Chapter 14
WINNIE
“You set your granny on Fitz?” Carolina is appalled. “You’ll never have a chance with him now.”
“Good.”
“Winnie’s the only girl I know who’d reject a man who looks like this.” Kathy sighs.
Fidget sighs.
I’m annoyed.
“I didn’t reject—it’s not a rejection. He didn’t actually ask me out.”
“That’s not what Gran says.”
“It was a joke. A trap.”
“Why are you trying to make me find a rich guy when you already have a man who wants you?” Kathy rolls her eyes. “You two are good together. Customers to the Brew & Browse are up eighty percent.” My sister shows me our data tracker.
“It’s because of all those hot shirtless pictures on the internet of him.” Carolina giggles.
“You should print T-shirts with that photo.” Kathy blows up the photo of Fitz shirtless, looking like a Greek god come to bless corporate America. Meanwhile, I look like I just crawled hungover out of a gutter.
“It looks like I’m about to manhandle him. Why did they have to put that photo on the gossip sites?”
Carolina zooms into Fitz’s chest. “I mean, that’s just gratuitous.”
“He’s boobing boobily into the room.”
“Stop looking at those photos. We need to work on finding you a boyfriend,” I tell my sister.
Kathy ignores me. “Did you touch his chest?”
“I did.” Granny swaggers into the kitchen. “I think we really came to an understanding there.”
“You touched him, Gran?”
“Nipple or…”
“You girls, you’re too timid. You can’t sit there and try to reason with a man. You have to take off your shirt. Men fold every time.”
“Winifred, how could you let your grandmother out in public without her shirt on? Oh god. I can never go back to Minnesota.” My mother groans, heading past us to the built-in bar in the living room. “The neighbors—what must the neighbors think?”
“This isn’t that type of neighborhood, Mom. I don’t want to see my neighbors.”
“Mrs. Anderson back on the lake has already called the police on several occasions because of your grandmother sunbathing topless.”
“We get three weeks of warm, sunny weather in Minnesota. I have to take what I can get when I can get it. This is America,” Gran complains. “A woman should be able to take her shirt off in her own yard.”
“Knox’s yard,” Kathy corrects, mouth a thin line.
Dad is fanning Mom, who lies on the couch. He’s feeding her sips of wine.
“Mom, don’t you want something to eat? I can order pizza.” I pick up the empty bottle.
“Gosh, Winnie, how can you eat at a time like this?”
“You really need to keep your strength up, Mom.”
“Yeah, Mrs. Larkspur,” Carolina pipes up. “Especially since we’re about to sign up Kathy for an escort service.”
Kathy helpfully fetches another bottle of wine.
“Where did I go wrong as a mother?” April wails.
“It all started when…” Gran begins.
“Mama, please. Why don’t you order that pizza, Winn?” Dad tells me as he twists the cork out of the bottle and glugs the sauvignon into the fancy crystal stemware I bought to treat myself—and I do stress myself—after opening my fifth successful franchise.
“I want mushrooms on mine.”
“Meat lovers. Lots of sausage. That knit-in has me horny. The gals and I are doing penis pillows for our next project,” Gran orders.
“Ooh, I want one,” Carolina pipes up.
“We should sell those at the store.”
“Kathy… no.”
“We need to capitalize on all this new foot traffic,” my sister tells me blithely.
“I used to do a little knitting,” Dad says excitedly. “Sign me up.”
“You should get over your fear of large dicks and get with Fitz so you can get me some measurements.” Gran mimes with her hand.
“It’s a branding moment, Winnie.” Kathy starts sketching out advertising ideas.
“Oh, so now you’re reading the business books I bought you?”
“Hell yeah!” Gran thumps her chest. “Sounds like being a businesswoman runs in the family! You girls get that from me.”
“Eyes on the prize. Stay the course,” I chant to myself as, behind me, Gran, Kathy, and Carolina chat about the merits of different types of yarn for anatomically correct penis pillows.
“There’s already so much demand for the penis pillows,” Kathy tells me excitedly. “I think we could sell them as part of the book club package.”
“Why pay to touch a penis when you could get paid to touch a penis?” I remind her.
“Are we sure escort services are legal?” Carolina whispers to me as we enter into the muted pink-and-white lobby.
Water flows from a hidden fountain.
“Welcome to the Oasis.” A woman who’s been plastic-surgeried, makeuped, and hair-extensioned within an inch of her life looks up at us. She’s barely able to smile with the amount of Botox in her face.
“We have an appointment.”
There’s an imperceptible raise of an eyebrow at the pastry cream on my shirt.
“She has an appointment,” I clarify, pointing to Kathy in her couture sundress.
The plastic face is slightly more approving.
“Shit, add me onto that appointment too,” Gran declares. “I need to find me a rich man who’s a lonely sucker with cash burning a hole in his pocket.”
“We matchmake companions. Cecily Meyers.” An older woman, equally as plastic, hand outstretched, struts out in high heels that I’d put on and immediately break my ankles in.
“Katherine, this way. There’s a café down the street.
You can wait there until her appointment is over,” she tells us disapprovingly.
“There is no way I’m leaving this to chance,” I tell her. “Kathy already blew the last high-end boyfriend I tried to score for her.”
“I’m here for moral support.” Carolina adds.
We crowd down the hall into the conference room.
“I want in on this shindig too,” Gran demands. “Do you need an elderly woman? I put out. ”
“We are not that kind of service.” Cecily is offended.
