Page 10 of Good Days Bad Days
As Mark goes on about Walter Cronkite taking a stand against the war and Nixon’s inauguration, a flash of red catches my eye outside the diner’s fingerprint-smudged window. A red Corvette speeds down East Milwaukee and pulls up to the curb in front of WQRX. I strain to see, my heart racing faster than the car’s engine a second ago.
The car door opens, and a lean, stockinged leg appears like it’s part of a magic trick. Her heels are dark. The dress that quickly follows is navy blue with polka dots and a pristine white collar. Her sunglasses are two dark ovals with bone-white frames, and her little white gloves button at her wrists, her lips the same crimson as her car. Mark’s commentary fades into nothing as I hold my breath, waiting to see which direction she’ll go, hoping it’s toward Ike’s.
“Right?” Mark asks some question about Nixon.
“Uh, sure,” I respond, completely distracted by Betty’s potential destination.
“Sure? You think Nixon should use nukes? I mean, I’m no hippie, but do you really think that’s a good idea?” His voice trails away as he follows my distracted, darting gaze and catches a look at Betty as the front door of WQRX Studios swallows her up.
“Now I see,” he says like a sage reading tea leaves. “She sure does make an impression, doesn’t she?” He takes a swig of beer. I fiddle with the condensation on my bottle, hunching over another six inches out of embarrassment.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about ...”
“Yeah, right, you don’t. Bet you’ve thought about that girl once a day at least since she did that little ‘I lost my keys’ job on you.”
I told Mark the story about finding her keys when I saw him at work the next day, and he laughed his ass off. He asked if she was wearing a ring, and when I said I didn’t know, he said he wished he’d been there to ask for her number since I didn’t think of it.
I’m glad Mark wasn’t around when Betty introduced herself and called me a hero. Most of the time I’m grateful for my gregarious friend. When he’s running his mouth I’m not expected to speak up as often, but with this girl, this beautiful woman with a flashing smile and playful eyes, I’m glad I got her to myself for a few moments. And he’s right—I’ve replayed that interaction more than once a day at least.
“I ... I wonder what she’s doing back in town,” I say, taking quick side glimpses of her car in case she runs out and drives away when I’m not looking.
Before Mark can make his inevitably sardonic response, Lucy brings our dinners. I watch her in the reflection of the window.
“That girl?” she asks as she slides the chipped white ceramic plate in front of me. “Yeah, I heard she’s moving into the apartments in the old Stevens place off Janesville Avenue.”
My head whips around to check Lucy’s expression. Her forehead is smooth, lips straight. I think, to my own shock and awe, she’s telling the truth.
With his mouth half full of pot roast, Mark raps his knuckles on the table and confirms her statement.
“Yes! I forgot to tell you. She’s moving here.”
“What? I mean, why?” I stumble over my questions. She’d said she was going to an interview when I met her last week. I didn’t guess it was for something here in town—in my town.
“I heard she got a job here,” Lucy adds.
“What job?” I ask, clearing my throat and fiddling with my dinner so I don’t look too curious.
Mark responds with one eyebrow up. “WQRX. Well, EBN, but still—basically WQRX.”
My heartbeat whooshes in my ears, and I’m sure my face turns red. I’m mortified knowing it must be obvious to Lucy. But instead of teasing me, she crosses her arms like she’s impressed.
“For real? That’s crazy. So, you two met her here last week and now she’s working at the station? That’s gotta be ... what do they callit when two things happen at the same time that have something to do with one another?”
“Coincidence?” Mark says.
Lucy gives him a playful slap on the arm.
“No. Not that. Like, the two things come together to make something good happen.”
“I don’t know, fate?” Mark adds, more seriously this time, focused on Lucy’s profile as she continues to run through a mental list of words in her mind.
“Serendipity?” I suggest as I catch a glimpse of Betty as she runs out of WQRX and gets into her car. In a handful of seconds, she’s halfway down the road, leaving only a poof of exhaust behind.
Serendipity.I recall the term from my English composition class in my junior year of high school. I like the idea of the word more than I believe in the reality of it. Serendipity is a combination of events that happen at the same time to create a good or wonderful outcome. There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of that kind of magic in the world anymore, but wouldn’t it be nice if that’s precisely what our meeting was—serendipity.
“I don’t know what that is,” Lucy adds, her nose wrinkling as she puts the pencil in her mouth to think. “Um, destiny?”
“Destiny?” Mark rolls his eyes this time, breaking out of his infatuation. “What, is she going to save the world or something?”
