![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A Brave New Venture
Jul. 22nd, 2011 02:28 pmIt’s not all that often that Parker, Aurelia, and J.R. all wind up getting the same weekday off. But a couple of times a month, when the work-schedule stars align, they have a regular breakfast table at the Sunfisher Diner waiting for them.
A table for four, this morning. Luke has joined them before he heads off to man his summer school classes.
“Is it just me,” Aurelia asks, flipping a page of the Coiner Gazette, “or has the paper seriously gone downhill this year?”
“It’s like everything else,” Luke says, stirring creamer into his coffee. “The economy sucks, so everything is getting cut back. I tell you, I thank God every day that the marching band is such a big deal in this county.”
“Why, what did they cut?” Parker asks. “Hey, J.R., can you hand me the syrup?”
J.R. passes the small tin pitcher over. “So long as the Gazette keeps the rodeo results and Snoopy, I’m not complaining.”
“They finally ditched Cheryl’s Corner,” Aurelia says, flipping the top of the newspaper down to show the block advertisement where the advice column used to be featured.
“That’s not too surprising. I think they were buying that from a paper in Amarillo. It was probably a good chunk of their budget,” Luke says.
“Oh, no! I loved Cheryl’s Corner.” Parker reaches over the table and takes hold of the upside-down section of newspaper, trying to read. “What did they put in place of it?”
“Nothing,” Aurelia says, handing over the paper. “They’re advertising for a local replacement.”
“Yeah, I wish them luck with that,” J.R. says, sawing up his steak. “Don’t know who they think they’re going to find local who wants to dole out advice in the paper. And you’ve got to figure, the ones who would jump at that are the busybodies that you wouldn’t want giving out advice.”
Luke leans in closer to Parker, breath tickling her neck, to read the Do You Have Something To Say? notice. And then says something that reminds Parker that one of the things she likes best about Luke is that he can surprise her on a fairly routine basis.
“You could do that,” he says.
Parker turns her head to stare at him, one eyebrow raised.
J.R. chimes in. “Hey, you know, he’s right. You’re good at telling people what to do. OW!” He clutches his arm and looks reproachfully at Aurelia, who has just socked him. “I meant that in a good way, Aurelia. Shit.”
“Language.”
“Well, boys,” Parker folds the paper, sets it aside, and resumes cutting up her French toast, “as flattered as I am by your faith in my bossing abilities, there are a couple of problems I foresee. For one, I already have a day job--”
“Except,” Aurelia interrupts, “the paper is only out once a week. And each column is, what? Two letters worth of stuff? That’s not a lot of writing.” She glances at J.R. and Luke. “Not that I’m trying to talk you into it. Carry on.”
“And for another,” Parker continues, “I’m not a writer--”
“Well, yeah, but you can write,” J.R. says. “You write stuff for the ranch website all the time.”
“And you have a degree in Psychology,” Luke adds. “I don’t think Cheryl could have claimed that.” He reaches across Parker and picks up the paper. “Look. This sample question they have for applicants to write a response to? You can answer this standing on your head.”
He turns the paper around and holds it up to Parker, so that only his eyes are visible above the newsprint. “C’mon. You know you want to.”
“Have I ever mentioned that you’re a dork?” Parker smiles in spite of herself. “A cute, sexy dork, but a dork nonetheless.”
Luke waggles his eyebrows, and there’s a mutter from J.R.’s quadrant of the table that sounds a bit like, “Eating here.” Followed by an “Ouch!” a small jolt of the table and a rattling of silverware as Aurelia kicks him.
The paper gets set aside and talk turns to summer school, the new ranch employees, and the upcoming football season.
But when they leave the Sunfisher Diner, Parker takes the newspaper with her.
**********
It was just to see what would happen. Parker would swear that on a stack of bibles to anyone who asked. She had had some time on her hands, the sample question that was essentially the newspapers entry interview was ridiculously easy for her to answer, and Luke would get a kick out of it.
And what were the odds? Really?
But one thing led to another, and within a week, before Parker was even quite sure what had happened, she found herself sitting in the office of Eddie Sharpe, Editor of the Coiner Gazette.
Eddie is a man who resembles nothing so much as a five-foot tall weathered leather doll with a shock of white hair. “I sure was glad to get your letter, Miss Lee. I was thinking to might have to scrap this whole idea altogether. Up ‘til I heard from you, the only people who put in for the job were a retired school teacher who will only work off an electric typewriter, and the preacher from that crazy doomsday church up near the canyon.”
Parker’s not sure if she should take this as a good endorsement of her writing abilities or not, but Eddie is going on.
“But then I got your letter, and it was to the point, funny, and, if you’ll forgive my language, refreshingly free of bullshit.” The man smiles, turning his entire face into one big crinkle.
It’s impossible not to grin in return. “Thanks, Mr. Sharpe.”
“Eddie. Please.” He reaches out to quickly catch some papers that the small office’s oscillating fan threaten to blow off of his desk. “Now, like I said, we have space for two letters per week in the paper. But seeing as how you’re young and probably know your way around computers…..see, we’re working on getting the paper up online. We actually get a lot of hits, believe it or not—folks who have moved away, or who visited and liked the place, I reckon. Anyway, if we set up a corner for you—one of those blog type things—do you think you’d be able to find time to answer a few more on there?”
Parker thinks of the door in the back of her closet. What did she ever do before the door to Milliways turned up?
“I think I could find the time,” she says. “Are you expecting a lot of letters?”
Are there really that many people in the county in need of an agony aunt?
“No idea,” Eddie says. “We haven’t tried to do this on a local level since the 1950s. But don’t worry. At least until word spread and people start writing in, we’ll make up stuff for you to answer.” At the look on Parker’s face he adds, “Remember, people read advice columns mainly for entertainment. If they pick up some good sense along the way, so much the better. But hopefully once people start reading, they’ll start writing in themselves. So, what do you say, Miss Lee? Are you in?”
I must be out of my mind, Parker thinks But that little voice is more wryly amused than RUN! RUN SCREAMING NOW!
“I’m in.”
***************
“You guys can’t tell anyone—anyone—that I’m doing this.” Parker fixes each of them with her most serious I will take you to the woodshed and one of us will not come back alive look. J.R. Aurelia. Luke. “Blood oath on a Bible while standing on your mothers’ graves.
“Hey, I already swore on my guitar,” Luke says.
“And on my rodeo titles,” J.R. adds.
“And Shemar Moore’s ass. What?” Aurelia asks when Luke and J.R. turn to stare at her.
“Right, sorry. I know. I’m nuts. I just think that the fewer people who know about this the better. You know?”
Parker automatically looks around. Not that there’s any real risk of eavesdroppers here in the middle of a prairie on a creek bank, with only a disinterested foursome of horses looking on.
“Hey, no argument here,” Luke says. “We won’t tell.”
“Are you going to have one of those whatdoyoucallems? Pen names?” J.R. asks.
“Yeah, that’s my first bit of homework. Coming up with my alter ego.”
“Oh! I vote for someone French,” Luke says.
“French? Why French?” Aurelia asks.
“Why not?”
“Maybe you can base it on your grandma,” Aurelia suggests. “You know. Wise. Been there, done that…”
“Nah,” J.R. says, “you need to go for something different. An alien.”
