Miss Fortune (7 page)

Dagne obliged her by demanding, Then why did he ask you for a drink, huh?

I dont know. You know how polite the British arehe probably thought he had to or something.

You are so stupid, Dagne said disgustedly. A good-looking guy

And hot .

hot guy asks you for a drink, and you think he is following some international protocol of manners for foreigners? How can you possibly be a candidate for a Ph.D. if you are that stupid?

Please. A Ph.D. doesnt necessarily mean a person is smart, Rachel said. Look, I gotta get moving.

You blew it, Rach. If you ever see him again

Which I wont

You might! And if you do, you better get his number or Ill Ill put a hex on you!

Oh stop! I gotta go. Ill speak with you later, Rachel said. Cheerio, she added in the fake British accent she had tried to perfect while in England the last time, and clicked off.

She struggled to her feet, determined the job hunt would have to come later. First things firsta hot shower so that she could move, a trip to the gym to work the kinks out, and then a job.

The hot shower helped, but still, she could barely get her gvm clothes on and was still walking funnv, holding her head at an odd angle, which is why she didnt see Mr. Valicielo standing at the foot of her fallen elm tree until it was too late. At the precise moment she was inching her way into her car (first one leg, then the careful lowering of the body, then the white-knuckled grip of the steering wheel as she dragged the other leg inside), she heard him shout her name.

Damn, she muttered, and quickly fired up her VW and recklessly backed out of the drive, seeing as how she could not turn her head.

Rachel!

Damndamndamndamn damn , she squealed as the back of her car bottomed out when she reached the street. She turned the steering wheel as fast as she could, whimpering in pain, and from the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Valicielo running on short, stocky legs down the drive. At the end of it, he threw his rake at the back of her car, but could only heave it about three feet.

Rachel shot down Slater toward Laurel, and as she hurtled onto Laurel, she straggled to turn around to see where Mr. Valicielo was. But her reflexes were off terribly, as the slightest movement of her head sent a shooting pain down her side, and she was, therefore, a little slow straightening around again.

She saw the jogger at the very last second and swerved to the right to avoid hitting him. With every muscle screaming at that unpredicted movement, she flew around the jogger and away from Mr. Valicielo.

And as she drove down Laurel, her muscles momentarily under control, she thought she was really going to have to have her head checked, because she barely had a glimpse of the jogger and still thought that he looked just like Flynn.

Man, this guy was turning up everywhere.

At the gym, Lori at the desk was rubbing lotion onto her overly developed Popeye biceps when Rachel straggled to the desk to sign in. She nodded knowingly as Rachel winced when she picked up the pen. Overdid it, huh?

Rachel nodded slowly and painfully.

Better warm up this time, Lori chided her. You cant just jump in with both feet after a whole year, and remember, its not like you were in such great shape even then.

Thanks. Thanks for your help, Rachel said snidely, and tried to give her a look, but Lori had already gone back to her can of spinach, so she just hobbled on.

Her first stop was the stationary bike. She did a slow, easy, flat-line ride, and as her body began to loosen up, she pondered what in the hell she was going to do about that damn tree until she realized shed been thinking about the tree and Mr. Valicielo for almost forty-five minutes.

But hey , her legs actually felt a little stronger! She walked around in a circle for a moment to make sure they werent going to buckle or anything, and convinced they werent, she headed for the weight bench.

She was beginning to feel her cheerful self again, and was even achieving some weird endorphin high that caused her to actually contemplate an aerobics class. That might jump-start the ol metabolism, maybe burn off that huge honking brownie shed eaten last night.

She headed up front to check out the class schedules, mopping her face and neck with a towel, still trying to catch her breath after doing four sets of power squats. She rounded the corner, squinted at the front desk. Lori was leaning all the way across, smiling like a goon at some guy, flexing her biceps

Wait . Wait just a damn minutethat could not be him! What the hell was going on? What sort of freaky cosmic disturbance was rearranging her reality? She hadnt had time to check her horoscope this morning, but she was pretty sure it didnt say some British guy would keep popping up like a jack-in-the-box everywhere she went!

