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Queenie looked pleased with the answer and decided to set Melanie in her sights again. “Now, Princess, the point of the Missed Opportunities Movement is to provide opportunities to change your life… all aspects of your life. So tell me…,” A sneaky expression crossed her face, “are you dating?”
Dating? The closest thing she’d had to a date since her divorce was that time she allowed a good-looking guy in a cheap business suit to share her table at the coffee shop one morning when there were no tables available. After he’d nodded at her to acknowledge her kind gesture, he’d spent the next 45 minutes poking at his iPad and slurping on his latte, as if she hadn’t existed.
So she squeaked, “What? Me? No!”
“Single, eh? Good… good.” Queenie looked pleased, as if it was all falling into place. “You do know that France has some of the sexiest men in the world, don’t you? And the Côte d’Azur is one of the most romantic places on Earth! Are you planning to have a little summer fling?”
Melanie almost laughed, but her answer came out in a squeak. “I don’t date,” she began, but floundered. She hoped Queenie didn’t ask why, because she didn’t want to admit that since her divorce came through she’d downloaded and deleted dating apps many times, so self-conscious that when it got to the point in filling out her profile where she had to upload her photos, she always balked. Imagine how ridiculous it would be to even think she would stand a chance of copping a male glance in a country where the women were legendary for their glamor and beauty.
“Why not? As young and beautiful as you are? You’re in your prime, you should be having the time of your—”
“I have a son to care for,” she began, knowing full well that she was using Rhys as a poor excuse.
Queenie called her on her bullshit. “A son who’s growing up fast, and who, I’m sure, wants only the best for his mom.” She winked at Rhys, who grinned back.
Melanie decided to brazen it out and lifted her chin to give her confidence as she announced, “I’m just not interested. Been there, done that. There are reasons I’m divorced, the same reasons why I stay single. My son and I will be fine just as we are.”
Queenie twirled a lock of her hair nonchalantly around her fingers, made a disbelieving moue at the audience, and said in a sing-song facsimile of resignation. “We’ll see, luvvie. We’ll see.”
Hoping to change the subject, Melanie added eagerly, “But I have every intention of making use of my trip to learn a new language. I’ve signed me and Rhys up for beginner’s French classes at the community college.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Yes! Our first class is next Saturday. By the time we get to France, I hope we’ll at least know enough to ask for directions to the bathroom!”
The audience tittered, but Queenie twisted her lips as if trying to choke down a laugh. Then, with the meticulous precision of a veteran showman, she detonated her bomb, throwing Melanie’s entire life into chaos. “Yeah, about that. Your flight leaves at eight.”
For a moment, Melanie’s forebrain shut down; it was all she could do to form words. “Eight what?”
“Eight a.m.,” Queenie clarified unhelpfully.
“Eight a.m.what day?” She could feel her son’s confused eyes upon her.
“Why, tomorrow, silly! You start work on the cottage in two days!”
Melanie stared, dumbfounded. This couldn’t be real. It wasn’t possible to just up and go like that. It wasn’t something normal human beings did. They got their affairs in order. They made plans. She began to stutter. “I have a lease on my apartment….”
Queenie snapped her fingers like Thanos obliterating half the universe. “Paid up until you come back, courtesy of the studio.”
“I have a job… at a diner. I’ve only been there four months, so I don’t think I’d be able to take time off—”
“No problem. I had a word today with your darling boss, Louis. Charming man.”
‘Charming’ wasn’t the word she’d use to describe her boss….
“He has given you two months’ paid vacation—”
“Leave? Paid?” Now she knew she must have died and gone to the good place, because the Louis she knew would certainly never have agreed to that. This was a man who stocked the diner’s bathroom with one-ply, despite the frequent grousing on Yelp.
“Sure. In exchange for a shout-out on my show.” Queenie signaled offscreen. “Close up on me, Mickey.” She stared into the camera and said, “My loyal subjects, next time you’re in Monroe, you’ve got to try Louis’ Diner. The contacts are right here on your screen.” She pointed sharp-nailed fingers at the thin air in the vicinity of her knees, where the crawling text would appear on TV screens. “Their Cajun slow-barbecued ribs are to die for.” Then she winked. “Tell them Queenie sent you.”
Melanie felt her head spin, not only because of the suddenly looming deadline, but the image of Louis’ diner being swamped by Queenie’s Minions in the coming days. And she wouldn’t be there to help.
Queenie looked smug. “So you see, it’s all taken care of. All you have to do is toddle on home and pack. A driver will pick you and your charming young man up at 5:30 tomorrow morning. So, by my calculations,” she looked ostentatiously at a gut-wrenchingly expensive watch, “from the time you make it back to Monroe, you have hmmm… about eight hours.” She pulled her lips back, baring her teeth like a benevolent shark. “Now, are you ready for your adventure?”
