Bubbles and Troubles (2 page)

Carmen’s reaction had surprised everyone, including herself. She had laughed.

Ian and Morgan had exchanged confused looks. Carmen had stood up and had tossed her napkin down onto the table.

“I should have seen it coming,” she’d managed to force out between loud guffaws. “You’re just a little too pretty, Ian, and a little too fashionable for a straight dude. The funny thing is that I thought you were going to propose tonight.” Tears of laughter had squeezed out from Carmen’s eyes and she’d gripped her shaking sides. An embarrassed hush had fallen over the restaurant. “I’m going to leave you the cheque though, or maybe you can ask your boyfriend to take care of it.” Carmen had collected her purse and jacket. “You boys have fun with whatever you do next, okay?”

Carmen had walked past a couple of stunned tables before wheeling back around to Ian. “Give me three days in our house,” she’d announced, “to clear out my stuff. Don’t come home at all, and don’t call me. I don’t want to see or hear from you ever again. I want the house sold immediately and I want half of the profits sent to me through my parents. You’ve got their phone number, right? From those Christmases we spent with them?” Carmen, seething, had swept her gaze around the packed restaurant. Expensively dressed people had filled each table, and every single shocked eye had been on her. The cruel hilarity of the situation had overwhelmed her. “I’m grateful, Ian”—she’d laughed bitterly—“because I see now that I don’t belong with you, and I don’t belong among these people, and I don’t belong in this city.” Carmen had marched to the front door with her head held high, had walked out, and had never looked back.

She was snapped out of her reverie by a soft, insistent nudge. Gretel, determined to get at a cricket between Carmen’s feet, had wedged her chunky black bulk between her ankles. Carmen tossed the last of her grain to the chickens and replaced the cup in the feed barrel. She eased down into her padded swing and stared into the Prescott woods.

In the five years she’d lived there, Carmen had only made a few short forays into the woods. Somehow, she felt out of place there, even intimidated. She’d attributed it to the fact that she was, in fact, trespassing, and decided to listen to her instincts. Those woods were better left alone. Besides, there was plenty of nature to explore in and around Charade, and plenty of wildlife, both human and animal. Gretel, appetite satisfied at last, clucked and looked up at her with curious black eyes.

She lifted the chunky black chicken to her lap and stroked her glossy feathers. The June morning was already balmy, and soon temperatures would climb into the mid-eighties. The shadowy woods would be dark and cool, though…

Carmen shook her head and gently placed Gretel on the ground. Those woods were off-limits, both because they belonged to Calvin Prescott and because of the creepy vibe they gave her.

She picked up her basket and entered the chicken coop to collect the eggs. Oddly, the chickens had had another light day of laying. Normally, the girls would give her at least four or five eggs every day, and frequently more. Often, Gretel was good for two or three all by herself. The last week or so, however, Carmen had only found two eggs in the coop every morning. She checked the latch on the coop’s door. It was secure and hadn’t been gnawed by an animal. Besides, if animals had been getting into the coop, they’d have bothered the birds. And Dax, of course, wouldn’t tolerate anyone messing with his chickens. She looked back at the little flock. They all looked robust and relaxed as they explored the fenced backyard. She scanned the edge of the woods for any sign of the huge grey tomcat. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called out, but there was no sign of the furry grey feline. Apparently he’d gone off to wherever he went when not peeking through her window. Carmen shrugged and went inside to get dressed for the day.

* * * *

Carmen was Charade’s only lawyer. However, since the population was so tiny, she only practised law for two days per week. A few real estate transactions, some estate planning, and a more-or-less amicable divorce now and then helped shore up her savings account. On her lawless days—a term gleefully coined by her friend Dora—Carmen worked two five-hour shifts at the local vegetable co-op, Bushel and a Peck. Her other lawless activity involved dancing barefoot to exotic music. Carmen had expected to hate the belly-dancing class that Dora had dragged her to, but instead she loved every minute of the gyrating, sensual experience. After a year of attending classes religiously, she’d become a certified instructor.

Slipping into her black yoga pants and cropped spaghetti strap top, Carmen wondered what Ian would have to say if he could see her now. She was about as far from their Chicago law firm as a girl could get. Carmen placed her hip scarf in her shoulder bag and locked up the house. Even though Dora and Colby had made fun of her for locking her doors in a community like Charade, it was one big-city habit that Carmen couldn’t seem to break.

