Page 30 of Maybe Some Other Time

Chapter twelve

The New Look

S he had changed her outfit no fewer than three times when she landed on something casual and simultaneously good.

Because, as Thelma discovered, she still desired to straddle that line between putting in effort and acting like she didn’t actually care at all.

Wasn’t she supposed to be naturally beautiful to anyone she went out with?

Or am I thinking about dating men? Bill had been so ridiculously easy to please in the beauty department, but she and Sandy used to stay up late in college judging other girls’ outfits.

The gossip was terrible… Thelma laughed to think back on it now.

A pair of high-waisted pants and a canary yellow sleeveless blouse was only complete with her signature red lipstick and a matching red ribbon in her hair.

She tucked her freshly curled hair behind her ears and tied the ribbon around her crown, grinning at herself.

While she had gained a few pounds on modern food, she still fit into her favorite style.

After slipping into the heels she had traveled in, she grabbed her green purse and hurried downstairs, almost tripping over Fiddles as he ambled from one upstairs room to another.

There was a part of her that assumed Gretchen might have forgotten their plans or otherwise didn’t care to follow through.

Yet when Thelma finished locking up the house after leaving a note on the kitchen table, she was pleasantly surprised—and twitterpated, as an old Disney favorite reminded her—when she saw Gretchen standing in her front yard.

“How’s your cat?” Thelma asked from the other side of the fence. “Because ours almost tried to kill me on the way down the stairs.”

Gretchen stood up from inspecting her bushes and let out a low whistle when she saw Thelma’s full get-up through the gate. “Damn. I way underdressed today.”

“No!” Already, Thelma had an eyeful of a nice shirt beneath a pleasing black jacket and jeans. “I just like dressing up. So!” She burst through the gate, catching Gretchen’s attention as she did that in heels. “What do you have planned for us today?”

When Thelma dropped by Friday afternoon to ask if they were still going out, she asked Gretchen what they should do, and her date insisted on, “I’ll surprise you.” Which worked for Thelma, because aside from a walk on the Santa Monica Pier, she was out of ideas.

“I’ve got a few things up my sleeve.” Gretchen motioned to her work truck parked in the driveway. “Your Ford chariot awaits, my lady.”

“Oooh.” Clutching her purse in her hand, Thelma hustled to the other side of the truck, where Gretchen met her and opened the passenger side door. “I’ve been wondering what the world looks like from up there.”

She took Gretchen’s hand and heaved herself up into the beastly automobile, where she hooted in excitement.

I can see into her second-floor windows!

Thelma had to keep from biting her lip so she wouldn’t leave lipstick on her teeth.

She checked her hair and makeup in the rearview mirror and sat back with her seatbelt on before Gretchen got in on the other side.

“You use this truck for work?” Thelma asked.

“Yup. Although we’re between jobs right now. That’s why it’s relatively clean.”

“It’s lovely.” Thelma let out a soft oooh when the engine started. “At least tell us what area we’re going to. There’s still so much of the area I haven’t seen yet.”

“Nope. It’s all a surprise.”

Thelma didn’t want to admit it, but she was utterly delighted when Gretchen turned the radio to the “classic rock” station, and she was treated to ‘80s arena rock, a genre she had only recently become acquainted with because it had played at one of the get-togethers for the other time travelers. I don’t really know who Bruce Springsteen or Michael Jackson are yet, but they made very good music!

Personally, she couldn’t wait to get to the ‘80s in her history lessons.

Already, that decade seemed much more interesting than the ‘70s.

“Do you like Bon Jovi?” Gretchen asked as she pulled out into the street.

“I have no idea! Do I?”

Gretchen turned up the radio. “You do now.”

She probably had no idea why Thelma was so delighted as they cruised down the street, stopped at an intersection, and pulled onto Burbank Boulevard, where they could drive faster.

Not so much traffic today! Thelma pushed the button that “rolled” down her window and laughed into the noise of passing cars and the lives of the millions of Angelenos around her.

She didn’t care if her curls came undone or were messed up by the wind.

Gretchen had seen her full put-together look already!

Some things are more important. Like forgetting where she was. What had happened. Why she should give a flying damn.

They cruised forever. They slowed down every time Thelma began to get into the groove.

Music pumped through the cabin of the truck.

Air conditioning blasted her on the face.

Other cars honked, and some people yelled from the crosswalks.

