by Cassie Page
Tuesday always pooh-poohed Olivia’s argument about being too busy for a man. She pointed out the fashion and communication moguls, Diane Von Furstenberg and Barry Diller as an example of two people who can rule the world as a couple.
“I don’t know,” said Olivia. "I just don’t have good relationship karma.”
Tuesday dismissed that remark with a swipe of her hand. “Who does?”
She pointed to a cat running into the road. Olivia swerved and missed it.
“Olivia, my girl, I think we need to do a reading and see what’s up with that. You’re still gun shy because of Brooks. I know you are.”
Olivia smacked the steering wheel. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want to talk about him? Brooks Baker is ancient history.”
In a stage whisper Tuesday said, “If you were so over him, it wouldn’t be hard to talk about him. Diss him, actually. That’s what we girls do when we’re over a bad dude.”
“THAT’s bad karma. Ragging all over your ex.”
“Oh, but Ollie Molly, it’s fun. So much fun.”
Olivia couldn’t help herself. She laughed as she pulled into the long driveway of Marguerite Fredericks’ mansion.
7:3
Tuesday Afternoon
Olivia was relieved to see that she had planned correctly. Her client’s Mercedes was parked in front. She rang the bell and the maid came to the door.
“Miss Granville, so nice to see you. Come in.”
Apparently Marguerite had not informed her maid to cut Olivia off at the pass, possibly not expecting her to show up unannounced.
“Nice to see you, too.”
She never bothered to remember the names of the Fredericks’ household staff. They either quit in a huff or were sent packing as regularly as clockwork. Olivia thought it would be easier for Mrs. Fredericks to learn to treat her employees with a modicum of respect, but she never had the opportunity to say so. She just smiled and asked, “Is Mrs. Fredericks in?”
She started to explain her visit when she heard Marguerite call out, “Judith, are you ready to torture me again?”
Marguerite Fredericks, all five-foot ten, one-hundred and ten pounds of her entered the vestibule from the back of the house and paused mid-sentence. She was clearly surprised, and disturbed, Olivia thought, at seeing her designer instead of her yoga teacher.
“Olivia,” Marguerite said coolly, “what brings you here? I’m due for my yoga session in a few minutes. You know, nothing gets between me and my asanas.”
Among her other attributes, the woman was fit and well groomed, wearing a yoga outfit with a Chanel logo on the sleeve.
“I’ll just take a minute, Mrs. Fredericks. I came by yesterday, but I missed you.” Olivia said it with as warm a smile as she could muster. “Perhaps I made a mistake on the time or the day?”
As Olivia expected, her client had an excuse ready. “I know, dear. I am sorry. I had a conflict, another appointment that took much longer than I expected. I was out of cell phone range to let you know I’d be delayed.”
Olivia didn’t believe that for a second, but no one wins when you antagonize a client. Brooks had taught her that. She smiled warmly and said, “No matter. Perhaps we can set a time for this afternoon to go over the punch list. . .”
She did a double take when she spotted a painting leaning against the wall at the bottom of the circular staircase. “Is that a Romano Sutcliffe? I didn’t know you collected him.”
Since his death a few months earlier, Sutcliffe’s work was commanding high prices at auction. Olivia knew all of the pieces in the Fredericks’ extensive collection of mid-century American artists, but had never seen anything resembling the celebrated painter’s colorful street scenes.
Marguerite gave the picture a dismissive wave. “Oh, that. I’m taking it on spec. Hamish Walsh brought it over. He thought I might like it.”
Olivia felt her blood pressure rise at the mention of her competitor’s name. “But it’s so different from the work you usually choose. I wouldn’t put you and Sutcliffe in the same sentence.”
Marguerite was clearly playing Olivia and Hamish against each other. Olivia need to get a handle on which of the designers was in the lead.
She said, “I know Sutcliffe’s work but I haven’t seen that picture. Do you mind if I look at it.”
