The Cocktail Club

by Pat Tucker

  “Go in and snatch her ass out,” the woman’s friend suggested. “I ain’t trying to go to jail over this trick.”

  “Nah, girl, we need her to come out on her own. You know how it goes in Texas. Ain’t nobody shooting me, talking about protecting their castle,” the first woman said.

  I was glad she knew better than to step over my threshold, but that didn’t make me feel any better about the damage to my front door. I stepped back and grabbed the cordless phone.

  “Somebody’s gonna pay for the damage to my property, that’s all I know.”

  The woman and her friend exchanged knowing glances, but neither seemed pressed about my threat to call the police. I didn’t really want to call the law. I didn’t need them all up in our business, but I needed to put the fear of God in Rambo and her partner.

  After I grabbed the phone, I dialed 9-1-1.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  When the dispatcher answered, I spoke like I was on a mission. “Yes, someone kicked in my front door,” I said.

  “This shit ain’t over, Carla,” the woman spat.

  Her friend picked up the massive tool she had brought, and they high-tailed it off my porch.

  “You done fucked with the wrong one! Believe that!” the other woman yelled.

  I walked outside and tried to get their license plate number, but they were parked too far away. I was more than pissed when I walked back into my house.

  The dispatcher told me an officer was on the way, and asked whether I was in any danger. I was grateful it was a weekday morning, and most of my neighbors were at work.

  “Carla, the cops are on the way. You should go find something else to put on!” I yelled.

  She had come out of hiding, but her eyes wandered around like she wasn’t sure if the women were really gone.

  “I told you not to call the cops. You know I got you for the door. Now we’re gonna have to be answering all kinds of questions and shit,” Carla said.

  “Listen, if we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it right. I keep telling you, when you go dumpster diving, you find nothing, but trash.”

  Carla listened to me like she’d heard it all before, and none of it had sunk in.

  “So, are you telling me you’re gonna be a full-blown partner?” she asked.

  “In order for me to sign on to what you got going, we need to make a whole helluva lot of changes.”

  The truth was, I probably needed Carla’s business more than she needed me. I was sick of being on a kid’s allowance. My husband feared I’d send us to the poorhouse.

  “Okay, Darby, I’m good with some changes. And I may not be the best businesswoman ever, but you gotta give credit where credit is due. How else can you pull in a few grand a month, be your own boss, and sleep in every damn day of the week?”

  “A few grand a month?” I repeated.

  “H-h-hello?” she said.

  A knock at the door pulled my attention away from our conversation.

  “Girl, this stuff is like literally stealing candy from babies,” Carla said as she slipped up the stairs.

  I went to meet with the officers as the figures she mentioned flew around in my mind. That kind of money was definitely worth the risk, or so I thought.

  17

  PETA

  “Mama, that lady called you again,” Kendal said the moment I walked into the house the other day.

  “What woman?” I asked.

  “Pamela Evans.”

  My mama didn’t raise no fool. Pamela Evans had been on my bad side since she called awhile back and bombarded me with a million questions about how I do what I do.

  In my line of work, it was rare that potential clients insisted on a face-to-face consultation like she had. They usually wanted to see the truck, so they could browse the inventory. But not her. She wanted to meet specifically with me, and that had been the second thing I hated about her. When she showed up at my office, I realized I had nearly forgotten about our appointment. I had a good mind to cancel on her, but thought better of it and decided to go through with the meeting.

  She had rubbed me the wrong way from jump, and in person, she had managed to irritate me even more. Pamela was in my space for less than fifteen minutes, and almost immediately, I hadn’t dug her vibe. It wasn’t the way she took in my dark purple walls, or the way she gazed at the two-tier antique French gold and crystal chandelier that hung prominently in the center of my office. It was more than that.

  I was accustomed to intriguing stares once people stepped into my office, but that’s what it was—my space. The furniture, the pearl white, shag carpeting, and the glass desk were all designed to suit my taste.

