Dreaming in Technicolor by Laura Jensen Walker Page A

loss.”
    â€œI don’t care,” he grumbled. “I don’t know how else to get through to her. Lindsey’s in this weird wedding zone. That’s all she thinks about all the time. And all she talks about. It’s driving me crazy. What do I care what color the tablecloths are?”
    â€œYou have to understand.” I smiled into the phone. “Most women dream of this day their whole lives. When we’re little, we put pillowcase veils on our heads and Mom’s high heels on our feet to walk across the backyard to our waiting groom—usually our brother—with grubby dandelions clutched in our hands.” I turned the snow globe over again. “Besides, you know how Lins likes to plan parties and events. This is the biggest event of her life, and she wants it absolutely perfect.”
    â€œI know.” He groaned. “But she’s gone off the deep end. You’ve got to talk to her, get her to chill out. She’s like Bridezilla or something. I’m telling you, at this point a Las Vegas wedding chapel is looking mighty appealing—with an Elvis impersonator
to perform the ceremony.”
    â€œDon’t even go there. I can’t handle those muttonchop sideburns on a man.” I sighed. “Okay, I’ll try and talk to her, but I can’t make any promises.”
    â€œThanks, Pheebs. I owe ya. So how’s the job going?” He chuckled. “Still writing about emus?”
    â€œToday it’s guinea pigs.”
    â€œThat crocodile-hunter guy has nothing on you.”
    â€œNothing except he lives in Australia, loves animals, and makes the big bucks. And I’m stuck in Barley, am so not an animal person, and I don’t earn squat.”
    â€œI thought you had a cat.”
    â€œThe kids gave me a kitten. And he’s growing on me—although he prefers the big outdoors to my little apartment. But I’m still not likely to have my own show on Animal Planet anytime soon . ”
    â€œHey, I hear ya,” said Phil, then cleared his throat. “So . . . how’d you like to ditch the small town, earn three times what the Bulletin’s paying you, and never have to write about emus or rodents ever again?”
    â€œAnd how’d you like to get a Jag for your birthday?” I toyed with the snow globe. “Ain’t gonna happen, Phillie.”
    â€œWhat happened to the dreamer friend I know and love? Never say ain’t , Pheebs. Aside from the obvious fact that it’s bad grammar, that word shouldn’t even be in your vocabulary.” He paused. “I’m offering you a job.”
    â€œSay what?” I almost dropped the glass globe.
    â€œYou heard me. And I promise you, there are no animals involved.” He snickered. “Although some of the guys can get pretty wild when they close a new deal. C’mon Pheebs, whaddya say? Come be the PR director of my company.”
    I stared at the phone. “But it’s an investment firm.” A Gone with the Wind scene flashed before my eyes. “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout no investment wheeling and dealing, Mr. Hansen.” I shook my head. “You know I’m no good with numbers—that’s why Lins always had to help me balance my checkbook.”
    â€œNot a problem. We’ve got folks to take care of the numbers side of things. You just have to write it up and make it sound good to attract some high-end clients.” Phil dangled the security carrot. “We provide a full benefits package, complete with dental, vision, 401K, and stock options.” He zeroed in for the kill. “And remember, Pheebs; there are more restaurants and theaters in one downtown Cleveland block than in all of Barley.” He paused. “And stores.”
    Visions of movie theaters and shoe stores filled my head.
    To live and work once more in a city where I can see first-run movies, attend film festivals, have my choice of