Best Staged Plans

by Claire Cook

  Josh tilted his head. “They do sort of look like big Hershey bars.”

  The hotel had forty rooms, and there were exactly forty-one king-size headboards. “One for good luck,” I said.

  Josh still didn’t look convinced. “Shouldn’t we put two beds in some of the rooms?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “If we’re targeting solo female travelers, they’re not going to be sharing a room. And I’m not sure we should even make that an option. We want to put a guest in each room, not pack ’em in like sardines.”

  “What do we do with the headboards we already have?”

  “Sell them,” I said. “I’m hoping we can get this place to load up what we don’t want on the delivery truck.”

  Josh nodded. “Good thinking. Do you want me to do the negotiating?”

  “Just smile and look pretty,” I said. “I’ll do the talking.”

  I found folding luggage racks for the suitcases to sit on. There were only twelve with animal print strapping, but there were lots with solid tan strapping, which would be almost as good. Nothing says boutique hotel room like folding luggage racks.

  Everything else that looked good was in smaller lots, but in some ways, that was more fun. Five butterscotch leather chairs, four funky night tables, plenty of mismatched lamps. We’d keep the little desks and chairs we already had and replace the clunky armoires with more streamlined consoles.

  “What about this?” Josh held up a crackle finish lamp that looked like a snowman wearing a lampshade.

  “Good find,” I said, partly because he looked so excited and partly because there was only one of them.

  “It’s like a scavenger hunt,” he said. “I had no idea shopping could be fun.”

  “Who knows,” I said. “Maybe you’ve just found your next profession.”

  He put the lamp down next to the headboard. I’d brought the roll of orange tape, and we were marking all our stuff with Xs so nobody else walked off with it.

  Josh ran a hand through his hair and smiled his Johnny Depp smile. “I don’t think so. It’s the novelty I like—that’s why I jump from project to project. I’m great in the beginning, but I suck at maintenance. I get bored easily. Always have.”

  He held out this flaw like a prize, or maybe a challenge. Once upon a time, I knew the thrill of the chase with guys like this. What if you were the one who could change him? What if he never got bored with you?

  CHAPTER 25

  “SO,” I SAID.

  “So,” Chance said.

  Thus far, that was one of the high points of our conversation.

  I’d thought about stopping to pick up something to assemble for dinner on the way home, but I didn’t want to set a precedent. I mean, assembling a meal wasn’t something I did for just anyone, and I wasn’t sure a son-in-law with two perfectly good arms of his own qualified. Generations of women had fought hard for the right not to cook. The weight of their slaving over the stove was on my shoulders, so I didn’t plan on entering into this decision lightly.

  Chance’s reasons for not throwing his hat into the dinner-making ring were his own. In any case, I’d just pulled into the driveway when my son-in-law rolled his white BMW SUV up beside me. It was dusted with an inch of yellow pollen like the rest of the cars in springtime Atlanta, so that made it a bit less pretentious. But it was still too flashy for my taste, and the fact that describing it required a double dip of acronyms really bugged me.

  “Here we go,” I said to the GPS as I unplugged it.

  I stepped out of the comfort of my air-conditioned car and into the blazing Atlanta heat.

  “Hot one,” Chance and I said at the exact same time.

  “Owe me a Coke,” I said.

  “Sure will,” Chance said. “I think we might could have some. I’m a sweet tea man myself.”

  “Never mind,” I said.

  I waited for him to unlock the side door. He held it open and let me walk in first. After that the choreography fell apart, and we were like dance partners without a leader.

  We walked across the family room toward the kitchen. His long lanky steps got him there before me, so he stood off to the side. I stopped and stood off to the other side, because I didn’t quite get what he was doing. Just when I realized he was waiting for me to go up the three stairs to the little raised 1970s contemporary kitchen, he gave up waiting for me.

  We hit the staircase at the same time and walked up awkwardly together, like a pair of Keystone kops.

  I started to open the refrigerator, then stopped in case it might seem presumptuous, given that it wasn’t my refrigerator. Or worse, that it might send off some kind of a territorial signal, like a dog peeing on its turf. I sat down at the little breakfast table instead.

  Chance stopped in the middle of the kitchen. “Can I get you a glass of wine? Oh, wait, you wanted a Coke.”

  “Oh, please,” I said. “Wine.”

  He poured me a glass of wine and opened a beer for himself. He opened the freezer and stared into its depths, perhaps looking for a sign from the refrigerator gods. Then he closed it again.

  I took a long sip. He took a big swig of beer, right from the bottle. Either my daughter’s husband was beginning to relax around me, or he was smart enough to realize that I was probably not going to take over the dirty dishes department.

  The awkwardness between us was almost palpable, filling the kitchen like the smell of burnt toast.

  I decided not to rush in to fix it, because there was a more important issue at stake here. I reviewed the options in my head and still came up with only two: wait him out, or cook for him until Shannon got back.

  I took another sip of my wine. Chance took another swig of beer.

  He sat down at the table.

  We looked at each other.

  “Thoughts?” he said.

  “Not that I’ve noticed,” I said.

