Boots and Bedlam

by Ashley Farley

  “Eventually. But not for a while. For now I’m going to use the house to showcase my work.” Jackie held her arms wide as she glided down the center hall. “Don’t you think it’ll be a wonderful place to entertain potential clients?”

  “Every woman in Charleston will be beating down your door to get a glimpse inside this house. I’ve got to hand it to you, Jack. Your hard work is paying off.” Sam regarded her sister’s attire—black leggings, tall boots, and a thigh-length camel-colored sweater. “You certainly look the part of the New York professional. Are you going to be embarrassed to be seen with me?”

  Jackie gave Sam the quick once-over. “Not at all. But you don’t need this.” She helped Sam out of her coat. “It’s warm outside. And your hair is too flat.” She mussed Sam’s hair, tucking a stray strand behind her left ear. “There now. Let’s go hit the shops.”

  Sam and Jackie moseyed in and out of the boutiques on and around King Street. She tried on dresses, suits, skirts, and blouses. The clothes were either too dressy, too casual, or cut in a style unflattering to her slight figure. Jackie insisted she find something in winter white, but Sam wasn’t sold on one particular color, although she didn’t think a bride should wear black regardless of her age. It was nearing five o’clock and Sam’s stomach was beginning to rumble when Jackie grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down a narrow side street. She stopped in front of a building that looked more like a house than a storefront. Jackie pressed the buzzer beside the red front door.

  “Who lives here?” Sam asked.

  “Nobody. It’s a boutique.”

  “Why do they keep their doors locked? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of welcoming customers?” Sam glanced up and down the street. “Or are they worried they might get robbed?”

  “There’s always that chance in downtown Charleston. But that’s not the reason. Marguerite only sees clients by appointment.”

  Sam jabbed an elbow in her sister’s side. “You shanghaied me. I won’t be able to afford a pair of panties in a place like this.”

  Jackie grinned. “So spend some of Mack’s money.”

  Marguerite spoke with a French accent, although Sam was fairly certain she was Spanish. Sam guessed her to be in her midforties. With dark features, she posed a striking figure in a red knit suit that complimented her slim build. She spun Sam around, studying her from every angle. “Very nice. I have several things in mind that might work.” She showed them to a sitting area outside of the dressing room. “Please, have a seat. Can I offer you a glass of wine while you wait?” Jackie and Sam declined. “Then I’ll gather some selections and be back in a flash.” She clicked off across the marble floor in her stiletto boots.

  Sam tried on ten different ensembles, all impeccably tailored in an assortment of fabrics in various shades of winter white. She quickly narrowed her choice to three. A two-piece suit with a lace jacket and A-line skirt. A pair of wide-legged wool slacks, sheer silk blouse, and long cashmere cardigan. And a long-sleeved simple-cut dress with a double row of silver grommets along the bottom.

  When Sam emerged from the dressing room in the dress, Jackie said, “That’s the one.”

  “I agree,” Marguerite said, and rushed to Sam’s side. “This is exquisite on you. Perfect for a mature bride. We’ll take in a little along the sides, here and here.” She pinched the fabric at Sam’s breasts and hips. “You can wear high-heeled tall black boots or a sexy sandal, silver perhaps, with bare legs.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t wear those,” Jackie said, her eyes on Sam’s cowboy boots.

  “Duh,” Sam said, laughing. “The floor is cold. I didn’t want to come out here barefoot.”

  “Do you really think this is it?” Sam asked her sister. “It’s more than I planned to spend.”

  “Absolutely. You only get married once. I hope that’s the case, anyway, at your age.” Jackie winked at her in the mirror. “Nothing would make Mack happier than to know he’d paid for your wedding dress. He so wanted you to marry Eli.”

  “In that case, I’ll buy the slacks ensemble as well, to wear for my going-away outfit.”

  “Even if the only place you’re going is my Christmas Eve party at the farm.”

