The Naughty List (3 page)

Chapter Two

Rosalie pulled into a parking spot with a screech of the brakes. She bounded up to Penrose’s back door. Brendon Myers from Fine Jewelry leaned against the wall. He took a deep drag from a cigarette.

She flashed a smile. “Oh, hey. I thought I was late.”

“Nope.” Brendon flicked the cigarette to the concrete and ground the butt out with his toe. “You’re right on time.”

She paused at the door with a frown. “I thought you quit smoking.”

“Yeah, well, I took it up again since I was fired.”

Rosalie froze in/i> her tracks. “What?”

“I was fired,” he spit out. “Me and a bunch of others. Stephanie came in early to spread the love. She cut positions right and left.”

“But why?” she stammered out. “I know the economy sucks, but Marissa said sales only took a slight dip. Things are sure to pick up during the holidays.”

“A slight dip for us is a nosedive for corporate.” His voice dripped with bitterness. “Stephanie promised them a new program to decrease costs and increase profits. Eighteen years and I’m booted out the door.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and brushed past her. “Keep your head down, Rosalie. I’ll see ya around, hopefully not in the unemployment line.”

She followed him with her eyes as he walked dejectedly toward his car. A tight knot formed in her stomach. Maybe the cuts weren’t as bad as Brendon said. Maybe they were only temporary.

Rosalie walked through Central Receiving past anxious clusters of employees speaking in hushed tones. She spied Marissa in the locker room. “What the hell is going on?”

“I had no idea,” she blurt out, clearly upset. “None of the assistant managers did. Stephanie called us in this morning…said she had big plans…ways to increase profits.” Marissa’s hands shook. “She didn’t even give us a chance to break the news gently. She just started cutting. No rhyme, no reason, no regard for staffing needs.”

“H-how many?”

“Thirty-two. Most were here for years.”

“I met Brendon at the door. The layoffs make no sense.”

“I know. Brendon is the best. Have you seen the files on his customers? He texts with reminders of birthdays or anniversaries…makes notes on what wives or girlfriends prefer. Brendon could write the book on service and his customers stay loyal. They don’t go to other stores in the city. They go to him.”

“Why toss Penrose’s best jeweler? What about his custom pieces?”

“There won’t be any more.”

“So now we sell the same schlock as the malls,” Rosalie burst out. “How does that set us apart?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Stephanie’s crazy if she really thinks this is a good business practice.”

“Tell that to the board. On paper layoffs make sense. Brendon was here a long time. He earns more than others. You dump older workers with higher salaries and your bottom line instantly looks brighter.”

“And the quality of your service gets flushed down the toilet.”

“Stephanie doesn’t care about that. I don’t think Randall Penrose or the board does, either. This store is the last retail holding of the corporation. All the other investments are in real estate and technology start-ups.” Her voice dropped. She cast a nervous glance around as if to make sure they weren’t overhead. “I’m afraid Brendon and the others are only the first to go.”

Rosalie sucked in her breath. “Who—?”

“I don’t know, but Penrose’s is changing and not for the better.” She squared her shoulders. “I’d better go. I can’t afford to lose this job. You, either.”

At first, work continued as usual at Penrose’s or as usual as anything gets with the threat of instant termination looming over everyone’s head. Tuesday and Wednesday brought news of even deeper manpower cuts. This time not even lower paid recent hires were spared. Rosalie froze every time she heard the strident click of Stephosaick of anie’s stilettos headed her way. Was she the next to go?

The week drew to a close with no more firings. Rosalie dared to hope the worst had passed. Christmas Land opened on Saturday. Sales would surely pick up enough to even please Stephanie.

Although other temp workers were let go, Anthony was spared. After catching him with Stephanie, Rosalie dropped the idea of coffee until she ran into him in the break room on Friday. He sat alone. He looked up as she came in and flashed his brilliant white smile. Perhaps she was mistaken. Maybe nothing existed between him and Stephanie. Might she still dream of Christmas romance after all?

Stephanie poked her head in the door. “Anthony, I need to see you in my office pronto.”

Anthony shot up from his chair and blew past Rosalie without even a second glance.

Ah well, she sighed to herself, a lonely Christmas may be glum, but an unemployed one is far worse.

****

Saturday was a traditionally busy day, but the opening of Christmas Land drew abnormally large crowds. Even from Customer Service Rosalie made out the sea of heads bobbing in that direction, most of them young couples with children in tow.

