The Red Hat Society's Queens of Woodlawn Avenue

by Regina Hale Sutherland

  I found it both a little scary and a little Zen how many principles of bridge were turning out to be quite handy in my everyday life. Or at least in this strange new post-divorce existence. That lesson on finessing a queen, for example, proved quite helpful not forty-eight hours later when I was pushing a grocery cart down the aisle at Harris-Teeter.

  Most important moments in life catch us unaware, just as this one did me. I had been stewing over the whole “finessing a queen” thing since Saturday. But today was Monday, the start of a new week, and I needed to forget about Roz and focus on how in the world to find shuttle buses for the ball. Not to mention figuring out what I was going to do about Henri and Will. And the myriad of other difficulties that seemed to swamp me every time I thought about them.

  So there I was, pulling a stack of ninety-nine cent frozen pizzas out of the freezer case when I saw her out of the corner of my eye.

  Roz Crowley.

  She, of course, was not wearing faded jeans and a Target T-shirt like I was. No, she looked like a million dollars in her chic little separates from Sigfrid Olsen.

  For a moment, I debated the pros and cons of climbing into the freezer case and trying to hide out behind the wall of frozen pizzas. I didn’t have the chance to give it a try, though.

  “Ellie!” She spit out my name somewhere between a bark and a screech.

  I turned, slowly, careful to look surprised to see her. My eyebrows were arched so high that they hurt.

  “Oh. Hello, Roz.” I don’t know if I could have sounded so cool if I weren’t standing with the door to the freezer case open. “Nice to see you.”

  Her eyes narrowed above the forced smile she’d plastered on her face. “I’ve left you several messages but you haven’t called me back.”

  “Sorry.” I pitched the pizzas into the basket of my cart and prayed she wouldn’t check out the other contents too closely. Everything in there had a generic or a store brand label. “My new business has really taken off and I’ve been swamped.” I resisted the urge to cross my fingers behind my back.

  “I need to know about the transportation arrangements. I assume you have made them?”

  “Why wouldn’t I have?” I was pretty good at feigning innocence from all those years of convincing my kids that I had no idea who had eaten all the Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies.

  Her eyes narrowed further, if that was physically possible. “What company’s doing the shuttles?”

  She might as well have pinned me up against the frozen pizzas and shone a bright lamp in my eyes.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It’s going to be something very special.”

  I could tell she didn’t believe me. “I’m the chair of the ball. I think you can tell me.”

  “Nope. It’s going to be a surprise.” And it was, even to me, so I wasn’t lying. Still, guilt thickened my tongue and raised my heart rate.

  “And the security?”

  “Taken care of. All the off-duty Metro officers we need.”

  Her eyebrow arched, then, in pure skepticism. “How did you manage that?”

  “Connections.” And an excruciating dinner at Green Hills Grille.

  “I always worry when I think someone’s being less than truthful with me.” She took a step closer, totally violating my personal space. And I couldn’t retreat since the freezer case had my back.

  “Don’t screw this up, Ellie, like you do everything else.”

  “If I screw this up, Roz, it will be because you used Nashville’s biggest charity event to get back at me for stealing your boyfriend!”

  All the breath whooshed out of my lungs on the wings of those words. I couldn’t believe I’d actually said that.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Roz rolled her eyes, but it was an affected gesture. I could tell from the tightening of her nostrils that I’d scored a direct hit. Only in an outright battle, I knew I couldn’t beat her. She had money, power, connections. Lord, she was going to squash me like a bug. She’d been waiting years for the opportunity.

  “Look, Roz,” I said, swallowing the large knot in my throat that was my pride. “I’m sorry about Jim. But that was a long time ago, and clearly I’m getting my just desserts now.”

  But even that didn’t seem to mollify her. Her perfectly made up cheeks took on a fiery tone.

  “You think this is about Jim?” She was looking at me in patent disbelief.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “I could care less about Jim Johnston,” she sneered. “Although I will say I admire him for finally coming to his senses.”

