Brand New Me

by Meg Benjamin

  “Maybe they’ll quit after this hand.” Docia stifled a yawn.

  Morgan, Erik’s wife, settled a little lower on the couch. “Not going to happen, Docia, trust me. Pete’s down by five dollars and Erik’s down by two. They’ll never let Cal quit now.”

  “Oh well, I should take advantage of the company. You guys are about the only people I get to talk to these days besides Rolf’s sitter and Jess when she brings Jack over in the morning. The rest of the time it’s just customers.”

  Janie reached for her Diet Coke. “Did you ever call that guy back who was in the shop a couple of days ago?”

  “You mean Mr. Craig Dempsey?” Docia shook her head. “I checked with Mama. He’s the same one who talked to her. He’s after Deirdre, and I’ll be damned if I’ll help Uncle John clean up his mess.”

  Morgan frowned. “He’s after your cousin? Shouldn’t you tell Erik about this?”

  The three of them turned automatically to stare at Erik’s craggy profile frowning at the cards on the table. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, but he might as well have been—he looked like a cop no matter what he wore.

  Docia shook her head. “He’s not stalking her or anything like that. He works for my uncle. My guess is Uncle John just wants to see if she’s ready to come home yet.”

  “Do you think she is?”

  “Nope.” Docia grinned. “I think she’s having a great time, although she may not be willing to admit it. Did I tell you she got a job waiting tables at the Faro? Mind you, this is the woman with an MBA from the McCombs School of Business.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened. “Oh my lord, the new barmaid at the Faro. She’s that girl. The one who started the riot.”

  “Riot?” Janie shook her head. “What riot? I didn’t hear about any riot at the Faro.”

  “Well maybe it wasn’t exactly a riot. More like a ruckus. I got it secondhand from Esteban Avrogado at the winery, who got it from his brother Nando. Some guys got grabby with her and Tom Ames threw them out of the place. Then Nando ended up throwing them in jail when they got rowdy at the Silver Spur.”

  “Deirdre?” Docia managed to keep her voice down, barely. “Some guys tried to grope my cousin? The most sedate girl in Konigsburg? Besides, she’s not a barmaid, she’s a waitress.”

  “She’s probably both,” Janie mused. “The Faro serves more booze than food, although I guess they’ve got a pretty good cook now from what I hear.”

  “And your cousin may be sedate, but she’s developing quite a following. Nando says she’s a knockout.”

  Docia sighed. “She is that. Always has been. But she’s never really believed it, so far as I can tell. And she’s always dressed like somebody from the IRS, so nobody else noticed it either. This is so far out of character for her I wonder if we’ve got her confused with somebody else.”

  “Maybe working at the Faro will change her style.” Janie passed the pizza box around again. Docia ignored her conscience and took another slice.

  “Maybe working for Tom Ames will change her style.” Morgan’s eyes took on a faraway look. “A man of mystery who’s a dead ringer for Steve McQueen. Sounds like the ideal job to me.”

  Docia managed to catch the piece of pepperoni that threatened to slide off her slice. “What’s so mysterious about him? Other than how he’s managed to stay unattached after two years here. And I always thought he looked more like Daniel Craig than Steve McQueen.”

  “According to Nando, nobody knows exactly how he got the Faro in the first place. It wasn’t even on the market, so far as anybody knew. Then all of a sudden here’s Tom Ames with the deed, taking over.”

  “I remember that. Nobody knew Kip Berenger was even thinking of selling the Faro, even though he was running it into the ground.”

  “Kip Berenger?” Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Related to Tolly? The guy who owns the Silver Spur?”

  “His cousin. From what I hear, Tolly was really pissed, too. The Faro wasn’t supposed to be any competition to the Silver Spur, and as long as Kip was in charge it wasn’t.”

  “You can say that again.” Janie licked cheese off her fingers. “Nobody went to the Faro unless they wanted to drink or fight. Or both. It’s really changed since Tom Ames took it over. But nobody knows where the money came from to get him started.”

  “Does it matter?” Docia stifled another yawn. “The old Faro was a dump as I recall. Ames has turned the new one into a pretty nice place. Allie says his cook is a real up-and-comer.”

