Think Before You Speak (27 page)

I remembered that trip to Spain with a
shudder. As long as I lived, I’d never understand my dad’s appeal
for running with the bulls or the bloodlust of a bullfight. I’d
much rather watch a more evenly matched and less gruesome brawl –
like two football players slugging it out on the fifty-yard
line.

“You really need to dust more often, dear.
I’d be happy to send Rebecca over once or twice a week. Or we could
hire a service, but there’s no guarantee you’ll have the same
person from week-to-week.”

Before I allowed my catnip to get all bound
up, I considered the recent discussion with Bobby. Mom was only
acting out of concern for me, but I needed to take a stand and stop
depending so much on her generosity – financially or otherwise.

“Thanks, Mom, but I usually clean house on
Mondays, so it isn’t surprising there’s a slight dust build-up by
now.”

“But it can’t be good for your health,
breathing all that dust.”

“It’s Texas in summer,” I deadpanned. “You
can’t go outside without getting a face full of dust. I doubt the
little bit inside makes a dent by comparison.”

Mom pursed her lips but didn’t say anything
more before folding the dainty linen square and tucking it away.
Uncomfortable silence again stood between us like the collective
breath before the coin toss.

I sighed. “I hate waiting, don’t you?”

“Time seems to stop when you’re anxious,” Mom
admitted as she checked her diamond encrusted watch, weighted with
enough stones to give her carpel tunnel. “What time did Reginald
say they would arrive?”

“He didn’t. Just said they would be here
sometime late afternoon.”

“That’s very unlike him not to set a
specified time for delivery.”

“It was kinda spur-of-the-moment, Mom. He
figured I’d want the furniture as soon as
possible…considering.”

A single brow arched my way. “Considering
what, Victoria?”

“You know,” I hedged. There was no way in
hell I was going to share with my mother about my hopes for
breaking it in Sunday night – if not before. “That I’ve been
sleeping on the floor for the last few weeks.”

“The floor? What about the mattresses?”

“Well yeah, the mattresses, but it isn’t good
on them long term. Plus, now he can close out this project ticket
before fall decorating gets underway.”

“I see,” Mom muttered.

Don’t think I was very convincing. It was
frustrating having to talk around certain issues with my mom. That
we couldn’t simply be two women having an adult conversation
instead of me riding around the never-ending hamster wheel and
getting nowhere. The only time I relaxed around her was during our
shopping excursions, which got me thinking again about my
conversation with Bobby. It was time to grow-up the relationship I
had with my mom.

“Hey, Mom, I had an idea earlier this week,”
I started.

“About what?” she asked.

“About our Tuesdays.”

Fear leapt in her eyes. I saw in a flash the
truth to Bobby’s words, the concern reflected there and the tenuous
hold she clung to on having a relationship with me –
any
relationship with me – regardless of the cost.

“Oh, Victoria,” Mom said, with a tinge of
regret in her tone. “It’s the only day we get to spend
together.”

Here goes nothing. I took a deep breath. “But
how about we do something besides shop?”

“Something else?”

I drew closer and placed my hand over hers.
“It isn’t that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me. If
it weren’t for you, I’d be homeless.”

“Now dear, your father and I would never
allow you to be homeless.”

“Okay, scratch that,” I said with a shudder,
imagining life locked behind those fortress doors again. “It’s just
I don’t need anything else right now.”

Mom blinked like she was waking up from a
long nap and patted her chest with long, manicured fingers. “I
don’t mean to be obtuse, dear, but what are you saying?”

“I have all the clothes and shoes my closet
can handle.”

A huff of frustration. “I knew we should’ve
taken space from the bathroom and expanded the original closet
footprint.”

“No, Mom. The closet is big enough. It’s the
stuff I don’t need anymore of…er, of which I don’t need
anymore…uh.”

“But we’ve barely made a dent in your fall
wardrobe. Then winter arrivals begin next month, and before you
know it we’re placing spring orders.”

I wasn’t going to get anywhere unless I took
drastic measures. “Mom, I want to break up with your credit
card.”

