“Darling, what on earth is that?” Jackie said, squinting. Her voice was perky but her stomach had turned. She really hoped George wasn’t going to ruin their friendship by trying to give her presents—unless it was something too pretty to refuse, of course.
“This belonged to Robert,” he said, carrying the wooden box over and carefully setting it on the table.
“It doesn’t look familiar.” Jackie studied the wooden artifact, surprised. It looked like something purchased at that art fair George had wanted to take her to. Jackie ran her fingers over the carved wood, then looked up, confused. “Why are you giving it to me?”
“I was holding it for him,” George said, wringing his hands. “Hiding it. Your birthday present is inside, so bon anniversaire. Your birthday present from a few years back.”
Jackie’s hand flew to her chest, shocked. She thought back to all the times she’d searched for the birthday or Christmas presents Robert would get her. She’d shake them and sometimes even slit the tape open, just to get that first glimpse at whatever piece of jewelry or trinket was lying inside. One birthday, she had hunted everywhere for her birthday present and had almost given up. Just as she pulled a sapphire necklace out of his sock drawer, Robert walked into their bedroom. He had come home early from work.
Jackie seduced her way out of that one, marching up to Robert and saying in a pouty voice, “I’m a very bad girl. What are we going to do about this?” Then she’d taken his hand and pressed it against her firm breast, enjoying how quickly Robert forgot about the necklace. Breath coming fast, Robert picked her up, carried her to the bed and swatted her playfully on her taut bottom. As she squirmed and protested, he pinned her arms behind her back, flickering his tongue in and out of the sensitive area of her ear until she’d squirmed, begging him to let her go.
“This is your punishment, my dear,” Robert had laughed.
That night, he explored Jackie’s body in ways she had never allowed. There was little she could do to fight him off—her arms stayed pinned gently behind her back—so Jackie just endured the sweet torture, just letting out tiny little startled gasps. When he’d finally had enough, Robert had made love to her, the sapphire necklace draped over her neck and falling across her breasts like something out of Titanic. After that day, regardless of how pleasurable catching her had been for the both of them, Robert had gotten much more ingenious about hiding her presents.
“Giving it to George was cheating,” Jackie said out loud, as though Robert were watching the transaction.
“Let’s end the suspense,” she said to George. “What’s inside?”
Folding her hands neatly in her lap, Jackie waited. She did not make a move toward the box even though in the old days, she would have dived right in.
“I don’t know,” George admitted. “The IRS did look through it. They determined its contents were not fiscally related.”
“If it’s already been opened,” Jackie mused, “it’s technically a re-gift. I don’t want it.”
Her voice shook, revealing a confusion she didn’t want to feel.
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you what it is, Jacqueline.” George took off his glasses and set them on a table. There were lines on his nose from the metal rims. “But the gift was for you, not me.”
“You didn’t snoop?” Jackie said. “I would have snooped.” She looked up at George from under her lashes.
At the slight flirtation, he blushed and Jackie laughed out loud. Teasing George was much easier than dealing with this unexpected trifle.
“Robert was your best friend,” she said, poking at him. “You weren’t dying of curiosity?”
George shook his head. “I imagined it was personal.”
They sat for a long moment. Jackie thought back to all the presents Robert had gotten her. Her favorite had been a poem commissioned from a local artist she knew, painted in calligraphy over the top of her caricature. Robert had given it to her as a joke, and then followed up with yet another piece of jewelry. He didn’t understand why she only oohed at the Hawaiian pearl bracelet but then went straight back to the poem, giggling at its beautiful juxtaposition over her cartoon face.
“Are pearls no longer satisfactory to my queen?” Robert asked. He dropped a series of kisses onto the top of her head and touched the Hawaiian bracelet.
“No, it’s divine,” Jackie assured him, “I just think this drawing is hilarious.”
Robert had pouted, taking the poem and flipping the paper over. Then, he took the bracelet and presented it to her again. “This, my dear, is for you.”
“And I adore it,” she said, picking up the bracelet and hooking it around her thin wrist. “Look how iridescent those pearls are.” The moment Robert seemed satisfied Jackie turned her attention back to the paper with the poem.
