Mother greets her with a nod and a half-assed smile.
Myra grunts and leaves the room.
I notice the blinking red light on my phone answering machine and push Play.
“You have two messages,” a robotic voice informs me, followed by a beep, then Carl saying, “It’s me. I have to take a prospective client to dinner tonight. Peter Celine. Celine Designer Shoes out of L.A. I know you’ve heard of them.”
Who hasn’t? I’ve ordered from their catalog many times. And Taylor probably keeps them in business.
“They’re bringing stores into this area soon. Cross your fingers I land the account. It’s big bucks. Don’t wait up.”
Another beep, then a voice says, “Mom, it’s me.” Taylor yawns. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch this morning. I started my period. If you really want to go with Elaine and me, you can. She’s meeting me at Wall Trends at 1:30. My car is on empty, so pick me up at 1:15.”
“Where did that child learn to use such language?” Mother asks.
“From listening to you, most likely.” Scooping yesterday’s mail off the counter, I shuffle through it. “Why don’t you go shopping with her and Elaine? I’m not in the mood anymore.”
“You’re asking me to drive through your son-in-law’s neighborhood?” Mother feigns a shudder. “No, thank you very much. I value my safety and my hubcaps.” Her mouth pulls into a thin line as she drags my half-empty coffee cup across the counter toward her. “Besides, I’m still not speaking to Taylor Jane.” She flicks ashes into the cup. “I may never get over her marrying that grease monkey. He has a tattoo, for heaven’s sake.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“On his shoulder blade. A dragon or some other such nonsense. I saw it when they were swimming over here one day when you weren’t home. What on earth has gotten into that daughter of yours?”
Lust, I think, but say, “I believe it’s called love.”
“Love.” Mother huffs again. “Ridiculous.”
I sit in the chair across from her and begin untying my shoes. “Daddy had a tattoo, or have you forgotten?”
Her rigid mask slips, and I glimpse the softness behind it, the hidden side of my mother I wish she allowed other people to see. “That’s different. Your father was in the navy.”
“Well, Mooney’s not a grease monkey, he’s a musician.” I stress the word like Taylor does, trying to convince myself as well as Mother. “Rock-and-rollers have tattoos these days. And he works at Home Depot sweeping sawdust now, not at the oil-change job.”
Scowling, Mother studies her fingernails. “Janet’s daughter Lynette asked me to have you call her.”
“Lynette Ames?” Janet is my mother’s lifelong best friend. Lynette is Janet’s daughter.
“It’s Yancy, now.”
“As in Mrs. Gregory Yancy the neurosurgeon? I didn’t know he and his first wife split.”
“Lynette made her move before the ink on the divorce papers dried. She’s a very sharp girl.”
The words gold digger come to mind as I remove one shoe and start untying the other. “I can’t remember the last time I saw her.”
Whenever it was, it hasn’t been long enough. Ever since we were little girls, Lynette has made it her mission in life to one-up me. First, she had to have the bigger toy, then the bigger bra and the better grade. Next came the more popular friends and studlier boyfriend. Later, the more prestigious college, followed by the fancier house and richer husband. She has had three of those.
“What does she want?” I ask.
“To invite you over tonight, I believe.”
“Why? Does she have something new she wants to rub in my face?”
“Lynette’s youngest went away to school last year. She understands what you’re going through. She was very sympathetic when I told her what a mess you are right now.”
“Thank you for doing that,” I say sarcastically. “No doubt she wants to see for herself and gloat.”
“Why do you have to be so suspicious of her? She’s reaching out to you.”
“She’s treated me like crap for years. Especially when we were in school.”
“Maybe she wants to make amends. Call her. Whatever she has planned for tonight, go. It will be good for you to get out and socialize. And it would be a coup for Carl’s business if you eased into the Yanceys’ social circle, anyway. Besides, Carl’s working late. What else do you have to do this evening?”
“Nothing, Mother.” I reach for an apple in the bowl that sits center-table, imagine throwing it at her but bite into it instead. “Thanks for reminding me.”
CHAPTER 5
“How’d the meeting go?” I ask Carl the next morning when he enters the kitchen where I’m toasting bagels and making coffee. He was already home and snoring when I returned from Lynette’s last night. I had left a note on his pillow, telling him where I went.
Carl’s mouth curves up at one corner as he takes the bagels to the table and sits. I know that smile; it means success. “We’re in the running. It’s down to Logan Advertising and a Dallas agency.”
“That’s fabulous, honey! Congratulations.” I pour us each a cup and limp over to him on my still-aching calves.
“I don’t have to tell you we’re considered to be small potatoes. Beating out all the other Dallas and Houston agencies we were up against is a feather in my cap.”
“I’m sure you’ll outshine this last one, too.” I smile at him. “To a profitable 2007.” We clink our coffee cups together.
“Hear, hear.” Carl sips, and so do I. I notice that his hand shakes slightly as he lowers his cup. “Celine’s thinking is that, since we’re located in the area he’s targeting, we should be more in tune to the marketplace than the larger agencies down south.” Carl explains that he and his team will be developing a campaign to introduce Celine Designer Shoes to area customers. “Peter Celine will be back October twenty-seventh to take a look at what we come up with. He’s bringing his wife. Apparently, she’s in on the decision-making. I said we’d have them over to dinner that night.”
“I can handle that. I’ll put it on the calendar.” As if I could forget. It’ll be the only thing written in for the entire month.
“I’m afraid, until then, I’ll be working weekends and nights.” He yawns. “I’m getting too old for this. I’m counting the years until Troy can take over.”
I smirk at him. “You’re not even fifty. Besides, you love your work.”
“Guess I’m a little burnt out. After twenty years of the same thing, you get tired of it.”
“Who do you think you’re kidding? You’d be miserable without the agency to keep you busy.” As miserable as I am without my old activities. “You’ve always given it a hundred percent.”
“That just means I’m obsessive-compulsive when it comes to my job.” He gives me a self-deprecating smile. “Don’t listen to me. I’m just feeling the pressure, that’s all.”
Concern tweaks me. Carl has always thrived on a challenge. “What would you do without your work?”
“Who knows? Sell seashells by the seashore. Twiddle my thumbs.”
“Believe me, that gets old fast, too. Thumb