“Oh, crap,” Derek said.
“You left this when you took my dolls,” Natasha accused. “Who has them? You or him?”
“Who?” Derek asked.
“RB!” Natasha said, sounding exasperated.
Vienna saw Drayden slip his cell phone to Sheree, who began frantically dialing as she stepped away. When he turned back, Vienna caught his eye and said, “And you wanted me to get into the management program.” She pointed to Natasha. “If this is what happens, I want no part of it.”
“Her? You’re going to make her a manager?” Natasha asked. “Are you insane?”
“No, but you obviously are,” Vienna said.
“She has no sense of responsibility! She takes breaks all day!” Natasha shouted.
“I don’t believe this,” Derek said.
“Shut up, dollnapper!” Natasha said.
“That’s it!” Derek exploded. “I’m so tired of dealing with you. You’re the meanest bitch I’ve ever met in my life.”
“Don’t you have a way to screen out people with behavioral disorders when you’re hiring?” Vienna asked Drayden. “Anyone can see she’s bipolar!”
“I didn’t hire her,” Drayden protested.
“I’m not bipolar!” Natasha shrieked.
“You’re a nutjob!” Derek yelled. “Everybody thinks so. Nobody likes working for you.”
“I’m the most responsible person in that store,” Natasha said.
“What’s going on here?” Christian asked, stepping between Derek and Natasha. “Are you okay, Derek?”
“No!” Derek answered.
“Get out of my way, errand boy!” Natasha ordered, trying to push past Christian to get to Derek.
Vienna again pointed at Natasha and continued her tirade to Drayden. “If this is your idea of the trophy manager, count me out. Forget the whole thing.”
“I never wanted to sell shoes anyway!” Derek said. “I hate shoes!”
“I quit!” Vienna and Derek bellowed together.
“That’s her!” Emily-Anne was pointing at Natasha. Two mall security guards stepped forward to grab Natasha’s arms. Emily-Anne turned to Drayden and said, “I’m never shopping in your store again.”
“Stop!” Natasha wailed as the guards dragged her away. “I just want my dolls back! They’ve got my dolls!”
“I knew I shouldn’t have come here,” Vienna said.
“Are you okay?” Cart Man asked.
“I’m out of here,” Derek muttered, pushing past Christian.
“Derek, wait!” Drayden exclaimed.
“Forget it. There’s no way in hell I’m going back to that store. Natasha or no Natasha. I’ve had it,” Derek said.
“I had no idea, Derek,” Drayden said. “Please let me make it up to you. I feel terrible. We can work this out.”
Derek was silent for a long time, staring straight ahead. Vienna turned and followed his gaze, seeing Hunter standing among the onlookers who’d gathered. Sheree stood behind him, still holding Drayden’s cell phone. Neither Hunter nor Derek made a move toward each other. Hunter’s expression was unreadable, but Derek’s look was pure longing. Finally, Derek’s expression changed, and he said, “I’m leaving.”
“Derek, stop!” Drayden said, hurrying after him.
The two of them nearly ran over a woman, who called out, “Garry!”
“Oh, God,” Cart Man moaned.
“Pro?” Hunter said, suddenly staring at Cart Man.
“Con,” Cart Man said in a pleading tone as he took a half step toward Hunter.
“Wait a minute,” Vienna said. “Poe? Your last name’s Poe? Ed Poe, as in Edgar Allan Poe?’
“What are you doing here?” Hunter asked Cart Man.
“Garry!” The woman finally made it to their group. Her huge hoop earrings were swinging wildly, as were the sequined fringes on her top. Her ash blond hair was teased and sprayed into impossible heights, and her boots were made for two-stepping. Vienna couldn’t understand why the woman was pointing at Cart Man as she said, “Why in Sam Hill did you run out on me? We weren’t done talkin’.”
“Buffy, I can explain,” Cart Man said.
“Buffy?” Vienna said incredulously. “You made me wait because of a woman named Buffy?”
“Who’s this, Garry?” Buffy asked, looking at Vienna. “Is she servin’ drinks? I’d love a Tequila Sunrise.”
