Glossed and Found Read online

  “What’s wrong?” I sat down next to Barb and took her hand in mine. Our friendship had outgrown the need to pussyfoot around each other.

  She pressed her lips together, and tears streamed down her face as I glanced over at Auntie, who silently pointed to a single suitcase standing near the table. Oh hell. Not that.

  “Barb, what happened? Talk to me, chica.” I shook her hand a little bit, and she gasped and wiped her eyes.

  “I left Dorian. I couldn’t take it another minute. That mother of his is a tyrant. She’s turned him into a jackass, and I won’t put up with them ganging up on me.” Barb broke down again, and I slowly let go of her hand as she folded her arms on the table and rested her head on them.

  “Barbara asked if she could stay with us for a little while, and I told her that of course she’s welcome here.” Auntie looked pained. Barb and Dorian were family to both of us, and this was quite a blow. But she hadn’t been privy to Barb’s tale of woe with Mama Konstantinos. Considering all the ups and downs Barb had been through over the past year with her self-esteem, I wasn’t all that surprised. I slipped over to the stove and put the kettle on to heat for some tea, then fixed a tray with the teapot and some lemon, cream, and sugar. As I poured the steaming water over the bags, the fragrant and familiar aroma rose to tickle my senses.

  Barbara sniffled and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, Miss Florence. I know you both must think I’m crazy, but things have been so rough since Mama Konstantinos arrived. I’ve tried to make peace. I’ve bitten my tongue so hard it bled, but today was just the last straw.”

  I carried the steeping tea over to the table as Auntie fetched cups and saucers. “Talk to us, girl.”

  Brushing her bangs back from her face, Barb accepted the cup of tea. She fidgeted with the spoon, stirring in three spoons of sugar before she realized what she was doing. I silently took the tea from her and poured out the overly sweet brew, then rinsed out the cup and poured her another.

  “We were eating breakfast. I always make sure Dorian has a healthy breakfast on weekends. He eats too much sugar and starch, so we have poached eggs, bran cereal, and fruit smoothies on weekends. Mama K started bitching at me about how I should cook a big, old-fashioned breakfast. I told her no, the doctor said Dorian needs to get his cholesterol down, and the last thing he needs is to overload his system with rich, sugary food—which she loves. She started ranting on about how I’m trying to run the house, and that Dorian has the God-given right to set the rules.”

  “Uh-oh.” I could see the train wreck coming from a mile away.

  “I blew up. Dorian walked in just in time to hear me call her a shrew and tell her to fuck off and keep her nose out of things. I tried to explain, but . . .” She looked up helplessly.

  “Yeah,” I said softly. How could you explain that? And Dorian, sweet man that he was, had an overdeveloped sense of family pride. I could just imagine what went down between them. It must have been a bad scene all the way around.

  Auntie motioned me into the living room. “Set her up in the guest room and tell her to rest for a bit. She’s overwrought and needs to calm down a little. I talked to Maxine, and she’s still looking for work, so she’ll be starting Tuesday.”

  “Good,” I said, distracted. I glanced back at Barb. “I suppose I should have a talk with Dorian—” I started to say, but Auntie cut me off with a sharp shake of the head.

  “I wouldn’t. It never pays to get in the middle of married folks’ spats. Barbara and Dorian love each other, and they’ve been together for years. They’ll work this out. But perhaps I will take his mother out for lunch this week and have a little chat with her. Sometimes the truth sets better coming from a member of your own generation.” She sighed. “This is one reason I’ve never trod the path to the altar. I have no patience for the compromise that living with someone can require.”

  I grinned at her and gave her a big kiss. “You live with me and do all right.” Before she could answer, I winked. “I know what you mean. And I take after you down to the core.”

  She stopped at the door to the den and turned. “I know, and sometimes I lie awake thinking about that, Imp. My way isn’t a path that’s right for everybody,” she said. “Just don’t feel you have to follow my footsteps in order to make me proud of you.”

  “Heard and noted,” I said. “But Auntie, face it, you’re my role model. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  With a chuckle, she entered the den. I turned back to the kitchen, thinking about Barbara and marriage and compromise. Yeah, I loved hanging with Killian, and we had an undeniable chemistry, but marriage? Not in the cards.

