“First we must come up with a catchy name for the calendar,” Birdie said, folding her hands on her lap. “Does anyone have any suggestions?”
“‘Birthday Suit Biddies’?” Attalee offered.
“Certainly not,” Mrs. Tobias said, flinging her pen down. “Attalee, please do not participate in this discussion unless you can exercise decorum.”
“There goes ‘Lusty Busty Broads,’” Attalee said with a sad shake of her head.
As the women conversed, Hank Bryson unexpectedly poked his head around the corner. He wore paint-splattered overalls and held a fishing cap in his hand. “Hey there, Bottom Dollar girls. I saw the ‘closed’ sign, but I was wondering if—”
“Hank!” Mavis screeched. She unconsciously covered her chest with her hands. Mrs. Tobias dropped her notepad.
Hank read the flustered looks of all the women present and backed toward the exit. “I’m sorry. I see that I’m interrupting. I’ll just let myself out.”
“As I was saying—” Birdie began after Hank left.
“‘Bottom Dollar Girls,’” Chenille said, suddenly. “That’s what you should call yourselves. And you can have all your photographs taken right here at the Bottom Dollar Emporium. Behind the soda fountain, kneeling over the candy barrels—there’s dozens of different possibilities.”
Mavis cocked her head in thought. “I love it,” she announced after a beat.
“It does have a certain panache,” Mrs. Tobias said, toying with the top button of her blouse. “You don’t suppose the ‘bottom’ part is a shade too naughty?”
“Maybe,” Birdie said with a smile. “But it fits us to a tee. Congratulations, Chenille, for coming up with not only the name but the theme of our calendar.” She glanced at her legal pad. “Finding a suitable photographer is the next item on the agenda.”
“We want to look like a pack of glamour-pusses,” Attalee said.
“Sepia tones, I think,” Mrs. Tobias added. “There should be a lovely, muted feel.”
“Lots of airbrushing and retouching.” Mavis nodded. “Like they do for the celebrities.”
Glenda whimpered in her sleep and Elizabeth rose to check on her. “Birdie, you take great pictures for the Crier,” she said over her shoulder. “Why don’t you be our official photographer?”
“I’d like to, Elizabeth, but my hand isn’t as steady as it used to be,” Birdie said. “Last week I took a picture of the mayor and sheared off his forehead. Besides, who would take my pictures for the calendar?”
“How about Chiffon?” Chenille blurted out. “She’s a talented photographer. She even won prizes for it in high school.”
“That was a long time ago,” Chiffon said quickly. “I haven’t looked through a viewfinder in ages.”
Elizabeth jiggled Glenda against her chest. “You’d be perfect, Chiffon. The women would feel comfortable around you, and we wouldn’t have to bring in a stranger.”
“I don’t even have a camera anymore,” Chiffon said.
“You can use mine,” Birdie said.
“Chiffon can also do everyone’s makeup and hair before the shooting,” Chenille added. “She was on the pageant circuit for years, so she knows lots of beauty secrets.”
“It’s settled,” Birdie said. “Make a note in the minutes that Chiffon Butrell is the official photographer and stylist for the Bottom Dollar Girl Calendar Project.”
Mrs. Tobias completed the minutes with a flourish. “We’re certainly lucky to have two such talented sisters in our midst,” she said. Everyone echoed her sentiments.
Chiffon couldn’t believe it. A couple of minutes ago she’d felt as useless as a pothole, and now she was practically running the whole show. She glanced at her sister, who tossed her an exaggerated wink.
Eighteen
Marriage is a three-ring circus:
engagement ring, wedding ring and suffering.
~ Sign outside a divorce lawyer’s office
After the meeting, Elizabeth invited the two sisters out to the Chat ‘N’ Chew for lunch, but Chenille declined.
“You go ahead, Chiffon,” Chenille said with a wave of her hand. “I’ll drive your car home.”
“You sure?” Chiffon said. “The Chat ‘N’ Chew ain’t all grease and grits, you know. Mort tosses together a decent chef salad.”
Chenille shook her head. “Walter’s been alone all morning, and he’s due for a walk. You two go out and have some fun.”