“An ALIEN?”
“Sure. Smart. Studies people. Follows them around in a little invisible spaceship….”
The horses jerks up their heads, startled, then shake their heads in mild disgust as wild laughter drifts across the dry prairie grass.
A table for four, this morning. Luke has joined them before he heads off to man his summer school classes.
“Is it just me,” Aurelia asks, flipping a page of the Coiner Gazette, “or has the paper seriously gone downhill this year?”
“It’s like everything else,” Luke says, stirring creamer into his coffee. “The economy sucks, so everything is getting cut back. I tell you, I thank God every day that the marching band is such a big deal in this county.”
“Why, what did they cut?” Parker asks. “Hey, J.R., can you hand me the syrup?”
J.R. passes the small tin pitcher over. “So long as the Gazette keeps the rodeo results and Snoopy, I’m not complaining.”
“They finally ditched Cheryl’s Corner,” Aurelia says, flipping the top of the newspaper down to show the block advertisement where the advice column used to be featured.
“That’s not too surprising. I think they were buying that from a paper in Amarillo. It was probably a good chunk of their budget,” Luke says.
“Oh, no! I loved Cheryl’s Corner.” Parker reaches over the table and takes hold of the upside-down section of newspaper, trying to read. “What did they put in place of it?”
“Nothing,” Aurelia says, handing over the paper. “They’re advertising for a local replacement.”
“Yeah, I wish them luck with that,” J.R. says, sawing up his steak. “Don’t know who they think they’re going to find local who wants to dole out advice in the paper. And you’ve got to figure, the ones who would jump at that are the busybodies that you wouldn’t want giving out advice.”
Luke leans in closer to Parker, breath tickling her neck, to read the Do You Have Something To Say? notice. And then says something that reminds Parker that one of the things she likes best about Luke is that he can surprise her on a fairly routine basis.
“You could do that,” he says.
Parker turns her head to stare at him, one eyebrow raised.
J.R. chimes in. “Hey, you know, he’s right. You’re good at telling people what to do. OW!” He clutches his arm and looks reproachfully at Aurelia, who has just socked him. “I meant that in a good way, Aurelia. Shit.”
“Language.”
“Well, boys,” Parker folds the paper, sets it aside, and resumes cutting up her French toast, “as flattered as I am by your faith in my bossing abilities, there are a couple of problems I foresee. For one, I already have a day job--”
“Except,” Aurelia interrupts, “the paper is only out once a week. And each column is, what? Two letters worth of stuff? That’s not a lot of writing.” She glances at J.R. and Luke. “Not that I’m trying to talk you into it. Carry on.”
“And for another,” Parker continues, “I’m not a writer--”
“Well, yeah, but you can write,” J.R. says. “You write stuff for the ranch website all the time.”
“And you have a degree in Psychology,” Luke adds. “I don’t think Cheryl could have claimed that.” He reaches across Parker and picks up the paper. “Look. This sample question they have for applicants to write a response to? You can answer this standing on your head.”
He turns the paper around and holds it up to Parker, so that only his eyes are visible above the newsprint. “C’mon. You know you want to.”
“Have I ever mentioned that you’re a dork?” Parker smiles in spite of herself. “A cute, sexy dork, but a dork nonetheless.”
Luke waggles his eyebrows, and there’s a mutter from J.R.’s quadrant of the table that sounds a bit like, “Eating here.” Followed by an “Ouch!” a small jolt of the table and a rattling of silverware as Aurelia kicks him.
The paper gets set aside and talk turns to summer school, the new ranch employees, and the upcoming football season.
But when they leave the Sunfisher Diner, Parker takes the newspaper with her.
**********
It was just to see what would happen. Parker would swear that on a stack of bibles to anyone who asked. She had had some time on her hands, the sample question that was essentially the newspapers entry interview was ridiculously easy for her to answer, and Luke would get a kick out of it.
And what were the odds? Really?
But one thing led to another, and within a week, before Parker was even quite sure what had happened, she found herself sitting in the office of Eddie Sharpe, Editor of the Coiner Gazette.
Eddie is a man who resembles nothing so much as a five-foot tall weathered leather doll with a shock of white hair. “I sure was glad to get your letter, Miss Lee. I was thinking to might have to scrap this whole idea altogether. Up ‘til I heard from you, the only people who put in for the job were a retired school teacher who will only work off an electric typewriter, and the preacher from that crazy doomsday church up near the canyon.”
Parker’s not sure if she should take this as a good endorsement of her writing abilities or not, but Eddie is going on.
“But then I got your letter, and it was to the point, funny, and, if you’ll forgive my language, refreshingly free of bullshit.” The man smiles, turning his entire face into one big crinkle.
It’s impossible not to grin in return. “Thanks, Mr. Sharpe.”
“Eddie. Please.” He reaches out to quickly catch some papers that the small office’s oscillating fan threaten to blow off of his desk. “Now, like I said, we have space for two letters per week in the paper. But seeing as how you’re young and probably know your way around computers…..see, we’re working on getting the paper up online. We actually get a lot of hits, believe it or not—folks who have moved away, or who visited and liked the place, I reckon. Anyway, if we set up a corner for you—one of those blog type things—do you think you’d be able to find time to answer a few more on there?”
Parker thinks of the door in the back of her closet. What did she ever do before the door to Milliways turned up?
“I think I could find the time,” she says. “Are you expecting a lot of letters?”
Are there really that many people in the county in need of an agony aunt?
“No idea,” Eddie says. “We haven’t tried to do this on a local level since the 1950s. But don’t worry. At least until word spread and people start writing in, we’ll make up stuff for you to answer.” At the look on Parker’s face he adds, “Remember, people read advice columns mainly for entertainment. If they pick up some good sense along the way, so much the better. But hopefully once people start reading, they’ll start writing in themselves. So, what do you say, Miss Lee? Are you in?”
I must be out of my mind, Parker thinks But that little voice is more wryly amused than RUN! RUN SCREAMING NOW!
“I’m in.”
***************
“You guys can’t tell anyone—anyone—that I’m doing this.” Parker fixes each of them with her most serious I will take you to the woodshed and one of us will not come back alive look. J.R. Aurelia. Luke. “Blood oath on a Bible while standing on your mothers’ graves.
“Hey, I already swore on my guitar,” Luke says.
“And on my rodeo titles,” J.R. adds.
“And Shemar Moore’s ass. What?” Aurelia asks when Luke and J.R. turn to stare at her.
“Right, sorry. I know. I’m nuts. I just think that the fewer people who know about this the better. You know?”
Parker automatically looks around. Not that there’s any real risk of eavesdroppers here in the middle of a prairie on a creek bank, with only a disinterested foursome of horses looking on.
“Hey, no argument here,” Luke says. “We won’t tell.”
“Are you going to have one of those whatdoyoucallems? Pen names?” J.R. asks.
“Yeah, that’s my first bit of homework. Coming up with my alter ego.”
“Oh! I vote for someone French,” Luke says.
“French? Why French?” Aurelia asks.
“Why not?”
“Maybe you can base it on your grandma,” Aurelia suggests. “You know. Wise. Been there, done that…”
“Nah,” J.R. says, “you need to go for something different. An alien.”
“An ALIEN?”
