by Maria Geraci
It was the stupidest thing Georgia had ever heard in her life. And probably something they’d just made up. But she had no choice. She had to keep playing. Or ruin the night for everyone else. And she knew how much Frida had been looking forward to Bunco. If Tina Navarone could play despite the fact her husband had just gone off on a gambling spree, then so could she.
“I guess I’ll keep playing,” Georgia said
“Then let’s roll for threes,” said Pilar.
And that’s exactly what they did. The evening went on as planned. They played Bunco and drank beer and had cheese-burgers and listened to more Jimmy Buffet and gossiped and Georgia even managed to laugh a little.
Maybe this Bunco thing wasn’t so bad after all.
18
By ten, business at the Bistro had slowed, so when Georgia asked to slip out to run errands even though they weren’t officially closed, Frida told her to go ahead.
It was funny.
Not funny ha-ha, but funny strange how the two of them had fallen into a comfortable routine of working together. For the most part, the job was mindless, but there was also a certain satisfaction in it. It had helped to have something physical to do this morning to take her mind off Spencer. Frida must have been feeling sorry for her, because for the first time, she’d let Georgia make her own batch of muffins.
Frida liked to experiment with her muffin recipes, always trying new and sometimes eclectic ingredients. The eggplant muffins Georgia had made today hadn’t gone over well. Rusty 1, or maybe it was Rusty 2 (Georgia still couldn’t remember which was which), had been the only customer to like them. But it had been fun seeing the expressions on the customers’ faces when they saw what the muffin of the day was, and despite the muffin’s unpopularity it hadn’t seemed to hurt business any.
Muffin of the day had been Georgia’s brainchild. In the week she’d been here, she made a few other, subtler changes. Like placing fresh-cut flowers in the unisex bathroom. It was a small touch, but the customers had noticed.
Georgia was beginning to understand what the Bistro meant to Frida. Which made it all the more imperative Geor gia resolve the problem at the bank. She briefly thought of the marketing plan Dave had scoffed at. Could he have been right? She frowned. Once upon a time she would have never questioned herself on anything concerning business. But this whole thing with Spencer had left her feeling shaky. Maybe her instincts weren’t as sharp as she thought they were. Once she had the loan restructure taken care of, she’d present the marketing plan to Frida and Ed and let them decide for themselves.
Trying hard not to look at the Herve Leger sequin cocktail dress, Georgia carefully replaced it in the plastic garment bag and hung it up in the backseat of her car. Today was her last business day in Whispering Bay and she had a lot to accomplish. She’d still been willing to do the girl thing with Frida. If only for the simple fact that her sister deserved a little pampering. But Frida had come up with the excuse that not all the cheesecakes were done for the party tomorrow and since Georgia’s heart wasn’t into the mani/pedi thing anymore she didn’t put up much of an argument.
The receptionist in the front lobby of the Whispering Bay Community Bank smiled pleasantly. “May I help you?”
“I’d like to see Bruce Bailey please.”
“I’m sorry, you just missed him.”
Crap. “When will he be back?”
“You might try in about an hour.”
Georgia gave the receptionist another business card. Just in case she’d forgotten her. “Will you please tell him Georgia Meyer needs to see him today?”
“Of course.”
Okay, she thought, taking a cleansing breath. No biggie. She’d just have to do her errands in reverse order.
She drove the thirty-minute drive into Destin, to the specialty boutique where she’d bought the silver cocktail dress. The shop was located in a tiny strip mall next to a shoe store. Georgia tried to ignore the huge Sale sign hanging above a display of evening footwear. She should be in there buying shoes to match her cocktail dress. Not making a return. The dress was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. But she could never wear it. Not now.
She walked into the boutique. The same saleswoman who’d sold her the dress was standing behind the counter. Georgia remembered her name was Carrie and she was part owner of the shop.
The dressing room door flung open. Bettina Bailey sauntered out wearing a fitted, tangerine silk, above-the-knee dress. Of all the people in all the shops to run into, she would have to be here. It was like the final insult.
