We Interrupt This Date Read online

  At least my face hadn’t gained weight. Veronica has assured me my face is heart-shaped, with lovely cheekbones, and that I’m lucky my large brown eyes have no need of color enhancing contacts. I have so many style options, she insists, unlike herself. Veronica always complains bitterly that her jaw is too square, something I think is hardly noticeable except when she gets angry or bossy.

  Veronica isn’t one for air kisses or for beating around the bush. She peeked once at her watch and allowed her eyes to widen the slightest bit. It’s one of her signature moves. “Susan, we have so much to discuss.”

  “Sorry, the parking was--”

  She patted my arm. “I know. Never mind. I have good news. After I give you every last detail, and you realize how fantastic your life is going to be, we’ll have a nice catch-up chat.”

  “What good news?” I glanced around to orient myself. I hadn’t been to SNOB since my divorce. Everything was the same, though. It’s in a nineteenth century brick building. Lots of atmosphere and fantastic food.

  Veronica was already following the hostess to our designated table, the stylish heels of her designer shoes barely making a sound as she seemed to float an inch or so above the floor. “How long has it been since we’ve made time for each other?” she called back over her shoulder, ignoring my question. “Other than quick phone calls which hardly count.”

  “At least two months.” I frowned, wondering why my shoes clumped when I walked instead of tapping gently like hers.

  Maybe longer than two months. Veronica had been my roommate in college until I married T. Chandler halfway through. But we’d kept up our friendship over the years, helped by the fact that we live in the same town. She’s originally from Newberry, a picturesque little town west of Columbia, but Newberry hadn’t been big enough for her ambition—Veronica’s words, not mine.

  She hadn’t given me a clue of any kind when she’d called a couple of days ago. I wondered if she’d decided to marry Walter, her latest relationship. I remembered, though, the last time she’d mentioned him she’d complained he was too clingy in a sad, orphaned gorilla kind of way.

  Veronica eyed me over the top of her menu. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “About what?” Had something happened to my hair in the few minutes since I’d run a comb through it before I left my car? Wind-blown? A bald patch? Pigeon droppings? Maybe I should have applied new golden highlights last night instead of deciding to postpone for a week.

  “You look different. Have you changed your makeup? No, that isn’t it. It’s something intangible.” She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to one side to focus on my face.

  “Same old me.” I turned my attention to the lunch special and tried to decide if I wanted the southern crab salad, a favorite of mine.

  But my thoughts drifted. Though I’d told Veronica I hadn’t changed, I admitted to myself that wasn’t one hundred percent the truth. I’d moped around for months feeling like the world’s biggest failure after my divorce, but recently I’d caught myself showing sparks of life. I was no longer spending every weekend raiding my refrigerator and vegetating in front of home decorating reruns on HGTV hoping Mama wouldn’t call to give me advice.

  “I know what it is. You’ve finally stopped blaming yourself, haven’t you? I swear, Susan, you make excuses for everyone, but when it comes to yourself, even perfect isn’t good enough.”

  “I didn’t come here for a lecture.” My face went about a hundred degrees warmer. She’d read my mind. Veronica has a way of doing that and I attribute it to the keen powers of observation that have served her so well in the business world.

  As if she hadn’t just pointed out that she knew how I’d been treating myself, she casually asked if I’d decided what I wanted, and I nodded. I passed on the crab. We both ordered Portobello mushroom sandwiches and house salads. After the waiter left the scene, I raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Your news?”

  Her skin positively glowed under the new hanging lights. “I’ve got a fantastic idea for a new business. The money will flow in so fast and thick it will be like owning a mint, and you’re the first person I thought of to share the opportunity.”

  “Me?” Me and owning a mint? Didn’t compute. Me and going out of my way to do favors for friends and family maybe. But me and mints? She’d let our friendship get in the way of her good judgment and she was offering me a pity job.

