What Phoebe Wants. Cindi Myers

it.”

      Maybe six years didn’t sound like much to most people, but it felt like more than six years to me. I was mature for my age. Though come to think of it, that doesn’t sound like the compliment now that it did when I was nineteen. “Darla, he’s installing some computer equipment in my office. There isn’t anything sexual about that.”

      “Sure there’s not.” Her expression told me she didn’t buy it. “He’s just a hot young stud who is interested enough in you to notice a love bite from another man on your neck and comment on it. And you’ve just spent ten minutes protesting how impossible it would be for you to have the slightest interest in him. That’s longer than you’ve talked about any man other than Steve the sleaze.”

      I glared at her in the mirror. She laughed. “All right, I’ll drop the subject if you tell me one thing.”

      “What’s that?” I was still suspicious. Darla had a way of getting confessions out of me that I didn’t want to give.

      “Did this Jeff guy have anything to do with your sudden decision to become a redhead?” She pointed at my reflection in the mirror. “And be honest.”

      “It didn’t have anything to do with Jeff.” I smoothed the cape across my lap. “I’ve thought about this for years.”

      “Then why didn’t you do it before?”

      “Steve wouldn’t let me.” Even as I said the words, I knew they sounded pathetic.

      “What did he do, lock you in the house and threaten to take away your car keys?” She shook her head and made clucking noises under her tongue. “Sorry. I just can’t stand it when men try to tell their wives what they can’t do with their hair or their clothes or anything like that. It’s like they think women are children who need to be kept in line.”

      “Steve always told me he liked my hair just the way it was,” I said wistfully. In fact, the first thing he ever said to me was “Hey beautiful, do blondes really have more fun?”

      Okay, so it wasn’t a great pickup line. I was nineteen at the time. Steve was thirty and I thought he was suave and sophisticated. I didn’t care what he said to me as long as he said something.

      “Well, I’m glad you decided to do this.” Darla set her minute timer and grinned at me. “It’s going to look great. So why now? What happened to make you decide to do it today?

      I managed a smile in return. “You might say I owe it all to some samples of Viagra.”

      “Viagra? The sex pill? Are they giving it to women now?”

      “Nope. And a certain troublemaking man won’t be taking it, either.” I told her about swiping the doctor’s samples and dumping them down the toilet. “It was sneaky,” I concluded. “But it sure felt good.”

      “Sneaky? It was brilliant. And it serves him right, the old lecher.”

      “I’m sure he’ll just get more samples, but it makes me feel like I have a little power over him now. I know his big secret.”

      “Speaking of secrets, I have some more news about your ex and Just-a-waitress.”

      I squirmed in the chair, remembering the last “news” Darla had told me. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

      “You’re going to know soon enough, anyhow. When she was in here she also told Henry that she and Steve-o are getting married.”

      My stomach clenched and I locked my jaw, freezing my face into what I hoped was an indifferent expression. I shouldn’t have been surprised, considering that they were going to have a baby, but the information hit me like a punch. “Oh, hon.” Darla put her hand on my shoulder. “You didn’t really want him back, did you?”

      I shook my head so hard little drops of color spattered across the front of Darla’s smock. “No. Never.” I didn’t want him back. But Steve marrying someone else was the final evidence that a chapter in my life was over. He was moving on, but what was I doing? I lived in the same house, held the same job, did the same things and I was still alone.

      “Come on over here to the shampoo bowl.” Darla nudged me toward the back of the shop. “If you like, I do a pretty good rendition of ‘I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair.”’

      A bit of a smile broke through my gloom. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

      She patted my shoulder. “You’ll feel better once you see the new you. I guarantee a certain younger man is going to be hot for you once he sees you in red.”

      “It’s been a long time since anyone was even lukewarm,” I said. “I don’t see why Jeff should be any different.”

      “But you want him to be, don’t you?” She put her face close to mine, staring into my eyes. “Don’t lie, Phoebe Elaine Frame.”

      I shrugged. “Sure, I’d be flattered if some gorgeous young stud thought I was all that. But it’s not going to happen.”

      “It could.”

      “Even if it does, I don’t think it would be smart to get involved with him.”

      She turned on the water and tested the temperature against her wrist. “Who said anything about smart? What you want at this point in your life is fun. You haven’t had nearly enough of that lately. Sounds like young Jeff could be just the ticket.”

      One way or round trip? I wondered as warm water cascaded over my scalp. Or did it really matter? If I was only going along for a pleasure cruise, did it really matter where it took me or how long it lasted?

      4

      I HAD A HARD TIME KEEPING my eyes on the road on the way home that evening. I kept tilting my head to look in the rear-view mirror at the stranger who stared back at me. Oh, she had the eyes, mouth and nose I was used to seeing when I looked at my reflection, but she also had a gorgeous head of shiny, copper-colored hair. I smiled every time I saw this “other” me. Suddenly, my eyes were bluer, my skin looked creamier. And all because of a change in hair color. “Who would have thought?” I murmured, and forced my gaze back to the road. I couldn’t wait to show off my new look at work tomorrow. What would Jeff say?

      I smiled, imagining his reaction. I was still smiling when an ominous clunk sounded from beneath the hood, followed by a horrifying grinding noise. I put on my blinker and steered onto the shoulder. The grinding grew louder and I shut off the engine and stared out the front windshield. A bitter odor wafted up through the air-conditioning vents.

      A string of choice curses fought to climb up my throat, but what came out of my mouth was “OhGodohGodohGod.” I bailed out of the car and hurried to pop the hood. The acrid odor was stronger. Was it my imagination, or did the whole engine appear to be leaning to one side?

      I backed away, eyeing the car warily. The urge to kick something was strong, but I’m superstitious about cars. I think they can sense when you’re upset with them, and mechanical failure is their chief way to get back at you.

      Yeah, I know people say cars can’t think, but who says they don’t have intuition? The minute you begin to hate one, they know it and will make your life miserable.

      I stomped to the shoulder and looked out at the traffic flying past. Someone would stop soon and maybe they’d have a phone I could use to call a wrecker.

      A pickup sped by so close its tires slung gravel at me. A chorus of catcalls and whistles sailed toward me.

      Cars honked. Men whistled. One made an obscene gesture. Another man yelled that he was in love with me. Women looked the other way. Some even changed lanes so they wouldn’t have to drive on my side of the road. But no one stopped.

      So much for chivalry or Good Samaritans. I searched the shoulder for a good-size rock. The next idiot who made a rude suggestion was going to get it in the windshield.