Lilies That Fester (5 page)
Read Lilies That Fester Online
Authors: Janis Harrison
I nodded absently. I talked to Gellie regularly on the phone, but not once had she even mentioned that she'd been on a diet. The contestants had seen her last September at the semifinals, but from their shocked expressions Gellie hadn't looked like this.
“Ta, da!” she said, striking a cheesecake pose. “Would one of you gallant young men hold my chair, please?”
When no one moved, I nudged Robbee, who leaped from his chair like a startled grasshopper and hip-hopped around the table.
Once settled, Gellie turned to Tyrone and giggled. “I'm sorry I created such a stir, but I've waited months and months for this occasion. Surely, you wouldn't deny me this moment in the spotlight?”
Tyrone cleared his throat once, then twice. “Uh ⦠of course not ⦠Gellie.”
Emphatically, Gellie said, “No. No. Gellie was that other woman, but she's gone. She choked the life out of me. Kept me from doing and being all that I wanted. My name is Angelica, and I'm free to fly like an angel. Thank God, I'm free, and Gellie is dead.”
A stunned silence followed Gellie's announcement before Tyrone tapped his water glass for our attention. “This weekend ⦠uh ⦠promises to be ⦠uh ⦠one of the most ⦠uh ⦠exciting in the history of our organization.”
I hid a grin. Even the mighty “ruler” could hem and haw with the best of them. I glanced across at Gellie, who usually shared my peculiar brand of humor. She was applying lip gloss.
Tyrone stroked his mustache and referred to a sheaf of papers in his hand. Once he'd found his place in the prepared speech, his voice was stronger, more self-assured. “The first annual Show-Me competition has brought the most talented florists in the state of Missouri to Branson. As president of this association, I welcome each of you, and wish you a hearty âgood luck' with your endeavors.
“The outcome of this contest is important, but the steps toward that final judgment are just as momentous. My name is attached to this conference, and I won't tolerate any grandstanding or embarrassing scenes. There's more to this weekend than this competition. Let me remind you that florists from all over southern Missouri are coming here to better their design techniques and implement new ideas into their businesses.
Allison is chairing a number of informative workshops. At this time we'll hear from my second-in-command.”
Allison is chairing a number of informative workshops. At this time we'll hear from my second-in-command.”
I expected Allison to stand and salute, but she only tugged her pink-satin dress into place while favoring us with a smile. Whatever she'd used to tame her eyebrows had pooped out. Bushy hairs had sprung back to life and gave the appearance of marauding woolly worms creeping across her forehead.
“There will be four workshops,” she explained, “and here are their titles. âLong Live Fresh Flowersâprocessing new arrivals to your shop.' âAdvertise. Advertise. Advertiseâselling your service.'”
Robbee whispered in my ear. “I've heard the speaker is from some backwater town up north but has built her business into a helluva profit-maker. I could use some pointers.”
“âNasturtiumsâedible plants and flowers,'” rambled Allison. “âSympathy Bouquetsâbuttering our bread with profit.'” She sat down to a weak round of applause.
Tyrone took over again. “The success of this conference takes a cooperative effort on everyone's part. Bernice is making sure our finances are in order. Effie is recording our decisions so future conference committees can refer to her notes.”
He picked up a paper from the table and waved it. “I have here the reservation list for those attending the Haversham Hall and Conservatory tour that will take place tomorrow afternoon. Of those in this room only Bretta has signed up.”
Robbee leaned close. “Suck up. Trying to find favor with the president?”
My answer was a well-placed elbow. He responded with a soft grunt.
“âsee all of your names on this roster,” said Tyrone. “You are the stars of this conference. I want you to mix and mingle.
Let the attendees see you and talk to you. As for myself, my door is always open. I will listen to any suggestions on how to improve the quality of this weekend.”
Let the attendees see you and talk to you. As for myself, my door is always open. I will listen to any suggestions on how to improve the quality of this weekend.”
This was it. Now Tyrone would say something about the board supporting me on keeping the categories secret. I was wrong, and gritted my teeth in frustration.
