“Of course?”
“Dr. Soo is a retired textile engineering professor. From Georgia Tech. She’s the one who designed this new underwire. Been tinkering with it ever since she retired. Once she had a lightweight, ultra-thin wire with the proper tensile strength, she sent it to one of her colleagues over at Tech, and they put some grad students to work on it, figuring out possible applications for it. One of the women suggested they try using it in the design of a new kind of bra. And that’s where I come in.”
I smoothed the bra out over my kneecaps, bent over to look closely at the fabric. “How on earth did you find out about all this?”
“Same way a blind pig finds an acorn,” Will said. “Right after I first bought the plant, I was over here one Sunday, moving stuff into my office. She was driving by, saw me standing in the parking lot, and stopped to say howdy.”
“And she just happened to mention that she’d invented this wonder wire,” I said.
“Yeah, basically,” he said, missing my sarcasm. “I mean, here’s this old Oriental-looking lady, dressed in baggy khaki shorts with a bandana on her head,” Will said. “At first I thought maybe she was looking for a job on the sewing line. Next thing I know, she’s telling me she’s a retired professor and she’s asking if I was gonna shut the place down. Said one of her neighbors used to work here, and he’d told her we were having hard times. She hated to hear it, because it turned out she’d gotten a little research grant from Loving Cup, back when the Gurwitzes owned it, when she was a grad student at Tech.”
“And that’s when she sold you the magic bra—in return for a bag of gold coins,” I said.
“She’d been thinking about approaching somebody in the apparel business. Used to be there were more than a dozen clothing assembly plants in this area alone,” Will said. “We’re the last ones left. And it just happens that our plant is down the road from her farmette.”
“And she hates underwire bras,” I said.
“I wouldn’t swear to this,” Will said, “but from the look of her, I don’t believe Dr. Soo wears foundation garments. She probably only weighs eighty pounds soaking wet.”
“So where’d you get the bra?” I repeated.
“I signed an exclusive licensing agreement with Tech,” Will said. “Then I found a plant in South Carolina that could spin the wire, and another one in Dothan, Alabama, that could weave the actual lace fabric. That bra you’re holding is the first one stitched in the plant in Sri Lanka.”
I handed the bra back to him. “If it’s made in Sri Lanka, what happens to the plant here? How does this help good old American workers in Madison, Georgia?”
“It will,” he said stubbornly. “It’s going to save this company.”
“All by itself?” I asked, looking around at the timeworn office. “Will, I worked out here, years ago, when Loving Cup was in its heyday. Back then a Loving Cup bra was a status symbol. We were running three shifts a day, and we even had a smaller plant over in the south end of the county. A machine operator working here could make seven dollars an hour. That was big money. But things have changed. The company didn’t keep up. The bras you’re making now, they’re a joke. How are you going to turn all that around—and just like that—overnight?”
“We’re going to become a different company,” Will said, leaning forward, his eyes glowing with intensity. “Same name, but a whole different product. We’ll be smaller, leaner, meaner.”
“Smaller than now? How is that possible? This place is a ghost town.”
“That’s not how I mean small,” Will said. “We’re going to retool the plant. Completely. We’ve been making cotton garments all these years. Now we’ll switch to MMF.”
“MMF?”
“Man-made fabrics. We’ll produce and cut the fabric here, but mostly the bras will be stitched overseas.”
He saw the unhappy set of my face.
“It’s a fact of life, Keeley. We can’t compete in the marketplace with a garment made totally here in Madison. But what we can do is this—we can weave the lace here in the States, and we can do the cutting here. Most of the assembly is done in Sri Lanka—but the bras will be sent back here for packaging and shipping. We’ll do enough work here to earn a ‘Made in USA’ label, and we’ll get the plant back up and running—and we’ll be making a damn good product.”
“It sounds like you’ve got everything all figured out,” I admitted.
“Not everything,” he said. “Not by a long shot. I’ve gotta get the financing for the new machinery we’ll need, and I’m hoping we’ll get some tax incentives from the state to help with that. We’ll have to retrain folks for new jobs, and yeah, the ones who can’t or won’t adapt, those people will be out of luck. And then there’s you.”
