by Trixie More
Allie groaned and laid her head down on her desk. Her eyes dropped shut like she was a doll. She heard her father come in, but she didn’t bother opening her eyes.
“Allie Girl, good morning,” he said. She heard him make his way to the small upholstered chair she’d found for him and put up the footrest.
Dorothy brushed Allison’s hair aside. “I brought you some face wash and makeup.”
Allison snorted. Dorothy seemed to have a memory issue, she refused to understand that Allison wasn’t a makeup gal.
“You’ll feel better once you clean up. Come on, get up.” Dorothy prodded at her and Allison sighed. She was right. All that ziti wasn’t going to deliver itself. “I borrowed a van from my dad’s company. Let’s go. Up and at ’em.”
“You know, I can’t understand why I wanted my own business,” groused Allie but she made her way to the tiny bathroom with her bag, hanging it on the back of the door and shucking her filthy clothes. Dorothy was right about that. She felt better just getting out of them. She opened the bag. Hell and buckets.
“Dot!”
“Yes, Allie?”
“What the hell is this?”
“What’s wrong? You don’t want to look good?” The quick reply told Allison that Dot had purposefully ignored her instructions. “You preferred a paper sack?” she asked. “Sweatpants and a do-rag maybe? Besides, black and white are traditional for wait staff, you want to present just the right image to your clientele.”
“Ugh. You’re a damn ad exec, what did I expect?” Allison pulled out the black skirt and white satin blouse. “What the hell am I going to do with this? I can’t work in a skirt!” She looked farther into the bag. “And why the hell did you bring this?” She pulled out the only thong she owned and fisted it. She thrust her hand around the bathroom door, peeked out and, not seeing her father, opened her hand, the little red scrap of lace and silk dangling from her fingers. Dorothy didn’t even blink, just pushed open the door and came in.
“That was the only decent underwear you had!”
Allison gaped at her. If that was her response, Allison now knew way too much about Dot. She looked into the bag. A beige underwire push-up bra sat there, undoubtedly the most uncomfortable device ever created. “Where’s my bra?”
“Allie,” Dorothy shook her head. “The underwire is out of every bra you own.”
“They’re wireless! Are you insane? Why do you think I have a million of them? Because that’s what I wear!” Allison could smell the cooking grease and garlic on everything she took off. She had no choice. She ripped off her sports bra and shoved her boobs into the torture device. All that was left in the bag was a washcloth and hand towel, some kind of department store face cream, her own hair pick and the most expensive makeup known to woman. “You’re certifiable,” she insisted, but then she looked over at Dorothy. Dot’s eyes betrayed her hurt feelings, her lipstick pink mouth drooped. Allie sighed. “I’m sorry. You did fine. And I really, really appreciate you bringing the van over on Christmas Eve.”
She washed her face and used the pick to tame her hair.
“Here.” Dorothy held out her hand. “I bought you this.” The slender fingers with their perfect manicure, opened, revealing a sparkling hair clip. Rhinestones, in shades of blue, glittered over the wings of a filigree butterfly. It was lovely, and Allison felt like a jerk. Again. Her rotten mouth got her into so much trouble. Dorothy’s expression softened. “It’s OK, Allie. I know you’re a tough cookie.” Dorothy took the pick and stepped behind Allison, pulling her hair back and twisting it together, creating a bit of style from the unruly mess, adding the pretty barrette. She pulled some strands loose, so they curled at Allison’s temple.
“Now get dressed, and don’t forget to use that makeup.”
“Thanks, Dot,” Allison said. “Thank you.”
A few minutes later, the moment of gratitude was good and gone. The damn bra was killing Allie, and the black skirt wasn’t even hers. She could hardly move in it. She waddled out of the bathroom, her feet stuffed, without stockings, into her one pair of black pumps. Of all the crazy things Dot had brought her, the shoes were the worst and Dot, of all people, should have known that. She had twelve hours more to go, and she was going to murder her roommate. Except Dot was already gone, of course.