  “Uhmmm, this isn’t some kind of Internet scheme where I’m supposed to do surveys is it?” I hated to admit I’d actually tried that before I landed the job with Odell. All I’d accomplished was to fill up my email with spam.

  “I said money flowing in, Susan. Would I ever steer you wrong?”

  She wouldn’t, not unless she counted the time back in college when she’d introduced me to an older guy who was a perennial student majoring in preying on freshman girls. At least I’d figured him out before anything really bad happened.

  “Whatever it is, Veronica, I decline.”

  I stifled a stab of curiosity about exactly what she had in mind and asked Veronica if she thought I should change my hair color from ordinary brown to platinum.

  She waved away the question, her hands fluttering like pigeons coming in for a sidewalk landing. “You are not getting off that easy.”

  I sighed. Veronica is the type of person who could, if need arose, turn a wadded up paper towel into a thriving business. I, on the other hand, had spent years in the shadow of my husband, managing a house, raising a child, and wondering what had led me to marry someone so unsuitable.

  “No,” I said again. “I’m perfectly content right where I am.”

  She leaned across the table, almost upsetting the vase. “You are not. You’ve pined over your divorce long enough and you bitch about your job every time we talk. I can’t think of anyone more suited to be my partner in this new enterprise. You have skills, Susan. You’re a gold mine of talent and charm, if you’d only wake up.” Her jaw went square.

  “Me?” I couldn’t think of a single instance where I’d ever demonstrated much more than average competence in anything. Not since I’d grown up, anyway. As a child I was one of those earnest-faced, overachieving, teacher’s pet types who always got chosen to pass out papers. But after nineteen years of T. Chandler’s daily critiques, it wasn’t surprising that I didn’t think all that highly of my abilities.

  Skills or no skills, I couldn’t go into business with her. T. Chandler was a successful businessman, but he hadn’t exactly left me rolling in riches when we split. I discovered, too late, that he’d found a way to legally transfer most of his assets out of the country. I was left to cling to the house I’d gotten in the settlement—not yet paid for—and a small savings account, along with an alimony check that didn’t cover expenses. I’d had to refinance the house and take the first job I’d been that came along--an office position in a loan company slash pawnshop.

  “To be honest, you probably think T. Chandler Caraway, the cheating weasel, left me pretty well taken care of, but that didn’t happen. I don’t have a dime to invest. Thanks for thinking of me, though,” I finished lamely.

  Veronica drummed her fingers on the table. The last word I uttered barely had time to clear my lips before she said, “I didn’t, for one second, think that bastard would have given you more than he absolutely had to. You should have shoved him out in front of a bus and collected his life insurance while you were still married.”

  A pink-sneakered woman at the next table choked on her soup of the day. Veronica shot her a mind-your-own-business look.

  “Veronica, there was no husband murdering as you well know. So the fact remains, I have no money and it isn’t fair to ask you to take all the risk.” I held out my hands, showing empty palms.

  “I’m willing to put up the money and you’ll supply the time and energy. Case closed.”

  She’d made her plan sound as foolproof at the blueprints to a doghouse. But then, I still didn’t know what she had in m
ind. I pictured a trendy antique shop on King Street or Broad, not that I knew anything about antiques. Maybe a gift shop or a boutique. Not that I was an expert on gifts or fashion, either. Oh, God, what could I do? Veronica was kind, but I couldn’t let her do this. I’d been told I was a terrific mother, but unless Veronica planned to open up a daycare, that wasn’t exactly a plus in a business venture. Besides being the mother of one spoiled son in college didn’t qualify me for working in childcare, either.

  I shook my head. “I can’t. But I have to know--this business would be?”

  “Ghost tours.” She pasted on an “everything’s settled” expression and folded her hands in front of her like a tiny tent.

  Ghost tours? Thoughts ping ponged in my brain. Just because I once thought I’d seen an apparition hovering in the bushes outside our dorm and screamed loud enough to cause Veronica to trip over a bump in the sidewalk, did that make me an expert on the supernatural? Was I now qualified to lead goggle-eyed tourists around the historic streets of Charleston while pretending said streets were haunted?