“Isn’t this a coincidence,” Bettina purred. She eyed the garment bag hanging over Georgia’s arm, then ignored her to turn to a twentysomething woman with pale skin and ebony hair pulled back into a high ponytail. “Persephone, what do you think of this dress?”
Georgia did a double take. So this was the infamous Persephone. She was ultra-thin and had great cheekbones. She looked more like Project Runway than Mary Poppins.
Bettina twirled around. The neckline on the dress was a tad revealing. But then Bettina’s boobs were top rate. Geor gia wondered what ol’ Bruce would make of all that exposed cleavage.
Bettina’s boobs might be top rate but were they a work of art? Your tits belong in a museum.
Georgia tried to shake that line out of her head. Who said stuff like that anyway?
“That dress looks awesome on you!” Persephone gushed. “Like absolutely magnificent!”
Georgia had to admit, the dress did look good on Bettina. But she wouldn’t go as far as awesome and magnificent. Persephone must still be hitting the bottle.
“What’s the occasion?” Georgia asked.
“Black Tie Bunco, of course.”
“You waited till today to shop for a dress?”
Carrie snorted.
“Of course I didn’t wait till today,” Bettina said. “I just want to explore all my options.”
Georgia’s gaze wandered to a black cocktail dress hung on a rack to the side of the counter. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Bettina was making an exchange. And by the expression on Carrie’s face, it probably wasn’t the first one she’d made either.
“I guess it’s important that you look your best, especially since you had such an important role in putting together the event. Being in charge of the balloon committee and all.”
“That’s right,” Bettina said, ignoring the sarcasm in Geor gia’s voice. She narrowed her eyes at the garment bag in Georgia’s hand.
Georgia placed the garment bag over the counter and unzipped it. “I need to return this.”
Carrie gazed at Georgia with sympathy. “I remember you now. This dress looked perfect on you. You’re really going to return it?”
Georgia swallowed past the knot in her throat. It was ridiculous to get so emotional over a dress. But it wasn’t the loss of the dress that had her so choked up. Not really. It was what the dress represented. “I bought it to wear for Black Tie Bunco. But I’m not going anymore.”
“That’s too bad,” Carrie said. “My husband just bought tickets. We moved to Whispering Bay a couple of months ago. Into this new housing development. Maybe you’ve heard of it. Dolphin Isles?”
Georgia nodded. That was the development Steve wanted Dave to take charge of. Georgia wondered if Dave had told Steve he wasn’t going to work for him yet.
“Destin is getting way too crowded,” confided Carrie. “Anyway, I’ve been looking to join a Bunco group and all anyone talks about is the Bunco Babes. Have you heard of them?”
“My sister is a Babe.”
Carrie’s eyes lit up. “Really? Do you think she can get me on the sub list?”
“I’ll ask,” said Georgia.
“You can get on my group’s sub list,” Bettina jumped in. “I’m head of the Bunco Bunnies.”
Carrie frowned. “I haven’t heard anything about them.”
“That’s because we’re new.” She clicked her fingers at Persephone. “Give her my ca
rd.”
Persephone reached inside her purse to produce a business card.
“Write your name and number on the back of that,” instructed Bettina. “I’ll put you down on our list. As a matter of fact, you can be our number one sub.”
“Thanks,” mumbled Carrie. She jotted her info on the back of the card and reluctantly handed it back to Persephone.
Bettina looked pleased. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes, let me see that dress.”
“What dress?” asked Carrie.
“That silvery thing,” Bettina said impatiently. “Right there on the counter.”
Georgia nearly choked. “You want to try on my dress?”
“It’s not your dress if you’re returning it, is it?”
Carrie glanced nervously at Georgia. “Are you positive you want to return this?”
Georgia tried to compose herself. To act all cool and collected, when what she really wanted was to grab the dress off the counter and run out the store. But she didn’t need the dress. And she was trying hard to remember that she didn’t want it anymore either. “Yes,” she said, grinding out the words. “I want to return it.”
