Size 14 Is Not Fat Either (Heather Wells 2)

Although I’m not actually a rock star. Anymore.

“Heather, I hope you’re being careful this time,” Patty frets, from the front seat. “I mean, about this dead girl. You aren’t getting involved in the investigation, are you? Not like last time?”

“Oh, heck, no,” I say. Patty doesn’t need to know about my trip to the Tau Phi House. She has enough to worry about, being a former model and rocker’s wife, not to mention the mother of a toddler who, at last reportage, ate an entire H & H everything bagel—almost as big as his own head—in one sitting.

The nanny hadn’t been too happy about that one.

“Good,” Patty says. “Because they don’t pay you enough to get yourself nearly killed, like last time.”

When Frank pulls up in front of Cooper’s house, I see that a few of the lights are on…which surprises me, since it means Cooper must be home.

But before I can get out of the car, Frank says, “Oh, Heather, about the gig at Joe’s—”

I freeze with my hand on the door handle. I can’t believe—what with all the blood and everything—I’d forgotten about Frank’s invitation to jam with him and his band.

“Oh,” I say, frantically trying to think up an excuse. “Yeah. About that. Can I get back to you? ’Cause I’m really tired right now, and can’t really think straight—”

“Nothing to think about,” Frank says cheerfully. “It’s just gonna be me and the guys and a hundred and sixty or so of our friends and family. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“Frank,” Patty says, apparently having caught a glimpse of my face. “Maybe now’s not the best time to ask about that.”

“Come on, Heather,” Frank says, ignoring his wife. “You’re never gonna get over your stage fright if you don’t get back up there. Why not do it among friends?”

Stage fright? Is that my problem? Funny, I thought it was just fear of having people boo and throw things at me. Or, worse…snicker, the way Jordan and Cooper’s dad did, when I played them my own songs that fateful day in the Cartwright Records offices….

“I’ll think about it,” I say to Frank. “Thanks for the ride. See ya.”

I plunge from the car before either Patty or her husband can say anything, then run to the front door, ducking my head against the onslaught of flakes.

Phew. Talk about narrow escapes.

Inside, Lucy meets me in the foyer, excited to see me, but not in an I gotta go out right this minute kind of way. Someone’s already let her out.

“Hello?” I call, shedding my coat and scarf.

No one answers. But I smell something unusual. It takes me a minute to place the scent. Then I realize why: it’s a candle. Cooper and I are not candle people—Cooper because, well, he’s a guy, and me because I’ve seen them cause so many fires in Fischer Hall that I’m paranoid I, too, will forget and leave one burning unattended.

So why is someone burning a candle in the house?

The smell is coming from upstairs…not the living room or kitchen, and not Cooper’s office. It’s coming from upstairs, where Cooper sleeps.

Then it hits me. Cooper must be home, and entertaining.

In his room.

With candles.

Which can only mean one thing: He’s got a date.

Of course. That’s why he couldn’t wait for me down at the precinct, and had to call Frank and Patty! He’s got a date.

I pause at the bottom of the stairs, trying to sort out why this realization has made me suddenly so upset. I mean, it’s not like Cooper KNOWS about the enormous crush I have on him. Why SHOULDN’T he see other people? Just because he HASN’T seen anyone (that I know of…he certainly hasn’t brought anybody back to the house) since I moved in doesn’t mean he SHOULDN’T or CAN’T. Now that I think of it, we never really did discuss the issue of overnight guests. It’s just not something that ever came up.

Until now.

Well, so what? He’s having a sleepover. It doesn’t have anything to do with me. I’ll just creep up to the third floor and go to bed. No reason to stop and knock and ask him how he’s doing. Even though I’m dying to see what she looks like. Cooper has a reputation in his family for always dating superintelligent, incredibly beautiful, even exotic women. Like brain surgeons who are also former models. That kind of thing.

Even if I thought I ever had a chance with Cooper romantically, one look at his many exes would cure me. I mean, what guy would want a washed-up ex-pop star who now works as an assistant residence hall director and wears vanity size 8 jeans (or possibly 10s) when he could have a physicist who was once Miss Delaware?

Yeah. Right. No one. I mean, unless the physicist happens to be really boring. And maybe doesn’t like Ella Fitzgerald (I’ve got all her songs memorized, including the scat). And maybe isn’t the warm, funny human being I just happen to believe I am….

Stop. STOP IT.

I’m creeping up the stairs to the second floor as quietly as I can—Lucy panting at my side—when I notice something strange. The door to Cooper’s bedroom is open…but there’s no light on. Whereas the door to the guest room down the hall from Cooper’s bedroom is open, and there’s a light on, and the light is flickering. Like a candle flame.

Who on earth would be in our guest room with a candle?

“Hello?” I say again. Because if Cooper’s entertaining lady friends in our guest room, well, that’s just his tough luck if I come busting in. His room is his inner sanctum—I’ve never dared venture into it…if only because he’s so rarely to be found in it. Also because thousand-dollar sheets scare me.

But the guest room?

The door is really only slightly ajar. Still, it’s technically open. Which is why I push on it to open it a little farther, and say, “Hello?” for a third time….

…then shriek at the sight of my father doing the downward-facing dog.

16

Love is a line in a bad movie

Heartbreak an old song on the radio

And you, you’re nothing but trouble

But trouble knows the way to my heart.

Untitled

Written by Heather Wells

“I find yoga extremely relaxing,” Dad explains. “Back at camp, I did it every morning and every night. It’s really rejuvenated me.”