Hysterical Blondeness (9 page)

“Only fifteen-foot?”

“Any more would be ostentatious.”

“Of course. Silly me.”

“The family tree can go in the center parlor so the children can just run down the stairs and see what Santa left them.”

“The little darlings.”

“We’ll have dinner set in the dining room on the big table and, you know, all those sugar-glazed fruits dripping off pedestal arrangements and those Italian wedding cakes encased in spun sugar—like that one Paulie made for Christmas one time?”

“Visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.”

“And I’ll have all the girls dressed in red velvet
with a matching gown for me. You’ll have to make those for us.”

“No problem.”

“With a vest for Brett and the boys.”

“How many children? Maybe I better get started on those.”

“Five. Three girls, two boys.”

“Five little Nordquists all in a row.”

“Oh, Pinky.” Patricia lifted her head off the sofa pillow and sighed a huge I-want-
that
sigh.

“You’re awfully good at this.”

“I’ve had lots of practice.”

“And will Paul be the new gardener and sneak into your room when Brett’s away and give you the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?”

All Patricia could do was groan.

“So what shall we make you into for the big Halloween ball?” The ever-practical Pinky thumped them back to earth. But right now, earth was still three feet off the ground.

She’d had two dates with Brett. Well, lunch was sort of work, but dinner was a date, and she’d just had sex with her housemate of five years. A more sophisticated woman would be able to sort all that out and neatly get on with
her life. It wasn’t like Paul had asked her to marry him or anything. She’d just keep dating Brett and sort the Paul thing out as she went. “I was thinking Jean Harlow.”

“Slinky white satin. Diamonds. Your new pale hair. I can see it. A halter dress draped across here.” Pinky made air-dress movements.

Patricia might be the queen of domestic fantasies, but Pinky was a woman of pure vision when it came to the creation and design of clothing.

“When I’m rich I’ll back you in your own fashion business,” Patricia announced.

“Thank you, my benefactress. I am eternally grateful. Now chew down that toast and for God’s sake take a shower and get into some clean clothes. We have to start this project rolling.”

“I’m impaired.”

“Tough. Jean Harlow didn’t bat an eye over a late night and a roll in the hay with her landlord.”

“Tough girls finish first.” Patricia raised her fist in the air lamely.

“Right.”

“Get me some Advil, okay?”

“Get it yourself, tough girl.”

Patricia wasn’t feeling like a tough girl today. She had feelings she’d never had in her life. Something kept compelling her to play out this crazy scenario with Brett.

Her insides were churning with confusion and feelings she’d never felt before. She thought of Paul’s kiss. She thought of Brett’s kiss. She thought of Paul’s loving touch. She thumped her head against the pillow and felt a searing pain shoot through her temples. It was no less than she deserved. She was a mess.

Paul’s meeting went long and he wondered why Henri wasn’t there. Lately, Henri had increasingly left things in his hands. He worried about the old guy. He worried about a lot of things these days.

Brett had arrived late to the meeting and looked hung over. As they broke and started filtering out the door, Paul went up to talk to him, the prick, keeping Patricia out that late.

“Brett.”

“Paul, right?” Brett sucked down coffee and rubbed his eyes.

“You’re dating my housemate.”

“Shit, keep your voice down, buddy. Lizbeth has spies everywhere.”

“I thought that was the general idea.” Paul cut right to the chase.

“Oh, I guess you’re right. I’m just a little out of it this morning. Hey, you know how it is.”

“No, how is it?” Paul leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, looking down on Brett still in his chair.

“Women. Lizbeth is just being stubborn. Patricia is very beautiful. I like to be surrounded with beautiful things.”

“Watch yourself. Brett, things could get complicated.”

Brett always talked like everything was a joke. “I made it clear to Patricia I’m just out for some fun. She seems to be enjoying herself. Why, do you two have a thing going? Not that I mind sharing,” he said in his joking manner.

