The Booster Club

by Angela M. Sanders

  She’d throw on something to wear and be out of the house in five minutes. It was another ten to the hospital. Please, please, let him be all right.

  “Deanie.” Oswald grabbed her shoulder as she rushed toward the bedroom. “Your father?”

  “We’ll talk later. I have to go now.”

  “I’ll drive.”

  * * *

  “Five minutes,” the woman in scrubs told Claudine. “He needs rest. You have five minutes.”

  Claudine had been fidgeting in the hospital waiting room for more than an hour while they ran tests on her father. Gilda called every ten minutes or so to check in. While Claudine had picked up, then tossed down magazines, standing and pacing, then sitting, Oswald sat relaxed and calm.

  Finally, a doctor had given them a brief update. An EKG showed that her father had had a heart attack. Two of the arteries near his heart were clogged, and he’d need bypass surgery. “You can come back tonight before the surgery,” the doctor told her.

  But she had to see her father. Now. Had to. “All I want is a minute with him. I just want to tell him I love him. He’d appreciate that.”

  The doctor was already flipping ahead on his chart and turning away. “You’ll have to wait until later this afternoon.”

  Claudine started down the hall after him, but Oswald grabbed her arm. “Wait. Let me see what I can do.”

  At the nurse’s station, a man and woman sat behind computer terminals. Oswald leaned in and smiled, showing his dimple, focusing on the woman. Claudine couldn’t hear him, but the woman resolutely shook her head “no.” The man seemed much more interested in Oz’s story. While the woman continued to indicate “no,” the man touched the woman’s shoulder. By God, he was pleading Oz’s case to her. Finally, the woman shrugged, and the man rose to get someone else. Oswald returned with a confident smile.

  “They’ll take care of it,” he said.

  “What did you tell them?”

  “What does it matter?”

  The woman in scrubs gave her five minutes with her father. Oswald followed her down the hall and into the room.

  “Dad,” Claudine said.

  Her father lay pale and inert, surrounded by monitors. One tube ran from his nose and another to his forearm. His breathing came hard and jagged, but he opened his eyes. “Deanie. Too much French food, eh? Those damned cream sauces.”

  “Dad, don’t talk. I just wanted tell you I love you. You have to rest now. I’ll be back before your surgery. Everything will be all right.”

  How often had her father told her the same thing—that everything would be all right? He’d said it when her mother died. He’d said it when Ellie Whiteby derailed her plans for college. He’d said it when Claudine filed the papers for her divorce. Now she understood that the words had probably brought him at least as much comfort as they’d brought her. She’d give anything to make him better.

  “Deanie, you’ve got to take care of yourself.”

  “Don’t worry, Hank,” Oswald said, putting an arm around Claudine. “I’ll make sure she’s fine. You just focus on getting better.”

  “You know I can take care of myself.”

  Her father patted the bed sheet, and Claudine clutched his fingers. “You let him help you.”

  A monitor next to the bed blipped regular beats. “Dad.” She couldn’t say anything more.

  “She’ll be fine. I’ll be with you on your big heist, right, Deanie?” Oswald said.

  Claudine opened her mouth to snap “no way” when a glimmer of a smile lit on her father’s lips. He actually wanted Oswald in on the heist. It was hard to believe, but he thought Oz would be an asset. She knew better, but couldn’t argue with him now.

  “Sure. Sure, he’ll help me.” There had to be some minor thing she could throw Oswald’s way. She’d worry about it later.

  10

  Ruby held the theory that people are more like Chihuahuas than they would like to recognize. The pack system, for instance. Some dogs are happy to let others lead the pack. They look to their peers for direction and rarely break out on their own. Deborah—darling as she was—fit this mold. As Ruby waited at the tea house this afternoon for her and Claudine, she saw most of the other patrons as submissive dogs, smiling for the host’s approval.

  Beta dogs were the most annoying. They constantly struggle to prove they’re better than the pack’s leader, and they pick fights and snarl at their pack mates, faking their importance. They have no idea how weak it makes them look. Commissioner Rossum was a beta.