  “It doesn’t matter, really. It’s just fun gossip.” Morgan pushed herself to her feet. “Erik, whether you’re winning or losing, it’s time to go home.”

  Pete sighed, tossing his cards on the table. “This is what comes of allowing wives to come to poker night.”

  “‘Allowing’ wives to come?” One corner of Erik’s mouth edged up. “I don’t know about you, Pete, but there’s no question of ‘allowing’ at our house.”

  “Everyone is welcome to stay over.” Janie’s voice had a slightly acid quality. “We have loads of room. More than usual, in fact, since Pete’s going to be sleeping on the couch.” She headed toward the kitchen.

  “Aw, Janie, come on. It was just a joke. A lousy, insensitive, sexist one. One that I already regret. Truce?” Pete trotted after her, grimacing.

  “Come on, chief.” Morgan smiled down at Erik. “Let’s go home.”

  Erik pushed himself up from the poker table, his smile spreading. “Let’s do that.” He put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her gently toward the front door.

  “Newlyweds.” Cal sighed. “Suddenly I feel a hundred years old.”

  “C’mon, gramps.” Docia grinned up at him. “Let’s grab the Rolfman and get ourselves down the road to the barn.”

  Chapter Nine

  Deirdre walked up Main, headed for the apartment and a quick shower. She’d spent the morning washing walls, and if she walked into the Faro in her current condition, she’d probably send customers running for the exit, let alone trying to wait tables there. She was also wearing her old comfortable jeans rather than her new uncomfortable ones, and she figured Clem or even Tom would make her go home and change even if she didn’t do it herself.

  She paused for a moment, thinking. She hadn’t even known Tom Ames a month ago, but now he’d become Tom. She hadn’t owned a pair of tight jeans a month ago. She hadn’t known how to heft a tray loaded with beers a month ago. She hadn’t been on her way to realizing the dream she’d nursed for three years a month ago.

  Times change. People change.

  She found herself grinning. Not bad, girl. Not bad at all.

  “Deirdre?”

  She recognized Docia’s voice even as she kicked herself for not hurrying along a little faster. She really didn’t have time for an extended conversation. Not if she was going to wash her hair, too. She forced a smile and turned back toward the bookstore. “Hi, Docia.”

  “Hey.” Docia narrowed her eyes. “I thought you were waiting tables. The Faro must be rougher than I remembered.”

  Deirdre glanced down at her dusty clothes and shook her head. “I’ve been working on the shop. And I need to get cleaned up for the lunch crowd.”

  “Okay, let me walk with you.” Docia gave her a dazzling smile that did nothing to convince Deirdre she wasn’t being grilled. “How’s everything going?”

  “Oh fine. I’m making some good tips. I should have enough to put a down payment on some stock soon.” She walked briskly toward the apartment door, hoping Docia would drop back.

  Of course, since Docia was a few inches taller, her stride was more than long enough to keep up. “So you’re working lunch?”

  “And the evenings. That’s when I get the best tips.”

  “I didn’t know they did dinner at the Faro.”

  Deirdre stopped at the door, turning back to look at her cousin and trying to keep the belligerence out of her voice. “Okay, Docia, I’m a barmaid, not a waitress. Is that a problem?”

  Docia
at least had manners enough to blush. “Of course not, Dee. I just didn’t realize you were doing it. Morgan said you had some trouble the other night.”

  “It was nothing. Tom took care of it. It was over in a couple of minutes.” She pushed the door open and headed up the stairs.

  Docia trailed after her. “Tom?”

  “He’s my boss. He’s also a nice guy. He gave me a job when I had no experience and he’s letting me have the shop more or less on spec.” She held open the apartment door a little reluctantly and then immediately felt guilty. Docia was letting her live rent-free in a prime apartment. She was entitled to ask whatever she wanted.

  Docia stepped inside, and stopped, her jaw dropping. “Dee, what happened to your furniture?”

  Deirdre shrugged. “I don’t have any. The furniture I had in the condo in Houston belonged to Brandenburg, Inc.”

