Dearest Dorothy, Who Would Have Ever Thought?!
Page 24
“So you see no value in the town . . . or its people?” she asked.
“Hold on now. I don’t recall saying the people of Partonville have no value. You’ve got to admit, however, that most of them are choosing to live in a time warp. The days of Andy of Mayberry went out with black-and-white TV—although you do have Acting Mayor Gladys of Pardon-Me-Ville, as I’ve heard her and her town referred to.” He laughed. “Having met her a time or two and cruised through Partonville recently. . . .” He laughed again, but he took note of the fact that Katie was not joining him in his laughter. He felt her drawing a line in the sand—in the topography.
Yes, Gladys irritated Katie and the square was dying. But Katie had also come to realize that as annoying as that woman was, she’d cared enough for her town to fight for it with her Centennial Plus 30. She’d rallied the troops, fired up their pride and, like Arthur had said, in the end “done them all proud.” She thought about Dorothy’s love for the land, May Belle’s goodness, Delbert’s concern for the people in his church—and their budding relationship.
“The square,” Colton said, busting into her stream of thought, “has become nothing short of a stop-gap to progress. I still remember the recent fiasco when your mayor decided to change the direction of traffic on that square in the middle of the night. What’d she call it? ‘Moving forward in time’? The Daily Courier had a field day with the gridlock.”
Katie fought the urge to cringe. That had indeed been a fiasco reported in all the surrounding papers, including the Daily Courier, Hethrow’s largest circulated newspaper. And yet . . .
“It’s time,” Colton continued with a tone of finality, drawing his own line in the topography, “that the square get replaced with a four-lane. Although I admire the large net you believe you’re casting, I repeat, there’s nothing in that town or on that main drag that is either historically valuable or that can survive more than a year or two and you very well know it. Come on, Kathryn. Partonville is obsolete. What have you really got in that town but a gas station that isn’t modernized, a grocery store that can’t compete with a Super Wal-Mart, a laughable little motel that probably sits empty most of the time now that Hethrow has captured interstate travel. . . .”
Katie didn’t hear what he said after that. Her blood was beginning to boil. To call all the hard work Jessica and Paul had put into their motel laughable crossed a line. She opened her mouth to defend her friend, then realized that to do so would mean she would lose control of the game. He or she who responded out of emotions lost. That’s the way it went.
It struck her that quite unaware she’d become attached to this place and its people, and that a town could not be separated from the people since a town, a community, was the people—and like it or not, ready or not—OHMYGOSH!—she had become one of them.
“Interesting thoughts,” she said quietly, maintaining outward control, “but nonetheless thoughts that are sadly lacking vision.”
“Really,” he said, obviously taken back a little. “I’ve been accused of many things in my life, but I don’t believe I’ve ever been accused of lacking vision, Kathryn.”
She’d once heard Dorothy explain how she had to occasionally talk to her smile. As much as Katie did not want to smile right now, she knew it was essential. Come on, smile. As if on command, every possibility she’d been exploring solidified into a personal commitment, and with it a genuine smile sprouted from ear to ear. “Oh, but Mr. Craig,” she said, her voice as silky smooth as his could be when winding around a target, “I accuse you of nothing. I’m just stating my opinion.”
“Sounds like an opinion with monetary value,” he said, egging her on to say more.
“Exactly. Monetary value.”
“And that would be?”
“A monetary opinion with value,” she said. She flipped her folder closed and stuck it back in her briefcase. She took a look at her wristwatch. “Would you look at how time flies when you’re in good company,” she said. She delighted in watching Colton make the slightest of gestures to straighten his posture. Abruptly she stood and extended her hand. “This has been delightful and I do hope you’ll call me again, man to woman. (What goes around comes around, she thought.) I’ve already made arrangements to pick up the lunch bill. Next time you can buy.” She didn’t give him time to say another word. She was gone before he knew what had hit him.
She drove straight to the independent Realtor on the cusp of Hethrow and Partonville. She needed to do some wheeling and dealing and fast. Close the deal on something she’d been speculating about, never mind she hadn’t found the right time to talk to the rest of those on whom in large part she would have to rely. She couldn’t think when she’d ever been more excited, determined—or scared. If, in the end, this tip-of-her-iceberg plan didn’t work, Kathryn Durbin, Development Diva, would never be able to face Colton Craig again. She was either firmly belted into the driver’s seat or precariously perched at the precipice of a slippery slide.
Katie had to figure out another way to bring all the key players together to get their support and back up her leap of faith; the tub was as good a place as any to strategize. She pulled the plug on her tepid bath water and let a couple of inches drain out before replacing it with straight hot water. As the steaming water streamed into the tub, she sat up and swished her hands around her like fish fins to blend it in. With Thanksgiving coming, not to mention Christmas, her time was running short. Just when she turned off the faucet, it hit her: perhaps the small-town grapevine could be her friend. Maybe she should just talk to Jessica and Dorothy, then maybe—if she dared—make an appointment with Maggie at La Feminique Salon & Day Spa and let a few things “slip.” (A slippery slide could just as easily be a shortcut to success! she told herself. Isn’t that how it went in that old board game Chutes and Ladders?)
