Something to Talk About. Dakota Cassidy
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“So do you have candy? My daddy needs a girlfriend, and I like candy. My uncle said it would make him nicer, the girlfriend, but maybe not the candy. I tried giving him candy, but that didn’t make him nicer.” There was a definitive determination to her charming voice—a voice that to Em’s experienced ears sounded right around six or seven.
Mercy.
No one moved. Everyone froze in their respective spots as three pairs of eyes, full of panic, watched Em.
How had a child managed to get past Nella-Nator? She was like a SWAT team when it came to manning the phones against children violating Call Girls’ strict, over-eighteen policy.
“Hello? Miss Em ’n’ M?”
In a flurry of hands, Dixie and Marybell motioned for her to hang up while LaDawn slid her forefinger across her throat, signaling she should cut the child off.
But Em knew what to do. She had two children of her own, and this one obviously needed to be heard. She cleared her throat, holding up a hand to her friends. “I’m here, and I think you have the wrong number, sugar snap.”
A pout she virtually heard pulsed in Em’s ear. “You mean you don’t have girlfriends there where you are? My daddy needs a girlfriend. At lunch when they were cuttin’ up my grilled cheese sandwich in triangles, I heard my uncle Tag say so to my uncle Gage. They said he needs a girlfriend. I asked them where you get a girlfriend and they said the girlfriend store. I see on the paper my daddy has on his desk that you live in a place called Call Girls. Is that a store where we can buy my daddy a girlfriend? Like Toys ‘R’ Us?”
Em sat down on the chair and smiled into the phone. The child’s sweet voice, so heartbreakingly clear with desire for her father’s happiness, clenched her heart with a vise grip. The leap she’d made with the words call girls wasn’t just adorable, it was smart.
“No, sunshine,” she said gently. “You can’t buy girlfriends here. And you know what? I think your daddy should do the shoppin’, don’t you? He knows what he likes best. Now, I bet it’s about bedtime, right? Long past, if I’m readin’ my clock correctly. You need to scoot off to bed now—all the pretty girls need their pretty sleeps. Can you do that for Miss Em?”
There was a sniffle from the other end of the line, and the muffle of possibly her hand, as though she’d cupped the phone to her mouth to keep her voice hushed. “Are you sure you don’t have any girlfriends there? I know it would make my daddy happy. He hates to cook. He makes all those grumble noises and sighs when it’s suppertime.”
Em’s heart melted bit by gooey-filled bit at this angelic voice and the genuine request she made, one that in a child’s mind, probably should be as simple as shopping for a girlfriend. “I’m sure we don’t have girlfriends here, sugarplum. Now, off you go to bed like all good little girls do and sleep the sleep of the sweet—”
“Who the hell is this?” a megamasculine voice hissed into the phone, clearly enraged.
Em straightened her spine, her eyes wide. Oh, mercy, the poor child had been caught. Em was just about to explain that when Angry Man bellowed into her ear again, “Who the hell are you?”
Sucking her cheeks in and giving her invisible caller the stern-teacher tone, she responded with crisp coolness, “This is Emmaline Amos, general manager of Call Girls—”
“How dare you allow a little girl of six—she’s six, do you hear me—talk to one of your operators?” he growled. “Don’t you have some kind of security that prevents this sort of thing from happening? What kind of business are you running there?”
Em’s tipsy state flew away on wings of outrage. How dare he accuse Call Girls of lax security? Clearly there’d been some mistake, but the quick decision to shoot him down for being so incredibly rude outweighed the notion he might someday be a future client she needed to reassure.
She clamped a hand on her hip. “Excuse me, sir—we’re running a very reputable business with plenty of security, I’ll thank you kindly to remember! Your little girl found our phone number on, according to her, your desk. So, in the future, when you take it upon yourself to seek solace with a woman who is not your intended or otherwise, I highly recommend you don’t leave such things lyin’ about in a place an innocent child of six can find!” Em slammed down the phone with a huff, infuriated their above-standards security measures had been called into question.
As she fought for breath, so incensed she wanted to hurl every item off Dixie’s desk and slam it against the wall, Dixie, Marybell and LaDawn all stood, still rooted to their spots in quiet mode, waiting, watching.
Cat stirred, eliciting a small snore.
Em’s lips thinned, her fingers clutching the back of her chair, her knuckles white from the effort. “I will not have our security questioned by some man who can’t keep track of his adorable little girl and her penchant for girlfriend shopping. Will not!”
LaDawn was the first to approach her, though it was hesitant. “I’m afraid a’ you, sugarlove.”
Marybell nodded numbly and raised her hand, her bangle bracelets jingling and sliding into place at the bend in her forearm. “Me...too.”
Dixie’s mouth was slightly open, her brow creased. “Wow. You were on fire. See what we mean about the fire breathing?”
If there was one thing Em had in her life besides her boys, it was her job. One she took incredibly seriously. “I take great pride in making sure everything runs smoothly here at Call Girls—especially the phones. How dare he outright declare we would have allowed something like that!”
LaDawn came up behind her and massaged her shoulders with nimble hands, breathing a sigh of a giggle. “Okay, Rocky. It’s over now, and you set him right. Why don’t you grab your chicken breasts? I think it’s time we all head on home and get a good night’s rest. You fought the good fight. You should take a break between matches.”
As her wits gathered, Em couldn’t help but replay the sweet voice in her head, wanting a girlfriend for her daddy so he wouldn’t be so cranky. There had been a hint of sadness, the wish to make everything better for her father that in a six-year-old’s mind meant snuggles and kisses and a girlfriend you bought at the girlfriend store.
The spike of anger she’d rolled with when she’d spoken to that arrogant jackass of a man dissipated in a puff, leaving her with a combination adrenaline/alcohol-related pounder of a headache, and a sad ache in her heart that a sweet little girl wanted her father to have a girlfriend.
This was what she got for thinking she was ever going to be capable of simulating sexual acts with LaDawn’s special spatula and a chair.
Oh, libation, what have you done?
* * *
The hard drop of a hammer on metal had Em gritting her teeth and wincing with pain. No more girls’ night—not ever. At least not when it factored in swirly orange drinks accompanied by chicken cutlet breasts.
Making her way toward Lucky Judson’s Hardware store, she stopped on the curb, unable to properly appreciate the cooler weather with early winter in full swing. Usually, it made her happy to finally be able to wear sweaters and boots. Today, it grated on her hangover and bit at her sinuses, forcing her to tighten the belt around her thigh-length coat to keep the sharp wind from clawing at her silky blouse.
Typically, the square, sitting directly in the center of Plum Orchard, surrounded by the local establishments and quaint row of Victorian houses where the local doctor, lawyer and dentist were housed, made Em smile.
It was always busy and humming with the people she’d grown up with all her life. Today, she’d rather not see any of those people, for surely they’d see her red eyes and sallow skin and label her with a big, fat letter H for shamefully hungover.
Her hangover reminded her of that innocent, sweet voice dipped in angels’ wings on the phone last night. There was something, something the mother in her had picked up on that told her