Storm in a B Cup

by Lindy Dale

  “Not off hand but I’ll ask my sister. The bloke she got when Harry did the dirty on her was a pitbull. Ripped Harry to shreds.”

  “That’s what I need.”

  I’d like to see Brendan laying in bloodied pieces on the timber floor.

  After we finish our morning catch up, Lani hops off her chair and digs around in her bag. “I want to run something by you. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and after the huge influx of customers wanting quirky things yesterday…” She produces a piece of paper she’s printed from the internet. “What do you think about handbag rental? It’s quite big in the Eastern states and overseas. Basically, people rent designer handbags for a minimal price. They cost a fortune to buy and I don’t know about you but I get sick of my bags quickly, so this is a cost effective alternative.”

  She has my interest. “Go on.”

  “Well,” she takes a deep breath like she does when she’s going to say something she thinks is completely left of centre, “my idea is to do it in-store but with our vintage collection. We’d have quite a good range now so we could put together coordinated sets with hats and purses for special occasions, even bring in some cool jewellery pieces to complement. It could run alongside the normal sales part of the business. We could also give people an option to purchase the bag at a discount if they liked it after rental.”

  My eyes light up. Lani has had some ridiculous ideas over the years but this is not one of them. Those hours spent Googling might have been the beginnings of something.

  “I’ve looked at those sites heaps,” I say, “but I’ve never rented anything because I couldn’t see the bag in person. What if I got it and didn’t like it? If we run the same concept in-store, girls can see and feel the bags before they rent. I love it Lan, I absolutely love it. The only problem will be buying extra stock. I can’t afford to fork out more cash right now. Not given the exorbitant rates of vintage purses. New ones cost an arm and a leg. Buying vintage is like snorting money.”

  “Yes… Well.”

  I look at her. A non-statement like that usually means she’s done something rather rash. “What have you done?”

  “I, sort of, ordered a shipment of classics from the U.S. The seller went bust and needed to shift them quickly. I spoke to her. It’s verified and legit. The merchandise should be arriving, oh…” she glances the date on her oversized man’s watch, “today or tomorrow.”

  I leap from my chair. “But I can’t afford it.”

  “It’s sorted. I used some of the money I’d put aside for my trip to India.”

  “Nooo! You can’t!”

  “Well, I did and I don’t mind. I seriously think this is going to be a winner. We have to organise some advertising and a launch, of course, but you’ve been looking for something to take the shop to a new level for a while. I think this could do it.”

  I shake my head at the idea of her giving up her travel plans to help me out. I’m capable helping myself in most circumstances. I simply haven’t figured out how to solve the current crisis.

  Lani sees the look in my eyes. “Please take it. It’s a gift.”

  “I have to pay you back.”

  “I know, but there’s no rush. India will be there next year. Not so sure about the Dalai Lama, though. He was looking peaky in his last interview. He must be bordering on one hundred and fifty.”

  I tear a strip of notepaper from the back of my diary and begin to scribble ideas. This is the most excited I’ve felt in ages. With Lani’s help, I’m sure we can make this into a raging success. “It’s going to be a lot of work setting everything up. The website will have to be updated.”

  “Uh, I did that already. The guy from the web company is stopping by tomorrow.”

  “When did you organise this?” She’s been quite the sneaky little assistant.

  “In between your hot flushes and joint pain. You deserved a lucky break.”

  “You’re a star.” I reach over and give her the biggest hug ever.

  “I know, remind me when you’re rich.”

  I know I’ve said it before but I’d never cope without Lani.

  Chapter 23

  “What can I do for you, love?” the newsagent asks.

  “Slickpick 25 for Saturday, please.”

  I watch as he prints out my lotto ticket, then dig in my purse for some cash to pay him. How does the saying go? Good things come in threes? In the last twenty-four hours two good things have occurred, which can only mean a third is on the way.

