Epilogue
Vivienne
“It's hard to believe it's been more than two years since you moved in across the street from me,” I said to Everett, watching through the window as the newest family in the neighborhood directed a delivery team delivering a red couch into their home.
“I can’t believe you’re stalking the new neighbors,” he joked.
“Well, technically it’s still my house. Maybe I want to know what they’re taking into it,” I jabbed back at him teasingly.
“They’ve been living there for almost a year. You’ve been in the house several times since then. Nice try, Nosy Nancy,” he said with a laugh.
I smacked him in the arm. “I’m just glad they seem to be fitting in well here.”
“They are, aren't they?” he remarked. “Doesn’t hurt that they have a six-year-old for Jane to play with too.”
“Yeah, well, I’m also glad they get along so well. It's great for her to have a friend the same age in the neighborhood.”
“It really is,” he agreed. “Kids these days don't do enough of that. When I was growing up, there was a whole crew of neighborhood kids. We used to play football or baseball in the street every afternoon, or go climb trees, or all that other good outdoor stuff. It was great for me, too; gave me the chance to get away from the house. Wasn’t the happiest place on Earth.”
I turned and slipped my arms around his waist. “Well, despite everything you went through as a child, you didn’t turn out so bad,” I teased.
“You must not think I’m too bad. You did agree to marry me.”
“You have a good point. Then again, maybe I didn’t really have too many options,” I jabbed back.
He hugged me tightly. “It’s true. You settled. I don’t know what you were thinking.”
I smiled sweetly up at him. “I’ll tell you what I was thinking. I was thinking that you are very likely the best man I've ever met, to be honest.”
“See, now you’re just trying to butter me up, aren't you?” he laughed and gave me a kiss on my neck that sent a delightful shiver down my spine.
“You know, as much as I want to take you back to our room and have my way with you, isn't it about time for us to pick Jane up from Stacy's house?” I asked.
He glanced at his watch. “You're right; we did say we'd be there at five. Guess you’ll just have to make it up to me tonight. Come on then, let's go.”
I grabbed my purse, and we headed out of the house and locked up.
We drove for just five minutes to the house where Jane's friend from her first-grade class lived and parked outside then walked up to the door and knocked.
A bubbly blonde woman opened the door and smiled. “Mr. and Mrs. James,” she said. “I'm Bianca, Stacy’s mom. I’m so glad to finally meet you! Stacy has been having such a good time with Jane.”
“Lovely to meet you, too! I’m Vivienne, and this is Everett,” I said introducing ourselves. We had met her husband a few weeks earlier, but Bianca always seemed to be away on business. “Jane always talks about how much she likes Stacy, so I guess those two have been getting along like peas in a pod.”
“Ah yes, they certainly have been getting along well,” she said.
“Is Jane ready to go?” Everett jumped in.
“She is, she is. Let me go get her. Would you two like to come in for a while?” Bianca asked.
“I'm afraid we can't, we have a few things that we need to get back to at home,” I replied.
“I understand. But, we would love to have you all over sometime and get to know you guys a little better. I can already see the girls are going to be great friends,” she announced.
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “We'll make a time when we can all get together.”
“Great. Well, I'll go get Jane now,” she said. “I'll be back in a minute.”
We waited on the porch while she went inside to fetch Jane.
“She seems really nice,” I said to Everett.
He smiled. “She does. We'll have to take her up on that offer to hang out sometime.”
Bianca returned with Stacy and Jane in tow.
“Say goodbye to your friend now,” Everett encouraged Jane with a smile.
Jane hugged Stacy like they’d been friends forever. “Bye, Stacy,” she said. “I enjoyed playing at your house with you. You should come to my house soon.”
“Can I, Mom?” Stacy looked up at her mother with a shy smile.
“I’m sure we can work that out,” Bianca assured her daughter.
“Good,” Stacy turned her attention back to Jane. “I like you! You're my best friend.”
“Aw, isn't that so cute,” I remarked, squeezing Everett's hand.
I reached down and took Jane's hand.
“Come on now, Jane; I’m afraid we have to go. You'll be able to see Stacy again tomorrow at school.” We waved goodbye to them and headed down the steps.
“Yay!” Jane said with a big grin. “I like playing with Stacy.”
We walked out to the SUV, and Everett chatted with Jane as we got into the car.
