Page 11 of Love Bites

“I was gathering information from a downtrodden worker,” she replied as she straightened her apron.

“For two hours? Mamie, you’re not some secret agent! You’re not James Bond!”

She stepped close. She poked my chest. “Who is it you think you speak to in such a tone? Surely not your grandmother?”

Shit. I exhaled. “No, sorry, Mamie, I was…that was not fair. I know you were only trying to wheedle something out of Phillip’s personal assistant.”

“It takes time to win over a person. He was very rigid at first, but over time he became chatty. I am meeting him for lunch tomorrow out by the lake.” I gave her a look. “For luring him to our side. Surely little toad—”

“His name is Phillip.”

Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Ah, I see. So the youngest voleur has begun to work his wiles on you.”

“First of all, no he hasn’t.”

He so has.

“Secondly, calling him a thief is unsubstantiated. If any thievery took place it would have been his grandfather’s doing and not his.”

“A toad is a toad whether big or small.”

“He is not a voleur. Does he have warts?!” Why was I suddenly defending the man who wanted to turn my livelihood into some sort of mega store?

“Maybe. I cannot see his genitals,” she flung up at me. Well, up two inches. Height did not run in the Aubert bloodlines. “I will find out from Edgar and then we shall use that information on him to take his peg down.”

“Down a peg,” I corrected and got a scowl. “Do not ask Edgar about any part of Phillips’ body. I am not engaging in body-shaming.”

“That is what is wrong with your generation. You do not strike the jugular when it is exposed.”

“Maybe we’re just not heartless bitches!” As soon as that flew out of my mouth I tried to grab the words hanging in front of me but it was too late. There was no snapping them from the vanilla-scented air then shoving them back down my throat. “I did not mean that.”

Mamie wet her lips, cleared her throat, and snatched her shawl out from under the register. “You know where to find me to apologize for that. And do not send me a sorry text for I will only accept your beg-pardon in the face.”

“Mamie, please I just…”

She took her little purse, that damn yellow shawl, and left the shop with her head held high while her eyes were dewy. I ran to the door, the bells still ringing from her departure, and watched as she climbed into her little, slightly battered red Peugeot 205 and sped off.

“That’s it. I’m done.” I flipped theOPENsign toCLOSED. With pay since it wasn’t their fault I was falling apart at the seams. Not like we were going to miss out on many sales anyway.

Feeling as shitty as a man could feel, I locked up after saying goodbye to my workers out front. My beater truck sat along the curb; the passenger seat filled with the goodies for this weekend’s scheduled birthday walk at the bridge. Last night this idea seemed amazing. Now, as I sat staring at my darkened shop, the winds of fate blowing through the cab, my fun time plans for Conor’s birthday felt stupid. Kind of like me…

I MADE Afew stops before I ventured out into the countryside to my old cottage to make amends. Mamie was outside, weedingher flower garden when I pulled up. I loved this little house so much. It was cramped, with only one bedroom, but it was charming with its cedar shake siding and large oak trees. Mamie had settled in nicely after she had sold her home in town to save us from bankruptcy after the pandemic had decimated our business. That influx of cash had helped keep us afloat for a few years, but old machinery broke, loans came due, taxes had to be paid, and here we were facing that same dark despair once more. I should have been able to do something to get us out of our hole, but for the life of me I didn’t know how or what. Neither did anyone else. What could you do with no money coming in? Nothing,

She peeked around the large sun bonnet she wore when out in the sun. She maintained the reason she looked so young was because her skin was never exposed to the elements.

“I see you have come bearing gifts for the woman who taught you how to create the perfect glaze for blackcurrant souffle candy squares,” she tossed out as she went back to plucking sprigs of grass from her flowerbed.

I placed the bottle of rosé, a bouquet of wildflowers picked along the way, and a small bottle of Dior Bois d’Argent I’d charged to my overburdened credit card last month to stash away for her birthday present come November on the ground beside her. Now seemed the best time to pull out the big guns.

“You spend too much on perfume,” she added when she saw the offerings resting on her neatly cut grass.

“Not nearly enough,” I replied as I dropped to kneel on the lawn I had mowed last Sunday. “I’m so very sorry, Mamie. I did not mean what I said. I know you are the kindest woman on the planet and—”

“Pfft, you’re making me sick with the lies.” She sat back on her heels, her pink kneepads matching her bubblegum capris, topped with a carnation tone short-sleeve blouse. “I know that Iam no sweet angel. Far from it. I speak my mind in a world that dislikes women having a mind at all, let alone saying what is on it. No, you do not need to make me sound like an archangel, for I do have my ways. What you must apologize for is the use of the word—”

“Bitch. I know. That was—”

“Please, do stop making the words for my mouth, Haider. Do you think I have never been called that word before? Ma douce, I love being called a bitch, for that means that I stood up and fought for something instead of lying down like a meek mouse. Men dislike strong women, and think that is a slur, but no, not for me. For me it is a word that I am reclaimed, like the gays have taken queer back from a derogatory.”

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