Chapter Two

A quick ride on her Vespa brought her to the rec centre and her small but devoted class. Dora and Colby were on the front row, as usual, along with Bernice, the town librarian. Beth, Hippie Chic’s owner and stylist extraordinaire, and her teenage daughter, Monica, made up the back row.

“Hi, guys. Happy Friday!” Carmen said in greeting while tying the coin sash around her waist. “Where’s Deb? Is she okay?” She kicked off her shoes and placed them against the wall.

“Here I am!” Deb burst through the door. “And oh my gosh, you all! Have I got news or what!” Deb’s curly carrot-red hair trembled with nervous energy. “Marcus and I were at Tie-Dyed and Gone to Heaven, unloading a new shipment of incense and essential oils, and we overheard some folks from out of town. They referred to themselves as the Morgan Group, and they were having a very, very interesting conversation.” Deb arched her pencilled brows.

“Out with it, Deb.” Bernice rolled her eyes.

“Well,” Deb continued, “Marcus and I heard them say that the new development planned by the Morgan Group for the Prescott Woods was going to be the most luxurious and modern one outside of Lexington. Homes are going to sell in the low to mid millions, and, get this…” Deb paused for effect. “They’re going to put a nine-foot-tall brick wall around the entire Prescott Woods. Can you even imagine what a thing like that would cost?”

“I don’t believe it,” Colby stated. She shook her head and her platinum blonde hair rippled down her back. “Calvin Prescott would never sell his family’s land for development! It’s been in the Prescott family for six generations.”

Deb huffed. “I’m just telling you what I heard, Colby. Besides, that man has no children. Who’s he going to leave all that land to?”

“I certainly hope it’s not true,” Dora clucked. “That would mean huge changes for Charade. I don’t want a bunch of rich city people moving in. I like our little town just the way it is.” She took a sad breath and her ample bosom heaved.

“Ladies, it’s time for class,” Carmen interrupted. “We’re not going to learn anything about this in the next hour, but we can get a great class in. Are you ready?”

Carmen turned on the stereo and led the class through a series of hip drops, shimmies, and kicks. As always, the Middle Eastern music soothed her, but worries bubbled beneath her surface. Were her beautiful woods—well, Calvin Prescott’s beautiful woods—going to be cut off from her view by a tall brick wall? Would a passel of the very people she’d left behind in Chicago move into her transplanted hometown? Would they overrun mellow, stuck-in-the-sixties Charade with fancy gourmet food stores and interior design shops? Would the sweet, simple life she enjoyed be uprooted by a lucrative real estate deal?

Not if she had anything to say about it, Carmen decided. She concentrated on her moves, stepping and bending to the music. As usual, she felt a lusciously erotic stirring while she danced. Her bared physique wasn’t fashion-model skinny, but belly dancing emphasised the tactile desirability of authentic, healthy curves and exposed skin. At first, Carmen had been embarrassed to feel aroused while she danced, but now she welcomed the sexual energy that sparked through her while dancing. Feeling a sweet, hot slickness grow between her lower lips, Carmen knew that she’d have to finish herself off with some personal attention as soon as she got home. Her nipples stiffened in anticipation. Belly dancing made her feel sexy, nimble and desirable, never mind that she was a single thirty-something woman who raised chickens.

While gyrating her hips to the seductive soundtrack, Carmen glanced up at the window. That same grey tomcat was sitting on the windowsill outside, staring in as though it saw a roomful of flightless birds. It licked its chops. Carmen rolled her eyes and looked away with a smile.
Maybe I’ll get my new mouser after all,
she thought, amused,
or, at the very least, a devoted belly-dancing fan.

The class wrapped up, but her six students remained in the room. Monica giggled with excitement and Beth hushed her. “What’s going on?” Carmen asked.

Bernice pulled a gold-wrapped box from her tote bag. “This is for you, dear,” she said, handing it to Carmen. “We all chipped in. Happy birthday!”

Carmen took the box and blushed with pleasure. She had completely forgotten that today was her birthday. And it wasn’t just any birthday—it was her fortieth. “Thank you all so much,” she whispered, choked by gratitude.

“Well, open it!” Monica urged. She bounced on her toes and squealed.

Carmen slipped the ribbon off and opened the box. Inside was a gorgeous confection of bronze silk chiffon and beads.

“It’s Turkish!” Monica exclaimed. “Isn’t it fabulous?”

