Spring Fever

by Mary Kay Andrews

  “It’s a huge punch in the gut, of course,” Joe said. “Quixie was one of our biggest accounts. I’m gonna try and talk to Davis, and Mason, if I can. But if we don’t retain that account, well, that changes everything.”

  “Including my hire?” She kept her tone deliberately neutral, calm.

  “I’m afraid so,” Joe said. “We’ll still pay for your moving expenses, of course, and any other out-of-pocket expenses you’ve incurred, but without the Quixie account, we’ll have to do some major reshuffling around here.”

  “I see,” Annajane said. She stood up and held out a hand to Joe Farnham. “Well, thanks, I guess.”

  “Son of a bitch!” he growled. “This isn’t right. It just isn’t. I wish there was something more I could do. We were all really looking forward to having you join the team, Annajane. I told Davis, right before we offered you the position, he’d be crazy to let you walk away.”

  Annajane turned, startled. “You talked to Davis about hiring me? Not Mason?”

  Joe shrugged. “It was Davis’s idea. I mean, if I’d known you were thinking of leaving Quixie, I’d have snapped you up in a minute anyway, but yeah, he mentioned in passing that he thought you’d be uncomfortable staying at the company after Mason got serious with that consultant of theirs.”

  “Celia,” she said. “Her name is Celia.” And her grimy mitts were all over this little maneuver, Annajane thought.

  * * *

  As much as she dreaded going back home, Annajane knew she had no choice. Celia had laid down the gauntlet, and it was too late now to back away from a fight. Before leaving Capheart’s parking lot, she called the leasing office for the apartment she’d rented to let them know she wouldn’t be moving in after all, and got the not-unexpected news that she would be forfeiting the first and last month’s rent that she’d already paid.

  She called Pokey as soon as she’d cleared Atlanta traffic and was back on the interstate, headed to Passcoe. “What’s going on up there?” she demanded.

  “Let’s see. Where do you want me to start?” Pokey said. “I think the right rear tire on my Range Rover has a nail in it. Petey has a weird rash all over his body; and Clayton has decided he does not want to be potty-trained, which means he might still be in Pull-Ups in junior high; and, oh yeah, Mama announced a little while ago that she’s just fine with selling Quixie to some outfit in Tenafly, New Jersey, that makes jalapeño cheese–stuffed microwaveable tater tots.”

  “Oh, God,” Annajane moaned. “How? Why?”

  A loud scream pierced the air from the other end of the phone.

  “Hang on a second, will ya?”

  Annajane heard the sounds of footsteps, and then the sound of water flushing, and then childish shrieks. “Denning Riggs!” Pokey yelled. “Do not dunk your little brother in the toilet. I don’t care if he does smell like poopie. No! I mean it. Put him down this instant.”

  Pokey came back on the line and sighed. “What was I thinking having all these kids? One more is gonna put me in an early grave.”

  “You love it,” Annajane said, laughing despite the seriousness of the current situation.

  “As I was saying, it seems that my darling brother Davis has somehow managed to pull another fast one on us,” Pokey said. “And I’ll just bet the formidable Celia has been bending Mama’s ear, too. She’s spent a lot of time over at Cherry Hill these past few weeks, in the guise of making wedding plans, sucking up to Mama.”

  “So that’s it for Quixie? It’s a done deal?” Annajane asked.

  “Not quite yet,” Pokey said. “Mama claims she doesn’t want to do anything unless all of us are one hundred percent on board.”

  “Well, that’s something,” Annajane said. “Have you talked to Mason about any of this?”

  “Not yet,” Pokey said. “The shit literally just hit the fan. I’ve called the office and left a message with Voncile to have him call me, and I left him a voice mail on his cell, but I’m sure he’s up to his ass in alligators right now. And speaking of which, how did Shane handle your true confession?”

  “He said the right thing for all the wrong reasons. I’m more messed up now than I’ve ever been.”

  “You’re gonna have to spell this out for me, hon,” Pokey said. “I’ve got baby brain already.”

  “We’re not getting married,” Annajane said. “I broke it off with Shane.”

  “Yippee! I mean, oh, that’s too bad,” Pokey said. “You sound pretty okay though.”

