You Dropped a Blonde on Me (12 page)

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Authors: Dakota Cassidy

Tags: #Romance, #Fiction

BOOK: You Dropped a Blonde on Me
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A stab of self-consciousness niggled her. The will to summon up some longing for pretty clothes and mani-pedis escaped her. It had run away just like she had.
If she wasn’t careful, she and her “will” would end up on the back of a carton of milk. What did it matter what she looked like anyway? It was just a bunch of little old men and women playing bingo. Besides, it took a whole lot less effort and goop to slap your hair in a ponytail and put on some sweats. She’d get an “A” for time management if someone were giving them out.
Connor scoffed at her with an impatient grunt. “You’re not old, Mom. You’re
seasoned
.”
Or way overmarinated. “Yeah? Is that your new vocabulary word for the week?” she teased.
“Maxie! Get a move on, would ya? If we don’t shake a leg, that damn Deloris Griswald’s gonna steal up all the good bingo mojo seats. That woman makes me want to pull every last hair out of her lucky troll doll’s head.”
Maxine let her chin fall to her chest while she massaged her temples and asked the man upstairs to keep her from purposely falling on a sharp Ginsu in front of her unsuspecting son. When she looked up, Connor was covering his mouth with his forearm to keep from laughing. “Do your homework, okay? And try to restrain yourself from eating your grandmother’s sardines. I know what a temptation greasy fish in a can can be.”
He grinned at her, shoving his hands in the pockets of his low-slung jeans. “I’ve sworn off fish in a can—it binds me.”
Maxine pressed a kiss to his cheek with a giggle. She was so grateful for her baby boy. Connor was a shiny penny in a puddle of piss. “I’ll see you around ten. Oh, and if Mrs. Dewit calls about that cracked-out poodle of hers needing a ‘walkie,’ tell her I died. Love you.” Sweeping out of the bathroom, she grabbed her purse off the kitchen table and stopped just shy of where her mother stood rooted to the kitchen floor.
“What?”
Mona pursed her lips. “You’re wearing
that
?”
Maxine looked down at her outfit once more. Was it really as bad as everyone was making it out to be? “Yeah. What’s wrong with it?”
Mona tucked her suitcase-sized patchwork purse under her breasts, crossing her arms over it. “Would it hurt you to gussie up a little, Maxine?”
“Why?” Maxine’s response was lifeless and flat.
Her mother’s sigh was ragged. “Because it’s good for the soul, young lady. I remember a Maxine who didn’t leave the house without at least a carat’s worth of diamonds somewhere on her body.”
A hand went to her hip in a defiant gesture. “If Maxine had a carat’s worth of diamonds this minute, she’d have hocked them for cash at Chester’s Tchotchkes. I don’t have diamonds, and I don’t have a whole lot of bingo-appropriate attire. I don’t have a whole lot of attire, period, remember? When I left Fin, I packed very little, fully expecting he’d let me get my clothes once I was over the initial shock that he was boinking my best friend’s sister. And I borrowed this from
your
closet.”
“Does that mean you can’t brush your hair and put on some lipstick?”
Maxine’s hand flew to her ponytail. “I did brush my hair, and I don’t want to wear lipstick. It’s bingo, Mom, not
The Bachelorette
.”
“What about maybe plucking your eyebrows? They look like a Siberian husky’s taken up residence on your forehead.”
“I couldn’t find the tweezers . . .” she mumbled.
“Rumor has it,
Campbell
might be there.” Mona used her enticing motherly voice to try and coax the will into her to glam up.
The mention of Campbell brought back the memory of his kiss. A kiss she wasn’t able to leave alone since it happened. She’d relived it twice daily for the last nine days—all right, sometimes hourly. An excited butterfly swirled in her stomach, but it was only one, so she mentally stomped on it and crushed its fluttering wings. All that talk of coffee and more than a week had passed since they’d last seen each other, and not so much as a phone call to have even a bottle of water. “So?”
There was a snort of disgust and the shuffle of orthopedic-shoe-wearing feet as Mona, clearly not making the impact she’d hoped for, pushed open the screen door and stomped off to her car.
