were a B and B in the Scottish Highlands.

I didnt tell you, but we had some rather important people come through last week, Mum said.

Did you?

The Winston party. From America , she said, as if it were a palace instead of a country. They are part of the Winston tobacco family, fourth cousins once removed. Thats rather exciting, isnt it?

Actually, Flynn thought his socks were a bit more exciting, but his mother reveled in such things. Smashing.

Weve really got a reputation, what with our ties and all, she sniffed.

Mum meant, of course, their aristocratic tiesthe ties hed been hearing about all his bloody life, owing chiefly to a very distant relation to the Duke of Alnwick on his mothers side, the cousin of a cousin of a second cousin, something like that. Which meant, therefore, that they, the lowly Olivers, were in line for the throne should there be a nuclear war that left absolutely no one else in England.