Chapter Eight
“Mom,” Em said from the backseat as we drove home from school that afternoon, “you forgot again.”
Oh, Lord. What now?
“What did I forget, Em?”
“Halloween. You always do.”
She was right. Halloween always hit me like a brick had been thrown at me. “What do you want to be, Em?”
A big sigh. “I don’t know. I’ve been a princess and a cat, and there’s nothing left.”
Such melodrama. I stifled a laugh, but Maggie jumped right in. “Em, I have my ballet clothes—I bet they’d just fit you now, even the shoes. You could be a ballerina in a tutu!”
Em considered. “It’s pink, isn’t it?”
“Yep, it’s pink. When we get home, pull it out so Em can try it on.”
That afternoon the green car stayed behind us from the school to the house and then sped away. I didn’t mention it, but Maggie saw it. “I’m not walking Gus this afternoon. I’ll throw the ball for him in the yard.”
“Okay. Just clean up any mess he makes.”
Another sigh, this time from my oldest child. I made a mental note to buy a pooper-scooper.
The girls greeted Mike, who was working at his computer on the dining room table. Each day he was getting around better, using the walker a little less, especially if I was nearby for him to balance on. He still hobbled, and he still went to therapy three times a week, but as he improved physically I could have drawn a chart of his emotional improvement.
I gave him a kiss and asked how his work was going—he was back at work on his history of fallen policeman in Fort Worth.
“Good. I’m up to 1900, but I’m thinking of going back and including peace officers of Tarrant County from the time of its incorporation.”
Sounded deadly dull to me, but it would keep him occupied.
“Conroy’s taking me to lunch tomorrow. That new burger place—what’s it called?
Smashburger
. He says just to visit but I suspect he has more on his mind.”
“Good for you. I’m going to lunch with John Henry Jackson at the Fort Worth Club.” I waited for a reaction, but there was none.
I sat down across the table, bursting to tell him about my meeting with Christian and Jim Price, my non-lunch with Tom
Lattimore
, and my curiosity about my lunch date the next day with John Henry Jackson. I knew he’d love the tale of me throwing the tacos in the trash and Keisha bagging them. I was just getting to the good part, where I told Tom to take his tacos and go when the girls came into the room.
“What do you think, Mike?” Maggie asked. “Doesn’t she make a good ballerina?”
Em twirled in sort of a pirouette that Maggie must have just shown her.
Mike beamed. “You’ll be great at ballet, Em. I didn’t know you want to take lessons.”
Maggie gave him a withering look. “Not lessons. This is her Halloween costume. Mom’s gonna get her a sparkly mask.”
News to me.
Mike turned quiet and then looked at the girls. “Maggie, Em, I don’t think there will be any trick or treating this year. I can’t take you, and I don’t want your mom doing it.”
Em began to pout but Maggie asked sensibly. “What about Keisha?”
Mike pondered that. “I’d rather have a man take you.”
Em said, “Joe!” while Maggie suggested, “Keisha’s new boyfriend, José.” I sat silently thinking that was a truly sexist remark that I didn’t expect from Mike. I suppose he was thinking in terms of physical strength, but the remark still grated on my feminist nerves a bit.
“Let me talk to both of them,” I said, “and see what I can do. Maggie, you never told me what you want to be.”
“I think I’ll just pick out a mask when we go to get one for Em.” Her world-weary tone implied that she was too old for a costume, and I didn’t tell her that adults had costume parties. “You girls go along. Maggie, Gus needs to go out, and Em, you put on play clothes and be very careful of Maggie’s ballet things. Hang the tutu up carefully. I’m talking to Mike.”
“Can we listen?” It was Maggie, the ever curious.
“No. It’s nothing that will interest you.”
Mike repeated my words but added, “Your mom really stood up for herself this morning. I’m proud of her.”
“Then I am too,” Em said and came over to give me a big kiss.
“What did you do, Mom?” Maggie asked.
