Monkey Wrench (14 page)

Thirteen

At the back door,
I shifted my bag of burritos and held the door open as a pair of women approached the shop. “Come on in,” I said.

“Having a fun day?” I asked. These two weren’t familiar to me and I wanted to make sure they felt welcome. The one in the red sweater pulled her passport out of her homemade holder looped around her neck.

“Is this the line for stamps?” she said warily. “Where do I go?” She stood on her tiptoes and peered into the hall.

“Go on in …” I pointed to the front of the hall where the greeting table was. I let my hand drop. I looked around her. The stamping station was invisible, even to me and I knew where to look. My skin tightened.

I saw nothing but a crowd of women.

Giggling women. The same women who’d been there ten minutes ago.

“Hold on,” I said to my new customers.

I marched to where the bottleneck was. Just as I expected. Four of Kym’s cronies from the appliqué club were gathered around. Kym had been their leader when she worked at my shop two years ago. They were having a grand time.

Meanwhile, hoppers weren’t getting their books stamped or if they were, they were being greeted perfunctorily at best. No one liked to walk into a gaggle of women with their heads together. I had to break this up, pronto.

I reached past the duo wearing denim vests decorated with crocheted doilies, trying to grab the stamp and pad. I couldn’t reach.

The blonde to my left wore a button that read,
“Hand is not a four-letter word.”
Their manifesto to the joys of sewing without a machine.

“Hi, Dewey,” she said.

I said a cool hello. None of these women had shopped in QP after I’d fired Kym. They were only here today because the Crawl required it. Running into Kym was an added bonus.

I leaned in, putting myself between them and Kym. “You gals having a good Crawl?” I asked. “On your way out?”

Kym’s eyes flashed.

“We haven’t seen Kym in a dog’s age,” the button-wearer said. She must be their designated spokesperson. “We were discussing all the changes you’ve made here in the store.” It was clear from her tone she disapproved.

“Lots of changes,” I agreed. “Kym’s got work to do, so if you don’t mind …” I looked significantly at the back door.

Two took the hint and moved off, but button-wearer and her buddy did not. They must have mistaken their denim vests for body armor.

I motioned for the red-sweatered woman and her friend to move forward. They looked tentative but wanted their passports stamped.

Kym did a quick swipe at their passports and the duo hurried off. It would be a long time before they returned to QP.

Kym’s friends were still here. I moved so they would have to take a step back.

I smiled the fakest smile I could muster. “SO nice to see you again. Don’t be strangers.”

I waved, a soft beauty-queen wave I knew they could relate to. Elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist.

The button-wearer snarled but she backed off. “Bitch,” I heard her mutter as she hooked arms with her friend and sidled away.

I turned back to Kym. “You’re not here to socialize. Either do the work, or go away.”

“I’ll stay,” she said, not looking me in the eye. It probably had more to do with not wanting to invoke my father’s ire than mine, but I’d take it.

The smells coming from the bag of burritos were over
pow
ering and starting to sicken me. I went into the kitchen. Jenn
followed me.

“Houston, we have a problem,” she said. She was carrying a fresh stack of fat quarters from the supply in the classroom.

I pointed my chin at her burden. “Fabric’s flying out the door? That’s the kind of problem I like. I’ll be out there as soon as I put these in the frig.”

“That’s not it. We’re busy, but we’re handling it. No, the problem is people are arriving for Pearl’s Advanced Color class,” Jenn said. She nodded her head toward the classroom across the hall.

“Pearl doesn’t have any classes scheduled,” I said. The smell of cilantro was overwhelming. My throat got dry.

Jenn said, “Yes, she does. I checked.”

She pointed at the class calendar on the bulletin board. There it was. Pearl’s Colorings from 1–5 PM today. The class, like many of our classes, had been scheduled months ago. Before Hiro died. Before Pearl went a little nuts. Even before I’d signed up for the Crawl.

I dropped the bag of burritos on the counter. Jenn began to unpack them, righting them so that the label showed. Two bean and cheese, three chicken. I’d split a vegetable with Ursula.

“I canceled it. I know I did,” I said. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized I had given the task to Vangie to do. I had assigned her the job of removing the class from the website and notifying those who’d already signed up.