  “Hmmm, I really like it in here, Peta,” she had said. But her tone told another story. A fake, frozen smile hovered on her lips as she looked around and scrutinized my pictures.

  “Paris, Brazil, wow! Where was this one taken?” she asked.

  I glanced over and said, “Oh, that’s Belize. I go there a few times a year to decompress.”

  “Oooh, Beeelize!” She complimented me, but her pretty features twisted into a frown. “I really, really like your style.”

  I moved closer to my desk and took a seat as she finished looking around. Even after she claimed her seat, her eyes wandered around some more. I noticed she had already slipped her gaze down to my designer shoes. It was slight, and hardly noticeable, but I caught the way her eyebrow twitched as she took inventory. I didn’t care. I made no excuses for living well, and taking good care of my daughter and me.

  “Are those Jimmy Choos?” she asked.

  “They are.” I pointed my toe and flexed my foot for her to get a better look.

  “Yeah, real nice. Sooo, I’m tryna get this straight,” Pamela said. “You’re not a designer, like you don’t have a degree in business, but basically that’s exactly what you’re doing,” she insisted.

  Obviously, Pamela hadn’t done her homework. If she had, she would’ve realized that having a degree in business was not a requirement or prerequisite for success in business. I had grown bored with her and the one-sided interview she conducted.

  Pamela was very pretty. She was a former NFL cheerleader, and she’d kept herself up fairly well. But her vibe told me she was up to something. I had been at this long enough to be able to discern when someone was serious about doing business with me, or if they were fishing for information. Pamela Evans was on a major fishing expedition. The only reason I entertained her was because I wanted to know why she had chosen me.

  She quickly corrected herself. “Well, I guess I should let you tell me what it is that you do.”

  “That’s the odd thing,” I said. “I’m confused. Are you trying to decide whether you need to buy into a company, or are you trying to shop?”

  “I guess I’m intrigued, and well, a friend of mine found a unique wrap dress, and she told me she got it from your place. I’m looking for the right kind of distribution.”

  I felt like I had already given her enough information. As much as we had talked already, she knew whether she wanted to distribute her product through my fleet.

  “I’m trying to figure out how you were able to secure the clients and your prime locations. And, do you mind me asking what kind of money you make? By the looks of things, it seems like you make a pretty good living,” she said. That series of questions gave her another chance to look around my space again.

  “Pamela, I have a standing appointment on Thursday evenings.” I glanced at my watch, although I didn’t need to see the time to know I had had enough of her. “And I need to prepare for it.”

  “Oh? I thought we’d have more time. I have so many more questions.”

  “Well, we’ve spent enough time to last the equivalent of at least ten sessions. You understand that I can’t run a business this way. I hope you reach your decision soon, and I’ll follow up with you at a later date.” I stood.

  That must’ve made her feel compelled to follow sui
t. She popped up as if the chair had suddenly caught fire and burned her behind.

  “Oh, yeah. I totally understand. I’m glad you were able to meet with me, and I do appreciate your time. I think what you do is so fascinating,” she said as she used her palms to smooth out the skirt she wore.

  “Okay, well, I hope the information helps and you find what you’re looking for.” I moved toward the door, and she followed.

  She moved slowly as if she was reluctant to leave. She eased past me, and I smiled until I closed the door behind her.

  Once she was gone, I returned to my desk, and tried to figure out what she might’ve been up to, and what it might have to do with me. Initially, she passed herself off as a person who had a series of high end designer T-shirts that she wanted me to help distribute, but the more I talked to her, the more it felt like she was trying to use me as some kind of guinea pig.

  “Oh well, in another hour or so, Pamela and whatever she’s trying to do will be nothing more than a faint memory,” I said aloud.

  I called down to the parking service. “Hi, this is Peta. Please bring my car around. I’ll be leaving in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Sure thing. We’ll have it ready,” the parking attendant replied.