“Me?”
“I need you,” Will said. “Need you to get the house rolling. I can’t keep sleeping here in the office. I’m getting a crick in my back from the sofa, and Miss Nancy looks at me funny when she comes in every morning. I don’t think she approves of me living here.”
“She doesn’t approve of you, period,” I informed him. “She thinks you’ve got some uppity ideas.”
“Uppity.” He laughed.
“But if you keep this place running, and her working, you’ll have her undying support. She’ll take a bullet for you, if she’s on your side.”
“What about you? Are you on my side? How soon can you get the house livable?”
“You said Christmas,” I pointed out.
“I need to be in there sooner,” he said. “The old pump house will be ready for me to move in by Friday, sort of as a guest house, you know? They’re putting the finishing touches on the roof today, and we’ll have wiring and a bathroom by then too. For furniture, I just need the basics. How soon can you get me a bed and a table and some chairs? And some lamps. And a television,” he added. “So I can watch the Braves games at night.”
“You don’t have any furniture of your own?” I asked. “Nothing? Have you been living in that car of yours?”
He sighed. “I had a lady friend. She got a promotion and moved to San Francisco, and that’s when we parted company—by mutual agreement. She kept all the furniture and stuff, since I was moving here anyway, and didn’t have a house lined up. I kept the Caddy. Now, is that enough information? How about it? How soon can I move in?”
“The end of the week? It won’t be anything fancy. I guess I can get a mattress and box spring and bedding delivered by Friday. And I can pull some odd chairs and a table and dresser from our storage locker, to fill in until the real stuff arrives.”
“Great,” he said. “You’re doing great.” He gestured at the drawings and fabric samples. “Stephanie’s gonna love this. I just know it.”
“We’ll see,” I said, gathering up my stuff. “The rest is up to you. Your big night is Wednesday, right?”
He yawned. “Right. If I can stay awake that long.”
26
Gloria wrinkled her nose as I slathered lotion on my face, neck, arms, and legs.
“What is that hideous smell?” she cried. “Surely you’re not going to see a client smelling like that.”
“It’s the latest thing,” I said, handing her the tube so she could see. “Deep Woods Off!”
“I take it you’re headed out to Mulberry Hill?” she asked, looking up from the auction catalog she’d been marking up.
“Yup. I’m meeting the furniture truck over there in half an hour. With all the rain we’ve been having, those woods are swarming with skeeters.”
I crossed my fingers. “The HVAC guys got the new heat and air unit installed in the pump house yesterday, and the painters were supposed to have finished up last night, and with any luck, the floors will be dry too.”
“What did you decide to do about the floors?” Gloria asked.
“I had the old brick pressure washed, and they cleaned up really nice. Just slicked ’em up with a matte-finish polyester.”
“Good.” She nodded her a
pproval. “What’s your client think about what you’ve done so far? Is he aware of the miracles you’ve worked on his behalf?”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “He’s livid that we’re three days behind schedule. He wanted to move in on Friday, but the rain delayed everything. Now here it is Monday, and he’s been calling me every few hours for updates. Will just takes it for granted that stuff happens like this all the time. He has no idea that it’s not the normal procedure to take a nasty old brick pump house and turn it into an adorable guest house in under a week.”
“Men,” Gloria said.
“Yeah, but in his defense, he’s been incredibly busy. He’s got some new miracle bra that he’s working on, and it’s going to take totally re-tooling the plant to get it into production. And then there’s Stephanie.”
“His dream date,” Gloria said dryly.
“We’ll see,” I said. “I know they had their first date last week, and I haven’t had the nerve to ask Will how it went.”
“She’s crazy if she doesn’t jump all over him like a tick on a dog,” Gloria said. She smoothed her hair behind one ear. “That Will is just as yummy as they come. Don’t you just want to lick him all over?”
“Gloria!” I said, shocked. “Don’t be vulgar.”
“I speak the truth,” she said, winking. “And you know it.”