  “Mellow Mushroom delivers,” my son-in-law said. “Oh, wait, the one near us doesn’t deliver, but we can use Takeout Taxi.”

  “My treat,” I said.

  “My parents didn’t raise me to let the guest pay,” he said.

  “Oh,” I said. “How are your parents?”

  “Just fine,” he said. “Couldn’t be happier.”

  Apparently I wasn’t even going to get any good in-law dirt.

  “My mama sure does love to cook,” Chance said.

  “Lucky you,” I said.

  “The only thing that beats her southern fried chicken is her Coca-Cola chicken.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “Do you add it after it’s already dead, or does the chicken drink the Coke first?”

  Chance fired up his laptop and found the Mellow Mushroom menu. He slid his chair over so I could see, too.

  “The spinach calzone looks good,” I said.

  “Love me some of that steak and cheese,” Chance said.

  “Bad for your heart,” I said.

  “Thanks for looking out for me, Mom,” he said. It actually came out like a cross between mom and ma’am, perhaps some new hybrid created for a mother-in-law who not only has invaded one’s house but also has no intention of caretaking.

  Chance closed his laptop and reached for his cell. “I’ll call it in.”

  I was already dialing.

  “I think I’ll go change out of my work clothes,” I said when I finished placing the order, even though I was wearing jeans. At least I could soak my spotted T-shirt in the guest room sink.

  We retreated to our respective bedrooms like prizefighters between rounds. I stayed in my corner until the doorbell rang.

  I searched my wallet for a tip as I danced down the hallway. Chance sidestepped me and tried to hand some bills over first.

  “I’ve got it,” I said.

  “I insist,” Chance said.

  The Takeout Taxi guy looked at his watch.

  “You can get it next time,” I said as I forced my money into the guy’s hand.

  Chance put the two paper plates
that came with the order on the table. I found the plastic utensils and paper napkins at the bottom of the bag.

  I wondered for a moment if I could get away with bringing my calzone into the guest room.

  “Delicious,” I said after my first bite of spinach calzone.

  “Mmm-mmm,” Chance said. He took a careful bite of his steak and cheese calzone.

  “So,” I said.

  “So,” he said.

  “So,” I said again. For the life of me I couldn’t think of anything else to say. The seconds were sliding by so slowly that it felt like Chance and I had been sitting at this table for centuries.

  I took another sip of wine. “Oh, I know. Can you get some of your friends over here so we can rip down that ugly balcony and drywall it over to surprise Shannon?”

  Chance chewed and swallowed. He dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin and took a sip of beer.

  “You think Shannon would be all right with that, mo’am?”

  I burst out laughing. “Like I’d dare touch it if Shannon hadn’t told me she hated it.”

  Relief practically bloomed on Chance’s face. “She absolutely positively hates it?”

  “Absolutely, positively, definitely,” I said. “How about you?”

  Chance shrugged. “A happy wife is a happy life.”

  “You and I are going to get along just fine, son,” I said.

  He grinned. His phone rang. He looked at me.

  “Go ahead,” I said.

  “Hey, babe,” he said. “Shannon,” he mouthed.

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “Just fine,” Chance said. “She’s right here.” He nodded, then looked at me. “She says hey.”

  “Hey,” I said.

  I got up from the table to give them some privacy. Chance stood up at the exact same moment, so I sat back down. He did, too.

  I held out my hand. “Stay,” I said. I picked up my plate and headed for the guest room.

  For a woman who has lived within the confines of a family for most of her life, there’s something incredibly decadent about eating alone, and stretched out on a bed, no less. The calzone was doughy and comforting, with just the right ratio of cheese to garlic and onion-sauteed spinach.

  It was huge, so I ate about half, then wrapped it up and put it on the bedside table. I found my cell and called Denise.

  She answered on the first ring. “What’s up?”

  “Not much. How ’bout with you?”

  “Same. How’s the hotel coming?”

  “Making progress,” I said. “I’ve got the paint samples on the walls. The electrician came by, and as soon as I find the right fixtures, he’ll be back to install them.”

  Denise didn’t say anything.

  “The plumber was a no-show, but what else is new? I’ve got another one coming by tomorrow. And I found the best chocolate candy bar–like Ultrasuede headboards. You’ll love them.”

  “Great,” Denise said.

  “I mean, if you ever even bother to come down here to see the hotel.”

  “Right,” Denise said.

  Denise and I rarely had awkward conversations, but we were having one now. Josh was the elephant in the virtual telephone line. Technically, since he was Denise’s boyfriend, I thought she should be the one to mention his name first.

  “So,” I said. “Can I tell you how awkward it is to be at Shannon’s house when she’s not here?”

  “I bet. Listen, I’m still at the office, and I’ll never get out of here if I don’t get moving. I’ll call you later in the week, okay?”

  I stared at my phone for a while after we hung up. The thing about long-term best friendships is that you have to let them ebb and flow. That’s why they last.

  I swung my legs off the bed and picked up my calzone. I made as much noise as I could when I shut my door. I cleared my throat as I walked toward the kitchen. It seemed only fair to give Chance some warning just in case he was talking about me.

  He was still on the phone, sitting at the table. I could tell it was still Shannon just by the way he was laughing. And because every other word out of his mouth was babe.