  The alpha dog, though—the alpha was calm and commanding. The alpha decided who sat on Bruce’s lap and who ate first. The alpha didn’t need to snarl or pick fights, because he was firmly in charge. Eleanor Millhouse, president of the Carsonville Women’s League, she was an alpha. Whatever she wanted done would get done. Ruby took a sip of water to quell the warning tingle in her stomach.

  What about Claudine? Claudine was confident, too, but she didn’t need a pack to boss around. Claudine was a rare thing, a genuine lone wolf.

  As if on cue, Claudine arrived with Deborah right behind her. With the change in weather, the tea house seemed to have picked up business. Steam from teapots and conversation frosted the front windows.

  “Well,” Ruby said after the women sat down. “We raised a grand total of” —she waved her hands with a flourish— “ten thousand in ticket sales plus a couple of thousand in donations. Plus the million from old man Granzer.” She beamed.

  “That’s marvelous,” Deborah said. “I’m so proud of us.” Her skin glowed and she seemed happier, more relaxed than she’d been in recent weeks. Having her husband home must really agree with her, Ruby thought.

  “Does that include the cost?” Claudine asked. She seemed to have absorbed all of Deborah’s former melancholy and more. Circles darkened her eyes.

  “No, it doesn’t, but even with—” Ruby said.

  “Louie said he’ll cover the catering and the valet,” Deborah said. “So what we got at the fundraiser is all for the kids.”

  Ruby flashed a smile at Deborah but focused her attention on Claudine. “Is everything okay?”

  Claudine examined her coffee cup. “I’m sorry. It’s just—it’s just that—”

  “You can tell us,” Ruby urged.

  “Yes,” Deborah said. “Whatever it is, we can help.”

  She sighed. Lines deepened around her mouth. “My father’s in the cardiac care unit at Memorial. He had a heart attack this morning. I just got back from visiting him.”

  “That’s awful. I’m sorry.” Poor girl, Ruby thought. She was always so quiet. Yes, a real lone wolf. Ruby had long passed attributing Claudine’s silence to snobbery. She knew it was on account of her work, but it had never occurred to her to wonder what the rest of her life was like. She never talked about her family or relationships.

  “I’m so sorry, too,” Deborah said.

  “Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have even brought it up—it’s not your problem.” Claudine laid her hands flat on the table. “Let’s talk about what we’re going to do for the shelter.”

  Ruby and Deborah exchanged glances. It would be useless to try to drag anything else out of Claudine. She’d made it clear she didn’t want sympathy.

  “All right,” Ruby said. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Ruby nodded once. “How were the kids when you dropped off Hugo?”

  Claudine might have flinched for a moment, but if so, she quickly regained her equilibrium. “It, uh, took us a little longer than normal to get home, but everything was fine.”

  “Tinkerbell helps, I bet, with safety,” Ruby said. “Chihuahuas are great for barking, but not so scary.” She cast a meaningful look at Deborah.

  “What worries me is the idea that someone else wants the firehouse,” Claudine said.

  “I had the same thought. Any chance old man Granzer would fund a shelter somewhere else?” Ruby asked. “I mean, if the firehouse doesn’t c
ome through?”

  “Not unless it’s another firehouse. It’s pretty much all about fire engines for him,” Deborah said.

  “The county commissioners’ meeting is exactly a week from today,” Claudine said.

  “I was surprised they fit us in so quickly.”

  “I hear the governor sent a letter.” Claudine averted her eyes.

  “If the governor cares, we stand a good chance,” Deborah said.

  “I don’t trust Commissioner Rossum,” Ruby said. “But I don’t know what we can do about it this late.”

  “At this point, we work on our presentation and hope for the best,” Claudine said.

  “If the mood at the fundraiser was any indication, we stand a good chance.” Ruby added more sugar to her tea. “Sure, someone wants the land. Overall, though, the crowd seemed pro-shelter. I mean, didn’t you think so?”

