Chapter 4

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ironic, Peter thought on his way over to Greg and Nora's house, that it had turned out to be Cindy who had advised him about Christina, instead of Greg. Cindy, who had seemed for the longest time to be a terminal case of arrested emotional development. Cindy with her pigtails and Kitty Karryall, her favorite doll. Cindy eagerly tattling on her brothers and sisters. Cindy telling every secret anyone made the mistake of trusting her with. Cindy trying to get dates at age eight, reading Marcia's diary at age twelve. It wasn't till she started junior high school that she'd finally lost the silly pigtails, and two more years before she began acting like a typical teenager. The problem was that it had taken her so long to outgrow all the usual childish quirks and foibles, most of the family had expected her to be "the youngest one in curls" long after she'd finished college. Even Carol had been a bit startled to realize that Cindy actually had ruler-straight hair just like Marcia, once the pigtails went the way of disco music.

And now here was Cindy, married at last and handing out advice. Peter could only hope that the plan she'd given him worked. Jan and Marcia were still skeptical, and Peter didn't even want to think about what Wally had said; but Phillip at least had been diplomatic enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. And of course, Mike and Carol had wished him luck, as had Tracy and Nora. So he had at least some of the family behind him now; the next trick was to actually win Christina over and prove once and for all that he was capable of maintaining a long-term relationship.

He pulled into the driveway of Greg and Nora's spacious, comfy two-story Colonial-style house and thumped on the back door. Greg's eleven-year-old son, Kevin, answered. "Hi, Uncle Peter," he said. "Want me to get Dad? He's upstairs in his office."

"I'll just go on up," Peter said. "How's Little League been going, Kev?"

"Okay, I guess," Kevin said without much enthusiasm. "My team's only in seventh place, and we lost the last five games in a row. Sure wish you could be coach like last year, Uncle Pete. That's the only time I've ever been on a winning team."

Peter shrugged self-deprecatingly, secretly pleased to hear his nephew's praise. "I wish I'd had the time," he said a little lamely. The truth was that at the time, he'd belonged to an exclusive and very snooty dating service. In order to justify the enormous fee, he'd lined up dates with as many female members as he possibly could before the service staff finally caught on and informed him they were revoking his membership. His siblings and Wally had had a field day with that episode.

"I think it's Jeff Barrister's fault," Kevin confided. "His dad's coach this year, so Jeff gets away with everything. He's a slacker and I think he's the reason we keep losing."

"You have my sympathies," Peter said with utmost sincerity. "See ya, Kev. And good luck."

"We're gonna need it," Kevin predicted gloomily and veered off to his own room while Peter went down the upstairs hallway to a bedroom that Greg had turned into a small office. Greg turned when Peter paused in the doorway.

"Hi, Pete, what's up?" Greg inquired.

"I just wanted to ask your opinion on this," said Peter and produced a folded piece of paper from his jeans pocket, handing it to his brother.

"What's this?" Greg asked, accepting it.

"The first part of Cindy's plan for Christina and me," Peter told him.

"I don't get it," Greg said, unfolding the paper.

Peter sighed and admitted sheepishly, "It's a script." At sight of Greg's incredulous look, he said defensively, "Well, it was Cindy's idea. She told me that on my next day off, when Christina's at work, I should call her number and leave a message. Cindy even gave me some ideas about what I should say, and I wrote them down so I wouldn't forget. And while I was at it, I figured it couldn't hurt to turn it into a script, so I could just read it off and I wouldn't sound like some dumb moron who doesn't know what to say."

"Well, I guess I can understand that, but why leave a message? Why not just talk directly to her?"

"Because," Peter admitted reluctantly, "she'd probably hang up on me."

"Okay, if you say so," Greg mumbled dubiously, but he read through the piece anyway. "I guess this is as good an idea as any. Looks to me like it'll do."

"Great, thanks, Greg," Peter said, taking back the paper, folding it again and stuffing it into his pocket. Then he paused and looked curiously at his brother. "I know Cindy chased you and Bobby out of the room the other night at Mom and Dad's, before she told me what to do about Christina," he said, "but I sort of thought you'd find out all about it eventually. You mean Cindy didn't tell you?"

"No, she didn't breathe a word," Greg replied. "Why?"

Peter chuckled. "I guess I just have a hard time imagining Cindy keeping a secret."

Greg grinned and said, "I know what you mean. Well, good luck."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Having gained Greg's seal of approval, Peter fortified himself with a large mug of coffee and a ten-minute pep talk to himself before he sat in his creaky, comfy old armchair and regarded the phone. The light on the answering machine seemed to be giving him the evil eye. "Mind your own business," Peter told it rudely, thinking even as he said it that this girl was driving him batty enough to talk to machines and she'd better be worth it. He grabbed the receiver and punched out Christina's number before he lost his nerve again.

