Life According to Lucy

When she staggered into the kitchen, her dad was sitting at the table with a guy who had broad shoulders and thick blond hair. The stranger was laughing at something her dad had said and didn’t see her coming in. She froze in the doorway. Why hadn’t Dad mentioned Mr. Polhemus had brought a man with him? A man who might possibly notice her wrinkled shirt and rat’s nest hair, not to mention her leg stubble.

She backed toward her room. She’d just duck in, change clothes, wet her hair and blow it dry again, shave her legs, put on makeup—

“Lucy! What are you doing back there? Come on out and meet Greg.”

Her legs moved automatically as she stared, goggle-eyed, at the man with her dad. He had on more clothes today, but there was no mistaking those broad shoulders and that smile. “Greg? You’re Greg Polhemus?”

He smiled and stood. “If it isn’t Miss Nothing.”

He actually stood up. Her mother would love that. Of course Lucy had known that already, hadn’t she? But where was the real Mr. Polhemus? “What happened to the old man in the coveralls?” she blurted.

His smile faded. “That was my dad. He died last year.”

Okay, could they just rewind and start over? She gulped. “I’m sorry.” That’s the way she liked to start every day—shoe leather for breakfast.

She dropped into a chair and the dog immediately vaulted into her lap. “Cute dog,” Greg said.

“Uh, yeah.” She rubbed the dog behind the ears. Anything to keep from looking at him. “Yeah. She showed up last night. I think she’s lost.”

He leaned over and patted the dog’s flank. He smelled like Irish Spring. The dog’s tail beat against Lucy’s side. “Maybe somebody dumped her,” he said.

Some man, she thought. She scratched the pup’s chin. “I guess if no one claims her, I’ll keep her.” After all, we women have to stick together.

She stifled a yawn and risked a peek at Greg. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t a total geek. He hadn’t given her too hard a time about yesterday. At least not yet. And he did have nice hair and bronzed muscles and all…He looked up and caught her staring. She fought back a blush. “Do you always start work so early?”

He shrugged. “You said it was an emergency.”

“Well, yeah. It’s my mom’s roses. They’re dying.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I called you.” She was easily annoyed in the morning. Especially when she was operating on only four hours sleep. “Or rather, I called your dad.” She frowned at him. “Do you know anything about roses?”

He stood, towering over her. “I know everything about roses.”

She bit back a groan. Lord save her from arrogant men!

GREG FOLLOWED Lucy out into the backyard. She wasn’t exactly what he’d expected from Barb Lake’s daughter. Barb had been the stereotypical suburban housewife, in sweater sets and khakis. Her daughter looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of some hip fashion mag. Or rather, she looked like a model who’d slept in her clothes. She’d obviously just rolled out of bed. The thought sent a kaleidoscope of erotic images whirling through his brain.

He focused on her cute little bottom as she picked her way along the garden path. She was acting all bent out of shape because he had shown up instead of his dad, but he figured it was mostly a face-saving move, considering the last time he’d seen her she’d been literally tossed out on the curb.

He dragged his gaze away from her to study the yard. Sun glared off the oyster-shell paths and heat radiated off the fence boards. The thermometer on the wall showed eighty-two degrees.

Then his gaze landed on the roses and his stomach twisted. The bushes looked as if they’d been attacked by locusts. The canes drooped and drifts of yellow leaves decorated the mulch. Barb must be turning over in her grave. The old man was probably spinning right along with her. He moved closer and broke off a remaining leaf and examined it, then dug down into the mulch with his fingers. Lucy fidgeted beside him, like a patient waiting to hear the worst.

He moved to another bush, and then another, shaking his head and making clucking noises under his tongue. This was bad. Really bad.

“Well? What’s wrong?” Lucy blurted.

He straightened and turned to her. “More like what isn’t? You’ve got black spot, aphids, powdery mildew, root rot and rust.” He ticked the maladies off on his fingers.

She blinked at the pathetic plants, her mouth trembling. He braced himself for tears. Did he have a clean handkerchief anywhere?

“Can’t you do something?” she asked.

He looked at the roses again and sighed. “Maybe. It’ll take a lot of work.” Just what he needed. More work.

“That’s okay.”

