by Jean Oram
“So? When are you opening your own place?”
“I’m not.” She shifted, unsure why Benny had all but pushed her out the door.
“Sure you are. You lost the bet.”
Mandy glowered at him.
“What?” he asked. “Are you…chicken?”
Mandy let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled her eyes. “Frankie…”
“What, Little Miss Yellow Belly?”
“Have you ever even thought of how much work it would be? How much skill someone would need? Knowledge.” She began ticking things off on her fingers, careful not to tilt her glass over too far. “Money, time, experience, management know-how, staff… Plus, Blueberry Springs already has a diner, a restaurant, and two fast food places. Where would I fit in? What if me adding one more place meant someone else had to close their doors? That would be even better than being the one responsible for you falling off the tower,” she said sarcastically.
Frankie rubbed his chin and watched her. “Did I ever tell you how sexy your polyester uniform looks on you? Especially when you’re slightly pissed off.” He tapped the base of his neck, while gazing at the same spot on her, which was exposed by her uniform. “Your chest gets kind of red and--”
She whipped another cushion at him, hitting his arm, his drink sloshing over his T-shirt.
“Hey!” He gave her a look that indicated her actions had been completely uncalled for.
“Why do I even bother trying to talk to you?” She clunked her heavy-bottomed glass on the table and stood.
“Aw, Mandy, come on. I was just teasing. You’re over-thinking this whole thing. Panicking at the idea of change when it’s all you’ve ever wanted. It’s what’s right.” He met her at the end of the coffee table and slung an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in, sending shivers across her body. “You’ve got what it takes. Jump in and see where it takes you.”
“Right. Just throw my savings into the wind and see what happens. Great business plan.”
“Look.” Frankie pulled her into a full hug, his body strong against hers, his breath warm in her hair. “You’ve always said it’s in your late twenties when everything comes together and a person really gets to shine. But maybe sometimes things need a little nudge. Maybe you have to step out of your comfort zone and take the first step so the world knows it’s your time and it can step up and help.”
Mandy sighed and eased out of his embrace, her fingers lingering on his chest a little longer than necessary. He must have been secretly working out because his chest had become firm in a way that made her want to run her hands down to check out his abs as well. Instead, she took a big step back and flopped onto the couch. Frankie sat beside her, his knee resting against hers. She stared at the denim, refusing to think about how his body heat was traveling up her leg and what it would feel like to be fully wrapped in his warmth.
“Start with something easy like a franchise. Those things pop up like they were sneezed out by a restaurant-creating giant. They’ve got to be designed so any idiot could run one.”
“Gee, thanks.” She gave him a shove.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said with a grin.
“Well, giant-sneeze-goobers are out of the running--I already checked. Expensive.” Mandy pulled a magazine off the coffee table and flipped through a few pages of souped-up trucks. A letter tucked between the pages fell out and she skimmed it as Frankie’s body tensed beside her. “What’s this?” she asked.
Frankie crossed his arms and tried to act casual. “An offer.”
“Well, I know that!” She shook her head at the television show’s letterhead. “This is big time. When do you go?”
Frankie took a large gulp of his drink.
“What?” Mandy asked, her voice low. “You’re going to say no?”
“It’s too much work,” Frankie said offhandedly.
“You thrive on too much work.”
“I don’t have time.”
“You make time for something like this.” She nudged her knee against his, wanting to push him physically as well as verbally. She flicked the letter. “They’re asking you to remake a Mercury Roadster. You’d be on an episode of Roadster!”
“I know.”
“You can’t pass this up! You’ve wanted to work on one of these for as long as I’ve known you and the exposure and money would be phenomenal. You’d be able to do your restorations full-time.”
“I know.”
“Well, then what?”
He shrugged.
“I’ll take care of Heart, if that’s what’s stopping you.”
Frankie ran a hand through his hair and let out a long breath.
“You have the skills, Frankie.”
He nodded.
She leaned forward to scratch Heart’s ears and to hide the emotions suddenly storming through her. Why was she so intent on him going away for weeks--heck, according to this letter, up to several months--when in her heart, she was freaking out that he’d hook up with the busty Roadster hostess and never come home?
She looked at her chipped fingernail polish and sighed. She supposed she couldn’t expect him to stay single forever just because she wanted him to. Besides, the busty gal would likely be cool with Mandy and Frankie being friends. Gorgeous TV stars didn’t get their panties in a knot over small-town waitress friends.
“I didn’t think you’d feel so strongly about it,” Frankie said, gently rubbing her back.
“Why are you saying no to something that could be really good for you?” She sat up, facing him.
Frankie’s body became very still--as still as the air between them. “You don’t do the things I think would be good for you,” he pointed out.
Mandy picked at the nail polish on her left thumb. “We’re talking about you, not me. And this is different. A no-risk way to change your life.”
“I like my life.”
“But you don’t think I like mine,” she stated.
“Do you disagree?”
She let out a long sigh.
“Maybe I’d like to change my life, but it’s not like this.” She waved the letter. “Handed to me. Easy. There’s a really good chance I’ll mess it up and fail.”
