We Interrupt This Date Read online

  Patty blinked herself back to reality. “We both know you weren’t any more interested in Herman than he was in you.”

  “True, but I wanted to do the dumping.”

  “Hey, we all do, but the Universe doesn’t always grant our wishes. It’s not a genie in a bottle, you know.”

  “Forget the Universe. What ever made you think I’d hit it off with someone like Herman? First he tries to fascinate by telling me, in excruciating detail, how he worked himself up from number four salesman to number three—in a five salesman office. Then he tells me that as a woman I don’t have the faintest idea whether I’m carrying enough insurance to protect my loved ones. What if, God forbid, I run my car off the Arthur Ravenel Bridge on my way home from Charleston some day? Is he trying to date me or sell me insurance?”

  “Don’t blame me. I didn’t know him before tonight. He’s Kyle’s cousin and I thought he’d be like Kyle.” Her eyes took on a dreamy look at the mention of Kyle. “Forgive me, Susan? Because I’ve already forgiven myself.”

  She pushed the door open and we left the ladies room. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the nearest busboy took one look at my face and ran after me with a fire extinguisher. Patty can forgive herself quicker than anyone I’ve ever known and forgiving herself means the subject is closed.

  I’d have been okay if, the second I sat down, Herman hadn’t mentioned that my blouse still looked pretty bad. I have often wondered why some people are rudely compelled to point out obvious flaws. Hey, you sure have gained weight since I saw you last. Wow, you have an enormous zit on the end of your nose. Did you know your perm looks like Ramen Noodles?

  As soon as he spoke, I picked up my glass and took a gulp of wine. When he said, “Women don’t dress for practicality, though,” I drained the rest of the contents so quickly I had to gasp for breath when I put the glass down.

  “I’ll have to remember that in the future,” I said, slurring the words ever so slightly.

  “How’s the new job coming along, Herm?” Kyle shot Patty a grin and put his arm around her, pulling her close.

  I smiled benignly. How sweet. Kyle was trying to get Herman off the subject of my blouse. Before I knew it, I’d be home and Herman-free for the rest of my life.

  “Going good until I found out the manager is a woman.” Herman pasted on the expression of someone who had suffered long and hard and was finally ready to out his inner chauvinist.

  I came out of zone-out as quickly as I’d gone in. “And what’s wrong with that?” I’d have popped him with the wine list if it weren’t terribly poor manners to pop one’s blind date in public.

  “It’s a known fact that most businesses that fail are run by women.”

  Patty snickered and nudged Kyle with her elbow. He slowly shook his head and assumed a confused expression.

  When Mama instilled the manners in me, she mentioned something about how a lady shouldn’t drink too much, especially when she’s on a date. I’d already broken that rule. And now I was about to break another, the rule about how I shouldn’t brag or lie.

  “I suppose, then, I should prepare myself for failure. My friend Veronica—a successful real estate broker—has offered me a business partnership and, of course, I accepted on the spot. We’re going to conduct ghost tours of the old Blackthorn House, a mansion she owns.” The Blackthorn House wasn’t exactly a mansion. Veronica had once pointed it out to me, and I remembered it as a run down brick structure that, even in its finest hour, couldn’t qualify as more than a big house.

  Patty put her glass down with a clunk and squealed, “So that’s it. I knew you were keeping a secret. My intuition never fails.”

  “Ghost tours?” Herman and Kyle exchanged man-bonding glances.

  I’d only meant to shut Herman up, but now I was compelled to defend myself. “I’ll be dressing up in period costume to lead tourists through the mansion.” I’d made up the part about the costume, but who knew? “The first owner was reputed to a pirate and he sometimes kept captives chained in the carriage house or the attic. Wherever. Tourists will pay big money to hear there’s a bloodstain on the upstairs sitting room wall that won’t wash off. And learn how unearthly sounding screams have been heard coming from the attic, especially when there’s a full moon.”

