The Queen of Bad Decisions (3 page)

Bobby was annoying when he was a child. A tormenting punk as a teenager. Now, as an adult, he was just a nasty idiot. Her parents must be so proud. Not.

“I’m better off without him. Too bad mom and dad can’t rid themselves of their resident shit head.”

He balled his hand into a fist and cocked his arm back. Daisy froze. How had her little brother turned into this kind of man? Exactly the type her parents were warning her to stay away from. He laughed and turned away, holding his hand behind his back so she could see his uplifted middle finger. She definitely needed to find someplace else to live, the sooner the better.

At the book store the next morning Daisy grabbed her favorite mug out of the cabinet. It was made of clear glass. She loved to watch the creamer swirl through the dark coffee like an invading spirit. She glared at the coffee maker. Why was it taking so long? The brown liquid trickled into the carafe at a tortuously slow pace. Her back muscles throbbed. She bent over and tried to touch her toes, but was so stiff her fingertips only made it to her shins. The stretch helped a bit, but it still felt like she had slept on a sack of marbles. Her parents’ couch looked fluffy and squishy, but looks were deceiving. Finally the coffee maker started gurgling, signaling the caffeine-filled, life saving beverage was done. She ripped open a couple packets of sugar, dumped them into the bottom of her mug and filled it with steaming coffee. A splash of amaretto flavored, non-dairy, fake cream completed the glorious morning cocktail. She took a sip and winced. A scorched tongue was a small price to pay in exchange for actually acting like a living human being, instead of a zombie.

“Good morning!”

Daisy flinched from the unexpected, chipper salutation. She had been too brain dead to notice Mary, the store’s owner, come into the break room. Her mind had better kick into gear soon or she would be shelving books in the wrong area and giving customers incorrect change. “Hi.”

“Hi? That’s it? Where’s my usual, sunny Daisy?” Mary plucked a rainbow-colored mug out of the cabinet. Her long, gray dreadlocks flipped to the side when she bent to retrieve the carton of whipping cream out of the small refrigerator nestled under the counter near the sink. As she squirted a ribbon of thick honey into the mug she said, “Oh, no. Something happened with Gary, didn’t it?”

All she had said was hi. How did Mary figure that out? “Um . . . I left him. He came home drunk and didn’t like what I had made for dinner.” Daisy closed her eyes and took a fortifying gulp of coffee. “I freaked out about the way he as acting. I guess I finally had enough of his shit, so I packed up my stuff and got the hell out.”

Mary poured a splash of coffee on top of the cream and honey mixture that almost filled the mug. The rich, sweet concoction was her boss’s favorite beverage, but it made Daisy’s stomach do flip-flops. Why didn’t she just warm the cream in the microwave instead of adding the tiny bit of coffee to heat the artery-clogging drink? Mary took a sip and said, “Good. Glad to hear you’ve finally left that loser. He wasn’t good for you.”

Another critic. Mary was like a mother to most of her employees. She had no qualms about dispensing her unique brand of wisdom, often unasked for, but she had never said much about Gary. “And you didn’t tell me what you thought of him before because?”

“Because some life lessons you just have to learn on your own. You need to set your man bar higher.”

“My man bar. Is that like a salad bar?” The image of a salad bar stocked with body parts like six pack abs, blue eyes and dimpled cheeks floated into her mind. “You know, video games are the only place you can construct a perfect man.”

“I mean bar as in a level of expectation. Don’t stay home waiting for George Clooney to call, but you can do so much better than your last two sleazy boyfriends.”

Daisy winced. There was nothing like getting slammed with a freight train of truth before she had finished her first mug of coffee for the day. “My face is covered in acne scars and I’m built like a man, not exactly prime dating material for most guys. I may be a blonde, but I get the bottom feeders in the dating pool.”

“My dear, you need to hang around with nicer boys, ones that aren’t hung up on a woman’s looks or themselves. You have a fabulous personality that more than makes up for your little physical glitches.”

