Toots didn’t bother waiting for a response before she e-mailed Ida. She got right to the point. “Ida, it’s Toots. I’m e-mailing you to invite you for a visit. Mavis and Sophie have agreed to come, and it will be like old times. I have this plan, Ida, and I want to involve all of us in it. I hope you aren’t still holding a grudge against me. It’s time for us to forget about all that old silly stuff. Believe it or not, I did you a favor by stealing whatever his name was. Even his money didn’t make up for how boring he was. But he was gentle and considerate. So, what do you think? By the way, I buried Leland today. I’m in mourning, have nine days to go.”
Ida’s response was short and curt. “Count me in. Tell me when you want me to arrive. Oh, boo hoo about Leland.”
Toots rubbed her hands together and closed her laptop. She was on a roll, she could feel it. Though what this big plan was, she hadn’t a clue just yet. She’d think of something. She always did.
Chapter 3
Toots had wakened at five A.M. every day of the week for as long as she could remember, but today, on her tenth and final day of mourning, she woke up at three, more excited than she’d been in ages. Sophie, Mavis, and Ida would be arriving first thing in the morning. Today was her “get my ass in gear” day.
Out of habit she quickly made her bed. She’d let Bernice, her friend and housekeeper, worry about dusting and vacuuming later. This day was to be a new beginning for her. She wanted to live like a woman half her age, not like some old fuddy-duddy who buried husbands like ancient treasures, then spent the rest of her life memorializing them. No, no, no, that was not for her.
Thrilled she could finally toss her black mourning clothes, Toots chose a bright hot-pink blouse to wear with a cherry red skirt. Just a bit over five-seven, and thankfully she hadn’t acquired a hump on her back like many women her age, her reddish-brown hair still glistened. Of course she colored her hair, but that was her own secret. She tied her hair in a loose topknot. Not bad for sixty-five, she thought as she gazed in the full-length mirror. Three of her husbands had told her she looked like Katharine Hepburn, though for the life of her she couldn’t recall which ones. It didn’t matter anyway. She smiled at her reflection. The colors were loud, but after ten days of black, she planned to dress like a rainbow from here on. No more husbands, so there would be no need for black. With that thought in mind, Toots yanked everything black out of her closet, tossing all of it into a laundry basket. She’d donate the clothes to charity. That accomplished, Toots headed downstairs to the kitchen, her favorite room in her house.
The old pine floors shone like molten gold. With the sunrise, Toots knew the freshly washed windows would sparkle like diamonds. She and Bernice had spent yesterday scrubbing and shining them with white vinegar and newspapers. Red and emerald green throw rugs were scattered around the floor like Christmas gumdrops. Custom-made red cabinets, which Leland had called gaudy and tacky, lined three walls. On the fourth wall was a fireplace made from large rocks she had gathered herself in the mountains of North Carolina. Leland had thought that was cheap. She’d reminded him this was her house, and he was free to live in the guesthouse anytime he chose. He chose to stay put, the old shit. But he’d kept his mouth shut after that. Well, Leland was dead and gone. She could paint the walls purple if she wanted to.
Obliterating all thoughts of her deceased spouse, Toots prepared a pot of coffee, found her cigarettes in the kitchen drawer where she hid her secret supply of PayDay candy bars. When the coffee finished brewing, she filled her favorite Maxine cup with the hot brew. Cigarettes and coffee in hand, she went outside to sit on the back veranda.
She loved this time of day. The birds were starting to awaken, the potpourri of their chirping music to her ears. The flowers and shrubbery were still glazed with early-morning dew. Freshly plowed dirt from her neighbor’s garden seasoned the morning air, reminding her that summer was just around the corner. The bouquet of night-blooming jasmine she’d gathered last night sat in a vase on a wicker side table, filling her senses with its pungent odor. God, she loved this place. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else in the whole world.
