Dollar Daze

by Gillespie, Karin

  Ernestine paused outside a Florida room where Cecilia was seated in a cushioned wicker chair, thumbing through the latest issue of Town and Country.

  “Mizz Tobias. Your daughter-in-law is here,” announced Ernestine. She waited a moment for farther instructions and when none were forthcoming, hobbled off to parts unknown in heavy orthopedic shoes.

  “Gracie, how nice to see you! Would you mind if we took our tea in here? It’s a bit casual for a proper tea, but the light is so beautiful.”

  “That’s fine with me.” Mrs. Tobias sat across from Cecilia and peered out the windowed room into the backyard. She spotted Jamison, the Tobiases’ longtime gardener, laying down pine straw in the flower beds. The grounds surrounding the home were so tiny she wondered how he kept busy all day. The same could also be said for Ernestine. Surely the upkeep on the small condo didn’t fill a forty-hour week.

  Cecilia was dressed in a grosgrain tweed suit trimmed with pink piping. Mrs. Tobias had never seen her wear slacks, even on the family’s yearly excursions to Hilton Head. Her gray-blond hair was pulled back in its customary bun, held in place by a floppy pink bow.

  “You take yours with lemon, right?” Cecilia asked.

  Her severe hairstyle stretched her skin, making the netted planes of her face seem as taut as a painter’s canvas. When Cecilia took her hair down before bed, Mrs. Tobias wondered if her face would fall along with it.

  “Lemon’s fine,” Mrs. Tobias said just as Ernestine entered the room.

  “Mail’s in, ma’am,” she announced.

  “Put it on the sideboard, Ernestine,” Cecilia said, handing Mrs. Tobias her tea in a bone china cup. “I’ll sort through it later.”

  As Ernestine set down a thick stack of mail, Mrs. Tobias spotted several colorful envelopes that were almost certainly invitations. Despite her advanced age, Cecilia still led an active social life, marked with luncheons, dinner parties, and charity events hosted by what Harrison used to call Augusta’s “biddy-ocracy.”

  It had been a long time since Mrs. Tobias had received her own collection of invitations. After Harrison’s death she was dropped from many guest lists, and when she had been invited, she’d frequently sent her regrets. These days the only Augusta functions she attended with any regularity were garden club meetings. When her grandson Timothy had married Elizabeth and moved to Cayboo Creek, she’d gotten close to the women who frequented the Bottom Dollar Emporium. With Mavis, Birdie, and Attalee, she’d found a certain earthy genuineness that had been missing from her past friendships.

  “We had a lovely evening at Jacque’s last night,” Cecilia mused. “Although I did have to send back my scallops. They’d been overcooked.” She peered at Mrs. Tobias over the top of her teacup. “How was your evening, Gracie?”

  “Very nice, thank you.”

  “Champagne always livens up a meal.”

  Mrs. Tobias crossed her ankles and sighed. “Why don’t we just be frank with each other, Cecilia? You’re curious about my dinner companion. Isn’t that why you asked me here this afternoon?”

  Cecilia fingered her pearls. “I’m just looking after your best interest, dear. He was a handsome gentleman. You seemed to enjoy each other’s company.”

  “NOKD,” Mrs. Tobias said.

  “Pardon me?” Cecilia asked.

  “Nothing. Just something my mother used to say.” Mrs. Tobias took a sip of her tea. “Please continue.”

  Cecilia clasped her hands together in her lap. “I admit it gave me a start to see you with another man. I suppose I shall always think of you as Harrison’s wife. I’m also aware it’s been several years since my son’s been gone, and I don’t expect you to wear your widow weeds forever. In fact, it’s probably high time you found a male companion...” She paused for a moment. “Of the right sort.”

  “And Rusty didn’t pass muster,” Mrs. Tobias said. “What did you object to most, Cecilia? His leather jacket? His pronounced south Georgia accent?”

  Cecilia reached for a macaroon from the selection of store-bought baked goods displayed on a gold-rimmed china plate on the coffee table. “A woman of your means has to be alert to fortune hunters.”

  “Rusty isn’t like that,” Mrs. Tobias said.

  Cecilia cocked her head. “One can never be sure now, can they?”

  “I am.”

