by Francis Ray
“What do you expect from me, Brooke? I’m thousands of miles away in another country. You’ll just have to handle it yourself.”
“When two people care for each other, I thought they handled things together.”
“Don’t get accusatory and take that tone with me,” he said. “It’s not my fault you lost your job.”
She gasped, hurt and growing angrier by the second. “Why don’t you just come out and tell me that since I lost my job you’ve lost interest. I’m no longer an asset.”
“There’s no need to become snide. We’re both intelligent people, we both know the score. We were drawn to each other because of our upwardly mobile positions.”
“And now that’s changed.” Her eyes clamped tightly shut. He was being as callous as she had been in searching for a man with money in the bank instead of one with love in his heart. She’d erroneously thought she’d found both. “I thought you loved me.”
“I do care. Things are just hectic here at the moment. We’ll see how things are when I come home,” he placated. “I wouldn’t have sent you the bracelet if I didn’t care.”
He cared, not loved. He always managed to wiggle out of saying the words. She fumbled to unclasp the bracelet from her wrist. “I’ll mail the bracelet back to you tomorrow.”
“Please, Brooke, don’t be hasty. You’ll find another position and we’ll laugh about this one day.”
“I doubt that.”
“You’re just down at the moment because of what happened. You’ll bounce back.”
“And then things will be back to the way they were?”
“Exactly.”
Her sarcasm had gone right over his head or perhaps he just thought she was that needy. “Goodbye, Randolph.”
“Bye, Brooke. Keep your chin up.”
Hanging up the phone, she hefted the bracelet in her hand. Perhaps she wouldn’t send it back after all. After wasting seven months of her time she deserved something, if no more than a reminder of how she’d been dumped by a callous man. For the first and last time.
Her mind went to John. Another man who thought to use her. She wasn’t about to let him get away with charging her such an exorbitant price. First thing Monday morning she was going into the dealership.
No man was ever taking advantage of her again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Claire tried to remain optimistic Monday morning as she started out with a list of prospective jobs. She filled out applications, waited up to an hour to be seen by Human Resources personnel. In between interviews she called to check on Brooke and found out little more than she’d taken her car in and learned the battery had been the problem. She hadn’t sounded too happy. Claire had hung up without asking about Randolph and headed for the next business on her list.
By Thursday, Claire was beginning to feel her job search was hopeless. More and more companies were laying off people in her field and employers could take their time and pick from a long list of applicants.
Sifting through the mail she’d picked up from the mailbox in front of the house, she came through the back door to the garage. Seeing the electric bill, her shoulders slumped even further. The next letter was from the home care nursing facility that had provided care for her mother when Claire was at work. She didn’t have to open the envelope to know the balance remained over five thousand dollars.
It might have been cheaper to put her mother in a nursing home, but the thought had never entered Claire’s mind. Although it broke her heart for her mother to look at her and not know her, she seemed to take pleasure being near the water, walking on the beach. Claire didn’t regret her decision, although at the moment she had the urge to go into her room, get into bed and pull the sheet over her head.
Tossing the bills into the basket on the kitchen counter, she shut her eyes. How was she going to survive? She’d been desperate enough to call her brother last night and ask him to repay her.
“You wouldn’t have to ask if I could,” Derek said. “It makes me feel less of a man to ask, but you know how things are. The white man is still trying to keep a brother down.”
It was an excuse he’d used since high school when their parents had asked why he couldn’t find a job.
“You don’t have to pay me back all of the money at once. If you could send two-hundred dollars now and, when you get paid, another hundred, it would help.”
“You know I would, Baby Sis, if I could,” he said. “With the economy being so bad, car sales are down. I’m barely making ends meet.”
“I really need the money, Derek. Please.” She’d been desperate enough to beg.
“You’d have it if I had it,” he said, then his tone almost became defensive. “You sound like you don’t believe me.”
“I just need the money.”
“I ain’t got it, I told you. You’re the one with the college education. You’re the one Mama and Daddy always bragged on.”
The taunt hurt. Everyone had expected her to succeed and she was floundering. “I better go, Derek. Goodbye.”
She’d hung up and gone through the want ads again. She had to find a job that would pay her enough to keep afloat.
Now, she wasn’t so sure that would happen. She glanced around the kitchen. Thankfully, she’d already paid the house note for the month, but what about next month?
She had to face reality and the very real possibility that she might have to sell the house. It hurt her every time she thought of doing so. Her parents had been so proud of her, so sure she would be the first one in their family to make something of herself, the first one to leave her mark.
They had been so wrong.
The doorbell rang, and Claire pushed away from the cabinet. Opening the front door, she was surprised to see Lorraine grinning from ear to ear. It almost didn’t seem fair when her life was going down the tube. “Hello, Lorraine, come on in.”
“I have some great news,” Lorraine said, coming inside and following Claire into the great room and taking a seat. She placed the sweetgrass basket on the table in front of them. “Last night it was my turn to have the women over for bridge and I put the bar of soap you gave me and the candle in the guest bath. The women went just as crazy as the book club members.”
“That’s nice,” Claire said absently, her mind on paying bills.
