Authors: Gail Oust
“Here, read this.” She shoved the letter into my hands. “This will explain everything.”
“What’s it say?” Reba Mae huddled closer so she could read over my shoulder.
I scanned the contents. It seemed a company called Trustychipdesign.com was prepared to make Melly a generous—make that very generous—offer for software she’d developed. After attending a trade show in Atlanta, the owners of the
company planned to stop by Brandywine Creek and seal the deal in person. If all went according to plan, Melly would soon be a wealthy woman.
“Melly, this is wonderful news,” I said, “but I can’t take credit for your accomplishment.”
“Of course you can, dear,” she corrected. “If I hadn’t been so bored one afternoon while you were out running errands, I never would have been tempted to experiment
with the software on your computer. I never would have discovered where my true talents lay.”
I recalled how upset I’d been several months ago when I returned to Spice It Up! and, much to my chagrin, discovered Melly had tinkered with my pricey point-of-sale software program. Guess all that tinkering had paid off.
“Next to yours, my grand announcement seems like small potatoes,” Reba Mae complained.
“Now, now, don’t say that.” Melly, no doubt feeling magnanimous, patted her arm. “
Steel Magnolias
is a wonderful play. Why, I saw it years ago and cried my eyes out. It was funny yet poignant. I loved seeing how all the women supported one another.”
“I never saw the play,” I confessed, “but I saw the movie version. Sorry, but I can’t remember who played Truvy.”
Reba Mae patted the blond confection
atop her head. “Dolly Parton.”
“Well, then, that explains the do.”
“It’s a wig,” she explained needlessly. “The director, Sandy Granger, let me borrow it. Said she used it last year as part of a Halloween costume. Sandy claimed wearing it would help me get into character.”
“All this good news calls for a celebration. And I have just the thing.” Not waiting for an answer, I turned and ran up
the stairs to my apartment. I returned minutes later with a bottle of champagne. “I’ve been saving this for a special occasion, and as occasions go, they don’t get any more special than this.”
“I’ll get cups.” Reba Mae dashed toward the rear of my shop and brought back three dainty teacups.
“Mmm, I don’t normally imbibe in spirits.” Melly eyed the bottle of bubbly, then broke into another smile.
“But I suppose it won’t hurt to indulge just this once.”
I filled the teacups, then handed one to Melly and one to Reba Mae. I raised mine in a salute. “To Melly, soon to become the toast of the town. And to you, Reba Mae, a star is born. You, ladies, rock!”
“Hear! Hear!” they said as our cups clinked together.
The three of us proceeded to get comfy as we sipped and chatted. Melly and I claimed
the pair of stools. Reba Mae perched on the edge of the counter, crossed her long legs, and let them dangle. I felt my chest swell with pride at seeing the pair looking so happy, so pleased with themselves.
Melly chuckled. “I can’t wait to see the expressions on everyone’s faces when I make my grand announcement at computer club.”
“Wish I could be a fly on the wall,” Reba Mae said.
“Yeah, me
too,” I replied.
Melly smiled again, smugly. “Just because Thompson Gray’s the president, folks think he is the be-all, end-all when it comes to computers. They tend to overlook comments from a woman of a certain age. Will they be surprised at hearing my news!”
Thompson owned and operated Gray’s Hardware, down the block from Spice It Up! He’d returned to Brandywine Creek several years ago after
his father passed away suddenly. He lived with his mother, and as far as I knew, he’d never married, never even had a serious relationship. And, if rumors were true, it wasn’t for lack of trying on Thompson’s part. “When’s the next meeting?” I asked idly.
“Tonight at seven o’clock,” Melly replied. “I volunteered to bring refreshments. How well do you think gingersnaps go with champagne?”
“Honey,
everythin’ goes well with champagne,” Reba Mae drawled as she motioned to refill our cups.
“I really shouldn’t,” Melly demurred, then changed her mind. “Oh, why not? What harm can it do?”
We were giggling like schoolgirls at a pajama party when my ex-husband strolled in, looking dapper in his designer duds. CJ took in the scene at a glance, then fixed his gaze on the nearly empty champagne bottle.
His sandy brows drew together in a frown. “Y’all ought to be ashamed. Drinkin’ like fish, and it’s not even five o’clock yet.”
Melly raised her cup. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, son. Care to join us?”
“W
HAT’S THE OCCASION
? Did Scooter here”—CJ gave me a patronizing wink—“manage to break even for a change?”