“I didn’t let a man bully me into doing something I didn’t want to do. And I ended up throwing his lunch—and mine—in the wastebasket. Of course, Keisha emptied it. Said she didn’t like the smell of tacos in the office.”
“You didn’t tell me that part,” Mike said, laughing. “Now tell me about your meeting this morning.”
“Not much to it. Jim Price is going to call an association meeting and talk to the people at the League of Neighborhoods, and Christian is going to research zoning laws and the like. He had a copy of what Tom will present to the zoning commission. But, Mike, the most adorable man was there.”
His eyebrows shot up.
“No, not that kind of adorable. He’s probably close to seventy, short and a bit pudgy with chubby cheeks and a bald head. He owns a small clock shop where Tom wants to build his shopping center. And he lives behind the clock shop—says he has a hot plate and a refrigerator, and that’s all he needs. He eats out a lot, which I thought was kind of sad. Keisha’s fixing him dinner tonight at her apartment.”
“I can see we’re going to adopt this man,” Mike smiled. “You aren’t matchmaking for your mom, are you?”
“Heavens no. She wouldn’t be interested. I don’t think he’s ever married, and I bet he’s shy as can be around women. He’s sort of Old World courtly—but the funny part is that he’s dead serious that if this development goes through he’ll have to kill Tom
Lattimore
. Sort of an honor thing with him.”
Mike drew his breath in sharply. “Girls, go do as your mother asked you to.” As soon as they were out of hearing range, he said, “Kelly, that’s hardly a story to tell in front of the girls. And probably you shouldn’t tell me. If anything happens to
Lattimore
, I’m honor bound to report what I heard.”
“We told him that it was dangerous to make empty threats. I don’t think he considers it an empty threat—he’s that serious—but I don’t think he’d ever do it.”
“Well, I’m kind of curious to meet him,” Mike admitted.
“Good. I’ll invite him for Sunday supper. Maybe with Christian and his wife. You know, enlarge our circle of friends.”
“Why not Buck and Joanie?” he asked.
I still had a hard time getting used to the fact that Buck Conroy, once my nemesis, was now my friend and mostly on my side. And I had a harder time believing he’d married Joanie, nursed her through a pregnancy with another man’s child, and was now happily settled as a family man. Joanie had been my best friend until the night she confessed my ex-husband might be the father of her child. We were still friends, but there was a rift there that took a long time to heal.
“I suppose we could.”
I guessed that meant I wasn’t inviting Christian and his wife and baby but I was inviting Buck and Joanie along with
MacKenzie
, who was now, I thought, at least two. I only hoped Otto wouldn’t say anything about killing
Lattimore
in front of Buck.
I changed the direction of the conversation. “I’ve been thinking it’s time for you and me to have dinner at
Lili’s
some night soon. Keisha would babysit, I’m sure.”
“I think your mom feels she hasn’t been around much. Why not ask her, and have Keisha on standby in case Nana gets into trouble.”
“Good idea. Saturday night?”
“You have a date, milady.”
****
The next day I dressed with care for my lunch with John Henry Jackson, but I didn’t go so far as to wear a skirt. These days you could go anywhere in Fort Worth in pants, even the staid old Woman’s Club which had required skirts for years. I wore a muted gray windowpane plaid pantsuit with a silk blouse with ruffles that spilled over the lapels of the jacket, black pumps, and carried a small black purse. To add color, I draped a fuchsia silk scarf around my neck. When I got ready to leave the house, Mike whistled and then said in a threatening tone, “You meeting that
Lattimore
fellow again?”
“Nope. I told you. John Henry Jackson, chair of the Historic Landmark Commission and a former city council member, is taking me to the Fort Worth Club no less.” I twirled in front of him as though I wore a frothy chiffon skirt.
He whistled again then asked, “Do I know John Henry Jackson?”
“Don’t think so. He’s a title lawyer and a darn good one, though you’d never know it to look at him. I’m not so sure about his interest in preservation, but I’ll take lunch at the Fort Worth Club.”
