by Brynne Asher
I smile, nodding, and swallowing back the lump in my throat. “Thank you, Gabby.” When she smiles back to me I add, “But just so you know, Tony could totally kick Jude’s ass.”
Gabby rolls her eyes. “I don’t think so. My man carries a badge.”
I tip my head to the side and return haughtily, “Yeah? Well my man balances the scales of justice.”
Instead of pretend jabbing back with words, her stature softens again and she says quietly, “Yes. Yes, he does, Leigh.”
At her words and their meaning, I immediately tear up again. “Don’t make me cry.”
“Sorry,” she says, totally meaning it this time.
I sigh, decide it’s time to get it together, and change the subject. “You haven’t made very much progress you know. This isn’t like you, not being able to focus on shopping. Even with that intervention you just threw at me.”
Gabby shrugs. “I know. I already have a Valley Girl outfit at home I can fall back on if push comes to shove. I was hoping to find something Molly Ringwald-ish from Pretty in Pink.”
“Molly Ringwald pink dress or Molly Ringwald suit jacket with all the lace?”
“Suit jacket with all the lace, for sure,” she exclaims like I should know this. Gabby went through an eighties phase a couple years ago and now I’m wondering if she’s reverting back.
“Look at this.” I pull out a tiny black shrug trimmed in animal print. “This is perfect. Now I just need some fishnet leggings.”
“You’re going to be hot as Madonna. Eighties Madonna is the best.”
“Are you done? I still need to go to Claire’s for leggings and more jewelry. I bet I can find a bow for my hair, too.”
“Sure,” she says, as we head to the register.
On the way we pass the men’s section and Gabby squeals, “Wait, look at this sweatshirt. I think I’ll be the chick from Flashdance. Why didn’t I think of that before? Wait, what’s her name? I can’t believe I don’t own that movie. This is it, I’ll get leg warmers at Claire’s, but then we need to stop by Best Buy so I can buy the Flashdance movie. Jude and I can watch it tonight.”
I laugh as I think Gabby is definitely reverting back to her eighties phase if she’s expanding her movie collection from the era. “Gab, Jude wouldn’t watch Sex in the City. Do you really think just because you’re married now he’s going to start watching eighties movies with you?”
“He’ll throw attitude about it, that’s for sure, but I might be able to make a deal with him.” She pulls out her wallet from her purse. “Come on, let’s pay. Tony was pissy about us shopping to begin with when we left them with the dogs. I promised I wouldn’t keep you out all night. There’s no reason to push the new in love Tony Carpino past his limits.”
Tossing my Madonna wears up on the counter, I grin back at her thinking how Tony was adamant about us hurrying our shit up and not getting home too late. We pay for our eighties duds and head outside to the parking lot.
“Can I drive?” Gabby asks. “I love your new car.”
I grin. “Sure.”
Gabby drives us to the mall before we head home to her husband, my whatever Tony is, and my whatever Finny is.
My life.
I guess I need to start thinking about it. Maybe I’ll just think about thinking about it. At least that’s a step in the right direction.
Tony
“I can’t believe this has happened.”
I look down at Jason McCurdy sitting at his desk at McCurdy Transfers headquarters. He’s got his elbows to the desk, his head bowed in his hands, and won’t stop muttering his disbelief of what we’ve found.
It’s been just over two weeks since we started digging deeper into where the profits were disappearing, but yesterday we nailed it down to a long-term employee of the company and the current Chief Financial Officer, Richard Blaton. Blaton has woven a tangled web, but we now have proof it was him. Over the past six years since Blaton was appointed CFO, he has created bogus payable accounts in the forms of fuel, maintenance, and repairs. He’s been scheduling regular payments to these accounts and, after uncovering layer upon layer, we’ve connected it to accounts linked to him without a doubt. FBI White Collar Crimes is here combing his office, files, and computers for evidence. But more importantly, I just got the call from Omaha PD informing us Richard Blaton was taken into custody from his home on money laundering and embezzlement charges.
