Читать книгу Before You Get To Baby... - Terry Essig, Terry Essig - Страница 11

The following Saturday night, Andrew settled in to try and watch the Final Four with his buddy Rick. The March Madness Collegiate Basketball Tournament, he’d decided, was a guy thing. Imagine kicking somebody out at half time. So he’d yelled a bit. Heck, he’d learned everything he knew about sports from Frannie’s brothers, the prime bit of information being all referees needed glasses. Frannie should be used to it. She was just on edge, Drew surmised. After all, how could you disturb the neighbors when Rick had assured him every household in the country was tuned in? The neighbors were no doubt watching the same game, disparaging the same referees. Frannie, who’d grown up in a house full of males, who could yell and criticize the umps with the best of them, was forgetting her roots. That was all.

“Your sister’s gone wacko,” he informed Rick as they settled onto Rick’s living-room sofa, each with his own steaming bag of microwave popcorn and a beer. Andrew dragged a section of old newspaper over to the beaten-up end table and set his beer on that. Coasters were for girls and the day Evie talked Rick into using them was the day he and Rick stopped being friends.

“I’m serious,” he said when Rick merely grunted at his diagnosis of his sister. Drew had sort of bought into this sports as appropriate male entertainment thing, but Rick needed to understand that some things, his sister’s mental deterioration, for example, took precedence over basketball.

“Shh, I don’t want to miss the tip-off.”

“She came by my place last week. Knowing I’d just come back from being out of town, she brought homemade cookies. The woman’s devious, I tell you. Devious. She knew I’d be weak. She knew I’d do or say just about anything to get my hands on those cookies. They were fresh out of the oven, Rick. They were still warm. You should have smelled them.”

“Hang on just a second.” Rick gestured at the screen with a disgusted hand motion. “Aw, man, did you see that? What was that guy, sleeping standing up?”

“Honest to God, all the woman talked about was this bizarre husband hunt she’s on. She gave me less than a week to do a bunch of research for her. Otherwise she was going to freeze the rest of the cookies all for herself.” Drew was getting incensed all over again just thinking about it.

“Hell,” Rick grunted. “You’re good at research. You no doubt did a great job, so quit your bellyaching.”

Drew slanted a disgusted look at the television. Honest to God, who could care about basketball just then? Another crime he could lay at Frannie’s doorstep. She’d ruined the sport for him. “I don’t think you’re really listening here, Rick. I’m telling you, she’s dead serious about this garbage. I’ve never seen anybody so focused. That general, you know, what’s-his-face Schwartzkopf should have been half as focused during Desert Storm. They’d have pulled the entire war off in a day and a half.”

Rick jumped to his feet, both hands in his hair. He pulled them straight out leaving his hair standing straight out in spikes on either side of his head. “Charging on Gonzaga? I don’t think so! The Wisconsin player wasn’t set. He wasn’t set, ref. Where’s the instant replay? I want to see the instant replay. Do you believe that?”

Andrew’s eyes flicked to the TV screen. “Twenty-four was set.”

“Hey, remember me? I’m the one taught you everything you know about sports. I’m telling you, he wasn’t set.”

“Yeah, he was. Sea foam and apricot, Rick. I’m telling you, she’s already got the damn colors picked out for the wedding. And what kind of colors are those, anyway? Some guy’s going to go into a tux shop and ask for a sea-foam-green cummerbund? Or even worse, ‘I’d like an apricot cummerbund and matching handkerchief, please.”’ Andrew rolled his eyes at both the play on the screen and the painful mental image. “Like it’s not bad enough you have to wear patent leather shoes with a tux. Hell, it’s bad enough you have to wear the tux at all. If you have to get married, what’s wrong with being comfortable? Jeans and sneakers, something that’s not going to literally choke you while you put the proverbial noose around your neck.”

Rick watched the TV intently. He didn’t sit until the end of the replay. “It might have been charging,” he admitted grudgingly. “Maybe.” He flicked a glance at Andrew. “Now would you kindly shut up about Frannie and her fictitious wedding plans? I’m trying to watch a game here. It’s not like anybody’s asking you to wear an apricot cummerbund.” Rick leapt back to his feet. “He stole the ball! Look at that, would you? He’s going all the way. Two points, yes!”

Drew was just pushing himself off the sofa to turn the television off and force Rick to listen to him when the doorbell rang. Rick’s eyes didn’t even flicker. Drew sighed and went to answer it himself.

