by Sharon Sala
Gracie sat. "Sorry about your injury. I hope you're on a good road to recovery."
Donna rolled her eyes. "I'm on the road, but I am an impatient patient."
"Yes, ma'am. I tend to be that way myself," Gracie said.
"No, ma'am. Just Donna. Now, let's talk. I see on your resumé that you interned an entire year with an event planner in Dallas. What, exactly, did you do during that time?"
Gracie leaned back in the chair, immediately at ease.
"Basically, everything that goes along with that job, including the chaos of mistakes and disasters. One of the more memorable events I worked was a wedding where the groom failed to appear. The bride and her family got into a brawl with the groom's family on the other side of the aisle. It was a nightmare."
Donna burst out laughing. "Oh my God! What a cluster-fuck that must have been."
Gracie grinned. Apparently, Donna was not shy with her vocabulary.
"Pretty much. But, with regards to the floral aspect, which was my favorite part of the job, I went to flower market at least twice a week. I learned how to order supplies for floral design. And there was always floral work for big events and conventions. Some event planners sub that out, but the one I worked for was all-inclusive."
"I won't lie. I’m looking for someone with more experience, and I see you haven't worked in..."
"Nine years," Gracie said. "I stopped my life to take care of my mother after she was diagnosed with dementia. She recently passed, and now I'm trying to pick up where I left off."
Donna was listening carefully to everything Gracie said, but she was also focused on her body language. The moment Gracie started talking about her mother, her body tensed and her hands fisted in her lap.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Donna said.
Gracie blinked, unaware there were tears in her eyes.
"Don't be. I lost her years before she died. It was a hard, hard time for both of us. I'm still in jump and run mode, but I'm getting there—realizing that my time is my own again."
"Understood," Donna said. "I'd like to have you design a few arrangements if you’re willing, just so I can see if your work is at a level I need. Reba will show you where everything is, and if you need something, just ask. We're working an anniversary party and a funeral right now. Let's go pull a couple of work orders. I’d like to see what you do with them."
"Of course," Gracie said.
Donna stood, grabbed a pair of crutches from the corner, and led the way out of her office back into the work room.
"Reba, honey. Will you please get a work apron for Gracie?"
Reba ran into the break room and came back with a clean, pink-bib apron.
Gracie put it on as Donna began going through the work orders for the anniversary party, then pulled one, and handed it to Gracie.
"This is for a twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party. They want a cut flower arrangement for the table where the cake and punch will be served, so it needs to be lovely and showy, without being so large that it's in the way. I think there is a height request on the work order."
"Got it," Gracie said, and laid it aside as Donna pulled one from the funeral and gave it to her, as well.
"The funeral is for a seventy-three-year-old man, and as you can see by what they paid, they want a big, showy basket of flowers in a three-sixty format."
Gracie took the last work order, then looked around.
"Where is the cooler?"
Reba pointed.
Gracie nodded. "Okay...next question. I have no idea what the different prices per stem are for flowers, so I'll need to know that, to stay within the customer's budget," Gracie said.
"Reba, do you know where those charts are that I made up when they raised prices on us last year?" Donna asked.
"In the work drawers," Reba said, then opened the drawer in the table next to Gracie and handed it to her.
"Thanks," Gracie said. "And last question. For the twenty-fifth anniversary party, do they have a color scheme?"
"Oh...good call," Donna said. "Yes. Their colors for the party are the wedding colors, which were pale pink and mauve."
"Got it," Gracie said, and pointed to a worktable that was already equipped. "Is it okay if I work there?"
Donna nodded. "Yes. That's my table. Work away, and just send Reba back to get me when you've finished."
Gracie had the price chart in her hand as she headed for the cooler. She was going to do the funeral arrangement first, and after looking through what was available at the correct price range, she began getting a picture in her mind of what she wanted to create.