Taking a big swallow of coffee, Toots went over her mental “get my ass in gear” list. She and Bernice had worked like troupers yesterday cleaning most of the house inside and out. Pete, her longtime friend and gardener, weeded the flower beds, spruced up the shrubs, cut the grass, then trimmed the dead leaves from her two angel oaks. The hummingbird feeders were replenished, dried corn sprinkled around for the squirrels in hopes they would stay away from her bird feeders, but that was a lost cause. She did this every year and saw no reason to stop anytime soon. She had a routine, liked sticking to it most days, but there was a yearning in her now, something she hadn’t been able to silence since Leland’s death. The best she could come up with was that a sort of restlessness was flowing through her veins. Was this what getting old felt like? Lost, with no sense of purpose? No! No! No! She would not allow herself a pity party by believing in that crap.
Her best friends in the whole world were on their way for a visit. A dark mood was not on her agenda. She liked to count her blessings and reminded herself of all she had to be thankful for. At sixty-five she was healthy as a horse, according to her physical three months ago. She had a beautiful daughter who seemed to be thriving in Los Angeles. Her dearest friends were still alive. She had more money than JPMorgan Chase, at least today she did, and she didn’t see that changing anytime in the near future. Life was lookin’ good.
She took a slurp of the now-cold coffee, lit another cigarette, and inhaled the toxins before releasing the acrid smoke into the fresh air. Ida would be on her ass like white on rice when she found out that Toots still smoked. Ida thought everything in life that felt good was actually bad for you. Breathing was bad for you, according to her. Mavis said Ida had something the professionals called OCD, obsessive compulsive disorder, whatever the hell that was. Didn’t anyone just get constipated anymore? Why did every disease have to be reduced to initials?
New beginnings, Toots thought as she went inside to refill her cup. Brand-spanking-new beginnings. No husbands to fret over, not that she ever had, but for the first time in a very, very long time, Toots was on her own. She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea or not. She’d always had some distant family close by or, God help her, a husband to contend with. With Abby on the West Coast and her friends scattered across the country, Toots realized that the feelings she’d been experiencing were feelings of loss, of not being needed. Shit. Someone always needed something. She would simply find a new need, fill it, and live heartily.
Never one to wallow in self-pity, Toots drank two more cups of coffee and smoked three more cigarettes before fixing herself a bowl of Froot Loops cereal doused liberally with extra sugar and whole milk. She laughed loudly at what she thought of as her wicked ways.
“What on earth are you doing up at this hour laughing like a loon in my kitchen?” Bernice asked from the front door, where she’d been watching her crazy employer, whom she loved more than she had ever loved her own deceased husband.
Toots almost jumped out of her skin. “Damn, Bernice, you scared the snot out of me! I didn’t hear the front door open. I might ask you the same thing. Why are you here so early?”
“We have a long list of things to do today. You said so yourself last night. All those hoity-toity friends of yours will be here soon. I wouldn’t want them to think you lived like anything but a queen. I’m here at your command. Remember how you taught me to say that after your third husband died?”
Toots grimaced. She couldn’t remember any such thing, but she nodded anyway.
Bernice was more friend than employee. When Toots had told her about her friends’ upcoming visit, Bernice wasn’t the least bit thrilled. Not wanting her to feel left out of the swing of things, she’d asked her to help with a few extra chores, hoping it would make her feel included, part of the gang, but instead Bernice acted like she’d been stung by a nasty bunch of bee
s, then mumbled something about being the hired help.
“Oh, stop it already! You’re acting like a baby. You don’t have to stick around while the girls are here. I’m sure you have plenty of other activities to occupy your time.” Toots and Bernice both knew this was bullshit. Bernice’s family consisted of a son she hadn’t seen or heard from in four years and was supposedly traveling the world in search of his roots.
“If you weren’t my employer, I’d tell you to just kiss my wrinkled old ass,” Bernice said with a trace of her old humor.
“Yeah? And if you weren’t my favorite employee, I’d tell you you’re fired. So there,” Toots shot right back.
“Did you drink the entire pot of coffee?” Bernice asked.
“Yep, what’s it to ya?” Toots singsonged. “You the coffee police this morning?”
