Mimi
2000, Fort Lauderdale (Five Months Before the Execution)
“Yes, sir, that’s a dozen white roses, and yes, I can guarantee they’ll be delivered on Friday afternoon to your wife’s work.”
Mimi was typing the man’s information into the computer and balancing the telephone tightly between her cheek and shoulder. She paused as the man said something else. She repeated the delivery address and message that was to be written on the card, took his credit card information, and patiently explained for a second time that the delivery was guaranteed for the date and time he requested. She ignored his comment that the price for the roses was ridiculous considering they would be dead and in the garbage in a week. Then they hung up.
“If you’re worried about them dying, buy her something that won’t die,” she grumbled to herself.
“Somebody giving you a hard time?” a male voice asked.
Mimi whipped around and came face-to-chest with a customer who’d slipped into the flower shop unnoticed. She quickly looked away, embarrassed she’d been heard. Without looking up, she said to the counter, “I think some people aren’t happy unless they’re complaining.”
“Well, I hope he wasn’t too nasty. If he was, you’ll have to ask your boyfriend to beat him up or something.”
She raised her eyes at the comment and found herself looking into the face of the cutest guy who’d ever walked through the doors of the flower shop. She’d been working there since right before Valentine’s Day, and she’d never waited on somebody this young or this handsome.
His good looks and wide, bright smile caught her off-guard, and she didn’t know what to say. He must’ve realized he made her uncomfortable, because he quickly added, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. I mean, I’m sure you have a boyfriend, and what he does or doesn’t do isn’t any of my business. I’m just saying I wouldn’t let anybody talk to my girlfriend like that. Not that you’re my girlfriend! I mean, of course you’re not my girlfriend. I don’t even know your name. Not that knowing your name would mean you’re my girlfriend. I don’t know what I’m even saying. I’m shutting up now.”
Mimi just smiled at him. She realized he was even more nervous than she was. She couldn’t take her eyes off the deep dimple in his left cheek. The cheek that was turning bright red along with the rest of his face.
She extended her hand over the counter.
“I’m Mimi.”
He breathed a visible sigh of relief and accepted her outreached hand.
“Elliott. I’m Elliott. It’s nice to meet you, Mimi.”
After a brief and uncomfortable pause, Mimi asked, “What can I help you with?”
“Oh, yeah, flowers. I need some flowers for my grandmother’s eightieth birthday. I want something special, but not too much money.”
He looked away, embarrassed.
Mimi almost sighed out loud. Oh, my gosh. How cute was this guy, and he’s buying flowers for his grandmother? She had to stifle a nervous giggle.
To prevent herself from turning into a full-fledged idiot, she kicked into professional mode. It took about thirty minutes for him to finally decide on a spring arrangement in his price range. Mimi was grateful nobody had come into the shop. She couldn’t be certain, but she was pretty sure he’d been flirting with her and actually dragging out the time it had taken to select such a simple arrangement. Her employer, Maggie, was out making deliveries, and Mimi was in the shop by herself. She was only fifteen, but she’d proven herself to be a trustworthy and competent employee. Maggie was relieved and grateful Mimi could manage the shop alone when Maggie had to make deliveries. They’d recently lost two full-time employees.
Elliott almost seemed reluctant to leave after paying for his flowers and watching Mimi carefully wrap them.
“It was nice meeting you,” he said as she handed him his bouquet. He walked slowly to the door.
“Nice meeting you, too,” Mimi called out after him, an annoyed look on her face as the telephone interrupted their goodbye. She wondered if she would ever see him again.
It’s probably just as well. This was probably the first and last time she’d ever lay eyes on Elliott.
“Maggie’s Floral Designs, this is Mimi, how can I help you?”
Listening to the caller, her demeanor immediately changed. Gone was the girl who was still a little high from flirting with a cute boy. She stood up straight, and in her best business voice replied to the woman on the other end of the phone.
“I got your message, Leslie. I’ll be there.”
She hung up unceremoniously and walked to the window to see if she could catch a glimpse of Elliott driving or walking away. She was too late. He was already gone.
Mimi spent the rest of the afternoon keeping busy and reflecting on the first time she’d met Leslie. It was right after New Year’s. Mimi had been walking around the mall asking some of the smaller shops for job applications. She’d taken a break to sit down on a bench and sort through the paperwork she’d collected when Leslie sat down beside her and struck up a casual conversation. Mimi hadn’t wanted to appear rude by completely ignoring the woman, so she only half-engaged in the conversation. Her friend Lindsay would be meeting up with her in less than twenty minutes to give her a ride home. Lindsay had no interest in working, so she used the afternoon to shop while Mimi gathered applications.
“You don’t even have to work,” Lindsay had said when they’d first arrived at the mall. “Why do you need to get a job? Your parents are making you, aren’t they?”
“Yes and no. I don’t have to work, but my parents think it’s a good idea, and I do, too.”
Lindsay stopped in her tracks and stared at Mimi, mouth agape. “You want to? Are you serious, Mimi?”
Mimi kept on walking. “You act like work is a death sentence.”
“It is a death sentence. You are nuts!” Lindsay quickened her pace to catch back up to Mimi. “I’m going to marry the richest guy that comes along. He doesn’t even need to be good looking. I don’t care. I’ll have a cute boyfriend on the side if I need to, but I am not working. Besides, I can’t think of anything I want to do that could earn the kind of money needed to keep me in designer clothes. Nope, I’m not going to even try to get those things by earning them. Well, I’ll earn them all right, but not with a regular job.” She laughed at her own innuendo.
