by Maria Geraci
It was shameless, using Spencer’s name to strong-arm Bruce like this, but men did it all the time. Why couldn’t she? I am woman, hear me roar . . .
“Am I making myself clear, Mr. Bailey?”
“I understand,” Bruce said, smiling weakly. “I’ll tell you what, let me study this a bit, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
Georgia stood. “Excellent. You have my business card? You can reach me on my cell twenty-four/seven.”
Bruce jumped from his chair to open the door for her. Whatever she thought of Bruce, his momma had raised him right.
Georgia dug her sunglasses out of the leather satchel and slipped them on as she stepped out into the bank parking lot. She looked up at the sun, beaming down bright and hot already. There was nothing better than successfully negotiating a business deal. It wasn’t completely wrapped up yet, but she could smell success in the air. She’d go back to the Bistro, help Frida and Ed clean up, then slip on her bikini and catch some rays. Her sister’s business was going to be saved. At least one part of her plan was going right.
Now to work on the other . . .
Georgia dialed Spencer’s cell phone, but it went to voice mail so she tried his work number.
Crystal’s crisp, professional voice answered, “Spencer Moody’s office.”
“Hi, Crystal, it’s Georgia. Is Spencer in?”
“Georgia! I’m so glad to hear from you. Are you having loads of fun?”
“Um, sure.”
There was a pause, then an envious sigh. “Only you wouldn’t be absolutely thrilled to take a leave of absence and spend it at the beach.”
Leave of absence? She hadn’t thought what Spencer might tell the rest of the employees about her “hiatus.” Leave of absence sounded like a prelude to a firing.
Georgia tried to keep her voice smooth and upbeat. “Can I talk to Spencer?”
Crystal’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s busy right now, Georgia. He’s meeting with the people from Valley Tech. John Ambrose is here himself.”
Georgia frowned. Valley Tech was one of Moody Electronics’s biggest clients. And John Ambrose was Valley Tech’s president. “I didn’t know they were scheduled to come today,” Georgia said. “And why are you whispering?”
Crystal giggled. “Sorry, you know how nervous I get whenever any bigwigs come around. They paid us a surprise visit. The whole plant is in chaos. I’ve already dropped one pot of coffee all over the floor.”
Georgia bit her bottom lip. Damn it. She should be at work today helping Spencer get through this.
Was Valley Tech thinking of pulling their business? Or maybe they were thinking of expanding their contract. She glanced at her watch. It was only ten a.m. If she jumped in her car and didn’t stop, she could be in Birmingham by three.
But maybe this was a good thing. Maybe it was just the wake-up call Spencer needed. After today, surely he’d realize how important her presence was in these sorts of negotiations. Plus, she couldn’t just haul off and leave right now. She needed to follow up with Bruce Bailey. “Tell him . . . tell Spencer I said good luck and ask him to call me the minute his meeting is over, okay?”
“Sure thing,” said Crystal.
13
Spencer didn’t call back till ten that night. Georgia found it hard to believe that his meeting had gone on that long. Either Crystal didn’t give him the right message or he was avoiding her. “How’s Florida?” he asked casually.
Georgia didn’t want to waste time with small talk. “Why were the people from Valley Tech at the plant?”
“Surprise visit,” Spencer said.
“Bastards.”
This produced a weak laugh. “They plan to be here for a few days. They’re thinking of giving us another contract. A big one.”
“Was Jim Harris in on the talks?” Jim was Moody Electronics’s VP of Engineering. He was smart and customers liked him.
“No, should he have been?”
Spencer was a whiz at sales. When it came to wining and dining a client, there was no one better. But John Ambrose liked hearing specific figures and projection rates, something Spencer didn’t exactly excel at.
“It’s just that Jim is always so on top of things. And it’s good to have a second when you’re with a big customer,” she said trying to be diplomatic.
“I’ve got things under control. John Ambrose is practically eating out of my hand.”
“That’s . . . great.” It’s not that she wasn’t happy for Spencer. And for the company. But it would have been nice to feel needed.