“You know I like at least three cups before I start working. Make another pot while I fix myself some toast.”
“Yes, sir—ma’am!” Toots said, smiling. This was their normal morning routine. Bernice was a bit on the possessive side, though in a good way, when it came to her friendship with Toots. The truth was, Toots knew she’d just lie down and die if Bernice deserted her. She consoled herself that once Bernice got to know the girls on this visit, since they would all be here at once, she’d come around. They’d have plenty of time for gabbing and getting to know each other all over again. Bernice included.
The phone rang, alarming Toots. She’d learned through eight marriages that early-morning and late-night phone calls never brought good news. She hesitated before answering, then remembered there weren’t any more husbands to bury.
“Hello?” she said in a brisk voice.
“Mom, are you really awake at this god-awful hour or just pretending to be?” Abby asked.
“I could ask you the same question. Knowing you’re on the West Coast probably means you are winding down your night’s work. So what gives? Why are you calling me at this ungodly hour? You’re okay, aren’t you?” Toots asked anxiously.
“It depends on what you mean by okay. Am I healthy? Yes. Is my mortgage paid? Yes. Is Chester okay? Yes to that, too.” Abby sighed. Chester was the German shepherd that Abby had adopted three years ago on Christmas Day. Abby called her Sweet Baby Love for short. Chester never responded to that endearment.
Toots knew her daughter, and she knew that she wouldn’t call her at this time of day, or early morning as was the case, unless there was truly something bothering her. “So what’s the problem? Is it a man? If you’ve met another jerk, and he needs to be taken care of, I’ll be on the next flight out.”
Abby ignored the gibe. “Mom, I just heard some disturbing news. It seems dear old Rag is in trouble. The entire staff knew he had a gambling problem. We just didn’t know to what extent. We had a staff meeting yesterday afternoon. He told us he was putting The Informer up for sale. Said he was tired of working, but we all know it’s to pay off his gambling debts. He spends most weekends in Vegas. I don’t know what I’m going to do for a job. In one of his usual small spiteful moods, he told us one of the conditions to selling the paper would probably be that all former employees have to go. I’m just venting here, Mom.”
“Oh, honey, that’s terrible. From everything you’ve told me about him, he might just do himself in. You also said he threatens to sell from time to time and never does. Hold tight until you have something a little more definite to go on. Just out of curiosity, do you have any idea how much he’s asking for the paper?” Toots asked, as an idea hit her like a lightning bolt.
“I don’t know, Mom. I’m sure The Globe or The Enquirer will pick it up for a song if it really does go up for sale. If they do, they’ve got plenty of people to staff or pick up the slack. It just pisses me off that someone else’s bad habit is putting me and a handful of others out of a job. I just hate the thought of possibly having to collect unemployment.”
“You could come home, Abby. The Post and Courier would hire you in a heartbeat. You know that.” Amanda Lawford, the owner and publisher of The Post and Courier, had worked with Toots on at least a dozen mutual committees and had told her time and again if Abby ever decided to move back to Charleston, she’d give her a job on the crime beat. Abby hadn’t been interested. Maybe this time things would be different.
“Thanks, Mom, but no, thanks. I’m twenty-eight years old. The last thing I want to do is come crawling home with my tail between my legs. Besides, Amanda Lawford just wants me around to date that nerd son of hers.”
Toots laughed. “You’re right about that. He always asks about you when I see him.”
“Tell him I said hello next time you see him. He’s not a bad guy, just not my type. Besides, I could never date a guy named Herman. Reminds me of that show I used to watch as a kid.”
“The Munsters!” Toots laughed as she recalled how Abby sat glued to reruns of the old television show and, to her knowledge, never missed an episode.
“Yep, that was it. So when do all my godmothers arrive? I can’t believe you actually orchestrated a visit for them at the same time. It’s been like forever since I’ve seen them.”
“Come home, and you can see them, Abby. They’d love to see you,” Toots encouraged. “I’ll buy you a ticket.”
