by Nora Roberts
showcase here, and how you display it. Though I’d have taken those cane-back chairs from the front and put them at that burl wood table in the back, done something interesting on the table with the pottery dishes and some wineglasses, some of the textiles.”
“Oh, would you?”
She only smiled at the frigid tone. “I would, but that’s me. And I can say so because you don’t have any intention of giving me a job.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.”
With a nod, Shelby rose. “That’s your loss, Melody, because I’d have been an asset to your grandmother’s business here. I appreciate the time.”
“Why don’t you go over to Vi’s? I’m sure your grandmother could find you work there, suited to your skills and experience. She has to need someone sweeping up and washing out the sinks.”
“You think that’s beneath me?” Shelby angled her head. “I’m not surprised, Melody, not at all surprised. You haven’t changed since high school, and still holding a grudge because they put that Homecoming crown on my head instead of yours. That’s awful sad. It’s just awful sad your life hasn’t gotten any richer or more satisfying since high school.”
She walked out, head up, started down.
“I was second-runner-up Miss Tennessee!”
Shelby glanced back, smiled at Melody, who stood, hands on hips, at the top of the stairs. “Bless your heart,” she said, and continued down, and straight out.
She wanted to shake. She wasn’t sure if it was anger or humiliation, but she wanted to shake. Walk it off, she ordered herself, and crossed the street.
Her first instinct was to go to the salon, vent it all out, but she turned sharply, headed for the bar and grill.
Maybe Tansy could use another waitress at Bootlegger’s.
Running on that anger and humiliation, she banged on the door. Maybe they didn’t open for another half hour, but somebody, by God, was in there.
On her second series of bangings, the door opened. The tough-looking guy in a T-shirt with cut-off sleeves that showed off arms with muscles carved like a mountain range gave her one hard look out of eyes black as onyx.
“We’re not open until eleven-thirty.”
“I know that. It says so clear enough. I’m looking for Tansy.”
“Why would that be?”
“That would be my business, so . . .” She broke off, bore down on herself. “I’m sorry—I apologize. I’m upset and I’m being rude. I’m Shelby, a friend of Tansy’s. I’d like to talk to her a minute if she’s around.”
“Shelby. I’m Derrick.”
“Oh, Tansy’s husband. It’s nice to meet you, Derrick, and I really am sorry for being rude. I’ve embarrassed myself.”
“Bygones. It’s clear you’re upset. Come on in.”
A couple of waitstaff did setups on the tables. In the relative quiet Shelby heard kitchen noises, raised voices.
“Why don’t you have a seat at the bar? I’ll get Tansy.”
“Thank you. I won’t take much time.”
She sat, tried to fall back on the yoga breathing she’d practiced when she’d taken classes in Atlanta. It didn’t help.
Tansy came in, all smiles. “I’m so glad you came by. We didn’t really have time to talk last night.”
“I was rude to your Derrick.”
“She wasn’t that rude, and she’s already apologized twice. Want a drink?” he asked her.
“I—”
“How about a Coke?” Tansy said.
“God, yes. Thanks. I’m repeating myself, but I’m sorry. I just had a little altercation with Melody Bunker.”
Tansy slid onto a stool. “Want something stronger than a Coke?”
“I’m tempted, but no thanks. I went over there to see if I could get a part-time job. I wish I didn’t like the place so much. It’s just wonderful, and has such a good feel about it. Until I went upstairs and talked to Melody. She was as biting as a nest of rattlers, I swear. Wouldn’t you think she’d let go of high school?”
“Her type never lets go of anything. I’m the one who’s sorry. I sent you over there. I didn’t think about Melody—I try not to.”
Tansy sent Derrick a smile when he put a ginger ale in front of her. “Thanks, baby. Melody’s only in there two or three hours a day, and only a few days out of the week. Otherwise she’s off to some club meeting or getting her nails done, or having lunch up at the big restaurant. It’s Roseanne, the assistant manager, who really runs the place.”
“Whoever runs it, Melody would burn it to the ground before she hired me on. Thank you,” she said to Derrick when he set the Coke in front of her. “I’m sure I’m going to like you because you have such good taste in wives. And I love your place. I had the best time here last night. Oh, and congratulations on the baby.”
“That about covers it. I already like you.” He poured himself a fizzy water. “Tansy’s told me about you, and how you’d take up for her when somebody like that bitch across the street picked on her.”
“Derrick, you shouldn’t call her that.”
“She is a bitch,” Shelby said, and drank. “At least I gave her some of her own back. It’s been a while since I’ve given anybody some of their own back. And it felt damn good. Maybe a little too good.”
“You were always good at it.”