He smiled and nodded recognition. “Ladies. What an unexpected treat. Come on in.” Somebody had to play host after all. It was obvious Rick wasn’t up to the task. “Uh, Evie, was Rick expecting you?” After his last frustrating half hour trying to get Rick’s attention, Drew wondered if Evie knew what she was up against. In fact, Drew briefly considered telling Evie her fiancé should come with a label—Rabid Sports Nut.

“Hey, Drew,” the vivacious redhead said as she sailed into the entrance hall, Frannie following in her wake. “Is he here?”

Evidently Evie wasn’t expected. This should be interesting. “Yeah.” Drew jabbed a thumb in the direction of the living room. “In there. Follow the noise.”

Evie crinkled her nose and laughed when she heard a whistle blow, the roar of a crowd and the bellowing of her fiancé.

“Put on your glasses, ref.”

“The tournament isn’t over yet?”

“Ah, no. Not yet. They’ll be down to two teams after tonight. Only one more game.”

“Hallelujah.” And Evie planted herself right in front of the television. “Hi, lover.”

Rick leaned to one side, then the other. “Hey, I can’t—oh. Evie. How’s it going, sweetie?” Rick’s eyes shifted from his fiancée to the corner of the screen left unblocked by her body and back to his fiancée. He sighed, picked up the remote and clicked the TV off.

“The wrong guys were winning anyway,” he announced philosophically.

Drew’s eyes goggled as Rick stood and with a strained smile, gave Evie a kiss and asked, “What’s up?” Must be true love, was all he could figure. Scary.

“Frannie and I were out doing wedding stuff. We figured we’d stop by and get your opinion on a few things.”

Rick gazed longingly back at the television. “Just a few things?”

Evie held firm. Start as you mean to go on. “Yes. I’d like your input on the color scheme, floral arrangements, the men’s tuxedoes, why you have this need to always be on top—just a few little things like that.”

Rick was still lovingly stroking the remote control with his thumb. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, sure babe, whatever you want. You know that.”

Drew stifled a laugh and whispered to Frannie, “This could get interesting.”

Frannie flushed. She grasped Drew’s arm and tugged. “Let’s you and I go in the kitchen. Give them a little privacy.”

“Not on your life,” he shot back quietly. “What’s wrong with the man being on top, I’d like to know? I kind of like it myself.” Then more loudly, “Hey, Evie, about the men’s tuxes, basic black, right? I mean, since I’ve got to wear one—”

Frannie stomped on his foot. “Hush, this is none of your business.” She tugged harder, but it reminded her of the last time she’d had to move the refrigerator to clean behind it. Just about impossible. She braced herself and yanked again. Drew barely budged. She was going to need reinforcements, just as she did for the refrigerator. “Come on, Drew.”

“Don’t sweat it, Drew. Black is fine. For the jacket and pants,” Evie said.

The hair on the back of his arm stood up. Planting himself more firmly against Frannie’s surprising strength, Drew quickly questioned, “For the jacket and pants? What does that mean? What else is there? I mean, the shirt’ll be white. Dress shirts are always white. And the cummerbund. Black, right?”

“Welll…” Evie hesitated and Drew panicked.

“I was kind of thinking…”

God save him from women who thought. “What? What were you thinking?”

“Well, you know how men’s formal shirts have those rows of ruffles down the fronts?”

Drew was getting a very bad feeling here. “Yeah? Maybe we could just wear plain white shirts. I don’t see why that wouldn’t work, do you, Rick?” He turned to his best friend, hoping for salvation but finding only a wicked grin.

“It’s only for a few hours, old buddy. Whatever she’s got in mind, it’ll only hurt for a little while. Promise.”

Frannie huffed, “Honestly, what a couple of babies.”

“I’ll make a deal,” Evie said. “No ruffles on the shirts, just tucks…”

“Tucks?”

“Tucks,” Evie repeated firmly. “In exchange for which you will, without complaint, wear a cummerbund that matches the bridesmaids’ dresses.

“Take it,” Rick advised. “It’s a good deal. Think of it as the fee us guys have to pay to get exclusive rights.” He gave his fiancée a sick smile. “We’re both going to live.”

Then he whispered quietly, “Just agree, will you? The quicker they’re satisfied, the quicker we can get back to the game.”

Drew took a deep breath. “Okay, so what’s the color scheme?” He wasn’t at all sure he really wanted to know.

“Well, I really, really love pink, you know…”

“Pink?” Drew exploded.

Frannie rolled her eyes.

Evie patted her hair. “But I think it would clash with my hair so Frannie and I have decided on lettuce.”

“Lettuce? That’s a color?”

