The Booster Club

by Angela M. Sanders

  “Let’s find you a dress.” Eyes straight ahead, Ruby strode to a rack and pulled out a short, sequined dress. “This would make the most of your legs.”

  “It’s a little flashy. What about this?” She held up a gauzy print dress with a fluttering hem.

  “Nice, but better for an afternoon function. Plus, you really want something with a waist to make the most of your figure.”

  “You have such a good eye,” Deborah said. Ruby’s attention still seemed elsewhere. Deborah followed the line of her gaze. The security guard. She was worried about the guard. But they were going to buy a dress, not steal one. “I have plenty of money,” she whispered.

  “I know,” Ruby said. “You didn’t think—?”

  “Don’t be concerned about him. Look, what about this dress?” She lifted a simple blush pink silk shift from the rack. It had a soft, draping neck. She held it against her body and looked in the mirror. Not bad.

  “What are you looking at?” Ruby’s voice was firm.

  “Well, I—” Deborah whirled around to find Ruby face-to-face with the security guard.

  “Just thought I’d keep an eye on you. Although you don’t got your booster bag this time. That is what it was, right? The purple tote?”

  “We’re here to buy a dress, and you’re accusing me of stealing?”

  “What?” Deborah’s eyes widened. She’d never heard that tone from Ruby. “Come on, Ruby. How about if I get this dress? I don’t even need to try it on. I’m sure it fits.”

  A few other customers raised their heads. Ruby made a dismissive motion with one hand and kept her gaze fastened on the guard. “We come in here, paying customers, and you have the gall to insinuate—”

  “I’m not insinuating nothing,” the guard said. “Just watching. That’s my job.”

  “May I help you?” An elegant man in a gray suit approached. A worried-looking saleswoman stood at his shoulder.

  “This—this security guard is accusing us of stealing.” Ruby’s complexion pinkened, verging on flat-out red. “My friend and I—my friend, Deborah Granzer” —she emphasized “Granzer”— “want a dress for a special function. We did not expect to enter Carsonville’s finest store and find ourselves treated like common thieves.”

  The security guard cast a knowing look at the gray-suited gentleman, but the suited man’s expression had morphed from concern to a vague fear. “Miss Granzer. And, madame, I believe we met the other day in the Chanel boutique, am I right?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  Ruby appeared calmer now, but Deborah’s anxiety lingered. “I’ll just go buy this dress.”

  “Yeah, at the Chanel boutique. When that purse went missing,” the security guard said. “Remember? No coincidence.”

  “I’m going to the cash register now,” Deborah said, hoping to break up the party. The saleswoman looked from the suited man to the guard to Ruby and followed Deborah.

  “You see what I mean? Impertinent. I’ve never been so insulted in my life.” Even across the floor, Ruby’s voice floated angry and shrill.

  “Thank you,” Deborah said as the saleswoman slipped the dress into a plastic sleeve and lifted it over the counter. She took a breath and made her way back to Ruby, who now stood, victorious, hands on hips.

  Just then, her phone rang, the tune of “Baltimore Oriole” rising from her purse. “Louie.”

  “Take it.” Ruby glared after the security guard and store manager, now descending the escalator.

  Deborah grabbed the phone just before it went into voice mail. “Hello,” she said breathlessly.

  “Hi, honey.”

  She tried to wait a moment before asking but couldn’t help herself. “You’ll be home for dinner, right? I’m making taco casserole. Your favorite.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I’m heading to the airport.”

  “Again?” Deborah’s chest ached. “But you just got home a few weeks ago.”

  “I know, Deb. But Trixie thinks we’ll see an Andean Condor or maybe even a White-Footed Guan if we leave now.”

  “Oh.” The birds’ names passed right by her. Only the name “Trixie” stuck. “The event’s this Sunday. Remember? The fundraiser for the Booster Club at our house?”

  For a few seconds, he didn’t respond. “I’m sorry, Deb.”

  “You promised. You promised you’d be home for it.” Now she was whining like a baby. What was happening to her?