  “But surely you had some at Uncle John’s house—your own bed at least. And I’ll bet Aunt Kathleen meant for you to have her breakfront and her dining room table. They came from her side of the family, as I recall. Irish workmanship and beautiful.”

  Deirdre’s lips tightened as she fought back a grimace. “Somehow, I didn’t feel like asking Daddy to send them to me.”

  “But…” Docia sank into one of the plastic lawn chairs Deirdre had been able to scrounge from the dollar store. “You don’t have anywhere to sit.”

  “I’ve got those.” Deirdre gestured toward the chairs. “And I’m hardly ever here anyway. I’m either working at the Faro or working at the shop. I’ll worry about furniture later.”

  Docia’s eyes narrowed. “What are you sleeping on?”

  “My sleeping bag. And an air mattress. It’s okay.”

  Docia pushed herself up and headed for the bedroom. “It’s not okay, Deirdre. Not by a long shot. We’ve got some extra furniture and so do the rest of the Toleffsons. To say nothing of Mama’s big barn of a place in San Antonio. We can outfit you.”

  “No, Docia, honestly.” Deirdre wasn’t sure why she was fighting off this sudden attack of generosity. But she didn’t want to keep taking things from Docia and Aunt Reba, to keep being rescued. She started after Docia only to turn back as the doorbell sounded from the street door downstairs. “Just a minute,” she called down the staircase.

  Two delivery men stood on the sidewalk outside her door. The truck parked behind them on the street had Hempleman’s Discount Furniture painted on the side. “You Deirdre Brandenburg?” one of the men asked.

  Deirdre nodded. “I didn’t order anything, though.”

  The delivery man shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that. We got a delivery here. All paid up.” He handed her a clipboard with an order sheet. “You sign here after we take it upstairs for you.” He turned toward the truck where his assistant had already opened the back and pushed down a ramp.

  “Take what?” Deirdre frowned down at the page, trying to make sense of it.

  “The mattress.” The two delivery men began easing a large innerspring mattress down the ramp toward the street.

  Deirdre stared. “But I didn’t order any mattress.”

  “Somebody did. And paid for it too. Check the address—it’s supposed to be delivered here.”

  “But…” Deirdre stammered.

  “Take it upstairs. I’ll show you where.”

  Docia’s voice made Deirdre jump. She glanced down at the paper again, then trailed after the two delivery men as they wrestled the mattress up the stairs to the apartment.

  Docia led the parade through the front door. Inside, she tossed Deirdre’s sleeping bag and air mattress into the hall, then pointed the men into her bedroom. “Where do you want the head, Dee?”

  Deirdre gestured mutely toward the end of the room opposite the windows, and the delivery men pushed the mattress against the wall. One of them pulled a pen out of his pocket. “You need to sign for this down here.” He pointed toward the corner of the page.

  “But I didn’t order it,” she said again, trying to keep her voice from rising in frustration.

  “Look, lady, it’s all paid for. The delivery address is this place. I’d say you’ve got yourself a mattress. Just sign it, okay? We got other places to go.”

  Sighing, she scribbled her signature in the corner, then took her copy of the sheet from the delivery men as they headed back out the door.

  Docia peered over her shoulder. “So who sent you a very nice present?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t suppose it was you?”

  She shook her head. “If I’d known you were sleeping in a freakin’ sleeping bag, it might have been, but I didn’t get a chance. I’ll find you some sheets for this thing, though. Looks like it’s king-size. Who else knew about your furniture? Or lack thereof.”

  Deirdre sighed. “Nobody. I haven’t had anyone in here.” She stopped suddenly, remembering just who had been inside her apartment in the last week. “Oh.”

  “Oh what?”

  “Nothing,” she muttered, suddenly wishing Docia would go back to work.

  “C’mon, Dee, give. Who’s been in here?”

  Deirdre licked her lips. Oh well. “Tom walks me home every night. I’ve told him he doesn’t need to, but he says I shouldn’t be walking around Konigsburg by myself that late.”

  “He’s got that right.” Docia’s lips spread in a slow grin. “Oh my. Are you telling me Tom Ames has seen your bedroom?”