Light, like a bird is her laugh. Strong, like a breeze is her flight.
Willful, like a crown to a queen
stands my one and only Jacqueline.
“I really love this poem,” she said again.
Robert tore it from her hands, shouting, “It’s just a joke! The bracelet is your gift.”
“And you just turned it into a handcuff,” she said. Grabbing the poem, Jackie stomped into their bedroom and slammed the door.
At the memory, Jackie shook her blond curls and pushed the intricately carved wooden box far away from her. It had been rare for her and Robert to fight but when they had, the fights had certainly been memorable.
“You’re really not going to open it?” George asked, gazing at the box in confusion.
Jackie shook her head. “Not tonight,” she said. “It’s been waiting for me for years, hasn’t it? Do a few more days really matter?”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” George said. Clearing his throat, he stood up. “I must get back to the grind,” he said. “Thanks so much for dinner, my darling.”
Jackie turned to the box. Picking it up, she silently cursed how heavy the wood was. It would be a struggle to carry that weight with her. “Good night, George,” she said.
George nodded, watching her carefully. “Good night, Jacqueline.”
Chapter Twenty-six
DORIS REFUSED TO COME TO THE ASSISTANT MANAGER INTERVIEW for her blond stripper. “He’ll recognize me,” she fretted.
“He sees hundreds of women every day,” Cheryl said. “No, he won’t.”
“I’m busy,” Doris said. “I’m making banana bread.” Just then, she dropped her wooden spoon on the floor. Quickly, she snatched it up, rinsed it, and continued stirring the dough.
“Ew,” Mandy said, chin on her hand.
Jackie, Cheryl, and Mandy all leaned against the counter at Doris’s, entertained as always by her attempts to cook. Like the setup for a comedy skit, eighteen banana peels, six broken eggshells, and three empty bags of flour lay on the counter next to a big mixing bowl. So far, the bowl held a glumpy mixture of flour, two hard sticks of butter, and mashed-up bananas. Doris was trying to stir this with a wooden spoon, sweat beading on her forehead.
“This is painful,” Cheryl said. Sweeping past Doris, she opened drawers until she found an electric mixer, and then practically threw it at Doris. “Use this. You’re driving me bananas.”
Mandy cracked up, indicating one of the banana peels on the counter.
Shaking her head, Doris pushed the electric mixer aside and explained that she’d read dessert tasted better if the whole thing was made by hand. “It has something to do with the connection of energy to the food,” Doris said. “I didn’t really understand it, but I think it made a lot of sense.”
“Mom, no one will even know,” Mandy protested. It was Mandy’s turn to bring snacks for the debate team. “Just use the beater.”
“I want to infuse the bread with my love,” Doris said, beating harder. “Because I love you.”
Mandy rolled her eyes. “Puke.”
“I’m making a cappuccino,” Cheryl said, slamming the cupboards until she found a can of espr
esso. “Who wants one?”
Cheryl needed the caffeine because, in truth, Doris’s clumsy motions had grated on her last nerve. More than that, Cheryl needed to get pumped for this interview with the blonde. He had sounded hesitant over the phone and Cheryl was frightened that he might say no to the opportunity altogether. They needed him. Otherwise that Anthony character would be running the show.
“Doris, I really think you should come to this interview,” Jackie said. “It will be very informal. After the way Cheryl freaked out during Anthony’s interview, I’ll definitely need you for some levity.”
Doris nodded. “You do make a good point . . .”
Cheryl turned the milk frother on full blast, eyeing her friends. They had already ganged up on her about Anthony; now they wanted to tell her how to handle Gabe?
“Look,” Cheryl said, pouring the froth over a shot of espresso. “I have been in the corporate world for years. You need to recognize that I am a fountain of information. You should learn from me instead of discounting my knowledge. Because it’s vast.”
“We’re opening a penis restaurant,” Jackie said. “It’s meant to be fun.”
“It will be,” Cheryl said. “After all, we’re holding our interview at a coffee shop, of all places. If you pull out a dollar to tip the waitress, our future manager might get confused and . . .”