  “I’m not sure I even believe in ghosts, in fact, I probably don’t. It doesn’t sound like it would bring in all that much money and…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to add that Mama would say the whole idea was tacky beyond belief.

  The waiter brought our plates, and we busied ourselves putting dabs of dressing on our house salads.

  Veronica breathed out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t be a yes-butter, Susan. ‘Yes, I need money, but that idea won’t work, or yes, I hate my job, but I don’t have the nerve to leave, or yes, I love ghosts, but Mama will think ghost tours are the height of poor taste.’ Grow up, woman.”

  I winced. She waited a second and then sent me an apologetic smile. “I’m only trying to jumpstart you out of your rut so you can start living again. You can’t fail. I’ve written up the perfect business plan.”

  Of course she had. I would expect nothing less of a woman who’d been brought up in a rusted out trailer home and worked her way through college selling gift baskets before she moved into the stock market and finally real estate. She’d become wealthy while I took the homemaker path.

  Veronica reached into a side compartment of her ample purse and pulled out a purple notebook. She flipped it open it to the first page and pushed it across the table. “Take a look. It’s decent money. And aren’t you the one who’s always telling me you don’t get enough exercise sitting at a desk all day?”

  “I’m taking a yoga class, remember?” I’d won the class in a drawing. So far I’d only been to two sessions and I wasn’t exactly a star pupil.

  But Veronica couldn’t think I’d be able to keep a straight face while I regaled tourists with tales of afterlife-challenged souls. To please her, I glanced at the notebook. I read through the figures. Twice. Started nodding like a mechanical toy. I wasn’t required to actually produce a ghost, now was I? Nor was I required to believe in them. All I had to do was guide tourists down historic streets and let them draw their own conclusions. And I’d collect the money, transferring tidy sums into my bank account as my share of the night’s takings.

  “What did I tell you?” Veronica beamed and forked up a cucumber slice. “You know I’m too busy with my real estate to have time for another enterprise and I need someone I can trust, someone with the right qualifications to take this business to its full potential. And that’s not all. Kim’s leaving the Seaside View and moving to Savannah to get married. You could have her room, same arrangement.”

  The Seaside View was Veronica’s luxury bed and breakfast in the heart of old Charleston. Big, old, and very, very pricey. Her niece and nephew ran the place with the help of their friend Kim who got a room in exchange for working the desk and helping with breakfast a few mornings a week.

  “But I don’t need a place. I have the house.” And a very nice house it was, too, the house T. Chandler and I had bought a couple of years before the end of our marriage. It was in Mount Pleasant, across the Cooper River from Charleston. There were five magnolia trees in the yard, a line of azaleas across the front that bloomed each spring in shades of brightest magenta, and a white-painted gazebo nestled under a stand of giant oaks in the back yard. The inside was beautifully decorated thanks to Veronica--who had no formal training, but was gifted with an innate sense of style. I had to admit I loved my home and hoped to be able to keep it, though that was unlikely unless I found a better paying job. I’d been around and around the problem so many times I’d worn a rut in the middle of square one.

  “If you’re that attached to the house, then rent it out. But, frankly, Susan, you can’t afford that big place and now that Christian’s gone off to college, you don’t need it.”

  “But where would Christian stay when he’s home on holidays?” My son was only eighteen. He shouldn’t have to hang out under the I-26 overpass at Meeting Street when he had school vacations.

  “He can sleep on your mother’s couch. There’s no reason for you to keep knocking yourself out keeping that big place going. Do you expect Christian to come back and live with you after he graduates? Face it, Susan, you’re an empty nester now and you always will be.”

  I opened my mouth, and Veronica held up a hand. “Sorry. Goodness knows you’ve had enough of doing other people’s bidding. But I’m offering you a great job and a place to stay. Think how nice it will be when you don’t have to worry about money.”

