The Cocktail Club

by Pat Tucker

  After I double-checked and made sure the doors were locked, I walked into the home office and locked that door, too. I logged on to the computer, and signed into my Facebook account.

  Since I didn’t find what I needed, I picked up my cell phone, and sent a text message. Only a few minutes passed, but it felt so much longer. When the phone vibrated, I grabbed it, and smiled as I looked down at the message.

  Moments later, my fingers trembled as I signed back into my account, and began a chat.

  Why you keep reaching out to me?

  What kind of question is that? I was glad he couldn’t sense my attitude through the computer.

  I jus’ wanna know what u want from me?

  Initially, I thought he couldn’t possibly remember who I was. Not only did he remember me, but I think a part of him wanted to prove to me that he was not a cold-blooded monster. Sure, he had avoided jail for his crime, but I believed the accident that killed Darlene had changed his life, too.

  I stared at the screen, and thought about that question. I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I didn’t understand why the question was necessary. My eyes focused on the screen again when I saw a series of question marks pop up.

  What makes you think i want something from you?

  Ppl usually do.

  Maybe i’m different.

  Bs. But if that’s how you wanna play this thing. Cool w me!

  Do it! The voice in my head taunted me. I wanted to. I desperately wanted to ask the question, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I stared at the screen again. My brother’s words echoed through my mind.

  “…what’s wrong is wrong and you know it, too…”

  I shook his words from my mind and focused on the text message.

  TTYL.

  I erased the letters and retyped them again, but I didn’t send the message.

  ‘Sup?

  My eyes focused in on the new question. I quickly hit the Send button, and logged off. I didn’t realize I had started crying until tears fell onto my lap and wet my skin. It seemed like knowing I had shed tears opened up the floodgates, and the waterworks began with full force. I got up, and rushed to the refrigerator. I wiped my cheeks, and opened the door to grab a bottle of wine.

  The sadness didn’t last long. It would pass. It always did. As a matter-of-fact, by the time I finished the first glass of wine, I felt better. That was a good thing, too, because my cell phone rang. It was Carla.

  “Darby, when do your kids come home?” she asked.

  “Well, hello to you, too, Carla,” I said.

  “Girl, you know I’m not always for the pleasantries. Now, how long before your kids come home?”

  I glanced at the clock, and tried to refocus my attention to the business at hand. “We have about a solid hour. How much do we need to cover?”

  “Ummm, we can get it all worked out. We need to set up a time to meet with everyone, and go over some of the changes you want to put in place.”

  “Okay, you coming over here, or am I coming to you?”

  “I can come there. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  I poured some more wine, and finished it off in three, big gulps before the doorbell rang. I rinsed the glass, and placed it back in the dish rack.

  “Coming!” I yelled as I darted toward the front door.

  “Whew! What you do, brush your teeth with liquor?” Carla asked as I opened the door, and she passed me.

  “No! I had a glass of wine.”

  “In the middle of the afternoon?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.

  She had some nerve. I tossed a hand to my hip, and gave her a look.

  “I got an excuse. I’m usually working early, so I gotta start early,” Carla said, as she sashayed into my breakfast area.

  By the time I got back to the kitchen, she had an empty glass in front of her.

  “Okay, where’s the drank? Don’t be shy now. It’s time to share.”

  Since we didn’t have much time, I opened the refrigerator, and removed the bottle. As I poured our drinks, Carla looked at me like she was trying to figure something out.

  “What?” I asked.

  “How come you don’t work?” she asked.

  I paused before I put the cork back into the bottle.

  “It’s obvious we’ve got enough working girls on the roster. Besides, someone’s gotta be the brains behind this operation.”

  Carla cracked up at that one.

  “I didn’t mean in the business of socializing with married men, silly,” she said jokingly. Carla winked, then sipped from her glass.

  “Oh, Kevin and I agreed, I’d stay home and take care of the kids while he worked,” I said.

  “Well, maybe your husband should stay his ass at home, and let you bring home the bacon. Besides, if you went to work, you’d realize how much you’re missing out on.”

  I hoped Carla wasn’t about to become one of those people. Most were obsessed with the fact that I didn’t work outside the home, and I couldn’t understand why it was such a rare thing.

  The problem was, it was hard to decipher who was intrigued by it, and who harbored deep-rooted jealousy.

  I downed my drink, and then poured myself another one. I couldn’t believe this bitch. Here she was screwing married men on their lunch breaks, but she was worried about me not having a job outside the home. I was ready to pour another drink when the question popped into my head.

  Did I really need money that badly? The answer would come a lot faster than I expected.

  15

  PETA

  I was highly pissed, but I had to choose my words carefully. Of the four drivers I had, only one was a problem. Beverly Hicks was a ticking time bomb, and she could explode at any moment. I had to handle her very carefully.

  “No, no, that’s not where Truck Three is supposed to go!”

  I screamed, and caught myself before things spiraled out of control. It was simple. Boutique on Wheels had four trucks. Their schedules were pretty much routine. We hit the downtown business district, the oil and gas campuses in Katy, The Woodlands, and Sugar Land. We might have parked in various locations, but the cities and truck assignments never changed. It was best to keep the drivers, who doubled as fashion consultants, in their respective neighborhoods. The clients knew them, and they knew the clients. The rapport between them helped sales immensely.

