Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [27]
“Such a fuss over Barry Manilow’s Final Farewell tour. Ridiculous!” Sylvia’s tone is light, but five decades’ worth of frowns undermine any effort at turning them upside down.
“I totally agree with you,” Jessica says, running her tongue over her teeth. She can feel the erosion of tooth enamel already. Why did she eat that donut?
“I’ve never been much of a fan of his, to be perfectly honest,” Sylvia says.
Jessica is tempted to force a segue. Me, either! Though that “Copacabana” song is kind of fun to dance to at weddings, don’tcha think? And speaking of weddings, I’m hoping you’ll be able to get me to my best friend’s wedding …
But Sylvia doesn’t let Jessica get a word in edgewise. “Final Farewell? Ha! That’s what they all say. Didn’t Cher’s farewell tour go on for five years? And what about that Céline Dion? Hasn’t she gone into retirement three times already? It’s just a ticket-selling scam.”
“You’re right!” Jessica says, again too eagerly, having chosen forced politeness over her other options.
“Say what you want, but that Céline Dion sure can sing. She’s sure got some pipes. But Barry Manilow? Meh!”
“Meh!” Jessica mimics.
Sylvia nods, simpatico, and wiggles her fingers over the keyboard. Jessica is now confident that Sylvia will do whatever is in her power to get her on the next flight to St. Thomas.
Of course that’s when, as if on cue, Jessica’s phone starts singing.
You know I can’t smile …
Sylvia frowns, and her hands freeze. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan.” She obviously feels betrayed by Jessica in a meaningless, minuscule way that is not unlike how Jessica still feels after being abandoned by Garanimals.
“I’m not!” Jessica glances at the caller ID and sees that it’s a text message: NO WORRIES!!!! XO, B&P
The number of exclamation points undermines the message. Jessica is more desperate than ever to get on the next flight.
“I got this phone for work a few years ago, and I still don’t know how to use it. I’m not really techy, and this thing has more buttons, bells, and whistles than I know what to do with.”
Sylvia’s face is unchanging.
“Anyway, a girl I know programmed this ring tone as a joke because an old boyfriend once tried to win me back with a Barry Manilow toilet seat cover.”
Jessica stops midsentence, not only because she sounds like a lunatic but because she’s caught herself in the kind of public overshare that she finds so distasteful. She hates being on the inadvertent receiving end of these types of conversations. In Manhattan one can take unwilling part in conversations about infidelity, abortions, genital infestations, all out loud, in public, without shame, on a daily basis. It’s commonplace, she knows, and she feels like an anachronistic curmudgeon for wanting to adhere to some outmoded sense of propriety and discretion. Whenever she overhears one of these shameless conversations, she can’t help but look at the oversharing narcissist and think, I don’t want to know this about you. Jessica doesn’t want Sylvia—or anyone on line behind her, for that matter—knowing about Sunny.
“Let me start over,” Jessica says.
She explains her problem: She missed her flight to St. Thomas. And her goal: To get on the next available flight. As well as the complications therewith: The flight she missed was itself a change to the original reservation, which means that the airline is under no obligation to make yet another change, with or without the hundred-dollar surcharge. Sylvia takes this all in and—with newfound professional resolve—starts clicking away at her computer. “Ms. Daring?”
“Darling,” Jessica corrects. “With an L.”
“Oh, right!” Sylvia says, squinting at the screen. “I need a new prescription.” She types, then stops. “Darling with an L. That’s quite a name to live up to.” Sylvia, bless her, clearly does not know about the porn star and how she’s chosen to live up to the Darling name. “It’s like the family in Peter Pan!” Sylvia yelps, her