Tracy tried to reason with her mother. “I don’t think we can do anything, Mama. They are not on our property. It’s the sidewalk, it belongs to the ci—”
“This is ridiculous. Nobody has any balls in this city,” Rosie said, punctuating each word with a thump on the counter with her fleshy fist. Tracy winced each time Rosie’s hand made contact. “I will deal with this—and you—later!”
Rosie turned to leave and saw us standing there, having just witnessed her outburst. She grimaced, just a little. It was enough to remind us she was human and had just embarrassed herself with her temper tantrum. Then we watched as Rosie’s stout body wedged its way back through the crowd and out of sight.
Tracy looked woefully out the window. She didn’t know what to do. This couple couldn’t be much older than she was. Tracy clearly didn’t agree with her mother, but didn’t seem to be able to stand up to her. I supposed Rosie didn’t like the couple cutting into her profits, but really, were there going to be that many fewer beads sold in the shop because a couple of kids were trying to make a few bucks to make ends meet?
“Let me help you find Judy,” Tracy said, composing herself as she tucked her long dark hair behind her ears. We followed Tracy through the shop and into the classroom at the back of the building, where she pointed Judy out to us.
Judy was standing right in the middle of the room, and as people approached her, she spun around to greet them, like a middle-aged whirling dervish. She wore a tiger-stripe bead on a long chain, nearly whacking people close-by as she turned. While Judy’s necklace was pretty, the rest of her needed a makeover. If Val ever met her, she’d be trying to convince Judy to let her give her a complete overhaul. Val was always looking for frumpy women to “fix,” and Judy was a prime candidate, with her gaudy oversized jungle-print top.
Judy was the hardest working volunteer I’d ever met, and an extremely talented jewelry designer. This weekend of events was Judy’s brainchild. Everyone who wanted to be part of this exhibition had to apply to the Jewelers of Washington League. I agreed with Val, JOWL wasn’t a good acronym. It spelled something I, and everyone else I knew, didn’t want, especially when we looked in the mirror and saw new droopy skin gradually forming every day. But the idea for the bead-related weekend was great. Artists applied to exhibit their jewelry at the event, and for those who were accepted, it was a terrific way to gain exposure and meet new clients, both professional designers and hobbyists. Unfortunately, with only one person to check-in all the beadmakers, it took nearly forever to get Judy’s attention.
“Oh, hi, nice to meetcha,” Judy said, with a squeaky voice. She grabbed Tessa’s hand with both of hers, and gave it a thorough shaking.
“And…you must be Jax,” Judy said, looking up over the top of her bifocals from her clipboard. Fortunately, she didn’t try and shake my hand because I had a tentative hold on a stack of boxes, and wasn’t sure if I could manage even a head bob without everything tumbling to the floor.
Judy was too enthusiastic for me, especially since I’d only had one cup of coffee this morning. She was happy there were so many people here to set up for the gallery show. Judy had been the sole juror for this event; its success depended on her ability to choose the right artists to sell their beads and to decide who had appealing workshop projects. Rosie was counting on the success of this event to bring in loads of new customers who would buy from her all of the supplies needed to complete each of the workshop’s projects.
“Okay. Let’s see, where’s the clipboard? Oh, ha! Right here in my hand,” said Judy, trying to laugh at herself. We weren’t really laughing with her—or, at all. We did smile with gritted teeth, but mostly because we were feeling impatient. Thin curly wisps of hair were stuck to Judy’s forehead. Either she was always moist around the edges or she was having a “personal heat wave” as we sometimes said about women of a certain age, specifically the age we were rapidly approaching.
“Jax, those are super earrings. Did you make those?” Judy said, reaching over and pulling one of them toward her so she could examine it more closely. My head followed along, so she didn’t rip the earring right out of my ear. At this proximity, I could see a million tiny droplets of sweat across her brow.
Ew.
As Judy released the earring, I pulled away as fast as I could.
“I did.” I figured if I kept my responses short, maybe Tessa and I could get out of here before we turned another year older.
