Rosie threw her hands high in the air. “Where is it safe?” Luna Mae was already out of earshot and didn’t hear the pleading question. In the end, Rosie left the ticket where it was, under the flowered cushion on the rocking chair.
Kent Bliss steered the company car into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven, where he bought a large coffee to go. He rolled down the window, allowing the warm, muggy air to creep inside. At first he gulped at the coffee, hardly noticing that he’d burned his tongue. Then he started to sip it as he fired up a cigarette. He only smoked once in a while, mostly when he felt overwhelmed. Like now. He hated the smell of cigarette smoke, and it made his contact lenses foggy.
His own crafty nature told him his wife had lied to him. Probably because if the situation were reversed, he would do exactly the same thing. The big question was, how could he prove it. Rosalie wasn’t a liar, and yet, she’d lied to him. He was sure of it. Three hundred and two million dollars were three hundred and two million reasons to lie.
What, he wondered, was his best course of action? Should he return to the old house and beg his wife to take him back, swear on the Almighty that he would mend his errant ways? Rosalie would never fall for that line. The cold, determined look on his wife’s face last night was all the proof he needed to know he’d shot his load and was now reaping the consequences.
Kent thought about the thirty-three-hundred-dollar check in his wallet. He had to cash it and find some kind of cheap efficiency apartment to rent. He also had to rent a decent car, then he was going to have to work his ass off so he didn’t end up in a Motel 6 or the Comfort Inn indefinitely. He would be reduced to eating in Bojangles or Burger King and getting his coffee at fast-food places. The flip side of that was he could learn to cook. The idea was so horrible, he didn’t give it another thought.
“Bitch!” he seethed.
He thought about the last three years of his life. They’d been about as perfect as you could get. He hung out at the country club, played golf and tennis, dined there almost every night with a woman of his choosing. He drove a candy apple red Porsche, told time by his Rolex, and worked an hour or so a day. It was obvious to him now that he should have paid alittle more attention to the wife he despised.
He thought about his dry-cleaning bill and laundry bill. That was going to eat into his advance big-time. With no credit cards to use, he would have to pay cash for everything. He wouldn’t be sending flowers to anyone for a long time or buying trinkets for his many lady friends.
“Bitch!” he seethed again.
On top of everything else, he had to hire an attorney. Lawyers wanted money up front. He wondered what his chances were of getting alimony from his wife. He started to wonder how long she’d been planning his demise. Her coldhearted actions the previous night didn’t sound to him like a spur-of-the-moment decision.
Kent turned the key in the ignition, praying the car would start. It did, but with an unholy backfire. Furious at his circumstances, he floored the gas pedal, but the old car wouldn’t go faster than thirty-five miles an hour.
Two hours later, Kent had cashed the check from his boss, paid a deposit at the Days Inn Suites on Bay Street. It made him feel a little better that he was still in the historic district near the City Market, only a block off River Street. He had modular furnishings, and most amenities, along with an adjacent parking area. He could live with the rent. He had no other choice.
He brought the trash bags that held his belongings into the suite and hung his suits on wooden hangers. Later he would put away the rest of his things.
At the Avis car rental agency he was mortified when he was told he needed a credit card to rent one of their cars. He had to call his boss to vouch for him, which Jason did grudgingly. He drove off with a Ford Mustang convertible, the top down. He’d sweet-talk one of the secretaries into driving the clunker back to the agency later.
Kent skipped lunch, something he rarely did, and concentrated on the four appointments Jason Maloy had assigned him. He oozed charm and charisma as he showed customers three houses and one lot. By four-thirty, he had contracts on two of the houses and one on the lot. The deal on the third house, he was sure, would be consummated the following day.
He was on his way to his new home by four-thirty but, at the last minute, decided to stop at the gas station to fill up the Mustang. He hoped the kid would still be on duty. He wanted to get to the bottom of what he considered his wife’s betrayal before he went to see an attorney.
Kent pulled out his charm and charisma again as he pulled into the full-serve lane. Bobby hustled over, a wide grin on his face. “New wheels, Mr. Bliss?”