  It was approaching six thirty, and Sam and Jackie were both starving by the time Marguerite finished pinning for the alterations. “I made a seven o’clock reservation at Slightly North of Broad,” Jackie said on the way back to the car. “Have you ever eaten there? The food is over the top.”

  “No, but I’ve heard plenty about it.”

  The hostess seated them in a quiet corner of the restaurant. Jackie ordered a glass of Malbec and Sam a nonalcoholic beer. Over heirloom tomato salads followed by shrimp and grits, the sisters discussed Sam’s options of places to hold her wedding reception.

  “The Pelican’s Roost will have to do,” Sam said, draining the last of her O’Doul’s. “There’s no place else to have it.”

  “Hold on a minute. Let’s not give up so easily.” Jackie sat back in her chair, wine glass in hand. “When are you closing on your house?”

  “We don’t have an exact date yet. But it will be before the end of the year. Why?”

  “Is there any chance you can take possession of the house before the twenty-fourth?”

  “Maybe,” Sam said. “What are you thinking?”

  Jackie tipped her wine glass at Sam. “I’m thinking you should have the reception at the bungalow. Hire a caterer, rent a couple of tables, and voila, instant party. You certainly can’t beat the view.”

  Sam gnawed on her lip as she tried to imagine the scene. Fires crackling in both fireplaces. A Christmas tree in the corner by the windows. A long table decked out in linen and china in the center of the great room. Soft Christmas music playing over the music system. Snow falling outside. Except that it hardly ever snowed in the Lowcountry. “It could work.”

  “It could work, hell. It’s a brilliant idea and you know it.”

  “How will I find a caterer willing to work on Christmas Eve?”

  “You really are so naive sometimes, Samantha. People in the catering business do their celebrating after Christmas. Servers, cooks, and bartenders all work on holidays. Finding a caterer willing to plan your reception on Christmas Eve is not a problem. But finding a decent caterer who lives in Prospect is. Trust me, I know. I’ve tried them all. Let me make a few calls. I should have someone for you by the end of the week.”

  SIX

  True to her word, Jackie came up with a caterer for Sam. Heidi Butler called Sam around lunchtime on Thursday to schedule a meeting.

  In one long breath, Heidi said, “Your sister suggested I give you a call, that you are looking for someone to cater your wedding luncheon on Christmas Eve. I would love to meet with you and give you a proposal if you’re interested. I have a long list of referrals. Unfortunately, they all live in Beverly Hills. I am working on establishing my reputation locally. I’m willing to cater your party at cost in exchange for you allowing me to photograph the job. Jackie says your bungalow is charming.”

  Beverly Hills? At cost? Who is this woman?

  “That’s a very generous offer, Heidi, but let’s back up for a minute. How do you know my sister?”

  “As a newcomer to the area, I’ve been introducing myself to the top interior designers. Decorators know all the right people in town, the ones that have the money to spend on making their homes beautiful and elaborate parties to entertain their friends.”

  Sam laughed out loud. “That’s a wise strategy if ever I heard one.” She gave Heidi the address to the market and agreed to meet with her the following afternoon.

  Sam took an instant liking to the caterer when she arrived a few minutes after three, early for their three thirty appointment. She had white-blonde hair piled atop her head and a heart-shaped face with thin rosy lips, heavy eyelashes, and emerald eyes that sparkled with life. Dressed in slim-fitting black pants and a tailored white cotton blouse, Heidi teetered about the showroom on three-
inch black pumps.

  “I brought you samples of my cuisine.” She set a large picnic basket on the counter and lifted the lid. She removed foil-wrapped packages and plastic containers of sweet potato ham biscuits, lamb chops, spring rolls, deviled eggs, and an assortment of bite-size tarts.

  “Goodness, Heidi, there’s enough food here for ten wedding receptions.” Sam’s stomach growled. “But don’t mind if I do. I haven’t eaten anything since a bowl of Special K at breakfast.” She reached for a lamb chop. The tender meat, flavored with rosemary and thyme, was delicious, and she gnawed it to the bone. “That was really good.” She tossed the bone into the trash can and picked up another lamb chop.