“Our industry is part of a Global Garden. Flowers are shipped from all over the world. In our daily lives, we use words such as heliconia, anthuriums, dendrobiums, bromeliads, and bougainvillea. These names sound more like pharmaceutical prescriptions than flowers.”
Tyrone paused for laughter. When there was none, he continued undaunted. “In my opinion, holidays put us under more stress per situation than any other profession, other than the medical field. Our job is to provide a service with imagination and panache. We have to show our customers that while they can exist without flowers, their world is a better place because of them.”
“Why is he telling us this stuff?” asked Robbee.
I shrugged.
“Global Garden refers to the ease with which we can obtain any flower at any given time. Tulips in August. Lilacs in September. Orchids. Gardenias. Somewhere in the world these flowers are availableâif we're willing to pay the price. Hybridizers and growers are working relentlessly to develop something new and exciting to showcase our unique skills.”
I smothered a yawn. Monarchy ⦠malarkey. Effie was right about the definition of Tyrone's name. His demeanor was that of a ruler. He had a captive audience and was milking the attention for every pint.
My mind wandered. My eyes strayed to Gellie. Since she'd entered the room, I'd fought the urge to stare. It was as if my
friend had died, and in her place was this strange womanâAngelica, who was now checking her image in the mirror of her compact. The old Gellie would have ordered a king-sized mug of coffee, laced it with four teaspoons of sugar, then dug into the rolls and butter while flashing me comical faces during Tyrone's long-winded speech.
friend had died, and in her place was this strange womanâAngelica, who was now checking her image in the mirror of her compact. The old Gellie would have ordered a king-sized mug of coffee, laced it with four teaspoons of sugar, then dug into the rolls and butter while flashing me comical faces during Tyrone's long-winded speech.
Had my personality undergone such a drastic change when I'd shed one hundred pounds? My weight loss was enmeshed with Carl's death. When he passed away, I'd lost the taste for food. Those first twenty pounds had dropped off without any conscious effort on my part. The next eighty had been fought with a war of wills.
My desire for cheeseburgers and chocolate had come back with a vengeance, but by that time I was motivated to lose the weight. The new style of clothes I was able to wear kept me from overindulging, but I'd had some major setbacks. I was a junk-food junky and tried to steer clear of goodies that would trigger my appetite. The taste of a forbidden food sliding over my palate was enough to send me into an eating frenzy, especially if I was under pressure.
“âand now Bretta will fill us in on the design categories,” finished Tyrone.
I'd only been preoccupied for a moment. Had I missed something? I whispered to Robbee, “Did he say anything about the board agreeing with me?”
“Nope.”
I swung my head around to glare at Tyrone, who stared at me with exalted eloquence. Pulling in a lung full of oxygen, I slowly released it in a ladylike sigh. Nodding and smiling graciously, I came to my feet. “Thank you, Tyrone, for this opportunity. Working with you on this conference has been a valuable lesson. You are the quintessential modern-day president.”
I lowered my gaze on him so he wouldn't miss my implication.
I lowered my gaze on him so he wouldn't miss my implication.
Slowly I enunciated each word. “I'm the contest coordinator. I was given free rein to conduct this competition as I saw fit. I have no guidelines since this is the first such contest held by our association, but I do have experience. I have attended other floral contests. Like it or lump it, ladies and gentlemen, the categories will remain a secret.”
I sank to the chair when my knees gave out. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure everyone could hear it in the silence that followed my statement. Across the table, Gellie smacked her bony hands together. “You go, Bretta. Stick to your guns. Let the chips fall where they may.”
Zach cleared his throat, and eyes ricocheted from Gellie to his handsome face. I'd noticed that he sat forward in his chair as if it didn't have a back. That's probably what came of exercising come hell or high water or while at a florist convention. I was hunched over like a toad and quickly made an effort to sit up straight.
“Frankly, I don't see the hassle,” said Zach. “We're professionals. We do this for a living. What difference does it make as to the categories? I'm looking forward to the challenge.” He delivered a smile in my direction, then rocked back, satisfied that he'd had his say in the matter.
I nodded thank you, then saw a funny look come over his face. He gasped and leaped to his feet, turning over the chair in his haste. He acted as if he had an itch, twisting and clawing at his backside.
