by Cathy Lamb
“I didn’t say you did everything wrong, Tory. You’ve done a lot right. You’re a talented designer, but the company is sinking—”
“And that’s my fault.” Tory’s hands went to the waist of her red dress. Gall. Red still makes me so sick.
“No, a lot of it’s the economy, but we need to rebuild Lace, Satin, and Baubles. We have to get excitement going again, reach a broad, younger customer base—”
“So you think I sucked at the excitement part.” Those gold eyes shot bullets at me. “Scotty the slug-faced rectum idiot probably thought the same thing.”
I paused on that colorful sentence for a sec as Lacey walked back in, listing slightly. “This isn’t personal, Tory. It’s not against you. I don’t have time to sit around, have tea and crumpets, and say things gently about what needs to change here. We need to move fast. I’m being honest and blunt—”
“I’ll be honest and blunt then, too. You’re a steamroller. You’re plowing me over. You have no sense of fashion, you’re stick skinny and look like you’re made of bones, your hair is a mess, and you act like a cold, controlling, premenopausal zombie.”
“A zombie?”
“Here’s the truth, since you’re always criticizing me.” Tory crossed her arms. “I don’t know if you’re mentally and emotionally healthy enough to run this business.”
“Mentally and emotionally healthy enough?” Whew. Now my latent fury was awakened. “Well, you may have me there.”
She flipped her black hair back. I wanted to pull it out of her head. I stood up and faced off with her. “Okay, Tory, let me give you a rundown of where the company is exactly, then you can decide if I’m mentally and emotionally healthy enough to handle the responsibilities here.”
Analytically, like a living computer, I evaluated our designs and products; which ones were selling and which weren’t; where marketing, sales, and PR were falling down; and where we were too heavy as a company and not streamlined enough. I discussed our catalogue and Web site, then I talked about how we should have had a larger share of the market by now, been in more major department stores, and how that could have been accomplished.
I dove headfirst into the financial predicament that Lace, Satin, and Baubles had sunk into, detailing all the numbers in our financial reports, the assets we had, our mind-blowing debt, and how much salaries and benefits were costing us. I talked about the stability and problems of our factory overseas, those costs, and our own restricted cash flow. I told her our net worth, to the penny, and predicted exactly what day we’d shut our doors.
When I was done, Tory looked stunned. Anytime she’d tried to interject, I’d shot her down and annihilated her arguments.
Lacey was grinning. That was not nice, and I’m sure it only made Tory feel more isolated, two sisters against one. I glared at Lacey. “Tory, we can reinfuse this company or we can kiss it good-bye. You are making over $200,000 a year. Do you want to lose that salary?”
“I won’t lose it.”
I leaned forward. “You will. You are going to lose that money. We have months to turn this company around, and if you don’t get on board, if you put up roadblocks, if you do anything to stand in my way, we will close this place, lock the doors, and sell off the inventory. There will be nothing left.”
She went pale.
“The thought of losing $200,000 bugs you, doesn’t it? Those heels cost $350, don’t they? That dress is another $500. It’s all going to go, Tory. All of it. Now my head is messed up and I have been wandering the world. I am the first to admit that I am not a paragon of emotional or mental health. I am still semi-crazed. So what? There are brilliant people all over this country who have mental health issues and they are still highly functioning.
“I can get back out there and wander some more, if you want. I can walk out and leave you with this disaster. Frankly it appeals. I liked Montana. Mexico, too. But I don’t want to walk out, because I care about our employees. I care about Grandma, her time in a strawberry field, and saving the company for her so she knows her legacy, to her family, to her employees, to this community, and to her scholarship fund, will outlast her. It’s what she wants. I care about this company because I think one day Hayden will run it. We will then have a company that is run by four generations, and that’s something our family can be proud of.”
Tory fidgeted in her ruffled red dress. She ran a hand through her hair. She had lost some of her fight. I tried to shut out that red.
“So, say the word, Tory. Tell me that I’m not mentally or emotionally stable enough to run this show and I’ll get up and leave.”
“I’m trying to express,” she said, her voice weaker but still snobby, “that I know this business and you don’t. Things have changed since you left—”
“You clearly don’t know it well enough,” I snapped. “If you did, this place would be making a profit instead of losing money like diarrhea. You know the design end of it. That’s your forte. It’s your talent and your gift. I know the whole business better than I know my own face. There is not a department I haven’t been in, and run, and you know it. Are you in or out?”
“I can’t let you come in here and push me around.”
I eyed her carefully. I decided to call her bluff. I was tired anyhow. The rats came and got me every night, crawling inside my body and making me bleed with their sharp teeth. Last night I thought I heard Aaron calling me from my bedroom closet and I actually got up and opened the doors to check, one hand up to protect myself.
I stood, grabbed my brown, saggy purse, and headed out. Quick as she could sprint on four-inch red heels, Tory was up and leaning against the door.
“Okay, Meggie,” she said. “Go for it. It’s on your head.”
“Thanks for that image. I will go for it, but I want you out of my way.”
“You can’t fire me.”
