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Eternally 21: A Mrs. Frugalicious Shopping Mystery © 2013 by Linda Joffe Hull.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First e-book edition © 2013
E-book ISBN: 9780738735269
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Cover design by Lisa Novak
Cover illustration © Carolyn Hurter
Editing by Nicole Nugent
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ONE
I DIDN’T THINK THINGS could get much more for worse than the night my husband came home looking like his usual tall, dark, and handsome self but wearing a very unusual shade of I’m-really-sorry-but-I-lost-everything-in-a-Ponzi-scheme. Suffice it to say, the news was shocking, distressing, mortifying, terrifying, and any number of other disaster-related -ings. Given my husband happens to be Channel Three’s wealth-management guru, it was also potentially career ending.
After all, who would watch his show, Frank Finance, if Frank “Finance” Michaels was broke?
I needed to help make ends meet, but there was no out-of-the-way bar where I could cocktail waitress in guaranteed anonymity. Not one where I was sure my husband’s face wouldn’t appear on the corner TV. Besides, Frank had to let his personal assistant go, so I stepped in at a salary of hopefully we’ll be able to keep the house.
Under strict gag orders about our financial bind and obligated to keep up the appearance of what was suddenly our former lifestyle, I did what any resourceful, close to middle-age, stay-at-home mom with a computer would do—after I finished crying and had consumed all the Rocky Road, Doritos, and Girl Scout cookies in the house: Welcome to www.mrsfrugalicious.com, the website devoted to all things savings!
Four months had passed since I posted those words, and, I—Mrs. Frugalicious, AKA Mrs. Frank Finance, AKA Maddie Michaels—still felt a little thrill.
Okay, a big thrill.
I expected my savers’ website to get a little traffic while I transformed from a high-end shopping enthusiast to a bargain-hunting maven to help save our family from the financial Grim Reaper. And to cheer myself up a bit, making saving a game instead of deprivation.
What I got was a traffic jam.
I had over two thousand hits on the website by the end of the first month. I’d broken even by the second month, thanks to my first advertiser, Botox4Less. I was even making a small profit by the end of the third month. Best of all, I had followers who posted valuable pearls of savings wisdom on a daily basis:
Butter is easily freezable, and its price drops significantly during the holiday season. Stock up while prices are down. —Janie B.
Shop for airline tickets from Tuesday afternoon to Thursday for the best pricing. —Lisa L.
Put your business card in the fishbowl. Can’t win if you don’t play! —Tammi S.
Just as I tried out each and every tip that came in, my growing Frugarmy, as I’d taken to calling them, looked to my secret alter ego to help them find the best budget-busting solutions:
I’m a single mom and my job’s getting outsourced. I need to get my holiday shopping done for my fashion-obsessed teenage girls while I can. Can you please help me find the very best deals for juniors? —Karen B.
Which brought me to the South Highlands Valley Mall. I reached into my car’s center console, now transformed into a mobile coupon file cabinet, and pulled out a subsection entitled Mall Stores. I tucked it into my purse. Making sure I had a note pad and my cell phone, I opened the door and relished the stifling, exhaust-filled blast of blistering summer parking lot air. That I could parlay my passion for shopping into a budget Band-Aid for my family and a helpful resource for people like Karen B. made the cool rush of mall air-conditioning and heady aroma of crisp, new merchandise all the more heavenly.
I did my best to ignore my stomach, which I swear grumbled Cinnabon the second I spotted the frosted delights behind the strategically placed display case. I’d lost a few of the pounds I’d put on trying to eat away Frank’s ominous admission by enrolling in the fitness program I’d won (thanks to Tammi S. and her fishbowl suggestion) at the mall-adjacent gym. Despite constant soreness from my new workout routine and a strict regimen of Bye Bye Fat energy-and metabolism-boosting capsules with every meal, my trainer, Chelsea, wouldn’t go for the muscle-weighs-more-than-fat excuse. Splurging at full price and fuller caloric value was out of the question: no Cinnabon for me.
Smiling like mall royalty and happily high on not giving into the butter and sugar craving, I strolled down the mountain lodge–themed corridor. I crossed the bridge spanning a rock-lined faux stream and entered an elevator designed to look like it came from a very upscale mine shaft.
With the holidays just around the corner and shopping to be done, not only for our kids, but for the nieces and nephews, all of whom were used to getting generous gift cards1 we could no longer afford, Karen B.’s inquiry sent me on a Junior’s reconnaissance frenzy. I researched every store from Abercrombie to Zumiez, searched for online coupons, checked smartphone apps, and made a spreadsheet of all the back to school specials. Taking into consideration price, percent discounts, label appeal, and the vagaries of teen fashion, I narrowed the list to the one store that offered up-to-the-minute style at the lowest price.