  The first thing happened yesterday afternoon when the medical insurance company rang to tell me they’d decided to waive the waiting period for my surgery. I still have to pay the full amount upfront, of course, but I’ll be reimbursed for most of it instantly, which will bring the cost down. I was so excited at this, I began to cry and Rory thought something bad had happened. It took me ages to reassure him I was okay, that sometimes adults cry when they’re happy. His response was something along the lines of, ‘adults are weird.’

  Then this morning, I received a card from Mum. Among the assortment of pink and purple glitter stars that flew down my front and stuck to my prosthesis when I opened the envelope, was a cheque with my name on it. Apparently, Colin had a windfall playing the Fruit Wheel game at Crown Casino and she thought I might like a ‘pick-me-up’ that totalled eight grand.

  And before you tear it up, the note read, remind yourself that he won eighty thousand, so giving ten per cent to our daughter is no hardship.

  I deposited the cheque on the way to the newsagent’s because one of the things I’m earning with this illness is that sometimes it’s nice to let people help. I don’t always need to be independent. And with that money, I won’t need the bank loan for my surgery.

  After stashing the lotto ticket in my purse, I head along the road to the pathology place for an MRI of my stomach area. Jared wants to see how my blood vessels are. I’ve already informed him my veins are non-existent — I usually end up like a pin cushion when having blood drawn — so I’m not holding out hope the blood vessels are going to be wonderful. It’s a slim chance.

  *****

  An hour or so later, I’m on my way back to the shop. I push the door open with my hip and proceed to the counter, where Lani is ringing up a sale for two very young, very hip-looking girls.

  “How’d it go?” she asks, coming from behind the counter to relieve me of the pastries and coffee I’ve bought with me. Having had to fast for the MRI, I’m feeling like I could eat the whole of the bakery by myself, but I’ve settled on a couple of chocolate croissants.

  “Easy apart from the feeling of having wet my pants.”

  “Eww.”

  “You can say that again.” My stomach lets out a final groan to tell me if I don’t feed it in the next thirty seconds there will be consequences, so I unwrap my croissant and delve into the chocolaty centre.

  “So, no more needle prodding until the surgery?” she asks.

  “Nope. Everything’s ready to go. I have an appointment with Dr. Hanson next week but that’s it.”

  As we sit eating, I spy a couple of large packing boxes that seem to have materialised since I’ve been out. Usually my heart would begin to flip flop with terror at such a sight, especially if Lani’s responsible for the order. This time, however, it’s not my money at stake. I hope her instinct paid off and we’re not going to be stuck with a pile of junk, like last time.

  “We had some arrivals,” Lani says, noting my glance. A moustache of icing sugar from her pastry is clinging to her upper lip and she blows it free as she runs her arm over a large cardboard carton, game show-style, ending with a flourish of her hand.

  “Voila!” She flings open the flaps of the first box. Bits of tissue paper fly around the room like snowflakes on the wind. “The handbags arrived. Look, Soph. They’re beautiful. I’ve already started taking photos for the website and we’ll have to enter each one into the inventory and decide on what we’re going to charge for the rentals.”

&
nbsp; She’s talking so fast I can hardly keep up and as she speaks her voice is getting more and more excited; she’s like a wind-up doll on speed.

  At last, she pulls out what I recognise as a Hermes Kelly bag. She sits it on the counter for me to admire. I can barely bring myself to touch it, it’s so gorgeous. It’s the most gorgeous handbag I’ve ever seen.

  “Are you sure this is real?” I pick up the Hermes, turning it over in my hands, examining the lock, the lining, sucking in the scent of the expensive vintage leather. This is almost better than chocolate.

  Then I see what looks like a Fendi Baguette and a classic Chanel clutch that Lani has also placed on the counter. I’m completely lost for words. This is the accessorising coup of the century. What girl wouldn’t want a handbag like this on a special night out?

  “All verified.” Lani hands over a piece of paper from the auction house, authenticating every single bag in the collection.

  “This — this is amazing.”

