Real Women Don't Wear Size 2 (35 page)

“Honey, how do you plan to pay for more school?” her mother asked, her voice surprisingly calm.

“I’m going to get a job in a photography studio,” Babette said without hesitation. When Janie looked doubtful, she added, “Or maybe I’ll freelance for a newspaper, or sell photos on my own.” She shrugged, but didn’t frown. She was happy about this decision, and no one, not Aunt Madge, her mother, or anyone else, was going to change that.

Janie sighed, but didn’t ask additional questions about money, which was just as well. If Babette had made it this long with her part-time gigs getting her by, she could make it another four years. Easy.

“The black hair,” Janie said.

“Yeah?” Babette asked, bracing.

Her mother reached forward and ran her thumb and forefinger down the front of Babette’s inky locks, then tucked a small section behind her ear and smiled. “It’s nice, but I’ve always been partial to your natural color.”

“Red?” Babette asked.

“It’s the exact same color as my mother’s was,” Janie reminded. “But—”

“But?”

“But like I said, the black is nice too.”

Babette smiled. Her mother had never judged her unpredictability, had never told her she should be more like Clarise, the smart daughter with her original hair color . . . and a steady job. Janie Robinson understood how two girls with the same genes could be so different and even encouraged both of them to pursue their very different goals. Clarise’s goal would soon be within reach. She’d informed Babette that she only had one more semester before she obtained her degree. Babette was proud that Clarise was finally getting what she wanted. Though they were different as night and day, they cared about each other. Because of that, Babette knew Clarise would support her decision to go for the degree in photography.

“Everything’s loaded,” the porter said. He closed the lid on the trunk.

Babette tipped him and climbed into the car, where Aunt Madge was talking nonstop on her cell phone.

“Well,” Madge said, “if you ask me, she should keep it up. The guy hurt her, so he’s history. Enough said. Where is she now, anyway?”

Janie backed the car up, but shot a look at Madge and whispered, “Let me talk to her when you’re finished.”

“Mom,” Madge said, “Janie wants to talk to ya.” She handed the phone to Babette’s mother. “Don’t worry. He hasn’t seen her yet,” Madge told Janie.

“Who?” Babette asked, while her mother took the phone.

“Hello, Gert,” Janie said. She nodded and did a few “uh-hmmms” into the phone, then asked, “Well, is she doing okay?” She waited again, nodded then frowned. “No, she hasn’t called here. Guess she didn’t want to talk about it, but I appreciate your letting us know. And thanks for being there for her, Gert.”

“She need to talk to me again?” Madge asked loudly.

Janie shook her head, then disconnected. “She said she had to finish getting dinner ready. Said she wanted to cook Clarise her favorite tonight.”

“What happened to Clarise?” Babette asked, knowing a favorite meal from Granny Gert meant Clarise was either sick—or upset.

“She had her heart trampled,” Madge answered. She turned in the seat and pointed a finger at Babette. “I tell you one thing, if I was in Birmingham right now, I’d have that guy’s balls on a platter.”

“Madge!” Janie scolded.

“Oh, all right. Well, I’d make him pay,” Madge declared. “In a way that was very . . . inventive.”

“Who hurt her?” Babette asked. She hadn’t even known Clarise was seeing someone, and she’d talked to her right before the cruise. Surely Clarise would have mentioned if she’d met a guy.

“That damn boss of hers,” Madge said, while Babette’s world tilted off-kilter. “What’s his name again?”

“Ethan,” Janie supplied.

“Ethan—Ethan Eubanks?” Babette shrieked, then did her best to maintain her composure when Madge looked at her questioningly.

“You know him?” her aunt asked.

“I’ve met him,” Babette said, wondering just how red her face was, since it was burning like she’d eaten five-alarm chili.

“Well, next time you see him, you can let him know that her aunt is planning to personally fix him so that he sings soprano—permanently.”

“Lord, Madge,” Janie said. “Please.”

“Oh, all right, but Clarise is tender. She’s sweet,” Madge argued. She shot a quick glance toward Babette. It lasted only a second or two, but it was long enough for Babette to see that her aunt, and probably everyone else in the family, was still comparing her to Clarise. She sure wished they’d get over it. But more than that, she wished the guy who’d evidently broken her sister’s heart wasn’t Ethan Eubanks. Of all the men in the world, why did it have to be him?