“You’re not fired.” I took a deep breath. “Honestly, Tory, there is no one better to represent our lingerie to the public. You’re a rebel. You’re cool. And I have loved the vast majority of your designs, but we have to do something different here and you have to be open to it. There’s a good saying out there: ‘Lead, follow, or get out of the way.’ The employees in your design department are not following you. They don’t like you. They quit and throw fits. You must be more respectful to them. You must lead as you allow them to create. And if you won’t follow me, I will leave. Your choice.”
She glared at me.
She knew I’d won. I do not like red.
I didn’t move for a full five minutes after Lacey and Tory left, then cracked open my morning beer and opened a bag of dried apricots and a box of chocolates for breakfast. I did not get any pleasure in “winning” against Tory.
I could see how she would think I was being an arrogant know-it-all. Grandma asked me to come home, so did Lacey. Tory didn’t. I came in, Grandma crowned me CEO, I insisted on changing things, I fired employees, I addressed the employees, I initiated planning for a fashion show, I was rebuilding from the ground up and questioning and criticizing everything that had been done previously.
I took over. I had to, but I sure hadn’t done it with much tact and I’d done it with zero appreciation for Tory and her hard work.
Zero.
She’s a talented designer, there’s no question of that. Most of her designs had been enormous moneymakers.
I ran a hand through my hair. It became stuck in a ball of tangles. I needed to get my hair cut.
I needed to apologize to Tory, first. She has a mouth that won’t stop. She can be rude and argumentative. She can be arrogant and showy.
Underneath it, that woman is quivering and sad, and it’s not only because of losing Scotty and how that chips away at her heart each day.
I know what happened to her, and I know she has never felt like she belonged.
Feeling like you don’t belong will turn you into someone you’re not proud of.
I wondered how long it had been since I told Tory that
I loved her.
I brushed my fingers through my curls before I left for his house. It was still a mess. I had no makeup on. I looked at my T-shirt. It was saggy blue. My jeans were too big. I was in pink flip-flops. I should get something else on that was nicer.
I paused. I didn’t have anything else nicer. This was it. I had left the clothes Grandma gave me at the office in my closet.
I put my chin up.
I was not going to get all gussied up for one short visit to Blake’s house. I had already changed once for a man. I changed my appearance, my personality, my goals, my life. I would not change one ounce of myself again until I damn well felt like it.
This is how I dress. This is me now. I’m not happy with it, but I am not going to do stuff to my face and clothes so I can appeal to some man, even a cowboy-rancher type I wanted to sleep with. It’s against who I believe I should be—which is a woman who is finally in charge of her own screwed-up life.
I turned and stomped out of my tree house, down the steps, and headed to Blake’s, my chin still up, my heart tripping and thudding like a crazy thing.
“Hello, Blake.”
He grinned at me and seemed so pleased. Surprised, but pleased. It was almost nine o’clock at night.
“Hello, Meggie. Come on in.”
“No, thank you.”
“Please. I’m having dinner. Chinese takeout.”
He opened the door wide and held out his arm. I took a quick peek but didn’t move off the porch. His home was manly inside. It was an older Craftsman but had obviously been fairly recently remodeled. The kitchen cabinets were white, the wood floors shone, the lighting was soft. There were tons of windows and wide trim, white walls, clean. Not too clean and neat—that would be weird—but nice.
He had the leather furniture and reclining leather chair one would expect of a man, and of course the big-screen TV, which was playing some sort of sports game.
“I ordered too much,” he said. “Help me eat it.”
He was a sexy sequoia. A broad-shouldered oak tree. A mysterious banyan tree. I had no idea why I was thinking in terms of trees looking at him.
“Thank you, but no. The reason I came over is that I see you haven’t had your truck fixed that I bashed, and I called my insurance agent and he said you hadn’t made a claim, so I wanted to make sure that you hadn’t lost my insurance card, or if you didn’t know of an auto body shop to send it to, I know of a good one.”
And, by the way, I would like to take your clothes off with my teeth. I am so glad I didn’t say that out loud.
“I’m getting to it.”
“You’re getting to it?”
“Yes, haven’t had time yet. Been a bit busy at work.”
“Can I . . . can I help you? I can drive the truck anywhere you want to get it fixed, then I can drive it back here when they’re done. Oh, ugh. You probably don’t trust my driving. I understand. I can arrange to have it picked up.”
He kept smiling at me. “I trust your driving and I want you to come in for Chinese food.”
“And I . . . can’t.”
“Can’t?”
“Right. That’s the word for it.”
“Why not?”
I decided to be honest. “You are too gorgeous to eat Chinese food with.”
He raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Thank you. Nice to hear. You can’t eat Chinese food with men you think are gorgeous?”
“I can’t eat Chinese food with you. You remind me of a fortune cookie.”
“I like fortune cookies. Why do I remind you of one?”
“Because you’re very edible.” No, I wasn’t embarrassed about this. I should have been. I am too miserable to be embarrassed.
He laughed again, and those eyes glinted as eyes will when two people know they’re attracted to each other. “I think that’s all the more reason for you to come in and eat fortune cookies with me. There’s two.”
“I’m going to skip it because I’d rather not make a fool of myself tonight.”
“Why would you make a fool of yourself?”
