Eileen Slovak

Chapter Fifty-two: Clever Inventions, Cowboy Cocktails and Getting Plowed 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and locales are products of the author’s imagination. They are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Eileen Slovak.

Scarlet

The single highlight of my work week is a meeting with a designer named Lauren Rice. Lauren creates magnetic monogrammed jewelry to accessorize handbags. It’s an interesting concept. I instantly connect with Lauren. She’s professional, has done her research, and has already begun the patent process. Plus she has a unique flair about her. Lauren worked for multiple jewelry companies before leaving her career to become a mom. This idea, she says, is her way of breaking back into the workforce on her own terms.

She lays out samples for my and Emilie’s review, along with several purses of different shapes and sizes. It amazes me, how the simplest broach clipped on a plain purse transforms the ordinary handbag into something special. High-powered magnets work well to secure the jewelry without damaging the expensive purses. I know Frank will love the idea, so I ask him to step in to meet Lauren. It’s as if nothing has transpired between us. He’s the epitome of grace.

After the meeting, he recommends we set a contract meeting assuming no issues present in the patent search. I feel better knowing all is right in my work universe again. We set the contract meeting for next week. Lauren lets us keep the samples.

I plan to take the samples to Dominick. He has years of experience in the Rhode Island jewelry industry and owns a warehouse in Johnston. I want to give him the first look at the items before showing them to Allen. With Dominick’s manufacturing connections throughout the United States, he finds ways to get items reasonably produced in country. Still, I have my doubts that he’ll be able to get his price in line with Allen’s manufacturers in China. In the end, if Frank wants them Made in America at a higher cost, we’ll make it work.

      Dominick is a shameless flirt but I like him and completely indulge him. He picks up on the sixth ring right as I’m ready to give up.

      “Scarlet when are you gonna realize I’m the only man for you? You let me know when you get tired of wastin’ time with those boys you run around with. They don’t know nothin’ about women.”

      “I think about that all the time Dominick.”

      “I don’t get it. I’d treat you like a Princess–take you anywhere you wanna go.”

      “I know. It’s getting harder to resist you.”

      “See? So, why fight it? We’d make a great team too. Ya know, you can have any title you want. What do you wanna be? Vice President, or what?”

      “Right now, Dom, I want to be in your appointment book for next week. Can you squeeze me in? Frank’s breathing down my neck, here.”

      I feel my Rhode Island accent slip out whenever I speak with him.

      “Frank, huh! Don’t worry about it. That guy owes me. Let’s see…MARY LOU! I ASKED FOR HOT, NOT ICE COFFEE! WHERE’S YOUR HEAD?” he shouts to his assistant. “See what I gotta put up with ova heer? Okay, let’s see, how about Mondee at nine? Somebody cancelled. That’s all I got. This week’s crazy.”

      “Monday it is. I’ll see you then.”

      “Hey if you’re not busy this weekend, a buddy a mine is openin’ a new restaurant on Sataday night. The Tuscan Trattoria on Federal Hill. It’s gowna be one hell of a potty.”

“It sounds fun, I’ll think about it.”

      “Scarlet, you know somethin’? You’re a nice kid, but you think way too much. Take it easy.”

      At the end of the day, Gary calls me. He was able to get a confession out of Darren Duhamel for the harassing telephone calls and urinating on my vehicle.

      “I tracked him down. The address you gave me was a halfway house, but they hadn’t seen him in a while. The woman there said he hangs out at the park. That’s where I found him. I think he might be homeless or living in a shelter. He argued a bit about the number of calls, saying he didn’t remember making that many. He claims he was simply being persistent. He does have a pay as you go phone. The only thing is, he won’t cop to the paint damage. Maybe because he knows it’s a bigger deal and there’s a cost to the repair.”

      “What do you think?”

      “I think he’s a lying sack of guilty. But we can’t pin the graffiti on him without any evidence. We can cite him for harassment, plus public urination. If you choose to take it to court, he’d likely get a fine. If you want a restraining order, I can get that going for you. That way, if he violates it, we can arrest him. If he calls again, it only builds a better case. I’m assuming your company wants to pursue it?”