“So, you had a good time there, huh sweet pea?” he said.
“Yeah, Daddy! We played with her Barbie dolls, and she has another doll that's like a real baby! Its eyes open and close, it can even cry! You got to hold it really careful, or it'll cry, just like a real baby!”
“That's good, that's good,” he said as he drove. “And did you just play with dolls all afternoon, sweet pea?”
“No, we also colored. Stacy has some pretty coloring books.”
“That sounds like fun. You didn't play video games or anything like that?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Stacy's mom says she can't play on tablets or cellphones or play video games. But it's okay, I think; I liked playing with dolls and coloring.”
Everett shot me a sideways glance and a wry smile. “I think we should definitely encourage this budding friendship, huh?” he remarked. “Sounds like they're good people.”
I chuckled. “An electronics ban doesn’t make them good people,” I said. “But they do seem to be on the same wavelength as us when it comes to raising a child.”
We pulled into the driveway and we all piled out of the SUV.
Jane jumped out and immediately looked across the street and saw her friend playing on the porch of his family's house – my former house.
“Hey, there's Jason!” she exclaimed. “Can I go play with him for a while?”
“But, sweet pea, you've just spent the whole afternoon playing with Stacy,” Everett said.
“But I'm not tired yet!” Jane declared.
I took Everett's hand and squeezed it suggestively. “Let her go, honey, there's still an hour or two of daylight left... And I can think of something nice we could do in the house once we're all alone.”
Everett grinned, picking up the hint immediately. “Well … okay, sweet pea, you can go and play with James for a little while.”
“Yay!” she said and ran toward the street, stopped and looked both ways for any cars, and then sprinted across. She immediately sat down next to Jason, who was playing with toy cars and trucks on the porch. His mother looked across the lawn and saw us, offering us a friendly wave.
“I'll keep an eye on them, don't worry!” she shouted across the street.
“Thanks, Liv!” I shouted back.
“Alright, my handsome husband,” I purred to Everett. “Why don't you and I head inside and see what sort of things we can get into to pass the next hour or two?”
He sneakily squeezed my butt with one of his strong hands. “I can think of a few things that you might find especially...entertaining,” he remarked with a grin.
“Oh, of that I have no doubt!” I shot back as I pulled him to the couch for a make-out session.
“I love you so much, Viv,” he whispered into my ear as he pulled me into his lap. “So very, very much.”
“And I love you, my amazing husband,” I replied, kissing him slowly and deeply.
I’d been trying all day to find the perfect time to tell him the news, the news that I had only just found out that morning.
“Everett,” I said, taking his hand and placing it gently on my belly. “I've got a little surprise for you.”
“Oh yeah?” he said, clearly not getting the hint. “And what's that?”
“You know how Jane is always asking for a little brother or sister to add to our family?”
“I do,” his eyes widened, and he tilted his head slightly. “That would be amazing,” he said, his tone a little lower as if maybe he was catching on.
“Well, right under where your hand is now... he or she is growing.”
“You're serious?” he said, his voice full of surprise. “I'm about to become a dad – again?”
“You are,” I confirmed.
“That's the best news I've had all year! And I am the luckiest man alive!” he stated, kissing me then pulling back and resting his head against mine.
“How about I show you just how lucky you can be?” I said, and then led him to our bedroom to celebrate our news.
THE JOB
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams
Quote, Unquote
Jessica
It started as a simple idea: expand the plus-sized section and add in a new display area for the front of the store. Simple, right?
Well, simple though it may be, this is turning out to be a lot more than I bargained for. I’m getting ready to meet with another contractor to discuss quotes, and so far, they’ve been sky high.
The store’s been doing great, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to expand anything if I can’t get these guys to rein in their estimates.
My next appointment, some guy from IRP Construction, comes through the doors, and I can already see that I’m not going to be his biggest fan.
I’m waiting at the front of the store when he comes in, but as I say, “Hello,” he just scoffs and walks right by me.
Heading to the counter, he interrupts one of my salesgirls, saying, “Hey, I’m here to bid on the expansion job. I’m supposed to meet with the head chick or whatever.”
So, hearing all this and being the head chick or whatever, I walk over to him and introduce myself, trying to mask my general repulsion at his presence.