He wasn’t taken into custody without drama, either. Apparently, his adult son who still lives with his parents but from the sounds of it, is too old to, went absolutely apeshit when his dad was arrested. To the point where he became physical with officers. He had to be restrained and warned if he didn’t settle down, he’d be taken into custody, as well, for disorderly conduct. This was all going on as Blaton’s wife was hysterical as to why her husband was being carted away. It sounded like it was drama all around. I’m glad I wasn’t there for the show.
“Let it go, Jason. What’s done is done. There’s still a substantial amount of money in those accounts that are now frozen. If all goes like it should, McCurdy Transfers will get that back. In the coming days we’ll have more of an idea where the rest of the money is and if it can be returned. You’ll have to wait out the trial unless he tries to make a plea. Who knows what he’ll do. The sale of the company will have to be on hold while this plays out,” my dad explains.
Pulling his head out of his hands, he looks up at me, Gino, and my dad. “I can’t thank you enough for finding this. I have no idea how we let it go this long without realizing what he was doing.”
I think to myself a simple audit might’ve done the trick, but instead, offer, “No problem. You need to be prepared for questions from the press. When it gets out you’ve lost millions over the last couple years from embezzlement, they’ll be all over this with your company being local and a major employer.”
“You’ll handle that, too?” he asks, looking at me. “I can’t deal with the press. I’ve got enough internal problems to focus on.”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
“My advice?” Gino starts. “Clean house. Fire your Board of Directors, get a team in place who can advise you. Hire from the outside when replacing Blaton. Make a statement to your employees and clients that McCurdy is taking serious steps to turn things around. Tony will get with the buyer to bring the sale to a halt. The investigation will give you and your family time to decide if you still want to sell or give it another go. But you owe it to your employees to do everything in your power to bring things around.”
“I’ve already decided to replace my Board. I’ll think about replacing my CFO from the outside. I need to make sure this hasn’t trickled down first and Blaton didn’t have anyone else working with him. This will give us time to rethink the sale,” Jason agrees. “Make yourselves at home, I’m going to check in with the investigators and see if they got anything from his house.”
We watch Jason McCurdy stalk out the door and I turn to my dad and uncle. “This is a mess. There goes the sale—not that it was good for the company to begin with.”
“No,” my dad says. “It was rash. It’s good they’ll have time to reevaluate. Old man McCurdy is probably rolling in his grave with what’s happened to his company.”
I look at my watch since I’m later than I said I would be. It’s Saturday night and Joe’s party should be in full swing. I got the call from the FBI agent handling the case that the warrant came through for Blaton’s arrest and it was going down tonight. I had no choice but to kiss Leigh goodbye as she was getting ready, call Jude to pick her up and take her to the party with him and Gabby. That was five hours ago.
“They should be about done here, Tone. You can go, we’ve got this,” Gino says.
I sigh. “I’m good. I need to stay and see what they find.”
“Son, you’ve looked at your watch a hundred times. I’ll call you in the morning with an update,” my dad adds.
I run my hand through my hair. “Yeah, I migh
t go. Leigh’s at the party by herself.”
“She’s hardly by herself, Tony. Gabby’s with her and she’s really taken to Paige lately. Hell, she’s a little quiet but she doesn’t have a problem fitting in,” Gino adds. “She seems to be adjusting, even recovering from everything.”
“She is,” I agree. “I still hate to leave her with everyone, especially at one of Joe’s parties.”
Joe’s parties are infamous. Although she has Gabby and knows most everyone else, I still hated to send her by herself. I know she’s come a long way but it’s only been five months. Just because she’s getting better doesn’t mean she’s one hundred percent.
“Go,” Gino orders. “You’ve gotta go home and change anyway. You really didn’t need to put on a suit for this.”
I huff and turn to grab my jacket lying on the chair next to me. “I’m not changing,” I explain dryly. Shrugging my jacket up my shoulders, I turn back to them and announce what I know I’m going to get shit for, “I’m going as Ronald Reagan.”
