Think Before You Speak

by D. A. Bale

  And that was before factoring in a thousand percent humidity with no breeze. I could really use a stiff one – breeze, that is. ‘Course, I wouldn’t toss aside one in the drink category either. Or the male persuasion.

  Think about it.

  With a teetotaler mom in tow, I’d never get away with a real drink. Plus, talking about a man in my life threatened to give my mother apoplexy if the past was any indication. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was anything but godly, I’d swear my entry into the world was the second known virgin birth.

  “I’m fine, Mom. See?” I nibbled at the avocado sandwich if only to satisfy her. The heat had stolen my hunger – or maybe it was something else.

  First Grady and his extracurricular activities around the bar had our working relationship in a gut-wrenching bind. Zeke and I were so far on the outs, it’d take more than a weld to secure even a friendship at this stage. Lorraine continued to haunt my shadow and remained number one on my suspect list – but to what end?

  Reggie had begged my help, but thus far I hadn’t provided diddly on any hard evidence to free him from the blackmailer. If I ever actually succeeded in securing said evidence, I still had no idea how to avoid the coming public fallout to stop her – or him – because the police would have to get involved in order for that to happen.

  If I didn’t have enough scrambling my gray matter, now I had Seth to deal with.

  Instead of focusing on Banker Boy, Grady needed to take a hard look at Seth. And I’d rather liked that lawyer, too. But discovering he hung out with the criminal element in his off time had me worrying like a quarterback reading blitz. On top of that, I’d introduced him to Rochelle. Then after Mr. Ricardo’s recitation of my will – I mean history – I’d no doubt he now had every tidbit on Janine too. All of this was gonna come back and bite me in the ass when I least expected it.

  Yeah, Zeke was right – I’d made some stupid decisions lately.

  “You look tired,” Mom continued, breaking through my rambling thoughts. “Without that bedroom furniture, your sleep must be dreadful.”

  “The mattresses aren’t a problem, Mom,” I said, “But Reggie did call to let me know the bedroom set has shipped and should be here before the weekend.”

  “That’s wonderful. Then you’ll be able to sleep on something besides that floor.”

  “Mattresses have been fine,” I assured.

  “Then why do you look so tired? Has your boss been working you too hard?”

  “No, Mom. Work’s fine. I’m fine. Mattresses are still fine. Everything’s fine.”

  Except my relationships. Pretty much my whole life at the moment. But I didn’t think Mom would stomach hearing about all of my extra-curricular activities of late – especially right after finishing lunch.

  The check was paid with a flourish of her signature before we left to mosey across the street to one of her favorite boutiques. Air-conditioning never felt so sweet as I basked in the cool comfort, while Mom informed the personal shopper we wished to browse on our own before heading toward the backroom lineup. Now it was her turn to piddle and poke through the racks as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

  “I’m concerned about you, Victoria,” Mom admitted. “That whole breaking into your apartment thing still has me on edge, not to mention that man trying to…”

  “That was months ago, Mom.”

  I really didn’t want to rehash the moment my life flashed before my eyes. Or mention the run-in with a gang last week. Or meeting a notorious gang leader turned goods distributor last night.

  “But you just moved back in,” she said, holding up a breezy, blue skirt I turned down with a vigorous shake of my head. “I can only imagine what living there all alone has done to you.”

  If she found out about my other recent associations, she’d hog tie me and lock me in my old room at the family fortress. ‘Course I’d simply find a way to sneak out and escape like I once had.

  But let’s keep that between us.

  “I’m not alone,” I said. “I’ve got Slinky to keep me company.”

  “A cat can’t protect you like a man, dear.”

  “I don’t need a man to make me feel safe.” I jerked off the rack the first thing I came to and held up the hideous mint green and brown monstrosity for her perusal as the two thousand dollar price tag dangled into view.

  Reality check, ladies. Sometimes quality fashion and price don’t coincide. Often you end up overpaying by huge margins when you shop for name only. By then you’re stuck in a dress that looks more like a garbage bag someone puked mint chocolate chips on in order to get your money’s worth of wear. Trust me, it’s not worth it.

  Tears in Mom’s eyes stopped the building frustration and deflated my anger. Okay, maybe the dress wouldn’t look that bad on. Or maybe it wasn’t the dress at all that caused her reaction.

  For the first time in – well, too long – I really stopped to notice my mom. The tightness around her mouth. The fine lines tugging at the corners of her eyes. The dark circles that hadn’t been there two weeks ago. She was so worried about my sleep, or lack thereof, even though it appeared she hadn’t slept well since the return to my apartment. A twinge of guilt pinched my heart. I placed my hand over hers.

  She smiled behind the veil of unshed tears. “A mom never stops being a mom…no matter how old her child gets.”

  “I know,” I responded. “I’ve just had a few things on my mind.”

  “I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

  “I appreciate that, but…”

  She gripped my hand. “And it will go no farther.”

