“Just look at you. I remember when you were about this big. Knee-high to a grasshopper,” he said, holding his hand palm down.
Bill was only a decade older than Joya, but his gray hair made him look much older.
She smiled graciously and shook the hand he held out. The preliminaries over with, Bill waved her to an overstuffed chair on the other side of the desk before sitting down again. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“I hear the bank is offering business owners interest-free loans to spruce up their properties. Is that true?”
“Yes, it’s true. With the upcoming centennial only a few months away, we hoped to make Flamingo Beach a showplace. What surprises me is that your grandmother didn’t take advantage of our offer. I assumed maybe financial difficulties and pride kept her from applying.”
“Financial difficulties? What do you mean?”
A flutter of panic began in Joya’s gut. Granny J had never said a word about having money problems. It wasn’t until the two irresponsible saleswomen had claimed not to have been paid that Joya had sensed something might be wrong.
“From your expression I gather this is news to you,” Bill Brown said rising and pouring them two cups of water from a pitcher. He handed Joya one.
She nodded, finally managing, “Just how bad is it?”
Brown stroked his smooth chin. “Well, let’s see. Your grandmother came in about a year ago to get an equity line of credit. She was keeping up fine and then a couple of months ago she began falling behind.”
“I see,” Joya said, although she didn’t see at all. “Exactly how much money does Granny owe?”
Bill turned his attention to the monitor on his desk, pecking on his keyboard. He made some rapid calculations and eventually named a figure.
It wasn’t an astronomical amount. Joya had enough from today’s sale to pay up the loan and still have a few dollars in reserve.
Joya fished in her purse, removed the envelope holding this morning’s take from the sales, and carefully counted the bills out. She separated the money into two piles.
“I’m here to make the payments on that loan,” she said, “I don’t have Granny J’s book with me. I’m also here to discuss getting one of those low-interest loans with you.”
Bill pushed a button on the intercom.
“Yes, Mr. Brown,” came Marlene Miller’s querulous voice.
“Will you come in, please.”
Miss Miller entered and stood reverently before Bill’s desk.
“Will you please deposit this money in Mrs. Hamill’s equity account,” Bill said, “The other money goes to her checking. Bring me back both receipts.” He scribbled what Joya assumed were both account numbers on a yellow pad, tore out the sheet, and handed it to Marlene.
“Certainly.” Tossing a curious look Joya’s way, Miss Miller turned and left them.
“So you wanted to talk about a loan?” Bill Brown said.
“Yes, I do. The stores around Granny’s shop are all being renovated. I don’t want Granny J to miss out. She’s owned her property for almost as long as Flamingo Beach has been around. It would be a shame to let it go down.”
“I agree.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Bill told Joya about the loan options and the terms available. He told her she could fill out her application online and that she would receive approval in less than twenty-four hours.
“Will Gran’s delinquent payments affect her getting this loan?” Joya asked. “You did say she was dutifully making the payments up until a couple of months ago?”
“Your granny has been a very good customer of the credit union. Except for the equity line, she owns the building out right.”
Marlene Miller was back, handing her tangible proof of the transactions. “That copy has your grandmother’s balance,” she quickly pointed out.
Joya thanked her and stood. Bill, always the gentleman, stood and followed her to the door. He handed Joya a couple of folders.
“Read this information and discuss it with Mrs. Hamill, then get back to us. You have my personal guarantee you will have your loan.”
After shaking Bill Brown’s hand and thanking him, Joya left.
As Joya came up the walkway she spotted Deborah and LaTisha, both looking somewhat put out. They sat on the porch step, gazing out onto the street.
“We’ve been waiting for hours,” LaTisha pouted.
A slight exaggeration. Joya had only been gone for maybe an hour.
“You’re late for work,” Joya said, not cutting them any slack. “If you’d been here on time I wouldn’t have had to lock up.”
“It’s payday. We need our money,” both said in unison.
Deborah stood, stretching. “You owe us for two weeks plus this week.”
Joya had been prepared for something like this. She had the feeling these two had been getting away with murder for quite sometime.
“You haven’t worked this week,” she quickly pointed out.
“I did,” LaTisha hastened to say.
“Half a day and barely,” Joya countered. “Let’s go inside.”
The business could remain closed for another fifteen minutes while she did what she needed to do. She was going to make an executive decision and not consult Granny J.
Joya was betting both women were minimum-wage employees. She did some rapid calculations. What was left of the proceeds of this morning’s sale would barely cover two weeks’ salary for both ladies, and if she were to give them another two days’ pay as a token, it would pretty much clean the business account out.
But the afternoon was young and she was counting on selling the remainder of the sale items plus a few new ones. She unlocked the front door and allowed both women to precede her in. Then she locked the door behind her.
“Let’s go into the back room,” Joya said.
The two saleswomen, anticipating money, followed eagerly.
Joya quickly wrote out two checks and handed one to each individually.
Without even a thank-you, Deborah folded hers and placed it in her purse. LaTisha stuffed hers in the pocket of the low-rise Capri’s she’d come supposedly to work in.
“We have to go to the bank. We’ll be back shortly,” LaTisha said.
