Sixteen
Not My Type
“D id you have a nice birthday?” Kenny asked, leaning against Hallie’s kitchen counter.
“Very nice,” she answered, lifting cookies hot from the oven off the baking sheet. She’d mastered chocolate-chip and was moving on to oatmeal-raisin. She intended to create a repertoire of baked goods to entice the most discriminating connoisseur. Kenny was an enthusiastic admirer of her baking, but hardly discriminating. Right now, he waited impatiently for the cookies to cool. “Your dad bought me dinner.”
“Dad did?” This bit of news evidently piqued Meagan’s interest. She slid off the sofa where she’d been reading and hurried into the kitchen, joining her brother at the counter.
“It was a kind gesture,” Hallie said. She’d thought about it a lot since Monday night—thought about the kiss too, more than she should. It was a kiss between friends, nothing more, yet she found herself remembering it at the oddest moments. Like this one. But maybe that was good, because Meagan and Kenny were a reminder of how much Steve hoped to reconcile with Mary Lynn.
Unable to wait any longer, Kenny reached for a cookie and burned his hand. “Ouch,” he yelped, sucking on his fingertips.
“Hallie told you they were hot,” Meagan chided. “Where did Dad take you?”
“He ordered in Chinese.” She didn’t tell the kids she’d been so depressed she’d lain on the carpet listening to the saddest blues CD she could find. She’d stacked an entire music menu on her player, including bagpipes, funeral dirges and mournful ballads. Sad troubled music for a sad troubled day.
“Do you like my dad?” Kenny asked, tossing the hot cookie from hand to hand.
“Sure.” Hallie absently scooped dough onto the sheet for a new batch of cookies.
“Enough to marry him?”
“Marry him?” Hallie gave her full attention to Steve’s kids. Both were studying her with dark unblinking eyes. She remembered the kiss again. Although it had been a satisfying kiss, it wasn’t a kiss between lovers or even potential lovers. She could embellish it in her mind as much as she wanted, but she knew very well that Steve wasn’t interested in a more complex relationship. They were friends and neighbors, and that was all.
“You said you liked him,” Kenny said.
Hallie placed the cookie sheet in the oven while she considered how to respond. Something told her the answer was important and she needed to choose her words carefully, a task made more difficult by not knowing the status of Steve’s relationship with Mary Lynn or the likelihood of reconciliation.
“I think your dad’s great. He works hard and loves you kids. I’ve been impressed with what a good father he is.” She paused, wondering how much she should say. Meagan and Kenny continued to study her as if waiting for more. “I like his sense of humor.” Kenny smiled encouragingly. Recalling how Steve had twice lent her money to pay taxi drivers, she added, “He’s generous and caring.” He hadn’t pressured her into the bowling tournament, either. “He’s a friend, a good one, but—”
“That’s great,” Kenny interrupted her, “but do you like him enough to marry him?”
“Don’t rush her,” Meagan barked, glaring at her younger brother.
Kenny ignored his sister. “You’d make a cool stepmom.”
“You would,” Meagan agreed, nodding.
They were still watching her so intently. Hallie felt a bit unnerved. “I’m glad you think so,” she said slowly, frowning as she glanced from one to the other. “But…”
“But?” Kenny cried. “I hate it when Dad says ‘but’ because it always means no.” His shoulders sagged and he propped his chin on the kitchen counter. “Go on,” he said in a resigned voice, as if he already knew what she intended to say.
“I’m just not the right woman for him.” Honesty was the best policy, Hallie had determined, even if it disappointed her young friends. “Your dad’s a great guy, but he isn’t for me. I hope you don’t mind too much.”
Kenny helped himself to a cooled cookie. “Not too much. That was what I figured you were going to say.”
Hallie was relieved.
“Besides, when we asked Dad, he said almost the same thing.”
Goose bumps rose on the back of Hallie’s neck. “You asked your father about marrying me?”
“Sort of,” Meagan answered.
“And what exactly did he say?”
“That you have a neat personality and everything,” Kenny explained, “but then, like I told you he said almost the same thing you did. You aren’t his type, either.”
“Not his type!” Hallie couldn’t believe her ears. “Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” she muttered under her breath, not wanting the kids to hear.
The timer rang and she grabbed the last tray of cookies from the oven rack with more force than necessary. “Not his type,” she muttered again, her back to the kids. The man’s attitude rankled—never mind whether or not she was being rational.
She clumsily scraped the cookies off the sheet, mangling more than one. Why, Steve Marris would be the luckiest man in the world to marry a woman like her. Of all the nerve!
“Hallie, are you mad about something?” Meagan asked.