Buses ambled along, and people spun signs on the sidewalks.

Thelma counted the shops, the signs in Spanish, and all of the new apartment construction that still made her eyes grow in awe after three months in the “future.”

She kept her observations about modernity to herself. She didn’t know where they were going, and for once, that was wonderful.

Eventually, they made it to Ventura Boulevard as it wound through Studio City.

Thelma settled in and enjoyed the view as Gretchen turned down the music, rolled up their windows, and entered a parking lot that happened to have one spot available on a Saturday afternoon.

The sign behind the concrete stopper said, “For Customers of Very Vintage ONLY.”

“There’s a word I hear a lot,” Thelma said as soon as the engine shut off. “What does ‘rad’ mean?”

“Uh…” Once again, she had Gretchen flummoxed. At least she’s cute when I’ve confused her. “I think it’s short for ‘radical.’”

“It’s a good thing?”

“You know. Like neat. Or cool.”

At least I know those. “That was rad.”

Gretchen unsnapped her seatbelt. “What was?”

Thelma pulled down the visor and checked her hair in the mirror. “Everything.”

They remained sitting in the truck as the air conditioning dissipated, and Thelma was left sweating while beholding the woman beside her. Just as she worked up the courage to say what she thought of Gretchen’s appearance, she heard, “You’re really pretty, you know that?”

Thelma had to clean out her ears. Did Gretchen just call her pretty?

“Oh, you think so?” She knew she was blushing. Bill—and Sandy—always accused her of blushing when she was put on the spot. “Thank you. This hair takes a while to do.”

“It’s not just your hair, although it’s very nice.” Gretchen’s constant attempts at eye contact led her to suppress an embarrassed laugh as she finally faced forward, hands dangling on her steering wheel. “You’ve got quite the style. And a very nice smile.”

“You know…” Thelma tilted her head, a dire attempt to get her date to look at her again. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Gretchen inhaled deeply enough that her chest stuck out and her throat curled back. “Yeah, well, you’ve got me beat in the feminine beauty department. There is no contest.”

“Who said it was a contest? I think you’re plenty beautiful.”

If Thelma’s cheeks could blaze fire through the cabin, then Gretchen’s didn’t even need starter fluid. She was redder than the feelings encapsulating Thelma’s heart.

“So…” Gretchen’s voice cracked most gloriously as she switched subjects.

“When I thought of something for us to do kinda last-minute on a Saturday afternoon, this was one of the first things I had in mind.” She pointed to the business sign on the parking side of an old brick building.

I bet it looked brand-new in my day. Thelma hadn’t been down Ventura Boulevard a lot since it was a winding way from Hemlock Street, but she also bet that this building used to be home to a general grocer’s during her childhood and a sewing shop in the ‘50s. It just had that vibe. “Hope it’s okay that I made some assumptions about you.”

“Make all the assumptions you want. Megan says I was in a cult! We’re just saying whatever we want around here.”

Laughing, Gretchen finally opened her driver's side door. “Do you need help getting out?”

Thelma was about to say no, but when she opened her door, she realized the ground was about fifty feet away. “Maybe.” In those heels? Yes.

She waited for Gretchen to round the front bumper of the truck and swing around the door. “Here.” She offered her hand again. “Easy does it. Dang, those are some heels.”

“Well, guess what?” Thelma ignored the way Gretchen’s gentle yet calloused hand felt against hers as she neatly hopped down to the pavement, green purse slipping down her arm. “They’re vintage. Made in 1957. Purchased at Bullock’s.”

She knew she had left Gretchen confused, but as Thelma hoisted her purse strap back up to her shoulder, she stepped behind the concrete parking barrier and waited to hear the truck door close behind her.

Giggles flew from her lips as she faced a piece of graffiti on the brick wall.

HORSEPOCKY. Amazing. Or, should she say… rad?

Gretchen led her around the corner and onto the busy sidewalk, where people from all walks of life carried both store-branded and reusable bags.

“I was with my uncle scouting some new work around here last week,” Gretchen explained as she gestured to the Very Vintage sign hanging from a plaid awning.

“Walked by this place and thought of you.”

“You did?”

“Yup. They’ve got a ton of mid-century stuff. Seems to be your thing.”

Mid-century, huh? She had heard that phrase before in the same context, but it was Thelma’s first time savoring a term to describe her style. “I only really know the ‘50s. The ‘60s are beyond me.”