Joya didn’t say a word until they were out on the porch.
“No need to return,” she said, following them out. “You’re both fired.”
“What!” This came from LaTisha. “You can’t fire me.”
“Your services are terminated. You’re done.”
Deborah, the darker of the two, tugged on a braid, her wine-colored eyes smoldering.
“You ain’t my boss. The only person who can fire me is your grandmother.”
“Okay then, pretend that I’m her. You’re terminated. Fired. If you’re not off the premises in exactly five minutes, I’m calling the police.”
Chapter 5
“Bitch! You haven’t heard the last of this!” LaTisha shouted, waving her fist in the air.
“Who you think you playing with?” Deborah called equally as loudly.
The shouting and threats had been going on for the last twenty minutes, ever since Joya had let the saleswomen go. The adjoining business owners were unusually quiet and hadn’t made their presence known. They probably did not want to get involved.
But having that kind of scene out front was not helping business. She needed customers. Joya’s Quilts needed the money.
Having had enough, Joya picked up the phone, determined to follow through with her threat of calling the police, but things had quieted down outside. Why? Curiosity brought her to the window. Derek Morse was speaking with the two ex-employees. She wondered what he was telling them. She debated going out there, then decided it would serve no useful purpose.
Whatever Derek said worked, because shortly thereafter Deborah and LaTisha left. Joya opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, bringing with her the remaining items for sale, plus several other pieces of merchandise.
Derek, most likely on a break, sat on a bench on the sidewalk shaded by a huge palm tree. He held a bottle of water in one hand and a sandwich in the other. This reminded Joya that she still hadn’t eaten. She placed the merchandise on the table and stood, debating whether to say anything to him.
Chet Rabinowitz, who’d probably had his nose pressed against the window watching all the action, came out of his flower shop and ambled up the walkway.
“I was just about to call the police,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“I had to fire the two women and they’re angry,” Joya said.
“You fired the part-timer, too?”
Joya didn’t know there was a part-timer and said so.
“What part-timer?”
“Portia Cortez, she’s a nice girl. She attends the community college and works on weekends or whenever the shop gets busy.”
Joya made a mental note to call this Portia Cortez and see what her schedule was like. With the two women off the payroll, and scheduling sales help only in a pinch, maybe Joya’s Quilts could start making some money.
“About time you had a sale and moved some of your old merchandise,” Chet groused, mounting the steps and beginning to sort through the merchandise. “I need something for my guest room, but it has to be the right shade of green.”
“If you find anything, let me know,” Joya said magnanimously, “And I’ll reduce it another twenty percent.”
“That’s an offer I’d be stupid to refuse.” Chet unfolded a version of the Diamond Strip and shook out the quilt. He scrutinized it carefully. “This one has my name on it.”
“Good choice,” Joya said, tracing the outlines of the diamond-shaped pattern. “In African textile tradition the diamond symbolizes the cycles of life. Each point represents a crucial stage. Birth, life, death, rebirth, you know, all the passages of life.”
Granny J had taught Joya everything she knew about the history of quilting. Chet’s eyebrows were up to his hairline. He seemed surprised by her knowledge. It was time to bury the hatchet with him, Joya decided. Better to have him on her side than not. With a mouth like Chet’s and a powerful father like Mayor Solomon Rabinowitz, he could make things mighty uncomfortable for Gran, even though he professed to like the old lady.
“I’m off to get my checkbook,” Chet said, handing Joya back the quilt and starting down the steps. “Hey, you beautiful man,” he called to Derek, “Didn’t you say you needed a gift for your great-grandmother’s birthday? Now might be the time to get it. Joya’s is having a sale.” To Joya he said in a loud whisper, “You will extend to him the same courtesy you did me? The additional twenty percent? He got rid of those two nasty bitches for you.”
“Sure.”
Derek Morse tossed the remainder of his half-eaten sandwich in a nearby trash can. Standing, he wiped his palms on the legs of his soiled and ripped jeans and reluctantly sauntered up the walkway, stopping to do one of those shoulder bumps men do with each other.
He and Chet were as different as night and day. Chet was average height and lean, with a pointy face that reminded Joya of a fox. Derek, on the other hand, was at least six foot two with wide shoulders, a narrow waist and long legs. He was the kind of man that ate up your breathing space and made you think of sex. Standing next to him made her nervous and made her forget what she was going to say.
Derek was now on the veranda and standing very close to her, and even though Joya was wearing her signature high heels he made her feel like a midget.
“What have we here?” Derek said, fingering a version of the Log Cabin pattern. Joya hoped his hands were clean. The quilt was yellowing with age anyway but she didn’t need grease on it. She was being mean-spirited, she decided. The man had just gotten rid of two women making a scene out front of the establishment. She could be more gracious.
“Do you like it?”
His head listed to one side, thinking. “Actually, what I would like is a quilt to commemorate Nana Belle’s life. Something she can choose to hang or use.”
“You’re looking for a custom quilt then. That will cost you a bit.”
Derek stared intently at her through those hooded eyes of his and she felt her mouth go dry.
