The Blossom Sisters

by Fern Michaels

  “I bet she did. Is she going to call back, or did she want me to call her back?”

  “She didn’t say. Each time she called, all she said was, ‘Is he back yet?’”

  “I’ll call her after dinner.”

  Gus knew he wouldn’t be able to enjoy his dinner until he fed the dogs theirs. Winnie was looking at him with adoring wet eyes. Wilson glared at him. “Okay, okay, I’m getting it, Wilson. I forgot to give you guys a Pop-Tart, so you’ll get two after you eat your dinner. Cut me some slack here, okay?” Wilson’s tail gave a half wag as he sat back on his haunches to wait for his dinner.

  Gus mashed up the meatballs, added some wet and dry dog food, and set the bowls down on the floor. The dogs practically inhaled their food and then trotted over to the door to go out. They scratched on the door to be let back in just as Gus sat down to eat. He handed out the two Pop-Tarts, and the dogs scurried back to their beds in the family room.

  The phone rang six times as Gus ate his dinner. Knowing it was the fireplug, Gus refused to answer it. Just the sound of the ringing phone was already giving him indigestion. He had a wonderful, tasty dinner in front of him that he should have been enjoying. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to enjoy the peach cobbler, either. So he’d save that for later.

  The phone continued to ring as Gus finished his dinner, packed up the leftovers, and tidied the kitchen. He turned on the dishwasher and sat back down to enjoy his after-dinner cup of coffee. Just as he brought the cup to his lips, the phone shrilled for the umpteenth time.

  “That’s it!” He picked up the phone and barked a single one-word greeting. “What?!”

  “When I call you, Mr. Hollister, you WILL answer the phone. I can’t represent you if we don’t communicate. Is that clear?”

  Gus grimaced as he pictured the fireplug venting her venom at him. “Tell me how to answer the phone when I’m not here. If you don’t want to represent me, then quit. This world is flooded with lawyers. I can take my pick. I faxed you the papers I was served. I included a message saying it was all lies. Do you want me to repeat the message? It is all lies. Now it’s your turn to do whatever the hell it is Barney pays you to do. Now, here’s another message for you. You only need to ring this number once and leave a message, the way normal people do. Now here’s my third message. Sit on a pointy stick and twirl around until it comes out that mouth of yours. Good-bye, Miss Jackson, have a nice evening.”

  Gus sipped at his coffee as he waited for Barney to call him. He knew in his gut that the fireplug would have called Barney as soon as she hung up, to tell him she was quitting, then Barney would call him and ream his ass. He waited as the minutes crawled by.

  When the only phone call that evening was the one from Elroy Hitchens, Gus was almost disappointed.

  With nothing else on his agenda, Gus went upstairs, showered, and changed into warm sweats. He returned to the family room, made a fire, and sat down to watch reruns of NCIS, his favorite television show. The dogs were snoring contentedly by the hearth.

  Tomorrow is another day.

  Chapter 11

  GUS BOLTED UPRIGHT IN THE RECLINER. HE WASN’T SURE WHAT had woken him. A bad dream? The pain in his neck from sleeping in the recliner? He looked over at the hearth, where Wilson and Winnie were snoring. Maybe the last log that fell over, shooting sparks up the chimney? He was inclined to go with the bad dream. What the hell was it? Nothing came to mind. He looked at his watch: three a.m.! He must have dozed off around eight, which meant he’d slept seven or so hours, his regular sleep pattern. It also meant he was done sleeping for the night, so he might as well get up, shower, shave, make some coffee, and get a head start on the day and whatever it was going to bring his way.

  Gus leaned his head back and closed his eyes, not to sleep but to think. His last conscious thought before falling asleep had been that he had to call the fireplug and apologize for his rudeness. They needed to start over from square one and stop with the one-upmanship. Like Barney said, he didn’t have to like her. All he had to do was let her do what she does best, represent him. Well, he could do that. Or die trying.

