Silently laughing at my secret, I pass the helmet back to Blake. I reach my hand up to feel that I now have long strands of hair sticking straight up from where the helmet pulled them out of my ponytail. I laugh again to myself, but this time it’s more of an admission of defeat. Obviously my hair and I are in some sort of sick power struggle today.
Blake clears his throat – I think in an honest attempt not to laugh in my face – and turns his attention to cutting the engine. I finally roll down my skirt back to its original length, smoothing any wrinkles, when I look up to see Blake staring at me. I start to say something to end this wonderfully awkward moment, when the front door to the office opens and I hear Harlow yelling from the doorway.
“Eight twenty-nine, and with one minute to spare! Good thing for you the appointment wasn’t really until nine o’clock,” she says smiling at me, an ornery grin plastered on her face. She moves her eyes from me to focus on Blake. “Blake Morgan, is that you?” She flashes him her notorious “Harlow smile”. “It’s about time you got here. Took you long enough.” Then, rather ominously, she slowly closes the door to leave me in an even more awkward moment. What the hell did that even mean? I shake my head in an attempt to clear it.
I turn my attention back to Blake. “Thanks again. Evidently, I made it with thirty-one minutes to spare. Sorry, I assumed my partner wouldn’t use the ‘change the time so you’re actually on time’ ploy while I was stranded on the side of the road fearing for my life.”
Blake looks back at the front door of my office. “You’re partners with Harlow Reed. I completely forgot about that,” he snickers sarcastically.
“Um, yeah? Is that a problem?”
“No,” he offers. “I’m just surprised you get anything done that’s all.” He puts his helmet on while still laughing. “See ya Alex.”
He starts his engine and I watch him drive off.
Jerk.
I think of the toothpaste in his helmet, probably grasping the hairs on the top of his head right this very minute. Yeah, well, who’s laughing now? I walk toward my office, ready to conquer the day. I look down at my empty hands. Oops.
I wonder if Harlow’s figured out there will be no coffee or donuts until after our morning appointment?
Walking briskly into Harlow’s office, I shut the door behind me. “What the hell was that out there?” I once again attempt the mommy death stare.
“What the hell is that right there?” she counters quickly, biting back a laugh. She points at my head. “Seriously, Alex, you never cease to amaze me. What are we calling this morning’s hair creation? This has got to be one of the worst hair days you’ve had in the last, um, what? Thirty days?” Seriously, the death stare needs an upgrade…mommy death stare 2.0 maybe.
“Shut your yapper, Harlow. With the morning I’ve already had, you’re treading on very thin ice, so watch yourself,” I say, shoving my pointer finger in her face. “What the hell was that outside with Blake? Took you long enough? That was really creepy…even for you. Like…wooo-wooo, psychic lady from Poltergeist creepy,” I say, waving my hands around mimicking a ghost. “What was that?”
“You don’t need to be worrying about what I’m doing. What you need to be worrying about is that freaking bird’s nest you’ve got going on up there. Complete with bird poop I see.” She reaches up to touch my hair, makes a face, and wipes her fingers on her Ann Taylor pleated trouser pants. “Gross, Alex. Seriously, go fix your hair. We have this interview in ‘T’ minus twenty minutes. Please, go make yourself presentable. This is a big fish and we need the commission.”
Rolling my eyes at her, I reach for the purse that’s always draped across my body and resides permanently on my hip. Well, the purse that usually resides on my hip. What the–
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh. My. God! Harlow…I left my purse in the Suburban…I left everything in the Suburban! Including my laptop.” I start to feel as though I’m hyperventilating. “I don’t think I even locked the door. Oh my God, Harlow…what am I going to do?”
Harlow walks over and places both hands on my shoulders. “Alex, calm down. Breathe. Everything is going to be fine. Look, I have some basic toiletries in the bathroom, you know, for when I have the occasional overnighter.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. My face pinches in disgust and I shake my head, trying to clear the God-awful image. Too much information…
“Everything you need should be under the sink. Go, fix yourself. We’ll do the interview and then we’ll go take care of the truck. No worries. It’ll be fine.” She pivots me toward the bathroom and shoves me with just a little too much oomph.
I turn to argue but I’m given what she has evidently developed as her own Harlow death stare. “GO!”
I sigh loudly so she can note my protest and stomp into the bathroom. I turn on the light and can do nothing but stare at the reflection looking back at me.
Get a grip, Alex.
I pull the hair band from the back of my hair and shake my head until my brown hair falls across my shoulders. Turning on the sink, I wet the top of my head and grab the hand towel from the rack. Scrubbing until I feel my hair is finally toothpaste free, I brush it out, only to place it back in a low, yet professional, pony tail. I use the flat iron to take care of any frizz that was added by Blake’s helmet, making the back of the pony tail as smooth as I can get it.
I can’t believe Harlow keeps a flat iron here. I open the doors to the cabinet under the sink. I take note of the toothbrush, toothpaste, make-up bag, eye-makeup remover, hairspray…all under the counter. Man, she keeps a lot of stuff in here. How many overnighters does this woman have?
As I walk out of the office, I happen to catch a quick glimpse of the nine o’clock appointment in the waiting room. What was his name again? I really should have reviewed his file last night. I lean against the wall and watch Harlow as she strikes up conversation with him. I guess since we have no coffee or donuts, Harlow has opted to use her witty banter and mile long legs to distract this guy after all. And, for the record, I think this guy could ogle her forever. And if I’m not mistaken, Harlow Reed is actually enjoying herself.
I take another look at Mr. Nine O’Clock. Dark spiky hair, nice build, light blue eyes…totally Harlow’s type. They would make a nice couple with his dark hair and blue eye combination and her auburn red spiral curls and light green eyes. I nod my head to myself in approval…not bad at all.
I make my way to my office, since I have about ten minutes until the official interview time. I take a seat at the organized mess I call my desk. Hearing Harlow’s laughter coming from the waiting area, I can’t help but think about her lack of serious relationships. Sometimes I feel I’m holding her back, like she doesn’t want to move on without me. Almost as though she feels guilty allowing herself to be happy because I’ve been so sad.
My Harlow. The one who never left my side the entire time at the hospital. The one who comforted me while I broke down after I had to tell Derek goodbye. The one who held me while I screamed at the top of my lungs when I realized he wasn’t coming back. The one who stood beside me and watched me throw anything I could find in the grieving room out of pure anger, never passing judgment.
My Harlow. The one who gave me the strength to come home and face the girls. The one who slept over every night when I needed her, making sure my children were taken care of when I felt like I couldn’t go on any longer. The one who managed my entire household while I was lost in grief.