He smoothed out his one-page script as her phone rang, and he took a couple of long, deep breaths while he sat through her answering-machine message. When it beeped, he jumped right in, giving himself no time to chicken out. " 'Hi, Christina, it's Peter Brady,' " he read. " 'I know I'm about as welcome around you now as a flea-infested dog, but please give me a chance to apologize for upsetting you week before last. Maura Gray is just a friend and no more. When I told her I go out with people at work all the time, I meant guys too. Fred and Tim and I've been to the local sports bar so many times they know us by name over there, and I've gone bowling and to ball games with Jack and Andy countless times. I'm friends with most of the guys at work. And okay, maybe I've dated a lot of the girls, but most of them were just interested in hanging out with somebody so they didn't have to sit at home and be bored. I'd say 95 percent of them were one-shot deals and we're all just buddies. And I'll have you know that I really ticked off Jenny Anderson when I told her I wasn't interested in going out with her. Too bad for Jenny, because you're the one I really want to be with. Please give me another chance, Christina. You won't be sorry, I promise. If you accept my apology, meet me for lunch at the Chinese place next door to work tomorrow noon, okay? Thanks, and good night.' " And he hung up. He'd followed his script word for word. Now he had to hope it would work.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"And did it?" inquired Cindy on Wednesday evening.

Peter switched the phone receiver from one ear to the other and tugged out the phone directory, flipping pages in search of florists. "Well, yes and no," he said. "Yes, she accepted my apology, but no, she had already made plans to meet one of her sisters for lunch. So that kind of leaves me right back where I started. But it was a success, as far as it went, so I guess it's on to Step Two."

"Right," said Cindy. "Send her flowers."

Something occurred to Peter and he stopped turning pages. "Don't you think flowers are a little corny?"

"Not for Christina," Cindy said. "There's something else you should know about her, Peter. She's kind of down on herself. You remember Scott said she's always been shy and afraid of people. She thinks she's not worth the kind of attention most guys would give their girlfriends. She told me once that she hated Valentine's Day and co-workers' birthdays, because everyone else always got these humongous bouquets, and she didn't. She felt left out. I'll bet you your next paycheck that nobody ever sent her flowers before, so you could really make her day."

"Hmm," Peter mused. "In that case, I'll send her the biggest bouquet I can afford."

"Well, don't empty your wallet," Cindy advised. "You want to be able to afford Step Three when that comes up. Try sending her tulips - they're her favorite flower. Save the roses for the really heavy romantic stuff."

"Gotcha," Peter said. "Thanks for the help, Cindy. I'll keep you posted."

"You do that," said Cindy. "You're my brother, and she's both my friend and my sister-in-law. I want to see both of you happy."

"You mushball," Peter teased her. "Thanks again." He hung up and ran his finger down the columns of florists listed in the yellow pages. He hadn't realized that sending flowers was such a large business; he himself wasn't in the habit of having bouquets delivered to people, except maybe his mother on her birthday. Come to think of it, he recalled Allison and Valerie and at least three other women he'd dated complaining that he must be a cheapskate or something, since he had never bothered to spend any money on flowers for them. But flowers could be a cliché, and he had resolved not to send them to anyone unless there was an excellent reason for it. This was about the best reason he could think of.

The bouquet of tulips in a variety of colors arrived at work on Friday, with a bit more fanfare than Peter had really wanted. Quite a few amazed faces followed the delivery person's progress with the tulips. Trying not to look as if he were watching, Peter picked up the phone receiver and pretended to be having a conversation with someone, all the while peering at Christina. Her desk was some distance from his, but easily visible from where he sat; so he had the reward of the stunned delight that transformed her delicate features when the delivery person deposited the tulips on her desk.

Peter grinned to himself. Success! He'd definitely made an impression with the flowers. Step Three was next week: Christina's birthday was coming up, and he had about eight days to think of something with which to top those tulips. It occurred to him to check with one of his sisters, but not Cindy this time. He needed something seriously feminine, and Cindy had been more of a tomboy than her older sisters, though Jan had had her tomboy period for awhile too. No, this would be Marcia's territory. Marcia was about the most feminine female he knew.

So he called her that evening, hoping she'd answer and not Wally or Mickey. He was out of luck this time, though: Wally picked up. "Hiya, Pete! How's the Great Girl Chase?"

"Same as ever," Peter said evasively. "Listen, Wally, is Marcia around?"

"Sure, hang on just a minute. Y'know, I really can't wait till we've got all this remodeling done. That air mattress leaks and my back's been killing me, and Jessica and Mickey are about to murder each other." Wally's maternal grandmother had passed away about three years before and had left her turn-of-the-century farmhouse to Wally and Marcia, enabling them to finally move out of Mike and Carol's house. The place had needed extensive renovation, which had turned out to be a semi-permanent project beginning the day they'd moved in. "We had to get the bathrooms done first on account of the rusted plumbing, and . . ."