  “I know. I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Maybe you could make a big donation in my name. To the club.”

  Deborah barely heard him. He was leaving. Again. She stared toward a mannequin in a filmy fringed gown. From downstairs she caught the strains of “Please Release Me” on the piano.

  “I have to go now,” she said. “Bye.”

  “Bye, honey. I love you—” Louie’s words were cut off as she pushed “end call.”

  A torrent of emotion flooded her veins. She’d put on that black dress and hit every hotel bar in town. Watches would rain like hail as they slipped from her palms. She bit her trembling lip. No. She didn’t want to do that—she’d promised herself. Besides, she needed to stay home and prepare for the fundraiser. The kids. Think of the kids.

  “Ruby?” Deborah whirled back to face her. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d like my hair cut after all.”

  * * *

  Pushing open the door to her father’s room, Claudine found him in bed beside the big plate glass window with the view of the garden. He was chalk-pale, and silvery strands of hair fell over his forehead. His wheelchair was folded up against the wall.

  “Dad,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “What are you looking at? Get over here and give me a kiss.”

  Claudine hurried to plant a kiss on his parchment-dry forehead. “You don’t look so good. How are you feeling?”

  “Not bad, not bad. Just tired, that’s all. Might have a touch of the flu.”

  “Do you want anything? Water? Maybe some coffee?”

  “Why don’t you help me get this bed a little more upright? Then you can have a seat and tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  She adjusted his bed and fluffed his pillows while he sat up.

  “Sit,” he repeated. “Is Oz helping you out?”

  “He left me a note, but I haven’t seen him yet,” she said. If her father had looked better, she would have given him hell for telling Oswald she had a big heist planned. He knew better than that. Then again, Oz could charm warts off a toad.

  “Why not?”

  “I told you, he’s a liability.”

  Hank sighed. “Honey, you’re too much of a loner. Oswald’s like family. He’s not going to turn on you. He has skills you don’t. You can trust him.”

  Trust him? Right. Although he wasn’t malicious, Oswald’s first concern was himself. But her father was correct that he was a skilled con man. If she needed information, he’d get it. “I haven’t had time to see Oswald. Remember the Booster Club? For the Rizzio kids?”

  “Yeah.” His face relaxed. “I knew that was a good idea. How are the kids doing?”

  “Not bad. Deborah—”

  “The klepto, right?”

  “Right. She has the kids on some kind of study program. They’re getting three square meals a day. As far as I can tell, they’re staying out of trouble.”

  “Glad to hear it. I’m proud of you, honey,” her father said.

  “We’re going to have something on TV about it tonight.”

  Alarm crossed Hank’s face. “Ah, Deanie. You didn’t—”

  “No. I’m not in it, no way. It’s about the need for a family shelter in town. Thanks to Gilda’s help with the governor, we got a spot on the agenda at a hearing a week from Monday.”

  “Has Larry raised enough money to renovate it?”

  “We’re holding a fundraiser at the Granzer mansion, remember? Old man Granzer has promised to chip in, too.”

  “You’ve been busy,” Hank said. He rested back, looking satisfied. �
�New friends. I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I haven’t had much to do with the fundraiser, really. The Cabrini heist has chewed up most of my time.”

  “You know there are easier ways. We get Mickey and the boys to—”

  “No, Dad. We want to do it the right way. No broken windows or threatening notes.”

  “They listen to their wallets, though. The commissioners see there’s a lot of trouble, they unload the firehouse like it’s a barrel of rabid ferrets. Tried and true, I tell you.”

  “We’re doing it legit. It’s best for the kids, and I think it’s going to work, too.”

  A knock on the door interrupted them. “Lunch lady,” a voice rang out, and the door burst open. It was Gilda, pushing her walker with a covered dish on top. “Hi, Deanie.”

  “It’s not lunch time,” Claudine said.

  “So what? It sounded better than ‘dinner lady’.” She lowered herself into the armchair Claudine had been sitting in and extended her long legs. Rose-painted toenails peeked from gold sandals. “What are we doing?”

  “We’re going to watch the news,” Hank said. “About the Rizzio kids.”

