Tall Tales and Wedding Veils

by Jane Graves

  Actually, Tony had never really stopped to assess her competence. He was too busy admiring her long, gorgeous legs and spectacular breasts.

  Hands off. One month. You can do it.

  Everyone looked at him expectantly as he approached. He pulled out a barstool and sat down.

  “It’s a done deal,” he said. “You’re looking at the new owner of McMillan’s Bar and Grill.”

  The women cheered. Hugs all around. And Tony felt as if he were flying.

  Chuck poked his head out of the kitchen. “Do we have a new boss?”

  “Tony just closed the deal,” Kayla said. “He’s officially the new owner.”

  “Hey! Great news!” Chuck said, hurrying out of the kitchen to shake Tony’s hand. Chuck was a middle-aged guy who’d spent his entire adult life in one restaurant kitchen or another, and he could turn just about anything into a meal to die for. Emilio followed behind him, a younger guy who was learning from Chuck, and from what Frank said, he was doing a good job. Tony intended to make sure both of them stayed with him from now on.

  “We gotta get back to the kitchen,” Chuck said. “Lunch hour’s coming up.”

  “Dedicated employees,” Tony said with a grin. “I like that.”

  “I hope you’re thinking about raises,” Kayla said. “Frank was a tightwad. You’ll be much more generous, won’t you?”

  “Sure, sweetheart,” he said, his head still floating in the clouds. “It’ll be the first thing on my list.”

  As well it should be. What was more important to a business than its personnel?

  As the waitresses scattered to get ready for the lunch shift, Tony sat at the bar a few minutes longer, basking in the pleasure of owning his own business and being his own boss. And in a month, after he got that annulment, he’d no longer have a roommate, which meant he could invite Tracy straight to his king-sized bed and resume his life of happy bachelorhood.

  Heather was dead tired by the time she caught the train for home at the St. Paul station. It had been a hellish Monday at work, with dissatisfied clients right and left. The Morehead account had been only the beginning. She still hadn’t recovered from her Saturday-night debauchery in Vegas. Maybe she never would. Maybe she’d stay permanently hungover as a punishment from God for doing something so incredibly stupid.

  Heather collapsed on a seat on the train, intending to pull out her mystery novel and escape into somebody else’s problems. But when the train stopped at the Pearl Street station, Heather looked up to see an enormous woman wearing black stretch pants and a leopard-print tank top. She trundled down the aisle and plopped down next to Heather, filling her own seat and half of Heather’s, then proceeded to sing along with the gospel music oozing from her iPod. Heather sighed. Sometimes the train truly sucked. But her only alternative was to brave Central Expressway traffic from Plano to downtown and pay a hundred and fifty bucks a month to park her car.

  On days like today, that didn’t seem like such a bad option.

  Heather stuffed her book inside her tote bag and closed her eyes, hoping to zone out the rest of the way home, but as they were about to enter the Cityplace tunnel, her phone rang. She grabbed it from her purse and looked at the caller ID. Her mother.

  With a heavy sigh, she hit the TALK button to answer the call, only to lose it as soon as they entered the tunnel. When they emerged a few minutes later at the Mockingbird station, Heather saw that her mother had left a voice mail.

  “Hi, sweetie,” her mother said. “I tried to get a hold of you at work, but you must already be heading home. I thought maybe you’d like to join Aunt Bev and me for a friendly drink.”

  Heather’s mind went on red alert. Aunt Bev? Since when did her mother and Aunt Bev stop off somewhere for a friendly drink? And where her mother was concerned, a drink of what? Hot tea? And since when did friendly describe anything the two of them did together?

  Then came the punch line: “If you get this message, meet us at McMillan’s. Can’t wait to see the place!”

  Apprehension slammed into Heather like a hurricane-force wind. Her mother? Aunt Bev? McMillan’s?