“Your friend left,” announced her father. “She said she had to go to her family’s. She said it’s Christmas Eve.” Her father looked at her as if this was news. Had he forgotten what day it was? Through the window, she could see the white cargo van sitting at the curb, the keys on the counter. OK. She could do this. But first, she was going to need an apron. And her boots.
By three in the afternoon, dressed in work boots and with the skirt tugged up at the hips to give her some room, she’d managed to get the van loaded with all the items she needed to deliver. Marley had rushed through the door at two thirty and had helped finish getting the vehicle loaded. If nothing went wrong, and she stuck to her schedule, she could just barely get everything delivered by the promised times. She climbed back into the van and started checking the orders. What the heck? There were at least three that were incomplete. She hopped back out. In the kitchen, Marley was washing dishes.
“What are you doing?” Allie asked.
“What? I’m washing dishes.” Marley looked at her warily. Allison realized she hadn’t even asked her if Derrick had behaved himself dropping her off last night.
“Was everything OK last night?”
“What do you mean? I was exhausted. I told you that.” Marley sounded defensive.
“No, I mean construc, um, Derrick. He was OK?”
Marley made a face that basically meant it was a dumb question. “Of course he was. I know Derrick forever. He brought me home many times. He’s not my type. His friend though, Ben? That’s more my type.” Marley got a dreamy expression on her face.
Allison had no idea who Ben was, and she felt foolish for trying to act like a mother to a woman her own age. All of which, made her remember that the orders were wrong. “Three of the orders are missing their bread.” Marley’s eyes went round, and Allison knew, just knew, that all of the orders were missing bread.
“You mean I have to check every order to see if it needs bread?” Her head was pounding. She didn’t have time for this, she needed to be on the road.
“I’m sorry, Allie. I forgot the bread totally. I’m sorry. I’ll come with you and sort it out while you drive.’
“No, no. I don’t have time for this,” Allison said. A small part of her knew she needed to just be all right with this, to say thank you and have Marley come with her, but that part was bowled over by her bitch and control command center. “Forget it, Marley.”
Allison pushed past her helper and starting tossing the brown bags of rolls and Italian bread into a crate. The containers had been set behind their orders and weren’t labeled. She’d have to open every one of them. “You’ve done enough. Why don’t you just go home?” To her own ears, she sounded like a bitch. Again.
“Allison. Don’t be like that. Let me help you. It will go fast with the two of us.”
Allison shook her head, backing into the metal door, pushing it open. She looked at Marley. “That’s it. It’s Christmas. Go be with your family. I don’t want to have to pay you more anyway.”
Marley looked stunned, but Allison let her anger carry her out to the van. She tossed the bread into the back and shut the doors. Trudging back inside to change her shoes, she called to her dad.
“Get in the van, Dad,” she said. She pulled off her socks and boots.
“Why?”
“I have to go deliver the food, Dad. I need help,” she said.
“You don’t need any help,” he said. “You’re a big girl, you can do it.”
“Come on, Dad. Get in the van,” she commanded. “Let’s go.”
“Allie Girl, I told you I’m busy. I have a few more things to do in the office here before I can leave.” Her father turned and wen
t into the office. He sat down in his chair and picked up a book. Over the top of his glasses, he glared at her. “Go on now, you’ll be fine.”
Allison was stumped. Her father was retired, he didn’t have anything to do as far as she knew. On the other hand, this was how he’d spoken to her all her life, confident that she could handle her own shit, certain that she didn’t need help. She looked at her watch. She was fifteen minutes late. “I have to go, Dad.”
“That’s fine, Allison. You go ahead. I’ll be right here.”
Marley marched past the office and opened the front door of the shop with more force than was necessary. The bells above the door jangled crazily. Fine. Just fine. She’d do it all herself. She didn’t need any help. Allison followed Marley out, watching the woman head away briskly. She didn’t look back. Allison got in the van and slammed the door. Fine.
The rest of the day was a nightmare. There was just no other way to put it. She was worried about her father’s strange behavior and frustrated with herself for letting Marley leave. Stupid, stupid woman. When she thought that, she didn’t know if she was thinking of Marley or herself.
