by Merry Farmer
No, she doubted Jogi would be talking to anyone about her, and that wasn’t what she was truly curious about. What she wanted to know was the bigger picture of why he was carrying what looked like a portfolio. Beyond simply being turned down by the Sedgewick Gallery. She couldn’t fight the thrill in her gut at the possibility he had taken her advice after all and was looking for a way to launch himself as a photographer.
The fact that he’d gone to Abigail Sedgewick, though…. That didn’t sit right with her. Not when Guy Sedgewick was the proverbial wrecking-ball about to destroy the bank.
“Knowing Howie, everything will be over the top.”
Calliope and Melody were still talking as their group reached the front door of the glittering nightmare that was the Paradise Space Flight building.
“As long as we don’t have to pay for costumes, they can be as over the top as he wants them to be,” Melody said with a laugh.
Jogi rushed forward to hold the door for the ladies, in spite of the portfolio in his arms. His gesture sent a pang of useless longing through Sandy.
“Way to make me look like a slacker,” Will teased him as they all passed through into the building.
“You could have held the other door,” Melody teased him. She paused halfway inside, and Will gave her backside a playful smack. She yelped, then burst into giggles, then took Will’s hand and moved on.
Jogi kept his eyes averted, like he’d spotted something interesting across the parking lot, as Sandy walked past him. She forced herself not to notice the snub, to ignore the pinch of Jogi’s mouth and the strain around his eyes. They weren’t together. How he felt was none of her business.
Of course, it was only polite to keep him involved in the conversation, even if they weren’t on good terms. She held back as the others moved on, opening her mouth to say something suitably banal.
“I’m just going to drop this off at my office.” He cut her off before she could get a single word out, glancing past her to Will, Melody, and Calliope.
They turned back, and Sandy pressed her lips shut.
“We’ll save you a seat,” Will said.
As Jogi headed off down a side hall, Sandy picked up her pace to rejoin her friends. Her face burned with embarrassment, which was ridiculous since she was the only one who knew that she’d been snubbed. The aborted exchange had ruined her mood, though. Not that everything else in her life hadn’t ruined it first.
The announcement of the teams for the dance competition was being held in PSF’s planetarium, and like almost every other event Howie staged, there were tables of food and drinks around the outside of the room.
“Wow,” Calliope said, grabbing a glass of punch from a table just inside the door. “I’m not going to need dinner after this.”
“Sometimes I wonder if Howie is generous, perpetually hungry, or just out of his mind.” Melody laughed and gestured for Will to follow her to a table containing every kind of cheese and cracker known to man.
Sandy wasn’t remotely hungry, but she headed to a table filled with vegetables and various dips, loading up a small plate, just to have something to do. The planetarium buzzed with happy, excited energy as a huge percentage of Haskell’s young and single people stood around talking and laughing and treating the event like a wedding reception. After the success of the last couple of mixers, Howie’s events had gained a reputation of being something you didn’t want to miss. In fact, as she filled her plate, Sandy saw people from several of the outlying ranches that she hadn’t seen for years.
Which drove home the point that she’d made a terrible mistake in putting her name in for the competition to begin with. The last thing she wanted when everything was so up in the air was to be around people.
“You look like today is not your lucky day.”
Twin sensations of shock and relief hit Sandy as Rita walked up to her. She’d reached the end of the vegetable table and had been standing there, lost in her own thoughts for who knew how long, so being spoken to startled her. But there was no one she was happier to see than her sister.
She shook her head, letting down some of the guard that had gone up the second she’d run into Jogi. “Things at the bank are awful,” she said, moving with Rita as she picked over the platters of vegetables.
“I’m sorry that I haven’t had the time to get more involved,” Rita sighed. “Not that there’s much I could do.”
“You could help me talk to the board members, get them to vote the right way.”
Rita’s brow flew up as she turned away from the table, plate in hand. “So they’re definitely calling for a vote?”
“Looks like it.”