“So, you never answered my question. How’s Florida? What have you been up to?”
“Florida is hot. And sunny. And humid. Just like Birmingham right now. I’ve been helping Frida out at the Bistro. Hanging out at the beach, that kind of stuff.” She thought about the other day, when she’d torn down the wall at the senior center. But Spencer wouldn’t be interested in that. “Oh, I ran into a friend of yours today. Ted Ferguson.”
“Yeah?” Spencer chuckled. “Where’d you meet him?”
“At the local bank. I was there on business for Frida.” She paused. “How come I’ve never met him before? Considering he’s a business partner as well as a friend of yours it seems a little weird. You know?”
“He didn’t make a pass at you, did he?”
“No,” Georgia said cautiously.
“Good. The man’s a dog. That’s why I’ve never introduced you to him.”
Was Spencer jealous? Georgia felt a tiny glimmer of hope.
“I expect he’s keeping an eye out for our investment,” he continued.
“It seems like the condo project is going according to schedule.” An idea suddenly occurred to her. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “there’s this Black Tie Bunco function here Saturday night. It’s a fund-raiser to help build a new rec center in town. The old senior center is being demolished because it’s on the land the condos are going up on. Ted and the rest of the condo investors are going to be there.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It might be a good thing if you came down too. It would be good PR. And since it’s for charity the trip would be tax-deductible.”
“That’s one of the things I love about you, Georgia, you’re always looking out for me. But, babycakes, you know Bama’s opening game is this weekend. If it was any other time . . .” He drifted off leaving her to assume that otherwise he might have considered it.
She sighed. It was no use. Nothing short of the world collapsing could keep Spencer from his precious Crimson Tide. Still, he’d called her babycakes. Not that she was particularly fond of that endearment, but it meant that Spencer still thought of them as a couple. There was still hope.
“Listen, sugar, I have to go, I’m exhausted. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
14
Wednesday was a busy day at the Bistro, so cleanup took longer than usual. In the past few days, Georgia had gotten in the habit of helping Frida out. She took orders, bussed tables, chatted up the customers.
It wasn’t so bad, really. Frida’s friends came by most mornings for coffee—Pilar on her way to work, Kitty and Steve after their early morning run. Shea’s husband, Moose, came by every morning and ordered the same thing—a low-fat blueberry muffin and a skinny latte. He’d pat his stomach and wink at her. “Think my beer gut is getting any smaller?” “Definitely,” she’d answer. Then he’d grin and tell her he’d see her tomorrow.
Georgia recognized a few other members of Frida’s Bunco group. There was Mimi, who Georgia now realized was married to Zeke Grant, Whispering Bay’s chief of police. He also came in every morning, along with his two deputies, both of whom were named Rusty, so everyone just called them Rusty 1 and Rusty 2, which Georgia totally didn’t get because neither of them had red hair. But since Whispering Bay appeared to be the twenty-first century version of Mayberry RFD, maybe it wasn’t so weird after all.
Georgia met a lot of other locals, like Christy P
appas, who was married to Joey, who was Steve’s cousin. Christy was sweet, even if she was Bettina’s crony.
And then there were the Gray Flamingos.
On Wednesdays they held their weekly organizational meeting at the Bistro. They took up two long tables and ordered a lot of herbal tea and bran muffins and spoke in loud voices about things like senior citizens rights and who was due for a colonoscopy or a skin biopsy. Georgia had no idea how passionate the after-sixty-five crowd could be.
Her favorite of the bunch was Viola, who was a total sweetheart. She introduced Georgia to her boyfriend Gus Pappas, a widowed plumber who turned out to be Steve’s uncle and Joey’s father. Earl Handy had come to the meeting too. He’d asked for a free bran muffin, which Georgia had happily given him after apologizing yet again for his being stiffed a muffin last week. He paid for his bill in change and gave Georgia a quarter for a tip. One of the other Flamingos, a gentleman by the name of Mr. Milhouse had scoffed at Earl and pushed a couple extra dollars on Georgia, which she refused to take at first until the old guy’s face turned so red Georgia had been afraid not to.