  “But you’re missing the most important consideration, my dear—”

  “What will other people think?” Mrs. Tobias interrupted. “I’m sixty-four years old, and I no longer care what others think. Besides, I’ve made a new set of friends since Harrison died. They’ll think Rusty is wonderful.”

  Cecilia fixed her pale green eyes on Mrs. Tobias’s face. “That might very well be true, but the important question is what do you think? When I saw you with your companion last night, you looked as if you wanted to dive under the table. Can you honestly say you’re comfortable with a man who is so different from yourself?”

  Mrs. Tobias remembered her distaste upon first seeing Rusty in his Duct Doctor shirt. Then there was her initial discomfort in Jacque’s. A feeling of shame rushed over her.

  “I suppose there have been some awkward moments, but—”

  “They will only get more frequent. I can assure you of that,” Cecilia said with a definitive nod of her chin.

  “Forgive me, Cecilia, but how could you possibly know that?”

  “I wasn’t always a dried-up old woman. I’ve had experiences with this precise situation.” Cecilia leaned in closer to Mrs. Tobias and spoke in a hushed tone. “Decades ago, before I met Phillip, I was enamored with a butcher’s son. We were engaged for a time. My parents were appalled of course, but I dug in my heels and insisted I was in love.

  “It was a magical time,” she continued with a faint smile. “But after a while, I grew weary of his clumsiness in social settings, and he felt diminished by my family’s money. Inevitably, our differences parted us. It was a painful exercise for all concerned.”

  “But you were so young. Maybe if you’d been older and more mature—”

  “On the contrary, youth was on our side,” Cecilia said. “As people get older they tend to become less tolerant and more entrenched in their identities, if they’d only admit it.”

  The women sat across from each other in silence, save for the clicking of Jamison’s hedge clippers as he trimmed the camellia bushes outside.

  “Thank you for your concern,” Mrs. Tobias finally said, picking up her handbag. “I should be going.”

  “Sorry to see you rush off.” Cecilia rose from her chair at the same moment as Mrs. Tobias did. “I’ve always been fond of you. That’s the only reason I called you over here today.”

  “I understand.”

  She leveled her gaze at Mrs. Tobias. “Like it or not, Gracie, you are a Tobias, a name that implies wealth and privilege in this community. Why not save yourself and that handsome gentleman the unnecessary heartache that comes from a mismatched relationship?”

  Twenty-Five

  Wrinkled is not one of the things

  I wanted to be when I grew up.

  ~ Sign outside the Senior Center

  Mavis stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, viewing her new ruffled polka-dot dress from every angle. It was the evening of the Business Person of the Year Banquet, and tonight the winner would finally be announced.

  Although she’d love to win the coveted Bizzie, she was most excited about making her first public appearance on Brew’s arm. She’d spent hours fussing with her hair and perfecting her lipstick. Just before she’d slipped the new dress over her head, she’d unearthed her Aqua Bra from the bottom of her lingerie drawer and put it on.

  The bra was now set to the first level of cleavage, which gave her bust a flattering fullness. Mavis couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if she went to the highest level so, plun
ging her hand down her dècolletage, she made the necessary adjustment.

  Vavavooom! She marveled at the swelling of bosom blossoming from her scoop-necked dress. Did she dare? She imagined Brew’s eyes popping out from their sockets when he saw her. Chuckling to herself, she kept the cleavage at level three. She did indeed dare!

  Mavis picked up her wool shawl from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, imagining Brew’s strong arms around her. Tonight would be the night he’d kiss her for the very first time. She could feel it in the air.

  After one more glance in the mirror, she left the house and drove to the site of the banquet. When she pulled into the parking lot of the Wagon Wheel, Mavis noticed a commotion in front of the restaurant. She teetered up the sidewalk in her high-heeled pumps and saw Prudee Phipps, wearing a full-length evening dress, standing on a “red carpet”—actually a long, fuzzy burgundy bath mat—greeting people as they came through the door. Mavis had forgotten that the chamber of commerce was adopting an Academy Awards theme for the event.

  “Here comes one of our nominees now,” Prudee said, into a Mr. Microphone. “Mavis Loomis, owner of the Bottom Dollar Emporium. Hi, Mavis. You look dressed to the nines. Who are you wearing tonight?”