  “Definitely not okay. Shell-shocked,” Annajane corrected. “But that’s not all. I’m having a hell of a morning my ownself. After I left the cabin I went to see my new boss, Joe, at Farnham-Capheart. Who greeted me with the news that I don’t have a job there after all, because Davis e-mailed him this morning that Quixie is pulling the account from the agency.”

  “Shut up.”

  “It’s true. Joe was just as shocked as I was. He’d literally just gotten the news. Since Quixie was one of the agency’s biggest accounts, it’s a huge blow for them. And since the Quixie account was going to be mine, I am now, officially redundant.”

  “Can Davis do that?” Pokey asked. “I mean, Farnham-Capheart has been the company’s ad agency since forever.”

  “He can and he did,” Annajane said succinctly. “Although I have an idea this is a plot he probably hatched with Celia’s assistance. Joe let it slip that Davis was the one who suggested they hire me—since I was probably going to want to leave the company anyway once Celia was in the picture.”

  “That conniving little slut,” Pokey said. “I’d like to rip her arms off and beat her to death with ’em.”

  “And I’d help,” Annajane said. “Except, knowing her, she’d just grow a second set of appendages.”

  “What are you gonna do now?” Pokey asked.

  “You mean now that I’m both jobless and homeless? We close on the loft sale on Thursday, and I’ve got to be out of there by Friday at five. Of that I’m certain. As for the rest of it, who knows? I guess I’ll start polishing my résumé, for a starter. Celia made it very plain when I saw her at the plant yesterday that she plans to install Tracey, the new girl, in my old office any second. She even suggested I didn’t need to finish out this week. Of course, I lied and told her I had some very important business to finish up first. I just didn’t tell her the business I needed to finish was her.”

  “Good for you,” Pokey said. “Anything you want to do, count me in. Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Back to Celia. Let’s get back to destroying Celia. Did you ever ask your friend at Belk’s about her?”

  “I’d forgotten,” Pokey said. “But I’ll call her right now. Or right after I get these hellions down for their naps.”

  25

  Mason felt his neck and shoulder muscles tighten as soon as he drove through the wrought-iron gates at Cherry Hill. The smell of freshly mown grass wafted through the open windows of his car, and small birds and large yellow butterflies hovered over the splashy ribbons of pink, white, and purple azaleas that lined the long drive, but he was too distracted to enjoy the sights of a beautiful spring day.

  The message Sallie had left on his phone was brief and succinct. “Son, I need to see you this morning. I’ll be at home until noon.”

  He massaged his temples with his fingertips. His mother’s agenda could have any number of unpleasant items.

  Mason parked his car and trudged slowly up the front steps of the Greek Revival house. The white paint gleamed in the sunshine. He paused at the front door. Normally, he just walked inside and announced himself. After all, this was his family home. He’d lived here right up until shortly before he and Annajane married and had moved back here, briefly, after their split. But somehow, today felt different. He was poised to ring the doorbell when the door opened and his mother greeted him, her voice decidedly cool.

  “Since when do you ring the doorbell here?” she demanded, offering her cheek to be kissed.

  He kissed her lightly, inhali
ng the familiar scents, hairspray, Chanel Number Five, and yes, cigarettes with an after-note of cinnamon-flavored chewing gum. His mother had been a closet smoker for as long as he could remember. You’d walk into a room at the house, and there she’d be, guiltily fanning the smoke out opened windows or spritzing the air with room freshener.

  He followed her into the high-ceilinged entry hall, and her heels clicked on the black-and-white marble-tiled floor. “You look nice,” he said, hoping to establish détente. Her hair had been freshly done and she wore a yellow silk pantsuit and a gleaming gold-link necklace and matching earrings.

  “I had altar guild this morning,” she said, leading him into the study. She sat down behind the dainty walnut French provincial desk she’d installed there in the place of his father’s massive oak desk. “And I can tell you it wasn’t a very pleasant experience, walking into a room full of buzzing women, all of whom fell silent the moment I entered. And what do you suppose they were talking about?”

