Unfinished Business (16 page)

“Shall I take that as a no?” he asks, crossing one leg over the other and still staring at me.

“Definitely. No way.”

“I’m glad he’s a no. What should I wear?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay but I would’ve thought you’d want me to blend in.”

The image of his hard dick is followed by one of his bare chest. Before I make a fool of myself by jumping on him, I banish it. He starts rubbing my shoulders and I lean back into the circular motion of his warm, strong hands. Yes, he makes me feel good in ways I never have. But I can’t take chances. “You aren’t going,” I say.

“Give me a good reason.”

With no convincing lies handy, I offer part of the truth. “I’m afraid if you go, you won’t want to be my friend anymore. It’ll be like peeking behind the curtain and realizing that I’m all bells and whistles.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’re a short, bald man wearing a bright green suit and top hat?”

No. I am, like every girl looking to find herself, Dorothy. And until I do get myself together there is no way I can take Nick anywhere near my hometown.

He sighs and pushes himself upright. “Really, Hayley. What’s the big deal?”

Before I can come up with a reply to that, my phone vibrates. I tumble off the couch to get it. There is a ruckus in the background. When my mom finally gets to me, she’s laughing and having a grand time—on a Saturday night no less.

“Hey, Mom.”

“I just wanted to tell you, before you even ask,” my mom is saying, “
he
won’t be at the dance on Saturday.”

I glance at Nick and he’s smiling. My heart does a hard flip as I try to tell if he can hear what she’s saying. I lean back, hoping to put more distance between my mom’s words and Nick’s ears.

“None of the Walkers will be there. I checked. I figured you’d want to know. So it’s all settled.”

Oh no, it isn’t. It hasn’t been settled now, even after almost a year, and it isn’t ever going to be settled unless I take care of that one last thing. Make that visit I never made.

There’s a shuffling sound then she asks, “Do you want to talk to your cousin? He has another one of those silly poems you like.”

I open my mouth to say sure why not, but I don’t have to bother because Frankie is already saying, “Hello.” Then asking, “Ready to hear my new limerick?”

“I heard you won some money with that other one.”

“Yeah, fifty dollars.”

Someday, when he is older and can appreciate the potential growth experience that comes from making a total ass of oneself on St. Patrick’s Day, I’ll tell him how I fared with his funny poem.

Nick is staring at me and mouthing something. I can’t tell what it is. When he hops up to raise his arms and spin around with an invisible girl, I’m pretty sure it has something to do with the dance. Stubborn guy. I shift so I can’t see him.

“So, you want to hear the new one now or wait until you come for the dance? I don’t get to go to the dance but I’m sure I’ll see you. Right?”

“Why don’t you tell me now. I can’t handle suspense.”

“I gotta do it fast. Before they get back inside. Ready?”

“Yep.”

Same as last time, he giggles then clears his throat.

“There once was a man from Nantucket—”

“Frankie,” I cut him off, “are you gonna get yourself in trouble?”

He chuckles softly. “I only promised not to say the one about Bart. I made this one up last night so she hasn’t had a chance to tell me not to say it yet.”

I sigh. Who can argue with kid logic? “Go ahead.”

“There once was a man from Nantucket.

Who ate all the clams in his bucket.

He went to the shore,

To look for some more,

But then said aw hell, fuckit.”

He laughs at his cleverness and, I suspect, the way he managed to get fuck into a limerick that’s not about sex. I chuckle with him until he says, “The one about Bart is even better.”

“You can tell me sometime when we’re alone.”

“You’re cool, Hayley.”

“Thanks, Frankie. You’re cool too.”

After I assure him I don’t want to talk to my mom again, we say goodbye and hang up. As soon as I set the phone down Nick pokes me with his foot. “Everything okay at home?”

“Oh sure. My cousin just wanted to tell me his new limerick.”

Nick’s mouth curves into the wicked smile that always makes me goofy. “You worried I’m going to try and make you remember it? Is that why you look so nervous?”

Despite my dread, I laugh. “Never again.”

“You know you’re going to take me. Who else is going to keep you out of trouble?”

I smirk to hide my apprehension. “Keep me out? It was you who got me into that mess.”

