“This is another rule in life, O’Hara,” she said, throwing down some cash. “Always assume you are a little swollen. Lola understands that rule, I guarantee it. The entire beauty industry is based on that truth.”
Mrs. Amberson seemed to be aware of many “truths” floating just under the surface of everyday reality. If she was right, then Scarlett had never had any idea what was going on around her.
Which was a scary thought, but it explained a lot.
A PLAN UNFURLS
Scarlett slept surprisingly well for someone with a dead ferret on her face. Charlie had done a good job of blocking out the light from outside. For once this week, she was rested.
Lola, being Lola, did not make a rude comment about the dead ferret. Instead, she picked it up from where it had landed between their beds in the middle of the night, sniffed it, and said, “Lavender. The real stuff. Told you. It makes a difference.”
“His name is Charlie,” Scarlett explained.
“Whatever his name is, you look much better this morning. A little less puffy.”
“I was puffy?” Scarlett said, touching her face. This was disturbing evidence that Mrs. Amberson may have been right.
“It was probably stress from all that stuff with Spencer. Did that go well?”
“Uh…yes?”
“You were down there long enough. I’m glad that’s fixed. I couldn’t have taken that any longer.”
“Me, either,” Scarlett said.
Maybe it wasn’t entirely a lie if she was going to fix it now, she figured. Then she realized that, no, it was just a lie.
Scarlett followed every instruction to the letter. She put on the black dress, tried to calm down her curls, and applied the red lipstick. She even raided Lola’s Drawer of Mysteries for whatever looked useful. Mrs. Amberson called her to let her know that she had spoken to Eric and that he was expecting the book. She packed her computer. All systems were go.
When she arrived at his apartment, it took three tries before Eric answered the door. Instead of buzzing her in, he said he would come down and open the door himself—which was a lot of needless work for a walk-up. He leaned out, blocking the door from locking with his body. He was shoeless, hair unbrushed.
“Thanks for bringing this down,” he said. It was friendly, but there was a lack of enthusiasm. “This looks…awful, actually.”
This was the place where he was supposed to ask her up, provide shelter from the summer sun. Instead he clutched the book. Now that she had the puffy thing in her head, Scarlett was seeing it everywhere. Eric’s face looked odd. He was a bit swollen under the eyes, which were much redder than normal.
“So…see you at rehearsal?” he asked.
Why was she surprised that Mrs. Amberson’s plan wasn’t clicking from the start?
“Actually,” she said, trudging on with it, “I’m just going to be over there. Writing.”
She pointed at the coffee shop and slapped at the computer in her bag for good measure.
“Oh. Got it. I’ll swing by on my way over, okay?”
Why hadn’t Eric, Mr. Southern Manners of 1877, invited her up? There were lots of possible reasons. Maybe it was messy. Maybe he was sick. Maybe there was a Civil War documentary on and his grandmother didn’t allow him to watch those with Yankee girls. Whatever the reason, she was down here now and there was no point in going home.
The coffee shop was full, of course. All the good tables in the windows were occupied.
There was a deli just opposite his building. As long as no big trucks came by, she had a good view of his stoop. She opened her computer and settled in to wait with a cup of burned coffee. Yes, it was a little stalkerish, but if he hadn’t been Captain Mysterious all week, this could have been avoided.
Two hours is a long time to have to wait for someone to come out of his house. She began to understand why the cops on stakeout on Crime and Punishment always looked so bored. Her patience and willingness to lower her own standards of appropriate behavior paid off. Twenty minutes before rehearsal, Eric stepped out of the door. He turned toward the coffee shop for just a second, put on his sunglasses, and sat down on the stoop.
“What are you doing?” Scarlett asked herself out loud, very softly, as he continued to sit there for almost five minutes. It finally struck her that maybe he was waiting for her, and she quickly slammed the computer closed and shoved it in her bag.
Just as Scarlett stepped outside, a girl carrying a quilted overnight bag came out of the front door of Eric’s building. She was very tiny and coconut-tanned, with a short denim skirt, a stylish tank top, and massive sunglasses. She stopped and spoke to Eric for a moment. Or at Eric. He didn’t reply.