by Kathy Krevat
“What businesses?” I asked.
“You know Powell Theaters? That’s one. East Village Bowling Alleys. He named it that because he grew up in the east part of San Diego. And he has Come and Get It Restaurants.”
“Wow,” I said. “Those are all over California.”
“Yep,” she said. “He’s a master at franchising. And he’s also a venture capitalist. If he decides to invest in you, you’ll have it made.”
I went silent. Lani seemed to read my mind.
“I didn’t introduce you to him before because I thought you’d say no. You were determined to do it all on your own. You’re stubborn, you know. But you’re going to need him now. With this Twomey’s deal, you’re going big time.”
* * * *
Big time.
Lani’s words rang in my ears as I pulled up my fledgling proposal. That was easy for her to say.
Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. What did “big time” mean to me?
I checked my phone for the zillionth time. I didn’t know why I kept checking. It was eight on a Saturday night. Surely, businessman Quincy had better things to do.
Then I saw it. A response from Mr. Powell. Maybe he didn’t have better things to do.
Dear Colbie, bff of Lani, J
I would love to learn more about your business and how I may help. Would you like to meet at the El Cajon Rental Kitchen Tuesday morning?
Tuesday? Could I finish a draft of the proposal by then? I thought about my schedule. I could do it.
I emailed him back that it worked for me, and asked for the time and address, feeling like I was taking a step into the unknown.
Chapter 10
There’s no such thing as a day off for a small business owner, but Sundays usually included some amount of down time. I always made a big breakfast for Elliott, and now my dad, and tried to do something fun. Of course, I still had to fit in some of the background stuff, like catching up on accounting and getting as much of the social media marketing out of the way as I could. I scheduled the upcoming week’s outgoing messages ahead of time so I didn’t have to think about them.
And today I had the added fun of working on my proposal and questioning Bronx while she groomed my dog-for-a-day.
In honor of Elliott’s musical, this morning’s special was pancakes in the shape of The Cat in the Hat, with cherry juice dribbled over whipped cream to decorate the red bow and make the lines in the hat, and chocolate sauce for the body.
“Elliott!” I called upstairs. “Breakfast.”
I opened the back door to let my dad know it was ready and took a moment to appreciate the view. The marine layer was moving back to the west and the sun was peeking through, throwing shafts of light onto the cornfield in the distance. “It’s beautiful out here.”
He patted the chair beside him. “Come have a sit.”
“Maybe later,” I said. “Breakfast is ready and the whipped cream will soon be ‘soupy cream.’”
He needed both armrests to push himself to his feet, making me worry yet again. He’d always seemed so big and strong to me. How could one illness do this to him?
I watched him take a seat at the table before walking over to the stairs again. “Elliott,” I called up, my mom voice clearly saying, “Now.”
“Sorry,” he said, yawning as he came down the stairs, slowly for once. “I was up late learning lines.” Then he saw the pancakes. “Cat in the Hat? Cool!”
“Sit down so we can eat,” my dad said with pretend grumpiness, and we all dug in.
“I’m going to visit the chicks, later,” Elliott said, with food in his mouth.
I raised my eyebrows and he swallowed before adding, “Sorry.”
That gave me the opportunity to ask the burning question. “I didn’t know Joss had a daughter.” I tried to sound nonchalant.
“Yeah,” Elliott said while he started mixing the cherry-flavored cream with the chocolate. “This is like a banana split. For breakfast!”
I brought him back to the topic at hand. “How old is she?”
He shrugged. “Never met her.”
My dad answered. “She’s ten. Her name’s Kai. It’s Hawaiian or something. He’s divorced. That’s why he moved here from Alaska to be closer to her.”
“He’s from Alaska?” It sounded so exotic. But I guess people from Alaska thought Southern California was exotic.
“Yep,” Elliott said. “He’s got a bunch of art from there. And a moose head named Joe!”
“Joe?” I asked. “He brought a moose head all the way from Alaska?”
“It’s special to his daughter,” my dad said, sounding a little defensive.
Elliott changed the subject, sounding both excited and anxious. “My old group never did a whole musical at camp. Just pieces of them.”
“I’m sure your director knows what he’s doing,” I said. “He’s been working with youth theater for years.”
“I know,” he said. “I just have a lot of lines to learn.”
“You’ll be great,” I said.
“When are you picking up that dog?” Elliott asked.
“A little before one,” I said.
“I wish we had a dog,” he said.
Trouble had been walking through the kitchen and stopped dead in her tracks. She looked over her shoulder like she totally understood him, and gave a loud, “Meow.”
We all understood what that meant. When hell freezes over, buddy.
“I couldn’t agree more. We’ve got enough Trouble already,” my dad said.
* * * *
I went up to let Elliott know I was heading out to get the dog early so the little guy could get used to this place before Bronx got here for his grooming.
“Hey, Mom?” He scooted back to sit against the headboard and then started to say something but stopped.
I sat down on the bed. “What’s up, kiddo?”
“Do you think…my dad might want to meet me?” His voice started off tentative and ended in a whisper.