  “Of course they’ll sell it to us. The person who wants the firehouse can buy something else. There are plenty of old warehouses available, but we need the firehouse,” Deborah said.

  “Just because it’s the right thing to do doesn’t mean the commissioners will do it,” Claudine said.

  Ruby shot her a glance. “Honestly, Claudine. Lighten up.”

  Deborah set down her spoon suddenly. “I have an announcement.” She pulled herself up straighter. “I’m done stealing things. Louie’s home, and that part of my life is over.”

  “Louie’s staying home for good? Are you sure?” Claudine asked.

  There she was again, Ruby thought, raining on everyone’s parade. “Claudine, this isn’t really our business.”

  “I think he is,” Deborah said. “Things feel different this time. This is fun, but I’m going to cut back on the Booster Club once we get the firehouse settled. Louie needs me.”

  “He said that?” Claudine, again.

  “He doesn’t need to.” Deborah sat upright.

  “Claudine, we have—” Ruby started.

  Deborah turned her face away from Claudine. “I don’t like it when he goes away. Why would he like it when I go away? Even if it’s only for a few hours.”

  “Well, there’s the fact that every time he jets off on one of his birdwatching trips, he’s putting distance between you. He doesn’t seem to mind that.”

  “Honestly, Claudine, leave her alone.” How dare Claudine rile up the poor girl? Sure, her father was in the hospital, but that was no excuse. “It’s not for us to question her marriage.”

  “My marriage is fine,” Deborah said. She turned her head away from the table and raised her chin. “You’re not married. You don’t understand.”

  “I used to be,” Claudine said.

  Deborah and Ruby swiveled toward Claudine. The table fell silent. This was interesting. At last, a crack in the armor.

  “It didn’t work out.” Claudine rose and shrugged on her coat.

  “Why? What happened?” Deborah said. God bless her innocence.

  Claudine looked down at them, the low light streaming in the window behind her. “You might say it was birds.”

  * * *

  “Dang it.” Ruby lifted a branch from the flat plaque that covered her mother’s grave. “Sorry, Mom,” she added. “I meant to get down here earlier and tidy up.”

  Ruby and her sisters Pearl and Opal had chosen the Lone Oak cemetery because they loved its vast canopy of trees—pines, elms, and more than one lone oak for sure. They also loved that the county owned it, so the cost of a plot wouldn’t break the bank. The downside was that maintenance wasn’t as frequent or thorough as in the private cemeteries, and the recently interred residents weren’t particularly upscale. Gravestones engraved with the images of Slavic and gypsy families sat above the unmarked graves of Chinese laborers from the turn of the nineteenth century.

  Ruby wiped her mother’s plaque clean. Then she pulled an airline bottle of Cointreau from her bag and emptied it where she estimated her mother’s mouth would be. Heat sparked in Ruby’s chest, gathering and radiating throughout her body. She mopped her brow. “Mom, how did you handle hot flashes? Did they wake you up at night like they do me? Jeez, I swear it’s every fifteen minutes as soon as I get to bed. It doesn’t help that Bruce is a regular furnace.”

  Ruby didn’t remember her mother complaining about menopause. Then again, it paled against cirrhosis of the liver. She winced, remembering her mother’s last days in the county hospital. They had no money. Ruby’s father had been long gone, in Palm Springs with a new wife and kids and little desire to remember his first family.

  She put her hand on the cool marble of the plaque to trace its letters, then quickly pulled it away. Her mother was fifty-five when she died. The same age Ruby was now. The exact same age.

  “Mom,” she said. Did she look as old as her mother did when she died? Maybe because she never had children, she had the sensation of cruising through life at the age of, oh, thirty-five. But she’d started to notice her neck’s tendency to crinkle like tissue when she tensed, and the lines around her eyes were harder to plump with eye cream.

  “Mom,” she repeated. “I have a plan to get the monument you deserve. The Women’s League is warming up to me, but I guess there’s some history to overcome.” Like finding her mother passed out drunk in the League’s coat room when, as president, she was supposed to be opening the annual garden party fundraiser.

