“Charlotte, I only have three hours until Mr. Crown is back on the ground. He’ll be checking his email on the plane, so I can’t use that as an excuse for not delivering.” Erin stood behind the receptionist desk wringing her fingers, her brows drawn together.
I sighed heavily. “Okay, let me call my secretary and tell her I’m not coming back this afternoon. Give me a few minutes, and then I can focus on your plan.”
Taking my cell phone out of my bag, I stepped back into the studio so I could have some privacy, and called Peggy. She answered on the second ring. “Should I update the numbers for you?”
I loved this woman!
“Yes, please. The spreadsheet is in my budget folder on the shared drive. All you need to do is check the formulas and upload the numbers by account. I won’t be back this afternoon.”
I was pacing back and forth across the studio while I talked, forefinger and thumb at my temple. “Move my leadership meeting to tomorrow morning. Also, can you call Mark and tell him I’ll be late tonight?” I pulled my lips in between my teeth and looked at the ceiling, briefly closing my eyes. I hated asking Peggy to lie for me, but I was tired today, and he would hear the deceit in my voice.
“And if Richard is looking for you?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Well, cake tasting doesn’t usually last all day… Tell him Neiman-Marcus called and my dress for the party needs to be altered.”
“Charlotte…” She drawled slowly, caution in her tone.
“I know, Peggy, I know.” Silence sat between us. She was worried about me. “I just need a few more days, and I’ll be back to being me. I promise.”
We said our good-byes and hung up. Then I called my best friend, and realtor, Suzanne Madden.
Suzanne and I had been roommates at Arizona State University, and we had stayed close all of these years. On our senior trip to Cozumel, she introduced me to Mark, a former—casual—boyfriend of hers. We were all from Scottsdale, Arizona, but had never met until college. I went to a private high school; Mark and Suzanne went to a public one. She was sassy, sophisticated, and could sell hay to a wheat farmer. Suzanne and Mark had dated in high school but discovered they were better off as friends.
Her phone went directly to voicemail, so I sent her a text: Bring me a dress please… let’s have dinner
I followed up with the address of the studio and went back out to help Erin.
Slouching behind the reception desk, Erin was staring blankly at the computer monitor in front of her. I pulled up a stool next to her and hopped up on it.
Rubbing my hands together eagerly and then placing my palms on my thighs, I asked, “Okay, what have you got?”
She turned sad eyes to me and then swiveled the screen so I could read it. Nothing. It was blank.
“Erin! Does he know you haven’t even started?”
She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.
“When is the event?”
“Three weeks.”
“Oh, jeez. Okay, not a problem. First, we need to create an event on Facebook and set up an advertisement. Do you have a budget?”
Tears rolled down her face.
I jumped off the stool and pushed her off hers. “Trade me places.”
Placing my hands above the keyboard, I closed my eyes and waited for inspiration. A feeling of calm settled over me. Once I started the creative process, the plan just flowed from me.
I pulled up a website to make quick, creative flyers, and Erin told me the information while I typed. I put her to work researching local yoga studios to contact. We’d need somewhere to hang these flyers.
Facebook advertisements were easy; I used my personal credit card to run the ads.
“Don’t you think we should run this by Mr. Crown before we do it?” She started biting her nails.
“No. He strikes me as the type that prefers action.” I didn’t look up as I typed out an ad. “Tell him what you’ve done and be confident about it. He wants publicity and a high turnout. This is his business, Erin. It’s not a charity.”
My eyes bugged, and I was struck with a shot of adrenaline. “Oh, a charity! That is a great idea. Does he feel strongly about anything? A cause? Animals?”
Her face turned pensive and a little sad. “Well, his wife was recently involved in an accident.”
“What? He’s married?” My shock wouldn’t seem strange, given that she had no idea what had transpired in the back room. My stomach clenched. A hot flash of embarrassment ran through my body, and my eyes burned. I shook my head to clear it, the hypocrisy of my feelings shaming me. I calmed myself and said in a more neutral tone, “Huh, I wouldn’t have thought.”
Then I looked back at the computer screen so I wouldn’t keep talking.
“I think they’ve been separated for a while. She worked in the Phoenix studio as an instructor. I don’t know much about her before that, but she might have been a stripper.”
I glanced at her in warning. “You shouldn’t assume if you don’t know.”
“Sorry,” she said meekly.
“What about a charity?”
“Right. I was getting to that.” She continued with her story. “They were married for a few years. Rumor has it…” She looked pointedly at me so I wouldn’t cut her off. “Rumor has it that he wanted a family, and she wanted to keep competing. Having a baby would ruin her figure—or so she said. She started an affair with a Harley Davidson salesperson, and Mr. Crown was filing for divorce when a drunk driver pushed her and her boyfriend off the side of the road. Her boyfriend was killed, and she’s in the hospital,” Erin paused, “in Phoenix.”
My fingers had frozen above the keyboard, and I looked at her in shock. “Wow.” It was a lame response, but I had nothing else to say.
She reverted to her young, chipper self. “Yeah, so that kind of sucks, and it’s probably why he’s been so grumpy.”
