“Yeah,” Pokey said excitedly. “The Snider’s house is fabulous. We went to a Christmas party there a couple years ago. You would love what they’ve done with the kitchen. They blew out the whole back of the house, and there’s a patio and a pool house…”
“Susan sent me the link to their Web site. I’d love that house even without the patio and pool house. But alas, I do not have the eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars they’re asking,” Annajane said. She reached over to the tray on the ottoman and helped herself to a handful of roasted peanuts.
“I looked at a totally mediocre brick ranch over on Rosewood. It’s a two-bedroom, two-bath, with a crazy floor plan. You actually have to walk through the master bedroom to get to the living room. But it was only eighty-nine thousand. And then I saw a butt-ugly contemporary house out past the country club. Gray cinder-block walls, smoked plate-glass windows—which were all across the whole front of the house. You’d feel like you were on display for anybody who drove past.”
She sighed and took another sip of her martini, smacking her lips dramatically. “If Pete would promise to make me a martini like this every night, I might just threaten to move in here with you guys.”
Pete raised his own Mason jar in a mock salute. “I live to serve.”
“You know you can stay here as long as you like,” Pokey said. “What have you decided about going back to work?”
“You’re going back to work at Quixie?” Pete said.
“Maybe,” Annajane allowed.
“You are,” Pokey said. “You must. For my sake and the sake of my unborn child. Not to mention the rest of my whole nutty family.”
“It’s gonna depend on Davis,” Annajane said. “If he won’t listen to any of my ideas for a new marketing plan, it’s a waste of my time to go back to work. And I really, really do not want to be around Celia. Especially now.”
“Whooo,” Pete chuckled. “I hear old Celia is pretty fired up about you, Annajane darlin’.”
“What did you hear?” Pokey demanded, tugging at Pete’s arm. “Tell!”
“Aw, no,” Pete demurred. “I didn’t really hear anything. Just a little trash talk in the men’s grill at the club today.”
“Peterson James Riggs, you better spit out what you heard at the club right this minute,” Pokey exclaimed. “It’s no fair teasin’ us.”
“Yeah, Pete,” Annajane urged. “Tell. Come on, sticks and stones may break my bones and all that.”
“You know I don’t usually listen to that mess,” Pete groused. “I was walking past Matt Kelsey at lunch, and I just heard him tell Ben Gardner that Celia was accusing you of being a home wrecker.”
“You know Bonnie Kelsey is the one spreading that talk,” Pokey said. “Her and Celia, that little bitch!” She pounded Pete’s knees for emphasis. “Who does she think she is, coming into town and trying to take over Quixie and my brother?”
“Hey!” Pete protested. “Don’t kill the messenger. I’m not agreein’ with her. I’m just reporting. Anyway, who cares what those two girly men Matt Kelsey and Ben Gardner gossip about over lunch?”
Annajane plucked the olive from her half-empty drink and sucked on it. “It’s a small town,” she said finally. “And Mason is running the biggest business in it. People are always gonna talk about him, and the Baylesses. Face it. It comes with the territory.”
“I might have to face it, but I don’t have to like it,” Pokey said. “Every place I go in town, somebody comes up and asks me if the boys are gonna sell Quixie. I’m getting really sick of telling people it’s just a rumor.”
“Jax Snax is no rumor, baby,” Pete muttered. “They want Quixie, and they want it bad. The question is whether Mason or Davis is going to prevail. And how your mama’s gonna vote.”
“What about me?” Pokey demanded. “Don’t you think Daddy left me any say in what happens to Quixie?”
“I sure hope he did,” Pete said. “But let’s face it, honey—you’ve not worked for the company since you were a teenager, and you never worked in management. Knowing your daddy like I do, I’ve got a feeling that when he divvied up the pie, he saved the biggest, juiciest pieces for your brothers. And your mama.”
“I guess we’ll find out who gets what next week,” Pokey said. “But I called Davis today, and I told him flat out, if he lets Quixie close down, or move from Passcoe, I will never forgive him.”