  After I made up the costume part, the rest of the lies came easily. And they served their purpose. Herman and Kyle had been struck silent and I didn’t need to have what Patty would call “psychic intuition” to know that Herman was glad he wouldn’t have to go out with me again.

  “That’s fantastic, Susan.” Patty glowed, her pale face seeming to float like an island in the middle of the black frame of her hair. “I know you’ll be a huge success running your own business. Do you think I could conduct a séance at the mansion some night?”

  I blinked to bring her into focus. “Fine with me. I’ll have to clear it with Veronica, though--she is my business partner.” I glanced at my wineglass. It was mysteriously empty.

  We finished dinner listening to Kyle tell us how he’d stuffed a whole raccoon family for a friend to display in his living room, but his friend’s fiancée objected. To save their relationship, he had to move the furry family to his garage.

  When we finally headed out, Patty and I rode in the back and Kyle and Herman sat up front. Patty, holding my arm to steady me, walked me to my door. She had to unlock it for me.

  She pushed the door open, and before I could disappear inside, she said, “Hey, I meant what I said. I think it’s super you’re moving on to start a new business. You deserve better than Odell’s store.”

  Heat rose to my face. “About that ghost hunting. It’s just a story.”

  “I know, but what a story. Ghosts roaming the halls? Screams coming from upstairs? You can’t miss,” she trilled, handing me my key. “See you tomorrow at work, okay?”

  “Wait.” Had I said anything about ghosts in the halls? I couldn’t remember.

  She was already halfway down the steps. She turned with a questioning look and I waved her on. I’d straighten things out in the morning. I knew Patty would understand why I’d made up the story—she hadn’t taken to Herman any more than I had.

  Still tipsy, I got ready for bed. When I saw Veronica again, I’d tell her she was right. I didn’t need blind dates, especially not when they were arranged by Patty. What was it she wanted me to do? Convince Steve we belonged together? That wouldn’t happen, but maybe I could learn to flirt a little.

  My thoughts drifted in an alcohol-fueled haze. What if we started going out and Steve wanted more than a date or two? What if our friendship progressed to a relationship and he eventually wanted something else, what my mother would call an affair? Would I go along or would I hold out for marriage? If I were being true to my upbringing, I’d hold out for marriage.

  But if I were being honest, I’d have to say I was definitely interested in the something else, even if we ended up drifting apart after a few months. After all, marriages didn’t always work out, as I well knew. Why should I give up a chance to be with a nice, interesting man simply because he wouldn’t put a ring on my finger? Wasn’t a fling better than a commitment to the wrong person?

  I tried to bring up a picture of Steve in my mind and couldn’t remember what he looked like. About all I came up with was an especially bland smiley face with receding brown hair.

  Chapter Four

  I awoke to the racket of my alarm clock. I lay in bed for nearly five minutes trying to unglue my eyelids before I was able to reach across to the nightstand and smash the off button.

  I had to think to remember where I was. When I did remember, thoughts flooded into my mind and heat flooded my face. Had I really drunk too much wine last night? Had I really transformed myself from my own version of a southern lady--a person who’d often been described by friends and family as sweet and caring--into a mouthy braggart? Had I, the responsible one, managed to win a know-it-all competition with a man I’d never see again? Me, the mother of a col
lege aged son, though everyone told me I looked much too young to have an eighteen-year-old son. Apparently, I acted it, too.

  What had I been thinking? At least, I told myself as I scooted to the edge of the bed, I hadn't turned myself into a southern slut--the worst type of woman according to Mama.

  My head pounded and my mouth felt like someone had stuffed it full of dirty cotton. I took two aspirin and headed for the shower where I stood under the steaming water for a good twenty minutes until my head started to clear.

  When I climbed out, I wiped steam off the mirror and stared at my face. Eyes definitely puffy, but otherwise, not too much damage. I’d had the little shove I needed. From now on, I was going to stop letting other people talk me into things. No more blind dates, no matter how lonely I got. And no more feeling sorry for myself and no more drinking too much wine, though that one would be easy. I rarely drank, and other than last night I’d never had more than I could handle.