  “He just came in the apartment the first time to make sure…” Deirdre paused. To make sure of what? That no mad rapists were hiding under your sleeping bag?

  “Yes, well.” Docia was still grinning. “You be sure and thank him when you see him. That’s a very nice mattress.”

  Deirdre’s jaw tightened. “Oh I will. I most definitely will.”

  Tom knew he was in trouble the minute Deirdre walked into the Faro. Not that she looked angry. In fact, she looked amazing—but he’d come to expect that from her after a week. She had another of Ferguson’s T-shirts, this one black and white, advertising Rustler’s Roost, a particularly disreputable biker bar outside the city limits. Realistically, he shouldn’t have been happy to see her wearing a shirt that advertised somebody else’s bar, but the idea of Deirdre’s bosom advertising a biker bar was too weirdly funny to mess with. Plus the black set off her milky skin and dark hair, giving her more of that Audrey Hepburn vibe. Only now she looked a little more like a young Elizabeth Taylor.

  When the lunch traffic had thinned down a little, she stalked up to the bar, dropping her tray in front of him. “Did you buy me a mattress?”

  Tom blinked. He hadn’t really expected her to make the connection so quickly. Wouldn’t it have been more logical to assume that her cousin or her other rich relatives had sprung for a mattress? He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the bar. “You needed one.”

  “I would have bought one eventually. I can’t accept a mattress from you, for heaven’s sake.” Her cheeks turned a lush, pale rose.

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” she sputtered, then stared down at the bar, her lips a thin line. “You know why I can’t.”

  He shrugged. “The store won’t take it back now. Technically it’s used. It would be against the health code, so you’d just be wasting my money.” Actually, of course, he wasn’t sure about that, but it didn’t matter. He was slowly beginning to enjoy himself. Even sputtering, Deirdre was better looking than any woman he’d ever met.

  “I’ll pay you back then,” she snapped. “Take it out of my salary.”

  “Deirdre…”

  “I mean it, Tom!” She huffed out a breath that fluffed the tendrils on her forehead. Her indigo eyes were flashing. “I insist.”

  He sighed. “Okay. I’ll take out five bucks a week. How’s that?”

  “How long will it take to pay off?”

  At that rate, probably around a year and a half. But Tom saw no reason to tell her that. “Six months.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You only paid
a hundred and twenty dollars?”

  He shrugged again. “It’s a discount furniture store.” Which, of course, didn’t exactly answer her question and avoided an outright lie.

  She gave him a look that told him she knew exactly what he was doing, but didn’t know exactly how to stop him. “Thank you,” she said between gritted teeth.

  “You’re welcome. Stick around after your shift this afternoon and we can go through the furniture in the storeroom.”

  For a moment, he thought she’d say no, but finally she shrugged. “All right. But that’s the extent of it, okay? No more helping me.”

  “I won’t send you any more furniture without talking about it first, but I’m not promising not to help you if you need it.”

  Deirdre gave him another annoyed look, but then turned, grabbing her tray, and headed toward the kitchen to pick up her orders.

  Tom managed not to grin after her, but it was a near thing. Across the room, Chico watched him with narrowed eyes. Okay, it probably wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever done, but it was still fun. And he could afford a new mattress now and then.

  The beer garden was full by seven thirty that evening. Deirdre didn’t know if that was the effect of the band or the nice weather or the phase of the moon. All she knew for sure was that she was a very busy barmaid all of a sudden.

  She was almost late getting there because Tom had insisted on sending her a table and chairs from the storeroom that Leon and Chico had carried up to the apartment for her. She had to admit that it made her dining room less barren, but giving Chico a tour of the place and them finding beers for both of them had definitely slowed her down.

  Most people in the garden ordered beer and nachos, with the occasional chips and salsa or popcorn, along with the occasional margarita. Unlike the people in the inner room, the beer garden customers were mostly couples or mixed groups. College kids up from Austin or College Station, hikers from the state park, biking baby boomers up for a weekend ride in the Hill Country. For once, she didn’t feel under observation all the time.