Like the First Time

by Francis Ray

  “We have Gray,” Claire said. “If we all work together we can develop a business plan.”

  “Whoa.” Brooke held up her hands. “Claire, forgive me, but I don’t see why you called me. I have nothing to do with this.”

  Claire shoved her coffee aside and braced her arms on the table. “One of the key elements Gray mentioned was a good marketing plan. You’re the best when it comes to marketing. I didn’t have time to discuss it with Lorraine, but I’d like you to come on as a consultant or partner.”

  “I think it’s an excellent idea,” Lorraine said.

  Brooke was momentarily speechless. “You really want me to be a part of your business?”

  “Yes,” Claire said, her gaze intent. “We can be our own bosses and we won’t have to worry about being laid off again.”

  Brooke didn’t have to think long. “Partner, and I’m in.”

  Claire stuck out her hand. The three women clasped hands warmly.

  “Now,” Claire said, handing each a spiral notebook. “If there are no objections I will be the production manager and design the Web site, Lorraine will be the financial manager, and work with Brooke on marketing and public relations. We can all work on the package design and logo. Can you meet here tomorrow afternoon at three? I’ll fix dinner.”

  Lorraine looked up from writing. “You didn’t waste any time.”

  “I’ve wasted enough time.”

  * * *

  The next evening the women sat around the kitchen table after dinner with products in the middle as they tried to come up with a name and a logo. They’d already worked out a business plan for Lorraine to be the principal investor with the majority of the profits returning to her to repay the loan.

  “Then it’s agreed that we have a limited number of products in each of the four lines,” Claire said. “Triple-milled, perfumed bath soaps; creamy body moisturizers; luxurious hand lotions; foaming bath gels; skin-conditioning shea butter and aromatic candles. How about fragrances?”

  Brooke pushed two bars of soap with her pen. “One fragrance for each line of products. That way the wearer has an overall layer of fragrance.”

  “I’ve seen brands with one fragrance and different scents of lotions, soaps and body creams,” Lorraine told them. “But I think they were more fruity smells.”

  “You’re probably right. Three of our product lines will be a mingling of floral scents like gardenia and honeysuckle, and the fourth a mixture of pear and orange, but what I had in mind is to make each fragrance distinct.” Claire leaned over on the table and picked up the open jars of naturally scented shea butter and body cream. “The shea butter is a great moisturizer, but it can be a little greasy. A black woman might want to put it on her elbows and knees to deal with dryness in those areas—”

  “You mean ash?” Brooke cut in and the women laughed.

  “Ash, then, but not all over her body. Would she want to have two competing scents?” Claire asked.

  “No,” Lorraine said. “They should come in a complete set with their own fragrance, as you suggested.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the names of the products as well as the business,” Brooke said, leaning back in her chair. “We want something that when women hear the name they think of luxury, pampering and that special man.”

  “Every woman doesn’t need a man,” Claire said quickly, unsure of why Brooke’s comment had struck a nerve.

  “She may not need one, but most women want one,” Lorraine said quietly.

  “Exactly! And although I’ve sworn off men at the moment, there are a lot of women out there who are still looking for Mr. Right and finding Mr. Wrong.” Brooke made a face.

  “But we don’t want to forget that there are also a lot of women out there, who for one reason or another aren’t looking for a man and are content with their lives,” Claire said, trying to be analytical. “Just look at the three of us and how different our views are on men. Lorraine, do you take care of your skin and wear fragrances for yourself or Hamilton?”

  “Both.”

  Claire turned to Brooke.

  “For myself and to entice,” Brooke admitted. “We don’t have to ask you why or for whom.”

  “I did it for myself, but I always thought I’d find a man one day, get married and have a family.” Claire sighed. “I may have waited too late.”

  “No, you haven’t,” Brooke and Lorraine protested at the same time.

  Lorraine continued. “One of my friends just had a healthy baby at forty-two. They’re coming out with more and more studies of women having healthy babies later in life.”