I cringed at hearing the nickname I’d once found endearing but now loathed. As for his snide remark, I refused to take the bait. “Sorry to disappoint you, CJ, but I’m happy to report business is brisk at Spice It Up!”
“That so?” CJ surveyed the exposed brick and wood beams
of my shop. He was an attractive man with golden blond hair, styled not cut, and slate blue eyes. His thickening waistline—blame it on a fondness for fine Kentucky bourbon and prime rib—was camouflaged by an expertly tailored suit. “You might want to consider usin’ some of those big bucks to spruce up this place,” he continued. “Might want to ask Amber for advice. That girl’s got style.”
Mention
of Miss Homewrecker set my teeth on edge. Reba Mae sucked in a breath; Melly pressed her lips together in disapproval. I may not have been number one on my ex-mother-in-law’s personal hit parade, but she wasn’t happy her only son had sullied the family name by discarding his wife and hooking up with a former beauty queen. The lovebirds were planning a destination wedding over the Christmas holidays.
The honor of my presence hadn’t been requested at the nuptials.
“What brings you here, CJ? Can’t find an ambulance to chase?” Reba Mae asked.
CJ snapped to attention. “Reba Mae, that you? What have you gone and done to yourself? You look like a floozy.”
Floozy?
Hadn’t I heard that same word from Melly’s mouth? It was “déjà vu all over again,” to quote Yogi Berra, my father’s favorite philosopher.
Reba Mae patted her blond wig and batted her lashes. “You should be so lucky, darlin’.”
As usual, CJ’s attention skidded from Reba Mae’s hair to her 38DDs framed to full advantage in a cherry red scoop-neck top.
“What
did
bring you here, CJ?” I repeated.
After digging into his pants pockets, CJ fished out a set of car keys and placed it on the counter in front of me. “Thought I’d stop by and
drop off Lindsey’s car keys. Tell her I had Reba Mae’s boy rotate the tires and change the oil.”
“Sure thing,” I said, taking the keys and tossing them into a drawer. Lindsey’s red Mustang convertible had been a bone of contention when CJ presented it to her on her sixteenth birthday. A consolation prize of sorts for having divorced parents.
CJ returned his attention to Reba Mae and flashed
his chemically whitened choppers. “I hear your boy is doin’ a fine job of keepin’ Cloune Motors in business.”
“Caleb has a God-given talent tinkerin’ with motors.” When it came to her twins, Reba Mae couldn’t keep her pride from showing.
“Heard Diane Cloune is huntin’ for a buyer for the place. She’s lookin’ at real estate in Atlanta. Got her eye on a place in Buckhead and needs the cash.”
“That so?” Reba Mae replied, her tone noncommittal. “And accordin’ to the grapevine, I heard talk you’re thinkin’ of hirin’ yourself a personal trainer. Any truth to the rumor?”
At Reba Mae’s question, CJ’s expression turned stormy.
“Reba Mae just found out she landed a role in
Steel Magnolias,
” I interjected before the thundercloud burst.
“Steel Magnolias?”
CJ scratched his head. “Piper, isn’t
that the chick flick you dragged me to years ago? For the life of me, I don’t know why women like to cry in movies till their mascara runs. Gimme a good shoot-’em-up and car chase any ol’ day.”
“Son, are you certain I can’t interest you in a bit of the bubbly?” Melly asked, as gracious as a hostess at a soiree.
I took the offer of champagne as my cue to hop down from the stool. “I’ll get another
cup.”
CJ flicked his wrist to glance at the gold Rolex I’d once given him for an anniversary gift. In exchange, I received a dozen roses. I swear they were the same sorry-looking bunch I’d seen in the produce aisle at the Piggly Wiggly. “Don’t bother,” he said. “I’m meetin’ a client in fifteen minutes. Seems this guy slipped on a bar of soap and wants to sue the manufacturer for pain and sufferin’.
I told ’im he’s got a good case. Things that slippery oughta carry a warnin’ label.”
Ain’t that the truth?
I wished CJ had come with a warning label. Something along the lines:
BEWARE OF SLIPPERY SMOOTH-TALKERS OOZING
SOUTHERN CHARM.
I brought myself up short, thinking of the lovely daughter and smart, good-looking son our marriage had produced. CJ and I’d had plenty of good times, lots of good
memories until he decided he needed his “space.” Needed to “find” himself. Fortunately for me, I’d moved on.
CJ rocked back on his polished loafers. “So, just to be clear, all this celebratin’s just ’cause Reba Mae’s gonna try her hand at actin’?”
