Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)

Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3) Page 4

“Listen, sweets,” Colleen began. “Eating healthy is smart. Your mom is right about that.”

“I had a grilled pork chop for lunch. And broccoli,” her sister said. “And water. No carbs.”

For crying out loud. “Very nutritious. But everything in moderation, right? Nachos once a week isn’t going to ruin you. And life without nachos, you know? Why bother?”

Her sister’s smile lit up the room.

Ten minutes later, Connor set down the nachos and slid in next to Savannah, and all was as it should be. Savannah chattered happily about gym class and baseball (they were Yankees fans, of course). Connor let her come into the kitchen and drizzle sauce on the cheesecake desserts that were flying out of the kitchen, and Colleen let her take orders. All the regulars loved Savannah.

When Gail arrived to pick her up, she gave the girl a hug, then inspected the salsa stain on her shirt, shooting Colleen a dirty look.

“Nachos,” Colleen said. “It’s our girls’ night tradition.”

“Mmm,” Gail said. “Well. Good night.” Savannah waved, grinning.

So, yes. There was a personal parallel between her sister and Colleen’s other mission tonight: Paulie Petrosinsky and Bryce Campbell, Step One.

Like Savannah, Paulie lacked certain attributes deemed important by some. But it didn’t mean Savannah and Paulie were any less deserving of true love with the man of their dreams (though, yes, Savannah would have to wait quite a few years for that, thank you very much). Tonight’s mission: get Paulie on Bryce’s radar.

Speaking of Paulie, in she came, wrapped in what appeared to be a dirty sheet that went past her knees. Colleen had said “soft” and “feminine” and “bright” when Paulie asked what to wear. Not “gray.” She hadn’t said the word gray once. The word sheet had also not been mentioned.

“How do I look?” Paulie asked. “The salesman said these worked on every figure so I bought six of them.”

Colleen grabbed Paulie’s arm and hustled her into the office in the back. “Get out, Connor. Wardrobe emergency.”

“Then I should stay, don’t you think?” he asked, not even looking up from the computer, where he was doing God knows what.

“Is something the matter?” Paulie asked. “Crap. You know what? This isn’t gonna work. I think I’ll go home.”

“No, you’re not, no you’re not,” Colleen said. “Courage, my friend. Just let me fix your hair a little, okay? We’re going for a soft, gamine look, and you used just a little too much product.” Ow. Paulie’s hair was stiff with gel. Colleen broke through and tousled it a bit for a slight improvement. “Let’s ditch this, uh...this sweater, is it?” Colleen plucked at the gray fabric that swathed Paulie’s muscular figure.

“No! It’s a multi-look sweater,” Paulie said, clutching it closed. “I have six of them.”

“So you said.”

Paulie’s face was bright red, so Colleen reached across Connor to grab a folder and began fanning her, smiling encouragingly. “That’s fine. The sweater can stay. It’s...it’s an interesting piece.” Confidence, she well knew, was the key to true beauty.

“You can wear it seventeen different ways,” Paulie said. “Like this, my favorite, just sort of flowing—” And it did flow, almost all the way to the floor, since Paulie was about five-one. “And then you can take the ends and wrap it around your neck—”

“Why would you do that?” Colleen said. “To hang yourself?”

“And then you can make it even into a dress, see, like this. Or a scarf. Even a skirt.”

“‘It’s a sock, it’s a sheet, it’s a bicycle seat,’” Connor said in a singsong voice. “Remember that, Coll? The Lorax? What was that thing they made from the Truffula trees?”

“A Thneed,” Colleen said. “Here. Let me drape it...um...great. There!” Okay, it was a weird sweater, but if Paulie thought she looked good in it....

“It hides a lot of flaws,” Paulie said.

“You don’t have flaws. You’re very strong and healthy-looking.”

“I heard you can bench-press two twenty-five,” Connor said, earning a kick from Colleen.

“True,” Paulie said proudly.

“And that’s great,” Colleen said. “But tonight, let’s focus on femininity. No, don’t panic. We’re just planting the seeds, that’s all. Just planting seeds.”

“Or Thneeds,” Connor said.

“Shut it, Connor. Why are you still here, anyway? Go cook something.”

He obeyed (finally).

“No need to be nervous, Paulie,” she said more gently. “You’ve known Bryce for aeons—”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered, her face going blotchy.

“—and he already likes you.”

“He likes everyone.”

True. Bryce didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Or an ugly bone, either. Which was why women launched themselves at him like hypersonic missiles.

“Now tonight,” Colleen said, “you just want to get his attention, okay? As a woman, not as his buddy. Don’t talk about sports, don’t mention how much you can bench-press. Just say something like, ‘Oh, hey, Bryce! You look really handsome tonight.’”

From Paulie came the sounds of a dry heave.

“Now, now,” Colleen said. “It’s gonna be fine. Bryce is handsome. We all know that. So you just remind him that you’re here and female and fabulous. I want you to just brush against his arm, like this, just a little swoop of the breast, okay? A breast-swoop.” She demonstrated, pressing the girls lightly against Paulie’s shoulder.

“You smell great,” Paulie said.

“That would be a perfect thing to tell him.”

“No, I meant you. You smell really nice.”