Paul fought back the urge to punch Brett in his Nordic nose and watch it bleed. “If I did have claims on her, I would mind.” Paul clenched his teeth. “But if Patricia is fine with your arrangement, there’s not much I can say until she gets smart and dumps you.”

“She’s a pretty little thing. You let that one get
by ya, buddy.” Brett got up and gave Paul a punch in the arm.

“I guess I did.” Paul punched him back. Harder.

“Ow. Watch it, pal, I’m still your boss,” Brett joked.

“I’ll remember that.” Paul took the opportunity to get out of the room before he did something he’d regret. Something that might cost him his job. He sure as hell didn’t know what to think about Patricia this morning. He was completely undone by their encounter last night. This whole thing was crazy.

On the way down the hall he thought about his job. He loved going to Milan, and New York was always great, what with seeing his grandparents twice a year.

He’d even gone to Offenbach, Germany, last spring for the big International Leather Goods Fair. Henri had been training him well. But did he want to be Henri’s replacement?

What happened to his high and lofty goals of writing a novel someday? He was going to teach Italian and literature and be one of those guys in the tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows that made young minds expand with
cultural and intellectual knowledge and then write a great historical novel of staggering genius on the side.

Okay, he’d seriously watched
Dead Poets Society
too many times when he was young. Now here he was, up to his eyeballs in handbags, and no book on the back burner.

Paul decided to head down to the basement and see if his shipment from Spain had arrived. Last time they’d had to get rid of a few strange bugs that hitchhiked along in the packing material. His department manager, Mrs. Hanagan, had begged him to check on incoming crates after a spider crawled up her hand and she’d practically fainted. Poor pale, redheaded Mrs. Peggy Hanagan. But she was a whiz at display and they got along pretty darn well.

Peggy had a family and liked to keep her hours sane. They always worked out a way to give the weekend hours to the young hungry girls who liked their commissions to be fat.

When he got to the basement, of course, he passed by Patricia’s catalogue office. She still hadn’t come in and it was almost noon. He’d thought maybe she’d straighten up and get
herself in after all. She and Pinky probably decided to have a girls’ day together.

He and Patricia had to talk as soon as possible.

As he walked past the door he noticed a dark-haired young woman in the office. It was getting close to holiday; maybe they’d brought in a temp.

“Hey.” He poked his head in. “I’m Paul Costello, assistant handbag buyer.”

“Hey back, I’m Terri Barnes. I’m the new catalogue gal.” She was somewhat plain and wearing a button-down-collar floral print shirt and gray slacks. She reminded him of Patricia from earlier times.

Paul stood in the doorway. What the hell? “What’s going on?” he asked. He started looking around the room and saw an empty box with Patricia’s “desk monkey” in it. He’d given her this fuzzy orangutan for her birthday to drape over her lamp.

“I guess Patricia Stillwell is moving to another department.” Terri shrugged. “I was just told to come in and start. But I think she was supposed to be here to go over things with me.
I’m not sure what happened, so I figured I’d just go over the catalogue orders and try and familiarize myself with her system.”

“I’m a friend of hers. I’ll check up on her and get her in here for you. I’m sure she’ll want to help set you up properly. She’s actually a nice person.”

“Thanks, Mr. Costello. I appreciate that,” Terri said. Paul nodded and as he walked away, he pulled out his cell phone. The cell reception in the basement left him without a signal. He wanted to be sure Patricia heard every word of this.

He abandoned his incoming handbag check and headed for the elevator. What the hell had Brett done? Or maybe it was Patricia herself. Paul headed for his second-floor office and kept checking his cell phone on the way. Finally he saw some action.

“Pinky?” He had autodialed home and she picked up quickly.

“Paul, what’s up?”

“Let me talk to Patricia.” He had to face her sometime and now he had two things to talk to her about.

“She’s pinned into a paper dress. Can I have her call you back?”

“No. Give her the phone. This can’t wait.” He sat down behind his desk and picked up a pen. He was a sketcher. When he talked on the phone he drew geometric shapes. This time he drew spirals.

“I’m here,” Patricia said.