Melly, Reba Mae, and I exchanged conspiratorial looks. I traced the rim of my teacup with a fingertip. Melly sighed. “You might as well hear it, son,
straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”
CJ’s forehead creased in another frown. “Out with it, Momma,” he demanded. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and invested in some fool get-rich-quick scheme and now you need me to bail you out. I don’t want to hear that you used your last twenty bucks for a bottle of cheap champagne to drown your sorrows.”
Melly climbed down from her stool and went around
the counter to confront him. “I did no such thing.”
CJ aimed a finger in her direction. “If you’re tryin’ to get up the nerve to ask if you can come live with Amber and me, you might want to consider one of those senior citizen homes. The kind that cater to folks your age. We got plenty of room, but between my work schedule and what with Amber busy with weddin’ plans, neither of us are home much.
You’d be lonesome and spend all your time mopin’.”
Fisting her hands on her hips, Melly looked her son dead in the eye. “Chandler Jameson Prescott, mind your tone. Stop treating me like some doddering old fool. For your information, I haven’t lost my last red cent to some harebrained scheme. Quite the contrary. I’m about to become quite wealthy—and I owe it all to Piper.”
“Momma, you’re startin’
to scare me. You comin’ down with old-timers’ disease?”
“It’s not old-timers’, you idiot,” Reba Mae informed him. “It’s Alzheimer’s.”
“Really, Melly, I can’t take any credit for—,” I protested.
“Nonsense,” Melly cut me off. “For the record, CJ, I’m in full possession of my faculties. Matter of fact, I might even decide to put the house on the market and buy myself a condo in some place like
Hilton Head.”
“Momma, you’re not makin’ a lick of sense. I think you should go home and rest a spell.”
Melly whipped out the letter she’d received from the software firm. “Here, read this.”
CJ’s brow furrowed once more as he read the letter. “Sounds like a scam, if you ask me,” he said, handing it back. “No way a woman your age could come up with an idea to make a company hand over that much
money.”
“Well, she did, and they can,” I said, summing it up.
CJ shot me a look before turning back to his mother. “Momma, don’t sign a thing without the advice of a good lawyer.”
“And who might that be?” Reba Mae inquired oh-so sweetly.
CJ ignored her. “I’m tellin’ you, Momma, it’s a trick of some sort. Folks your age should be content to take life easy. To sit in a recliner with the TV tuned
to the Weather Channel, and not fool around tryin’ to design software.”
“I didn’t design. I merely
modified
preexisting software.”
“Melly made some changes on my point-of-sale while I was out one afternoon. And I have to admit, I was amazed at how much more efficiently it operated. I can understand your doubts, CJ, but—”
“It’s a scam,” he repeated obstinately.
“CJ Prescott, that’s quite enough!”
Melly’s patience was wearing thin. “I researched Trustychipdesign.com long before ever submitting my idea. I assure you Chip Balboa and Rusty Tulley are highly respected in their field and very successful businessmen. If they think my … modifications … are valuable, then who am I to quibble?”
“Hmph!” CJ snorted. “Well, I’m going to check them out myself. In the meantime, Momma, don’t sign any
contracts until I look them over. Take advantage of your son’s free legal expertise.”
“When are this Chip and Rusty expected?” I asked.
“Gracious.” Melly looked flustered. “I’m afraid I was in so much of a hurry to share my good news that I didn’t pay attention to minor details. I confess I might’ve been temporarily blinded by the dollar signs.”
“There’s no time like the present. Give it up,
hon. Let me take a gander.” Reba Mae stuck out her hand, and Melly gave her the letter.
Spice It Up! grew so still that the only sound to be heard was Casey snoring softly in the storeroom at the rear of the store. Although we’d quickly skimmed Melly’s letter earlier, none of us paid much attention to the closing paragraph.
“Well?” I asked impatiently. “When are they coming?”
CJ edged closer.
For all his skepticism, I knew he was every bit as interested as we were. Reba Mae looked at me, her expression dazed.
“Well…,” I prompted again.
“Tomorrow,” she said. “Their letter states they’re arriving tomorrow afternoon. They plan to spend several days in Brandywine Creek before headin’ to Savannah.”
Melly clapped her hand to her chest. “Goodness! Tomorrow? I’ve got a thousand and one
things to do before they get here. Reba Mae, can you squeeze me in for an early morning appointment? I want to look my best when I meet Chip and Rusty.”