  “I’m proud of you, hon,” Gilda said. “You’re doing right by them.”

  “They’re good kids. It could be worse.” Claudine clicked on the television set and rummaged in the kitchen nook for silverware and napkins. She uncovered the dishes. Turkey sandwiches.

  “There’s a little whiskey in that coffee pitcher,” Gilda said, eyes on the television. “I always hated that woman’s hair. You could pitch quarters off it.”

  “So how is this TV show going to help you get the firehouse?” Hank asked.

  “Public sympathy,” Claudine said. With the public on their side, the commissioners would jump to sell them the land.

  “Look how the light reflects off that woman’s noggin,” Gilda said.

  A quick rap on the door and André entered. “Buenos noches, padre.” His tan hadn’t faded a bit since Mexico, and his teeth shone white in contrast. He wore a dressing gown with a fringed belt and monogrammed slippers. He also carried a plate with a gravy-covered pork chop. “I’d have brought you something from the cafeteria, but since the doctor said no more gravy—”

  “You’ve been to the doctor?” Claudine turned to her father. “What happened?”

  Hank and Gilda exchanged glances. Hank spoke. “Your brother’s making too much of it. It was just a check-up, no big deal.”

  “But wasn’t Dr. Parisot here just a few months ago for the check-ups?” Just about everyone at the Villa saw a physician who’d done time for smuggling meds from Canada and selling them to his poorer patients at a fraction of their price at home. He’d lost his license to practice, but it didn’t keep him from attending conferences and even presenting papers under assumed identities.

  “Love the tycoon get-up,” Gilda told André, ignoring Claudine’s question.

  “Thanks. I was feeling a little Top Hat tonight.”

  “Stop ignoring me. Dad, what’s wrong?” Claudine asked.

  “Honey, that can wait. I think this is it.” Hank gestured toward the television.

  Claudine inched up the volume. She’d ask André later about her father.

  The anchorwoman, a velvet headband clamped on her offending hair, stood in front of a bridge. “Compared with many towns, Carsonville’s homeless population might be small, but that’s little comfort for those who sleep in places like this” —she gestured toward the bridge, where a fire burned in a barrel— “and especially the children.”

  “Kids live there?” Gilda said. “That’s awful.”

  “Not Wanda’s kids.”

  The next clip of film was in a small room with Hugo. As agreed, Hugo was the public face of the kids. A crumb hung from Hugo’s bottom lip. He wiped it off. The anchorwoman—smart lady—must have figured him out right away. “Our mom died.” He dropped his eyes. “They split us up even though all we had was each other. That’s not right.” He turned his head away and let out a long breath, as if he were holding back tears. The boy had star potential.

  “I’m going to cry,” Gilda said. “Hank, doesn’t that kid look like Ronald’s brat? The one who was so good at baseball?”

  “Ah, he must be forty by now.”

  “Still, he was a good eater, too.”

  Brenda again faced the TV camera. “A group of local women calling themselves the Booster Club want to build a family shelter for children who don’t have parents to care for them.”

  “That’s you, honey,” Hank said.

  “But it’s not an open and shut case,” Brenda continued. “The Club has in its sights an old firehouse to renovate as a shelter. They say that using the building would be cost effective and would let the firehouse continue to give to the public. Not everyone agrees.”

  André said, “I don’t see—”

  What was this? “Shh,” Claudine said, leaning forward. “She’s not finished.”

  “A local developer has been looking into purchasing the firehouse, as well. A spokesman for the company had no comment, except to say that Carsonville’s families can best be supported by jobs and a healthy economy. Since the company is only exploring the option now, it asked not to be named.”

  A developer? The firehouse seemed so resolutely abandoned. But someone else wanted it? They hadn’t anticipated this. The program switched to a dog food commercial, and Claudine clicked it off. The room fell silent. “I had no idea someone else wanted the land. I didn’t see anything on the county’s books about it.”

  “Well,” Gilda said. “It’s not a bad story. People will go for the kids angle over the money angle.”

