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And that’s also why Joyce is my best friend. She’s always on my side, but she’s not a pushover. I roll my eyes a little but I don’t say anything.
“The Chief’s a nice guy,” she continues. “I met him after the fire.” The fire department saved the building the Flying Saucer is in when it caught fire last winter. “And, um… No easy way to say this, but the July Flying Saucer fundraiser is for the fire department.” She winces. “Sorry.”
One day a month, the Flying Saucer donates all its profits to a local good cause, everything from the animal shelter to uniforms for the middle school dance team. It stings a little to think that my best friend is raising money for my rival, but it’s not like I can blame her. They did save her business, after all.
“Oh, it’s fine,” I mumble. “It’s still a good cause.”
“I’ll put the library on the schedule for August,” she promises.
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
I do, but I know it won’t be enough. Joyce’s community fundraiser days typically raise a few hundred, maybe a thousand dollars. Great if you’re a school team in need of uniforms; a drop in the bucket if your building is falling down around your ears.
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I know it’s mostly symbolic, but maybe you could stack it with a bunch of other fundraisers and get some momentum going?”
“Ugh. Our Friends of the Library group used to organize fundraising events, but it kind of fell apart after our chairwoman shut down her store and moved to Virginia. I don’t know if I’ve got the bandwidth to take on fundraising on top of everything else.” I take a morose sip of my latte. “Maybe Gigi and I could take off our clothes and pose for a sexy calendar.”
“Careful. You know Gigi would do it.” Joyce smiles. “And don’t sell yourself short. I bet plenty of people would pay to see you in the buff.”
I snort. After years of unsuccessful diets and punishing workout regimens, I decided to put my efforts into being pretty instead of thin. I learned about flattering colors and drapey fabrics, I upgraded from the makeup aisle at the grocery store to the makeup counters at North Falls’s best department stores, and I’ve made the most of my hair, with stylish cuts and highlights. I exercise enough now to keep my figure more hourglass than apple, but I know I’ll never be slender. It’s just too much work.
My self-confidence soared when I went to college and discovered a bigger world in which brainy girls were respected and brainy girls with good taste in clothes and makeup were actually popular, at least in some circles. But at heart, I’m still a geeky librarian who’s carrying a bunch of extra pounds and maybe a little chip on my shoulder.
But while I’ve accepted that I’m never going to be thin, I’m not under any illusions about what I look like under my clothes.
“Pin-up calendar material, I am not,” I tell Joyce firmly.
She opens her mouth as if she’s about to argue, when the bell over the door chimes again, and our friend Lucky walks in. She spots us immediately and breaks into a big smile.
“Hey, how’s my girls? Hang on—” She hands Mariah some money and orders an iced Americano, then comes over to sit with us. “Look at the two of yooz, skiving off work,” she teases in her broad Long Island accent.
Lucky is petite and curvy. Not curvy-fat, like me, just curvy. People would definitely pay to see her in a pin-up calendar. Like me, she likes clothes and make-up. Unlike me, her tastes trend toward the short, tight, and attention-getting. But between her pretty face, wavy dark hair, and firecracker personality, she’d get attention even if she were wearing a sack.
“Speaking of work, what are you doing here?” Joyce asks. “I thought you were with Anthony at some music festival.” Lucky used to work here at the café, but now she manages her boyfriend Anthony’s music career. Lucky likes managing things.
“Festival’s over. Went amazing. Anthony’s in LA for a couple of weeks, doing some recording. I didn’t really need to be there, though, so I came back to make sure Bailey’s ready for her wedding.”
“Wedding’s not until August,” Joyce reminds her.
“Which means we don’t have much time. If we’re not on top of it, that girl will get married in Daisy Dukes and a tank top,” Lucky points out.
It’s true. Left to her own devices, Bailey would probably roll out of bed the morning of her wedding and grab the first clothes she saw.
Bailey’s sort of the opposite of me. Personality-wise, she’s exceptionally sweet and non-confrontational. Physically, she’s gorgeous, tall, and slender, and she’s completely uninterested in her appearance. Now that she runs the art gallery in town, she’s making an effort to dress up a little more, but on any given day, she’d really rather be in a t-shirt and sneakers. Already, I’m picturing a scene where Joyce and I have to hold her down while Lucky puts makeup on her for the ceremony.
“Bailey’s grandmother will watch the gallery so we can drag her into North Falls to try on dresses. We just need to set up a day. Get out your calendars.”
With Lucky’s prodding, we’re able to find some times that work for all of us, and Lucky promises to run them past Bailey and get back to us. “Bachelorette party?” she says next.
“You mean, are we having one?” Joyce asks.
“Well, of course, we’re having one,” Lucky replies. “We need to figure out what kind and when. I’m thinking a week or two before the wedding so we have time to recover from hangovers, but I need ideas. I don’t think Bailey’s the male stripper and penis-shaped cake type.”
“I think Bailey might literally die if we threw a male stripper at her,” Joyce agrees.
“It would be kind of fun to see the look on her face, though,” I muse.
Lucky gives me a playful slap on the arm. “Stop!”