And last but not least, there was Dave. He also came in every morning. Along with the silver stainless-steel coffee mug Georgia had bought him from Starbucks. She couldn’t help but be pleased that he was using it. He would order a black coffee and a lemon poppy seed muffin. While his order was being filled, he and Ed would chat for a few minutes, but he never stayed. If he caught her eye, he’d nod at her, but he didn’t initiate conversation or seek her out to say hello. She itched to ask him how the party renovations were going but something always held her back. It was weird. She thought they’d become friends.
Now that she and Frida had finished the tedious chore of scrubbing down the place, Frida took advantage to catch up on her baking. The smell of muffins and pastries filled the mid-afternoon air. Ed was upstairs painting while Georgia secretly worked on her marketing plan for the Bistro. She’d asked Frida to provide her with last year’s sales figures, invoices, receipts, and anything else she could use. At first, Frida had been reluctant, but Georgia had convinced her to hand them over.
Georgia stared at the papers sprawled over the table in front of her. From what she could see there wasn’t any reason the Bistro shouldn’t be a success. True, business could be sporadic, but Georgia would just have to show Frida ways to even out her cash flow. And there were literally dozens of areas Frida could tighten her belt or make cost adjustments. Taken individually, they weren’t a big deal, but all together, they could add up to huge savings. She scooped up the invoices and receipts and sorted them into piles just in time to see Ed coming down the stairs.
“Nose to the grindstone, huh?” he said.
Georgia had to bite her tongue to keep from telling Ed what she was working on, but she’d promised her sister she wouldn’t upset his mojo. Ed poured himself a cup of coffee. Georgia noticed his T-shirt was stained with wet paint and his hair seemed wilder than usual.
“What are you painting?” she asked. Not that she really cared. But it only seemed polite.
“A landscape,” he said, his blue eyes lighting up, which only made Georgia feel like a shrew. She wished she could get excited about Ed’s passion. If only for Frida’s sake.
“Is it on commission?”
The light in his eyes dimmed. “No. It’s one of the paintings I hope to display at the Harbor House.”
Maybe this was a good time to try to knock some sense into Ed. God knew he needed it. “How long have you been painting, Ed?”
“All my life.”
Georgia didn’t want to squash Ed. She really didn’t. But her sister was drowning and instead of throwing her a life preserver Ed was pulling her down further. “Have you ever thought about doing anything else?”
He blinked. “Like what?”
Like get a real job, she wanted to say, but before she could, Frida appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “What are you up to?” she asked suspiciously, eyeing the papers on the table.
“Georgia thinks I should get a real job,” Ed said mildly, taking a sip of his coffee.
Frida stared at her.
“I didn’t say that,” Georgia protested. She’d only thought it. “I was just wondering if Ed ever considered another career.” She turned back to Ed. “You did go to college, after all. What was your major again?”
“Philosophy,” Ed said.
Georgia tried not to cringe. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. But you could always teach, couldn’t you?” she asked, feeling encouraged by her idea. “Granted, teachers don’t make a lot of money, but there’s the insurance plans and the retirement programs. Those are great benefits. And then you have your summers off. I bet you could get a lot of painting done then.”
“Georgia, can I talk to you in private?” Frida asked.
Ed tossed Georgia an uncomfortable look. “I’ll catch up with you girls later.” He made a quick escape up the stairs.
Frida waited till Ed was out of earshot. “What’s gotten into you?” she demanded. “Are you trying to make my husband feel like shit?”
“Of course not! I really like Ed, you know that. I’m only trying to help.”
Frida glanced at the papers on the table. “So what is all that?”
Georgia didn’t want to tell Frida about the loan restructure. At least not yet. But there was no reason why she couldn’t share her business plan with her.
