Shipping Sharon

by Daisy Dexter Dobbs

  "Okay then--wet wine it is." Maisy laughed. "I can't believe I'm nearly thirty-seven years old and just now starting to learn about wine."

  "That's no surprise. That overbearing, meat-head of an ex-husband of yours," Norman flashed a half smile, "God rest his soul," he added with a wink, "did his best to keep you sheltered from anything culturally stimulating."

  "Tell me about it," Maisy said, shaking her head and heaving a sigh. "Hey, how about we leave the depressing topic of my dead ex out of our pleasant lunchtime conversation, okay, Norman?"

  "Done." He offered a wink and warm smile.

  "Boy, things were really hopping this morning," Maisy said, glad to change the subject. "We're booking a lot of Mexico and the Caribbean."

  "Love it, love it, love it," Norman said, rubbing his hands with glee. "Ka-ching." He grinned as he mimed pressing a key on a cash register. "Hey, speaking of money, did I tell you that my creepy, crawly, filthy-rich cousin, Wilson, called me this morning?"

  A wretched sneer crossed Maisy's features. "Ugh. You mean, Big Willy?" Norman nodded and Maisy shuddered. "Please, God, tell me he's not coming up from Texas for another visit."

  "'Fraid so. He wants to sell off his investment properties here in Schaumburg because he's--get this, Maisy--going to Saudi Arabia on business, and he'll probably be there a good five--that's right, I said five--years." Norman tapped out a little dance of joy under the table as he snapped his fingers.

  Maisy's face brightened. "No kidding? Well, that there's the best dang news I've heard all day, pardner," she said in her best Texas twang. She and Norman broke into laughter.

  Wagging his finger at Maisy, Norman warned, "I'd watch out if I were you, Maisy. You know how Big Willy lusts after you. If you're not careful, he may just hijack you to Saudi Arabia."

  "Oh, Jeez, Norman. You're going to spoil my appetite."

  Norman shrugged. "You know I'm not kidding. All you'd have to do is crook your little finger and you could become the fourth Mrs. Wilson Jasper, you know. Just think of all those millions. You'd be living in the lap of luxury, Maisy--and all it would cost you is a paltry ten percent of Big Willy's net worth for my services as your matchmaker." Norman laughed. "And, you've got to admit, Wilson's not too hard on the eyes, either."

  "Ugh. I'd sooner give up chocolate than spend a single night in the lap of that manhandling, overblown, macho, pushy, side of Texas beef." Maisy said through a sneer.

  "Ouch," Norman said wincing.

  "Hi, my name is Christopher and I'll be your server this afternoon. Have you decided yet?" the striking twenty-ish young man dressed in the uniform ocean-blue polo shirt and pale blue jeans asked.

  "Yes, I'll have the fresh grilled salmon fillet with the mango teriyaki relish, and steamed vegetables--no oil or butter--in place of the fried rice. Oh, and I'd like a glass of Riesling," Maisy said confidently. Norman ordered the peel & eat garlic shrimp with a side order of zucchini-crab cakes with pineapple-horseradish sauce, a cup of Chowder Bay's signature New England-style seafood chowder, and a glass of Riesling.

  Appreciatively eyeing the handsome young server with the chin length jet-black hair and midnight-blue eyes as he departed with their order, Norman said, "Did you see that cute, tight little butt of his." Turning back to Maisy, he pounded the table. "Why didn't you stop me from ordering those fattening crab cakes and chowder, huh?" Pinching the small roll at his middle, Norman sat back in his chair and expelled a sigh of exasperation. "Look at me. How am I ever going to get in shape if I keep eating this way." Folding his arms across his chest he looked back towards Maisy. "Hey, diet buddy, you're supposed to keep me on the right track, remember?"

  "Now Norman, you know how you hate it when I police you." With a warm smile, Maisy reached across the table and touched his arm. "Did you really want me to say something in front of that cute, hunky little waiter you were eyeing and embarrass you?" She winked.

  "No. You're right; I would have bit your head off afterwards. I'm disgusting. I'm beyond help. I'm eating like Oprah when the cameras are off. I haven't even worked out in nearly two weeks." Norman expelled a sigh of self-loathing. "Look at you. Look at how steely your will power is. Maisy, you're such an inspiration--if I only had one ounce of your determination and resolve . . ." Shaking his head, he flicked his hand through the air. "Aw, what's the use?"