  “Wait a minute.” The cold tile beneath my feet was starting to spin. “If you don’t hate me because of Jim, then why?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  “No.”

  I couldn’t tell whether my denial made her mad or happy. She looked up at the ceiling, then down at her impeccable navy pumps, and then finally back at me. And when she did, she had tears in her eyes.

  “Your mother never told you?”

  “Never told me what?”

  Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, much as mine had done when Jim had asked me if Tiffany could wear my mom’s wedding dress.

  “My father…”

  Just the start of that sentence was like a sucker punch to the stomach.

  “He and your mother—”

  “No!” I was not going to let her stand there and slander my mother. Roz was a jealous, bitter, vindictive—

  “Oh, yes. Oh, yes. For years.” She drew out the last word like it was a knife coming out of its sheath.

  “No way.” I thought of my mom, collapsed on the couch at the end of a long day with her feet in a tub of hot water and Epsom salts. As far back as I could remember, her face had been lined and worn. She was the last person in the world who would have had an affair with her boss. Besides, I knew who my father was. Kevin Michael Hall had died in Korea three months before I was born. I had his eyes and his strong chin. One look at the portrait of my dad in his dress uniform confirmed my paternity.

  “No, Roz, my mother wasn’t involved with your father.” And then the light dawned. “Good Lord! You think we’re sisters?”

  I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. Not a very politic thing to do at that exact moment, but it wasn’t intentional.

  “My mom always said—”

  “Your mom was a bitter, jealous woman.” I’d been young, but not too young to pick up on that fact. I’d always resented when my mom threw Roz’s accomplishments in my face, and if I protested her doing that, she would tell me tales of Roz’s horrible mother.

  Evidently the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree.

  “It has to be true,” Roz hissed. “He was always talking about you, going on about your grades, your hard work, your accomplishments. Ellie this and Ellie that. I hated the sound of your name.”

  Another shopper bumped against me trying to get to the frozen pizzas. I moved aside, and Roz moved with me.

  “Look, Roz, I can show you a copy of my birth certificate if you want. Your dad was a doctor. If he had thought he was my father, his name would be on my birth certificate. He would never have messed with something like that.”

  Right there, right in front of my eyes, she deflated like a balloon stuck with a hat pin. Her face crumpled as much as it could, given the amount of Botox it contained. I half expected her to go swirling and spinning off through the store.

  For the first time in my life, I felt sorry for Roz Crowley. Suddenly, I didn’t feel the need to finesse anything. I’d taken an extra winner without even trying.

  “I’m sorry, Roz,” I said and tried to sidle around the side of my cart. I was going to try and do something kind, like put a hand on her shoulder and pat her as Grace so often did to me. But before I could get anywhere near her, she threw back her shoulders and glared at me with those laser-beam eyes.

  “If you ever, ever repeat this to anyone, I’ll—”

  “What, Roz? What
else could you possibly do to me?” For a myriad of reasons, she and I had been destined for enmity. I didn’t know if I could let go of all those years of bitterness and jealousy right there in the frozen food aisle at Harris-Teeter, but at least I could offer a truce.

  “No, Roz. I’m not going to repeat this to anyone/’ I looked down into my cart. “My pizzas are starting to thaw. I’d better go.”

  I could tell she hated my generosity, but she seemed to accept it nonetheless.

  “Fine.” She smoothed her hair with one hand. “Just make sure you don’t foul up the ball.”

  “Good-bye, Roz.” I pushed the cart past her and gladly followed.

  The last time I had been this stunned by a revelation was when I had curled up on my living room sofa while Jim went upstairs to pack his bags. I guess in life, people are finessing us, slipping things by us all the time, and most of the time we don’t even notice. Sometimes, though, we slip things by ourselves, and maybe that’s even worse.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Becoming a Captain

  By the end of the week, Henri was back in town, but I still hadn’t found the right moment to push him about my unpaid invoices. I was too cowardly, though, to quit working for him until I got a check. So I spent that week just as I had the one before—organizing his meals, his laundry and dry cleaning, his maid service. I even took his luxury car to have the oil changed and the tires rotated.