Maxine rolled her head on her neck, taking a deep breath, then threw her purse over her shoulder to head out and get in her mother’s conservative Kia Rio. They drove in silence to the rec center where Bingo Madness was aglow. Twinkling lights adorned the neatly trimmed bushes, and colorful lantern-shaped globes were strung across the low roofline.
When word had gotten around that Maxine was for hire, her mother’s phone had begun to ring. In the days since she’d walked Jake for Mr. Hodge, she’d acquired four more dog-walking positions and one weekly hair-rolling session with Maude Grandowski, who suffered from tendinitis in her neck and shoulders. Maude made her macaroon cookies and served her milk when Maxine was done washing and setting her hair. Plus, she’d tipped her five bucks.
When she’d gotten the call to replace Midge, she’d been hesitant. A lot hesitant. She’d been to Bingo Madness once with her mother, and to say these women got hinky about their bingo was to diminish their capacity to be ninja quiet when going in for the kill.
Bingo was serious business at Leisure Village. But when Midge told her it was fifty dollars, there’d been no stopping her from greasing her vocal cords and shining up her best hair scrunchie. Fifty bucks on top of her dog-walking money was a windfall.
Truly, she could now be considered a high roller.
Making their way along the decorative stone pavers to the front door, Mona stopped her just before entering. “You listen to your mother, Maxie. You watch that crazy Deloris Griswald. If she hits the same number as someone else, and doesn’t speak up fast enough, things get dicey.”
Maxine’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Dicey?”
Her mother’s nod was solemn. “She throws trolls.”
“The dolls with the crazy hair in different colors?”
Mona’s nod was crisp. “Yep. Damn well nearly took off someone’s head with it, too.”
Oh. With a finger, she made an “X” over her heart. “I promise to watch for flying trolls, Mom.”
“Don’t you mock me, girlie, and see that you do. Louise Clements got hit with one a few months back, and she’s holding a grudge. Who knows what could happen if Louise and Deloris go head to head. It could be an all-out troll war.”
Maxine shook her head and reminded herself, it was fifty bucks. Fifty. Bucks. Opening the door for her mother, she motioned her in.
Rows of tables, lined with good-luck charms like the aforementioned troll dolls and small statues of the Virgin Mary, were almost full to capacity. The low rumble of excited voices turned to total silence upon their entry.
Maybe she should have plucked her eyebrows . . .
What seemed like hundreds of pairs of eyes, hidden behind assorted thick reading glasses, scanned her from head to toe, and not in a friendly milk-and-cookies kinda way.
Weee doggie. Hostile much? The vibe was that she was an interloper. One who was thirty-some years their junior.
Mona’s eyes narrowed. “I told you you should’ve brushed your hair,” she accused.
Maxine leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Oh, hush. If there’s only one thing in the world I know how to do it’s entertain. Watch and learn from the master.”
Maxine dropped her purse on the front table and turned to the still-silent crowd. A sea of silver heads, eyes expectant, focused in on her. She slapped a wide grin across her lips when she picked up the microphone. “Hi, everyone! I’m Maxine Cambridge, and I’m replacing Midge for the night. Well, let me re-phrase that.
No one
could
ever
replace Midge. She’s irreplaceable, but I hope you’ll accept my humble efforts to help the show go on. I know you’ll all join me in thinking a good thought for poor Midge and her psoriasis, won’t you?”
Instantly, the tremor of unwanted gatecrasher turned to pity for the ailing Midge, and a gruff welcome for Maxine. “Wonderful,” she placated with a delighted clap of her hands. “Now, if you’ll all just give me a minute to get myself situated, we’ll begin.” She set the microphone back down with a puff of breath.
Her mother nodded a grudging affirmation for her coup. “Nicely played—the ‘humble yourself for the masses’ card. Good choice. I’m going to go find Gail and Mary. They’d better have saved me a seat.” Mona swept past the swarm of seniors who arranged and rearranged their lucky bingo charms, stopping at the edge of the third table from the front, which Maxine suspected housed Deloris Griswald. The narrow-eyed glare her mother shot at the pleasantly padded woman with raven-black hair so stiff with hairspray it had to pack some crunch was the clincher.