  Ruby leaned on her elbows and watched the shadows move with the breeze. “Anyway, I have some new friends, and we’re helping a group of kids get a permanent home. They’re orphans—not my friends, the kids. They kind of got stuck in the same situation we did. They’re siblings, four of them, and they want to stay together. The Women’s League is impressed.”

  Ruby could almost hear her mother wonder about the kids. Why didn’t they have someone who’d take them in? What were they doing on their own?

  “Oh, Mom. Their mother, well, she had an untraditional career. I won’t lie to you, she was a hustler. She’d pretend to trip and get hurt so she could get insurance money. She died in jail.”

  And you’re helping them out? her mother seemed to ask.

  “Of course. You would, too. After you died—” Ruby paused. Did her mother know what their life had been like? “After you died, the girls and I had nowhere to go. It wasn’t like the Women’s League was going to take us in.”

  So you stole.

  “I only shoplifted because I had to. For us. We did okay though, right?”

  Then why do you still do it?

  So she knew. “It’s for you, Mom. To please those snobs. Once I’m in the League, they’ll have to give you the gravestone, don’t you see?” Besides, I’m good at it, Ruby thought. I’m good at hair, too, but that’s less impressive.

  You’re good at relationships. You and Bruce have a good thing going. Don’t mess it up. What about these friends of yours?

  “We’re doing it straight, all by the book, Mom.” Well, mostly. “We’re going to buy the old firehouse the kids are living in, fair and square.” She pulled herself into a full sitting position. “My friends—we call ourselves the Booster Club, isn’t that funny?—are great. Deborah is rich, she married the guy who owns the Granzer grocery stores, but she’s really sweet. She likes Patsy Cline, and she loves the dogs. The other one, Claudine, is more aloof. Honestly, I’m not sure what to think of her, but she has solid judgment, and she really seems to care about the kids.” Ruby’s throat closed. She could only manage a whisper. “I hope you’ll be proud of me, Mom.”

  I’m proud of you already, Ruby.

  11

  Claudine picked up the phone. She just wanted to check one thing with Ruby. If she was right, they knew their competition for the firehouse. The phone rang through to voice mail, and she left a message.

  Oswald—who had behaved like a guest, thank God, and actually rung the doorbell this time—fidgeted in the armchair. Petunia purred in his lap. He drummed his fingers on the chair’s arm, then dumped Petunia on the floor and went to the kitchen, pr
obably to look for a beer.

  As she pressed “end,” Oswald’s voice from behind her made her jump. He held a beer by the bottle’s neck. “I don’t know why you’re wasting so much time with those kids. You should be focusing on the big job. D day is coming up.”

  “I just want to make sure they’re okay. Anyway, the Cabrini heist is planned. At this point, it’s all about execution.”

  She’d let Oswald take over managing the ground crew, and her only job would be the actual break-in. He was right. It had been a relief to let him handle the scheduling, and as far as she could tell he’d done it well. He’d built on her map of the museum, written up a character profile for the niece, and had the offshore bank accounts set up to handle payment. All she’d have to do is fly to San Francisco, play the part of the bereaved niece for an after-hours visit to set up the strike, then return when the streets quieted to collect the jewels.

  “Babe, I’m worried about you.” He cracked open the beer. “We’re planning a huge job here, and you’re not focused.”

  “I’m focused. Everything’s set up. All we have to do is wait, and we’re on.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not about the plan, it’s about your state of mind. You have to be calm. In charge. But you’re all over the place.”

  He was right, and she knew it. She was so immersed in her father’s illness and saving the firehouse that she was forgetting about what was important. Not that her dad wasn’t important. But in less than three weeks she’d be pulling off the heist of her life, then giving up the lifestyle for good. If she wasn’t completely sharp about it, she’d be spending her “retirement” behind bars.

  “Listen. Trust me. I’ve known you a long time, Deanie. I’ve seen this look before.”