Playmates, adversaries, same difference.
“Okay,” Peggy said with an exaggerated shrug, “If you say so. But I still gotta tell ya, Chaz, from where I was standing, the two of you looked like anything but mere friends.”
As if realizing he was uncomfortable, she changed the subject and led him up to the third-floor apartment. Chaz spent a few hours with Peggy and Marcia, helping them set up the new laptop and hook it to their wireless network. He’d never be called a computer genius, but it wasn’t too complicated.
Though he didn’t, by any means, expect anything for his labors, he ended up accepting their invitation to a cookout the following afternoon. He told himself it had nothing to do with Lulu’s presence and wanting to even the score with her. He’d simply been out of the country for a while and looked forward to a last outdoor gathering before the doldrums of winter set in. And he’d probably need to relax and have a few beers with friends after what he expected would be a difficult breakfast with his kid sister.
Besides, spending time with everyone who lived in the building would give him a chance to ask Marcia and the couple from the first floor if they knew a sexy, mysterious redhead. That should hammer home to everyone—including him—the fact that he didn’t care at all about Lulu.
The next day turned out better than he’d expected, since a much more cheerful Sarah had blown off breakfast in favor of a day with friends. So he had plenty of time to unpack and do laundry, and go shopping for this afternoon’s gathering.
He arrived a few minutes after four. Peggy had said they were cooking out early to take advantage of the daylight in the rapidly shortening fall day. He headed around to the back of the building, following the sound of voices and laughter. Marcia and Peggy were there, sitting at a picnic table across from a good-looking African-American man. The middle-aged couple who lived on the bottom floor—Florence and Herman? Sherman? something like that—were at the grill, him cooking on it, her telling him how to do it better. They both looked up at him and smiled in greeting.
Lulu sat away from the group, on a garden swing that hung from a tall, leaf-bare tree, pushing off with the tips of her toes to set the thing in motion. Her eyes rounded in surprise when she saw him. “Chaz?”
“Hi, everyone,” he said, setting a bottle of wine and a twelve-pack of beer on the table.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, getting up and approaching him, sounding confused, though not exactly unwelcoming.
“Peggy and Marcia invited me.”
“Surprise!” said Peggy. “Chaz told me you two were pals from the olden days, and he did us a solid helping us set up our wireless network.”
Marcia piped in. “Plus, well, the more the merrier. We wanted to share some news with our friends and neighbors and figured we’d make this a little celebration.”
The two women glanced at each other and then Peggy went around to stand behind Marcia, dropping her hands onto her shoulders.
“What’s the news?” asked Lulu.
“First, we should introduce Frankie.”
The good-looking stranger who’d been sitting at the table smiled and waved as Peggy ran down everyone’s names. “Nice meeting y’all.”
“Frankie works with Marcia,” Peggy explained. “He recently helped us out with a very special project.”
“More special than your internet?” Chaz asked with an eyebrow wag.
Peggy’s laughter nearly deafened him. “Oh, yeah. You see...we’re going to have a baby.”
Lulu squealed, as did Florence. Sherman threw his arms up and shouted congratulations in a language that sounded like Italian. Frankie looked proud, and Peggy and Marcia utterly ecstatic.
“Congratulations,” Chaz said, smiling at both women. “I can’t imagine a kid having better parents.”
Lulu rushed around the table and hugged them both, then said, “Okay, now tell me, which one of you doesn’t get to drink the wine or beer?”
The two women eyed each other mischievously, then both pointed to Marcia’s belly. “Seven months without wine, coffee or junk food. I don’t know how I’m going to make it.”
“I’m going without, too, in solidarity,” said Peggy. “Uh, except for the junk food. There’s only so much a Nacho Cheese Doritos addict can do to support the woman she loves.”
The dinner then segued from a casual neighborhood thing to a celebration. Through it, Chaz watched Lulu, glad to see how totally cool she was with the whole situation. They’d both been raised in a pretty small, conservative town. His own horizons had expanded exponentially after he’d left, and it appeared Lulu’s had, too. She was completely gracious and genuinely happy for her new friends.
They all talked and joked through dinner, each offering suggestions for names, one more outrageous than the last. Then, after the steaks were finished and they’d moved on to s’mores for dessert, made over the still smoking grill, Marcia asked, “So, Lulu, what was our Chaz like as a boy?”
Lulu had just sipped a mouthful of wine, and she swallowed quickly, swinging her gaze toward him. He gave a not-so-subtle warning shake of his head.
“Remember, I’m a writer. Any story you can tell, I can tell better,” he threatened.
She laughed softly, her brown eyes sparkling in the low light cast from the grill and from a small, warming blaze burning in the fire pit. Her lips were stained red from the wine she’d been drinking, and her hair had blown loose of its ponytail, several strands whipping across her face.
Damn, she was beautiful. If she were anyone else— absolutely anyone—she might even be tempting enough to console him over the apparent loss of his mystery woman.
“Well, Chaz was...”
“A loser,” he interjected.
She glared at him. “A sweetheart. The nicest boy in town.”
He made a rude noise and rolled his eyes. “I don’t remember you thinking that when you called me a doody-head because I wouldn’t let you ride my new bike on Christmas morning.”
“I was five,” she said. “And I was the doody-head for assuming you should give up your brand-new bike to the brat next door.”
“She’s right,” said Peggy, obviously amused.
“I might not have told you,” Lulu admitted, “but I certainly thought you were the nicest kid I knew.” She qualified her answer, offering the group a sheepish smile. “At least...some of the time. Other times, I thought he was a butthead.”
He raised his glass. “Here’s to the first honest thing you’ve said.”
She raised hers, as well, laughter dancing in her eyes.
After sipping, he jumped in, not wanting her to get the upper hand. “As for Lulu, she was a holy terror.”
“No,” Marcia protested.