“Sure. Smart. Studies people. Follows them around in a little invisible spaceship….”
The horses jerks up their heads, startled, then shake their heads in mild disgust as wild laughter drifts across the dry prairie grass.
(no subject)
Jun. 8th, 2011 08:36 pmThe large notice that Parker is posting tonight is pale green with lettering in silver marker, done in a neat and well-practiced hand. Hand-drawn daisies in silver and white fill in the corners and edges. Parker carefully aligns the edges three times before she steps away from the notice and nods in satisfaction.
You are invited
To celebrate the engagement
of
Meg Ford
of Montréal, Quebec and Milliways
To
Alain Gagné
of Montréal, Quebec
Old friends. New friends. Strangers. Everyone is invited.
Festivities will take place Lakeside on Saturday.
(Your presence, not presents, please)
[OOC: The party is Millitimed for Saturday, but feel free to follow the link and tag in at any time. Everyone is welcome.]
You are invited
To celebrate the engagement
of
Meg Ford
of Montréal, Quebec and Milliways
To
Alain Gagné
of Montréal, Quebec
Old friends. New friends. Strangers. Everyone is invited.
Festivities will take place Lakeside on Saturday.
(Your presence, not presents, please)
[OOC: The party is Millitimed for Saturday, but feel free to follow the link and tag in at any time. Everyone is welcome.]
Meg Ford's Engagement Party
Jun. 3rd, 2011 08:20 pmA flat grassy area out by the lake has been transformed into what looks, for all the world, like a genteel Southern springtime garden party.
(Parker’s Virginia roots are showing just a bit.)
A small complex of open white tents has been set up, their edges fluttering in the breeze. Elaborately looped streamers and strings of paper lanterns in shades of blue, green, and purple crisscross the ceilings inside, and the poles are wrapped with what appear to be flowering vines. Though a closer look at the flowers will reveal a small light bulb at the heart of each, ready in case the party goes late into the evening.
One entire large tent is taken up with food. Grilled hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken, and vegetables. Potato salad, pasta salad, coleslaw and fruit. White rolls and whipped butter. Cookies, cupcakes, and a full-sized cake with entwined initials. Pitchers of iced tea and lemonade, and tubs of ice full of bottles of beer (all of it Canadian).
In an another tent a wooden dance floor has been set up, and a portable sound system is playing the hits of the 80s, 90s, and ‘Today.’ And in a third, a large cloth banner with, “Best Wishes, Meg and Alain,” is laid out on a long table. Cups of fabric makers are set out along its length and a tent card invites guests to, “Leave your good wishes for the happy couple.”
The remaining smaller tents provide shade and shelter for the tables and chairs. Outside the tents, activities are set up. A croquet set on one side, a badminton set on the other. The horseshoe pitch is closest to the lake. And, for the younger set, there is an assortment of brightly colored inflatable balls suitable for tossing and kicking.
(Parker’s Virginia roots are showing just a bit.)
A small complex of open white tents has been set up, their edges fluttering in the breeze. Elaborately looped streamers and strings of paper lanterns in shades of blue, green, and purple crisscross the ceilings inside, and the poles are wrapped with what appear to be flowering vines. Though a closer look at the flowers will reveal a small light bulb at the heart of each, ready in case the party goes late into the evening.
One entire large tent is taken up with food. Grilled hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken, and vegetables. Potato salad, pasta salad, coleslaw and fruit. White rolls and whipped butter. Cookies, cupcakes, and a full-sized cake with entwined initials. Pitchers of iced tea and lemonade, and tubs of ice full of bottles of beer (all of it Canadian).
In an another tent a wooden dance floor has been set up, and a portable sound system is playing the hits of the 80s, 90s, and ‘Today.’ And in a third, a large cloth banner with, “Best Wishes, Meg and Alain,” is laid out on a long table. Cups of fabric makers are set out along its length and a tent card invites guests to, “Leave your good wishes for the happy couple.”
The remaining smaller tents provide shade and shelter for the tables and chairs. Outside the tents, activities are set up. A croquet set on one side, a badminton set on the other. The horseshoe pitch is closest to the lake. And, for the younger set, there is an assortment of brightly colored inflatable balls suitable for tossing and kicking.
(no subject)
May. 23rd, 2011 02:38 pm[OOM: The only problem with sleeping over is that sometimes the Door to Milliways stalks you.]
Even though she’s never been an overly religious person, Parker does take a moment to thank God that she grabbed Luke’s shirt on the way to the kitchen this morning. She may be bare-footed and bed-headed, but at least she’s decently covered from her throat almost to her knees.
She could duck back out through the door, Parker supposes. But that would smack of shame. And she’s never done shame particularly well.
So, instead she raises her head, squares her shoulders, and walks as nonchalantly as possible over to the bar.
“Bar? Could I get a glass of orange juice?”
A sugar jolt can only help at this point.
Even though she’s never been an overly religious person, Parker does take a moment to thank God that she grabbed Luke’s shirt on the way to the kitchen this morning. She may be bare-footed and bed-headed, but at least she’s decently covered from her throat almost to her knees.
She could duck back out through the door, Parker supposes. But that would smack of shame. And she’s never done shame particularly well.
So, instead she raises her head, squares her shoulders, and walks as nonchalantly as possible over to the bar.
“Bar? Could I get a glass of orange juice?”
A sugar jolt can only help at this point.
Rise And Shine
May. 23rd, 2011 02:05 pmLuke Taylor is not a morning person. It’s the cutest thing Parker has ever seen.
“Hey, teach,” Parker says, trying to ease him toward consciousness. “Rise and shine. It’s a school day.”
The play of contortions across Luke’s face suggest a half-comatose man suffering from a conflict of signals. On one hand, there is the eroticism factor of the naked blonde in your bed whispering in your ear. On the other hand, the sun is only just beginning to illuminate the god-awful floral wallpaper in the bedroom. (Luke’s small rental house had previously been occupied by an 85 year old lady with fondness for splashy roses.)
In this case, the allergy to morning wins out. Luke flops from his side onto his face, doing a good impression of a man who is attempting to smother himself to death with his own pillow. A series of garbled syllables that might be, “Five more minutes,” comes from the depths of the polyfill.
Parker doesn’t laugh. Much.
“How about ten, and I’ll start the coffee?” she asks, slipping out of bed and feeling around on the floor for articles of clothing.
One of Luke’s hands worms its way out from under the pillow long enough to give the idea a thumb’s up.
Parker finds Luke’s shirt, slipping it on and doing up the buttons. She honestly can’t remember if they closed the blinds last night. And in a town like Coiner, there will be enough gossip generated by the fact that her car has been parked in front of his house all night without accidentally giving any of the neighbors a peep show. “Pancakes?”
The mumble sounds close enough to an affirmative. Besides, Parker’s really in the mood for pancakes.
Parker walks down the short hall and, smothering a yawn, pushes open the swinging door to the kitchen.
Turns out, it’s a really good thing she opted for the shirt.
“Hey, teach,” Parker says, trying to ease him toward consciousness. “Rise and shine. It’s a school day.”