  Feeling like a chocolate-gorging four-flusher, Maisy's face flushed with guilt. She hadn't told Norman about her chocolate orgy the week before and was hoping she wouldn't have to. "Norman, you're being way too hard on yourself. You look absolutely wonderful and you've come such a long way. Fifteen pounds! You've only got another fifteen or so to go. You've just hit a sticky spot, that's all. You'll get over it soon enough."

  "You think?" Norman scrutinized his midsection.

  "Of course I do, Norman. Hey, don't forget that if it weren't for you, I'd probably still be ..." Maisy paused, looked to either side, moved in closer to Norman and whispered, "I'd probably still be 270 pounds." She sat back against her chair and smiled at her friend. A youthful forty-six, Norman was a nice looking man. About five-ten and pudgy, he had taffy-blonde hair, deceptively innocent hazel eyes and a ruddy complexion. Ties were his fashion-passion--today's bearing little blue and green fish swimming against a murky tan background--in honor of their trek to the new seafood house.

  Whisking her jiggling little fanny down the aisle, the hostess ushered a beefy man, mopping sweat from his forehead past their table. His girth was so vast that his hips brushed against their table and the table across from them at the same time. Maisy and Norman shot each other a wide-eyed look.

  "Come on, tell me the truth, Maisy," Norman said, "do I look that bad?" He bit his bottom lip. "Don't pull any punches, I can take it."

  Maisy turned to Norman with a drop-jawed expression. "Jesus, Norman, that poor man is huge. You look a thousand times thinner than him." Maisy shook her head. "It's funny, men have it so much easier than women. Overweight guys are universally thought of as big, cute, cuddly teddy bears, while overweight women get all those adorable little terms of endearment tacked on, like ... porker ... whale-butt ... lard-ass," she laughed. "I read that in Europe and the Middle East, men like their women zaftig--like me." She flashed a bright-eyed smile and winked. "Here in the U. S., men want women who can double for one of these." Fingering the blade of her butter knife, Maisy smirked.

  "Don't kid yourself, Maisy," Norman said, returning her wink. Men want their men to look like that, too." Norman slapped the table. "There's the answer to all of our relationship problems. We need to relocate to the Middle East where we can both be worshipped as goddesses," he said and Maisy laughed. "Hey, all kidding aside," Norman continued, "I've got to lose the rest of this weight before I get seriously depressed."

  "But you're only talking fifteen pounds, Norman. You really need to ease up on yourself, after all, we're only human. Everybody backslides now and then."

  "Hah! You haven't," Norman said. "You're obviously much stronger than I am, that's all. I'm nothing but a weak-willed, fat-gram-sucking cow."

  Groaning, Maisy rested her elbows on the table and propped her head in her hands. "Aw jeez, Norman," she took in a deep breath and sighed. "Now I'm going to have to tell you." Maisy shook her head. "Shit." Norman slanted Maisy a curious look. "Get ready, because Miss Perfect has a juicy, chocolate-covered little confession for you."

  "You mean . . ."

  "Uh-huh. Your idol of willpower perfection melted all over her pillar of virtue into a nasty puddle of chocolate transgression." Through lunch, Maisy spilled her guts about her spontaneous bakery binge after leaving the funeral home the week before.

  After finishing their main courses, they were served the coffee and the fresh fruit mélange desserts they'd ordered. As the server departed, Maisy caught a glimpse of a familiar man walking towards their table with the fanny-jiggling hostess and two other men. Then the realization hit her--the great smelling guy with the chocolate drop eyes from the funeral home-
-Sharon Chaney's ... friend. What was his name? Kelly? Kellogg? Keller? Yes, that was it, Mr. Keller. Mmm, mmm, mmm. Tantalizing. The tall, broad shouldered and delicious-looking Mr. Keller was nattily attired in a nutmeg brown suit, which complimented his thick, wavy thatch of cocoa-brown hair. Maisy was sure he wouldn't recognize her, and it was just as well, because of his connection with Sharon. On top of that, he was talking on a cell-phone. Maisy huffed through a little sneer. Just like John--another self-important business tycoon with no time for anything but work--except, of course, for the occasional roll in the hay with some willing little bimbo like Sharon Chaney. Maisy shuddered at the unsavory image.

  As the hostess brought the three men past their table, Norman was saying something or other to Maisy, but all she could hear was the pulse-pounding roar her ears. Angry with herself for reacting like a silly school girl and letting her hormones have full reign, Maisy swallowed hard to push her heart out of her throat and back into her chest when the tall, grand specimen of man stopped right in front of her.