Bettina picked the dress up by the hanger. Her eyes widened slightly when she noticed the price tag. “This isn’t really my color.”
Carrie’s chin jutted out. “It’s a Herve Leger. Normally, a dress like this would have to be special ordered. But I took a chance and ordered one to display in the front window. I can assure you, I won’t have any problem selling it.”
“What size is it?” Bettina demanded.
“It’s a medium,” said Carrie. “It fits an eight to a ten, but it tends to run small, so—”
Bettina tossed the dress back on the counter. “Just my luck. I find the one dress that might work and it’s way too big for me.” She turned to Georgia. “I wear a four.”
“Good for you,” Georgia muttered.
“We could have the dress altered,” Carrie offered.
“By tomorrow?” Bettina asked.
“It would be cutting it close, but I think we could manage. Of course, you’ll have to pay an extra alteration fee.”
“Money is no object,” said Bettina. “Let me try it on.”
This was too much. Georgia couldn’t stay for this. She couldn’t see Bettina Bailey in her dress. She just couldn’t. “Can I get this return over with?” she asked Carrie.
“Of course. If I could have your receipt?”
“Oh, sure,” Georgia said, sorting through the contents of her purse. She flipped open her wallet. “I know I have it here somewhere.” She always kept the receipt.
She searched through every compartment, but no receipt. Maybe she’d left it on top of the dresser in Frida’s guest room.
“I’m afraid without a receipt, I can only offer you an in-store credit,” said Carrie.
“It’s a two-thousand-dollar dress and I don’t live in town. I hardly think I’ll be able to use that,” Georgia complained. It was just her luck. The first time she paid retail for a designer outfit and she couldn’t get her money back. “Isn’t there someway I can get a credit on my charge card? I know I have the receipt somewhere.”
“I’m sorry. My partner is really strict about that.” Carrie mulled it over a few seconds, then said, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you the store credit for now. When you find the receipt bring it in and I’ll credit your card. And if you can’t find it,” she whispered confidentially, “I’ll find a way to get around my partner and give you the refund anyway.” She hesitated. “You are going to mention me to your sister, right? About being on the Babes’ sub list?”
“Right,” Georgia whispered back, trying to keep a serious face. Who would have thought the Babes had such power?
She took the credit slip and tried for a fast escape, but it was too late. Bettina emerged from the dressing room wearing her dress. Technically of course, it was no longer Geor gia’s dress. But it was, damn it.
Georgia’s heart sank. The dress looked good on Bettina. And it didn’t look like it needed to be altered either.
Carrie cocked her head to the side. “I think it fits very well,” she said, coming to the same conclusion. “I’d actually recommend leaving it as is.”
Bettina made a face. “Are you sure there’s not a mistake on the tag? There’s no way I fit into a medium.”
“Oh my God,” cried Persephone, suddenly coming to life. “That’s it! That dress was made for you.”
No, it wasn’t! Georgia wanted to shout. It was made for me.
“Do you really think so?” Bettina gave Persephone a hug. “What did I ever do without you?” She threw Georgia a sly look. “Persephone and I have totally bonded just like sisters this past week. We stayed up all night making my key lime tarts for the party tomorrow. Did I mention it’s my own secret recipe? Shea isn’t the only one with secret recipes, you know. She really blew it when she falsely accused Persephone of stealing that liquor.”
Persephone blanked her face.
“No disrespect meant to Persephone,” Georgia said, “but I don’t think Shea is the kind of person to falsely accuse anyone.”
“And you’ve known Shea what? A whole week?” Bettina mocked.
“I might not have known her long, but I’m a pretty good judge of character. Besides, she’s my sister’s friend, so that’s good enough for me.”
Carrie cleared her throat. “Would you like me to ring that up for you?” she asked Bettina.
“Most definitely,” Bettina answered. “But I still want it taken in. Right here,” she said, pinching the dress in at the waistline.
“I don’t think that’s going to make any difference,” said Carrie. “It can’t be more than an eighth of inch.”
“An eighth of an inch is perfect. Right now it’s like a tent swallowing me up.”