  He made a mental list of things he wanted and needed to do for the day. First, he had to arrange contracts to bring with him when he picked up the seniors. Next, he had to get a bus from somewhere to pick them up and take them to Blossom Farm. Then he had to come up with a work plan for everyone on his grandmother’s staff. A daunting job to be sure, but he was good at organizing, or at least he thought so. And he needed to call Barney again at some point today. And he had to get in touch with a Realtor to find him a place of his own. Otherwise, he was going to have a neurotic dog on his hands. Wilson liked routine—his own place, his own things—and for sure he did not like to be shuffled from one place to another. He understood that because it was exactly how he himself felt.

  Gus heaved himself out of the recliner and looked at the dogs. Wilson cracked one eyelid as if to say, it’s not time yet to get up, and promptly went right back to sleep. Winnie simply continued to snore.

  Gus was back downstairs and in the kitchen making coffee. The clock on the Wolf range said it was four-thirty. His grandmother and the aunts would be up at five. He could call then and ask about contracts and if they had any ideas as to how and where he could get a bus.

  While the coffee dripped, Gus toasted a bagel he didn’t really want. He spread apple butter on it and wolfed it down as he waited for the coffee to finish dripping. He looked around to see where he’d dropped his briefcase yesterday. He saw it sitting by the laundry-room door. He opened it and withdrew a legal pad and pen. He needed to make a list. Phone calls first. Then physical things he needed to do. When he was done, he had the page almost filled, and not because he wrote big. Awesome, he thought.

  The coffee, when he poured it, was dark and strong, just the way he liked it. So strong it almost curled the hair on his chest. He grimaced. What man in his right mind would want curly chest hair?

  Gus went back to rummaging in his briefcase until he found the fireplug’s office number. If he called before office hours, he could take the coward’s way out and leave a message, and he wouldn’t have to talk to the irritating lawyer. Yeah, yeah, that’s what he’d do. But he’d wait till six o’clock. Six o’clock was a decent hour to call and leave a message. Okay, done. He crossed that chore off his list.

  Gus yanked his laptop out of his briefcase and booted up. He scrolled down in his address book until he found the name of a Realtor with whom he’d done business before. Marsha Dewey. He fired off an e-mail stating his requirements and said expediency was paramount. He added a P.S. that he needed a fenced-in yard for Wilson.

  The next thing he did was to check his business account. He didn’t like tapping into it for his personal use, but the way he saw it, at the moment he had no other choice. There was enough money in the account for a deposit on a small house of some kind and some new furniture if he only furnished a bedroom and bought a few chairs and a television. Later on, he could finish furnishing it. If there was a later on. Worst-case scenario, he could always borrow money from Barney. Marsha would do her best for him, that much he knew. He scratched Marsha off his list.

  Gus spent the next hour tapping out e-mails in response to clients concerning their filing extensions. He liked to stay in touch and give what he called his own personal touch to his clients. It worked well for him, and he rarely lost a client; when he did, it was because the client had either passed on or moved out of state. That taken care of, he e-mailed his insurance agent and a few other people to bring them up-to-date about his present circumstances.

  The last e-mail that he sent off was to his office manager, apprising her of his current status, which was, “You will see me when you see me,” and “I’m only a phone call away.”

  Bus. He needed a bus. As far as he knew, car-rental agencies did not rent out buses. Schools had buses. Churches had buses. But then there was the question of insurance and liability. He groaned. Well, hopefully his gra
nny would have some ideas, or else it was going to be trip after trip in the Blossom Farm van.

  Wilson appeared at his side and nosed his leg, his dark eyes asking for forgiveness. At least, that’s what Gus wanted to think. Winnie offered up a soft woof of an early morning greeting. Gus opened the door, and, gentleman that he was, Wilson waited until Winnie waddled through. He followed her out to the gray of early dawn. While the dogs sniffed the new territory, marked it, and sniffed some more, Gus got their food bowls ready. He always fed Wilson twice a day, breakfast and dinner. Winnie he rather thought got fed three or four times a day, a rule he was about to break. He fished out a Pop-Tart and broke it in half. First step in cutting back on the dog’s food intake. He wasn’t worried about Wilson, because Wilson ran off the calories, while tubby little Winnie preferred to laze about. He hoped her bad habits didn’t rub off on his dog.

