by D. A. Bale
With everything going smooth and tapping out a steady beat to the music, I ‘bout piddled in my panties when a hand rested low on my hip. I spun around. Grady pulled back a bit at my reaction. Or maybe it was the sling of rum across his shirt.
“Whoa there, Vic,” he said, taking the bottle from my hands.
“Sorry, boss,” I sputtered, dabbing at the splatter on his plaid button-up.
Grady grinned that slow quirk of his mustache. “I’ll be glad to take it off for ya.”
“Not in the mood.” I slapped him with the towel.
“Ya know, so you can wash it out before it gets stained.”
“I’m a bartender, not your personal laundress.”
“I’m takin’ bids on a new position.”
“How ‘bout a shot of Jack instead?” I asked, popping the cold glass into my cleavage and giving it my standard three-fingered pour.
Grady slid the shot glass from between my boobs and knocked it back in one swallow like a tried-and-true Texan. The long-played game was usually a fun and flirty moment shared between us, but this time my boss set down the empty glass and gave me an ice-hard stare.
“You’re tense,” he observed aloud. “What’s happened that has you all worked up?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Family’s on my case. Janine’s busy with a new semester. My boss has become a grade-A stitch in my side. Life is going nowhere. Haven’t had sex in awhile…”
“Well, I’d be willin’ to help you with that last part,” Grady interrupted, loading dirty glasses into the dishwasher.
I scrunched up my lips to keep from smiling. “And I’m going to have to have a talk with Zeke.”
That stopped his forward progress. “About?”
I mindlessly swiped the towel across the counter. “Nothing much. Just a little matter of forgiveness.”
“You’ve been talkin’ to that pastor friend of yours, haven’t you?”
I sprayed down a particularly stubborn smear on the bar top and put a little elbow grease to it. “Both Bobby and my mom said that I need to get his side of what happened when we broke up.”
“You thinkin’ about getting’ back together with Big Z?”
“Hell no,” I exclaimed a little too quickly, hitting the stain double-time. I gave up with a sigh. “I just want to be able to talk with him without the incident always coming up between us. Then maybe I can really forgive him this time, and we can become friends.”
“That’s a tough one,” Grady said, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. “I’m of the mindset that once a man and woman share more than spit and a little polish, it’s pretty much impossible to be mere friends again.”
“I second that,” a familiar voice called.
Speaking of friends sharing spit, I whirled around to see Radioman’s lawyer friend plop down on a barstool. Seth hadn’t taken off the freshly tailored suit jacket yet. That’s two new suits tailored to fit this week alone. Wonder where he got the money for that bit of business?
“Nice suit,” I sneered aloud as Grady excused himself and headed toward his fortress of surveillance. “New?”
“Just picked it up yesterday from the tailor,” Seth said, flicking off a piece of imaginary lint from the dusky gray linen-blend sleeve, his gaze following Grady. “Needed something that breathed better in this ungodly heat.”
Yeah, linen breathed better – especially when you rubbed shoulders with the no-good, slimy criminal element.
Hmm. What did that make me? Or Radioman?
“So where’s Radioman?” I asked, placing a scotch on the bar top.
The ice tinkled against the glass as Seth took a long drink before answering. “Still at work. Should join me in another hour or two.”
The thought of seeing my man sent a zing to my nether regions. Wait. My man? When had Bruce become my man? Second thought, when had I started referring to him by his given name?
The moment Grady turned the corner and disappeared into the office, Seth spun around on the stool and hissed, “What in the hell were you doing the other night?”
“Me?” I leaned over the bar with a harsh whisper like the shot heard round the bar. “You said you were Italian, but you left out the part where you’re a lawyer for the mob.”
“I’m not. Not really.”
“Then what were you doing there?” I successfully turned the tables on him.
His lips thinned into a hard line, eyes unreadable as he hid behind his courtroom persona. “It’s complicated.”
I returned to scrubbing at the stubborn stain. “You said the other night it wasn’t what it looked like. What did you mean by that?”
“Just what I said.”
“Which doesn’t really say anything.”
He remained stoic. Silent.
“I have several friends in law enforcement, you know,” I threw out in taunt. “Should I give them Doug and Bruce’s names too?”
“No,” Seth said a little too sharply. “And you can’t mention a word about this to either of them.”
And people said I had a loud mouth. “Give me a reason not to.”
The cool customer, lawyerly persona had cracked wide open. “Ricardo is a client of the firm where I work.”
“I kinda deduced that. Give me something else.”
He threw back the rest of the drink then cleared his throat. “I came across something in the files that I shouldn’t have and got caught. Now I’m doing penance.”
“By working for a drug dealer?”
Seth winced and glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to us. “The alternative would’ve left me either a few fingers short or more likely analyzing the composition of silt on the river bottom. At least this way, I can continue to collect information and eventually turn it over to the proper authorities.”
That last bit stopped my tirade. I poured him another drink in consolation. “This sounds like a plot from a movie I’ve seen. Wouldn’t you be disbarred?”
He grabbed the glass and downed half in one swallow. “Better disbarred than jailed…or dead.”
