Fortunately, he let it go as they entered the massive sporting goods store and made their way up the center aisle, seeking inspiration. Near the golf department they slowed, where two older men, probably in their late fifties, were trying out various clubs.
“What do you think?” the first guy asked the second. “Can I justify this new nine iron when I’ve already got three?”
“After that bungled chip shot I saw yesterday, I’d say buy this one and five more,” his friend replied.
“Yeah, but if I come home with this, Sandy will have a fit.”
“Don’t tell her. You pay the bills, right?”
“I write the checks, sure. But we both are bringing in the bacon, and her pension is bigger than mine.”
“O-kay. In that case, put it back. I’ll work with you on your chip shot, and you can use what you already have.”
Lacey and Jack sped past the two golfers, waiting until they’d rounded a floor-to-ceiling display to burst out laughing. “Too good,” Jack got out while still bent over.
“Do men really buy one club after another, even though they already possess the same club?”
“How many pairs of shoes are in your closet?”
“Nowhere near the same thing.”
“How many pairs of black shoes?”
“Do you really want to know or are you just attempting to make a point?”
He gave her question some thought before replying, “I’m curious. I really want to know.”
“Five.”
“Five?” His voice rose.
“All for different needs: a pair of sandals for summer, a pair of flats for slacks, a pair of three-inch heels and a pair of four and a half-inch heels for dressy, and a pair of black patent strappies for really dressy.”
“Ah, well, who could dispute such a list? Makes perfect sense.”
“How many pairs of black shoes do you own?” she asked in rebuttal.
“Me? I don’t know. Never counted, but I need every last one of them for meetings with clients.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
“Aha! Good lesson for me. Always follow up whenever you’re trying to best me.”
He opened his mouth and shut it again, apparently bereft of a pithy retort. Eventually, his tone changing from kidding to one of more personal interest, he said, “Speaking of follow-ups, you didn’t answer my question back there about kids. You never mentioned having your own kids, just nieces and nephews.”
“You’re getting pretty personal now. What if I told you I was unable to have children? Wouldn’t you feel bad to have pursued the subject?”
He waited a couple beats before asking in a softer voice, “Can you?”
How had they gotten this far off the topic of boomers? She didn’t want to answer his question, but if she didn’t, he wouldn’t let it drop. “I’m physically able. I just decided children, my own children, aren’t in my future. Even though some women are content to be single mothers, I’m not, not after watching my own mother struggle to keep our family together after my dad left.”
“You don’t have to be a single mother, you know.”
“Marriage isn’t for me. I’ve seen and experienced too much heartbreak.” There. He’d pushed, so she’d pushed back. “Are we finished here? I’ve seen more than enough for one day.”
Chapter Eleven
“Your turn to come up with something, Jack.” Lacey massaged her temples as the two of them went over their notes from the previous day’s shopping mall excursion.
“We did pretty well yesterday. We added ‘continued interest in sex,’ ‘hiding unnecessary purchases from spouses,’ and ‘insatiable devotion to sports’ to our list. A few more outings and we should be ready.”
“We don’t have time for many more outings, Jack. By now, we should’ve had a concept well in mind so we could spend the rest of our time drafting the plan. All we have so far are footnotes. We still need an overriding theme.”
She was right, but he hated hearing their predicament pronounced out loud. “Too much to do, too little time.”
“At least I feel more human today. I can actually walk without grimacing. Do you want to return to the mall? Try another area?”
God, no. He was so not into shopping. Time to bring up Jean’s findings. “My research pinpointed five areas of interest to boomers in their retirement.” He repeated the list to her. “We saw evidence of the recreational part yesterday. We could maybe visit the volunteer bureau or someone at Drake University who deals with Lifelong Learning. Or one of the hospitals?”
Jean entered the room with two mugs and a carafe. “I thought you could both use more caffeine. I’m trying to cut back myself, but sometimes you need a pick-me-up to revive the gray cells.”
“Thanks, Jean.” Lacey reached for her mug.
Although Jack thanked her too, Jean didn’t leave. “I take it your expedition yesterday wasn’t a huge success?”
“Are you psychic too?” Jack asked.
“No. But part of my job is to observe the body language of those with whom I work. I’d say you with your head on the desk and Lacey sprawled in her chair signal all is not well. Yet.”
Lacey raised her mug in salute. “Nice optimistic touch, Jean. Yet.”
The secretary stood there, hands clasped in front of her. “I’m not supposed to know much about your project, but as your secretary, it’s impossible for me not to be aware of some things. Like, baby boomers. Your project has something to do with them.”
“Good observation,” he replied, knowing full well how much she knew. “In spite of its supposed hush-hush nature, you might as well hear the rest. We’re to come up with a design concept for a boomer retirement community. If this were my project alone, based on my gut instinct, I’d whip up several possible approaches I think the client would like. But Lacey is heavy into researching the subject population. Since neither of us has much personal experience to go on, we’ve been making ourselves crazy trying to study boomers and figure out what makes them tick.”
