After my outrageous behavior last night (yes, I admit I behaved badly), my shop was the place to be seen. It was crazy.
Melinda, the lead you sold me clashes with Chopper’s new outfit. I must have a new one. Melinda, why didn’t you tell me gold leather carriers are all the rage? Melinda, do you have more diamond-crusted collars? Can I special-order a pink mink snuggie?
And on it went. My clients were addicted to their dogs (and gossip). It was obvious their lives revolved around their pooches and their accessories. I loved the business, but it was exhausting.
If someone with significant height on the society ladder showed an interest in an accessory, I suddenly couldn’t keep it in stock. Everyone wanted what someone else had. The Oprah effect for pampered pet bling.
“Melinda, do you have the Prada collar in cantaloupe? Orange makes Diesel sad,” a newer customer asked.
I glanced at Diesel, a deaf Dalmatian. He looked outlandish in his Swarovski crystal sport coat and star-shaped sunglasses. He sparkled, shimmered and reflected with every shake. Trust me, the orange leather studded collar was the least of his worries. Diesel and his human needed some beauty queen intervention.
“Sorry, no cantaloupe. Try this.” I grabbed a flat-gold leather Prada collar instead. “Gold makes everyone happy.”
“Perfect.” She clapped her hands in delight, then deftly fastened the collar around Diesel’s skinny neck. “I’ll take two.”
I smiled at her enthusiasm. “Great.”
The door opened, and Mona Michaels strolled inside. Dark sunglasses, cream Chanel pantsuit, and a cloud of expensive perfume. No Fluffy.
In the chaos of the day, I’d forgotten all about Mona and the inevitable wrath I’d experience. Caro had hit it on the nose; Mona would extract revenge.
Tricia Edwards, Mona’s best friend and business partner, followed behind, carrying a sample case. The two were thick as fleas on a coonhound and just as irritating.
Tricia designed dog wear, but didn’t own a dog because they were messy. (That didn’t make sense to me, either.) Mona was the money behind Tricia’s label. The two had been badgering me for months to carry Tricia’s couture dog dresses. I’d finally agreed to meet with them next week to look at the inventory. I wasn’t holding out much hope.
“Melinda, I have a new selection of samples for you.” Tricia’s frosty voice cut through the fevered shopping chatter.
“Bring them to the meeting next week,” I said without giving either of them my full attention.
I gently wrapped Diesel’s second collar and rang up the sale. I slipped a couple of dog treats in the bag before handing it over. “I hope Diesel enjoys his new bling.”
His owner smiled broadly. “We will. Thanks. You’re still coming to Diesel’s Bark-mitzvah, right?”
“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it,” I promised.
“I’ll see you then.” Her smile faltered slightly as she brushed past Tricia and Mona.
“Mona’s unexpectedly free today,” Tricia pressed, setting her case on the counter. “You’re going to love them.” Her pushy excitement rang hollow in my ears.
“I’m swamped. Next week.”
I grabbed a box from behind the counter and headed for the front display case. I pulled out a handful of pink Juicy Couture collars with rhinestone charms from the packing material and restocked the shelves, keeping my back to the self-appointed mayors of Laguna Beach.
“Melinda, what are you wearing?” Mona’s haughty voice hung in the air like a guilty verdict thrust on an innocent man.
I took inventory of my typical work outfit. Black leather vest over my “Paws off!” t-shirt, motorcycle boots and, my most recent splurge, a pair of True Religion jeans. Even my hair was pulled back into a long sleek ponytail and out of my face.
“You have something against Yorkies?” I asked as I turned around.
“You’ve embroidered them on your…” Mona waved her sunglasses at my butt.
“You’d have preferred them somewhere else?”
“It’s silly,” she said.
“Not everyone’s bound by what others deem inappropriate.” Darby Beckett, my best friend for the last two years, closed in ranks behind me.
Unlike last night’s crowd, Darby represented the small faction of Laguna residents who don’t have piles of money. Originally from Nebraska, she didn’t always relate to the west coast shenanigans.
Darby owned Paw Prints, the pet photography shop next door. She’d had a last minute cancellation, and she’d graciously offered to pop over and help me with the mad crush of customers. God love her. Darby had the same Mona-chip on her shoulder as I did. Maybe even bigger.
Mona looked right past Darby. “Melinda, your mother would be appalled to see you dressed in secondhand throwaways.”