  “Who knows?” Brooke said with a mischievous wink. “You might meet Mr. Right when he comes in the shop to buy a gift for his sister or his mother.”

  “Maybe,” Claire replied, but she wasn’t convinced. She had waited too long. “My mother’s maiden name was Bliss. I’d like to submit it for the name of the store since she sort of got us started and brought us together.”

  “Bliss. For you … for him … for always.” Brooke mused.

  The three women shared a grin. “Ladies, we have a name and a slogan,” Lorraine said. “Tomorrow I’m going to start looking for a place.”

  “I didn’t think Hamilton was coming home until tomorrow night?” Claire asked.

  “He isn’t.”

  “Don’t you want to wait and discuss it with him?” Claire bit her lower lip.

  “Opening a floral gift shop was my and Margaret’s dream. Opening Bliss is mine,” Lorraine said quietly. “For the first time in my marriage I’m going to do something completely selfish and think of what I want.”

  “Well, go on with your bad self,” Brooke said with a laugh.

  Claire said nothing. Independence was one thing. Creating a problem in your marriage was quite another.

  * * *

  “I thought we were going to discuss this before you made a decision. Have you gone crazy?”

  Hamilton’s response wasn’t the one Lorraine had been hoping for when she told him about her new business venture. The scrumptious meal she had prepared to smooth the way hadn’t helped.

  Aware that she had a death grip on her dessert fork, she placed it beside the key lime pie she no longer wanted. “Hamilton, please try to understand. This is something I’ve always wanted. I understand your hesitancy, but Claire is consulting with Gray Livingston.”

  “Consulting doesn’t mean he’ll be there on a day-by-day basis when problems are sure to rise. Now is not the time for the inexperienced to go into business,” he told her evenly. “I consult and deal every day with multi-million-dollar companies that are in financial trouble and they have an executive who has a lot more business sense than you and knows how to run a company.”

  His remark hurt, more so because he had no confidence in her. “Then you can help us make the right decisions,” Lorraine countered. “I’m sure Claire and Brooke would welcome any suggestions you have.”

  “My suggestion is to give up this idiotic idea.” He tossed his napkin on the table, his favorite dish of veal forgotten. “If you’re becoming bored with the house perhaps you should take up a hobby.”

  Lorraine’s eyes narrowed. “Just because I want to go into business for myself doesn’t mean I’m bored. I didn’t call you bored when you wanted to go into business for yourself.”

  “That’s different and you know it,” Hamilton riled. “A man is supposed to take care of his family, and that’s just what I’ve done.” He paused and leaned in closer. “Is this some kind of hormone thing?”

  Lorraine closed her eyes, counted to ten, then counted to ten again. When she opened her eyes Hamilton was watching her as if she were a ticking time bomb. “It’s not a hormonal imbalance. I am not bored with this house or my life. I simply think my life can be better and I plan to see that it is.”

  “I forbid it, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Hamilton picked up his napkin and went back to his food.

  Lorraine felt anger, but
most of all she felt shut out, as if what she wanted didn’t matter. They’d had arguments before. What couple married as long as they had been didn’t? But Hamilton had always been reasonable. Until now. Why couldn’t he at least try to see her side of it? Whatever the reason, it was obvious he wasn’t going to give in.

  “I don’t need your permission, you know,” she told him.

  Hamilton’s head jerked up. He stared across the table at her.

  She hadn’t wanted it to come to this. “I’d like your support, but I plan to do this with or without it.”

  “I refuse to let you take the money out of our account,” he told her, his voice rising.

  Lorraine’s hands began to tremble and she clasped them to steady them. “Very well. I’ll use the money from the trust fund my grandmother left.”

  Stricken, he stood. “Then there’s no more to say.”

  She watched him walk away, and clamped her teeth together to keep from calling him back. Hamilton had always been sensitive that she’d come from an upper-middle class family while his family had been poor. Consequently, she’d left the money for the past twenty years in a mutual fund. She’d never wanted her husband to feel he couldn’t take care of his family financially.

