by D. A. Bale
“Good to see you too,” I called loud enough for Nosey Nana to hear. That’d give her something to share with the Neighborhood Watch and Gossip committee later.
The limo driver – or rather the muscle-bound bodyguard – stepped out to open the door as Mary Jo faltered with a twist of her ankle before falling against him. That earned me a snort and a glare rivaling a bull in an arena, as if I’d somehow caused the stumble by casting a spell. ‘Course I had just wished her heel to break. Almost.
Hmm. Maybe I should take up witchcraft. Nah. I was in enough trouble without adding that practice to my many sins.
The look on Bobby’s face when he answered the front door said this had been more than a rough day. Figured I’d be safer asking about the Ford.
“Nice Explorer,” I remarked. “Did you trade the BMW for it?”
That got me a grumble before Bobby shut the door behind me a little too forcefully. “Why’s everyone so interested in what I do with my own vehicle?”
Apparently I’d started in with the subject of the day. I held up both hands in surrender. “Sorry. Just making an observation. Didn’t know it was Tuesday’s touchy topic.”
He sighed and ran a hand across his forehead. “No, no. Sorry, it isn’t your fault.”
“I like it. Brown’s a good color for you. And if I remember correctly, you were always a little partial to Fords anyway.”
His head popped up at the reminder of F-150s. I offered a smirk. Laughter cut the tension, and I plopped down on the sofa.
“Okay, you got me there,” Bobby admitted as he sat in the chair opposite.
“So spill. What’s eatin’s at you, besides Cruella De Vil?”
“I thought you came over to talk to me?” he commented, ignoring the derogatory comparison to his mother.
Though on closer contemplation, I tended to give the Disney character an edge. That woman at least had a smidge of style, when you discounted the hair – and her fixation on puppy fur.
I waved my hand. “That can all wait. Seems something’s on your mind about that SUV sitting in your driveway.”
“You might say that.”
“Did selling it make everything feel kinda…final? You know, with Amy’s death and all.”
The Adam’s apple bobbed with the reminder of his wife. Damn my diseased mouth. “It isn’t that. My mother stopped by on her way home from…a meeting after you called.”
Meeting my ass. Try an appointment with poison control. “You mean she came down from her heavenly heights to grace the lowly masses with her presence?” I joked, trying to skirt the subject of his deceased wife and unborn son.
“Hey, she’s still my mom,” he argued with a smile stretched across his mug.
“Yeah, and I know how parents can be.”
“She wasn’t too happy when she saw I’d traded out the BMW for a lesser quality vehicle. Imagine I’ll be hearing from Dad shortly.”
“Wait, weren’t they the ones who introduced you to the Ford Company when you turned eighteen?”
The smile dissolved into a chuckle. “Things have changed a bit in the years I was gone. Apparently Ford is considered a lower class of vehicle to today’s discerning buyer.”
“I could’ve told you that,” I quipped. “I’m a Chevy girl myself.”
Bobby shook his head. “When I told them I’d put the cash difference into my new ministry, Mom kinda went off.”
“What’s it her business what you do with the proceeds? It was your car.”
“That they’d bought for when Amy and I moved here to take over the children’s ministry at their church.”
The use of their instead of our church was either a rather glaring error in word choice or an indication of Bobby’s change of heart where his parents’ theological leanings resided. After our conversations before and after his wife’s death, I was reaching toward the latter. I hoped I was around when that particular fallout occurred. Dennis and Mary Jo’s reactions to Bobby’s stand against their closely held belief in the Santa Claus Savior would be a sight that would carry me into eternity and beyond.
“Whose name was on the title?” I asked.
“Mine,” Bobby clarified. “We hadn’t gotten around to adding Amy’s name before…you know.”
Wow. I knew the elder Vernets hadn’t liked Amy, but leaving his wife’s name off of the vehicle title? How blatant could you get?