They walked away from the table without having a definite direction to go in. Rita bit a carrot stick miserably. Sandy could barely bring herself to look at her snack, let alone eat anything.
“Have you noticed how old Dad is looking these days?” Sandy asked.
Rita made a low, gloomy sound. “He needs to take better care of himself.”
“He needs to be in top shape to fight the Bonnevilles,” Sandy said.
Rita gave her a wary look, but before she could say anything else, Laura called to them from a table several yards away. “Guys, over here. We saved you seats.”
Sandy exchanged one last worried look with Rita as they joined the others at the table.
“Be sure to leave that seat free,” Laura went on, pointing to the empty chair beside the one Sandy pulled out from the table. “We’re saving it for Jogi.”
Sandy froze, her jaw going hard. Rita was already halfway seated, so it would look weird if she suddenly asked her sister to swap seats.
“What are you saving for me?” Jogi asked as he approached the table, sending even more prickles of self-consciousness down Sandy’s spine.
“The chair,” Laura answered him with a sly grin. “The one next to Sandy.”
“Oh.” Jogi paused. Sandy peeked sideways at him. His expression was blank. “You don’t have to save a seat,” he went on. “I haven’t even grabbed a snack yet.” He started to step away. “If anyone else wants to sit here, go ahead and let them.”
He walked off.
Sandy’s heart sank. She all but tossed her plate of veggies on the table, flopping into the seat with an inelegance that wasn’t like her. At the same time, she scolded herself for being hurt by Jogi’s diss. It was barely a diss at that. He was just being nice, making way for someone else if they needed the seat.
Across the table, Laura sent Sandy a confused look. Sandy did a bad job of pretending she didn’t notice or didn’t know what the look meant.
Fortunately, Rita was on top of things. “So when do you think the board’s vote is going to be?” she asked loud enough for the others to hear, but clearly speaking only to Sandy.
Thank God for sisters.
“Soon,” Sandy answered, pretending the bank was the only thing on her mind. “In a couple of weeks, early September. Richard won’t let things drag out. He knows he needs to strike while the iron is hot and while he’s got enough board members in his pocket for the vote to go the way he wants. But he’ll wait until people get back from summer vacations.”
“I can’t believe the Bonnevilles are trying to take the bank away from you guys,” Calliope said, shaking her head and nibbling on a cracker smothered in brie. “They’re awful.”
“I’m so sorry,” Laura added as Ted approached the table with plates of snacks for both of them. “I feel partially responsible for the mess.”
“What mess?” Ted asked.
“Richard Bonneville is trying to steal the bank away from Sandy’s family because of the fossil,” she told him.
Sandy sat just a touch straighter. She knew that Haskell was a small town and that everyone knew everyone else’s business, but she hadn’t realized the extent of the bank’s problems were common knowledge. At least being common knowledge meant the conversation could go on with her having as little to do with it as possible.
“I
don’t really understand how boards of trustees for banks work,” Melody began.
“Ours isn’t normal,” Rita added.
“But it seems awfully sneaky for one board member to squeeze the others into voting to remove the CEO,” Melody finished.
“The rules were put in place to stop corruption or embezzlement, or other illegal activity,” Sandy explained, picking up a small broccoli floret, but twirling it rather than eating it. “And also to give the bank’s stockholders a say in how things are run. My great-grandfather put those rules in place during the Depression.”
Behind her, she heard, “The problem is that the gallery doesn’t have any space for more than eighteen months.”
Jogi returned to the table, Jonathan Cross with him.
“And there’s no way you could squeeze in there?” Jonathan asked. “Even for a week or two?”
“Anyone who thinks your dad would be involved in illegal bank activity is a jerk,” Melody said.
Sandy’s brain felt as though it had been ripped in two. She had to focus on the bank conversation going on at the table, but more than anything, she wanted to know what Jogi and Jonathan were talking about in terms of the gallery.
“We…uh…yeah, Dad’s pretty upset about it,” was all she could manage to say.
