The Cocktail Club (26 page)

She had never been one to play her full hand. For all I knew, she was probably already planning my demise. This was probably the final thing she needed to nail my coffin closed for good. Back in the day, something like a DWI arrest would've been a small bleep on her radar.

Geneva was crass and hardcore. She worked hard, and played even harder, so I could only imagine she might have had run-ins with alcohol and the law before. But now that the Carson thing was still in a state of disarray, what would've once been a small incident could now be a major collision.

Why had she even asked the question? It wasn't like she waited
on the answer.

Before I could answer her question, she'd flicked her wrist, glanced at her watch, and said, “Oh, look at the time. I have a conference call in less than five. I'll be back by tomorrow. That's Thursday. You will be in, right?”

Unable to speak, I simply nodded. Was my mouth agape?

It had all been completely fake, the whole look-at-the-time act. That was not like Geneva. She shot straight from the hip at all times. Geneva didn't care how it went down. She gave it to us raw, and before anyone could adjust, she'd give some more.

“Hello? Hello?”

That was when I realized I hadn't ended the call with Felicia. It had all happened so fast. I was sick to my stomach. Could I lose my job over the DWI arrest? I needed to talk to Ted.

“Felicia, I need to go,” I said.

“But, Ivee, I wanted to ask you—”

“Not now. I need to go. I'll catch up with you later.”

The minute I ended the call with her, Jessica's voice boomed through the phone on my desk.

“Your ride is here,” she sang.

“Oh, okay, I'll be right there.”

I was flustered and thrown completely off. Geneva's little maneuver had left me uneasy. That's when the lie I had told Jessica came to mind.

My first day back at the office, I told Jessica that Zion had wrecked my car in an accident and it was being repaired.

“Well, the least he could've done was gotten you a rental, huh?”

“Oh, the whole idea of the accident spooked me so much, I decided I could use the break and be chauffeured around for a while.”

That, I thought, would hold me over until I got used to the idea
of blowing into a device to check my breath before I could drive. What if someone at work saw me doing that crap? Then what?

I dialed Ted's office. His secretary told me he had been in court all day. She assured me that she'd deliver my message, but that did nothing to ease my concern.

In my mind, I combed over every little thing I had said to everyone after the arrest. Luckily, I hadn't discussed my personal business with too many people. But what if Geneva started to interview people about what I had told them? The little I had made up would probably be enough to incriminate me.

She probably heard the entire thing about me being arrested, and my talk about a drinking problem, and oh, God! I grabbed my forehead. My mind spun out of control. There was no way in the world that I could lose my job. The fact that I had snagged Wayne and his business as a client would soon mean nothing. All of that hard work would be overshadowed by one simple mistake.

The way Geneva's face twisted when she asked me the question. Then, before I could even formulate an answer, the way she hightailed it out of there, it all spelled trouble for me. I just knew it.

At home, I waited for Ted to return my call. When I called the office again, they said he still hadn't called in for messages. I didn't want to call back, but I needed him to recognize that he did work for me, and that my calls were very important.

I was a nervous wreck. Geneva had heard enough to put two and two together. The more I wracked my brain over the conversation with Felicia, the more I'd forgotten exactly what I had said.

Zion wasn't home yet, and I had no one else to bounce my destructive thoughts off of. I walked over to the bar and pulled out a bottle.

Suddenly, I stopped.

Did I have a drinking problem? I had always considered myself
to be little more than a social drinker. I was like most women. We enjoyed a cocktail here and there, but it wasn't like I'd take a bottle of vodka and turn it up, was it?

I stood and stared at the bottle.

When does it cross the line?

Was my arrest a simple mistake, or was it a sign of something far worse? What if I did have a problem, but I was too close to it to recognize or acknowledge it? Zion and I would usually unwind with drinks in the evening. I always had a cocktail with lunch, and our old, weekly happy hour outings were tales that legends and urban myths were made of.

For years, I had told myself I felt more at ease, better, and less stressed after I had enjoyed a drink, but I only indulged socially.

Could there be such a thing as a social alcoholic?

“For Christ's sake! Hasn't that caused us enough problems?”

Zion's voice took me by surprise. I looked over at him and wondered if it would even be worth it to respond to his little comment.

“Ted called me,” he said as he walked all the way into the house. “I know good and well you're not about to drink some more.”

His tone was laced with a mixture of shock and disgust.

“I'm sorry. Since when did I become an alcoholic?” I asked sarcastically.

“Since we've been slapped with what's about to be damn near a ten-thousand-dollar bill connected to your DWI arrest,” he huffed.

There it was. That was what had become the dig that kept on giving.

“How long, Zion?”

He edged past me and pulled the refrigerator open.

I turned and asked, “Seriously. How much longer?”

Once he closed the door, Zion cocked his head and looked at me quizzically. He removed the cap from a sports drink, and then took a swig. Afterwards, he fell back against the refrigerator door, and appeared as if he needed to study me before he answered.

I waited.

“What are you talking about, woman?” he finally asked.

“I just wanna know. How long are you gonna continue to spank me for the same mistake?”

PETA

“W
e ain't tryin' to tell you how to run your business or nothin' like that, but I don't know why you would put two trucks at the same location,” Beverly said into my ear.

I put my drink down. I had learned my lesson after I failed to pay attention to her last warning phone call, but that was not about to happen again. “What are you talking about?”