“Hi, I’m Jessica Davis,” I say, and put out my hand to shake his.
He just looks down at it and then back up at me.
“I’m the store owner.”
“Oh!” he says with an only partially-toothed smile. “I thought you were the store greeter or something. Let’s talk about what I can do for you today.”
“All right,” I tell him, “if you’ll follow me…”
I lead him over to the section of the store that I want redone and start pointing things out to him.
“Over here, I’d like to get this section of the wall taken back a bit. From what I understand, it’s just dead space back there. I guess they used to use it for storage when this was a more general department—”
“Yeah, that’s a load-bearing wall,” the man says. “If I knock that out, you’re going to see daylight. Maybe that’s what you’re looking for, though.”
“I’m not talking about the wall behind,” I explain. “I’m talking about this area where it juts out. If we could just remove the small storage space and leave the external wall…”
“Well, that’s not going to be cheap,” the man says. “I’ll have to get my electrician in here to check the wiring, and if he finds it’s degraded, we’ll have to tear up the whole store to do it.”
“That really won’t be necessary,” I start, but he doesn’t let me finish.
“Bad wiring can cause a fire,” he says. “If you don’t get it taken care of, you’re playing games with your customers’ lives. Is that what you want?”
What I want is to punch the guy in the face right now, but I’m pretty sure he could take me in a fight.
“No,” I tell him. “What I’m trying to say is that the wiring in this whole complex was redone a few years ago when the property was bought by the Richmonds. I’d be absolutely mystified if there was any degraded wiring in there.”
“Huh,” the man says, and I can tell he’s just looking for more ways he can pad his bill.
Luckily for me, I did some homework on this place before I bothered calling contractors to come in and give bids.
“Well,” he says, “I guess I could do all that pretty cost-effective and whatnot, but I think if you really want to open up this space, you’re going to have to get rid of all those wall displays.”
Now he’s just talking gibberish.
“Those would obviously come down before the wall did,” I say, annoyed. “What I do want to do, in addition to what we’ve already talked about, is to see if we can lengthen this window space up in the front so I can display some more of the specialty items that set this store apart. Is that something you think you could do?”
“Well, that’s going to be pretty costly,” he says. “We’re going to have to reinforce the wall if we’re going to increase your window space here. Now, we have a few options to go with there, but I think it’s best to do it right the first time. Otherwise, you’re stuck paying more over the long run.”
“I absolutely agree with you on that last part,” I tell him. “I’m not looking for a quick and sloppy job. I’m looking for something that’s going to last for a long time to come.”
“My men don’t do a ‘sloppy’ job,” he says.
“I’m not saying they do,” I start again. “I was just saying that I agree with you: I’d rather have it done right the first time than do something that’s only going to end up costing more time and money. That’s all.”
I don’t know if this guy’s actually this dense, or if he’s trying some rudimentary psychology to convince me to pay more for what I could get cheaper from someone else.
“I like to use titanium,” the man says. “It’s a bit more costly, but nothing lasts like titanium.”
Yep, he’s trying to sucker me.
“I don’t think titanium should be necessary,” I tell him. “To tell you the truth, you’re the first person I’ve ever met who’s even suggested that titanium should be used for something like this.”
“You want it done right, don’t you?” the man asks. “I sure know I want to do you right.”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
The large, unevenly shaved, gummed, smelly man in the stained white shirt just said he wants to do me, right in the middle of negotiating his estimate. I wonder if he actually thinks that’s going to work.
“I just meant that I want to do right for your store and you as a client,” the man says.
For a second, I actually start to feel bad about judging him like that, but when he runs his yellow-coated tongue over his lips and winks at me, I stop feeling so guilty.
“I think I’ve heard about enough,” I tell him. “I’ll let you know.”
“Is that it?” the man asks. “I understood that it was going to be a much bigger project than what you’ve described.”
“It is,” I tell him, “but I just don’t think it’s going to be the right fit.”
“I think we got off on the wrong foot here,” the man says. “I’m Billy, by the way, it’s nice to meet you.”
Yeah, now he wants to shake my hand.
“Jessica,” I say again, and being the benevolent woman I am, I shake his gross, sweaty hand. “So, all right,” I continue. “I also wanted to see what you think we could do about having a lowered section right through the middle here. I saw this shop up in Greenwich, and it had a space like—”
“You do know this isn’t Greenwich, right?” the man asks.