  Understanding flashed through me like menopausal heat. If anyone grasped the destructive effects of the gossip train, it was Mom. She’d stood firm beneath the constant barrage of whispers and backbiting stemming from her husband’s many indiscretions, while I’d kicked the dust from my designer heels and escaped from everything my parents had stood for. In the process I’d stopped trusting, and never realized until that moment how I’d lumped Mom into that category along with all of the other saintly sinners, ex-boyfriends, and other assorted lousy losers. All the while, she ended up being the one person who’d always been in my corner.

  We dropped hands, and I buried myself in a shoe rack before launching into my muddled mental musings. “Okay, so don’t get to thinking anything, but I talked to Zeke last night.”

  Green eyes brightened before she scrunched her forehead as if checking her excitement. “How is Zeke?”

  “Frustrated with me,” I admitted.

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, last night might’ve had something to do with it when I hosed him down with pepper spray.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “And sent him to the ground when my knee connected with his privates,” I finished.

  Mom sucked in her cheeks with a twinge of anguish.

  I quickly continued. “It was late and dark, and I didn’t know who it was when he surprised me outside my garage.”

  “An accident?”

  “Absolutely.”

  A smile spread across her face. “Well, at least there’s some reassurance my daughter can take care of herself.”

  “Damn straight.” Mom gave me the look before I went on. “I cleaned him up as best I could, but then we landed into an old argument all over again.”

  “And that old argument is about?”

  The only other person I’d mentioned the humiliating circumstances that lead to the breakup breakdown was Janine. Mom had never asked, and I’d never volunteered the information. At the time, the demise of my relationship with Zeke was more of an answered prayer, since she didn’t take kindly to our cohabitation.

  But opening up the old wound by talking about it made every sphincter in my body clench. Plus, with the sperm donor’s penchant for panty piñata, this subject had potential to cause undue distress to more than just me.

  I took a deep breath. “Before we broke up, I caug
ht Lorraine Padget in Zeke’s arms.”

  The boutique’s canned music faded like the radio when driving through a tunnel. A slight tick in Mom’s cheek was the only signal she’d heard me. She sat down and slid on a pair of shoes with surprisingly steady hands.

  “What did you do?” she finally asked.

  I shook my head. “You don’t want to know.”

  Silence.

  “Let’s just say that by the time Lorraine was fished from the lake, Zeke had my hand imprint across not one but both cheeks and had to buy not only a new shirt but a new Stetson, unless the old one floated to shore.”

  “He didn’t strike you, did he?” Mom flushed and I almost thought she was having her first hot flash.

  “No,” I offered, holding up two different colors of the same blouse. “But he wasn’t so lucky.”

  “It sounds like he deserved it.”

  “Maybe.”

  Mom pointed her approval to the turquoise-blue blouse on the right. “Listen, sweetheart, if you still have feelings for Zeke, I’d advise you to put them aside. You don’t want to attach yourself to a philanderer.”

  Mom knew best – unfortunately. “But see, here’s the thing. Every time we’ve argued since, Zeke mentions something about me misunderstanding or misconstruing everything…even when we’re not even talking about the circumstances of our breakup.”

  She passed off the shoes and the turquoise blouse to the personal shopper lurking in the background. “Is he trying to deflect responsibility?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “That night…” Her voice dropped to a whisper to avoid prying ears. “Did you see him kiss that girl?”

  I thought back to the rendezvous at the lakeside restaurant for dinner. We’d driven separate cars because Zeke had headed in from an offsite meeting and I’d spent the afternoon at Janine’s helping her study for an upcoming mid-term. I’d assumed I’d arrived first when his name wasn’t on the waiting list. After inserting us into the lineup, I’d strolled the deck along lake’s edge until rounding the corner on Zeke and Lorraine’s little tête-à-tête.

  Then proceeded to lose my mind.

  In the ambient lighting from the restaurant, I’d seen them wrapped in an embrace. When I tried to picture it now, I couldn’t remember seeing them kiss. In fact, a black streak of mascara had marred Lorraine’s usually picture-perfect face. After all, she was a television personality – or at least she constantly reminded everyone of that fact.

  “I…I don’t think so,” I finally admitted. “Now that I think of it, she might’ve been crying.”

  “Using the sympathy ploy for attention?”

  “With Lorraine, that’s a ninety-nine percent likelihood.”

  After picking up another dress and checking the size, Mom signaled the assistant to add it to her growing pile without trying it on. Seemed the subject of infidelity had my mom in mindless auto-shopping mode. At these prices, I could almost hear her credit card crying.

  She didn’t even bat an eye. Why bother when you could buy out the entire store – including the building? Even the entire block?

  “Have you ever forgiven him?” she asked as we strolled into the rear salon to watch a handful of paper-thin girls strut and spin to show off the latest designer collection.

  I sighed and plopped down at a table. A cup of steaming tea appeared at my elbow before I’d even blinked. Why’d tea always have to be hot in these snooty shops? “Every time I think I have, it comes up again in an argument.”

  When Mom leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table, steepling her fingers beneath her chin, I almost choked. I couldn’t remember a time when my mother put her elbows on the table. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was one of those cotillion lessons I’d promptly dismissed as soon as I left home.

  “Maybe it’s time, Victoria.”

