by Maria Geraci
There was silence. Silence was good, right? It meant he was at least willing to listen.
She went on. “I don’t think one mistake should wipe out five years of hard work.”
“You’re right. But I have to say, Georgia, you shocked me yesterday.”
Which part? The part where she’d quit or the part where she’d told him to fuck off? She figured now wasn’t the time to ask.
Maybe the best offense was some defense. “I was a little shocked too. I really hadn’t counted on getting a calculator for our five-year anniversary.”
“Are we going to go through that again?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “I understand. I tried to rush you into something you’re not ready for. I get that.” Somewhere in the back of her mind she could see Dave Hernandez shaking his head. She scowled. What did Dave Hernandez know about mature love?
“I’m glad to hear you’re finally being reasonable about this.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Yesterday, she’d had a hissy fit. No, she’d had worse than a hissy fit. She’d “showed out” as her mother used to say. And showing out had gotten her exactly nowhere. Keep your eye on the prize, Georgia.
“I’ve been thinking about something you said,” Spencer continued, “about never taking a vacation. Maybe you should take a two-week hiatus.”
A hiatus? It sounded more like a probationary period. Was Spencer trying to punish her?
She could feel the muscles on the side of her face twitch. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Who would do my work?”
“Like you said, Denise can fill in for you. No one is in dispensible, Georgia. Not even you. We’ll do fine for a couple of weeks without you. It’ll give you time to rethink your priorities.”
Rethink her priorities? She didn’t want to rethink anything. She already knew what she wanted. She wanted her job back. And to marry Spencer. She just had to find a way to make it happen.
She padded her way to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and rinsed out her mouth. The dull humming noise was getting louder. It was coming from downstairs, from the Bistro. A stab of white-hot guilt speared through her. All she’d thought about this morning was herself. Frida had to be feeling as crappy as she did, at least physically. But no doubt Frida had been working since dawn.
Georgia raided Frida’s closet again and found a spotless pair of khaki shorts and a plain white T-shirt. It was uncanny how they wore the same size. She splashed water on her face, braided her shoulder-length hair (still not red), and slid into her running shoes.
The place looked busy. Ed gave her a quick hug, then went back to filling an order. Ed had always reminded Geor gia of that nerdy boy in class—the proverbial Napoleon Dynamite. His frizzy blond hair and tortoiseshell glasses aided the image. He was tall and gangly, had kind eyes, and spoke with a soft voice. You couldn’t help but like Ed. Georgia just wished he was more ambitious.
Frida gave Georgia a morning-after sympathy smile, then resumed taking a customer order.
Georgia poured herself some coffee, then doctored it up with cream and artificial sweetener and took a big sip. “What can I do to help?” she asked Ed, feeling semi-human again.
Ed nodded at an empty table cluttered with dishes. “You can bus that table.”
Georgia had bussed enough tables in her lifetime to be able to do it in her sleep. She’d had a full scholarship to Stanford, but she’d still had to work through school for spending money. She found a damp rag and wiped down the table, then dumped the dirty coffee mugs into a large sink filled with warm, soapy water. The next thirty minutes went by quickly. She toasted bagels, cleaned tables, and refilled the toilet paper roll in the bathroom. By eleven they were officially closed and the last of the customers had gone. The tiny kitchen area was a mess and the sink overflowed with dirty dishes.
“You need to hire some help,” Georgia said. “Or at the very least use paper products.”
“It’s not always this busy,” Frida said. “Besides, we can’t afford to hire anyone. And paper products are bad for the environment.”
Georgia was about to respond when the door opened. “Morning,” Dave said pleasantly. He wore navy blue shorts and a collared shirt with deck shoes.
“We’re closed,” Georgia blurted.
“Georgia!” Frida glared at her. “Don’t be rude. I promised Dave free coffee anytime.” She turned and smiled at him. “What would you like?”
“Just a black coffee. Don’t worry,” he said to Georgia. “I’ll take it to go.”
“Don’t be silly,” Frida said. “Stay as long as you want.”
Georgia could feel her face turn red. Frida was right; she was being rude. But she couldn’t help herself. Dave Hernandez was the last person she wanted to see this morning.
