“Whoowee!” Roseanne fanned herself. “Talk about hot. Your show was H.O.T. hot last night, girlfriend.”
“Please,” Becky pleaded across her friend’s kitchen table. “Can we not talk about the show?”
“Why ever not?” Roseanne plunked two sweaty glasses of iced tea on the table to go with the chicken salad sandwiches she’d prepared for their weekly lunch date. “You are gorgeous, always have been, and Ford… well, he’s about the sexiest thing to ever come out of this little town. But the two of you together? Bam! The chemistry between you two is explosive.”
Becky lifted the slice of homemade multi-grain bread to examine the chunky chicken goodness underneath. Two lengthwise pickle slices, also homemade, topped the mound, just the way she liked it. For someone who’d never had any culinary training, Roseanne had become a fabulous cook. “You saw rage, not lust. You are right about one thing—there was almost an explosion. I came within an inch of blowing my top, right there on set.”
“Really? Do tell, my friend.”
Becky replaced the bread on her sandwich with a sigh. The crazy number of orders that came in overnight had gone a long way toward calming her anger. Ford had been right, but damn if she would admit it to him. However, she could tell Roseanne. As they downed their sandwiches and cold drinks, she told her friend what had transpired the night before.
“But the show went off without a hitch, or so it appeared from my end,” Roseanne said.
“If sales are any indication, then you’re right. We’re looking at adding more phone lines to handle the calls.”
Her friend shook her head. “I still can’t believe you sell sex toys for a living. What does your mother think about it?”
Becky shrugged. “She almost had a heart attack when I told her, but she’d rather me sell sex toys than move to Dallas, or farther away, to find a job.”
“Your mother always has been the practical sort.”
“Yeah, she is. However, she’s still after Colin to get a regular job.” She curled her fingers into air quotes around the word regular.
“How’s your brother doing? Is he still playing at that club in Nashville?”
Becky’s younger brother, Colin, had never been interested in going to college—much to their parent’s disappointment. Right out of high school he’d packed his belongings and the guitar he’d made in eighth grade woodshop into the beat-up truck he’d saved all his life for and struck out for the bright lights of Nashville. Determined to make it as a country singer/songwriter, he’d lived like a pauper for years before obtaining a measure of success shortly before their father’s passing.
Becky rose to place her empty plate and glass in the sink then leaned against the counter. She needed to go back to the office but was reluctant to do so. “Yeah. He signed a record contract earlier this year. According to him, he’s on his way to stardom. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“That would sure be something, wouldn’t it?” Roseanne placed her dishes in the sink, too. “Tell him I said hi, next time you talk to him.”
“I will. He says he misses Butte Plains, wants to live here when he makes it big. But for the time being, Nashville is his home.”
“Well, I hope all his dreams come true. If talent is what it takes, he’s got it in spades.”
Becky couldn’t argue with her assessment. Her brother had always been gifted when it came to music. He was a genius with wood, too. She counted among her most prized possessions a jewelry box he’d made for her in high school. If music didn’t work out for him, he could easily make a living as a craftsman. “I’ll tell him you said so,” she said, heading for the back door. “Thanks for lunch, and for letting me rant. Same time next week?”
Back in her office, Becky sat at her desk doing her best to stay awake when a blur of pink breezed past her door leaving the faint scent of gardenias behind. Even when her husband had run the company, Helen Adams had been an infrequent visitor to the plant, but she’d been there enough times for Becky to recognize her, even if her unique perfume didn’t give her away.
“Ford Adams!” Yep, Helen Adams had arrived, and she wasn’t happy. Scandalous news spread faster than a brush fire in Butte Plains. “Tell me what I just heard at the Dippity Do isn’t true.”
Becky imagined her partner leaning back in the new ergonomic desk chair he’d insisted on purchasing. This one didn’t creak the way his father’s had, but she’d committed Ford’s new mannerisms to memory. Sometimes having a steel-trap mind could be a liability.
“Good to see you, too, Mom. Have a seat.” Ford’s voice carried through their open office doors.
She didn’t envy her partner the job ahead, but it had been his decision to not tell his mother about her precarious financial situation or fill her in when things began to turn around. Ford’s days of withholding information had come to an end.
“What is the meaning of this, Ford? Do you have any idea what they’re saying about Adams Manufacturing?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” She couldn’t miss the frustration in Ford’s voice.