My stomach clenched. Oh man. I knew this moment had to come, but now was just about the worst possible time.
“I know he didn’t want me. But maybe…” He took a deep breath. “Maybe he’d want to hear how I’m doing now, or something.”
I’d thought about how I’d handle this so many times, but all of my plans flew out of my head. “He might,” I said, wondering if I was telling him the truth.
He kept talking. “You said that some people aren’t meant to be parents. But, like, Joss is trying really hard to get custody of his daughter.”
“That’s true,” I said.
“My…dad is really old now. Like thirty-three.” His voice was earnest. “Maybe he’s, I don’t know, matured.”
I took a deep breath and asked, “What would you like to do?” I was proud of how calm I kept my voice in spite of the anxiety crawling up my spine.
“I don’t know. Maybe friend him on Facebook or something?”
I paused. “Do you want me to contact him first?”
He shook his head. “I’ll do it. I know his name,” he admitted. “You had it in the browser once and I looked him up.”
“Okay,” I said. “I knew you’d want to meet him, when you were ready.”
“He’s like a manager now,” Elliott said. “And I, I look just like him.”
I nodded. “Okay,” I repeated. My hands started to shake and I put them under my legs. “Should we contact him now?” My voice was a little too high, but Elliott didn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah,” he said. “Now would be good.”
* * * *
I got through it, somehow remaining upbeat even though I believed that it would only lead to heartache. I kept up the smile until I left Elliott alone in his room, heading downstairs and past the living room door with
a strangled, “I gotta go.”
Trouble jumped off my dad’s lap with a loud meow but I kept going. Out the front door to the street where I started walking and blubbering like a baby.
Why was I having this reaction?
Elliott was getting to an age where he could use a man’s perspective. Even though I made sure we had adult guy friends that he could count on and that he had a relationship with my dad, I knew he’d want to meet his biological father someday. It was perfectly normal.
How had I ever gotten messed up with Richard Winston the Third? We’d met when we were students at the University of California San Diego. He was the first in his family to not make it into Yale. He once confessed that he did it on purpose so he could escape his family’s plans for him. And to surf every day that he could.
I was in my own surfing phase and fell head over heels. I found out I was pregnant on Halloween. It was a total shock. We both committed to telling our parents over Thanksgiving. I told my dad, who had a complete meltdown, and that’s when I moved out. I was in such a white-hot rage at his reaction, that I’m not sure if he kicked me out or if I told him I was leaving.
Richard never came back. He sent me a letter saying to never contact him again and included a large check from his father. According to friends we had in common, his father wrote a much larger check to Yale and Richard transferred there. I dropped out of school and lost touch with those friends, but couldn’t help but Google him once in a while. He’d gone on to get an MBA and work in his father’s financial services company.
Maybe he’d finally matured enough to want to meet his son. I hoped Elliott hadn’t created a fairy tale where he and his dad would develop a wonderful relationship and live happily ever after.
I didn’t even notice which way I was walking until I tripped on the sidewalk in front of Horace’s house and fell hard on my knees.
“Whoa there, girl,” he said. Moving faster than anyone his age should be able to, he helped me up. “You okay?”
The concern in his voice was so different from the first time I’d met him. “I’m fine.” I brushed off his arm, but then I winced. My knees were a mess.
“Come up to the porch where it’s cool,” Horace said. “You gotta clean up those scrapes.”
“I can do it at home,” I insisted.
“You don’t wanna show your boy or your dad those knees,” he said. “Or those tears, I expect.”
Somehow I was walking along beside him, although I was careful not to put any weight on his arm. He had seemed so much larger on his porch, when he barely came to my shoulder, with a thin build made gaunt by age.
“Sit, sit,” he said. “I’ll be right out.”
I followed his orders, and sat in a wooden rocking chair that was solid and comfortable. The shock of hitting the ground so hard had stopped my crying. I was down to intermittent sniffles and feeling sorry for myself.
He came out holding a small first aid kit in one hand and a tall glass of iced tea with the other. “I hope it’s okay it’s sweetened.”
I took it from him, grateful. “That’s perfect.”
“I hope you don’t drink that chemical sugar crap,” Horace said. “It’ll turn your insides black.” He waited for me to take a sip and set the glass down on the small table in between the chairs before giving me a wet paper towel and a first aid kit. “You want to do this yourself?”
I nodded, taking it from him. My right knee had caught the worst of it and I focused on getting the dirt out of it.
“Your kid make you upset like that?” He looked off into distance, which made it easier for me to answer.
“He wants to find his dad,” I said with a hitch in my voice.
“Ah,” he said. “I know you probably don’t want to listen to an ol’ coot like me, but I’m gonna give you my advice anyways.”
“Okay,” I said, dabbing on some antibiotic cream.
“I assume his dad was a jerk back when he was a boy.” He said it like he already knew.
I nodded. “A big one.”
“Here’s what I know,” he said. “He’s still gonna be a jerk. You go ahead and let your boy talk to him. Your little man is smart. He’ll figure it out right quick.”