Sure. A babe like her probably had a social life. “Um, what I meant to say is it will take a lot of my work.”

“Oh.” She traced a dollar sign in the oyster shell with the toe of her sandal. “Are you expensive?”

“I can be.” He grinned, unable to resist adding, “But then, I’m very good.”

She jerked her head up to stare at him and he gave her a lazy, half smile. Maybe trying to resuscitate Barb Lake’s roses wouldn’t be such a hardship. Especially if he could talk her daughter into working with him.

A noise in the bushes distracted them both. That little dog of hers was digging furiously in one of the beds. “Looks like the pup’s ready to get started,” he said.

“Hey! Get out of there!” She lunged and the dog darted away.

“What are you going to call her?” Greg asked.

She brushed aside the shower of leaves that had drifted onto her arms and shoulders when she’d gone after the dog. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

“You found her in the garden. It ought to be something to do with gardening. How about Rose?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Rose doesn’t sound like a dog’s name.”

He looked around, seeking inspiration on the shelves outside the potting shed. Ortho—no. Daconil—He didn’t think so. Mille fleur fertilizer…He grinned. “How about Millie?”

She looked down at the dog. “I think I like it. What do you think, Millie?”

The dog’s ears drooped and she let out a low growl.

“I don’t think she likes it,” Greg said.

“Well, I do.” She scooped the dog into her arms. “From now on, I’m calling her Millie.”

He glanced around the garden again. “I’ll have a crew out on Monday.”

“Can’t you start today?”

He shook his head. “I have other jobs. This is going to take some time.” Although he didn’t know how much time the roses had left.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“You can pull all the mulch away.” He gestured to the beds. “We’ll need to dig out everything, put in new soil, prune, spray, fertilize….”

Her shoulders drooped and she cuddled Millie closer. “Uh, okay. I guess we’ll wait until Monday then.”

He grinned. “I’ll see you then.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll probably be at work.”

He thought he did a pretty good job of hiding his disappointment. “Where do you work?”

“Here and there.” She waved her hand in the air. “I’m between jobs right now, so I’m doing temp work until I find something in my field.”

“That must be interesting.”

“It’s not. Most of it bores me out of my mind, but it pays the bills. Some of them, anyway.” She glanced back toward the house. “It’ll be good for me to stay here a while, to, uh, help out my dad, you know.”

“Yeah.” He’d moved back home the last few months of his father’s life. It had been a strangely disorienting experience, but one he didn’t regret.

They stood there for a moment, alternately looking at each other and the half-dead garden. Even disheveled with no makeup, she was beautiful. She had short, spiky dark hair and big green eyes with long dark lashes and delicate features. Not a conventional beauty maybe, but she definitely stirred something in him.

“Well…uh, I’d better let you be going,” she said finally. She took a step back toward the house. “See you around.”

“Yeah. See you.”

She let him out the back gate. He made himself walk to his truck without looking back, but he was sure he felt her gaze on him. When he reached the truck, he risked a glance in her direction. She was still there at the gate, the dog in her arms, a pensive look on her face, as if she was trying to figure him out.

“Then that makes two of us,” he said softly, and climbed into the truck. If you come up with any answers, be sure to let me know.

Lucy watched Greg drive off and waited for the overheated feeling inside her to vanish. She’d obviously been alone too long if an arrogant geek like Greg could make her all hot and bothered. With any luck she’d have a job on the other side of town Monday and she wouldn’t see him at all.

She went back inside and found Dad gathering up his keys and wallet. “Dad, where are you going?”

“I’m meeting a friend for brunch.”

She sniffed the air. The distinct smell of Brut wafted over her. “The same friend you were with last night?”

He grinned. “No, a different one.” He kissed her cheek. “See you later.”

“Great, my dad has a better social life than I do.” Millie didn’t offer any sympathy this time. She was still staring after Lucy’s dad, a funny look on her face.

Lucy decided to call shelters. Not that she really wanted anyone to claim Millie, but she figured she had to make an effort, in case the pup was some child’s dog. She didn’t want to be responsible for some kid crying herself to sleep every night for the next week.