“With the prices you’re charging, you should be.”
“Excuse me, we have a very rigorous process here to vet—”
“You’re not going to make her take off her clothes, are you?” Gran demanded. “Now I really need to be back there.”
“There’s a questionnaire.” Cecily sniffs.
“Her tits are real, she gets regularly waxed, and she can fake laugh at men’s stupid jokes like a champ. What more do you need to know?” Gran ticks off boxes. “Book her tonight.”
Kathy looks a little nauseous.
“Maybe we should have cut our teeth on the sugar daddy thing,” Carolina whispers. “You know, work up to the big leagues.”
“It takes some time to reel one of those in,” I argue. “Kathy could be an escort tonight.”
“Ah, no, she cannot. There are classes.” Cecily holds up a finger. “I make sure that our girls represent both themselves and Oasis with dignity and elegance.”
“No one needs class to get their ass eaten.” Gran makes a rude noise.
“We are not running a prostitution ring.” Cecily is shrill. She stands up. “I don’t believe we have space for you here at Oasis.”
“No, just give us another chance,” I beg. “Gran, go outside.”
“Why, so the Wicked Witch of the West Coast can do a hymen check? No thanks.”
“I told you I have a questionnaire.”
“You can shove your questionnaire up my snatch,” Gran hollers as we’re shuffled toward the front door. “You’re going to regret it!”
There are two freaked-out-looking middle-aged men hovering on the sidewalk when we are unceremoniously shoved out of Oasis.
“Don’t waste your money there,” Gran tells them, jerking a thumb. “Pussy’s plentiful. Lower your standards. Maybe hang out by a women’s prison.”
“Gran!”
The balding guy flips out.
“I can’t bring someone with a prison record to the business dinner. Oh god, what are we going to do? The dinner is tonight!”
“Guess that rules me out then.” Gran fists her hands on her hips.
“Isn’t hiring escorts illegal anyway? Maybe you two should try online dating,” I tell them.
“Yeah, because that worked so well for you.” Carolina snorts.
“All the pro-athlete guys do it,” says the balding guy, blotting his sweaty forehead.
“No wedding ring. That’s a fifteen thousand dollar watch, nice linen shirt. He looks like he’s got second-house money,” Carolina whispers, poking me in the ribs. “Do you have any pets?” She raises her voice.
“What?” The guy wearing the skinny jeans is confused.
“We’re trying to figure out if you like to microwave cats in your spare time,” I inform him.
He looks like he’s about to retch.
“See, this is why you don’t have a man. You don’t know how to talk to them,” Gran hisses. “Now, look here, you two. Seems like both of us have a dilemma on our hands. You need a date. We need a date-ee. So how about you take Kathy to your business dinner?”
“Really?” He perks up. “I can pay you. Five hundred dollars, okay?”
“Two thousand.”
“Gran, we’d do it for free.”
“Know your worth!”
“I can’t go by myself,” Kathy cries.
“I volunteer as tribute.” Gran raises a hand.
The guy with the potbelly blanches.
“Don’t knock older women until you’ve tried it. Haven’t you ever seen The Graduate? This old broad can teach a young thing like you a thing or two.”
“I see where you get it from.” Carolina nudges me.
“Or you can hire my other granddaughter and my bonus granddaughter.”
“I’m not for hire,” I tell them.
“I need you.” Kathy grabs my arm.
“I have a VP that has been summoned too. Just got divorced.” Balding guy looks me and Carolina up and down.
“You don’t look like escorts, which is probably good.
He doesn’t want to mess up his custody hearing—his ex is a dog—but you don’t want to show up empty-handed to these mandatory dinners. My VP needs a promotion, poor SOB.”
Skinny jeans smiles. “So, is there a group discount?”
“It’s not a potluck, Mom.”
“You can’t show up empty-handed.”
“I don’t think you can show up to a fancy Seattle party with a bowl of pasta salad.”
“Everyone likes my pasta salad recipe.”
“She’s right. You serve it at your café, Winnie.” Carolina spears a few noodles.
“Fine, Mom, I’ll take the pasta.”
“Don’t drink too much, girls!”
I would have tossed the pasta salad bowl in the trash can on the street outside of the restaurant, except the bowl doesn’t fit. Also, it’s my nice bowl.
Our dates are waiting in the lobby for us. It’s that kind of restaurant.
“I bet they don’t have prices on the menu,” Carolina whispers.
“You all better be paying,” I tell the men.
“Ignore her.” Carolina introduces us. “She’s not used to being around human beings.”
“Our boss is paying,” the balding guy tells me, mopping his forehead.
“Good. I need to see if I can coat check this pasta salad.”
The lady in the coat check looks offended when I try to hand over the bowl. “You brought food here?”
“Look, you can dump out the food or donate it to the rats that live in the alley, but I need the bowl back.”
“We can’t take that.” Her lip curls up.
“Can I leave it here then, like, on the counter? I can’t just bring it into the restaurant.”
“Creampuff, did you bring pasta salad as a hostess gift?” The deep voice slides over my skin.
My blood pressure shoots up then drops as the billionaire brushes a kiss on my cheek, way too close to my neck for it to be a friendly kiss.
“Janice, have someone take the pasta upstairs to my penthouse, please.”
“No! What the hell are you doing here?”
He takes the bowl from me and sets it on the counter with a dull thud. “Maybe, Creampuff”—his voice drops—“I should ask you what you’re doing here at my dinner with another man after you refused to be my date for the evening.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Shit.”