You have a great personality and that’s what really counts.
How many times had she heard variations of that prime piece of advice? Men that didn’t care what their girlfriends looked like were a myth. “I’m terrible at choosing men. I need to stop worrying about finding a date and concentrate on the things I do well, like selling books and knitting.”

Mary flashed a goofy, toothy grin. She nodded at the main room of the book store. “Why don’t you refill your coffee and unlock the door while I get the cash register set up. Then come talk to me some more.”

Daisy checked the clock on the coffee maker as she refilled her mug. It
was
time to open. Luckily mornings were usually slow. It wasn’t like people were lined up outside, waiting to be let in when she flipped on the electronic Open sign. Maybe she could get the conversation with Mary over before nosy customers started coming in to potentially eavesdrop. Some of the regulars were almost fixtures of the store, like the easy chairs and step stools. They came in and browsed for hours, looking for new literary treasures that Mary had unearthed. The fewer people that knew about Daisy’s failed personal life, the better. She hurried to the checkout counter after completing the sign lighting, door unlocking circuit. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

“First off. Where did you stay last night? My couch is available, if you need it and don’t mind dealing with Patsy and Cookie.”

Patsy and Cookie were Mary’s cats. Huge, fuzzy creatures who curled up on any lap that became available in their owner’s apartment. Sleeping in the same room with the furballs might actually be dangerous. Being smothered by a cat in the middle of the night was not the way she wanted to leave the world. It was nice to know that Mary’s place was an option, but she hoped to find some other, less potentially lethal, living arrangement.

“I slept at my parents’ house last night. They said I can stay until I find somewhere else to live, so Patsy and Cookie can keep their places on your couch for awhile.”

“If you get tired of staying with your parents, you’re always welcome at my place. Okay?”

“Thanks.” Competing with kitties for their favorite sleeping spot sounded better than her parents’ apartment, but she didn’t want to impose on her boss. “If I don’t find an apartment soon I might decide to take you up on the offer. The couch is about as comfortable as a bed of nails and my little brother is a real dickhead. I’m embarrassed to admit I’m related to him.”

“Little brothers. I think their place in life is to torture older sisters. Believe me, I understand. Mine is a real piece of work. His last, guaranteed profitable business venture landed him in prison.” Mary rolled her eyes as she hopped onto the stool behind the register. “Enough about crazy family, though. I want to talk about something else.”

What else could she want? Daisy’s stomach gurgled. Was she going to cut her hours, or worse, ask her to clean the bathrooms? “Okay.”

“Gary was the reason I could never schedule you to work after 5 p.m., right?”

“Yes.”

Mary rubbed her hands together. “So you can work evenings now?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful! I have a new task for you.”

Daisy used a pair of scissors to slit the tape on a box that was sitting on the counter. The money from working longer hours would be nice, but Mary’s cryptic line of questioning was freakier than usual. Her boss was always a little eccentric. Gray-haired women in their 50’s usually didn’t sport a head full of fat, felted dreadlocks. The psychedelic, flower child wardrobe just added to the exoticness - or weirdness. Whatever plans she had in mind seemed to be exciting her to the point that Daisy was afraid sparks would start shooting out of her hair if she built up any more static electricity from rubbing her hands together. Better to just bite the bullet and get it out of the way before Mary self-combusted. “What would you like me to do?”

“Be the instructor’s assistant during the class on Friday night. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, but you’re perfect for the job. I know you’ll love Anita, too.”

The book store had a large selection of craft and art books, so Mary had come up with the idea to offer classes in the evenings a few times a month to help draw customers in. So many people had signed up for the first session, to make altered books, there was a waiting list. Mary’s request wasn’t as bad as she had expected, but she wasn’t any more qualified to be the assistant than anybody else that worked at the store. “I doubt I’d be any more helpful than you, but I can help with the class.”