  Mason stayed standing. “Is that why you asked me over here? Because of a bunch of gossipy old biddies?” He turned and headed for the door. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mama. I’ve got a business to run.”

  “I’d like you to stay,” Sallie said. Her voice was steady. She seldom raised it, because she seldom had to. All her life, Sallie Bayless had been a force with which to reckon.

  He slouched down into the pale blue damask wing chair facing the desk and instantly felt like a schoolboy called into the principal’s office.

  His mother fidgeted with a pen on the desktop, rolling it back and forth beneath her fingertips.

  “Is it true?” she said finally. “You … and Annajane? Really, Mason, I can’t imagine what you were thinking. Or doing? And out at the farm?”

  “I don’t know what you’ve heard,” Mason said. “But I doubt much of it is true. Anyway, I don’t care to discuss my personal life with you. Or the rest of Passcoe.”

  “Your personal life, and the way you conduct it, reflects on your entire family. And on Quixie,” Sallie reminded him. “So when you and your ex-wife go cavorting around out in a public place, of course it’s going to be talked about.” She shook her head.

  “If Celia decides to take you back, it will be a miracle. She should be nominated for sainthood.”

  Mason felt the muscle in his jaw twitch.

  “And yes, I know about the baby,” she added.

  He jumped to his feet. “That’s it. I’m thirty-nine years old. I’m a little too old to have my mother slap my hand.”

  “And what a shame,” Sallie said. “I should have slapped your hand—and your fanny—much more frequently than I did when you were a boy. Maybe if I had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “We aren’t having this conversation,” Mason said. “I’m leaving now.”

  “Before you go rushing off, you should know that Celia didn’t volunteer the information about her pregnancy,” Sallie said. “I called her just a few minutes ago, and I could tell by the sound of her voice that she’d been crying. Still was crying, poor thing. She didn’t want to tell me what had happened, but I persuaded her she needed a friendly shoulder. Mason, Celia doesn’t have any family to speak of, except her poor old aunt. We’re her family now.”

  “Lucky Celia,” Mason said, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. He glanced down at his watch. “I have to go, Mama. Sophie gets out of the hospital this afternoon, and I haven’t even made it into the office yet.”

  “Mason!” Sallie said, with just a hint of sharpness. “I want all this nonsense stopped. You are engaged to be married to a wonderful, intelligent woman, who will be an asset to this family and our company. You need to remember that and stay away from Annajane Hudgens. Especially now that Celia is carrying your child.”

  She gave another shake of the head. “I didn’t say a word when you brought Sophie home, did I? We welcomed her into our family and treated her just the same as Pokey’s children. We all adore Sophie. But Mason, one illegitimate child is the limit! You simply cannot walk away from Celia.”

  “I never intended to walk away from her,” Mason said, his voice dangerously calm. “But Celia and I are the only ones who can make the decision to get married. I won’t be pressured, Mama. Not by you or her.”

  “Why on earth would you hesitate to marry Celia?” Sallie demanded. “Please explain it to me, because I just don’t understand what your problem is.”

  “I’m not in love with Celia,” Mason said. “That’s the problem, in a nutshell.”

  “Love? Don’t be ridiculous. As you’ve already pointed out, you’re thirty-nine years old, Mason. You tried marrying for love once. How did that work out for you?” She arched one eyebrow as a dare.

  His neck began to flush red.

  “You see?” Sallie went on. “Annajane was all wrong for you. I know you think it’s snobbish to say so, but it’s the truth. There’s a reason these kinds of marriages never work out. Ruth Hudgens is little more than white trash. Annajane’s real father was a high school dropout, and Leonard, bless his heart, never was the sharpest knife in the drawer. I’ll give her credit for this: Annajane was always determined to marry up. And she succeeded in that, even though the two of you had nothing in common. But Celia is different. She’s perfect for you. She’s clever, she’s ambitious, a hard worker, and she sees the big picture. It’s a brilliant match. It will be a horrible tragedy for you and Quixie if you let this girl get away from you.”

  “A brilliant match?” Mason repeated. “What did you do, Mama? Set up an Excel spreadsheet with all the attributes of a corporate wife, and then set out to find her?”