“The thing is,” Janie explained to Madge, “Gert believes Clarise is in love with him and that they’ll work this out.”

“In love with him?” Babette asked, her voice a little louder than she planned.

“From what Gertrude said,” Janie continued, “they took their relationship beyond friendship during the company trip, but then something happened that caused Clarise to leave him down there.”

The company trip. Babette felt sick. “In Tampa?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Madge said. “That Pirate Festival thing. I tell you what, I’d like to take a sword to that guy, specifically his—”

“Honestly, Madge,” Janie said. She continued to reprimand her sister-in-law, but Babette didn’t listen. She was too busy concentrating on the implications of Clarise’s getting with Ethan, and Clarise’s getting upset with Ethan. Upset enough to leave him in Tampa.

Clarise knew.

“I need to get an earlier flight back,” Babette blurted, then added, “I need to get back to Birmingham in case she needs to talk.”

“That’s a good idea, dear,” Janie said, smiling at Babette via the rearview mirror. “I’m sure she’d like having you to talk to.”

“Yeah,” Babette said.
Or to strangle.

Chapter 22

B
y the time Ethan entered his office Thursday afternoon, he’d been two days with less than six hours sleep, couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten and had a hangover the size of Mount Rushmore, thanks to his trip to the bar last night, a trip where Clarise Robinson never materialized since she’d vacated the premises long before he arrived.

Jeff looked up from banging the keys on Ethan’s computer and grimaced. “You look like you were hit by a truck.”

“I feel worse.”

“And you came to the office?” Jeff asked.

Ethan dropped in a chair and snarled. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

Jeff stood. “Wait here.” He left the office while Ethan focused on making the room stop spinning. Within two minutes, his brother returned with an oversized mug. He shoved it toward Ethan’s nose. “Drink it.”

“I’ve had coffee.”

“Not enough, evidently. Here,” Jeff repeated. “Miles told me you came to the bar, and she’d already left. Oh, by the way, don’t get any smart ideas thinking I’m going to get your coffee on a regular basis.”

“I know you too well for that,” Ethan said, taking the mug.

“And Miles also said you then decided to stick around and drown yourself in Jägermeister.”

“Right again,” Ethan said, raising the cup to Jeff, then sipping the bitter concoction that could have doubled as motor oil. “Hell, this is terrible.”

“Thanks. I made it this morning, around eight.”

Ethan squinted at his watch. “It’s four in the afternoon.”

“Yep,” Jeff said, imitating Ethan’s tone. “The coffee was cold, but I nuked it for you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Go on, drink it. You need something stout,” Jeff instructed.

“Jägermeister is pretty damn stout.”

“Obviously, but this is what you need, particularly if you’re going to try to see her again.”

Ethan gulped another bitter swallow and squinted through the horrid taste. “You know where she is?”

“No, but Rachel and Jesilyn should be able to tell you. That is why you came to the store, isn’t it? To see them and get the scoop?”

Ethan shrugged. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I tried calling her again, but I got her grandmother. Again.”

Jeff laughed. “Well, after you drink that, you should be up to questioning her friends. If she isn’t planning to go out with them tonight, they should at least know where she’ll be.”

Ethan sat the cup on the desk. “I’ve had enough of your coffee, if this crap can be classified as coffee. I’m going out on the floor and talk to Rachel and Jesilyn.”

“Fine, but you might want to stop by a mirror first. You look like shit. And the shirt is hideous, by the way.”

Ethan glanced down. When did he get this shirt? And where? “Hell.”

Jeff smirked. “My bet is that Miles had something to do with your new clothing purchase, though I’m sure he didn’t think you’d wear it all day.”

The shirt was pink, pale pink, with seven words in bold black font . . .

Don’t Laugh. This is Your Girlfriend’s Shirt.

“It’s a good thing he’s already had his progress report for last quarter,” Ethan said.

“My thoughts exactly,” Jeff said, grinning. “You gonna change?”

“Damn right,” Ethan said. He stood up, gathered his bearings, then moved toward the closet in his office and quickly located a clean white dress shirt and slacks.

“Nice choice,” Jeff said. “Pink really isn’t your color.”

Ethan glared at him.