“Hey!” Vienna exclaimed indignantly.
“Are you going to be okay, Pro?” Hunter said to Cart Man as Sheree tugged at his arm. “I need to—”
“Yeah,” Cart Man said. “I’ll catch up with you later. I know where to find you.”
“Which is it?” Vienna demanded. “Ed Poe or Garry Poe?”
“Pro,” Sheree corrected before she followed Hunter. “Short for Prophet.”
Vienna clenched her hands and gritted her teeth with annoyance, finally saying, “Somebody better start explaining really fast.”
“I’ll explain everything,” Cart Man promised. He kissed Vienna, then added, “Later. I swear.”
“Why the hell are you kissin’ her?” Buffy demanded as Cart Man dragged her away.
Vienna intercepted a look between Christian and Emily-Anne. Emily-Anne grabbed her husband’s arm, and they began herding the crowd away as Emily-Anne said, “Come. We’ve still got tons of food. And games. With prizes! Everyone inside the planetarium.”
“Are you okay?” Christian asked Vienna.
“Do you want something to drink?” Bianca asked, stepping forward to put an arm around Vienna’s shoulders. “I don’t have any idea what just happened. But if it were me, I’d need a stiff drink.”
“I’m okay,” Vienna said, dazed. “I just don’t know who I’m dating. Cart Man. Ed. Garry. For over two years I was single, and suddenly I’m dating three people. Only they’re all the same guy, apparently.”
“Bummer,” Bianca said.
“Yeah,” Vienna agreed. “It’s crazy.” She remembered Natasha. “Christian, give me your keys.”
“What?”
“I’ve got to get those dolls,” Vienna explained. “You saw Natasha. She’s breaking down, not breaking through, like I’d hoped. At any rate, she’s with mall security, and we don’t want them on the case. Maybe if I return her dolls, she’ll forget about everything. This is my fault, and I’ve got to fix it before we all end up in jail. Now give me those keys!”
Christian held out the keys and said, “They’re in my bedroom closet.”
“Thanks!” Vienna said, snatching the keys and leaving Christian and Bianca standing in the empty courtyard.
34
A Temperamental Journey
Two cups of Earl Grey tea hadn’t quite cleared Christian’s foggy head or bleary eyes. For too many days, he’d been trying to keep up with his clients’ needs while spending his nights painting. Bianca had an advantage over him, because she usually napped while he painted. He could have shown some mercy and sent her home; he didn’t need her constantly in front of him when he worked. But asleep, her presence was comforting, and when she awoke, she was entertaining. Especially when she talked about art.
He’d enjoyed her story about the cosmetics-hating artist at Drayden’s, so he was intrigued when she stared at his mother’s wheat-field painting and asked, “Is that yours?”
“No.”
Before he could tell her it was his mother’s, Bianca said, “Good. I don’t like it.”
“You don’t? Why not?”
“It’s stupid. Is it the country or the city? It’s like the artist couldn’t decide what he wanted to paint. Who puts a skyscraper in the middle of a wheat field? And that parking lot. Who’s going to use it? There’s no road going there.” She listened as he talked about surrealism and the conflict in the painting between nature and progress that was perhaps indicative of the artist’s inner struggle. When he paused for breath, she said, “I still think it’s stupid. But what do I know about art? I can’t even draw good eyebrows on my cust
omers.”
After that, he always contrived to leave an art book or two in his studio, delighted when she flipped through the pages and provided a running critique of some of the most sacred cows in art history. She hadn’t yet seen the canvas she was inspiring, a moment he looked forward to with terrified exhilaration.
He pulled his thoughts back to the present when DeWitt entered the Brew Moon Café. He was hardly the wounded man that Christian had first met. He looked well put together, with a finely trimmed beard, slightly spiky hair parted on the right side, and a freshly pressed white button-down shirt tucked into fashionably faded jeans. Vienna had done a great job of helping DeWitt emerge from behind all his hair and soiled denim, but Christian liked to think that he’d also played a part in assisting DeWitt to overcome his low self-esteem.