“Mad?” she asked, her voice squeaking. “What do I have to be mad about?” She’d wring Steve’s neck, that was what she’d do. How dared he tell his kids he liked her “personality.” That was the kind of thing men said about the women eager mothers pushed on unwilling sons. It was the kind of thing men said about women they found sexually unattractive. But then, what did she expect from a man who’d suggested the way to find a husband was to enhance her bust size?
The phone rang and Hallie whipped the receiver off the wall. “Hello,” she snapped, suspecting it was Steve. Hoping it was, so she could set him straight about a few things.
“Hallie?” Donnalee asked uncertainly. “Is something wrong?”
“Donnalee!” she cried. “You’re back! How was Hawaii?”
“Wonderful. I’m relaxed, tanned and feeling more like myself. Have you got plans for tonight?”
Hallie’s mood lifted instantly. “I suppose you brought me one of those windup hula dolls?”
“Yes,” Donnalee teased, and they both laughed.
Her friend had been gone eight days and it felt like a month to Hallie. “Come on over any time.” Friday night, sitting around with a girlfriend—that pretty well summarized the sorry state of her love life, she thought, smothering a giggle.
“I’ll be there in an hour,” Donnalee promised.
As it happened, Hallie didn’t get a chance to talk to Steve, which was just as well all round. Kenny was looking out the window when Steve pulled up. “Dad’s home,” he yelled, leaping off the sofa. He grabbed his backpack and headed toward the front door.
“Don’t be upset with my dad,” Meagan said, staying behind a moment. “He didn’t mean anything by what he said.”
“I’m not upset,” Hallie assured her. Well, she had been at first, sort of, but as the kids had pointed out, she’d said the same thing about him. It was her ego talking, not her reason. In fact, she felt a little embarrassed over the way she’d reacted—like a woman scorned.
Still Meagan lingered.
“You wanted to ask me something?” Hallie asked. Generally Meagan was as eager to see her father on Friday nights as Kenny.
“Next week is Take Your Daughter To Work day,” she announced, speaking quickly as though the words were bursting to get out. “Mom’s not working ’cause she’s in school, so I asked Dad about it, and he said I could go to the office with him, but I don’t want to be a machinist. I’m kind of interested in art, though, and I’d like to see what you do, Hallie. Can I spend the day with you?”
The idea appealed to Hallie right away. She recalled herself at Meagan’s age, how she would have given anything to see a commercial artist at work. “That would be wonderful. Are you sure your dad won’t mind?”
Meagan beamed her a wide carefree smile. “He’ll be glad. He’d take me if I really wanted, but it’d be much more fun going with you. Thanks, Hallie.” Meagan gave her a quick shy hug and raced outside.
Hallie walked to the door and watched as Meagan excitedly told her father that Hallie had agreed to take her to Artistic License. Steve looked over to find her standing in the doorway. Hallie waved.
“You’re sure Meagan won’t be a bother?” he called.
“Positive.”
Even from this distance, Hallie could see his relief. He pointed his finger in her direction. “I owe you one, neighbor.”
Hallie shook her head, laughing. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll have a good time.”
True to her word, Donnalee arrived about half an hour later. She hadn’t exaggerated about her tan; she looked bronzed and beautiful. Rested and obviously at peace with herself and her decision.
They hugged and Donnalee presented her with a box of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts. “It’s an emergency supply in case you don’t have any ice cream handy when the next tragedy strikes,” she joked.
Unable to resist, Hallie opened the box, sampled one, gave one to her friend and then promptly stuck them in the freezer and away from temptation.
“Something’s different,” Donnalee observed, studying her.
“Different?”
“Physically,” Donnalee said. “You haven’t done anything to your hair, have you? Something’s up.”
Feeling smug, Hallie threw herself onto the sofa. “That’s an interesting turn of phrase, my friend. What’s up, quite literally, is my bosom.”
“Hallie, you didn’t!”
“I did. I succumbed and got myself one of those enhancer bras.” She was unwilling to admit that Steve had been the catalyst.
“I can’t believe you’d do that,” Donnalee said with more than a hint of indignation. “It’s ridiculous to think that a push-up bra is going to make you a better person—or even help you meet a man.”
“True,” Hallie agreed, feeling a little silly. “But it’s given me a psychological boost, which, after more failures than I care to admit, is one I badly needed.”
“It’s sexist. Those bras take the women’s movement back ten years. It’s degrading.” Donnalee sounded stern and unrelenting. She paused, dragged in a deep breath, then asked, “How much did it cost and where can I buy one?”
Both dissolved into giggles. It felt good to laugh again.
