Going For Broke (21 page)

             
The school had an elaborate security system set up, but all Mike had to do was to flash his  badge quickly and the guard, who was more involved with his phone than his guard duties, let him in without a close look.   He walked the halls during a passing period, and had never seen so many teenagers in one place.  He tried to picture Victoria slamming her way through the hundreds of bodies that milled through the halls with no luck.  This looked too much like a contact sport.

             
He stopped in front of a trophy case that could have contained a small car.  It was teeming with dozens of gleaming trophies, some almost three feet tall.  At first he thought it was the trophy case for the entire school, though after a closer inspection, he realized it was just for the swim team alone. 

             
Evidence of excellence was everywhere.  The student art on the walls looked commercial.  There was a display selling CDs that the jazz band had recorded.  He noted that it was a
Grammy-winning
jazz band. In high school.  The posters for plays from seasons past looked worthy of Broadway.  Jesus, it must be hard to stand out in a school like this.

             
After his trip to school, he stopped at a local coffee shop for a break.  He regularly avoided the Starbucks of the world, not because of any sense of outrage at corporate entities absorbing the individuals, but because he just didn’t care for their coffee.  He also found that in a coffee shop, not a cafe, people were more willing to talk. 

             
The Tenfield Cafe was no exception. He sat down and was immediately greeted by a fortyish waitress with a smile and a carafe of coffee.  She handed him a plastic laminated menu that he could probably recite without even looking at it. 

             
“Just coffee for now, Sheila,” he loved using names off of name tags.  Half the time folks forgot they were wearing them. 

             
Sheila gave him a huge smile as she checked out his ring finger with satisfaction.  “Just let me know if you need anything sweetheart.”

             
“Maybe you can help me,” he said with as much charm as he could muster.  “I’m looking for an old friend of mine.  Any chance you know Vicky Patterson?” 

             
She shook her head.  “Patterson? Nope. Is she from around here?”

             
“Tenaqua High, 1986.”

             
“Me too!  Never heard of her.  Then again, there were over a thousand kids in my graduating class.  Are you sure?”

             
“Thanks anyway.”  Mike stirred his coffee.  “Can I get a little cream, too?  Thanks.”  Oh well.  A dead end, but a decent cup of coffee.  It wasn’t a total waste. 

             
“I know Vicky Patterson,” a tobacco-stained voice in the booth behind him said. 

             
He turned around to see a woman who did not look like she came from the land of Range Rovers and hired help.  He briefly thought of the year that he and Brooke had gone to a Halloween party dressed as White Trash.  He wore a wifebeater, trucker hat and bad teeth.  Brooke had a wig with long, stringy grey hair, six tattoos, pock marks on her face and a black eye.  Add the black eye and this woman would look exactly the same.  She looked to be around 60, although Mike had the feeling that she had just been ridden hard.

             
“Really?” Mike asked.  She sure didn’t look like someone Victoria would even hire, let alone pal around with.  “How do you know her?”

             
“It depends.  Who’s looking?”  She sounded like a Mickey Spillane character.  Mike half expected her to whip out a switchblade to cut her grilled cheese sandwich. 

             
“I’m an old college friend.  Mike Sanders,” he lied as he stood up to shake her hand.  “I remember she grew up in Tenaqua, and was nearby on business, so I thought I’d look her up.”

             
His new friend looked him up and down very slowly, then smiled.  At least she had all her teeth, Mike thought.  “Sit down, Mike.”

             
Mike settled into her booth and learned more than he ever wanted to know about Patty Holton.  Patty not only went to high school with Vicky Patterson, she had known her since they were five years old.  Patty had lived in Tenaqua as a child, and now lived in the neighboring town of North Park, where she lived in an apartment with her two cats Dolly and Frank.  She worked as a checker at the Costco a few miles away, and liked spending her free time in Tenaqua.  She liked the ambience of a small town, she said. 

             
Mike tried to interrupt her monologue a couple of times, but was unsuccessful.  Finally he grabbed her hand and put on his most charming front.  “Tell me about Vicky.”   

             
“She was one of the smartest kids in the class, though you wouldn’t know it to look at her.  She was always quiet, and looked like she was destined to go nowhere.  She was okay, I guess,  I didn’t really talk to her much.  Nobody did, come to think of it.”

             
“You weren’t friends?” Mike asked.

             
Patty gulped her coffee and scrunched up her face.  “Vicky didn’t have a lot of friends.”

             
“Did she have any boyfriends?”

             
“What, are you the jealous type?”  Patty laughed at her own joke.  “Don’t worry there -- Vicky spent all her weekends babysitting.”

             
“Babysitting?”  Mike couldn’t reconcile the thought of the Victoria Vernon he knew with someone paid to watch other people’s children.  It sounded like he didn’t understand the concept.

             
“Yeah.  Sorry, not a lot to tell about your girlfriend there, pal.  I hate to say it,  she was kind of a loser.”