  “Beverly, I’m looking at the schedule, and I don’t understand why you would think you were supposed to be in Sugar Land today. I’ve had a dozen calls already!”

  “Well, you screaming at me ain’t gonna get me where I need to be no faster,” she snapped.

  My mobile boutique business, specialized in unique fashion, accessories, and shoes. We brought inventory directly to the consumers. We catered to the busy-on-the-go professionals, and as a complete one-stop-shop, business was good. In addition to our inventory, we also had catalogs for specialty orders.

  I inhaled deeply, and tried to calm my nerves and my anger. As CEO, I knew how hard it was to replace drivers, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. Beverly had her faults, but she had a knack for sales. She knew fashion, and the customers loved her. Nevertheless she was directionally challenged.

  “All I know is, in the meeting on Monday night, you kept talking about Sugar Land. I figured that’s where you wanted me.”

  “Beverly, your truck is north side, Sugar Land is south side. Listen, we need to fix this ’cause I’ve got clients in The Woodlands who are waiting for their orders.”

  Beverly huffed. “Well, traffic has already started to pick up. Ain’t no way I’m gonna make it there before close of business today.”

  I could hear the frustration building in her voice, and I didn’t want to do anything to add to it. A squabble with her was not the way to go.

  Beverly was completely correct, and there was nothing I could do to change the fact. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried again to calm myself. I couldn’t stay mad at her. She was a crucial part of my business.
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  “So, what you want me to do?” Beverly asked after a long and awkward silence between us.

  “Lemme think,” I said.

  The problem was, the trucks had specific permits. It wasn’t illegal to move them around, but if an officer wanted to be difficult, he could ticket us when we were in a new location.

  “Hey, Bev, give me a little time. Lemme see if I can reroute you. In the meantime, you can hold tight until I radio back to you.”

  “Well, I’m gonna go grab me some lunch,” she said.

  I didn’t bother with a response. Beverly knew damn well she needed to be north of the city, but I didn’t have the time or energy to fight.

  Once I hung up with her, I dialed Sandy to make sure she was where she was supposed to be.

  “Boutiques on Wheels, Sugar Land,” Sandy’s cheerful voice answered. Sandy Newton was an older retiree. She didn’t act her age and was a complete people person. She enjoyed driving the custom RV that housed our boutiques and loved her job.

  “Hey, Sandy, it’s Peta, calling to see how everything’s going today,” I said.

  “Oh, it’s well over here, darlin’. Things have slowed a bit, but lunchtime was sheer bananas, and I loved it! Now listen here, buttercup. We don’t restock ’til Friday, but I’m running real low on merchandise, so we may need to bring me in tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “We can hold out ’til Friday if we have to, but our lingerie stock is almost zilch. The maxi dresses are all gone, and those cute nude sling backs—those cuties sold out before lunch,” Sandy reported.

  “Sandy, you’re awesome! Our clients always call to tell me how you help them piece outfits together, and I don’t say it enough, but your idea to have bottomless mimosas was nothing less than genius!”

  “Oh, boss, you don’t have to thank me. It’s me who should be thanking you. Thanks to you, I’m out and about again, meeting new people and having the time of my life in retirement. You’re so smart, and before long, this business will be all over the country.”

  Sandy had lots of spunk. Her short, bleached-blonde hair was spiked on top, and she always wore bright colors. She may have been a retiree, but she moved better than most thirty-year-olds I knew.

  “I’m not sure about that, but for now, let’s cover the greater Houston area, and I’ll be happy.”

  “Well, like I said, I really need more inventory. Friday is pay day, buttercup. We should be fully stocked ’cause the business park off Dairy Ashford asked if we could spend the entire day there.”

  “Oh, wow! That’s great news,” I said.

  “That’s what I said. Cha-ching! So that’s why I’m telling you we need to be ready for that mad rush.”

  Secretly, I wished Beverly, Farah, and Cecily could all be more like Sandy. She always had great ideas about ways to improve business, and she had a very pleasant disposition. She looked at the job as a privilege versus what it really was—her helping me tremendously.

  “Okay, lemme see what I can do. I’ll call you back before close of business today.”

  Hours later, I drove toward the George R. Brown Convention Center to meet Beverly. After I made sure all of the other trucks and drivers were okay, I rerouted Beverly to the convention center. Since there was an educator’s conference going on, I figured I needed to be there to help her out.

  I parked and made my way over to the RV where a long line snaked around the front of the vehicle. That was a great sign.

  “Excuse me,” I said to two women who stood at the front of the line. They tossed me a dirty look as I squeezed by and entered the RV.

  “Hey, Bev!” I yelled over the voices and chatter.

  “Boss lady, everything okay?”

  Beverly assisted a woman near the fitting room as several others looked on. The custom RV was outfitted with two sofas and racks of dresses and tops. There were custom shelves that displayed shoes. We had two transparent dressers with photos of lingerie pieces displayed on the front panels. Soft music flowed through speakers, and the women who sat and waited sipped on cold beverages.