“What about finding another gallery?” Jonathan asked behind her.
“Is there anything you guys can do to fight the vote?” Calliope asked at the table.
Between the two questions, Sandy’ brain was paralyzed.
“Galleries book their shows months in advance,” Jogi said, destroying any chance she had of coming up with a reply to Calliope’s question. “I’m basically screwed.”
“We’re basically screwed,” Sandy heard herself say.
She was met by shocked looks around the table.
“I…I mean, I’m going to try to talk to the other board members to convince them not to oust Dad.”
“Hey, everybody. Any chance we could squeeze in another chair here?” Jonathan asked.
Everyone’s attention shifted, and for a blessed moment, Sandy no longer needed to split her focus.
“Yeah, we’ll make room.” Calliope got up from her seat and swiped a chair from another table.
There was a quick burst of scooting around and repositioning. Sandy inched closer to Rita, praying that Jonathan would sit next to her. She went so far as to push the empty chair away from her so that the extra could fit next to her. Jogi started to sit next to Calliope, but at the last second, Calliope said, “Jonathan, you can sit next to me, since I need to get to know you better.”
Sandy checked around the table, and sure enough, too many of her friends wore mischievous expressions. Laura had a hand over her mouth to hide a grin. It all made Sandy want to writhe out of her skin. The time was coming when she was going to have to explain to her friends how she had blown her shot with Jogi.
At last, Jogi took the seat next to her, clearing his throat as he pulled his chair into the table. Sandy didn’t look at him. She couldn’t bear to.
A moment later, she didn’t have to. She had plenty else to occupy her attention and to fume over.
“Hey, guys,” Ronny Bonneville said in his oily voice as he approached the table. His sidekicks, Tony and Mark, flanked him, their grins as obsequious as Ronny’s. “Hello, Sandy.” Ronny said a special hello to her, his eyes darting to the front of her blouse.
Sandy cleared her throat and met Ronny’s intrusive stare with narrowed eyes. “Are you ready to talk to your father about calling off the bank vote?” she asked, point blank.
Ronny answered with a smarmy laugh. “Come on, San. We’re not here for business. We’re here for pleasure.” He dropped his voice to a purring tone that would have been perfect for a Vegas lounge act.
Sandy rolled her eyes and turned back to the table and her barely-touched plate of veggies.
“Don’t you have something better to do than annoying people who don’t like you?” Rita asked, coming to Sandy’s rescue.
“Hey, babe, you’ll get your turn,” Ronny said with a wink.
Rita made a disgusted sound and turned away. Will and Jonathan looked as though they were ready to stand and warn Ronny and his buddies off. Jogi bristled with tension by Sandy’s side. But before any of them could do anything, Ronny went on.
“I’m looking forward to this dance competition,” he said, backing off a bit. “There’s nothing better than holding a woman in your arms, swaying to the luscious strains of a slow dance.”
“So you entered, did you?” Melody asked, her voice flat. “I’m suddenly glad I didn’t.”
“Well,” Ronny went on with a false modest shrug. “I’m pretty sure that I know who I’m going to be dancing with.”
“Really?” Jonathan frowned at him.
“Yeah, and we’re gonna win too. Dad didn’t buy me all those social dancing lessons as a kid for nothing.”
“How do you know who you’re going to be dancing with?” Calliope asked, looking as though the cheese she’d just eaten had gone bad.
Ronny shrugged. “I’ve got a couple of friends named Benjamin who assure me I’ll get the right partner.”
Everyone at the table stared at him. Sandy forgot her sour mood for a second, and her lips twitched. He couldn’t really be that dumb, could he?
“You do realize that Haskellians are paired with PSF employees and not other Haskellians for Howie’s competitions, don’t you?” Jonathan asked him.
Ronny’s slick grin vanished, and he looked like someone had sucker-punched him.
“Wait,” Tony said beside him. “You bribed that kid two hundred dollars to pair you with Sandy, and he didn’t remind you that you have to be paired with a PSF employee?”
