Simply Irresistible

Lexie was mad for cosmetics. She loved them and thought the more the better. The neighbors stared when she rode her bicycle down the sidewalk, especially if she wore the lime green boa Mae had given her. Taking her to a grocery store or to the mall was embarrassing, but it was only on the weekends. And it was easier to live with the deal they’d made than the daily battles that used to ensue every morning when it was time for Lexie to get dressed.

The threat of no more makeup got Lexie’s attention. “I promise, Mommy.”

“Okay, but only because I’m a sucker for your face,” Georgeanne said, then she kissed her on the forehead.

“I’m a sucker for your face, too,” Lexie repeated back.

Georgeanne rose from the couch. “I’ll be in my bedroom if you need me.” Lexie nodded and turned her attention to the barking dalmatians on the television screen.

Georgeanne walked down the hallway, past a small bathroom, then into her bedroom. She shrugged out of her tuxedo jacket and tossed it on a pink and white striped chaise.

John didn’t know about Lexie. He couldn’t. Georgeanne had overreacted, and he’d probably thought she was a lunatic, but seeing him again had been such a shock. She’d always been careful to avoid John. She didn’t move in the same social circle, and she never attended a Chinooks game, which was no hardship because she found hockey appallingly violent. For fear of running into him, Heron’s never catered athletic functions, which didn’t bother Mae since she hated jocks. Never in a million years had she thought she might run into him at a hospital charity.

Georgeanne sank down on the floral chintz comforter covering her bed. She didn’t like to think about John, but forgetting about him completely was impossible. Occasionally she would walk through a grocery store and see his handsome face staring at her from the cover of a sports magazine. Seattle was crazy about the Chinooks and John “The Wall” Kowalsky. During the hockey season he could be seen on the nightly news slamming other men against the boards. She saw him on local television commercials, and she’d seen his face on a billboard advertising milk, of all things. Sometimes the smell of a certain cologne, or the sound of crashing waves, would remind her of lying on a sandy beach and staring up into deep blue eyes. The memory no longer hurt as it had once. It wasn’t a sharp ache to the heart. Still, she always pushed away the images of that time and of that man. She didn’t like to dwell on them.

She’d always thought Seattle was big enough for the both of them. She’d thought that if she made every effort to avoid him, she’d never have to actually see him in person. But even though she didn’t think it would ever happen, there was a part of her that had always wondered what he would say if he saw her again. Of course, she’d known what she would say. She’d always pictured herself acting indifferent. Then she’d say, as cool as a December morning, “John? John who? I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. It’s nothing personal.”

That hadn’t happened. She’d heard someone call out the name she hadn’t used in seven years, the name she no longer associated with the woman she was now, and she’d turned to look at the man who’d used it. For several heartbeats her brain hadn’t registered what her eyes had seen. Then complete shock had taken over. The fight-or- flight instinct had kicked in and she’d run.

But not before she’d looked into his blue eyes and accidentally touched his hand. She’d felt the warm texture of his palm beneath her fingers, seen the curious smile on his lips, and recalled the touch of his mouth pressed to hers. He looked so much like she remembered, and yet he seemed bigger and age had etched fine lines at the corners of his eyes. He was still extremely nice to look at, and for a few brief seconds, she’d forgotten that she hated him.

Georgeanne rose and moved to stand in front of the cheval mirror across the room. Her hand lifted to the front of her tuxedo shirt and she unbuttoned it. Because of Lexie’s dark hair and coloring, people often commented that she resembled Georgeanne, but Lexie looked just like her father. She had the same blue eyes and long, thick lashes. Her nose was the same shape as his, and when she smiled, a dimple creased her cheek. Just like John.

Pulling her shirt from the waistband of her pants, she unbuttoned her cuffs. Lexie was the most important thing in Georgeanne’s life. She was her heart, and the thought of losing her was unbearable. Georgeanne was scared. More afraid than she’d been in a long time. Now that John knew she lived in Seattle, he could find Lexie. All he had to do was ask someone at the Harrison Foundation, and he could find Georgeanne.

But why would John want to seek me out? she asked herself. He’d dumped her at the airport seven years ago, making his feelings painfully obvious. And even if he did find out about his daughter, he probably wouldn’t want anything to do with her. He was a big hockey player. What would he want with one little girl?

She was just being paranoid.

The next morning Lexie finished her cereal and put the bowl in the sink. From the back of the house she could hear her mom turn on the faucet, and she knew she had a long wait before they left for the mall. Her mom loved to take long showers.

The doorbell rang and she walked into the living room, dragging her boa behind her. She moved to the big front window and pushed the lace curtain aside. A man in jeans and a striped shirt stood on the porch. Lexie stared at him a moment, then let the curtain fall back in place. She wrapped her boa around her neck and walked across the room to the front entrance. She wasn’t supposed to open the door for strangers, but even though the man standing on the porch had on black sunglasses, he wasn’t a stranger. She knew who he was. She’d seen him on the TV, and last year Mr. Wall and his friends had come to her school to sign their names on some of the kids’ shirts and notebooks and stuff. Lexie had been way at the back of the gym and hadn’t gotten anybody’s name on anything.

He’d probably come to sign some of her stuff now, she thought as she opened the door. Then she looked up- way up.

John removed his sunglasses and stuffed them in the pocket of his polo shirt. The door opened and he looked down-way down. Almost as shocking as finding a child in Georgeanne’s house was the little girl staring up at him wearing pink snakeskin cowboy boots, a little pink skirt, a purple polka-dot T-shirt, and a wild green boa around her neck. But her electric clothing was nothing compared to her face. “Ahh… hi,” he said, taken back by the powder blue eye shadow, bright pink cheeks, and shiny red lips. “I’m looking for Georgeanne Howard.”

“My mom’s in the shower, but you can come in.” She turned and walked into the living room. A scraggly ponytail high on the back of her head swayed with each step of her boots.

“Are you sure?” John didn’t know very much about children, and absolutely nothing about little girls, but he did know that they weren’t supposed to invite strangers into the house. “Georgeanne might not like it when she finds out you let me in,” he said, but then, he figured she probably wouldn’t like finding him in her house whether she was in the shower or not.

The little girl glanced over her shoulder. “She won’t mind. I’ll go get my stuff,” she said, and disappeared around a corner, presumably to get her stuff. Whatever that meant.

John slipped Georgeanne’s checkbook into his back pocket and stepped inside the house. The checkbook was an excuse. His curiosity had brought him here. After Georgeanne had left the banquet last night, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. He closed the door behind him and walked into the living room, immediately feeling out of his element, like the time he’d bought underwear for an old girlfriend at Victoria’s Secret.

The house was filled with the pastel colors and fussy decorations feared by even the most confident heterosexual man. Her flowery couch had lace pillows that matched the curtains. There were vases of daisies and roses and baskets of dried flowers. Some of the photographs sitting around had angels on the silver frames. He kind of liked that and wondered if he should worry about himself.

“I’ve got some good stuff,” the little girl said as she pushed a miniature shopping cart made of orange plastic into the living room. She sat on the couch, then patted the cushion next to her.

Feeling even more out of place, he sat next to Georgeanne’s little girl. He looked into her face and tried to determine how old she was, but he wasn’t any good at guessing a kid’s age. Her makeup job didn’t help any.

“Here,” she said, plucking a T-shirt with a dalmatian on the front from her basket and handing it to him.

“What’s this for?”

“You have to sign it.”

“I do?” he asked, feeling huge next to the little girl.

She nodded and gave him a green marker.

John really didn’t want to sign the kid’s shirt. “Your mom might get mad.”