“No, seriously,” Hallie said. “I thought about this. I don’t see it as sexist. It’s no different from makeup or hair spray or anything else women use to enhance their appearance. It’s fun and it makes me feel good, and if it happens to be attractive to men…well, all the better.”
“I know, I know,” Donnalee said. “Hey, do I smell cookies?” She wrinkled her nose and sniffed loudly.
“I’ve been taking cooking classes,” Hallie admitted with some reluctance, wondering if her friend was going to comment on that, too.
“The old ‘way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ routine?”
“Yup.” No point in denying it.
“Good thinking,” Donnalee said with a grin. “Why not go for the tried and true? Then, once you’ve lured him and fed him, you can dazzle him with your real personality.”
In that moment Hallie noticed the sadness in her friend’s gaze. She reached for Donnalee’s hand. “Second thoughts about Sanford?”
“Every day,” she admitted. “I really loved him. It’s difficult to turn off my heart. Forgetting him isn’t easy.”
“He hasn’t called or contacted you in any way?”
“No, but then I didn’t expect he would. And I really don’t want him to.” She brushed the hair from her face and inhaled sharply as if struggling to hold back tears. “Hawaii helped. Mom and I had a wonderful time. We slept in every day, lazed on the beach, visited all the tourist places and shopped till we dropped. It was exactly what I needed.”
“And now you’re home,” Hallie said, watching her friend.
“And alone once more. Only…”
“Only now you feel even more alone,” Hallie finished, certain she knew what Donnalee was experiencing.
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Are you going back to Dateline?” Hallie asked. She was preparing to leap back into the dating world herself, with hesitation but resolve. After several weeks’ sabbatical, she was ready to try again.
“I’m going to give it a bit of time first,” Donnalee said thoughtfully. “Some time for myself. The way you suggested. I’m feeling kind of battered.”
“It’s a good idea,” Hallie said. “Step back, evaluate and then move forward from there.”
Donnalee grew quiet. “I remind myself on a daily basis that there’s a man out there for me. Someone who’ll share my dreams.”
“I know there is.” Of this Hallie was confident. For her friend. Although she still had some doubts concerning her own prospects.
“What about you?” Donnalee asked, apparently reading Hallie’s mind. “Are you ready to go back to Dateline?”
“Yes. Actually I already have.” She reviewed the name of the applicant she’d been paired up with this time. Larry McDonald. She’d received the information on him the day before. “They sent me another bio this week.”
Donnalee sat up excitedly. “Let me see.”
Hallie brought it out, and while Donnalee read over the page of information, Hallie studied her reactions. Nothing. Donnalee didn’t reveal so much as a flicker of emotion—which described her own feelings, too. She’d read the file numerous times, and each time she felt completely…untouched, completely dispassionate about the details of this man’s life. He seemed nice enough—a science professor was sure to impress her family—but unfortunately he also seemed dull.
“Larry.” Donnalee said the name slowly, as if the sound of it would help her decipher his personality.
“It’s unfair to judge him without meeting him first, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” Donnalee agreed. “Have you set up a time?”
Hallie nodded. “We’re meeting in a bookstore. It’s not very original, but we both like to read and, well, it seemed a good idea at the time.”
“When?”
“Sunday afternoon.”
“You’ll call me afterward?”
Hallie agreed, but frankly, she didn’t hold out any great hope for Larry McDonald.
But then, she reminded herself, she was certainly willing to be surprised.
“What are you doing?” Meagan asked. The eleven-year-old stood behind Hallie at the drafting table in the large workroom at Artistic License. The front office was staffed by two employees, Liz and Evie, who handled walk-in traffic, took orders and answered the phone. Four copy machines of various sizes hummed, while the largest of the printing presses droned like a snoring troll in the room next door to Hallie.
“You’re done helping Bonnie?” Hallie asked. It had taken her a moment to break her concentration.
“Yup. It was fun, too.” Meagan maintained a respectful distance from Hallie’s drafting table.
“I’m working on a logo design,” Hallie told her. She’d been playing with a number of ideas for the better part of an hour. This was often the most difficult aspect of her job. The client had approached her with several ideas, but unfortunately translating those concepts into a viable image was proving difficult.
“Bonnie let me move things around on the computer screen.”
Because Hallie was working to deadline with this logo project, she’d had Meagan work with her assistant on the production of a brochure they were creating for the local school district.
“Did you enjoy that?” Hallie asked.
Meagan’s eyes lit up. “It was great. I learned a lot.”
“She did a good job, too,” Bonnie called out from the other side of the room. “Hallie, I’ve got to go over the layout for the Bergman Hardware ad. The newspaper needs it before three.”
“No problem. I’ll have Meagan work with me.”
