Her Best Catch Page 19

  I need to congratulate him. I really do.

  “Congratulations. I know this is what you’ve been waiting for. So Cleveland looks the most promising?”

  “It’s hard to say. But wouldn’t that be weird? You and me in Cleveland together.”

  “Since we couldn’t make it to Pittsburgh, I guess Cleveland is the next best thing, huh?”

  He laughs. “You’re funny, Allison. I’m going to miss that when I’m on the road. If I’m on the road. And I really don’t want to, but I may have to miss your mother’s party.”

  “That’s okay. There will be a lot of people there.” And I’ll be the one without a date. Because he’ll be in Cleveland or somewhere. With a baseball. His date for life.

  “You’ll have a good time,” he says. “You always do. I bet you’ll even have fun in Cleveland.”

  “I’m not used to traveling very much so I can’t exactly say I’m looking forward to going.”

  “You get used to it after a while.”

  Memories of climbing into bed with my mother early Monday mornings after Daddy had left fill my head. His pillow smelled good like he did. The bed was so empty with him gone.

  “I don’t think I will,” I say.

  CHAPTER 24

  After checking into my hotel and taking a cab to downtown Cleveland, it’s almost noon when I arrive at Eddie’s office. I make my way up the elevator and in minutes I’m knocking on his partially open door.

  “Eddie. It’s Allison. I’m here,” I say. I push the door open further, anxious to see Eddie whom I haven’t seen in a while. He’s tall, stocky, middle-aged and friendly as can be.

  “Allison, hi. Come on in.”

  He motions me in. He’s not alone.

  The woman in the room is petite, has redder than red hair which hangs straight, a pointed nose, an extremely lipsticked mouth (she probably uses a tube a week), and she’s wearing clothes that are probably designers I’ve never even heard of.

  I set my briefcase on the floor and prepare myself for the introduction.

  “Allison,” Eddie says. “I’d like you to meet Christine Plemmons. Christine, Allison Doll.”

  “Allison Doll,” Christine repeats in an almost purring way. “What a name. Sounds like a sweet little girl. I hope that’s not what we have here.”

  What does she mean?

  “I’m not a little girl,” I say, noting the obvious. This conversation is starting out really weird.

  “But she is sweet,” Eddie says. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, Christine. You should try it sometime.”

  “No, thanks,” she says. “Sweet doesn’t get you very far.”

  Okay. I think I’m ready to start my audit. i.e., leave this office before the conversation goes any further.

  “Since it’s almost noon, I guess I better get started,” I say.

  “Sure,” Eddie says. “Christine, can you take Allison up to WorldBuy and show her the offices?”

  “I can.” Christine looks at her probably very expensive watch then transfers her attention to me. “Have you eaten lunch, Allison?”

  “No. But I’m fine.”

  “Nonsense. You have to have a good lunch, and it’ll give us a chance to get acquainted. Leave your briefcase here, and we’ll stop by and pick it up when we come back. Let’s go.”

  Two things strike me as I follow Christine to the elevator. I didn’t have a choice about lunch and neither did Eddie. He wasn’t invited.

  What’s up with this chick?

  I have no idea where she’s taking me, not that it matters. I’m not hungry in the least.

  By dinner-time I’m starving. Christine had taken me to a place where they only served raw food items. She kept talking about the health benefits of raw fish.

  The smell alone made me not want to eat, so my nonexistent appetite came in very handy.

  Now don’t get me wrong. There were quite a few people in the restaurant enjoying a very fine lunch. I just didn’t happen to be one of them.

  And I did try the food. I took bites, albeit very small bites. Praise God they served soft drinks. I think I downed two glasses of Coke while nibbling on three different types of raw delicacies. A funny combination, sugary soda, and raw, healthy stuff.

  Anyway, it’s now time for dinner and I’m hoping Christine is long gone. I want a huge juicy bacon mushroom cheeseburger with a double order of fries and a whole bottle of ketchup.

