“No can do, Shamus.” Carmela hobbled over to a dining room chair and sat down. Hooking her left toe into the back of her right tennis shoe, she pried the shoe off. Flecks of mud spattered everywhere. Reaching down, she pulled off the other muddy shoe and gave it a toss. Boo, who’d been sitting near the kitchen ever since they’d come in, flashed her a reproachful look. A look that said, I’d be punished for making this sort of mess.
“Carmela, I can’t tell you how much Glory is looking forward to this very special night. And to have you right there to share it with us would be icing on the cake for her.”
Bad metaphor, decided Carmela. It was way too reminiscent of wedding cake. And the fact that she and Shamus had barely made it past their first anniversary.
Carmela glanced down, saw a tiny rip in her gray wool slacks, and frowned. Damn, these were good ones, too. Plucked from the clearance rack at Saks.
“Tell Glory not to get her underwear in a twist,” Carmela told Shamus. “I’ll be there Saturday night. I’ll applaud politely. I’ll tell all my friends to applaud politely.”
“But we have a place reserved for you at our table,” Shamus continued in his maddening way. “It’s been prearranged.”
“Then I’ll post-arrange it,” Carmela laughed, even though she was still gritting her teeth. “Don’t you know? I’ve got a special in at the Art Institute.”
“Dawlin’, I know you do,” continued Shamus. “Which is why I’m askin’ you to do this one little old favor.” Shamus had casually dropped into good old boy mode. “It would mean so much to the family.”
The family. Of course it’s about the family. It’s always about the family. Except when it’s really about the family, decided Carmela. Which always made the whole familial landscape slightly Kafkaesque.
The call waiting button on Carmela’s phone suddenly burped.
Hallelujah! Saved by the burp.
“Shamus?” said Carmela. “I gotta go. I got another call.” Without waiting for a response, Carmela drove her thumb down on the button, disconnecting Shamus and connecting her other caller. She decided she didn’t give a rat’s ass if it was a telemarketer calling to hawk a load of aluminum siding. She was still gonna be nice as pie to him.
But it was someone with far more chutzpah than any mere mortal telemarketer. It was Ava.
“Where the hell have you been?” demanded Ava. “I’ve been calling your place all night. I thought maybe a bunch of rogue Irish folk dancers swept in and kidnapped you.”
“No such luck,” said Carmela. She tugged at her slightly damp socks, peeled one off. “I was snooping around inside a deserted shrimp-processing plant. Out on River Road. My hair stinks and there’s gobs of slithery mud and probably dead shrimp parts stuck to the soles of my shoes. No less than a dozen cats followed me in from my car.” She peeled the second sock off and tossed it toward Boo, who dodged it, then quickly scampered out of the way.
“Damn it, girl,” said Ava. “Your life reads like an old Doris Day movie. Trippin’ all over the countryside, having one merry adventure after another.” She paused. “Honey, what were you doin’ in a nasty old place like that, anyway? Was this some kind of Halloween prank? Wait a minute… don’t tell me you’re playing that crazy Internet game where you get all sorts of clues, then use one of those global positioning doohickeys.”
“No, just following up on a Bartholomew Hayward thing,” Carmela told her.
“A new lead?” asked Ava.
“Nah, more like a dead end,” said Carmela.
“Oh,” said Ava, disappointed. “Here I was hoping for big news. Nothing seems to want to break on that Billy Cobb thing, does it?”
“Actually,” said Carmela, “Billy paid a surprise visit to my store yesterday.”
“Get out!” exclaimed Ava. “So he didn’t leave town after all.”
“No, but he’s threatening to,” said Carmela. She sighed. She wanted to help exonerate Billy, but nothing seemed to be gelling. Nothing that told her he was beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt innocent. “I checked on the Internet and called around to a few ladies’ shoe stores earlier today, trying to follow up on that heelprint thing?”
“And?”
“Seems nobody’s ever heard of a brand with the initials GC.”
“Hmm,” said Ava. “Maybe it’s Gina Chanel.”
“Who on earth is Gina Chanel?”
“I dunno,” laughed Ava. “ Coco ’s little known step-sister?”
“Hah,” said Carmela. “Nice try.”
“Say, honey,” said Ava, “I’m sorry you got stuck with Sweetmomma Pam today.”
“Not a problem,” said Carmela. “She was perfectly lovely and turned out to be a big help.”
“Really? You don’t have to say that just on my account. I can take it, even if Sweetmomma is kinfolk.”
“Really, she’s welcome any time,” said Carmela.
“You think she’d be welcome Saturday night?” asked Ava.
“You mean…?” said Carmela, not quite tumbling at first to what Ava was asking.
“Saturday night,” continued Ava. “At Monsters & Old Masters.” She sighed heavily. “Here’s the big problema. First Sweetmomma Pam told me she had a date for Saturday night, now she says she’s broken the whole relationship off because the guy turned out to be too much of a chauvinist pig.”
“You’re talking about the fruit guy?” asked Carmela. “The one she was so hot for?”
“That’s the one,” said Ava. “She says it’s over. Kaput. Just one more notch in Sweetmomma Pam’s belt, such as it is.”
“Actually,” said Carmela, “I see that as a positive.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that Sweetmomma Pam probably had her consciousness raised.” Consciousness raising was a term Carmela’s momma had used a lot when she was growing up. And that Carmela had read about when she’d thumbed through the pages of her momma’s old Ms. magazines. Put into practical usage, Carmela had found that the basic tenets boiled down to two things: Don’t let any fella treat you like a doormat. And don’t let any fella make you feel like he’s smarter or better than you. ’Cause he ain’t. Pretty fine advice actually.
“Of course Sweetmomma Pam is welcome Saturday night,” said Carmela. “Shouldn’t be a problem at all.”
“Do you think we could squeeze her in with us?” asked Ava, who had also been invited to sit at Baby and Del ’s table. “She’s just a little bit of a thing. Barely a hundred pounds.”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” said Carmela.
“Whew,” said Ava. “Now all I have to worry about is coming up with a costume for Sweetmomma Pam.”
“I doubt that’ll be much of a problem for you,” said Carmela. Ava’s closets looked like the costume department for the combined road companies of Hello, Dolly! and The Lion King. Over-the-top theatrical with tons of sequins, feathers, and glitter.
“I hope we’re still on for our visit to Spa Diva Saturday morning,” said Ava. “I’m really looking forward to it.”
After her little run-in with Jade Ella earlier in the evening, Carmela had mixed feelings about using the gift certificates they’d been given. Still, Ava seemed to be counting on it.
“Did you get a load of all the spa treatments they offer?” enthused Ava. “It sounds like a hedonistic paradise. Right up my alley.”
“They list some treatments I’ve never heard of,” said Carmela. “Paraffin peel, hot lava stones, a Brazilian wax. I know what a bikini wax is, but a Brazilian wax?”
Ava chuckled. “Honey, haven’t you seen pictures of those women strutting their stuff on those beaches in Rio? With their teeny-weeny swimsuits kinda scrunched up the crack of their butts?”
Now it was Carmela’s turn to giggle. “Yeah.”
“You’re a smart girl,” said Ava. “Figure it out.” Carmela decided it might be more prudent, if not slightly more modest, to opt for the salt glow body wrap instead.