Dog Collar Knockoff (2 page)

As usual.

Lucie, also as usual, smelled like dog. And she was sweating like some other sort of animal. A farm animal most definitely.

As she approached, Ro waved her expertly manicured hand toward the storefront. “Sister, this is a hot-ass mess.”

For this, Lucie had prepared. “It’s been empty for a while. All it needs is for you to do your magic. Fresh paint and a good cleaning.”

Ro made a gagging noise. “A good cleaning? You’re delusional. It needs to be firebombed.”

Lucie took in the sight of the filthy plate glass windows and the broken realty sign hanging inside. Doing some quick math, she computed that it had been at least ten years since Carlucci’s had closed. Pops Carlucci died in 2004, and his family had no interest in running a shoe store that had been a mainstay in Franklin since the fifties.

Lucie stood next to Ro, staring at the filth and cracked glass and years of disrepair that awaited them inside.

It’s cheap.

And close to home. So close, in fact, that Petey’s, the luncheonette where her father’s mob cronies hung out all day, was right down the street. If ever there was a reason to run screaming, that might be it.

Still, the other locations Lucie had scouted were out of Coco Barknell’s measly budget. For now. If they kept up the current pace, by this time next year, they’d be able to afford space in downtown Chicago.

Soon.

She focused on the front door. “Let’s just look at it. See if it’ll work.”

“Luce,” Ro said. “Please. We have to be able to afford something a little better. We’ve been working our asses off.”

Indeed they had. When the accessory line had started to take off, the production schedule had become too much for Lucie and she’d brought her mother in to help with the sewing. Ro, with her blazing style and queen-of-all-things-fabulous attitude, had also been added to the payroll. Basically, Ro was in charge of making sure nothing looked gaudy or cheap. Something she excelled at. Rounding out the employees was Lucie’s brother, Joey. He drove her insane with his constant teasing and general harassing, but he always came through for her if days ran long and she needed help walking the dogs.

“We
have
worked hard,” Lucie said. “Which is why I’m not overextending us. Besides, I wouldn’t even be looking for a place if my father weren’t being released early. He’ll have a coronary if he walks in and sees the dining room has turned into Coco Barknell’s headquarters.”

Her father’s early release from prison should have come as good news.
Should have
. And for her mother’s sake, Lucie wanted her dad home. But with Dad came his opinions on how she should be living her life and, most times, those opinions didn’t mesh with Lucie’s. In her father’s mind, the dog walking and accessory business was a waste of her MBA. Being old-school, he didn’t see the big picture. The picture that included building a brand from the ground up. In
his
mind, she should still be looking for a banking job.

“He’ll understand,” Ro said.

Ha. Right. “Think about what you just said. You’ve known me and my father for twenty years.”

Ro see-sawed her head. “Okay. Maybe the term
understand
is a stretch.”

“Yeah, forget it.” Lucie dug the keys she’d picked up from Mrs. Carlucci out of her messenger bag. “We’re just looking.”

She unlocked the door, wrapped her hand around the gritty handle, and imagined she’d need a bucket of antibacterial soap to rid her skin of the germs.

“I’m not touching that,” Ro said.

Whatever. Lucie held the door open for her. Ro took two steps, peeled back her lips, and halted. “Dear God, the smell.”

True. The aroma of mold and possibly a dead animal or two wasn’t exactly pleasant. “The place has been closed for years. What’d you expect? Lavender?”

She gave Ro a light shove. “Move it.”

Ro didn’t budge. “I will not. That floor is disgusting and I’m wearing Prada sandals. They’ll melt off my feet in this pit.”

“For crying out loud!”

Lucie shoved her aside and propped open the door with the rubber doorstop sitting just inside the entry. If the dog poop hadn’t destroyed her work sneakers by now, this floor had nothing.

Ignoring Ro, Lucie scanned the interior and immediately saw the possibilities. The large open space—fifteen hundred square feet according to the realtor—could do double duty. They’d put a couple of desks or cubicles along the one side and then work tables and sewing machines on the other.

She turned back to Ro, standing painfully erect so she didn’t brush either side of the doorway. “You look like you’re in vertical rigor mortis.”