“Help me,” he shouted. “Something is stuck in ⦠myâ”
He turned toward Darren, who wrapped his hand with a linen napkin. I saw him give a hard yank, then hold up a blood-smeared knife.
“Well, I'll be damned,” said Darren. “How did that get in your chair?”
Zach's handsome face was etched with lines of pain. “More importantly, I want to know how it got in my ass. What fool would leave an open knife in a chair?”
“An old fool,” said Effie tearfully, rising unsteadily. She wobbled around the table and took the napkin-wrapped knife from Darren. With hands trembling, she explained, “My grandnephew had it specially made for me. My old fingers can't work a regular florist knife. This one has a spring-loaded blade. When a bit of pressure is applied to the casing, the blade slides out ready for use.”
Robbee said, “Holy cow! Granny's packing a switchblade. Who'd have thought it.”
Effie turned to him. “I suppose you could call it that, but it isn't one of those gangster-type weapons. As you can see the blade is only three inches long, but I've ⦠uh ⦠honed it to a surgical sharpness.”
Zach snorted. “Damned right. That blade sliced my ass like a piece of steak. I'm lucky it went through my coattail and trousers before embedding itself in my butt. If Bretta had sat here, she might've had a serious injury.”
“Now, now,” said Tyrone. “Let's not make this more than it is. You'd better go have that wound tended to, Zach. Ask someone at the front desk who to call.”
Zach left the dining room grumbling and limping. Effie looked as if she was about to pass out. I put my arm around her shoulders and helped her into her chair. “It was an accident, Effie. He'll be fine.”
“Yes, but I feel terrible. I don't understand how the knife got into that chair. I had it in the basket I brought the place cards in. I'm sure I didn't take it out.”
Suddenly Delia scooted away from the table and stood up.
Effie looked her over and whispered to me. “Greek, dear. Delia means âeasily seen.' In that red outfit, she'd stop a tenton truck.”
Delia glared accusingly around the room. “We've had our little drama, now can we get back to the important subject of this weekend? I gather that Miriam and I are the only ones that see this contest as a potential fiasco. Bretta has to be made to see that we deserve to knowâ”
Her speech came to a grinding halt when Gellie asked the waitress for a cup of hot water, and the young woman didn't understand the request.
“Hot water,” repeated Gellie, pulling a tea bag from a zippered pouch in her purse. She glanced across the table at me and winked. “Lesser of two evils, Bretta,” she said quietly.
I didn't know what Gellie meant until she said in a more normal voice, “What a wonderful idea to present a
trophy
to the winner.”
trophy
to the winner.”
I shook my head at her and tried not to laugh. Deep down inside where it counted, Gellie hadn't changed. She knew that if Delia persisted on this overworked subject, I'd be pissed, and might tell the whole group to take a hike. However, a wrangle with Bernice was wicked pleasure.
Bernice is tall, broad, and has all the finesse of an ocean liner. Cajole and flatter aren't in her vocabulary. She speaks her mind, has the last say, and takes pleasure in leaving demoralized bodies in her wake. I just didn't plan on being one. Before she spoke, I turned to her, knowing what was coming. She didn't disappoint.
“Where is the bill for that trophy? How much did it cost?”
I named a figure that caused her to slump against the table. Her speechlessness lasted for a breath, but when she opened her
mouth, I was ahead of her. “I haven't gone over my allotted budget, Bernice. With so many donated items, I'm justified in spending the money. The trip to Hawaii is wonderful, but I want to hand the winner something special when he or she succeeds.”
mouth, I was ahead of her. “I haven't gone over my allotted budget, Bernice. With so many donated items, I'm justified in spending the money. The trip to Hawaii is wonderful, but I want to hand the winner something special when he or she succeeds.”
“You should have told me. Keeping hidden expenditures from the treasurer is a sure way of getting things out of kilter. I'm responsible for every cent, and I intend for these books to show a profit.” She glanced at Tyrone before peering suspiciously at me. “Which reminds me. Where is the bill for the shipment that was delivered about an hour ago?”
Frowning, I asked, “What shipment? The contest flowers will arrive in the morning.”
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