“Hello, Noah’s Ark? I have a poodle that wandered into my yard last night…. It’s a toy poodle, about fifteen pounds…Her hair is orange. Well, not really orange, sort of pinkish orange…. Oh, all right then, apricot…. No one’s reported a missing apricot toy poodle? Thank you.” She left her number, just in case, and moved on to the next listing.

Six shelters and not one had a report of a missing apricot poodle. She set down the phone and smiled at Millie. “Well, girl, looks like we’re stuck with each other.”

“Woof!”

So now should she spend a Saturday morning home alone doing laundry, or should she try to scare up a little fun? As if the washing machine wouldn’t still be there tomorrow. She decided to do something productive—her nails. She was adding the second coat of Marvelous Mauve when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“What are you doing answering the phone at your parents’ house? Is something wrong?”

“Hello, Gloria.” She rolled her eyes. Gloria Alvarez was her oldest and dearest friend, and the one person who wouldn’t let her get away with anything. “Why are you calling my parents’ house?”

“I called your number and got a recording that said it had been disconnected. Then I tried your cell and no one answered. I stopped by your place and there’s some old guy with no teeth sitting in your living room.”

“It’s not my living room anymore.”

“What? You got a roommate?”

“No, I’ve been evicted.”

“Evicted? Kopetsky did that to you? How dare he!”

She smiled. That was Gloria for you. Ready to leap to a friend’s defense without a second thought. If Lucy let her, Gloria would be organizing a picket line to patrol the sidewalk in front of her old apartment and writing irate letters to the Houston Chronicle. “I think it had something to do with the fact that my rent checks kept bouncing.”

“Oh.” A long silence while she pictured Gloria taking a slug on her extra-large chai with soy milk. “Listen, if you’re a little short right now, I could loan you—”

“That’s okay. I appreciate it, but I’m doing okay. Really. I just need to keep track of things better.” And maybe cut down on shopping…but no, she’d catch up on everything as soon as she found a real job again.

“So where are you living now? I’d offer you a place, but with Dennis and the girls there’s no room.” Dennis was Gloria’s boyfriend, a struggling comedian who supplemented his income by teaching at a comedy defensive driving school. The idea was, if people had to sit through eight hours of traffic laws and driving techniques, at least make it entertaining. Dennis might never have a future on stage, but his presentation of the top ten ways to avoid a traffic ticket had people rolling in the aisles. The girls were a pair of greyhounds Gloria adopted from a rescue organization. Their names were Sand and Sable, tall elegant dogs that looked almost comical walking alongside short, round Gloria.

“That’s okay. I have a place to live.”

“Where? Don’t tell me you moved in with that musician. I told you he’s no good for you.”

“That musician” was an angst-ridden aspiring country star Lucy had dated for a few weeks. He only knew three chords on the guitar and he sang with a twang that would peel paint, but he looked spectacular in a pair of starched jeans and a cowboy hat, so Lucy had no doubt he’d go far. Gloria had hated him on sight.

Gloria hated all the men Lucy dated. She claimed to be able to read in the tarot cards that these men weren’t good enough for her friend. Maybe she was right, since no man had been good for her yet. “No, I moved back home. Just until I get back on my feet again.”

She was sure Gloria would have lots to say on this subject, none of it good, but her friend surprised her. “That’s a good idea,” she said. “It’s healthy to get back to your roots sometimes. Home is a good place to heal.”

“Gloria, I’m not sick.”

“Maybe not physically, but spiritually—Listen, I have a new book to lend you. It’s called Karmic Healing and the woman who wrote it…”

Lucy sort of tuned out the rest of what Gloria had to say. So sue her. Gloria had a new theory about life every week. She was into crystals, fortune telling, feng shui, aura reading and ancient Native American rituals. Only last week, she’d told Lucy ten different ways to realign her chakras.

As for Lucy, if a theory didn’t involve shopping or chocolate, she wasn’t interested. “I have to go, Gloria. I, uh, I think someone’s at the door.”

“Wait, wait. I have to tell you the reason I called. My friend Jean has a booth at the downtown art fair and I told her I’d stop by. Wanna come?”

“Sure. I’m into art.” Anything was better than washing her father’s shorts. “And afterwards maybe we could swing by the mall….”

Gloria laughed. “Okay. Pick me up in half an hour.”

4

Making simple matters complex or complex matters simple are both bad gardening techniques.

