Fleur De Lies (18 page)

fifteen

“How’m I supposed to
know what it says?” complained Bobbi. “It’s written in French. I can’t read French. And how do I know the signature is authentic? You could have paid one of the crew to sign the captain’s name.” She regarded the paper with suspicion. “It could be forged.”

Arriving at the round table in the corner of the dining room, I was welcomed by a controversy that was already in progress.

“This seat has your name on it,” announced Jackie as she angled a neighboring chair away from the table for me. She arched her brows at Bobbi. “Contrary to what
some
people might say.”

“We’ll see about that,” Bobbi fired back. “I’ll ask our waiter to translate it, and then we’ll see whose turn it is to gloat.”

I was less than thrilled to be sharing the table with the same group who’d ruined dinner the other night, but with Cal joining us in Krystal’s absence, maybe the hostility level would decrease.

“Give me the note.” Virginia held out her hand amid an annoying jangle of beaded crystal bracelets. “Victor will read it.”

“Not without my reading glasses, my pet.”

“You speak perfect French. And Polish. And German.” She slapped
the paper down in front of him. “Would you you at least try? I’m sick of listening to your blathering beauties.”

He plucked it off the table and tore it in half, then quarters, then eighths, then deposited the scraps in the pocket of his dinner jacket. “In case you missed it the first time,Virginia, that was a no. And as for the rest of my fine beauties, if you choose to continue your petty squabbling, you’ll be eating the rest of your meals without me, because I’ll be at another table, dining with the adults.”

Bobbi gave the brim of her hat an angry tug. “She started it,” she muttered under her breath.

Cal shot Victor a curious look. “Where’d you learn to speak so many languages? Man, high-school Spanish about did me in, so my love affair with foreign languages ended even before it could begin.”

“Victor is a gifted linguist,” cooed Virginia.

Victor fiddled with the oxygen tubing in his nostrils. “The old ethnic neighborhoods made linguists of us all. But it was a long time ago. I barely remember the basics anymore.”

Virginia regarded him oddly. “That’s not tr—”

“But I do remember something of greater importance,” he said, cutting her off abruptly. “If we can enjoy our dining experience without any more drama, I have a surprise prepared.” He contorted his mouth into something that vaguely resembled a smile and patted the front panel of his jacket.

“The bonus?” squealed Dawna.

He opened his jacket to reveal an envelope tucked into the inside pocket. “The bonus.”

“
EWWW
!” cried the blondes.

“What kind of bonus?” asked Cal.

“Don’t go there, son,” warned Woody.

Virginia glared at her husband, eyes slatted, lips pinched. “You wrote out a personal check after I expressly told you that—”

“Do
not
tell me what I can and cannot do with
my
money,” he boomed out in a voice that was uncharacteristically harsh. “One more word, Virginia, and I shall rip up this check and make out another for
double
the amount. So do continue your harangue, because I expect our honoree will be thrilled to receive an additional bonus.”

That was enough to silence Virginia and everyone else at the table, except Jackie, who apparently saw great marketing potential in marital discord.

“I know I’m the newbie here, Victor, so I don’t expect my name to be on that check, but after what I learned today, I have high hopes for next year. Do you know why?” She struck a pose, oozing calm and confidence. “I discovered a whole new demographic for Mona Michelle cosmetics.”

Bobbi stabbed a finger at Victor. “If she’s talkin’ about eight-to twelve-year-olds, I wanna remind you that I recommended targeting tweens two years ago, and you pooh-poohed the idea because you were afraid the Family Research Council would complain about us turnin’ tweens into tarts.”

“You wanted to slap lipstick on eight-year-olds?” asked Cal.

“We wouldn’t have called it lipstick, hon. We would’ve called it
Bare Moisturizing Sunblock with Natural Color for Tender Lips.
Kinda like Chapstick, only less affordable.”

Cal frowned. “That’s deceitful. It’s still lipstick. You’re just calling it something different and trying to get little girls hooked on makeup years before they need to wear it.”

“On the other hand,” Jackie broke in, “
I’m
addressing an issue at the opposite end of the—”

“You know somethin’, hon?” Bobbi directed a narrow look at Cal. “I’d rather have my mind corrupted by a solid hour of MSNBC than talk cosmetics to civilians.”