  In the next second, Heather understood. It wasn’t her mother’s kind of place. But now that she finally had a handsome, entrepreneurial son-in-law to show off, she couldn’t wait to do it—in front of one person in particular. Her snooty sister.

  And the minute she walked into McMillan’s, Tony was going to flip out.

  Heather speed-dialed her mother’s house. No answer. Aunt Bev’s. No answer, either. Good Lord, they’d already left.

  Tony. You have to warn him.

  She didn’t have a clue what his cell phone number was, so she called directory assistance to get the number for McMillan’s. It seemed as if an eternity passed before the recorded voice told her the number. She hit the button to have it dialed for her automatically.

  The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Finally someone answered.

  “McMillan’s. May I help you?”

  Thank God. “I need to talk to Tony.”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Tell him it’s Heather. I have to talk to him right now.”

  “I’m sorry. He’s not here.”

  “No. I know he’s there. You have to put him on the phone.”

  “I said he’s not here.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  No. After closing on the place that morning, Heather couldn’t imagine that he wasn’t there now. “Do you have his cell phone number?”

  “Sorry. No. Why don’t you check back tomorrow? Maybe you’ll get lucky and catch him then.”

  “But—”

  Click.

  This was a disaster. Even if Tony wasn’t there, what was her mother going to tell the people who worked for him?

  Heather smacked her cell phone closed and stuffed it into her purse, cussing under her breath.

  “Sweetie? Can I give you a little advice?”

  Heather turned to the enormous leopard-spotted woman sitting next to her. “What?”

  “Don’t you be chasing men like that,” she said with a shake of her finger. “Not a single one of them is worth it.”

  With that, she went back to singing about the glory of God, and Heather started praying to God she could get off this train, hurry to McMillan’s, and stop the train wreck that was getting ready to happen.

  Back at McMillan’s, Tony was in his office, getting things organized now that Frank had moved out. Frank hadn’t been the best record-keeper, and the office was a mess even by Tony’s standards. As much as he hated housekeeping of any kind in his personal life, this was business, and he was determined to keep things in good order.

  Then he looked underneath the desk and saw about two dozen power cords wrapped around each other like spaghetti. He pushed the chair away and ducked under the desk to straighten things out. Fifteen minutes later, he was starting to make sense of it, but he still had a mess on his hands. It seemed as if all he was getting for his trouble was a cramp in his neck.

  “Hey, Tony.”

  He peered out from under the desk to see Jamie at his door.

  “I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” he said. “Can it wait?”

  “Uh . . . no. Maybe you’d better put that on hold.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “There’s a customer out front who wants to talk to you.”

  “Who is it?”

  “She says she’s your . . . uh . . .”

  “What?”

  “Mother-in-law.”

  Tony came out from under the desk so fast, he banged his head. Mother-in-law?

  Crap. Barbara Montgomery. Who else? And what the hell was she doing here?

  He scrambled to his feet and hurried out of his office, and when he saw Barbara and her sister, Bev, sitting at a table, his heart slammed against his chest. Kayla and Tracy were looking over Barbara’s shoulder at something she held in her hands. Their eyes grew progress
ively wider. In unison, they turned those eyes up to meet Tony’s, and for one of the only times in his life, he didn’t have a clue what to say.

  “And look at this one,” he heard Barbara say as he drew closer. “One of Heather’s uncles snapped it. Do they look cute together, or what?”

  Tony felt a shot of dread. Photographic evidence.

  He was a dead man.

  Chapter 9

  Heather leaped off the train, threw her briefcase and tote bag into her car, and then ran through the parking lot and around the corner to McMillan’s. With luck, her mother hadn’t made it there yet, and she’d be able to stop her before she went in. Then she saw a white Toyota out front with a dent in the driver’s door.

  Too late.

  Taking a deep breath, Heather opened the door and went into the bar, and what she saw made her nerves tighten with dread.