“What did he say to that?” Annajane asked.
“Oh, he just tried to bullshit me,” Pokey replied. “Said nobody’s discussin’ closing it down or moving it. He says Jax Snax will only make the company better.”
“And him richer,” Pete quipped.
Pokey picked up the remote control from the tray on the ottoman. “All right y’all, enough talking about business. I am ready for some mindless television for an hour or so before I call it a night. Which is it—HGTV or Food TV?”
“You mean food porn or decorator porn?” Pete grabbed a pillow and wedged it under his wife’s head. He stood up and dropped a kiss on Pokey’s forehead. “I think I’ll go watch baseball upstairs.”
Annajane experienced a familiar pang of jealousy at Pete’s tenderness toward Pokey. Her friend had so much—a home and a husband who adored her—and three rowdy but healthy children, with a fourth on the way. Did Pokey appreciate just how blessed she was? Or how hollow and envious Annajane sometimes felt in her company?
“Check on the boys, will you?” Pokey called absentmindedly while she flipped channels. “Make sure Denning isn’t up there messin’ with one of those doggone video games.”
An hour later, after they’d both grown bored with Real Housewives and Bridezilla shows, Pokey handed off the remote to Annajane.
“It’s all yours,” she said, yawning.
“Nope,” Annajane said. “I’m going to bed, too. I’ve got to save my energy for going back to Quixie in the morning.”
“Good for you,” Pokey said, nodding her approval. “And what about Mason? What’s going to happen with you two?”
“Leave it be, Pokey,” Annajane warned. “Everything is happening too fast. We’re friends, okay? Can we just leave it at that for now?”
“Friends with benefits?” Pokey chirped. “Look, I just don’t want you to let Celia Wakefield screw things up by guilt-tripping you,” Pokey said. “You and Mason didn’t do anything wrong. Not deliberately anyway. You acted honorably, so just hold your head high and ignore Celia.”
“Celia, ugh,” Annajane said. “I am not looking forward to running into her tomorrow.”
“Oh my God,” Pokey said suddenly. “I forgot. I finally did call Angela—my sorority sister, the one who’s a buyer for Belk?”
“Does she know Celia?” Annajane asked.
“She’d heard of her, but she didn’t really have any dirt on her. However, she did give me the name and phone number of a friend of hers who might know more about the details of Celia’s clothing business,” Pokey said. She reached in her pocket and handed over what looked like the page from a Bob the Builder coloring book that had been written on in red crayon.
“Her name is Katie Derscheid,” Pokey said, yawning widely again. “I wasn’t sure how to spell it. Just call her and mention Angela Hooker’s name.”
* * *
At some point in the evening, Annajane dimly recognized the sound of rain on the roof and the brush of tree limbs against the windowpanes. She opened one eye and saw a jagged flash of lightning streaking across the deep blue sky outside. She snuggled deeper into the down comforter and pulled a spare pillow over her head to drown out the noise, glad not to be out in the storm.
She drifted off to sleep again, but maybe an hour later was aware of a shaft of light streaming in through the doorway. She lifted her head off the pillow and spied a small, forlorn little body standing in the doorway.
It was Petey, clad in his cotton Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas, sucking his thumb and trailing a bedraggled but much-loved blue silk bordered blanket.
&nb
sp; “Hey, buddy,” she said groggily. “What’s up?”
“I’m scared,” he said, moving his thumb aside only long enough to speak.
“Want me to walk you back to your bed?”
He shook his head side to side, vigororously.
“Want to go sleep with your mommy and daddy?”
“The baby is with Mommy and Daddy.”
She sighed and scooted over on the queen-sized bed. “Come on, then.”
Petey favored her with a tremulous smile before crawling up into the bed beside her. Annajane rubbed his back the way she’d seen Pokey do so many times, and a few minutes later, she heard his breathing become soft and rhythmic. Smiling to herself, she turned on her side and fell back asleep herself, only dimly aware of the warm little body spooned up against her back.
