An hour later, Joya sat at the bar of the Pink Flamingo waiting for her friend Emilie Woodward to show up. Mojito in hand, she stared up at the ceiling of the thatched tiki bar. Pink flamingos of various sizes fluttered from above. They were both cute and tacky and at the very least made for a good conversational topic.
Emilie was the Director of Leisure Sales for the Flamingo Beach Resort and Spa. She too lived in one of the condominiums at 411 Flamingo Place.
Where the heck was Emilie? Joya remembered she was habitually late and always blamed it on her job. Clients were running behind or simply didn’t show up. Deals seemed to get screwed up at the last minute.
Emilie was relatively new to town and had been glad to meet Joya, who was around the same age. Joya liked that Emilie had no preconceived notions about her. Her friends in Flamingo Beach were pitifully few. Most had sided with Quen when the marriage had ended because they felt he’d got the crappy end of the deal. He was still paying her alimony.
While Joya sipped on her mojito she thought about how she and Emilie had met. Both of them had been huffing and puffing on a treadmill when they’d struck up a conversation. They’d found out they were both single and living in the same building. Hooking up seemed the obvious thing to do.
Conversation came easily. Who better to commiserate with about the poor pickings on the beach than another single woman? Joya had given up on finding the kind of man she was looking for in Flamingo Beach. It was only a matter of time before she’d have to return to Los Angeles and her flight attendant’s job. Her leave of absence couldn’t go on forever.
“Sorry I’m late,” Emilie said, rushing in, wearing a dress with a plunging neckline and wide skirt. Green ferns were splashed across the beige material and matched her open-toed mules.
Several men swiveled on their stools to see who’d arrived. Emily’s long red hair was pulled off her face and held back by beige combs. Physically, she and Joya were complete opposites. Whereas Emilie was tall, Joya was petite. Emilie was also so light-skinned that she was often mistaken for white. She had enormous boobs, swimmer’s shoulders and the kind of face few people forgot.
She could have been a cover model for a men’s magazine; she knew exactly the effect she had on men and made it work for her. She’d been living with a lawyer in South Jersey, hoping to marry him. But he’d left for work one day then forgotten to come home. Emilie later learned he’d moved in with one of his paralegals.
Skirt rustling, Emilie swung herself onto the vacant stool Joya had been saving. Joya couldn’t help feeling underdressed and like Plain Jane next to her. Joya had barely made it back to the condo to take a quick shower and toss on a denim mini-skirt and spaghetti-strap shirt. Thank goodness she’d worn her signature high heels or she would have been a total frump.
“A cosmopolitan, please” Emilie said, smiling at the bartender before turning her attention back to Joya. “What’s new with you, hon? How’s your grandmother?”
Earlier, Joya had told Emilie about Granny J being hospitalized. Now she told her what Dr. Benjamin had said.
“Let’s hope it’s nothing serious. Doc is very good at what he does and I quite like him. He recommended me to friends. They’ve since bought time shares.”
“I heard he had a girlfriend,” Joya ventured.
Emilie looked at Joya through shuttered green eyes. “It’s a long-distance thing I hear. I don’t think the doctor wants a woman underfoot 24/7.”
“What’s with Derek Morse?” Joya asked before she could stop herself.
“Not sure I know him.”
“He’s a construction worker. Doesn’t everyone know everyone in this town?”
“Not me. I’m new, but if he’s hot I’d like to meet him.”
“He’s hot in an obvious way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Most women would probably think Derek rocked.
“Maybe I need to be introduced to this Derek Morse,” Emilie said loudly.
A deep male voice came from behind them, making both women turn.
“Anything you ladies want to know about Derek Morse you can always ask me.”
A hulk of a man wreathed in gold chains was almost on top of them. Not waiting for an invitation to enter the conversation—he just spoke up.
Joya was mortified at having been caught talking about Derek. She quickly recovered and smiled animatedly at the stranger.