“He’s my client, not my john,” I said. “Anyway, he has red hair. And freckles. Furthermore, I am officially done with men.”
“Right…” she drawled.
“I mean it. I’m going to be like you, Glo. Strong, independent, a woman of substance…”
“You mean a shriveled up old maid with a healthy bank account? No. I absolutely forbid it. Anyway, what makes you think I’m done with men?”
“Aren’t you?” I looked at my aunt carefully. “Are you seeing somebody?”
“None of your beeswax,” she said tartly, going back to her catalog. “All I’m saying is, don’t judge all men by A. J. Jernigan. And don’t overlook the obvious.”
“It’s not obvious to me,” I fired back, gathering up a huge tote bag of stuff I was taking out to Mulberry Hill for the installation. I had my tool kit, with an electric screwdriver, tack hammer, pliers, scissors, measuring tape and yardstick, level, stud finder, and assorted nails, tacks, and other picture-hanging doodads. Plus some hand-sanitizing wipes, paper goods, aspirin, cleaning supplies, a huge can of bug spray, and a bottle of Scotch. Will struck me as a Scotch drinker. Not that I am. Can’t stand the stuff.
I’d also packed a cooler with several bottles of water, cheese and crackers, some peaches, a large plastic bag of green seedless grapes, and a bottle of Chardonnay.
“Looks like you’re packing for an expedition to Malaysia,” Gloria observed.
“I don’t want to have to come all the way back into town if I forget anything,” I said, slinging the tote over my shoulder. “And you do realize, I’m totally furnishing this place? Will claims not to have any belongings besides his clothes and a few books that he wants to move in with. So that means the works. Dishes, pots and pans, linens, silverware. You should see the trunk of the Volvo. I had to rig it closed with a bungee cord.”
“We’re billing for all this time, right?” Gloria asked.
“Absolutely. Hourly, plus cost-plus for all the stuff I had to buy. We’re going to have a very nice payday this month.”
“Good thing,” Gloria said. “Our billings are way behind for the year.”
“Still? I thought things were picking back up again. A.J. swore he’d tell his daddy and brother to quit trying to drive us out of business.”
“We did get the carpet in the bank laid and paid for,” Gloria said, frowning. “But it’s just slow. Very slow. And it’s nothing I can put my finger on.”
I sighed. “I can. It’s me. People in this town still can’t get over the fact that I called off the wedding. And it’s so damn unfair. It’s not my fault A. J. Jernigan couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
Gloria got up and walked me to the door. “I’ll tell you a little secret. That’s how all Jernigan men are. Every damn one of ’em.”
My eyes widened. “What’s that supposed to mean? You don’t mean A.J.’s daddy. I don’t believe it. The way people in this town talk? I would have heard something like that. Anyway, GiGi wouldn’t put up with Big Drew’s foolin’ around on her.”
“I mean all of ’em,” Gloria said firmly. “I kept my mouth shut before, since you were marrying into the family. I really thought maybe A.J. was different. But he’s a hound just like all the rest of ’em. A.J.’s granddaddy, Chub? Back in the sixties, when this was still a dry county, there was a place, a roadhouse out there off of 441. It didn’t have an official name, everybody just called it BeBo’s. I was just a little kid, but my mama said nobody nice would ever step foot in BeBo’s. It was where the locals went to drink and dance and whore around. And guess who owned it? Chub Jernigan. And the woman who ran it, her name was Cherie. She was Chub’s mistress. Big Drew wasn’t any better. You know Angela Baker, that ditzy brunette who used to work the drive-up window at the bank? How do you reckon somebody with only an eighth-grade education kept a job at a bank?”
“Angela Baker used to always give me green lollipops when I went with Daddy to make the dealership’s bank deposit,” I said. “Are you saying she was screwing around with Drew?”
“Yes ma’am, and she was just the first in a long line. GiGi knew about it too. She only made Big Drew fire Angela after he tried to promote her to assistant manager.”