  By Friday, I decided enough was enough. Time to beard the lion in his den. Far more professional to beard the lion in his downtown high-rise than in his, well, actual den. Every time I’d tried to introduce the subject while standing in his apartment, I had wound up either being seduced or running away from his attempts at seduction.

  The bloom was definitely off the rose, I thought, as I found a parking garage near his office and managed to wedge my land yacht into a spot designated for compact cars. By now, I was far more concerned with the money Henri owed me than with his ability to make me feel special and sexy.

  I took the elevator to the twenty-fifth floor and followed the signs for The Triumph Group. When I entered the suite of offices, I was surprised to find that Henri’s business consisted of only a very young receptionist in the outer office and two closed doors beyond that, one marked with Henri’s name.

  “I’m Ellie John—I mean, Hall. Ellie Hall. I’d like to see Mr. Paradis.”

  The girl gave me the once over. “What is this regarding?”

  “Business.” I had worn my robin’s egg blue suit for courage. The receptionist evidently knew her designer labels, because she nodded her approval.

  “I’ll see if he’s available.”

  She picked up the phone and spoke in low tones while I wandered to the opposite side of the small reception area and pretended to inspect the artwork, really just framed copies of a generic landscape like you’d find in any office building anywhere.

  “Mr. Paradis says it’s not a convenient time. Perhaps you would like to come back after lunch?”

  “You’re kidding.” I verbalized my thought before I could stop myself. “I mean, it’s imperative that I speak with him right away.”

  From behind the door bearing Henri’s nameplate, I heard muffled voices, one of them a woman’s. Maybe I should have felt some shooting rush of jealousy, but I only felt annoyed. I was tired of the game-playing.

  “I’ll just show myself in.” Without waiting for her response, I walked past her desk and threw open the door to Henri’s office.

  “Ellie!” He was halfway between the door and his desk, standing there with a confused look on his face. “This isn’t a good time to talk.”

  How could I not know that something was going on? Henri looked guilty but also a bit smug, and then I noticed that there was another door in the wall to my right. Whoever he had been talking to, that door was apparently her escape route.

  “I’m afraid it can’t wait.”

  “What is it, then? What is so important that you must interrupt my work?”

  I thrust the file I was holding into his hands. “Here are the unpaid invoices from Your Better Half. I took the liberty of making you additional copies. As you can see, some of them are more than thirty days past due.”

  He scowled. “Yes, yes. I know this already, and I promised you that I would see to them.”

  “Yes, you did promise. But nothing seems to have been done about it.”

  He shoved his fingers through his hair, unknowingly spiking the ends so that they stood straight out from his head. I’d never seen him do that before.

  “You came all the way downtown for this?”

  “Yes.” I crossed my arms over my chest, prepared to stand there until doomsday if that’s what it took to get the money I was owed.

  “I’m afraid our accountant isn’t in right now.”

  “I thought you said there was an accounting department. A bunch of Italians.”

  “Of course there is. But they are actually in Italy, ma petite.” In the blink of an eye, he dropped his defensive posture and came toward me. “When Jason, my partner, returns, I will have him call Italy immediately. Really, Eleanor, there is no need to be so dramatic.”

  “When do you expect him back?”

  His smile faded. “Jason? Soon.”

  And then I heard a toilet flushing from behind the closed door. “Who’s that?”

  For the first time since I’d known him, I was given the opportunity to see Henri speechless. More sounds followed the flush—water running and the snap of paper towels being pulled from a dispenser—and then the door opened.

  The woman who emerged from the bathroom was stunning, half my age, and obviously French. You could tell by her cheekbones and her shoes. Also, she looked at me with that Gallic disdain that I’d seen on Henri’s face on several occasions.

