The Next Mrs Russo
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“No?” I deflate a little, staring at the ceiling with a frown. “I don’t know, it felt like a pretty decent plan.” Also, I spent twelve dollars on the drywall cutter thingamajig so I’m invested in this now.
“Tape felt like a decent plan to you? For plumbing? You wouldn’t tape a hem but you’ll rip apart your ceiling and tape a pipe?”
“Yes?” I reply, but even I can hear the hesitation in my voice. Hmm. “Well, why do they sell plumbing tape if I’m not meant to use it? Huh? Riddle me that, Miller.”
“They sell hem tape too, and yet you know better.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. A hem is a much more serious matter than some ratty old plumbing.” I yank another section of drywall down and drop it into the trash can below. This plan might work, and if it doesn’t I’ll still need to rip out enough of this drywall to find the leak. “Have you returned the shoes I borrowed and thanked your girlfriend for me?”
“I have. Has the governor been over to ask you out again?”
“He has not.”
“That’s so strange.”
“Why?” I eye Miller suspiciously, climbing down from the ladder again. It’s really not at all strange, so I don’t know why he’s saying otherwise. I haven’t even seen Mrs Bianchi since the wedding, but I wasn’t expecting to. She told me she was headed back to the city that evening and wouldn’t be back to Albany for a few weeks.
“You’re so charming and personable.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumble. Am I? I’m not sure that sounds right.
“Ladylike,” Miller adds. I glance down at my dress, brushing some drywall dust off of myself.
“You’re—”
“Fired,” Miller finishes the sentence for me. “Yeah, yeah.”
“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but I think it’s pretty unlikely that I’m ever going to see Warren Russo again unless he’s on television holding a press conference.”
I’m still gonna watch those. We all have our fetishes, Warren governing things is mine. Just yesterday he had a press conference that was sexy as hell. It was about some legislation for public schools, which obviously I’m not super invested in at this particular stage of my life but that’s not the point. You should have heard him answering questions. It was very reassuring. Soothing, even. You know what? Funding for public schools is more interesting the more I think about it. Anyway, at one point a male reporter interrupted a female reporter and Warren told the male reporter to wait a moment, went back to the female reporter and told her to finish her question.
So hot.
The door jingles, announcing a customer, as Miller and I leave the mess in the kitchen and return to the storefront. It’s one of my newest repeat customers, courtesy of a referral from Mrs Bianchi. She’s sent me three customers in the week since the wedding and if I can finalize a sale today with Mrs Nelson I might even reconsider my DIY plumbing plan and call one of the professionals back.
Dare to dream and all that.
I make a quick stop at the full-length mirror to inspect myself for drywall dust and straighten my dress while Miller greets Mrs Nelson. I’m wearing a dress I upcycled from 80’s bad to a 60’s-inspired modern minidress. It’s just a simple shift, but the material is a gorgeous red damask. Modest three-quarter sleeves play against the sexy mid-thigh hemline. I styled my blonde hair in loose waves today to keep the look modern instead of a campy attempt at retro. After picking a small chunk of drywall out of my hair I join Miller in the store and usher Mrs Nelson into the fitting room with the dress I altered with her in mind.
Not only does she buy the dress, she’s also brought me her old wedding dress. She wants it torn apart and turned into a first communion dress for her granddaughter. I haven’t done children’s before, and I’ll have to order a child-sized dress mannequin, but the project really speaks to my upcycle-redo spirit so I’m on board for it. Plus Mrs Nelson is paying really well. Also the dress in its current state is both hideous and damaged from not being properly stored so I don’t feel bad about destroying it to make something that can become a new family heirloom.
I’m just finishing up with Mrs Nelson when Warren Russo walks in the door.
I did not see that coming.
No, really, I’m not being modest. I did not think I’d ever see him again in person, regardless of the trash I wrote in my diary.
Mrs Nelson is apparently well familiar with Warren, because they launch into conversation as if they’re old friends while I mentally flail in circles and stare at him. She shows Warren her old wedding gown and he pretends he cares and all of this happens in a few blinks that feel like hours while I stand there like a speechless idiot.