  I felt better after the mental scolding and made a resolve to sin no more. I took the time to hunt up my self-improvement list and stick it on the refrigerator with a dolphin-shaped magnet Mama had brought me from Florida a few years ago. Underneath the entries for exercise, makeover, and better job, I added act my age.Unfortunately, five minutes spent on my list translated to twenty extra minutes in morning traffic. I ripped my well-aged minivan around a corner, slid into the Hoganboom lot, and screeched to a halt in my usual parking spot. Odell insists that we park around back next to the stinking Dumpster we share with the seafood market next door. I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes late. Maybe I should add promptness to my list as a gentle reminder.

  I scurried inside, only to be blocked by Odell. He was standing in the hall outside his office with feet wide apart, one hand behind his back, and the other inside his jacket over his heart. He was the image of Napoleon, if Napoleon were suffering from hemorrhoids and wore modern clothing.

  Patty was frantically eyebrow signaling me over his head. She’d made up for last night by drawing her brows in thicker and blacker than normal. Patty’s signaling clearly read that something was wrong and the something involved me.

  “Good morning,” I chirped, dropping my keys in my purse and snapping it shut. I hoped my casual attitude would prompt Odell to step aside and give me clear path to my office. If he was willing to forget about my tardiness, I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up.

  “I suppose,” Odell said, not stepping aside. “I suppose,” he said again, sucking in his stomach and drawing himself up to his full five feet four, “you’ll give me some lame excuse as your reason for waltzing in here fifteen minutes late.”

  “Traffic,” I said quickly. “I’ll do better in the future.”

  I expected him to acknowledge my explanation and move on to a new topic. Either that or go back to what he was doing when I came in--probably rearranging the jewelry display, which seems to give him a lot of satisfaction. Instead his scowl deepened the lines on his face into deep grooves framing his mouth. Napoleon with hemorrhoids and a hernia and a letter from Josephine telling him she was having an affair with the gardener.

  “What future?”

  I glanced over his head at Patty and saw her face gradually assume the color of a cherry tomato. She made the throat slashing sign and rolled her eyes up in her head until only the whites shone. Something tried to dawn in my awareness, but my thoughts were still sluggish even after the double strength coffee I’d gulped down for breakfast.

  “What future?” I squawked. Even I didn’t know what I meant or what Odell meant. “Uhmm, my future as your valued employee?”

  “Let’s step into my office, Ms. Caraway.” Odell turned and strode purposefully away from me.

  “Step into your office?” Except for yesterday when he scolded me for not getting to work until after lunch, he hadn’t called me Ms. Caraway since the day of my interview. I was always Susan or, when he spoke to customers, “the office girl.”

  I trudged after him. I caught a last glimpse of Patty mouthing “sorry” at me before I turned the corner near a shelf sagging under the weight of electronic equipment. Yeah, no doubt the Universe was sending Patty a forgiveness ticket this very second.

  Odell’s office was twice the size of mine and twice as cluttered. He swept a pile of Reader’s Digest magazines off a chair by the door and motioned for me to sit.

  I would rather have remained standing. The chair he indicated was hemorrhaging wads of cotton stuffing, which would look like hell plastered to my navy slacks. I could tell it was going to wobble—one of the wheels was missing.

  Odell glared until I sat. Then he half-hopped to lift himself onto his over-sized desk. A taller man would have perched on the edge, at least one foot on the carpet. But Odell’s legs dangled over the side, his feet not touching the floor. Even so, he'd achieved what I figured was his goal. He was now taller than I was. Height advantage to Odell, score one to nothing.

  “When did you plan to give notice?”

  “Give notice?” I winced. I was making a habit of repeating what he said to me—in the form of a question. T. Chandler used to do that and it drove me crazy.

  “If my niece didn’t need a job, I’d really be in a bind. I have too much to do around here to handle your work, and then I find out you’re walking out on me.”

  I cleared my throat. “Odell. Mr. Hoganboom. I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” Only a tiny lie.

  “Word has reached me that you’re going into business for yourself. Ghost hunting.”