  Chapter Six

  Barbara sat on the bed and stared morosely at the floor while I unpacked her suitcase. She seemed to have lost all of her fight. I watched her in the mirror as she blew a few stray strands of hair out of her face. After I finished putting away the outfits she’d brought, I turned and slid onto the dresser, dangling my legs over the edge. My feet almost reached the floor.

  “So,” I said.

  “So,” she answered.

  “So what are you going to do about the bakery? It’s the holiday season.”

  She shrugged. “Let Mama Konstantinos help him and see just how smoothly the week goes. A few days of her complaining twenty-four/seven, and he’s going to be on his hands and knees begging me to come back. I never thought he’d be so blind. I guess maybe the experts are right. Maybe we never really know the person we’re living with.” Her expression went from peeved to despondent.

  I decided she needed to get her mind off her problems.

  “You get dressed in jeans and a sexy top. We’re going out for dinner, and then we are going to have a drink and go dancing at El Toro Caliente.” The lounge had just opened a month ago, up on Pettigrain Peak, and was a spicy blend of salsa dancing, would-be lovers watching the bar, and drinks to die for. Cheesy? No. Sleazy? Just a little. And just what we needed.

  “Are you sure about this?” Barb asked, hanging on to my arm as we slipped through the doors to the bar.

  “Yes, so quit your worrying. We’re going to have a few drinks, dinner, dance a little, and forget about our problems.” I glanced around. El Toro Caliente was a damned good parody of a spaghetti Western saloon, right down to the giant cactus in the corner that had a chain around it to prevent drunken barflies from stumbling into the thorny arms of the gigantic prickly pear.

  “My, my, my,” I said, scoping out the place. Amid the requisite lounge lizards and girls looking to turn a trick, there were several handsome cowboy wannabes. Of course, most were techies out to shake off their chiphead images, but a few were downright cute. I reminded myself that I was playing on an exclusive field, one that I didn’t want to lose, and sashayed over to the counter, Barb in tow.

  I was wearing a pair of camouflage cargo pants that were actually Capri pant length, a sleeveless olive V-neck tank, a low-slung, wide, riveted belt, and I glammed up the whole look with a pair of rhinestone stilettos. Barb was wearing a pair of low-cut jeans and a pink turtleneck. She looked fresh-faced and almost too wholesome.

  I slid onto a barstool and motioned to the bartender. “Two Cuervo Gold margaritas. Lime. And can we get some peanuts?”

  He nodded, giving me the once-over. His eyes stopped at my bluebell faerie tattoo, and he grinned. “Nice tat,” he said. “Good ink.”

  “Thanks, I like her,” I said, winking at him. Barb hopped up on the stool next to me, and before we knew it, we were on our second round of margaritas. A man in blue jeans a little too new to be used for any real dirty work sauntered over and asked Barb to dance. I gave her a little push. It would be good for her self-esteem. I could stand to blow off a little steam, too.

  Which is how I found myself dancing with some biker dude who looked like he’d just gotten out of prison. He was surprisingly light on his feet and surprisingly polite. The Rolling Stones were blaring out of the speakers with 19th Nervous Breakdown, and Dawg—that was the
biker’s name—and I brought the house down with our combo swing-jitterbug rendition. The song ended, and breathless, I leaned on the counter.

  “Another round,” I said, motioning to the bartender. He lined up two frosty marguaritas, and Barb, who had finally let down her guard and was laughing along with me, carried our drinks to a table near the mechanical bull. I slid into the chair and eyed the monster.

  “Hmm, I wonder how hard that is,” I said, sipping my drink. The lime cut through the thick taste of tequila with a tart bite.

  The man on the bull suddenly went flying to the mat. His buddies were ribbing him, and as he shrugged off their jibes, the bartender shouted out, “Ladies ride free! Any woman in here tough enough to take on El Toro for a free drink?”

  Barb poked me in the arm. “You could do it!” she said, snickering. “Go on, let’s see you ride the bull!”

  I gave her a thunderstruck look. “You have got to be kidding. You want me to get up there and make a fool of myself?” I stared at the silent, hulking, mechanical beast. It was just a machine, I thought, but then images of women ripping off their shirts and giving a bunch of drunks a cheap thrill raced through my head. “You just get that thought out of your head right now, Barb.”

