The Joneses (4 page)

Hope burst through my bedroom door without knocking.

“Have you talked to Mom?” Hope asked.

“Yes, and I'm not looking forward to this family dinner she insists we have.” I looked at Hope. “Can you fasten this clasp?”

My hair was pulled up in a bun with a few curly strands falling down on each side. I turned around as Hope made sure the clasp was secure.

“Thanks.” I sat on the edge of my bed and put on my heels.

“Where are you off to?” Hope stood in the doorway and asked.

“I have a job interview. Speaking of jobs, how's your search going?”

Hope looked away. “It's going.”

“Something tells me you haven't been looking.”

“I tried working once, remember? That didn't work out. I need something where I can be my own boss.”

“See, that's your problem. You want everything handed to you. Hope, it doesn't work like that.”

Hope laughed. “Of course you would say that. Mom and Dad have given you everything.”

I had to laugh at that statement. “Child, please. We both have been spoiled by Mom and Dad. But the difference between you and me is I don't mind a little hard work.”

“Have you told Mom your plans yet? I'm sure she would love to hear how her favorite daughter is doing.”

I rolled my eyes. “I haven't shared my plans with anyone but you. You're good at something. Just figure out what it is and find a job that you feel will utilize those skills.”

Hope placed her finger on her chin. “I think I've found my area of expertise. I'll let you know if it works out.”

“You're good with makeup. Maybe you can get a job at the M.A.C counter,” I suggested.

“You can be so cruel.”

“I'm just saying. That's one area you're skilled in.”

“You're such a hater.” Hope stormed out.

“Whatever,” I said under my breath.

Hope was accustomed to using her good looks to get whatever she wanted, but this time it wasn't going to work. She needed to find a job so she could help pay some of these bills. If she wasn't my sister, she would have to look for another place. I'm only letting her stay here because my mom begged me. I'm tired of dealing with her immature ways.

I glanced at the time. Talking to Hope put me behind schedule. I didn't want to be late for my interview. I grabbed my purse and rushed out of the house.

The art gallery was located in an upscale area of Shreveport.
The houses surrounding the museum were older, but the owners were wealthy. I'd attended several private events at the gallery, and looked forward to speaking with the manager, Lenora Brady, one on one.

“Ms. Jones, glad you made it,” Lenora said, as she led me into her office.

After the pleasantries, she got straight to the questions.

“What makes you think you're qualified to work here?” She glanced down at my short resume.

I wasn't one to be intimidated. “My love for art stems back as early as five years old. My parents were sure to nurture that love over the years.”

I watched her write as I talked. She didn't say anything, so I continued, “I interned in Paris for one semester. I've been instrumental in acquiring exquisite, yet rare, pieces for some of your patrons. I would be happy to provide their names as references, if needed.”

“I recall meeting you at some of our private events. I'm impressed by your knowledge; however, what concerns me is the fact that I don't see any steady solid work history.”

“I assure you, although I haven't held a regular job, I'm far from a slouch. I've been active with several charities. I believe they are listed on my resume.”

Lenora scanned my resume again. “I see. Well, we have one more person to interview. I'll have my assistant call you if you get the job.”

Lenora extended her hand out to me. I shook it. I smiled as I walked out of her office. Her handshake was loose. I didn't have a good feeling about how things went, but I would try to remain optimistic.

When I got back in my car, I saw I'd received a text from Lisa. I dialed her number as I pulled out of the parking lot.

“So, how did it go?” Lisa asked.

“It went okay. Not sure if she liked me, but I guess I'll know something soon enough.”

“You don't sound too enthused.”

“Something about it just didn't seem right.”

“There are other places you can apply, so don't worry,” Lisa responded.

My phone clicked and I saw an unfamiliar number on the display. “Lisa, I'll call you back.”

“May I speak to Charity Jones?” the male voice asked.

“This is she.”

“I'm Lenora's assistant. I'm sorry I was out when you had your interview.”

“No problem. I wasn't expecting to hear back so fast, but I'm glad you called.”

He paused. “Regrettably, Lenora's decided to go with another candidate, but she wanted to encourage you to reapply for another position.”

I hung up on him. The heifer lied to me. She told me she was going to interview another potential candidate. I just left there, so there was no way in hell she could have interviewed someone that fast.

I dialed Lisa's number back. “Girl, I just got a call telling me they gave the position to someone else. I wasn't even out of the parking lot good before getting a phone call.”

“Calm down.”

“Calm down? I was depending on that job. Now I got to scramble and find something else,” I shouted. I was so frustrated, I did not pay attention to the speed limit.

My day went from bad to worse when I heard the sirens and saw the flashing lights of a Shreveport police car behind me.

I hit the steering wheel. “Damn. Damn. Damn. Lisa, got to go. This ticket is the last thing I need.”

I pulled over on the side of the road. I reached in the glove compartment and pulled out my registration and insurance information.

I glanced in my rearview mirror and watched the tall, dark, and handsome police officer walk up to my car. He tapped on my window. I rolled it down. I batted my eyes and tried to show a lot of cleavage, but he ignored me.

“Miss, I need to see your license and registration.”

I frowned as I watched him write my ticket.

“Brett, it was as good as I remembered,” I lied, as he lay in the hotel bed watching me get dressed.

“When can we do this again?” Brett smiled, but I didn't.

Sleeping with him after all of these years was a huge mistake. I'd given Brett a sob story claiming I needed money. He fell for it and brought me the cash I'd asked him for. The money clouded my judgment, and a simple thank-you hug led me to sleep with him.

I faced him. “Your fiancée might not appreciate me being with her man.”

Brett scooted to the edge of the bed. “She can be replaced.”

