Beauty and the Mustache (11 page)

“
He is too.” Sandra said
this thoughtfully, still looking at the spot where Drew had been
standing. “But not as confused as you are, because he’s not blinded
by grief.”

“
Sandra.” Elizabeth shook
her head. “Don’t meddle. Ashley has enough going on.”

I was sentient enough to
detect an edge of warning in Elizabeth’s tone. I glanced between
them as the implication of their non-conversation hit me like a
slow-moving river of molasses. “You can’t…you can’t possibly
mean…?”

I didn’t finish the
thought because it was entirely ridiculous, like turning down fried
pie at the state fair.

“
Uh…yeah.” Sandra shut the
door and faced me. “I do mean that the good Dr. Runous is a smitten
kitten. Or, maybe a better way to put it is a turned-on python.”
She frowned and her eyes moved to a position over my shoulder.
“That’s not a very good analogy either. I’m going to have to think
on this.”

“
No, no,
no. You are wrong. You are so, so wrong. He doesn’t like
me
at all
.”

I’d been around plenty of
good-looking guys in my life. I’d dated a few
I’m-too-sexy-for-this-pizza-place
narcissists. I knew better than to be attracted to the top one
percent of good looking single men. The top one percent didn’t
believe in monogamy, or human decency, or manners, or—honestly—good
sex. Sex was a stage and, after their curtain call, the show was
over.

Drew was definitely in the
top one percent. Therefore, I knew better. Furthermore, I was
intensely aggravated with myself for noticing that Drew was in the
top one percent. Additionally, why in tarnation was I thinking
about sex?

“
He may not like the fact
that he likes you, but he does.” This came from Elizabeth, her
words reluctant and laced with an apology she verbalized as she
continued. “I’m sorry, Ashley. But the guy is into you.”

“
By the way, what’s in
that little notebook he carries? The leather one with the Norse
symbols on it?” Sandra asked us both, as if either of us would be
in Drew’s confidence and have any earthly idea.

“
How should I know? I met
him yesterday. We don’t know each other. All of our interactions
have been unsavory.”

“
But he
looks at you like you are savory,” Elizabeth said, “like he knows
you, like he
knows you
knows you.” After a brief pause, she added in a
soft voice, “Like he’s invested in you.”

“
You’re misreading
things.”

“
Both of us are misreading
things?” Sandra snorted. “That’s unlikely.”

“
No. You’re wrong. He
seems truly dedicated to my mother and my brothers. If you’re
seeing anything resembling warmth or affection it’s because of
them.”

Neither of them looked
convinced. It occurred to me that they probably weren’t convinced
because I wasn’t convinced.

Sandra crossed to me. She
gripped then squeezed my shoulders. “Look, all I know is, he came
up here and looked at you like he knew you. Then he looked at you
like he wanted to know you better. Then he looked at you like he
was undressing you with his eyes. Then, most incriminating of all,
he looked at you like he hated you.”

“
Yes. I noticed it too,”
Elizabeth chimed in. “He was basically staring at you the whole
time. There was nothing subtle about it.” She nodded her head for
emphasis, though her expression was sympathetic.

I sputtered, floundered,
and settled on saying, “You’ve got the last part right. He does
hate me.”

“
Yes, he probably does.”
Sandra narrowed her eyes as she stepped back and surveyed me from
head to toe. “I think he does hate you…in a way.”

I stared at them because I
could do nothing else. My brain was still slippery, overwhelmed.
This was not a conversation I needed or wanted to have, especially
not now.

My history with men was terrible.

My whole life—all
twenty-six years of it—could be measured in the number of times I’d
allowed myself to be conned by men, my father being the first. Then
came my brothers (although their normalcy and kindness now had me
all mixed up). Then came my best friend in high school, Jackson
James. Then came every guy I’d dated in college and graduate
school. They saw a nice piece of ass and a pretty face, and heard a
southern accent and assumed it meant I was low class and
uneducated.