  “Come on, Persia, you know you can do it. I can’t; I’d be on the ground in seconds. Please? I want to see you ride El Toro. Show those men that anything they can do, you can do better.” Her words were slurred, and I realized she was happily tipsy and ready to pick a fight with the world of men. Dorian’s defection had loosened her inner hellcat, all right.

  “Holy crap, I can’t believe you want me to—” I stopped as the bartender sauntered up to us. “Yes?”

  “I heard your friend there. Come on, give it a whirl, and I’ll give you both two free rounds. You look like you got the muscle to handle the ride.” His eyes slaked over my arms and I swallowed a sharp retort when Barb started to clap.

  “Go on, Persia. Please? For me?”

  I gave her a long look and shook my head. “You sure you want to see me humiliate myself in front of the whole bar?”

  She grinned. “No, I want to see you blow their socks off.”

  “The things I do for you . . .” I grumbled but stood up and, amid a round of applause, headed toward the bull. Jesus, I’d ridden horses and motorcycles, but neither of those had put up a fight about it. It couldn’t be that hard, though, I thought as I kicked off my stilettos and swung atop the beast.

  As I braced myself, the room wobbling ever so slightly thanks to the two drinks I’d already had, a crowd gathered to watch. Most were men—the techies in cowboy getups, but here and there I spotted a biker or barfly. Three women were watching, too, arms linked around their dates’ waists. Barb let out a loud howl, and her enthusiasm seemed to fire up the crowd, who followed suit.

  The bull began to move, slowly at first, and I braced the sides with my knees, grateful for my long legs. If I’d been short, I would have already been struggling. The room began to blur as the speed increased. I held fast, gritting my teeth as the bull bucked me back and forth, feeling myself slide a little to the left, then a little to the right. I wasn’t about to tear off my shirt, but a bloated sense of power—no doubt nourished by the tequila haze—swept over me, and I pumped my right fist into the air, letting out a war cry that echoed through the bar. The crowd went wild, cheering me on, and I made the ultimate mistake of any hero—I let fame go to my head, and my attention wandered. The next thing I knew, I was flying through the air, landing back-first on the mat. Dazed, I shook my head as Mr. Biker and the bartender picked me up.

  “Are you okay, Persia?” Barb hustled over to me, carrying my shoes.

  “Yep,” I said, brushing myself off. “I think I’ll live. I’m fine. Just lost my concentration there for a moment.”

  The bartender reappeared with two fresh margaritas, and we returned to our table. By the time I was half done with my drink I’d collected five phone numbers, none of which I planned on keeping, been offered a chance to join a wet tee shirt contest, which I politely declined, and been given a scathing look by one of the women who was holding on to her boyfriend’s arm so tightly I thought she was going to break it off.

  Barb was reaching that turning point between giddy and lugubrious, and I decided that our fourth margarita would be our last. There was no way in hell we could even think of driving home, so I called Auntie, and she drove out to pick us up. On the way home, both Barb and I were exiled to the backseat of Baby in case we decided we had to throw up. As I staggered up the porch steps, Auntie just shook her head and reminded me to set the alarm because, drunk or not, I was needed at the store the next morning.

  Before I made my way up to bed, Barb motioned me into the guest room. “Thanks, Persia,” she said. She was drunker than a skunk, but I could hear the relief in her voice. “I would have spent the evening moping and feeling sorry for myself. You helped me work off a lot of my tension. You’re a good friend, you know? Not many people would ride a mechanical bull just to make their buddy happy.”

  I gave her a hug and headed for the door. “I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself. And if it took me playing cowgirl to cadge a smile out of you, I’m glad I did it. Get some sleep, Barb. Tomorrow will be better. Dorian will come to his senses—you wait and see.”

  And with that, I hauled my tired ass up to bed and passed out almost before I hit the sheets.

  When my alarm went off, I woke up with a splitting headache. I squinted at the clock. Eight AM, and my tongue felt like it had grown a layer of moldy fuzz. I cautiously pushed myself to a sitting position. Delilah and Buttercup were curled up on the bottom of my bed in a tryst they’d never permit while awake. Buttercup had snuggled up with her head on Delilah’s butt, and Delilah was curled around so that she was practically spooning Buttercup. I grinned. Posers, both of them.