Wisely, I left those thoughts alone. “Then it was your car and therefore your money to do with as you saw fit. Case dismissed.”
“Nice use of the legalese, Judge Vicki.” A tilt of the head as if studying the situation, then Bobby took a turn toward the serious. “Have you ever thought about quitting the bar scene and becoming an attorney?”
I didn’t even have to think about that one. “Uh, that would be no. I’m not into the monetary mooching and brown-nosing that usually comes with that job description.”
“There’s more to it than making money and aiming for partner at a big law firm by the time you’re thirty.”
I snorted. “With my luck, I’d be disbarred before I even passed the bar.”
Bobby shrugged. “Something to think about then.”
“Hardly,” I muttered.
He sat back in the chair and crossed his legs like a psychologist preparing for a therapy session. “So career aspirations aside, you said you wanted to talk about something. Was it the whole gang thing, because I’ve gotta be honest with you, I haven’t had much luck so far with those currently in the prison system.”
“That’s okay, Sigmund Fraud. I’ve got what I needed on that front.”
“Eloquent as always,” Bobby said with another chuckle. “So what did you want to talk about?”
Let’s see. There was Mom, Janine, Zeke, Reggie and the blackmail, Grady – oh, and now Seth and his nocturnal excursions, not to mention Radioman’s rejection Sunday night. Where should I begin?
My mouth opened – and nothing came out. I opened it again, then summarily closed it a second time. I probably looked like a fish trying to suck oxygen from dry land.
What was wrong with me? I was the expositor extraordinaire. The mouth-off menace. The girl with a severe case of foot-in-mouth disease. With everything going on in my life, I didn’t even know where to begin.
“Okay,” I started. “There’s Janine.”
Bobby straightened. “What about Janine?”
The damn – er, dam – burst and my words came flowing out in a torrent. “I mean, she’s my best friend, but sometimes I wonder why she puts up with me. We barely have anything in common anymore. I drag her around, getting her into all sorts of scrapes and into trouble with her mother. I’m always pulling her away from important things like working on her thesis. All summer, I’ve barely talked to her, much less seen her, except to ask her to watch Slinky for me while I traipsed down to San Antonio with some boy bimbo, who’s only interests in life are sex and fashion.”
“Vicki, I…”
“Speaking of fashion,” I continued with nary a breath, “my relationship with Mom has devolved into nothing more than a once-a-week fashion show extravaganza. She spends all this money on me, buying this latest trend and that label, when there are starving children in India who would give anything for just a bite of a bacon cheeseburger. I’ve recently moved back into my apartment, which she also paid Reggie top dollar to remodel, and already my closet is full of this season and next season’s clothes, with no room for a winter or spring wardrobe.”
I was babbling at that point, but I’d lost complete control of my mouth. Bobby just sat back and let me continue.
“Then Reggie’s asked me to help him with…” I actually caught myself – for a second. “…something life-altering, and I can’t even seem to do that right. The only suspect I’ve been able to come up with is Lorraine Padget, but then I wonder if that’s only because of our lifelong animosity toward each other and the fact that she muscled in between me and Zeke.”
“Zeke? I thought…”
“And
of course, anything where Zeke is concerned has me flashing so fast between hot and cold, I feel like a middle-aged woman in the throes of menopause.”
I proceeded to share about the whole Zeke and Lorraine fiasco of yesteryear. Throughout my monologue, Bobby nodded and silently encouraged me to continue until I spilled not only my guts but my pride as well. After all these years, I was reminded again of how easy Bobby and I had conversed and commiserated with one another – until the incident had placed a wedge between us.
But somewhere along the way, the wedge had dissipated until all that was left was a friendship. A real friendship. Then I remembered that Bobby was now a minister, and all those old fears of what that institution had done to me came flying back. But this was Bobby, after all – and the man I’d grown up with would never betray a secret.
‘Course it didn’t hurt that I knew a few of his too.