“Mandy there’s always risk. If you want to be the woman I know you want to be, this is your shot. Take some money from me and fix up that building and be happy already.” He let out an unimpressed, impatient exhale. “Sometimes taking a risk leads to really good things.”
“I can’t take that kind of risk with your money or your building.”
“What? I’m not good enough?” He thrust his shoulders forward. “You have to do everything on your own?”
“Look.” Her hands clenched into tight bundles by her side. “I’m not willing to ruin our friendship. I’ll happily be a waitress forever if it means keeping you as a friend. I’d rather do anything than hurt you.”
“Too late on that one,” he muttered.
Mandy’s eyelids flicked closed and she fought for control. “Frankie…”
“Why won’t you accept my help, Mandy? Why won’t you accept me?”
“Because…” She gripped his face, staring him in the eye, needing him to understand. “You’re the one thing I can’t afford to lose.”
6
It was time to show Frankie who was the chicken. She could accept help. Frankie just couldn’t see it because he had his own case of chickenitis. She was going to show him who had the courage. She was going to do this new career thing. She was woman, hear her roar.
Taking a side street, she marched up to her friend Jen’s rickety three-story apartment building, a former rooming house. Jogging up the outside stairs, she knocked on her door.
“Who is it?” Jen called through the door.
“Mandy.” She blinked and made sure her eyes were dry and waited for the door to open. And it didn’t. “Um, can I come in?”
“I’m in my PJs.”
“So? I’m in my hideous uniform and have had a rather st
iff drink, followed by a fight with Frankie. So who cares? Well, unless your jammies are a thong and a see-through top. No offence, but I really don’t want to see that.”
The door unlocked and swung open a few inches, Jen’s round face shooting her a wary glance. “What?”
“Do you have a man in there or something?”
“No!” Jen opened the door further.
Mandy rolled her eyes. “You’re still such a city transplant. Who locks their doors or asks who it is before opening?” Mandy strode past her friend. “Okay. Idea.” She clapped her hands and spun to face Jen again. She paused and raised her eyebrows at Jen’s short Tweetie Bird nightie. Jen put her hands on her hips, daring Mandy to say something. But Mandy wasn’t about to mess with the strong gal. Even if she was wearing something she probably should’ve given up around her eleventh birthday.
“So you know how you’ve started doing those excursions out into the wilderness with Wally’s sports shop?”
Jen nodded. “Yeah.”
“Food is a problem, right?”
Jen gave her a frown. “You mean, like, keeping it from the bears?”
“No, I mean getting some in the first place. Healthy food.” Mandy rubbed her forehead. That whiskey and Coke was muddling her head. The idea had sounded half decent on her walk over.
“Well, we usually just brown bag our meals and snacks.”
“But maybe it’s not always nutritious and good fuel or whatever, right?” She squinted at Jen.
“Um. Sometimes, I guess. I haven’t really paid attention to what others are eating and when they sign up and ask about food, I give them suggestions. I actually have a few food ideas on the blog I just started. I can write down the URL if you want.”
Mandy rolled onto the balls of her tired feet. “What about doing one better and offering clients pre-made lunches?”
Jen paused, head tilted. “Wouldn’t it be kind of hard to take Benny’s meals all the way out to the woods? Sometimes we go out really far and--”
“No,” Mandy said impatiently. “I mean, what if I--like, my own business kind of thing--made sandwiches and salads and healthy snacks like homemade granola bars and trail mix or whatever makes your clients go gaga.”
Jen nodded slowly. “Yeah. Maybe. How much would it cost?”
Mandy paused. “Well, it would depend on what you wanted. Healthy eating isn’t cheap, but if you ordered enough, we could make a profit--both of us.”
“I don’t know,” Jen said slowly.
“It would make your excursions different from what Jojo’s doing in Derbyshire.”
“Yeah...”
“I’d do everything. You don’t have to think of a thing. I can make up the meals and bring them to you. And all you--”
“What about food allergies and sensitivities and stuff like that?” Jen perched on the end of her couch. “I’d have to have forms or something.”
“I can make forms. And menus!” Her hand shot in the air, inspiration hitting her full-force. Her mind conjured everything from business logos to killer sandwich ideas.
“I’m not sure either of us are ready for this, Mandy.” Jen chewed on the corner of her thumbnail. “I’m still sort of figuring everything out, you know?” Jen gave her ponytail a sudden jerk, tightening it. “I’m barely meeting the minimum number for my excursions. I don’t see how you can make it affordable with my small numbers. My needs would be too inconsistent.”
Mandy crossed her arms. “I can find a way to make it work.”
“Not if you’re starting out.” Jen shook her head. “You can’t work for nothing and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to provide enough to keep you going.” She gave Mandy a thoughtful look and rubbed the bags under her eyes. “Have you considered catering--parties or weddings or something bigger like that?”
Mandy scrunched her nose. She wasn’t really big on the whole catering idea. Too stressful with all the last minute preparation caterers had to do. She’d give herself a heart attack. She needed something a bit more slow and steady. And making some lunches here and there would at least let her feel like she was doing something with her life besides waitressing.
