5 - Back at the Shop

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me!”

A gigantic Coach handbag hit the worktable with a thump, its impact causing loose flowers to jump and a half-filled vase to bobble.  Delaney slid disinterested eyes to the woman confronting her with one hand on the bag and the other on a cocked hip. 

“Jeez, Petra.   How do you keep from walking lopsided with that bag of bricks on your shoulder?”

Eyes the precise shade of gray as Delaney’s own narrowed.  “Don’t give me your cute bullshit.  Why did I have to find out about you meeting Jon Bon Jovi from your store manager?”

In typical Petra fashion, everything was all about her. 

“You were rubbing elbows with the governor last night,” Delaney reminded.  Her brother-in-law Sean was a New York congressman, and his political dinner took higher priority than the concert.  That left Petra selling her ticket to Delaney, who gave it to Pearl. “Or did you forget that’s why you couldn’t use your ticket?”

“Which you still haven’t paid me for, Ms. Scatterbrained, but I’ll get back to that later.  This is more interesting than the damn governor.  Tell me everything.”

“I’ll transfer you the money as soon as I’m done here,” she promised while trying to decide what the Mother’s Day arrangement needed.  They were all starting to look alike, and she was sick of pink and yellow.  It would be nice to do something a little different.  “There’s not really a lot to tell.  I delivered flowers, it was a pain in the wazoo, I mouthed off and he saw me in the audience later.  That about covers it.”

Okay, so maybe it was a bit more detailed than that, but Delaney took perverse pleasure in making her sister work for it.  As a politician’s wife, mother to two Stepford teens and volunteer extraordinaire, Petra’s life was the epitome of outward perfection.  There was very little about others’ lives that she coveted, and that went double for Delaney’s since they were as different as night and day. 

Delaney was more the live and let live type, with her artistic nature and all the associated mumbo jumbo.  Petra, however, was the textbook definition of a Type-A personality.  Things were to be a certain way and if they weren’t, then time was of the essence in righting the situation before she popped a blood vessel.  High-strung was putting it mildly.

As much as they loved one another, it only took a short time before they drove one another nuts, either accidentally or intentionally.  Today was going to be one of those intentional instances. 

“Delaney Petra Giannopoulos Gardener…” Petra threatened.

“Petra Delaney Giannopoulos Carpenter…” She grinned with the knowledge that dragging out their full names meant Petra had reached the breaking point.  Delaney won the sibling rivalry today, so as the gracious victor, she relayed the delivery story from beginning to end – as she’d intended to all along.

“You’re a special kind of stupid, you know that?”

“That seems to be the consensus, along with the fact that I should’ve gushed in adoration and kissed his rock star butt.  You going to join in with Pearl and Marilee on that agenda item, too?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely!  If you’d been nicer, maybe he would’ve given you backstage passes for us tonight!  Or let us in for soundcheck.  Oh, hell’s bells!  Do you know what a priceless experience that would be?  Money can’t buy that shit anymore.”

It would never cease to amuse Delaney that the picture-perfect Congressman’s wife in her designer clothes with tasteful diamond accessories, flawless make-up and perfectly styled hair, cursed like a sailor.  Sean’s constituents would be appalled at that discovery but likely wouldn’t blink an eye if it was Delaney dropping the F-bomb like snow in January.    

She did look a little rough around the edges today with her hair piled in a messy bun, no makeup, ripped jeans and broken-down sneakers.  Her typical half-dozen rings and new blingy Bon Jovi shirt (that Pearl fronted her the money for) might bring up her face-value a bit, but not much.   One could consider it a careless appearance after a late night, but in reality, this was how she looked pretty much every day.

She preferred to spend time playing Barbies with flowers instead of herself. 

Maybe this is why Geoff decided to screw his secretary?  Ever consider that?

Only when she was drunk and humping her vibrator.

“Petra, that man’s glutes are probably chapped from all the kissing they get.”  The completed arrangement went in the cooler, and she took out something different for the next one.  “I doubt he would’ve done more than give me a fake smile and insincere greeting if I’d batted my eyes and told him how much his music meant to me.  Do you realize he followed me to ask that question?  That’s what’s priceless in my book.”

Disgusted and disappointed, the fashionable sister sighed, “Girl, that was ten seconds out of your life – a one and done.  When will you learn to start seeing the bigger picture?  Every step you take should be a step toward something better.” 

“And you’re brainwashed by the political machine,” Delaney countered with disgust while bundling together stems of blue hydrangea, green hellebore and ivory roses.  “He played with me during the show.”

“What?”  A light auburn head popped up from the little refrigerator under the table, where Petra was helping herself to a Diet Coke.  The can hit the surface with about half the force the brick-filled handbag had.  “You mean he actually saw and recognized you?”

“Yep.  Tried to pass off the spotlight shining in his eyes as a lusty look.  Twice.  He got the message loud and clear that I didn’t believe it.” 

Understanding that his light sensitivity couldn’t be misconstrued for lust, he’d then done something she recognized as out of the ordinary.  Nearly every Bon Jovi concert she’d ever seen or heard about ended with “Wanted Dead or Alive” followed immediately by “Livin’ on a Prayer”.  It was the signature close to the show.

“Well?  Then what happened?”

Gently placing the bouquet in a frosted-glass cube, Delaney said, “He nodded in my direction and played ‘Saturday Night’ between ‘Wanted’ and ‘Prayer’.” 