  Ten minutes later, Maggie came in with the dogs, looked around, and asked if Gus wanted breakfast. He said no, and she disappeared, probably to make his bed, which hadn’t been slept in. God only knew what the little housekeeper thought about her newest guest.

  At six-forty, Gus had both dogs loaded into the Jeep and was on his way to Blossom Farm. Winnie moaned and groaned the whole way, while Wilson poked his head out the half-open window to enjoy the early morning air.

  Before he got out of the Jeep, Gus checked his cell phone to see if the fireplug had sent a text. She had not. His fist shot in the air. “Okay, guys, let’s hit it!” Wilson hit the ground, ran to the kitchen door, and barked. Gus was left to carry Winnie into the house, where all the seniors made a fuss over her. He watched in horror as they all fed the dogs bits of bacon, waffles, and scraps of sausages and toast.

  “Keep this up, and that dog is going to have a heart attack. And don’t for one minute think dogs can’t have heart attacks. She’s too fat, Granny. You need to stop giving her extra food. I already fed her kibble and her regular food plus half a Pop-Tart, which I am going to cut back to a quarter, then just a pinch,” Gus said half under his breath. He waited to see what the seniors’ reaction would be.

  “He’s right; my old springer spaniel had a heart attack,” Fred said. “What are you doing here so early?” he groused.

  “Getting ready to get this show on the road. I need to get a bus. Do any of you know where I can get one?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll call Pastor Evans at Sycamore Baptist Church. How long do you think you’ll need it, Augustus?” his grandmother said.

  “At least till noon. Depends if your new recruits are ready, and how long I have to wait for them at each stop. Noon, and I’m being conservative. Ah, what time do you all start to . . . ah, work?”

  “We like to be at our workstations by seven a.m. We get up at five. We were busy last evening trying to set up accommodations at Shady Pines for the newcomers. A few of us got up late this morning as we had only a few hours of sleep last night. We were just trying to figure out how to do kitchen duty. We’re going to have a lot of mouths to feed. And a lot of food to order,” Rose said softly. To Gus’s ears, it sounded like he was back in the fold with his granny.

  “You should have called me. I would have helped.”

  “We thought about it, but decided against it,” Violet said in her most unforgiving tone of voice.

  “Well, I’m here now, so is there anything you want me to do? I don’t have to pick up Elroy Hitchens until ten. He’s at Sea Crest.”

  “No, not right now. Besides, you’re on probation,” Iris said.

  “Probation! You put me on probation? When did that happen? No one said anything about probation!” Gus exploded. Wilson was at his feet, not liking the tone of his master’s voice. Winnie whined from the rag carpet by the sink.

  “We told you that yesterday morning. You were so busy grumbling and complaining about the old sycamore, you probably didn’t hear us,” Violet said. “Or else you simply tuned us out. Now, which is it?”

  “I didn’t tune you out. I didn’t hear you. Yes, I was grumbling and complaining about that old tree because I loved it. It was part of my growing-up years. Barney’s, too. How long is the probation?”

  The Blossom sisters looked at one another. “Ninety days! You have to prove yourself. Then we’ll vote on whether to make you a permanent employee,” Rose said. “In the meantime, you will receive a stipend of sorts. We still have to vote on that.”

  “Ninety days! That’s three months! And then you’re going to vote on me? I don’t believe this! I’m your grandson.” Gus looked at his aunts and bellowed, “I’m your nephew!” The Blossom sisters shrugged.

  “While we’re talking about making people employees, Elroy Hitchens said that the seniors would not be coming to, as he put it, buy a pig in a poke, unless they had contracts. I told him I would bring them with me this morning. I assume that you have contracts for your new hires,” Gus said.

  “Certainly,” Rose said. “I’ll just get them before you leave.”

  Having paid no attention to the discussion of contracts, Oscar of the clicking dentures said loud and clear, “Well, you better believe that you’re on probation, young fella, because that’s the way it is. How do we know that you can measure up? This is not some Mickey Mouse operation we’re running here, just so you know. We have to take that into consideration.” Clickety-clack went the dentures.

  “Okay, okay, I get it! I accept your terms. I will prove myself. Granny, if you call the pastor, I’ll be on my way to pick up your new . . . staff . . . as soon as you get me those contracts. Is there anything else I can do for you wonderful people before I leave?”