“It’s so much work starting your own business, Mandy.” Jen disappeared behind a half wall and reappeared with two small tubs of ice cream. She handed one, along with a spoon, to Mandy and flopped onto the green sofa. “Way more than you probably realize.” She started ticking things off on her fingers. “You need to register your business, get bank accounts, advertise, arrange equipment, get insurance, fill out a pile of government forms, and get loans for money you didn’t even know you needed. You end up with about eight-hundred lists just to stay half-organized, and on top of it all, you still have to show up for your regular shifts.” She gave Mandy an apologetic glance. “I just don’t think I can add another element right now. Maybe after I’ve done it for a full year. Then maybe we could work out a menu and figure out how to make money without charging everyone fifteen bucks a sandwich.”
Mandy blew out a sigh, making her bangs flutter. She scooped a big spoonful of chocolate into her mouth, giving herself instant brain freeze.
It was starting to look like if she wanted to make something of herself, she would have to have to plug her nose, shut her eyes, and dive right off that plank and into the unknown.
Mind spinning with legal clauses, investor score sheets and lingo she’d never even heard before today’s franchise research, Mandy flopped on her mother’s couch, feeling discouraged. She was never going to be able to figure out buying a franchise. Maybe she should learn how to be happy engulfed in nothing more than comfy, worn cushions and soap opera dramas. She grabbed a gumdrop out of the plastic bag her mother had spilled open beside her on the coffee table and sucked off its sugar coating.
“How did you get the big scratch in your fender?” Mandy asked.
“Shh,” her mother scolded, her eyes glued to the television screen.
Mandy pulled her ringing phone from her jacket and answered it.
“I fixed your taillights,” replied the gruff voice.
“Dad?”
Mandy’s mother shot her a cold look and Mandy popped off the couch to take her call in the other room in case her mother could kill her ex through the phone with her icy glare.
“They were spotty,” her father explained, “so I put in those big bulbs while you were at work yesterday. They were easy to find--they’re more common than those little LED things. I don’t know what those guys at the parts store were thinking, selling you those. I’ve told you time and again, there are men who will take advantage of the fact that you’re a woman--”
“Dad,” Mandy groaned. “Those taillights were custom!”
“Custom pieces of garbage. You’re lucky you have those good, reliable bulbs back in there, telling the world you’re coming to a stop. I also noticed your apartment’s address sign was getting rusty and your landlord and I discussed getting it replaced.”
“Dad, I can talk to my landlord myself.”
“I know,” he said in a placating tone that brought her right back to all the other times he’d made her feel as though he didn’t trust her to figure stuff out.
“I’m not fluff!” she snapped, trying to remind herself this was his way of showing he cared about her.
“Mandy, your father is just taking care of you,” broke in her stepmother.
“Am I on speaker? Do you know how rude it is to have someone on speaker phone and not tell them!”
“Mandy…” her father warned.
She pulled in a deep breath. “Dad, thank you for caring about me, but please ask before you fix things. Sometimes I like things the way they are.”
“You like rusty old signs?” her stepmother piped up. “If that thing had fallen on you when you were slamming that old door, you’d have lockjaw before you hit the ground with your head wound. That sign was not safe.”
“Good point, Trish,” her dad chipped in. “I’ll see if I can get her door changed out
. She pays good rent and should have a door that secures properly.”
“I gotta go.” Mandy hung up and returned to the living room, flopping onto the couch beside her mother, who had muted the commercials.
“Gotta love him,” her mother stated tightly.
“He’s just trying to show me he cares.” Mandy grabbed a handful of gumdrops and shoved them in her mouth, careful to make sure she turned the ringer off on her phone in case her father decided to call back.
“How are things with Frankie?”
“I’ll find a way to get him on that show,” she said, still chewing. “It’s ridiculous he’s said no.”
“Still considering opening your own place?” her mother asked with a side look that indicated she was less than impressed by the idea.
“It’s worth checking out my options, though, don’t you think?”
“Owning a business is so risky.” Her mother’s lips puckered. “It’s so much better to let someone else have the headaches and stress. Who wants to worry about how to pay people and the topsy-turvy economy?”
All day, Mandy had flip-flopped between excitement and wanting to jump in, to being massively overwhelmed and terrified. She’d come to her mom’s in hopes that the visit would help her reach a conclusion. If her mother thought opening her own restaurant was scary, it was likely the smartest move she could make to avoid becoming just like her. And at the end of the day, the prospect of becoming her mother was a whole lot scarier than figuring out how to start a business.
“What about going with a franchise?” Mandy asked. “They come with a marketing plan and a market analysis.” Well, some of them. Some of them wanted her to come up with all of that.
“A franchise?” Her mother quirked a heavily plucked eyebrow that was mostly eyeliner sketched in an arch.
“Well, what else? A brownie stand? I don’t know how to run a business on my own.” She sank lower into the couch and rested her chin on her chest. The problem was the cost of opening a franchise outlet. Add in permits and legal fees to the cost of modifying Frankie’s building while keeping its heritage charm and her savings would be gone before she even got close to signing on the dotted line.