“The timing is off. With the dark stuff about to hit the fan at the paper, I don’t think it would be in my best interest to take a vacation. Besides, I was just there.”
“Your room is waiting if you change your mind. Bernice takes great pleasure in freshening your room every day in case you decide to make a spur-of-the-moment visit.”
“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best, but right now I just needed to cry on your shoulder. I’ll figure something out. I can always work for the Los Angeles Times. I get e-mails from my former editor at least once a month trying to lure me back.”
“You wouldn’t be happy writing about stuffy politicians and government,” Toots said.
Toots could hear Abby’s deep sigh over the phone. “If it comes down to that, I’ll consider it. I have bills to pay, and no, I’m not going to allow you to cover my ass, so let’s not even go there, okay?”
Toots smiled in spite of herself. Abby was just like her father. Fiercely independent. “Whatever you say, dear. Just know that help is out there if things get too rough.”
“How did I ever get so lucky to wind up with a mother like you?” Abby asked.
“The luck of the draw, kiddo,” Toots said. She hoped Abby would remember those words in six months.
Chapter 4
Toots raced around the kitchen, opening and closing drawers. “Where is my address book? I know it’s in here somewhere.”
“It’s on your desk in your room. Remember, you always leave it there,” Bernice said between bites of toast.
“Of course! You’re right. What was I thinking?” Toots snapped.
“You weren’t,” Bernice quipped.
“Would you stop it already?” Toots tossed over her shoulder as she raced upstairs. She heard Bernice mutter something just as she found her address book on her desk. Toots laughed and shook her head. Bernice had been with her since Abby was a baby. At the time, she’d been recently widowed herself, with a young son, when she’d answered an ad for a housekeeper Toots had placed in the paper back in New Jersey all those years ago. When John Simpson, her one true love and Abby’s father, died in a car accident, they’d left New Jersey behind with no regrets. Bernice hadn’t hesitated for a skinny minute when Toots asked her to come to Charleston. Abby had been five at the time. Where had all the years gone?
Bernice knew her better than had all eight of her husbands put together. She’d been with her through the good times and the bad. While a dear friend, Bernice was forever mindful of her position as an employee. Toots trusted her to the ends of the earth.
Toots flipped through the pages until she found the number for her stepson, Christopher Clay. She looked at the clock and realized it was probably too early to call. Shit! If Christopher was a
nything like his father, he got up with the chickens. Toots dialed the number despite the three-hour time difference. This was important. Screw propriety. As she waited for the call to go through, she tried to remember where Garland, Christopher’s father, ranked on the husband scale. Maybe the fourth. Christopher had been in boarding school when they married.
Toots remembered fearing Chris would view her as his evil stepmother, but that hadn’t been the case at all. Garland’s first wife, Chris’s mother, had died when Chris was a baby. He’d been thrilled at the prospect of having a “real mom,” and they’d hit it off from the beginning. To this day, Toots still thought of him as her son. When Garland died and left her everything, she’d immediately turned the millions over to Chris, who’d just started law school. She’d kept the home they’d shared simply because Chris hadn’t been ready for the responsibility of home ownership at the time. When the time was right, she’d give him the house as well. Toots had fond memories of their life together. She hoped Chris’s memories were just as pleasant.
“This better be good,” a throaty voice came over the wire.
“Christopher, good morning! It’s Toots, how goes it, baby?” she said cheerfully. Everyone in Hollywood called each other baby.
The voice on the other end of the line chuckled. “I should have known it was you. Typhoon Toots, you’re the only one crazy enough to call me this time of night…morning.” Typhoon Toots was a name Chris had bestowed on her the week he’d graduated from college and she’d arranged the party of all parties for two hundred of his friends in a matter of just a few hours.
Toots smiled. She’d always admired and respected her stepson and was glad they’d remained close through the years. She knew she could count on him no matter what. When Abby had decided to move to Los Angeles, knowing Chris was there in the wings to watch over her was a tremendous weight off Toots’s shoulders. He was as responsible as his father had been.
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