Hallie glanced at her watch. It was another hour until lunch, and she’d hoped to have a couple of designs ready for the Prudhommes by that afternoon. “Pull up a chair, kiddo, and I’ll explain what I’m doing—after I talk to Hank about one of our print jobs.”
Hank Davis took care of all the print orders, which had steadily increased every month since the first of the year. She jumped up to discuss a question of priorities with him, then stayed a minute to chat about their expanding workload. If her business continued to grow at this rate, she’d need new equipment, more staff and either another building or an addition to the existing place. The prospect delighted her. Her reputation for quality had been earned, one customer at a time.
She rejoined Meagan, who’d dragged a chair next to Hallie’s. “I don’t draw very good,” Meagan said, sounding worried, “but I’ll try if you want.”
“What I’m looking for now are ideas to advertise a French bakery,” Hallie told her. “The logo will be printed on the front window, takeout boxes, napkins, letterhead and so on. The logo is an important promotional tool for any business.”
“It’s going to be on everything then?”
“Just about. Mr. and Mrs. Prudhomme have specific ideas about the kind of image they want—something clever and cute. They serve coffee and pastries, but their specialty is petit fours.”
“What’re those?”
“Small frosted cakes a little larger than chocolates.” Hallie’s mind refused to stop spinning and she deftly sketched a picture of the Eiffel Tower. Next she drew a van with the name of the bakery on the side, to show that the Prudhommes also welcomed catering opportunities.
Meagan sat by her side and watched silently.
“Do you want to try?” Hallie asked. She was fresh out of ideas herself. While she understood what the Prudhommes wanted, she hadn’t managed to translate it onto paper.
Meagan picked up the pad and sucked on the end of her pencil the same way Hallie did. Hallie smiled, sliding her arm around Meagan’s shoulders. The girl smiled back. “Being a graphic artist is fun, isn’t it?” Meagan asked.
“Sometimes.” Also frustrating, challenging and a few other choice adjectives, Hallie mused.
“It’s a lot different than I thought it would be.”
“What do you mean?” Hallie asked as she scribbled away at a new concept. She didn’t want to lose the idea.
Meagan glanced over her shoulder, drew a deep breath and gestured around her. “It’s so big. Dad’s going to be surprised when he picks me up this afternoon. When I asked him what your shop was like, he said he wasn’t sure, but he thought you sat around and drew pictures all day.”
“Really?” That amused Hallie. Poor Steve hadn’t a clue how involved or complicated her business was. She did everything from letterheads, designs and printing to commercial photography. The list was endless. But then, she didn’t know all that much about machine shops, either. Hallie suspected if she was to visit his workplace, she’d have her eyes opened, too.
“You know what I thought when you said petit fours?” Meagan asked. “I thought of really short numbers.” She laughed softly to herself.
“Short 4s?” Hallie asked.
Meagan nodded.
Hallie nimbly drew a series of elongated numbers, each with a face and personality. Their only apparel was a French beret, rakishly tilted. A row of short 4s stood in front of their much taller cousins.
Meagan looked at the drawing and giggled.
Hallie laughed, too. It wasn’t bad, although the other numbers distracted from the overall effect. She set the 4s dressed in their berets on top of a linen-covered table. The steam from two smiling cups of coffee circled a base with a single red rosebud. Clever and eye-catching, just the effect Hallie had been trying to capture. She needed to work with it, develop the idea further, but she was on to something. Thanks to Meagan.
Hallie took Meagan to lunch at Lindo’s, her favorite neighborhood restaurant, although it’d been at least a month since she’d gone there. Because she was so often working to deadline, she’d gotten into the habit of ordering her lunch to go and having someone stop by for it. She’d designed and printed the menus for the owner, Mrs. Guillermo, several years earlier and had recently updated them.
When Hallie arrived nearly a full hour before the heavy lunchtime rush, Mrs. Guillermo welcomed her enthusiastically. “I don’t see you for too long,” she said in her heavily accented English.
Hallie introduced Meagan, and Mrs. Guillermo’s expressive face broke into a wide smile.
“Today is Take Your Daughter To Work day,” Hallie explained.
The older woman nodded. “I read this is special day in newspaper. My granddaughter is here.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Your daughter is as beautiful as you,” she said, and before Hallie could explain that she wasn’t Meagan’s mother, Mrs. Guillermo handed the menus to a girl about the same age. “Rosita will see you to your table,” she said proudly.
Meagan didn’t say anything until after they were seated. “I’m glad you didn’t tell her I’m not really your daughter,” she said, then shook her head sadly. “Sometimes I can’t help wishing you were Dad’s type.”