She came out carrying myrtle, silver dollar Eucalyptus, blue and lavender hydrangeas, green poms, and white peonies. Then she chose a large, white plastic standing basket and began cut and packing it with floral foam.
At that point, she began sorting and cutting hydrangeas, staggering the heights and colors as she placed them within the basket, then filled in with white peonies and green poms, then the shiny green leaves of silver dollar Eucalyptus and long stems of myrtle to add definition and height.
She stopped, stood back to look at it, then checked the price sheet, and went back into the cooler. She came out with a few stems of gold Peruvian lilies, dark yellow stock, and purple and yellow irises and began filling them in within the arrangement until it was a riot of color from every angle.
Then she paused. "Hey Reba, are bows expected on funeral arrangements?"
Reba stopped, frowning. "Well, usually yes. But as beautiful as that is, I don't know that it's necessary."
Gracie thought about it a minute, and then went to the ribbon shelf and pulled out a roll of ocean blue. She began cutting off six-inch lengths, notching them at one end and fastening each to a floral pick. She used them as filler around the base until she had finished it off. At that point, she filled it with water to saturate the foam, totaled up the florist's cost, and set it aside.
Then she picked up the work order for the Silver Anniversary. She chose a cut crystal vase from the supply shelf and walked back to the cooler for the peonies she'd seen in there earlier. She came out with lavender-pink peonies with feathery petals, two other varieties in varying shades of pink, and tree fern for the greenery.
Since the vase was clear, she was going to need clear marbles rather than floral foam to hold the stems in place.
Once the marbles were in place, she filled the vase part way up with water, then began adding flowers, keeping all the stems the same height and mounding them like a formal wedding bouquet, then she added a collar of tree ferns in shorter length around them.
With her vision of a bridal bouquet in mind, she grabbed two spools of silver ribbon—one wide enough to make bows and the other narrower to make streamers.
She hadn't made bows in years, but the skill came back the moment she started working. And when she was finished, she fastened it to a green floral pick and inserted it in between the stems. Now the arrangement, which had been a full three-sixty design, had a front.
She stepped back again, eyed the arrangement and smiled. It looked like a bridal bouquet. A gorgeous, pink and mauve bridal bouquet, the perfect height for the four-tiered anniversary cake noted on the work order. At that point she totaled the cost and stopped.
"Okay, Reba. You can go get Donna," Gracie said.
Reba looked up, her eyes widening, and then headed down the hall.
Gracie knew they looked good, but without seeing the level of work coming out of here, she had no idea if it would measure up. Then she heard the thump and scoot of Donna's crutches and turned as she entered the work room.
Donna had had to make herself stay busy to keep from peeking. Her other two employees had gone to late lunch, so they weren't here, and it was just as well. It wasn't easy to do your best work with people watching. She liked Gracie Dunham and really hoped she was good enough to hire. When she finally heard footsteps coming toward her office, she glanced up. If Gracie was through, she'd done two big orders in under an hour.
&n
bsp; "She's ready," Reba said.
"What do you think?"
"You're the boss," Reba said.
Donna sighed. She didn't know what to make of that comment, so she got up and hobbled out of her office. Within seconds of walking into the workroom, she saw Gracie, then her work, and froze.
"Holy shit!" Donna said, and hobbled forward as fast as she could move toward the funeral arrangement.
"I love that ribbon fringe around the basket. I've never seen anything quite like that! It's stunning. The whole arrangement is gorgeous. And the anniversary arrangement! Oh my God. You turned it into a wedding bouquet. I know that couple personally, and this is going to blow their minds."
Gracie breathed a quick sigh of relief.
"I kept a list of what I used, and the total cost of each arrangement," she said, and handed over the list.
Donna glanced at it and nodded.
"Detailed and gifted. You, Gracie Dunham, are a find! Reba, honey, would you please put the proper cards on these two arrangements and get them in the cooler? Gracie, follow me back to the office, please."
Reba winked as they passed.
Gracie felt like dancing, and she hadn't felt like dancing in years.