  As I rode down on the elevator, I thought about the stressful past few days I’d had. Thursdays had quickly become my favorite day of the week, and I could hardly wait to dish some of the dirt that weighed me down.

  18

  DARBY

  “You need to do what you need to do until tomorrow morning. I can’t talk to you about this right now!” I screamed into the phone.

  “Darby, where have you been? I’ve been calling you since about six o’clock, and now it’s almost eleven!” Carla screamed back at me.

  At that moment, I noticed my husband’s number pop up on call waiting.

  “Look, I go to happy hour every Thursday with my girls, and right now, you’re messing with my buzz. I need to talk to you in the morning,” I said as I drove west on I-10, the Katy Freeway. I had just passed Highway 6, and was headed home when I got Carla’s call, and she was working my very last nerve. When Carla had something to say, it was like her ears shut down and she couldn’t hear.

  “Happy hour! So, while I’m sitting up here worried sick, you’re enjoying cocktails, and not even thinking about my misery?” she shrieked.

  “Carla, tomorrow. Besides, Kevin is calling, and if I don’t answer, he’s gonna have a cow! In the morning,” I repeated.

  My eyes glanced upward to the rearview mirror, and I tried to focus on my driving. I really wasn’t in the mood to talk to her or Kevin.

  Pushy neighbors, overzealous PTA moms, bratty kids, and controlling husbands made me want to run to Eddie V’s and camp out from Thursday to Thursday. Did they allow that?

  Oftentimes, I hated to leave happy hour. For the four of us, it may have started with happy hour, but it had morphed into a night of much-needed partying.

  I rolled my eyes as Carla babbled away in my ear. When I agreed to go in with her and the business, I had no idea the headaches that would be involved.

  Lord knew the extra money would come in handy, but Carla had a way of making me wish I would’ve thought of the business alone. I was slightly desperate because Kevin was more than a little frugal. He behaved like our finances were so tight that any extra expense might send us straight to the poorhouse. So having my own secret stash helped avoid potential conflict in the house.

  I finally got Carla off the phone when I switched over and took my husband’s call.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “When are you coming home?” he whined the minute I answered. I hated when he did that.

  It really irritated me that I had to leave the party early. But since I planned to hang out next week, I let him get his way this week.

  “I’m on my way now,” I said.

  “Oh, how far away are you?”

  The sound of relief in his voice really rubbed me the wrong way. I wanted to say, “Isn’t it bad enough that I’m on my way home when everyone else is still partying it up?” I resisted that urge. At times, Kevin tried to be a control freak.

  “I’ll be there shortly.”

  It had been nearly an hour since I had left Eddie V’s, and as usual, we’d had a damn good time.

  I hated to leave. The girls took the party over to Saint Genevieve, but if I didn’t get home by a certain time on a weeknight, Kevin would send a search party out. It wasn’t that he had plans for us, or needed me home to do anything in particular. It seemed like he wanted to restrict anything that might bring me too much joy.

  “Okay, well, I’ll see you when you get home,” he said. When he yawned, I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. I ended our call, and took the Fry Road exit off the freeway. My mind swirled with thoughts of all the fun the girls would probably have without me.

  The next call really should’ve been ignored, but I answered anyway.

  “Yeah, Roger.”

  “Dang, that’s how you greet me now? Darby, if you really in your heart of hearts don’t think what you’re doing is wrong, then why have you isolated yourself from the family? Why do your kids and Kevin have to suffer?”

  I wanted to tell him that Kevin wasn’t suffering in the least. But the last thing I needed to do was encourage a conversation. My mind was still stuck on happy hour, and all that I’d miss.

  “Roger, what do you want from me? What do you want me to do? I can’t erase all of the vile, evil things your mother said to me. She made her feelings known. Why would I want my kids around someone who thinks so poorly of me?”

  “She was hurt. We’re all hurt. Haven’t you ever said things you regretted later?”

