Page 51 of Gray Hair Don't Care
“My fans?”
“Yes.”
Lela was at a complete loss, so she copied Donovan and channeled Lady Diana.Wave and smile. Wave and smile.“This is so weird,” she said.
“Welcome to your new life.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
It tookno time for Lela’s life to turn bonkers. The morning after she and Donovan returned from Echo’s wedding, there was a different crop of women outside her house. Everyone was respectful—lovely, really—but it didn’t feel any less strange to Lela. When she arrived at the JTI offices that morning, there were yet more waiting for her. They wanted her autograph, selfies, and a minute of her time. Every woman within spitting distance of fifty had questions. Did she think growing out their gray would look good on them, too? How long did it take? And here was the kicker: had her love life changed because of it?
“No,” was the answer to that last question, even though Echo’s wedding had left her feeling a little too ambiguous about Donovan. Their attraction was still there. The tug she felt in the center of her chest every time she was around him was present, too. But beyond all of that were the doubts about what he really wanted, whether she would ever be that person, and did she evenwantto be that person? Things weren’t going perfectly for her right now, but they were headed in the right direction. Did she want to mess with that?
“Do whatever will make you happiest,” Lela replied to the question about whether the gray would look good on other women. “If you don’t want to color your hair anymore, don’t. Gray can be beautiful.”
Lela had to quickly learn the art of eloquently answering questions off the cuff, as she became accustomed to navigating New York as an identifiable human being. She tried to ride the subway on Tuesday, and stupidly thought sunglasses and a hat would help her remain anonymous. It became a fail when a panhandler announced, “Hey, it’s the gray-haired lady!”, which caused a group of women waiting on the platform to descend upon her, asking for photos and wanting to know how she got her hair so shiny.
“Cold water rinse.” She grinned for the camera phones and made a point of being kind and cordial to everyone. She knew how lucky she was to be in this peculiar situation.
On the morning of the Good Day USA appearance, Donovan arranged for a car and driver to take them. He wanted to make sure she arrived on set on time and in one piece, and Lela was thankful because she already felt like she was falling apart. He texted her when he arrived and she rushed out her front door, locking the deadbolt behind her and stuffing her keys into her bag. Luckily, there were no fans this morning. Then again, the sun was just barely up.
The driver held the door of the big black SUV for her, and she climbed in. One look at Donovan and he took her breath away, which was weird. She saw him nearly every day, so she normally didn’t gawk, but he was rocking some extra mojo today. His eyes were darker and more intense, and his facial scruff a little more scruffy.
“Morning, sunshine,” he said, handing her a coffee.
She took the cup after buckling in. One sip and she knew he’d ordered her favorite—an almond milk mocha. “Thank you. I barely had time to throw a cup of yesterday’s coffee in the microwave.”
He adorably scrunched up his nose. “You drink day-old coffee?”
“All the time. It’s like the best gas station coffee you’ve ever had.”
“I think I’ll take your word for it.”
When they arrived at the network studios, the driver turned into a secure parking garage, which gave them direct access to the Good Day USA set. Still, there was an odd hubbub when they got inside—Lela felt like an animal at the zoo, everyone looking at her. She decided her reaction was merely a lovely cocktail of nerves and paranoia. Also, she’d better get used to it. A whole lot of people were going to be watching her when the cameras went live.
A production assistant escorted Donovan and her to a small dressing room, with the instructions to wait until she was called to set.
Lela took the time to over-scrutinize herself in the mirror. “Do I look okay?” She’d worn a slim-fitting white sheath dress and heels, applying the Jackie O rule of restraint when accessorizing, only wearing simple silver earrings and a bracelet. She wanted to come across as successful and professional, even when inside she was just a fifty-year-old woman who sometimes felt confident and other times unsure. Stumbling into an absurd situation no one could’ve predicted didn’t add to her confidence. It made her question the wisdom of trying so hard to claim it.
“You look amazing.” Donovan seemed totally at ease, reclining on the small sofa with one arm draped over the back.
“Thanks. I hate having my picture taken, so the idea of being on camera in front of millions of people makes me want to throw up.” She checked her makeup one last time, then began reapplying lipstick. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“You do seem a little on edge.”
“I don’t want to let anyone down. Like you. Or Echo. And I know my parents will be watching, and they’ll make a big deal about it because they always make a big deal about everything.”
“Are they still coming to town?”
“Yes. In a week. Which is, bonus, another reason to be anxious.”
“Maybe the coffee wasn’t such a great idea.”
“What? No. I need it. I need to be perky and energetic.”
“Okay. Because right now you’re acting like a squirrel that’s had too much Halloween candy.”
She waved him off and grabbed her coffee. “Trust me. I come by all of this nervousness honestly. No amount of coffee will make it worse.” She lifted the cup to her lips, but she was trying to be careful about her lipstick, and hit the lid with her bottom teeth. The plastic top popped off. Almond milk mocha cascaded down onto her pristine white dress. She froze, holding her arms out to the side and staring down at her front, which now looked like a Starbucks crime scene. “Oh, my God. Donovan. My dress!”
