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Allison Jennings read the newspaper society pageheadline once more. The center photograph showcasedone Dexter Needham III, and wow, behindthose quarter-inch glasses lurked an extremelyhandsome man. No wonder all these women wentbig game hunting after his hand in marriage. SexyDexy was right!
She had to admit, she held a strange fascinationfor Dex Needham, and she was compelled to readthe details of his trail of broken hearts. There werefour photos of various socialite types around him,and each of them had a tale to tell about the reclusivebillionaire.
"Mom, we've got to leave early."
"Okay. I'm ready to rock and roll." She reluctantlyfolded up yesterday's Bellevue Register andstuck it in her bag. Later, Sexy Dexy. "Got yourbooks?" Allison gulped down the last of her tea and scooted out of the built-in breakfast nook.
She dragged her steno pad across the table andticked off her morning list with blue pencil: ducklandlady, start car, Ethan to school by seven forty-five, work by eight forty-five.
By seven-thirty none of those things was evennear happening. Her Nova coughed like it hadbronchitis, and farted a gray cloud of exhaust outof its tailpipe. Mrs. Reed was watching her out thewindow, framed in ruffled sheer curtains, shakingher head. So much for ducking the landlady; Eagle-Eye Reed was on the case.
"Mom, this car is shot."
"She's never let us down yet, hon; say a prayer."
"Dear Lord, put this car out of its misery."
"Ethan, don't say that! We can't afford to buy acar. We'd be bussing it for the next five years."
"There are worse fates. I gotta get to school,Mom, this is an important day for me."
The Nova sputtered into a rumble. "See, there?We're fine." Allison patted Ethan's arm.
He looked at her through his glasses and smiled aten-year-old insincere smile. "Why don't you haveDad fix it, Mom?"
"Even your dad needs parts, and I think we'retalking new engine here. But I'll speak to him today.Now hold on, we're going to do the dog-daydash."
With Ethan deposited at the front door of RoanokeElementary, Allison headed to work. Worse fates than bussing it for five years? Ethan was gettingthat preteen edge.
Of course, there are worse fates. Allison felt ashimmy in her steering wheel, and an odd, veryloud, pop. Her hands went clammy, and her heartstarted racing faster than a cornered rabbit. Shewas halfway across the bridge.
Oh yeah, she thought, a worse fate for a Seattlegirl, by far, is to have your 1988 Chevy Nova diesmack in the middle of the 520 floating bridge duringmorning commuter traffic. Not here, not nowplease God. Allison Jennings pleaded with heaven.She even bowed her head against the steeringwheel. As if in reply, it began to pour down rain.June. It was June.
The car came to a dead, rolling stop. She tappedthe brakes a few times to warn the car behind her,which, lucky for her, had a guy with some coffee inhim behind the wheel. He managed to avoid rearendingher by a few inches, then jumped out of hiscar and waved frantically to the oncoming traffic.Allison scrunched down and waited for the soundof a sixteen-car pile-up, but it never came. Thatmust be the prayer kicking in.
Snotnose Tim was going to kill her.
Two hours later Allison slogged into work. Herhair was dripping wet. She slopped to the backroom and peeled off her jacket. Everything that hadformerly dwelled inside her Nova was now in aplastic garbage sack that the big scary tow driver had supplied her, so she could give the car to Rusty.She kicked it into her locker, hung the jacket todrip on it, and changed into her sensible white oldladysneakers. For once, she was glad they wereavailable -- and dry.
It had been one humiliation after another. She'dgotten a ticket for her car dying on the bridge, herdebit card wouldn't go through for the tow man,big surprise there, and if it weren't for the fact hetook last-minute pity on her, seeing her very cutekid's picture in her wallet, she'd have had to sellhim the Nova for scrap.
It'd also helped that he'd showed her a picture ofhis two ugly teenage girls who definitely took afterhim, and she'd gushed about them. That, and itseemed to make him nuts that her ex-husbandRusty was a mechanic and had let the Nova fallinto such a state.
She slammed the locker door closed.
"You're late."
She jumped. Her boss had snuck in behind her.He was sneaky like that. "Right you are, Tim."
"Clean yourself up and head to my office. Tenminutes."
Ten minutes. How generous, you asshole. Shedidn't say that. "Gotcha." She said.
Why didn't they have towels in this bathroom?Roller towels even? Allison stuck her head underthe hand dryer and wrung out her hair while theobnoxious noise rang in her ears. Speaking of obnoxious noises, she'd better get herself into Tim'soffice, fast.
When she was done she examined her reflectionin the shiny metal fake mirror. Frizz over easy. Hercharms weren't going to get her out of this one.
"Miss Jennings, you are late." Tim sat behind hisfat metal desk and pressed his thumbs together. Hestared at her with his watery fish eyes.
"My car broke down." She plunked down in thechair across from her boss ...
In the Mood. Copyright © by Suzanne Macpherson. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Excerpted from In the Mood by Suzanne Macpherson
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