I stared at her incredulously, torn between desperately wanting to ask more about him and chastising her for her lack of empathy. Instead, I focused on Erin’s most pressing problem. “The charity?”
“Oh, right. So, maybe we do something like Mothers Against Drunk Driving.”
“Huh. Okay. Well, that one you do need to run by him. I’ll help you draft an email, and you can recommend it. We’ll definitely run the Facebook ad. Is there an opportunity to do an exposition here at the studio? Maybe a preview of local competitors?”
“The event is in three weeks, Charlotte. How do I do that?”
“You have a mailing list of all the members of the studio?”
“Yes.”
“Current and inactive?”
“Yes.”
“Great! Let’s call a couple of competitors to perform their routine here at the studio. Maybe the night before, we’ll host a little party, and serve champagne and snacks. Send out an invite to members. Build their interest again, and maybe they’ll come watch the competition.”
“Why do you keep saying, ‘we’?”
My head jerked back just a bit, and I shook my head. “I don’t know. Uh, I guess I was just getting excited for you.”
The grin on her face grew, and she leaned in to hug me. “Ahh, you love us!”
At the risk of getting too attached, I teasingly brushed her off. “Whatever. Let’s finish this up and send off the email.”
In the email to Mr. Crown, we drafted an outline of the plan: what she had done so far (I made her take the credit), her recommendation on the charity, and her idea about the expo. I told her to start calling the competitors to see if they were interested, and I gave her a list of caterers that would be on the less expensive side. The Facebook ad would start running as soon as it was approved, and I told her to blame me if he was upset with her.
“Charlotte, thank you so much! I couldn’t have done this without you. You saved my job.”
I almost (sardonically) agreed with her. Instead, I took the less offensive path and told her she did great.
“He’ll be impressed, Erin, I’m positive. And if you need any more help, here’s my personal cell number.” I took a post-it off the counter, wrote my number on it with a fine tip marker, and handed it to her. “You can call me anytime.”
She took the post-it and put it in the top drawer, thanking me.
My phone vibrated on the counter, and I looked down to see a text from Suzanne: I think you gave me the wrong address, this is a strip club
Laughing out loud, I texted back: Right address, not a strip club, come inside
A moment later, Suzanne sashayed in with a fancy leather tote bag resting on her left forearm. As she removed her sunglasses with movie star flair, she said, “Well, this is interesting.”
She glanced pointedly at me and then gave the room a cursory look.
When her gaze returned to mine, I introduced my friends to each other. “Erin, this is my friend, Suzanne. Suzanne, Erin.” I gestured to both of them and watched as Suzanne crossed the room on gazelle-like legs to shake Erin’s hand.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Erin mumbled back. I could tell she was intimidated.
Suzanne was stunning: perfect model body, tall, porcelain skin. She didn’t believe in tanning and was high-maintenance from her pedicured toes to her perfectly arched eyebrows. She was also razor-sharp-smart and wasted no time with pleasantries. “Why are we here?”
“Well, I have been taking pole dancing classes, and today, I took the day off from work. I was helping Erin with some marketing ideas and thought you might want to join me for dinner. I didn’t want to put my work clothes back on, so I asked you to bring me a dress. Did you bring me a dress?”
She squinted at me, saying nothing. Then she rested her arm on the counter and started strumming her fingertips across the surface. The rippling clicking of her nails annoyed me. I slapped my hand down on top of hers, trying not to laugh. “Stop it!”
She stopped, but continued to stare at me. “I don’t understand, Charlie. What’s going on here?”
Erin giggled. When I glanced at her, she lowered her chin to her chest and her eyes to the computer screen in front of her. A slight smile still sat on her face.
“Did you bring me a dress?” I asked again, brusquely.
She removed her arm from the counter and pulled a silk halter dress from her bag. “It’s all I could find that would fit you.”
I took it from her and gave her a pointed look. “I’ll be right back.”
“Should I just wait out here?”
I glanced from her to Erin. Erin’s eyes went wide. She shook her head, mouthing, “No, no, no.”
Suzanne turned to look at her just as she mouthed her last ‘no,’ and then rolled her eyes and went to sit on the couch.
“I’ll just sit over here. Erin, could you please get me a glass of water?”
She responded, “Yes, ma’am,” which got her another raised eyebrow.
I quickly went into the back room, took off my workout clothes, and put the dress on over my head. Suzanne was usually only like this in front of other people. I had seen her party and cry and joke with the people she was closest to. When it came to strangers, however, she always pulled the Cruella de Ville act. I usually ignored her.
I grabbed my gym bag and my purse and went back out into the lobby. I put my shoes on the floor and slipped my feet back into them. “Ready?”
Suzanne stood from the couch, once again placing her tote bag on her forearm. “Yes.”
She was polite as we left, acknowledging Erin and pleasantly telling her, “Have a good evening.”
I stood in front of the counter for just a moment, giving Erin a few final instructions.
“Text me if he responds; call me if you need help. You did a great job today, and you’ll be fine.”
She stepped around the counter to hug me. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
I thought I heard tears in her voice as I hugged her back. She smelled like cookies. It felt good to have this young woman hug me so enthusiastically, and I relaxed in her arms, feeling like I was important to her.