  A tiny, crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and added soft, yellow lighting that helped perfect the customers’ images in the mirrors. The carpets were a bold royal blue and purple and the furniture was trimmed in the same colors.

  Beverly did a great job of keeping the atmosphere lively.

  “Okay, ladies, who can I help next?” I asked.

  “Oh, I need to pay for these shoes,” a petite redhead said as she popped up from a chair.

  I took the box from her, scanned it, and accepted her credit card.

  My cell phone chirped, announcing a text message. I finished up the sale, then took a peek.

  Whassup?

  It was Gordon. Before I could respond, I turned around, and another customer stood balancing an armful of merchandise.

  I made a mental note to hire an assistant for Beverly.

  16

  DARBY

  I enjoyed this time of morning most. All was quiet and calm. The house was so silent, I could hear my appliances as they hummed, and even that never disrupted the serenity. It was right after the kids were tucked away in school, the hubby was at the office, and I was in my zone.

  The View had just come on when a thunderous knock at my front door pulled my attention away from the screen. I growled, irritated. I hated when the phone rang, or when people popped up during my shows.

  Who the hell could that be and what’s on fire?

  I turned toward the sound of the knocking, but couldn’t get up fast enough. The knocking got louder. “Darby! You there? OH MY GOD! Please open up!”

  The knocking became more frantic. It sounded like there was some kicking thrown in, too. I dropped the remote and bolted from the sofa.

  I rushed to the door, pulled back the curtain, and could hardly believe what I saw. Red, puffy, raccoon eyes stared back at me. I took in the trail of running mascara mixed with tears that stained her cheeks. Her lipstick was smudged along the side of her jaw, and her wild hair was all over her head.

  Carla looked frantic, disheveled, and like she had run for dear life.

  Heat climbed my neck and face as I snatched the door open, and she scrambled to get inside. I helped her up as she struggled to catch her breath. I couldn’t figure out what was more stunning, her wardrobe, or her appearance. She looked a hot, funky mess! I hadn’t seen her for a few days.

  She wore a corset, a garter belt, fishnet stockings, and the whole nine. The flimsy see-through robe she had on covered nothing at all. I couldn’t believe she had run out of her house looking the way she did.

  “Hurry, lock the door! Oh God, Darby! I hope they didn’t see where I went!” She spoke in shaky fits and forced her words out. “Oh my God!” She trembled.

  “Whoa! …Who in the hell are you running from?” I pulled back the blinds to peek outside.

  “No! Move away from the window!” Carla shrieked. The child looked like she’d seen a ghost or had been chased by one.

  “I’m calling the cops! What in the hell is going on?”

  My nerves were bad. I walked toward the back of my house with her hot on my heels. I didn’t understand why she had run to my house. I didn’t need anybody bringing drama to my doorstep.

  “What in the hell is going on?” I asked again. I tried to calm her while I went for the phone.

  “Darby, please don’t call no cops. Please. Let’s be real quiet. She didn’t see me. They don’t know where I went. Let’s chill out for a sec,” she begged.

  “She? They? Who are you talking about?”

  I didn’t have to wait too long for the answer. A loud, crashing noise turned both of our attention toward the foyer. I rushed back to the front.

  “Oh, hell naw!” I screamed. “What the hell is really going on?” That crashing noise was my front door, which now hung on its hinges.

  “Oh, shit! Oh my God!” Carla cried. “Bitch, you’re crazy! You need to leave. We called the police!�
� Carla said to the woman who stood near the damage.

  “You wanna screw around with married men? What kind of tramp sleeps with a bunch of married men?” the woman asked.

  “Why did you kick down my damn front door?” I asked, flabbergasted.

  “Look, lady. My issue is not with you. It’s with your trampy friend here. Shove her ass out here, and we’re done with you.”

  “Yeah, push the trick out here,” another voice said. That’s when I realized she wasn’t alone.

  “Look at my damn door. What in the hell is your problem?” I said to the first woman.

  She stood on my doorstep, dressed in what looked like army fatigues. Her sidekick was dressed all in black, and leaned up against a massive, barrel-looking object. I figured that was what they’d used to demolish my front door.

  “Who’s gonna pay for this damage?”

  “Make her ass pay! You can’t stay here forever,” the woman said to Carla.

  Carla was careful to keep her distance. When she spoke, she did so from behind me.

  “I told you, I’m not having an affair with your husband. I told you that already!” Carla yelled.

  “Bitch, why is he pulling up to your house every Tuesday at ten in the morning, if y’all not fuckin’?” the woman asked.

  “Look, I don’t care who is fucking whom! What I wanna know is who’s gonna fix my damn front door? I ain’t got nothing to do with none of this, and somebody’d better be talking about picking up the tab for the damage to my property.”

  “You know what, if you don’t push her ass on out here, you may have to eat that. I’m trying to tell you, our issue ain’t with you, but you seem like you wanna stick your neck out for her,” the woman said.

  “Carla, go to the back. I’m not about to stand here and negotiate with these thugs. I don’t care what in the hell she did, you had no business breaking down my front door.”