“I’m thinking about having Derek Morse do some work for me. What do you know about him?” she asked.
“In that case you’ll be wanting to speak with Preston Shore. He’s the contractor Derek works for and my old partner. I sold my part of the firm to him. I’m Vince by the way.”
He stuck out a large paw and the women shook it.
“I think I’ll join you,” Vince said sliding onto the vacant seat next to Emilie. “You look thirsty, ladies, let me buy you a drink.”
“This one is about all I can handle,” Joya said after thanking him.
“I’ll have another.” Emilie pointed to her half-empty glass. Joya wondered why she was being so accommodating. She probably saw client potential in Vince.
Vince signaled to the bartender to bring a refresher. “Still interested in hearing about Derek?” he asked.
Just the sound of the construction worker’s name created a warming effect. It must be the drink.
“Of course I am,” Emilie said, leaning in close to Vince and batting her eyelashes.
“Well, he’s only been back in town a couple of months. We think he lost his job in Chicago. He moved in with his great-grandmother Belle Carter.”
“His great-grandmother?” Emilie scrunched up her nose. “What grown man lives with his great-grandmother?”
Vince sucked on his lower lip. “Derek’s somewhere around thirty-five. He and Belle have always been close. She owns an old run-down house set back a bit from the boardwalk. There’s plenty of room so that they don’t interfere with each other.”
Joya listened carefully as Vince spoke until two businessmen strolled into the bar wearing expensive suits and power ties. She found her attention wandering.
“Derek’s one of these guys who doesn’t stay with a job for any length of time,” Vince added.
Joya’s attention shifted to the businessmen who’d found a seat. She’d heard enough to confirm that Derek Morse was an irresponsible drifter.
Not that that came as a big surprise.
Chapter 4
The next morning Joya made a point of getting to the store early. After rummaging around, she found an old coffeepot and made coffee. Then, mug in hand, she went searching for another book where Granny J might have recorded her payroll and sales.
What her grandmother really needed was a computer, although it was doubtful the old lady would use it. Modern technology would be something that scared her. And she was definitely set in her ways.
But no amount of searching yielded a new book and the old notebook had not been updated. Joya finally gave up, deciding she would have a discussion with her grandmother when she saw her later.
A banging came from the front door. Joya hurried off to unlock it. Harley Mancini stood on the front step.
“Coffee? I’m making a run to Quills.”
“No thanks. I found a pot and made some. You’re welcome to have a cup.”
“Thanks, but I’m thinking of getting a latte. Can I get you a Danish? Croissant, toast?”
Joya tapped her flat stomach. “Thanks, but no thanks. I seldom have breakfast.”
Harley reached over and playfully tweaked one of Joya’s slender arms. “Hon, those bones could use some meat.”
Joya swatted him with the other arm. “I’ve worked very hard to keep weight off, and I’m not about to undo years of discipline. Where’s your partner?”
“Chet’s minding the store.” Saying his partner’s name seemed to propel Harley into motion. He glanced at his watch. “The construction crew’s going to be here in exactly ten minu
tes. I’d better go get breakfast.”
Joya waved him off and shut the door behind her. Construction crew meant Derek Morse. She wasn’t sure she was up to seeing him again. But, her feelings about him aside, she now had two things to discuss with Granny J: taking advantage of those interest-free loans and figuring out whether the store was producing a profit.
She finished her coffee and decided that before the shop officially opened, she’d try to do something about the clutter. She was sure Granny J had quilts that she didn’t even know existed stuffed in some places. Maybe she could have a sale and unload some of the merchandise that had been sitting. The problem was that she had no idea what had been here for some time and what was new. She needed the help of the saleswomen. Either that or she’d be forced to call Granny J. And that was something she was reluctant to do. Her grandmother needed her rest.