  Lovie came out from the kitchen with a tray of stone crab claws. She slid the tray into the cooler. “What’s all this?” she asked when she saw the spread of food on the counter.

  “Mom, this is Heidi Butler, the caterer I was telling you about from Charleston. Heidi, this is my mother, Lovie.”

  Heidi extended her hand toward Lovie. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Jackie. I understand you’re the connoisseur of seafood. I have some big shoes to fill.”

  “Connoisseur of seafood? That’s a new one on me, a distinction I’m not sure I deserve. But thank you just the same.” Lovie selected a deviled egg from the tray and nibbled at the white part.

  Sam sampled the spring rolls. “Your food is delicious. No doubt about it. But I noticed you didn’t bring any seafood with you. I have to warn you, Heidi, the Sweeneys never order from the landlubber’s menu. Everything at the reception will come from the sea. I hope that’s not a problem for you.”

  “No problem at all.” Heidi excused Sam’s concerns with a flick of her wrist. “In fact, seafood is one of my specialties. I can cook it any way you like it. But I thought it best for us to get to know one another before I showed you up.”

  Lovie burst out laughing, nearly choking on her deviled egg.

  Sam pointed her spring roll at Heidi. “I like this girl. We’re gonna get along just fine.” She glanced at the ship’s clock above the door. “The realtor is supposed to meet us in ten minutes to let us in the house, but I don’t want to leave until my afternoon shift arrives. I don’t want Mom to be alone, not with the crazy business we’ve had all week.”

  “That sounds like a good problem to have. Are you offering your customers anything special for the holidays?”

  Sam set one of the flyers she’d printed with their holiday menu on the counter. “In addition to the casseroles and desserts we’ve offered in the past, this year we’ve added a variety of meats.” She pointed at the flyer. “Beef tenderloin. Roasts. Organic, free-range turkeys. And country hams from Virginia.”

  Heidi removed a pair of cat eye reading glasses from her bag and scanned the menu. “You’ve created a comprehensive list. By including items other than seafood, you’ve made Sweeney’s a one-stop shop for your customers. Lucky for you and me, more and more people seem to be ordering out instead of cooking themselves. The holidays—”

  Heidi fell silent when Annie came flying through the door.

  Out of breath, with hair stuck to her face, Annie dropped her backpack at her feet. “I’m so sorry I’m late. My English teacher kept us after the bell. We spent the last part of class going over the essay questions for our exam. I couldn’t just leave.”

  “Of course not. Your school work comes first.” Sam introduced Annie to the caterer.

  “Your stepdaughter?” Heidi asked. “Jackie told me you’d never been married?”

  Her skin prickled. What else had Jackie told this stranger about her? Sam waved her off. “It’s a long story. Suffice it to say, we don’t get hung up on technicalities around here.”

  Lovie winked at Annie. “Family is family, regardless of whether a marriage license exists or the DNA matches.”

  Sam moved to Annie’s side. “You’re looking at a future winner of Top Chef,” she said, draping her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Annie would like to be a part of the wedding preparations, and I have given her the authority to make decisions regarding food and decorations on my behalf.”

  Annie beamed.

  “In that case, why don’t you email me and we can start bouncing some ideas around.” Heidi fished a business card out of her bag and handed it to Annie.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Sam said. “We need to agree on the price first.”

  Annie took the card and shoved it into her pocket. “I’ll let the two of you work that out. I’m starving. I hope you don’t mind.” She popped a pecan tart in her mouth and closed her eyes as she savored it. “This is really good.” She licked her lips. “But next time, you should consider adding a hint of chocolate.”

  Heidi followed Sam the short distance to the bungalow in her classic antique Mustang convertible. The car was a sleek-looking machine, a turquoise jewel, but Sam thought it could use a tune-up based on the spitting and sputtering it made on the way through town.

  The realtor was waiting for them in the driveway in front of the bungalow. “I’m sorry we’re late,” Sam said. “I got held up at the market.”