“Is it true? Are we making…?”
“Sex toys? Yes, we are. And we’re making a lot of money. Money we desperately need.”
Becky experienced a twinge of guilt for eavesdropping on the conversation, but she wouldn’t miss this for the world. Mrs. Adams owned 50 percent of the company. If she pushed Ford to sell her portion immediately, which could be done since her husband hadn’t imposed any restrictions on what she did with her shares, everything they’d worked for would be lost—just as it appeared they might survive the year.
Becky had never envisioned herself selling sex toys, but she had imagined bringing Butte Plains back to life, and she could see it slowly happening—all because Ford Adams had designed and built a revolutionary sex toy. Since they’d first begun production of the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System, they’d tripled the number of people they employed, and many were locals who had been out of work for years. This morning, she’d approved the hiring of a dozen more phone operators. The print shop making the headers and instruction sheets for their product packaging had recently expanded into a larger building and doubled their workforce. Their success was a perfect example of a trickle-down economy in action.
She had to give her partner credit, he didn’t mince words with his mother, telling her straight out about the condition he’d found the company in, mentioning that desperate times had called for desperate measures. When she argued the indecency of their products, he argued the indecency of bankruptcy court and seeing his mother move to an apartment complex and flip burgers to pay the rent. Mrs. Adams quieted down after the reality check. Becky’s heart hurt for the woman who, other than burying her husband, had never suffered a hardship in her life.
When other women of her generation were out making their own way in the world, Helen Adams had chosen the path of wife, mother, and social butterfly, relying on her husband to provide for her. If the threat of destitution didn’t scare her straight, nothing would do it.
Becky crept to the door to better hear the woman’s response.
“But really, Ford. You said it yourself—the company is doing better, so can’t we go back to producing decent products?”
“No, we can’t.” He patiently explained the shift in the market to cheaper imported goods, as well as the decline in demand for the products they’d been making for the last several decades. Then he reminded her of the ways the company had adapted over the last century, pointing out this latest change to be one more of those shifts. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay here and do this, Mom. I planned to sell the company from the beginning, but there’s no market for a dying industrial plant. To be honest, if Dad hadn’t insisted the plant had to operate for a year before I could sell my portion, I would have been gone months ago.”
“Why on earth would you want to sell?”
“I think it’s the only solution. Scott and I worked hard to get where we are. He’s been great about me being here, but I’m neglecting my partnership with him. I need to get back before he loses patience with me.”
“Adams Manufacturing is your legacy. I can’t believe you would consider selling it.”
Go, Mom!
“I don’t see any other choice. There’s nothing for me here.”
“I’m nothing?”
“You know that’s not what I mean. This town has been dying for ages.”
Rustling fabric and the casters on Ford’s chair rolling across the rubber mat alerted her to the mother and son standing. Becky hustled back to her desk and ducked her head, pretending to read the report in front of her. A narrow band of pink appeared along the edge of her doorway where his mother had stopped.
“I don’t know if I can ever hold my head up in this town again anyway. Maybe I’ll go with you when you go back to New York.”
“You know you’re welcome to come live with me in New York or anywhere else I might go, but this is your home. Your friends are here.”
“I can make new friends, but you’re the only son I’ve got.”
Becky held her breath as the older woman stormed past her door. She’d had enough experience with parental guilt to make her feel a little sorry for Ford. His mother wouldn’t make it easy for him to walk away from what she perceived as his familial obligation. But, unlike Becky, Ford would never cave to his mother’s wishes. He’d be out of Butte Plains on the next bus if he found a buyer today.
“You heard?” At the sound of his voice, she glanced up. Shoulder propped against the doorframe, he looked as defeated as he sounded.
“Heard what?”
He snorted. “No need to play innocent, Becky Jean. I know you heard every word.”
“Not every word.” She had missed a few. Maybe. “I thought you handled it well.”
“So well she’ll probably end up living with me in my house back East.”
“That would be bad?”
He shrugged. “Not bad, but this is her home. She wouldn’t know anyone there. She’d be miserable.”
“She has a lot to think about. Give her some time to adjust to the way things are.”
His lips lifted on one corner. “You’re a good person, Becky Jean. My dad knew what he was doing when he hired you.”
