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Excerpt from *Time After Time* from the *Pops' Diner* Anthology |
| Name: |
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Laura Hamby |
| Date Posted: |
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Oct 29, 06 - 6:29 AM |
| Website: |
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http://laurahamby.bravehost.com |
| Message: |
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You’re sitting in a puddle.”
Irene had just noticed that fact. Her face flamed with her embarrassment. She’d gone looking for Bob and she’d found him alright. Ran right into him. The cold water drenched the back of her skirt. When she stood, droplets cascaded down the backs of her legs.
“In a hurry? Running away from home?” Bob shed his coat with an economy of motion Irene couldn’t help but admire. He draped the coat around her shoulders.
“I have something to tell you.”
“Let’s get you inside, first,” Bob suggested.
Irene planted her feet. She couldn’t go inside anywhere, dripping wet as she was. Bob tugged on her arm. “I’ll have to go home to change before we can talk.”
“Why? That will only give you time to change your mind.”
She gaped at him, amazed. He couldn’t possibly know what she planned to tell him, could he? Words deserted her, so she followed him when he pulled on her again. On the steps of the church, they ran into a couple of men from the orchestra.
“Bill, does Lucille have an extra dress? Miss Albright needs a change of clothing.” Bob paused to speak with one of the men.
Irene attempted to tug her hand out of his, but had no luck. She thought she’d been embarrassed the night before, when Bob made her bow at the end of the performance. She’d been wrong. That piffling emotion couldn’t hold a candle to the mortification she felt now as the older man studied her for a brief moment, then grinned when he noticed the puddle forming at her feet.
“There’s a phone in the church office. I’ll call the hotel.”
Twenty minutes later, Irene stood in the robe room with Bill’s wife. Lucille had even brought a towel with her, so Irene could dry off.
“Better hurry. Bob’s worried you’ll catch cold and won’t be able to sing.” The woman offered Irene a dress, then turned her back so Irene could change.
“It would take more than sitting in a puddle of melted snow for half a minute,” Irene replied. She allowed her wet dress to fall to the floor, around her ankles.
“I have undergarments, as well. I’m sure yours aren’t very useable at the moment.”
Used undergarments? Irene grimaced. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“They’re brand new. I stopped at the store on my way over. I know I wouldn’t want to wear someone else’s undergarments, even if they were clean.”
What could she say to that? “Thank you.”
Lucille giggled. “Honey, we all have our moments. Just remember that when you walk out of this room and see Bob, just smile like nothing untoward ever happened. Don’t give those men an opening. They’re good guys, but they can’t help themselves. Show no weakness, and they won’t tease you about this.”
“I intended to climb out the window,” Irene said. “That way, I won’t have to see any of them.”
“Worst thing you could do. They’ll tease you unmercifully.”
“That won’t be a problem. I’ll never see them again.” Irene finished redressing just as the door to the hallway opened a smidgeon, after a knock sounded.
“Never see who again, Irene?”
Lucille slipped out, leaving Irene alone with Bob. He put fisted hands on his hips when he halted several feet into the room. “Red is a good color on you. Better than those drab colors you wear. Well? Who are you never going to see again?”
Irene hyperventilated. Bob had just given her a compliment. A real compliment. It was a first for her. The heady sensation caused by a distinct lack of oxygen made her sway. She took a deep breath.
“I thought you said you had something to tell me?”
He sounded grouchy. Irene scrambled to reassemble her thoughts into coherency. “I do. Did.”
A worn wingback chair sat before the very window Irene had intended to climb out to escape. Bob strode to the chair and sat down. Surprised, she bit her lower lip. This was a departure from the well-mannered Mr. Hobart she’d come to know and harbor a secret admiration for.
“You’re sitting?”
“It appears it’s going to be a day-long event, waiting for you to speak. Thought I might as well be comfortable.” Bob sprawled in the chair, his legs wide apart, his posture slouchy.
“I, well, you see,” Irene paused. Fine muddle she was making here. Merciful heavens. Was Bob really grinning at her? It was now or never. Miss Violet’s words of advice echoed in the recesses of Irene’s mind. She had nothing else to lose now that she’d so elegantly fallen at Bob’s feet, right into a puddle, no less.
“I want to sing with the orchestra on a permanent basis.”
~Copyright 2006 by Laura Hamby |
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