“I know. I need to redeem myself.” The cocky smile fades and for a split second he looks as vulnerable as I feel. “And…you know it’ll be more fun if I’m there.”

Fun?
Will spending an entire night being afraid the world will unravel be fun?

Chapter Nineteen

Stand and Deliver

Tuesday afternoon, Mr. Neville, my lunch companion, tosses some money next to the restaurant bill then stands up. “Walk with me, Hayley,” he says, then strides through the restaurant, assuming that I’ll scramble out of my chair and follow.

I do. I stare at his pinstriped back and wonder for the twenty-seventh time why he invited me to lunch.

He pauses at the door long enough for me to catch up. “You like working with us?”

He’s serious?

Does ‘us’ include Caroline?

Hmmmmmm.

Riana, Josie and I do have a shit load of fun laughing about her.

Mr. Neville is staring at me, his hazel eyes unblinking. Answer time.

“Yes, of course I like working with…you…and everybody else…and Caroline.”

His aristocratic chin dips down. “Good. Good.”

Why do I feel like I’m talking to somebody’s nervous father?

“Let’s walk.”

We stroll down Kerchival and it’s a typical mid-April day in Gross Pointe, Michigan. There is only enough sunlight creeping through the clouds to assure me that the sun does exist and that somewhere on the planet earth somebody might even be getting enough of it to really enjoy it.

We stroll along, side by side, him saying nothing and me wondering what the hell is going on. Mr. Neville never paid much attention to me before. I preferred it that way, because then I could create a personality for him. One that I am realizing more and more by the minute is much more sophisticated and worldly than the one he’s got. Because in actuality, he is a small-time businessman who buys his suits at The Men’s Wearhouse and probably waits until twilight to golf. I bet he’s divorced. His wife took the kids and now he spends his nights at the bar for old guys crying into his cheap mixed drinks.

No. He’s not that bad. I’m being nasty.

Still walking, we pass by a dry cleaners then turn a corner.

“You’ve been with us for a while now,” he says.

I nod but the uncomfortableness of the situation keeps me silent. I’m hating myself for being too much of a lame ass to tell Mr. Neville that Caroline stole my raffle ticket
idea
and resenting him for not knowing what a bitch she is.

“You in college, Hayley? What are your long-term goals? Where do you see yourself in five years?”

Him too? What is it with goals? It’s like a cult or something.

Visions of empty lists dance in my head. Did that loud lady put him up to this? More importantly, why does Ollie care what my goals are?

We pass by an outdoor café, where a few ridiculous people are sitting at iron tables and pretending it’s nice outside. Ollie’s staring at me out of the corner of his eye, waiting. Lists? Goals? College? I don’t even know where to start. “I-I was going to Wayne County.”

“Full-time?”

“I was full-time, but, um, it gets expensive and, well…” I grit my teeth. I’m lame. Boring. Weak.

“No need to explain, I understand. I have a couple kids in school and those bills…” He lets the rest float off into space and chuckles like we’re two chums relating to each other.

If the peculiar, unnerving reaction in my stomach weren’t so strong, I might ask him about those kids but this whole situation is just too damn awkward.

I stare at the bricked sidewalk. I’m pretty sure something notable is coming. What though? What am I missing here?

About this time, we’ve reached his light brown Oldsmobile so we climb in. He drives without talking. It’s a quick trip back to North Pointe, which should be a good thing except I can’t get past the feeling that some great opportunity is passing me by.

“I’m glad we had this time together, Hayley,” he says, after we wave at Mr. Hastings. “I think I have a good feel for where you’re headed.”

Mind telling me?
“Thanks for lunch, Mr. Neville.”

“Sure thing, Hayley.” He gets out then comes around to open my door. “I’m glad we had a chance to talk.”

Something inside me snaps and words tumble out, “I have an
idea
, Mr. Neville.”

He blinks with surprise. “An
idea
?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes, I do.” I chatter on about how after seeing the route map for Riana’s bike rally I realized that those crazy people would be pedaling right past Bob Hastings’ charming security booth right about the time we’d be doing the raffle drawing. “And I think we should find a way to tie the two things together.”