  Her mother sat at a table near the window, talking excitedly. Aunt Bev sat next to her with a sour look on her face. They were surrounded by a rapt audience of three waitresses, and everybody was passing photographs from one person to another. And Tony was standing nearby, looking as if he was on the verge of mixing himself an arsenic cocktail.

  “Heather!” her mother said, just a little too loudly. “You got my message. Come here and sit down with us, sweetie!”

  Heather made her way to the table, feeling as if she was having one of those absurd nightmares where nothing made sense. Tony slipped up beside her, put his hand on her shoulder, and whispered in her ear, “We have a problem here.”

  Oh, boy, did they.

  “See?” her mother said, pointing to Tony and Heather. “Aren’t they just the cutest couple?”

  Tony pulled his hand away from Heather. Quickly. Too quickly, which gave her the most sickening feeling that they were about to be found out. There was no way this could possibly end well.

  Then she noticed the plate in front of her mother. “Mom? What are you eating?”

  “Poppers,” she said, tossing another one into her mouth. “And they’re wonderful.”

  “Fried jalapeños? What about your esophageal reflux?”

  “That’s what I asked her,” Bev said.

  “And you’re drinking?” Heather said.

  “Why, yes, I am!” her mother said. “Jamie told me Cosmos were delicious, and darned if she wasn’t right.”

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” Aunt Bev snapped. “You don’t even drink.”

  “You don’t follow me around every minute of every day, Bev,” her mother said, slurring a word or two. “You have no idea what I do.”

  “I’m not talking about sniffing the cooking sherry. What’s gotten into you?”

  “For heaven’s sake,” Barbara muttered. “Will you lighten up and have a good time?” She turned to Jamie. “Bring us another drink.”

  “Mom—”

  “And one for Heather. Ever had a Cosmo, sweetie?”

  “This will be her third drink,” Bev told Heather.

  Heather whipped around. “Mom? Three drinks?”

  “It’s okay. They’re itty-bitty. Martooni”—she stopped and cleared her throat—“martini glasses don’t hold much.”

  “Barbara, you’re drunk,” Bev said.

  Barbara raised her chin. “No, Bev. Drunk is what you were the night of Regina’s engagement party. Six gin and tonics? Really.”

  “I was celebrating,” Aunt Bev said.

  “Well, so am I,” her mother said, then turned to Jamie with a big smile. “Another Cosmo,” she said, then whispered, “There’s a big tip in it for you and the baby.”

  Jamie smiled and headed for the bar. Heather couldn’t believe this. She just couldn’t.

  Bev turned her gaze across the room to Tracy, who was bending over wiping a table, her skirt hiked up to the very tops of her thighs.

  “Your waitresses dress very skimpy,” Bev said to Tony. “But I suppose that’s what it takes to get the attention of the kinds of customers who come to places like this.”

  “Bev,” Barbara said, “will you stop being such a prude?” She smiled at Tony. “I think they look adorable.”

  Adorable? Crop tops and miniskirts? Was this her mother talking? The woman who thought any girl in a two-piece swimsuit should wear a T-shirt over it? The woman who didn’t see her first R-rated movie until she was forty years old?

  “So,” Aunt Bev said to Tony and Heather, “I’m not sure I’ve ever known anyone who got married in Vegas before. Especially after knowing each other only a few hours. That’s a little impulsive, isn’t it?”

  Barbara smiled indulgently. “Now, Bev. Don’t take it too hard that it took Jason two years to propose to Regina. I’m sure it doesn’t mean he loves her any less.”

  Aunt Bev opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Heather felt a surge of delight. Direct hit, Mom! Way to go!

  “People are going to be flocking to this place,” Barbara gushed to everyone within hearing distance of her voice, which was growing louder by the moment. “Tony is such a nice boy, and he has that beautiful smile. He’s going to be such a success.”

  Heather glanced at Tony. He looked like a man standing in the path of a bulldozer with nowhere to run.