Suzanne cleared her throat behind me, and I stepped out of Erin’s arms, making eye contact with her. “I mean it, you call me!”
Erin nodded at me as we walked out the door. I fished my oversized sunglasses out of my bag and then put them on to dim the afternoon Houston sun.
“How does The Rice Box sound to you? It’s just around the corner,” I asked.
“Perfect. And then you will tell me about… this?” She waved her hands toward the studio.
“Yes, I will tell you about… this.” I laughed at her as I opened the door to my luxury SUV, stepped in, and buckled up.
I waited until she pulled her car out of the parking spot to follow me to the restaurant.
The Rice Box was neon-lit with lots of glass windows, had a few stools at the bar, and was just classy enough to make it a hipster place to be.
We settled in at the bar with our dinner: I had baby bok choy and orange-peel beef; Suzanne had Chinese eggplant with green beans.
“Talk,” she said a little after our food was delivered.
I nodded at her and pointed at my mouth. She waited patiently until I finished chewing and took a drink of my tea.
“I started taking classes a few months ago. And Suzanne, I love it!” I looked heavenward and then back at her. “Sometimes I feel like it’s the only place I can be me.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve been you for a really long time. Mark adores you. Everyone adores you. You have the perfect house—that I sold you, of course.” Her face had softened from the snooty face she used on Erin. “You’re blessed, Charlie.”
“That’s just it, Suzanne, it’s not perfect. I hate my job. I hate being there every day. Mark and I haven’t had sex in weeks. My home is a museum…” I rushed on, putting my hand over hers so I wouldn’t offend. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s beautiful. It just seems like everything after we graduated moved along like some checklist we were supposed to follow. What’s next? Kids? A dog? A second home? A Peloton? A second Peloton?” I was starting to tear up, and she flipped her hand over to hold mine, squeezing my fingers tightly. “I just feel empty, Suzanne.” The tears started to flow.
“And you thought stripping would fix it?” she whispered to me, sarcastically.
I laughed so hard that I snorted. The customers all turned their heads to us, and I lowered my voice to match hers. “It’s not stripping; it’s pole dancing.”
“What’s the difference?” She forked her dinner, taking a small bite.
“The difference is that I’m dancing in a studio with friends, feeling sexy and feeling uninhibited. I’m not in some lecherous club having creepy guys shove one-dollar bills in my panties.” A handsome, sexy face entered my thoughts, and I inhaled sharply.
Suzanne paused her chewing, not missing the change in me. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“You just got all flushed.”
“My dinner is spicy.”
“No.” She tilted her head, tapping her finger on her lips. “Is there someone else?”
“No, Suzanne, there isn’t anyone else.” I pushed the thought of Paxton Crown out of my head and focused on my conversation. “There might be someone else for Mark, but I don’t ask. I don’t know if I care.”
“Charlie, that makes me sad.” She pouted.
“Don’t be sad for me. I’ll figure out what to do.” I leaned back over to her and whispered, “There’s a competition in three weeks. I’m thinking about entering.”
She laughed and then said more quietly, “You’re serious?”
“Yeah, sure, why not? They have instructors that can help me choreograph a routine. I pick music and an outfit.” I waggled my eyebrows at her and shook my shoulders in a shimmy. “I get to be a real stripper.”
I giggled, and then she laughed at me. “You’re crazy, Charlie. But I support whatever you decide to do. I love you, and when you come out on the other side of this, I’ll still be here for you.”
Tilting my head to the side, I said, “Aww, I love you too. Thanks for not judging—too much.”
She shook her head, and we finished our dinner in friendly conversation. For the party, we made plans to do our hair and makeup together on Saturday. Her fingers flurried across the keyboard of her phone, texting her contacts to make appointments. We talked about our dresses: mine was a gold brocade, off-the-shoulder mermaid gown, and hers was a ruby red, high-neck backless crepe ball-gown. Perfect for the bourgeois, elite crowd of Houston.
After we finished our dinner, we walked out into the humid Houston evening. The sun was setting and casting an orange glow against the glass of the high-rise buildings around us. A light breeze lifted my hair and blew it in front of me. I pushed it back behind my ear.
My phone rang. Reaching into my purse, I recognized the number to the dance studio. I let it go to voicemail, making a note to call Erin when I got in my car.
“You’ll let me know what you decide about that stripper thing?” Suzanne feigned disinterest.
I smiled and responded matter-of-factly. “I will let you know about the pole dancing competition.”
She chuckled as she got into her car. “Yeah, that.”
Suzanne drove away, waving at me out of the top of her convertible.
I stood in the parking lot a moment longer, breathing in the night air and listening to the sounds of traffic rushing by on the freeway around the corner. I was startled from my trance by the shrill cry of my phone again.
I looked down to see an Arizona number light up the screen. I didn’t recognize the number, but it could have been any number of people I knew. Suddenly, awareness shot through me, my phone felt like it was on fire, and I almost dropped it.
Calming myself, I clicked the green phone icon and said, “Hello?”
“Charlotte Chase?”
Oh, crap!