  “No,” she shot back, “but if I had, I couldn’t have done better than Celia. Nor could you.” She leaned across the desk, her dark eyes snapping with intensity. “Mason, your daddy and I did not raise you to shirk your responsibilities. You have got to marry Celia and be a father to her child. And the sooner you do, the better. Celia’s not going to wait around for you forever, you know. If you don’t marry her, she’ll surely leave Passcoe, and take my grandchild with her. Is that what you want?”

  Mason winced involuntarily, and Sallie saw that her last remark had hit home.

  Sallie opened the drawer in the desk and slid out an opened pack of cigarettes, an engraved silver lighter, and a heavy cut-crystal ashtray. She closed the drawer, lit the cigarette, then sat back in her chair and inhaled deeply.

  Mason stared. He’d never actually seen his mother smoke. She saw him watching her, and she smiled, tilted her head back, and blew a perfect smoke ring.

  “What? You think I’m too old to be misbehaving?” She held the cigarette at eye level for a moment, then tapped the end neatly into the ashtray.

  “Did you ever smoke in front of Dad?” Mason asked.

  “Of course not,” Sallie said. “And don’t change the subject. We’re not talking about my marriage; we’re talking about yours.”

  “No, we are not,” Mason said. “Was there anything else, or can I go back to work now?”

  “Just one other thing,” Sallie said. “We’ll find out the final disposition of the estate when we meet with Norris Thomas next week, but I think we can pretty much anticipate how Glenn will have divided up the company. In the meantime, I want you to give serious consideration to the offer from Jax Snax.”

  He started to protest, but she waved him off.

  “Your father is dead, Mason,” Sallie said. “I know he had some sentimental notion about keeping the company in the family, but five years have passed, and the state of the economy has changed, drastically, and not for the better. Glenn could not have anticipated the way our costs have escalated while our sales have dropped. And if you won’t consider it in light of your own best interests, think about me. You and your brother are young enough to go out and start new businesses. On the other hand, I’m a widow. If Quixie fails, what am I left with? This house? It’s a damned mausoleum. Do you have any idea of what it costs in maintenance? Seven bedroom
s, five bathrooms? For a woman who lives alone? The pool needs to be relined, the tennis court needs resurfacing, and my heat and air man tells me we barely have enough BTUs to cool the living and dining room. I need a whole new system, dual heat pumps, the works. Twenty-five thousand dollars! I’d sell it in a minute, but to who? We’re the only people in this town with any real money.”

  Mason looked around the study and tried to see it through his mother’s eyes. There was a somewhat threadbare oriental rug on the wide-planked wood floor. The heavy linen drapes that hung at the windows had been there as long as he could remember. An oil portrait of his grandmother Bayless hung over the fireplace. He’d never once considered that Sallie might have come to resent the family homeplace. But clearly, she had.

  “Now,” Sallie went on. “I’ve talked to several people in the industry, and they assure me that the Jax offer is a good one, probably the best we’ll ever get.”

  “I disagree,” Mason said. “We should hold onto Quxie. It is what Dad wanted. That’s why he put that five-year moratorium on a sale. We’ve had challenges, I know, but I really believe we can turn things around now, especially if we expand our brand with the new drinks Dad was considering. I won’t support you on a sale, Mama. And neither will Pokey.”

  She took another drag on the cigarette. He found it fascinating and unsettling to watch a parent indulge in such a taboo. It felt like watching Santa Claus read a copy of Hustler. Unseemly.

  “Davis is in favor of it,” Sallie said. And Celia knows it’s for the best, too. You should try listening to her, Mason. She has a really fine head for business, you know. Don’t discount her just because she’s a woman.”

  He stood up. “If we’re done here, I need to go pick up Sophie.”

  “Oh yes,” Sallie said, stubbing out her cigarette and stashing the still-smouldering ashtray back in her desk drawer. “Poor little Sophie. I have some ice cream for her, out in the kitchen.”

  She came around from behind the desk and gave her son an awkward hug. “Think about what I’ve said today, Mason, will you? Patch things up with Celia, and let’s get this wedding rescheduled.” She gave his cheek a pat that was very nearly a slap. “And whatever you do, stay away from Annajane Hudgens.”