A Carol Christmas (5 page)

“Bitter women.” Oh, no. Had I actually said that out loud? A deafening silence descended on the room. I scrambled around my brain in a panic, looking for some diplomatic words to give my mother before she whanged me on the head with the frying pan. Why is it you never can find things when you need them most?

Aunt Chloe stepped into the breach. “That’s a big market, hon.”

“That’s a sick market,” Ben said. “I mean, yeah, some of this is funny, I guess. But why don’t you do some stuff that’s not so, I don’t know, mean?”

“Because this is Man Haters, Inc.,” Mom informed him.

He made a face, then stuffed the last piece of his bacon in his mouth and pushed away from the table. “I’m out of here.” He pointed a finger at me. “See you at the concert tonight.”

“I’ll be there,” I promised.

“We’ll all be there,” Mom said as he kissed her cheek. “And stay off your foot at work today,” she called after him. She sat down at the table with her own plate of fried eggs and glared at it. I was surprised the eggs didn’t start to bubble.

Great. My first day home and I had a major toxic spill to clean.

I took a deep breath. “Mom, I know you have a market,” I said gently, “but it’s limited. You’re so clever. Why not come up with some cute ideas for things you could sell to men and happily married women, too?”

“No man is going to buy from a company called Man Haters,” Mom said testily.

What the heck. Wade neck deep into the spill
. “You could change the name.”

Mom looked at me like I’d suggested she grab a bread knife and saw out her heart. “And just what would I change it to?” she demanded, daring me to come up with something better.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe ‘A Good Laugh, Inc.’ or ‘Make Me Laugh.’ ” I shrugged. “If you appeal to a broader customer base, you’ll make more money.” Now there was some sound business advice that should appeal to any businesswoman.

“I’m not doing this just for the money.”

Okay, so much for that strategy.

“I’m doing it for the personal satisfaction.”

In other words, revenge on Dad. I thought of the T-shirt with the bull’s-eye.

“You did ask her for advice,” Aunt Chloe reminded Mom.

“I wanted advertising advice, not . . . . this,” Mom finished in disgust.

I pushed away my plate. I was definitely not hungry. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to insult you. I think the business is a great idea.” Well, somewhere in there was a great idea.

Mom wasn’t fooled. “I can see that. You love everything about it but its name and what I sell.”

“Some of it’s cute,” I said. Okay, the bathroom plaque wasn’t all that bad.

Mom sniffed.

“Make Me Laugh is kind of clever,” Aunt Chloe ventured.

Mom gave a snort of disgust. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Actually, that wouldn’t be a good name for your company,” I said, back-pedaling. “It was just something I’d thrown out off the top of my head. I mean that’s what you do when you brainstorm. I could do better.”

“My company already has a good name,” Mom insisted. She bit down on a piece of toast and ground it between her molars.

“Why isn’t Make Me Laugh a good name?” Aunt Chloe asked.

“It doesn’t really tell you what the company is. You could be anything from clowns to stand-up comics. You want a name that not only says you’re special, but that lets people know what you’re selling, also. Like . . . Great Goodies.”

“Yuck,” said Mom.

Aunt Chloe was nodding. “I see. How about something like … Jazzy Junk?”

“I don’t sell junk,” Mom snarled.

“Sooorry,” said Aunt Chloe.

“Well, it was just something to think about,” I added.

“I like my company name just fine,” Mom insisted. “What I wanted you to do was help me think up ways to promote it.”

Just what I always wanted to do, help my mother unleash more of her anger on the world. A slow throb began to march across my forehead.

“Okay,” I said. “But you might want to at least
consider
changing the name. I really think you could come up with something equally clever that would get you more customers.”

“Then I’d have to change my product line,” Mom said.

And that would be a bad thing? I thought. But I didn’t say it. My bulb may not be the brightest on the tree, but it does get some electricity.

“Not necessarily,” I said. “You’d just expand it.”

Mom was still not looking happy, so I moved on. “Okay, let’s talk about marketing. Have you got a Web site yet?” Mom shook her head. “So far I’ve just been selling on consignment to Gifts ’N’ Gags in the mall.”

“You need a Web presence.”

Mom nodded. “I figured as much.”

“I know a couple of guys who do Web design. I can give you their numbers.”