“Yes. By the way, I want to apologize for this morning. I was a little sharp with you, but the day started off wrong.”
“No problem. So, did you guys win or not?” the boy asked as he removed the tank cap.
“Nah. My wife showed me her tickets. She bought five of them, right?”
“Yeah. The machine wouldn’t print them all on the same ticket, so she had five separate ones. Guess she had a high number in there. My boss said Wonderball never had a single digit winning ticket. You know, numbers one through nine.”
“What made you think she won, Bobby?” Kent asked casually.
The boy shrugged, his eye on the clicking numbers of the gas pump. “Miz Bliss picked the numbers herself. They were all low. That’s all I remember. Everyone has been asking me the same thing all day long. We sold over fourteen thousand tickets over a two-day period, right up till the cutoff time. Most of the buyers were from out of state. Maybe they didn’t check their tickets yet. Lots of people had low numbers according to my boss. I could have sworn it was her, though. That’ll be eleven dollars even, Mr. Bliss.”
Kent pulled off a ten-dollar bill and a single and handed them to the boy. “See ya,” he said, turning the key and driving off. “You know what, kid, I think you’re right,” he muttered to himself as he pulled out onto Whitaker Street. He drove fast, his brain reeling until he came to West Bay, where he made a left. He parked his car, put the canvas top up, and headed for his new living quarters.
Vickie Winters stepped down off the steps of the decaying Simmons mansion. Dusk was her favorite time of the day. The heat and humidity weren’t as bad, and the city moved a little slower.
She loved Savannah, always had. Just the name alone conjured up misty images of days gone by, frosty mint juleps, Spanish moss dripping from the magnificent live oaks, beautiful, stately old mansions like the one she’d just stepped out of. Even if you were a Yankee saying “Savannah” for the first time, you couldn’t help saying it with a Southern drawl.
Vickie was glad to be home. She’d missed the slow Southern pace while traveling with Adeline Simmons. Now she was back, and she was lonely. All her old friends were either married with families or had moved on.
It was time for her to move back to her own house around the corner from her old friend Rosie Gardener Bliss. The thought made her heart thump inside her chest. A day hadn’t gone by in the three years she’d been gone that she didn’t think about Rosie and their friendship.
With no family of her own, Adeline had left her decayed mansion and a sizable monetary bequest to Vickie. She never had to work again if she didn’t want to. By early next week, she would have all the details taken care of and it would be okay for her to move back into her own little house. She was toying with the idea of donating the old mansion to the town’s historical society. Providing they agreed to refurbish it. If not, she’d hold on to it and pray she could keep up with the taxes and maintenance.
Her honey blond hair in a ponytail, wearing shorts, a lemon yellow tank top, and running shoes, Vickie half jogged, half ran up and down the streets until she was a block from her old house. Just around the corner from Rosie’s house, which was just as old as Adeline Simmons’s mansion. But Rosie’s house was in mint condition.
Vickie slowed to a snail’s pace as she approached her own little house. Actually, it was more a cott
age than a house. An aunt on her father’s side of the family had left her the cottage complete with antiques in every room. She’d modernized the kitchen, added a new bathroom, and restored the bathroom on the second floor. It was a comfortable house, and she had been happy in it. It cried out for a child or a dog. Not necessarily a husband, something that was in short supply in Savannah. Not that she was looking for a husband.
The wordhusband brought Rosie to her mind again. Rosie had been so desperate to get married so she could say she had a husband. She wondered if she was happy.
Vickie looked up at her house, opened the small gate, and walked up to the tiny porch where she used to sit late at night in the summer when she couldn’t sleep. She sniffed, smelling the confederate jasmine and the tea olive trees that were in bloom. How she loved the sweet scent. The jasmine needed to be trimmed and cut back a little. It was now climbing around the white columns that held up the roof. She loved the look. The stone steps were full of emerald green moss. She stepped on them gingerly as she walked up and opened the door.