“Right, I’ve got Jax,” said Judy putting a giant checkmark next to my name. “Oh, Jax, we don’t have a studio name for you.”
I’d never really thought about an official studio name before. I’d always just used my name, Jax O’Connell, Jacqueline if I was feeling especially formal or fancy.
“Ladybug Beads,” I said, knowing immediately what the name should be. It was a spontaneous decision, but it seemed like a good choice: I named my studio after my car.
I’d bought the car when I was getting ready to leave Miami. I’d gotten a huge final paycheck when I left my job at Clorox—they paid me for all of the vacation time I hadn’t used. Since I’d never taken a vacation, it was a sizable sum. I took a big chunk of money out of my bank account, and bought a new car, having decided I didn’t need the beat-up old Honda Civic anymore. I went to the VW dealership and bought my dream car: a brand-new red Volkswagen Beetle with a black ragtop, which I christened “The Ladybug” with a bottle of Diet Coke at the side of the road during my move to the Pacific Northwest.
Judy looked up from her clipboard, and recognized Tessa. “Aha! Now, let’s see. Fremont Fire. Got it,” Judy said, adding another checkmark on her list next to Tessa’s name.
“We brought Dylan’s beads. He’s White Mountain Design,” Tessa said.
“Okay. And a big fat checkmark for him,” Judy said. “Let me show you the exhibit area. You can set up your necklace on the pedestal, and then your beads for the projects can go directly below it, so customers can select what they want to buy for the weekend’s classes.”
The gallery was beautiful, with its deep burgundy walls and its matte silver exhibition pedestals. The jewelry and beads were going to be displayed on the top of each of the waist-high columns. The gallery was located next to a big side window so passersby could look in at the displays. Rosie had done a nice job of making sure the lighting was perfect for the exhibit. Glass jewelry needs to be lit properly in order to show off its shine and transparency.
“You’ve each got a display bust to put your necklace on.” Judy was speaking so fast she sounded like a tape recorder put on fast-forward. The faster she talked, the squeakier she was. “We have some other forms available if you need them—for instance, if you have a bracelet to display. I may make some adjustments to the displays, and of course, we’ll make sure everything stays safe and secure.
“Jax, here is your pedestal.” Judy patted the top of it, and wiped off some invisible dust, leaving a small trail of moisture behind. “And Tessa, you and White Mountain, your pedestals are right over there,” she continued, pointing to the opposite wall.
“I’m glad you are doing this weekend of workshops,” I said.
“You mean Weekend of Education, Enlightenment and Design?” Judy sounded proud of the clever name she’d given the weekend’s events.
“WEED?”
“Yes. I thought it was great. You know—our knowledge grows and spreads like weeds? I thought about WED, but I didn’t want anyone to think this was a wedding-oriented event.”
Instead, I thought, people will think this is a pot-smoking event, and not a bead event. Great.
“Okie dokie!” said Judy, as she went off to find the next person on her list. Then she was gone, swallowed up by the crowd of people milling around in the shop.
“Judy needs to work on her acronyms,” I said to Tessa.
“What, you don’t like JOWL or WEED?”
“I can say without a doubt that both are terrible, but I bet you can’t do better.”
&nbs
p; “I’m up to the challenge. How about New Ideas in Beads?
“NIB? Not great.”
“Beadmakers United, Teaching Together”
“BUTT? The worst!”
“Okay, okay…so maybe it’s not that easy.”
FIVE
Rosie found me a little while later, wanting to smooth things out. She clearly realized we’d witnessed her outburst with Tracy, and hoped to show her friendlier side. She was holding a small dog in her arms.
“This is Tito,” said Rosie proudly. Tito was a tiny mutt, who looked like he was part Chihuahua and part wolverine. He was all black with a white blaze across his head, right above his enormous bulging eyes. The tiny bone-shaped dog tag was the only thing adorable about this dog.
“What kind of dog is he?” I asked.
“Mezcla. In Spanish, it means a little bit of everything.”
I reached over to pet Tito, putting out my hand slowly so he could smell it. I’m not a dog person, but I thought this was what you were supposed to do when you met a new dog.