That made her smile. “Great.”

I started poking around in the box again. “So, what’s going on the shelves for Valentine’s Day?”

“Valentine’s Day!” Mom made it sound like a dirty word.

“That’s a huge day for merchandisers,” I said.

“See, I told you,” Aunt Chloe said.

Mom glared at her, then said, “I don’t think my products lend themselves to Valentine’s Day.”

“You could do something that has nothing to do with men,” I suggested.

“Like what?” Mom looked at me suspiciously.

Okay, brain. Wake up
. “How about a mug?” I began.

“Everybody likes mugs,” put in Aunt Chloe.

“Yeah?” Mom prompted.

“Showing a box of chocolates or, better yet, an entire table filled with everything chocolate from candy to cake. You could caption it:
How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count the Ways
.”

“Ooh, I like that!” Aunt Chloe cried.

Mom grinned. “Me too.”

“We could fill this whole table with chocolate stuff, then take a digital picture,” Aunt Chloe said.

“If I got going right now, I could still get something to the store in time for Valentine’s Day,” Mom said. She nodded. “I’ll call Clarissa this morning.” She grabbed my head and kissed me. “My daughter the genius!”

From doo-doo to darling in five minutes. Not bad. I went to the kitchen and dumped the cold eggs into the garbage, then put the plate in the dishwasher. Then I got out of the kitchen before I could lose my improved status. You know what they say, if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.

I was at the bathroom sink brushing my teeth when Aunt Chloe sneaked up on me with her camera. “There. Now I can go home and start working on your Christmas present.”

“You’re going to paint me brushing my teeth?” Great. Where was I supposed to hang that? In the bathroom, I guessed, right next to the Elmira Fudd plaque.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take the toothbrush out of your hands,” Aunt Chloe promised. “Or maybe I’ll put you in a field of daisies.” She gave me an impish grin. “Or maybe I’ll paint you like Saint George, slaying a dragon.”

I played dumb. Mom was not a dragon lady, only when it came to her business. And Dad.

Aunt Chloe went home to start painting, and Mom got busy making phone calls.

I had a call of my own to make, back to Image Makers. It was about 11:30 New York time, and I figured I should be able to catch Beryl between meetings.

“Hi, Andie,” said Iris the secretary. “Ready to come back yet?”

“I was ready to do that before I left. I’ve been in touch with the rest of the team on the Nutri Bread campaign. I thought I’d check in with Beryl, see if we’ve had any new developments. Is she in?”

“She is, but she’s in a meeting.”

Was she really or had she just told Iris to say that? Was she avoiding me? Was I paranoid?

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll call later.”

“You might be able to catch her right before noon,” Iris suggested.

“Thanks,” I said, and hung up, unable to shake the feeling that Beryl was putting me off.

I had a sudden unpleasant thought. If she was putting me off, it could only mean one thing: she’d gone behind my back and gotten the big boss, Mr. Phelps, to set up a meeting with the Nutri Bread people while I was out of town.

I tried to forget about my worries by burying myself in a book. It was an unsuccessful burial. I couldn’t stop thinking about what might be happening back at Image Makers.

I shot off communiqués until I was in danger of getting text claw. The replies I got seemed vague.
Don’t worry
…
Everything’s under control
. The last one I got from my co-worker Amanda made my blood freeze:
Will run by The Brit if there's time. She’s killing us
.

Killing them? Killing them doing what?

I called the office again at 5 minutes to noon, New York time.

“Oh, you just missed her,” said Iris.

“She never goes to lunch this early,” I protested.

“Sorry. I did tell her you called, though.”

“And she’s got my cell number, right?” Like she’d use it. Why bother to call her assistant planner, who was supposed to be happily vacationing with her family?

“Oh, yes,” Iris said airily, which meant she really didn’t know.

“Who’s she having lunch with?” I demanded.

Iris spoke so fast I couldn’t quite catch what she said. It sounded like, “Nutrd.”

“What?”

“Nuterrrid. Oh, I’ve got another call coming in.”

“Iris. Did you say Nutri Bread?”

“I’ve really got to go, Andie,” Iris said, and hung up.

It was a bad connection. I’d misheard, that was it. Iris wasn’t trying to spare me from a miserable holiday by hiding the fact that Beryl was planning to meet with the Nutri Bread people in my absence.