  As I stood, a wave of vertigo raced through me, and my stomach lurched. Oh hell, I thought as I raced for the bathroom. A few minutes and a whole lot of mouthwash later, my nausea let up, though a steady pounding still drove stakes through my head. I squinted into the mirror. My eyes were almost glued shut, and I ran a cold cloth over my face, blinking as I washed the sleep sand away from the corners. I looked like hell. With a sigh, I sat down on the bench near my claw-foot tub and began filling it with warm water and peppermint bubble bath. Maybe a long soak would help jog some of the cobwebs out of my brain.

  As I dipped my toe in the water, then slid down in the big old tub, I leaned back and rested my head against the bath pillow. The water made me a little seasick at first, but it felt so good on my muscles that I soon relaxed. I wasn’t used to drinking so much. Oh, I’d had my share of bouts, but it had been awhile since I’d tied one on.

  Twenty minutes later, feeling more waterlogged than revived, I hauled my butt out of the tub, dragged on a comfortable jersey skirt and cashmere sweater, then slipped into my favorite pair of brown suede boots and zipped them up. Their insoles were so cushy that my blisters would be well protected.

  Auntie was at the table. She gave me an evil grin when I poked my head into the dining room. “Breakfast’s on the stove. Get yourself a plate and eat. You need something in your stomach if you’re going to make it through the day.”

  I grimaced but obeyed. She’d fixed a stack of toast, along with well-drained bacon, a fluffy omelet, and a pot of strong, black tea. I helped myself to three slices of toast and a jolting cup of tea with lemon, then joined her in the dining room, where I slid into a chair with a faint groan.

  “Tore it up last night, did you?” Auntie pointed to the tea. “Get that inside of you, but first eat a slice of toast because you better cushion your digestive system before you bathe it in tannins.” She wiggled her finger, and I obediently bit into a slice of toast. “Let Barbara sleep in. After the emotional upset yesterday and the partying you two did, she’s going to need some rest.”

  I chewed slowly, gauging my stomach’s reaction to food. So far, it was behaving it
self. “What if Dorian asks where she is?”

  “Then we’ll tell him. And we’ll tell him to take a few days to think over what happened and cool off.” She made sure I ate every bite of my toast, then handed me a big glass of water. I drained it dry and was happy to note that I already felt a little bit better.

  “My car is still over at the bar. Can you run me over there so I can pick it up?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Get your things, and let’s go. We’ve got a lot to do today.”

  As we headed out to Baby, I glanced at Auntie. She didn’t seem mad, but she wasn’t overly friendly either. I knew that she didn’t have anything against drinking, at least in moderation, so I doubted that one drunken binge had turned her against me. But if it wasn’t that, then what was bothering her?

  “Is everything okay?” I slid into the front seat and fastened my seat belt.

  “What, child? Oh, yes. I’m just preoccupied.” She started the ignition, which purred at a substantially lower register than usual. “Damned Kyle. Baby was just fine, but now listen to her—sounds like she’s got a muzzle on.”

  I repressed a snort. “Baby’s still Baby, she’s just a little quieter.”

  “Well, I don’t like being ordered around by somebody young enough to be my son,” she said, and I knew that’s what was eating her. That Kyle—whom she’d known since he was barely into puberty—could force her to do something she didn’t want to do.

  “You’ll live,” I said, grinning at her. She rolled her eyes and then pulled out of the driveway.

  We chatted about our plans for the holidays until we reached the club, where Auntie pulled into the parking lot next to El Toro Caliente and I hopped out. Everything was in order, and nothing had been touched on my car. I followed her down to Island Drive and parked three doors away from Venus Envy. A space behind her, I hopped out of my car to bustle into the shop. As I walked through the door, I glanced in the back, hoping to see Lisa’s face. We hadn’t heard a word from either Kyle or Amy since I’d dropped Amy off at home, and while I didn’t expect a minute-by-minute update, it felt like it had been a long time since I’d talked to them, even though we hadn’t cracked the twenty-four-hour mark. But Lisa was nowhere in sight.