Frannie patted Drew’s arm. She’d all but given up on dragging him out of the room. “A very pale green, Drew. Nothing too threatening, just green. Evie and I thought that since her hair was red, we should surround her with its complementary color, green. The wedding pictures are going to be gorgeous.” No need to tell him pink had never really been in the running. It had only been thrown in to make the green sound good by comparison.

“Evie’s beautiful no matter what she wears,” Rick declared loyally.

“Very good, dear,” Evie said and kissed him soundly. “That got you two extra brownie points.”

Rick hitched up his jeans. “Yeah? How many do I need for another round of me on top?”

“You were listening.”

“I always listen to you, sweetheart.”

It was difficult to feminize a snort, but Evie managed. Frannie was impressed.

“Okay, so lettuce is a girl word for green, right? I can live with green.”

“For heaven’s sake, Drew, your masculinity will survive.” Frannie gave him a hard tug, caught him by surprise and actually moved him. “Now, come on.”

“No, Frannie, wait. This is a learning experience. I want to hear more about this point thing.”

She pulled again, gained another few inches. “We are not going to stand here and listen in like a couple of voyeurs while they discuss the merits of…whatever. Remember my virgin ears. Now come on!”

Frannie finally got Drew into the kitchen. “Here, sit down.” She pulled out two chairs from the kitchen table, pushing him into one. “I’ve done some figuring. Tell me what you think.”

Drew rested his head on his hands. “About what?”

“I went out and bought a tape measure.”

“Yeah?” Drew was thirsty. He thought about getting up and checking the refrigerator for another beer but it seemed like an awful lot of effort.

“Yes. So I measured. My waist is twenty-four inches. I wasn’t too sure exactly where to get the hips, but I figured take the biggest measurement, right?”

He forgot about the beer. “Uh, sure.” Twenty-four-inch waist? That was pretty good, he thought. His own was ten inches larger. Man, he wouldn’t miss spanning Frannie’s waist with his two hands by much. Should he ever get the urge to try, that was.

“And that would be thirty-seven.”

“Thirty-seven?” Thirty-seven what? Oh, hips. That’s what they’d been talking about. Wow. He could hardly wait to hear the math on that.

“Yeah, so anyway, I divided it out and got sixty-five percent. That’s pretty good, don’t you think? You said you thought it was between sixty and seventy percent and I got dead center. But the thing is…”

Drew pulled out a pen from the checkbook in his pocket and did some quick calculations on a napkin from the napkin holder. Sixty-four-point-eight-six percent rounded off to sixty-five, all right. “Hmm? What thing?”

“Well, do you know anything about the bust?”

Staring at Frannie blankly, Drew asked, “What?”

“Didn’t it say anything in your reading about ideal bust measurements? You know, bust-to-waist or bust-to-hip ratio?”

Man, he was dying here. Sixty-five percent waist-to-hips ratio and she wanted to talk breasts?

“Uh…”

“I’m a thirty-six C. How does that sound?”

It sounded fine to him. Better than fine. How in heck could he not have noticed a C-cup right under his nose all this time? “Thirty-six? C?”

Frannie sat up straight, smoothed her hands down the sides of her chest, an act that pulled her snug knit shirt even more tautly across her breasts. “I was always under the impression that most men were interested in a woman’s chest. I mean they certainly stare at it enough. But all you’ve said so far was this waist-to-hip thing. So I was just wondering.”

Drew swallowed. Hard. When had Frannie started wearing tight tops? A man would have to be dead—or very involved in avoiding lettuce wear—what was wrong with khaki, for God’s sake?—not to notice Frannie’s chest in that shirt. “Uh—” he grabbed the first piece of trivia he could recall and was extremely grateful he could even remember his name, let alone a bit of trivia “—I think I read somewhere that average is good.”

Frannie pouted a bit at that. “Average?” Women spent an awful lot of time and effort to make an impression and appear unique. Bummer.

“Extremes of anything are bad. Somebody eight feet tall, man or woman, is going to have trouble finding a mate just like somebody who’s really, really fat or super anorexic looking. So, if you put bust size into that context I guess that would mean that like, flat as a board or—” Drew made an exaggerated gesture in front of his chest “—you know, humongo, your breasts precede you by three feet, well that wouldn’t be good. But C, well that’s right in there. At least that’s what I would assume.”

“B is average. C is better than average but still not overboard,” Frannie decided.

Drew was more than happy to accept her word for it. In fact, it was so disconcerting to think of little Frannie as even having breasts, he cast around for another topic. “Symmetry. I remember that now. Symmetry’s important. The closer you are to being perfectly symmetrical, the better looking you’re perceived.”