In my peripheral vision, I caught Grady stepping out from the office, trying not to be obvious. Damn. Now I wasn’t just suspicious but certain he’d hidden bugs somewhere behind the bar. I joined Seth and threw back a shot of Jack before throwing a glare Grady’s way.
“Are you working with anyone specific in the police department?” I asked.
He shook his head and offered up a hopeful plea. “Maybe you could help me when I’m ready?”
He’d better get ready then. I had a feeling Grady, Zeke or someone outside of Detective Duncan’s department would be beating down his door real soon. Like tonight.
A gust of furnace-like proportions indicated the opening of the employee side door. Rochelle sauntered in about as wilted as a plucked daisy.
“Speaking of which,” Seth said, switching to courtroom persona to cover our conversation, “when are you gonna denote a fun nickname on me?”
“I’m still working on it,” I said, attempting to match his grin. “I didn’t think you’d like Courtroom Harpy, so I wanted to give it a bit more thought.”
That got me an outright laugh, but his eyes told me this conversation was far from over. I had to agree.
“Hey, Rochelle,” I called over my shoulder. “Thanks again for tomorrow evening.”
“You bet,” my co-worker said. “I’ll take all of the extra hours I can get if it means getting my own place sooner rather than later.”
I handed her a mug from the tap as Seth slid the second empty glass toward me.
“That’ll be all for me for now, Vicki,” Seth said, then turned his attention on Rochelle. “Let’s see if I can help you with that goal. Ready to sign some paperwork?”
“You bet,” Rochelle responded.
I debated whether I’d gotten yet another friend in trouble by association. I continued wiping the spot like a dog returning to its own vomit as I watched the legal proceedings at the corner tabl
e. It’d be nice if Rochelle could finally get her due from that lousy excuse of an ex-husband. Those kids deserved a father who’d actually be a part of their lives, not just someone who offered up a casual sperm here and there only to renege on responsibilities.
Then again sometimes having a negligent father around was worse than a deadbeat dad. It took more than a proffer of sperm to make a loving and concerned parent. That I knew too well.
Grady meandered toward the bar and loosed a few dormant cogs in my brain. Dangerous, I know, but this time it wasn’t thoughts or worries for myself. Regardless of my on and off again frustrations with him lately, the boss was a man of honor. Responsible business owner. Sense of humor – most of the time. Good secret keeper when necessary. Texan through-and-through. All the qualities for a good husband and father. And they were closer in age.
“You’re thinking hard there, Vic. Care to share?”
The only problem was whether or not Radioman could get a couple more tickets. I tilted my face his way with the tug of a smile. “Hey, boss. What’re you doing Sunday afternoon?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I could hardly contain my excitement. In mere hours the bedroom furniture would arrive and get set up just in time for Sunday’s post-date festivities. ‘Course I still had to finagle my way around getting both Grady and Rochelle on the same page.
After all, folks, it takes a lot of planning and mismanagement to work this hard at throwing two people together. And a little white lie – or two. Is it my fault when someone misunderstands my intentions?
Don’t answer that.
At just after four, a knock clunked against my apartment door. But instead of Reggie standing there when I dragged the door open, it was an unexpected surprise.
“Mom?”
Rubbing her knuckles, my mom swept inside dressed in a floral number as if she’d just left the Thursday ladies luncheon at the church. After a quick peck on the cheek, she surveyed what I’d done with the place since the remodel.
“Reginald called to say they were delivering the bedroom suite today,” Mom explained. “I had to come see it in person.”
First complication of the day. I’d planned to discuss the blackmail potential candidates with Reggie after everyone left, but with my mom thrown in the mix and the past any indication, she’d be around long after everyone else disappeared. There wouldn’t be any opportunity to inconspicuously coordinate with him either, as Mom tended to commandeer every moment of Reggie’s attention. Then again, she had paid for everything.
Maybe I could send him a text to let him know when Mom left and he could return. Yeah, that might work.
“That’s great, Mom, but it isn’t here yet.”
“Oh,” she responded, disappointment in her tone.
“Matter of fact, I thought you were Reggie,” I said.
Mom sat on the sofa all prim and proper, with knees together and ankles crossed and tucked like a properly trained former beauty queen. Now me? I simply plopped down beside her.
“Do you have to work tonight?” Mom asked.
“Yeah,” I responded. “But one of my co-workers is covering for me until I finish here.”
“That’s nice of her…or is it a him?”
“Her.”
“Ah.”
Silence. Mom fiddled with an imaginary wrinkle on her skirt. Then she pulled a tissue from her purse and swiped at the coffee table like a matador in a bullfight.
I remembered that trip to Spain with a shudder. As long as I lived, I’d never understand my dad’s appeal for running with the bulls or the bloodlust of a bullfight. I’d much rather watch a more evenly matched and less gruesome brawl – like two football players slugging it out on the fifty-yard line.
“You really need to dust more often, dear. I’d be happy to send Rebecca over once or twice a week. Or we could hire a service, but there’s no guarantee you’ll have the same person from week-to-week.”