When I finally stopped talking before the cows came home to roost – or is that crows? – Bobby got a word in. “Are you still in love with Zeke?”
“No, but…” I stopped and gave the matter a little more thought before continuing. “No, I’m not in love with Zeke. I’d hoped that after all these years and the time we spent together to help you that maybe we could be friends again…you know, like we have.”
A soft and understanding smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “But…”
“But every time we’re around each other, conversation devolves into a fight, and I inevitably bring up the great Lorraine debacle.”
“Have you ever asked Zeke his version of what transpired that night?”
I sighed. “Mom asked the same question. The short answer is no.”
“And the long answer?”
“Involves name calling, hat tossing, a few fisticuffs…”
“Zeke hit you?”
“No,” I admitted sheepishly for the second time that day. “That was me and Lorraine before she ended up taking a swim.”
Bobby coughed. I gave him the evil eye to let him know this was not a laugh-out-loud moment. I think he got the message.
“Do you think hearing his explanation might help you forgive him once and for all?” Bobby asked.
I shrugged. “It might.”
“I think that’d be a good place to start.”
But how in the world would I bring up such a topic next time I saw Zeke? The last couple of times we’d talked things had ended up worse than before. I didn’t take too kindly to being called stupid – directly or implied.
But we had to start somewhere. Maybe I could invite him over for dinner, but then he might get the wrong idea, and I was exploring a potential relationship with Radioman. That vein didn’t need additional complications – like how he did or didn’t fit in with Seth’s present antics. Then I also needed to insure Nick knew things were over between us to avoid any other complications from that sector.
Damn. In trying to simplify my life where men were concerned I’d done nothing but add to the complications. My head pounded like a drumbeat in a call to arms at the Alamo.
Bobby leaned forward and patted my knee. “Can I tell you what I see in your relationship with Janine?”
I cringed. “Do I even want to know?”
“I see two women who remain devoted to a friendship that has spanned a lifetime and the changes that come with it. You’ve helped Janine learn to live a little, to let her hair down and release the pressures of a family situation where perfection is demanded. In turn, she offers you a constant, a stable rock to go to when your life gets a little…how shall we say?”
“Chaotic?” I added.
“Challenging,” he offered with wink.
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“Now about your mom,” Bobby said. “It’s clear from your admission that your relationship with her now has a chance to mature.”
“Mature?” I reiterated. “What’s that supposed to mean? That we’ve had an immature relationship?”
“No, no. Wrong choice of words on my part. How about grow? Blossom into a more satisfying friendship.”
“But she’s my mom.”
“And you’re her daughter,” Bobby clarified. “At some point, every parent-child relationship hits a crossroads where the child severs the umbilical cord to make her own way in the world, and the parent-child dynamic changes.”
An image of the old birthing videos we’d seen in school returned to haunt me. “Umbilical cords? Did you have to use such an icky analogy?”
Bobby laughed. “The message is essentially the same. And yes, it can get icky for awhile.”
“But I moved away from my parents years ago,” I countered. “I didn’t just sever that umbilical cord, I fried it on the parental altar until it burnt to a crisp.”
That got me a wrinkled nose in response. Hey, turnabout’s fair play.
“But it sounds like your mom never really let go and started using financial gifts as a means to stay connected.”
“Financial blackmail is more my dad’s department.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Bobby said. “But it sounds like you and your mom have gotten stuck in a familiar rut. Didn’t she pay for a complete remodel of your place?”
“Sure, but…”
“Top of the line appliances?”
I nodded.
“And she buys you something new every week?”
“More than just something,” I admitted.
“Even if you don’t need anything?” Bobby prodded.
Acid churned a hole in my stomach. “I see what you’re saying.”
“She’s been concerned for your safety lately, but it sounds to me like she’s trying to compensate for something in there somewhere.”
“And I’m taking advantage of her guilt.” I sighed.