Tears filled her eyes. Oh, I was the world’s
worst daughter. I was so going to Hell for upsetting my mother, or
maybe there was a special purgatory for disappointing
daughters.

I continued, “I still want to spend Tuesdays
together. Just not shopping. How about we do some volunteer work
together instead?”

The hankie returned from its hiding place,
and Mom dabbed at her eyes to avoid a make-up malfunction. If
Reggie walked in on us now, I was going to get in so much trouble –
and not just for ruining my mom’s make-up.

“Volunteer work?” she finally asked. “Such
as?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “You used to work
as a nurse.” I gulped, imagining again those bedpans. “Or there’s
one of…Dad’s…philanthropic causes.”

Wash my mouth out with soap. Or rum. Better
yet, where was a bottle of Jack? Thankfully, we didn’t have to
continue this odd and uncomfortable train of conversation when a
solid rap thunked against the door.

“I’ll give it some thought, Victoria,” Mom
said as I stood and opened the front door.

“
Mein liebchen
!”

***

It was after seven before the furniture
parade and set-up finished. Reggie was in full diva mode right up
to the end, ordering the crew around and making Han out to be less
assistant and more coat rack.

Once he finished styling the linens himself,
Reggie proclaimed the room a masterpiece and finally gave his
assistant something to do – take pictures of Mom and me standing
beside him in front of the king-sized monstrosity. The mattress sat
so high I’d be practicing every night hereafter for a climb of
Mount Everest.

For once in my adult life I actually worried
about what would break if I fell out of bed. I sure hoped Radioman
wasn’t a bed hog – or a thrasher. This thing could quite possibly
be a damper on rough-and-tumble foreplay. Hmm. Maybe that’s what my
mom had in mind all along when she’d chosen it.

After wrap-up, Reggie told Han to ride along
with the crew to the store. For the next half hour, easy
conversation flowed between Mom and Reggie – like I wished we could
have – while I redid my hair in a simple long ponytail, freshened
my make-up for evening activities, then changed for work into a
form-fitting, deep green sheath. To make Mom happy, I slipped on my
new pearl gray platforms.

Reggie fussed over me when I came out of the
bedroom, while Mom glanced approvingly at my shoes – and little
else. Guess Bobby was right. You couldn’t stop a mom from being a
mother. When Reggie saw she wasn’t going to leave before me, he
pecked my cheeks at the door and offered a wide-eyed stare of
concern. I wiggled my phone where Mom couldn’t see, and he lifted
his chin in acknowledgement of our clandestine plan before heading
down the stairwell.

I turned around to Mom – and she was nowhere
to be found. A peek into the bedroom revealed her rearranging the
enormous mound of pillows across the thick down comforter. She
must’ve plotted with Han behind Reggie’s back to have included so
many.

“Hey, Mom?” I called. “I hate to run you off,
but I really need to get in a few hours of my shift tonight.”

“Of course, dear. Give me five minutes to
touch up a bit.”

Fifteen minutes later, my patience had
dissolved and the foot tapping began. At this rate, I’d never get a
chance to talk to Reggie, much less earn any money to start that
life of living within my own means.

“Seriously, Mom. It’s fine. I’ve got to get
to work.”

A final fluff and Mom surveyed her work with
a critical eye before giving me a hug and strutting from my
apartment. I sure hoped I hadn’t hurt her feelings. Maybe after a
night of sleeping on it, she’d understand everything I’d tried to
explain and realize the need for our relationship to, as Bobby so
eloquently put it, mature.

As Slinky launched onto the bed and tiptoed
around Pillow Mountain, I tapped out a text to Reggie on my new
phone, then dropped it in the purse sprawled across the sofa.
Hopefully, Reggie hadn’t gotten too impatient waiting for Mom to
leave and instead left for home.

When the knock came a couple of minutes
later, I realized he must’ve blended in among the building’s
residents. I could hardly wait to tell him about my visit with
Switch and the lingering suspicions about Lorraine. If it wasn’t
her, I had nothing else to add to the equation, and would have to
admit once and for all that I’d failed.

For the second time that night, I was
surprised to see how mistaken my assumptions were when I opened the
door to the wrong person. Like a lightning bolt from Heaven,
everything coalesced together like the voices of a choir of
angels.