  “Who?” Mavis said, in a perplexed voice.

  “Your dress. Where’d you get it?” Prudee prompted.

  “Oh. This is a Lane Bryant creation.” Mavis twirled for the onlookers while Mello Vickery, president of the chamber, peered through a disposable camera and took her photograph.

  “And your jewels?” Prudee asked.

  Mavis tugged on her silver-plated earrings. “Goodie’s, maybe? Or was it Target?”

  “I got the cutest broach at Target the other day,” Prudee said. “And it was seventy percent off.”

  “Prudee, here comes another nominee,” Mello said. Prudee hurried over to Jerry Sweeny with his date, Reeky Flynn, on his arm. Mavis went inside the restaurant just as the taxidermist told Prudee that he was wearing Sears khakis and a shirt from the Boots and Spurs Palace.

  Once inside the restaurant, Mavis was greeted by Chiffon, who was passing out nametags and directing people to the Sirloin Banquet Room.

  “You look gorgeous tonight,” Chiffon said, handing Mavis a nametag with a red ribbon affixed to it to signify her status as a nominee.

  “We don’t see much of you at the store anymore,” Mavis said.

  “I know,” Chiffon said, blowing her bangs out of her face. “My photography business is running me ragged. I miss everyone.”

  “We miss you, too. Chiffon, my escort should be arriving any minute. Will you direct him to the honoree table?”

  “Escort?”

  “An old classmate of mine,” Mavis said. “He’s tall, dark, and bearded. His name is Brewster Clark.” She experienced a tingle of pleasure just saying his name aloud.

  “I can’t wait to meet him,” Chiffon said. “I’m doing freelance photography for the newspaper tonight, so I’ll take a picture of the two of you together.”

  If Chiffon was taking photographs for the Crier maybe Birdie wouldn’t show up at the banquet at all. Her absence could be a blessing. If Birdie saw her old friend was out on a date with Brew, it would just strengthen their dreadful feud.

  Chiffon led her to her seat at the honoree table, which had an empty place next to it reserved for Brew. Mavis was the first nominee to arrive, and she felt conspicuously alone at the big round table. Luckily, moments after she sat down, Reeky and Jerry joined her.

  Reeky wore a simply cut royal-blue dress that made her pale skin appear translucent in the soft candlelight of the table. Jerry was his usual rangy self, in cowboy boots and a Western shirt.

  “I’m so proud of Jerry for his nomination,” Reeky said, clinging to his bicep. Jerry owned the Stuff and Mount Taxidermy Shop. “He deserves it for all the work he does on the Christmas parade.”

  “Behind every good man is a loving woman,” Jerry said, squeezing her hand. “Reeky’s been taking a real interest in the art of taxidermy. She finished her first piece this week.”

  “It was just a squirrel.” Reeky gave a modest dip of her head.

  “Yes, darling,” cooed Jerry. “But you’ve got a real eye for detail. I half expect that critter to wriggle its nose. Next she’s taking on a beaver.”

  “How are things at the Book Nook, Reeky?” Mavis asked. “I keep meaning to stop in and get the new Nora Roberts.”

  “Awful.” Reeky pushed her glasses farther up her pointed nose. “The new Harry Potter is out, and the Baptists are in an uproar.” She glanced at the empty place beside Mavis. “Who’s sitting there?”

  “My date, Brewster Clark. He’s new to town.” Mavis consulted her watch. “He said he might be running a little late.”

  Jewel Turner, wearing a green dress that emphasized her considerable curves, sat down next to Jerry.

  “I just announced to everyone on the red carpet that I got my dress from Goodwill Industries,” Jewel said with a scowl. “I bet that never happens to Nicole Kidman.”

  “There’s no shame there,” Mavis said. “The Goodwill carries lots of nice, name-brand things. Congratulations on your nomination, Jewel. The Chat ‘N’ Chew’s done so well since you’ve taken over.”

  “Thanks, Mavis,” Jewel said, still flustered by her interview on the red carpet. “I should have worn a sign on my back that says ‘My other dress is a Versace.’”

  Dun Woo from the House of Noodles sat down at the nominee table, as did Boomer from the butcher shop. All the places were now occupied except for Brew’s. A waitress approached Mavis and asked, “Will you be needing this seat, ma’am? One of the other tables is short.”