  We eyed the upcoming winter fashions and admired the return of cool jewel tones before the girls escaped to change. At least Mom put a little thought into the pieces she chose this time.

  “Have you ever talked about it without fighting?” she asked. “Asked for his version of events?”

  “No,” I admitted. “Zeke’s betrayal had seemed so obvious…then.”

  “And now?”

  I shrugged. “What’s the point in discussing it now?”

  “Hearing his perspective can go a long way toward helping you truly forgive.” Her green eyes twinkled. “Were you not the one always championing the truth with your father?”

  Truth – or some version of it. Talking about that night over two years ago reminded me too much of Lorraine. Which made me think of Reggie. Which made me think of my bedroom set. That brought me around to Radioman – then Seth.

  Yeah, there were a lot of truths I was working on at the moment – and none were panning out as I’d hoped.

  ***

  Shopping with Mom usually left me on a high after filling my closet with new clothes, new shoes – new whatever. For some reason when I stared at the array of bags and boxes littering my bedroom floor at the end of the day, I felt a twinge of something rather foreign. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  The building notice in the mail about the coming apartment remodeling project my mom had inspired might have contributed to that foreign feeling. Things were about to go haywire around the one place I felt comfortable again.

  I tossed the letter aside then lifted out one of five new pairs of shoes and stared at the pearl gray platform pump. Mom always said gray was an essential staple for a new fall wardrobe, and they’d be killer with several of the dresses, skirts and blouses scattered across my bed. But with two or three pair of varying shades of gray heels sitting in my closet already, how many pairs did a girl need?

  Holy crap – did I just think that?

  Slinky tiptoed in between bags before attacking an imagined culprit of fluff. The crinkling of plastic got him riled up until he streaked from the bedroom and tore down the hall like a hound was hot on his heels. I chuckled then sighed as I sat amid the plastic clutter.

  What was wrong with me? Call it dissatisfaction, guilt, or plain old buyer’s remorse, but when I looked around at all of the new stuff, I realized I really didn’t need any of it. After the terrorizing my apartment had received from Bud, Mom had spent enough money to remodel then restock my closet ten times over – enough to feed every man, woman, and child in two third world countries.

  Okay, maybe an exaggeration, but hey, I had more clothes and shoes post thrashing than I’d had prior – and that’s saying a lot when my mom took me shopping every Tuesday. Since I’d moved out of the family mansion, our weekly shopping excursions translated into the only time we spent together. At what point had I stepped over the line into taking advantage of my mom’s generosity?

  Whoa! Between sharing with Mom about the issue with Zeke and now philosophizing over my relationship with her credit card, I approached a strange and unusual conflux of mental musings. My hands trembled. My throat felt tight. Maybe I needed an antacid.

  Before I could think too hard, I grabbed my cell and called the only other person who might understand my current dilemma and crisis of conscience.

  “Hey, Bobby. You got a moment?”

  ***

  On the drive to Bobby’s house, I sent a quick text to Reggie to let him know I had some good news for him about his situation whenever he had a moment. A half hour later, I still hadn’t gotten a response from him when I pulled into Bobby’s driveway and parked beside a dark brown Ford Explorer. Temporary tag. Couple years old. Little more than the base model.

  But it was the stretch limo parked on the other side of the street that had me reconsidering this visit.

  The moment I stepped from the Vette, next door’s Nosey Nana garnered my attention with a loud psst and a come hither signal that sent the skin under her arms flapping like an albatross readying for take-off. The sharp screech of a familiar female voice stopped me halfway in Nosey’s yard and my heels sank in th
e soft earth.

  She whispered loud enough for the residents the next street over to hear. “It’s shaping up to be a kerfuffle the size of Texas in there.”

  “Sounds like it already is,” I said as the voice from Bobby’s house screeched up to crystal shattering proportions. Any minute now, I expected the windows along the upstairs dormers to bow out before bursting in a tinkle of glass. Janine would be impressed with the high pitches.

  “Do you think he’s in any danger?” Nana asked with a deceptively concerned bat of overly mascaraed lashes.

  “From his mother? I think Bobby can handle it.”

  I considered running over and rescuing Bobby from Mary Jo’s wrath until remembering how much my presence irritated the Vernet matriarch. I contemplated driving the next street over behind a row of boxwoods I’d once borrowed and hiding out until the place cleared. Instead, I waved to the neighbor and returned to lean against my car in wait.

  It wasn’t long before yelling stopped and the screen door slammed against the house with a loud thwack. The rapid clip of heels tapped up the sidewalk before Mary Jo rounded the corner to the driveway. Though her expression didn’t change from the obvious recent Botox injections, the red flush inching up her face screamed louder than overwrought vocal chords.

  I offered up a wide Cheshire grin to show I still had complete mastery over my facial muscles. “Hey, Mary Jo.”

  She pointed a long-bony finger at me. “Stay away from my son, you…you…Jezebel!”

  I resembled that remark. “Stopping by after your clinic visitation today?”

  She opened her mouth as if to rebut then reconsidered with a sniff of derision before stomping down the concrete drive hard enough to break a heel. I almost wished she would.