I asked, “How many students are here?”

“At least twelve.”

“Yikes.” Pearl’s classes were always popular.

What was I going to do with a dozen students expecting to take a class from Pearl this afternoon? I could refund their class fee, but some would still be unhappy. It was not just that they’d been looking forward to the day but they’d already spent additional money on their supplies.

It was like buying a fancy dress for a wedding, having already spent a hundred dollars on some casserole dish from the Macy’s wish list, and then having the bride and groom break up two days before the ceremony.

Miserable quilters were often vocal ones. I could guarantee there
would be at least one quilter who’d insist on trashing QP’s reputation. Loudly.

Not today. Not in front of total strangers.

I needed to isolate the group to contain the damage.

“Jenn, send them up to the loft classroom. I’ll get the checkbook and come up and tell them the class has been canceled.”

This was going to hurt.

By the time I went upstairs, twelve women were seated at the six tables. Pearl’s students were our art quilters, and their creativity showed up in their clothes and accessories. Homemade totes of varying hues were scattered on the tabletop. Many wore jackets or vests that they’d made.

They were settling in, unpacking supplies and laying out notebooks and the special colored pencils that Pearl required. A brunette with a huge smile was showing off the pencil holder she’d made. The fabric looked hand-dyed and was stamped with a turtle motif.

They looked up expectantly, smiling.

“I’m afraid I have to tell you that the class has been canceled,” I began.

A disappointed sigh rippled through the room. I smiled in empathy.

“I know, I’m truly sorry,” I said.

“The class was on the website,” a woman with a Heidi braid on the top of her head said. Heads nodded in agreement. “I checked this morning.” She folded her hands on the table, as if the class would begin if she waited long enough.

Murmurs of discontent begin.

I looked at Heidi directly. The only way to do this was to let them all in on the troubles QP was facing. No Vangie. No Pearl. And hope for some understanding and sympathy.

“I do apologize. We’re having a little trouble staffing. Vangie, my assistant, is carrying a heavy school load as well as working here. She made a mistake. As some of you know, Pearl’s …”

The brunette interrupted. She wasn’t smiling now. Instead her large mouth was twisted in anger. “Are you kidding me? Do you know what I had to do to get this day away from my family? The kids had a minimum day. My husband wanted to play golf today and I told him he couldn’t. He’s going to be pissed.”

The murmurs grew louder. I glanced over the railing to the store floor below. It was crowded with people. People I didn’t want to hear about QP’s screw-ups.

I held up a hand, hoping to stem the tide of anger.

“Pearl isn’t feeling well …” I started again.

“This is b.s.,” Smiley said, picking up her pencil holder and slamming it into her purse. “Total disorganization.”

I raised my voice and held up the checkbook. “I will refund your class fees,” I said. “Right now. As soon as Pearl returns, I’m sure she will schedule more classes …”

Smiley wasn’t finished. “I’ve driven for forty-five minutes. Are you going to pay me for my time? Do you know how much gas costs these days?”

I didn’t have an answer. “It was my understanding that the class had been canceled over a month ago and that you’d all been notified. We dropped the ball. All I can do is apologize.”

Heidi raised her hand, peering around the unsmiling brunette. “What about the email?”

I shook my head, not understanding.

“I got an email from Pearl last night.”

“Me, too.”

“So did I.”

Now I was stumped. I’m sure it showed on my face. Smiley-face stopped packing up her stuff and looked at me, waiting for my answer.

I didn’t hear anyone coming up the stairs but suddenly their faces brightened. I turned and Pearl was at my elbow.

“Hi everybody. Sorry I’m late. I stopped at Costco for gas and the line was way too long, but I was on E-E-E and I never would have gotten here without filling up. You’d have found me on Santa Clara Street, thumbing it.”

She grinned at her charges and mimed hitchhiking. “Not that I haven’t traveled that way before. Did I ever tell you how Hiro and I got to Woodstock?”

Pearl looked good. Her hair was combed and shiny. Her jeans had a deep cuff and her stylish ballet flats were red. She was carrying her quilting teaching bag. I could see she had handouts ready for her students and had an assortment of her pieces for show and tell.