"Have a seat," Donna said, and dropped back into her chair. "I was expecting to offer you the minimum starting salary if you were good enough, and you, my dear, are good enough. But I cannot, in all conscience, pay you a starting salary. You are very gifted, my dear. I am offering you this job at $3,500 a month."
Gracie exhaled on a slow, relieved sigh. "I'll take it."
Donna beamed. "Wonderful! I have a large clientele, and your experience with event planning is going to play a part in your job. We do weddings, funerals, corporate parties. We even do flowers for the musical shows on the strip, for the upscale hotels, plus all the usual floral customers. I have a thriving business, but it's working me to death. Your experience will relieve me of having to deal with event planners. They make my eyes roll back in my head."
Gracie laughed. "They're detail oriented. They have to be."
Donna shrugged. "I know, I know. So am I, but in a different way. Can you start tomorrow?"
"Yes."
Donna grinned. "You don't have to dress up. But you need to be neat, because at any time, you might work the front with a customer, especially until my ankle is better. We open at eight, and close at five, with an hour off for lunch, and we're open a half-day Saturday. We're closed on the usual national holidays. I pay by direct deposit, so I'll need your bank info. Always wear comfy shoes, and one of the girls will show you how to operate the register tomorrow."
"Thank you for the opportunity," Gracie said.
"This has worked out great for both of us," Donna said. "Let's get the paperwork finished, and then we'll be done here until tomorrow. There's a place to park in the back. I'll be here, so ring the bell. Someone will let you in."
"Okay," Gracie said, and then filled out the paperwork and handed it back.
Donna scanned it quickly.
"Okay, girl. We're good to go." Then she looked at the paper again and frowned. "Hey...that address is familiar."
"It's a garage apartment at Lucy Bedford's place," Gracie said.
"Are you serious? She hosts one of the hottest parties in town on New Year's Eve. She's the best. Tell her I said, hello."
Gracie nodded. "Yes, I will."
"Okay... I think that's all I need," Donna said. "Have a great evening, and I'll see you tomorrow morning. And thank you for such amazing work. Both clients are going to be elated with your artistry."
"That makes me happy," Gracie said, and then stood. "Don't get up. I'll see myself out."
"Much appreciated," Donna said, and then as soon as Gracie walked out, she let out a little whoop. This was her lucky day.
But Donna wasn't the only one celebrating.
Gracie was beside herself. She had phone calls to make and good news to share, but she was suddenly starving. She drove until she found a fast food drive-through, got a Coke and fries, and headed home, eating as she went.
Back in Austin, Joel and Mamie's first session in couples counseling was proving difficult. Expressing their emotions and talking about what had gone wrong left both of them feeling vulnerable and scared.
Their counselor was a sixty-something woman with a no-nonsense attitude, which made Mamie anxious. While Joel was ambivalent about how she looked and what she said to them, he didn’t care about any of that as long as she could get him and Mamie back to where they'd been.
They were on their way home from their first session and had been in the car for over thirty minutes navigating city traffic without having said a word to each other.
Joel finally broke the ice.
"You're awfully quiet. What are you thinking?"
Mamie shrugged.
Joel saw the jut of her chin and the red splotches on her face. She was pissed. He sighed.
"I'm not going to fight with you if that's what you're amping up to do," he said. "I was going to ask if you wanted to go out to dinner, but it doesn't appear to be a good idea."
Mamie blinked. "I would like to go out."
"Well, obviously so would I. But I don't intend to sit at a table with you if you're going to act like this."
Mamie glared.
"Act like what?"
"Sulled up like a pissed-off possum, is what," Joel said. "What I don't get is why you're mad at me. We both agreed to go do this."
Mamie sniffed. "You said terrible things about me."
"We were supposed to tell the truth," Joel said. "Nothing I said was a lie."
Mamie slapped both hands on her knees. "I know that!" she shrieked. "But maybe I don't want the world to know how awful I am."
