Condemn Me Not (3 page)

“Can’t
argue with you there,” Claire agreed, giving up with a brief tip of her head.

“I
knew what I wanted and I set goals to achieve it.  That’s how you start a
business.”

Or
run a career, a life, Claire thought.  It was one of the differences between
them.  Where she simply allowed her course to change, evolve, Simone set
benchmarks.  By twenty-five she would have her Masters, by thirty she would
have a position in the company of her choice.  By thirty-five she’d reach
management and by forty she’d kick it up to the next level.  And according to
Len Miller, Simone was well ahead of schedule.  The expected promotion was
hers—though Mariah’s little surprise injected an unexpected twist into the equation—and
it was in Chicago.  Somehow, Claire doubted Simone would pass it up.

“Success
is about hard work and paying your dues,” Simone declared.  “This is Logan’s doing. 
Mariah is working under his influence and that has to stop.”

“How
do you plan to manage that?”

“I
have ways,” she replied.  “Trust me when I say this is not the end of it.”

Claire
slumped.  “I hope you’re right.  And if you have any magic potion left over,
mind using it on Rebecca?”

The
kitchen door opened and both women turned to see Teresa Richmond ease her way
inside.  “Knock, knock.”

“Come
in,” Claire replied dully.

Simone’s
sister strode to the table, blonde hair clipped short and feathered in a sassy
urban style, dark brown eyes punctuating her pale skin.  The two women were
similar in build, but leave it to Teresa and her abundance of black and white,
Claire thought.  Black slacks and Mary Janes, white button-down and oversized
wristwatch.  Did the woman own anything else?

“Are
you two ready?” Teresa asked.

“Ready
as I’ll ever be,” Simone muttered.  She shoved up from the table and grabbed
her purse.  “Let’s go.”

Claire
followed suit, collecting her leather bag from the telephone desk.  She slid
the slim strap over her shoulder and opened the door.

Teresa
glanced around the empty kitchen.  “I thought the girls were coming.”

“Don’t
think so,” Claire said.

“Better
they don’t,” Simone added.

“Am
I missing something?”

Claire
hemmed and summoned her best smile.  “Ah...there’s been a bit of a
development.”

“Mariah’s
lost her mind,” Simone added bluntly.

Teresa
turned on Simone.  “What have you done to her this time?”

Simone
balked.  “Me?  I’m the good guy here.”

Claire
quickly interceded and took Teresa by the arm, steering her toward the door. 
“Maybe you can help us with some suggestions on how best to proceed.  We’ll
tell you all about it on the way to the store.”  The last thing she needed was
for Simone and Teresa to go at it.  Her quiet morning had already been blown to
smithereens.  Did she trust her afternoon with the Richmond sisters?  A mild
shudder ran through her.

Claire
had a bad feeling about this shopping trip.

TERESA

“I’m
not even sure why we’re still having this party,” Simone griped, dumping a long
double-pack of napkins into the warehouse grocery cart.  They had scheduled
this party-shopping trip weeks ago, but neither she nor Claire was in the
mood.  Apathetic was a better word.  Simone barely acknowledged a passing
customer as she wheeled by them.  At this point, she couldn’t care less one way
or the other about the party.

“Because
your daughter is still graduating, despite her decision about college,” Teresa
reminded her sister as she reached for a stack of red plastic cups.  “Should we
get two packages or one?” she asked of no one in particular.

“Two,”
Claire answered.

“I
still can’t believe it,” Simone muttered.  “What is she thinking?”

“That
she’s invincible, can conquer the world,” Claire murmured, looking down the
wide gray, cement-floor aisle.

“After
all I’ve done for her and this is how she repays me?”  Simone shoved the
shopping cart into motion.  “Some gratitude.”

Claire
nodded, a heavy sigh escaping her lips she abruptly moved forward, her sneaker
soles screeching across the floor.  “How do you think
I
feel?  I
sacrificed everything to be home for the kids, and now Rebecca’s leaving me.”

“You
made that choice,” Simone pointed out.

“I
know.  And so did you.  You’re a working woman, and now Mariah wants to be the
same.”

“Except
that I’m an educated working woman.  She won’t be.”

“Do
you hear yourselves?”  Criticism oozed from Teresa’s eyes as she said, “You’re
whining and complaining about your daughters because they’re demonstrating an
inclination toward independence.  What kind of message do you think you’re
sending?”

Simone
didn’t hesitate.  “The right one.  The smart one.”

“In
your
opinion,” Teresa returned.  “But Mariah has a mind of her own.  She
wants something different from life and you should support her.”

“I
am
not
supporting her to go off half-cocked, following the whim of her
boyfriend.”

“You
don’t know that,” Teresa replied.  “She’s as bull-headed as you are, and for
all you know, this business may have been her idea—an idea which could be very
successful.”

“Why
are you here again?” Simone huffed.

“You’re
using my club card.”

Simone
snorted, anger blowing from her ears.  “Remind me to sign up for one, will you
Claire?”

“Teresa’s
right,” Claire put in.  “Mariah is just like you with a stubborn streak a mile
wide.  I think your best bet is to negotiate with her.  Try to find some common
ground and work from there.”

“What
are you suggesting?  What do you want me to tell her?  Glad to see you’re
thinking ahead, maybe college isn’t such a hot idea.  Don’t worry.  It can wait
while you go play entrepreneur, wasting time and money on this venture of yours
your boyfriend talked you into.”

Claire
shrugged.  “Maybe she can try her hand at this business while she takes classes
at the community college.”

Simone
shook her head.  “Already tried it.  Non-starter.”