LUCY LEFT MILLIE with a breakfast of canned tuna and a fresh bowl of water. She made a mental note to buy dog food and something more substantial than dry cereal for herself while she was out today. After she’d backed the car out of the garage, she glanced back and the dog was watching her out the window like an abandoned child. I don’t need this kind of guilt, she thought.

Gloria and Dennis shared a duplex off Gessner. It was one of those areas of the city that used to be run-down but was now trendy. Slick new apartments sat side by side with sagging bungalows. Gloria claimed this gave the neighborhood character. Personally, Lucy thought it meant paying high taxes and still having to dodge the crack-house traffic on weekends.

But Gloria and Dennis had fixed up their place and it looked real nice, if you didn’t mind purple burglar bars on the downstairs windows and a red front door. When Lucy pressed the door bell, she set off frantic barking, accompanied by the scrabble of toenails on the hardwood floors. Gloria opened the door and Sand and Sable launched themselves at Lucy with all the enthusiasm of body surfers in a mosh pit. She fended off doggy kisses and lashes from doggy tails. “Yes, I’m thrilled to see y’all too,” she said as Gloria dragged them by the collars back into the house.

Dennis appeared in the hallway, a container of instant ramen noodles in his hand. “Hey, Lucy. What are you chicks up to?” Like many men in their late twenties and early thirties, Dennis had his hair cut very short in an attempt to disguise the fact that he was going bald. Unfortunately, he also had rather large ears, one of which sported a gold loop. When he wore a white T-shirt, as he did now, he bore a startling resemblance to Mr. Clean.

“I told you, we’re going over to see Jean’s display at the art festival.” Gloria made a face at Lucy. “He never listens.”

“I listen.” He stabbed at the noodles. “I just don’t agree that what Jean does is art.” He pointed the forkful of quivering noodles at her. “She makes collages out of garbage.”

“It’s found art,” Gloria corrected.

“Garbage.”

Lucy hated it when her friends fought. She never knew what to say and besides, the argument was usually over something really uninteresting. It wasn’t as if she could actually get involved in the conversation. “How did it go at the Laugh Stop last night?” she asked Dennis.

“Lame crowd.” He spoke around a mouthful of ramen. “They wouldn’t know funny if it bit ‘em in the ass.” He dropped the fork into the ramen container and set it on the hall table. “Gotta go. Got a class this afternoon.” He aimed a kiss in the direction of Gloria’s cheek. “Catch you chicks later.”

When he was gone, Lucy helped Gloria put the girls in the backyard. “How was your first night back at home?” Gloria asked.

“Okay, I guess.” She waited while Gloria locked the various deadbolts on her front door. “My dad went out on a date.”

“A date?” She grinned. “I think that’s sweet.”

Lucy led the way to her car. “Gloria! It’s only been a year.”

“But your mom was sick for a year before that. I mean, he must have been lonely. Besides, your dad’s kinda cute. If I didn’t have Dennis—”

Lucy clapped her hands over her ears. “You did not say that. I do not want to hear my best friend lusting after my dad.”

She opened the car and they both slid in. “Speaking of lust, is there a new man in your life?” Gloria asked as she fastened her seat belt.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Your aura has a nice warm red tone today. Signifying sexual arousal.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. The things Gloria believed. “I do not have a new man in my life.” She pulled the car into traffic and headed downtown.

“Auras don’t lie. You haven’t met anyone new? Even casually?”

“No. Well, not unless you count the gardener I hired to try to salvage my mom’s rose garden.”

“Oh? Is this a male gardener?”

She thought of Greg Polhemus’s well-defined muscles and broad shoulders. “Uh, yeah.”

“Then he counts.” Gloria angled toward Lucy and assumed her therapist’s tone of voice. “Tell me about him.”

She shrugged. “What’s to tell? His dad always took care of my mom’s garden. I got his number out of her garden planner. But then the old man’s son showed up instead.”

“What happened to the old man?”

“He died. About the same time as my mom.”

“See, there’s something you have in common.”

“Gloria, I am not lusting after this guy. He’s a gardener and that’s it.”

“Is he good-looking?”

She squirmed and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I suppose. If you like the clean-cut, straight-arrow type.”

“And, of course, you don’t.”