  Take that, Christine.

  “Doing anything for dinner?”

  Thankfully the voice belonged to a man, hence not Christine. I look up. It’s Eddie.

  “I’m dreaming about a cheeseburger and fries.”

  Eddie grins. “Christine must have taken you to the sushi place for lunch,” Eddie says.

  “Yes, she did. Yummy.”

  “Well, let me know when you’re ready to finish up for the night. We’ll eat something a little more substantial for dinner. I’ll be in my office.”

  Bless Eddie for understanding my need to eat cooked food.

  Cooked food. Barbecue. I think the Titanic has settled in my totally empty stomach. I still have no food for my mother’s party on Saturday.

  I glance at my cell phone. No missed calls. I left Velvet what I would call a frantic message last night, almost twenty-four hours ago. She hasn’t called back. Where is she?

  Hotel rooms are lonely. Especially when HGTV isn’t an option on the television.

  I wish I were home.

  David Crowder’s voice fills the room as my cell phone rings. “Prone to wander Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love. Here’s my heart, Lord, take and seal it, seal it for thy courts above.”

  My ring-tone always keeps me real. I love it.

  I glance at my caller ID.

  Yes. Velvet. Finally.

  And that’s what I say when I answer.

  “Finally.”

  “Kentucky Fried Chicken or Taco Bell.”

  What a weird way to start a conversation. I’m not sure where’s she coming from. Or heading towards, for that matter. I feel like I’m on Jeopardy.

  “And the question is?” I ask.

  “Which would you rather have at the party?”

  My cheeseburger and fries, which have settled pretty well, start to unsettle. It’s an extremely weird feeling.

  “Neither. Can we try another answer?”

  “Allison, you have picked the busiest weekend ever to have a party. There’s nothing out there. Okay. I take that back, I’ve found some places that can cater for one hundred by Saturday. But I don’t think you’re willing to fork out what they want to charge.”

  “I’ve budgeted a few hundred dollars for food.”

  “That’s nice. But it’s not going to be enough for the quotes I received.”

  “Good grief, did you call The Taj Mahal?”

  “No. Just places around here. All the reasonable restaurants aren’t available. And I can see why the ones that are available are available. They’re way too pricey.”

  “I can’t serve Kentucky Fried chicken at my mother’s party, Velvet.”

  “You have to serve something,” Velvet says.

  “Jesus fed five thousand with five loaves of bread and two fish.”

  “And?” Velvet asks.

  “We have to have faith. This is going to work out. Do you mind looking for one more day? I know we’re going to find something reasonable. In fact, I’m giving you carte-blanche to place the order if you come across a great place.”

  What making that statement says about me is not what you think. It doesn’t mean that I’m a sweet and all trusting person. At this point it means I’m tired, far away and Velvet—-Please handle this aspect of the party!

  “We don’t have one more day,” Velvet starts, but then she sighs. “I’ll see what I can do, Allison. But if I don’t come up with something by tomorrow night I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

  I don’t either, but I can’t let myself be worried sick. I have to
have faith. That much I do know.

  A passage from Hebrews reminds me that the righteous are to live by faith and not step away from it.

  Okay. I try to be righteous, and the last thing I want is for our Lord to be mad at me. Even if the Hebrews weren’t thinking party food, I am.

  CHAPTER 25

  Asset auditing isn’t a whole lot of fun, but somebody has to do it. And why Christine decided our firm needed to do it is a mystery, except I think in the couple of days that I’ve known her, I’ve figured out she likes power.

  She likes having the power to say who does what.

  I’ve been avoiding her around all meal times. No way, no how do I want to end up stuck at the raw fish place or any other place she has in mind.

  “Allison.”

  Speak of the devil. Well, not literally, but Christine has found me. At least it’s well past lunch and too early for dinner. Praise God.

  “How’s it coming?” she asks.

  “Great. I’m moving right along.”