“Because I like you and Tuesdays are my night to make a fool of myself.”
“I’m glad you like me. Too bad Tuesdays are a problem. Come on in anyhow.”
“Nope. Nope to you and your deliciousness and to the fortune cookies. If you need help getting your truck to wherever you need it to go, let me know. Happy to help.” I turned to go. “I feel guilty whenever I see that thing with its dent.”
“Does guilt come easy to you?” He asked it jokingly. I didn’t take it as a joke.
“Guilt lives with me,” I said. “Good night, Blake.”
“I’ll let you have all the shrimp if you eat with me.”
This time I laughed, my laugh rising into the leaves of his oak trees. “Wouldn’t want to take that from you, sex god. See ya.”
I was burning up for that man. But I was getting an idea of what kind of man he was. I don’t think he wanted what I wanted.
That was gonna be a problem.
“I’m sorry, Tory.”
I stood in Tory’s office. Her walls are light pink, like mine, except for one, which she painted gold and hung a collection of gold-framed mirrors on. She, too, has a spectacular view and a pink fainting couch. She also has two long tables, together, that are piled high with fabrics—silks, satin, cotton, lace, etc.—and design plans, folders, colored and charcoal pencils, and pads of paper.
One pink wall is almost completely filled with designs for lingerie that she’s drawn. She has three wire mannequins, a sewing machine, and a white desk like mine. She has white shelving crammed with more fabrics and framed pictures of models wearing her designs.
“What are you sorry for?” Tory snapped. She wasn’t in a pleasant mood.
“I’m sorry for taking over like a steamroller. I’m sorry for acting like I’m Miss Brilliant Panties. I’m sorry for my attitude since I arrived, how I haven’t been friendly enough, and I’m sorry for leaving you and Lacey here.”
“Alone with Grandma, General Battle-Ax.” She leaned a hip against her desk.
“Yes, alone with Grandma, Mrs. Warm and Friendly.”
“Who doesn’t think I do anything right.”
“She does, Tory. She told me so when I was gone, and I told you what she said.” I had. Grandma had complimented both Tory and Lacey. “Have you not heard how she talks to me? Yesterday she told me I was having an ‘efficiency problem’ and was a poor role model for style, which was not surprising, and that I was acting like a general in the army with a stick up her butt, which is almost hilarious because she’s the one who said it.”
“I feel like . . .” Tory bit her lip. “I felt like she only wanted you home, that I wasn’t as good as you, as smart, as creative, not enough like her.”
“Grandma wanted me home to be with you and Lacey. She wants us together. She’s made no secret of that, ever.”
“She wants you to run the business. You, Miss Brilliant Panties.”
“You have never wanted to run it, Tory, you’ve told me that many times. You’ve wanted to be on the creative side, the designing. You wanted to represent Lace, Satin, and Baubles, you didn’t want to run this place. That’s the ugly part, the numbers part, the personnel, the manufacturing and distribution, the details.”
She shrugged. “You’re right, I didn’t. But I didn’t need to hear it subtly and not so subtly that you’re the buzzing queen bee in her mind for running this place.”
“But you made it clear you didn’t want the job to her, too. One time you told her, ‘Grandma, I would rather walk naked through Siberia than be CEO.’ ”
“I did. I’d do it, too.”
“And you also told her that running the company could be compared only to having your toenails ripped off by a knife-wielding gargoyle. You said that being president would ruin your hair and your nails, and your vagina would dry up.”
She smiled, faintly. “I did. I can’t have my vagina drying up.”
“She wanted me home to do the job because you and Lacey don’t want it. Lacey has three kids. Now she’s pregnant. You think Grandma’s easy on me? She’s not. During my year of wandering I heard from her often about how I wasn’t meeting my responsibilities, what was I, a weak woman, she and Mom hadn’t raised me to be weak, I’d had time off, now I needed to get my bra fastened, my panties untwisted, my thong out of my crack—her words—and come home. She can be a beast. But I am sorry, Tory, for how I’ve been.”
“Thank you. I deserve that apology. You’ve been incredibly difficult, and it’s been hard to put up with you.” She sounded haughty and superior and did not apologize for how she’d been. I didn’t expect her to. She knew I didn’t expect it, so we let it go.
“I love you, Tory.”
The tears poured from her eyes, her shoulders shook, and I had to hug her until she was done. It was her way of apologizing.
“On another subject,” she said, shoulders back now, tough girl expression firmly in place as she mopped up with a tissue. “I know how to take revenge on Scotty.”
“Revenge on Scotty? Why are you taking revenge?”
“Because,” she said, pacing her office, hands on her hips. “Because”—her voice choked up—“he . . .” She punched the air, and I knew she was thinking of her punching bag at her condo. “He had a . . .” She took another swing, her face miserable and superticked. “He had a date last Saturday night and that pissed me off!” She swung a fist through the air again. “It pissed me off!”
“But you left him. You walked out of your house. You’ve dated several men.”
She reeled on me and pointed her finger. “I only went to dinner with them so I could tell Scotty and make him jealous and come get me. That doesn’t mean that he can do it, Meggie! So I’m taking revenge. Are you in or out?”