“You’re making all of this up,” I accused her. “I’ve lived in Madison my whole life, and I never even heard a whisper about a place like BeBo’s. Or about Chub Jernigan. He was on the County Commission, Glo. And so was Big Drew too. And A.J.’s granddaddy was a vestryman at Church of the Advent. There’s a stained-glass window in his honor. I’ve seen it a hundred times.”
Gloria gave me a sad smile. “It’s not something that gets talked about a lot in polite society, but if you don’t believe me, ask your daddy. He eats breakfast every morning of the year, practically, over there with Big Drew and all the rest of the men at Ye Olde Colonial. I bet he knows a lot worse stuff about the Jernigans than I do. Not that he’d ever say a word to you about it.”
I felt tears rising in my eyes. It was one thing to catch your fiance screwing your best friend, but this was too much. Before the wedding debacle, I really liked A.J.’s family. GiGi had been a dream client. She’d treated me like a real daughter. After my first “official” date with A.J., she’d taken me out to lunch at the club and beamed at me across the table. “I couldn’t be happier about you two,” she’d said then. “A daughter, finally, after all these years.”
And Big Drew was funny and sweet and thoughtful. He’d given me a pair of diamond earrings as an engagement gift, and told me they’d been made out of a pair of Chub’s old cuff links. The thought made me shudder. I bit my lip and brushed away a tear.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Gloria said, giving me a hug. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that stuff. It all happened a long time ago. But I figured you’d probably hear about it sooner or later. And it just makes me so damn mad that the Jernigans are still taking this wedding stuff out on us and our business.”
“It’s okay,” I said, pulling in a deep breath. “You were right to tell me. I’m a big girl. It just came as a shock, that’s all.”
“Thank God you didn’t marry into that bunch, after all,” Gloria said briskly. “I’m not about to let them drive us out of business. Now, I don’t want you worrying about this. I’m sorry I even brought it up. Everything will be fine. This Mulberry Hill job’s gonna put us on the map. You wait and see.”
The shop’s front door opened, and Austin popped his head inside. “Hellooo,” he sang out. “Keeley, are you ready to roll yet? Janey’s minding the store over at my place, but she says she can only stay till five-thirty ’cuz her Wal-Mart shift starts at six. So let’s get going. I cann
ot wait to see what you’ve done with that old pump house.”
Gloria raised one eyebrow. “You’ve roped Austin into this?”
Austin stepped inside the shop. He was dressed in a pair of immaculate white zip-front coveralls, and he had a white canvas painter’s cap perched backward on his nearly bald head. Red Converse high tops finished off the outfit, which he’d accessorized with a red bandana tied jauntily at his throat.
“I roped myself in, Glo,” he said. “I’m Keeley’s junior apprentice trainee for the day. She’s going to teach me all the tricks of your trade. And I am absolutely aquiver with anticipation.”
“I told him,” I said. “It’s dirty, brutal, agonizingly painstakingly awful work. And that’s just for the window treatments. But he wouldn’t be talked out of it. And I could actually use his help, if we’re going to get everything done in one day.”
Gloria tsk-tsked. “I’d do it myself, if I could. But I promised to take some wallpaper books and flooring samples over to Mozella this afternoon.”
“Mozella? She’s going to do the beauty parlor over again?”
“I know,” Gloria said, shaking her head. “It’s only been a year since we redid the shampoo room and the bathroom. It’s fine just like it is. I think maybe she’s just feeling sorry for us and is giving us make-work. But if she wants to spend her husband’s money, it’s not my business to tell her not to.”
“Y’all,” Austin said, tapping his foot impatiently. “Can you talk this girl chit-chat later? I can hear that pump house just crying out for my artistic license.”
“Go on,” Gloria said, waving us out the door. “Make magic. And don’t forget to take pictures.”
The shoulder of the highway at the entrance to Mulberry Hill was lined with a dozen or so battered pickup trucks and cargo vans. New asphalt road had been paved over the old mud road, and huge piles of fresh-cut timber and underbrush were stacked on either side of the shiny black pavement. The shaggy old boxwoods had been closely clipped, and a couple of Mexican workers were putting the finishing touches on whitewashed brick pillars marking the entry to the new drive.
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