14
If this interview didn’t end soon Ashanti was going to sweat through her shirt. She’d already dropped Duchess’s leash twice because her hands began shaking uncontrollably the moment the camera started rolling.
At least her voice no longer shook.
As much.
“How has Puddin’ and Duchess’s newfound fame affected Barkingham Palace?” asked the reporter, who was much shorter in person than he looked on TV.
“It’s been amazing. We’ve been getting calls from people from all over the country wanting to board their dogs,” Ashanti said. “I wish we could take them all, but there’s only so much room here at the daycare.”
Kara stood a few feet behind and to the right of the cameraman. She was making a motion for Ashanti to smile.
Ashanti was going to strangle her once this interview was over.
The segment producer had called just before six this morning to tell her that the reporter was being pulled off her story to cover a fire near the industrial canal, but that they would try to fit her in during the noon broadcast. So not only had she suffered through wearing makeup all morning, but she now had to live up to her bargain with Thad, even though it would have been just fine if he had brought Puddin’ at his normal time.
He had been here at five thirty, just as she’d asked. And looking way too good in worn jeans and a fitted T-shirt for such an obscene time of the morning. He’d looked like someone who’d gotten ten hours of sleep followed by a facial. It was unfair.
“I read in your LinkedIn profile that you attended vet school at LSU,” the reporter asked. “How did you go from wanting to be a veterinarian to running a doggy daycare?”
First, she had forgotten all about that LinkedIn profile. And second, rude.
It was a legitimate question, but the way he framed it made it seem as if she should feel ashamed. As if she had settled. Or, worse, that she couldn’t cut it. Neither was true. Well, not entirely true.
“I went through a major life event that compelled me to change course.” Ashanti hunched her shoulders and dialed up her smile. Kara gave her a thumbs-up. “It was just one of the curveballs that life tends to throw at you. But I’ve always prided myself on being nimble.”
“It seems you turned that curveball into a home run,” the reporter said.
Goodness, where was a bottle of Mylanta when she needed one?
The reporter turned his $20,000 smile back to the camera and wrapped up the segment with a reminder that Barkingham Palace had a waitlist. He told viewers they would share the local boutiques that sold Duchess Delights on the station’s website, then threw it back to the anchors at the news desk.
“That’s a wrap,” he told the cameraman. He turned to Ashanti and stuck out his hand. “My producer apologizes again for this morning.”
“I get it,” Ashanti said. “Remember what I said about being nimble?”
He made pistol fingers at her and she legit thought she would barf. What a cheeseball.
“Good job,” Kara said.
“What are you doing here?” Ashanti asked, shrugging out of the cardigan she’d worn over her Barkingham Palace long-sleeved T-shirt. She thought it would dress it up a bit, make her more presentable. She should have stuck with only the T-shirt.
“Did you honestly think I would miss your big television debut?” Kara asked.
“If I get called down to that school because of your skipping, there will be hell to pay, Kara.”
“But I’m skipping with permission this time. Mrs. Calloway knows I’m here. I told her you needed moral support because you tend to get nervous when you talk about yourself. I was right.”
“I wasn’t nervous,” Ashanti lied.
“Of course you were.” Kara waved her off. “By the way, Mrs. Calloway wants to know if you have any treats she can buy for her Yorkie because she can’t find them anywhere. I told her I would bring her one. On the house.”
“So now you’re bargaining with your teachers to get time away from class?”
“I’m a businesswoman,” Kara said. She pinched Ashanti’s cheek. “I learned from the best.”
“Get back to school. You’re not allowed to skip another day for the rest of the semester,” Ashanti said. “If you do, I’m turning you in to the front office myself.”
“You’ll lose cool points.”
“I don’t care about cool points.”
It was a lie. She totally cared about cool points. But balancing being the cool older sister and the responsible guardian was something she was still working on six years into this role that had been thrust upon her. Responsible guardian won out this time.
Kara took Duchess’s leash from her and, with Ashanti and Puddin’ following behind, entered the daycare.
“You did great,” Deja said from behind the desk, where she had been streaming the noon broadcast on the computer.
“Could you tell how nervous I was?” Ashanti asked, rounding the desk and getting one of the treats from the private stash. She handed it to Kara in exchange for Duchess’s leash. “Now get back to school.”
Kara rolled her eyes and left.
“That girl is going to fail eleventh grade if she skips any more school,” Deja said.
“I don’t understand how she does it and still gets to play volleyball.”
“Sweet talk,” Deja said. “She got twenty bucks and my Netflix password out of me the other day.”
“Deja,” Ashanti said. “No Netflix was part of her punishment for skipping last week.”