  She’s dressed in one of her power suits. Black with pretty silver buttons. But the black only accentuates her lean frame and years of eating healthy. Well, she calls it healthy, I’m still not sure.

  “Think you’ll be done by Friday?” she asks.

  “Definitely. Probably by lunch time at the latest.”

  Oops. I mentioned the “L” word. Around Christine. Yikes.

  She props herself on the edge of the desk I was assessing, and twiddles her pen between her fingers. She always has that pen with her. Maybe it’s her power pen, ready to sign and wield power at a moment’s notice. The pen is mightier than the sword and I bet Christine would be awesome in a sword fight.

  Awesome. I hate that word.

  “What time is your flight?” she asks.

  “Late. Five o’clock.”

  David Crowder’s voice invades the air. I should have put my phone on vibrate. I look at the caller ID.

  Private. Ashton? Is he in Cleveland? Wanting to see me?

  I look at Christine. I look back at the caller ID.

  Crowder is singing, Ashton could be calling and I need to make a decision.

  I’m too company-oriented for my own good. Christine is a client. Private is personal. While I’m with a client I don’t take personal calls.

  I click the button on the side of my phone. Crowder quits singing, and I focus my attention back to Christine while trying to remember where we left off in our conversation. Oh, yeah, flight times.

  “Yes, five o’clock,” I repeat.

  “That’s not too bad. It puts you in Atlanta between six-thirty and seven, right?”

  “Yeah. Then by the time I retrieve my luggage and get home, it’ll be about eight or so.”

  She smiles. “Still in plenty of time to hook up with that boyfriend you probably have.”

  Does she mean that could-have-been-boyfriend-that-I-sent-away-that-maybe-just-left-a-message-on-my-voicemail-boyfriend?

  Time to set Christine straight.

  “No boyfriend.”

  “I totally understand. Smart girl. I hope you stay that way. Men are so not worth the trouble they cause.”

  In a very small way I see her point. But she seems to have an agenda concerning this issue.

  I think about Ashton and smile.

  “Some men could be worth the trouble.”

  “Nada, nada, never. And don’t you forget it.”

  Wow. She must have had a really bad experience. One I probably don’t want to know anything about.

  “I tried dating when I was younger,” she starts.

  I guess I’m privy to her story whether I want to be or not. Personally, if no one asks me, I don’t tell. But that’s just me.

  “But then I found the business world,” she says. “And it didn’t take long for me to learn how jealous men can be of a successful woman. And who needs a man who can’t handle who I am?”

  She pauses.

  Does she expect a response from me? I certainly don’t know what to say. I’ve never thought men aren’t worth the trouble, and I have never experienced the jealous-man-over-a-successful-woman scenario.

  So I cop out and say something totally generic.

  “You need to be comfortable with whoever you spend your time with.”

  “Absolutely. And I choose to spend time here. With the people who are on the same page as I am. People who want to be successful. I work an average of ten to twelve hours a day. Another concept most men can’t handle. It somehow threatens them.”

  My vote here? Christine is over the top. Way over. I’m feeling somewhat sorry for Eddie on one hand, but on the other, he’s hired himself a woman who’s going to work hard for his company. Christine is no slacker in any way, shape or form.

  “Maybe they’re not threatened,” I dare counter. “Maybe they just miss seeing their woman and they want to spend more time with her.”

  She shakes her head and her pen-wielding hand flashes back and forth in front of her face in a “no” gesture.

  “Allison, please don’t tell me you’re one of those romantics. You look way too smart to have such notions.”

  My glasses are doing a number on Christine. Twice now she has referred to me as being smart.

  “I don’t know if I’m a romantic, but I do believe there are people who are in love and happy.”

  “Love. They’re wasting their time. It’s taken me fifty-four years to figure it out, but I have. This is what’s it’s all about, Allison.” She points around the room. “Business, money, being in charge. It’s better than love any day.”