Joel sighed. "Honey. You aren't awful. Your actions were appalling, but you're not a bad person. There is a difference. I didn't get mad at you when she asked you questions about me being gone on business so much. I knew you were probably lonely sometimes, but I had no idea to what extent. I didn't know I was making you feel abandoned."
Mamie sniffed. "Well, you do."
"I understand that now. So, the answer to that is I cut back on work, we cut back on our lavish lifestyle, and spend more time together."
Mamie's eyes widened. "Cut back on what?"
"Travel, expensive gifts, expensive clothes, fancy vacations," he said.
Mamie gasped. "But I don't want to do without that."
Joel resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Well, sugar, I cannot be in two places at once. Either I work to provide your ritzy lifestyle, or we cut back and spend more time together. This will be your choice now, and you can no longer feel abandoned if you are the one who decides if stuff is more important than us."
"Oh my God! That is so unfair!" Mamie cried.
"Or you could get a part-time job... or start volunteering somewhere to fill your days when I'm gone."
Mamie's eyes widened in sudden panic.
"I can't get a job! I don't have any skills."
Joel frowned. "That is so not true. You know clothes and style like the back of your hand. You could work at any upscale clothing store in Austin, and all you'd have to learn is how to ring up sales."
"Oh, I can't do that," Mamie said. "What would my friends say if they came in to shop and saw me working like that? They'd think we were hard up, and I'd be out of the lunch bunch in nothing flat."
Joel frowned. "That would be my sign to pick new friends."
"I can't. I won't," Mamie said.
Joel shrugged. "Then kindly discard your abandonment issues because you have none."
Mamie slumped in silence and said nothing for a few minutes more until she realized they were already in their neighborhood.
"I thought we were going out to dinner!"
"I've completely lost my appetite. I've chewed all the fat I care to tonight," Joel said.
"Well, you just hurt my feelings," Mamie said.
Joel shrugged. "
And you hurt mine, which is why we're in the state we're in."
Mamie pouted.
Joel pulled into the garage, got out while the door was still lowering, and walked into the house, leaving Mamie to get out of the car on her own.
She didn't know how to act and sat there getting madder. Finally, she got out, slammed the door, then stomped into the house, and nearly fell over Joel, who was slumped on the floor in a spreading pool of blood. A masked assailant stood over him, holding a bloody knife and a duffel bag.
She screamed, and without thinking, grabbed the cast iron skillet off the stove beside her, and swung it just as he lunged. The assailant slipped in Joel's blood, and as he started falling, she swung the skillet like a hatchet, hitting him on the back of his head. He dropped like a felled ox over the lower half of Joel's body.
Mamie was still screaming as she hit him one more time for good measure, then dragged him off of Joel, grabbed a hand towel from the counter for a compress to Joel's wound, and dropped to her knees at his side, pressing the towel down with one hand as she called 9-1-1 with the other.
"9-1-1. What is your emergency?"
"I need an ambulance. An intruder just stabbed my husband. He's bleeding badly. Help! I need help!" Mamie cried.
"Yes, ma'am. I'm dispatching now. Are you safe? Where is the intruder?"
"He's on the floor, unconscious. I hit him with my cast iron skillet. I hope I broke his damn head," she cried, and started to shake.
"And your husband—where is his injury located?"
"His stomach," Mamie said. "I have a compress on it, holding it as tight as I can, but I'm not very strong." Then her voice broke. "Please hurry. He's bleeding so much. I can't lose him. He's everything to me."
"You just took out a bad guy with a skillet, so you're strong enough. Now stay on the line with me. Help is on the way. You need to unlock your front door."
"I can't leave Joel. He might bleed to death."
"Seconds, just a few seconds, and you can come right back," the dispatcher said.
Mamie bolted through the house screaming, "Don't die, Joel! Don't die!" at the top of her voice, unlocked the door, and raced back.
The assailant hadn't moved.