“Was I?” Calmer, Shelby smiled, sipped. “It sure came back to me. Smoke was spiraling out of her ears when I left, so that’s something. So, I won’t be working there in the foreseeable future. I wonder if you need any help here. Another waitress, maybe?”
“You want to wait tables?”
“I want a job. No, I need a job,” Shelby amended. “That’s the truth. I need a job. I’m making the rounds today while Tracey Lee’s got my Callie with her Chelsea. If you’re not hiring, that’s all right. I’ve got a list I’m going down.”
“Have you ever done any waitressing?” Derrick asked her.
“I’ve cleared plenty of tables, served plenty of food. I’m not afraid of hard work. I’m only looking for part-time now, but—”
“Waitressing isn’t for you, Shelby,” Tansy began.
“All right. Thanks for listening, and for the Coke.”
“I’m not done. Derrick and I, we’ve been talking about adding some entertainment on Friday nights. We have,” she insisted when Derrick frowned.
“Talked about it, some.”
“Two Saturdays a month we have a live band, and we do good, strong business. We’d add to Friday night’s till with some entertainment. I’ll hire you right now, Shelby, to sing on Friday nights, eight to midnight.”
“Tansy, I appreciate your offering, but I haven’t done anything like that in years.”
“Do you still have your voice?”
“It’s not that . . .”
“We couldn’t pay a lot, at least until we see how it goes. Forty-minute sets, and ten of the twenty between you’d work the crowd some. Go around the tables. What I want is to try a kind of weekly theme.”
“She’s got ideas,” Derrick muttered, but with a spark of pride.
“I have good ideas.” With the ginger ale in one hand, Tansy tapped a finger on the bar. “And this good idea is we’d start off with the forties. Songs from the forties, specialty drinks from then. What did they drink back then? Martinis or boilermakers. I’ll figure that out,” she said, waving it aside.
“Next week it’s the fifties, and we work our way up. It’s all nostalgia. We’ll draw in a lot of people. I’ll get it set up. We’ll use a karaoke machine for now. Maybe if we do the expansion, we can get a piano, or we can hire a couple of musicians. For right now, to start, we’ll get that karaoke machine, Derrick, because we’re going to start doing Karaoke Mondays, too.”
“She’s got ideas,” he said again.
“I got one says people just love hearing themselves sing whether they can’t pipe out a single true note. They’ll be flocking in here Monday nights. And now Fridays, too. That’s what we’ll call it—j
ust ‘Friday Nights.’ I know it’s only one night a week, Shelby, but that’ll give you room to find some day work if you need it.”
“Are you all right with all this?” Shelby asked Derrick.
“She manages the place. I just own it.”
“Not this Friday,” Tansy continued, steamrolling over them both. “It’s too soon, and I have things to put together. Next Friday. You’ll want to come in a couple times, rehearse, once I get it set up. We’re going to need that expansion, Derrick, once we get this going. You’d better talk to Matt and Griff, get that nailed right soon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So. Shelby?”
Shelby blew out a breath, drew in another. “All right. I’m in—and if it doesn’t work out, no hard feelings. But I’m in, and grateful. I’ll be your Friday Nights.”
10
She all but danced over to the salon.
“Why, don’t you look a treat,” Viola said the minute she stepped in. “Sissy, you remember my granddaughter, Shelby.”
That started a winding conversation with the woman in Viola’s chair while Viola removed a forest of enormous rollers and began the styling.
The minute she had an opening, Shelby announced her news.
“Won’t that be something? Tansy and her Derrick, they’re making something out of that place, and there you’ll be. A headliner.”
Shelby laughed, automatically shifting the basket of used rollers out of her grandmother’s way. “It’s only Friday nights, but—”
Sissy interrupted with a story about her daughter starring in the high school musical while Viola poofed her hair to twice its volume.
“I really should get on. I guess Mama’s doing a treatment.”
“Back-to-back facials. Tracey’s got Callie for a while yet, doesn’t she?” Viola asked. “I got a break coming up.”
“I still have a couple of stops to make. I thought I’d see if Mountain Treasures is hiring part-time, or maybe The What-Not Place as Tansy says they do well with tourists and locals.”
“I got some sweet Depression glass teacups there to go with my collection,” Sissy told her.
“It’s on my list. The Artful Ridge isn’t as they’re not hiring, at least not me as long as Melody Bunker has a say in it.”
“Melody’s been jealous of you since you were children.” Knowing her client, Viola sprayed a fierce cloud of holding spray over the mountain of hair. “You be grateful she didn’t hire you, baby girl. If you worked over there, she’d make your days a misery. There, Sissy. Big enough for you?”