  “I don’t know,” André said. “Depending on the developer, sounds to me like you’ve got your work cut out for you. When’s this fundraiser?”

  “Sunday,” Claudine said. Two days from now. They’d better be on top of their game.

  8

  At last, the big night. Half an hour before the fundraiser was to start, Ruby guided her old Volvo into the Granzer mansion’s horseshoe-shaped driveway. She wasn’t sure what to expect: how many people would come, if they’d support renovating the firehouse, if this mysterious developer would appear. At the Booster Club’s last meeting they’d discussed what to do if they had competition for the firehouse, but in the end they decided their hands were tied as long as they didn’t know who it was.

  They had everything set to make an impressive show and sway public opinion to their side. On the strength of a promise of a “wholesale” Louis Vuitton wallet, one of Ruby’s clients even invited a county commissioner’s wife. Who knew? Maybe the commissioner himself would show up.

  “Look, honey,” she said to Bruce. “Deborah got valet parking.”

  A white-gloved man stepped out from the front of the house and opened the driver’s door. Well. Deborah hadn’t mentioned that. Classy.

  She cast a worried glance toward Bruce. Good thing she’d convinced him to wear his good shirt, although his hair was flopping around a lot. “Here, Brucie.” She smoothed an errant wave behind his ear.

  “Quite a place your friend has here.”

  “You’ll like her. She’s real down to earth,” Ruby said, but she barely paid attention. She didn’t remember those gigantic planters at the door filled with birds of paradise and ginger plants. Something was familiar about them, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  Another uniformed man opened the door for them and gestured in.

  Ruby halted. Her jaw dropped. So that’s why the planters out front seemed so familiar. The entire entry hall was a riot of mauve and gold and chartreuse spray-painted flowers—the colors of Joanie’s graffiti garden in the firehouse. The music from a string duo drifted into the hall.

  Deborah emerged from the dining room. Ruby couldn’t remember seeing her so joyful. “Do you like it? I paid Joanie to do it. It was so stuffy in here before.”

  Ruby shrugged off her coat for the maid. She still couldn’
t get over the house’s transformation. “It’s marvelous. I love it. But—”

  “He hasn’t seen it. He won’t be back until the middle of the week.” Deborah looked away a moment, before stepping toward Bruce and extending a hand. “You must be Bruce.”

  Bruce couldn’t tear his gaze from Deborah. “Nice to meet you.”

  Not that Ruby could blame him. When her hair had fallen to the salon floor, Deborah’s eyes and elegant jaw moved to the forefront, just as Ruby knew they would. Now her hair curved at her ear and thickened into a wavy cap.

  Ruby leaned in. “I asked the anchorwoman, Brenda, about the developer who’s interested in the firehouse, but she wouldn’t say.”

  Deborah opened her mouth to respond, but a yell from the entry hall interrupted.

  “Deb?” a man’s voice asked.

  “Yes, Grandpa?” Deborah turned, her dress swirling around her calves.

  A tall, white-haired man stumped into the hall. The scent of baby powder wafted in with him. “Where’d you put my reading glasses?”

  “They’re on your face.” She waved a hand toward Ruby and Bruce. “Grandpa, I’d like you to meet—”

  He stuck out a hand. “Old man Granzer. That’s what they call me.”

  “What would you like us to call you?” Bruce said after clasping the man’s hand.

  “Ricardo,” the older man said. “What do you think? I said ‘old man Granzer.’ I won’t put up with Grandpa from you.”

  “Grandpa and I, we have a surprise for tonight.” Deborah’s eyes were bright, and she squeezed her hands together.

  “A surprise? This is plenty surprise already—” Ruby said.

  “Ding ding!” old man Granzer said. “I’m going back to the kitchen. A real sweetheart with a five-star heinie is unloading canapés.” He toddled off.

  “Does your grandfather live here?” Bruce asked.

  “Used to. When Louie and I married, he bought a condo on the waterfront. Loves it. He knows the names of all the boats that go by.”

  Louie Granzer might not have made it, but having old man Granzer tonight—that was a real coup.