“I might be. The smell probably killed me.”

“Forget the smell a minute.”

“And the dirt.”

“And the hole in the wall.”

Ro laughed. “I’ll just close my eyes and hold my nose.”

“Perfect. Think about how we could put the administrative area on this right side here. We’ll splurge on a couple of comfy chairs and make a little waiting area.” She glanced back at Ro, who indeed had her eyes closed. Such a maniac.

Lucie wandered to the other side of the room and motioned with her hands. “Over here we can set up work tables. Sewing machines along this back wall.”
And the money shot.
“If you had your eyes open, you’d see where I want to set up an office for you so you can work on designs and dealing with the clients. This could be your area.”

Lucie dared a glance back at Ro, still with her eyes closed, but nodding. So damned stubborn.

“If you do that,” Ro said, “we’d need screens to separate the two places. People don’t need to see a messy work area when they come in.”

That’s my pal.
Ro might moan a little, but she had a sense of style that would rival the Versace’s. Precisely why Lucie gave her a job designing doggie accessories. Making this place look good would be just the challenge she craved.

By now, Ro had one eye open. As if opening both might tax her. Lucie held out her arms. “Well?”

“We’d have to replace the floors. Under all this dirt, the linoleum is broken. We’ll do laminate. It’s easy to care for, and if you get a decent one, it looks like wood.”

“Sure. And we can repaint.”

“Of course. You realize Petey’s is two doors down.”

Lucie had long despised Petey’s. The food was terrific, but throughout her life, Petey’s had been the place her father and his crew ran their “business.” She’d spent years trying to rise above being Joe Rizzo’s daughter. Her father’s current prison stint hadn’t helped her anti-mob-princess campaign or their sometimes-strained relationship. Lucie had dealt with it. For her mother’s sake. Her mother had been the consistent parent. No matter what, she’d always been present, attentive, and loving. She’d nursed all wounds—physical and emotional.

“There’s nothing I can do about Petey’s. If this place were on the other side of town, I’d be thrilled. But it’s not. This is what we can afford.”

“Despite the possibility of seeing Frankie every damned day since he can’t go twenty-four hours without a meatball sandwich?”

Yeah. That too.

Frankie, her currently off-again boyfriend of four years was also a family friend. His father and Lucie’s father were the closest of friends. At least her father thought so. Lucie? She wasn’t sure she understood anything about her father’s relationships.

Regardless, Ro was right. Petey’s was the epicenter of bad Karma.

Including the day three months ago when she’d gone to Frankie’s, Petey’s meatball sandwich in hand, and he’d hit her with
the news
. And now, Lucie stood in the mess that was Carlucci’s, trying not to think of that day. Even if her mind battled the memory, her heart ripped itself open and wailed.

Damned broken heart bringing it all back to her.

She’d been standing in Frankie’s living room, holding that stupid bag with the stupid meatball sandwich while he stared at her, his eyes a little sad.

“Luce,” he said, “we need to talk.”

No. They didn’t. Because every time she’d said those words to him, it meant she needed a break. Not necessarily from him, but from
the life
. Taking a break from the life included Frankie because, despite his determination to stay legitimate, his sense of loyalty bonded him to his family and friends. And those people had no interest in going legit. That loyalty extended to his father, even after he’d put Lucie in danger to protect a twenty-year-old secret.

She set the meatball sandwich on the end table, and with her head pounding and a bead of sweat rolling down her shoulder blades, she slid to the sofa. “Oh, Frankie.”

Ignoring the sandwich, he sat beside her, grabbed both her hands. “Luce, I need a break.”

And, oh, those words imploded her chest, just
boom
, total annihilation. Worse? She’d done this to him countless times. Always using that exact I-need-a-break phrasing. As the pain ripped her apart, she finally understood how those four little words could decimate a life. She squeezed her eyes closed, fought the tears. Each time she’d done this to him, he’d been downright supportive. Not making a fuss or hurling insults or laying on guilt. Knowing her demons, he’d simply let her go.

Which she would now have to do. She couldn’t be mad. Not at him.

“It’s okay, Frankie.”