Bobby’s warm hand gripped mine. No zing at his touch. No trembling in my nether regions – and that made me about as happy as a placekicker after a three-point conversion. The change in my relationship with Bobby offered hope that my relationships with others could change for the better as well.
“Maybe it’s time to find something new to do together,” Bobby said. “Something that doesn’t involve shopping.”
“Like what?” I asked in baffled frustration.
“Your parents have many philanthropic causes they support, right? Didn’t your mom once work as a nurse?”
“Briefly,” I admitted.
“Maybe you could spend your Tuesdays doing volunteer work at one of the hospitals.”
My turn to wrinkle my nose, anticipating those antiseptic smells, sponge baths, and bedpans. Between that and umbilical cords, someone get me a barf bag – stat.
Bobby must’ve sensed my reaction. “Or something else,” he said quickly. “There are lots of volunteer opportunities available out there.”
And just like severed umbilical cords, they all sounded icky.
“Talk to your mom,” Bobby continued. “I’m sure you’ll figure out something. There’s more to life than just money, Vic.”
Yeah. Try telling that to the sperm donor – and my mom’s black AmEx.
Chapter Twenty-Three
With thoughts of umbilical cords, bedpans, and Mom running through my head, I’d almost forgotten about Reggie until he texted Wednesday afternoon while I was getting ready for work. The bedroom furniture had arrived a day early, and he had the manpower available to deliver it late Thursday afternoon if I wanted. Set-up would take an hour or two and then he’d stay to discuss circumstances.
No matter how much Reggie dreamed of becoming the next James Bond, he’d never make a good spy if he couldn’t be a little more discrete in his correspondence. Circumstances? Even if no one else knew about the blackmail, that particular word in place of a more normal one would pique the average human’s interest.
I replied with a thumbs up and wrote that I’d be at the bar tonight if he wanted to swing by. Then I tossed Rochelle a text to see if she wanted an extra night of bartending duty tomorrow evening in case Reg
gie and I went long.
Scratch that. A few extra hours before I’d make it into the bar tomorrow night. I couldn’t keep working willy-nilly with my schedule if I hoped to break this slowly creeping dependence on my mom’s credit card. The bedroom furniture would have to be Mom’s final major purchase on my behalf.
For now.
Bobby was right. It was time for Mom and me to develop a more mature relationship, which meant I’d have to once again depend solely on my income. Break the chains. Go cold turkey.
When I slung my purse over my shoulder and headed out the door, I could’ve sworn it moaned and whimpered a little. I half expected my wallet to be moist from tears when I tugged it out to check my cash stash before tearing away from the apartment building toward the gas station.
Instead of tears, maybe it was sweating too.
Even though I didn’t have that far to drive, traffic this time of the day was a real bear. It would never do to get stuck driving in Dallas with less than a half-tank of gas, so I pulled into the nearest station to pre-pay and pump in a few gallons. My cell phone gave my butt a nice buzz as I finished filling the tank. Rochelle responded for tomorrow night with a big smiley face, which I took as a yes.
As I opened the car door, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end – and considering sweat had plastered it to my skin, that was saying something. Most of the gas pumps had patrons with attention focused on rising gasoline prices. The office complex across the street revealed continual movement of workers leaving the building, entering cars, or driving from the lot, which would make a stationary body stand out. Nothing.
The quick scan of chaos gave me no clues as to the source of the sensation, but that didn’t mean someone wasn’t out there. Watching. Waiting.
With everything I’d been poking my nose into, I was once again on someone’s radar. Might be Switch and Company. Perhaps Ambassador Juarez had someone keeping a close eye on my safety. Did Zeke have boots on the ground watching over me again? Either way it creeped me out and left me feeling vulnerable and alone in a sea of humanity – an unusual sensation given my past penchant for being the center of attention.
Before I could think on it further, I peeled from the station and arrived at the bar in record time. Once I got inside and started my shift, the sense of personal space violation gradually abated. Regulars filtered in after a long day, and I relaxed into a comfortable rhythm.
