Page 73 of Suddenly Dating
“Come in,” Harry said, and stepped aside so that Lola could step into luxury.
She didn’t know what she’d expected, exactly, but she couldn’t have imagined this. Obviously, she knew his parents wouldn’t be living in a shack on the Upper East Side—but this was opulence. She was walking into an apartment that could be showcased on any realty show. The entry was marble tile, with crown molding and a crystal chandelier overhead, and striped wallpaper above wainscoting. Lola followed Harry into a living room that was huge by New York standards, trying not to gape at the bank of windows that overlooked the carefully landscaped rooftop terraces. Her feet, encased in some old Converse Chuck Taylor high-tops, sank into thick pile carpet. “This is spectacular,” she said, her voice full of awe.
“Yeah, I guess,” Harry said.
Lola was so entranced by the apartment that she didn’t notice the man who had appeared, drink in hand, until Harry said, “Dad, this is my friend, Lola Dunne.”
Harry’s father was tall and broad-shouldered like his son. He had full head of salt-and-pepper hair and was wearing tan slacks and a pink collared shirt. He was barefoot. “Hello,” she said.
“Lola Dunne!” he said bombastically, extending his hand. “That’s a very dramatic name, miss. It would look good on a Broadway marquee. Would you like a drink?”
“Sure she would,” Harry said before Lola could decline. He winked at her. “She’s just discovered a liking for martinis.”
“Martini! A civilized, imperative drink for all of mankind. Allow me to mix one, Lola. I’ll join you.”
What was he going to do with the drink he was holding? “Ah... thank you,” she said, and watched with surprise as he downed the drink in his hand and wandered to the bar.
“My mother has gone to bed,” Harry said as his father stepped behind the bar. “It’s just me, Dad, and Dosia. She’s here somewhere.”
“Your sister?” she asked, confused.
“Dosia is the family maid. Or, as Dad puts it, the person who sails this ship.”
“Ah,Dosia,” Mr.Westbrook said, as if about to launch into song. “She’s been with us since Harry was learning to walk. She’s retired for the night, probably in her room watching those god-awful soap operas her family sends her.”
“Who are you talking to?”
That question, posed by a woman, was followed by the sound of the front door slamming shut.
“Your brother’s friend!” Mr.Westbrook shouted back. “Her name is Lola Dunne, star of stage and screen.”
“What?” A pixie of a woman appeared. She had a full head of dark curls, and was dressed stylishly in jeans that rode low on her hips and a boxy sweater over a button-down shirt. She came to a halt at the entrance to the living area and stared at Lola. “Jesus, Harry, you didn’t say you were seeing someone new!” she exclaimed, and marched forward, headed for Lola. “I’m Hazel,” she said. “Lola, right? So you and Harry, huh?”
“No, it’s not like that,” Lola hastened to assure her. She could just imagine what his family must think of her in old, faded jeans, a T-shirt and denim jacket, and her hair held back with a bandana she’d rolled up and tied around her head like a hair band.
“It’s not?” Hazel asked, peering at Harry with shrewd brown eyes.
“Wow, is that how you greet my friends these days, Hazel?” Harry asked. “Nice.”
Hazel responded with a bear hug for her brother. “Sorry. But I was going to be really mad at you if you had a new girlfriend and I didn’t know about it.”
“I didn’t get a new girlfriend,” Harry said.
Heat prickled at Lola’s nape. He sounded as if he was going to get a new girlfriend, it definitely would not be Lola.
“Listen up, people,” Harry said. “I gave Lola a ride today, and I’m going to give her one home. No need to interrogate her or me, okay?”
“Okay!” Hazel said, and saluted. She whirled around, practically skipped to her father’s side, and kissed him on the cheek. “Hi, Dad. I’ll take one of those. Where’s Mom?”
“Oh you know your mom,” Mr.Westbrook said as he studied the many liquor bottles on the bar. “She’s in bed.”
That seemed a little odd to Lola, seeing as how it was only half past six. It occurred to her that Harry’s mom might be sick. She didn’t know anything about his family. She didn’t know anything abouthim.
“Lola, would you like to sit?” Harry asked.
No, she would not. The pink-and-white couches looked like they were upholstered in very expensive silk, and she’d been on a commuter train. Who knew what biohazard might be lurking on her jeans.
But Harry flopped onto one of the couches and gestured for her to do the same. She sat gingerly beside him.
