Lily White Lies - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 of my award-winning novel, Lily White Lies, available on Amazon.

Four

 

...He saw stained walls, missing linoleum tiles, stopgap equipment and�"as he put it�"not enough space to trip in.  I saw what he didn’t.  I saw the dream...

 

 

With a headache that could rock Gibraltar and unable to go back to sleep, I slowly opened my eyes.  Between my everyday worries, last night’s screwdrivers and my grandmother’s shocking news, I felt as lost as an autumn leaf on a windy day.

“What time did you crawl in?”  Even in my hung-over state, I noted the disgust in Brian’s tone.

The room had taken on an echo and my words came out as no more than a whisper. 

“I have no clue.”

Brian strutted around the room, never taking his venom-filled eyes off me.

“Well then, by all means, allow me clue you in.  At twelve-fifty-five, a cab pulled up in front of the building, backed up, beeped and pulled away.  Four minutes later, the same cab returned, letting two women out.  It promptly pulled away while one of the women stood on the sidewalk screaming, ‘Hey…  Wait…  Come back, I'm going with you’ �"louder than if she were at a Steelers game.”

He paced back and forth in front of the bed, as he would a jury in a courtroom.  I partially covered my head in an attempt to avoid his mocking stare.  He continued, “Considering how loudly the woman yelled it’s no wonder the cabdriver heard her and returned.  And as she stumbled into the cab, the other woman," he motioned to me, "Exhibit A…" he paused, "…stumbled up the front steps while a neighbor yelled from her window for everyone to shut up.” 

He stopped at the foot of the bed and took a stance of authority.  “I heard the key fumble in the lock… something fall to the floor and break… the words ‘oh s**t’ slurred out almost beyond recognition… and then stomping up the stairs.”  He paused.  “I have to hand it to you, Meg.  When you set out to make a fool of yourself�"you hold nothing back.”

He stood and stared at me as if he were waiting for an apology or an excuse. 

My mind went blank, and all I could say was, “What did I break?”

“What did you break?  Who cares?  Where the hell were you?”

Although it took enormous effort, I managed to lift myself off the bed in one, fluid movement.  I grabbed the bedpost to balance myself and shot Brian a look of disbelief. 

Holding my head with my free hand, I said, “You know Brian, I’m getting real tired of this self-righteous attitude of yours.  Are you marrying me or adopting me, because you’re acting more like a father than a husband.”  With the palm of my hand, I applied pressure to my throbbing forehead and winced, adding, “Since you seem to disapprove of everything I do anymore…”  Staring him down, I asked, “Why do you want to marry me?”

Disbelief flashed through his eyes.  “What are you saying, Meg?  You don’t want to get married?”

Making it to the bathroom in three clumsy strides, I heavily breathed, “Maybe I am,” as I closed the door on our conversation.

 

~ ~ ~   

 

 

Charlotte and I met for breakfast at our café and I filled her in on the details of my morning encounter.

“I can’t believe you told him you didn’t want to marry him.”  Charlotte shook her head while approval danced in her eyes.

“Well, I didn’t exactly say I didn’t want to marry him.  I was just fed up with his bullying and… well; I sort of left it up in the air.”

“Up in the air, huh?  You know what they say about what goes up.  You may be surprised where it comes down.”

“What do you mean?  Do you think something will change because of one argument?”

“Brian�"change?  You have a better chance of getting Elvis and the Wizard of Oz to sing a duet at your wedding.”  She smiled to herself, proud of the sarcastic humor directed at Brian.  “Seriously, I do think he might call your bluff, Meg.  He may be canceling the hall as we speak.”

“You really think so?”

She shrugged.  “Would it upset you if he did?  I mean really upset you, like tears-on-your-pillow, I’m-sorry-I’ll-never-do-it-again, please-forgive-me upset.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that our argument might actually mean the end of our relationship.  I processed Charlotte’s words and tried to decide if his calling off the wedding would bother me.  I didn’t gush with sadness over the idea, and that was sad in itself.

 

~ ~ ~

 

I sat anxiously on one of the leather couches in the marble lobby of the Commerce National Bank and thought about the news Gram had thrown at me last night.  I wanted to talk to Charlotte about it over breakfast but somehow, our discussion never made it past Brian.  Maybe it was better that I kept it to myself until I knew exactly how I felt.

“Ms. Embry, Mr. Anderson will see you now.”  The cheery voice broke into my thoughts.   

I offered a polite ‘thank you,’ and followed her down the long hall, using the thirty-foot walk to contemplate which strategy I would use in getting him to agree to the loan�"on my terms.

As she opened the door to his office, a portly, middle-aged man with a baby face and friendly eyes looked up from behind a large, oval desk.

