As agreed upon the day before, Connie Sue, Pam, Monica, and I formed a committee in search of the perfect gift for the newlyweds. Our task was complicated by the fact that Claudia, if she wanted something, bought it. Bing, bang, boom, she’d whip out her credit card. The Babes had given the four of us a price range and charged us with finding something “appropriate” for a woman who had everything, including a shiny new husband.
“I could have driven,” Pam said for the third time.
“I know, sugar, but we can fit more into my Lexus than that little PT Cruiser of yours,” Connie Sue told her as she made a beeline for Macy’s. The rest of us tried to match her pace.
All of us were aware of the importance of having enough room to accommodate purchases after a shopping spree. Augusta, Georgia, is home to the nearest mall of any size. It’s only a hop, skip, and a jump down the road from Serenity Cove, but a big hop, a big skip, and a very long jump. When we go, we take a list and make it into an outing. And no outing is complete without show-and-tell afterward.
“Let’s find a wedding gift first,” Pam suggested. “Afterward we can separate.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “Where do we start?”
Monica studied the store directory. “How about cook-ware?”
I wasn’t fooled by Monica’s sly suggestion. She was Martha Stewart with dark hair and a fetish for tiaras. “What about home décor?” I asked innocently. “Lance can never have enough frames to hold all his photos.”
“Kate, shame on you,” Pam said with a shake of her head. “We could check out bed and bath. Maybe get a nice set of towels.”
“Sugar, there’s a time to be practical and a time to be extravagant.” Connie Sue tapped a French-manicured nail on the directory. “I was thinkin’ of somethin’ more along the lines of kitchen electronics.”
Soon the four of us were in a heated debate over espresso machines-which to the best of my knowledge, Claudia didn’t own. My head was starting to spin. Who would have guessed there would be so much to consider? Things like programmable, a one-year versus three-year warranty, and adjustable cup heights. After much discussion, we finally agreed on a particular model that boasted a three-in-one capability: coffee, espresso, and cappuccino. If I ever remarry-and that’s a pretty big if-I’m going to run straight for the nearest bridal registry and request one of these wonders. Imagine-cappuccino at my fingertips. I would think I’d died and gone to heaven.
Mission accomplished, we sent the three-in-one wonder to package pickup and headed for the four corners of the mall. In keeping with the coffee theme, we arranged to meet at Starbucks to load up on beans and caffeine before heading home.
“Are you single-handedly committed to reviving the economy?” Monica asked upon seeing Connie Sue’s amazing collection of shopping bags.
“Everythin’ was on sale. What’s a girl supposed to do?” Connie Sue retorted, nonplussed.
“I bought new towels,” Pam offered.
Pam, in sharp contrast to Connie Sue, is frugal to a fault, but it’s these idiosyncrasies that make life interesting. When left to my own devices, I’d done a little shopping of my own, both the practical and the extravagant sort. I have a froufrou bag filled with freebie cosmetics, all sorts of tiny bottles filled with such things as moisturizer and exfoliator, along with a sample of a new designer fragrance. That goes to show my practical side. Problem was, I liked the new designer perfume so much, I bought one. I tried not to dwell on the price. And what’s more, I rationalized, I didn’t really buy it for myself; I bought it for Bill. The saleswoman claimed men found the scent irresistible. I could hardly wait to take it out for a test drive.
“I need a smoothie,” Connie Sue announced, piling her bags on a nearby vacant chair. “Be right back.”
While waiting for her to return, we huddled around a small table that gave us a view of the mall traffic. As it often did these days, talk centered on Lance Ledeaux.
“I can’t believe we let him talk us into this,” I complained for the umpteenth time.
Pam sipped her grande nonfat latte. “Remember this all sounded like a great idea at the time. No one held a gun to our heads and made us agree to go along with this play of his.”
“Not simply a play, sugar,” Connie Sue said, returning with smoothie in hand, in time to overhear Pam’s comment. “A theatrical production.”
Monica nodded grimly. “A theatrical production he’s written himself.”