  Word had reached him? He made it sound as though a disembodied voice had whispered in his ear when we both knew the information had come from Patty’s big mouth.

  “No, of course not--it isn’t happening. I was totally not myself last night when I drank too—never mind. That whole ghost hunting thing, it’s just a joke.”

  He steepled his stubby fingers. “What are you saying?”

  “Joke,” I said. “Meant to be funny, not meant to be fact. I have no intentions of quitting this job.” Yet. First I had to find a new position.

  “I expected you to deny everything. But my trusted source has told me you’re fixing up an old mansion, trolling in tourists to look for ghosts, all that woo-woo stuff.” He held his hands up and waggled his fingers. “I’ve already found a replacement for you. My niece Brenda finally left her no account husband and moved here from Atlanta. She’ll be at the shop in the morning to take over your office. I’ll give you a week to get her trained.”

  “You’ll do what?” This couldn’t be happening. I sat wobbling in the chair, my head spinning, and my thoughts not making sense, until the smug-faced Odell slid off his desk and pointed to the door.

  “You’re fired,” he said. “Dismissed as of next Wednesday. Go.”

  My mouth turned into the Sahara Desert. Score a million to nothing Odell. How would I pay my bills?

  I didn’t remember getting up and walking back to my desk. I simply found myself in my own chair, dark tornadoes of thoughts whirling through my mind. Fired? That was something that happened to bad employees, wasn’t it? My face burned and my stomach felt like it was full of sour milk every time I thought of the scene in Odell’s office. I was reminded of a time when I was in fifth grade, and the teacher told me in front of the whole class I’d done the wrong homework assignment. I’d gone home and thrown up all over Mama’s new couch. Thank goodness the plastic cover had saved it from ruin.

  I stared at my computer monitor until my nerves steadied. I would speak to Odell and explain about the misunderstanding. I had bills to pay and a house to maintain. A son in college. I couldn’t be out of work. My sister DeLorean was the screw-up and I was the responsible older child. Everyone knew that, even Mama. Especially Mama, who relied on me for everything.

  Then why was I sitting here after my boss fired me? I had to convince Odell to change his mind, make him take me back even if I had to crawl across the floor to his desk and beg for mercy and swear I wouldn’t insi
st on the raise he’d promised. And I’d sign an oath that I wouldn’t quit without giving him at least six months notice.

  God, how humbling. I barreled down the hall to his office before I lost my nerve. I had to hover in the doorway until he got off the phone with someone who wanted to pawn his wife’s jewelry while she was away visiting her mother. The slime. The customer, not Odell. Though he could pass for slime.

  “What?” he said, banging down the receiver.

  “Mr. Hoganboom, I really need this job. I don’t know why you won’t believe me when I say I’m not starting a ghost hunting business or any other kind of business or not leaving for another office or joining the French Foreign Legion. Please give me a chance to--”

  “Do I need to make out a pink slip?” He snorted at his own joke. “You do a decent job training my niece Brenda, and I’ll put in a good word for you if somebody calls me for a reference.”

  “I can prove it’s a misunderstanding about the ghost hunting. All you have to do is…”

  His niece. Click. The light came on. I’d started to ask him to call Veronica to verify that I wasn’t going into business with her. It would be a huge waste of time. The truth was, Odell had been in a bind wanting to help his niece and he didn’t want to pay two people to work in the office. Patty’s gossip had given him the excuse he needed to give my job to Brenda.

  “Never mind. I believe I understand the situation.” I gathered my tattered dignity and marched back to my desk with my chin stuck out in front of me.

  What was I supposed to do? I fought down rising panic. The job market wasn’t too great right now. In fact it was horrible. As if that wasn’t bad enough, how would it look on my resume when I admitted that I’d been fired? I knew I didn’t have to say that. But they were bound to ask why I’d left my last position. How could I smooth that one over? The job interview sites on the Internet gave lots of advice about how to ace an interview, but I suspect that only worked if you could pull off the business speak they touted.