“Hi, Tito,” I said quietly.
“RRRAAAFFF!!” barked Tito, as he snapped at my hand. Fortunately, I have fast reflexes, and was able to pull it away before he sunk any teeth into me.
“Oh, Tito, you bad, bad boy!” said Rosie, although it didn’t seem she took this bad behavior seriously. With a chuckle, she set Tito down, and he ran off and up the inside staircase to Rosie’s apartment—or, possibly to snack on the digits of some other unwary customers.
“Are you doing okay? Do you need anything?” Rosie asked with a smile, trying to continue her sweetness.
“Everything is fine,” I said, as I finished setting up my pedestal.
“Oh, this pedestal is all scratched up. It looks terrible. We need to fix that.”
“It’s okay, Rosie. I don’t mind if it has a little scratch.”
“Well, I mind. Very much.”
“Judy!” Rosie shouted above the crowd that was forming around the snacks and coffee Judy had brought in. “Get over here.” There was no “please” in this request, and I could hear Rosie’s fingertips tapping impatiently on the top of the pedestal.
Judy came bustling over. “Yes, hi, Rosie. How can I help?” Her gray hair completely flat against her head now, she dabbed at her forehead with a tissue. Judy definitely needed a break to cool down.
“The pedestal you’ve given Jax looks unprofessional. It is all scraped up.” Rosie pointed to the scratch running down one side of the platform with disgust.
“It seems okay to me,” said Judy with a tense smile.
I tried to back up Judy. “Yes, you know, I didn’t even notice it.”
“Okay is not acceptable,” Rosie said, in a rigid tone, seething with impatience.
“No one is going to notice,” Judy said, through gritted teeth, as she took hold of the side of the pedestal.
“It is terrible like this.” Rosie locked eyes with Judy as she positioned herself on the opposite side of the pedestal.
“No, really, the jewelry is going to be fine on this display,” I said, as they each started pushing. I didn’t want my necklace crashing to the floor if the pedestal toppled over.
“This is my shop, Judy, please remember that.”
Judy dropped her hands from the pedestal. “I’ll take care of this later. I’ve got to get back to the inventory,” she said, with a weak smile.
I looked down at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with Rosie. She had come to show her congenial side, but she’d only made things worse as I’d witnessed a new conflict. Rosie didn’t play well with others. I glanced up and she strained a smile.
“You’ll take care of the pedestal with Judy later?”
“For sure,” I said, with absolutely no intention of doing any such thing.
And Rosie stalked off.
SIX
Tessa and I found Tracy a few minutes later, in her usual spot at the front counter.
“Does Benny still want to have a sleepover tonight?” asked Tessa.
“It’s all he’s been talking about all morning. He’s ready and waiting upstairs. I’ll go get him,” Tracy said.She headed up the inside stairs into the apartment. This was a great setup for Rosie’s family, with their apartment right above the shop.
Moments later, Benny came down the stairs, his little red rolling suitcase covered in cartoon cars bumping right behind him. Tracy followed him down, carrying a similarly decorated sleeping bag, and a car seat. Benny was an absolutely adorable child, all pink cheeks and wavy blond hair. Someday he’d be a real lady-killer. For now, I was swooning from his cuteness.
“Hi, Benny. I’m Joey’s mom. You remember me?” said Tessa, as she knelt down to his height. At four years old, he wasn’t yet a very big guy.
Benny stood back, staying close to Tracy as he watched Tessa closely.
“I ’member,” Benny said cautiously.
“Great! Do you want to come to my house to play with Joey? This is my friend Jax, and she’s going to give us a ride. Okay?”
We all held our breath, waiting for Benny to decide if this was okay with him.
“Yep!” said Benny.
And with a great simultaneous sigh of relief, we all headed out the door with Benny and his gear. After fifteen cuss-filled minutes, trying to figure out how to install Benny’s car seat in the back of the Ladybug, we were off. We stopped and picked up Ashley at Babylon. She slithered into the backseat next to Benny. He looked up at her expectantly, and smiled. Until that moment, Ashley had been looking glum, knowing, I am sure, that her older sister was out driving around alone in her mom’s van, while she was sitting next to a small boy and a couple of middle-aged women. Until that moment—when Benny smiled at her with his sweet grin, full of all of those lovely white baby teeth and his green eyes glinting in the sunlight. Just like me, Ashley couldn’t resist his smile.
