the pity.” Then she smacked Joanna in the arm. “You’ve got all that right out your window and you didn’t even call me? What kind of friend are you?”
“Hey. My eye candy. Go find your own. And don’t drool on the velvet.”
“So who is he?”
“Guy who owns the toy store where we got the play set.”
“Does this toy store owner have a name?”
“Dale McConnaughy.”
“The baseball player?” Karleen squeaked.
“Apparently so. And apparently this means a lot more to you than it does to me.”
“You bet your ass it means something. He made All-Stars five years running, voted MVP the last year he played, pitched at least twenty no-hitters during his career—”
“Since when do you know so much about baseball?”
“Since Jasper.”
Husband Number Two.
“And if I never see another game again,” Karleen said, “it will be too soon. But I do remember not feeling too put out if the Braves were playing and Dale McConnaughy was pitching. The camera used to zoom in for closeups of his face, and those eyes…” She sighed, her own eyes glazing over. “And you know how baseball players grab their crotches?”
“I really don’t want to go there, Kar.”
“Sure you do. I mean…” She leaned on the table, her silicone-enhanced breasts immobile beneath her chenille sweater, and lowered her voice. “Took more than a single tug to rearrange himself, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, Lord,” Joanna said.
“What?”
“You sound hornier than I am.”
Karleen pouted. “It’s been three months!”
“There are worse things.”
“Name one.”
“Starving to death.”
“Honey, I haven’t eaten a full meal since 1983. Food, I can live without.” She spared another glance outside, then brightened. “Hey—sure looks to me like those boys are thirsty, don’t you think?”
“No, they’re fine. They brought their own water.”
“I cannot believe you’re that dense.”
Joanna threaded a needle, biting off the thread with her teeth. “I’m not—what the hell are you doing?” she yelped as Karleen snatched the needle out of her hand, then dragged Joanna off the stool and out of the studio. Chester roused himself and followed, just in case all this activity had something to do with food.
“Either jump-starting your pathetic love life,” Karleen said, once in the kitchen, “or saving mine from an ignominious death.” She yanked open Joanna’s refrigerator door.
“I do not need my love life jump-started—”
“Good. You’ve got tea,” Karleen said, hauling a plastic pitcher off the top shelf. “And don’t be ridiculous, of course you do.”
“Not today, I don’t. I’ve got a party to give later, remember?”
The tea poured into a pair of plastic tumblers, Karleen gave her a bemused look. “You’ve never heard of multitasking? So what d’you have they could munch on? Cookies or cake or something?” She threw open another cabinet and grimaced at the array of Little Debbie boxes. “What kind of domestic goddess are you, anyway?”
“The kind that doesn’t have time to bake. Kar, I really don’t think—”
“That’s right, sweetie,” she said, arranging a selection of the goodies on a plate. “You just sit back and let little old Karleen do the thinking for once, ’kay?”
“The last time I let you do the thinking for both of us, I ended up grounded for a month.”
“Which is the number one perk of being a grown-up, honey. Nobody’s gonna ground you this time.” The cups balanced on the plate with the treats, she elbowed open the patio door leading out back, then turned and did the famous Karleen Almquist I-dare-you smile and said in the famous Karleen Almquist wispy little what-me?-get-you-in-trouble? voice, “You coming? Or you conceding this one to me?”
Joanna told herself she was only following so she’d be sure to get her plate and tumblers back.
“Hey, boss. Looks like we got company.”
At Jose’s heads up, Dale squinted over the yellow plastic slide he was bolting into place to see a pleasantly bosomy blonde in high-heeled boots mincing across the lawn toward them, having a devil of a time hanging on to that plate in her hands. Joanna followed, looking none too pleased about whatever was going on. When the women were still several feet away, one of the cats—Dale had long since given up trying to figure out how many there were—decided now would be a good time to launch himself against the blonde’s ankles.
“For God’s sake, Jo,” the blonde said, wobbling for a second, the plate in a death grip, “call it off!”
Jo let out a single sharp “Git!” and the thing booked it. For about two seconds. But long enough for Blondie to scoot the rest of the way across the yard, grinning that careful way women did who were deathly afraid of wrinkles.
“Thought you boys might like some tea and a snack,” she said, then seemed to realize there really wasn’t any place to set down the plate. Jose took it from her; her hand shot out toward Dale as if sprung from prison. “Karleen Almquist,” she cooed. “Joanna’s best friend.”
“I told her you’d brought your own water,” Joanna, who clearly did not worry about laugh lines and such, put in. And Dale made a snap decision to take advantage of an unexpected opportunity.
“Ah, but nothin’ beats a tall glass of ice-cold tea,” he said, taking one of the tumblers and turning his smile on Karleen, who was doing her damnedest not to look awestruck. He knew it wasn’t fair, or right, to judge a person by appearances, but how many women like her had he run into over the course of the past several years? Pretty women who deep down didn’t trust that they really were, who never really believed their God-given attributes were sufficient unto themselves, who measured success by whether or not men found them attractive.
Women who seemed to forget that the flower never had to chase the bee.
Deliberately, Dale let his gaze sidle over to Joanna for a moment—who, as far as flowers went, was probably more like a Venus’s-flytrap—before returning it to her friend. “Thank you, Karleen,” he said, taking great pains not to cross the thin line between being polite and flirting, trusting that Karleen would know the difference. And that Joanna, who was discussing the play set with Jose, wouldn’t.
Of course, since she didn’t seem the least bit interested in what was going on, it would appear he was wasting his efforts. A realization that annoyed him far more than it should have. So he inched a hair closer to flirting with Karleen, resurrecting one or two old lines he used to be able to count on to make a gal laugh, all the while keeping one eye on Joanna. And Karleen did indeed giggle when she was supposed to, although not in quite as airheaded a manner as he might have expected, and her smile really was very nice and her eyes really were very pretty and her perfume wasn’t the kind that could knock a man over. So, all in all, he should have been enjoying himself.
Except the longer Dale stood there, drinking his tea and eating the little cakes and chatting up this pretty woman he didn’t want to be chatting up while the flat-chested, haywire-haired woman he did want to chat up seemed hell-bent on ignoring him, the more annoyed he got. By the time Joanna turned to him and asked how much longer he thought they’d be, he was startled to find himself next door to mad.
Not that he had any