So Chiffon and Elizabeth loaded up their babies in Elizabeth’s car, and they pulled into the Chat ‘N’ Chew parking lot just after the noon rush.
Chiffon was grateful that the diner wasn’t too crowded, because as soon as they slid into a booth, everyone abandoned their braised beef tip specials and descended upon her.
“Can I get your autograph on the back of this menu?” Alice Faye Pruitt said, thrusting a pen under Chiffon’s nose.
“What do you want my autograph for, Alice?” Chiffon asked. “You’ve known me since I was in kindergarten.”
“You’re famous,” she said. “I saw you on the cover of a magazine.”
When Chiffon reluctantly scribbled her signature next to the $3.99 egg-and-sausage platter, Alice said, “Do you think you could get me Mel Gibson’s autograph, too?”
“Mel Gibson? I don’t know him from a hole in the ground. How would I get his autograph?” Chiffon said.
“Really?” Alice said, a mystified look crossing her weathered face. “I just assumed all you celebrities knew one another.”
“I’m not a—”
“Smile pretty, Chiffon,” Buck Dillard said, snapping her photo with an Instamatic. “Wait until my kin in Sylvania get a load of this.”
Thus it went, for nearly half an hour. The same folks she’d waited on at the Wagon Wheel, or had chatted with on Main Street, suddenly saw her as some kind of pop icon.
“Looky here, y’all,” Elizabeth finally said. “Chiffon can barely eat her shaved ham sandwich. Why don’t you give her some peace?”
After the crowd reluctantly scattered, Jewel sauntered over and said, “I need to get me an engraved brass plaque for this booth that says, ‘Chiffon Butrell sat here.’”
“Oh, don’t you start, too,” Chiffon said, tossing a dill chip at her former boss.
Jewel’s thick red hair was piled up on top of her head, and she wore a form-fitting forest-green uniform that matched her eyes. She leaned down to address Glenda, who dozed in her carrier.
“Everyone was so distracted by Chiffon that they missed the real celebrity dining in our midst,” Jewel said. “She’s just adorable, Elizabeth.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “Now, if she’d only learn to sleep at night, we’d be doing fine.”
“You need to get a baby of your own, Jewel,” Chiffon said, groping in her purse for Gabby’s pacifier.
“They’re both cute as bugs’ ears,” Jewel said. “But I’d have to find me a man first, and as I told you, I’m not in the market just now.”
From the kitchen, Mort dinged a bell.
“Order up. I better hustle,” Jewel said. “Remember, Chiffon, as soon as that ankle mends, you’ll have a place here.”
Chiffon smiled, but her expression lacked sincerity. She didn’t look forward to going back to the Chat ‘N’ Chew or to any waitress job. She was tired of being a soup jockey.
“She’s so pretty and friendly,” Elizabeth said, her fingers laced around a coffee cup. “I’ve always liked Jewel.”
“I know. I’ve offered to set her up with some fellows, but she won’t have any of it. Says she’s content to be alone.” Chiffon rolled her eyes at the idea.
“Is that such a terrible thing? Maybe she got burned in the past, and she’s relieved to be on her own. Sometimes no man in your life is be
tter than the wrong man.”
A stray curl worked its way into Chiffon’s mouth. “What are you trying to say?”
Elizabeth pushed a noodle around her plate with her fork. “Nothing.” Dabbing at her lips with a napkin, she regarded Chiffon. “It’s just that I’ve seen a real difference in you today. For the first time since I can remember, everything hasn’t been all about Lonnie—what he’s thinking, what he’s doing, where he’s gotten off to. Have you even given him a second thought since we’ve been together today?”
“No,” Chiffon said quietly. “I really haven’t.”
“It shows,” Elizabeth said.
“But I still love him,” Chiffon insisted. “I’d be miserable without him.”
“Any more miserable than you are when you’re with him?” Elizabeth asked.
Chiffon took a sip of her sweet tea. She wondered if her friend might have a point.
“Is that a stretch limousine in your driveway?” Elizabeth asked as she turned onto Chiffon’s block.
“Lord only knows what’s going on,” Chiffon said, staring at the gleaming black vehicle. “Looks like there’s twice as many reporters around. Tell you what. Drop me off at the liquor store on Chickasaw Drive. I’m going to try the sneak approach through the back.”