  "It's you," he said, sliding his flip-phone into an inside pocket of his suit coat. "I knew I recognized you." He motioned to his companions that he would meet them at their table. When he turned back to Maisy she noticed that his Tollhouse eyes were specked with amber, and they twinkled when he smiled. Acknowledging Maisy's wordless stare, he said, "Oh, I'm sorry, you must not remember me. We met at John Morganfield's wake last week," he paused and laughed. "Let me re-phrase that. We were in the process of meeting when you had to leave rather abruptly." With a purposeful clearing of his throat, he laughed again, revealing the most wonderful laugh lines around his beautiful brown eyes.

  Not remember him? What, is he nuts? How could I possibly forget a walking, talking, breathing icon of glorious manhood with glistening chocolate chip eyes? Working to keep her composure, Maisy returned his smile. "Yes," she said with as much nonchalance as she could manage, considering her raging hormone attack. Extending her hand, she cleared her throat. "Of course I remember you." His large hand dwarfed hers and she loved how diminutive it made her feel. What she didn't love was how damned flustered she felt as his six-foot-four frame, encased in that magnificent, lean, muscular body, with those warm, twinkling eyes and dazzling smile towered over her. On top of all that, His Gloriousness radiated gentle traces of that hypnotic, mountain-air after-shave which she tried hard not to noticeably sniff. For God's sake, get a grip, Mazel Lynn--remember--this man has probably slept with the enemy.

  "Well, I wouldn't want to keep you from your lunch, so, uh ... nice seeing again," she said, turning back to her coffee. Pa-thud . . . pa-thud . . . pa-thud. Maisy's heart pounded so loud and hard within her ears, she felt as if it were being broadcast over the restaurant's sound system. Swallowing hard, she rolled her eyes and did her best to appear casual and uninterested.

  Mr. Chocolate Chip Eyes hesitated a moment before heaving a shrug and turning to follow his lunch companions. To Maisy's chagrin, Norman jumped to his feet, yanked on the sleeve of the man's jacket, and offered an outstretched hand as he motioned for him to be seated. "Don't be silly, Maisy," Norman said through his broad, salesman's smile. "I'm sure the gentleman has time to join us for a quick cup of coffee." Maisy opened her mouth to protest, but Norman was too fast for her. "Don't you?"

  Pumping Norman's extended hand, the living, breathing Adonis flashed a dazzling smile and nodded. "Sure. I've got time for a quick cup."

  "Excellent," Norman said, his cherubic face captured by a devilish smile. "Christopher," he called to their server as the young man zoomed by their table with another table's order, "another cup of coffee here, please." Retrieving a business card from his pocket, Norman turned his attention to their table guest. "I'm Norman Stanley. I own Persimmon Travel just about a half mile down Golf Road," he said, motioning towards the window. "And this is my vice-president and the best travel counselor in the Midwest, Maisy Morganfield."

  As if flabbergasted, the man whipped his head towards Maisy as he heard her name. "Morganfield?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "John Morganfield's ex-wife?" Maisy nodded with a slow blink. "But, you can't be. I mean, I heard you were . . ." Trying to mask his uneasy expression of bewilderment as he gave Maisy an appraising once-over, he took in a deep breath and scratched his head.

  A knowing smile to crossed Maisy's lips as she drummed her fingers on the table. "A whale? Is that the word you were searching for?" She batted her lashes.

  Wincing, he looked to the floor, as if searching for a hole big enough to crawl into. "Whew, nothing like getting off to a bad start, I always say. Name's Keller. Keller Chaney." Never taking his eyes off Maisy, his voice was clearly hesitant.

  Her eyes wide as saucers, Maisy rose half way out of her chair. "Chaney!" she blurted. Aware that she'd drawn some attention with her outburst, she quickly took her seat again and modified her voice. "You're Sharon's ex-husband?"

  Grimacing, Keller cocked his head to the side and shrugged. "Actually, I'm afraid it's even worse than that. I'm her brother." He offered a weak smile while Maisy rolled her eyes skyward, sat back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. Her narrow-eyed glare was sharp enough to razor Keller Chaney's suit to ribbons.

  After a moment of awkward silence, Norman spooned some fruit into his mouth and said, "You know, this berry mélange is really very tasty. Have you tried any yet, Maisy." Focusing his deceptively innocent looking eyes on Maisy, Norman cringed when he received only a scowl in reply.

