Spicing Up Trouble: a romantic comedy (40 page)

"It's a little early for martinis, isn't it?"

Mattie checked her watch and said, "Um, no Claud, not really. It's four o'clock. Come on up."

She assessed the condition of her apartment. Situated on the top floor of a two-story house, she knew she only had a few harried moments to pick up. After stacking the cookbooks she had left scattered on her living room floor and hiding her Michael Bolton CDs, she darted into the tiny kitchen. The garbage can, overstuffed with a pizza box, an empty bottle of cheap Merlot, and used tissues, had to go. Deciding that she didn't have enough time to run it down the back stairwell to the dumpster, she zipped into her bedroom, shoved it into her walk-in closet and closed the door just in time to hear her sister's knock.

"Come on in."

Claudia burst into the living room, pulled off her scarf and gave her sister a quick hug. "What did I tell you about leaving your door unlocked?" 

"Please. I knew you were coming," Mattie explained. "And I always keep the outside entrance locked. That's why I gave you a key, remember? Besides, with Mrs. Driscoll downstairs, nobody's gonna mess with me. I think she's a retired warden from Stateville penitentiary."

"Well, if you ask me, she looks like Mrs. Claus."

"Yeah, Mrs. Claus packing heat," Mattie retorted.

Laughing, Claudia surveyed the bar of chocolate on the kitchen table.

"Tell me that's not your dinner. When are you going to learn that all the chocolate in the world is not going to make what Eddie did"

Mattie pointed a finger at her. "Let's not say
that
name again."

"Sorry. I forgot."

"Whatever."

Mattie loved her sister despite her occasional verbal lapses and the fact that, even after giving birth to three children in four years, she was still thin as a rail.

Settling onto the floral-print overstuffed couch, Claudia leaned back, closed her eyes and asked, "Okay, what is the Plate Spinner covering this time? Getting a gift for your kid's coach?"

"Yep. Hang on a sec." Mattie sat back down at her table and, hands poised over her laptop keyboard, said, "OK, shoot."

"Well for starters, plan ahead. Don't wait until the last minute like I did. Today was the last day of the fall soccer season, and, since no one else volunteered to take up a collection for the coach, Tom and I had to ask all of the other parents if they wanted to contribute. Then during half time, I flew over to Malcolm's—you know that new steak place on Walnut—to get him a gift card. Only they don't open until 11, so I decided to zip over to the sporting goods store on the other side of the street, and who did I see but…"

Eyes bright, Claudia sat up before she continued. "Come on. Ask me. You'll never guess."

Mattie looked up from her laptop and shook her head. "I have no idea."

Claudia started giving her hints. "Tall, good-looking, dark hair, wearing a—oh what do you call those things?" She started pantomiming as if she had something dangling from her neck.

Mattie stared at her, shrugged her shoulders, and said, "Necktie, police whistle…really, I have no idea."

Undeterred, Claudia continued, "I still say he was sweet on you."

Mattie forced a nervous laugh. "Oh, like that narrows it down."

Pulling out all the stops, Claudia leaned toward her and delivered her final clue. "You can barely see the scar anymore."

Slapping on her best poker face, Mattie felt her heart drop into her stomach and her throat begin to tighten.

Pity.

She started twirling her married-with-kids costume accessory under the table.

Claudia let out an exasperated sigh and sank back into the couch. "Forget it. I don't know why I even bother."

"Can we keep going, please? You left off at the sporting goods store. Did you get the kids' coach a gift card there? What happened next? Did the team give it to him or the parents?"

But Claudia wasn't ready to move on. "It wasn't Nick's fault you-know-who did what he did. He was just the messenger. And you decked him for it."

Mattie bit her lip. She could still hear the sound of her buttons ricocheting off of the walls, the windows, and mirror in the bridal room at St. Matthias's when her fist made contact with his chin.

Hell hath no fury…

"He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," she replied with a shrug.

Narrowing her eyes, Claudia studied her sister. "I still think you're pinning the blame on the wrong DeRosa."

"Claud, I am not going through this with you again." But she couldn't help herself. "I'm not saying Eddie—well, you know what?" Mattie held up both hands in the air before continuing, "I've wasted enough breath on that man."

"Halleluiah," Claudia sang out.

"But Nick?" Mattie continued, "I'm not letting him off so easy. I mean, the night before our wedding, I overheard him ask Eddie 'what do you want to marry a girl like that for?'"

She looked at her sister with both eyebrows raised. "Who does that? I don't care if the guy made it to the Olympics. He had no right to put me down like that. He doesn't even know me. Our whole lives, he always looked right through me like I wasn't even there."

Taking a deep breath, she continued. "Then when Eddie didn't show up for the wedding—I can only assume he had second thoughts. Why else would Nick, of all people, go out of his way to deliver the news to me personally? Talk about smug. He's lucky I just punched him in the face."

Claudia leaned forward. "I'm sorry, kiddo. You never heard from either of them again, did you?"

Do you mean besides the message Nick left, asking that I vouch for him with the Cook County Sheriff's department?

"No. And to hell with them both." Mattie tried focusing on the draft of her column before mumbling, "I can fix this up later."

Eager for a change of subject, she continued, "Hey, how are the kids? Sorry I missed trick-or-treating with them. Their costumes looked great, though. That picture was a big hit with my readers."

"They're fine. You're the one I'm worried about."

Mattie waved her off.

"I just want you to be happy."

"I'm fine."

"Right. Let's see. You live alone, if you ask me, you drink too much and the only vegetables you ever eat are on the top of a pizza. Yet, at work, you're passing yourself off as this successful career woman who is happily married with kids. This isn't healthy. You're hiding behind the column. And that ring." She pointed to Mattie's hand in disgust.