      “Um, I don’t know about that. My boss is not the confrontational type. He prefers to sweep everything under the rug. Plus, now I feel badly that he’s homeless. He’ll most likely stop now. Don’t you think? He knows we’re on to him.”

      “I’d say so, but it’s your call.”

      “I really appreciate everything you’ve done. Let me think about it. Knowing my boss, he’ll have a fit if I start a public scandal over this. Thanks, Gary.” 

      “Let me know if you change your mind.”

      I see no point in even discussing it with Frank, knowing how the conversation will go. He’ll want to drop the whole matter to avoid any trouble. The call reminds me that I have yet to make an appointment to have my car painted. I immediately call one of the shops Gary recommended to get an appointment for an estimate on Saturday. With the breather hopefully silenced, I only want to forget my troubles, then see Scott.

      After work, I have zero desire to cook dinner and drive straight to the Un Pub instead. A nor’easter is whipping in the sky, hurling clumps of snow downward again. The radio announcer is calling it the worst winter on record since the year of the blizzard. With lashing snow, I can barely hold onto the Pub’s massive glass door. I’m fighting against fierce gusts of wind to get in.

      “Man, am I glad to see you. I’m bored out of my gourd. Ben wants me to stay open. Can you believe this? He can be such a moron sometimes.”

      “Am I your only customer?”

      “Please? It’s Rhode Island! They’re all at the supermarket clearing the bread and milk shelves. I hope you got yours.”

      “What for? It would only go stale and sour in my apartment. I never eat there.”

      “Been spending all your time with Hot Scott?”

      “I’ve seen him. It’s going well. Almost too well.”

      “Oh, here we go. Scarlet O’Brien, you wouldn’t recognize happiness if it bit you in the ass.”

      Corky puts a glass of wine in front of me.

      “I’m happy! See me smiling?”

      She looks at me skeptically.

      “Well, he’s totally knocked out over you.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “You’re all he talks about. He’s always asking questions about you.”

      Now I can’t help smiling.

      “Oh, this is ridiculous!” Corky says looking out the window, throwing her hands in the air. “I’m calling Ben again. I haven’t had anything but takeout orders all night. Now Manny’s threatening to leave. Pretty soon I won’t have a chef. Southern Californians don’t like snow. It makes them nervous. I’m sure as hell not cooking,” she says as the phone starts ringing. “This better be Ben saying shut the hell down.”

      Sipping my wine I feel the weight of the world slipping away. I’m thinking about Scott, reliving our last night together in my mind.

      “No, I’m sorry sir, but we can’t do that. Well, if that’s what you want to do…uh-huh. Goodbye,” Corky says, slamming the phone down. “Can you believe this BS? Some jackass wants me to deliver his order to the East Side. Now I’m supposed to be a fricking delivery girl!”

      Maggie calls me to say that the hospital is sending home all nonessential personnel. She’s one of the lucky ones. I fill her in on Corky’s dilemma. Maggie’s car is terrible in the snow, so a co-worker agrees to drop her off at the Un Pub.

      “I have all wheel drive. I can take everyone home,” I offer.

      “Good, I was planning to hitchhike. I already parked my bike in Ben’s office—he’ll be so thrilled tomorrow.”

      Corky’s ‘bike’ is a Harley Davidson.

      “How the heck did you get it in there?”

      “It wasn’t easy, but I managed.”

      Manny pops out of the kitchen, “That’s it! No more orders. I’m outta here!”

      “Manny, at least stay to have a drink with us!” Corky says, switching off the neon open sign. “Maybe they’ll get the hint.”

      “No way, girl. You see this? I’m not getting stuck here.” Manny pulls two beers from the bar cooler, slipping one into each of the pockets of his down vest. “I’ll see you girls later. Make whatever you want, as long as you don’t make a mess. Try not to burn the place down. On second thought, stick to the microwave. Bye, bye,” he says waving with his back to us. He pulls his sweatshirt hood over his head before he leaves. Maggie hops in the door just as he’s closing it.

      “Another crazy lady. You should all go home!” He shouts.