  Now, she had anyway.

  Lorraine cleaned up the kitchen, then slowly climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Hamilton wasn’t there. This time the turned down bed seemed to mock her. Feeling miserable, she prepared for bed, then turned off the overhead light and crawled between the scented sheets, leaving only the lamp on Hamilton’s side of the bed burning. This was not how she’d wanted the night to end.

  The bedroom door opened. She raised up in bed to see Hamilton going to the bathroom. He never paused or looked in her direction. Moments later she heard the shower. After a nerve-wracking ten minutes, he came out in his silk pajamas. When they were first married he’d worn only thread-bare cotton bottoms. On the first night back from his out of town trips, neither of them bothered with sleepwear.

  Slipping between the covers, he turned and looked at her a long time. “You won’t change your mind?”

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  Something flickered in his eyes, then it was gone. “Then I guess there’s nothing else to say.” He turned away from her and snapped off the bedside light, throwing the room into darkness. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she whispered, her throat stinging with unshed tears. She’d hoped he’d understand, but regardless, she wasn’t willing to give up her dream or her promise to Margaret.

  * * *

  Lorraine wasn’t sure why she found herself at the cemetery the next morning battling tears and despair. Her lower lip tucked between her teeth, she walked over the freshly mowed grass toward Margaret’s grave. A tear rolled down her cheek. She dashed it away. Tears, she realized, that were for both of them. But if there was one friend who would understand what she was going through, it was dependable, always-to-be-counted-on Margaret.

  Lorraine was almost up the slight incline before she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Head down, hands in the pockets of his dress slacks, Thomas Holmes, Margaret’s husband of thirty-five years, was making his way to Margaret’s grave site on a little hill. A fresh batch of tears streamed down Lorraine’s cheeks. She felt so bad for him and so utterly helpless. Margaret had filled all of their lives with her warmth and love. Lorraine missed her, but how much more did Thomas miss the woman who had been devoted to him?

  Not wanting to intrude, she stopped and waited for him to continue on, thinking she could go back to her car and wait. He’d come from another direction. He’d never know she was there.

  When he was almost at the stone monument of an angel with arms and wings outstretched, he stopped. His hands came out of his pockets to swipe across his face, again and again.

  Lorraine felt her own tears. Not stopping to think that he might not want anyone to see him crying, she rushed to him, her arms open to give what little comfort she could. “Thomas.”

  He looked around wildly. He blinked as if to clear his vision.

  Lorraine hugged him to her as best she could. Thomas was six-feet-three of brawny muscles from playing football back in his college days. He had gone on to play professionally and marry his high school sweetheart, Margaret. Both had come from affluent families in Ohio. After his football career was cut short by a knee injury, they’d relocated to Charleston. She’d heard Thomas say more than once that it had been the best thing that could have happened to him because he was able to get in on the ground floor of the real estate boom in the low country and he and his family had met so many wonderful people who accepted them despite their being Yankees.

  “I miss her, too,” Lorraine said, then eased back to look into his red-rimmed eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll come back later.”

  “No.” He caught her hand, swallowed. “Each day I think it will get easier, but it never does.”

  “You loved her and she loved you,” Lorraine said.

  He briefly squeezed her hand. “She loved you, too. I’m glad she was loved.”

  “Come on. Let’s go sit.” Silently they continued to the curved stone bench beside the grave. Margaret’s name was engraved in the white marble at the base of the angel. Fresh flowers were beneath. “Lilies were her favorites.”

  He nodded, seeming to have forgotten that her hand was still in his. “I came up the other day. Every year in May I’d take her to see the thousands of spider lilies that bloomed in the Catawba River.”

  “How are the children?” Lorraine asked. They had two married daughters. One lived in San Francisco, the other in Seattle.