  “Henri? Who is this?” She dismissed me, robin’s egg blue suit and all, with a flick of her hair over her shoulder.

  “This is Eleanor. She’s the woman who has been helping me with my domestic arrangements.”

  “Oh, but of course. Your little wife.” Only she said it in French. “Bien sur. Votre petite mariée.” Even my high school classes ensured I could translate that much.

  “Ellie, this is Giselle. Giselle Paradis.”

  I smiled, trying very hard to be pleasant in the face of the other woman’s hauteur. “Nice to meet you. I didn’t know Henri’s daughter was coming to visit.”

  Her eyes grew the slightest bit wider, and then she smiled like a cat about to devour a mouse that it had been toying with. “Daughter? Oh, no, madame. You misunderstand. I am Henri’s wife.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Giselle is my wife. She arrived unexpectedly last night.”

  I was at a complete loss for words. A shiver ran down my spine, and then it settled as a knot in my stomach.

  “I flew in from Paris to make sure Henri was not being too naughty here among the Southern belles.” She made it sound like the women of Nashville ran around in hoop skirts and pantaloons while hopping in and out of horse-drawn carriages.

  Finally, I found my voice. “I’m sure he’s as well-behaved here as he is at home.” A statement that provided me with all the leeway of its double meaning.

  She frowned. “Yes, well, now that I am here, I will look after his…how did he say it?…domestic arrangements.”

  At that moment, it dawned on me that she was looking at me the same way I had looked at Tiffany Trask the week before at Green Hills Grille. As if she couldn’t believe her husband would involve himself with someone so lacking in sophistication, someone so clearly devoid of refinement and gentility.

  Well, how did that saying go? One man’s trash was another man’s treasure?

  “Of course. You’ll want to resume your wifely duties.” Wifely duties? My cheeks flamed. “I mean, you’ll want to take over the household management.” I gestured toward the folder of invoices Henri still held in his hand. “Those are up to date, so it would be simplest to
terminate my services today.” I kept myself from saying, “right this very moment before I take a club to your no-good husband.” After all, about the only thing I had left was my pride. I was going to tie a knot in it and hang on.

  “Yes. I think that would be for the best,” Giselle snapped. Clearly she was losing patience with our conversation.

  Henri had been uncharacteristically mute during this exchange, but at that point, he seemed to collect himself. “I’ll just walk Ellie to the elevator, ma chère.” His use of the endearment that had weakened my knees now had the opposite effect of straightening my spine.

  “That’s not necessary. I can find my way out.”

  “Oh, but I insist. I won’t be a moment, darling.”

  Giselle arched an eyebrow but offered no protest.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said inanely before spinning on my heel and making a beeline for the door. I didn’t particularly want Henri to walk me anywhere. Mostly I just wanted to flee the building—and the greater Nashville area—as quickly as possible.

  But he wasn’t going to allow me to make a quick escape. He didn’t say anything until we passed the receptionist and were safely in the deserted hallway. I strode to the bank of elevators and punched the DOWN call button.

  “Ellie! Wait.” His hand covered mine on the button. I snatched my fingers back as if I’d placed them on a hot stove.

  “No, Henri.”

  “But I can explain.”

  I snorted. “I’m sure you can. But the bottom line is you told me you were divorced. I would never have slept with you if I’d known you were married.”

  “But I am divorced.” He actually had the gall to look wounded. “I did not lie about that.”

  “Well, Giselle doesn’t seem to be aware that you two no longer share a legal bond.”

  “Oh, no, ma chère. I am not divorced from Giselle. Marie, I am divorced from Marie. She was my first wife.”

  It was the closest I’d ever come in my life to committing homicide. Any reasonable jury would have declared me not guilty. Still, if I wound up in jail, I wouldn’t be available to enjoy my total humiliation when all the transportation arrangements for the Cannon Ball turned into a disaster.