  "Well, now I know why my sister stormed off the way she did when I asked her about you at the funeral home," Keller said. "I brought you up again later that afternoon, and all she would say is, don't you ever ask me about that ... well ... expletive deleted, but I'm sure you get the picture."

  "Oh, I get the picture all right," Maisy said, her voice completely devoid of any warmth. "Better not keep your lunch companions waiting, Mr. . . . Chaney," she shuddered as the repugnant name seeped from her lips.

  "That's okay, I've got a few more minutes," Keller said through a lazy smile as he folded his arms across his chest and settled his back against the chair.

  Flashing a look of incredulity, Maisy said, "Well I don't. Come on, Norman, we have to get back to the office, I've got a one-fifteen appointment coming in." Maisy deliberately avoided looking at Keller as she focused, instead, on brushing the nonexistent crumbs from her teal-blue suit as she pushed back her chair.

  "No you don't," Norman said. "I distinctly remember you telling me that appointment was pushed back to two o'clock." He leaned towards Keller and whispered, "Great girl, but she has a terrible memory." Turning back to Maisy, Norman ignored her threatening look and said, "Don't worry, Maisy, we've got plenty of time to sit and get acquainted with Mr. Chaney." Norman offered a beguiling smile, while Maisy's anger manifested into a kick to Norman's shin under the table. "Ow," Norman said, reaching down to rub his shin.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry, was that your leg?" Maisy mimicked Norman's innocent manner.

  Keller stood up. "Actually, I really should get over to my table. I think I've kept my associates waiting long enough. Norman," Keller nodded, extending his hand which was met by Norman's firm, pumping, salesman's grip, "it was a pleasure meeting you." Keller placed his hand over Maisy's and said, "Maisy, I'm glad we finally had a chance to meet. Maybe we could have a cup of coffee or a drink sometime and get better acquainted." His suggestion was met by her unwavering, steely glare. "You know, you just might find out I'm not the demon you apparently think I am." A broad, inviting smile crossed Keller's handsome features.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. . . . Chaney," she gritted her teeth as she said the name she loathed, "I really don't think--"

  Norman abruptly cut her off, "Yes, that's a great idea. I keep telling Maisy she really needs to get out of the office more--she's such a workaholic." Norman grinned. "Go ahead and give him one of your business cards, Maisy."

  Maisy narrowed her eyes, enunciating each word slowly through clenched teeth, "I don't have any with me
, Norman." Her threatening posture and expression were unmistakable. She wished Norman hadn't put her in this position, because now she was going to have to kill him.

  Norman licked his lip, breaking into a volley of his trademark, nervous staccato laughter, knowing he would be in for one hell of a browbeating later. "Hey, that's okay, I just remembered, I already gave Keller one of my cards." Norman rose and finding Keller's shoulder far out of range, gave him a friendly pat on the arm. "Keller, you just feel free to stop by the travel agency any time you're in the area and I'll make sure somebody can cover for Maisy while you two go out for a couple of cappuccinos or something."

  "Sounds good, Norman, I think I'll take you up on your offer. That is, if it's okay with Maisy."

  Maisy shot Keller a frigid glance. "No, it most certainly--"

  Stepping in front of Maisy before she could finish, Norman said, "Are you kidding? Maisy would be delighted, wouldn't you, Maisy?" Without daring to glimpse Maisy's way, or risk giving her an opportunity to answer, Norman continued without pausing, "We'll see you soon then, Keller?"

  "You bet," Keller said giving Norman a wink and a hefty pat on the back before he strode off to meet his lunch companions.

  "Enjoy your lunch," Norman called after him. "The zucchini-crab cakes with pineapple-horseradish sauce are superb."

  "Don't bother to give my regards to your sister," Maisy added.

  "Nice guy, huh?" Norman said as he watched Keller walk away. "Bet you any money he lifts weights. I could feel those powerful triceps right through his suit coat." Turning back towards their table, a grinning Norman held a fist up and flexed his biceps. One look at Maisy's ice-pick glare wiped the grin right off of Norman's face. He took his seat and swallowed hard as the sound of Maisy's fingernails rapped out his death knell on the wood tabletop. Loosening the fish-print tie at his throat, Norman jut out his chin and ran his fingers beneath his collar to loosen it a bit. Trying in vain to recapture his light-hearted grin, he cleared his throat and said, "How tall would you say he is? Six-four, six-five? Nice dark, expressive eyes, too, huh?"