Both of us, she thought. Why didn’t I just let her come with me?
More than one reason, she supposed. On the one hand, she’d been pissed. Everything needed to be perfect, and she didn’t have time to be fixing stuff. But that wasn’t the only reason.
Allison checked the GPS and started circling the block, looking for a place to park. Other delivery people were double parking with their engines running, dashing into the buildings, dashing out again. Allison couldn’t bring herself to do that. This wasn’t her van. What if she blocked in someone who needed to get out? What if someone stole the van?
“Damn it!” she cried, banging her fist on the side of the van. Why had she told Marley to go? Why couldn’t her dad have just come with her?
There was nothing for it now. Allison had to get the food delivered and move on, or she would be late.
She grabbed up the first stack of pans and race-walked to her client’s door, ringing the buzzer, waiting forever to be let up, hurrying back to the van. Get out the brown paper bags of bread, plates, and forks and pile it all on top of the salads in trays. Lock the van, race down the street, her feet burning already. Race, rinse, repeat, all the while the sun sank lower, the sky darkening, people going about their celebrations.
Despite the rushing, part of her was glad Marley was home with her family. She was a single mom, and her little girl was only four. It was Christmas Eve; Marley had been getting ready for the holiday for a month. She should be with her daughter tonight. Allison rode the lift down after dropping off food to her fifth delivery. Blessed elevator. Her feet felt wretched, but at least she wasn’t pounding down ten flights of stairs. The bell gave a cheerful ding, the old doors slid open, and the view stopped her short.
The lobby had a dark, stone floor, the glass windows and doors looked out across the street to a cheerful storefront, mannequins displaying holiday dresses, elves and reindeer mixed with trees, gifts and pretty dresses. Between this building and that storefront, snow had started to fall, fat, white and soft. Allison walked out onto the avenue and looked at the beauty of the snowfall. Some things could bring you out of yourself and back into the present moment. Perfect snow on Christmas Eve was one of those things, she guessed. A horn blared from down the block and the moment passed. Snow or not, she had miles to go before she stopped.
A little jogging between the van and the customers, a few miraculous “keep the change” moments, and she was almost done. She pulled up to her last stop, over an hour late, the sky dark with no stars. There was nothing she could do but offer to give them a discount. She gathered up the order, set it on the walk so she could lock the van and limped to the building at the end of the block.
The address led to a brownstone with a small iron gate that was a bitch to open, particularly if you were afraid to get caught by the customer setting the food on the sidewalk. Allison balanced everything in one arm, against her left hip, and looked over the fence. The latch was a full foot below the top of the gate. She was going to have to turn sideways, changing the angle of her hand. Gingerly she felt for the metal clasp, heart lurching as the salad container slipped sideways, just a bit. She tried the latch again, moving it, but not far enough. Leaning a bit farther over the fence did the trick, and the lock released, causing her to take an unexpected step to the right as the gate swung in. The salad slid farther and tipped, balancing just enough for Allison to reach for it. The container fell, Allison triumphantly catching it in mid-air, only to hear a sickening splat as the chicken marsala tipped and fell to the walk, brown gravy splattering, the whole pan upside down. A cold sweat washed over her. Her customer was having a Christmas party tonight, and all she had for them was salad and lasagna. Where would she get five pounds of chicken at eight thirty on Christmas Eve? She was staring at the pan of food when the door behind her opened, light spilling out and illuminating the mess on the owner’s walkway.
“Who are you?” the man called out. “Are you the caterer? ’Cause you are one very late person.” He didn’t sound like the forgiving type. Allison straightened her shoulders and turned. The man in the doorway was impeccably dressed in slim-fitting slacks and a button-down, his hair coiffed perfectly. His expression wasn’t exactly sympathetic.
“I’m Allison from Allison’s Kitchen. Are you Mark Culter?”
“Yes. Did you drop the food?” His voice rose a notch.
There was only one way to answer the question.