Colleen paused. “Thanks. Now take a deep breath.” She looked down at Paulie’s kind, flushed face. “This is just the shark-bump test. Just to bring you onto his radar.”

“Got it. Shark. Radar.” She was hyperventilating.

“Breathe in for four, hold for four, exhale for four, that’s a girl. I know Bryce’s usual type, and guess what? They’re not right for him, are they, or else he’d be married right now. Just imagine that he’s been waiting for you all his life.”

“No need to sell it that hard, Coll.”

“It’s called confidence.” She squeezed Paulie’s hard shoulders. “I’ll be right behind the bar.”

“What if I screw up? What if he laughs at me? What if I puke and—”

“Calm down. Remember, you’re smart, you’re an executive at a successful company, you have what, an MBA? Everyone likes you, Paulie. Bryce just needs a little...strategy, and he’ll see you for the amazing person you are. And if you really love him, he’s worth the effort, right?”

“Yeah. He is.” Paulie stood up a little straighter.

“So let’s go. I hate to be cliché, but I want you drinking a martini or a mojito. No more Genesee.”

“Feminine, fabulous, martini, mojito.”

“Perfect. And next time, wear a girly color. Not gray.”

“It’s fog.”

“It’s gray, Paulie. You came to me, remember? I’m the expert. So no Thneed next time.”

Paulie cracked her neck. “What if—just putting this out there—what if I panic?”

“Um...I’ll give you a sign.”

“Really? That would be so great, Colleen!”

“I’ll do this. See?” She tossed her hair back in the time-honored fertility gesture women used to get men to notice how shiny they were. “Hair flip equals abort, abort. You pretend your phone is ringing and you just step away. Okay?”

“Roger that.”

Colleen took the shorter woman by the shoulders. “You’re special, and he’d be lucky to have you.”

Paulie smiled, even if her breathing was labored. She really did have a sweet smile. “Okay. Thanks, Coll. If you say so.”

“I do. Now get out there and make me proud. Don’t forget your lines.”

“Hi, Bryce, you smell so hot.”

“No, no, we don’t want him to think he smells like meat on a grill. It’s, ‘Hi, Bryce! Don’t you look handsome tonight.’”

“Hi, Bryce, don’t you look so beautiful tonight.”

“Handsome.” Colleen smiled firmly.

“And handsome, too.”

“You look handsome tonight, Bryce.”

“So do you.”

“Close enough. Go get ’em,” Colleen said. “I’ll be eavesdropping.”

She held the door for Paulie and went behind the bar, pulled a Guinness for Gerard, automatically smiled at his compliment because he was a schmoozer of the first class, and watched her protégé.

There weren’t too many people here; it was a Tuesday in late May, and the summer season hadn’t really begun yet, so she had a great view.

She really hoped this went well. She owed Paulie a little happiness.

When they were in sixth grade, something happened to Paulie. Her hair turned greasy, her face broke out and she thickened without growing in height. Not a big deal. After all, Faith had epilepsy, Jessica Dunn wore hand-me-downs, Asswipe Jones’s dandruff could’ve been covered by The Weather Channel. Paulie’s awkwardness wasn’t that big a deal.

But then came The Smell. A not-very-good smell that wafted from Paulie. The other kids noticed it but didn’t say anything. Not at first. But then whispers started, and Paulie seemed completely unaware, smiling, blushing, always being so damn nice.

One day, several of Colleen’s crowd decided to talk to their English teacher about it. Mrs. Hess was young, pretty and nice and had a Southern accent, which they all found terribly exotic. Sure enough, the teacher listened sympathetically.

“I hear what y’all are sayin’,” she said. “And here’s what I think should be done. It’d be a genuine favor if one of y’all took Miss Paulie aside and just told her the truth. Otherwise, how’s she gonna know, bless her heart?”

Colleen was immediately elected as the bearer of bad news. If anyone could say it, it was Colleen. Personally, Coll thought Faith would be even better at it, but no, the other girls said Colleen was good at that sort of thing. And so, the next day, Mrs. Hess asked Paulie to stay in at recess, and then said, “Colleen here has something she’d like to discuss with you, Paulie,” she said with a smile, then slipped from the room.

“What’s up?” Paulie asked. There was a hopeful look in her eyes, and Colleen felt her heart spasm a little. She’d been sick with nervousness all day long as it was, and the greasy cafeteria pizza at lunch hadn’t helped.

Colleen was popular; not mean-girl popular, just really well liked. She had the glamour of being a twin, not to mention her prettiness and ease with boys. Paulie had none of those things (except that everyone thought she was nice). But already, before she said a word, Colleen knew this wasn’t going to go well.

“So,” she said, sitting next to Paulie, who was clad in rust-colored corduroys and bedazzled sweatshirt. Damn. Faith would’ve been perfect for this job...Faith the sweet, the kind, the slightly tragic, would’ve had just the right touch. “Okay, well, here’s the thing, Paulie.”

“Yeah?”

Colleen’s stomach didn’t feel so good. She could almost taste the bitter smell. Didn’t Paulie’s mother talk to her about stuff? She cleared her throat. “Some of us were talking,” she said, biting her thumbnail. “And...uh, it was about things that, um, happen to some people when you’re a teenager and stuff.”