  Mavis dropped her pocketbook on the chair. “Sorry, it’s taken. My guest should be here any moment now.”

  Attalee and Mrs. Tobias arrived and stopped by the honoree table.

  “We’re so proud of you, Mavis. In honor of this auspicious occasion, we’d like to present you with a little gift,” Mrs. Tobias said, handing her a wrapped package. “It’s from all the Bottom Dollar Girls, Attalee, Birdie, Elizabeth, and myself.”

  “Birdie?” Mavis said in a hopeful voice.

  “She pitched in before the two of you started fussing,” Attalee said, surveying the table. “Where’s Brew? In the little boy’s room?”

  “He said he might be late.” Mavis tore open the package and gasped when she examined the contents. “An Elvis print! I’m a huge fan. Y’all were so sweet to do this.”

  “You’re welcome, Mavis,” Mrs. Tobias said, taking a small sideways step to get out of the path of a waitress with a large tray. “It looks like they’re starting to serve. We should go back to our seats, Attalee.”

  Mrs. Tobias started in the direction of her table, but then suddenly turned back to Mavis. “I almost forgot. Elizabeth called on her way to Dry Branch. She told me to say ‘good luck’ and that she wishes she could be here with you.”

  “I hope her uncle’s going to be okay,” Mavis said. Then, after Attalee and Mrs. Tobias went to their table, she trained her eyes on the door. Any minute Brew would come sauntering through it.

  An iceberg lettuce salad with a tomato chunk and ranch dressing was placed in front of her, but there was still no sign of her date. A few minutes later, the next course, a hamburger steak and a side of string beans, was left untouched as Mavis kept glancing at her wristwatch.

  After a dessert of lemon meringue pie arrived, Birdie strutted over to the honoree table with her camera and started snapping pictures.

  “Smile wide, all of you nominees. Your picture’s going to be in the paper,” she said, avoiding Mavis’s eyes.

  “Where’s Chiffon?” Reeky asked. “I thought she was taking photos tonight.”

  “Her youngest daughter’s running a temperature, so she got called away,” Birdie said. “Dun Woo, could you
scoot over a smidge? I’m just getting your left ear in my viewfinder. That’s perfect.”

  “I think I blinked in that last one,” Jewel said after Birdie took a few photos.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got several good shots,” Birdie said. “Good luck all.” Her eyes rested briefly on Mavis. “I hope you get exactly what you deserve.”

  The dishes were cleared away from the tables, and Mello Vickery, who was mistress of ceremonies, had taken her place at the podium. Mavis had quit staring at the door and was now tugging distractedly at the fringe on her shawl. Where was he? She didn’t know whether to be worried or angry. At this point she just wanted the evening to be over with so she could crawl under her bedcovers and hide from the world.

  Get it over with already, she thought as Mello droned on about how all of the nominees deserved to win. Personally, Mavis thought Dun Woo was a shoo-in. When chamber meetings ran long, he’d always brought the attendees free cartons of chow mein.

  Just before the announcement was made, Prudee appeared at Mavis’s elbow. “A friend of yours named Brewster Clark just called,” she whispered. “He said he got stuck in Columbia with a flat tire, and he apologizes for missing your big night. He said, and I quote, ‘Knock ‘em dead, gorgeous. Hugs and kisses, Brew.’”

  “Kisses?” Mavis said. “He said kisses?”

  Prudee nodded and Mavis touched her lips. It wasn’t a real kiss, but it was almost as good.

  “And the Bizzie goes to . . .” Mello said, pausing as she pulled off the wax seal affixed to a long white envelope. “Mavis Loomis, owner and operator of the Bottom Dollar Emporium.”

  “Hot damn!” Attalee shouted out from across the room. Mavis was so startled she sat motionless in her seat, blinking with surprise.

  “Go on and get your award,” Jewel whispered to her. Mavis stood on unsteady legs and advanced to the podium, where Mello gave her a gold-plated statuette of a figure holding a briefcase, the coveted Bizzie.

  “This is so unexpected,” Mavis stuttered, standing too close to the microphone, causing it to squeal. She backed away, startled, and Mello made a minor adjustment and indicated for Mavis to continue.