As she slid back into the depths of the renewed bubbles, the double-edged sword of her business venture, spurred on by Colton Craig’s pompous attitude, seized her again. But in her heart of hearts she knew that her financial risk and professional image weren’t nearly as weighty as proving something far bigger to herself: who she really was and what she found worth fighting for.
24
By Friday night at nine Gladys had her reservation totals. After passing them along to Theresa, she also had a headache. By the time they’d added in the volunteers and allowed for a few late reservations (which she was already hearing murmurs about) and last-second walk-ins (although she would have never encouraged those, but too late now), their numbers would undoubtedly be in the forties, and Lord help them all if they verged toward fifty! But what concerned Gladys most was that May Belle was still down with her back; Jessica was still ill and had, under Dorothy’s command, deferred doing anything causing Gladys to speculate Jessica had some dreaded disease—although after hearing how the numbers had swelled, Jessica had, at the last minute, volunteered (out of sense of guilt, no doubt, Gladys thought) to “cook and drop off one turkey” which now only caused Gladys to fret she would be spreading her dreaded disease; and Nellie Ruth, well, Gladys hoped she could get her mind off that odd Edward Showalter long enough to focus. United Methodist Church seemed poised to be humiliated on their very own turf. Any committee chair worth her salt, Gladys thought, would have been dogging these folks; Theresa did not take firm enough control of things.
“The worst thing that will happen,” Dorothy calmly said to Gladys, “is that we’ll all be gathered together to give thanks.” Dorothy had found Theresa’s leadership by faith so refreshing and inspiring that she was determined to back her up. “Remember the loaves and the fishes story from the Bible, Gladys. I’m sure God will provide. We’ll all just do our part and it’ll work out fine. Have a little faith.” Then Dorothy’d hung up and fired fervent bazooka prayers that got all the more fervent when she stopped by May Belle’s Saturday morning and May Belle said she thought her back felt worse instead of better. “Oh, Dorothy, what am I going to do about that Thanksgiving dinner?”
Dorothy said over her shoulder, “Earl, honey, would you please get me the tablet of scratch paper your mother keeps near the phone. Oh, and a pen. And a pencil,” she said more loudly as she heard Earl’s footsteps already padding down the hall. “THANK YOU, DEAR!” Earl went fast to work on the request and returned in a jiffy. “Okay, let’s see now. Let’s start with the turkeys.” Just then May Belle’s phone rang. “Can you answer that, Earl?” Dorothy asked over her shoulder since Earl had once again positioned himself near her back.
Earl only answered the phone when someone asked him to. He did not like talking on the phone and in fact usually didn’t. The phone made him nervous since he couldn’t see who was talking. He’d pick up the receiver when instructed, listen and be silent. Most folks in town understood the situation and would patiently wait for May Belle to come to the phone, knowing she’d likely been getting something out of her oven or putting something in when the phone rang. At Dorothy’s instruction, this time Earl disappeared and picked up the receiver within one ring. “TELL THEM TO HANG ON,” Dorothy hollered. She didn’t hear any talking. Pretty soon Earl was back.
“Do you know who it is, Earl?” May Belle asked.
“I think it’s Miss Nellie Ruth,” he said.
“Tell her I’ll . . . Never mind,” Dorothy said as she set her supplies on May Belle’s nightstand and headed down the hall. May Belle heard quiet mutterings from the other room and after awhile Dorothy was back. “Earl was right. It was Nellie Ruth. She wanted to know if she was supposed to buy the ingredients for the things Lester is cooking or if he was taking care of that himself. She said since Your Store isn’t open on Sundays it was mobbed today and she was worried they might run the shelves bare, making pickin’s too slim by Monday. She was going to start setting a few things aside. I suggested she phone Lester herself right now since it’s between the breakfast and lunch crowds. She hadn’t thought about phoning him, she said. I instructed her to phone us back after she spoke with him and let us know. If we don’t hear back from her within an hour, I’ll give him a call myself. As much as I hate to admit this, Gladys is right: Nellie Ruth is a little scatterbrained lately. But it’s just so wonderful to see that child all aglow that I can’t help but be happy for her. I mean, who would have ever thought?”
Ninety minutes later Dorothy phoned Harry’s. “Lester, it’s Dorothy. First of all, thank you for the lovely lunch you sent us yesterday. We gobbled it right up.”
“Yup.”
“Did Nellie Ruth call you?”
“Yup.”
“I realize you’re probably busy with lunch customers now but could you just tell me who’s buying your ingredients? You or the joint committees? Of course, we’ll reimburse you if you buy.”
“Me. I’m donating all ingredients for the dressing and a big mess of green beans. I told Nellie Ruth that. What’s wrong with her anyway? She seemed . . . flustered or something.” Dorothy heard his hand go over the receiver as he assured someone their order would be right up.
“I do believe Nellie Ruth has been bitten by the lovebug, Lester.”
“Well, believe you me when I tell you it is now official, Dorothy: love makes folks plumb nuts. I gotta go.” Clunk.