“Welcome to Eternally 21,” a perky blond wearing a zebra-print dress, black Fedora, and a wrist full of bangle bracelets said as I entered.
“Good morning,” I said, returning her smile.
“Can I help you find anything?” An attractive, size-0 Asian girl, decked out in a lace skirt, off-the-shoulder top, thigh-high socks, and platforms asked as I neared a rounder of tops.
Armed with a two-for-one coupon, a 20%-off entire purchase offer, and a free gift with purchase, I was on a mission to find at least six special somethings and mark all six nieces off my shopping list at less than twenty dollars per girl.
“I think I’m good.”
Once I saw how many racks had the word SALE on them, I was so good that titles for the blog post
began to pop into my head in time with the techno beat of the store’s soundtrack: Shop Back to School for a Cool Yule. ’Tis the Season to be Teen Shopping.
There was also Eloise, my twenty-year-old stepdaughter, to think about. The ski jacket or I-Whatever she had to have when college let out for winter break was out of the question this year. But as I began to sift through the racks of tanks, plaids, tunics, and mini skirts as well as jeans and dresses—all priced at less than $20 even before any discount—I found any number of great alternatives. I was downright excited when I calculated what a faux-fur cropped blazer, originally priced at $39.99 and marked down 30%, would be after I presented my coupon for another 20% off and combined it with a buy-one-get-one-half-off on a chunky knit sweater.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?” asked thigh-high socks—Assistant Manager Tara Hu, according to her nametag.
“I’m doing great,” I said.
And I was.
I’d always appreciated the word sale but used to dread actual bargain shopping. In fact, I thought of coupon-clipping housewives as poor souls forced to scrounge for deals to make ends meet.
And then, without warning, I became one of them.
In the midst of a miserable, days-long junk-food-devouring, rerun-watching pity party, I chanced upon a particularly convincing infomercial about a coupon organization system and had that psyche-saving “a-ha” moment. Unlike me, the women on the commercial looked happy. Blissful even, like they loved saving as much as I’d relished paying full retail.
I couldn’t spring for the organizer (a steal at two payments of $19.99 with a bonus free mini filing cabinet), but the idea led me to my computer and an endless supply of coupons, daily deals, discount outlets, and online saving tips. Which in turn led me to start the Mrs. Frugalicious website. The plan: to help myself and other financially strapped former full-price shoppers learn to organize, share, reap, and sow deals like ones I was currently finding at Eternally 21.
I grabbed the blazer, sweater, and a particularly adorable peasant top. I headed toward a section brimming with belts, socks, handbags, jewelry, and the most joyous of signage: ALL ACCESSORIES FIFTY PERCENT OFF.
My teen fashion foray was not only going to be fruitful for me, it had the hallmarks of one of the super finds I’d coined a Frugasm.
Giddy, I put the clothing on a table beside the jewelry display. I left my purse in easy reach to jot notes for the blog already writing itself in my head and began to pick and price gifts. If my calculations were correct, a $9.99 pair of earrings, marked 50% off were approximately $5.00. Another 20% off made them $4.00. Combined with another of my buy-one-get-one-free-of-equal-or-lesser-value coupons and …
“I can’t believe this.” I looked up to see a woman—tacky-glamorous in a way only the manager of a busy Juniors store in the Denver Metro area could hope to pull off—appear from behind a door not ten feet from me. A phone was pressed to her ear. “Tell me this isn’t happening … ”
I set aside some silver cuff bracelets that were sure to be a hit with Frank’s nieces, all of whom favored big, chunky accessories.
“Future?” her voice was husky with impending tears. “What future?”
Although the woman’s conversation was undoubtedly work related, her words left me with an eerie sense of déjà vu.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Frank had said when he broke the devastating news. “I golfed with the guy. He sent monthly statements showing eight to twenty percent returns. I approved the stocks myself … ” He’d dropped his head into his hands. “Futures. What futures?”
I tried to shake off that sick twinge by giving the woman a sympathetic smile. I put the bracelets, a necklace, and a matching pair of earrings beside my purse. Then, I reached inside and jotted a note. While I was at it, I grabbed my phone and Tweeted, Later today @mrsfrugalicious.com—Halve your Holiday Hassle by Hitting the Back to School Sales.
The salesgirl in zebra print joined the woman at a table piled high with multicolored, floral, metallic graphic tees and whispered in her ear.
“Gotta go,” she said, hung up the phone, seemed to look in my direction, and yelled for the assistant manager. “Tara?”
Despite her sky-high shoes, Tara clomped across the store at lightning speed.
Their voices dropped to a heated whisper.
“I was straightening V-necks,” Tara said.
“But not paying any attention to what’s going on around here?”
