Page 14 of Melt With You

That this was her life.

Yet, her emotions now were different. Then, she’d understood that she was living in a state of denial. This was, well, this was psychotic, wasn’t it? She wasn’t in denial. She was merely in shock. Wouldn’t anyone be, in her situation? How on earth could she have gone back in time twenty years?

All of a sudden, a new thought appeared.

Maybe she wasn’t dreaming. Maybe she was dead.

But would an eternity spent in the 80s be heaven or hell? She laughed out loud, surprised by the sudden noise, and then clamped one hand over her mouth. She sounded a bit crazy, didn’t she? Apparently, she sounded crazy to other people, as well.

‘Are you sure you’re okay, Miss?’ That was Gael again, coming to her rescue once more. ‘You’re looking a bit faint again, so pale. Why don’t you sit back down for a while? Do you want to use the phone? Do you have somewhere you have to be?’

Dori tried hard to stifle the insane laughter she heard bubbling in her head once more. Yeah, she had somewhere to be. On an airplane back to New York. But the plane wouldn’t take off for another twenty years, so she supposed, all things considered, she had time for another cup of joe.

At Gael’s offer, and the worried look in his eyes, she sat back in the booth, her mind racing. What if she was stuck here forever? She’d never see her mom or dad again. Or if she did, they wouldn’t recognize her, would they? She was nearly their age. A shudder ran through her with each new and disturbing thought.

‘You visiting?’ he asked next, using a quiet, soothing tone, as if talking to a spooked animal. ‘I haven’t seen you around before. And I pretty much know everyone in town.’

The truth was that he did know her. He’d seen her every afternoon for the past four years, coming in for an iced tea or a coffee. He didn’t serve lattes or cappuccinos or any of the fancy drinks. Not back then. Nobody did. It was coffee and pie at Gael’s diner. Classic diner food. Retro for the 80s, but the Creamery had been in the same location since the 50s, handed down from Gael’s grandfather to his father to himself.

‘You look familiar,’ he said next, nailing what she’d thought. ‘Do you have relatives in town?’

‘Yes,’ Dori finally managed. ‘The Martins.’

‘They’re out of town for the month, though, aren’t they? He’s on sabbatical in London. That’s what I heard, anyway.’

Dori nodded automatically, grateful for the information. She’d forgotten the trip to London. Forgotten when she’d gone, anyway. Twenty years could blur the timeline for anyone. ‘I’m just visiting from Manhattan,’ Dori added quickly.

‘Manhattan,’ Gael nodded. ‘That explains it.’

‘What?’

‘Oh, just your outfit. Doesn’t really look like the clothes around here.’ He eyed her dress, as if what she was wearing was proof that she was an outsider, and Dori felt suddenly self-conscious. She had on a Juicy Couture minidress, all white, puffed sleeves, one that was so short that she felt odd crossing her legs. The outfit was the height of style for 2008, but apparently not appropriate attire for 1988.

To her, Bette had looked as if she’d been on her way to a costume party. Part Pat Benatar, part Madonna. All 1980s. Like an alien in Dori’s world. Is that what Dori looked like to Gael?

While he went to serve a new customer, she gazed out the window once more, watching as several of the city’s workforce strutted past. Bette wasn’t necessarily the fashion icon for the town. Yes, she blended in with the gang of misfits at The Beauty Box – the women who refused to grown up like Peter Pan’s band of brothers – but Dori saw that most working women had taken their style guides from somewhere else. There were quite a few ‘girl suits,’ navy-blue with bulky shoulder pads, and some women even sported those ridiculous blouses with bows at the neck. She blinked at the trend of nylons and sneakers. She’d forgotten all about that look. None of her friends would ever wear something so blatantly ugly.

On top of her own dress, she had on a thin, crocheted cardigan. Because she was wearing all white, she’d chosen brightly colored shoes, high with scarlet soles. Christian Louboutin. Had he even been making shoes in the 80s? She couldn’t remember. She always dressed to travel, and she was heading for a photo shoot as soon as she landed in New York. But clearly her outfit was unusual for the time. She’d have to rectify that as soon as possible.

But how? Where?

Suddenly, she wanted to be in motion. Sitting made the experience feel too real. The hot coffee. The print of Nighthawks over the counter. The scent of the café. Oh, God, the smell. She’d always loved that dark coffee smell. She stood, and was heading to the door when Gael stopped her.

‘Don’t leave yet.’ She saw in his eyes that he liked her. How strange. Flattering even. ‘What do you do?’

‘I’m a make-up artist.’

‘Have you done anyone I would know?’

Dori hesitated … She’d worked on big names, but mostly young stars who wouldn’t even have been born in 1988, or would still have been in diapers.

‘You know, The Beauty Box is looking for someone. They’re just down the street. Their make-up lady just ran off to get married. Are you looking for work while you’re in town, or is this strictly vacation?’

Dori hesitated for a moment. Was she looking for work? She had no idea. She was hoping that something would slip in her vision and knock her back into reality. But Gael was still talking.

‘What’s your name?’

What was her name?

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