“You’re a natural-born artist. Stop being a silly denialist.”

Denialist? Now she was inventing her own words. Working at the book store was hardly ever boring. Mary always called Daisy an artist and she was insanely uncomfortable with the label. She unraveled sweaters and reknit the yarn into funky scarves and hats. That was more like creative recycling than art. “I’m not a real artist and we both know that.”

“Whatever.” She waved her hand at Daisy’s comment, like she was shooing away a fly. “Thank you, sweetie. Now I have a few other requests.”

Daisy set the pile of books she had removed from the box back down on the counter.
Here it comes.
She nodded.

“First, do you have any scarves made up? I want to buy one to give to Anita as a thank you present for teaching the class.”

Daisy nodded again. She couldn’t sleep after the unsettling encounter with Bobby, so she had stayed up until 1 a.m. knitting to calm herself down. She turned into an industrial knitting machine whenever she was upset. The scarf tripled in length while she had tried not to barge into her brother’s room and strangle him.

“Great! Now for the last request. Could you make some snacks to serve at the class, if I buy the ingredients? I can’t cook to save my life, either.”

At least that was something she felt qualified for. “Sure. Decide what you would like and we can figure out the shopping list before you leave for the day.”

Daisy pulled the bowls of dip and vegetables out of the break room’s refrigerator and slid them onto the counter. The small, round cafe’ table was covered with platters and plates, waiting to be filled with all of the savory snacks. She spooned a mound of hummus onto the middle of a large, cobalt blue plate and arranged cucumber slices around it like fish scales. The murmur of dozens of people chatting filled the book store, but she could still hear the jazz music coming from the speakers in every room well enough to hum along. The place was packed with people browsing for books and chatting as they waited for the class to begin. Since this was a special occasion, the very first art class, many of her co-workers had come on their off time to show support for Mary and the store they all loved. The thing was, every one of them was wearing something that Daisy had knitted. It seemed that everywhere she turned one of her hats, scarves or a pair of arm warmers was being worn. Something was up and she was the last one to know. She poured raisin chutney over a block of cream cheese then piled fancy crackers on the platter around it.

Mary walked into the kitchen. Tiny, brass bells sewn onto the hem of her deep purple skirt tinkled like a wind chime. A black, circular lace shawl, a Christmas present from Daisy, was wrapped around her shoulders and fastened with a sparkling, black brooch. Fortune teller chic. There was no sense in grilling her about why everyone was wearing accessories more suited for the middle of winter than an August night. Mary was most likely the ring leader of the stunt. The woman should have been a spy, because nothing would make her spill the beans when she had a secret to keep.

“This looks wonderful!” Mary said as she slid her pinkie finger through the chutney that still clung to the side of the bowl. She licked off the tangy sauce. “Tastes fabulous, too. Thank you so much for doing this. Judging from the crowd, these classes are going to be a success.”

“I think you’re right. There are a lot of people here.” Daisy surveyed the platters and bowls. “What do you want me to do now? The snacks are all ready.”

“It’s almost time to let the students into the conference room, so why don’t I help you get everything set up in there.” Mary picked up a cardboard bakery box in each hand. “Then I can introduce you to Anita before things get too crazy.”

Luckily Mary had ordered cookies and mini pies from a bakery to round out the treat offerings. Daisy liked to cook, but baking wasn’t her thing. The art teacher had agreed to let more people join the class. Making the savory appetizers was more than enough work, especially since she had to cook in her parents’ tiny kitchen while trying not to make any noise because it was after their mandatory 9 p.m. bed time. Daisy carefully balanced a couple of the smaller platters on her outstretched arm. She had started waitressing when she was sixteen and sometimes the skills still came in handy. On the journey through the store she even managed to outmaneuver a few patrons who were paying more attention to the books on the shelves than the walking snack bar squeezing behind them. She sighed in relief when they made it into the conference room with no need to backtrack to clean up spills or other catastrophes.