Among the stuffed monkeys and rubber snakes, Julia was hiding with her scarf wrapped around her head.
"Exactly what are you doing?" Lance wanted to know.
"I am waiting for you to claim our bags. Then you and I are leaving without anyone knowing we're here."
"Okay," Lance said, placating her, as he realized that not every crazy person in the world lived in Manhattan.
Julia's suitcases tumbled onto the circular belt, followed by his own bag. He claimed them, and once the luggage was in hand, he proceeded directly out the glass doors and into one of the most beautiful spring days he had ever seen. When they'd left New York, it had been dreary and twenty-five degrees. But in Tulsa, the sun was out and the temperature must have been at least sixty-five. He stood, soaking up the vitamin D until Julia emerged from the airport, removing the scarf, freeing her hair to billow in the Oklahoma wind. Strands blew across her face, and he wanted to brush them away, but before he could say or do a thing, he heard a raspy voice behind him.
"He's tall," the woman said. "That's good, Jules. We like tall."
Lance turned to see a woman who was in every way the opposite of her voice: small and feminine, with olive skin and refined features.
"I'm Nina." The tiny, raspy little woman extended her hand. "I'm her best friend." "I'm Lance."
"I know," Nina squealed. "You're her boyfriend!"
Chapter Eight
WAY #54: It's better to be single and happy than married and miserable.
One of the biggest challenges you'll face is the "Why haven't you been married?" phenomenon. Dealing with this is simple: Ignore it. And pity the culture that looks more favorably on those who have bad marriages than those who choose to remain single. ;
—from 101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire
en minutes later, they were flying down the highway in Nina's vintage VW. She had pushed aside piles of fabric samples and magazines to make room for Lance in the backseat. "It's a project," Nina had explained. What kind of project, Lance certainly wasn't going to ask, because he wanted Nina to stay as focused on the road as possible. Maybe it was the way his six-two body had been folded into the tiny car, but when they began to swerve between semis, he knew for a fact that he might die there, in the back of a bug, surrounded by pieces of velvet.
"Ro-Ro's coming," Nina said casually.
Julia wheeled around in the front seat and nearly kicked the car out of gear.
"No!" she yelled.
"Yes," Nina snapped back.
"Ro-Ro doesn't come to birthday parties," Julia argued.
"Ro-Ro sends recycled cards and dingy five-dollar bills."
"Who's Ro-Ro?" Lance asked from the backseat.
Julia buried her head in her palm then bolted upright again and exclaimed, "Ro-Ro doesn't come to birthday parties!"
"Well, she's coming to this one," Nina said with resolve. "She knows, doesn't she?" "That's my bet."
"Who's Ro-Ro?" Lance asked again, but the women had evidently forgotten he existed.
"But, how does she know? Mom and Dad wouldn't tell her, and they're the only people who ever call her. She's got her maids scared half to death. She doesn't even own a television."
"True," Nina said with raised eyebrows. "But the Georgias do."
"Oh." Julia slumped in the seat again and moaned, "The Georgias."
"You are a hot topic on the Tulsa bridge circuit today!"
Nina laughed. "I bet they crash the party just to get a look at him." She gestured to Lance in the backseat.
"Ro-Ro's coming," Julia said with dread. "And she's bringing the Georgias."
Nina joyfully added, "That's right!"
Lance leaned between the seats and yelled, "WHO IS RO-RO?"
Julia waved dismissively at Nina and said, "Tell him." Nina glanced at Lance in the rearview mirror. "Ro-Ro is Julia's aunt."
"Great aunt," Julia corrected.
"Right," Nina said, then carried on as if this was the beginning of her all-time favorite story. "She's Rosemary Crane Willis Fitzgerald, and in this town, she's famous."
"You call her Ro-Ro?" Lance asked, thinking he was catching on.
"Oh, heavens no," Nina said. "Not to her face. To her face, family calls her Aunt Rosemary, and vagrants like you and I call her Mrs. Willis."
"Why Willis?" Lance asked. "Why not one of the other ones?"
"Willis was the husband she liked best," Nina answered patiently.
"Hated least," Julia corrected.
"Whatever," Nina said. "She's a piece of work. Married four times. Widowed four times. Each husband richer than the one who came before him. Plus, she's tighter than a submarine and older than the hills."
"Married four times?" Lance questioned. "You only gave three last names."
"Two of the husbands were brothers," Julia clarified.
"She never leaves her house unless she's on the warpath about something." Nina reached over and patted Julia's thigh. "But she's coming today."
Julia moaned, and Lance raised his eyebrows.
"And then," Nina stated with flair, "we have the Georgias—also known as Georgia Abernathy, Georgia Burke, and Evelyn Wesley, who was Miss Georgia in 1954. They all live in Ro-Ro's building and follow her around like little blue-haired disciples, especially Miss Georgia A. and Miss Georgia B. I think Miss Georgia '54 would like to lead her own gang, but as long as Ro-Ro's living there, no ex-beauty queen has got a prayer of forming any kind of splinter group."
"Sounds like 90210, the golden years," Lance joked.
"Exactly," Nina said, nodding her approval.
Lance began to wonder what he'd gotten himself into.
"Don't worry," Nina reassured him. "You'll do great!"
Julia cringed and sank a little deeper into the seat.
When they stopped for gas, Lance insisted on getting out and pumping. Nina insisted on letting him.
"He is the biggest problem my career has ever faced, and instead of leaving him in New York"—Julia gestured to where Lance stood beside the car—"I let him follow me home," she exclaimed, rolling her eyes skyward, finishing a five-minute monologue on "the Lance Situation." She looked to Nina for sympathy, but all she saw was her best friend's outstretched hand. "I'm not wearing the ring, or did you notice?"