Tough Going (Tough Love Book 2)

by Trixie More

  “I’m fine,” he whispered. The fingers of his hand spread wide on Allison’s hip. “I’m fine.” It was all over. He was here, and he was alive and would be fine. It was all over for her too. She felt her heart going, she could practically see it opening wide for the man lying beside her. He was handsome, he was vital, rugged and kind. He was precisely the kind of man that a woman like her could never have, might attract briefly and then lose again and yet, nothing she did drove him away. He was hers for now. She dreaded the day when he would leave her, but she wasn’t going to walk away from him. There was only one thing left for a woman like her to do. If her heart and soul were stacks of poker chips on a green felt table, then what she was doing now was the equivalent of pushing the whole pile into the pot. She was all in.

  Chapter 15

  Derrick and Allie emerged from the bedroom about a half hour later to find Ben sitting in the living room, watching the Knicks play the Cavaliers, a bottle of Budweiser in his hand. It felt different, Allie’s hand in his as he led her down the hall, like no other woman he’d had here. Ben looked at Allie, raised his eyebrows, but spoke to Derrick. “I didn’t ask you, how’s your neck?”

  “Better,” Derrick answered. “Allison brought me dinner, got me fixed up. She bought the shop my grandparents split off. Guess she came over to nurse me back to health.” He smiled at her and kissed the top of her head.

  “We just ate, but I have more—steak and fries,” Allie offered.

  “Thanks,” Ben said. Derrick could see he was struggling to be civil.

  “You want to talk about George?” Derrick asked.

  “Not yet.” Ben looked at Allie. “I’d love some food. You’ll have to excuse me, my brother got beat up pretty bad.” He looked at Derrick. “I’m not myself.”

  Allie seemed to accept that because she answered Ben kindly. “You must be very worried. I’ll fix you a plate.” With that, Derrick felt her warm hand slide out of his and watched her buoyant ass retreat to the kitchen area. Something in the kitchen must have irked her because, with each minute, he could feel her bossiness coming back. Derrick sat by the counter.

  “You really look upset, Ben. Is George as bad off as Derrick?” she asked as she looked around. “Oven mitts?

  “First drawer to the left of the oven,” Derrick answered. “George is way worse,” he said. He came around the counter and started moving their dishes to the sink, rinsing them and putting in the dishwasher. “How long can you stay?”

  “Marley’s closing.” She looked down. “It hasn’t been that busy.”

  Derrick felt his stomach clench. She needed money. George needed money. Although Derrick made a reasonably good living, it was nothing compared to what his dad earned. Renovating the loft had run both him and Ben quite a bit of cash, and he didn’t have enough to help both Allie and George. Allison probably needed less. Helping her was possible. George would be harder, but his grandfather would knock his head off if he handed this woman a wad of cash to basically turn around and hand it over to Angelo. Plus, any money he gave her would be a losing bet most likely. Still, it was hard not to offer. It was also hard not to try to help George. Frankly, if Allie went under, she would survive. The next time George missed a payment, his wife might wind up a widow. Frustrated, he blew out a breath.

  “So what does that mean?” he asked, returning to the topic at hand.

  “It means I can stay as long as you need but it’s not likely to happen again. I’m going to have to cut Marley’s hours if I can’t drum up more business.”

  Derrick thought about that. “Did you ask my grandfather for help?”

  “With money?”

  “No, did you ask him for advice on how to solve your problem, how to get more business?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Do you think Angelo would help me?”

  “Why not? If you do well, you can pay him.” Her expression was priceless. It was as if he’d told her there was a helicopter on the roof she could borrow. If anyone knew how to make a living selling food in Manhattan, it was his grandparents. “Ask him, ask Rose too.” He closed the dishwasher, tucked a strand of curls behind her ear. “Do you want me to do it?” He watched a wistful expression cross her face and then she tucked it away, just as he had tucked away the strand of hair.

