blond locks — Nora’s hair was raven — was what he wanted, what he could land if he waited around long enough.
That plan didn’t exactly work out. Ted eventually gave up his gym membership and poured himself into his professional life, put on the pounds, and tried serial dating.
Then he stepped out of that shower on his fortieth birthday to realize that he wasn’t the pretty good-looking athlete of twenty years ago, but an out-of-work, out-of-money IT guy.
But it was the fat that got to him the most.
Which is why Ted Gillespie was walking vigorously through the late afternoon in Pack Canyon’s back country, trying to work up a good sweat.
He wore a green double-X T-shirt with Chuck Norris on the front. It showed Chuck in a Ranger’s hat and the caption said, “Only Chuck Norris can prevent forest fires.”
Ted loved Chuck Norris. Loved the Walker , Texas Ranger series. There was a guy who was in shape and could kick the living snot out of bad guys. If he could be anyone in another life, Ted would pick Chuck Norris.
Because Chuck Norris is so fast he can run around the world and hit himself in the back of the head. Chuck Norris can slam a revolving door. Chuck Norris can . . .
Ted stopped. Thought he heard something. A distant voice, somebody calling.
He was at a turning point on the path, about to go around some of the larger boulders. Somebody had sprayed an ugly graffito on the face. Black paint, indecipherable letters.
If Chuck Norris ever found that guy . . .
“Help . . .”
A voice, all right. A real cry.
Ted started to jog. The voice was coming from around the bend.
When he got to the other side, he saw a woman. She was on the path about fifty yards from him. She had a gash on her head and walked like she was drunk.
“Help me,” she said. “Please!”
3:38 p.m.
“What do I do now, Geena?”
Geena looked at Rocky in amazement. “You’re asking me ?”
“Surprised?” Rocky leaned back on the futon in Geena’s apartment.
“Well, yeah, sort of.” Geena sat on the ottoman which, like the rest of the place, was done up in Indian folk-art colors. “I mean, you’re always Miss I-Know-Everything-That’s-Going-On.”
“Well, right now I know squat. I know less than squat. I could go on Jeopardy! with squat and lose.”
Geena laughed, putting her hand in front of her mouth.
“So tell me, if Swami P is so — ”
“T.”
“What?”
“It’s Swami T.”
“I don’t care! If you have any answers, give. Be brutally honest with me.”
Geena blinked a couple of times. “Oh Rock, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I’m embarrassed.”
“All right,” Rocky said. “I’ll be you. Listen to yourself. ‘Rocky, you’ve gone off the rails. You drink too much, and you settle for guys like Boyd. You never try to sing like you want to. You’re afraid . . .’ ”
Fresh tears choked off her words.
Geena slid off the ottoman, got on her knees, and put her arms around Rocky. “That’s what we’ll do,” Geena said. “We’re gonna get you singing again. Who needs a man when you’ve got a voice like an angel?”
“Come on . . .”
“No. This I insist on. You’ve got to go for it.”
“Geena — ”
“If you don’t, then I’m going to start singing. Around you. All the time. And you’ve heard me sing. It’s not pretty. It’s not even cute.”
Rocky smiled, wiped her eyes. “You’ve got a point there, Geena.”
“And you thought Swami T didn’t give me any insight. Now, what’s the place you wanted to sing in?”
“Huh?”
“There was a place you told me about once, in Hollywood, a lounge place. It had something to do with food. Potatoes or something.”
“The Mashed Potato?”
“That’s it! That’s the place. You were going to audition there.”
“Yeah. They have open auditions. I just got busy.”
“You’re not busy now. Call them.”
“Geena — ”
“Now. Swami T says you have to take action right away when you want
That plan didn’t exactly work out. Ted eventually gave up his gym membership and poured himself into his professional life, put on the pounds, and tried serial dating.
Then he stepped out of that shower on his fortieth birthday to realize that he wasn’t the pretty good-looking athlete of twenty years ago, but an out-of-work, out-of-money IT guy.
But it was the fat that got to him the most.
Which is why Ted Gillespie was walking vigorously through the late afternoon in Pack Canyon’s back country, trying to work up a good sweat.
He wore a green double-X T-shirt with Chuck Norris on the front. It showed Chuck in a Ranger’s hat and the caption said, “Only Chuck Norris can prevent forest fires.”
Ted loved Chuck Norris. Loved the Walker , Texas Ranger series. There was a guy who was in shape and could kick the living snot out of bad guys. If he could be anyone in another life, Ted would pick Chuck Norris.
Because Chuck Norris is so fast he can run around the world and hit himself in the back of the head. Chuck Norris can slam a revolving door. Chuck Norris can . . .
Ted stopped. Thought he heard something. A distant voice, somebody calling.
He was at a turning point on the path, about to go around some of the larger boulders. Somebody had sprayed an ugly graffito on the face. Black paint, indecipherable letters.
If Chuck Norris ever found that guy . . .
“Help . . .”
A voice, all right. A real cry.
Ted started to jog. The voice was coming from around the bend.
When he got to the other side, he saw a woman. She was on the path about fifty yards from him. She had a gash on her head and walked like she was drunk.
“Help me,” she said. “Please!”
3:38 p.m.
“What do I do now, Geena?”
Geena looked at Rocky in amazement. “You’re asking me ?”
“Surprised?” Rocky leaned back on the futon in Geena’s apartment.
“Well, yeah, sort of.” Geena sat on the ottoman which, like the rest of the place, was done up in Indian folk-art colors. “I mean, you’re always Miss I-Know-Everything-That’s-Going-On.”
“Well, right now I know squat. I know less than squat. I could go on Jeopardy! with squat and lose.”
Geena laughed, putting her hand in front of her mouth.
“So tell me, if Swami P is so — ”
“T.”
“What?”
“It’s Swami T.”
“I don’t care! If you have any answers, give. Be brutally honest with me.”
Geena blinked a couple of times. “Oh Rock, I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I’m embarrassed.”
“All right,” Rocky said. “I’ll be you. Listen to yourself. ‘Rocky, you’ve gone off the rails. You drink too much, and you settle for guys like Boyd. You never try to sing like you want to. You’re afraid . . .’ ”
Fresh tears choked off her words.
Geena slid off the ottoman, got on her knees, and put her arms around Rocky. “That’s what we’ll do,” Geena said. “We’re gonna get you singing again. Who needs a man when you’ve got a voice like an angel?”
“Come on . . .”
“No. This I insist on. You’ve got to go for it.”
“Geena — ”
“If you don’t, then I’m going to start singing. Around you. All the time. And you’ve heard me sing. It’s not pretty. It’s not even cute.”
Rocky smiled, wiped her eyes. “You’ve got a point there, Geena.”
“And you thought Swami T didn’t give me any insight. Now, what’s the place you wanted to sing in?”
“Huh?”
“There was a place you told me about once, in Hollywood, a lounge place. It had something to do with food. Potatoes or something.”
“The Mashed Potato?”
“That’s it! That’s the place. You were going to audition there.”
“Yeah. They have open auditions. I just got busy.”
“You’re not busy now. Call them.”
“Geena — ”
“Now. Swami T says you have to take action right away when you want
Similar Books