DeWitt nodded to let Christian know that he’d seen him, then got his coffee before approaching him. Christian stood and waited until DeWitt put his cup on the table next to an organizer before shaking his hand. He could have sworn his bones crunched. Maybe DeWitt still needed a lesson in formal greetings.
“You look great,” Christian said.
“Thank you. You and Vienna have really helped me make some good changes.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
They both sat down, and as DeWitt took his first sip of coffee, he looked at Christian’s hands and frowned. “Have you been working on your car or something?”
“What?” Christian asked.
“Is that grease under your nails?”
“Oh,” Christian said, looking at his hands with surprise. “No. Paint. I woke up realizing something I did wrong on my painting last night, and I had to take care of it. I didn’t have time for more than a quick shower before meeting you.”
“Oh, good,” DeWitt said. “I was having a Freaky Friday moment.”
Christian’s mind had wandered back to his painting, and he said, “Huh? Is it Friday already?”
“The movie,” DeWitt explained patiently. “I thought maybe we’d switched lives. Are you okay? You seem a little out of it.”
“Just tired,” Christian said. “Sorry. Why did you want to see me?”
DeWitt took a deep breath and said, “I need to talk to you about Leslie Harper. I met with her, like you suggested, and I’m altering all her suits. She’s worried herself into a fifteen-pound weight loss, and nothing fits.”
“Uh-huh,” Christian said.
“I didn’t mean to step on your toes,” DeWitt continued sheepishly, “but Leslie asked me to help facilitate her move to Indianapolis. She’s had trouble getting in touch with you.”
“That’s fine,” Christian said. “I’m glad you could help her.”
“Well, she wants to pay me, and I don’t feel like I should—”
“Of course you should,” Christian said firmly. “Don’t ever provide your services for free, DeWitt. In fact, the more you charge, the more you’re valued.”
“But she’s your client, and it seems like you should get the money. I wouldn’t even know her except for you.”
“What do you use your barn for?” Christian asked. DeWitt stared at him with a perplexed look, and Christian said, “The barn. On your property. You obviously don’t farm, so what do you use it for?”
“I keep my tools and my bikes in there,” DeWitt said. “I’ve got this really sweet vintage Harley that I’m restoring—”
“Is there a lot of empty space in the barn? Is it relatively airtight? Or could it be weatherproofed?”
“I guess,” DeWitt said, still looking mystified.
“I’d like to rent it. I mean, you could still use it, but I need some big interior space. I want to work on larger canvases and—”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” DeWitt asked. “You’re not yourself.”
“I’m sorry. My mind is all over the place. Yes, it’s fine for Leslie Harper to pay you. Have you gotten alterations work from any of my other clients?”
“Yeah,” DeWitt said, reaching for his organizer.
“You have to get rid of that thing,” Christian said, dismayed, as he looked at the Post-It Notes sticking out of the sides of the organizer. He held up his PalmPilot. “You need one of these. I can’t tell you how much easier it has made my life. Plus, when you came to the table? You had to struggle with your coffee and your organizer, put everything down, then shake my hand. You want your client to know that he or she is the most important thing to you. You never want to look awkward or to keep anyone waiting to shake your hand.” He nudged his PalmPilot across the table and said, “I’ve got all the information on this one stored on my computer, so borrow it. Start getting used to it. We’ll buy you one later and input your clients’ information.”
“I don’t really have clients—”
“You’re going to,” Christian said. “Why don’t we barter? You let me use space in your barn, and I’ll slowly transition my clients over to you.”
“Are you kidding?”
Christian considered it. A part of him felt regret, but people always missed something about jobs they left, even jobs they hated, and he’d loved his. He would miss the craziness of his clients and the challenge of meeting their demands. Mostly, though, he felt relieved. At least he wasn’t abandoning them. He was leaving them in capable hands. Not to mention extremely strong hands.
He realized that DeWitt was making eye contact with a man who’d just come in and said, “There is something you’ll need to handle carefully. The gay thing.”
“I grew up in rural Indiana,” DeWitt said. “I think I’ve got the gay thing under control.”