“Oh now, Vi, you know I like to make a statement with my hair. God blessed me with plenty of it, so I like putting it to use. It looks just wonderful. Nobody does it up like you. I’m having lunch with my girlfriends,” she told Shelby. “Doing it fancy, up at the hotel.”
“Won’t that be fun?”
It took a few minutes more to scoot Sissy along, then Viola blew out a breath, sat in the chair. “Next time, I swear, I’ll just use a bicycle pump on that hair of hers. Now, how many days a week you thinking of working?”
“I could do three or four—maybe even five with shorter hours if I can work out a deal with Tracey, and maybe ask Mama to fill in with Callie otherwise. Any more than that, I’d have to see about taking her to day care.”
“That’d eat up your paycheck.”
“I was hoping to wait for the fall for it, give her time to settle in, but I may have to do it sooner. It’ll be good for her to be around other kids.”
“True enough. Here’s what I’m going to say to you. I don’t know why you’re going over to Mountain Treasures and other places when I can use you right here. You could help with the phones, the book, the stock and supplies, and the customers. And you could help keep things organized as you’ve got an organized nature. You find something you like better, that’s fine. But for right now, I could use you three days a week. Four when we’re busy. You could bring Callie in here and there. You spent plenty of your time in the salon when you were her age.”
“I did.”
“Did it hurt you any?”
“No, I loved it. I’ve got good memories of playing here, listening to the ladies talk, getting my hair and nails done like a grown-up. I don’t want to take advantage, Granny. I don’t want you to make work for me.”
“It’s not taking advantage or making work when I can use you. I can’t say you’d be doing me a favor as I’d have to pay you. It makes good sense, unless you just don’t want to work here.”
“I wish you would,” Crystal called over from her station. “It would save the rest of us from having to answer the phone or check the book for walk-ins if Dottie’s in the back or it’s her time off.”
“I could use you three days a week ten to three, and on Saturdays from nine to four when we’re hopping.” Viola paused, seeing the hesitation on Shelby’s face. “If you don’t take the job, I’ll have to hire somebody else. That’s a fact. Crystal?”
“That is a fact. We were just talking about looking for somebody to come in part-time.” With the rat-tail comb in her hand, Crystal crossed her heart. “I swear on it.”
“We’d need to go over some things as it’s been some time since you did any filling in around here,” Viola continued, “but you’re a bright girl. I expect you’d catch on quick.”
Shelby looked over at Crystal. “You’re swearing she’s not making busywork for me?”
“She sure isn’t. Dottie’s doing a lot of running between the salon and the treatment rooms, back in the locker and relaxation areas. And Sasha hardly has time for that anymore since she got her license and she’s doing face and body treatments. We keep up with it, but it would sure be nice to have somebody doing more of the running.”
“All right.” Shelby let out a surprised laugh. “I’d love to work here.”
“Then you’re hired. You can give me the hour you’d have spent going all around seeing about a job, and go in the back there. Towels should be dry by now. You could fold them and bring them out, put them at stations.”
Shelby leaned down, pressed her cheek to Viola’s. “Thank you, Granny.”
“You’ll be busy.”
“That’s just what I want,” Shelby said, and got to work.
• • •
BY THE TIME she got home with Callie she’d worked out a doable schedule. She’d barter one day a week with Tracey, pay her for two days when Saturday was called for, and Ada Mae scooped up the other day as her “Gamma and Callie Day.”
Whenever it didn’t work, she’d take Callie with her.
Friday nights her mother and grandmother would switch off—their idea, she thought, as she pulled in the drive.
She could earn a decent enough living, her child would be well cared for. She couldn’t ask for more.
And as Callie got that glassy-eyed look on the short drive home, Shelby calculated she could get her down for a nap right off, then spend some time looking up songs from the forties, starting her playlist. With Callie half asleep on her shoulder, she started straight upstairs.
She made the turn toward Callie’s room, swaying and humming to keep her daughter in the nap zone, then let out a short scream when Griff stepped into the hallway.
Callie jumped in her arms, and rather than a short scream, blasted out a wailing screech.
“Sorry!” Griff dragged the earbuds off. “I didn’t hear you. Sorry. Your mother said— Hey, Callie, I’m sorry I scared you.”
Clutching Shelby, Callie stared at him, sobbing, then threw herself at him. He had to scramble forward, grab hold. Callie clung, crying on his shoulder.
“It’s okay. It’s all right.” He rubbed her back as he smiled at Shelby. “Your mother wants that new bathroom. I said I’d stop over first chance, make sure on the measurements. Wow, you look really good.”
“I’m just going to sit down a minute.” She did so, right on the top step. “I didn’t see your truck.”
“I walked over from Miz Bitsy’
s. We’re just punching out there, so we can start here next week.”