Dave glanced between the sisters. “I’ll still take it to go,” he said.
“We don’t do paper products here, so unless you have a to-go mug . . .” Frida shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “I sell them, but I’m out right now.” She handed Dave a large ceramic cup full of hot coffee.
“Thanks.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a couple of dollar bills. “And I’ll pay for my coffee.”
Frida began to protest, but Dave stopped her. “I plan to stop by a lot for coffee. I don’t want to take advantage of your offer last night.”
Frida reluctantly took the bills, then introduced Dave to Ed and the two men shook hands. Georgia was bent over a table wiping it down when she overheard Dave mention he had a tee time.
She jerked up. “You play golf?”
He took a sip of his coffee. “Anything wrong with that?” he asked mildly.
“It’s just . . . you don’t seem the type,” she said, hearing the defensive tone in her voice. What was wrong with her?
The door opened again. This time the Charlie’s Angels trio came strolling in. Pilar and Kitty looked as bleary-eyed as Georgia felt. Shea wore dark sunglasses that she didn’t take off. After they exchanged greetings with Dave, they hugged both her and Frida (apparently hugging was the norm greeting in Whispering Bay) and proceeded to get their own coffee.
Didn’t anyone in this town know the meaning of a Closed sign?
“We’re having our weekly Friends of the Rec Center meeting,” Frida explained to Georgia. “Want to sit in? We’re finalizing plans for Black Tie Bunco.”
Why not? She was on a two-week hiatus. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do. “Sure.”
“Too bad you won’t be in town long enough to attend,” Shea said.
“Actually, it looks like I’ll be in town for a while,” Geor gia said, feeling Dave’s gaze on her.
Kitty and Shea exchanged a guilty look. “That’s right,” said Kitty. “You quit your job last night. I’d forgotten about that.”
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” asked Pilar. “You’re a Stanford grad. Remember that.”
Georgia bit back a response. It wasn’t fair to blame anyone for last night. No one had forced her to drink those margaritas. Or pick up the phone and drunk dial Spencer. Not really. “I talked to Spencer this morning. I still have my job for now. I’m going to take a two-week vacation and rethink my options.” She couldn’t stop the bitterness that seeped into her voice.
Frida’s face tightened. “What options?”
Besides slit my wrists? “Don’t worry,” she said, putting on a bright smile. “I have no intention of leaving Moody Electronics. It’ll work out. But right now, I think I’ll hang out here—get a little sun. If that’s okay with you.”
“Of course it is,” Frida said, still looking worried.
“Maybe I’ll help out with this Black Tie Bunco thing. It sounds kind of fun,” Georgia said.
Shea finally took off her sunglasses. “It will be fun. And we’re thrilled to have you on board, Georgia. We can always use an extra set of hands.” Georgia understood why Shea had kept the sunglasses on until now. She looked as bad as Kitty and Pilar.
Her eyes were bloodshot and the skin beneath them puffy. It appeared everyone was paying the price for last night’s antics.
Shea pulled a hot pink leather folio case and a pen from her bag and laid them on the table. “All we need is Viola and we can start our meeting.”
As if on cue, an older woman with salt-and-pepper chin-length hair came strolling into the restaurant. She wore a bright orange T-shirt and a cream-colored cotton wraparound skirt with sandals. She had sparkly blue eyes and her cheeks were flushed. “Hello, girls! Sorry I’m late, but I had a yoga class in Destin.”
“Viola is learning to become a yoga instructor,” said Kitty, tossing the older woman a proud smile.
Frida introduced Georgia to Viola Pantini. “Besides being on the Friends of the Rec Center committee, Viola is also head of the Gray Flamingos.”
“The what?”
“Don’t you remember? We told you about them last night,” Kitty said. “The Gray Flamingos are Whispering Bay’s senior citizen watch group, sort of the like the Gray Panthers but without the mean animal association.”
Viola smiled at Georgia and extended her hand. Her grip was warm and steady. “Of course you’re Frida’s sister! You could be twins.”
Dave snickered. Georgia decided to ignore him. “Um, thanks,” she said.