Ashley grinned back at Benny.
“What’d you buy?” Tessa asked her daughter.
“I got a record by Abba and one by Aerosmith.”
“Those are pretty diverse choices,” I said. About the only thing these two bands had in common was that they both started with the letter “A” and they both were famous in the 1970s. Ashley seemed thrilled with her purchase.
“So, how are you going to play them?” I asked.
“Oh, well, yeah. I didn’t really think about that,” Ashley said. “Mom, do you have that old record player still?”
“I do,” said Tessa, “but I think it needs a needle.”
“Needle?” Ashley looked puzzled. She was used to all the new technology, full of tiny microprocessors and hard-drives. To her, playing CDs, let alone records, seemed old school.
“Yes, back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth—” Tessa jokingly began a long speech.
“Yah, right, Mom, I get it,” Ashley said impatiently, having heard this kind of speech before from her mom.
When we got to Tessa’s house in Ballard, her minivan was sitting in the driveway. I was glad to see that Izzy, and the minivan, had made it home in one piece.
“Don’t forget about your ‘date’ with Allen tonight,” Tessa said, getting out of the car.
“First, it is not a date. Second, I have not forgotten,” I said. “See you tomorrow morning. I promise to be early.”
I headed home to get ready for my “not a date.”
I’d promised Tessa that Allen Sinclair could interview me. He was one of the “lifestyle” writers for the Seattle Times and was writing an article about glass beadmakers in Seattle. I’d invited him over to my house so he could see the studio, and I could give him an introduction on using a torch to make beads. When we’d talked about it earlier in the week, Tessa had assured me that Allen wasn’t an ax-murderer.
“He doesn’t look like he has ever murdered anyone with an ax,” said Tessa.
“Well, just because he doesn’t look like an ax-murderer doesn’t mean he is not an ax-murderer. I mean, I am sure there have been
actual ax-murderers who didn’t look like ax-murderers,” I said, trying to be logical about this.
“Can you stop talking about ax-murderers? You are giving me the creeps.”
“You brought it up,” I added huffily. In the week since that conversation, I’d been reading some of Allen’s articles on the Times website. I’d also been doing some searching, trying to find pictures of him online, known as ogling, instead of Googling.
I did my best to pick clothes that looked nice for the interview rather than the usual jeans and t-shirt. I thought I needed to come across as professional, but also artistic. Usually I end up just wearing black. That way, I don’t have to worry about matching, and the dark color covers up those extra pounds of “studio butt” I’ve accumulated from sitting down every day working at the torch. Today’s ensemble: black jeans and a black tank top. I added a pop of color with a lime green cotton cardigan over the top. For the interview with Allen, I picked a short necklace made of nine flat lime green beads covered with black squiggles and dots. It fit perfectly at the neckline of the sweater.
I did a quick scan through the house to make sure it looked okay, since Allen would be arriving soon. I washed a few dishes, grumbling that someday I’d have a new kitchen with a dishwasher, and cabinets I didn’t have to duct tape together to keep from falling apart. At least I had decorated them with cute zigzag-patterned duct tape. Then I wandered around, doing those things people do when waiting for someone to arrive. Plumping the pillows on the vintage green velvet sofa. Straightening the framed watercolors my nephew had painted. Putting out the ingredients for drinks later, if he wanted one. Picking up a piece of cat hair. Picking up another piece of cat hair.
Allen rang the doorbell at seven o’clock. Right on time. I really had no idea what to expect. Googling had not turned up much in the way of photos, other than the official one on the Times website. Nice, but it was hard to tell how many years out-of-date it was. For all I knew, the guy on the other side of the door would be seventy years old with a potbelly.
High Strung: A Glass Bead Mystery (The Glass Bead Mystery Series) Page 3