I had a gift for
attracting assholes and users, probably because every boy I knew
growing up—and then every man I knew—eventually treated me like
garbage. Now, working with big-ego, chauvinistic, ivy-league
medical doctors was great. They served as a daily reminder of what
real men were like and why my heart was safer with the fictional
variety.

Plus, I wanted to believe
that Sandra and Elizabeth were both wrong about Drew. I needed to
believe they were wrong. But that was hard to do when I recalled
the look of complete aggravation he’d given me in the quonset hut
the day before, the Nietzsche quotes he’d intoned implying that I
was a cow, and the fact that he was fictionally
handsome.

Everyone knows that in
real life, fictionally handsome men are vacuous vessels of
Satan.

Add to all of this the
fact that it didn’t matter. How Drew felt about me was completely
irrelevant. My hot and cold feelings about him were
irrelevant.

My life was in Chicago,
not Tennessee. I needed to keep my head down, live through the next
four to six weeks (or so), soak up as much time as possible with
Momma, then get back to my peaceful and unremarkable existence
reading books and knitting.

Above all, I was going to
avoid vacuous vessels of Satan.

“
I can’t deal with this
right now,” I said. “I can’t even deal with the thought of it. My
brain feels like it’s covered in Crisco. Time is moving too fast
and too slow. I have no desire to be liked or hated by Drew or
anyone else.”

“
No desire?” Sandra
prompted. “None whatsoever?”

“
How can you ask me
that?”

“
Well,
his parts fit with your parts. And he’s here. And he’s interested.
And he’s
extremely
easy on the eyes despite the fact that he never
speaks. And you’re both alive, so necrophilia isn’t an
issue.”

“
Do you really think I’m
here on a man hunt?”

“
No, of course not, and
that’s not what I meant. But you’re allowed to notice a hot
guy.”

“
Of course I’ve noticed!
How could I not? He’s like a Viking cowboy.”

“
Does he give you zings in
your things?” Sandra asked this question using her best serious
face.

I groaned. “Yes, if that
means what I think it means, which means he’s bad news. I have the
uncanny ability to attract only users and assholes. It’s like I’ve
got a sign on me someplace that tells nice men to steer clear. If
what you’re saying about Drew is correct and he is attracted to me,
then I guarantee you he’s a jerk.”

Sandra studied me with
curious detachment, and I knew before she opened her mouth that she
was no longer my friend Sandra; she was now Shrink
Sandra.

“
Why do you think you only
attract users and assholes?”

“
Because I do.”

“
You’ve never dated a nice
man?”

“
I did once—in high
school. I dated a really nice boy named Jackson James—or at least
he was nice to me until I admitted that I wasn’t attracted to him.
Then he made a big, public fuss, told everyone we’d slept together,
and refused to talk to me again.”

“
And…?”

“
After that, I promised
myself I’d only date men I was attracted to, because I never wanted
to hurt someone like that again. And since then, I’ve had my heart
broken twice. The first time you know about—Grant, in college, the
son of that big shot Wall Street tycoon.”

“
Sorry,” Sandra said, her
expression grim at the memory. “I’d forgotten about
Grant.”

“
What happened with
Grant?” Elizabeth looked between the two of us.

Sandra glanced at me and I
shrugged my shoulders, indicating that I didn’t care if she
shared.

“
He was an asshole. He was
dating two other girls. But,” Sandra added, turning to me, “he was
a smooth asshole, wasn’t he? There was no way of knowing what he
was up to. And when you found out, you broke up with
him.”

This was all true. He was
a really good liar. What I didn’t tell Sandra was that when I broke
up with him, he told me I was trash—I was a pretty face and a nice
piece of ass, but all I’d ever be was backwoods, ignorant trash. He
even said he would have been embarrassed to introduce me to his
family, and that no man would want me once my looks
faded.

It hurt my heart to think
about it now, mostly because I was stupid enough to fall for him in
the first place.

“
And Sam
wasn’t your fault either.” Sandra said this as
friend
Sandra. “He was
just a flake.”

