Page 92 of Suddenly Dating
“Sorry,” Lola muttered.
“For God’s sake, stop saying you’re sorry,” Birta snapped. “You have nothing to be sorry for, do you? It’s such a weak, girlish thing to always apologize. I can’t abide it.”
Lola gaped at her, surprised by the admonishment. “Then I’m sorry for being sorry too much.”
Birta glared at her.
The woman had no sense of humor. How could one become a famous author with no sense of humor?
Birta turned away from Lola and locked her hands behind her head.
“Is everything okay?” Lola asked, frowning now.
“What?” Birta dropped her hands and looked blankly at Lola. “Fine. Everything is fine. My last book hasn’t performed as well as the publisher hoped, that’s all. Naturally, they blame me for trying something new.”
“Ah.” Lola hadn’t enjoyed Birta’s latest book as much as she had her previous work. It didn’t have the same emotional complexity that Lola admired about her writing.
Birta waved it off with her heavily jeweled fingers. “But I am a writer. An artist! I must explore new landscapes or I willdie. I can’t spoon-feed the masses with genre-driven tropes,” she said with disgust.
Personally, Lola would feed the masses whatever they wanted if they would only read her books.
“Never mind this. Cyrus and I mean to discuss it when he arrives this weekend.”
Lola stopped what she was doing. “Your agent is coming here? I thought you said he would only go to the Hamptons.”
Birta clucked her tongue at that. “I say many things,” she said dismissively, as if it were Lola’s fault for having believed her. “He is coming here.”
“You should bring him to the barbecue at the Cantrells’,” Lola suggested.
“Perhaps I will. And your beau?” she asked, glancing slyly at Lola. “He will, in fact, attend this barbecue?”
Lola didn’t have a beau, a fact that made her belly do a funny little flip. “Yes, he’ll be there.”
“Hmm,” Birta said. “Perhaps I will have Cyrus accompany me. Now, I must go and write. “And please,” she said, as she swanned out of the dining room where Lola was working, “I must once again remind you to have a care how you close the door. I was quite startled by the slam of it yesterday.”
Lola had not slammed the door shut yesterday; she had carefully drawn it closed. “Sorry,” she said, and smiled inwardly as Birta glowered at her apology.
She left soon after that, headed for Mallory’s candy shop. Her new morning routine was to ride her bike into East Beach and meet Mallory for coffee. From there, Lola borrowed Mallory’s car and headed to Birta’s. After two hours there, she would return to East Beach and tackle Mallory’s accounts.
The beauty of it was that Mallory’s accounts were in such a mess that Lola could hardly think about anything else. She didn’t have to think about Harry, or the things he’d said to her. She didn’t have to think about how she was doing him a favor by letting him go. She didn’t have to think about how her heart ached every time she saw him. She could only think about numbers.
Speaking of numbers, it was almost as if Mallory had worked at making them a mess. When Lola tried to explain to Mallory what was wrong, Mallory would throw up her hands two seconds in and say, “I can’t deal with this. I’m dyslexic!”
It was clear to Lola that Mallory relied on that disability to excuse her from learning.
Nevertheless, Mallory was great in the store. She’d created a wonderful little shop, including a play area for children complete with games and books and a crafting table. The candy bins were built so that they lit up when the lids were opened. Children loved it, and Mallory loved children. Lola hoped she’d be able to convince Mallory to hire an office manager when she’d finished setting up the software system Mallory’s father had purchased for her, because this store was perfect for Mallory. But she couldn’t continue on like she had.
Lola was working on Mallory’s books when Casey called. “You should be in the city today,” she chirped when Lola answered. “The weather isgorg. I’m at Bryant Park for lunch and honestly, I am thinking of ditching the afternoon and staying right here. Maybe read a book. What are you doing?”
“Helping a friend,” Lola said.
“With what?”
“Accounting! How bad is it when I am better at accounting than the friend?” Lola said, and explained to Casey what had happened with Birta and Mallory, and how she had come to be helping them both.
“For free,” Casey said disapprovingly.
“No one is paying me money if that’s what you mean,” Lola said primly. “But it’s all great experience.”