  I walked past him and started opening drawers and cabinets, looking for some plastic wrap so the calzone wouldn’t dry out. I put the calzone on the counter and opened another cabinet. The three Danish serving trays I’d mailed to Shannon were neatly stacked next to the monogrammed sterling silver baby mug and the Royal Doulton Winnie-the-Pooh birthday cereal bowl I’d mailed her the week before.

  In front of them sat my favorite reading glasses.

  CHAPTER 26

  OKAY, so I was looking at my favorite reading glasses, and my favorite reading glasses were also sitting on top of my head. One plus one added up to my daughter being in some serious trouble.

  I gestured to Chance to hand me the phone.

  “Babe,” he said. “Mo’am wants to say hi.”

  “Mo’am?” Shannon said into my ear. “When did that start? Are you being mean to him?”

  “Shannon Elizabeth,” I said.

  “What’d I do?”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me I mailed my reading glasses to you.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Sorry? That’s all you have to say for yourself? Sorry?”

  “Mom, what’s the big deal? You have a gazillion pairs.”

  “Not like those I don’t.”

  “Mom, no offense, but I’ve seen those glasses on you and they’re not that great. I think you need something more like the ones Tina Fey wears.”

  “Honey, Tina Fey and I have completely different face shapes. She’s an oval and I’m a square.”

  “Tina Fey is a heart.”

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “Come on, Mom, let me talk to Chance. I’m tired.”

  “Shannon, I broke the law because of those glasses. I stole an identical pair from the post office because I thought they were mine.”

  “OMG. Calm down, Mom. Have you ever considered medication? Oh, Dad and Luke say hi.”

  I handed the phone back to Chance.

  Marlene Dietrich once said something about how it’s the friends you can call at 4:00 A.M. that matter. Since I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stayed up past ten-thirty, what mattered more to me was having a friend I could call back about four minutes after we’d hung up.

  I went into the guest room and called Denise on my cell. It rang and then went to voice mail. I called her again, and the same thing happened.

  The third time was the charm. “What,” Denise said.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” I said.

  “Don’t make me guess. I’m not in the mood.”

  It was a small guest room, but I did my best to pace anyway. “Those glasses I stole from the post office? They weren’t mine. I mailed mine to Shannon, and she forgot to tell me.”

  “So?”

  “So? So? I have absolutely no justification for stealing them now. I’m a common thief.”

  Denise let out a long-suffering sigh. “So, mail them back.”

  “I don’t know. What if the pair I just found breaks? Then I won’t have a backup pair.”

  “So, keep them.”

  “You make it sound so simple.”

  “Sandy, if this were the biggest problem I had in my life, I’d be a happy woman.”

  “Wait,” I said. “It’s almost your turn. Just help me think this through. Okay, I stole the glasses. But no one is coming after me. Right?”

  “Right. I checked the weekly paper and even looked around the post office last time I was there. No wanted poster with your blurred videotaped face on it.”

  “But Ponytail Guy will remember me.”

  “So, make Greg pick up the mail from now on. That’s what husbands are for.”

  “Good point. Okay, we’re making progress.”

  I paced three steps in one direction then executed a legal turn.

  “Moving on, Ponytail Guy is a jerk, and he pr
obably scooped the readers from the Lost and Found anyway. If I give them back, it’s not like they’ll even make it to their rightful owner, so my giving them back will only serve to support his jerkdom.”

  “His jerkdom? Is that even a word?”

  “Come on, Denise, stay on task here. Okay, so the only thing I can’t get past is that, technically, I stole something, so I have to figure out some kind of—”

  “Penance?” Denise laughed. “Whoa, those nuns really got to you. I’m so glad I skipped Sunday school. I mean CCD. Or OCD, or whatever it was.”

  “Ha,” I said. “You know, I thought what I was looking for here was rationalization, but maybe it is penance. I just don’t want to have to feel guilty. I hate that.”

  “Okay, I’ll even save you a trip to confession. Say three Hail Marys and five Our Fathers—”

  “Wow, your priest was much easier than my guy. Mine would have upped it to ten each, plus an Act of Contrition, and then told me to give the glasses back and light some candles at the altar, too.”

  It sounded like Denise had made it home from the office, since she took a long sip of something that sounded a lot like wine. “Okay, give a pair of reading glasses to someone who needs them and do three nice things for a stranger.”

  “Genius,” I said. “I feel better already. Okay, your turn.”

  “Tell me the truth,” Denise said. “Is Josh seeing another woman down there?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  Denise waited.

  “At first I thought he might be,” I said. “But now I don’t think so.”

  “Then what’s he doing in Atlanta?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think he’s excited about his new hotel.”

  “That’ll last about five minutes.”

  “I think even he knows that,” I said.

  “He’s totally ADD. He’s got the attention span of a tsetse fly.”

  “I thought tsetse flies caused sleeping sickness.”

  “Whatever. We can’t even go to a movie theater because he can’t sit through an entire movie without pausing it. He always needs to be moving—you know, on to the next thing.”

  “You have a lot of energy,” I said. “So it’s not like you can’t keep up.”