  “And this place is such a worthwhile pursuit,” Aunt Bev said. “Bartending is such a respected profession.”

  Barbara laughed. “Please, Bev. To say Tony is a bartender is like saying Donald Trump is a carpenter.”

  Good one, Mom! You got her again!

  “Oh!” Barbara said. “I almost forgot. Your father and I have a wedding gift for you two.”

  “You do?” Tony said.

  “We’d like to bring it by your apartment tomorrow night. Will you be home about six?”

  “Uh . . . I’m afraid not,” Tony said. “New business, you know. I’ll probably be here night and day for a while.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” Barbara said with a wave of her hand. “Fred and I can bring it here.”

  “No!” Tony whipped his gaze to Heather and back again. “No, that’s all right. I can come home for a little while. No problem.”

  “Good,” Barbara said with a big, loopy smile. “We’ll drop by about six.”

  Tony slipped his arm around Heather’s shoulder, gripping it just a little too tightly. “Heather? I need you to take a look at something in my office. Could you come with me?”

  “Uh . . . sure.” She turned to her mother. “We’ll be back in a minute.”

  All the way down the hall to his office, Tony felt as if he were going to explode with irritation. He dragged Heather inside, closed the door behind them, and let her have it.

  “What the hell is going on? Did you know they were coming here?”

  “I picked up a voice mail from my mother when I was on the train. I tried to call her back, but she had already left the house.”

  “Did you try her cell phone?”

  “My mother? Cell phone? She’s lucky to be able to dial a touch-tone phone.”

  Tony gripped the back of his desk chair, closing his eyes with frustration.

  “Hey, I tried to call to warn you,” Heather said.

  “Wrong. I’ve been here all afternoon. You didn’t call.”

  “Oh, yes, I did. Whoever answered said you weren’t here.”

  “Yes, I was. I’ve been here since I closed on the place this morning.”

  “Not according to the woman who answered.”

  “I’ve been in my office for the last hour. Why didn’t she—” Tony stopped short, his eyes falling closed. “Oh, boy.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  “What?”

  He opened his eyes. “I guess old habits die hard.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “See, the bartenders and waitresses here . . . well, they know to . . .”

  “To what?”

  “If a woman calls here looking for me . . .”

  Heather looked at him blankly for a mo
ment. Then her mouth fell open. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me. They cover for you? Tell women you don’t want to talk to that you’re not here?”

  “Uh . . . yeah. Something like that.”

  “So this is your fault,” Heather said.

  “My fault? My fault? It was your mother who came in here with a fistful of photographs! What is with her, anyway?”

  “She’s just glad I’m married.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m glad somebody’s glad about that.”

  Heather glared at him. “Hey, buster. This was your plan. Not mine.”

  “But I didn’t expect everyone I know to find out!”

  “You think I’m happy about that?”

  “You don’t get it, Heather. Did you see the looks on their faces? Me being married changes everything!”

  “Okay, so we didn’t expect anyone but my family to find out. But what if they did? You’ll be divorced in a month, and you can go back to playing the field, so I don’t see why it’s so . . .” Her voice trailed off, and a knowing look came over her face. “Ah. Now I understand.”

  “What?”

  “What you really mean to say is that being married to me changes everything.”

  Tony froze. “What do you mean?”

  “Tell the truth. It really screws up your reputation for people to know you married a woman who isn’t a perfect ten.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I saw the looks on your waitresses’s faces. And I’m very self-aware, Tony. Men like you don’t go for women like me.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a woman like you.”

  “I never said there was. You’re the one with the problem.”

  He drew back. “Me? What are you talking about?”

  “As far as you’re concerned, unless a woman has a pair of 38Ds, she might as well not even be in the room.”

  “You think that’s all I look for in a woman?”

  “Oh, God, no. That’s just the baseline. After that comes the blond hair and the perfect tan and the cute little ass and the space between her ears.”

  “Are you saying the women I date are dumb?”