“Shall we start?” Viola asked, taking a chair next to Shea.
Shea sat up straight, her demeanor all business. “Black Tie Bunco is our kickoff event, so it’s important we set the right tone for the rest of the fund-raisers we have planned. We all know there are factions here in town that would like to see us fail. For their own personal, selfish reasons, of course,” she added.
The group nodded.
Georgia frowned. Who wanted to see them fail?
“But that’s not going to happen, because Black Tie Bunco is going to make a huge splash.” Shea spread her hand through the air like she was reading some invisible marquee. “Think glamour, think Hollywood, think—”
A blonde woman carrying a small dog in her arms walked into the restaurant.
“Think about locking the door next time,” Pilar muttered.
“Am I late?” the woman asked breathlessly. Then before anyone could answer, she looked at Frida and smiled. “Frida, be a doll and get me some coffee, will you? On second thought, make that a latte, skinny, one Splenda.”
“Sorry, Bettina, I’ve already cleaned the latte machine,” said Ed. “But I’d be happy to pour out the last of the coffee for you.” Ed held up a pot with a few inches of what were obviously the dregs.
The woman wrinkled her nose. “No, thanks.” The dog in her arms began to yip. “Quiet, Tofu,” she cooed to the little white dog. It looked like a poodle, only not.
“Bettina, we’re in the middle of a meeting,” Shea said.
“The Friends of the Rec Center meeting, right? I’m here to represent the Bunco Bunnies.”
8
How she could actually say Bunco Bunnies with a straight face was beyond Georgia. This must be the infamous Bettina Bailey she’d heard about last night. Bettina was average height and slender in her white tennis shorts and form-fitting fuchsia tank top. Her skin was tan and she wore sparkly sandals. Her toenail polish matched the color of her top. Georgia sneaked a peak at her breasts. If they were any perkier they’d hit her chin.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Viola said, “The Bunco Bunnies?”
“That’s the name of Bettina’s new Bunco group,” clarified Pilar.
“We had our first game last night at my house,” Bettina said, taking the last empty chair at the table. She settled Tofu onto her lap. “And can I just brag a little and say that it was a grand success?”
“That’s great,” Kitty said, catching Pilar’s gaze.
“So who’s in your group?” asked Shea.
Tofu began whimpering and flailing her paws in the air. The dog’s nails were painted the same color as Bettina’s. “Let’s see. Christy Pappas for one. She’s so much fun! And Laura Barnes and Felicia Morgan—”
“Those are our subs,” protested Shea.
“Sub-terfurger,” Pilar muttered under her breath.
Kitty sighed. “That must be Pilar’s word for someone who sneaks off with our subs,” she whispered to Georgia.
Bettina must not have heard them because she smiled. “Exactly, and they were thrilled that someone in this town had the gumption to start another Bunco group. Surely you can’t expect them to wait around forever until one of you Babes keel over—no offense meant. But girls just want to have fun, you know!”
Tofu started to bark. Bettina glanced at Georgia. “It’s about time you hired some help, Frida.” She plucked Tofu off her lap and tried to hand the wiggling pooch off to Georgia. “Be an angel and take her outside for me, will you? She needs to tinkle.”
Georgia’s eyes narrowed. Was this woman serious?
“I’ll be happy to take care of your dog,” interjected Dave. He’d been sitting on a stool by the kitchen counter and had been so quiet, Georgia had almost forgotten about him. He stood and held his hands out. Tofu practically leapt into his arms. “Hey, there,” Dave said, stroking Tofu’s fluffy head with his long fingers. “What kind of dog is this?”
“She’s a shitzpoo,” said Bettina. “It’s a cross between a shih-tzu and a poodle.” She looked Dave up and down, her brown eyes widening appreciatively. “And who are you?”
“Dave Hernandez,” he said, introducing himself.
“Dave is an old friend of Steve’s,” said Kitty. “And this is Georgia, Frida’s sister.”
After a couple more seconds of gawking at Dave, Bettina turned her attention back to Georgia. “How sweet of Frida to hire her own sister!”
