***
Several minutes later, I set out for Carlisle Antiques. At the last minute, I’d added a red leather bolero to my ensemble and was glad I did. The early evening air had turned chilly.
It was my first time on stilettos and I wobbled from side to side, never quite able to gather a comfortable momentum. I watched how women on similar height heels maneuvered the cobblestones and determined the confident walk came from practice. Hopefully, I would only need to carry out this charade for a few days. Two, preferably. One, if I got really lucky.
Feeling unsophisticated and about to drown in my duplicity, I hobbled along, devising a good come-on line for Carlisle, coaching myself not to appear too eager, be aloof but coy, and smart but only to a degree.
The bustier was so tight I couldn’t take a full breath. Amy must have lost weight; either that, or I’d gained a few pounds in my upper body. I hadn’t been able to stuff all of my bosom into the cups. Without the bolero, I’d look like a woman ready to party.
I arrived at Carlisle Antiques and took a moment to primp and pull the seat of my pants out of my crotch. The ladies had snuck upward a little, I noticed. I yanked the bustier higher onto my chest. Then with a confidence unusual for me, I waltzed into the shop.
At the door, I looked around, noticing the exquisite pieces of antique furniture, china and crystal and no Carlisle. I’d assumed he’d still be here. I hoped it wasn’t my first mistake. I remembered my eleventh grade teacher telling us assumptions were for asses.
A young lady, wearing a peasant skirt and a black off-the-shoulder blouse came from a back room, her bronzed skin gleaming in dusk’s light. I returned her bright smile, thinking there was still time for me to back out. No, I couldn’t. I needed to do this for Amy as well as myself.
“May I help you?” she asked.
I quickly improvised my come-on line. “Has the McFuggey Ana I ordered come in yet? It’s been weeks, and I haven’t heard a thing.” From one of my rare visits to the paper, I remembered a reporter mentioning the doll. Good thing, too, otherwise I’d be stammering like a buffoon.
The clerk frowned.
I’d been getting a lot of that lately and wondered what I’d said or done this time.
“You must mean McGuffey Ana.”
I covered up my faux-pas with a giggle. “I did say McFuggey, didn’t I? I’ve just flown across two continents without layovers, and my brain is still somewhere over the Atlantic, I’m afraid.”
She laid her fingers on my arm. “I know what you mean. If I don’t get eight hours of sleep, my brain only wakes at noon.”
I laughed. “That can’t be good for sales.”
She leaned in close to me. She smelled like strawberries and peaches. I inhaled the intoxicating scent, mesmerized by her soft voice.
“Don’t tell anyone, but it helps me deal with unruly clients.”
“Did you sleep well last night?” I asked. “I tend to misbehave when I don’t get what I want.” I didn’t know where this playfulness came from. Banter was unlike me. Perhaps I was more into the role than I thought.
She threw her head back and laughed.
I didn’t know how to respond, so I simply stood there like a statue, looking adorable, I hoped.
“I’m Trish, by the way,” she said, extending her hand. I clasped the ends of her fingers and gave them a little shake. “Josie Fox. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I love your outfit,” she exclaimed.
“Thanks. Yours is pretty special too.”
“I wish I could afford leather, but on my salary…”
“I know someone who’s a buyer for a clothing store. Sometimes, she stumbles onto deals and shares them with her friends,” I said.
“Lucky you. I haven’t seen you around before.” She ushered me by the elbow to a desk in the corner. “Are you new to the area?”
“I lived here once. A long time ago.”
“Are you planning to stay for awhile?”
I watched her flip through the pages of a large journal-type book. Orders, perhaps. “It depends on my current assignment,” I said.
She let the pages fall over her hand and looked at me. “Are you a journalist?”
I shook my head. “Nothing so important. I’m a troubleshooter for Jorrock Jorrock Pax. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?” I’d drop to the floor if she had.
“Sorry,” she said.
Trish sounded genuinely upset for not knowing the company I worked for. “It’s okay. Not many people have. We’re the experts behind the experts.” When she gave me an absent look, I explained, rolling my index finger in the air, “You know the saying behind every good man there’s a good woman?”
“My mama used to say it all the time.”
“Well, that’s us. We keep everything functioning at a premium for our clients and they reap the benefits.”
“I understand,” she said.
My lies accumulating, I was anxious to switch topics and asked sweetly, “Did you find my doll?”
“I can’t find any record of the order,” she said, flipping pages over and back again.
I kept with the charade. “Perhaps Mr. Carlisle might know. I saw him here earlier. At the time, I was on my way to an appointment and couldn’t stop.”
“Jackson isn’t here right now, but he’ll be back to close up. You can wait, if you’d like.”
“I will, if you don’t mind.” Tomorrow was a different day. I might not feel as revengeful as I did today. If I didn’t, I’d be shrugging at Carlisle’s mistreatment of my sister. No man should get away with treating women like they were play toys to be thrown to the side when they tired of them.
“Not at all,” she said. “I’d enjoy the company. Friday nights are so boring. Everyone’s out partying.”
Yes, I knew what she meant. I wished I were somewhere else too, contemplating a gin and tonic rather than the best method to get Jackson Carlisle out of his pants.
While Trish made tea, I called the bedside sitter on my cell. She answered the phone on the first ring again. Right on the ball, this one.
“Linda, it’s Josie. How’s my sister doing?”
“There’s been no change. I’m sorry.”
I forced myself to sound positive. “Would you tell her I called, and I’ll be by to see her later?”
“I will.”
“Thanks. You’re a sweetheart.”
Feeling lost and alone, I closed my cell. Amy will recover, I told myself. She will. I raised my eyes upward. Did you hear me?
I cleared my throat, dried my eyes with my fingers and looked around. The shop was filled with treasures. Jackson Carlisle seemed the Yank Azman of antiques. From what I could tell on a quick glance, Carlisle sold everything from decorative hair pins to papyrus plants. I examined a crystal chandelier, then moved on to bowls and vases and from there, to glassware and stemware. A china cabinet filled with dishes, plates and cups caught my eye just as Trish returned with our tea.
“I could spend hours in here just looking,” I said.
“I know what you mean. Old things call to me, as well,” she said, gesturing for me to sit at her desk.
Sitting in the tighter-than-tight leather pants proved a challenge, one too great for me to overcome without causing bodily damage. Improvising, I rested my buttocks on the corner of Trish’s desk.
“This is good tea,” I said after a couple of sips.
“It’s a blend I get from the woman down the street.” Trish smiled. “I’ll give you some.”
“I couldn’t, but thank you.”
“I can get more. Besides, Jackson pays for it.”
In other circumstances, I might think this Jackson fellow was a nice man.
She looked at me and became quiet for a moment. “Would you like to get a drink after I get off work?”
My response came natural. “I’d love to.” I’d never had a female friend and appreciated that Trish wanted me as one. I remembered then my plans for Jackson Carlisle. “I’
ll have to make it for tomorrow, though. I’ve a previous engagement tonight.” Optimistically speaking.