Heavens to Betsy by Beth Pattillo Read Free Book Online

did. It did.” I always repeat myself when I’m telling a lie, an unfortunate verbal tic. “And you don’t have to drag James into this.”
    “He owes me. Besides, I think you two will enjoy each other.”
    “You’re sure?”
    Instead of answering, she gives me a quick hug. “I love you, Betz.”
    I hug her back. “I love you, too, Ronnie. Thanks for trying.”
    We wave to each other as we get into our cars, and I’m thankful to have a well-intentioned, if a bit misguided, friend who cares.
     

    So it’s Saturday night, Valentine’s Day, quarter till seven, and I’m stuffing myself into the leather pants. I briefly consider wearing my Doc Martens for comfort but decide that clunky man-shoes will draw LaRonda’s ire if she finds out about them. I work the zipper of the pants up, allow myself to breathe out, and go in search of a pair of black stilettos I once wore to a costume party. Naturally, they’re at the back of my closet. I wriggle my way past the solid wall of bland clothing hanging from the rod, pawing my way through the closet equivalent of leftovers at the back. I can’t breathe when I bend over in the leather pants. By the time I fish out the stilettos, my ears are ringing from lack of oxygen.
    No, that’s not my ears ringing; it’s the doorbell. My date is early. I sneak a quick peek in the mirror, fluff my new hairdo, slip on the stilettos, and teeter to the front door.
    My apartment is on the ground floor of a 1920s bungalow in a half-seedy, half-trendy neighborhood near Vanderbilt University. The old hardwood floors slope a good bit, so I decide to blame my unsteadiness on the tilt of the floor and not on my lack of skill with high heels. I reach the door, flip on the porch light, and pause with my hand on the knob. Even though I’ve met James a couple of times before, I’m nervous. I turn the knob and open the door.
    There, blinking in the bug-zapping yellow glow of my porch light, is David.
    “Whoa, Blessing. Check you out.” He’s laughing.
    “What do you want?” He’s always dropping by to use my DSL to surf the Internet because he’s too cheap to upgrade from dial-up.Maybe he forgot I told him I was busy tonight. Yeah, right. And maybe Mrs. Tompkins is my guardian angel in disguise.
    “Oh yeah. You have a date. I forgot about that.” Did he really? He looks über-cool, not at all concerned about my plans for the evening, but how weird is it that he would turn up like this?
    “He’ll be here in a minute. Did you want something?”
    I step back into the living room, and David follows me. He looks at his watch. “Are you running late?” He gives me the once over as impersonally as if he were selecting a pork chop at the grocery store. “You look ready to me.”
    A flush creeps up my neck and spreads across my cheeks, but it’s not embarrassment. I feel hot from head to toe, but not in a sexy way. In a volcanic way.
    “That’s all you have to say? I look ready?” My voice skips up a good third of an octave.
    David swallows, the universal signal from a male of the species when he realizes he’s messed up. “So, you’re not ready?” he asks cautiously. “You look fine to me.”
    “Fine? I look fine?” I am standing here in heels that a streetwalker would envy. I’m wearing leather pants, a see-through shirt, fashionably cropped and tousled hair, and discreet but helpful makeup. And the man whose casual touch has sent me into this torment says I look fine? Not fine as in “Hey, babe, you’re so hot,” but fine as in “Well, you’re no Gwyneth Paltrow, but you’ll do.”
    “Well, to be perfectly honest, you look weird.” David has apparently decided to go for broke in the compliment department.
    “Weird?”
    “Yeah. Not like you. You’re all … sexy and stuff.”
    From his tone of voice, I perceive this is not a good thing. Whydo I not just take out my ego and spread it on the floor so he can more conveniently stomp on it?
    I toss my hair back, which I can