  Despite the fact that I still couldn’t picture myself toting a lantern and a clipboard while I herded ghosthunters around Charleston, I did like the idea of living at the Seaside View. Veronica was right about my home being a lot of work to keep up, and it took a good part of my monthly income to make the payment.

  An image drifted into my mind, a picture of myself in thirty years, still sitting at a broken-down desk in Hoganboom Loans and Pawnshop--No loan too risky, No item too old. My hair would be sparse, gray, and wiry, my hands bony and disfigured by liver spots. I’d wear a permanent look of bitterness over my failure to take a chance all those years back. The person Veronica had hired instead of me would be tooling around town in a sporty red convertible and living in the house that used to be mine.

  I sighed. Bitter or not, I couldn’t take advantage of Veronica’s generosity. She was the person with the drive to make this happen. I was too low key, too much a follower. I’d never forgive myself if the venture failed because of me.

  “When I said I wanted a new job, I was thinking another office job, maybe a position working for a lawyer or a doctor. It’s not the work at the loan company I dislike, it’s the pay and the boss.” Mostly true.

  “You wouldn’t have to walk more than a few blocks of city streets because the majority of your tours will take place inside. Remember a few months ago when I said I bought a historic property? It’s run down and I was going to do some work and flip it for a nice profit, but I did some research and that’s when I came up with the ghost tour idea. The property is the old Blackthorn House and it’s supposed to be haunted. The tourists will be drawn in like flies to sugar when they hear the history and the ghost stories.” Her jawline was still as square as the bottom of a box. “I’ll give you a few weeks to think about the offer. The project was delayed because of contractor problems, but I’ve hired a new firm to handle the restoration and they shouldn’t take too long. In fact I’m meeting with the architectural firm’s manager in a few days. He says he used to live in Charleston and he understands the area, so the rest of the work should go fast.”

  “I’ve already given you my answer.” I could be stubborn, too, even if my jawline connected with my cheekbones in a triangular shape like a slightly rounder version of a cat’s face. I’d already put the idea of going into business with Veronica in a hidden compartment of my mind marked, “Tempting, but never going to happen.”

  “You’ll come around when you’re ready to get out of your rut. And speaking of getting out of your rut, how are things going with that new man you told me about?”

/>   I rolled my eyes, regretting my decision to tell Veronica during our last phone conversation that I’d met someone interesting. “I’d hardly call Steve a new man. I met him at yoga class and had coffee with him—and the rest of the students—after class. He’s a couple of years older than I am.”

  “But you said he’s nice and he’s available. Don’t deny it. You’re definitely attracted to this guy.”

  “You make it sound like he’s a sale item at Urban Outfitters. Anyway, I don’t want another man, not right now.”

  Veronica stared. She clearly didn’t believe a word. And I probably didn’t believe myself. Steve had gone out of his way to sit next to me during our after class coffee sessions. I realized I was looking forward to seeing him at the next yoga class in a few days a lot more than I was looking forward to an upcoming blind date arranged by a co-worker. I’d missed the last class because Mama had some sort of crisis with her refrigerator.

  “What’s he look like? And don’t just say gorgeous, that tells me nothing.”

  “He isn’t gorgeous, he’s sort of average. About my height, medium build. Straight, sandy-colored hair, receding. Hazel eyes with more brown than green.” I shrugged. The list of Steve’s physical traits added up to someone who wasn’t even close to the kind of movie star looks Veronica favored, but still not bad. And he had a charming smile.

  “I’m not sure it’s good that he’s exactly your height. The woman should always be shorter than the man. I told you that before you married T. Chandler.”

  “Yeah, that’s got to be the reason he treated me like a housekeeper instead of a wife until he found someone shorter to attract his interest. Too bad I’m not five-feet-two the way you are and the way the new Mrs. Caraway is. My height really puts a dent in the available man pool.”

  “Other than his height, this Steve person is probably okay to get you back into the dating scene. Practice material. But first you’ve got to convince him you belong in his life.”