“I took the receipts and invoices you gave me and I’ve worked up a business plan. Basically,” said Georgia, “it’s figuring out ways to economize, but to also draw in more traffic and of course, increase profits.” She made a pretend show of shuffling the papers so that she wouldn’t have to meet Frida’s gaze. “Have you gone to the bank yet? To work out the loan problem?”
She’d been worried Frida would try to do her own loan restructure, inadvertently messing up the one Georgia had presented. She hadn’t counted on Bruce taking this long to make up his mind. If she didn’t hear from him by tomorrow, she’d give him a call and try to force his hand.
Frida made a face. “Not yet. But I need to. I’ve just been so busy with Black Tie Bunco, and of course, putting it off, I can almost pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“My offer still stands. About the money,” Georgia added hopefully.
“Yeah, thanks. But no, thanks.”
When they handed out the stubborn gene, Frida must have knocked everyone else to the side to stand first in line. Georgia handed her the proposal. “Maybe this will get you revved up.”
Frida read the marketing plan for about two seconds before she said, “Paper products? But you know I don’t believe in—”
“I know you don’t think they’re environmentally correct,” Georgia said. “But when you take into account all the hot water you have to use to wash dishes, it almost breaks even. Besides, you’re losing an entire customer base. Paper works because it’s convenient. And today’s customer is all about making it easy.”
“Since when did you become an expert on the coffee business?”
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that if you want to compete with businesses like Starbucks, then you have to be more like them. Only better. For one thing, you need free Wi-Fi in this place. And trendy music, something that says ‘drink more coffee.’ ”
Frida looked skeptical. “There’s music that says ‘drink more coffee’?”
“Subliminally, yes. There’s music to make you buy all sorts of things. Like groceries. Supermarkets do it all the time.”
“I thought they played music to make shopping more enjoyable.”
“Supermarkets play music that has been market-tested to appeal to their customer base to make them buy more groceries. If a market test proved that playing bongo drums increased revenue, then you better believe they’d pipe that into their stereo system. It’s not about making the experience more enjoyable, it’s about making the customer spend more money. That’s the bottom line.”
Frida shook her head. �
�I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to know. That’s what I’m for. Think of me as a business consultant—without the exorbitant fees they charge. Besides, I’m not done with my plan yet. When I’ve figured it all out, I’m going to present it to you and Ed. And I guarantee, you’re both going to love it.”
“All right, work on your plan all you want, and I promise to give some serious thought to whatever you come up with. Just don’t give Ed a hard time. Okay?”
Georgia was about to respond when a knock at the door caused both her and Frida to turn around.
Bettina Bailey pressed her nose against the glass door and waved.
Ugh.
“Tell her you’re closed,” Georgia said.
Frida ignored her and unlocked the door.
Bettina sailed in wearing a bikini and a Hawaiian print wraparound skirt with a big, floppy hat. The look said “just came off the beach” but Georgia noticed she was in full war paint. Tofu’s head stuck out the top of Bettina’s Coach bag. He raised his snout in the air and wiggled his nose.
“Tofu smells something fattening,” Bettina said, a horrified expression on her face.
“Tofu can smell calories?” Georgia asked.
Bettina glanced at Georgia. “You’re still here? Don’t you have some big important job in Atlanta?”
“That’s Birmingham. And I’m on vacation,” Georgia said in a sweetly false voice.
Bettina produced a sheet of paper from her bag. “I’ve been thinking, Frida, while I’m sure your cheesecakes are really yummy, they’re just a little too plain for what I’ve envisioned for Black Tie Bunco, so I’ve come up with this instead.” She handed the sheet of paper to Frida. “They’re straight out of the recipe book I’m putting together for the Whispering Bay Beautification Committee. So, what do you think? Key lime tarts! It’s my own special recipe. And nothing says Florida more than key lime pie.”
“I thought you were the balloon committee,” Georgia said.
Frida threw Georgia a hard look, then studied the paper and cleared her throat. “This sounds really delicious, Bettina, but I’ve already purchased all the ingredients for the cheesecakes.”