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Authors: Tracy South
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“But we have to. I’m not going up there and facing Miranda and all her friends and family, just so they can all whisper about me when I leave the room. Isn’t it a shame about Claire? Once again deluding herself into thinking she’s getting married, when this jerk is too cheap to buy her a ring.”
“I resent that,” Alec told her. “Tell them I bought you one so big that you’re afraid to actually wear it. Or tell them I bought you one but it’s being sized.”
Claire slouched in her seat. “Don’t you think everyone will see through those lies?”
“Not if they don’t see through the rest of the ones we’re telling.”
“That’s my point,” she said vehemently, so vehemently, in fact, that Alec swerved a little on the road before Claire grabbed the wheel. He pushed her hand away, the sudden contact leaving her even more rattled than she was before. She continued, trying to stay calm. “I think that the ring is the prop on which this whole charade is going to hinge.”
Without warning, Alec pulled the car into a fast-food drive-thru restaurant and parked. “If this discussion is going to get any livelier, I’d like to be off the road for it. Claire, when a couple tells me they’re engaged, I believe them. I don’t question their relationship, and I don’t start calculating in my head how much that rock set him back.”
This had gone all wrong. She’d never meant to get so hysterical and materialistic. Over what? Over not getting a diamond from someone who probably wouldn’t spare the fifty cents it would take to get a toy ring from a Cracker Jack box? She said quietly, “I think you look at everything with a cynical eye, and so do a lot more people than you expect. I think that if I were Miranda, and my old friend Claire showed up with someone that she was trying to pass off as a fiancé, but this Claire didn’t have a ring, and the fiancé just happened to be a newspaper reporter—editor, I mean—I think I’d either put two and two together or pay someone to do it for me.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, then Alec started the car. “I’m convinced,” he said. His tone had lost its belligerence. “Since we’re only a few miles out of town, we’ll turn back and hit a pawnshop. Do you want to split the cost of it?”
Claire hesitated before speaking. “Actually, I know a way we could get a ring without either of us spending money.” Cheered some, now that he seemed to be paying attention to her ideas, Claire began to outline her plan for Alec. “But first,” she said, “let’s swing through that drive-thru and get something to eat. All this arguing has left me starved.”
D ID HE DOUBT himself? Hank answered his own question. No, he did not doubt himself. It wasn’t even noon yet, and he had already polished off all of his work. Even though no one else was in the office, force of habit made him download his articles onto a disk and shove it in his drawer. Everyone else uploaded their work straight into the paper’s net server, where articles written by one writer were open to perusal by all. This meant that Alec, when feeling nitpicky, or Lissa, being bored, or Mick, trying to be helpful, would invariably scratch and poke at everyone else’s stories until press time. He knew Claire did the samething he did, handing Alec only hard copy and hiding the electronic copy somewhere untouchable until press time.
His own work behind him, Hank moved on to Lissa’s rough draft, wondering where she was the day her journalism professor covered the difference between “draft” and “notes.” A draft implied that sentences had been put together, paragraphs at least vaguely sketched out. This, instead, was a list of names, guests at the reception he supposed, with cryptic comments like “sixties sheath” and “chiffon ruffle thing” written out to the side.
“Where the hell is everybody?”
Hank looked at his watch. It was only eleven, a record for Mick. “Claire
“I resent that,” Alec told her. “Tell them I bought you one so big that you’re afraid to actually wear it. Or tell them I bought you one but it’s being sized.”
Claire slouched in her seat. “Don’t you think everyone will see through those lies?”
“Not if they don’t see through the rest of the ones we’re telling.”
“That’s my point,” she said vehemently, so vehemently, in fact, that Alec swerved a little on the road before Claire grabbed the wheel. He pushed her hand away, the sudden contact leaving her even more rattled than she was before. She continued, trying to stay calm. “I think that the ring is the prop on which this whole charade is going to hinge.”
Without warning, Alec pulled the car into a fast-food drive-thru restaurant and parked. “If this discussion is going to get any livelier, I’d like to be off the road for it. Claire, when a couple tells me they’re engaged, I believe them. I don’t question their relationship, and I don’t start calculating in my head how much that rock set him back.”
This had gone all wrong. She’d never meant to get so hysterical and materialistic. Over what? Over not getting a diamond from someone who probably wouldn’t spare the fifty cents it would take to get a toy ring from a Cracker Jack box? She said quietly, “I think you look at everything with a cynical eye, and so do a lot more people than you expect. I think that if I were Miranda, and my old friend Claire showed up with someone that she was trying to pass off as a fiancé, but this Claire didn’t have a ring, and the fiancé just happened to be a newspaper reporter—editor, I mean—I think I’d either put two and two together or pay someone to do it for me.”
They sat in silence for a few moments, then Alec started the car. “I’m convinced,” he said. His tone had lost its belligerence. “Since we’re only a few miles out of town, we’ll turn back and hit a pawnshop. Do you want to split the cost of it?”
Claire hesitated before speaking. “Actually, I know a way we could get a ring without either of us spending money.” Cheered some, now that he seemed to be paying attention to her ideas, Claire began to outline her plan for Alec. “But first,” she said, “let’s swing through that drive-thru and get something to eat. All this arguing has left me starved.”
D ID HE DOUBT himself? Hank answered his own question. No, he did not doubt himself. It wasn’t even noon yet, and he had already polished off all of his work. Even though no one else was in the office, force of habit made him download his articles onto a disk and shove it in his drawer. Everyone else uploaded their work straight into the paper’s net server, where articles written by one writer were open to perusal by all. This meant that Alec, when feeling nitpicky, or Lissa, being bored, or Mick, trying to be helpful, would invariably scratch and poke at everyone else’s stories until press time. He knew Claire did the samething he did, handing Alec only hard copy and hiding the electronic copy somewhere untouchable until press time.
His own work behind him, Hank moved on to Lissa’s rough draft, wondering where she was the day her journalism professor covered the difference between “draft” and “notes.” A draft implied that sentences had been put together, paragraphs at least vaguely sketched out. This, instead, was a list of names, guests at the reception he supposed, with cryptic comments like “sixties sheath” and “chiffon ruffle thing” written out to the side.
“Where the hell is everybody?”
Hank looked at his watch. It was only eleven, a record for Mick. “Claire
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