I sighed. Mona had me on that one. Mama would be aghast at my typical attire. “Where’s Fluffy?” I asked.
“Cliff has her,” Tricia said.
Cliff Michaels was Mona’s fourth ex-husband. They shared custody of Fluffy.
Fluffy wasn’t your average Afghan. She was a dog actor. In the past few years, she’d won two Daytime Emmys for a guest role on a soap opera. She’d played a Lassie type, saving the resident drama queen from drowning. Maybe the soap would still be on the air today if they’d have killed her off. The drama queen, not Fluffy. Never kill the dog.
Cliff, on the other hand, seemed like a nice enough guy, but after two years of marriage he’d had enough of Mona and had left their multi-million dollar mansion for a “modest” yacht he’d named Ruthless (Mona’s middle name was Ruth). Last I’d heard he’d docked the boat at Dana Point Marina, about twenty minutes south.
“Melinda, we have business to attend to. I don’t have all day,” Mona insisted.
I took a deep breath, well aware I couldn’t afford a repeat of last night.
“Mona, I have customers to assist. I will meet with you next week. Like we agreed.” One look around the shop, and anyone could see that my customers weren’t blazin’ a trail to pay up and leave behind the free entertainment.
“You don’t really want to cross me. Do you?” Mona tilted her head. Not much. Just enough to make her face look more intimidating than normal.
“We’re not afraid of you.” Darby’s bouncy blond curls slapped the side of her face. She stood next to me in an attempt to give the illusion of a united front.
Mona’s shrewd eyes locked on her. “You should be my little rabbit.”
Darby sucked in a sharp breath. She opened and closed her mouth, but no words came out. Her small frame vibrated in what I assumed was panic and anger. I squeezed my best friend’s hand.
“Mona, leave Darby out of this.” I kept my voice low, trying my darnedest to not make a scene. “If you have something to say to me, say it. Otherwise, get out.”
Darby wagged her finger at Mona, not willing to back down. “Some day, you’ll get what what’s coming to you.”
I could have sworn Mona stiffened, but it was hard to tell since she was already so unyielding.
Tricia stuffed her phone inside her Marc Jacobs bag and looked at Mona for their next move. We all waited.
Mona didn’t disappoint.
“When you continue to humiliate people in public, the only way for them to save face is to sue,” Mona slipped her sunglasses into the protective case.
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” Sue for what? Geez Louise. I didn’t have patience for mind games.
Mona casually adjusted her purse strap, and then thrust the figurative dagger into my back and twisted. “I called your mother last night. Babs and I had a wonderful time catching up. I talked her into coming out for a visit.”
I wasn’t afraid of Mona, but I was absolutely avoiding my mother (for the record, no one called Barbara Langston “Babs” to her face). I love my Mama, but she left me dog-tired.
“I’m sure you left out the part where you called her a prostitute,” I said. I had every right to be upset at my Mama, but for an outsider to insult her (and anyone who’s not family is just that, an outsider), was unacceptable.
I heard a soft gasp. I looked around the shop. There were at least five customers pretending to study the merchandise.
Mona shrugged. “I did no such thing. Besides, Barbara has moved past that.”
Just because Mama didn’t talk about The Incident, didn’t mean she was over it. She was southern. One didn’t air their dirty laundry in private. Let alone in public. Mona, on the other hand, didn’t have a problem dressing-down anyone in front of an audience. The bigger the scandal, the happier she seemed.
She had zero southern manners.
“We agreed. You owe me an apology. A public apology,” Mona continued, condemning me with every word and savoring every second.
“I hope you didn’t get your stone-heart set on that apology,” I said.
“You wouldn’t want to damage her reputation any more than you already have, would you, dear?”
Her arrogant tone choked me like a Texas heat wave in the middle of August. It took all the resolve I possessed to control my temper. “Get. Out.”
Tricia’s eyes widened in shock. “You can’t kick us out.” Her voice trembled.
“I just did.”
Mona’s eyebrow rose in warning. “You’ll regret this.”
Cold anger oozed through my body and settled in all the wrong places, making me say and do all the wrong things. Again. Some day I’d figure it out. But that wasn’t today. Mona had crossed the line.
“You’re a bitter selfish woman. I don’t cotton to threats against my family or my friends. The only thing I regret is that I didn’t take y’all down last night when I had the chance.”