“I am prepared to pay whatever it might cost. It’s not every day someone lives to be a hundred,” he said tightly.
But did Derek know how much such a quilt might cost? It could easily run him a thousand, possibly more.
She managed to smile, hoping it did not come off as patronizing.
“We’ll work something out. Thanks for getting rid of those two for me. It’s not been a good day so far. Perhaps you might find something you like inside. I can work out a payment plan if you like. It’s the least I can do.”
“I don’t need a plan.” He didn’t offer an explanation as to what he’d said to the women, just continued sorting through the sales merchandise, folding them neatly and returning them to their original spots.
“How about we discuss the custom quilt,” he eventually said. “How long will that take and what will I need to do?”
He wasn’t getting it. What he was asking for was going to be expensive.
“Are you thinking of something similar to a quilt popular in the mid-1800s titled the Black Family Album? There have been several knock-offs since. What happens is the quilter uses an appliqué technique to literally paste the person’s family album onto the fabric. African tribes have done it and it was very popular in early-American tradition. It’s one lasting way of recording family events.”
“Exactly what I’m looking for,” Derek said, brightening. “I have to get back to work. Can I stop by afterward so we can discuss this album idea in greater detail?” He hesitated for a moment. “Better yet, allow me to buy you a latte at Quills after you close shop. That way I have your complete attention and you’re not worrying about customers.”
Now it was Joya’s turn to hesitate. “After work I need to go to see my grandmother at the hospital. I plan on talking to her about getting the shop fixed up.” She hesitated for a moment and then thought, what the hell, he wasn’t an ax murderer. “If you’d like to stop by my place later, we can talk about the type of quilt you’re looking for and I can tell you if Granny’s agreed to move forward with the renovation.”
“Okay, it’s a deal. Give me your address.”
Joya scribbled her address on the back of the store’s business card and Derek pocketed it.
“Gotta get back to work,” he said. “See you later.” Intrigued, though she was reluctant to admit it, Joya watched Derek swagger confidently down the steps.
Reality soon hit. She’d invited a man she didn’t really know to her apartment. Was she losing her mind? At least Derek would be required to sign in at the reception desk, and his great-grandmother was a friend of her own grandmother. He wasn’t entirely a stranger.
Meeting him in a public place would have made more sense, but that would only create gossip. If they’d met at the Pink Flamingo, the Catch-All or even the Haul Out, then busybodies like the Flamingo Place resident gossip, Camille Lewis, would have them on a date. Joya didn’t want anyone to get the wrong impression.
Two tourists slowed down and spotting the sale sign made their way up the walkway. Joya went back into the store, allowing them to browse in private. After about ten minutes the taller of the two stuck her head in the door, holding up one of the quilted pillows.
“Is this the best you can do?”
“Prices are as marked, but if you buy more than one item I might be able to do something.”
Both women purchased two pillows. Their presence drew several others and Joya sold another quilt and a wall-hanging. By the time she closed the store at the end of the day she was feeling pretty proud of herself. It was too late to do any banking so Joya tucked the money in her pocket, got into her BMW, put the top down and drove to the hospital.
When she arrived, Granny J was fighting with the nurse’s aide. Refusing to be intimidated, th
e young woman stood her ground.
“I want real food, not that hogwash you’re serving,” Granny J said wagging a finger at the skinny child-woman.
“Everything on your tray is very nutritious, Mrs. Hamill.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Gran, please settle down and stop being a bully,” Joya said, intervening. She winked at the poor girl, who seemed unfazed by the treatment. “Leave the tray. I’ll take over from here.”
“I’ll be back,” the young woman said, vacating the room.
“How are you, Gran?”
“How do you expect me to be?”
“Pleasant and courteous, like you taught me to be.”
Granny J glared at Joya. “How are things at the store?”
“I had a sale today. We did well.”
“Sale? What sale? Joya’s Quilts has never had to put merchandise on sale.”
“And maybe that’s the problem. You have too much inventory and not enough money coming in.”
Granny J stuck her lower lip out. “Most of those quilts I accept on consignment. I hope you didn’t sell anything too cheap.”
“If I did,” Joya said, not backing down, “They needed to be sold cheap. A lot of the items were yellowing or had visible flaws.”
“Humph.”
Without waiting to be invited, Joya sat on the chair next to Granny J’s bed. “How are you feeling, Gran?”
“Awful!” The old woman said, folding her arms and making a face at the food in front of her.
“Then, in that case, I’d better get your nurse or even better, the attending doctor.” Joya reached for the phone on the nightstand.
Granny J’s fingernails dug into Joya’s arms. “No, don’t do that.”
“But if you’re not feeling well, Gran?”
“I feel perfectly fine. It’s that doctor who says I’m not well. He says I need a procedure.”
Although Dr. Benjamin had alluded to the fact that this might be a possibility, Joya felt her panic build. Granny being out of commission put a whole different spin on things. Joya had hoped she would be released in a day or two. But from the sounds of things that wasn’t about to happen. Then there would be recuperation time. L.A. International would definitely not approve another extended leave of absence. They were already putting pressure on her to come back.
Down and Out in Flamingo Beach Page 5