“Ms. Embry, please come in.”

I made my way to the overstuffed chair sitting in front of his desk as he came from the other side, offering his hand and a warm smile.

“Well, Ms. Embry, it’s nice to finally meet you in person.  Please, have a seat.”

I shook his extended hand, and replied, “It’s nice to meet you too, and you can call me Meg.”

He seemed to be studying me, when all of a sudden, he blurted, “You wouldn’t happen to know Donny…”  He cut himself off, lifting a hand to his forehead.  “I’m sorry, the late Donny Embry?”

Surprised to hear that name after so many years, I said, “Yes, he was my…”  I hesitated.  “He was my father.”

My obvious hesitation to such a simple question caused a crease in his brow, but he didn’t question me further.

He continued, “We were friends; I went to school with him and your mother.  I was devastated when I heard about the accident.  They were great people.”

“I’m sorry, I was very young and remember little, but yes, it was all so tragic.”

His eyes filled with compassion.

“No, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have asked, but hearing that last name again brought back some very fond memories of your father.  We had some great times together.”  Breathing deeply and trying to sound more professional, he said, “Okay, how about we get back to the reason you’re here.  Fill me in, what is it exactly you’re looking to do?”

“Well, I’m looking to buy a building and I was hoping to get financing here.  In the past ten years I’ve done all my banking here and would like to go through this bank to buy the building.”  I let out a sigh, hoping I sounded professional.

“I’m sorry; I should have been more specific.  I do remember our phone conversations.  What I should have asked is how did you make out with what we discussed?  Did you ask Brian about co-signing on the loan or maybe you have something you can put up as collateral?”

The conversation was already taking the same direction of circles we went through over the phone.

“I don’t have anything I can use as collateral, and I really don’t want to go to Brian with this.”

Leaning forward in his chair and rubbing his chin, he said, “You don’t want to go to Brian?  If you don’t mind my asking, Meg, is it because you don’t know how to broach the subject with him or is it that you think his response will be negative?”

Bearing my soul to a total stranger was the last thing I planned on doing when I arrived here.  This man and Brian were friends from the club, how could I tell him my reasons for not wanting to involve Brian without sounding as if I were putting him down or complaining?  I had another idea and could only hope he would at least hear me out.

“Well, you know how busy Brian is.  It’s not that I can’t talk to him, it’s just that… well, to tell you the truth, it would mean more to me if I could do this on my own.” 

I swallowed hard in preparation for what I was about to say.

“Mr. Anderson, isn’t it true that if I had enough collateral, you wouldn’t require a co-signer?”

“Yes, but I thought you said that wasn’t possible.”

“It isn’t exactly, but I may have something just as good.”  I waited for him to show any signs of negativity, but instead he seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say.  I continued, before he could change his mind.  “I was wondering if I could use my business to back me.  I’d bring in my books and tax returns and I’d even be willing to put contracts into effect with my bigger accounts.  Do you think that might eliminate the need for a co-signer?”

Leaning back in his chair, his smile grew broad. 

“That explains it�"you want a business loan.” 

Thoroughly confused, I sat quietly as he rose from his chair and began to pace back and forth behind his desk.

“Meg, when you applied for the loan, you applied for a personal loan to buy a vacant building.  When I reviewed your application, I wasn’t aware you even had a business�"thus requiring collateral or a co-signer.”

Embarrassed, I spoke softly.  “I’m a little inexperienced when it comes to large scale financial matters.  I told the girl who helped me fill out the application it was personal because I didn’t want Brian�"or anyone�"involved.”

Returning to his desk, he sat in his chair and began scribbling on the legal pad in front of him.

“I was under the wrong impression, but now that I know what it is you’re looking for, we may be able to work something out here.”  Lifting his head from his notes, he offered a smile and continued, “Bring in what you have... tax returns, books and so forth.  If everything is in order and I can balance that and the value of the property against what you want to borrow… contracts on your accounts won’t be necessary.  What is it exactly you do?  I’m assuming the building is going to house your business?”

“Yes, I’m a pastry chef.  I do some catering, luncheons and parties, that sort of thing, but I also sell baked goods wholesale to businesses... restaurants and such around town.  I’d like to open my own bakery so I can expand to sell retail.”

Relaxing into his chair, he nodded and said, “Wonderful!  You bring in the items we discussed, leave them with my secretary and as soon as I’ve had a chance to go through all of it, I’ll call you and let you know if we can proceed with an appraisal.”  On a lighter, less professional note, he added, “Cross your fingers, Meg.  I’m rooting for you; my wife just loves her desserts and can’t bake to save her soul.  She’d be one of your biggest customers.”  He let out a jolly laugh that stretched his vest at the buttons, making them look like they would fly off in my direction at any moment.