Petra nearly choked on her soda, having been to enough concerts to understand the significance.  “What the actual fuck?  They put something between ‘Wanted’ and ‘Prayer’?  That hardly ever happens.  Holy shit, he did a song for you!”

“No, he didn’t,” she disagreed, laughing as she had last night.  “That’s a faithful standby that had nothing to do with me.   If I had to guess, he never expected to cross paths again, so he didn’t alter his setlist in the slightest after our meeting.”

Throwing her hands in the air, Petra was clearly appalled by the ignorance running rampant among the flowers.  “So, fucking what that it was a standby?  Once again, baby sister, you’re not seeing the whole picture.  Jon Bon Jovi specifically placed that song in a highly visible spot and gave you a signal.  That’s a big damn deal, Delaney.”

Was it?  Delaney didn’t know about that.  She’d enjoyed receiving a sliver of attention from the stage, but he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary in giving it.  Flirtatious smiles, complete with adorably extended tongue, were doled out like candy to the fans.  One woman even got a kiss, so no.  While it was nice, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

“What I see, big sister, is you agreeing that I did the right thing in not sucking up to the man.”

“You have some screwed up priorities, Delaney.”

Marilee spared her from having to defend those priorities by popping through the curtain that separated the shop from the work room.  “I’m leaving for lunch, Del.  The front is quiet for now, and Macie will be here in twenty minutes.  Can you cover?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” she agreed automatically, even though it agitated her to leave a work in progress.  She really wanted to put the finishing touches on the piece that was shaping up to be pretty sweet.  It might end up going to her own mother.  “Petra, can you watch the front until I get done here?  Five minutes, tops.  Then you can continue to berate my stupidity.”

Her sister glared with annoyance but didn’t hesitate to glide her Coach flats toward the sales floor.  “I have no idea how you can be so blasé about this.  If he notices us tonight, you’d better play up to him.”

They were third row center.  The man would have to be blind not to notice them.

{{{

Jon glanced up at the awning emblazoned with funky-scripted “Dandelion Dreams”.  The branding matched that on the back of the card he pocketed from yesterday’s delivery, so he must be in the right place.  There was an intricate display of fake flowers filling the front window, although he thought there might be some of the real deal mixed in there, too.  It was a cute place, he guessed, as far as flower stores went. 

“Can’t we just order online?” Jake, his nearly sixteen-year-old son, paused outside the door Jon held open for him. 

“Did you hear your Mom say the only thing she wanted for Mother’s Day was something you guys made an effort to go and choose?  Not my fault your brothers and sister nominated you as their de facto representation since your ass was still in bed.”

As one of his final husbandly duties, Jon had been charged with making sure her wishes were fulfilled.

It was a little awkward sharing an apartment with the woman who would file for divorce in another eleven days, but he couldn’t exactly go buy a new place without everybody and their brother picking up the news.  Same deal with a long-term hotel room.  Jon wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the whole moving out process but would be happy to not spend nights on the couch in his office.

“You know…” he offered to the mirror-image of his teenage self.  “We could always just go in store after store on Seventh Avenue until you find a scarf, blouse or some perfume.  I know how much you love those places.”

Making this seem like a favor to his son was better than admitting his ulterior motive.  The truth was that he wanted to find the delivery girl and make amends for the mediocre attempt at granting her “wish”, as it were.  He felt bad about it, and she’d been such a good sport about calling him on his bullshit that he wanted to talk to her again.

And see if lightning strikes a third time.

Jake’s familiar blue eyes were masked by round sunglasses, but Jon knew they were rolling.  “I think flowers would be the bomb, Dad.  Thanks for suggesting it.”

He didn’t bother swallowing his chuckle, merely slapping the boy’s shoulder as he passed by.  “You’re welcome, kid.”

The shop was quiet when they entered, and Jon slid his own shades off.  The place was quiet except for the soft rock music flowing from the sound system.  A little old lady was fussing over some kind of plant and talking to herself, but other than her, he and Jake were the only customers.

“Look around and see if there’s anything your Mom would like.  I’m gonna find the salesclerk.”

If he happened to stumble upon a purple-haired delivery girl, that would be okay, too. 

Tucking sunglasses into the neck of his black tee, he spotted the cash register in the rear and worked through strategically placed displays to get there.  He was about to call toward the back room when a tiny woman strode out, looking decidedly unhappy. 

Until she saw him.  Upon laying eyes on Jon, her forehead went from drawn to lifted as fair eyes rounded in surprise. 

Damn, the delivery girl looked different. 

Her face was familiar.  The same distinctive eyes sat above the same aquiline nose from yesterday, and when her shock turned to smile, he saw the same dimples.  All of that added up without a problem.

Yesterday, though, she’d looked like a…  Well, a cute delivery girl full of sass.  Today she looked like someone he’d run into at one of the city’s fundraising galas.

The caramel jacket and pants paired with a cream blouse were of the highest quality, complementing the hair that was no longer purple but variegated shades of red, blonde and brown.  The makeup was subtly elegant, and when she clasped her hands together to approach him, he saw that she was missing the Bohemian array of silver rings. 

Today, she wore only two rings – both on her left hand – and they were anything but Bohemian.  The blinding emerald-cut engagement ring must’ve weighed in at five-carats and was snugged up against another halo of diamonds meant to be a wedding band.

“Well, hello!” she practically purred.  “Welcome to Dandelion Dreams.  What can I show you?”

Next post: Tuesday, August 7th