  “No, no. I’ll take care of it,” Allison said. To Ben, she called, “Are you eating there or at the counter?”

  “Counter,” Ben said.

  “Did they get away with much from your brother?” Allie asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Ben answered. He looked at Derrick.

  “Allie, Ben’s brother, owes money to a loan shark.” Derrick watched her mouth become a quiet “O.”

  She came around and settled on a barstool. “And that’s who beat him up?”

  “We don’t know for sure …” Derrick began.

  “Oh, we know,” said Ben scowling at his steak. “George admitted it tonight when I stopped by there.”

  “He knows who it was?” Allison asked.

  “Sure, but right now, he’s not saying. He’ll wait until something worse happens.” Ben sawed at his steak, frustration, and concern evident on his face. A cheerful melody interrupted them, causing Allison to hurry around to her bags in the kitchen.

  “My phone,” she explained and then picked up the device. “Hello?”

  Derrick watched as her face settled into severe lines, her eyebrows drawn together.

  “Sure,” she paused. “Absolutely. So, you’ve got him?” She nodded. “OK, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Allison hung up. She looked up at Derrick, regret on her face. “Looks like the little break is over. It’s probably for the best.” She gave him a thin smile, raising on her tiptoes and kissing him, whispering in his ear. “You’ll have to make me cry later, big guy.”

  Disappointed, and also just a bit relieved, that’s what he felt. After all, he was exhausted, and he was going to have to tell this woman it was spooning or bust, so there was that. Spooning would have been nice though. “What’s going on? Who was that?”

  “That was Dot. She has my dad in her father’s van, and she’s headed for the apartment. Apparently, the person the service found to work tonight had to bail out.” Allison held up her phone, her mouth twisted in displeasure. “I left my phone out here, and they couldn’t reach me, so they called her. She’s my alternate.”

  “Dot?”

  “Dorothy. She’s my roommate. She’s the one whose ass you watched leave my kitchen the other day.” Allison pressed her lips together and gave him a fake smile. “Blonde? Dressed up? High heels?”

  “Oh!”

  Allison rolled her eyes. Was she jealous? Derrick couldn’t quite keep the smile inside. Then her words sunk in.

  “Wait, what about your mom? Why isn’t she the alternate?”

  “My mother is somewhere in the Southwest, most likely in New Mexico. I normally find out about a month after Christmas where she is when the holiday card arrives.” Allison sounded bitter and cold as she answered, daring him with her voice to ask her something else. He wasn’t scared.

  “Siblings? Grandparents?”

  “Nope.”

  “Aunts? Uncles?”

  “Both of my parents and I are only children. I don’t recommend that onlys marry each other.” She was bustling around the kitchen, putting all her pans and gear into her shopping bag. She came around the counter and stood before him. Her face softened. Derrick had come to understand this meant she was actually in the moment with him, actually seeing him. “You need your rest. I had a nice time.” She hurried down his hallway, and came back moments later, dressed in her wrinkled and slightly damp clothes, fluffing her hair out around her.

  He walked her to the door. “Thank you,” he said. “I didn’t know I needed all that … caretaking. I feel much better though.” He kissed her. His mind offered him an observation he wasn’t sure how to handle. Allison might be an only, but he certainly was not.

  It was eight o’clock when Al
lison arrived at the apartment building. She unlocked her door and stepped into the familiar space, the shoe rack overflowing with colorful heels and sparkling flats, the light mellow against the pale-yellow walls. From the kitchen at the end of the hall, light bloomed and quiet voices, the sound of her de facto family of two, drifted toward her. Reality, all of it at once, made her time with Derrick at his magnificent loft, seem like a dream, a wonderful fairy tale she’d told herself about how her life might be carefree and full of finding a husband and making a life that didn’t come with such a tremendous load of work attached to it. It made her want to run back to him and try to get back the high of being with him. The thought hit her hard. How much did she really know about him? She’d thought she was all in, but what if she was just using him as an escape? What if it was the dream, not the man, that drew her? Ugh. Ugly thoughts, terrible to contemplate, but possible. She knew herself. She didn’t get the fairy tale, she got KP duty.

