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Roberta groaned, whether from trying to keep pace or responding to Sara’s last statement, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. She rubbed the sweat off her forehead before swiping her hand around to rub the back of her neck as she ran. “I was not naked, and I didn’t wave. I didn’t realize how I looked. Goober and Tucker needed to go out earlier than usual, and I was still sleepy. I forgot my bathrobe. Until he moved in, I hadn’t needed one. Besides, I wasn’t expecting to run into him at that time of the morning.”
It was true enough. She had envisioned a simple wave and a brief hello called across the yard some evening after she returned from work, and he’d returned from the movie set, or wherever it was he hung out. “Still, he didn’t need to be so rude. He could have waved, got in his SUV, and drove away. He didn’t need to make fun of me with the chauffeur.”
“Maybe he wasn’t making fun of you.”
Roberta shot her a look. “Yeah, right.”
Around the bend in the road now, they could see the police barricades a couple hundred yards up ahead. Sara replied, “I think you have to remember this guy gets hit on by women everywhere he goes. Of course, he’s not going to respond.”
The throng at the roadblock came alive, having seen two figures approaching from the direction of Taylor’s house. The chatter level increased, as did the cries and screams. The fracas settled back down when news spread neither of the figures was the beloved man of their collective dreams.
Reaching the first sawhorse, Sara and Roberta stopped to catch their breath. Roberta rested on the sawhorse, supporting her upper body with her hands, chest heaving and burning from the exertion. Sara started doing hamstring stretches as she waited for Roberta to recover. “He’s quite the ladies’ man if you can believe the tabloids. Doesn’t he have an on-again-off-again girlfriend? Maybe it’s on again?”
When she could talk more normally again, Roberta argued. “I don’t think it would have killed him to wave. He hasn’t acknowledged my presence except to laugh at me.”
Roberta pouted, kicking up a dirt clod with the toe of her running shoe. It did seem strange from where she came from for such unfriendly behavior. Weren’t people from the Midwest supposed to be friendlier than Yankees? Somebody must have forgotten to tell Taylor, or he must have lost his manners out in Los Angeles. Roberta turned and began jogging back the way they came. “Whatever the case, I’m not making another effort. It’s his move.”