“Uh, I don't think so.” I continued to put on my clothes. “What we did was great, but I'm not in love with you.”

“But—”

I walked up to Brett and placed my finger over his lips. “Let's just savor this moment for what it was. Two friends catching up and enjoying each other's company one last time.”

“Where is it?” Brett snapped.

“Where's what?”

Brett tried to pull my purse from my hand.

I held on to my purse with a tight grip. “What the hell are you doing?”

“The money I just gave you. You set me up. You're just a high-priced whore.”

I moved back. “You weren't saying that when you were all up in this.”

“Biatch, I will—”

I removed a small silver pistol from my purse. “You'll do what? Try it.”

Brett backed all the way down. “You played me.”

“No, Brett, you played yourself. I didn't promise you a lifetime. I only slept with you. Get over it. I suggest that you learn how to keep your pecker in your pants and save it for your fiancée.”

“I can't believe you did this to me,” Brett said over and over.

As I looked for my shoes, I said, “Think about this experience the next time you think about creeping on your woman. Tell her she can thank me for you being faithful to her from this day forward.”

“Hope, you're still as vindictive as you were in high school.”

“And Brett, you still can't fuck. So since that's established, I think we can agree that neither of us has any problem going our separate ways and letting this be a distant memory.”

I could feel Brett's eyes cutting into my back as I left him staring at my backside while he sat on the edge of the bed.

I needed to run home to take a quick shower, so I could go deal with my family. I would be late, but that's nothing new. I'm always late.

All eyes were on me when I breezed in to my parents' living room. My father was sitting in his big chair. My mom sat next to him on the arm of the chair. Lovie and Charity were each sitting on the sofa, faking like they were the perfect children that they were not.

“You're late,” my mom said, as she stood up.

I glanced at my watch. “I'm only thirty minutes late.”

“Tardiness is inexcusable,” she snapped.

My eyes pled with my dad to come to my rescue, but as usual he didn't. When it came to my mom, he had no backbone.

My mom stood in the doorway. “What are y'all waiting for? Let's go before I have to warm everything up in the microwave, thanks to Hope.”

I made faces behind her back.

“Hope, you can stop that. Act your age.”

I looked at Charity and Lovie. They both shrugged their shoulders. Sometimes I thought it was true. Mothers do have eyes in the back of their heads.

We obeyed the queen of the house and followed her to the dining room. All of my favorite dishes were sitting on the table. I couldn't eat like this on a regular basis because I had to keep my figure in tip-top shape. But every now and then, I loved to splurge. My mom definitely could cook a good Southern meal.

The conversation was light as we all dove into our plates of brown, crispy fried chicken, homemade macaroni and cheese, and homemade rolls that melted in your mouth the moment you took a bite.

I took my last bite and closed my eyes. I opened them when I smelled the aroma of the peach cobbler my mom now placed in front of each one of us. I was full and about to burst, but peach cobbler was my favorite. I took a bite.

My mom didn't eat. She said, “I called you all over here today because we are in a family crisis.” She looked at my dad. “Dear, would you like to explain things to them or should I?”

My dad took big gulps of his drink. “I wanted to talk to you kids to let you know what's going on.” He looked at each one of us.

My mom rolled her eyes. “Get to the point. Look, we're going broke.”

He ignored her comments. “Lexi, sometimes you blow things out of proportion. RJ Jones Funeral Home is going through a little rough patch, but we're not going out of business.”

Charity chimed in. “Any time I get embarrassed at the store because my credit card doesn't work, it means we have a serious problem.”

“Exactly.” My mom shook her head in agreement. “See, Charity understands why we should all be concerned.”

Lovie asked, “So how did this happen? Where did the money go?”

My dad looked down at the table. “Bad investments. I got a little greedy and invested more money than I should. I thought doubling or tripling our money would be good but instead, I lost a lot of it.”

Lovie shook his head back and forth. “You should have come to me.”

“I have an accountant, remember? Jason.” my dad responded.

“He's not a good one if you've lost most of our money,” I added.

“First of all, it's
my
money. It's a company that my father built. If any of you were concerned, you would be working with me instead of always being so busy spending the money as soon as I make it.”

Ouch. Well, he did have a point. I had no interest in working at the funeral home. Being around all of those dead bodies always freaked me out.

I
sat there and listened to my father go on and on about his bad investment choices. I was stunned. I couldn't believe he'd gambled away the family business' money.

“Dad, I told Mom I was going to stay out of this. But if I don't intervene, you're going to lose everything. Big Daddy is probably turning over in his grave knowing that you've run his business into the ground.”

“Lovie, I got this under control. You just worry about getting yourself a real job.”

I clenched my fists under the table. “I have a job. In fact, my clients are very happy because they
always
make money with the investments I make for them.”

My mom asked, “What clients?”

I ignored her question. “Dad, you need to put your pride aside and allow me to look over the books so we can figure out a way to get you out of this mess.”

Charity tried to be a voice of reason. “Yes, Dad. Lovie is a CPA. I mean, it wouldn't hurt, would it?”

My mom rubbed his arm. “Come on, baby. If not for you, for the family. Think about what your dad would do.”

My dad looked in Hope's direction. “Hope, you're awfully quiet. You have anything you want to add?”

Hope shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever everyone else decides is okay with me. Lovie is good with numbers.”

My dad sighed. “It looks like I've been outvoted. I hope I don't live to regret this decision. Lovie, will you come work with me so we can get this business back on track?”

I smiled. “Dad, I would be honored to. Let me let the guys at the club know they'll need to find a new manager.”

My mom poured herself a glass of wine. She passed the bottle around. “My two favorite men working together. This is a good day for the Joneses.”

We each poured ourselves a glass. My mom held her glass up in the air. “To the Joneses.”