Maybe an hour later, she heard the bedroom door creak open. Looking up, she saw Pokey silhouetted in the doorway.
“Hey,” Pokey whispered. “Pete’s in there snoring so loud I can’t sleep. Okay if I bunk in with you?”
Annajane lifted the edge of the comforter to reveal the sleeping form of Petey.
Pokey laughed softly, and walked around to the other side of the bed, yawning widely as she shifted her young son into the middle of the bed. Moments later, mother and son were breathing in tandem.
Once again, Annajane managed to fall back asleep. The rain began to beat at the windows, heavier now, and the howl of the wind became ominous. She shifted in the bed and now felt a warm, damp spot where she’d been sleeping moments earlier. She sniffed the sheet, sniffed Petey.
“Crap,” she muttered softly. Wrapping herself in the quilt from the foot of the bed, she tiptoed out of the room, headed for the sofa in the den. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would either find a house to buy or check into a room at the Pinecone Motor Lodge.
29
Annajane felt small hands lightly patting her face. Opening one eye, she spied Petey, staring at her intently. “Curious George,” he said.
Sleep deprived, she turned over so that she was facing the back of the sofa. He shook her shoulder. “Curious George,” he repeated. She felt her head being struck with something, and reached back and caught his hand, which was holding the remote control.
“Petey! Leave Annajane alone.”
Annajane rolled onto her back. Now Pokey stood over her, holding an outstretched mug of coffee.
The room was still in half darkness. “What time is it?” Annajane mumbled.
“A smidge after seven,” Pokey said. She sat on the edge of the ottoman, and Annajane, with effort, managed to pull herself upright.
“Curious George,” Petey said loudly. “I want Curious George.” He slung his damp, pee-scented blanket across her knees and climbed into her lap.
“Sorry,” Pokey said, deftly scooping the child off Annajane and onto the ottoman. “Petey is our early bird. I’ve tried everything to get him to sleep late and let us alone in the morning, but it’s no use. Little guys don’t know numbers, and they have no concept of time. So now I’ve trained him to wait until the streetlights go off outside. Then and only then, he can come downstairs to the den and turn on PBS. He loves Curious George and Dinosaur Train.”
“Those are television shows?” Annajane took the mug and inhaled the hot coffee fumes.
“His favorites,” Pokey said, clicking on the television. “How come you wound up sleeping down here?”
Annajane handed her the damp blanket. “Your son sprung a leak last night.”
“Sorry about that,” Pokey said with a laugh. “Welcome to my world.”
“Yeah, about that,” Annajane said. “It won’t hurt your feelings if I find myself someplace else to stay?”
“Not in the least,” Pokey said. “I’d stay someplace else if I were you. Hell, I’d stay someplace else if I were me, but I think my husband might object.”
Annajane reached out and tousled Petey’s strawberry-blond hair. “Don’t kid yourself, sweetie. You’ve got the world on a string. A beautiful home, loving husband, great kids. I’d trade places with you in a New York minute.”
“I know you would,” Pokey said softly. “But you’ll have all that pretty soon, too, Annajane. I know you will, if you just hang in there and make up your mind that he’s worth fighting for.”
* * *
Later that morning, Annajane swung her car into the parking lot at the Quixie plant and groaned when she saw the familiar silver Saab parked in its customary slot.
You can do this, she told herself. Celia is not the boogeyman. And you are not a quitter.
Heads turned to stare at her as she walked through the reception area and into the back office. Obviously, everybody had heard the rumors about her and Mason.
She smiled and ignored the stares and whispers. She found Voncile at her desk, stationed right outside Mason’s office. Voncile was on the phone, but when she looked up and saw Annajane, she waved her into Mason’s office.
He’d just slammed down the phone and was staring intently at the computer monitor on his desktop, frowning, when she walked in.
“Hey,” she said, feeling unaccountably shy. Hadn’t she come just a flashlight beam away from hot messy car sex with this man just a few days ago?
“Morning,” Mason said.