“My daughter is standing right here,” Doris shrieked, slamming the mixing bowl on the counter. She ran her fingers through her hair, the flour settling in like a bad case of dandruff. Mandy took the opportunity to dip her finger into the batter to taste. “How is it?” Doris asked, pulling her hair up and off her neck. Flour rained down.
“Wow, Mom,” Mandy said. Casually, she meandered over to the cupboard and grabbed for a glass for water. Doris watched her do this, alarmed.
“Is it . . . ?”
“No comment,” Mandy said, swishing the water in her mouth.
“The consistency will probably mellow out when it’s baked,” Jackie said, peering suspiciously at the thick concoction.
“I hope you’re right.” Doris sighed. “Okay, listen. When you do the interview, remember that we are offering this man a professional position. I don’t want him to think we’re bringing him on for any reason other than his . . .”
“Perfect abs, hot body, and large schlong?” asked Mandy, batting her eyes. She grabbed a soda out of the fridge and scampered out of the kitchen before her mother could scold her.
“Doris, just come with us,” Cheryl said.
“She doesn’t have to,” Jackie said.
Cheryl threw up her hands. “Okay. And when I don’t feel like coming to work, I won’t show up either.”
“We shouldn’t hire him,” Doris said, setting down the wooden spoon. “I know he’ll remember me. It’s going to look bad.”
“Honey, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the attention,” Jackie said. “Besides, we’re giving him an opportunity to do something with his life.”
“He was probably doing plenty right where he was,” Cheryl said. Doris’s blue eyes widened, so she added, “I’m just kidding. It will all be very professional. That’s why you should come. As a business owner, you need to get experience at this type of thing.”
“No, that’s okay,” Doris said, flinging banana peels into the trash. “Just . . . don’t say my name or anything.”
Cheryl regarded her with amazement, pulling on a fleece-lined leather jacket. “How would he know your name?”
“The bouncer checked my ID,” Doris said, face mournful. She was looking off into the distance, obviously reliving the entire night at the bar. When she cringed, Cheryl assumed she’d remembered the part where she threw up.
“Stop worrying,” Jackie said.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Cheryl said. “If he’s too pretty to talk, we won’t hire him—we’ll just fuck him.”
Picking up the car keys, she headed to the door.
“Don’t do that,” Doris begged, chasing after them with the wet wooden spoon. It dripped across the floor.
Outside, the sun was bright. Cheryl took a few deep breaths of the crisp autumn air. The car door dinged as they climbed in, Cheryl’s silver keychain glistening in the sunlight. After pulling the door shut behind her, Cheryl looked at Jackie. Her lips twitched.
Widening her eyes and looking slightly panicked, she said, “Don’t do that.” It was a perfect impression of Doris. The two friends erupted into laughter. Tears ran down Jackie’s cheeks and Cheryl banged her hand against the steering wheel until it hurt.
Wiping her eyes, Jackie said, “We can’t hire him. We’ll find him tied up in her bedroom with his sexy little ankles broken!”
Gasping, Cheryl opened the window to let the air cool her face. “Doris is scary. If she got away with vandalizing Katherine Rigney, that woman can get away with anything. I’m warning this guy to stay far, far away.”
“Should we raise the bet on the banana bread?” Jackie said. “I say she’s going to the bakery the second we pull out.”
“No way,” Cheryl said. “She’ll keep trying until the house burns down. Of course, she might get confused. You know, start pulling out the dollar bills when the firemen arrive.”
The friends cracked up. Cheryl pulled out of the driveway, Doris waving hopefully from the window.
Chapter Twenty-seven
IN SPITE OF HER CONCERNS ABOUT GABE, CHERYL FELL IN LOVE with him the moment he opened his mouth.
“I remember you ladies,” he said, easing his handsome form into the booth.
The coffee shop where they met him was halfway between Chicago and Schaumburg. Over the phone, Gabe had explained that since he lived in the city, he had to borrow a car to get to the interview. At the time, Cheryl had thought, Unprofessional. Staring at his gorgeous face, she thought, So forgivable.