“I just left the jewelry section.”
The manager keyed another number into her phone. “You should have stayed nearby.”
“She said she didn’t need … ”
Before I could look around to see who she might be, the woman pointed directly at me.
Everything, including the music seemed to stop. Everyone from the sales clerks to the other shoppers turned in my direction.
I slumped behind a rack of tights. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” she said, her tone more than a touch shrill.
Blotches of heat rose in my cheeks.
“What exactly are you doing?”
“Picking out jewelry.” Even though I tried to maintain an aura of well-heeled—which, luckily, I could still pull off thanks to last year’s Kate Spade flats and the Joe’s label on my fat jeans—there was no shame in partaking in a particularly attractive savings opportunity. “I have a couple of coupons including a two-for-one I’m trying to figure out how to double up on.”
“Coupons can’t be combined,” she said.
I smiled despite her unexpected snarky attitude. “I read the fine print twice, and I didn’t see an exclusion about combining.”
“Policy change. Effective last Monday,” she said. “And the two-for-one is only on full-price items.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, particularly for my blog post, which was losing Frugasm status by the second. “There’s so much cute jewelry.”
She raised a heavily plucked eyebrow. “Is that what you dropped into that Coach bag of yours?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
It was one thing for someone to insinuate I was too slow to keep up on ever-changing coupon and promotion policies; it was quite another to accuse me, loudly, of being a shoplifter. “I did nothing of the sort.”
“Word is, you do it a lot.”
“What?”
“I know who you are.”
No one knew I was Mrs. Frugalicious, not even my husband, whose bruised ego couldn’t take any more of a beating. I’d spent enough time at the South Highlands Valley Mall, however, that some people had to know me as Mrs. Frank Finance, even in stores I barely frequented. “I see.”
“My friend at Nordstrom was just talking about how blatant you’ve gotten.”
“Blatant?” I hadn’t been to Nordstrom in months and instantly missed the pure civility of the place. “I think you must have me confused with someone else.”
“Right.” A moment later the woman—Laila DeSimone, and indeed the manager—was standing so close I recognized her perfume as JLo, her diamond ankle bracelet as costume, and that despite the beauty of her dark, shiny mane, hair-washing day was overdue. “Open your purse, then.”
I couldn’t. Not without risking she’d see the word FRUGASM I’d written in bold letters on the notes I’d jotted. Which she must have seen me do and assumed I was shoplifting. Figuring out I was Mrs. Frank Finance might be a touch embarrassing, but it was unthinkable for her to find out I was the mysterious bargain hunter who, via blog, admitted such damning statements as:
My name is Mrs. Frugalicious.
I live to shop.
Lived, I should say, because my husband, Mr. F., as I will henceforth lovingly refer to him, recently announced we had a little problem.
By little, he meant agonizing, awful, and life-alteringly big.
He’d lost our nest egg in a bad investment—as in a totally legitimate, no chance of failure, Bernie Madoff–style, Po
nzi scheme.
If Laila got wind of who else I was and word spread through the mall, the current state of the Michaels family finances would not only make the evening news, but my husband’s show would be yanked before I could explain what I’d secretly been doing to help balance our budget.
“I was marking something on my list. Not stealing.”
Laila towered over me. “That’s what I figured you’d say.”
I’ve never been at risk of being asked to compete on America’s Next Top Model, but I manage to hold my own in a (recently more) pear-shaped, medium height, no longer naturally blond way. Standing next to slim, stylish Laila, however, I felt like I might as well have Guilty Frump written in Sharpie across my forehead. When small, willowy Tara Hu joined her and the salesgirl, I wanted to crawl into a size large hole and disappear.
“You saw her drop merchandise into her purse, right Hailey?”
“I saw something … ” Hailey, the zebra-print clad salesgirl said. “Not sure if—”
“It always happens right by the jewelry,” Laila said.
“You don’t understand.” My voice wavered. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted that my fellow shoppers didn’t look like they understood either. “I—”
“Save the sob story for him.” Laila pointed behind me.
I turned and looked into the hazel eyes of the man I’d always thought of as Big Oaf Security Dude. I was aware and usually somewhat comforted by his youthful yet imposing presence, although I’d never had occasion to pay him any more mind than to notice his Mountie-style hat and stocky but not unpleasant physique as he mall-walked his beat.
“You can’t be serious,” I said.
“I’m dead serious,” Laila said.
“You’re going to pay for this,” I said.
“So are you,” she crowed.
Before I could say anything more, a set of meaty paws grasped both my purse and my arm. “Is this her?”
“Shoplifters!” Laila exhaled dramatically. “Drives me out of my freaking mind when they’re too old to be wearing anything they try to steal from here, anyway.”
At least she hadn’t said too fat.
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