Before I allowed my catnip to get all bound up, I considered the recent discussion with Bobby. Mom was only acting out of concern for me, but I needed to take a stand and stop depending so much on her generosity – financially or otherwise.
“Thanks, Mom, but I usually clean house on Mondays, so it isn’t surprising there’s a slight dust build-up by now.”
“But it can’t be good for your health, breathing all that dust.”
“It’s Texas in summer,” I deadpanned. “You can’t go outside without getting a face full of dust. I doubt the little bit inside makes a dent by comparison.”
Mom pursed her lips but didn’t say anything more before folding the dainty linen square and tucking it away. Uncomfortable silence again stood between us like the collective breath before the coin toss.
I sighed. “I hate waiting, don’t you?”
“Time seems to stop when you’re anxious,” Mom admitted as she checked her diamond encrusted watch, weighted with enough stones to give her carpel tunnel. “What time did Reginald say they would arrive?”
“He didn’t. Just said they would be here sometime late afternoon.”
“That’s very unlike him not to set a specified time for delivery.”
“It was kinda spur-of-the-moment, Mom. He figured I’d want the furniture as soon as possible…considering.”
A single brow arched my way. “Considering what, Victoria?”
“You know,” I hedged. There was no way in hell I was going to share with my mother about my hopes for breaking it in Sunday night – if not before. “That I’ve been sleeping on the floor for the last few weeks.”
“The floor? What about the mattresses?”
“Well yeah, the mattresses, but it isn’t good on them long term. Plus, now he can close out this project ticket before fall decorating gets underway.”
“I see,” Mom muttered.
Don’t think I was very convincing. It was frustrating having to talk around certain issues with my mom. That we couldn’t simply be two women having an adult conversation instead of me riding around the never-ending hamster wheel and getting nowhere. The only time I relaxed around her was during our shopping excursions, which got me thinking again about my conversation with Bobby. It was time to grow-up the relationship I had with my mom.
“Hey, Mom, I had an idea earlier this week,” I started.
“About what?” she asked.
“About our Tuesdays.”
Fear leapt in her eyes. I saw in a flash the truth to Bobby’s words, the concern reflected there and the tenuous hold she clung to on having a relationship with me – any relationship with me – regardless of the cost.
“Oh, Victoria,” Mom said, with a tinge of regret in her tone. “It’s the only day we get to spend together.”
Here goes nothing. I took a deep breath. “But how about we do something besides shop?”
“Something else?”
I drew closer and placed my hand over hers. “It isn’t that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me. If it weren’t for you, I’d be homeless.”
“Now dear, your father and I would never allow you to be homeless.”
“Okay, scratch that,” I said with a shudder, imagining life locked behind those fortress doors again. “It’s just I don’t need anything else right now.”
Mom blinked like she was waking up from a long nap and patted her chest with long, manicured fingers. “I don’t mean to be obtuse, dear, but what are you saying?”
“I have all the clothes and shoes my closet can handle.”
A huff of frustration. “I knew we should’ve taken space from the bathroom and expanded the original closet footprint.”
“No, Mom. The closet is big enough. It’s the stuff I don’t need anymore of…er, of which I don’t need anymore…uh.”
“But we’ve barely made a dent in your fall wardrobe. Then winter arrivals begin next month, and before you know it we’re placing spring orders.”
I wasn’t going to get anywhere unless I took drastic measures. “Mom,
I want to break up with your credit card.”
Tears filled her eyes. Oh, I was the world’s worst daughter. I was so going to Hell for upsetting my mother, or maybe there was a special purgatory for disappointing daughters.
I continued, “I still want to spend Tuesdays together. Just not shopping. How about we do some volunteer work together instead?”
The hankie returned from its hiding place, and Mom dabbed at her eyes to avoid a make-up malfunction. If Reggie walked in on us now, I was going to get in so much trouble – and not just for ruining my mom’s make-up.
“Volunteer work?” she finally asked. “Such as?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “You used to work as a nurse.” I gulped, imagining again those bedpans. “Or there’s one of…Dad’s…philanthropic causes.”
Wash my mouth out with soap. Or rum. Better yet, where was a bottle of Jack? Thankfully, we didn’t have to continue this odd and uncomfortable train of conversation when a solid rap thunked against the door.
“I’ll give it some thought, Victoria,” Mom said as I stood and opened the front door.
“Mein liebchen!”
***
It was after seven before the furniture parade and set-up finished. Reggie was in full diva mode right up to the end, ordering the crew around and making Han out to be less assistant and more coat rack.
Once he finished styling the linens himself, Reggie proclaimed the room a masterpiece and finally gave his assistant something to do – take pictures of Mom and me standing beside him in front of the king-sized monstrosity. The mattress sat so high I’d be practicing every night hereafter for a climb of Mount Everest.
For once in my adult life I actually worried about what would break if I fell out of bed. I sure hoped Radioman wasn’t a bed hog – or a thrasher. This thing could quite possibly be a damper on rough-and-tumble foreplay. Hmm. Maybe that’s what my mom had in mind all along when she’d chosen it.