             
Mike stifled a smile and stood up.  He threw a couple of dollars on the table.  “Thanks for the info.  And no, she’s not my girlfriend.”

             
“In that case...” Patty tried to stand up to meet Mike, but he was too quick for her.  He stopped at the register to grab a toothpick and was out of the door in a flash.

             
             
             
             
             
             
###

             
Victoria rode her mother’s bike, which she now considered hers, up to the Thrift Shop the next morning.  She was heading downtown tomorrow to meet with Mercedes again, and wanted to commute in something besides her mother’s Talbot's best.  Besides, it just felt good to shop, even if had to be for used clothing.

             
She noticed that the window display in the store had not changed since the first time she visited, except for the absence of the
Victoria ‘s
Ferragamos.  They didn’t even bother to replace the shoes.  Bendel’s changed their windows weekly.

             
The first time she came to the Thrift Store she had skulked in and out, hoping no one had seen her.  Today, she was emboldened by her finds, and went inside with head held steady, if not exactly high.   Instead of the undertaker that had been working there on her previous visit, there was a sprightly older woman who wore sensible shoes and a short grey bob.  She had reading glasses hanging around her neck, and looked like she should be working at the local library.  She smiled a big toothy grin, and waved Victoria in.

             
“Come on in, we don’t bite!” She said.  Victoria wasn’t so sure with those chompers.  “What are you looking for Honey?”

             
Victoria hated it when anyone called her Honey, especially waitresses, store clerks and old men.  The only people she allowed to call her Honey were Andrea and Bill Clinton.   It used to drive Trip crazy.

             
“Good morning!” chirped the woman behind the counter. “Are you looking for anything special?”

             
Two pairs of Ferragamos may be too much to ask.  “I had some luck here the other day finding some designer clothes.”

             
“Oh, do you have a black tie event?”  Hardly. 

             
“No, just something that doesn’t say ‘Merona’ on the tag.”  The woman looked at her with a blank stare.  Victoria presented it in a new way.  “Clothes that would have people’s names on them.  Calvin Klein, Georgio Armani, Michael Kors ...”

             
The woman brightened.  “Oh, I know!  Only men’s names?”

             
Heck no!  Stella, Donna, Gloria - there were so many amazing women designers.  “Anything you have.”

             
“This may work.  I wasn’t sure what we could do with it,” she said as she leaned under the counter to pull up her find.

             
She placed a vintage Judith Lieber purse on the counter, and Victoria caught her breath.  It was gorgeous!  And expensive.  Victoria knew the market for a purse like that could fetch four figures.  Even at the thrift store they had to know what it was worth.  

             
“It’s beautiful,” just holding it made Victoria happy.  “How much?” The last thing she needed was a expensive, stunning evening bag. 

             
“$12?” the woman suggested.

             
“Twelve dollars?” Victoria wanted to be sure she heard right.  The woman nodded her head.  “I don’t really need it,” Victoria wanted to play it cool.  “But I’ll take it.” She didn’t need it, yet she’d be an idiot to walk away from a $2000 purse for the price of a couple of lattes. 

             
“You have some fantastic hidden treasures in here,” Victoria was just making small talk as she browsed the racks of clothing.  Little boys’ cub scout uniforms were mixed in with mens’ suits.  Sweatpants and overalls were intermingled with evening dresses.  “You probably could sell so much more if it was better organized.”

             
“Oh, if I only could,” the woman sighed.  “We’re so short staffed here, it’s all I can do to get the new inventory on the floor.”

             
While the were talking Victoria had fished out beautiful ivory lace top - no name, though the lines were good - and a darling high-waisted black pencil skirt.  The skirt was probably from the 80s, though she knew the look was coming back.   She laid them on the counter.

             
“You have such a good eye,” the woman told her.  “You should work here,” she said, half-joking.  Victoria didn’t seem like the type to work at a thrift store.  Then again, Victoria didn’t seem like the type to
be
in a thrift store.

             
A job?  Victoria was intrigued.  She had never even considered getting a job.  With everything that had happened to her in the past couple of months, it never occurred to her. 

             
“Elise Feldman,” the woman said, extending her hand over the counter.  “Think about it.  You’d be fantastic.”

             
“Victoria Vernon,” Victoria answered.  She could really turn this place around, as the only place this store could go was up.  She was intrigued.  “Tell me more,” she said.

             
             
             
             
             
             
###

             
She walked out of the store with four fabulous items she could never use in her current situation, and came away with something far more valuable: A job.   She was still a little bit in shock.  Elise had made it all seem so easy.  She’d work four hours a day, Monday through Friday.  She only made $8 an hour, and she’d have first access to all the goods that came through the store.  Besides, spending her days with Jerry Springer was getting tedious.  There are only so many paternity tests one can watch in a lifetime.  It’d do her good to get out of the house, she reasoned.