“Where’s Patricia?” asked Woody, scanning the dining room. “I want to get my dinner ordered.”

“Dad, his name’s
Patrice
, not Patricia.”

Woody wrinkled his nose. “What kind of damn fool name is
Patrice?”

I had this one, hands down. “French?”

“Have you all finished talking?” snapped Jackie. She glanced around the table, her eyes shooting daggers. “Because if you haven’t, I certainly don’t want to interrupt your chitchat with any groundbreaking news or anything.”

“Forgive our manners,” Victor apologized. “Or lack of them.
Please, continue what you were saying.”

“Okay.” She leaned forward with breathless abandon and framed her hands in the air. “For the woman who wants to make her last impression on earth a memorable one: Mona Michelle cosmetics for the pre-funeral set.”

“
Euww
,” cried Dawna.

“Hey, that’s the ticket,” said Woody.

“Pre-funeral set?” repeated Victor.

“It’s a totally untapped market,” she enthused. “Septuagenarians. Octogenarians. Nonagenarians. We provide color palettes to help them choose what they’d like to look like for their final viewing, and if they like the results, they might decide to wear it on a regular basis even before the funeral, so we’re talking millions in added revenue!”

“That’s gotta be
the
most disgustin’ thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” said Bobbi.

Woody thwacked Cal on the shoulder. “How come you never come up with innovative stuff like this?”

“No way am I’m gonna waste my time offerin’ beauty advice to old ladies with liver spots and mustaches,” vowed Dawna. “If the company heads in that direction, I’m leavin’.”

“Me, too,” threatened Bobbi.

Victor bowed his head in contemplation, his breath coming quickly and heavily. When he looked up again, he had eyes for no one but Jackie. “It’s brilliant. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to any of my marketing people before this.”

“Maybe because it’s disgustin’?” said Bobbi.

“We can reformulate our products to be more face friendly to women with thinner skin and sun-damaged complexions,” he continued. “We can develop softer shades to complement silver hair. We can—”

“Schedule mini makeovers for potential customers?” asked
Jackie. “Because I’m way ahead of you there. I’ve already done them.”

Victor looked shocked. “When?”

“This afternoon. While you were touring Rouen. I stayed on the boat and market-tested a few of the products I had with me on a sample group of senior citizens. You wanna see the results?”

“By all means.”

She catapulted herself out of her chair and ran around the dining room for thirty seconds, returning with Margi and Nana.

“Here they are.” She positioned them close to Victor’s chair as if they were decoys in a police lineup. “Our first model, Margi, is all ready for her open casket at the local Catholic church.”

“Catholics don’t do open caskets in church,” Woody spoke up. “You’re thinking of Protestants. She might have to consider converting.”

“She wouldn’t have to if she were cremated,” said Cal.

Visibly alarmed, Margi angled her head around to look up at Jackie. “Are they telling me the only way I can buy your translucent cream blush is by renouncing my faith?”

“Don’t listen to them. Our policy is to accept all major credit cards regardless of religious affiliation.” Jackie placed her hand on Nana’s shoulder. “And this is our second model, Mrs. S., who’s prepared to paint the town pink in her ivory-toned foundation and neutral eye shadow.”

Uff-da
! That’s what had been different about the gang. The ladies had all undergone makeovers! But the change had been so subtle, I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it. I studied Nana with a critical eye.
Wow
. She looked like a million bucks. Two of her chins had either been nipped, tucked, or cleverly camouflaged. Her skin tone was less splotchy. Her face looked as if it had been lifted, peeled, and botoxed, resulting in a healthy glow that made her look twenty years younger. In fact, even though she wasn’t funeral parlor–ready, she looked every bit as good as Margi.

“You don’t paint a town pink,” drawled Dawna. “You paint it red.”

“Octogenarians paint it pink,” countered Jackie. “Pastels are much
more complementary to them than primary colors. And may I draw your attention to the highlighter under her brow?” She trailed a finger along the arch of Nana’s eyebrow. “No sign of creping whatsoever.”

“What the hell’s creping?” asked Woody.

