Carpe Bead'em (8 page)

“Feisty.” I smile because she looks like
one of the hookers who work on this side of town. For all I know, she stole it
off one of them.

“Good. Because that’s the way I am
feeling.” She is preoccupied, staring out the window. She sits like a bird
perched on the window-sill. “I guess you’re wondering why I wanted you to come
over.”

I look around the room. There doesn’t
seem to be any emergency. The apartment is not on fire and the cockroaches are
still running around. Everything is in order.

“Antonio is going to be in the area
selling those knife sets.”

I slump to the bed. She’s back to
playing match-maker.

“I want to invite you two over for tea.”
Her gentle demeanor suddenly turns tyrannical as she sees
something
outside the window
.
Her foot catches the edge of the chair as she jumps up, sending it to the
floor.

I look out the window but the only thing
I see is a happy whistling woman walking her cute poodle. Uncle Jimmy leans
over to pet the sweet little dog.
The dog obviously knows Uncle Jimmy by
the wagging of his tail.

I always heard a dog’s heart is
connected to his tail.
This
dog’s heart must be very happy by the looks of his tail-wagging.

“Aww, look at the cute dog.” My smile
faces just as Aunt Grace shoves me out of the way of the window.

I fall down to the ground, catching
myself but sacrificing the lives of two cockroaches under my right hand.

I get up just in time to watch Aunt
Grace grab a brick from the pile stacked up next to the window. “I’ll teach
that bitch for whistling at my husband.” Her arm is like an automatic machine
gun whirling those bricks onto the street, but fortunately missing her target.

“Grace!” Uncle Jimmy screams, shielding
the whistling woman from the bricks. “Stop that now!”

He ducks just in time before the latest brick
zips past his head breaking and shatters against the pavement.

“That’s right.” Aunt Grace cries out to
the woman who’s now on the run. “You better get out of here. And stop flirting
with my husband.”

I’m paralyzed with fear. What the hell
have I just witnessed?

“Damn you, Grace!” Uncle Jimmy calls up
as he watches the lady run as fast as she could.

Aunt Grace doubles over in laughter. She
is so proud of herself.

“Poor dog.” She points out the window
still laughing. “Look! She’s running so fast, that dog is choking.”

Pure satisfaction illuminates her face.
“Now, back to tea.”

“Aunt Grace, what just happened?”  I
don’t know whether to get the hell out of here before the police come or call
them myself.

“That slut has been after your Uncle
Jimmy for weeks,” Aunt Grace explains. “She thinks she’s something walking that
little dog and whistling while Jimmy waits for her to pass. She’s enticing my
man. She needs her
own
man.”

She walks back to the window. I stand
behind her looking at the woman Aunt Grace refers to as a “slut.”

“I showed her whose prince he is.” She
slams the window shut.

The woman looks perfectly normal to me,
in her black jumpsuit and tennis shoes pounding pavement down the street.

Stunned,
I watch Aunt Grace.  I don’t know
what she sees in my uncle. Uncle Jimmy is no prince. Maybe a jester, but
certainly not royalty.  But then again, I guess maybe he’s her Bo.

And did this
moment constitute an emergency?

Before work I stroll downtown to
Fountain Square, and am pleasantly surprised how at much it’s changed. The
square has been redone with a big screen television, like the one in New York’s
Times Square, along with several new stores and restaurants.

Many of the restaurants offer outdoor
café tables around the fountain. Each table’s umbrella has the restaurant name
on it.

Today happens to be a Cincinnati Reds
businessman’s special. A ton of men are eating and drinking, getting ready for
the big game against the Chicago Cubs, of all teams.

I wonder if Wilson is here since his
work is down the street.

The square is more alive than I’ve ever
seen it.

Saks is ready to embrace another
designer. Gucci will sell well, especially with the re-invention of downtown.

The boutique is further along than I’d
anticipated. When you enter Saks off Fifth Street, the boutique is just to the
left. The bronze front with Gucci written in tan lettering sends chills up my
spine it is so beautiful.

The construction crew will finish in a
few days. Shirts, pants, skirts, shoes and accessories are already on display
and the associates are ready to make their commissions.

I feel strange walking into a room in
which all eyes are on me. Especially since the smiling faces are quivering with
fear and the heads are twirling with gossip about “the new head honcho.”

“Okay. You obviously know who I am, so
let’s get to who you are.” I hear the words come out of my mouth, but am
thinking:
How did I get here?

We spend the next thirty minutes
introducing ourselves and getting to know each other.

One of the new steamer associates
catches me before I go into my office.

“Hallie?” There is a slight tremble in
her voice. She rubs her hand down her short styled, Posh Spice look.

I admire her for wearing suck a cut. Not
many people can pull it off, but she does it well.

“Yes, uh…” I turn around before I get
into my office, where my much-needed cup of coffee is waiting for me.

“Beatrice,” she says, maintaining eye
contact. “This lady named Piper called. She’s called twice today, asking all
sorts of questions about your schedule this week.”

“Go on, I’m listening.” I want to
dissect every one of her words, but damn, her eye contact is good.

“I told her I’m your secretary and would
give you her message.” Her eyes grow dark, like she knows exactly what I’m
thinking. “She wants to know your schedule and what’s shipping here.”

“Secretary?” I stand up and begin pacing
while rubbing my chin. I like the way this girl thinks. Piper never had a
secretary. “Secretary? I like that.”  

“She said the same thing.”

“Hold on.”