Half an hour past opening she still had no help. Neither Deborah nor LaTisha had shown up. By then, Joya had cleared off one table and scribbled a sign on a piece of white cardboard that said, Porch Sale. Cash Only! She’d found at least two dozen quilts shoved haphazardly in a garbage bag in the back room’s closet. After running a practiced eye over them and determining that they would normally sell in the range of two hundred and fifty to four hundred dollars, she slashed that price in half.
She found a couple of toss cushions that looked as though they might have seen better days and added them to the pile of sales items. She also uncovered some smaller quilts that might serve as either wall hangings or baby blankets, and some quilted jackets.
It sounded as if someone was using a drill next door. The annoying buzzing put her on edge, but she was determined to ignore the noise.
She needed somehow to maneuver the table and its contents onto the porch. Where were those two lazy workers when she needed them?
Joya was using her hip and both hands to push the table in the direction of the outdoors when a deep male voice came from behind her.
“Would you like a hand with that?” Derek Morse asked.
“Yes, please.” Joya’s relief showed in her warm smile. She’d never thought she’d be happy to see Derek Morse, but he was certainly useful.
Effortlessly, Derek picked up the table, contents and all. He angled it through the doorway and onto the porch.
“Is this good?” he asked, setting it right behind the verandah railing.
“Just a little more to the right. That should do it.” Following her directions, Derek placed the table in the exact spot she’d pointed to.
“How’s this?”
“Perfect.”
He stood silently, his jeans hugging his high butt, the knees threadbare, watching her spread a quilt over the table before folding and arranging the others. Without asking, Derek began arranging the sales items so that they were attractively laid out and could be seen.
“How about I tack the sale sign right up there?” he asked pointing to the back wall that badly needed a coat of paint.
“That would be great. Was there something you wanted?”
Derek took a hammer from the tool belt around his waist and pulled a nail from one of his pockets.
“Actually I came by to inquire as to how your grandmother is? Nana’s been working herself up asking questions about your gran that neither me nor her companion can answer.”
It made Joya feel good that her grandmother had friends who worried about her.
“Tell Belle Granny J’s going to be fine. How did she find out my grandmother was in the hospital?”
“Not much escapes anyone in this town,” Derek said over his shoulder.
Joya’s eyes were fastened on Derek’s wide shoulders and tapered waist. Where there were actual holes in the old jeans, you could see navy-blue underwear. Boxers actually. How many men today could pull off boxers and look sexy in them?
Derek pounded the nail into the wall and positioned the sign.
“What about right here?”
“Yes, that looks good. Thanks for all your help. Want a cup of coffee? I have a fresh pot brewing.” She didn’t know what made her extend the invitation, except that good manners dictated it. Much as she wasn’t looking to start a friendship, Derek had come to her rescue at a time when she needed it.
Derek dusted off his hands. “I’ll take a rain check. Gotta get back to work.” He scanned the porch as if looking for someone. “Don’t you have sales help?”
“Sore subject.”
His words were a reminder that she needed to do something about those two. Granny J had put up with the two unreliable women, but that didn’t mean she had to. They weren’t exactly assets to the business. They weren’t dependable and they sorely lacked customer-service skills. There was nothing like bad service to bring down a business.
Derek headed down the steps and then turned back. “Have you given any thought to what we discussed? You’ve got a pretty tight timeline to get back to us.”
It took a second or two for Joya to figure out what he was getting at.
“I’d been hoping to talk to Gran when she gets out of the hospital, but maybe I’ll do some preliminary investigation myself. What’s the latest I can get back to you?”
“The end of the week. Shore Construction is booking quickly.”
A gruff male voice called from next door. “Morse, where the hell are you? No one said you could take a coffee break.”
“I’d better get back,” Derek said quietly.
In the next half hour several passersby spotted the sales sign and wandered in. Joya sold two quilts and one of the pillows. At around ten-thirty Deborah and LaTisha were still not there.