The play of contortions across Luke’s face suggest a half-comatose man suffering from a conflict of signals. On one hand, there is the eroticism factor of the naked blonde in your bed whispering in your ear. On the other hand, the sun is only just beginning to illuminate the god-awful floral wallpaper in the bedroom. (Luke’s small rental house had previously been occupied by an 85 year old lady with fondness for splashy roses.)
In this case, the allergy to morning wins out. Luke flops from his side onto his face, doing a good impression of a man who is attempting to smother himself to death with his own pillow. A series of garbled syllables that might be, “Five more minutes,” comes from the depths of the polyfill.
Parker doesn’t laugh. Much.
“How about ten, and I’ll start the coffee?” she asks, slipping out of bed and feeling around on the floor for articles of clothing.
One of Luke’s hands worms its way out from under the pillow long enough to give the idea a thumb’s up.
Parker finds Luke’s shirt, slipping it on and doing up the buttons. She honestly can’t remember if they closed the blinds last night. And in a town like Coiner, there will be enough gossip generated by the fact that her car has been parked in front of his house all night without accidentally giving any of the neighbors a peep show. “Pancakes?”
The mumble sounds close enough to an affirmative. Besides, Parker’s really in the mood for pancakes.
Parker walks down the short hall and, smothering a yawn, pushes open the swinging door to the kitchen.
Turns out, it’s a really good thing she opted for the shirt.
(no subject)
Apr. 23rd, 2011 08:59 pmParker feels worlds better when she gets back from Milliways. Rest, hydration, and the company of friends can cure a lot of ills.
It can’t cure a clinging aura of smoke and sweat, but there’s a long shower with Parker’s name on it that can. She barely gets the door closed between her room and Milliways before she starts shedding clothes.
Hoss is sitting on the foot of her bed, blinking large orange eyes at her. It’s probably her imagination, but Parker would swear that the cat is wrinkling his nose.
“Give me a break,” Parker mutters. “There were flames. Big, hot, honkin’ flames. I’m entitled to stink.”
Hoss’s only response is to sneeze. Loudly. And then to flee when Parker tosses her bra at him.
Ungrateful cat.
Forty minutes, two hair washes, and half a bottle of Cucumber Melon shower gel later, and she feeling considerably more human. Parker decides that she’ll take Meg’s advice and keep her date with Luke this evening. Yes. That’s just what she needs, Parker decides, lying in her bathrobe on her bed, one arm across her eyes, a purring Hoss (who has decided to be magnanimous and forgiving) curled up at her hip. They had talked about dinner and then hitting one of the local places for some dancing. Parker’s down with dinner. She’s not sure she’s up for dancing. Maybe Luke won’t mind amending changing plans a bit. A drive, maybe. That’s not strenuous. Pickings are slim at the second-run movie theater, but even so…..
There’s a knock at the door, and then Aurelia’s voice. “Hey, Parker. You decent?”
“Enough,” Parker calls back, not moving. She hears the door of her room squeak open, and then Aurelia, sounding…..a little amused?
“Honey? You need to call your boyfriend.”
“Yeah,” Parker replies absently. They have plans to alter, they have, “………wait, what?”
Parker drops her arm and pushes herself up to see Aurelia leaning against the doorjamb, smiling.
“Luke?” Aurelia says. “He saw the news, and he’s freaking out. He left you some messages and then he called me. I assured him that you had not been killed, maimed, or otherwise incinerated. I told him I’d have you call him as soon as you came out from under the showerhead for air.”
Parker reaches over to the nightstand for her cell phone. Sure enough “Four New Voicemails” lights up the screen.
“Oh, crap. I didn’t even think.”
It’s a small town. Of course everyone knows about the fire by now.
“Call him. Put the boy’s mind at ease. He’s probably snapping at Honors Choir even as we speak.”
“Yeah.” Parker’s already scrolling through her phone book. “I was going to call him. I just….collapsed. For a minute.”
“He’ll get that.” Aurelia pushes herself away from the doorjamb. “I’m going to go make some iced tea. If you want some later.”
“Thanks.”
Luke answers halfway through the second ring. And yes, by the sound of the background, the soprano section is practicing their scales.
“Hey. Are you okay?” Luke asks.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. A little beat, but fine. Are you? I saw my voicemail box.”
Parker hears a breath whoosh into the receiver on the other end. “Yeah, I am. Sorry. You must think I’m nuts.”
Parker grins. “Nah. It’s nice. The worrying thing.”
Luke laughs a bit. “Endearing insanity is a turn on. Noted,” he says. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Hey, I know we had plans, but if you’re tired and want to rain check…”
“No,” Parker interrupts. “No, I’d really like to see you. I don’t know if I’m going to have the energy for dancing, but…”
“That’s cool. Hey, if you want you can just come hang out at my place. We can order pizza and pop in a DVD or something. I know it’s not much of a date, but…”
Parker smiles, leaning back against the headboard. “Honestly? That sounds perfect.”
“Great. Do you want me to come pick you up after work? “
“Yeah. Karen kind of turned us all loose for the rest of the day, so you can pick me up any time after you get off.”
“I’ll be there around five. You can even wear your pj’s if you want.”
“Don’t think I won’t take you up on that.” In the background, Parker can hear roughly a dozen teenage girls unleash a chorus of, “AWWWWWWWWWWWWW!” She laughs. “Go discipline your children. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Parker flips her phone closed, and looks at Hoss, who is eyeing her.
“He’s a good guy, isn’t he?”
Hoss just slowly blinks.
“Yeah. I agree.”
It can’t cure a clinging aura of smoke and sweat, but there’s a long shower with Parker’s name on it that can. She barely gets the door closed between her room and Milliways before she starts shedding clothes.
Hoss is sitting on the foot of her bed, blinking large orange eyes at her. It’s probably her imagination, but Parker would swear that the cat is wrinkling his nose.
“Give me a break,” Parker mutters. “There were flames. Big, hot, honkin’ flames. I’m entitled to stink.”
Hoss’s only response is to sneeze. Loudly. And then to flee when Parker tosses her bra at him.
Ungrateful cat.
Forty minutes, two hair washes, and half a bottle of Cucumber Melon shower gel later, and she feeling considerably more human. Parker decides that she’ll take Meg’s advice and keep her date with Luke this evening. Yes. That’s just what she needs, Parker decides, lying in her bathrobe on her bed, one arm across her eyes, a purring Hoss (who has decided to be magnanimous and forgiving) curled up at her hip. They had talked about dinner and then hitting one of the local places for some dancing. Parker’s down with dinner. She’s not sure she’s up for dancing. Maybe Luke won’t mind amending changing plans a bit. A drive, maybe. That’s not strenuous. Pickings are slim at the second-run movie theater, but even so…..
There’s a knock at the door, and then Aurelia’s voice. “Hey, Parker. You decent?”
“Enough,” Parker calls back, not moving. She hears the door of her room squeak open, and then Aurelia, sounding…..a little amused?
“Honey? You need to call your boyfriend.”
“Yeah,” Parker replies absently. They have plans to alter, they have, “………wait, what?”
Parker drops her arm and pushes herself up to see Aurelia leaning against the doorjamb, smiling.
“Luke?” Aurelia says. “He saw the news, and he’s freaking out. He left you some messages and then he called me. I assured him that you had not been killed, maimed, or otherwise incinerated. I told him I’d have you call him as soon as you came out from under the showerhead for air.”