Jean was savvy enough to act like this was the first she heard all this for Lacey’s benefit. She took her time, appearing to think through Jack’s revelation. Then she brightened. “From what I know about boomers, the problem is, they’re not exactly into the idea of retirement. At least not the same way their parents viewed retirement. Retire means something else in their vocabulary.”
He found himself shaking his head at her, marveling at her insight and wondering why they hadn’t talked to her, really talked, and listened, sooner. “Where did you learn this?”
“Without realizing it, I probably walked away from your dance class with the results you’ve been seeking. I hit it off with one of the other women who was there. We had lunch together yesterday.” She turned to Lacey. “You met her, Lacey. Janice Collier?”
“Oh, right. Nice woman.”
Jean continued, “Janice is in her late fifties. She’s been a widow the last two, but prior to then, she was happily married to the same man. They had one child, a son. He’s some kind of musician and travels a lot, so she’s pretty much on her own, and she seems to be thriving.”
“She told me she runs her own art gallery,” Lacey added.
“Right. In fact, she was here yesterday at my invitation, surveying the building to determine if she might have some items to bring to Mr. Mackenzie’s attention.”
It was so unusual for Jean to insert herself in his meetings, Jack let her go on for a bit about her new friend, although he failed to see where she was heading. “Uh, that’s all very good, Jean, but—”
“Why am I rattling on like this?” she finished for him. “You said you wanted to study baby boomers. Maybe you should consider doing so on a case by case basis. In other words, why not interview Janice and see what she can tell you? Seems much more civil than stalking them in malls.”
Jack broke away from his desk and grabbed Jean by her arms. “Jean, Jean. Why didn’t we just hire you as our consul
tant?”
“You’re not upset?”
“Good grief, no! Do you think we could meet this woman? Talk to her ourselves?”
“Well, yes. I’m sure she’d be delighted to help. You’ll remember her when you see her. She looked a bit like a refugee from the seventies. Should I make an appointment for her to come in and talk with you?”
He was all set to say yes, when he noticed Lacey watching him as if just waiting for him to take charge again. If he’d learned anything about the woman, she hated to be one-upped, especially by him. “I remember the baggy outfit, however I didn’t get much chance to talk to her. But you did, Lacey. Why don’t you handle this?”
“Me?” Lacey replied, a note of surprise in her voice. “What’s wrong with this picture, Jack? Why don’t you want to deal with her?”
“You begging off? Fine, Jean, set up an appointment for me with her later today, if she’s available. We need to do this fast.”
“Never mind, Jean. I’ll be happy to talk to her,” Lacey said, her distrust of his motives apparently giving way to her ambition.
“I’ll call her right away,” Jean said.
Once Jean departed to carry out her mission, he leaned back in his chair, hands behind his neck. “Well? I’m waiting.”
“For what?” Lacey asked. “For me to thank you for letting me talk to Janice Collier? Don’t hold your breath.”
“Give me a break here, Lacey. I’m trying to play by your rules and share the lead with you for once. What I meant was, I was waiting for you to admit Jean does more than make great coffee.”
She bit a lip. “Oh. Well, I’ll give you this much: she did come up with a new angle, although technically, Janice is a result of the dance class.”
“Which was my idea.”
“Give your ego a rest, Jack.”
As it turned out, the Collier woman loved the idea of helping them with their project and made room on her schedule later in the afternoon to talk to Lacey. While his partner was off, Jack remained behind sketching. Didn’t produce much, other than several views of Lacey’s behind. He spent great effort getting that cute little butt to look just right, firm, round, daring a guy to get his hands on it. Damn! He couldn’t even draw a house right now, his mind was so caught up imagining what it would be like to… Don’t go there, Dalton. Frustrated with his lack of progress, he gave in to a more cerebral pursuit, sailing paper airplanes, his rejects.
His hand reached for his cell, but he restrained himself from hitting Lacey’s number despite his desire to hear about the interview. Be patient. Show her you can be a good partner. But, damn! This wasn’t easy.
He should’ve followed through himself on Jean’s suggestion. He could’ve charmed a lot more from the Collier woman than Lacey. And a lot faster.
****
“I had no idea I’d see you again so soon, but I’m glad you’re here,” Janice Collier told Lacey at the door of her gallery. “I was surprised when Jean Sarducci called to arrange this meeting.”
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“C’mon in.”
Lacey followed her through a large main room, noting a few smaller rooms off to both sides. In the back, they found Janice’s office. A massive desk, piled with folders, brochures and artsy odds and ends, was surrounded by boxes, cartons, papers, packing material, etc. In one corner, a rocking chair occupied the space in front of the room’s only window.
Janice settled behind her desk, indicating a side chair for Lacey. “Jean said you want to talk about my life as a baby boomer. I rarely think of myself as one, but what do you want to know?”
About fifteen minutes in, it became apparent to Lacey this method wouldn’t net the information they needed. Still, she continued with her list of questions. She liked Janice. The older woman wasn’t exactly self-deprecating, but neither did she demonstrate an ego.
When they finished, Janice asked, “Would you like to see the gallery before you’re on your way?”