  “Well, you got one thing right. We are wonderful,” Fred said. Gus eyed him to see if he was being sarcastic. He wasn’t.

  Gus felt like a ten-year-old, waiting to hear about the bus. All the old people were staring at him. He didn’t know if he should smile, grin, or stare down at the floor as he waited for his granny to say yeah or nay on the bus.

  “Okay, it’s a go. It’s bus number two, and it’s parked to the left of the front door that leads into the school. The keys will be on the visor. You are to fill the gas tank before you return it. We have a company gas card,” Rose said, rummaging in the cookie jar for the credit card.

  “Thank you. I’m on my way. Do you want me to report in on the way, or should I just, you know . . . show up? Should I bring them here first or take your new staff and their belongings to Shady Pines?”

  Violet drew herself up to her full height, which was awesome in itself. “This is what we meant about you proving yourself: taking the initiative. We’ll be grading you on your performance.”

  Gus didn’t know where it came from or why he said it out loud, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I get it, like a sexual encounter when you have to perform, then you get a grade from your partner.”

  Clickety-clack. “Right on, young fella.”

  Gus decided to quit while he could still walk. He was out the door in a flash. Wilson howled. Gus stuck his head back in the door and yelled, “You can go next time. There’ll be no room in the bus.”

  Gus slid into the Jeep and drove up the hill and out to the main road. He stopped, took a deep breath, and yanked out his cell phone and called Barney. The moment he heard Barney’s What now? he started to babble.

  “They fucking put me on probation. I have to prove myself in ninety days, then they’re going to vote on me. Did you hear what I just said, Barney? Will you say something, for Christ’s sake?”

  “They didn’t mention my name, did they? Just you, right?”

  “What? You’re concerned for yourself and not me! I called you for . . . Jesus, I don’t know why I called you.”

  “Well, the way I see it, this isn’t about me, for which I am very thankful. This is about your making things right. I’m glad it’s you and not me. Probation for ninety days. Damn, that’s three whole months. That really sucks. That’s going to take you right into the middle of July. And t
hen there’s all that worry about how they’re going to vote on you. Man, I am so glad I am not you. Oh, and you need to stop calling me unless it’s an emergency.”

  Gus ended the call. He was tempted to pitch his cell phone out the window, but he knew in his gut that would show up some way, somehow, on his performance record. He did his best to shift his thoughts into neutral and concentrate on his driving.

  Fifteen minutes later, Gus pulled into the Sycamore Baptist Church parking lot and saw the bus right where his grandmother said it would be. He parked the car, got out, and jogged over to a big yellow bus with a bright-colored rainbow painted on the side. He opened the door, got in, and saw the keys on the visor. That’s when he realized he didn’t know how to drive a bus. Gears! More gears than the ones in the Porsche. And the bus was BIG! He had to back up this baby. Maybe he could pull it off if he didn’t have to park anywhere. Or I could call someone and ask how to drive a bus. The thought was so stupid, he cringed. It all came down to two words: performance and vote.

  Gus called Barney a second time. “Do you know how to drive a bus?”

  Barney’s laugh was so evil that Gus clenched his teeth as he turned the key in the ignition and waited for something to happen. Maybe there was a manual in the bus. Or . . . maybe Elroy Hitchens knew how to drive a bus. It might be worth a call, he decided, when he couldn’t find a manual. Performance, performance, performance.

  Somebody should have asked him if he could drive a bus. Aha, it was a test. They were testing him for his performance record. Well, by God, he’d just figure this out on his own and drive this damned bus or bust wide open. He was going to perform if it was the last thing he did.

  Chapter 12

  ELAINE HOLLISTER LOOKED AT HERSELF IN THE ORNATE MIRROR hanging on the back of the closet door. She’d chosen a jonquil-colored suit and a silk blouse with a small bow tie at the throat. She thought it looked demure and at the same time showed off her voluptuous figure. Her heels were high, accentuating her long, shapely legs. Small diamond studs sparkled in her ears. She still wore her engagement and wedding rings, and a gold Rolex watch.