Carmen lifted the beaded bikini top from the box and shook it. Long strands of golden coins and beads shook like drops of metallic water from the bronze sequined bra top. “It’s so beautiful, guys.” Carmen smiled. She passed the top to Dora and held up the matching beaded belt and skirt. “I can’t wait to wear it when we perform together for the Fourth of July. This is too much, really. You are so generous, every one of you.”

Beth, Monica, Deb and Bernice hugged Carmen then gathered their things.

“I’ll let you know if we hear anything about the Prescott place,” Deb promised as they departed.

Dora and Colby hung back after the others left. “Let us take you out tonight, Carmen,” Dora offered. “We’ll drink some beer and throw some darts at the Mine Shaft. What do you say? A girl doesn’t turn forty every day, you know.” Dora covered her voluptuous figure with a fringed floral shawl.

“We’ll pick you up at nine, okay?” Colby confirmed. “It’ll be fun, Carmen. I’ve arranged a cab from Aldridge, so we don’t have to worry about driving.” She gave Carmen a knowing wink.

“Suh-weet!” Dora crowed with excitement. Her heavy breasts jiggled with merriment. “We’ll catch a buzz, okay, Carmen? See you at nine!”

* * * *

That evening Carmen had a simple meal of a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. She took her dinner outside to eat with the chickens. They pecked in front of the dense, mysterious backdrop of Prescott Woods. Carmen chewed thoughtfully as she watched ruddy Suellen chase fluffy, multi-hued Scarlett and Melanie around the yard.
Surely Calvin Prescott wouldn’t sell off the woods,
Carmen thought,
when it’s been so important to his family and to Charade.

That huge old stone mansion built by Calvin’s great-great-great-grandfather was the most historically and architecturally impressive structure in eastern Kentucky, if rumours could be believed. Calvin Prescott, a noted recluse, refused to allow visitors to his home. The limestone mansion stood half a mile from the road and was veiled by trees, but glimpses of it were impressive nonetheless. A tall wrought iron gate surrounded the mansion and lawn, and the two-hundred-acre forest stretched beyond it.

Carmen finished her meal and gathered her chickens into their coop. They roosted promptly at sundown, so it was best to have them all tucked in before it grew dark. Spare Tire helped her round up the girls then strutted in behind them. She gave the latch an extra tug to make sure it was firmly fastened before going inside to get dressed for her birthday outing. She chose a snug pair of her favourite jeans, a black silk tank top, her dressiest pair of cowboy boots and a chunky handmade agate necklace.

* * * *

At eleven, Dora was bringing around the third pitcher of draught beer at the Mine Shaft. Colby had declared herself Dart Queen Extraordinaire and was loudly challenging everyone in the bar to a match. Vonda Richardson, Charade’s real estate agent, was quick to rise to the challenge. Carmen giggled to see dainty Colby—her ear smudged with brick-red paint from her current artistic project—talking smack about her skill at darts.

“Hey, girls!” Deb appeared by their table, radiant in a turquoise tie-dyed tunic and frayed denim miniskirt. “Mind if I join you for a minute or two? Marcus just put quarters on the pool table, so we’re up next. Are you having a fun fortieth, Carmen?”

“Indeed I am.” Carmen beamed. She hopped from her stool and gave Deb an enormous hug. “Thank you so much for my present, Deb!” she gushed. “And thank you so much for being in my class. I love belly dancing with you guys!” Carmen bounced with beer-fuelled enthusiasm, causing her enormous gold hoops to flop against her neck.

“You are just so welcome,” replied Deb. “We love having you in Charade. I bet there’s no other small town in Eastern Kentucky that can say they’ve got a lawyer, belly-dancing teacher, and veggie co-op owner-slash-employee all in one cute little package.”

Carmen gave a self-deprecating shrug and rolled her eyes upward. “As far as I’m concerned, there’s no place in the world as wonderful as Charade.”

Dora poured a glass of beer for Deb from the pitcher and pulled the seat out for her. “So, did you hear anything else about the Prescott land thing?”

“Oh, God, don’t get me started,” Deb groaned. She downed half of her glass in two big gulps. “It looks like it’s going down, girls. Marcus said that while I was at belly-dancing class, a guy in a suit came in and asked where Calvin Prescott lived. Marcus gave him directions, and told him that historically, Mr Prescott did not appreciate visitors.” She cleared her throat and tossed back the rest of her beer. “Suit tells him that he’s sure Mr Prescott will welcome his visit, since he’s about to purchase a great deal of his land and make Mr Prescott a very, very wealthy man.”