How could she turn down such an invitation, even though she should get back to the office and see what few points she could salvage from this interview? “I’d love to.”
Janice steered her into what appeared to be the main room. “I like to think of my gallery as an eclectic boutique since I show a little bit of everything.”
“I’m impressed. I’ve driven by but never stopped. Didn’t realize what wonderful treasures this place holds. You should be very proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
Her new friend leaned against a doorframe and smiled shyly. “Thanks. I am. The last two years have been difficult, taking over my husband’s end of the business. I was familiar with the inventory data but not the artwork itself. Now that I have a better feel for our offerings, I’ve been considering some changes to give it a facelift, like painting the walls and replacing the old carpeting with hard wood floors. Dan, my late husband, was more the traditionalist, but these days the walls seem to be closing in on me. When I’m done, I want the place to feel like a walk in the clouds.”
“I like that. Very ethereal. True serenity.”
Janice gasped. “I like your word for it. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll rename the gallery to Serenity once these changes are made.”
“I’d be honored. Glad to help. Be sure to let me know when you hold the grand reopening.”
Lacey drifted off by herself, taking in all the visual wonders the place offered. She wondered if Jack would have taken the time to humor the woman. Jack. Why couldn’t she go a full hour without thinking about her new partner? And just what was he up to, suggesting she handle this interview on her own? Why couldn’t he act like a partner all the time, like their trip to the mall yesterday, instead of subjecting her to these moments of doubt, like this interview and driving her out of his office the day before?
Get your mind back in the moment, Lacey. She came upon a framed photograph of a man near the back wall. “Is this your husband?” she asked.
Janice rejoined her. “Yes. That’s Dan about five years before he died. We met in a college art history class and were inseparable from then on.”
“It must have been difficult going on without him.”
Janice took a long breath before replying. “At first, I didn’t see how it would ever be possible. But with the help of friends and my family, I gradually made it through the abyss of grief I felt.”
She touched the picture. “I don’t need this picture to remember him. Dan’s spirit permeates this place. This is more for the benefit of our long-time customers who still remember him as the inspiration for this gallery. In those days, I stayed out of the limelight doing the accounting and inventory. Dan was the real salesman.”
Janice’s reflection on her late husband reminded Lacey of her reaction to her own mother’s death. Brian kept several pictures of their mother in his apartment and insisted Lacey do the same. Over the years, they’d more or less melded into the background so much, she hardly noticed anymore. “How about your son? What does he think of the changes you want to make?”
Janice turned her direction, a melancholy expression tinging her features. “Haven’t really discussed my plans with him. He didn’t share his father’s and my interest in art.”
“Are there pictures here of him too?”
Janice shook her head sadly. “I keep those at home. He’s pretty private. Doesn’t like me showing him off.”
“Does he get back home much?”
Janice looked away. “Not much. He travels a lot. He calls every few days, though not as much as he did right after his father’s death. He still worries about me being on my own. Wants me to come live with him. Same city, at least.”
“Why haven’t you taken him up on his offer?”
Janice took her time answering. “This is home for me. We worked so hard to make this place a going concern at a time when people weren’t spending their money on art. I couldn’t give it up. At least not yet. I sense there’s another chapter ahead for me. Whatever it
may be.”
Janice’s statement impressed her. The older woman seemed so at peace with herself, even though she was still grappling with the grief of her husband’s passing and not sure what the future held. She wasn’t ready to give up, retire and take it easy.
Whoa, back up. Though their interview had gone nowhere, unwittingly, Janice had just handed her a key to the boomer puzzle—the organic piece Lacey had been seeking.
Lacey nearly stumbled she was so excited. She grabbed Janice and hugged her. “You are a genius.”
Janice merely looked at her, perplexed and a little surprised by the gesture. “Really? What did I say?”
“You said you weren’t through yet. Reminded me of the optimism underlying everything I’ve learned about baby boomers.”
“My generation also grew up with bomb shelters and protested the Vietnam war.”
“That’s the point. You haven’t given up. You’re still planning ahead.” Flinging her purse strap over her shoulder, she ran out of the gallery, anxious to share her discovery with Jack. “Thanks for everything today,” she called. “You’re a life saver.”
****
Jack’s tenth paper airplane sailed across the room and dropped to Earth just in front of the door. He’d switched to a “safer” way to kill time than drawing Lacey’s ass and torn up and disposed of all vestiges of his fantasies. A split second later that same door burst open and Lacey exploded through. “Jack! I just had the most terrific chat with Janice Collier.”
“The hippie?”
She bent to retrieve the fallen paper aircraft and return it to his desk. “She’s not a hippie. She dresses for comfort more than the rest of us. I got an earful of what it’s like to be on the cutting edge of the boomer generation.”
He jumped out of his chair. “Spill. What’d you find out?”
She was so hyped. She couldn’t stop smiling. God, she had a nice smile.
He moved closer.
She grasped his hands and her force field grabbed a chokehold on his senses. “I think we’ve got it this time, Jack.”
Saved by the Salsa Page 11