  Did she say fifty-four? Christine has aged well, but for what purpose? So she can close business deals, go home to her house, condo, apartment, wherever she lives by herself? And talk to her pen and hug her power suit.

  My heart is sad for her. For whatever has turned her into an anti-love woman. She seems happy enough. I hope it’s true happiness. Not a front.

  I hope work isn’t a cover for a broken heart. Ten years from now, when retirement is in her near future, will she regret this anti-love decision?

  Maybe she has a lot of friends, people she can count on. I mean really count on. Like Velvet, who is scouring Atlanta for a caterer I can afford.

  I am so blessed.

  What did Christine just say? Business is better than love any day?

  I don’t think so, Christine. But what good is love when you go home to an empty house night after night? You might as well be the woman who is married to her business.

  Christine, in her convoluted thinking, has affirmed my decision regarding Ashton.

  “The food is handled, Allison.”

  Velvet’s voice is like music to my ears. Okay, bad cliché, but it’s so true. It’s like happy-time music like the mariachi band plays at the Mexican restaurant.

  I flop back on the bed in my generic hotel room and let out a shout of sheer gratitude to the ugly beige walls.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you! What are we serving?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Velvet, no. The surprises are for my mother. I’m the hostess. Or co-hostess. You can tell me what we’re eating.”

  “No way, sister. You just rest knowing I have it handled.”

  The printed bedspread suddenly looks more obnoxious than ever and the flowers are making me dizzy. I stand needing to release the energy flowing through me.

  “I don’t think you understand. I won’t rest until you tell me.”

  I know I sound frustrated. But I am. So I take a deep breath. Velvet has no way of knowing I may have missed a call from Ashton. Private didn’t leave a message and wondering if it was him or not has been driving me crazy.

  Focus on the food, Allison. Focus on the food.

  “Okay, Velvet. Spill it. Tell me,” I say in a very nice tone of voice.

  “No. I can promise you on a stack of Bibles it’s all going to be good.”

  This empty hotel room offers no comfort. I’ll be so glad to be in
Atlanta tomorrow, at my own house in my own bed.

  You know, within strangling distance of Velvet.

  I don’t shut my front door behind me until after nine o’clock Friday night. I stand in the foyer, back against the door, drop my purse and thank God I’m home. After a flight delay, the broken baggage carousel and not being able to find my parking ticket I didn’t think I would ever make it home.

  All in a day’s work. But it feels good to be in familiar surroundings. Even though no one is rushing to me with shouts of “glad you’re home.” Or maybe “we missed you.”

  Not happening here. The house is too quiet. The grandfather clock ticks away, mocking the silence.

  I didn’t see Velvet’s car at Trent’s house. I called her on my way home but she didn’t answer. I’m too tired to dwell on the fact that she’s deliberately avoiding me so she doesn’t have to reveal tomorrow’s menu.

  The menu is either very scary or very expensive.

  I take a step away from the door and bend over to retrieve my purse. A sudden slam against my backside pushes me onto the foyer floor. I lie sprawled for a moment trying to assess what has just happened. I smell the wood cleaner as I lift my face from the hardwood floor. Thank goodness my knees broke my fall. Although now they are achy. I wonder if they’ll bruise?

  “Oh, Allison. I’m sorry, dear.”

  The voice belongs to Grandma Fola. Wow! She still has a firm grip and a hard push. The door slammed into me.

  “It’s okay, Grandma. I’m fine.”

  I pick myself off the floor and turn around. Grandma gives me a big hug.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, Grandma. Nothing’s broken.”

  Except my heart, but she doesn’t need to know all those details.

  “You must have been out with Paul,” I say. “You look beautiful.”

  And she is. She has dressed up her pink pantsuit with stylish jewelry. And of course she’s wearing a really cute pair of shoes.

  “Actually, I was playing bridge with the girls.”

  The girls. She and all her eighty-year old friends refer to themselves as girls. I love it.

  “I just made it home, as you can probably tell.”

  Which is no rocket scientist observation by any means.