Parker reaches over to the nightstand for her cell phone. Sure enough “Four New Voicemails” lights up the screen.
“Oh, crap. I didn’t even think.”
It’s a small town. Of course everyone knows about the fire by now.
“Call him. Put the boy’s mind at ease. He’s probably snapping at Honors Choir even as we speak.”
“Yeah.” Parker’s already scrolling through her phone book. “I was going to call him. I just….collapsed. For a minute.”
“He’ll get that.” Aurelia pushes herself away from the doorjamb. “I’m going to go make some iced tea. If you want some later.”
“Thanks.”
Luke answers halfway through the second ring. And yes, by the sound of the background, the soprano section is practicing their scales.
“Hey. Are you okay?” Luke asks.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. A little beat, but fine. Are you? I saw my voicemail box.”
Parker hears a breath whoosh into the receiver on the other end. “Yeah, I am. Sorry. You must think I’m nuts.”
Parker grins. “Nah. It’s nice. The worrying thing.”
Luke laughs a bit. “Endearing insanity is a turn on. Noted,” he says. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Hey, I know we had plans, but if you’re tired and want to rain check…”
“No,” Parker interrupts. “No, I’d really like to see you. I don’t know if I’m going to have the energy for dancing, but…”
“That’s cool. Hey, if you want you can just come hang out at my place. We can order pizza and pop in a DVD or something. I know it’s not much of a date, but…”
Parker smiles, leaning back against the headboard. “Honestly? That sounds perfect.”
“Great. Do you want me to come pick you up after work? “
“Yeah. Karen kind of turned us all loose for the rest of the day, so you can pick me up any time after you get off.”
“I’ll be there around five. You can even wear your pj’s if you want.”
“Don’t think I won’t take you up on that.” In the background, Parker can hear roughly a dozen teenage girls unleash a chorus of, “AWWWWWWWWWWWWW!” She laughs. “Go discipline your children. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
Parker flips her phone closed, and looks at Hoss, who is eyeing her.
“He’s a good guy, isn’t he?”
Hoss just slowly blinks.
“Yeah. I agree.”
One careless idiot with a cigarette. That’s all it takes.
Not that they know for sure that that’s what caused the grass fire on the hill downwind from the stables. But it could have been. Easily. And Jerry, not so successfully shushed by Karen, has made some dire threats toward anyone—employee or guest--he catches messing with fire.
“Bad enough half the state’s burning without stupid shit like this!”
Jerry’s been wound a little tight, lately. They’ve all been, keeping one eye and ear on the news.
They’d lucked out, and at the end of the day, no real harm had been done. The ranch employees had kept the fire contained until the fire department arrived with the big guns.
Parker has ditched her shovel by the time she comes into Milliways, but she’s still wearing an old pair of work gloves and smells to high heaven of smoke. And periodically she makes a noise like a congested walrus.
“Bar?” she says, hoisting herself up onto a stool and stripping off her gloves. “Tissues?”
Bar produces an economy-sized box. Parker plucks a handful, blows her nose, and makes an epically grossed-out face at the result before balling the whole mess up and stuffing it into her pocket.
Not that they know for sure that that’s what caused the grass fire on the hill downwind from the stables. But it could have been. Easily. And Jerry, not so successfully shushed by Karen, has made some dire threats toward anyone—employee or guest--he catches messing with fire.
“Bad enough half the state’s burning without stupid shit like this!”
Jerry’s been wound a little tight, lately. They’ve all been, keeping one eye and ear on the news.
They’d lucked out, and at the end of the day, no real harm had been done. The ranch employees had kept the fire contained until the fire department arrived with the big guns.
Parker has ditched her shovel by the time she comes into Milliways, but she’s still wearing an old pair of work gloves and smells to high heaven of smoke. And periodically she makes a noise like a congested walrus.
“Bar?” she says, hoisting herself up onto a stool and stripping off her gloves. “Tissues?”
Bar produces an economy-sized box. Parker plucks a handful, blows her nose, and makes an epically grossed-out face at the result before balling the whole mess up and stuffing it into her pocket.
Working For The Weekend
Mar. 23rd, 2011 12:22 pmParker is working on some updates to the ranch’s website when her office phone rings. With a by now well-practiced maneuver, she reaches over, lifts the handset, and tucks it between her chin and shoulder.
“Tumblin’ A Ranch. Parker speaking.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The voice on the other end of the line is muffled, and the background noise suggests a blur of voices and what sounds like a lot of running feet in squeaky sneakers. “I was calling to see if I could arrange an outing with a member of your office staff?”
“Hey, Luke.” Parker’s pretty sure her grin can be heard on the other end of the line. She’s okay with this.
“Hey. Can you talk for a minute?”
Parker leans over in her desk chair to get a fix on Doreen. Karen is in the kitchen going over some menus with Luis. Michelle is home today with sick kids. Doreen, the only one who would raise a mild stink over Parker taking a personal call on office time, is in the closet alcove with the photocopier, working her way through a stack of invoices and checks.
“All clear,” she says, hunkering down a bit behind her monitor. “How about you? Shouldn’t you be in class?”
It’s a little past nine o’clock. Which means Luke should be well into his workday at Coiner Elementary.
“Special assembly this morning. Traffic safety. You are listening to the sound of one hundred small children playing ‘Red means Stop – Green means Go.’”
“Fun.”
He laughs. “Yeah. It is, kinda.” Parker hears a clatter in the background, and Luke’s voice, momentarily moving away from his phone. “Ellie? No running on the bleachers. Go back to Officer Tom’s group. Anyway,” he continues, “I was thinking. You’re off on Saturday, right?”
“Yes, sir. We don’t seem to have any bookings down for that time.” Doreen is passing through, getting extra staples from her desk. “Yeah, I’m off on Saturday,” she adds, once Doreen is back in the alcove and the copier is running again. “Are you plotting something?”
“I was thinking maybe we could swing up to Amarillo. Make a day of it. Maybe take in a movie. You can make me try Thai food. Jackson, does your nose go there? No? Well, let’s cut that out, okay? We can see what it’s like being an anonymous couple out on a date.”
Parker laughs. Dating, like most things, is hard to do anonymously in Coiner. It has bemused Parker to no end that she has somehow become a highish-profile person in the small town. As for Luke, he is a popular local school teacher and a member of a good home-grown band. He has no hope.
The closest they’ve gotten was the night of the Super Moon. Parked in the middle of a deserted prairie, pile of cozy sleeping bags in the bed of Luke’s pick-up truck, and a big thermos of Irish coffee.
“I like the way you think.” Parker half-twirls her chair. “How about I drive? My car has more room.”
In case they decide to do something wild and crazy like hit Target before heading back to Coiner.
“You going to try to get me into your backseat, Miss Lee?”
“Play your cards right.”
There’s a half-strangled sounding laugh on the other end of the line. “I’m there.” There’s an indistinct voice in the background, and Luke adds, “Hey, I have to go. Officer Tom wants me to help him with…..I think I’m pretending to be an accident victim.”
“Tell Officer Tom I expect you to be returned unscathed,” Parker says. “Have fun. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Definitely. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Doreen comes out of the alcove with her copies as Parker is hanging up the handset. “You look awfully happy,” she observes.