“Nice? It’s fantastic,” Lorraine said, her enthusiasm growing. “Your soap smells fabulous, lathers like a dream and, best of all, it doesn’t dry out the skin.” Lorraine held out her hand as if to demonstrate her statement.
Claire glanced at Lorraine’s hands because she was wiggling her fingers in front of her face. At any other time she’d be happy for Lorraine’s visit, but not now. “Thanks for returning the basket. Did you want another bar of soap?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Lorraine placed her purse beside her on the couch. “The women were clamoring to know where I had bought the soap. I told them I wasn’t ready to divulge my source at the moment, but I’d let them know something soon.”
Claire tried to remember how many bars of soap she had left. She’d given Brooke two bars and a scented candle. “You know you can have what’s left to give them. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to make any more.”
“Who said anything about giving them away? I want to sell them.”
Claire blinked. “What?”
Lorraine laughed. “Sorry. I’m just so excited that it’s difficult for me to make sense. I’ve thought about opening a specialty shop since I was in college, and after using your products, I’ve decided that you and your products would make a great addition to the store.” She paused and drew a breath. “After the women left last night the idea came to me. I could hardly sleep I was so excited. I would have been here earlier but I had a meeting I couldn’t get out of.”
“You want me to make products for you?” Claire asked, still trying to understand what Lorraine wanted from her.
“For us,” Lorraine clarified. “I want us to be partners.”
“Me?”
“You,” Lorraine said. “You can make your wonderful soaps, candles, and potpourri. The moment customers walk in and smell how heavenly the store is, they’ll want to buy your candles. We’ll have crystal, brass and porcelain gift items to complement them. Can you make anything else?”
“Yes, moisturizing cream, lotion and bath gel, but—”
“Perfect,” Lorraine said, cutting Claire off.
Claire stared at her friend. She’d always considered Lorraine level-headed. “You can’t be serious.”
“I most definitely am.” Lorraine pointed to the potpourri on the table, the unlit candle in the center. “Women and men want their homes to smell good and they’re willing to pay top dollar.”
Claire stood. “Thank you, but no. I’m not wasting a penny of my money on anything so reckless. A few women might like the things I made, but that doesn’t mean there would be enough customers willing to buy the products.”
Lorraine came to her feet as well. “I disagree. There’s already a demand for your products. All we have to do is tap into it.”
“Making large amounts costs money.” Claire folded her arms around her waist.
“I’ll stake you. You can pay me back when the profits start rolling in.”
In Claire’s mind that suggestion made the possibility even less appealing. “I’m not gambling with your money. I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but the answer is no.”
“Claire, please sit down. I want to tell you something.”
Reluctantly Claire took her seat. She needed to look for a job, but Lorraine was too good a friend not to listen to her.
Lorraine sat beside her. “My dearest friend, Margaret Holmes, died four month ago with cancer. She was a wonderful energetic woman who was always ready to help someone. She’d always wanted a flower shop. I wanted a gift shop. We decided to combine the two. Margaret put off opening the shop to help her oldest daughter plan her wedding. After that she took on the chairmanship of a charity ball and, after that, her sister wanted her to help decorate her new home.” Lorraine’s eyes misted. “I was just as busy with my family and other obligations.
“There was always a reason for us to put our dream on hold. We always thought there would be time. Then Margaret went for her checkup and her pap came back class four.” Lorraine swallowed the sob in her throat. “She was gone in less than six weeks. I don’t want to die without living my dream.”
Claire tensed with fear. “Are you sick?”
“No. I’m sorry if I upset you, but I feel as if I’m putting my husband, the church, my social obligations, everything ahead of what I want … to open a gift shop. I thought with Margaret’s death my chance had ended. Now I know that’s not true.” Lorraine stared at Claire. “Working together, you and I could make that happen. Your products would make the shop unique. This is my second chance, maybe my last chance to live my dream.”
Claire saw the longing in Lorraine’s face, and vividly recalled how it had felt to have your dream snatched away. “Lorraine, you know I’d do anything for you, but I just can’t do this. I can’t go chasing possibilities.”
“This will work, Claire. I feel it,” Lorraine insisted, her voice vibrant. “Just go with me to visit a few of the specialty shops in the area and in Charleston and compare your products to theirs. Please. Just for a couple of hours.”
Claire had planned to go through the want ads again, but she couldn’t forget how Lorraine had befriended her and helped her. “I’ll go, but I’m not promising anything.”
A wide grin on her face, Lorraine came to her feet. “Fair enough. Let’s go.”
* * *
Claire wandered in a daze through the cosmetic department of a specialty store near the historic district. She couldn’t believe a candle in a plain glass jar cost $45.
“Well?” Lorraine asked, standing beside her. “What do you think about bath and beauty products now?”
“I haven’t been shopping for anything but the basic necessities in over three years, but if I wasn’t looking at the prices I wouldn’t believe it,” Claire replied.
Lorraine pointed to the cylindrical candle in Claire’s hand. It was enclosed in a gold organza bag with matching satin ribbon. “Tell me the difference between that and yours.”