“Well, you should be
here
, because you don’t work in catalogue anymore. Did you arrange that, or is it as much of a surprise to you as it was to me? A Miss Barnes is in your office putting your monkey in a box.” That sounded a little weird, but he was free-falling.

Basic dead silence came from the other end of the phone.

“Patricia?”

“W-wow. That was fast. I didn’t think it would be that fast,” Patricia stammered.

“So you did know or didn’t know?”

“I sort of did and sort of didn’t.”

“You should get in here.”

“I will. I’ll come right away.”

“Eat lunch first. There’s leftover chicken in the fridge,” he said.

The dead weight of their not discussing what happened last night practically pinned him to the ground with its hugeness. He rubbed his forehead.

“I have to get unpinned. Stop being so bossy.”

“Obviously you need someone looking out after you.”

“Apparently we both do,” she said sharply. “Thanks for calling, I appreciate the heads-up.” Patricia hung up.

He hung up the dead phone and put his pen down. God, that went so very badly he couldn’t even imagine it having gone worse. He had to talk to her face to face and get this whole thing out in the open.

So she knew about her job, sort of? Paul wondered where she was transferring to and smacked himself for forgetting to ask. Probably to be Brett’s personal assistant—he thumped his fist on the desk hard.

He was going nuts. He had violated their sacred housemate law. God only knew what the cost would be.

At least he would have the memory of making love to Patricia to keep him warm at night. The thing was that it only made him want her more.

Pinky stuck her three times before she was free of the paper pattern dress she’d fitted to her. It hadn’t even registered except for a quick ouch. She felt completely numb today except for a strange tingling in her lips and an odd hum that rumbled through her body every time she thought about Paul and last night.

She had to think about something else. And she had plenty to think about, really. “Pinky, I think Brett transferred me to fine jewelry. He asked me at lunch yesterday where I’d like to work.”

“Brett is nothing if not a fast worker,” Pinky said.

“He could have told me, or warned me, or
something
. Men never think ahead,” Patricia said.

“Or maybe you’re fired for not putting out on the first date.”

“Ha ha.” Patricia stuck her tongue out at Pinky. “How do you know I didn’t?”

“You told me last night. You said he kissed you and went in for the grope but you put on the brakes. Thank God, because that would make you a genuine slut, sleeping with two men on the same night.”

“Aurghhhh, Pinky, don’t even say that. Even the thought of it makes me ill.” Patricia pulled on the bottom of her new push-up bra. “This thing is torture.”

“But look, it lifts and separates.” Pinky made motions emphasizing her figure and talked like a wispy advertising announcer.

“You are
so
funny. Paul said I had to get my butt down to work because this girl is packing up my stuff. He said my monkey was in a box.” Patricia laughed.

“Honey, your monkey
is
in a box. Go put on that black dress. Fine jewelry ho’s always wear black.”

“Fine jewelry
ho’s
?”

“You’ll find out,” Pinky said.

“I’m not going to turn cheap and slutty just because I’m a blonde, you know. I’m retaining my inner brunette.” Patricia gave Pinky a dirty look and stomped off.

“Hold that thought,” Pinky called after her. When Patricia left the room, Pinky thumped herself down on a chair and had herself a think. She thought about cats and how they can’t be forced into anything. How they’ll do the naughtiest
things like jump up and eat the butter on the counter and look you in the eye when you catch them. And if you aren’t looking, they’ll do it again, because they just love the butter.

Maybe nature’s consequences would turn out differently than she figured. Maybe last night would unravel her friend’s blonde breakdown. It sure was going to unravel something.

She is mine own,
And I as rich in having such a jewel…

Shakespeare

Paul was right, her monkey was
in a box. And so were her framed photos, her matching vintage deco desk set, and anything remotely personal. She’d clobber the girl, but most likely Terri Barnes was just following orders.

It fascinated her to see Terri, a reflection of her former self. Patricia even had a blouse just like Terri’s. It was a Dockers blouse with a little stretch in it to make it more comfortable around the extra pounds in the middle.