From where she stood, there were at least eight small troll dolls with brightly colored hair and two statues of the Virgin Mary lined precisely on top of Deloris’s bingo sheets. In front of each troll were the bulbous colored heads of daubers, the official markers they used to check off numbers called. Each dauber matched the hair color of each doll, making this superstitious ritual nothing short of hardcore.
And she just couldn’t let herself harp on the OCD of it all a second longer.
“Hey, Maxine!” a woman bellowed from the back of the room, making her turn to face forward. “Esther here says you’re the girl who did those car commercials, but I told her no way could you be the same girl. That girl had to be a good ten years younger than you.”
If it was the last thing she did, she was going to blow up every television set in the village. A hard swallow and a warning glare to her mother’s protective stance later, Maxine answered into the microphone, “Actually, that girl was
fifteen
years younger than I am now—if you’re looking for honesty. So yes, I was that girl. And yes, now I’m much older.”
Thank you for voicing your uncanny ability to “name that age” in public.
In front of a hundred or so villagers.
Go, you.
The woman’s cheeks sported two bright spots when she slid down in her chair, bringing Maxine sick satisfaction, be it brief and petty.
Turning to the table, Maxine eyeballed the whir of the numbered balls in the cage and took a deep breath. Watchful eyes heated her back. The air became uncomfortably warm inside the rec center, her mother’s neon yellow sweat suit clinging to her like a second skin.
Out of the clear blue, she wanted to crawl under the table. What had she been thinking when she’d said yes to hosting a roomful of clearly resentful bingo-lovers who wanted Midge and Midge alone to call their numbers? Not some has-been ex-beauty queen who was so pathetic and so without pride, she was snarfing up senior-citizen cash left and right, doing menial work because she couldn’t get a decent job. Poor, sad, helpless Maxine.
The sick feeling that everyone in the room knew how truly pitiful Mona Henderson’s daughter was left her inwardly fighting a good outward cringe. She wasn’t just an embarrassment to herself, but to Connor and her mother. Ridiculous tears stung her eyes.
Her legs began to tremble. Despite the warmth of the room, her fingers were icy, uncooperative talons. The race of her heart, like frantic wings of a hummingbird, battered her chest.
Oh. Good. An anxiety attack.
“Uh, hey!” someone yelled from the back, his words like nails being pounded into her skull. “Could we get this party started, lady?
America’s Most Wanted
’s on tonight at eleven, and the way you’re going, we’re gonna bleed right into
Seinfeld
.”
“Hey, Mr. Fishbein! Cut the lady some slack. It’s her first night,” a deep, undeniably sex-on-a-stick voice chided with laughter in its tone.
Okay, when she turned around, if Campbell Barker was standing somewhere in the crowd, it was imperative she and the man upstairs have a good sit-down. But not until she was done ignoring the fact that just the sound of his voice had taken her anxious, unwarranted fear down at least three notches.
Why should it matter if Campbell’s here, Maxine?
Because I look like a bag lady fresh from a long day of Dumpster diving?
Wasn’t it you who just told your mother this wasn’t
The Bachelorette
? Who cares that you’re wearing the most unflattering color on Earth and your hair resembles a Texas tumbleweed? Surely not you . . .
Her shoulders instantly squared. Right. That wasn’t her. She didn’t care. In the interest of not caring, Maxine rounded the table like it owed her money, slapping her ass in the chair, and picking up the microphone as though it were a weapon of mass destruction.
She placed it in front of her lips, a glint of a view to kill in her eyes. “So, ladies and gentlemen, are we ready?”
Buttloads of eyeballs rolled upward. If she were counting right, five people yawned.
Yet Campbell didn’t. Way in the back, sitting near two elderly gentlemen and one lone woman with hair so teased it was stratospheric, he gave her the thumbs-up sign, followed by his deliciously yummy grin.
That grin, one she hadn’t seen in over a week, brought such welcome relief. If she weren’t already sitting down, she’d need to. It was true. Men aged much better than women. Not only had Campbell filled out since high school, he’d acquired a gaunt, chiseled look to him that exuded a hard-edged appeal. The way his shirt stretched at his wide shoulders, the ruddy tone of his skin against it, the planes of his muscular arms, made her face hot. A shiver rolled over her arms in response to something as feeble and nonsexual as a sign of Campbell Barker’s approval.

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