“And plans to star in,” Pam added. “As well as produce and direct.”
I frowned, not caring if I might need Botox down the road. “Don’t know much about the theater, but even to an amateur such as myself, it sounds overly ambitious.”
Monica blew on her herbal tea to cool it. “Since we’re all involved, maybe the marquee should read ‘Babes on Broadway.’ ”
“Great idea, sugar, but I’m afraid it’s already been done.” Connie Sue took a long pull on the straw of her pink smoothie.
We stared at her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, finding us looking at her strangely. “Most everyone knows Babes on Broadway was a musical, back in the forties I think, with Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney.”
I shook my head in wonderment. “Connie Sue Brody, sometimes you amaze me. When did you turn into the trivia queen?”
She shrugged prettily. “I declare, sweetie, growin’ older is gettin’ harder and harder. Some nights I can’t catch a wink, so I end up watchin’ old movies on one of those cable networks.”
“Getting back to the matter at hand,” I said, stirring my cinnamon-laced cappuccino, “the deal breaker came when Lance promised opening night proceeds would benefit Janine’s favorite cause, Pets in Need.”
“Especially since she’s the newly elected president.” Pam nodded her agreement. “You know how she’s always talking about a new animal shelter.”
Monica absently tucked a brunet strand behind one ear. “I have to admit Lance is a phenomenon to behold. He certainly didn’t let any grass grow under his feet getting the ball rolling.”
“He’s a silver-tongued devil all right,” Connie Sue chuckled.
I agreed with both Monica and Connie Sue. Seeing Lance in action had made me a believer. In the blink of an eye, he’d turned bunco night into a casting call. By the time we left Pam’s, none of us knew what had hit us. One by one, we had voluntarily and of our own free will consented to participate in one manner or other in what he referred to as his proposition.
Monica’s dark eyes snapped with irritation. “Imagine me-of all people-the prop princess!”
“That’s mistress-not princess,” I corrected.
None of us wanted to remind her she’d tried out for Gloria’s part and failed miserably. Not even Janine, the casting director, could ignore that Monica didn’t have a theatrical gene in her entire body. Instead, Lance had diplomatically convinced Monica that with her attention to detail, she’d be the right person to collect and organize props. Rita, by the way, had been awarded the plum job of stage manager.
“Enough doom and gloom,” Pam scolded. “Just think, this play could be a lot of fun.”
That’s Pam, my BFF-“best friend forever” in texting jargon, which I’m learning to impress my granddaughters. Pam tends to look on the bright side of things, though sometimes her Pollyanna attitude can be downright annoying.
Batting her eyelashes, Connie Sue placed her hand over her heart. “Forever, My Darling,” she drawled in her best Scarlett O’Hara imitation. “Really, girls, do you think Lance could have found a cheesier title? Sounds like one of those trashy romance novels.”
Now it was my turn to scold. “Connie Sue Brody, bite your tongue. You know you’re addicted to romance novels, and there’s nothing trashy about them.”
“Well, sugar, I have to admit they’re a heap better ’n watchin’ all those dreadful crime shows you’re so fond of.”
“I’ll have you know, my crime shows aren’t dreadful. They’re educational.”
“They’re also interesting and informative.” Pam jumped to my defense. I was well aware that her addiction to Law & Order and CSI was nearly as bad as mine. If we got any worse, the Babes would need to stage an intervention.
“Those ‘dreadful’ shows, as you call them, helped hone my skills when we were trying to find out who murdered Rosalie,” I pointed out.
“And almost got you killed in the process.” Connie Sue slurped up the last of her smoothie and started gathering her packages. “Now we’d better get a move on if I want to have a hot meal on the table for Thacker.”
We did likewise.
I heard Monica grumble under her breath about being the prop princess.
“It’s not that bad, Monica,” I told her as we hustled toward the escalator. “You’ll do a terrific job.”
“Wish I could be as sure as you are, Kate. I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do. Especially since one of the props happens to be a handgun.”