The little cottage smelled musty, and the furniture was covered with sheets. The plantation shutters were closed to ward off the brutal summer sun. Tomorrow when she came to the cottage, she would remove and wash the dust covers, air out the house, have her old car serviced, do some grocery shopping, look at the want ads in the paper, and start to get on with her life. She wondered if the utilities would be turned on by morning. There would be no way she could move in until the air conditioners were functional. She could get by with her cell phone, but she did need electricity. She plugged in the refrigerator so if they did turn on the power at eight o’clock tomorrow as promised, the refrigerator would immediately start to cool down. She could clean it out later.
Getting her little house ready would be a joy. The last year with Adeline in failing health had been incredibly stressful. She was almost finished fulfilling all the promises she’d made to the elderly lady. It was time to move on with the rest of her life.
Vickie sat for a few more moments before she got up to leave. She locked the door and left. She walked around the corner, her heart beating extra fast as she approached Rosie’s house. Dusk had given way to full darkness, so she didn’t worry about craning her neck to see if there were lights glowing in her old friend’s home. The front was dark, but there were lights in the rear of the house, the kitchen, dining room, laundry room, and the back verandah. The garage area was well lit, with four cars parked side by side. Alice’s, Danny’s, Rosie’s, and Luna Mae’s cars. Where was Kent’s flashy Porsche? She moved closer to the old-fashioned lamp at the corner of the street and looked down at her watch. Kent should be home by now. She shrugged as she walked on, then broke into a jog.
It was after midnight when Rosie walked through the garage, doing one last check before she closed and locked up for the night. She always smiled with satisfaction when she saw the cardboard cartons packed, labeled, and waiting for UPS. They were stacked six deep from floor to ceiling. Despite the personal turmoil, she’d been experiencing, with Danny’s and Alice’s help she’d accomplished more than she could have hoped for. They had made a serious dent in the Internet orders.
Working had been good for her. While her brain went in a thousand different directions, her hands obeyed her and did what they were supposed to do.
Hands on her hips, Rosie looked around the garage. Not bad for a little Southern girl who knew nothing about business. Oh, she’d made her mistakes, many of them, but each one had been a learning experience. Together, she and Vickie had perfected their system, and what she was looking at was the end result.
“Where are you, Vic? God, how I miss you,” she whispered as she closed and snapped the padlocks on the main garage door.
Inside the house, she walked through the kitchen, the hall, and down past the sunroom. Luna Mae had left the lights on, the exercise equipment glaring at her. “Damn.” She’d forgotten her intention to start exercising. She’d also forgotten to come up to the house for a heart-to-heart talk with Luna Mae the way she’d promised earlier.
Tomorrow was another day.
4
Rosie climbed out of the van with her snake boots in hand. She perched, half-on and half-off the running board she’d insisted on when she bought the Chevy Tahoe for Nature’s Decorations. She kicked off her sneakers and pulled on the snake boots that came up to her knees. More so than in the past, snakes and water moccasins were plentiful this year for some reason. Probably it had something to do with the monsoonlike rains they’d been getting since spring.
She loved coming down to the river to pick her weeds. The tangy marsh smell mixed with the wild confederate jasmine reminded her of her youth. It also reminded her of Vickie and the thousands of times they’d come to this very spot to pick the feathery plants that were almost too pretty to be called weeds. They’d given the various kinds of wild growth names that they’d laughed over, but the names had stuck. Vickie hated wearing the snake boots, but Rosie insisted.
Rosie wished she had the guts to walk over to the old Simmons mansion and ring the doorbell and throw herself into Vickie’s arms. She didn’t have the guts, it was that simple. And yet, she’d had the guts to kick her husband out of the house. She gave herself a mental shake as she moved away from the van, a burlap bag in her hands.
A light mist was falling, the ground wet, making it easier to pull the weeds out by the root. She’d listened to the weather report in the car. It was supposed to rain all day. Damp weeds were the best because if they were too dry, the delicate leaves and thistlelike balls tended to blow away when touched. When she picked them damp or even soaking wet, all she had to do was hang them upside down and let them dry naturally. It was easier then to spray the first coat of lacquer or hair spray, depending on which weed she was working on.