Mimi shook her head and smiled. She knew Lindsay wasn’t teasing. And she was certain her friend would have no trouble at all finding a man willing to take care of her and finance her expensive tastes.
Lindsay was runway model beautiful. Tall and slender, with caramel colored skin and exotic almond shaped eyes, she was a natural beauty. But while she was a sweet girl, she had no ambition—or at least not the same kind of ambition as Mimi’s. Mimi was going to be a journalist, and even though her parents thought it was their prompting that had motivated her to look for a job, she was more than happy to do it. She wanted to put herself out there, get some interaction with people outside of her comfort zones, which were school and church. Retail would be the perfect opportunity. She’d be exposed to all different kinds of characters, and she actually looked forward to it. She’d already applied for a work permit since she wouldn’t be sixteen until next year, and had submitted applications to a local ice cream shop and florist, but she hadn’t heard anything. Yet. When Lindsay had suggested a trip to the mall, Mimi decided to shop for a job instead.
Now on the bench with the random woman who wouldn’t stop chitchatting, Mimi stifled a yawn.
“So, looks like you’re applying for jobs. Is that what you’re interested in? Retail?” the woman, Leslie, asked.
“Nope.” Mimi scanned the shops, not looking at the woman. “Just looking to get some real-world experience. I’m going to be a journalist.”
This was too good to be true, Leslie thought to herself.
“Why don’t you try to get a job at a newspaper or something? That’s what I did when I was starting out.”
Mimi looked over then. “You’re a journalist?”
“Yep. I work for a little magazine called Loving Lauderdale, and I freelance for other, bigger publications. Right now, I’m working on a story for Rolling Stone. You’ve heard of them, right?”
“Uh, yeah, I’ve heard of them. Everybody’s heard of them. You write for them?”
“Working on a story for them right now. It’s a rough story, though.” Leslie shook her head. “I had to take a break from writing and just do something different. That’s why I’m here. Taking a break to do some people-watching. It helps me relax. So why aren’t you trying to get a job with a newspaper or something?”
“I tried. They flat-out told me they weren’t hiring, and if they were, it would be college-age applicants with a little more experience than me,” Mimi said, the disappointment in her tone unmistakable.
“What? You’re not in college? I took you for someone much older,” Leslie lied. She knew Mimi’s age.
“No,” Mimi smiled. “I’m still in high school. I thought a job in retail would at least give me some experience dealing with the public.”
“Oh, so you’re smart and ambitious. You’ll be a great journalist.” Leslie looked at her watch, feigning mild disinterest and trying to provide a subtle hint that this conversation would soon be over. It didn’t go unnoticed. She had the girl’s attention.
“So what’s the rough story you’re working on?” Mimi asked. “What’s so awful that you needed to take a break from writing?”
“Oh, I’m not sure I can tell you. It’s pretty serious, and I’d have to be able to trust you, and I don’t even know you. I mean, we just met.”
Mimi sat up straight and looked at Leslie with wide eyes. “You can trust me. I won’t tell a soul. Nobody. Not my friends. Not my parents. Especially not my parents.”
“You don’t like your parents?”
“I like my parents. I love my parents. I’m just not sure about them. I’m not sure I really know them. I don’t feel like they’ve been truthful with me about some things.”
Leslie wasn’t sure what she was dealing with here. Mimi didn’t seem like a rebellious teen, but from her body language and the comment about her parents, who Leslie had already learned were Tommy and Ginny Dillon, she seemed to have some kind of trust issue. This could help Leslie or hurt her. Tread lightly.
“Well, I don’t know anything about your parents, but with most parents I know who aren’t truthful, it’s usually because they’re trying to protect their children. Trying to prevent them from being hurt by something.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Either way, I’m not going to tell them or anybody what your story is about. I’ll probably never even see you again after today. Please tell me.”
“Okay,” Leslie said finally. “You want to be a journalist, so you’ll understand the need for secrecy. I don’t want anyone scooping my story.” She gave Mimi a conspiratorial wink. She leaned in and whispered, “I’m investigating biker gangs. Apparently, there was a real bad one back in the seventies from right around this area. Rolling Stone is dedicating an issue to celebrity bikers and asked me to write a story about real bikers.” Leslie glanced around like she was making sure she wasn’t overheard. “There’s a biker guy sitting on death row right now who’s supposed to be executed this summer. I’ve been told he’s a pretty bad guy. I’m trying to get an interview with him before he dies.”
Leslie smiled inwardly. She’d laid the foundation, and now all she had to do was suggest that Mimi would like to cut her journalistic teeth helping with research. She didn’t think the fifteen-year-old could offer any real help, but Leslie would use the time with her to learn everything she could about the Dillons. Of course, she’d tell Mimi they’d have to work together in secret.
But before Leslie could say a word, she saw Mimi’s body language change, watched the girl transform before her eyes. Gone was the admiring and naïve interest. Leslie's heart skipped a beat and her confidence started to wane as she tried to figure out what had caused the sudden change in Mimi.
Mimi stood up and glared down at Leslie. “You are some journalist. Wow. Almost had me, too. You never told me your name.”
Leslie stood, too, and pretended ignorance. She quickly reminded herself that she'd stared down hardened criminals. She could certainly handle a teenage girl with an attitude. Her confidence restored, she extended her hand. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m Leslie Cowan.”
Mimi ignored the outstretched hand. “I’m Mimi Dillon, but I suspect you already know that. And if you wanted me to help you get an interview with my biological father, who I refer to as the evil sperm donor, you could’ve just asked me.”