Kiki arrived at the bookstore in fifteen minutes, beating her former record by a full three. She’d gotten green lights the entire way there, and that never happened. Must be my lucky day, she thought, as she switched the engine off, smiling at her good fortune. She looked at the clock on her dashboard and realized she had at least ninety minutes before she had to leave for the hospital. She wasn’t relishing that trip one bit, but it had to be done. At least there would be some time to get lost in a book for a while, first.
Kiki got out of the car and pulled her skirt down to cover her exposed underwear once again, mindless of the stares sent her way by every single person close enough to see her.
Everything about Kiki screamed ‘look at me’ – from her car, to her clothes, to her natural, stunning beauty. She didn’t do it on purpose; it’s just who she was. She used to cover up her inner-Kiki when she was younger and going to college, but once she reached thirty, there didn’t seem to be any point. It didn’t help make friends anyway, so what did it matter?
Kiki walked with long strides toward the bookstore with plans to head straight for the romance novel section, her high heels not slowing her down one bit. She was just about to grab the large brass handle of the front door to pull it open, when a flier taped to the front of it caught her attention.
WOMEN’S ROMANCE READER / BOOK LOVER MEETING TONIGHT! JOIN US FOR COFFEE AND BOOKS AT 7:00 P.M. NEW MEMBERS WELCOME.
Kiki stood there, reading and re-reading it, wondering what it was all about. A quick self-evaluation told her she was a book lover and that romance and chick lit were her favorite genres. Even when she strayed from time to time into thrillers or fantasy, she always came back to women’s fiction. Maybe it would be fun to join a few other girls who felt the same way she did about books.
She shook the thoughts away, sending them out of her head as quickly as they had come. She didn’t make friends, and she didn’t join clubs. The first part wasn’t really her choice; and the second part, not joining clubs, was a choice made for her in the past by others. Every time she joined one, whether it was academic or socially-based, they all ended in the same way – with girls hating her and guys wanting her. It was a disaster she’d learned to avoid years ago.
Kiki pulled the door open, stepping back as she prepared to enter, and accidentally bumped into someone behind her. She spun around quickly, her hand still on the door. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t see you there.” She realized a second later that her heel had landed on an uneven surface and her face blanched. “Oh shit, did I step on your toe?” It didn’t take much with these heels and her very tall stature to cause some serious damage to unprotected toes. She was thin, but her well-muscled frame brought her in at about a hundred and thirty pounds, and when most of her weight was focused on a half-inch square of spiked heel, one wrong step could leave one hell of a bruise.
“Oh, no, not at all. That was my golf club you stepped on.”
Kiki raised an eyebrow at the woman who was now standing in front of her, making a quick appraisal: housewife, about thirty years old, ten pounds overweight, in bad need of a style makeover, eager, friendly face, and looking like a crazy person carrying a golf club into the bookstore.
“Are you going to go beat some books to death?” asked Kiki.
“What?” asked the girl, confusion written all over her face as she stood there in her too-tight jeans and flowing, flowered chiffon top.
“With the golf club? In your hand?” Kiki gestured with her chin at the object and started to wonder if this girl might be a little batty.
The girl looked down at the hand that was holding the club, understanding finally dawning across her face a half-second later. “Oooh!” she said smiling and then giggling. “Yeah! I mean, no! Of course not. I would never beat a book to death. Now, an ex-husband? ... That’s a different story.” Then she stopped talking immediately and frowned guiltily, as if she’d said too much.
Kiki smiled. “I know the feeling.” She pulled the door open more fully, inviting the woman to go in before her.
The girl tilted her head to the side, an expression of disbelief on her face. “You’re divorced?”
“No.”
“I was gonna say,” said the girl, shaking her head, moving to go inside.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Kiki, following her in and wondering if she should feel offended.
The girl rolled her eyes, turning around in the foyer to look at Kiki fully again. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. That sounded so rude. I’m a jerk. I just meant that if someone as beautiful as you can get dumped, there’s absolutely no hope for someone like me.”