“Oh, you know.” Parker shakes her mouse to wake her computer back up. “Good booking.”
It should be a nice event.
“Tumblin’ A Ranch. Parker speaking.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The voice on the other end of the line is muffled, and the background noise suggests a blur of voices and what sounds like a lot of running feet in squeaky sneakers. “I was calling to see if I could arrange an outing with a member of your office staff?”
“Hey, Luke.” Parker’s pretty sure her grin can be heard on the other end of the line. She’s okay with this.
“Hey. Can you talk for a minute?”
Parker leans over in her desk chair to get a fix on Doreen. Karen is in the kitchen going over some menus with Luis. Michelle is home today with sick kids. Doreen, the only one who would raise a mild stink over Parker taking a personal call on office time, is in the closet alcove with the photocopier, working her way through a stack of invoices and checks.
“All clear,” she says, hunkering down a bit behind her monitor. “How about you? Shouldn’t you be in class?”
It’s a little past nine o’clock. Which means Luke should be well into his workday at Coiner Elementary.
“Special assembly this morning. Traffic safety. You are listening to the sound of one hundred small children playing ‘Red means Stop – Green means Go.’”
“Fun.”
He laughs. “Yeah. It is, kinda.” Parker hears a clatter in the background, and Luke’s voice, momentarily moving away from his phone. “Ellie? No running on the bleachers. Go back to Officer Tom’s group. Anyway,” he continues, “I was thinking. You’re off on Saturday, right?”
“Yes, sir. We don’t seem to have any bookings down for that time.” Doreen is passing through, getting extra staples from her desk. “Yeah, I’m off on Saturday,” she adds, once Doreen is back in the alcove and the copier is running again. “Are you plotting something?”
“I was thinking maybe we could swing up to Amarillo. Make a day of it. Maybe take in a movie. You can make me try Thai food. Jackson, does your nose go there? No? Well, let’s cut that out, okay? We can see what it’s like being an anonymous couple out on a date.”
Parker laughs. Dating, like most things, is hard to do anonymously in Coiner. It has bemused Parker to no end that she has somehow become a highish-profile person in the small town. As for Luke, he is a popular local school teacher and a member of a good home-grown band. He has no hope.
The closest they’ve gotten was the night of the Super Moon. Parked in the middle of a deserted prairie, pile of cozy sleeping bags in the bed of Luke’s pick-up truck, and a big thermos of Irish coffee.
“I like the way you think.” Parker half-twirls her chair. “How about I drive? My car has more room.”
In case they decide to do something wild and crazy like hit Target before heading back to Coiner.
“You going to try to get me into your backseat, Miss Lee?”
“Play your cards right.”
There’s a half-strangled sounding laugh on the other end of the line. “I’m there.” There’s an indistinct voice in the background, and Luke adds, “Hey, I have to go. Officer Tom wants me to help him with…..I think I’m pretending to be an accident victim.”
“Tell Officer Tom I expect you to be returned unscathed,” Parker says. “Have fun. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Definitely. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Doreen comes out of the alcove with her copies as Parker is hanging up the handset. “You look awfully happy,” she observes.
“Oh, you know.” Parker shakes her mouse to wake her computer back up. “Good booking.”
It should be a nice event.
[Immediately post dance.]
It is, Parker acknowledges, kind of like something out of a romantic comedy.
Independent, single (but not lonely) young woman goes to a Valentine’s Day dance stag. She spots hot musician. Hot musician spots her. Hot musician makes inquiries about her with her two friends who have hopped dimensions to come to the dance. (Okay, the romantic comedies usually miss that particular plot point.) Looks are exchanged across the room. Sparks go up like small, pheromone-driven signal flares.
More than likely, the movie would include a show-stopping dance scene, a kiss, and then some sort of contrived misunderstanding before the party broke up for the night. But this was real life. Parker is at the party to work, and when she isn’t helping to keep a lid on things, she’s hanging with Meg and Laura. Because you don’t invite friends to an event and then abandon them, cute guy or no.
But breaking down the party still leaves plenty of time to make a move.
He’s working on packing up the band’s gear when Parker sneaks up on him. Flat footed – she’s still wearing her party dress, but she ditched her heels behind the front desk. He jumps slightly when she taps him on the shoulder.
He turns around, bundled extension cord in one hand, mic in the other. Parker smiles.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” he replies, a smile of his own already starting to form. “If it isn’t Parker Lee.”
“Luke Taylor.”
God bless Meg and Laura. No semi-awkward introductions required.
“You guys sounded really good,” Parker says.
Because it’s true. And she’s also keenly aware that his band mates have slowed their packing to a crawl and are not even pretending not to eavesdrop on this byplay.
“Thanks.”
He’s only a couple of inches taller than she is, Parker notes. And up close there are flecks of green in his brown eyes.
“Listen,” Parker takes a half-step closer, “I know it’s late and you guys are trying to get out of here. But,” she holds up a folded piece of paper, then slips it into his shirt pocket, giving it a pat for good measure, “give me a call tomorrow?”
He just stares for a moment or two, and if Parker were a slightly less confident individual, it might make her a little uncomfortable. Someone (Parker is pretty sure it’s the drummer) smacks him in the back in passing when he doesn’t answer right away.
“Yes. Definitely, yes. I’ll do that.”
“Great. I’ll talk to you then.”
“Talk to you then.”
Parker turns and walks serenely out of the dining hall, her smile expanding to a full-fledged grin when she hears the rest of the band break out into good-natured hoots.
Who says it’s bad to be single on Valentine’s?
It is, Parker acknowledges, kind of like something out of a romantic comedy.
Independent, single (but not lonely) young woman goes to a Valentine’s Day dance stag. She spots hot musician. Hot musician spots her. Hot musician makes inquiries about her with her two friends who have hopped dimensions to come to the dance. (Okay, the romantic comedies usually miss that particular plot point.) Looks are exchanged across the room. Sparks go up like small, pheromone-driven signal flares.
More than likely, the movie would include a show-stopping dance scene, a kiss, and then some sort of contrived misunderstanding before the party broke up for the night. But this was real life. Parker is at the party to work, and when she isn’t helping to keep a lid on things, she’s hanging with Meg and Laura. Because you don’t invite friends to an event and then abandon them, cute guy or no.
But breaking down the party still leaves plenty of time to make a move.
He’s working on packing up the band’s gear when Parker sneaks up on him. Flat footed – she’s still wearing her party dress, but she ditched her heels behind the front desk. He jumps slightly when she taps him on the shoulder.
He turns around, bundled extension cord in one hand, mic in the other. Parker smiles.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” he replies, a smile of his own already starting to form. “If it isn’t Parker Lee.”
“Luke Taylor.”
God bless Meg and Laura. No semi-awkward introductions required.
“You guys sounded really good,” Parker says.
Because it’s true. And she’s also keenly aware that his band mates have slowed their packing to a crawl and are not even pretending not to eavesdrop on this byplay.
“Thanks.”
He’s only a couple of inches taller than she is, Parker notes. And up close there are flecks of green in his brown eyes.
“Listen,” Parker takes a half-step closer, “I know it’s late and you guys are trying to get out of here. But,” she holds up a folded piece of paper, then slips it into his shirt pocket, giving it a pat for good measure, “give me a call tomorrow?”