      “What’s his problem?” Maggie says frantically tugging the heavy door closed behind her. “Did I hear something about food?”

      “Yee-haw! It’s ladies’ night!” Corky rattles her cocktail shaker over her head. “Let’s get tanked.”

     “I’m sticking with my wine. No refills, thanks, if I’m driving you all home.”

     “Crap! This sucks! I’m supposed to be going snowboarding in Maine this weekend,” Corky says, stomping her foot like a four-year-old.

      “If it looks like this here, won’t Maine be ten times worse?” Maggie asks.

      “Nah, snow’s an everyday thing up there. The roads here are the problem.”

      “It may be fine by tomorrow,” Maggie says. “The plows are already working away out there.”

      “I don’t care if I have to hijack one of those plows, I’m going!” Corky says.

      “The sad thing is,” I say, “I can actually see you doing that.”

Corky pours herself and Maggie two drinks. “This is called a Cowboy Cocktail.”

      “Yee-haw! Bless you mistress of mixology!” Maggie shouts while removing soggy layers of clothing, draping them over the back of an adjacent bar stool. Then, seeing the pack of cigarettes on the bar asks, “I thought you gave up smoking?”

      “I did, but then I started up again.”

      “Yum, this is tasty, what’s in it?”

      “Bourbon, grapefruit juice, and sweet tea,” Corky says, trying to call Ben again. “No answer! That’s typical.”

      “How is it that you don’t qualify as an essential person?” I ask Maggie.

      “Oh, since Joe’s buddies with the doc who runs my department. He’d have a coronary if he knew I was here, not safe at home.”

      “You shouldn’t joke like that,” Corky warns. “You know, he’s a pretty old guy.”

      “Corky!” I scold.

      “What? It’s the truth. I’m just saying,” she shrugs, staring at the pack of cigarettes.

      “I think it’s sweet the way he looks out for you,” I smile. “He must be painfully unaware of how big a job that actually is!”

      “Ha-ha! What can I say? I’m a wild woman! Filler up there, Corkster.” Maggie lifts her glass.

      Corky complies, then goes suddenly wild eyed, darting into the kitchen. She re-emerges a few minutes later with a plastic bag filled with take-out containers.

      “Dinner is on Mr. Peterson tonight,” she says, plunking the bag down on the bar.

      “Who?” I ask.

      “The jerk from the East Side who wanted free delivery in a snowstorm. He said if we couldn’t deliver, he didn’t want it.”

      “I don’t care who he is, as long as he ordered something yummy. I’m starving!” Maggie tears open the sack. Then she removes the containers one by one, laying them open on the bar. There are chicken wings, nachos, and coconut shrimp. She doles out napkins and utensils.

      “Someone was having a small party. Now it’s ours,” I say, pulling out a chicken wing.” No more green diet Maggie?”

      “I’m done with dieting. Joe loves my curves. He says that if I lose them, it will break his heart.” Maggie pops a coconut shrimp into her mouth.

      “To true love,” Corky raises her glass.

      “True love conquers all,” I chime in, glass up, then dive into the nachos.

      We sit there munching and talking until a snowplow driver comes by. He tells Corky we need to move all the cars out of the lot so he can do his job. My car is already covered under a snow blanket.

We bundle up quickly and head outside. The snow is coming down sideways in snow ball sized clumps. I begin brushing it off with Maggie’s assistance while Corky flirts with the plow driver. She doesn’t know who owns the other vehicles. He maneuvers around the best he can, but leaves them deeply buried.

      “Maybe he’ll let her borrow his plow tomorrow,” Maggie laughs.

      The snow is fluffy, but there’s so much of it, I’m still struggling.

      “Corky, we could use some help over here!”

     “Relax, Red! Back up, Sam said he’ll dig you out some,” Corky jerks her head in the direction of the plow driver.

      “Good because I can’t even see the door to get in. Naturally, my snow brush is in the trunk.”

      On a first name basis already with Mr. Plowman?” Maggie asks.

      “Shut it. He is pretty hot, though.” Corky watches approvingly as Sam maneuvers the plow.