He raised a questioning eyebrow, and I elaborated. “He’s overweight, his clothes are spotted. You’d think he’s one of those lawyers hanging around waiting to be assigned a public defender case. But you’d be wrong. He used to be on the city council. Got angry over something and, as they say, took his huff and departed in it. Then he lobbied the council to make him chair of the commission.”
Mike grinned. “Sounds harmless to me.”
“No competition for you,” I said as I kissed him goodbye.
John Henry was at the club when I arrived, with a martini in front of him. He rose gallantly while the maitre d’ seated me, not an easy matter for John Henry. He carried close to 300 pounds on maybe a six-foot frame; he was balding, with wispy gray hair flying in all directions around the sides of his head. He wore suspenders and an old-fashioned watch fob stretched across his middle, and he had a tendency to fiddle nervously with the watch. He wasn’t really checking on how much time he’d spent with you, but it gave that impression. His coat and tie were often spotted just a bit, and he wheezed easily when he’d exerted himself at all. He was not a graceful figure. Once seated again, he raised his glass and asked, “Will you join me?”
“In a martini? No, thanks. But I’d love a glass of chardonnay.”
What the heck? I could have wine at lunch on an occasion—and lunch at the Fort Worth Club was an occasion for me.
John Henry urged me to order the filet mignon with roasted fingerling potatoes or the salmon filet with goat cheese mashed potatoes, but it all sounded too heavy, and I stuck with a tuna salad plate. Someday my tombstone may read, “Died from eating too much tuna salad.” John Henry ordered the steak.
When my wine came, we toasted to the preservation effort in Fort Worth and chitchatted about light things. He asked about the girls, and I asked about his practice. John Henry was a bachelor, so I couldn’t inquire about family. We agreed that all was well in both our worlds.
Finally, he got down to business. “I’ve met with this Tom
Lattimore
, and I think we can negotiate.”
Negotiate?
Alarm signals went off in my brain. “Negotiate how?”
“Well,
Lattimore
is sensitive to the nature of the community, but he’s also sold on this project and the ways it would be a benefit, draw traffic to Magnolia.”
“Magnolia already has enough traffic,” I interrupted.
John Henry raised his hand. “Hear me out. He understands about the significance of those historic buildings, and he’s willing to consider adaptive re-use.”
“Adaptive re-use?” I looked around to see if I’d shouted and heads had turned my way. “How’s he going to adapt those old buildings to a modern large-scale grocery store?”
“He has a pretty good plan that would incorporate the buildings, making them into specialty boutiques and building the larger store behind them, with parking to the side. He’s eliminated the satellite stores. You have to admit, Kelly, he’s really going a long way to be accommodating.” Just then the waiter approached with our lunches, and John Henry waved his hand in the air dismissively. “No more business talk. Let us enjoy our food.”
After we finished our entrees, he began fiddling with his watch, but he invited me to have coffee and dessert. I declined the dessert but accepted the coffee. He had none, and when I was about halfway through my cup, he stood up, indicating lunch was over.
I thanked him for lunch as we left the formal dining room, but I couldn’t resist adding one question: “John Henry, what about the people who will be displaced from their small businesses?”
That hand waved again. “Not my concern,” he said. “I’m a preservationist, not a social worker.”
I was stunned, and we rode the elevator to the parking garage in silence.
****
Mom readily agreed to babysit Saturday night—“I’ve been missing those girls!”—and Keisha agreed she’d be on call. “José and me, we’ll probably stay home. He likes my cooking real well,” she said. “We had a good time with
ol
’ Otto last night. That man can eat—and he can tell a story. You know he’s had that clock shop forty years—learned clock making from his German daddy. Had all of Fort Worth’s bigwigs in there, including Mr.
Amon
Carter himself. José’s kind of quiet, so it was good to have Otto
talkin
’ his head off. I think he’s lonely.”
“I’ll invite him to dinner this weekend, but Mike and I have a real date on Saturday. We’re going to
Lili’s
.”