“How
about letting her go ahead with it?” Teresa offered.  “Let her try it and
fail.  Isn’t that what you and Mitchell always preach?  Our problem in this
country is that we don’t allow people to fail anymore.”

Simone
glared.

“She
has a point,” Claire conceded.  “Albeit a tough one.  The lesson of trial and
error can be painful.”

“I’ve
worked too damn hard to have this child throw it all away before she ever gets
started.  She needs to be convinced this is not the right choice, and that’s
what I intend to do.”

“Have
you considered talking to her boyfriend?”

Simone
paused.

Both
women stopped.

“What
have you done, Simone?”  It was more demand than question, but Claire knew her all
too well.

“I
went and spoke with him,” she hedged.

“And?”
Claire prodded.

“Spill
it,” Teresa said.

Simone
pulled a veil over her expression and said, “I explained my position and he
disagreed.”

“What
are you not telling us, Simone?” Claire pressed.

“I
offered him ten thousand dollars to go away.”

Claire
gasped.  “You did not!”

“I
did,” she replied evenly, evading Claire’s reproachful eye as she collected
several containers of plastic utensils.

“Leave
it to you to clear the debris,” Teresa said.

“Well,
what else was I supposed to do?  Stand by and watch him ruin my daughter’s
life?”  She marched to catch up, tossing her boxes into the cart.  “Not on your
life.”

“Does
Mitchell know about this?” Claire asked.

“No
and he doesn’t have to,” she warned.   “Though he probably would have done the
same thing.”

Teresa
rolled her eyes and took command of the cart.  “You can take the girl out of
Chicago but you can’t take...”  She allowed the rest to fade away behind her as
she pushed forward.

Simone
kept pace with the cart, arguing, “Could have been problem solved if the boy
had the first ounce of brains.  And I haven’t heard any better suggestions from
you.”

Teresa
rolled the cart around the edge of the next aisle and into the produce section,
but Claire lagged behind.  A wall of freezers created a border to one side, the
bakery to the other.  “Okay, for the record,” Teresa said, “I could give you
plenty of suggestions, but bribing teenage boys would not be one of them.”

Claire
caught up with them.

Simone
ignored the anxious lines framing Claire’s eyes and addressed Teresa, “Easy for
you to say.  You have no children.”

“No,
not because I have no children.  Because I have morals. 
Morals
,” she
repeated.  “You know, those sweet little angels that sit on your shoulder and whisper
about the right thing to do?”

“Simone,
tell me you won’t do anything like that again,” Claire interjected.

Simone
whipped her an I-can’t-promise-you-that look and stole a glance toward the
bakery, her senses inundated with the rich scent of fresh-baked dough.  Shelves
were packed with boxes of giant muffins.  Carts were lined with trays of cookies.
 A glass display boasted colorful cakes.  She returned to taking stock of her
sister as Teresa perused the display of McIntosh apples.  Plucking one from the
top, she gave it a sniff.  “Well, what do you want me to do?” Simone drilled
back.  “Stand around and wait for her to fall flat on her face?”

“Try
supporting her by guiding her to a right and profitable conclusion,” Claire
proposed.  “Isn’t that what you do all day?  Steer investors into good investments. 
Manage their accounts and deliver net gain?”

“I
work my butt off all day is what I do, and I don’t expect others to show me the
way.  I show myself the way by studying portfolios, analyzing them and then
giving advice based on my experience and instinct.”

“No
man is an island,” Teresa said tersely, and plopped a bag of red apples into
the cart.

Simone
groaned.  “Great.  Because philosophy solves everything.”

“It
goes to the point.”  Teresa stopped and Simone didn’t like the bitter glint
flickering in her gaze.

“And
the point is?”

“Everyone
needs a little help from time to time, even you career moguls.”  Teresa looped
her fingers through the metal bars along the cart’s rim.  “Why don’t you try
and help the girl instead of condemn her?”

“
I
never needed help.  I worked hard and earned everything I have.”  Simone noted Claire
had tuned in with a wary ear.

“That’s
what you tell yourself but don’t forget, it’s women like me who pull up the
slack for women like you.”

“What? 
No woman ever pulls up slack for me, because I don’t
slack
.”

“They
do when you run home for maternity leave, or sick children, or any number of
family issues that call.”

Simone
grabbed hold of the cart’s edge, halting the buggy in its tracks.  The sisters
faced off over the basketful of groceries, the colorful display of oranges and
lemons flanking them to either side.

“Exactly
what is that supposed to mean?” Simone challenged.

“It
means that when you request—make that
require
,” Teresa corrected, “six
weeks off for maternity leave, your duties at work don’t cease and desist. 
They continue without you, necessitating the attention of your co-workers.” 
She jabbed a thumb to her chest.  “Co-workers like me.”

“Like
I have a choice when it comes to childbirth.”

Animosity
simmered in her smile, lips glistening in red gloss.  “You didn’t have to have
a child.  You
chose
it.”

“Because
men don’t have babies.  When they start, I’ll hand over the choice—gladly.”

“Doesn’t
matter.  Point remains the same.  Businesses don’t run themselves.  People run
them, and I’m tired of you running around acting like you’re the only one who can
do your job.”  Teresa released her hold on the grocery cart.

Simone
bristled, anger splashing in her heart.  “I was in constant contact with my
office when I was out on leave.  I handled the everyday details of my business
and didn’t miss a single phone call to my clients.”

“You
couldn’t attend meetings,” Teresa corrected.  “You couldn’t meet with clients. 
Someone had to do that for you.  How about dabbing that hard-nosed stance of
yours with a brush of compassion?”

“Simone
did a great job seeing to her clients,” Claire defended, “and if you recall,
she only took two weeks.”