He just stares for a moment or two, and if Parker were a slightly less confident individual, it might make her a little uncomfortable. Someone (Parker is pretty sure it’s the drummer) smacks him in the back in passing when he doesn’t answer right away.
“Yes. Definitely, yes. I’ll do that.”
“Great. I’ll talk to you then.”
“Talk to you then.”
Parker turns and walks serenely out of the dining hall, her smile expanding to a full-fledged grin when she hears the rest of the band break out into good-natured hoots.
Who says it’s bad to be single on Valentine’s?
Valentine's Day -- Texas Style
Feb. 15th, 2011 02:50 pmYou have to hand it to the Coiner High School Boosters Club. Six volunteers, eight boxes of donated decorations, and a three hour work window, and it looks like Cupid himself has closed escrow on the Tumblin’ A’s dining hall. Balloons, streamers, hearts and roses in pink, red, and white as far as the eye can see.
And despite the number of times Parker, Karen, and Michelle had come close to tearing their hair out over the room arrangement, guests are moving smoothly among clusters of tables and the two buffet lines, and there’s still plenty of room to dance. The band, Mockingbird, is set up on a low stage at the far end of the room, and seem to be keeping everyone happy with old traditional favorites, newer covers, and even some not-half-bad original material.
The near-full Texas moon hanging in the sky outside over the patio area is just the icing on the proverbial heart-shaped cake.
And despite the number of times Parker, Karen, and Michelle had come close to tearing their hair out over the room arrangement, guests are moving smoothly among clusters of tables and the two buffet lines, and there’s still plenty of room to dance. The band, Mockingbird, is set up on a low stage at the far end of the room, and seem to be keeping everyone happy with old traditional favorites, newer covers, and even some not-half-bad original material.
The near-full Texas moon hanging in the sky outside over the patio area is just the icing on the proverbial heart-shaped cake.
Breakfast Meeting
Feb. 2nd, 2011 12:45 pmYou can mark the seasons at a dude ranch by the types of guests in attendance.
During the summer, you are up to your elbows in families with kids. Fall brings corporate retreats and school groups. Spring is an odd mix of senior citizens and honeymooners.
Winter brings out the hunters.
“You know, it’s not that I’m knocking the business,” Parker whispers to her boss as they help themselves to the breakfast buffet in the dining hall. “But occasionally I feel like I’ve fallen into one of those post apocalyptic survival movies.”
She looks out over the occupied tables. Men, women, and even a few kids, all decked out in a mix of drab brown leaf print and eye-smarting orange. One little girl, who must be all of seven, has accessorized her camouflage overalls with a large pink hair bow.
Karen laughs as she helps herself to pancakes from a steam tray. “Well, if Judgment Day does hit, you’re in the right place. Between the number of churches and collective survival skills in this town, we should come through okay. Eggs?”
“No, I think I’m good.” Parker dumps a second spoonful of raisons on top of her oatmeal and settles the bowl on her tray between her coffee and orange juice.
She and Karen make their way back to their table on the far side of the hall. Most of the surface is covered in binders and folders. The nearby window shows a sky just shifting from black to blue, with a sharp shot of pink marking the horizon.
“Oh, I’m looking forward to it getting light earlier,” Karen sighs as she slides into her chair. “All right. Next order of business. The Coiner High School Boosters Valentine’s Dance.”
“What are they raising money for again?” Parker asks, spooning her oatmeal with one hand, opening up her file with the other.
“Refurbishing the Vo-Ag extension,” Karen replies, leafing through her own file. “That building started out as a garage, and it hasn’t improved much since, if you ask me. Between the dance and the big raffle in May, they’re hoping to raise enough to do something about the bathrooms, at least.”
Parker makes a face. Yeah – sub-par bathrooms, kind of an issue. Especially at a school. “It looks like they already have everything pretty well lined up,” she says, scanning the paperwork.
Ticket sales have been on since New Year’s – Parker has seen signs for the dance plastered all over Coiner. Volunteers are lined up for both set-up and clean-up. Decorations have been donated. The band is volunteering its time. And, of course, the Tumblin’ A is providing the venue and the food.
It’s one of the things that Parker has noticed about small towns. They fully embrace the philosophy that it takes a village to, well, run a village.
“Oh, yes. Annette Reeves is the Boosters president. She runs a tight ship. And the woman is a master at getting people to volunteer. Two of the band members are her nephews—I’m sure that helped. Of course, one of them is a teacher, too.” Karen adds an extra dollop of syrup to her pancakes. “I do hate asking you to work that night. I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day. I’m sure you’d much rather--”
Parker is already waving her off.
“Hey, it’s not like I have a hot date that night.” Many of the other employees do, which is why Parker had offered herself up to work on the fourteenth.
Not that she’s lived like a nun since she started working at the Tumblin’ A, but Parker’s been enjoying being largely commitment-free. Working on Valentine’s is, at the end of the day, small potatoes.
“Well, I do appreciate it,” Karen says. “And it actually should be a pretty good time. Setting up will be hard part; we’ll need to put up tables and the stage for the band, and make sure there’s still plenty of room to dance. Once things actually get started, though, it’ll just be a matter of being on hand. And making sure Annette is happy.”
“Just leave her to me.”
Hey, it may just be the president of the Boosters, but Parker can still charm somebody this Valentine’s Day.
During the summer, you are up to your elbows in families with kids. Fall brings corporate retreats and school groups. Spring is an odd mix of senior citizens and honeymooners.
Winter brings out the hunters.
“You know, it’s not that I’m knocking the business,” Parker whispers to her boss as they help themselves to the breakfast buffet in the dining hall. “But occasionally I feel like I’ve fallen into one of those post apocalyptic survival movies.”
She looks out over the occupied tables. Men, women, and even a few kids, all decked out in a mix of drab brown leaf print and eye-smarting orange. One little girl, who must be all of seven, has accessorized her camouflage overalls with a large pink hair bow.
Karen laughs as she helps herself to pancakes from a steam tray. “Well, if Judgment Day does hit, you’re in the right place. Between the number of churches and collective survival skills in this town, we should come through okay. Eggs?”
“No, I think I’m good.” Parker dumps a second spoonful of raisons on top of her oatmeal and settles the bowl on her tray between her coffee and orange juice.
She and Karen make their way back to their table on the far side of the hall. Most of the surface is covered in binders and folders. The nearby window shows a sky just shifting from black to blue, with a sharp shot of pink marking the horizon.
“Oh, I’m looking forward to it getting light earlier,” Karen sighs as she slides into her chair. “All right. Next order of business. The Coiner High School Boosters Valentine’s Dance.”
“What are they raising money for again?” Parker asks, spooning her oatmeal with one hand, opening up her file with the other.
“Refurbishing the Vo-Ag extension,” Karen replies, leafing through her own file. “That building started out as a garage, and it hasn’t improved much since, if you ask me. Between the dance and the big raffle in May, they’re hoping to raise enough to do something about the bathrooms, at least.”
Parker makes a face. Yeah – sub-par bathrooms, kind of an issue. Especially at a school. “It looks like they already have everything pretty well lined up,” she says, scanning the paperwork.