Of course, my dad belts out laughing and Gino looks shocked as he asks, “You’re going as The Gipper?”
Shaking my head, I start to move to the door. “I’m out of here.”
“Please tell me Leigh isn’t going as Nancy,” my dad says through his hilarity.
I turn back to them knowing I’m gonna eat shit for this for a really long fucking time. “Madonna.”
This time Gino belts out laughing but it’s my dad I hear yell out as I walk out of the offices, “Hail to the Chief!”
Chapter Seventeen
Madonna and the President
Leigh
“I’m sorry, Rosa, but I’ve never heard of Miss Ellie.”
“You never heard of Dallas?”
“I’ve been there once.”
“Not the city, you young, crazy girl, the soap opera. It was the best show of the eighties.”
“Ah, the television show,” I say. “I’ve heard of it, but sorry. I’ve never seen it.”
Rosa, Micah and Joe’s elderly neighbor, looks up in grave shock as if me never seeing the show Dallas was akin to me not being privy of the checks and balances system in the democratic process that runs our country.
“Miss Ellie was the matriarch of that show. The queen. Everyone loved Miss Ellie. If I could be anyone from the television, it would be her,” Rosa explains, expressing how she undeniably thinks Miss Ellie is top notch.
I just met Rosa Franks, but she has attached herself to me for the past hour-and-a-half since Gabby, Jude, and I arrived at the party. She’s bossy, opinionated, and full of piss and vinegar, yet somehow it comes across sweet and funny. She’s small, rounded, and has a beautiful head of lush white hair that hangs just above her shoulders with the front sweeping dramatically across her forehead ending in a flip just between her eye and ear. It looks a little bit like a helmet, but she works it for her age. I’ve learned throughout my time with Rosa at our spot here on the sofa that she’s eighty-five, widowed, has three children, five grandchildren, and eight great grandchildren.
Oh, and she also likes margaritas. After two, she’s become even more opinionated, bossy, and even her vinegar is souring. I work with my share of seniors in my job at the hospital, but I’ve never thought about what it will be like when I get that old. All of a sudden, I’m looking forward to the time in life when I can be full of piss and vinegar and everyone will find me cute instead of bitchy. How cool will that be?
I smile. “Well, you’ve piqued my interest, Rosa. I promise to look it up.”
“Here’s your marg, Miss Rosa.” Paige says rolling up to us, barely righting herself before sloshing our drinks. She comes to a halt at the side of our sofa, handing us our solo cups.
Rosa looks into her cup and complains, “This is only half-full.”
Paige looks down at Rosa with a scrunched face. “Joe said you could only have half since this was your third. Sorry.”
“Did he now?” Rosa frowns, tries to look around Paige and into the kitchen, probably for Joe, to give him a piece of her mind. But she instantly looks back to Paige and she asks loudly, “Does your mama know you’re wearin’ those shorts? Your bottom is hangin' outta those things!”
Paige puts her hands on her hips, tilts her head full of big eighties hair. “This is how they wore them in the eighties.”
“They didn’t wear ‘em like that on Dallas,” Rosa mutters with her brows furrowed.
Thank goodness my phone chimes, cutting into the eighties fashion debate and I look down to see it’s a text from Tony.
Tony: Sorry. I’ll be here awhile. U ok?
“Is that your boyfriend?” Paige asks, grinning at me.
“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” Rosa accuses.
“Well…” I start.
“Of course, she has a boyfriend.” Paige butts in, planting her barely clad one on the coffee table in front of us. “It’s my brother. Leigh and I are practically sisters now.”
Rosa looks from Paige to me. “How long has this boy been courting you?”
Before I could answer, Paige chips, “Ha! Courting. That’s an interesting way to put it.”
Rosa looks back to me with raised eyebrows in silent question, so I say vaguely, “I don’t know. It’s been a little unusual.”
“At least since Thanksgiving,” Paige adds. “Wait, were you together before Thanksgiving?”