Joya called both women but neither answered. She was at the end of her patience by then. The tourist with the redheaded children from yesterday came back, surprising Joya by buying one of the more expensive quilts and expressing interest in having one custom made. The woman was from Michigan. Joya took all of her relevant information, found out how long she was staying and promised to be in touch.
Right before lunch there was a brief lull in sales and Joya used that time to move the remaining sales items back indoors. She locked the store and decided to take the money to the bank. It would be a good opportunity to talk to Bill Brown, the loan officer. She might as well be properly informed if she was going to sell Granny J on the idea of applying for a loan.
There were long lines in front of the three tellers when Joya entered the lobby of the Flamingo Beach Credit Union. The credit union had been around forever, and despite another major bank opening up a branch, locals did most of their banking here where they were comfortable.
The three tellers were an institution, women close to sixty who knew everyone and needless to say everyone’s business. Joya scanned the area in front of Bill Brown’s office and was relieved to see that only one other person was waiting.
Joya signed the paper on the clipboard and took a seat in one of the overstuffed chairs. Ten minutes later the middle-aged man seated across from her was ushered into Bill’s glassed-in office by his secretary, Marlene Miller, whom no one dared call anything other than Miss Miller. She was an aging spinster, way past retirement age.
“Mr. Brown will be with you shortly,” Miss Miller said to Joya. “The senior Mrs. Hamill has sent you on her behalf, I assume?”
Joya nodded. To tell the old biddy it was none of her business would cause more trouble than it was worth. Since Joya’s Quilts needed a loan it was best to suck it up. It would serve no purpose to alienate this woman.
“What you doing here, girl?” a high-pitched female voice called from across the room, capturing the attention of everyone waiting for the tellers. “If I knew I’d run into you we could have scheduled lunch or something.”
Today wasn’t her day, Joya decided, watching her ex-husband’s fiancée, exuberant as ever, come bouncing over. Chere had lost at least sixty pounds and although by no means skinny, appeared confident and sexy. Not that Joya disliked Chere, far from it. You couldn’t help liking a
woman who kept it real and called it like she saw it.
Joya met her halfway and the two women exchanged kisses. “Hi Chere, you look great as always. “How are the wedding plans coming?”
Chere rolled her eyes. “I never thought it required so much planning. You’re coming, right? And you’re bringing a date?
Joya assured her she was. She’d have to come up with a date somewhere.
Chere continued loudly, oblivious to who might overhear. “The Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort is really starting to tick me off. They’re fighting me all the way over my entrée choices. I want to serve chicken, pork chops and steak. That’s what Black people like, food that sticks to the ribs. I told that caterer it’s my damn wedding and I can serve what I want. At least I did find a dress I like.” Chere tapped her plump middle. “It even makes my stomach look flat. And the photographer is all lined up and the deejay. As for centerpieces, well that’s a whole other story.”
“I’d think Chet and Harley of All About Flowers should be able to hook you up with the bouquets and table arrangements, no?” Joya tried not to burst into laughter as Chere did another eye roll.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But they’re acting like it’s a big deal because I want to keep things simple. I don’t want no orchids or any of that stuff.”
“What do you want?”
“Balloons, lots of them and candles, maybe just a couple of flowers here and there, nothing fancy. It’s my celebration. I never thought this day would happen.”
This time Joya did laugh out loud. It was good that they could chat like this, she thought. This must mean she was finally over Quen. Chere was obviously happy. She and Quen, though total opposites, were a good fit. Chere brought out the best in Quen. Joya should only be so lucky to find someone that completed her the way Quen did Chere.
“Miss Joya, Mr. Brown can see you now.”
The two women kissed again. Joya, escorted by the over-vigilant Miss Miller, entered Bill Brown’s office.
Bill, a man in his early forties, on the paunchy side and graying, presided behind a big oak desk with several golfing trophies on it. The wall behind him was glass and looked down on the busy main street. He stood when Joya entered.
Down and Out in Flamingo Beach Page 4