Ticket sales have been on since New Year’s – Parker has seen signs for the dance plastered all over Coiner. Volunteers are lined up for both set-up and clean-up. Decorations have been donated. The band is volunteering its time. And, of course, the Tumblin’ A is providing the venue and the food.
It’s one of the things that Parker has noticed about small towns. They fully embrace the philosophy that it takes a village to, well, run a village.
“Oh, yes. Annette Reeves is the Boosters president. She runs a tight ship. And the woman is a master at getting people to volunteer. Two of the band members are her nephews—I’m sure that helped. Of course, one of them is a teacher, too.” Karen adds an extra dollop of syrup to her pancakes. “I do hate asking you to work that night. I mean, it’s Valentine’s Day. I’m sure you’d much rather--”
Parker is already waving her off.
“Hey, it’s not like I have a hot date that night.” Many of the other employees do, which is why Parker had offered herself up to work on the fourteenth.
Not that she’s lived like a nun since she started working at the Tumblin’ A, but Parker’s been enjoying being largely commitment-free. Working on Valentine’s is, at the end of the day, small potatoes.
“Well, I do appreciate it,” Karen says. “And it actually should be a pretty good time. Setting up will be hard part; we’ll need to put up tables and the stage for the band, and make sure there’s still plenty of room to dance. Once things actually get started, though, it’ll just be a matter of being on hand. And making sure Annette is happy.”
“Just leave her to me.”
Hey, it may just be the president of the Boosters, but Parker can still charm somebody this Valentine’s Day.
In Progress...
Jun. 27th, 2010 08:38 pmIt had been an odd day in that Parker hadn’t made it out of the ranch office much at all. Ordinarily, there would be some event to oversee, or some unexpected odd job to be done that would take her outside for a while.
But today had been a day of setting up spreadsheets, entering data, overhauling files, sorting, collating, and photocopying. Parker hadn’t even made it outside for lunch—she’d whipped into the kitchens for a sandwich, which got eaten amid piles of filing.
So, after the work day ended, she took herself off on one of the many walking paths that looped through the ranch. This one was one of the longest. It took her out and around the Children’s Barn, site of many a birthday party, and residence of the ranch’s petting-zoo type animals. Past the lane that led up to Jerry and Karen’s private residence, the house and yard hemmed around by a neat hedge. Down to the large man-made pond, where a few of the families with kids were cooling off before dinner.
The trail led back around by the hay sheds and stables. Parker came upon a large white cat (one of a number of the semi-feral cats that seemed to move themselves into rodent-friendly buildings) who was relocating her kittens to one of the hay sheds. The mother cat paused for a moment to glare indignantly at Parker for having the audacity to cross her path before leaping for the darkness of the shed.
At the stables, Parker lingered for a while to pet the horses turned out in the paddocks before winding her way back around to Summer House.
The trail led up to the back of the building, and Parker smiled when she saw Aurelia and JR camped out in the freestanding swing under the tree in the backyard, talking.
For the first week after she’d arrived at the Tumbling-A, Parker had just assumed that Aurelia and JR were a couple. But when she had asked Aurelia how long they had been together, she had just gotten a startled look and the No, really. We’re just good friends assurance. Parker wasn’t sure she bought it.
Not that she thought Aurelia was lying. Just that maybe they hadn’t worked it out yet.
Parker was out of their direct line of sight, and they were deep enough in their conversation that they didn’t hear her coming. Parker was about to call out to them when she heard Aurelia’s voice rise.
“I thought you liked Parker.”
Parker froze.
JR scrubbed at the back of his neck with one hand.
“I do like Parker. I’m just saying….there’s something a little weird going on with that girl, that’s all.”
Parker knew that at this point, the best thing to do would be to quietly leave and not eavesdrop. Even if she was the topic of discussion.
Especially if she was the topic of discussion.
Instead she moved so that she was better concealed by a tree.
“Weird?” Aurelia asked, sounding disbelieving. “Weird how? Weird like Dani Whats-her-face who was hoarding rolls of toilet paper under her bed because her uncle the minister said that the end of the world was coming?”
“God, no. Nothing like that.”
“Well, like what then?”
JR groaned, letting his head drop back over the back of the swing for a moment. Parker edged a little farther behind the tree.
“Like…..,” he said, like a man who was sorry he had ever started a conversation in the first place. “Well, like those friends of hers who came out to visit the other week.”
“Yeah? Meg and Laura, right? What about them? I thought they were nice.”
“I thought they were nice, too. But Aurelia, how the hell did they get here?”
.
.
.
.
.
But today had been a day of setting up spreadsheets, entering data, overhauling files, sorting, collating, and photocopying. Parker hadn’t even made it outside for lunch—she’d whipped into the kitchens for a sandwich, which got eaten amid piles of filing.
So, after the work day ended, she took herself off on one of the many walking paths that looped through the ranch. This one was one of the longest. It took her out and around the Children’s Barn, site of many a birthday party, and residence of the ranch’s petting-zoo type animals. Past the lane that led up to Jerry and Karen’s private residence, the house and yard hemmed around by a neat hedge. Down to the large man-made pond, where a few of the families with kids were cooling off before dinner.
The trail led back around by the hay sheds and stables. Parker came upon a large white cat (one of a number of the semi-feral cats that seemed to move themselves into rodent-friendly buildings) who was relocating her kittens to one of the hay sheds. The mother cat paused for a moment to glare indignantly at Parker for having the audacity to cross her path before leaping for the darkness of the shed.
At the stables, Parker lingered for a while to pet the horses turned out in the paddocks before winding her way back around to Summer House.
The trail led up to the back of the building, and Parker smiled when she saw Aurelia and JR camped out in the freestanding swing under the tree in the backyard, talking.
For the first week after she’d arrived at the Tumbling-A, Parker had just assumed that Aurelia and JR were a couple. But when she had asked Aurelia how long they had been together, she had just gotten a startled look and the No, really. We’re just good friends assurance. Parker wasn’t sure she bought it.
Not that she thought Aurelia was lying. Just that maybe they hadn’t worked it out yet.
Parker was out of their direct line of sight, and they were deep enough in their conversation that they didn’t hear her coming. Parker was about to call out to them when she heard Aurelia’s voice rise.
“I thought you liked Parker.”
Parker froze.
JR scrubbed at the back of his neck with one hand.
“I do like Parker. I’m just saying….there’s something a little weird going on with that girl, that’s all.”
Parker knew that at this point, the best thing to do would be to quietly leave and not eavesdrop. Even if she was the topic of discussion.
Especially if she was the topic of discussion.
Instead she moved so that she was better concealed by a tree.
“Weird?” Aurelia asked, sounding disbelieving. “Weird how? Weird like Dani Whats-her-face who was hoarding rolls of toilet paper under her bed because her uncle the minister said that the end of the world was coming?”
“God, no. Nothing like that.”
“Well, like what then?”
JR groaned, letting his head drop back over the back of the swing for a moment. Parker edged a little farther behind the tree.
“Like…..,” he said, like a man who was sorry he had ever started a conversation in the first place. “Well, like those friends of hers who came out to visit the other week.”
“Yeah? Meg and Laura, right? What about them? I thought they were nice.”
“I thought they were nice, too. But Aurelia, how the hell did they get here?”
.
.
.
.
.