“All these people are a good sign, aren’t they?” chirped Marissa.

“Yup, thank God for Ross—the next best thing to sugar and violent video games for keeping kids happy.”

Her friend chuckled. “I hope Santa didn’t hear that or you’ll find nothing but coal in your stocking, for sure.”

Throughout the day Rosalie’s spirits rose higher. She decided even Randall Penrose in his tailored corporate suit would be pleased by the sight of all the eager shoppers. During her break, she ambled over to Christmas Land and peeked at Ross decked out in full Santa regalia. She watched in amusement as a grandmother tried to coax her reluctant granddaughter up to the throne for a picture. The child stubbornly refused until Ross bent down and whispered something in her ear. The little girl beamed at him and immediately scampered up his knee. The sight made Rosalie want to burst out in a couple of spontaneous fa-la-las. She restrained herself.

Rosalie clocked out late in the afternoon, but instead of leaving she determined a little celebration was in order. Penrose’s had a coffee shop tucked into the corner near the front door. Original to the store, the décor sported a true soda fountain complete with marble bar countertop and red vinyl seats in mahogany booths.

Nowadays, the red vinyl was cracked and the checkered linoleum floor dulled with age, but the food continued to be excellent—especially the pastry. The kitchen was the province of Miss Lu. She and her staff churned out a masterful roster of southern delights using her mother’s original recipes. Rosalie admitted to a special weakness for the sweet potato pie. She decided on a slice to go. Maybe two.

“Well, hello, dear. Are you done for the day?” Alone in a booth, Mittens nursed a cup of coffee. Her oversized purse sat on the floor. The gardening gloves rested on top. “Won’t you join me?”

Rosalie hesitated. She was tired. Her feet hurt. She wanted nothing more than to curl up on the sofa, watch bad TV, and stuff her face with pie. But Mittens looked so hopeful, she couldn’t bear to refuse. She sat down and ordered a cup of coffee and a slice. Rosalie cast a furtive glance at the old handbag and worn gardening gloves.
Poor dear, probably on a tighter budget than mine.

“How about you, Mit—I mean, Miss Delia. Let me buy you a piece of pie.”

“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” she protested.

“Nonsense,” Rosalie insisted. “My treat.” Mittens accepted with pleasure.

The pie was a gooey slice of heaven. After Rosalie finished, she leaned back and let out a contented sigh.

Mittens chuckled. “No one bakes pie like Lu. I even use her recipe and mine don’t turn out half as well.”

Rosalie raised an eyebrow. “You’re special. I didn’t think Miss Lu ever parted with a recipe.”

“Well, we’ve been friends for many years. We both started at Penrose’s at the same time.”

“You worked at Penrose’s?”

“Oh, my, yes. I was Arthur Penrose’s secretary.”

Her eyes widened. “The founder?”

“Yes.” Mittens’ gaze drifted out into the store. A slight smile played about her lips as if recalling a happy memory from long ago. “He and his wife Judith were such lovely people, both so kind. I worked for Arthur until my first child was born. Judith’s health took a turn for the worse soon after, poor dear. I used to visit with the children and bring flowers from my garden. She didn’t get out much and enjoyed the company. We both had a passion for growing things and her health no longer allowed her to work outside. Arthur, I know, appreciated I took the time.”

“Did you ever go back to work at Penrose’s?”

“No. My husband and I started a business. Our family kept me busy, too, but I stayed in touch with Arthur until he died.” She stared down at her coffee cup with a wistful expression. “The years at Penrose’s were good ones. I met my husband here. Now he’s passed, too, but this store still holds a very special place in my heart. It always will.” She eyed Rosalie sharply. “I hear Randall selected a new store manager.”

“I don’t exactly call what Stephanie does managing. The process is more like slash, burn, and leave the dead where they fall.”

“Randall always was an ass.”

Rosalie giggled. “Miss Delia, I’m shocked.”

“Don’t be. I remember Randall as a boy. He was an ass then, too. He has very little business sense and none of his uncle’s gumption. Arthur’s one mistake was to leave him in charge. Fortunately, Randall turned most of the decision-making over to the board of directors since thinking cuts into his tee time. Still, they like having him around, or should I say, like having his wife around. Her father is a senator, you know. Strong ties to D. C. are good for business. Odd about Ms. Crowder,” she mused. “I wonder what prompted his choice?”