“Are you sure?” Elizabeth’s face clouded with concern. “Mavis said you tried that last week and they descended like ants on a sticky bun. Plus, you have Gabby and your crutches to deal with.”
“The dogs gave me away last time, but they’re not around back anymore. Besides, I’ve gotten so used to these crutches, I can do some serious trucking with them. I’ll just carry Gabby in her Snugli.”
Chiffon checked her purse to make sure she had the key to the back door. “This will be a cinch.”
“If you say so,” Elizabeth said. She turned the car around and drove to the liquor store.
When they stopped, Chiffon eased Gabby into the front carrier and positioned her crutches under her arms. She waved good-bye to Elizabeth and swiftly crossed the backyard, alert for any reporters, but saw no one. As her heart hammered in her temples, she reached the back door, stuck the key in the lock, and darted inside.
Sagging against the kitchen counter to catch her breath, she saw a huge black man barreling toward her at the speed of a tornado. He raised a boxing-glove-sized fist.
“No sudden moves,” he ordered.
“Oh my God, please don’t hurt me or my baby! You can have anything you want.” She heaved her pocketbook at him. “There’s seventeen dollars in there and a half-off coupon for a large two-topping pizza at Domino’s.”
The man ignored the pocketbook and scowled at her. “Who are you?”
“I’m Chiffon Butrell. I live here.”
“Come with me.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the living room.
Before they could move, Chenille came scurrying into the kitchen. “Tork, what’s going on?” She spotted Chiffon cowering near the back door. “Chiffon, you’re back. And I see you’ve met Tork.”
She opened a kitchen drawer and took out a pot holder. “I certainly hope my brownies aren’t burning. I’d hate to serve guests burnt goodies. Now, Chiffon, these are guiltless brownies, so you can have as many as you want. They’re made from silken tofu and wheat pastry.”
“Chenille, who is this...person?” Chiffon demanded. “He scared me to pieces.”
“He hasn’t told you?” Chenille said. She plunged a toothpick into the batch of brownies she’d just removed from the oven. “Chiffon, do you know anyplace in town that carries Evian water?”
“What is going on here?” Chiffon asked.
Tork extended his hand. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, ma’am. I’m just trying to protect my client. Lots of crazies in this world. Those brownies smell mighty good, Ms. Grace.”
“Call me Chenille,” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she smiled at the huge man. “And wait until you taste one. Chiffon, Tork is Jay-Li’s bodyguard. Can you believe it? Jay-Li is right here in this very house!”
“Jay-Li? Who is Jay-Li?” Chiffon asked in exasperation. “And why can’t I get a straight answer from you?”
“Excuse me, ladies,” Tork said. “I need to make sure the front door is still secure.” He slunk out of the room like a big, sleek panther.
Chenille’s eyes fastened on his broad, muscular backside. “There’s just something about a brawny man,” she said with a sigh.
“Chenille!” Chiffon said.
“I’m sorry,” Chenille said, cutting the brownies into squares. “I’m just flustered from all the excitement. Jay-Li is Janie-Lynn Lauren. She’s here! Sitting in Lonnie’s La-Z-Boy.” She lowered her voice. “I put down a clean afghan first. That chair’s seen better days.”
“What?” Chiffon sputtered. “That hussy is here in my house? And you’re serving her brownies?”
“Actually, the brownies are for Tork. Jay-Li won’t touch any food that contains flour,” Chenille said. She grabbed her sister’s wrist. “Chiffon, Jay-Li is so beautiful and nice. She’s like a goddess walking the earth.”
Chiffon jerked away. “She’s a husband-stealer!”
“She’s a very sweet husband-stealer.”
“Here. Take Gabby,” Chiffon said, handing her sister the baby. “I’m fixing to open a can of whoop-butt on that sweet husband-stealer.”
“No, Chiffon. Don’t!” Chenille said, but Chiffon had already stomped into the living room. Chenille plunked Gabby in her walker and hurried after her.