But it was him, all right, having a lovely little chat with Lori. And then he turned slightly to pick up his gym bag and saw Rachel at the exact moment she realized she was staring at him. He opened his mouth; she turned abruptly

Rachel?

Crap . This was really just too much. It was all Dagnes doing, she was certain. Shed probably screwed up the spell so this guy was only going to see her when she was in some humiliating circumstance, like sweating. Or stuffing brownies into her face.

Rachel! he said, smiling.

She tried not to look at the clingy gym pants he was wearing, but he was the kind of man it was hard to ignore in that regard. Oh! Hi, Flynn!

Youre popping up all over, arent you! he exclaimed cheerfully, forgetting, it seemed, that he was the one doing the popping. Youre a member, are you?

Man, he was builtshe could make out a broad chest beneath his T-shirt. He was trim, but muscular. Yeah, she said carefully, and folded her arms, wincing a little as she silently thanked herself for choosing to wear these ridiculously shorty shorts that showcased her blubbery legs. And to add insult to injury, he was looking at them.

This is smashingwe could have a bit of a run, if youre up for it.

Ah, no, no I was just leaving! she said, selfconsciously poking some wild hair behind her ears.

Oh, he said, and he seemed, remarkably, disappointed as he lifted his gaze from her chunky legs to her face.

Anyway, I dont really run.

Dont you?

No, no she said, but was momentarily stymied by the glimpse of hair on his chest beneath his T-shirt, and thought that shed really like a better look. But certainly not badly enough to actually try to run next to him, which prompted her to blurt, Its really too complicated. Complicated ? Oh Jesus.

What, the treadmill? Ill show you if you like.

No, not that , she said, as if that was a perfectly ridiculous suggestion. I mean the, ah, workout schedules.

He looked confused.

So was she. You know I have to watch my ketones, that sort of thing, she said, and wished she could crawl into a hole, for she had no idea what she was saying.

Oh. Right you are. Ketones, he said.

Okay, so have a good workout! she said brightly, and punched him collegially on the shoulder as she took a step toward the ladies room. But he put his hand on her sweaty arm, and she instantly swiped at his hand with her towel.

Beg your pardon.

No, not at all, its just that ah, were you going to say something?

Actually, he said with a charmingly lopsided smile, I was going to say that you have some crackin legs, if you dont mind.

She had what? What ?

What I mean by thattheyre fantastic, he clarified with another knee-rattling grin.

Fantastic? He thought her legs were fantastic ? Oh. Well, she said, peering down to have a look. Yeah, I work at it, she lied, and looked up, saw the glimmer in his eyes. Okay! Really gotta go! Nice seeing you! she said, and made a long jump into the ladies locker room before he could stop her.

Her heart was racing a million miles a minute.

She stood just inside, trying to catch her breath. She could feel every inch of her skin his gaze had touched, like little bee stings. One thing was certain. She was definitely doing more squats tomorrow.

Rachel showered and dressed in black slacks and a black sweater over a white collared shirt, and braided her hair. In her bag, she found an old tube of Maybelline mascara and a little blush, and counted herself successful when she smudged the mascara on only one eye. Convinced she looked presentable, she slung her gym bag over one shoulder with only a little ouch , and her tote on the other, and opened the ladies locker room door a crack. From there, she looked furtively about, saw no Brits anywhere, and made a beeline for the parking lot and her car.

AT the employment office, she filled out all the paperwork to request assistance in finding a job, then handed the paperwork to a woman who never made eye contact, and proceeded to pass the time waiting for an employment counselor to see her by perusing a list of jobs posted at the bulletin board.

Wanda Dennard called her name after a wait of almost an hour. She introduced herself, showed Rachel into a tiny cubicle, and invited her to sit while she looked over Rachels paperwork.

Rachel sat. Wanda read. And read. And read so long that Rachel wondered if she maybe hadnt fallen asleep.

Wandas desk was very neat. She had a half-dozen pictures of children around her desk, and her screen saver was a picture of a row of sleeping kittens. The binders on her shelves were obscured with various plastic green plants and one very odd-looking marble sculpture of some sort.