  “No worries. I used the extra time to work on a contract for a client.” She unlocked the front door for them. “Have a look around. I’ll be in my car if you need me.”

  Heidi waltzed in and began taking pictures of the great room with her iPhone. “This space is incredible, Sam. The natural light is ethereal.” She moved to the window. “With this view, who needs decorations? You can do as much or as little as you’d like for the luncheon.”

  Sam suddenly found it difficult to breathe. “What I’d like is for you and Annie to surprise me.” She joined Heidi at the window. “I’m feeling overwhelmed with the increase in business at the market, not to mention getting married and moving and the normal stresses of the holidays. I’m probably the only bride in the world who willingly relinquishes control of the single most important event in her life. But right now, all I want is to be married to the man I love and settled in the house of my dreams.”

  Heidi turned to face her. “Then you’ve found the right girl. My clients in Beverly Hills never had time for planning parties. Even when they had the time, they wanted someone else to do everything for them.” She removed her iPad from her bag. “Do you mind looking through a few photographs so I can get an idea of your tastes?”

  “Not at all.” Sam took the iPad from her and for the next few minutes, they scrolled through images of the elaborate affairs Heidi had conceived and executed at her previous job in Beverly Hills.

  Sam handed back the iPad. “You do lovely work, Heidi. Problem is, I’m not sure I can afford Beverly Hills prices, even with the discount you mentioned.”

  “I’m not offering you a discount, Sam. I’m offering to do this party for you at cost in exchange for you letting me photograph the reception for my website. This is a business arrangement where we both get something we want.”

  Sam looked away. “I don’t know how I feel about having my face plastered all over your website.”

  “No offense. Your face is stunning.” Heidi smiled. “But I’m more interested in photographs of the food and venue. I promise not to post any pictures of the attendees or the guests of honor.”

  Sam felt the tension leave her body. “Then how can I say no? I’d be a fool to turn down a deal like that.” She held out her hand and they shook to seal the deal.

  They spoke briefly about the details as Sam walked Heidi to her car. She watched the antique Mustang hiccup down the driveway before tapping on Sheila’s window.

  Sheila opened her car door. “All finished.”

  “Inside, yes. But I was wondering if you have a minute. I could use some real estate advice.”

  Sheila placed her files in the passenger seat and got out of the car to face her. “How can I help?”

  “The news about us buying the bungalow has spread around town, and several people have expressed an interest in my house on Dogwood Lane. I was thinking o
f holding a soft”—she used air quotes—“open house on Sunday. Problem is, I have no idea how to go about showing a house.”

  “In order for me to get involved, you would need to sign a listing agreement. Is that something you would consider?”

  “Of course. I have no problem with that at all,” Sam said.

  “In that case, we can try the open house. But I warn you that December is a difficult time of year to sell a house, even in this seller’s market. If you don’t get any offers, we can put it in the MLS listing after the first of the year and start an aggressive advertising campaign. I’ll draw up the paperwork and bring it with me on Sunday.” Sheila started toward her car, and then turned back around. “I trust your house is in good shape. No peeling paint, leaking faucets, or messy closets.”

  Sam gulped. “No worries. What’s broken now will be fixed by Sunday.”

  SEVEN

  Sam stopped Faith as she was leaving the market at noon on Friday. “I hate to ask you this, but is there any way you can cover my shift tomorrow? I have a million things I need to do at home before the open house on Sunday.”

  Sam cringed with guilt, knowing that Faith managed the accounting for the market and seldom worked the showroom. But even more important, Faith’s duties freed up her afternoons and weekends to spend with her young daughter and new husband.

  Faith closed the back door against the cold. “I’d be happy to help you out.”

  “Are you sure? I know how sacred your weekends are.”

  “I’m sure. Mike has the weekend off from the hospital. But he and Bitsy are so wrapped up in their decorations for the dock parade they hardly know I’m around.”

  Sam gave her sister’s arm a quick rub. “Thank you. Normally I wouldn’t worry about Annie and Mom being here alone, but this week has been crazy. I think everyone in town is having a party this year.”