Christian blushed and said, “I have a confession to make. There are times that being gay works to your advantage. Some clients are more likely to trust your guidance in certain areas if you’re gay. Also, men tend to be more comfortable when you’re spending a lot of time with their wives and girlfriends if they think you’re gay.”
“Christian Mercer,” DeWitt scolded, “are you telling me that you pretend to be gay for money?”
“You make it sound like I’m hustling,” Christian said with a huff. “I never have sex with my clients. Female or male. Do you have any teaching experience?”
“No,” DeWitt said.
“We can work on that, too. Seminars. That’s where the money is. For the same investment of time, lots more people are paying you.”
“Why are you doing all this for me?” DeWitt asked.
“I’m not,” Christian said. “After all these years of teaching people to follow their dreams, to set goals and work toward them, to believe in themselves, I’m finally ready to take my own advice. I won’t be able to give it up all at once, but with your help—” He broke off with a sigh when “Morning Train” blared at them. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten his headset. As he pulled the phone from his pocket, DeWitt reached across the table and snatched it away from him.
“Christian Mercer’s office. This is DeWitt; how may I help you?” Christian’s mouth fell open, but DeWitt just grinned at him. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barrister, but Christian is unavailable right now. Is there any way I can assist you? Dr. Brown said what? That’s terrible. I’m sure Jitters is a wonderful dog. Since I haven’t seen him myself, I can’t say if he’s overweight, but it never hurts to get a second opinion. There are several excellent veterinarians in the area.”
“Fax,” Christian hissed.
“I can fax you a list later.”
“Within the hour,” Christian said.
“Within the hour,” DeWitt repeated.
As DeWitt continued to listen to Emily-Anne’s troubles with her canine offspring, Christian stood and whispered, “I’ll fax the list from my apartment. I can get my phone and PalmPilot from you later.”
DeWitt nodded, and Christian left the café with a lighter load and spirit. He stopped at Nebula Art Supply, transfixed by the wide array of oil colors. He’d laid down all of the base coats for his painting of Bianca and had made progress with painting he
r form and the background, but he needed the right colors to capture the translucency of her skin, the small indentation just below her bottom lip, and the natural golden highlights in her red hair.
As he gathered the necessary paints, some new brushes, and a few impulse items, he heard a man say, “Where have you been hiding?”
Christian turned to see one of his clients standing behind him; he looked perturbed. He scanned his mental data banks until he got the name. Brett Larson was an attorney who’d hired Christian to organize his office after blaming his business difficulties on the clutter that surrounded him. Christian hoped he hadn’t missed an appointment with Brett or mislaid any of his extensive files of divorce actions and prenuptial agreements. “I’ve been swamped the last few weeks,” he said apologetically.
Brett stared at the art supplies and said, “If I were a different type of attorney, I’d probably sue you for breach of contract.” When he saw Christian’s look of concern, he smiled. “I’m kidding. Since your ‘Order in the Court’ seminar, I’ve made great progress in keeping myself organized, instead of relying on everyone else to do it for me. What’s been keeping you so busy?”
Christian cast a guilty look at his art supplies and said, “I found a muse.”
“Lucky you,” Brett said, reaching into his inside pocket and removing a business card, “but if it doesn’t work out, here’s my card.”
“I have your number already, Brett. I won’t be needing it, though.”
“You never know.”
Brett left, and Christian paid for his supplies. While he ran other errands, he dropped Brett’s card into a trash can. He wouldn’t need it. He couldn’t deny that he was forming a bond with Bianca, but he intended to move slowly. He didn’t want to repeat the mistakes he’d made years ago with Aline, and he also sensed some hesitation on Bianca’s part. She didn’t seem uncomfortable with him. In fact, at times she seemed almost too comfortable, as if she didn’t regard him as a potential romance. He’d gotten accustomed to her meandering conversations and liked the way he could never anticipate what she might say next. But it had dawned on him that she never made flirtatious or suggestive comments that could lead to anything more intimate than friendship. He didn’t know if she was shy, inexperienced, or just uninterested. He’d decided it was best to be patient until he figured it out.
Someone Like You Page 34