Deja shrugged. “She’s a good manipulator.” She handed Ashanti a pink sticky note. “Mrs. Frances called halfway through the segment. Apparently, her grandson didn’t think to mention that her dog had become a celebrity.”
“I meant to tell her about the interview,” Ashanti said, feeling like a big bag of dog poop. “Thad should have. He knows his grandmother would get a kick out of this.”
“At least she still caught the segment,” Deja said.
“I’ll give her a call as soon as I get Duchess and Puddin’ settled in the back.”
Ashanti brought the dogs to the backyard exercise pen. When she learned that her story was being moved to the noon broadcast, she’d taken advantage of the extra time to bathe and groom both Duchess and Puddin’. As a result, they had missed their morning exercise.
“How did it go?” Colleen asked from the other side of the Rover Jump Over.
“Nerve-racking,” Ashanti said. “But it’ll be good for business.”
Colleen walked over to her. “I know this seems counterproductive, but business is a little too good already,” she said. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re bursting at the seams.” She picked up a tennis ball and tossed it to Sunshine, the Dumases’ golden retriever. Sunshine took off like a rocket. “The point is,” Colleen continued, “without a bigger facility, all the free publicity in the world won’t do us any good.”
“I know,” Ashanti said. She’d told herself she wouldn’t bemoan Thad buying her house again, but she deserved at least a few more days to mourn. “It’s just hard to find the perfect spot, and other than that two-story in the Lower Garden District across from Coliseum Square Park, there is no place better than the house in the Bywater.”
“Ever think of moving out to Metairie?” Colleen asked.
“Absolutely not!” Ashanti’s answer was immediate.
Colleen took the ball out of Sunshine’s mouth and held her hands up in mock surrender.
“Okay, okay. Don’t shoot me for asking,” she said.
Ashanti’s cell phone rang. She pulled it from her back pocket and rolled her eyes.
“It’s Ridley,” Ashanti said as she turned back toward the daycare. She answered the phone with an overly dramatic sigh. “What did I do wrong during the interview?” she asked.
“Is that how you answer a phone?”
“It’s how you would.”
“Touché,” her friend said. “And I have no idea what you did wrong. I’ve been in a meeting Uptown all day. I haven’t seen the segment. I did, however, just see something that will make your entire year. Move, asswipe!” Ridley yelled.
“I’m gonna assume you’re driving,” Ashanti said.
“I’ve got another meeting at my office downtown. I swear, you would think with all we’ve learned about telecommuting these past few years that these people wouldn’t insist on holding in-person meetings. As if stale muffins and bitter-ass coffee is supposed to make up for being stuck in traffic.”
“So what is supposed to make my year?” Ashanti asked.
“I’m getting there,” Ridley said. “You ready?”
Ashanti made a get on with it gesture, even though Ridley couldn’t see her.
“I just saw a FOR SALE sign on the house you want.”
Ashanti’s stomach immediately dropped. Had Thad backed out of the sale? She should be ecstatic yet couldn’t deny a pinch of sadness that he wouldn’t be a few blocks away.
But then she remembered that Ridley said she was driving from Uptown.
“Wait,” Ashanti said, her hand on the screen door’s handle. “Which house?”
“Which one do you think? The Greek Revival on the corner of Terpsichore and Camp Streets.”
Her heart stopped. It literally stopped for at least three seconds. “Ridley, I swear, if this is some kind of joke—”
“When do I ever joke?”
Good point.
“I took a picture of the sign,” Ridley continued. “I’ll text it to you as soon as I’m stopped at a red light. You had better call the real estate agent to make an offer ASAP, because this house will not last long on the market. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve gotten offers already. Call them as soon as I send the number, okay?”
“Uh—” Ashanti had hesitated for only a second before Ridley started yelling through the phone.
“Ashanti Jacinta Wright, if you miss out on this house, we are taking it to the fucking streets, you hear me? I swear, girl. Don’t play with me. I will fight you.”
“I don’t even know what they’re asking for it,” Ashanti pointed out.
“I don’t care what they’re asking for it! You’ve got orders for those dog cookies coming out of your ass. And I can promise you there will be even more orders after this spot on the news today. You can’t afford not to get this house. Don’t mess this up, Shanti. I swear I will never speak to you again if you do.”
Ridley had been threatening never to speak to her again since the first time they went shopping at Claire’s and Ashanti wavered on a pair of half-dollar-size gold hoop earrings. She contended to this day that those earrings were too big for her head.
This house, however, was perfect for her. Ridley was right. She deserved to have her ass kicked in the streets if she allowed it to pass her by.
“Send the info,” Ashanti said.