Frannie looked down, a V forming over her brows. “I’m symmetrical. One on each side. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

Drew got up and went to the refrigerator. He was going to need that beer after all. He couldn’t take much more of this. “I’m talking about your face, not your…you know.”

“Oh. Well, same goes. One eyebrow, one eye, half a nose, half a mouth on each side. I pass.”

“It’s the side part in your hair that throws everything off.” He came back to the table, raising a hand to wave off her objections. “Just kidding. Just kidding. Here’s the thing. We all think we’re symmetrical but if you ever took a picture of your face, cut it in half then flip-flopped the half that’s left so both sides were exactly the same and printed it out, supposedly we wouldn’t even recognize ourselves.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Drew shrugged. “Fine. I’ve got a digital camera. Come over tomorrow. I’ll take your picture and we’ll try it.”

Frannie slapped the table top. “Done. I’m absolutely positive I’m symmetrical.”

By the time Frannie and Evie left, Drew and Rick had missed the last of the ball game. It was okay by Drew as they managed to pick up the score on the late-night news—Drew’s team was still in there, and he had more important things to discuss with Rick anyway. He picked up beer bottles and carried them from the living room to the kitchen, tossing them into the recycling basket. Rick followed with the empty popcorn bowls.

“I think she’s really serious about this, Rick.”

“I keep telling you, man, you’ve got to pick your fights especially when it comes to women. So we wear green cummerbunds for a few hours, even pastel green ones. Next time you want a night out with the guys, you’ve got leverage. I wore lettuce for you, babe, that’s what you say and off you go. They can’t say anything because it’s the truth. Weddings are important to women. Don’t ask me why, they just are. To the guy, it’s a means to an end. But women are born planning the big day.” Rick shrugged. “Go figure.”

“Rick, could you stay with the program here? I’m not talking about your wedding. That was just a little detour we took because Evie and Frannie showed up at the door. If you don’t care that you’re going to look like an idiot, then neither do I. I was just taken by surprise is all. I’m talking about your sister. Frannie. Remember her? She’s coming over tomorrow so I can take her picture and put it into the computer to check on her facial symmetry. I mean she’s serious.”

Rick started the hot water after emptying the unpopped kernels into the trash and shaking out the leftover salt from the bowls they’d been forced to use once the girls had shown up. He dropped the bowls into the filling sink and added a healthy squirt of soap. “Will you quit worrying? Nobody’s going to marry Frannie. She’s a midget for one thing and for another, she still wears a retainer on her teeth at night so they don’t go crooked again. Where’s the fun French-kissing a mouth full of plastic?”

“But—”

“Quit your worrying, will you? It’s not going to happen.”

Andrew blew out a breath and went to check the living room for any more litter. He found an almost empty bag of chips and another beer bottle that had rolled under the sofa. Man, he felt like Cassandra. At least he thought it was Cassandra. One of those gods or goddesses who was always predicting gloom and doom and having nobody listen.

Rick had everything washed and upside down on the drainboard by the time Drew got back into the kitchen. He was already swabbing down the countertops although he acted as though there’d been no time lapse in their conversation. “Anyway, if you’re all that worried about Frannie, why don’t you marry her yourself? I’d trust you with her.” Rick shrugged. “I’d feel sorry for you, but I’d trust you. We’ve been brothers in all but fact for years. Might as well make it real. At least with Frannie you’d know what you were getting.”

The beer bottle dropped out of his hand. Drew winced as he heard it break. At least he’d been standing over the recycling bin when he’d dropped it. “What?” he finally gasped. “I didn’t hear what I thought I heard, did I?”

Rick threw the sponge into the sink where it landed with a sodden plop. “You heard me, all right. You’d be perfect for each other. You already know each other’s flaws. I never understood this aversion you have to marriage. What’s the big deal? The drive to create family is a basic instinct, man. Basic. Evie says so. You got something wrong with you is what.”

Drew crushed the chip bag in his hand before dropping it in the trash. He only wished it had been Rick’s head. “You’re the mental one, not me. Anyone with a brain can look around and see that the institution of marriage has severe cracks in its foundation and you’d be a fool to enter the building when it could fall down around your ears at any second. Yet there you go merrily on your way. Well, I’ll be the first one to laugh and say I told you so.”

“Evie and I are going to be very happy together,” Rick got out through gritted teeth. “I happen to believe I’ll be the one saying I told you so. Why the hell are you so cynical anyway?”