“I’d say it’s a good thing you have a personal shower here,” Jeff said, pointing toward the bathroom door. “This would be a great time to take advantage of that too.”

Ethan didn’t say a word. He was so used to his typical role of being the logical brother that Jeff’s sound suggestions threw him for a loop. Besides, he did need a shower, particularly before he found Clarise, convinced her that he’d done nothing wrong and proclaimed his love. All before the day ended. If he had to climb that damn eight-foot concrete wall around her apartment to get to her, so be it. No way was he spending another restless night knowing she was in the same city and wouldn’t bother returning his calls. Enough was enough.

“Is that for me, or her?” Jeff asked, as Ethan neared the adjoining room, where a hot shower, fresh clothes and a toothbrush awaited.

“What?” Ethan asked.

“That look, the one that says you’re going to get what you want, like it or not. Me or her?” Jeff asked.

“Both.” Ethan slammed the door as he entered the next room.

After he’d showered in the hottest water he could stand, shaved and dressed, he emerged a new man.

“Where’s the pink shirt?” Jeff asked.

“I’m burning it as soon as possible.”

Jeff leaned back, clasped his fingers behind his head and grinned. “Gotta admit, I’m still surprised you walked through the store wearing it.”

“I didn’t, thank God. I parked out back.”

“Good. I’d have to hurt you if you scared my customers away with your postdrunk attire.”

“
Your
customers?” Ethan asked.

“Hey, they’re mine this week.”

“One week, and one week only,” Ethan announced. “And that’s because I was nice enough to help you out.”

“It’s because you wanted some time off with Clarise, and don’t try to pretend any different.”

Ethan smiled, feeling much better after the steamy shower. He had wanted time to explore the possibilities with Clarise, and explore they had. Unfortunately, it hadn’t ended the way he wanted, but as far as Ethan was concerned, it hadn’t “ended” yet. And it wouldn’t, not if he could help it.

“Let me know what Rachel and Jesi say,” Jeff said. “And by the way, I found out who told Clarise about Red.”

Ethan’s grin quickly faded. “Who?”

“Riley. Evidently, he’d gotten intimate with a few bottles of tequila and decided to stake his claim on Clarise. Guess he figured to do that, he had to get you out of the way.”

Riley. “Jake?” Ethan asked. “He didn’t know about what happened with Babette.”

Jeff shrugged. “I’m simply repeating what Miles told me.”

“What did he say? Exactly.”

“Apparently, Miles and Jake saw her leaving your room last year around dawn, but they decided to keep the matter to themselves since they didn’t want to hurt Clarise. But Jake obviously decided someone should tell Clarise the truth.” Jeff held up his palms. “Hey, you never know what a guy will do when he’s had too much of the bottle. I’ve heard some wear pink T-shirts.”

Ethan glared. “I’m going to talk to Jesilyn and Rachel,” he repeated, then added, “And Jake.”

“He didn’t come to work.”

“Smart move,” Ethan said, leaving the office.

Jeff returned to viewing yesterday’s sales figures on his computer screen but didn’t get beyond the first line before he heard the office door open. “Change your mind?” he asked, swiveling in the chair and expecting to see his brother.

“Yes and no,” Preston Eubanks said, marching into the office as if he owned it. Then again, he did. “Yes, I changed my mind about the Florida position,” Preston said. “And no, I didn’t change my mind about your playboy status. Do you realize how many calls come into that office from Atlanta socialites wanting to take
you
out? When did women get so bold?”

“When were they not?” Jeff turned the chair so he could view his father head-on, then he put his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “You’re home early.”

Preston huffed grumpily and took a seat across from his son. “And not a moment too soon, if that man I saw storming from your office was my other son.”

Jeff smirked. “He was.”

“Well, what the hell did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Jeff defended himself, grinning. “Clarise Robinson, however, has completely knocked his picture-perfect world on its ass.”

“You mean off its axis, don’t you?” Preston said, his weathered cheeks crinkling as he held back a grin.

“I said what I meant.” Jeff leaned forward. “So, tell me why you’re here before our contest ends, who you left running my store, and what decision you made about the Florida deal.”

“We’re done discussing your brother and Robinson?” Preston asked.

“Just figured we’d cover my tribulations first, then when Ethan gets back, I’ll let you move on to his.”