  “Is that you, Allie?” Dorothy’s voice called to her and Allison followed it to find her roommate sitting cross-legged in one of the fifties style aluminum chairs, her father, his hair askew, propped in another. Coffee cups and a box of chocolate chip cookies littered the table.

  “Allie Girl.” Her father’s face lit up, a smile emerging between the deep dimples on either side of his face. He put a palm on the table in an attempt to lever himself to a standing position. She thought about telling him not to bother, but he was halfway to upright, so she let it go, opting instead to give him a hug.

  “How are you, Dad?”

  “Terrific. This young lady has been telling me all about your restaurant.” Dread pooled in Allison’s gut. She glanced at Dorothy. Her blue-green eyes confirmed Allison’s suspicions.

  “Dad?” She pointed to Dot. “Have you met my roommate?”

  Worry flashed across her father’s face. “Well, she gave me a ride here, and she’s been keeping me company.” He offered a small smile.

  “Have you been introduced?” The question seemed to put him at ease, and Allie suspected it was because it gave him a way to explain not knowing Dot’s name.

  “No, we haven’t. I’m sorry, young lady. I’ve been so busy gabbing, I didn’t get your name.” He offered Dot his hand. “I’m Harry Walton.”

  “Dorothy Johansen.” Dot shook Harry’s hand all the while making wide eyes at Allie. No more Uber rides, no more living alone for her father. Suddenly Allison felt very, very old.

  After they finished their coffee and Allison had settled her father in her bedroom, making up the living room couch for herself, she and Dot discussed the situation. Allison didn’t want to put him in a nursing home, and the cost of around the clock care would soon be too much.

  “I think I have to sell Allison’s Kitchen,” Allison stood from the table, taking the mismatched coffee cups to the sink, running the hot water.

  “You’re kidding,” Dorothy said flatly.

  “No, I’m not,” Allison said. “With all that’s happening, I can’t pay back the money of my dad’s that I used, I’m behind on my mortgage, and I don’t have a clue how to manage …” she waved her hand toward the hallway, soap bubbles flying from her fingertips.

  “Can you actually sell the business if it’s not making money?” Dorothy’s brow was furrowed, her expression tight. “’Cause, I’m not thinking you can.”

  “I can’t take a second job, what will I do with my dad?”

  “You know, the only answer is for you to make more money.”

  From the mouth of rich people, Allison thought. “Well damn, Dot, I’d never thought of that.”

  Dorothy’s thin face turned stubborn. “Well damn, Allie. It sure doesn’t look like you’re trying to.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Dorothy gestured toward the window by the table, which Allison assumed was supposed to indicate the rest of the entire world. “You need to sell food to people, and you need to make money, right?”

  “Screw you, Dot.”

  “Hey, watch it,” Dot retorted. “My parents are self-made people. They didn’t get where they are just waking up with a great last name.” An expression Allison couldn’t name flitted across Dorothy’s face, something that looked like guilt or shame and then it was gone. “My dad sells real estate, right?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Well you don’t see him selling it in some backwater town where the prices are depressed, and you don’t see him trying to sell to people who live paycheck to paycheck.”

  “So what?”

  “So, you’re trying to make money selling ziti to people who live near your shop. You’re never going to sell enough for a high enough price.”

  “And hello, I have my new corporate clients. Bagels and fruit.”

  Dorothy nodded. “Those are good, but you need more. You have to sell lobster bisque to people who have a lot of cash.” Dorothy got up and did a lap around the living room, her voice muffled as she wandered, getting louder as she headed back. She made another loop, her energy and excitement threading a dangerous loop of hope around Allison’s heart. “People aren’t actually buying food from you anyway.”

  “What? Then what am I doing cooking every day?