Georgia grit her teeth. “I don’t work for—”
“Georgia’s the chief financial officer of a very prominent electronics company in Birmingham,” Kitty piped in.
“And she’s a Stanford grad too,” said Pilar.
Bettina didn’t seem impressed. “That’s nice.” She turned her attention back to Dave. “Are you sure you can handle Tofu? She’s pretty frisky.” Bettina batted her eyelashes with this last part.
Dave caught Georgia’s eye. “I can handle frisky.” Was that supposed to be for her benefit? She ignored him. “C’mon, girl,” he said, readjusting Tofu in his arms, “let’s go take care of you.”
Bettina waited till Dave walked out the front door to giggle. “He can take care of me anytime,” she said, using her hand to fan her face. At the silence around the table, she straightened in her chair and sniffed. “If I wasn’t married, of course.”
“Bettina,” Pilar began, “I think it’s awfully sweet that you want to help, but we’ve pretty much got the whole Black Tie Bunco thing under control, so there’s no need for you to spend your valuable time here.”
“But I want to help! It’s practically my civic duty. And since the event involves Bunco, as head of the Bunco Bunnies, I really insist on being a part of this.”
“We’re down to the wire, Bettina,” explained Shea. “All the preplanning and ordering has been done. Most of the work now will involve physical labor. Cleaning up the senior center, putting up decorations, that sort of thing. We’re doing as much as we can ourselves to save money.”
“Shea,” Bettina said in a tone meant for a child, “I’ve been handling decorations since I was in the cradle. And don’t forget, I am head of the Whispering Bay Beautification Committee.”
“Exactly. You have so much going on! And now with Josh off to college, you don’t have anyone to help you cart around the twins,” said Shea. “Aren’t you always complaining how much time you’re in the car shuffling them to all their after-school activities?”
Bettina sighed wistfully. “I do miss my Josh. That’s my oldest son,” she clarified for Georgia’s benefit. “He’s a freshman at Florida. That’s his daddy’s alma mater.” Her smile suddenly went coy. “I must have forgotten to tell you, Shea, I have a nann
y to help me with the twins now. You even know her.” She paused dramatically. “Persephone Hall?”
Shea went rigid. “You hired Persephone? Bettina, I have to warn you. I fired Persephone yesterday after I caught her drinking on the job.”
“That’s what she told me, but she explained it was all a big misunderstanding. Persephone doesn’t drink alcohol of any kind. She’s allergic to it. Plus, I checked out her references and they’re impeccable.”
“Allergic? Bettina,” Shea ground out, “didn’t you hear me? I caught her drinking beer from Moose’s hunting stash.”
“She thought it was a lime cooler. Really, Shea, haven’t you heard of giving people the benefit of the doubt? Besides, the twins adore her, and so do I. She was up at the crack of dawn doing laundry. Laundry!” Bettina laughed disbeliev ingly. “I told her it wasn’t in her job description. That’s what I have Consuelo for, after all, but Persephone said she wanted to help around the house too.”
“And that doesn’t strike you as a little suspicious?” Shea asked.
Bettina sighed. “I’m glad I’m not as cynical as you. It’s really kind of unattractive, you know?”
Shea began to sputter.
“Maybe we should just get down to business,” said Kitty.
“Good idea,” Viola added quickly.
Kitty handed Bettina a sheet of paper. “So here’s the menu. I think we have all the details ironed out beautifully.”
Bettina cocked up an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re doing the desserts?” she asked Frida.
“Frida makes wonderful cheesecakes,” said Kitty. “All the food is being donated. The Harbor House is catering the main dishes, Frida is doing desserts, and the liquor is being provided by Cooper’s. We’re using only local vendors. Of course, the waitstaff will be paid, but there’s no getting around that.”
“Uh-huh.” Bettina looked unconvinced.
“Here’s the decorating scheme,” said Shea, unfolding a floor plan of the senior center.
Bettina eyed the schematic and frowned. “There aren’t enough balloons. You can never have enough balloons. And you need something big here,” she said, indicating the top of the diagram. “Something dramatic that will catch everyone’s attention. Like a stage.”