Gabe was like a tanned statue of David. Curly blond hair wisped around his cherubic face. His eyes were wide and the color of the ocean at a vacation resort. The man really was gorgeous—it wasn’t the tequila goggles that had made them think that.
“Where’s your friend?” Gabe asked, looking from Cheryl to Jackie. “The one who had the flu?”
“You remember her?” Jackie burst out laughing. She put her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. God, she’ll be thrilled.”
“You’re very sweet,” Cheryl said. “But I think we all know it wasn’t the flu.”
Gabe’s eyes sparkled and he adjusted the collar on his fur-lined jean jacket. “Never would have guessed it.”
Cheryl pulled out her notebook and ran through the same questions they’d asked Anthony. Halfway through, Cheryl realized she was being as informal with Gabe as she had been formal with Anthony. This wasn’t her intent but Gabe’s aquamarine eyes and dimpled chin made it impossible to be professional. After learning Gabe had an MBA from Northwestern, Cheryl stopped short and said, “Gabe. Why are you, of all people, a stripper?”
Gabe blushed. Turning a packet of Sweet’N Low over and over in his hands, the young man seemed at a loss for words. A golden lock of hair fell over his forehead, and suddenly, Cheryl felt like she and Gabe were out on a porch somewhere, sharing secrets over a glass of wine. That’s his gift, she realized with a start. Gabe had a way of creating immediate intimacy, even though he was a perfect stranger.
“Gabe, don’t answer that,” Jackie said. “It’s probably illegal to even ask a question like that, isn’t it Cheryl?”
Legal or not, it was certainly uncalled for. Cheryl started to apologize but Gabe cut in with, “No, I understand why you’re asking. It’s a tough question. I ask myself that all the time and, in the end, I try not to get too introspective about it.” Cheryl almost melted. The should-be model had uttered a four-syllable word without even batting his beautiful lashes. “But I guess the answer is . . .” Gabe hesitated, then looked right at them. “Women love me. They always have, they always will. I know it sounds cocky and I’m sorry, since you ladies are women, but I may as w
ell make a living off of it.”
Jackie nodded. Cheryl noticed she had her chin in her hand, admiring Gabe like some exhibit at the art fair.
“You’d be a great serial killer,” Cheryl said. “I’d get in the car with you.”
Gabe narrowed his eyes and glared. “Try it. Just see what happens to you,” and the three burst out laughing. “I am, in a way,” he admitted. “I kill ’em with kindness, every day.”
“Gabe, if you did us the honor of working with us we’d pay for your move to Schaumburg but you’d be on salary. It wouldn’t be nearly as much as you make right now or even a corporate position,” Cheryl apologized. “But we’d get you out of that sleazy club,” she said. “However, you’d be the co-manager and . . .”
“Are you the manager?”
Gabe’s gaze seemed to penetrate her and Cheryl couldn’t help but think the most inappropriate thoughts. She blushed all the way down to her freckles. “No, no. We hired . . . someone from your club, actually. Anthony.”
Gabe turned pale. “Oh.”
“What’s wrong?” Cheryl demanded. Quickly, she said, “I can fire him.”
Jackie elbowed her. “Cheryl.”
The waitress arrived just then, a skinny little thing with black dyed hair and painted-on red lipstick. As she laid out the food, a slow flush crept up the back of her neck. Handing Gabe his hamburger, she turned beet red as he said, “Thanks, doll.”
The young girl practically ran from the table. Hiding behind the host stand, she giggled behind her hand with another waitress. The other server was about eighty, wearing sensible shoes and a no-nonsense light blue dress. Even she squinted toward their table to get a better look at Gabe. Oblivious, he picked up his burger and started to eat. Cheryl and Jackie stared, fixated on the way he handled the bun.
“So . . .” Cheryl finally said, taking a sip of ice water. “Talk to us about the problem with Anthony.”
Gabe set his burger down and added more ketchup. “He doesn’t like me. I’m not sure why.”
Jackie made a high-pitched noise and Gabe looked at her sharply. Digging into her salad, she started rattling on about their plans for the menu. Gabe relaxed and started asking questions about the restaurant and then, Schaumburg. When they had finished eating, Gabe kissed both of their hands and promised to think over their offer.
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