“Man, open your eyes and look around, would you? Look at my parents. Twenty-eight years, Dad goes into some kind of midlife crisis, has an affair with this woman at work—not even a particularly good-looking woman, which is what really killed Mom—and poof, the whole marriage blows up. Wife number two didn’t trust him, with reason since he’d cheated on Mom with her, so that relationship fell apart. He’s seriously talking about taking the plunge yet again with some chickee twenty years younger than he is. Think about it. I’ve got those genes in me. I could do that. Is that what you want for Frannie? Where would she be if I started cheating on her a few years down the road?”

Rick snorted. “A whole hell of a lot better off than you. Frannie doesn’t take crap from anybody, man. She’d take you for everything you had. You’d be the one doing the hurt dance, especially after I got done breaking your face.”

“Oh, and that’s supposed to reassure me?” For lack of anything better to do, he pulled the trash bag out of the cabinet, knotted it off and relined the can.

“Look, all I meant was that Frannie can take care of herself. Hell, you and I are the ones who taught her how. And you should have more faith in yourself. What are you, some victim of your genetic code? You can learn from your father’s mistakes, you don’t have to repeat them.”

“You’re right. Nobody in their right mind would cheat on Frannie. I’m still not marrying her. Remember how close I came with Jayne only to find out she was using me to get through Physics down at Purdue? And then there was Nancy. She didn’t want a BA, all she was interested in was an MRS. So long as it was with somebody she thought was going to make enough money to support her in the style she thought she deserved. Permanent relationships are not exactly my forte.”

Rick threw up his hands in exasperation. “All right, all right. I still think it’d be better for Frannie to marry somebody I know and trust since she’s so het up about this. Remember that video we rented from the place that specialized in old movies? Rosemary’s Baby? Scary stuff. What if she ended up with somebody like that? But I can’t hogtie you and force you to the altar. What about this? School will be out for the summer in a few more weeks. Offer her a summer job. She needs one anyway. Let her work in your office. That way you can keep an eye on her.”

The mere idea had Andrew reaching for another beer. It looked like he’d be walking home or camping out on Rick’s sofa. He’d had enough to make getting behind the wheel of a car iffy and it was all Frannie’s fault. “No way. You hire her.”

“I’m not the one all upset and worried over nothing like an old mother hen.”

Now his buddy had gone too far. Andrew gritted his teeth. “I am not acting like a mother hen.” For crying out loud, how had Rick managed to keep his total lack of intelligence so well hidden? All these years Drew had never even suspected how totally lacking in perception his friend was. Sure the guy had had some trouble in advance placement calculus, but a lot of guys had. Drew had never even suspected.

Drew forced his clenched fists to relax. The temptation to use them on Rick was incredibly strong. One of them had to be mature here, however, and by obvious default, the task was falling to him. “Listen, Rick, this idea of yours is a good one. You could get her a job at that snooty highbrow law firm of yours. She’d be safe enough there. Bunch of white-collared highly educated mostly married geeks. Can’t even understand them when they start in on that legalese mumbo jumbo. What could happen?”

Rick sat down at the kitchen table and ran his hand through his hair. “Let’s see. Where do I begin? Winkley, one of the senior partners, just had divorce papers served on him. Fourth wife. Obviously never played baseball as a kid or he’d have realized three strikes is all you need to be out. Anyway, word is she’s claiming physical abuse. Frannie’s tough, but she’s also kind of naive, you know? Winkley’d eat her for breakfast. Then I’d have to punch him out. He’s a partner, so I’d lose my job. And it’s a law firm, so he’d also sue my ass.”

“Four? You’re kidding.”

“Kid you not. And Forter’s into women’s underwear. Caught sight of them in the john last week. All satiny with lace. Frannie doesn’t need anybody whose underwear is prettier than hers.”

“Jeez louise.”

Rick nodded wisely. “Yeah. Sick.”

“She can’t work there. God only knows what else is going on you haven’t uncovered yet.”

“No place for a second-grade school teacher,” Rick agreed. “Want me to microwave another batch of popcorn?” he asked, drumming his hands on the table.

Drew waved the offer away. “Nah, I’m okay.”

Drew leaned against the counter silently for a moment thinking hard, then gave up. It was obvious Rick wasn’t going to take his concerns seriously. It was up to Drew to save Frannie from herself. If Drew hired her for the summer, sure she’d go home covered with dirt at the end of the day, but at least it was real dirt rather than the metaphorical variety. And as far as Drew knew, not a single guy in his group was into women’s underwear.