  “Good. I promised I’d visit soon.” He started to swipe his face again, then blinked as he realized he held her hand. He looked at their clasped hands, then at her for a long time. “Sorry.”

  For some odd reason Lorraine felt almost embarrassed. She freed her hand. “Don’t be.”

  “How’s Hamilton and the children?” he asked.

  “Fine.” Lorraine thought of the strained breakfast with Hamilton that morning and felt like crying again.

  “Then why do you look so lost?” he asked, staring down at her.

  Surprise widened her eyes. No one, at least no man, had ever been able to read her like Hamilton. It was rather frightening that one could.

  “I didn’t mean to pry,” Thomas quickly said, his hand going to her shoulder to comfort her the same way she had him.

  It was that undemanding touch that pulled the story from her. “I’ve decided to go on with the gift shop as I promised Margaret. Instead of flowers we’ll have bath and body products made by a friend and one of the three partners. Hamilton is adamantly against opening Bliss.” By the time she finished, she was drying her eyes with Thomas’s handkerchief. “I thought he’d understand.”

  “Lorraine, I can’t tell you what Hamilton’s reasons are, but I do know a lot of men feel as if women shouldn’t work. It’s almost a status symbol. My mother and Margaret’s certainly didn’t,” he said.

  “Mine didn’t either, but Margaret had planned on working in our shop.” Lorraine dried the last of her tears. “You were supportive of her and had helped her find a location.”

  “It was impossible not to catch her excitement. She almost drove me crazy looking for the right spot. I own several properties, but none of them were right until she walked into one of my lease properties on East Bay Street.” His lips curved at the memory, then his shoulders slumped. “Then we went to the doctor’s office.”

  Each sought the other’s hand at the same time. “That’s why I can’t let Hamilton stand in my way.” She shook her head to keep the tears at bay. “The hardest part of saying goodbye to Margaret was in knowing she didn’t get a chance to live her dream. I’m doing this for the both of us.”

  “She’d like that,” Thomas said quietly. “And I’m going to help you.”

  She turned to him, a bit astounded. “What? How?”

  “I take it
you haven’t found a location yet?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “The place is still available. I didn’t have the heart to put it back on the market, and now I know why. Margaret’s dream will live on in some way when you open your shop,” he said. “East Bay Street has almost as much draw as King Street, but, to me, it’s more quaint without all the hustle and it’s in the French Quarter. There, shoppers can leisurely browse and buy. Being near Waterfront Park and Charlston Harbor will ensure a lot of foot traffic.”

  She couldn’t believe it. It would be a perfect location. That was prime real estate and very much sought after. “Thomas, I can’t … I don’t know what to say.”

  He stood, then reached for her arm. “I’ll walk you to your car, then I’ll come around and you can follow me to see the place. If you like it, it’s yours.”

  “I’m sure I’ll like it. Thank you, Thomas. Thank you so much.”

  His smile was sad, but it was there. “Thank you for being a friend to both of us.”

  Together they went back down the hill, both of their hearts just a little bit lighter.

  * * *

  Less than thirty minutes later, Lorraine stepped inside the property and felt excitement sweep through her. No wonder Margaret had loved it on sight. The front of the store was bright and already had glass cases in which to display their products. The floor was hardwood. Foot-wide shelving three feet high ran along each side of the door and would be perfect for displays. A dusty twenty-light glass chandelier hung from the ceiling. It would glitter like a jewel when cleaned.

  “In the back, there’s a sink and storage area.” Thomas gestured with his hand. “Go on and take a look.”

  She didn’t need any further urging. In the back room, she could already imagine shelving to hold their merchandise. A small refrigerator, microwave, and coffee pot for those occasions when, she was positive, they’d be too busy to go out for lunch.

  Almost giddy with excitement, she rushed back out. “We’ll take it.”

  His forced smile was heartbreaking.

  Lorraine instantly felt remorse that she was so happy when … “On second thought maybe I should look at other properties—”