Marguerite moved out of the way so Olivia could examine the painting, saying, “I think it’s quite a score to have an undiscovered work. Richard and I haven’t definitely decided to buy it, but we’re leaning heavily in that direction.”
Olivia gave an appropriately puzzled look. “Undiscovered? I’m not familiar with all of his work, but I know it has all been cataloged.”
Marguerite smiled. “Yes. That’s the brilliance of Hamish. He was able to acquire this piece before it came on the market.“
Now Olivia was thoroughly confused. “I didn’t know Hamish was an art curator.”
“Man of many talents.”
Olivia said to herself, and I bet one of them is stealing other designer’s clients.
The doorbell rang and Olivia returned the painting to its spot while the maid answered the door.
Marguerite said, “Olivia, I’m afraid we’ll have to continue this later. How about three?”
Olivia managed a smile. “Certainly. Three works for me. See you then. I’m just going to run around back and check in with Vittorio on the wiring.”
Marguerite had started walking into the library with her arm linked into her yoga teacher’s. She didn’t bother answering Olivia.
Around back, Olivia found Vittorio untangling some wire. “Hey, Olivia,” he said when he saw her. “I got your message. I’ll come by later to check on your disposal and blinking lights. Not a big problem, but you might need a new disposal.”
“Thanks Vittorio. Just grab the key under the pot if I’m not there. You know the security code. I’ll be back this afternoon to go over the punch list.” Vittorio was one of the few people she trusted with her security code.
Olivia backed her truck down the long driveway and asked Tuesday, “You okay with The Fresh Fishery? At this hour we might have to sit at the counter.”
Tuesday grinned. “You mean the place owned by that cutie, Jesse? I could go for some oysters and champagne.”
Olivia laughed at her friend, “When can’t you?”
Tuesday grinned back, “And the problem with that is?”
Traffic crawled down the winding road that led away from the Fredericks’ home to the highway leading back onto Darling Boulevard. As soon as the road widened, a driver passed Olivia heading back up the hill.
Tuesday did a double take. “Olivia, how crazy is that? My client. From this morning that I told you about? He just passed us. Did you see? He was in that Lexus.”
Olivia looked in her rear view mirror, but the car was gone.
Tuesday added, “He had another dude in the car with him.”
Olivia speculated, “This road connects with Stinson Beach. Maybe they are going out there for lunch.”
Tuesday shook her head. “I hope he’s careful. He sure had a lot of ominous signs in his cup.”
Olivia turned into the parking lot behind the fish restaurant. She quickly locked up the truck before they entered by the back entrance. Inside, a happy chorus of laughing, chatty customers crowded around the display case featuring the day’s fresh catch. A line for counter service started outside the front door and the two friends squeezed their way to the end of the line. A couple finished up at one of the two outside tables and since no one else wanted it, they decided to snag it. The sun warmed the busy street and Olivia welcomed the break in her hectic morning to people watch.
“This is such a pretty town, Tuesday, but I hardly ever have a chance to just sit back and enjoy it. The problem with being self-employed? You work harder than you ever will for anyone else.”
Tuesday nodded. “With me it’s feast or famine. I have my regular gigs at The Mulberry Cat,” the
café and restaurant in Larchmont Village where she read tea leaves three afternoons a week. She also had her own private practice where she didn’t have to share her profits with Natasha, the owner of the cafe.
“I have to say, girlfriend, I give myself more days off than you do. Of course, I’m not paying off a mortgage.” Tuesday could only afford apartment living.
A server came by, handed them menus and walked away to fill their drink orders. Olivia scanned the day’s specials, deciding on Jesse’s famous clam chowder to start, and nodded ruefully. “Yeah, nothing like owing the bank big bucks to keep your nose to the grindstone.”
Tuesday added, “And I’m also not cursed with a Type A personality.”
Olivia threw the menu down and sighed. “You and Cody. You’re both on me for that. But how else am I going to get anything done if I don’t work 24/7?”
Tuesday shook her head. “All work and no play. Maybe you and Matt need to take a little break. Take a week off in Cabo or something.”