“Wow,” Terri said as they shook hands. “No wonder you’ve been moved. You’re beautiful. They shouldn’t hide you away in the basement.”

“Thanks, Terri. I’ve never thought of myself that way. I have to say, the basement has been cozy. I hope you like it as much as I did.” Patricia looked around her little nest and felt a serious twinge of regret and panic all at once.

Had she hidden herself away down here? And what, just because she lost some weight and her hair went platinum, now she was to be displayed? That was just very scary and sort of Stepford.

She and Terri sat down to work and it was surprising to her how simple her job really was. In a few short hours she had Terri completely trained and ready to take over everything, including the NFL tie promotion. Of course, she’d get some holiday help in pretty soon and they’d keep her company down here.

It had always been great when they opened up her oddly impermanent wall, enlarged her space, and joined two more desks into the mix. There’d been some very fun people over the years.

Patricia still felt like the bottom of a shoe and it didn’t help getting all…nostalgic.

When it came time to pack up her stuff, it all
fit in one box and one grocery bag. That was kind of pathetic. “Terri, I’m leaving you my miniature fake Christmas tree. It’s a tradition down here during the holiday rush.”

“Thanks, Patricia.” Terri patted her arm.

The phone rang and Patti automatically picked it up. “Catalogue,” she answered. Then she looked at Terri, who smiled at her with sympathy.

“Hey, Patti, it’s Brett.”

Brett had taken to calling her Patti. It was sort of cute. Sort of. “Hi, Brett.” Patricia noticed her heart still revved up with the sound of Brett’s voice.

“Great time last night,
r-i-g-h-t
?” He actually drawled
right
out kind of long like a bad comedian. He was so cute. Sort of.

“Great time, Brett.” Patti had guilt. It hit her like a slap in the face. Big fat guilt. But she and Brett had hardly made any commitments to each other, so why did she feel guilt? Probably because she just wasn’t the kind of girl to have sex with one man when she was engaged in a sort of serious manhunt for the other. Guilt meant she still had a conscience. That was a good thing.

“I’ve moved you upstairs. You’re moving on up to the big time Patti! Fine jewelry!”

To a de-luxe apartment in the sky, she thought. “Thanks, Brett, that was a big surprise.”

“I know. I love surprises, don’t you?”

“When do I report to the sales floor?”

“Just go on up there now and introduce yourself. The sales manager will tell you your new schedule. Even better, I’ll meet you there and impress them all. See you down there—or up there, in your case—in a few.” Brett hung up.

Patricia was thinking that Brett introducing her might not be the best idea. Women got their noses out of joint for less than thinking you were sleeping with the boss. Five years in the backside of retail had taught her a whole lot more about women than she’d ever wanted to know.

She was stuck now. “Well, Terri, I’m just upstairs on the first floor if you need anything.” Patricia put on her coat, hefted her box into her arms, slid her purse straps up her shoulder, and grabbed the shopping bag by its paper handles.

“Good luck, make lots of big fat commissions!” Terri opened the door wider for Patricia.

There was that. Sweeter than a bonus, the trickling commission wagon. She’d be making more money. As she walked to the elevator, Patricia kept going through the positives of her change in location. She’d get the selling-floor discount. That was a big one. The automatic twenty-five percent. Paulie got the big buyer’s discount of thirty-three percent, but they kept a close eye on his purchases—except during the holidays.

She and Pinky would always stock up on wardrobe basics using Paulie’s discount right after Christmas when everything was marked down. It seemed like the company turned a blind eye from December until about February. Then they had to behave.

She struggled to keep her box held up, resting it against the elevator railing.

After the ding and door opening, Patricia stepped out into the bright lights of the main sales floor. Although the fall decorations were still up, there were hints of holiday creeping in column by column. A huge red candle here, a giant golden holiday ball with striped red and gold ribbon there, display people scurry
ing around like elves. She knew the signs. It was starting to look a lot like Christmas—in October.