“No, not really,” I mumble, taking a long swallow of my beer, because I really don’t know when Tony and I got together. We just kind of morphed into what we are.
“Do you like him?” Rosa asks.
“Yeah, Leigh. Do you like him?” Paige mocks.
I squint at Paige before I look over to Rosa, “Of course, I like him.”
“Is he good to you?” she asks further.
Rosa’s question has wiped the smartass right off Paige’s face since she knows my history with Preston. I look back at Rosa. “Yes, Rosa, he’s very good to me.”
“Well then, child. You should keep him. I’m eighty-five, I should know. The good ones are hard to find.”
My phone chimes again, saving me from having to answer Rosa.
Tony: Hey- R U ok?
Me: I’m good. Take ur time.
“Are you doing the texting?” Rosa asks.
I look up at her, trying to suppress my grin as I hear Paige chuckle across from us. “Yes, Rosa, I’m texting.”
“I do that, too,” she quips and then looks to Paige. “Paige, roll your naughty shorts over there to my bag and get my cellular phone.” She enunciates the word cellular, as if Paige would get it mixed up with her home phone.
“Okay, Miss Rosa,” Paige says giggling.
“My son,” Rosa starts as she looks over at me while taking a slurp of her margarita, “he set me up with a new cellular phone. Now I can do the texting with my grandkids. But I can’t type with my fingers, those little buttons are too small for me. They taught me to talk into it, so I text my grandkids all the time because they never answer their darn cellular phones.”
“I bet they love hearing from you,” I say.
“They love me but I have a feeling they’re humoring me with the texting,” she explains. Paige rolls back to us with Rosa’s phone and she goes on, “Here, I don’t know how. Put your number in. You, too, Paige. Now I can do the texting with the both of yous.”
“Rosa, should I walk you home?” Joe asks, interrupting our conversation.
She glares up at him as I finish entering my information into her phone and pass it to Paige. “I guess, since you’ve cut off my margaritas.”
He takes her hand and pulls her up. Holding on to the crook of his elbow, she walks around us slowly. “Keep in touch, you two. I especially want to know what’s goin’ on with that boyfriend of yours.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer.
“I’ll even call you so you won’t have to do ‘the texting,’” Paige adds with a big smile as she hands Rosa her bag and cellular phone.
Joe smiles. “Let’s go, Rosa.”
“Well, that should be fun, I love her,” Paige exclaims. “Come on, they were starting to play games in the kitchen and I need another drink.”
Thinking I too love Rosa, I heft my tutu off the sofa to play games in the kitchen with the Carpinos and Joe’s friends.
Tony
As I walk up the steps to my cousin’s house, I hear the party before I see it. I’m no product of the eighties, but I’m pretty sure I hear the drums and clapping sequence from Jack and Diane ringing loud from the house. It’s easy to hear since the front windows are open, meaning the house is packed and the party is going strong. Joe’s birthday parties are always crazy. I can’t remember how old he is, but Joe is unquestionably a product of the eighties. As I open the door, it’s not just the music that assaults me but also voices singing along with the music—badly.
“Finally, time you made it,” I look over to see Vic standing with my sister. Charlotte is wearing overalls with a striped turtleneck, her hair in pigtails and she’s holding a flowerpot with a daisy in one arm and a solo cup in the other hand. Vic is in jeans with a red zip up hoodie and they’re talking to Joe and Micah’s neighbors.
“Who are you supposed to be?” I ask Charlotte.
“Gertie.” Then she turns to glare at her husband and goes on. “Vic is Elliott and our costumes would kick ass if he would stop tossing our ET stuffed animal in the corner.”
“Char, I could care less if you want to carry around that flower pot all night, I’m sick of holding the fake handle bars and basket with a stuffed extraterrestrial in it.” Vic sighs and looks at me. “Why can’t Joe have a normal party?”
I ignore his question to ask my own, “You dressed up as characters that are a brother and sister?”