I dial the New York office.

“Yes this is…” I continue my
conversation, telling human resources about my new proposal.

I want a secretary, who I want and why I
need her. With a little persuasion, they are on board. It couldn’t have gone
any better if I had a genie lamp and rubbed the heck out of it.

The associate sits with a smirk on her face.
She knows I put my neck on the line for her and me.

“Congratulations.” I smile. “You are my
new secretary.” We stare each other down. She is good at this eye-to-eye
contact business. “That’s what I’m talking about. You can do this. Stick with
me, girl, and you will be running this place in no time.”

She impetuously darts out the door.

“Wait!” She stops dead in her tracks.
“What is your name again? I can’t just call you secretary.”

“Beatrice,” she repeats in an upbeat
voice.

“Great, Beatrice. You like coffee?” God,
I hope she likes coffee.

“Yes I do.” Her words met my sigh of
relief.

“Run across the street and grab us a
cup. On me.” I wink and grab my wallet out of my purse.

I’m going to work my butt off to one up
on Piper and the Michigan store. I’m sure she’s only trying to get information
to use it against me or to see what she’s up against.

I can promise that, this store is going
to surpass everyone’s expectations. I’ll be sure of it.

Week Three

Beads, the
creative addiction.

Author Unknown

Chapter Fifteen

With the
boutique opening, time to myself has been scarce. Since it’s my first Sunday
off, I want to hang around and take it easy. And accepting a call from Piper is
far from taking it easy.

“Hello?” I
decide to take the call because I can’t avoid her forever. I try to sound as
upbeat as I can all while I make a nasty face at the phone.

Besides, it
won’t be so bad, not with the great opening week we had.

“You are one
tough gal to get in touch with.” I can picture Piper sitting in
my
chair
behind
my
desk getting ready for the tourists to rush down Michigan
Avenue. A big difference between Cincinnati and Chicago. Chicago is for the
tourists, while Cincinnati is more local traffic.

“How can I help
you on my Sunday off?” I cut to the chase.

The laughter in
the background catches me off guard. She only called to be nosy. I listen
closely to see if I can hear one of my co-workers from the Chicago store, but
only laughter—male laughter.

Piper’s voice is
muffled, and I faintly hear her whisper, “one more minute.”

“Sorry about
that.” There is little sympathy in her apology.

Why is she
apologizing? Is she feeling guilty for shipping me off or taking Bo when my
back is turned?

“I have been
calling you all week to wish you good luck on the opening. But I can’t get past
the receptionist. Corporate told me you had a fantabulous week.”

“Secretary, My secretary.” I want to
make sure I correct her so she realizes I have my own personal assistant. “Yes,
I’ve had a wonderful week.”

Then she
launches into her made-up language.

Whoever came up
with the idea of turning their poodle/schnauzer mutt into a made-up name like
schnoodle because their poodle is a slut and got knocked up by a schnauzer is
brilliant! Any cross-breed is a mutt, no matter how you spin it, but if you
label it with designer…, badda bing! You’ve got yourself a gold mine.

Just like Piper.
She puts words together and makes up her own language with words like
fantabulous, ginormous, groceraunt, spanglish. Pipernomics has to be the best.
She claims it’s her ideas on the current economic status of the country.
What
the hell?

“It was a good
week.” I try to sound even more joyful and to ignore the giggles and kisses
coming from her end of the phone.

“How is
Cincinnati treating you?” She asks, snidely.

“It’s fine.” The
less information I give her, the better off I am.

“Have you met
some new friends?” she questions.

Ah, no
!
The ones I
have now are fine.
I wish I had the guts to tell her I’m not in the market
for new friends.

“Work is keeping
me busy. Speaking of work, I have to get back to the grind.” I’m not going to
have everyday conversation like she’s my friend. She’s only trying to gather
ammunition against me and I don’t even know why.

“Adios, Hallie.
Have a good one.” She laughs. “A little Spanglish for you.”

I listen closely
for more noise before the final click, nothing. I never figured Bo to like the
Piper type. All prim and proper, not to mention giggly. Not a hair out of
place. She doesn’t even care about running. She always put me down for it and
now he’s off with her.

To help forget about Piper and her phone
call, I lace up my shoes and head to the square.

Earlier, I read
in the paper where The Running Store, in Hyde Park, is having a sale. I might
as well run down there and check it out.

I tuck a few
dollars in my running shorts just in case I decide to look there or elsewhere.
If I’m going to
run, I have to take care of my barking dogs.

When I joined my
running group in Chicago, I spent an entire paycheck on running equipment. The
sales lady told me she’d never seen someone bring in an entourage of friends to
make sure the shorts look great. But it’s a facade I have to keep up until Bo
marries me and we have our first baby. Then I’ll stop running and take care of
his offspring.

Maybe I’m getting
a little ahead of myself. Though I can’t help but
wonder what he’d
think of Cincinnati.

With the image
of my holding Bo’s baby in my arms, I fail to see the One Bead At A Time door
flew open, whacking me back into reality.

“Oh!” The woman
at the door tries to catch me as I stagger around. “Are you okay? I am so
sorry!”

“I’m fine. I’m
fine.” My heart is racing a mile a minute.

I can just see
it now. If the door hit me a fraction harder, I would’ve been out cold in a
hospital room with no one at my side except Aunt Grace in one of her goofy
wigs.

Bending over
with my hands resting on my hips, I reassure the woman, who looks like she’s in
cardiac arrest.