“I’m perfectly aware of my store’s location,” I tell him, “and I think we’ve really come to an impasse here. I don’t think it’s going to work out. Thank you for coming in.”
“You haven’t heard my bid yet,” the man says.
“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “What do you think it would cost for what I’ve asked?”
“Well, I’d need to know the measurements you’re looking at for everything,” he says.
“Yeah, I was getting to that, but you decided it was appropriate to inform me that I’m not in Greenwich right now, an observation that I can only assume was made because you think I’m stupid or naïve about my design ideas, but I’ll have you know—”
“Calm down, sweetheart,” the man says. “We’ll get this worked out, I’m sure.”
“Sweetheart?”
I wonder if I’m within my legal rights to kick this guy between the legs yet. If not, I’m sure I could come up with a pretty convincing story to tell the cops.
It’s something to think about.
But, being the shrewd businesswoman I am, I just put on a smile and say, “Get the hell out of my store.”
His face morphs into a disgusting smile, but when he realizes I’m not joking and that I really am quite on the verge of showing him what it’s like to have the business end of a stiletto end up somewhere he really doesn’t want it, he quickly turns and hurries out of the store.
I walk back to my office, more frustrated than ever.
My computer’s still on my schedule screen and I make a quick note under IRP Construction, saying, “Absolutely not.”
Ivanna, one of my sales associates, knocks on my door.
“Hey, sorry to bug you,” she says.
“No worries,” I tell her. “What’s up?”
“There’s a man here, he says he’s here to bid on the job.”
“I really don’t know that I can handle another jerk who’s going to try to overcharge me while mocking everything I want to do,” I tell her.
“Oh, I think you’re going to want to take this appointment,” Ivanna says.
“I really don’t know that I do,” I tell her.
“Do you want me to get rid of him?” she asks.
I take a deep breath.
“No,” I tell her. “Let’s just get this over with.”
I get out of my office chair and walk with Ivanna until she gets to Shoes and turns off.
When I make it to the front of the store, I ask my cashier, Linda, where the contractor is.
“Oh,” she says, looking up from her smartphone, “he wanted to know where you wanted the work done, so I just sent him over to Plus.” She leans over the counter and motions for me to come closer. “I think you should hire him,” she says.
“Yeah?” I ask. “Why’s that?”
“Just go over there and talk to him,” she says. “I have a feeling you’ll figure it out pretty quick.”
“No screwing the construction workers,” I tell her.
Usually, that would be a faux pas, but with Linda, that sort of thing actually has to be pointed out. There’s a bit of precedent here.
“You know I can’t promise that,” she says.
“At least try not to do it on my time, will you?” I ask.
She sighs. “Fine.”
I walk over to Plus, but it takes me a minute before I can find the man. He’s crouched down, measuring the storage room wall.
“Hi, I’m Jessica Davis, and you are?”
He looks up at me, then stands, and for a moment, I’m stunned.
He’s tall and well-built; as he smiles, he’s got all of his teeth, and they’re clean and straight, too. His hair is mid-length, chestnut, and gorgeous. Don’t forget about the tattoos going down his toned arms. I don’t know if it’s just that I’ve dealt with people like the guy from IRP so much over the past few days that I’d forgotten that contractors can be very attractive.
Jesus.
“Hey there,” he says, smiling and putting his hand out, “I’m Eric Dawson from Dawson Contracting. I’ve just been taking a look at your area over here, and I think I’ve got some ideas that might help you open up this space.”
“That’s great,” I tell him, “but I already have some things in mind.”
“Okay,” he says, and actually seems to be eager to hear what I have to say. This is amazing.
I run through what I told the douche nozzle from IRP, and the only time Eric responds is to go over some finer details for his own clarification. This might just be someone I could live with—working on my store, I mean.
“I like the way you think,” he says. “Beauty and brains: my favorite combination. I was wondering, though, you said you wanted a sunken area here, and that you wanted it to go down at least 18 inches. Now, that does sound like a really cool plan, but I’m wondering if it might be easier on your clientele to have it a little less deep. I know that a lot of women prefer high heels and that sort of thing, and I can just see a lawsuit from someone tripping over themselves as they’re walking down the steps.”