Rachel was trying to figure out what that sculpture was when Wanda looked up over her reading glasses. Youre way overqualified for our jobs, she said. Theres nothing here to fit you.

That was not what she wanted to hear. But I need a job, I really do. Ill do anything, Rachel earnestly assured her, inching up on her orange plastic chair.

Wanda frowned, looked at her paperwork again, then sighed and punched a button on her computer, instantly bringing up a listing of jobs. Lets see theres a position for a short-order fry cook.

Is there? Rachel asked with a wince. Im not really overqualified for that , am I? she asked with a laugh.

Wanda did not laugh. Wanda gave off another sigh that sounded like she thought this was going to be a very trying task. Sacking specialist?

Sacking specialist?

Wanda gave her a sidelong glance. A grocery sacker.

A grocery sacker ? Was this woman for real? Not that Rachel had anything against grocery sackers, of course not, but didnt those jobs usually go to teenage boys? She could just imagine herself on checkout nine between two sixteen-year-old boys who amused themselves by hurling lugies at her when the boss wasnt looking. Just the image made her shudder.

Wanda frowned. I told you youre overqualified!

What about teaching jobs? Do you have anything like that? I really like teaching. Even an assistant position would be okay. Do you have that?

Oh, sure ! Why didnt you say so? Wanda said with a bright smile.

A ray of light ! Really?

No, not really! Are you crazy? Wanda snapped. This isnt a placement program at Brown, Miss Lear. We have the jobs that no one else will take. Now, if you want me to sit here and rattle off all the jobs no one else will take, Ill do it. But if you think you will be underqualified for them all, why dont you do us both a favor and just say so now and we can each get on with our lives?

Wanda had no idea how badly Rachel wanted to do just that. And she came very, very closebut she had to go and think of her bank balance, and the utility bill, and the tree on Mr. Valicielos fence, and then Dad , and smiled meekly. I wont say that anymore, I promise.

Wanda rolled her eyes, sighed again, only a lot louder and longer, and turned back to the screen. How do you feel about cleaning downtown offices at night?

Frankly, not that great, but she forced a smile for Wandas sake all the same.

WHEN Rachel arrived home that afternoonundetected by the Valicielosshe found a note from Dagne stuck in the door. Hi. Stopped to find something. Call me later .

Probably a toads wart or something.

She let herself in the front door, dropped her tote bag in the living room, and still holding the referral sheet from the employment office, she walked into the kitchenand shrieked.

Myron was sitting there, his head in his hands.

Jesus, Myron! You scared me! Rachel exclaimed, her hand and referral sheet clamped over her heart as she sagged against the countertop. Couldnt you have said something when I came in?

Sorry, he said, without bothering to look up.

I didnt see your car outside.

A friend dropped me, Myron said, and lifted his head. He looked, Rachel thought, like he hadnt slept well in days. Sorry I scared you. With a heavy sigh, he got up and walked to the fridge and opened it wide. He stood there for a long moment, his frown going deeper as his fin-gers impatiently drummed against the door. You dont have much of anything, do you?

Yes, well, she was having a bit of a financial crisis. Enough of one that she was screwing up the courage to ask him to repay the money he owed her.

I thought you just went to the store a couple of days ago.

Listen, Myron, I really need to ask you something.

Okay, so ask, he said as he shut the fridge and headed for the pantry. He flung that door open and stood, hand on hip, studying the shelves.

I am really, really broke

Join the crowd, he snorted.

Right. Well, at least he had a job two , actually. Okay so Im really broke, and I was wondering if you might be able to, ah Man, this was harder than she thought. Why couldnt she just open her mouth and make the words come out? Myron looked over his shoulder. Rachel winced, said in a rush, Maybe pay back the money you borrowed?

His expression immediately went dark and sure enough, she felt like a bitch for even asking. Not all of it, she quickly said. Just some of it. Enough so I can get by. Like maybe a hundred? Okay, that was good. Some of what hed borrowed couldnt be too hard for him.

But Myron said nothing, continued to stare at her, as if he could not believe she was asking him for even that.