“Come on, Glor. Have I ever gone in for guys like that? You know I dig men who are more exciting. Dark and dangerous.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re still single.” She held up her hands in a defensive gesture. “I’m only saying auras don’t lie. You ought to think about this guy more.”

“All I’m thinking about is whether or not he’s going to save my mom’s roses. You should see them. They’re pathetic. Mom would cry.”

Gloria leaned across the seat and patted her hand. “It’ll work out. Things always do.”

Easy for someone to say who already had a job and a man she loved.

They snagged a parking place a couple blocks from the festival and followed the crowds toward the plaza that had been taken over by artists’ booths. Lucy could have found her way with her eyes closed by following the smell of corn dogs, funnel cakes and sunscreen that was the particular perfume of any outdoor festival.

In addition to food and artwork of every description, the booths featured an array of handmade items, from intricate beaded jewelry to crocheted doilies no extra roll of toilet paper should be without.

Halfway down the first aisle, she spotted a booth advertising homemade doggie treats. She grabbed Gloria’s arm. “Wait, I want to get some of these.”

“You don’t have a dog.” She followed her into the booth.

Lucy grabbed up a plastic bag and began filling it with bone-shaped cookies. “I do now. She showed up in the garden last night. An apricot poodle. I named her Millie.”

“How sweet. That’s a very good sign, you know, that she chose you for her new home. Animals have good instincts about people.”

“Glor, it’s a stray dog. She was in our yard. Where else was she supposed to go?”

Gloria spread her arms wide. “Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling you you’re about to begin a series of new relationships.”

I’d settle for one good relationship with a member of the opposite sex, she thought, but she didn’t dare tell Gloria that. She might start in on Greg Polhemus again.

They found Jean’s booth in the second aisle. Jean worked at the crisis center with Gloria when she wasn’t assembling art from trash. Lucy studied a piece displayed at the front of the booth. It featured a penny, a dime, a gum wrapper, a cough drop covered with fuzz and a ball of lint formed into something resembling a tornado, in which the aforementioned items whirled. Wash Day Blues was neatly inscribed in ink across the bottom.

“It’s a collection of all the items I found in my pockets while doing laundry,” Jean explained, coming up behind her. “Clever, huh?”

“Uh, yes.” But would anyone actually pay for it?

While Gloria and Jean discussed the significance of garbage as a cultural indicator, Lucy wandered across the aisle to a booth displaying beaded jewelry. Now this was art she could relate to. She picked out a black-and-purple choker and carried it over to the mirror to try it on. She’d about decided she had to have it when a movement in the mirror caught her eye. A woman in a tight leather miniskirt, fringed tank top and hot-pink cowboy boots was waving a peacock feather fan around like she was Gypsy Rose Lee while a gray-haired man in starched jeans and ostrich boots looked on.

Her stomach took a dive toward her ankles as her numb brain finally registered that the guy was her dad and the woman was someone she’d never seen before in her life.

She dropped the choker and whirled around, gasping for air. Gloria ran over to her. “Lucy, what’s wrong? Your face is so pale. And your aura…” She stepped back and furrowed her brow. “Honey, your aura looks really bad.”

Who gives a flying fig what my aura looks like? She felt like shouting, but some invisible hand had a hold of her throat and all she could do was point in the direction her dad and his “date” had headed.

When she could talk again, she told Gloria she’d seen her dad with a strange woman. “Come on, we have to follow them.” She took off after them, past a booth full of pottery, a caricature artist and a display of batik clothing. She finally spotted them at the funnel cake booth. Little Miss Leather was breaking off bits of fried dough and feeding them to her dad, who obediently opened his mouth like a toddler playing the airplane game.

She grabbed on to the corner post of the sausage-on-a-stick hut, feeling sick to her stomach.

“C’mon, Loo. What’s the big deal? He’s just having a little fun.”

“Gloria, that woman is my age.”

She tilted her head to one side, considering this. “Oh, I think she’s a little older than that. Thirty, at least.”

“That’s still twenty-five years younger than my dad. And look at the way she’s dressed.”

“That leather looks awfully warm for this time of year. But the boots, very retro. I wouldn’t mind a pair for myself.”

Lucy glared at her. “Whose side are you on anyway?”