Using his other hand, Big Eddie re-deposited the napkin in his polyester pants pocket. He was holding the ball up for Tish in one hand and with an animated slice to the other, showing her just how far it could be shot. Tish reached for the ball, but with a wink and a mile-wide smile, Big Eddie pocketed it again. And no, Tish’s reach didn’t follow into Big Eddie’s pocket, but the look she gave him seemed to say someday it might. Then she turned and sashayed away toward the kitchen herself.
“Wonder what’s so special about those balls….” Mrs. P murmured.
A dozen smart-assed remarks leapt to mind, but I resisted giving voice to any of them.
My mother turned to me with one eyebrow delicately arched. Clearly she’d expected me to return that perfect lob.
I shrugged. “Too easy.”
Mother turned back to Mrs. P. “I don’t know what’s up with those golf balls, Jane. But I do know that whenever Eddie has Mona out there practicing her swing, she can’t shoot worth a damn with the regular white balls, but give her one of those colorful lucky ones and she can drive it half way across the lake.”
“Kind of like magic, Katt?” Mrs. P asked, in all seriousness.
“Maybe.” Mother’s smile was small, but it was real. “Magic’s a funny thing, Jane. A pretty great thing when it’s used right. Used for good, you know.” Inexplicably, her eyes welled up with tears. Be damned if she’d let them fall though; not in front of everyone. And Mrs. P and I both gave her a few silent minutes to put them back in check.
Of course, there had to be a logical explanation for the orange golf ball success. One that had nothing to do with magic. Or even luck, as Eddie maintained. The most likely explanation for their fantastic flight being that Big Eddie had replaced the regulation golf ball with something heavier or otherwise juiced up to make it fly just that much further. Or maybe Big Eddie had so convinced his clients that there was magic in that colored ball, they could shoot it to the moon if they wanted too.
However, I would never say any of this to Mother. And not just because she obviously needed a minute here, and not because she did not always appreciate my cynicism. I wouldn’t say anything because there was a fight breaking out in the kitchen.
Nothing was breaking. No fists were being thrown. No one was getting a good old-fashioned beat down. But the yelling that was coming from that little kitchen was enough to clear it.
“Tish McQueen, you’re nothing but a no-good, two-bit flirt!” Mona accompanied her proclamation with a stamp of her foot. “Everything I have, you want! And I’m damn tired of it!”
“There’s nothing two-bit about me,” Tish shot back. “And if you’re referring to Big Eddie, I wouldn’t be so damn sure he’s yours after all.” She bobbed a hand to her hair, though those blond locks were pretty much frozen in place with styling product. “Eddie Baskin has an eye for the ladies, Mona. Can I help it if he likes the pretty ones better?”
“Oh, since when did you become a lady?”
“Good one, Mona!” Mrs. P called across the room. She never was the queen of subtle.
Tish sent an icy glare in our direction, and if looks could kill, Mrs. P would be toes up. But they can’t, so Mrs. Presley just smiled back at Tish. Tish’s glare lasered back to Mona.
I kicked Mother under the table. No, not with the shut-up assault to the shin she’d given me earlier. More like a look-at-me tap, which I followed with the eyebrows raised what-do-you-think? look.
She leaned in. “This has been a long time coming,” she whispered. “Tish has been after Eddie since the first day she got here. Well, Eddie and everyone else. She was always flirting will all the men. Frankie too.” Mother’s lips drew thin here. She touched each of her wrists again and looked down as if she’d forgotten that the watch he’d given her was missing.
I trained my gaze back on the confrontation in the kitchen. Tish was staring hard at Mona, and Mona was staring right back. If I thought Tish’s stare had been icy, it was nothing compared to the frost in her voice when she spoke.
“Well, then, Mona Roberts,” she said, icicles dripping from the words, “suppose I just leave. Suppose I just pack up my bags this very night and head back to Alberta. I’ve lots to do there. Lots of business to conduct and lots of friends to see. Look after my other interests for a while. Maybe that would be best for all concerned.”
In two seconds flat, the look on Mona’s face dropped from furious anger to fearful panic.
“Well, I … I really don’t want you to leave, Tish.” Mona mumbled the words.
“Pardon me?” Tish leaned closer.
Bitch. She’d heard Mona perfectly well. I cringed as Mona repeated her statement, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Tish waved a dramatic hand. “Well, it sure doesn’t seem that way to me.”
“I … I’m sorry, Tish.”
“Sorry or not, I should go anyway. I’m not sure I like it here anymore.”
“Please stay.”
Jesus, it killed me to watch Mona so completely chastised and thoroughly defeated.
Everyone was staring at Mona now.
Mother leaned in to whisper — without a prompting kick beneath the table this time — and I had to strain to hear her. “This I just don’t understand. I’d have her sorry ass packing in a heartbeat if I were Mona.”
“Maybe she’s paying her rent?”
“Mona says she’s not.”
Tish, looking smug and self-satisfied, was about to rain another berating storm down upon Mona. A distraction was needed. Like a titillating Daphne Delicious tale. I was just about to heave a stage sigh and invite them to circle around when another distraction entered the room and I put my porn-primed mind on hold.
The brand new security guard, Dylan Hardy, strode into the room, followed very closely by Big Eddie whose shorter legs scissored to keep up.
Damn, he looked good. Dylan, not Big Eddie. And all over again, thoughts of the night before teased through my mind, causing sensations to tease through other parts.
With put-on awkwardness (“Hello, sir. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”), Dylan was introduced around the room. Apparently, the taker-charger had sneaked out of the room when the kafuffle started to get Dylan, no doubt thinking security might be warranted. Or more likely thinking if anything could break the tension of the Mona/Tish confrontation, the handsome new security guard could.
He was right.
When Dylan’s eyes met mine, there was an incredible, unspoken exchange. A barely-there smile packed with knowing, and not letting let on.
Of course, Beth Mary was the first one over to greet him. She gave him a welcoming hug. A long, drawn out (get your hands off his ass, you dirty old woman!) welcoming hug. Tish apparently forgot about Eddie Baskin as she introduced herself to Dylan. And it was with unmistakable, sad relief that Mona introduced herself. Mrs. P was in the kitchen this time, helping herself to a coffee and searching the cupboards for the sugar. And grinning, of course. She stopped long enough on the way back to the table with coffee in hand to ask Dylan, “Are you any good at crosswords, young man?”
“So what do you think, Mother?” I said still staring at Dylan. “Going to go introduce yourself?”
But there was no answer.
While I’d been watching Dylan at this Mona-rescuing meet and greet, Mother had disappeared.