Page 13 of Melt With You

‘Are you feeling okay, Miss?’ A man was holding her hands in his, shaking her very gently. ‘Miss, please, are you okay?’

The concrete felt cold under her body, chilling her through her short white dress in a way that made the ground seem very real. She gazed up and saw the owner of the Creamery where she regularly bought java in the afternoons. He’d run out of his store to help her, lifting her up now in his strong arms, bringing her into his café with him and settling her into one of the luxurious red leather booths. He left her alone, rushing back outside to grab her suitcase, which he brought in and placed at her side, a worried expression in his espresso-brown eyes.

Dori saw the pack of kids on their Vespas rev their engines and head off down the street. The night before, the place had been an upscale bar, martinis in every flavor imaginable, modern art on the walls that Violet had scoffed at. The only thing the same both then and now was the shiny black-and-white checkered floors.

‘What happened?’ she asked, hearing how weak her voice sounded. Clearing her throat, she tried again. ‘I mean –’ But what did she mean? She had no idea where to start, or how to phrase the questions ricocheting in her brain. ‘What happened?’

The man looked concerned. ‘You fainted, that’s what I think. I saw you stumble, and then fall. Did you hit your head hard?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ he asked, and she gazed at his hand and said, ‘Three.’

He nodded, smiling encouragingly. ‘What day is it?’

That was more difficult. She tried to remember. The first night of the reunion had been Friday. Last night was Saturday. Today was Sunday. Wasn’t it? ‘I … I’m not sure. It’s the first, isn’t it?’ At this, and he nodded again. But was it July 1st, 2008. Or …

She didn’t want to say too much. If this was a dream, she would just let the visions play out. If it was real, then … Jesus, this couldn’t be real. She couldn’t have … There was no way …

‘Have you had anything to eat yet today? Would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee?’

‘Coffee,’ she said gratefully, and watched as he went to pour her a cup. Her head still throbbed from the hangover. How strong had the drinks been the night before? It was her own fault, for thinking she could still drink as much as she had back in college. She stared out through the windows, looking at the cars. The scene was so familiar, and yet …

She bit her lip. Her boss from the beauty salon was heading into the cafe. Bette Ryan. Jesus. Dori felt her insides quiver. She hadn’t seen Bette in twenty years, yet there she was, all rock ’n’ roll goddess, spiky blonde hair tipped in dragon-lady red, shimmering gold eye-shadow all the way up to her perfectly arched chestnut-hued brows, Madonna-inspired black rubber bangles from wrist to elbow. Bette, tough fucking chick, ordering three coffees to go.

Three. One for herself, one for Nina, one for Mica.

Bette didn’t look her way, and Dori continued to stare, taking in the sleek black stretchy skirt as shiny as satin that molded to the fierce body of her former boss. That haughty ass, the slim, feline legs. The woman had on a striped fuchsia and black tie worn as a belt and an off-the-shoulder black top over a hot-pink tank, and she was wearing a pair of perfectly ripped pink-and-black striped stockings. While Dori drank in Bette’s attire, Bette bantered with the owner, her low growl of a voice as sexy as ever. Bette always spoke as if she’d just smoked a pack of Marlboro.

As Bette flirted, Dori flashed back on a memory of a discussion with her boss. Or rather one she’d overheard.

‘I’d let him bend me over the counter any day,’ Bette had admitted about Gael after returning with a cup of coffee.

‘What about Will?’ Nina had asked.

‘Will can watch,’ Bette replied, and Dori had blushed when her boss had looked her way. Nearly everything she knew about sex, she’d learned in that store.

Now, Bette gathered up her tray of coffees and left the café with a hip shake as a goodbye. Dori continued to sit there, numb, watching out the window until Gael came forward with a cup of coffee for her in one of those classic ceramic mugs with the thick rims. She sipped, trying to figure out what was going on.

‘You sit here and take a moment,’ Gael told her. ‘All right?’

She nodded, then watched as Gael picked up a newspaper from the rack outside the store and settled himself at the counter to read.

Should she? Could she? Did she dare?

She finished her cup and walked to the register to pay. He gave her a grin. God, he was sexy. Hadn’t Bette always said that? The silver in his thick dark hair. Those eyes. Liquid-brown, knowing. As a teenager, when she’d looked at him, she’d only seen an older man. Now she looked and saw, wow, George Clooney gorgeous.

‘On the house,’ he said, waving away her attempt to pay.

‘Thanks.’ She took a breath and looked down at the paper he was reading. Above the headline was the date.

Ah, fuck. July 1st, 1988.

Chapter Six

How had this happened?

Dori couldn’t understand. In the back of her mind, she continued to hope that she was dreaming, the way she had done for the first few weeks after she and Bryce had broken up. Those two hellish weeks when she’d canceled appointments, refused to see her friends, refused to answer the phone. She’d been unable to get dressed in anything but an old Police T-shirt from a concert she’d been to at Berkeley, and a pair of striped cotton boxer shorts Bryce had left behind. Unable to eat anything except the occasional bar of Hershey’s milk chocolate with almonds. The whole time hoping, really hoping, that she’d wake up and the wedding would still be on, but knowing somehow, in the back of her mind, that she was awake.

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