But this time they weren’t singing the
Hallelujah Chorus.

“Han?” I flustered. “I uh…was just getting
ready to…um…leave for work.”

Reggie’s assistant shoved his foot against
the door and pushed his way into my apartment, closing the door
behind him. My Sig may as well have been twenty miles away instead
of twenty steps to the bedroom closet. I really needed to start
carrying it again if friends kept asking for my help. I was tired
of getting caught with my proverbial panties down around my
ankles.

Han swiped a hand across his perspiring brow
– and I doubted it was strictly from the heat.

“I understand there was a problem with
pillows,” Han replied.

The weighted bulge in his jacket pocket near
where his hand hovered told me I’d better fudge my way out of there
right quick. “Pillows? Nope, no pillow problems. I really have to
get going. I’m already late for work.”

Han glanced down at his phone. “Then what was
this text you sent a few moments ago?”

“What text?”

“It said your mom was gone and it was safe to
return.”

“I didn’t send that text to you,” I murmured.
“It was to Reggie.” The truth dawned on me further when Han’s eyes
narrowed and a smile tipped his lips. “You cloned Reggie’s
phone.”

The pea shooter materialized from his pocket
right before another knock thudded against the door.

“Back up,” he whispered. “And don’t even
think about warning him off, or I’ll shoot.”

The way the gun in his hand wavered, I
wondered if the coming shooting would be classified as purposeful
or accidental. I felt again the memory sensation of the pistol
muzzle sizzling against my neck when Bud had tried to take me down
two months ago, and I slowly walked backward until the kitchen
island pressed against my spine.

Without taking his eyes off me, Han tugged
open the door then leveled the gun at Reggie. The designer’s mouth
formed around his standard greeting then died on his lips before he
could get out anything more than
mmm
. Delight drooped into
disorientation before falling all the way down into dread as
Reggie’s eyes widened and took in the gun pointed at him – and who
held it.

“Han?”

“Get inside,” Han commanded, slamming the
door shut behind Reggie and motioning him to stand with me.

The weapon leveled again between us and shook
in Han’s fist until he gripped it with both hands.

“And don’t get any ideas about rushing me,”
Han continued. “I’ve been taking lessons for a month now and know
perfectly well how to handle a gun.”

Yeah, and the pope is – I really didn’t know
his nationality. Not Catholic, remember? But give me a chance to
fetch my gun and fifty paces, and then we’d see which denomination
bubbled to the surface when the best shooter won.

Fear churned into fury when Reggie clenched
his fists. The accent not only slipped but disappeared entirely.
“It was you? You’re the one who’s been blackmailing me?”

Han’s face scrunched up in frustration, and
his eyes disappeared into slits. “Don’t pretend you hadn’t figured
it out. Your little girlfriend here was about to reveal it to
you.”

I wisely kept my mouth shut and just shrugged
when Reggie glanced my way. As my grandmother used to say,
well
glory be
. There were probably more people than she who’d be
pretty impressed that I’d finally learned to control my tongue.

At least for a few seconds.

“I had someone else pegged,” I admitted.

Reggie leaned my way. “Switch was
involved?”

“Nah,” I muttered.

The hand went to his hip and Reggie pivoted
my direction so fast I felt the resultant breeze. “Then who?”

“My money was on Lorraine Padget.”

“From the Summers account?”

“That’s the one.”

“But why would she…”

“Apparently she didn’t,” I interrupted.

“Hey!” Han shouted.

Reggie’s attention returned to Han. “Why,
Han? If you were having financial problems, you could’ve come to
me. I’d have helped you. Given you a raise. Something besides
seeing you resort to blackmail. You’ve been my right hand for more
than ten years.”

“Exactly,” Han cried. “For years I’ve been
your whipping boy and done everything you asked while left in the
shadows. And what have I gotten for my efforts? Lies and
treachery.”

“Lies and treachery? What on earth are you
talking about?”

“I found out about your retirement
plans…about your decision to sell the business to some big
corporation instead of me.”

“If you’d wanted to buy the business, why
didn’t you say so?”