  “That’s what I’m asking myself,” Dot said, a cheeky smile on her face. “See, they’re buying the ability to not cook from you. That’s what you have to sell. The not cooking, the not setting up, the not decorating, the not cleaning up and the not putting away.” Dot took another lap around the apartment, her enthusiasm palpable, this time returning from the hallway to the kitchen. “And that’s not really what they’re buying either!” She stopped, hands on her hips, elbows jutting to the sides, her grin happy and satisfied. “See! Tell me, Allison! Tell me what they’re buying if it’s not food and it’s not freedom from setting up and decorating.” Dorothy’s eyebrows rose, her eyes expectant, like some kind of giddy golden retriever, looking at Allison as if she expected her to throw a tennis ball.

  “What?” Allison said, rinsing the cups and drying them. Meticulously putting each one away, carefully refusing to get excited. “Why don’t you tell me?” She felt a little twinge when Dorothy’s face fell, but the golden-haired rich kid didn’t stay down long. You had to hand it to rich people.

  “Allison! You’re selling them the ability to enjoy their families and friends. Don’t you get it? You have to advertise. You have to market your business as time with friends and family, free from the drudgery of actually doing the work of throwing the party. You need to sell the idea that if people want to be surrounded by friends and loved ones, they need to have celebrations and if they want to enjoy those celebrations, they need to call you!” Allison turned, leaning her hip against the sink and Dorothy came up and gave her a cheerful poke on the shoulder. “And you need to sell that idea to people with buckets of money!”

  Derrick listened to Allison’s boots pounding down the stairs before he turned back inside the loft, locking the door behind him. Ben was on the worn gray couch now, his feet on the glass coffee table, another beer in his paw. Derrick grabbed one of his own and sat in his recliner, letting out a sigh as he put up his feet and the pressure came off of his back.

  “When’s the next payment and how much is it?”

  “He has to at least pay the interest.”

  OK, so if the loan was for twenty G, what’s the interest?

  “Seventy-one grand plus seventeen and a half percent.”

  “Something like ,eighty-seven grand, in two weeks to stay even and one hundred and seven thousand to be free?”

  Ben shrugged. “If you say so. You’re the brainiac.” Ben took a pull from his beer. Derrick knew what was coming. When Ben was confronted with certain types of problems, he tended to get nasty. “Not that you use the brain God gave you.”

  And there it was. Tonight, they were going to go down that well-worn pathway. Derrick crossed his arms over his chest and remained silent, directing his attention to the TV. He for sure didn
’t need to actually listen to Ben. He could recite the whole liturgy of the Failures of Derrick. He loved Ben like a brother, but he wasn’t sure how much longer they could live together.

  “Sure. Don’t say anything. You know I’ll start this, and I’ll finish it,” Ben snarled.

  “You sure you want to go there?” Derrick said. “Be careful.” It occurred to him this might be the first time he’d warned Ben off. Allison must be wearing off on him. To his surprise, that seemed to shut Ben up. Go figure.

  Ben tipped the bottle back.

  “Focus on the real problem. George has to pay the money and be done,” Derrick said.

  “It’s not right.”

  “You want to what? Report this to the police, start a sting operation? You think George and Debra should go through that?”

  Ben launched himself off the sofa and stalked to the windows, his sandy hair picking up neon highlights from the world outside.

  “Think about it,” Derrick said. “We do that, and all of a sudden you can’t stand by the windows anymore.”

  “Then we brick them up.”

  “Seriously?” Derrick put down the footrest, wincing at the pain it caused as he sat up straighter. Either Allison’s comfort was wearing off, or he was paying the price for their acrobatics. “Are you seriously considering launching a war against whoever the hell lent him that money? Without knowing who that someone is?”

  “It’s not right!”

  “George has kids!” Derrick stood up, vaguely worried Ben might take a swing at him. He hadn’t seen his friend this angry in years. “Besides, it’s not our decision. What does George say?”

  “He’s leaving.”