Right.

Okay, so what? Beryl was probably busy charming Mr. Nutri Bread, priming the pump. She wouldn’t run with this and leave me at the starting block. I was part of the team.

I was the water girl.

I called back again. I barely gave Iris time to say hello. “Tell Beryl I need her to call me. It’s an emergency.”

“Oh, no. Andie, what’s happened?”

“Just tell her to call me,” I said, and disconnected. There. If Beryl was sneaking in a meeting behind my back, she’d have to tell me to my face.

I opened my book again. I was worrying for nothing. We didn’t even have the art proofs yet. She couldn’t do anything.

Oh, yes, she could.

I called the office once more. “Iris, have we gotten the art proofs for the Nutri Bread account yet?”

“Art department sent them over today,” Iris said. “Beryl put a rush on them. Andie, are you all right?”

“Just make sure Beryl calls me,” I said through gritted teeth. I practically strangled my phone as I disconnected. I knew I should have stayed in New York. I knew it.

Keira came home to find me on my bed, hunched over my laptop and glaring. “Are you ready to go?” she asked. “The real estate agent will be here in ten minutes.”

I shrugged. “Okay,” I said, still typing. “Let me know when she gets here.”

Keira frowned. “You don’t even have your makeup on. And is that what you’re going to wear?”

I looked down at my sweatshirt and jeans. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s … sloppy.”

“I’m in Carol, not New York. There’s no one here I need to impress.”

“Well, there’s no one here you need to embarrass, either,” Keira retorted. Baby of the family. Spoiled rotten.

But I was a middle child and, basically, a peacemaker. “Okay, okay,” I muttered.

She left happy and I exchanged my outfit for a black sweater and some jeans and ankle boots. What was the big deal, anyway?

I found out what the big deal was a few minutes later.

“We’re ready,” Keira called from down the hall.

I checked my makeup, then slipped into a blazer and threw a teal scarf around my neck. I slapped a hat over my head and stepped into the hallway.

I could hear voices drifting toward me: Mom’s, Keira’s, and a low, masculine one. It figured that Keira would pick a man to be her real estate agent. Knowing her, he was probably cute. His voice sounded familiar.

When I reached the living room, I knew why. There he stood, all six feet of him, looking like Mr. J. Crew: gray slacks and a white shirt under a Christmas sweater, a navy sports coat, loafers. His hair was still blond and his eyes were still blue, and his mouth just as kissable. Was I hallucinating?

“Hi Andie,” said Gabe Knightly. “Good to see you.” Hallucinations didn’t speak. So that could mean only one thing: I was having a nightmare.

Chapter Four

I quickly checked to make sure I was dressed. My clothes were still on, which meant this couldn't be a nightmare. But maybe it was the kind of nightmare where you were dressed. I crossed my arms and gave myself a quick pinch. It hurt.

Okay. I was really seeing Gabe Knightly, the same Gabe Knightly I’d once fantasized over marrying, the president of the student body, king of the basketball court, wolf in sheep’s clothing who had ruined my senior year and left me without a date for the senior prom (did I fail to mention that?), then humiliated me by dating my sister and my best friend. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening. I’d ruled out hallucination and nightmare. What else could it be? Whatever it was it was giving me butterflies in my stomach.

“Gabe’s my real estate agent,” Keira said blithely.

I looked at him and tried for a smile, but it felt more like I was baring my teeth. Still looking at Gabe, I said to Keira, “You didn’t tell me.” And we both knew why. No way would I have consented to this stupidity if I’d known.

Gabe’s smile was looking a little tentative, but he managed a hale and hearty “So, let’s get going.”

I took a step back. “Actually, I’m expecting a call.”

“Bring your cell,” said Keira. “You got it?”

It was still lying on my bed. I wanted to join it. I shook my head.

Keira rolled her eyes. “I'll get it.”

She skipped off to the bedroom and I followed her and shut the door after us.

“What were you thinking?” I demanded.

She picked the phone off the bed. “What do you mean? I’ll bet you don’t have any calls. What’s your code?”

I snatched the phone away from her. “I can check myself.” I did. No one had called.

“Told you,” Keira said, looking over my shoulder.