“Something wrong?”
Mason rubbed his chin and looked away. “Not good news. I’ve asked Davis to stop in for a chat, and I’ll fill you in when he gets here.”
He held up a can of Quixie. “Want one?”
She shuddered. “It’s a little early for me to start on the red stuff. What gives?”
He took a long chug of the soda. “Just getting myself back to the brand, like we talked about yesterday. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I’d actually really stopped and tasted our product.”
“Did you come to any conclusions?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “For one thing, I think it’s a pretty darned good waker-upper.”
“Better than coffee?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think we can claim that, based on the amount of caffeine in Quixie, but it’s just as good as some of these high-priced energy drinks that are killing us at convenience stores.”
“Hold that thought,” Annajane said, grabbing a pen and a yellow legal pad from his desktop. “What else?”
“You were right about the taste of celebration. I’m thinking Quixie reminds people of good times, happy occasions, boat rides on the lake, summers at the beach, campouts under the stars. Fun, wholesome stuff. That’s what we started out selling, that’s what we need to get back to.”
“Riiiight,” Annajane said. “We’re on the same page so far.”
They heard a tap on the door, and the sound of a throat clearing.
Davis leaned into the office, glancing from his brother to Annajane. “You wanted to see me?”
Mason stood up and walked around his desk, clasping his brother’s hand. “Come on in.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Annajane said, making for the door.
“No, stay,” Mason said. “But close the door behind you, please.”
* * *
Davis, Annajane thought, was clearly uncomfortable being in a room with her. He tugged at the too-tight starched collar of his pale blue button-down shirt and made a point of taking a chair as far from hers as possible.
His face was jowly and sunburned, and his dark hair, already starting to recede, still bore damp comb marks. Unlike Mason, who usually wore khaki slacks and a Quixie logo shirt to work, Davis was, as always, impeccably turned out in an expensively tailored dark suit, a red silk tie with repp stripes, and black wingtip shoes polished to a low luster. A pair of flashy gold cuff links twinkled from the French cuffs of his shirt. He looked like a refugee from Madison Avenue.
When the three of them were seated, Mason solemnly handed cold cans of Quixie to his guests.
“Is this a stunt?” Davis asked, putting the can,
untouched, on the edge of the desktop.
“Not at all,” Mason said, edging the can back toward his brother. “Come on, Davis, at least take a sip. It won’t kill you. You’ve been drinking it your whole life, for Chrissakes.”
Davis rolled his eyes, sipped, and put the can back on the desk. “Happy now? Actually, I never liked the stuff. I’ll take a Sprite or ginger ale any day.”
Mason leaned back in his chair. “Well, that’s one of the roots of our problem, right there.”
“I resent that,” Davis snapped.
“It’s not meant as a personal criticism. I just don’t see how you can sell what you don’t like and don’t believe in,” Mason said, his voice mild.
“I believe in the company,” Davis said. “I believe in profits. And I don’t need a marketing lesson from you, thanks just the same.”
Mason leaned across the desk, raising his hands, palm out, in a gesture of surrender. “Can we just have a friendly, nonconfrontational business discussion here?”
“You’re the boss,” Davis said. “What’s on your mind?”
“Our marketing plan,” Mason said. “Or the lack of.”
Davis’s face reddened. “Look, if you want to second-guess me and rehire Farnham-Capheart, I guess you can do that, since you’re the CEO. But I don’t see the point in doing an end run…”
“I’m not second-guessing you,” Mason said crisply. “And I have no intention of making an end run around you, which is why I asked you to meet with Annajane and me this morning. But I would like to point out that it would have been good if you, as a courtesy, had informed me that you intended to fire the ad agency we’ve been working with for more than thirty years.”
“As vice president of marketing, that was entirely my decision to make,” Davis said, glancing nervously over at Annajane. “If this Jax Snax deal happens, we’ll be working with their agency, which happens to be the largest in the country, and anyway, Annajane, you said yourself you didn’t like the tone of the new campaign…”
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