      “She likes the way he plows!” Maggie laughs. “Why not go for it?”

      “I can’t.”

      “Why not? He’s a stud?” Maggie says, watching him. “I love a man who operates heavy machinery well.”

      When Sam finishes digging out my car, he waves Corky over, gives her something, then drives off. Maggie’s zipping snowballs at me, while I duck behind the car for cover.

      “Did you get his number, so he can plow you again sometime?” Maggie asks. “That’s a little snow humor.” She flings a snowball at Corky.

      “I told him I have a boyfriend. But hey, you never know?” Corky says, shrugging.

      “You talk about me not taking a chance,” I say. “Why would you say that?”

      “Because, me and Jake…you know…did it.”

      “What? Finally! Yippie!” Maggie shrieks, tossing snow up in the air like confetti.

      “It’s about time!” I add.

      “But what if it doesn’t work out? He’s my best friend. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Corky pulls off a glove, retrieves a cigarette, then her lighter from her jacket pocket lighting up.

      “Oh, you know alright,” Maggie says. “Oh, I could never destroy my friendship with Jakey! Oh, Jakey baby!”

      Corky picks up a clump of snow and nails Maggie square in the back while she’s running for cover. I lose my footing trying to throw a snowball at Corky and land on my butt in a massive drift. Only my arms and legs are protruding. They’re both laughing so hard they can’t even help me. I’m stuck like a sea urchin. I have to push out with my exposed limbs using all my might to inch out of the pile.

      “I think I may have literally frozen my ass off,” I say, dusting off the snow.

     “Oh, maybe that would work for me!” Maggie says, plunking herself down in the drift wiggling around.

      Laughter brings tears rolling down my face. “Oh, no! Now my face is frozen!”

      “You need more antifreeze in your system Scarlet,” Corky retorts. “Look at me, I’m not even cold.” She stands triumphantly with her hands on her hips, a cigarette sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

      I look at Maggie, who nods in silent agreement. We tackle Corky, grabbing her arms and legs. She’s shrieking and kicking the entire time while we hoist her up the top of the drift. Once she’s up there, she boots snow down at us covering our heads. Somehow, she’s not even sinking. She sits perched up there like the tiny queen of the snow mountain.

      “Need a hand down pipsqueak?” Maggie teases looking up at her.

      “Piss off, Amazon!” Corky climbs down on her own, “see if I ever make you drinks again!”

      “Thanks girls. I needed this,” I say. “I miss our girl’s nights.”

      “Don’t you dare have any fun without me this weekend,” Corky orders.

      Maggie does her best to dust herself off but the snow is everywhere. She looks like a snow woman, curves and all.

      “Don’t worry,” I add, having zero plans.

      “Come on, guys. Help me lock up. I’m making an executive decision. I’m done waiting on Ben.”

      Corky runs around shutting things down in the pub. I put the chairs up on the tables behind Maggie who is furiously wiping them down. We re-bundle and hit the lights, while Corky sets the alarm and triple bolts the door behind us.

      “So, what’s up with the nutcase who redecorated your car?” Corky asks, observing the plastic bag starting to loosen on my side door panel. Wet and cold, we all pile in.

      “Nothing, he’ll probably get away with it.”

      “That’s just wrong,” Corky says. “Why?”

      “Because my boss doesn’t care. And I think the guy is homeless. I don’t want to make his life worse. Turns out I have a conscience.”

      “This is why I don’t have one,” Corky says.

      “What? An appendage?” Maggie snarks, “Oh, I love this song!” She cranks up the radio belting out the female lead for Paradise by the Dashboard Lights.

     “No! A conscience!” Corky yells, chiming in as Meatloaf.

      “Keep it down! I have to drive this rig. The roads are abysmal.”

      I’m driving carefully through the empty streets. Even so, I skid, fishtailing a few times, but with no other vehicles on the road it’s a non-issue. It’s nearly eleven. Aside from the plows and a few police cars patrolling the area we don’t see another soul. I manage to get everyone home safely, including myself. After a scorching hot shower, I fall into a restful sleep. I’m confident that my stalker case is finally closed.