Chapter 5 - Lacy
It felt good to stand and join in singing the hymn after the long sermon. The Reverend Peabody was probably at the end of his clerical career and sadly out of touch with his congregation. There was nothing in what he said that was relevant to my way of life. It felt as though I had done penance just by sitting through his sermon, but at least I was making an appearance in the community, which was important to my business.
“Excuse me, dear,” came a woman’s voice behind me.
I turned around to see a stout, well-dressed woman, probably in her late 60s. “Are you Lacy?”
“Why yes, I am. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met?”
“Of course not,” she snapped. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be asking if you’re Lacy. My name is Mrs. Douglas Pettibone. Undoubtedly you’ve heard of me?”
I had the distinct impression that my answer to her question would have a huge bearing on the success of my business. She just looked like the one woman in town who knew everyone and orchestrated life in general for each of them. “I’ve heard your name, certainly, Mrs. Pettibone, and I’ve been looking forward to the opportunity to meet you. May I ask, how did you learn my name?”
“I make it my business to know everyone’s name, Miss Chatte. I know you are new to town and that you inherited your grandmother’s cottage on the lake. I also know that you have hired Melanie Curry as your assistant, and I understand that you are trying to begin an interior design firm. Is there anything I missed?”
“No, ma’am, that pretty much sums it up. I’m glad to meet you, finally.”
“Indeed. Anyone in town will tell you that you can’t get very far without my patronage.”
I was thinking to myself how immensely conceited she was, but if the people in town actually did dance to her tune, it didn’t really matter what I thought of her personally.
“I’d like you to come by for tea at four o’clock this afternoon. Anyone can tell you where I live. I will see you then.”
She swirled away, her hips bouncing within the silk dress she wore as she led a mini procession down the aisle, stopping only long enough to shake Reverend Peabody’s hand before she left. A strong scent of her cologne remained behind. Like many women her age, she had attempted to cover the scent of an unwashed body with an abundant amount of perfume, and as always, it just made things worse. I was amazed that she thought she could order me to appear at her home instead of graciously extending an invitation and waiting for me to accept. Evidently that wasn’t how she operated, but once again, I was not in a position to disagree.
Therefore, at exactly four o’clock, I presented myself at her door, having procured her address from one of the other ladies as I left the church. She lived in a very ornate Victorian house that seemed to suit her perfectly. A woman in a black dress with a white apron answered my ring at the doorbell. Evidently Mrs. Pettibone had a maid. I’d never met anyone who did, but then I’d never met anyone quite like Mrs. Pettibone.
“My name is Lacy Chatte, and I’m here at the invitation of Mrs. Pettibone?” I told the woman in black.
“Yes, she’s been expecting you. Please come in and let me show you through to the parlor.”
I wondered whether I’d jumped backward a century. In truth, I loved it; the overly ornate furnishings were right up my alley. I’d always been fond of the Victorian era and its highly structured mores. Even though it might’ve been too strict for me, at least I would have known where I stood. As it was, I generally felt like I belonged in another universe.
The old woman was waiting for me, piled onto a high-back wing chair that was covered with royal blue satin. Her chubby feet rested on a matching footstool, and she didn’t bother to rise and greet me as I entered the room.
“Yes, Lacy, come over here and take the chair next to mine.”
I did as I was told and found that the chair smelled musty. It seemed that Mrs. Pettibone had lived in this house a very long time. The furnishings were possibly even original.
“Margaret, bring the tea now,” she said in an imperious tone.
It was like crawling into a historical romance novel. The image made me giggle as I wondered whether she’d ordered Mr. Pettibone around in the same manner. If so, Mr. Pettibone had my sympathy.
Margaret return shortly with a tea tray. She poured and handed us each a cup on a matching saucer, along with a linen napkin. I waited for a cue from Mrs. Pettibone before taking the first sip.
“Would you care for biscuits with that?” she asked, and I realized I was thinking saltine crackers while she was using the British term for cookies. As much as I could have gone for one right then, I shook my head politely and refused.
“So, now, let’s talk about this business of yours,” she began. “What do you have to offer?”
She was studying my face as I prepared to speak. I could tell she was trying to intimidate me, but I couldn’t let that happen. I was on my own, and I wanted to build the business based on my own merits. That said, Mrs. Pettibone’s influence could make the whole thing happen a lot faster.
“Thank you for asking,” I began. “I’m a graduate of the Interior Design Institute in Chicago, and I’ve come to open an interior design business based on upcycling beautiful, high-quality antique furniture using a variety of techniques. I like to incorporate a few new pieces to freshen the feel, but otherwise it’s more like giving furniture a make-over.”
She was sipping and nodding. Apparently, I was saying the right things.
“So, I’m available for anything from staging a home for sale to an entire design project for a new or existing home. I will consider doing businesses, but I don’t think that’s where I shine.”
“Well, at least you’re honest in your appraisal,” she said in an approving voice.
“Mrs. Pettibone, let me keep being honest. In a small community such as this, it takes a while for a newcomer to fit in. If I were to have your sponsorship, it would speed up that acceptance tremendously. Now, that said, I wouldn’t want you to endorse me if you didn’t feel I deserved it. I wouldn’t do anything to compromise your reputation, of course.”
“I understand, Lacy. You can rest assured that I wouldn’t sponsor you unless I felt comfortable doing so. I have no problem giving you that support, but in return I require that you maintain a stellar reputation. Your word is your bond, you will comport yourself in a professional and ethical manner, and you will keep me informed of any problems you encounter.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate that support.”
“Do we understand one another?”
“Yes, ma’am, I believe we do.”
“Very well, then we’re done,” she said suddenly and set her cup down on the small table between us. “I will send over a list of potential clients first thing in the morning. Margaret will show you out,” she said unceremoniously, and on cue, Margaret appeared in the doorway. I knew my time was up, so I stood with as much grace as I could muster and got the heck out of there. Outside, I took a deep breath. Not only was I relieved, but it had been stifling in there and I was happy to be free.