Olivia signaled no. “The way things are between us right now, we don’t dare be alone in the same room together.”
She remembered the kiss when Matt tripped over the vine, but she didn’t tell Tuesday how it had set up a new longing for him.
Tuesday said, “That bad? You’re fighting all the time?”
“No, we don’t really fight. We get along too well. We just can’t seem to agree on what we want. I think we’re both afraid it’s going to go nowhere fast and we’re wasting our time.”
Tuesday stuck out her hands, palms up. “Okay,” she said, wiggling the left hand. “This one is working 24/7.” Then she wiggled the right hand. “This one is a vacation with Matt.” She looked over at Olivia and caught her eye. “Which one weighs more?”
“That’s not fair. He hasn’t suggested a getaway and I don’t have the time.”
Jesse, Olivia’s friend and the owner of the restaurant, came out. He remembered Tuesday from her last visit and gave her a hug. They bantered back and forth about Jesse’s love life, non-existent he claimed, though Olivia knew he was seeing several girls in town.
“But business couldn’t be better, even though I’m working myself into an early grave.”
That Olivia believed. “I hear you, brother,” she moaned.” She pointed to his work shirt. “Maybe if you did something about your wardrobe. . . . you know, dress up and the babes will come?”
“I am intimate with sea creatures all day, Olivia. You want I should wear a suit and tie?”
“All’s I’m saying, friend, is if you ever want a sartorial consultation, call me.”
Tuesday butted in. “No, call me. Don’t go near our girlfriend here or she will have you looking like an undertaker.”
Grinning, Jesse took their order and a waiter brought their split of Veuve Cliquot, one glass each of their standard celebratory drink so they didn’t need a designated driver. They toasted one another with their crisp bubbly and leaned back in their seats.
Suddenly, Tuesday bolted upright. “There he is again, Ollie.” She pointed to a Lexus slowing down in traffic right in front of the restaurant. “My client from this morning again.”
Olivia checked out the car. She didn’t recognize it. Then she squinted. “Oh, they’ve taken off. I couldn’t see who was in the car.”
Tuesday said, “No matter. He’ll show up again. In a town this small, you can’t help falling over people. What do you say about some shopping after lunch?”
7:4
Back in the truck heading home, Tuesday asked, “Mind if I look for Gora Gracee’s newest release on your satellite radio? She said she was launching it today.”
“Help yourself. Who is Gora Gracee?”
Tuesday began surfing the stations. “She’s a friend who has a breakout song. She kills in Urban Feminist Rap.”
She started to explain the genre but landed on a local news station and Olivia said, “Stop. Turn that up.”
The broadcaster was saying, “An unconfirmed report suggests that Native American artifacts have been found on the site of the Bacon-Paatz Museum currently under construction on the edge of town. Listeners may recall that this was the location of a gruesome murder yesterday. The body was discovered by the Governor during the groundbreaking ceremony. We have to ask, if artifacts were uncovered by the victim as rumored, would that provide a motive for the murder? Could someone with a vested interest in seeing the project go forward have seen to it that the worker, identified by anonymous sources as Jed Fisher, husband and father of a six month old baby, didn’t live to tell anyone about the relics? KZMC, your fresh news station, attempted to reach Miss Olivia Granville for comment, but she has not returned our calls. We would be interested in getting Miss Granville’s take on this latest development as she is the lead construction manager and someone who certainly wants to see this museum completed in a timely and successful manner. Why is Miss Granville silent on this important development? We can only wait and see.”
Next up, fans, an exclusive interview with the winner of the Marin County . . .”
Olivia flipped off the radio and slammed the dashboard. “Who is that creep announcer? The only thing that pinhead got right was my name. How does he know Fisher was murdered? Or that Indian relics were found on the site? And how dare he suggest that I had something to do with his murder.”
She leaned forward and yelled into the radio, “And I’m NOT the lead construction manager. I’m the project manager. Pinhead! And nobody called me. Pinhead.”
