Nikos could not prevent a smile at the mention of Jen’s name, but at least Joey had the grace not to gloat.
SEVEN
JEN
“Thanks for the ride, Doris,” Jen said as she sank into the passenger seat, the fringes on her jacket swinging. “I’d take my bike, but—”
“Rain in the forecast tonight,” Doris finished.
“Of course we need it,” they said at the same time—the mantra of the Southern Californian.
Doris gave a soft laugh. “But you don’t want to sit the writers’ group in wet jeans. Or bike home in them.”
“No.” Jen shuddered.
“Especially in those clothes. I notice you broke out your good jacket.”
“Seemed appropriate for the weather.”
“It makes you look cooler than cool,” Doris said. “One of the few pieces of clothing that never went out of style.”
Jen thanked her, laughing at the idea of being in style. She’d never in her life been in style or paid attention to trends—she wore the jacket because she loved it.
Doris didn’t say anything more as she negotiated afternoon traffic to Godiva’s house. Godiva appeared immediately, and opened the passenger door to the front. But when she saw Jen, she switched to the back door, saying as she slid inside, “Jen! This is the second time I’ve caught you in my shotgun seat. Where’s the green machine? Don’t tell me that old VW bug of yours finally kicked the bucket?”
“You malign it. That car is now the proud first car of a freshman university student.”
“Who I hope is handy with a wrench,” Godiva commented.
“Indeed. It’s why she picked it—she rebuilt VW engines in auto shop in high school, and wants to experiment on the green machine. More power to her,” Jen said in her most casual voice.
But Godiva wasn’t often fooled. “Why did you sell it?”
Because I can no longer afford the insurance was the real answer, but Jen wasn’t going there.
“It’s ridiculous to keep a car when everywhere I go is within jogging or biking distance. The only thing we’d ever used it for was grocery runs. And now that I’m single, I don’t need it for groceries. The bike basket works just fine.”
Godiva said, “At least you’re not giving me that I’m too old to drive nonsense.”
Which made Jen wonder, as she had occasionally over the years, why Godiva didn’t have a car. She was a successful writer, so it certainly wasn’t money. And now and then she’d made casual and brief references to cross-country drives during her past, so it seemed she knew how to drive. But she had a way of deflecting personal questions that the other three of the Gang of Four had gotten used to over the years.
Godiva leaned forward. “I see you’re grooving that suede jacket. I hope that’s aimed at that handsome Greek.”
Doris said, “Are you seeing Nikos?”
Jen said, “I’m seeing him, yes. All three of us are seeing him at the barbeque—”
“Do not nitpick words with the expert nitpicker,” Godiva butted in. “Did he ask you on a date?”
“I don’t know that I’d call it a date, but he said he’d be there tonight.”
Godiva gave a dramatic sigh. “Why are you pussyfooting around? Are you dating or not?”
“Not—I guess—or maybe I am?”
Doris stopped at a red light, and cast a quick look at Jen. “Do you not want to date him? Or would you rather not talk about it?”
“Neither,” Jen said, feeling her way into this totally new territory. “It’s just, I don’t really know what constitutes dating.”