Page 15 of The Hampton Beach Café 3
"Well, let's hope not…" he said, composing himself, "…because we have a date with three such people tonight."
Date? We? What!?
"Uh....I can't leave the store tonight," she said, confused. "I need to run a track on intake so I can do some projections...."
Lucinda caught her eye, and Frances could feel her silent thanks. There was no way Frances would tell Clarkson about her personal issues.
"Oh, come on, that can wait. You've done nothing but work all week, I can tell. You're all tense."
The doorbell chimed as Vince bumped it open with his shoulder. "Evening one and all––apparently, my truck has some other ideas about me going anywhere tonight. Will you have me, ladies?"
Frances noticed the warm blush that crept up into Lucinda's cheeks as Vince talked, not to mention the sparkle that was in her eyes as she watched him saunter across the café.
"Oh…Hi Clarkson," he said, stopping just short of the counter. "I guess you're 'ladies' too now."
Clarkson smiled and clapped Vince on the shoulder. "Well, I'd be surely flattered to be included in a group that has these two, so I'll take that as a compliment, thank you very much."
"Good choice," Frances said, smiling at Vince. "Where were you heading anyway?"
Vince shrugged. "Oh…just out to one of the coves to source some wood for that piece Lauren Daniels has commissioned. But if the truck says no, then the time isn't right. So here I am at your disposal."
"Perfect timing. You can run this intake tracking thing Frances needs, and she can come with me to this very exclusive opportunity I negotiated for her."
"Oh…no, I don't…I can't! I––"
Lucinda held up a hand. "We can handle it. Vince can do all the hard work and I'll tell him what to do––it's my specialty, after all."
He cocked his head to one side. "Is it now?"
She was blushing again. Frances noticed. "You're a business coach, not a drill Sargent. And...are you sure, like sure sure?"
"Drill Sargent, business coach––sometimes it's hard to tell the difference," Lucinda replied. "And yes...you should go."
Looking her friend straight in the eye, Frances tried to telepathically get the truth out of her, but she was, as always, frustratingly human.
"Stop staring at me," Lucinda said. "Does she need to change her outfit?"
"No, no," Clarkson said. "She looks absolutely perfect."
EIGHT
Looking down at her outfit, she wished that Clarkson had erred on the side of social anxiety minimization rather than flattery. All the bright young things around her were at least fifteen years younger than her and wearing fifteen times nicer clothes. She hadn't felt this out of place since her first Beverly Hills Barbecue, which was more like a formal dinner for thirty people. She had shown up in slides, jeans, and a blouse, thinking that it was LA, so it was hardly going to be a casual backyard get together––and yet, somehow she still ended up being the least put together.
Tonight was a little different. She'd never wear a lot of the things she saw around her––maybe twenty years ago if they'd existed then! The restaurant-club-bar-hybrid pop-up was about an hour away and the concierge had informed them that they had arrived too late for dinner,. It was a very strange mix––dinner early enough for a Seniors Early Bird Special but heavy-based music blasting out lyrics that Frances was sure would make her blush if she listened too closely.
"Let's get a margarita," Clarkson said, gesturing at a bar set up that looked like some kind of cartoonist’s idea of a tropical island.
"Uh, ok, but just one, ok? I don't need the headache," she said. "I haven't eaten."
Winking at her, he turned and departed as her phone pinged her a text message.
From Alex: Hey, I came by the café, but Lucinda said you were out partying. She and Vin have the place under control, don't worry, lol. Just have an update about the whole, 'finding some stuff out about your dad', thing. It's nothing major, pretty boring, honestly. I just didn't want to hold on to it and let you think I was skiving off.
Her heart clenched. She'd almost forgotten that she had asked Alex to do that and being reminded made her glance around and publicly cringe as if these people knew that she was digging for dirt on her own father. She tilted the screen towards her to try and obscure it from any prying eyes.
To Alex: Not a text kind of convo? I know you wouldn't skive. You're far too honorable for that, Lockwood. And no, I'm not out partying––
Looking again at the pulsing crowd of twenty-somethings on the dance floor of the restaurant bar, she backspaced.