  I had to give my brother credit. Ever since Chandler went on trial but got off with no jail time, Roger had been the only person who worked hard to try and mend the broken bridge. I would never admit it to him, but sometimes I wondered how my plans for Chandler Buckingham had gone off track. In the beginning, I really wanted revenge, but that quest somehow took a turn. I think when I learned that he was also hurt by what he had done, it made me look at him differently. Somehow, we became emotionally attached to each other.

  “Darby, just because a person isn’t physically behind bars, it doesn’t mean that they are not in prison,” Chandler once told me. Before then, I had never looked at it like that. He told me how he was unable to sleep at night for months after the accident. Knowing that he had suffered too, made me view him in a different light. He seemed to understand me. Where the playground moms judged me, Chandler never did. Where Kevin behaved like I was as much a part of the house as the furniture, Chandler made me feel desired as a woman.

  We mostly communicated through Facebook and text messages, but there was something else that made me feel like staying connected to him. I couldn’t explain it, but being close to Chandler made me feel like I was somehow holding on to my sister.

  “Darby, tell me this,” my brother said.

  “What?”

  “What is it about Chandler Buckingham that makes you so willing to drop your entire family for this friendship? Damn, Darby. He killed your sister—our sister. How come you’re not mad at him? How come you don’t hate him? Anytime I think about him, bastard-loser-murderer is the only thing that comes to mind!”

  I didn’t say a word.

  “Darby!”

  My brother screamed my name, but I had no desire to answer. In fact, I ended the call and turned my cell phone off. I didn’t try to stop the tears that fell down my cheeks. Everything was a mess. My entire life was an utter and complete mess. What had drawn me to Chandler? How did I convince myself that he understood me when those who knew me best couldn’t? I turned into a deserted parking lot.

  “I shoulda stayed my ass at the bar!” I screamed.

  Being with Ivee and the other girls was a recipe for a good time, and our once-a-week gathering was never enough for me.

  19
/>   IVEE

  I could’ve taken my bare hands and wrapped them around Carson’s neck. I simply could not believe that this thing with him, all because he couldn’t get a refund, was being drawn out this way.

  “So, tell me again, at what point did you find yourself disappointed with Mrs. Henderson’s work performance?”

  My eyes focused in on the low-down weasel. He knew damn well there was nothing substandard about the work I had done for him. I understood that Geneva thought this was the best way to handle conflict between staff and clients, but it made me angry.

  Carson turned to Geneva. “How long has this firm been handling my family’s business?”

  Her cheeks reddened, and she smiled. I wanted to be far away from the madness, but I had no choice. I had to stay and take part in the mediation that Geneva thought was necessary to maintain the relationship with Carson and to keep his business.

  “It’s been a long while,” Geneva finally answered. “But I gotta tell you, Ivee here, she’s one of the very best.” She scrunched her face as if that emphasized her words.

  Carson had the gall to shake his head in disagreement. I wanted to lunge across the table at him.

  “Do I get to speak?” I finally asked. It was so hard to remove the sarcasm from my voice. When I had met with Geneva, I thought she was going to handle this in a fair way. Yet, the longer I sat in on the meeting, the more I felt like I was the enemy.

  “Yes, just a second, Ivee. We’re here to focus on the client’s needs.”

  That was totally Geneva. She turned her focus back to Carson. “So, as I was saying, what can we do to fix this situation?”

  Carson looked at me, and it took everything in me not to look away. I forced a smile, and I could see the hint of approval that passed across Geneva’s face.

  The meeting with Carson and Geneva was grueling. In the end, he agreed to honor the remainder of his contract if he was moved to one of my colleagues.

  It was hard for me to understand why Geneva felt I needed to be in the meeting, but she was the boss, and I had to do what she thought was best. I understood the entire idea that the customer was always correct, but I didn’t think they deserved carte blanche to make demands, and bully their way out of contracts if they didn’t like the way things were going.