"AHEM," Peter broke in loudly, giving himself a sore throat. "I need to talk to Marcia."

"Oh, right," said Wally. "Sorry about that. Let me go rescue her from the little monsters." Peter waited a minute or two, and then Marcia picked up and greeted him.

"Hi, Marsh. Listen, I need some advice. Remember Christina?"

"Oh, Cindy's husband's sister?" Marcia asked. "Yes . . . but I didn't realize you were still interested in her. I thought Cindy said she wanted nothing to do with you and you'd moved on."

"If you must know," Peter said wearily, "I'm trying to get back into Christina's good graces, and Cindy and I mapped out a plan so I can do that."

"Wow," Marcia said. "You must really be serious about this girl."

"You don't know the half of what I've been through with everybody in regard to Christina," Peter said grimly, "and I have to tell you that that includes Wally. I came within an inch of beating Bobby senseless last week after he ragged me, and I'm not above mass murder if I think it's necessary. So just give me a break and help me out here."

"All right, all right, stop the threats," Marcia gave in with a weary sigh. "I hear my kids sling enough death threats at each other as it is. I'll do my best to help. What's the problem?"

"Christina's birthday is coming up a week from tomorrow, and I want to give her something really nice and in good taste. I thought you could give me some ideas. All I could think of was more flowers, or maybe some jewelry, but I don't want to be run-of-the-mill. I want to stand out and really impress her with my originality," Peter explained.

"Originality, huh?" Marcia mused. "Well, Pete, I tell you what. Right now I can barely think. We're in an uproar around here, and Mickey and Jessica are doing their utmost to send me to the insane asylum. But if you think you can stand the dust and the noise, not to mention the kids' endless arguments, why don't you come over for some lunch."

Peter hesitated. "Couldn't I meet you someplace? I mean . . . at least we'd have some privacy." He didn't want to be so tactless as to come out and say that he preferred Wally be kept out of the loop due to his big mouth.

"As long as you're buying," Marcia said.

Peter had to laugh. "Well, seeing as you're going through the wringer, I guess you deserve a break. Okay, you name the place and we'll have a nice long lunch there and do some brainstorming. I really appreciate this, Marcia."

"No problem." Marcia yawned loudly, and just then Jessica began screaming in the background about how Mickey had just stolen her stuffed unicorn. "Oh, no. Here we go again, round ten thousand, six hundred and fifty- three. See you tomorrow if I live through this."

"Good luck," Peter chuckled and hung up. Once Marcia got some sleep, she should be good for some truly intriguing ideas.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In fact, Marcia had one excellent idea, right off the bat. "What kind of ancestry does Christina have?" she asked. "If you don't know, we'll give Cindy a call and check with her."

"Actually, I do know. Her great-grandparents came over from Denmark," Peter said. "How come?"

"Good," said Marcia, big blue eyes lighting with excitement. "I figured she was Scandinavian, from her surname. I know a really nice gift shop that sells wonderful Scandinavian souvenirs. Why don't we go there and look for something, and we'll have lunch after that?"

Peter agreed, and they found the shop and began to search through it. Marcia wandered off to look at textiles, while Peter began collecting such mundanities as keychains, miniature red-and-white Danish-flag windsocks, magnets in the shape of maps of the country, and a bumper sticker reading DANES HAVE MORE FUN. He was about to go inspect baseball caps when he bumped into Marcia, who stared at the pile of odds and ends he was carrying.

"You gotta be kidding," Marcia said after a long moment.

"Well, it's just some little stuff," Peter began.

Marcia shook her head. "No. No way, Peter. Aren't you the one who was trying to outdo yourself after sending her flowers? I hate to tell you this, but keychains and bumper stickers aren't gonna cut it. If you really want to make an impression on Christina, get rid of that and come with me. I know exactly what you can give her."

Peter followed her to a section of the store where Norwegian and Icelandic sweaters, Swedish glass and Finnish place mats were on display. "Look," said Marcia and lifted up a length of delicate snow-white lace. "Curtains. These are hand-tatted in Denmark and they'll be absolutely perfect."

Peter eyed the price tag. "I'm gonna have to break the bank for this."

Marcia gave him a reproving look. "If you don't think she's worth spending time and money in choosing a really nice and tasteful gift," she said pointedly, "then go ahead and give her that windsock and a pile of magnets. It's your call."

"Well, maybe I could wrap the lace around a coffee mug that says DENMARK on it," Peter said, examining the lace and missing Marcia's eye-roll of disgust.