“Crepin’s what happens to a girl’s skin when it gets so old, it’s got more crinkles than a roll of them party streamers,” said Nana.

Victor shifted his gaze from Margi to Nana to Margi again. “Your results are extraordinary. And you didn’t even use a reformulated product. I can’t begin to tell you how impressed I am, Jackie. Your methodology, your application … all outstanding.”

While Jackie preened, Woody pounced. “Say, if she can have folks looking that good when they’re dead, I wouldn’t mind getting a piece of the action. I hired the best makeup artist money can buy, but she can’t hold a candle to what Jackie’s done with these two gals. Shoot, they don’t look dead at all.”

Maybe because …
they weren’t
?

“What do you think, Victor? Are you willing to talk turkey? If I agree to buy your cosmetics, would you agree to let Jackie train an army of gals who’d make our customers look as attractive as these gals? But I’d insist that she do the training. Second best won’t cut it at Jolly’s.”

Victor’s heavy breathing eased as dollar signs appeared in his
eyes. “Why stop at Jolly’s? If you have a regional platform, we could work on expanding our reach until we achieved national recognition. If sales increase exponentially, we could take the company public and offer stock options.”

“Whose company?” asked Woody. “Yours or mine?”

“Both!” said Victor. “How do you feel about mergers?”

Cal made a
T
of his hands. “Okay, guys.
Time out
. Neither one of you can make a decision about anything until a heck of a lot of peo
ple put their two cents in, so why don’t you cool your jets before you set the price on your initial stock offering.”

“My son.” Woody jerked his head toward Cal. “The party poop.”

“Look at you.” Virginia glanced from Woody to her husband. “Two old men making pie in the sky. You just can’t let go, can you? Move over, gentlemen, because no one is buying what you have to offer anymore. You’re all washed up. Passé. Do yourselves a favor, would you? Deal with it.”

Our waiter arrived with a tray of soup bowls and an apology. “You will please forgive that our meal this evening begins with the soup course.” He opened a nearby tray jack and set his burden down. “Due to an unfortunate mishap in the kitchen, there will be no appetizer.”

That gave me pause. “I hope no one was injured.”

“No, madame. Only the duck.”

While Jackie escorted Margi and Nana back to their table, our waiter, whose name tag read “Ivandro,” proceeded to serve the soup around the table. “Our selection this evening is creamy lobster bisque with cognac.”

“How come Patricia’s not waiting on us?” asked Woody.

“I’m sorry, monsieur. We have no Patricia on our wait staff.”

“He means Patrice,” said Cal. He leveled a disgusted look at his father. “You can’t even
pretend
to try, can you?”

“Ah, Patrice.” Ivandro waited for Jackie to sit down before he set the bowl down in front of her. “He is tending bar in the lounge.”

“Does that mean
you’ll
be pouring our drinks this evening?” asked Virginia as she held up her empty stemware. “Or do we have to send a telegram to the kitchen to get our wine glasses filled?”

“
Eh
. Forgive me again.” Ivandro shot into immediate overdrive and retrieved two bottles of wine from the serving station. As he circled the table again, decanting either red or white, he loitered almost involuntarily by the blondes, his gaze lingering on the provocative plunge of Dawna’s neckline.

“Will we be ordering an entrée this evening,” Virginia asked him in a syrupy voice, “or do we have to wait until you finish ogling the eye candy?”

“That is
enough
, Virginia!” Victor slammed his fist on the table, causing the silverware to jump and the soup to slosh.

“Not by half, Victor, dear.” She raised her glass in a toast before knocking back half the contents. “Not by half.”

Ivandro took our entrée and dessert orders and melted as fast as he could into the far reaches of the dining room. I tasted the soup and was immediately transported into a state of bliss. “Oh, my Lord. Have you tasted this?” I glanced around the table. “It’s incredible.”

“It’s a gross color,” mewled Bobbi.

“I think it’s gone bad,” agreed Dawna.

Virginia gave her soup an idle stir before setting her spoon down
and shoving the bowl toward Victor. “It tastes terrible. I don’t want it.”

“Have you even tried it?” asked Victor.

“I don’t need to try it to know I’m not going to like it.”

Wow
. This was just like eating a meal with my five nephews … or Margi.