  “I know. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a VIP night for our regulars and their friends, you know, to introduce these treasures and explain our new concept? I was thinking champagne and canapés in true vintage style, you could be Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina and I’ll do Marilyn in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.”

  As I listen to Lani describe her vision, I know she’s been pondering it at length. It’s going to be a winner, I know it is. And I want her to be a part of it. The solution would be for her to be my partner. She’s been with me through everything. She has fabulous ideas — when they’re kept in check — and we work well together. Plus, given the financial trouble with the house and everything, a partnership might help me along the way.

  “Lani?”

  A muffled ‘hmm?’ emanates from where she has her head stuck somewhere inside the second box.

  “Can you take your head out of there? I want to ask you something.”

  Lani straightens and looks me in the eye. “Have I done something wrong again?”

  I think she thinks I’ll chastise her for spending so much money. “No, no! I think this is the new direction we’ve been searching for, for the shop. You know how long I’ve been wanting this. What I want to know now is, if you’d like to be my partner. I’d own the majority share, say sixty per cent and you could invest in the other forty, part of which you’ll have already paid for by buying this stock. Any profits would be split that way which means you’d draw a higher wage. What do you think?”

  Lani’s mouth falls open.

  “You want me to be your partner?”

  “Yep.”

  “But the shop is your thing. You’ve worked so hard to make it a success. And Heather gave it to you.”

  “And you’ve given me a lot, too. I want to repay you. If you become my partner, you can take on more responsibility, which will mean I can have more time with Rory.”

  “And my share of the investment will help you with the Brendan situation.”

  “I’m not doing this for monetary gain. I’m doing it because I love you and my priorities have changed. If your idea takes off, like I think it will, I won’t be able to do it alone. And it was your idea, why shouldn’t I reward you?”

  “But I am a bit of a dufus with ordering. You can’t leave me alone.”

  “You think I don’t know that? I don’t care as long as you run ideas past me first. No more surprises.”

  “Really? You mean it? I can be your partner?”

  I nod.

  Lani grabs the Kelly bag from the counter and begins to waltz around the shop like an extra in a fifties musical. “Oh thank you, thank you! I never dreamt I’d be a small business owner.”

  “And I never dreamed my best friend would be a girl with a pink buzz cut. We make a good team, Lan. We need to exploit that.”

  “Alleluia, sister. Now, how about we crank up the stereo while we start adding this to the inventory? I feel the need for a little George Michael.”

  “Sure thing, partner. I’ll get the rest of our pastries and coffee.”

  Chapter 24

  Over the next ten days, I’m incredibly busy. I hire Lani’s sister’s hotshot divorce lawyer who warns me that he doesn’t like to lose and will fight for me tooth and nail. I like him already. I also have one of his colleagues draw up an agreement between Lani and I and the day before I’m due to go to hospital, she signs on the dotted line, officially becoming my partner in Heather’s Hats and Bags, which we are also rebirthing under the logo of Vintage. It was Lani’s idea to sweep the old away and bring in the new and I like it. It fits the way my life is going to be now.

  On the weekend, Rory and I begin to pack up the house and search for a new home. Funds will be tight after Brendan takes his cut but we’ve narrowed our search area and our needs and I think we can do it. Surprisingly, Rory is taking it in his stride. I keep waiting for him to break out in some naughty tantrum as a result of the changes to his life but he doesn’t. He carries on, unperturbed. He’s like his mother in that regard.

  And now, B day has almost arrived. I’m feeling nervous about the procedure; it’s far bigger than any surgery I’ve ever had and the recovery time is significant but I’m excited too. It’s the same way I felt when I went into labour with Rory. I knew what the outcome would be, but wasn’t entirely sure of the road I’d take to get there.

  Jared’s been such a gem through this whole thing. Though I have to admit, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on what he’s saying when he looks me straight in the eye. Most of the time I can keep a lid on these silly feelings that explode under his gaze but every now and then, he smiles a certain way and I melt all over again.