Becky stared at the empty doorway long after her partner vacated it. She couldn’t decide if she adored the man for his kindness to his mother and hated him for his disregard for the company bearing his name, and the town it meant so much to. Every time he talked about going back to his life on the East Coast, a gaping hole opened up in her midsection. His mother would eventually come around, but Ford seemed resolute. He would leave, and Becky would be wise to guard her heart so it didn’t go with him.
~~~
Numbers don’t lie, but they do tell a story. Of all the things Becky had learned in her economics classes, that one statement stuck in her mind as she looked at the sales reports on her desk. She’d have to speak with Ford about finding a way to increase production of the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System. Sales from the initial broadcast had simply floored her, but she’d forgotten about the local network’s plans to tape and replay the show throughout the week.
They’d gone live on Wednesday evening. By Saturday, eleven other small markets had called wanting to get in on the action. In other words, they were an overnight success.
Even the astronomical numbers she had before her didn’t lessen her anger at the way Ford had manipulated her. Everyone around town called her B.J. these days… then snickered behind their hands. She knew exactly what they were thinking. B.J. stood for blow job. Her humiliation knew no bounds.
Gathering the papers she needed to discuss with her partner, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Ford could be incredibly agreeable on some things, but on others… nothing short of dynamite would make him budge. It would be a shame to blow such a nice-looking male specimen to bits, but if it took an explosion….
She knocked on his open door. “Ford? Got a few minutes?”
“For you, B.J.? Always.” He tossed his drafting pencil on the desk and rocked back in his chair.
“I’ve told you not to call me that,” she said, plunking into one of the old green leather visitors’ chairs. She’d thought Ford would want to change everything about his father’s office, but so far, he hadn’t moved a thing, except to arrange a place to display samples of all their past and present products. He’d said potential buyers would like seeing how the company had evolved over the last hundred or so years.
No doubt their current success would bring a host of interested people to their door. If she sold her share, too, she’d have enough money to start over someplace else. Maybe open a small marketing firm of her own. Not that selling sex toys meant she had the knack for selling anything else, but she had more credibility than she’d ever had before.
“You have to admit, the nickname turned out to be a stroke of genius, Becky Jean. B.J. Parker is a YouTube success.”
“We’re on YouTube?” A stab of horror turned her insides to ice.
“Yep. Our first episode has gone viral. I owe you an apology. I never thought this television network idea would work. You’re a marketing genius.”
“I don’t know, Ford. Maybe we should quit while we’re ahead.” She handed him the latest sales figures. “Sales jumped through the roof this week. I honestly don’t know how we’re going to meet the demand. And if the same thing happens with the next product we showcase?” She bit her bottom lip as he scanned the reports. “I think we might have bitten off more than we can chew.”
Ford tossed the papers on his desk. “Nonsense, Becky Jean. We can handle this.”
“Not without adding another shift to the factory. We’d have to hire more workers, including supervisory personnel. Our expenses would increase, too. Longer hours means higher utilities.”
“How long would it take to hire and train a second and third shift of workers?”
“Two new shifts? Are you crazy?”
“I don’t think so, but thousands of people are waiting for their Safeguard Backdoor Locking System.” He smirked at the name she’d given his locking butt plug.
“Laugh all you want, but I was right about the name. It adds a level of respectability to the product.”
“And it looks good on the new sign out front.” He’d insisted on hanging a new sign on the front of the building. Adams Manufacturing. Home of the Safeguard Backdoor Locking System. Guard your assets with the best. She’d argued against the assets part, but he’d pulled his majority-shareholder card, and she’d had no choice but to back down.
“I can’t even imagine what your father would say if he knew.”
“He’d be proud as hell. The Adams family has weathered wars, depressions, recessions, and advances in technology to stay in business this long. We did what we had to do, Becky. He’d be proud of what we’ve accomplished.”
She tried not to read anything into him calling her Becky. From the first day, he’d insisted on calling her Becky Jean or Becks, and then B.J. Never once, until today, had he called her by her preferred name. “He might be proud we found a way to stay in business, but I can’t help but think he would have preferred we do it with a more respectable product.”
“Careful. You’re beginning to sound like my mother.”
“She was right, you know?”
“Maybe, but we did what we had to do.”
She couldn’t argue with his logic. Ford’s ridiculous invention had brought the company back from the brink of bankruptcy, and done it in record-breaking time.
“Which brings us back to these orders. We have to fill them. We don’t have any choice.”
She sighed. She hated admitting he was right. “It’s going to cost a fortune to increase production.”
