didn’t want to be reasonable. “Don’t strain yourself, Dan. I don’t want to see it anyway.”
“But it’s your favorite. I’ve never understood it, but I rented it.”
She considered, while she stuffed the napkins and wrappers in the empty bag, why she had even liked the movie. It might be a movie Mara would like, but why had Janie? It was a very un-Janie-like movie. She picked up the three empty mayo packets she’d used, and headed toward the kitchen to throw everything away before she sent Dan away. As she shoved the bag in the garbage, it came to her, and she stood up, the bag still in her hand. “I wanted to be a Charlie’s Angel.”
Still parked on the couch, he looked at her. “You want to ride a motorcycle out of a helicopter in a fur bikini?”
“Yeah.” She pictured the kind of road rash a bikini motorcycle crash would inflict, especially coming from that height. “Well, I wanted to be brave and bold and secure enough to ride a motorcycle out of a helicopter in a bikini. I wanted to be daring enough to accessorize and… and…” She waved the mayonnaise packets. “Eat fat.”
He seemed to consider it. “That first morning at McDonalds,” he held his hands near his chest, “they were really Charlie’s Angels up there.”
She jammed the sack in the garbage, headed toward the door, and opened it. “Well, thank you. And thank you for the sandwich and the mayonnaise and the banana peppers.”
He shifted on the couch until she gave him the look that had been generationally handed down to her, the look perfected by millions of years of motherhood, the look that drove anyone who had ever had a mother to comply instantly. It worked, and he rose and stood beside her at the door. “You were fine during the sandwich. I don’t know why my bringing a movie set you off.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m tired of watching movies to make up for long, tiring days at work, at the grocery store, at the stove, or dryer, or volunteer meeting, or dishwasher. I don’t want to be satisfied witnessing other people riding motorcycles out of helicopters.”
“You’re going to become a stunt woman?”
“I’m going to think bigger.” She’d been reading and taking baths and eating pizza, but it was banana pepper time, baby. “I’m gonna live out every movie I’ve ever loved.”
He leaned closer, and she felt aware of the larger male presence of him, less contained, and she didn’t know what to make of it. “You’re not moving to Tuscany. You will not date the president. And no meeting a chain bookstore mogul on the internet.”
“I’m perfectly aware of where to draw the line, Dan, you know that.”
He looked like he would reach out to her, and, for the first time in years, she didn’t know how that would feel. He stepped into the hallway instead. “I don’t know that, Janie, and neither do you.”
He closed the door behind him, and she leaned her forehead against it and listened to his footsteps recede. She knew all about lines. She lived her life not crossing them, coloring only inside them, and never drawing them. Well, she had sent him over the threshold again, but he was wrong about her not knowing where to draw the line. He just didn’t like where she was drawing it.
She took a deep breath and turned back to her notes for the catalog, the job she’d taken to pay for her month’s vacation into another life. It might make a good movie, a woman making a bath catalog. Maybe she didn’t need to be one of Charlie’s Angels because there was something adventurous, exciting, sexy even, about designing a glossy ad for fizzy balls and creamy soaks. She felt the electric zing of it. She didn’t know everything, like how she was going to get back her drive to warehouse shop for facial tissues and catsup, but she might know how to make a catalog and how to make an adventure out of it.
Chapter 4
I’m naked under this cardigan, she thought as she buttoned the happy daisy sweater over
“But it’s your favorite. I’ve never understood it, but I rented it.”
She considered, while she stuffed the napkins and wrappers in the empty bag, why she had even liked the movie. It might be a movie Mara would like, but why had Janie? It was a very un-Janie-like movie. She picked up the three empty mayo packets she’d used, and headed toward the kitchen to throw everything away before she sent Dan away. As she shoved the bag in the garbage, it came to her, and she stood up, the bag still in her hand. “I wanted to be a Charlie’s Angel.”
Still parked on the couch, he looked at her. “You want to ride a motorcycle out of a helicopter in a fur bikini?”
“Yeah.” She pictured the kind of road rash a bikini motorcycle crash would inflict, especially coming from that height. “Well, I wanted to be brave and bold and secure enough to ride a motorcycle out of a helicopter in a bikini. I wanted to be daring enough to accessorize and… and…” She waved the mayonnaise packets. “Eat fat.”
He seemed to consider it. “That first morning at McDonalds,” he held his hands near his chest, “they were really Charlie’s Angels up there.”
She jammed the sack in the garbage, headed toward the door, and opened it. “Well, thank you. And thank you for the sandwich and the mayonnaise and the banana peppers.”
He shifted on the couch until she gave him the look that had been generationally handed down to her, the look perfected by millions of years of motherhood, the look that drove anyone who had ever had a mother to comply instantly. It worked, and he rose and stood beside her at the door. “You were fine during the sandwich. I don’t know why my bringing a movie set you off.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m tired of watching movies to make up for long, tiring days at work, at the grocery store, at the stove, or dryer, or volunteer meeting, or dishwasher. I don’t want to be satisfied witnessing other people riding motorcycles out of helicopters.”
“You’re going to become a stunt woman?”
“I’m going to think bigger.” She’d been reading and taking baths and eating pizza, but it was banana pepper time, baby. “I’m gonna live out every movie I’ve ever loved.”
He leaned closer, and she felt aware of the larger male presence of him, less contained, and she didn’t know what to make of it. “You’re not moving to Tuscany. You will not date the president. And no meeting a chain bookstore mogul on the internet.”
“I’m perfectly aware of where to draw the line, Dan, you know that.”
He looked like he would reach out to her, and, for the first time in years, she didn’t know how that would feel. He stepped into the hallway instead. “I don’t know that, Janie, and neither do you.”
He closed the door behind him, and she leaned her forehead against it and listened to his footsteps recede. She knew all about lines. She lived her life not crossing them, coloring only inside them, and never drawing them. Well, she had sent him over the threshold again, but he was wrong about her not knowing where to draw the line. He just didn’t like where she was drawing it.
She took a deep breath and turned back to her notes for the catalog, the job she’d taken to pay for her month’s vacation into another life. It might make a good movie, a woman making a bath catalog. Maybe she didn’t need to be one of Charlie’s Angels because there was something adventurous, exciting, sexy even, about designing a glossy ad for fizzy balls and creamy soaks. She felt the electric zing of it. She didn’t know everything, like how she was going to get back her drive to warehouse shop for facial tissues and catsup, but she might know how to make a catalog and how to make an adventure out of it.
Chapter 4
I’m naked under this cardigan, she thought as she buttoned the happy daisy sweater over
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