The first floor had ladies’ shoes, scarves, handbags, accessories, and the nasty cosmetics girls who would spray you in the eye with J. Lo’s new fragrance if you distracted one of their customer potentials. Speaking of Stepford, those girls were just scary.

The junk jewelry, as they all called it, took up a center counter, but the fine jewelry was in its own little special corner. Mostly so they could stick extra cameras and security all over the place and keep a tight eye on the goods.

Patricia made it past the center escalators and almost to the carpeted edge of fine jewelry when her paper bag handles gave way. She grabbed at the handles, which only caused it to rip completely open.

The contents of her paper bag exploded like a Fourth of July sparkle fountain and clattered to the hard linoleum floor.

As she scrambled to grab her bobble-head Disney character collection like a juggling clown, she went down on one knee. Then the ever-
familiar feel of her stocking running in a large zipping rush ran down her leg. She could feel her cheeks burning.

A quick glance up made her feel slightly ill again. Brett was standing with the formidable Madam Gaffer, who reminded Patricia of the Wicked Witch of the West, but prettier. Madam Gaffer was a German woman who knew her diamonds and everything else, or so Pinky had told her.

Pinky knew everything about everyone at Nordquist’s. She said alterations people are invisible to salespeople, so they hear twice as much dirt as anyone else.

Well, here was one for Pinky’s logbook, Brett and Madam Gaffer staring at her as she tried to shove Bobble-Head Dopey into her overstuffed box.

Finally, Brett came over to her—she could see his expensive Italian shoes and his legs from her kneeling position. “Gosh, that’s a mess,” he said. “Listen, I’ve got to run. Madam Gaffer is waiting for you. Chin up, cutie.”

And with that, Brett vanished.

Her eyes teared up. It wasn’t the contacts this time, it was Brett being too busy to pause and
help her. But before she could burst out crying and curl up in a fetal position on the floor of Nordquist’s, a pair of male hands lifted her to her feet.

“I’ll take care of this. You go meet the madam.” Paul smoothed his hand across hers in a gesture that was so comforting it made her want to cry for other reasons. “We’ll talk about last night later.”

“God bless you, Paulie,” she said. Patricia straightened her black dress and adjusted her pearls, which were really Pinky’s pearls from her confirmation day a million years ago, she’d said. She had the best friends in the whole world.

And Paul had set her mind at ease with just a touch. He was speaking to her, he was ready to talk, and surely they’d be a sensible pair and not let last night come between their friendship.

Paul picked up Patricia’s treasures and loaded them into a plastic shopping bag he’d grabbed on his way to her. He borrowed some tissue paper from the scarf salesgirl and wrapped each bobble-head carefully. After all, these were collected on their two trips to Disneyland.

As he wrapped and packed, Paul remembered
being dragged into the Tiki Room for the fourth time so the girls could sing “Let’s All Sing Like the Birdies Sing” until his ears rang.

He watched her go up to Madam Gaffer, who looked damned scary to him, with her tightly pulled-back slate gray hair and severe black dress, but then Paul saw the older woman put her arm around Patricia’s shoulder and lead her into the inner sanctum of fine jewelry.

So it was true. She’d been transferred to fine jewelry in one quick day. Paul wondered how Patricia felt about the change. She wasn’t one to move quickly into a decision.

For the past few days he’d been thinking about taking Patricia and Pinky to New York with him on his next trip. The holiday decorations would be up, they could catch some shows, and he could take them to a musical. Pinky had family there, and his grandparents still lived in the old neighborhood. They could take a few weeks of vacation time. Although he didn’t know if either of them had time coming, and Patricia starting in a new department might be difficult.

Tonight at dinner he was going to ask the girls about New York and bring up the whole
subject of their lives. A nice risotto would make that conversation go down better. A nice risotto would mend the tear in the fabric of their sanity that last night had caused.

He had to make a stop at Delaurenti’s to pick up his supplies for tonight. Maybe some crusty bread, balsamic vinegar, and olive oil on the side, too, and a nice Shiraz.