“I’ve been loyal to everyone for so long, I’ve become a doormat.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is. I’m done with that. I don’t want to leave you, but I’ve waited years for you to get comfortable. Now, I’m not comfortable. I need to walk away and get my head together. We just had this major blowup with my dad and I need to figure out how this thing with him and your family will play out.”

She nodded. “I don’t want to let our relationship go. I love you too much for that. So this time, I’ll do the waiting.” And then, that sadness in her chest surged and she breathed in, closed her eyes. No tears. Please. He deserved to be happy. Even if it hurt her.

“Luce—”

“You don’t have to explain. Not to me. I’m just… sad. But I’ll wait, and hopefully, you’ll come back to me.”

He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. “I love you, Luce. Always will.”

“Excellent. Then I have nothing to worry about.”

He grinned. “Wanna have sex? Leave me a reminder of what I’ll miss.”

She rolled her eyes. Some things would never change. “I’ll do better than that.”

A spark lit in Frankie’s eyes and she was sure it involved something leather and kinky.

“I’m listening,” he said.

She propped her elbow on the table, extended her fingers and waited for him to entwine his hand with hers. “Are you ready for this?”

“Ready.”

She squeezed his hand. “This will be a sacrifice, but I will let you keep that meatball sandwich I brought you.”

And she had. She’d handed over the bag and walked out of his house, hoping the break would be a short one.

That had been three months ago, and she’d been doing her best to avoid seeing him. Not that either of them was bitter. On the contrary, they often spoke on the phone. But right now, Frankie needed his space. For the first time in their history, he was the one who’d called off their relationship.

So, Lucie killed time until they eventually worked it out and got back together.

That’s how it was with them. The love between them was a potent thing and they both just plain stunk at resisting it.

“What about the back room?”

Ro’s voice broke through Lucie’s mind travel, and she turned to see her friend still standing in the doorway.

“The back room? It’s a mess. A bunch of boxes in there. We’ll have to go through them. I’ll do that.”

“What about a bathroom? God help us, I can only imagine what that looks like.”

Lucie wandered to the doorway leading to another smaller room. Probably the old stock room. Yep. Five short rows of shelving units filled the much smaller space. They’d store their accessory supplies back here. Or even make it the sewing room. She’d have to think about it. To her left was another door. She opened it and found a small bathroom with a white sink—circa 1965—and a toilet that should have had a pull cord. The sink and toilet were both rust-stained and the grout on the black and white checked floor looked like it had seen the wrong end of a chain saw.

“How is it?” Ro asked from the doorway.

“The bathroom is… um… It needs work.”

“Hey,” came Joey’s voice from where Ro stood. “What are you nutty broads doing?”

“Your sister is thinking about renting this dinosaur. I refuse to enter.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes!” Lucie said. “Come back here. I need you to see this.”

Her brother had become fairly handy since their father’s incarceration two years ago. If she could negotiate the owner replacing the floor and paying for a new toilet and sink, Joey might be able to install them.

“Roseanne,” Joey said, “your ass looks
great
today.”

Ro made a
pffting
noise. “You’d better believe it does.”

“Hey! She’s married.”

Ro laughed. “But my ass still looks good. That’s the important thing.”

“And last time I checked, Luce, my vision was still twenty/twenty.”

Terrific. Barbarian flirting. What more could a girl want?

“This place,” Joey said, “is a hole.”

“I know. But it’s cheap. With a little elbow grease, it’ll be a palace.”

He stuck his head in the bathroom and his tight-lipped expression, so classically their father, temporarily stunned her. Joey had always had her father’s dark features, but as he got older, he’d become more and more the angles of Dad and less the softness of Mom.

After sniffing once, he winced. She couldn’t blame him. The smell could gas a town.

“If I get the owner to pay for the supplies, can you install a sink and toilet?”

Joey shrugged. “I’ll do you one better. I got a plumber who owes me money. I’ll have him do it.”

“Is this one of your bookie-ing”
—was bookie-ing a word?
—“clients? I don’t want to be associated with your degenerate gamblers.”

Although her brother sometimes filled in as a dog walker at Coco Barknell, his main source of income was a bookmaking business. And Lucie hated that.