Seconds creep along until he responds, “Excellent, Hayley. Write it up. Email me a memo. See you later.”

Email Mr. Neville? He wants a memo from me? Well! Isn’t that something?

Light on my feet, I wave goodbye then scurry past the fading daffodils. Up by the door some tulips are getting ready to bloom. Will they be red? I hope so. I love red tulips.

Who’s whistling? Oh, it’s me
.

With a wide, sweeping gesture, I swing the door open yet stop short.

Crap
.

Caroline is sitting at my desk. Her stupid smile keeps me rooted by the door.

“Did you have a nice lunch with Mr. Neville?” she asks.

Is this a test question? “I had salmon. He had some kind of sandwich.”

She leans back in my chair and scans my desk. “I told Mr. Neville that we’ve been busy working on The Celebration. That’s coming up, you know.”

How could I forget? I’d been on the phone for hours digging up prizes for the raffle.

Anger propels me into the room. “Neat thing how you got credit for my
idea
.”

“Your
idea
?” she scoffs, dropping forward.

The nerve of that bitch. “The raffle?”

“Oh. We already went over that. I’m the manager, Hayley.” When I keep glaring at her, she adds, “It’s about teamwork and what’s best for the company.”

Best for the company? What is this, Russia? Even they don’t really believe in communism anymore.

“You should be thanking me for telling Mr. Neville how helpful you’ve been. You really have got us some great giveaways. Good work.” She slides out of my chair and rests her ample hip on the corner of my mostly bare desk.

“I told him about this other
idea
I came up with and he wants me to get started on it right away.”

“Oh. Well. Good for you.” She picks up one of my pens and points it at me. “Have you been using my computer to go online?”

Nasty thing that she is, she isn’t even going to ask what my
idea
is. “No.”
But Tony has.

She tosses the pen down. “You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Who else has access to my computer?”

Everybody.
I’m not a rat so I shrug. “Ask Mr. Neville about getting a password. I have one.”

“You do?” After she sizes me up with a cunning once-over, her mouth flattens and she sweeps herself toward her door.

Was that an earth tremor? Or a slight shift in our employee-boss relationship?

Chapter Twenty

Cyber Secrets: Stay Safe

Thursday afternoon, Josie, Riana and I are shopping. I’m trying to find something to wear to what I’m now thinking of as The Fool’s Fools Dance. We’re scouting around one of the second-hand shops in Royal Oak, and Josie keeps laughing at the retro dresses.

Josie hangs up a floral number she thinks is especially funny and Riana is saying it looks like it came from one of
Justified’s
wardrobe trailers. While they’re laughing hysterically, I’m thinking the dresses look like the ones my neighbors wore to school.

After a while, we’re at the counter. The salesgirl, who’s sporting a pink wig with yellow ducky barrettes clipped across the bangs, rings up my shirt—a glittery T-shirt that says
Charlie’s Angels
across the front.

I drag them into a Starbucks, we get grande lattes—with whole milk thank you very much—then squeeze into one of the tiny tables on the sidewalk. Riana sits down more slowly than Josie and me.

“My sister’s article comes out next week,” Josie is saying. “They’re trying to tie it in with some other pieces on singles in the city.”

As I listen to Josie talk about her sister’s article, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something isn’t right, there has to be a catch somewhere. Josie has been burned by her sister one too many times. “Have you read it? The article?” I ask.

“No, she told me what it’s about.”

Josie is too unconcerned. Riana and I exchange glances. She’s worried about the fall out too.

“She won’t use my name, right?”

“Of course not.”

I sip my latte, doubtful. Using my name really wouldn’t add anything to the piece—unless she’s out to get me because in her deluded brain she thinks I messed things up with The Kid.

The possibility is too much to ignore. “Did she ever get in touch with Kid Rock?”

Josie sips her coffee then shakes her head. “If she did, she didn’t mention it. I guess she stopped caring about it.”

Doubtful.

We fall silent. Me stewing alternately between my job hellishness and Josie’s sister. Riana is probably stewing over Peter’s stupid competitiveness. Josie? Who knows what’s going on inside her head.