"You are soooooo predictable," Marcia said. "Look, if you need help paying for these, I'll split the cost with you, but you have to trust me on this. She'll love them. In fact, if they ever get done fixing up my kitchen, I'm coming back here and getting some of these for myself."

"Okay, okay," Peter capitulated. "Never mind with the money, Marsh, but thanks for the offer. All right, I'll get her the curtains. But I really think she'd get a kick out of a coffee mug."

Marcia laughed. "Okay, if you're so sure, then get one. While you're at it, big spender, have this place wrap it. And get her a pretty card too. No point in getting a nice present and then putting it in cheap wrapping paper and forgetting the birthday card."

"Are you enjoying spending my money?" Peter asked her, and Marcia grinned at him.

"Immensely," she assured him. "Get the mug and card, and let's get it wrapped."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Peter still felt too chicken to approach Christina directly and hand his gift right to her, so he waited till he saw her take a bathroom break on the day of her birthday and then sneaked the present onto her desk. He was about to turn and leave when Allison Caine passed him on the way for a bathroom break of her own. "What's that?" she demanded, spotting the present immediately.

"Something for Christina," Peter replied. Allison had given him enough grief after their breakup that he had been wary of her ever since, and with good reason. He'd had to change his phone number after enduring a month of persistent calls from her.

"Oh, really," Allison retorted sarcastically. "What is it, her birthday or something?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Peter replied. "Excuse me, Allison, I think I hear my phone ringing." He headed for his desk, hoping to end the whole thing right there.

But she followed him. "You never did that for me on my birthday. And you never sent me flowers, either."

"Allison, we dated for five weeks!" Peter said, annoyed. "Your birthday didn't come till months after we split up."

"You still could've sent me flowers," Allison pouted. "What's so special about this girl that you're sending her huge bouquets of tulips and buying her birthday presents? Why didn't you ever feel that way about me?"

"For one thing," Peter told her, turning abruptly to glare at her and trying hard to keep his voice down, "you're a little too grabby for me. If you'll remember, one reason I dumped you was because you kept dropping hints about me buying you stuff I could never afford. And another thing - you've been nagging me off and on for two solid years. The phone calls, the catty remarks, the clinging personality, the constant begging for another date when you know I have no interest in you except as a friend. If it doesn't stop, Allison, I'll bring it to the attention of someone who can do something about it. Now just get off my back, will you?"

Allison stood stunned for a long moment, then turned and ran for the ladies' room, bursting into noisy sobs on the way. Peter blew out his breath and glanced at the two nearest desks, whose occupants were working very hard to pretend they hadn't seen anything, and then started for his own - only to find Christina there watching him.

"Hi," Peter said, offering a quick smile. "Happy birthday."

Christina gave him a startled look. "How did you know it's my birthday?" Peter opened his mouth, but she rushed on before he could speak. "Actually, Peter, I . . . I just wanted to let you know that if Allison doesn't let up and you need a witness, I'll be there. I heard most of what you said."

Amazed, Peter gave her a genuine smile. "Thanks, Christina, I really appreciate that."

She smiled back. "That's okay. I also just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for doubting you before. You see, when the tulips came last week, some of the girls asked about them, and I told them you sent them, since your name was on the card. And Stephanie Burke told me that I was really lucky, because you're the nicest guy in this place, and you'd do anything to help a friend or even a co-worker. The others agreed with that and said I'd be crazy if I didn't go out with you."

"Wow," said Peter, completely stunned. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

Christina cleared her throat, and her voice dropped to just above a whisper. "Is the offer of a day at Disneyland still open?"

"Absolutely!" Peter exclaimed and laughed. "You just tell me what day, and I'll handle the rest. Now," he added with a grin, "back to work, Miss Jensen." She chuckled.

"Thank you for the flowers and everything else, Peter." She turned then and went back to her desk, and Peter returned to his own, spirits in the stratosphere. If the rest of the workday turned out to be a disaster, he didn't care.

"Good luck, Pete," he heard someone say, and found his friend Tim standing nearby. "That's one really nice-looking girl. Fred tried to hit on her the other week and she froze him out, so when we saw you going after her, we started betting on your odds of getting through." He smirked. "Fred's gonna lose a bundle now."

"Oh, good," said Peter, "then you can pay for Christina's and my day at Disneyland. Just let me know when Fred pays up."

"Fred's gonna blow a gasket," Tim predicted gleefully. "You know how he is, always boasting that he can win over any woman alive."

"Well, if he doesn't want his reputation to suffer, he oughta check with Allison," Peter said and smirked. "She'll be about the biggest challenge he can find, and if he can tame her, the whole world would be a lot better off." He reflected privately that it would help keep Allison out of his own hair; he'd probably need all the help, direct or indirect, that he could get, because he had a feeling that Christina was going to prove to be more than just special to him. He had his work cut out for him: first he'd have to convince Christina, then his family!