  And he seemed to be doing an awful lot of that this morning, when I went to see him for my pre-op visit. After he confirmed, as I suspected, that my blood vessels are so tiny he’s going to need a mega-strength microscope to find them, he reassured me that everything would be fine with a smile that awoke regions of my body that have been dormant for the past few months. I almost went into a convulsion. Then, on my way out of the office, his hand accidently touched mine as we both reached for the door at once. At least, I think it was accidental. The rather slow removal of his hand from mine and the lingering of his eyes on my lips could totally have been in my imagination. The tingling wasn’t though. There was a definite tingling.

  Putting these thoughts as far from my mind as I can, I drive into the car park at the airport to collect Mum. Now that I’m effectively a single parent, she’s offered to care for Rory during my hospital stay. She’ll also stay on for a few weeks until I can drive again. After that, things should be fine. Slow but fine.

  The plane is late as usual. Finally, after forty minutes I see Mum coming down the corridor and into the gate lounge. She’s beaming and holding what looks to be another care package.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” she says, giving me a one-armed hug. “Are you ready? I bet you’re excited.”

  I nod. “Bit nervous, too.”

  She puts a hand to the small of my back as we head to the baggage collection. “I’m here. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

  It’s funny how she sounds like she’s going to perform the operation herself.

  We wait for ten minutes while the bags are dispatched and Mum tells me about Colin’s latest hobby — rock collecting.

  “He calls them gems but we both know they’re coloured rocks. Last weekend he took me fossicking. Can you imagine that? I was covered in dirt and my new Reeboks were beyond help by the time we got home. And for the sake of two piddly little rocks. He’s happy with them, of course. Jumped up and down like we’d found gold.”

  I smile at her description. “And how’s the new hair going?”

  “He’s given up on that. One of the women at the Golf Club asked him why he was wearing a toupee. He was most offended. The next day he had the whole lot shaved back to a number one. It’s regrowing in a lovely snowy shade. Far more natural.”

  Mum’s leopard print luggage a
ppears on the carousel and we lug it out to the car. She’s brought three suitcases, enough for a six month stay in my opinion and a carry-on plus the box, which she’s hanging onto for dear life. It’s only a short walk until we reach the car; we stack her luggage and get in. Then she hands me the box.

  “Just a little something,” she says. “You can open it now, if you like. I don’t mind.”

  Knowing the impact her care packages have I’m unsure as to whether I should. They are quite often shocking and I need my wits about me to drive home.

  “Perhaps I’ll wait till we get to the house,” I reply.

  “All right. But I wouldn’t open it in front of Rory.”

  Oh no. What’s she bought this time? Changing my mind, I rip the bow and wrapping from the box.

  It’s a pink hoodie with the Breast Cancer ribbon logo and the slogan ‘I had cancer…. Sorry Sucker, You Lose!’ emblazoned across the chest in silver diamantes. It looks like something you’d wear to a Breast Cancer pop concert.

  “Isn’t it cute?” Mum says.

  “In a pink sort of way.”

  “You could wear it home from the hospital, after you get your new girls to put inside it.”

  “Hmm. Maybe.”

  “There’s something else in the box I know you’ll absolutely adore.”

  I reach into the box again and pull out a jar of moisturizing post-surgery cream. Apart from the fact that the label reads ‘My Girls’ and I currently only have one girl, it’s a practical gift that I’ll use. I put it aside.

  “Thanks, Mum,” I say.

  “My pleasure, darling. Wait till you see the next gift. You’ve definitely saved the best for last.”

  My hand dives back into the box.

  “Oh my God. MUM!” This has to be a joke.

  Her face is deadpan. “A vibrator is a necessity for a single girl. You can get extremely stressed if your needs aren’t met on a regular basis and you can’t afford to be stressed. You don’t want the cancer coming back.”

  I hold the box containing the thing between thumb and forefinger. It’s disgusting. I can’t believe she’s bought it.