He steepled his fingers under his chin and stared at the computer monitor that barely clung to the corner of his desk. Like all the others in the building, the screensaver was a rotating montage of photos depicting the front of the building from various angles. She smiled at the one interior shot of all the employees on the factory floor, smiling and waving at the camera. Already outdated, it would be more so if they added production shifts. Soon they’d need a football field to hold everyone and a drone to hover over to take the photo.
Ford’s voice snapped her attention back to their latest problem. “Remember, we make a lot more money off the direct sales orders. The extra cushion will offset a good portion of our investment in running an expanded production schedule.”
She nodded and shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. Would he even notice if she replaced his ancient visitors’ chairs with something new? “True, but what happens when we feature another product next week? If we have an equal response, how are we going to meet the demand?”
Ford’s gaze bored into her. “I have every confidence in you, Becky. You’ll find a way.”
The sincerity in his voice washed over her like a warm summer breeze, lifting her spirits and melting her resistance. “I’ll ask our new HR person to start calling applicants she has on file. If we can’t find enough workers, we’ll advertise the positions. In the interim, we can expand the first shift an hour or two. It will cost us in overtime wages, but the increase will be less than the cost of new hires.”
His smile warmed her. “I knew you’d find a way. Don’t worry about the numbers. The orders are going to keep coming in.” He glanced at the latest sales report again. “Have you looked into transforming the original factory building into a home for the Adult Shopping Show?”
“I have the plans I’d initially drawn up and a few estimates. The historical society voted to allow most of the interior renovations, provided we don’t significantly change the exterior.”
“I suppose putting ASS on a sign out front is out of the question.”
She sighed at the old argument. “Yes, I’m afraid it is. You’ll have to settle for Adult Shopping Show on a discreet, street-level sign.”
He shrugged off her dismissal of his ridiculous proposal. “Let’s get hopping on those renovations. As I said, your idea is pure genius. It’s already exceeded my wildest dreams, and it’s only going to get bigger.”
That’s what she was afraid of. It was time to make some changes. “About the show,” she said, placing another stack of papers on his desk. “I think we should find a real spokeswoman to replace me.”
He didn’t even glance at the headshots the Dallas talent agency had sent over. “Why would we do a fool thing like that? I didn’t sell all those units. We sold them, Becky Jean. You and me. Look at the comments on YouTube if you don’t believe me.”
“You tricked me into saying those things,” she accused.
“Maybe so, but your backhanded endorsement convinced people to buy the product and cemented in their mind that you and I are more than business partners. They want to see more, and they want to hear you endorse the product.”
“You expect me to actually try everything we showcase?”
He nodded. “Yep, and endorse it. I promised our viewers we wouldn’t bring them a product we hadn’t personally tried and found to be worthy.”
“Don’t you mean you promised them I would try the products?”
He shrugged. “It’s not my fault they assumed we would be trying them out together.”
God, if only we were. She squelched the thought. Having those images in her head during a show would render her incapable of speech. “Aren’t you even going to look at the models who want the job?”
“It would be a waste of time, and you know it.” He dropped the photos in the wastebasket beside his desk. “Which product are we featuring this week?”
“I don’t have a clue,” she said, rising to leave before she suggested he help her try something out.
“I suggest we go with the KeyP Me Safe Light. Increasing production on the tiny flashlights will be fairly easy.”
The small personal vibrator that doubled as a key ring/flashlight hadn’t gained the same popularity as the locking butt plug. It could use a marketing push. It amounted to a variation on the flashlight they had been producing with a few add-ons easily outsourced to people in the community to assemble off-site. “I’ll come up with a script for the show and get it over to you so you can read it before we go on air.”
“Just send me a list of the talking points. We did okay without a script last time.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who’d made a fool of himself, blurting out very personal and private information. “You aren’t going to goad me into confessing I’ve used this thing.”
“I won’t have to because you are going to test it and tell the audience about your experience. If you don’t, I’ll make something up myself.”
She clenched her fists. “You wouldn’t!”
“I would, and I will.” He picked up his drafting pencil and shuffled papers, searching for whatever he’d been working on when she came in. “Call me this evening if you need help using the KeyP Me Safe Light. That’s the kind of research I excel at.”
She made it to the door before he stopped her. “Oh, and check out the YouTube videos. You’ll see what I mean.”