Across the table, Laura snorted.
“Shut up, Tony,” Ronny grumbled. “I’m going to win anyhow.”
Before anyone else could call him out on his stupidity or laugh in his face, Ronny stormed off, muttering about getting his money back. As soon as he was gone, most of the people at the table burst into laughter.
“I swear, he gets dumber every day,” Melody said, shaking her head.
Ronny was an ass, but Sandy had to give him small thanks for shifting the mood at the table. The discussion about the bank was forgotten—as was Jogi and Jonathan’s discussion about the gallery—and they moved on to talking about Haskell’s baseball league, how amazing the food was, and technical details about the rocket PSF was working on that Sandy didn’t understand a bit. She nibbled on broccoli until the lights flashed and the microphone came on at the front of the room.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Howie’s booming voice sounded over the loudspeaker, although why he needed a loudspeaker with a voice like his was a mystery. “Take your seats, and in just a second we’ll announce the pairings for the dance competition.”
“I can’t wait to see who is paired with who,” Laura squealed. She grabbed Ted’s arm. “I’m almost sorry that these things are designed to get single people together. I think we would have burned it up on the dance floor.”
Ted laughed. “Then you haven’t seen me dance. I’ve got two left feet.”
“That’s what the lessons are for,” Calliope argued. “To help us figure out which foot is which. Right, Sandy?” She sent a wink Sandy’s way, then looked at Jogi.
“Right,” Sandy answered. She’d never regretted putting her name down for the competition more.
“All right, folks. This is how it’s going to work,” Howie resumed from the front of the room. Sandy twisted in her seat to face him. She caught the briefest flash of Jogi stealing a glance at her before he, too turned and faced Howie. “We’ve all seen those dance competition shows. Well, my aim is to reproduce something like that. Our dancing couples will consist of one employee of Paradise Space Flight and one Haskellian.”
“Poor Ronny,” Rita drawled, sending Sandy a grin.
“Those couples will be treated to free dance lessons taught by instruc
tors from the Arthur Murray Dance School. And since I’ve had enough people bug me about it, yes, other couples who aren’t taking part in the competition will be allowed to attend the classes too.”
A few cheers rose up from the room…along with a few moans, including one from Ted.
“As for the competition,” Howie went on. “We’ll run it over the course of four weeks, with eliminations each week, but since we have so many people interested in participating, instead of just eliminating one couple each week, for the first two weeks we’ll cut half of the dancers based on their scores.”
“Aw, that doesn’t give you much time to compete,” Melody said.
It was fine as far as Sandy was concerned.
“The second to last week will be the semi-finals, with five couples participating, and the final week will see the top three couples competing in a dance-off,” Howie continued. “You’ll each learn two different dances with themes per week and perform them on Friday night. For the finals, we’ve got a couple of extra fun dances planned. Sound good?”
Several calls of “Yes,” “Okay,” and “Let’s do it” sounded from the eager participants.
“So without further ado….” Howard gestured to Quintus, who had been waiting nearby with a paper in his hands. “Quintus, would you do the honor of announcing the teams.”
“Sure thing, Pop.” Quintus took the microphone from his dad as people applauded. He grinned and waved at them, giving Sandy the impression that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree, and they were in for yet another Haskell patriarch who would live up to the mad legacy of his forbearers.
“Our first couple will be….” Quintus paused for effect. “Matthew Kulicki and Annabelle Marshall.”
There was a bit of polite applause before Quintus went on.
“Next we have Jency Allbright and Kevin Prentice.”
As Quintus went on announcing teams, the applause became less and less enthusiastic, and there was more chatter for him to compete with as couples stood and found each other in the room. Sandy’s gut tied in knots as name after name was announced. She dreaded hearing her name and felt sorry for whatever unlucky PSF employee she’d be paired with. But her dread had as much to do with not hearing Jogi’s name called—or Ronny’s for that matter—as not hearing her own.