“But what if…?” I couldn’t even put into words what I was worried about.
“You tell him not to do it, he’ll end up still doing it and be mad at you about it,” he said. “Your boy loves you. No one is going take that away. You just gotta let him.”
I sniffed, and started working on the other knee.
“Now you finish bandaging yourself up and get on home before he figures out you’re upset. You let it take its course, and you betcha you’ll both be fine.”
* * * *
Elliott hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone. I changed quickly and headed out. My idea to question Bronx by borrowing a dog and getting it groomed was more subtle than my first approaches. I was feeling a little proud of myself when I knocked on the door of Lani’s mother-in-law’s house. That is, until I heard the ferocious barking of at least two dogs.
I took a couple of steps back, as if they might come crashing through the wood, like the pitcher in a Kool-Aid commercial.
The door opened and a tiny older woman peeked out. “You must be Colbie,” Mrs. Osmond said, pushing two snarling English bulldogs back with what must be her incredibly strong leg. “This is Hulk—he has the lightning mark on his forehead, just like Harry Potter, right? But we went with the Avengers for their names. And this little guy with the bum leg is Thor. Hold on for a minute while I get their leashes.” She closed the door, probably to save my life.
Hulk? Thor? Wait, leashes? As in more than one?
She was soon back with both dogs, who had stopped growling and were now happily scrambling to get outside. They dashed through the door right past me to pee on the strip of green that lined the walkway, staring at me with slobbering, breathing-through-their-nose delight.
She handed me both leashes. What was going on?
“These things are a little tricky,” she said. “Click that red button to shorten the leash.”
“But,” I tried, feeling overwhelmed.
“Thank you so much for taking them today,” she said. “I know you’ll have a blast. They growl a bit but don’t ever bite. They are really the sweetest creatures.” She bent down and grabbed the face of one (Thor?) while the other took off toward the road, the leash making a zinging sound as it let out. “You be good for Aunt Colbie.”
Aunt Colbie? I frantically pushed the red button, but it didn’t help. The dog didn’t stop until the leash hit the end, at least fifteen feet away, and he came to a stop, jerking my arm nearly out of its socket and taking a comical tumble, his back legs flying up and around until he was facing me, looking surprised.
“He’s fine,” she said. “He does that all the time.” Then she handed me a bag of dishes and toys. Wait. How long did she think I’d have them?
She escaped inside with such a relieved expression that I knew I’d been conned. Lani had called her a kind and gentle steamroller and now I knew what she meant.
Both dogs decided to explore different sides of the yard and to keep myself from being toppled over like a scene from a Three Stooges movie, I put a foot on each of the leashes and yelled, “Stop! Heel!”
Of course, they didn’t listen. They were having too good of a time. But I could slowly reel them in a little closer with each of their dashes across the grass, and jam on the leash lock. In a few minutes, they were sitting at my feet, their tongues hanging out and looking very pleased with themselves, while I was breathless and sweaty.
I noticed the drool coming from both of them. It was a good thing my car was old. “Okay, Hulk and Thor. Want to go for a drive?”
I swear they grinned at the word “drive” and in a split second they were up and running toward the car, tow
ing me along like a reluctant toddler.
“Slow down!”
They turned their heads toward each other, their scrunched-in faces seeming to laugh at me together. They continued to tug me along, surprisingly strong for their size. I opened the back door and they jumped in with effort, their squat bodies squirming and scrambling to get up on the seat.
Hulk immediately went to the opposite window and squished his face against it. I reached down to help Thor, trying to give him a hand so his leg had something to push up on. But then he slid and I ended up scooting him up by his butt. Ugh. I closed the door. How did little Ms. Osmond handle them? She was either stronger than she appeared, or they behaved better with her.
By the time I made it around the car to my own door, Hulk had jumped into my seat and had his face smashed up against my window, leaving behind a huge smear of dog snot. I pushed him over to the passenger seat with difficulty, especially since Thor decided he wanted to sit there too. They pushed shoulders against each other as if fighting over the front. I guess dogs couldn’t call, “Shotgun!”
The smell of dog breath whooshed by me. I hoped the grooming included brushing their teeth and administering some super-powered mouthwash. But their enthusiasm was kind of charming. “Okay, boys,” I said. “Let’s do this.”
I blasted the air conditioning, and as soon as the air turned cold, they shoved their noses toward the vents. The trip home was uneventful, other than driving carefully so they wouldn’t slide off the front seat into the dashboard. I learned that lesson after stopping for the first stop light.
I pulled into the driveway with a heavy sigh and put their leashes on just as Bronx arrived, efficiently angling her little trailer to back into our driveway. She hopped out of her car and waved. “Hey, Colbie.” She looked confused when she saw the dogs tumbling out of my car. “That’s Thor and Hulk. I thought I was washing y’all’s dog.”
Great. I’d chosen two dogs who were already her clients. What were the odds of that?
They dragged me along, running right up to her and wriggling with delight as she rubbed her hands on their backs. “Hello, my good boys,” she said in that tone people use for puppies and babies.