Since Katie had arrived at the Lamp Post, she and Jessica had been talking a mile a minute. Paul, Sarah Sue in tow, smiled when he passed through the kitchen, happy to see his wife lively and distracted, at least for the moment. Four more days and they’d know for sure, he thought. He nodded a howdy do to Katie, then disappeared.
“He’s such a nice guy,” Katie said after Paul was out of earshot. “It’s good to see a father so involved with a child,” she said wistfully. “I’m hoping Josh’s Thanksgiving vacation goes well with his dad. Sometimes he comes home kind of sullen.”
“Good thing Paul is good with kids,” Jessica said splaying her fingers over her belly. “But you said you had something to tell me when you called. What’s up? I’m so sick of me that it will be good to hear about somebody else’s life for a change.”
“You’re not going to believe where I’m heading after I leave here; well, that is after I stop by May Belle’s since Dorothy said that’s where she’d be this morning. But first I have something big to announce and you are the first to know. And,” she said, after chuckling, “it officially officially involves you, too! Fasten your seat belt, though; this is news that will shock you.”
“Don’t tell me you’re pregnant!” Jessica laughed.
“Impossible. I haven’t even had a proper kiss for decades.”
“Katie!” Jessica said, her face turning red. “So what is your news?”
I’ve taken on the Craig brothers, she thought. “Jessica, I’m bored and I need a project. Commercial real estate has always been my passion and my area of expertise so why not use them both to help revitalize Partonville. I’m going to start by opening a business—a collection of businesses, really, and what better time to launch a project like this than right after the Centennial Plus Thirty when you’ve all been reminded we have something here to be proud of.”
“What?!”
“You heard me. I’m opening a collection of shops all under the same roof. One of them, the cornerstone of the businesses, will be a boutique of sorts, a gift shop, if you will. And guess who’s going to provide some of the product and help me decorate?”
“The Merchandise Mart in Chicago?” Jessica’s heart skipped a beat just imagining the colors, the fabrics, the designs of . . . whatever. She’d dreamed about visiting the Merchandise Mart since she’d first heard tell of it.
“Wrong. You are! You and your wonderful bookmarks and baskets and gifted squinting eyes . . . and every other crafter and artist in the area who’d like to put their things on consignment and earn some income. I was even thinking about asking May Belle if she’d like to sell some of her baked goods. You know how she always wraps them up for bunco prizes with cellophane and those curly ribbons? You know how they sell those oblong caramels wrapped up in waxed paper near so many cash registers around the country?” Jessica shook her head no; she had no “around the country” base of experience. Nonetheless, it didn’t thwart Katie’s enthusiasm. “On my way over here I thought, why not put some of May Belle’s wrapped goodies near the checkouts!” Jessica’s eyes were growing ever bigger. “Of course, along with everyone’s handmade things I’ll also do wholesale buying, or hire a buyer, which might be a better choice since merchandising is not my area of expertise.” Katie was more animated than Jessica had ever seen her, waving her arms around, pacing. . . . “I could even ask Maggie Malone to lend us some of her, um, exotic flair since my taste is definitely conservative and we’ll want to have something for everyone. And she’s certainly a one-woman advertising agency. And speaking of Maggie, heaven help me, Jessica, I’m going to La Feminique right after I talk to Dorothy and May Belle and I’m getting a ‘wash and set’, as Maggie called it. Please do not ever tell Jeffrey at Gregory’s in Chicago or I’ll be barred. But I figure Maggie’s place is as good a place as any to start the buzz. It’s never too early for good buzz.”
“Oh, Katie. Honestly, I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but do you really think something like this can work here in Partonville?” She blushed, realizing she was being a little presumptuous since after all, Katie was a rich business-woma
n and she was, well, not. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you know what you’re doing, Katie. I’m sorry.”
“Stop that, Jessica! It is a fair question. And don’t think I haven’t asked myself that several times. But remember how everyone was talking at the Hookers’ meeting some time back about how they wished Partonville had a good browsing store? Dorothy brought it up, I think.”
Jessica just stared at Katie. She’d been talking too fast. And had she understood Katie correctly, that she would be expected to supply things to sell in her store, and to help decorate it, too? She could barely stay awake right now, let alone keep her head out of the toilet. And she had a baby, and another one on the way and. . . .
“You feeling ill again?” Katie asked, noticing the change on Jessica’s face.
Dreaming was wonderful, but reality had to be faced here. “To be honest, Katie, I’m overwhelmed. I’ve got my hands full right now. I don’t know when I’m even going to find time to brush my teeth once this second one arrives.” Katie slumped in her chair. Jessica wanted to be encouraging, but Katie had been talking so fast . . . it was all too much to take in. “Where are you planning on putting your store?” she asked in an effort to at least engage with the idea. “Are you going to build somewhere?”
“Okay, this is not the exciting response I’d been hoping for.” Banking on, literally. Katie felt like the cold water balloon to the back of the head had once again arrived. “I purchased the old Taninger building. You know, the building straight across the square from Harry’s? The one that used to have a furniture store in it?” Jessica nodded her head. “From what I understand, it’s been empty for nearly six years now, having been the first store—not to mention the largest store—on the square to go out of business after Hethrow built up.”