“Oh, no.”
“So this is Little Daisy!” Crawford beamed at her. “Even sweeter than I’d pictured her!”
He looked like an anti-Santa Claus, leering instead of beaming, and Daisy disliked him on sight. So this was what she had to impress so Linc could get the job. Just her luck. She ducked her head and smiled, and Crawford almost fell over backward from the wattage.
“Lincoln, you are one lucky dog.” Crawford put his arm around Daisy, who stifled a shudder.
Linc smirked. “Thank you, sir.”
Crawford’s hand slid down over her hip.
Daisy wanted to kill them both.
This is what happens when you let other people tell the story
, she told herself.
Don’t do that again
.
Crawford had them out to the parking lot in no time. He waved them toward a big maroon Cadillac, and a chubby blonde waved back frantically. “This is my little woman,” he said as she disentangled herself from the front seat and got out of the car. “Chickie, honey, this is Linc and Daisy.”
Chickie leaped on Linc. “Daddy didn’t tell me how handsome you were,” she said, and hugged him, and Daisy thought,
Good, let him get groped for a change.
Then Chickie turned on Daisy and her bright, vague smile widened. “And you must be Daisy! I declare, you’re a picture!” She threw her arms around Daisy, engulfing her in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and gin. It smelled a lot like a drink Daisy had thrown up once at a college mixer.
Daisy fought her way free. “Well, I’m just so delighted to meet you, Chickie. We’ll have to sit down later and have a girls’ talk.”
Linc closed his eyes.
Pouring it on too thick
, Daisy thought.
“We will, we will.” Chickie beamed and hugged her again.
“Well, let’s go.” Crawford wasn’t having any fun and his leer was getting tired. “Let’s go.”
Linc held the front passenger door open for Chickie and she was visibly thrilled. Then he held the back door for Daisy, and she resisted the urge to kick him on the ankle. “You’re such a darling,” she said instead, and batted her eyes at him. “I just love you.”
“Don’t push it,” Linc said under his breath.
“Isn’t she just the sweetest?” Chickie said to Crawford when they were all in the car.
“Yes, she is.” Crawford leered over the seat at Daisy. “You’re a lucky dog, Lincoln.”
By now Line’s smirk was gone and his smile was pasted on. “Yes, sir.”
This is going to be the car ride from hell,
Daisy thought, and she was right. By the time Crawford had driven them to Prescott, helped them drop their things off at the motel, and then driven them out to the college, they’d heard what a lucky dog Linc was a dozen times, and Linc had said, “Yes, sir,” another dozen, and Chickie had never stopped babbling. Daisy was ready to scream, but she told herself that if she could keep smiling long enough to get into the lecture room, the Crawfords would have to shut up so Linc could give his speech. It was the only time in her life that she’d ever looked forward to a speech.
As it turned out, she wasn’t destined to hear it.
“You two go on along,” Chickie said when they were standing beside the car. “I’m going to show Daisy all of Prescott.” She flapped her hand at them. “Go on. Just go on.”
Crawford frowned. “The faculty should meet Daisy. Professor Booker should meet Daisy. I—”
“They can meet her at the party tonight.” Chickie fished her car keys out of her purse and waved Daisy toward the front seat. “You go on.”
“Daisy would like to hear her future husband’s speech,” Crawford said, and the annoyance in his voice was plain.
Chickie faltered. “Would you?” she asked, turning to Daisy.
Daisy’s choices were Crawford and a speech on history, or Chickie and a look at a small town. It was a toss-up until she saw the uncertainty in Chickie’s eyes; whatever else Chickie was, she was vulnerable. “Oh, I’ve heard that speech a thousand times,” she told Crawford sweetly.
“So this is Little Daisy!” Crawford beamed at her. “Even sweeter than I’d pictured her!”
He looked like an anti-Santa Claus, leering instead of beaming, and Daisy disliked him on sight. So this was what she had to impress so Linc could get the job. Just her luck. She ducked her head and smiled, and Crawford almost fell over backward from the wattage.
“Lincoln, you are one lucky dog.” Crawford put his arm around Daisy, who stifled a shudder.
Linc smirked. “Thank you, sir.”
Crawford’s hand slid down over her hip.
Daisy wanted to kill them both.
This is what happens when you let other people tell the story
, she told herself.
Don’t do that again
.
Crawford had them out to the parking lot in no time. He waved them toward a big maroon Cadillac, and a chubby blonde waved back frantically. “This is my little woman,” he said as she disentangled herself from the front seat and got out of the car. “Chickie, honey, this is Linc and Daisy.”
Chickie leaped on Linc. “Daddy didn’t tell me how handsome you were,” she said, and hugged him, and Daisy thought,
Good, let him get groped for a change.
Then Chickie turned on Daisy and her bright, vague smile widened. “And you must be Daisy! I declare, you’re a picture!” She threw her arms around Daisy, engulfing her in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and gin. It smelled a lot like a drink Daisy had thrown up once at a college mixer.
Daisy fought her way free. “Well, I’m just so delighted to meet you, Chickie. We’ll have to sit down later and have a girls’ talk.”
Linc closed his eyes.
Pouring it on too thick
, Daisy thought.
“We will, we will.” Chickie beamed and hugged her again.
“Well, let’s go.” Crawford wasn’t having any fun and his leer was getting tired. “Let’s go.”
Linc held the front passenger door open for Chickie and she was visibly thrilled. Then he held the back door for Daisy, and she resisted the urge to kick him on the ankle. “You’re such a darling,” she said instead, and batted her eyes at him. “I just love you.”
“Don’t push it,” Linc said under his breath.
“Isn’t she just the sweetest?” Chickie said to Crawford when they were all in the car.
“Yes, she is.” Crawford leered over the seat at Daisy. “You’re a lucky dog, Lincoln.”
By now Line’s smirk was gone and his smile was pasted on. “Yes, sir.”
This is going to be the car ride from hell,
Daisy thought, and she was right. By the time Crawford had driven them to Prescott, helped them drop their things off at the motel, and then driven them out to the college, they’d heard what a lucky dog Linc was a dozen times, and Linc had said, “Yes, sir,” another dozen, and Chickie had never stopped babbling. Daisy was ready to scream, but she told herself that if she could keep smiling long enough to get into the lecture room, the Crawfords would have to shut up so Linc could give his speech. It was the only time in her life that she’d ever looked forward to a speech.
As it turned out, she wasn’t destined to hear it.
“You two go on along,” Chickie said when they were standing beside the car. “I’m going to show Daisy all of Prescott.” She flapped her hand at them. “Go on. Just go on.”
Crawford frowned. “The faculty should meet Daisy. Professor Booker should meet Daisy. I—”
“They can meet her at the party tonight.” Chickie fished her car keys out of her purse and waved Daisy toward the front seat. “You go on.”
“Daisy would like to hear her future husband’s speech,” Crawford said, and the annoyance in his voice was plain.
Chickie faltered. “Would you?” she asked, turning to Daisy.
Daisy’s choices were Crawford and a speech on history, or Chickie and a look at a small town. It was a toss-up until she saw the uncertainty in Chickie’s eyes; whatever else Chickie was, she was vulnerable. “Oh, I’ve heard that speech a thousand times,” she told Crawford sweetly.
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