Smiley-face grinned. She unrolled her pencil roll and sat down. The others sat back in their seats and waited.

“Thanks, Dewey. I can take it from here.”

Pearl waited for me to leave. I had to be sure she was okay. Still, she sounded fine. I looked over the classroom. These women were happy to see her. My job was to keep my customers happy.

“Okay,” I said. “Enjoy your day.”

I walked down the stairs slowly, listening to the voices in the loft turn happy and light. Before I reached the last step, Pearl had them laughing, telling them how she and Hiro had hitched a ride on the Hog Farm bus, and doing a dead-on imitation of Wavy Gravy.

Jenn was straightening a row of blenders. “What happened?” She raised her eyes.

“You hear that?” I said.

She listened, then nodded. “Sounds like they took it okay.”

I shook my head. “They were not happy. But Pearl showed up, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, ready to teach.”

“She seems like a new woman,” Jenn said.

“Fingers crossed,” I said. “Let’s all try to keep our ears open, okay? Let me know if you hear anything I should know about.”

A customer grabbed my attention. She was looking for a special gift for the friend who was the designated driver on the Crawl. We snuck around to the display of Jim Shore figurines and she picked out an angel. I wrapped the gift and was rewarded with a big grin. This day of the Crawl was so much more fun.

Jenn called out, “Dewey, check this out.”

Two women in matching jackets were smiling at me. I walked over and said hello.

“Turn around,” Jenn commanded. They obeyed like models on a runway.

The back of the jacket was a blow up of the Quilters Crawl map.

“Nice!” I said. “You printed the map on fabric?” The sea otter was flying down the road.

They nodded. “Do you like?”

“Awesome,” I said. “I wish Sonya could see that. She’s the one who designed the map graphic, made it so cool.”

“Someone call my name?”

Sonya peeked around a large man in a blue polo. I grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her over.

“Take a look at this,” I said.

Sonya oohed and aahed. “How did you do that? That is too cool.”

The jacket people explained their technique and were rewarded with hugs from Sonya. They moved on and I noticed Sonya was carrying a passport.

I was surprised. “You’re doing the Quilters Crawl?”

“What can I say? That map I designed really worked.” She laughed
, and tossed her long hair back.

I agreed. “So what do you think of the event?”

Sonya tilted her head pensively. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? I mean, all these women—mostly, although I saw a couple of men—charging
from store to store. There’s a great female energy. Sisters doing it for themselves. They seem to have left all their cares behind.”

That was a pretty good description. Of today, at least. “How many stores have you been to?”

“Yours is the fourth,” she said. “I think. It’s a bit of a blur.”

She took out her passport and showed it to me. She’d started at Barbara the Damp’s shop in Fremont.

“Each store has its own personality, don’t you think?” she said. She leaned over the table and lowered her voice. “I like the atmosphere here the best. You have all the funky modern fabrics, and your staff is really friendly. I feel welcomed here. I think that’s what’s important.”

“Thanks.” Sonya had a trained artistic eye. Her opinion meant a lot. And she could be a valuable source. I could always use help with the displays. “After this is over, I’d love to pick your brain.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ursula about to grab a stack of four bolts. “Don’t lift that,” I admonished her. There was a lot of fabric that needed to be reshelved. I knew Ursula was trying to be efficient but she could hurt herself.

I took the stack from her. “I’ll put them away.”

Sonya followed me as I returned the bolts in their proper place. I slotted the latest Amy Butler with its matching coordinates. My customers liked the new fabrics in a collection to be kept together. Some made a quilt using every piece in a line.

“Ursula still hurting, eh?” Sonya said, holding open a spot between two bolts.

“I’m afraid she’ll always hurt,” I said. I didn’t want to say more. Ursula’s past was her business.

Sonya’s big eyes widened. She tched in sympathy. “That’s not right. Listen, have you given any thought to me teaching?”

A sound like a group moan came from the loft. Sonya and I both looked up. She glanced at me questioningly. The noise was quickly followed by a giggle. I’d been monitoring the class as best I could from down here. It seemed to be going okay.