Cooking was the thing that helped him create order in his life. Just like Pinky and her dress dummy, he had his pots and pans and his family recipes. Cooking would help.

It occurred to Patricia that aside from 14K gold and sterling silver, she knew absolutely
nothing
about fine jewelry. What she thought she knew about pearls just went out the window as Madam Gaffer showed her the incredible variety of pearls the world had to offer. There were dozens of shapes: baroques and seed pearls and pearls that were green- or rose-colored or almost black. There were pearls from Australian, Tahiti, Japan, and the South Sea Islands.

This was not a good day for a hangover.

Finally, probably sensing her brain freeze,
Madam Gaffer put her to work at a back desk scribing tiny golden tickets with codes and prices. But she was going to have to abandon the blue contacts and put her reading glasses back on from now on. Tomorrow.

She had to admit after being introduced to the fine jewelry inventory, it was true. Diamonds were a girl’s best friend.

From her perch slightly above the selling floor, she heard the voice of Lizbeth Summers. Mandy, the other fine jewelry associate, was waiting on her. They seemed to be old friends.

Patricia heard whispers, then Lizbeth asked Mandy to show her a jade pendant. Not your average jade, either, the really expensive stuff called apple jade. She remembered seeing it in the case. It was shaped in a perfect circle and threaded through a gold chain and it was a cool three hundred ninety-five dollars for this thing that was the size of a quarter.

“Oh, it’s beautiful on you,” Mandy exclaimed. “But when are you and Brett going to get serious and buy that marquise diamond?”

“That’s up to him. He just needs to grow up a little and get all his foolishness behind him,” Lizbeth answered.

“Yeah, him and every other guy. Isn’t he dating someone?”

“I wouldn’t call it dating, I’d call it slumming.”

The two girls tittered with laughter. Patricia considered pushing the plant perched on the edge of the upper wall down on Mandy’s head but decided it would not be a good career move. That bitch. As if she didn’t know Patricia was behind that wall within clear earshot. Both of them could just go to hell.

And Brett would be lucky to get away from Lizbeth. If he wanted to
slum
, Patricia was more than willing to be the distraction that kept him from deciding to marry Lizbeth.

When the little dear had purchased her jade piece, Mandy took the three-step climb to the loft where Patricia sat.

Patricia raised her head from her work and gave Mandy a big, nasty smile. Mandy tried to return some kind of look, but it seemed like Patricia had preempted her and Mandy went to her corner, somewhat speechless.

So here she was with Mandy, who somehow managed to either play into Lizbeth’s little scheme or had plotted to make sure Patricia
knew good and well that Lizbeth knew she was dating Brett.

She knew that he knew that they all knew. It was one of those nasty little circles that can go nowhere good.

Patricia focused on her scribing and ignored Mandy to death.

Madam Gaffer called her name and startled Patricia out of her deeply meditative state. She straightened up and got herself down on the selling floor.

A handsome well-dressed older man stood behind the glass case pointing at a few items.

“Watch now, Patricia,” Madam said softly. She took out a black velvet board and pulled the diamond tennis bracelet out of the display case. “Mr. Martin is a good customer. He won’t mind if I teach you a few things. Notice how I never turn around after I’ve put the item out for display. Of course, Mr. Martin would never run off with our diamond bracelet, but someone else might. If he decides to look at another item, we would put the bracelet away
first
and then move to the other area, see?”

“Yes, I see.” Patricia stood with her hands linked behind her and listened carefully.

“It’s nice to meet you, Patricia.” Mr. Martin smiled at her in a way she’d seen before. His temples were graying, but the tiger was obviously still in the tank.

“Thank you, Mr. Martin,” Patricia replied.

“I think this will do nicely. Can you gift-wrap that for me, Patricia?” Mr. Martin asked.

Madam handed her the bracelet. “You’ll find the boxes and supplies on a table upstairs next to where you were sitting.” She turned back to Mr. Martin. “Thank you, George, we appreciate your business.”

He handed her his credit card and winked. Patricia noticed that wink as she glanced back once more before ascending the stairs.