Tuesday was fishing in Olivia’s tote bag for her phone. “I assume you want this.”
She held it up for Olivia to see the three messages lighted up on the screen. “Take a look.”
Olivia grabbed the phone and studied the numbers. She didn’t recognize them but assumed they were from the radio station. “He must have called while we were having lunch. With all the noise on the sidewalk, I didn’t hear my phone.”
“And lucky for him,” Tuesday mused, “cause you would have reamed him a new ear drum.”
“You bet your bohonkus I would have. How dare he? What evidence does he have that it was murder? Matt said he would let me know as soon as he got the autopsy report and the environmental guy probably hasn’t even reached the site. Who’s the mole?”
Olivia was shaking her phone at Tuesday as she ranted. Suddenly the phone rang, startling her so that it flipped out of her hand, bounced off her lap and onto the floor of the cab between her feet, the Marimba ringtone echoing off the wheel well. She said a few choice words and Tuesday held the steering wheel while she reached down and searched for the phone. She found it and answered the call just before it went into voicemail.
“Marguerite, um Mrs. Fredericks. How are you? How was yoga? Are we still on for our three o’clock?”
Olivia had regained control over the truck, but almost lost it again when she heard her client’s reason for calling.
“You want to cancel our contract? You mean for the pool house? Mrs. Fredericks, you can’t do that, we are three and a half days from unveiling it.”
Olivia flashed a look at Tuesday that was a cross between fear and outrage.
“But Mrs. Fredericks, how do you even know there are environmental issues? Oh, you heard it on the radio. You know what they say, don’t believe everything you hear. Why don’t you meet with me this afternoon as we agreed and we can talk this out?”
There was a pause while Mrs. Fredericks complained that Olivia had broken the terms of their contract by engaging in unethical behavior. Olivia stared at her phone in disbelief.
“Mrs. Fredericks, I don’t know how you can say that. I have been completely above board with you. My invoices are transparent, and I have made myself completely available to you. Happily so, I might add.”
Another pause for the client’s response. Olivia pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the engine.
“I can assure you that whatever happened at the museum site, and we still don’t have the full picture th
ere, was not my doing. You can ask any of the principals if they are happy with my work on the project.”
Suddenly, Olivia fumed. “Hamish said? Why is Hamish Walsh involved with the pool project? That is very unprofessional of him. I don’t like to complain about competitors, but if he is going behind my back to spread lies about me, I would have grounds for slander.”
Traffic on the narrow road had to skirt around Olivia’s truck. Driver’s honked for her to move on. She ignored them.
“But we have to meet, Mrs. Fredericks. We have to go over the punch list so that the pool house will be finished by Friday.”
Olivia looked at Tuesday and made a tearing her hair out gesture. “Okay, thank you. I’ll wait for your call. Have a great day.”
Film At Eleven
He ran into the Emergency Room screaming, “I’ve been shot. Help me.”
The nurse looked at him coldly and said, “I’m sorry sir. We can’t help you. You haven’t paid your taxes.”
He heard a siren in the background. But it wasn’t a siren. He hadn’t been getting much sleep with all the upheaval, and he had stretched out to take a little nap. The phone was ringing.
It was her, yelling in his ear again. When he heard what she had to say, he sat bolt upright, his feet on the floor.
“What do you mean there’s an Indian expert on the site? Where’d you hear that?”
“A little bird told me,” she said in that sarcastic tone that made him want to scream. “The one that works for Fox News. It’s all over cable. They said that not only was a body found on the property, but the police found evidence of an ancient Native American burial site.”
He shook his head and protested. “But I have the relics. I found them. That’s why I got into a fight with Jed. He saw me pick them up. How could anyone else know about them? Unless you and the boss let it slip to someone. You’re the only other people who know they even exist.”
“Apparently not,” she snapped.
He shook his head as he thought about what he’d just said. Were they the only people who knew about them? They wouldn’t double-cross him, would they?