Rosalie wrinkled her nose. “Her push-up bra contains a power all its own. It could erase even all of Albert Einstein’s brain cells.”

“Ahem.”

Rosalie flinched. Stephanie stood six feet away at the entrance of the coffee shop. She motioned to the door. “A word…”

Mittens reached down into her bag, and slid a large green pepper over to her with a wink. “High in vitamin C—strengthens your immune system against parasites.”

Rosalie snatched up the pepper and joined Stephanie. Before she opened her mouth the woman jumped in. “I noticed you in the coffee shop half an hour ago. You’re taking up space required for a customer.”

“I’m finished now. Anyway, I’m off the clock and nobody had to wait for a seat.”

She glared at Mittens. “Who’s that person you’re talking to?”

“Just a customer.” Something about Stephanie’s severe look made Rosalie uncomfortable. She shoved the pepper behind her back, but not quickly enough.

“I’ve seen her before. She’s the crazy fruit woman. She never buys anything.” Her eyes narrowed. “She’s been in that booth for a couple of hours.”

“She’s not crazy,” Rosalie protested stiffly. “Maybe a little lonely, and they’re vegetables, not fruit—”

To Rosalie’s horror, Stephanie strode right up to Mittens. “The booth is for paying customers only. If you don’t order anything else, you have to leave—and don’t bring in any more fruit. We don’t allow it in the store.”

Rosalie’s temper flared
.
“Stephanie, don’t—”

With a sweet smile Mittens gathered up her belongings. “I’m on my way out.” She nodded toward Rosalie. “
You
have a lovely evening.”

With a satisfied expression, Stephanie turned on her very expensive designer stiletto heel and clicked away. Rosalie stormed after her. “Why did you do that? Miss Delia didn’t bother anyone.”

Stephanie cast a condescending glance at her. “Seriously, you have no head for business. She took up space better served by someone with money. Penrose’s isn’t a charity, Rosalie. The store must turn a substantial profit. Corporate expects sales to be up this holiday or even deeper cuts will be made. You don’t want more layoffs, do you?”

Keep your mouth shut. You need this job.
Rosalie clamped her lips together and shook her head.

“If she’s lonely, she can sit in the park and feed the pigeons.”

Rosalie shot a frosty glare as Stephanie sashayed back to her office, the pricey stilettos stabbing punctuation marks into the linoleum. “Dear God,” she muttered under her breath, “give me the strength not to kick her in the pants.”

Seething, Rosalie headed to the exit. As she neared the wrought iron door, a mother approached pushing a stroller. The baby was fussy, his face all scrunched up preparing to wail. Rosalie stepped aside and held open the door waiting for the Penrose Pacifier to work its magic, but as the stroller’s wheels crossed the threshold, the baby howled. The frazzled mother backed up, bumping into Rosalie. “Sorry, I guess coming here was a bad idea.” Rosalie watched them leave, gripped by an uneasy feeling.

****

As the holiday season got underway the crowds of shoppers remained steady, although smaller than average. More importantly, after Stephanie slashed staff to the bare bone, the layoffs ceased. Rosalie’s spirits should have lifted, but the uneasy feeling that developed after watching the mother with the stroller stayed. She couldn’t put her finger on the cause, but her mood was off.

The undefined malaise infected every other employee in the store along with the customers. Tension increased. Smiles were less open. Responses became a trifle curt.

She noticed the edginess on the street, too. Please and thank you dropped out of conversations. The strain showed on people’s faces. Every night newscasters reported another assault caused by a fly-off-the-handle remark. Where was all the holiday spirit? Hell, where was all the common civility? It was as if everybody in the world had lost the little voice in their head that told them to shut up and behave. Everyone except Ross, she noted to Marissa when they caught a break together.

“One of the necessities of being Santa,” her friend chuckled. “Jolly is a job requirement.”

“Easy for Ross unless some kid pees on him.”

“Ross wouldn’t care. I swear he lives for children.”

“Right about that.” Rosalie took a bite of her granola bar. She enjoyed her chance to sit and chat. Marissa was forced to pull double duty as assistant manager along with absorbing all of Stephanie’s old responsibilities. Rosalie hardly saw her friend anymore. “I meant to ask, how is the tracking system coming along?” Marissa’s pet project before Stephanie took over was to develop a new method to control inventory loss.