There on the recliner was five feet, five inches of the most pampered and primped specimen of female that Chiffon had ever seen. The dazzling creature had one dainty foot extended as a small Asian woman hovered over the appendage with a pumice stone. Toffee-colored eyes alighted on Chiffon as she stood in the doorway to the living room. An ever-so-familiar husky voice addressed the Asian woman. “Thank you, Sake. That’ll do.”
Enveloped in an exquisite-smelling cloud of sandalwood and jasmine, the woman rose from the chair and extended a hand. Her impeccably manicured nails were pale pink, like the interior of a seashell. “You must be Charmin. Like the toilet tissue.”
“Chiffon,” Chiffon said slowly.
Dozens of big-screen images reeled through Chiffon’s mind. She’d seen all of Janie-Lynn Lauren’s movies. The big box office pictures like Foxy Girl, Stand by Your Rock Star, and Meter Maid in Milwaukee she’d seen more than once. But she’d also seen her duds, such as The Autobiography of Madame Curie (when Janie-Lynn Lauren wanted to be regarded as a serious dramatic actress) and Rollerblade Renegades (which she starred in because she was having an affair with the leading man, Matt Maverick).
“Oh my Lord,” Chiffon said as she melted into the chair across from the movie star. “It really is you. You’re Janie-Lynn Lauren.”
“You can call me Jay-Li. All of my friends do.”
“As do some of your enemies,” said a woman who was stabbing at a Palm Pilot with long red fingernails.
“That’s my personal assistant, Ariel,” Jay-Li said. “Sake is my manicurist, and you’ve met Tork, my bodyguard.”
As Chiffon sat in stunned silence, Chenille merrily chatted with Jay-Li. “I’ll never forget that scene in Foxy Girl when you took a champagne bath with Brad Pitt. Is he really as good-looking in person as he is on the screen?”
“Girlfriend, he’s even better-looking.” Jay-Li showed teeth that glowed bright white, as if under a black light.
Chenille clapped her hand to her chest. “‘Girlfriend’?” She turned to her sister in a tizzy. “Jay-Li called me ‘girlfriend.’”
Chiffon nodded dumbly, still too shocked to speak.
Just then Ariel, who was sitting by the fireplace, dropped her Palm Pilot with a noisy clatter. Chiffon glanced up t
oward the mantel and caught a glimpse of the family photograph they’d posed for at Olan Mills only two months ago. Lonnie was in the center of the picture, holding Gabby on his lap. Chiffon and the two older children framed him. In an instant, the celebrity spell that Jay-Li had cast was broken.
“You’ve stolen my husband,” Chiffon said in a threatening voice.
“Steady, girl,” Tork said as he took a step in her direction.
“Chiffon!” Chenille said. “We were just getting along so nicely. Why doesn’t everyone have a brownie?”
“It’s okay, Tork,” Jay-Li said. She was wearing a curve-hugging salmon-pink jumpsuit with the word “Yummy” stamped on her bottom. “She has a right to be upset. That’s why I’m here. To take some of the sting away. Ariel?”
The woman, thin as a knife’s blade in a black tailored dress, jumped to attention.
“In exchange for the pain and suffering of losing your husband, we are prepared to compensate you with this,” Ariel stuck a calculator in Chiffon’s face, “generous monetary gift.”
Chenille peeked over Chiffon’s shoulder at the glowing numbers. “Am I counting right? Do I see six zeros?”
“That’s correct,” Ariel said, snapping the calculator shut. “We’ll have a cashier’s check prepared with that amount.”
“Please promise me you’ll buy those sweet doggies back for your son,” Jay-Li said as she toyed with a gold necklace thick as a rope shank. “That was a public relations nightmare. Also, could you give me your recipe for corn pones? Lonnie has a ‘hankering’ for them, and my cordon-bleu chef doesn’t have a clue.”
“What am I supposed to do in exchange for this money?” Chiffon asked.
“Divorce him,” Jay-Li said, yawning prettily.
“So you can have him?”
“That’s the idea,” Jay-Li said. “We’re planning a wedding, but keep that under your hat. My publicist claims we’re just good friends.”
Chiffon shook her head in disbelief. “I have three children with him. We’ve been married for ten years, and you expect me to pass him off to you like he’s some kind of baton in a relay race?”
A Dollar Short (The Bottom Dollar Series Book 2) Page 13