Georgia couldn’t stand it a minute longer. It was stupid, but she felt like she was six again. When the Bettina Baileys of this world ruled her universe and there hadn’t been anything she could do about it.
She turned and hightailed it out the store, got in her car, and drove straight to the bank.
“I’m sorry,” said the receptionist, “but Mr. Bailey’s wife, maybe you’ve heard of her? Bettina Bailey? Anyway, she’s head of the Black Tie Bunco committee and she’s hard at work doing last-minute prep work for the festivities tomorrow. You have heard of Black Tie Bunco, right? The whole town’s talking about it.”
Last minute prep work, my ass. “Yes,” said Georgia, gritting her teeth, “I’ve heard of Black Tie Bunco.”
“So with Mrs. Bailey off working on the event, Mr. Bailey had to stay home and watch his twins. He’s a great father,” she added, smiling broadly.
Did Bruce really think Bettina was in charge of the party? Or did he just go around telling people that? Either way, it was sort of pathetic.
“Do you think he’ll be in later then?”
“Oh, no. He’s taking the rest of the day off. Black Tie Bunco is a lot of work.”
Yeah, and so is shopping. “Do you have a number where I can reach him? It’s important.”
“Sorry, I can’t give that out. But he’ll back Tuesday morning,” she said cheerfully.
Georgia could feel her blood pressure rise. “All right, well, thank you.”
She slammed her car door a little too forcefully. Bruce Bailey had definitely blown her off. But why? A simple yes or no would have been sufficient. Then Georgia could have put Plan B into action.
Not that she had any idea of what Plan B would be. But she’d think of something. She had to. If there was any way she could pay off the past due amount without Frida finding out, she would. Case closed. In the end, Frida might not have a choice. Because if it came down to taking money from Georgia or losing the Bistro, Frida might have to retract her whole “I can live in a tent” speech.
19
Frida stared at the two-thousand-dollar in-store credit slip Georgia had just handed her. “You returned your dress? W
hy did you do that? You loved that dress!”
“I told you. I’m not going to Black Tie Bunco, so I don’t need it anymore.”
“What I am supposed to do with this credit?”
“You can buy yourself a whole new wardrobe, that’s what you can do.” The more Georgia had thought about it, the more she’d realized she didn’t want a refund. For one thing, she didn’t want to obligate the Babes into having to take Carrie on as a sub. And she wanted Frida to have the credit. Frida never bought herself anything. Georgia knew now it was because money had been so tight.
“But I don’t need a new wardrobe,” Frida protested.
“Tough.”
Frida sighed. “So if you’re not going to Black Tie Bunco, what are you going to do tomorrow night? Sit around and read the Wall Street Journal?”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”
Frida gave her a hard stare.
“That was a joke.” She wished Dave had been around. No way could he accuse of her of not having a sense of humor after that. “I’m going to rent an old movie. Something with some heart. Like The Philadelphia Story or better yet, His Girl Friday. Anything with Cary Grant in it. And I’m going to eat popcorn and drink lots of wine. And don’t try to talk me out of it. I deserve a pity party. Even if I have to throw it myself.”
Someone else in Whispering Bay must have excellent taste, because everything with Cary Grant in it was rented out. So she had to settle on Transformers. But that was okay. There was something a little Cary Grantish about Shia LeBoeuf, even if she was old enough to be his older, older, older sister.
It was almost six p.m.
Frida and Ed had dressed for Black Tie Bunco, then gone to a pre-party cocktail hour at Shea’s house. Frida had begged her to at least go to that, but Georgia had been adamant.
It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to.
The funny thing was she hadn’t cried at all.
Not that that was so unusual. Georgia wasn’t a crier. She never had been.
She hadn’t cried the first day of school when someone had called her a “freak” for living at the commune. And she most certainly hadn’t cried when she arrived at Stanford with a mere thirty dollars in her bank account only to find that her student financial aid had been delayed for two weeks. She’d lived on ramen noodles and instant macaroni and cheese and she’d done just fine, hadn’t she?
