Page 21 of Love Unforgettable
“Hasta luego,” Kat says. She hangs up before I can say anything else. She’s been taking different language lessons lately, but she doesn’t really finish any of them. She just learns a few new words or catch phrases and then moves on. For a while it was French, then Mandarin, and now I’m guessing Spanish.
With a little more than an hour before dinner with Mavis, I head up to my room to shower and get ready. Which, per her request, requires fancier attire tonight whether the venue does or not.
I wish I could say I have my own sense of style, like both Kat and Remi do, but since I spend most of my time in jeans and t-shirts, I tend to stick to jeans as my go-to mainstay in attire. You’d think that since I spend all my time in jeans, I’d want to wear a dress every other chance I got. I really don’t, though. Since I’m so short, I think skirts and dresses tend to dwarf me, unless it’s a mini and I’m in heels. I also think that I can make myself appear taller in jeans. Or else it just feels that way.
Regardless, I can put together a slammin’ outfit based on jeans and heels, but if I wear a dress, the style usually depends on whomever I happened to go shopping with and what they liked on me. Therefore, my non-jeans outfits range from Kat’s Boho Chic to Remi’s Siren Call.
Tonight, my dress is a little more Remi than Kat. A pale green halter style A-line that is tight on the top and loose from the waist down. It reminds me of Marilyn Monroe, you know, if she had an A-cup and no hips to speak of, but it makes me look curvy and when I pair it with nude stilettos, like I am now, I feel downright sexy. Which is saying a lot for someone typically covered in pet hair and wine stains. I use one of those bun-cheater-donut-looking things to put my hair up and pull a few tendrils down the side of my face. Throw on some mascara and lip gloss, and I am good to go.
I take my car when I pick up Mavis, instead of my Jeep, mostly because it’s the one I keep clean and it doesn’t have any dog hair in it. Well, not much anyway. And it’s easier for her to get into. Not surprisingly, she’s outside her condo building waiting when I pull up, and doesn’t hesitate to get in the car, almost before I’ve come to a complete stop. She gives me the visual once over while doing so.
“Ah,bubala, you look nice. So pretty. I approve,” she says as she settles in and buckles her seatbelt.
“Thank you,bubbe. Where is your friend? Is she not coming?”
“Meeting us there,” she says, with a wave of her hand.
“Finnegan’s Wake?” I ask. She nods. It’s her favorite place to eat. An ocean front seafood restaurant whose name is a play on the book title, only with wake referring to the water and not a funeral. Mavis is a fan of classic literature, so I also wonder if the name plays into her fondness of the food.
We get to the restaurant in a short amount of time. I valet park, then wait while the attendant helps Mavis out of the car. She’s not as frail as she pretends to be, she just likes the attention of the young men.