“For the effect I want,” I tell him, “I really do think that it should be 18 inches at least, though I probably wouldn’t want it any more than two feet. We could always make the stairs wider to better facilitate foot traffic.”
“All right,” he says, “I’m sure I could work with something like that. I do have to tell you, though, that with those stairs, you’re going to lose a lot of the space you’ll otherwise gain from knocking out that old storage room. Is that all right?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I know it’s a bit of a trade-off, but I think it’ll be worth it in the end.” I walk him over to the window, saying, “The last guy that was in here said that, in order to reinforce the wall on the far side of the new window area, he’d suggest using titanium to make sure it’s solid. Do you think that’s necessary, or what would you suggest?”
“I don’t think you’re going to need titanium,” he says. “Yeah, it’s stronger, but really it’s way above and beyond anything you’re really going to have to have in order to make sure the structure is stable.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” I tell him.
Just looking at him, I’m ready to hand him the job, but he hasn’t dropped the hammer yet.
“What are you thinking this is all going to cost?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, “let me do some more measurements, and I should have a quote for you here in a couple of minutes. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah,” I smile. “That sounds great.”
He’s actually bothering to measure stuff. This is great.
I make my way back to the front and wait for Linda to help the last customer in her line. When her lane is free, I lean over the counter and whisper, “I think I’m going to hire him. You know, as long as he doesn’t walk over here telling me it’s going to cost a couple of mil for the job.”
“You’re not going to regret this,” Linda says as if she’s just managed to talk me into letting her take my Mercedes for the weekend. “He is so fucking cute.”
“Not when customers are around,” I whisper.
She is right, though.
“What?” she asks.
“You know exactly what,” I tell her.
“No,” she says, “I really don’t.”
For whatever reason, Linda’s got it in her head that hearing me say the word “fuck” would be the most hilarious thing ever.
Now, I’m not a word prude, if there is such a term, but I don’t feel like that’s the kind of language that’s appropriate when on the job.
“No,” I tell her.
“Aw, come on,” she says. “I thought you were about to say it when you kicked that last guy out of the store.”
“How did you even hear me?” I ask.
“Shh, he’s coming over here,” Linda says, and I turn around.
“So, what do you think?”
“Well,” he says, “it’s not going to be cheap. I can tell you that much right now.”
Great. That’s the exact same line everyone before Eric has told me. My budget cap for renovations is $150,000. It’s ridiculous that it’s that high, but this is New York, after all.
“Oh,” he says, “all things figured--materials, labor, all that—I’d say we should be able to do it for about 145.”
“Thousand?” Linda asks. “Seriously? For that?”
With the smile still on my face, I turn toward Linda and mouth the words, “Shut up.”
“I know it sounds like a lot, but for a space like this, you know, this really doesn’t come all that cheap,” he explains. “I’d be willing to whittle the price down a bit depending on how fast you want this done, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to go any lower than 142 in the best conditions.”
“What kind of accommodations are you looking for in regard to the price drop?” I ask.
“Well,” he says, “most of the jobs people give nowadays are rush jobs, and they always want it done in a week or so. Now, I can certainly do that, but it would mean bringing on a couple of guys to help fill out the crew, and that’s going to cost a bit extra.”
“Well, I would like for this to be done quickly,” I tell him, “but as long as it’s done right and for the right price, I’m sure we could work with an extra week or two.”
“Great,” he says, “so, does that mean we’ve got the job?”
I smile and put my hand out.
“Welcome aboard,” I tell him.
I try not to notice how grateful he seems to have gotten the work, even though he just underbid his next closest competitor by nearly $100,000. I’m sure he’s this happy when he gets any job, and it’s not a signal of something else.
“All right,” he says. “If you want, we can clear that area so we can get started, or, if you prefer, we can wait for you and your staff to do it—it’s really up to you.”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” I start.
“Not at all,” he says, beaming. “We’ll take care of that. When were you looking for us to start working?”
“As soon as possible,” I tell him. “I’m sure you and your crew are very busy, but—”
“How’s the beginning of next week?” he asks.
The warning lights, flashing the words “too good to be true” are blazing in my head, but I ignore them. I tell myself it’s because he’s the right guy with the right price, but the truth of the matter is that Linda and I are a lot more alike than I’d ever admit.