"I'm happy. I am. Deliriously. I love my job, where I live…"

Claudia ignored her. "It's been almost two years, Mat. It's time to move on. You're still young. You've got to start living your own life on your terms. There's plenty of fish in the sea."

Considering her sister's uncanny ability to channel their deceased mother, Mattie almost expected her to add, "Why a pretty girl like you, you could have any man you wanted if you just slimmed down a bit."

In response, Mattie shut her laptop with a little more force than she intended. Unfazed, Claudia continued with her rant.

"Besides, what do you think is going to happen if the paper gets wind of the fact that their latest 'Plate Spinner' is just a fabrication? I'm not sure, but I think what you've been doing for the past couple of years here, Mat, is fraud."

Mattie waved her off. "You worry too much. No one's going to find out that I'm not married, and that I don't have kids. Dianne's got my back at work. I've got all my bases covered. She promised to find a replacement, and, when she does, I'll get my own column and that will be that.

She neglected to tell Claudia that her desk was cluttered with pictures of her husband, Tom Bragassi, a paramedic, and all of the little Bragassis, ranging in age from six years to six months.

Picking up a pile of bills, Claudia started rifling through them. "And what about these?" Maybe it's about time you sold that rock and took care of your debts."

Mattie snatched them away before Claudia saw the envelope from First Midwestern Bank that contained yet another overdraft notice.

"No way. I have to wear it at work. Besides, it helps me ward off the wrong sort."

Claudia pounced. "Yes, but it wards off all sorts, Mat—even the good kind."

Softening her tone she added, "You know you always have a home with us, right?"

"Thanks, sis. I appreciate it, but I've got everything under control."

Skepticism oozed from Claudia's expression.

Mattie stood and pulled what used to be an oversized sweatshirt down over her hips. "I do, really. As a matter of fact, I have a meeting first thing Monday morning with the publisher, and I'm going to demand a raise."

And, I know just what to wear. If it still fits.

*   *   *

What Mattie knew of Lester Crenshaw she did not like. A middle-aged man, he rose quickly through the ranks at the
Gazette
. Once he became publisher, rumor had it, he ditched his wife, a long-time lifestyle columnist at the paper, then had the gall to fire her before marrying a young blond hotshot from accounting.

Talk about a schmuck.

She had thought long and hard about her plan of attack and decided to stoop to his level. It was the only reason she found herself standing outside of his office, in full view of the media company's executive assistant staff, wearing a skin-tight, fire engine red, long-sleeved, high-necked sweater dress and punishing four inch heels.

Nearly immobilized by the amount of spandex that was keeping her curves in check, she leaned back against the wall and checked her watch. It was seven fifty-nine in the morning. Despite their eight o'clock appointment, his office was empty, and the lights were off.

"He should be here any minute," his assistant, Natalie Foster, offered.

After waiting for twenty minutes, Mattie hobbled her way back to her desk and initiated a computer search on how to file for bankruptcy.

By noon, she had resigned herself to the idea of throwing in the towel and moving in with her sister and her family. The bag of potato chips she had for lunch offered little in the way of consolation. By 1:00, she had abandoned her shoes and was finishing a brief, albeit succinct reply to a reader in search of a healthy holiday-coping strategy.

"Dear Wiped, I find the best way to keep my energy high throughout the busy holiday season is to consume copious amounts of caffeine and refined sugar."

"Now I know you're kidding. You are kidding, aren't you?" The gravely edge to Dianne's voice was unmistakable. She peered at Mattie over her reading glasses, waiting for a response.

Mattie stuck out her index finger and pressed the backspace key on her keyboard until it was gone. "Of course."

She made no effort to sound anything other than defeated.

"Well if it means that much to you, leave it in. Go ahead. I can handle the sugar cops at the American Diabetic Association."

Mattie let out a chuckle and turned around. Her eyes were bloodshot and she assumed what was left of her mascara was smudged underneath her lower eyelashes like the paw prints of tiny puppies that had been running through the mud.

Dianne hoisted herself onto her usual perch on the desk and whispered, "Oh, this can't be good. How did the meeting with Les go?"

"I waited for twenty minutes. He blew me off."

"Oh, sweetie. He's a busy man." Dianne handed her a tissue.

Mattie pressed it to her eyes. "Yes, and I'm an insecure mess with major rejection issues. First Dad, then Eddie, now Les."

Dianne twirled Mattie's chair around so she was facing her. "Stop it. You're better than this. You're the
Plate Spinner,
for Pete's sake. You should be angry. You had an appointment with him, and he didn't even have the courtesy of letting you know he couldn't make it? You know what I'd do to him if it were me?"

Mattie shook her head.

"I'd called him on it, and I wouldn't drop it until he apologized. Now clean yourself up, march right up to his office, and demand that raise."

"You're right." Taking a deep breath, Mattie stood up, and fluffed her hair. Twirling her ring with her right hand, she nodded at Dianne and said, "I'm not coming back until I have that raise."

Dianne looked skeptical. "Nice try, doll. Now say it like you mean it."

Narrowing her eyes, Mattie clenched her jaw, and tried seething, "I am
not
coming back until I have that raise."

She poked Dianne in the shoulder for good measure.

"Ow. Better, but don't poke."

"Really?"

As Mattie plopped back into her chair to put her shoes back on, a grin started to spread across her face. She clenched her fists in front of her as she broke into a sad attempt at a moonwalk from the comfort of her ergonomically correct office chair.

"Hello, solvency."

"Focus," Dianne scolded. "Demand first. Dance later."

FALSE START

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