“Farah and I were talking about the new truck, and we've been so slow all morning. I couldn't take it anymore. Farah over there talking about ‘Ms. Peta knows what she's doing,' and maybe you do, but the mess don't make no sense to me. I could've been at home watching
Judge Judy
if I'd known it was gonna be this slow,” she complained.

“Beverly, the other truck is in Sugar Land. I don't know what you're talking about.”

While I was still on the phone, she began to talk to Farah. I polished off my drink. I had long convinced myself that with all the crap that now dominated my life, happy hour was any time of day I felt the need to get away.

“Farah, is that another mobile boutique parked right over there with a line wrapped damn near around the courtyard?” Beverly asked sarcastically. She returned to our call. “Like I said, I coulda stayed at home for this foolishness!”

“Beverly, there are only two trucks. If Sugar Land is there, I need to call Cecily and figure out what's going on. I did not approve a move, and why would I send it out there anyway? That makes no sense.”

“That's what I tried to tell Farah. You know what. I'ma 'bout to go and see what the hell they giving out for free over there, 'cause ain't no way folks gon' be standing in a line like that to spend money,” Beverly said. “ 'Specially when we sittin' over here on empty like this!”

I had a strong feeling about exactly what was going on, and I wouldn't get any answers if I stayed on the phone. I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and rushed to my car.

When I arrived at the campus in Katy, I could see exactly why Beverly was confused. The new mobile boutique was nearly twice the size of mine. The line she complained about had shrunk a bit, and several people had wandered over to our truck. But that new, big fancy truck was not mine.

I poured myself a glass of mimosa in hopes that it would help calm my building temper.

“Hey, Ms. Peta, they're giving away one item with the purchase of two! And with that, they're offering a coupon for fifty percent off on the next visit.”

I rolled my eyes.
The very last thing I needed on top of everything else was—

That's when it slapped me all upside my face.

“She brought it right here to my very own backyard. I had finally had enough!” I swallowed the rest of my drink and got up.

Farah's eyebrows were knitted in concentration as she focused on the activity that buzzed across the courtyard. It was all-quiet in our RV. I was ready to spit fire.

“If that trick is over there in that truck, so help me God, I may be going to jail today,” I said. I put the empty glass down and hopped out of the vehicle.

“Oh, Ms. Peta, don't you do nothing stupid now!” Farah yelled after me.

By the time she had gotten out to follow me, I had already made my way across the courtyard and up to the front of the line.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Pardon me. Can I squeeze by?”

It didn't take long for me to get to the front of the line, but that's where I had to stop. The RV was packed to the hilt. Sounds of chatter, music, and laughter floated out toward those of us who were unfortunate enough to have to stand in line and wait.

“Is Pamela in there?” I yelled from my perch in line.

A few heads turned in my direction, but no one responded. I was fit to be tied. With all the problems I'd had, I couldn't believe that backstabbing skank had the audacity to show up on my turf. I was full of liquid courage and fed up. That was a dangerous combination but still, I charged forward.

“Excuse me. Heee-llo,” I repeated more loudly.

I felt bad for the person in front of me and the one behind me, but this was not about them. It was about the bitch who had pushed me to the limit.

Once I got tired of being ignored, I began to charge my way forward.

“I'm sorry. I need to get in there,” I said as I moved.

“You need to wait your turn,” another woman said and shoved me back.

Farah stood off to the side and tried to reason with me. “Ms. Peta, can I have a word, please?”

I ignored her and the woman who pushed me, and moved until
I worked my way up to the door. I squeezed onto the steps and could hardly believe my eyes when I caught a glimpse of the inside of the RV.

Pamela had studied my business to the tee. Her custom-designed interior looked like she had spent a mint.

A woman whose cute outfit matched the brown and turquoise setting looked at me as if I was a nuisance.

“Ma'am, you need to wait your turn like everyone else,” she snarled.

“You don't understand. Where's Pamela Evans?” I asked.

By then, I was nearly out of breath and must've seemed as crazy as I jumped the line.

“Ma'am, Pamela is not here.”

At that point, she had stopped working with her customer to focus her wrath on me. “If you don't leave, we're gonna have to call security. You are disrupting business.” She pointed a crooked, bony finger toward a sign that was plastered up against the door.

It read that they had the right to refuse service to anyone. I wanted to rip it from the wall and tell her what she could do with her sign. I also wanted to tell her that had it not been for me, she wouldn't have a job or a meaningless sign to point to in the first damn place.

“Get Pamela on the phone, please,” I said.

“Lady, I don't have time for this. Can't you see we are super busy? Leave your name and number, and I'll get a message to Pamela for you.”

“I need you to get her out here now!”

“Lady!” The woman whipped around and threw a hand onto her hip. She shifted her weight to one side and gave me a look that could kill. “You are really trying me. I'm busy. I don't have time to
call Pamela right now. Now, I've already offered to put you in touch with her. That's the best I can do for you,” she said.

“I'm not moving an inch until you get her on the phone!”

Several people in line threw up their hands and stormed away in a huff. When the saleswoman saw them go over to my RV, she fumbled and grabbed a phone.

The chattering around me prevented me from hearing her entire conversation, but it was clear she was not happy.

“I don't know. Keeps yelling for you,” she said into the phone.

She turned back and looked at me. The RV was still crowded, so she couldn't move too far away.