Sam was my boyfriend for
three months in graduate school, and I’d fallen hard. He was a
musician who decided that he wasn’t ready for a serious girlfriend;
this was after we’d had sex, of course, and he’d told me he loved
me. Six months after we broke up, he married a record executive’s
daughter.

“
Do I want to know about
Sam?” Elizabeth asked.

“
No,” Sandra said, and
made a face like she’d just remembered what sour milk tasted like.
Then she turned to me. “That’s two guys, Ashley. That’s hardly
enough to make you swear off men.”

“
No, that’s three guys if
you count my childhood friend Jackson. If you count my father, then
that’s four guys who have broken my heart. If you count my
brothers, then we’re up to ten.”

Sandra pressed her lips
together and stared at me. “Drew is smokin’ hot, got a head full of
brains, doesn’t bother much with chit-chat, and will be coming
by
daily.
”

“
But he’s also pushy and
entitled, and he rubs me the wrong way.”

Elizabeth muttered under
her breath, “If you let him, I think he’ll gladly rub you the right
way.”

I stared at her, my
eyeballs bugging out of my head. Then I flopped back on the bed,
covered my face with my hands, and groaned. “Are we really talking
about this? With my mother downstairs, sick and… she’s not going to
get better.”

Sandra sighed. “Yes, and
we’re sorry.” I felt the bed depress at my side. Sandra lay next to
me and threw her arm and leg over my body, hugging me. “You’re
really vulnerable right now. It’s natural to want and actually
crave physical comfort. Drew would likely
love
to provide you with physical
comfort. The thing is, there’s an intensity about this guy that
makes me worry for you. I just wanted to see if you returned his
interest.”

“
Well I don’t. I’m not
interested in Drew.”

Elizabeth chimed in. “You
have a lot going on.”

“
Exactly.” I felt Sandra
nod next to my shoulder then squeeze me. “You’re a sensitive soul.
You read poetry for fun! You’re a romantic. I don’t want you
leaving Tennessee with two broken hearts.”

I shook my head, opened my eyes, and faced
Sandra. She looked worried.

“
I’ve learned my lesson,
Sandra. I know better than to trust men. I’ll just ignore
him.”

She gave me a little
smile. “I doubt he’s going to be easy to ignore. He strikes me as
the stubborn type.”

“
He is stubborn, but he
won’t make a move. Even if what you’re saying is true—which it
isn’t—he won’t push me. My brothers trust him. And, more
importantly, Momma trusts him.”

“
Honey, I hope you’re
right.” She cupped my cheek, her smile wary and small. “But you
should know, my dearest, that you don’t need to be pushed in order
to fall.”

***

“
Tell us
more
about Ashley as a little girl,”
Elizabeth said eagerly, her eyes darting to mine then back to
Momma’s. “Was she a rough-and–tumble kind of girl, or was she
decked out in pink chiffon?”

It was Sandra and
Elizabeth’s last day, and we were all sitting in the den. Momma’s
weekday hospice nurse, Marissa, had also stopped by to train the
weekend nurse, Tina. However, Marissa had stayed after Tina left
and Joe had arrived for his shift, explaining that it was her day
off and she wasn’t in any rush to leave.

So, we all sat around
Momma’s bed chatting and drinking mint iced tea. It was nice to
share my friends with Momma and vice versa, like two parts of my
heart coming together. Additionally, their presence was comforting
in general; this was especially true after Elizabeth heard back
from our oncologist friend in Chicago. In his expert opinion,
nothing could be done for my mother other than make her last weeks
comfortable.

My mom sighed at
Elizabeth’s question, a happy smile on her face, and her eyes lost
a bit of focus as she recalled what I was like in my growing-up
years. “She was a bit of both, really. She loved to run wild with
her brothers—when they weren’t being big meanies.” She paused and
winked at me, then continued. “But she also liked to get dressed up
in my clothes and shoes. One time I found her with lipstick all
over her face.” She chuckled briefly, the smile lingering behind
her eyes.