Rosie eyed a round clump of pampas grass with its flowering shoot. She clipped and snipped for an hour, carrying the huge flowers back to the van. She moved on then, to the tall grass, where she started to yank what she and Vickie had christened, Princess Silk. Princess Silk was a half-inch-wide, foot-long, satiny stalk that she used to fill in her different arrangements. The only problem with the Princess Silk was the sharp edges that required gloves for harvesting and thick latex gloves when she was working on them in the garage.
Suddenly, an uneasy feeling settled between her shoulder blades. She looked around, realizing just how vulnerable she was all alone down by the river. Her arms tingling, she made her way back to the van to place the wet Princess Silk in the backseat. She should have told Luna Mae where she was going, but she hadn’t been awake. Luna Mae might think she was still sleeping and not want to wake her. She snorted at the thought of sleeping. If she’d had an hour of sleep last night, it was a lot.
Then she saw her in the distance. She looked better to Rosie than the finest-wrapped Christmas present.
Neutral ground.
“Vickie!” she shouted, joy ringing in her voice.
“Rosie!” Vickie responded, the same joy ringing in her voice.
They moved at the same time, their arms outstretched as they started to babble, neither one knowing what the other one was saying. They hugged one another, tears dripping down their cheeks.
“I can’t believe it’s you, Vic! God, you look good. I think I thought about you every day since you left. Are you back for good?”
“You look just as good, Rosie. Youporked up a little,” Vickie chided. “I thought about you, too. And, yes, I’m back for good.”
Excitement ringing in her voice, Rosie said, “What are you doinghere?”
Vickie laughed. “Hey, it’s Thursday. We always came to the river on Thursdays. I see the Princess Silk is as lush as ever. Need some help?”
“Are you kidding! I can use all the help I can get. Do you want back into the business? Actually, you still own part of it. I never had my lawyer call yours to sever our partnership. Hope springs eternal, that kind of thing. Jeez, it’s really starting to rain. L
et’s go to Dolly’s Cafe for coffee and donuts like we used to do. That was always the best part of our Thursday morning river expeditions. I’ll meet you there. So, do you want back in?” Rosie didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Vickie responded.
Vickie’s eyes were wary, yet hopeful somehow. “You said you didn’t want to see me or talk to me ever again. I wasn’t jealous, Rosie. I swear to God, I wasn’t. I thought you were making a mistake. If you still want me, the answer is yes, a thousand times yes.”
Rosie threw her hands in the air. “I want you! I want you! You were right about Kent, too. I knew it in the first week. I kicked him out Tuesday night. We’ll talk at Dolly’s.” Rosie shouted to be heard over the sudden crackling thunder and downpour.
Vickie nodded excitedly. “Okay. I’ll see you at Dolly’s. My treat!”
Kent Bliss watched his wife and her best friend from behind a row of pampas grass. He adjusted the soaking-wet hood on his sweatshirt as he looked down at his pristine white tennis shoes, then cursed under his breath. He’d never be able to clean the thick, gray mud off them. He wouldn’t be able to throw them away either since he was now living on a budget with no credit cards at his disposal.
He’d been all set to scare the hell out of his wife until Vickie Winters showed up. Now he was going to have to wait for a more opportune time to put the fear of God into the woman who had just ruined his life.
He tried once more to clean the mud from his sneakers on a mound of green moss. It didn’t work. Now he had green grass smears all over the sides, even on his shoelaces. His tennis socks were full of sharp burrs. He would have to throw those away, too. That was okay, he had plenty of socks, but he didn’t have a second pair of two-hundred-dollar sneakers.
Kent’s expression turned mean and ugly as he turned the key in the ignition and flicked on the windshield wipers. Now that Vickie Winters was back in his wife’s life, he was going to have to rethink his plans. He would have plenty of time to think and plan today because no one wanted to look at houses or property in the rain. Maloy would expect him to man the phones, but he knew how to get around that. He was an expert at pretending to look busy.
Pretty Woman Page 6