I smiled in appreciation and extended my hand, saying, “Thank you very much for taking the time to see me, Mr. Anderson.”

“Please, call me Ron.  And tell Brian I’m sorry I missed him last night, but I’ll be ready for him next week.”

“I will and I’ll talk to you soon.  Bye.”

 

My meeting with Ron had enabled me to put aside my grandmother’s news, my hangover and even the fight with Brian.  Most of my life seemed to be in an upheaval, but my long-standing dream had never seemed more attainable.  As I walked to work, I felt a bounce in my steps, each one sparking a reason to smile.

 

When I arrived at the building I rented by the month, I stopped and remembered the first time Brian and I came to look at it.  He saw stained walls, missing linoleum tiles, stopgap equipment and�"as he put it�"not enough space to trip in.  I saw what he didn’t.  I saw the dream.

I recalled an expression often used by my grandmother; ‘From small things, big things one day come’.  This run-down workspace was the small thing that would one day bring all the big things to life. 

As I reached for the knob, the door swung open with such force, I stumbled backward, catching myself before I fell.  Nelda, one of my employees, burst through the door with the energy of a Latin tornado, muttering things that sounded vulgar, even in Spanish.

Taking hold of one of her arms, I asked, “Nelda, what’s wrong?  What happened?”

Shaking a fist toward the open door, she replied, “Marco… estupido… lio grande!  Too much soap… washer blew up… mucho agua por todas partes.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll take care of it.  Calm down and let’s go inside.”  I took a deep breath and made my way through the doorway, preparing for what had recently become a common scene between Nelda and Marco.

They hadn’t been dating that long and even though the relationship seemed to be blossoming nicely outside of work, during work they fought like democrats and republicans.

Surveying the damages, I knew that too much soap in the dishwasher was not the cause of this mess.  There was water dripping from every inch of the room.  If I didn’t know better, I would think the two of them had been amusing themselves with a good-old-fashioned water fight.

“This wasn’t caused by too much soap…”  Before I could finish, Marco broke in.

“See!  I told you I didn’t do it.”  His thick Spanish accent made his words sound sharp and crisp as he defended himself.  Turning to me, he added, “She don’t think I can do things right.  Tell her I didn’t do it, Meg.”

At times like this, I felt that having employees�"especially romantically involved employees�"might be very similar to having small children.

“Nelda, Marco didn’t do this…”

Nelda interrupted, “I didn’t do it!  I mind my business… next thing… it’s raining … he laughs…”

Patting her hand and trying to conceal a smile, I said, “The equipment’s rather old.  It’s probably a break in a hose or something like that.  It’s no one’s fault.  I’ll call a repairman to come look at it, but for now,” turning my attention to Marco, I asked, “how much damage are we looking at?”

Marco looked around the room, and replied, “I make Napoleons and éclair shells again and throw out crème for French horns, but everything else packaged or not started.  Is okay.”

Nodding with relief, I began to wipe down the tables and racks.  I had wanted the day off, hoping to make a solo trip to Brickway, but knew that leaving them alone with the mess would be like leaving children alone with dirt and water and asking them to stay clean.

I spent the next two hours wiping and drying, while Nelda and Marco continued making the days orders.  This latest mess made me that much more hopeful the loan would go through, as I said silent prayers to that effect.  I had been working out of this kitchen for almost three years, had put thousands of dollars into it and still had to deal with breakdowns, repairs and set backs on a regular basis.  But, even with the hindrances, my business had steadily continued to grow. 

Nelda and Marco were a gift from me�"to me.  I hired them as an extravagance, thinking it would allow me to spend more time with Brian.  Naturally, that never happened, but luxury turned to necessity when business became too much for one person.  They were loyal, hard workers who fought with a passion, but could put out more pastry in a day than anyone I’d ever seen�"including myself.

“Okay guys, I think the mess is pretty well cleaned up, you seem to be caught up on orders and the repairman should be here before three.”  Giving the small kitchen a quick once-over, I added, “Unless you need me for anything, I think I’m going to take off now.”

Nelda closed the gap between her and Marco, linking an arm through his.  After giving him an affectionate smile, which he lovingly returned, she said, “You go.  We are fine now.”

Unlike Brian and me, Nelda and Marco looked so happy, even on the heels of a fight.  The look of love I saw pass between them was something I hadn’t seen pass between Brian and I for a very long time.  There were so many affirmations surfacing where Brian and I were concerned, but for the moment, I didn’t have the desire or mindset to acknowledge them.

With goodbyes said and thoughts of Brian, repairmen and the loan behind me, I stepped into the cab, saying, “Cherry Hall in Brickway” and focused on my aunt and my newly discovered past.