“Packaging and price,” was Claire’s prompt response.
Lorraine nodded. “Exactly.”
“From the first my mother always bought the best natural and essential oils she could afford.” Claire put the candle on a glass hexagon display shelf and picked up one in a silver tin and turned it over to look at the bottom. “I’m familiar with the ingredients listed. It may sound complicated, but it’s not.”
“Mrs. Averhart, do you and your friend need any help?” asked a young saleslady in a short black miniskirt and black knit top.
“No, thanks, Karen. We’re still looking.”
The ebony-skinned saleslady smiled. “Call if you need me,” she said, then walked away.
Taking Claire’s arm, Lorraine pulled her to an area with a soap display on a round two-tier shelf. She picked up a package of three bars of guest soap and turned the box over. “Thirty-two dollars. I’ve purchased this brand before. It doesn’t lather or moisturize my skin any better than yours.”
Claire picked up a fat squat jar that looked like it contained creamed honey. “Body wash. One of the key ingredients in this is honey, which contains amino acids and vitamins A and C. It protects and moisturizes the skin. You can buy the base for the bath gel unscented and colorless from a number of manufacturers and add your own fragrances, essential or natural oils, or make your own from scratch.” She glanced around the open, lighted area with lots of glass shelving and exotic flower arrangements. “This place is making a killing.”
“Hi, Lorraine,” greeted a fashionably dressed woman in her late fifties. “I see you like Aswan Bath Gel, too.”
“Hello, Holly. Holly Hunter meet Claire Bennett, a friend of mine.” Lorraine introduced, then continued. “I do, but I’ve discovered another product that makes my skin feel softer and doesn’t dry it out. The women in my book and bridge clubs were ecstatic after using it.”
“Really? What’s the name?” the woman asked, her eyes glittering with greed. “Do they sell it here?”
Lorraine glanced around as if to ensure that she would not be overheard, then leaned closer. “No, and I’m not at liberty to say at the moment where it’s sold, but rest assured when the announcement is ready to be made public you’ll be among the first to know.”
“Oh, please. You have my number.”
“I certainly do. Goodbye, Holly,” Lorraine said, leading Claire out the double glass doors of the store and onto busy King Street. A horse-drawn carriage ambled by.
“I haven’t said I’d do it yet,” Claire felt compelled to point out as they started down the most famous street for shoppers in Charleston. In the three-storied buildings dating back to the nineteenth century, the storefront windows displayed everything from pawned goods to rare antiques.
Lorraine looped her arm through Claire’s. “I’m afraid I can’t help but feel optimistic. I was a bit hesitant when Margaret suggested we go into business together. She showed me that the discriminating buyer would appreciate the high quality and uniqueness of our shop. I wanted to show you that there are women eagerly waiting for the next product that is going to pamper their skin, especially those of us over fifty.”
“Mama always said a woman shouldn’t wait to take care of her skin,” Claire said.
“She was right. But unfortunately most women think their skin will miraculously remain unlined and smooth without any protection or care.” Lorraine dropped her arm and reached into her bag to pull her car keys from her purse. They’d been lucky enough to snag a rare parking spot near the store. “Next stop is a beauty boutique on the other side of town. I want you to be thoroughly convinced this is going to work.”
“There’s some place else I’d rather visit.”
Lorraine activated the lock on her Mercedes. “Where?”
“A person who takes excellent care of her skin and buys the best of everything Brooke.”
* * *
Brooke was happy to get a call from Claire and Lorraine asking if they could come over. She’d done nothing but mope around the house since Sunday. She’d called her parents soon after getting off the phone with Randolph and told them about losing her job and Randolph.
“We’ll be there in an hour,” her father said. “Your uncles, those who can make it, will want to come, too.”
She’d started crying. She couldn’t help but think that that was the kind of unconditional support she had expected from Randolph. It had been difficult, but she had told them not to come. She appreciated the offer, but she was twenty-five. She’d get another job.
The next day she’d received a FedEx letter with checks totaling over two thousand dollars from her parents and uncles. It had simply read, “We love you and if you need more, you only have to ask.”
There had been more tears and a greater determination to find a job. Instead of looking at the sales in the newspaper, she’d pulled out the employment section. Unfortunately, Claire had been right about it being an employer’s market. She hadn’t received one call from the twenty resumes she’d faxed or e-mailed.
The doorbell rang and she hurried to answer it. Lorraine and Claire took a seat in the hand-tied ten-thousand-dollar Italian leather sofa she’d just had to have. She sat in the matching chair. “Were you out doing book club business?”
“Our business hopefully,” Lorraine replied.
Claire scooted to the edge of the buttery-soft ivory cushion. “You know the products I made. Lorraine seems to think we might be able to make money selling them. We just left an upscale store after checking out their merchandise and prices.”
“Sounds reasonable. Beauty products are a multi-billion-dollar industry,” Brooke said. “Women’s magazines are full of ads with products for women that will make them feel and look sexier, prettier, and healthier.”
“But we don’t have money for that type of advertisement,” Claire said, the seed of hope that had sprouted dying.