“I did, and I’m very sorry.” Allison turned her back on the chicken, carrying the rest of the food to the door. “I’m not going to be able to fix this as fast as I would like or as fast as you deserve. I’d like to explain the options I can offer.”
“So, what’s left?” he asked, getting straight to the point.
“I’m so sorry. I have the lasagna, the salad, and the utensils,” Allison felt her chest constrict. Why hadn’t she been more careful? Or made two trips? “I only have a couple of things I can do. I can return to the shop, cook up more chicken, but you couldn’t receive it until ten thirty.” Judging by the face the man made, that wasn’t going to be his choice.
“We can’t use the food that late,” he said. “Don’t you have some other option?”
“I have a tray of eggplant parm at the shop, I wouldn’t charge you for it, and that could be here in an hour, but you’ll still need to heat it,” Allison said. She hurried to her last and best, option. “Or I can offer my apologies, give you the food that is here for free and give you a note for fifty percent off an order of similar size in the future.”
“You think I’m going to order from you again?”
“I’m going to make amends to the extent that I can,” Allison said, her gut churning. “So you want to just take what’s here and leave it at that?”
“We’ll go with that,” Mark said. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” His expression was severe but calm. The man’s low drama displeasure hit her hard. She’d screwed up, and it had put a dent in his holiday plans. She felt terrible.
Shaking her head, she agreed with him. He took the food from her, and she returned to the van to write out the fifty percent discount note and grab a water bottle and a garbage bag to put the chicken in.
She cleaned up as best she could, using the water to sluice some of the gravy off, returning to the van again. Her limp was very pronounced now, and her feet were absolutely murdering her. She’d been up for over thirty-six hours, she’d screwed up one of her busiest nights and lost an entire order’s profits. Now, she just wanted to get home. She put the van in reverse, happy that there were no cars behind her. The van backed up, and Allison was rewarded with a jolt, followed by a crunching sound.
Chapter 5
It was Christmas Eve, and it was getting late. Derrick found his mother back by the pool tables.
“Mom, you and Dad should probably head out. You taking Grandma
and Poppie with you?” He looked at his mom expectantly. She glanced at her parents.
“They do look tired, don’t they? Yes, they’re coming with us. Tomorrow’s Christmas, I want them there when I wake up.” Marie reached up touched his face. “I would like my son there, too.”
He nodded. “I’ll stop over tomorrow.”
“Are you going to close up, Derry?” She put her hand on his cheek like he was a boy.
“Yeah, Soph will help me. You go get ready for tomorrow.” He didn’t tease her about the fact that Tessa, his parent’s cook, and housekeeper, did all the real work at Marie’s house. He just smiled at her and let her get the joke if she chose to.
“I know what you’re thinking,” his mom answered, “and you’re very fresh.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “OK, it’s time.” She left to gather up Rose and Angelo. He followed, saying as he passed by her, “Make sure you take Dad, too.” He headed into the kitchen and told the staff to go home. Some of them fussed about leaving stuff for him to do but he raised his hands. “I can outwork you all. Go home. Merry Christmas.” That started a round of good-natured joking and teasing. Some of the waitresses headed to the bar and got one for the road. Derrick put on an apron and finished the last of the cleanup. By the time he’d completed the cleaning and brought out some fruit for his sister to restock the bar, the place had cleared out. His family was gone, the pool tables and dart boards shrouded in darkness. Only Sophie and two of the neighborhood regulars remained.
Derrick emptied the garbage from behind the bar, stuffed the bag into the giant can in the kitchen and carried the massive sack out to the dumpster. As he approached, he caught an unusual smell, like something burning. At first, he thought it might be electrical, that a wire was shorting, but then he realized it was coming from the other side of Allison’s Kitchen’s back door. Hurrying inside, he pulled down Rose’s keys from the hook by the sink and rushed out front, calling to Sophie that he’d be right back. What could be burning? By now, Allison should be home with her family, doing whatever she did on Christmas Eve. He stepped out into the freezing December night, walked the few steps to her door and opened it. There was a light on in the office.