Christie Ridgway - Can't Fight This Feeling

The darkness was barely alleviated by a lone dim light on a tall pole, but she didn’t need to see Glory’s face to know the other woman sympathized. “Another call from the lawyers?”

“Yes. Any day now, they say, the word will get out.” While she had nothing to do with her father’s perfidy, she still felt terrible about it. And, to be honest, felt terrible for herself. Terribly alone. She sighed.

Glory linked arms with her. “It’s good for you to do something besides mope. You need more work and making contacts is the right way to find it. You’ll get better acquainted with people and then who knows what might come up?”

Though the auction wrap-up meeting was open to the general membership, Angelica didn’t expect many besides the committee members would bother to attend. It looked as though she was right. When she gazed about the conference table, the only one there who hadn’t been directly involved was Vaughn Elliott—whose grandfather had donated his mountain home’s contents to the group.

They’d made over a million dollars from the silent sales.

Angelica stared as the committee chair, Ruth Nagel, made the announcement. The older woman could hardly contain her excitement. “I think Piney is our good luck charm!”

They all glanced through the open doorway to the lobby, where a seven-foot stuffed bear loomed over the welcome desk. It had been part of the Elliott estate, but they’d unanimously decided to keep it as the society’s mascot of sorts.

“Maybe we should be grateful to Angelica, too,” Glory put in. “It was she who curated the items, providing context and provenance whenever possible.”

Ruth beamed and toasted her with her foam cup of terrible coffee. “Thank you, Angelica.”

She waved the gratitude away, though she did appreciate it. Glory had cajoled her onto the committee early in their friendship and she’d enjoyed the work she’d put in. It had been interesting to catalog the historical items, everything from exquisite furniture to antique sets of golf clubs to a beautiful world globe inlaid with abalone shell.

“Maybe we should contact the buyers and get them to write up testimonials we can put in next year’s program,” Vaughn Elliott said. About thirty, he was tall and golden-haired and maybe with a trust fund or something because Angelica didn’t get the impression he worked for a living. “I’d be happy to take that on if you’d give me the list of names.”

“Can’t do it,” Ruth said. “That’s confidential info...something the lawyers insisted upon. Anyway, next year we won’t be having an auction—just a big black-tie event. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

Vaughn nodded, seeming satisfied. “I’m sure my grandfather, wherever he is, is thrilled by the value of his gift.”

There was little more to cover. Each of them made promises to write up their thoughts and ideas for improvements for the coming year’s committee. “Though we would love all of you to continue,” Ruth said. When several people murmured an assent, her gaze zeroed in on Angelica. “Please say you’ll be helping again.”

She hedged. “I’m not sure of my long-term plans.” But under the circumstances staying in the mountains would suit her best. She had familiarity, a friend or two, and it would keep her hidden away from the financial media. “But right now I’m still able to work my weekly shifts.” The tasks weren’t rigorous, but helping with the database and creating packets for new members was a good way to keep busy.

Short minutes later, the meeting adjourned. Vaughn walked her and Glory to their cars. “I still think the members would like to hear from the auction winners,” he said, sounding a bit peeved. “Ruth is too worried about keeping that list sacrosanct. Any way you can get your hands on it?”

“Nope,” Glory answered, digging through her purse. “I think only the executive board or maybe just the president has access.”

Angelica didn’t say that she, actually, did know the password to all the files and thus had access. When updating the member roster, she’d noticed the other list was in the same directory.

Vaughn wandered off to his own car, a pricey SUV that looked like an overmuscled panther. Angelica frowned at her little convertible, wondering if she could trade it for something more practical for winter in the mountains and if doing so would require any cash outlay.

“Ready?” Glory said. “We agreed on Mr. Frank’s, right?”

“That was your idea. I told you I wasn’t sure.”

“C’mon,” Glory cajoled. “It’s ladies’ night. The drinks are really cheap.”

“I don’t know. In my mood I might get sloppy drunk and make a fool of myself.”

“No, you won’t.” Glory snatched Angelica’s purse from her hand and fished out her keys, too. “Because you have a higher purpose.”

“What’s that?” She eyed her friend. “Tonight, getting sloppy drunk might be the higher purpose.”

Glory grabbed Angelica’s hand and slapped her keys into her palm. “What did I already tell you? Once you get more acquainted with people, who knows what might come up?”

Angelica had to admit it was at least some kind of plan. She had a life to form for herself. Hunkering down in her room at the Bluebird with its clunky television and four available channels was no way to network. So, on a sigh, she turned to her car and, once behind the wheel, followed Glory to the restaurant they’d agreed upon, just outside of the village of Blue Arrow Lake.

“This is a locals’ hangout,” Glory said as they approached the door of Mr. Frank’s. “Red vinyl booths, bar straight out of the 1950s. No blenders on the premises...so you have to take your hard booze on the rocks or not at all. No trendy cocktail orders. Got it?”

Angelica held open the heavily carved door for her friend. “I’ll resist my urge to ask for a mango-kale daiquiri.”

“Still,” Glory said, taking her by the arm to lead her toward the dimly lit but clearly crowded lounge, “it’s very popular on ladies’ night. Everybody will be here... We’ll make sure you meet at least some of them.”

They found stools on the short end of the L-shaped bar. A heavyset man in white shirtsleeves and a red vest slapped napkin squares in front of them. He glared at Glory. “I remember what you asked for last time and the answer is still no. I won’t make anything with the ridiculous name of—of—” His face turned red and he broke off. “You’re getting a beer.”

She winked at Angelica and leaned close to whisper. “I invent names of drinks just to embarrass him—last time it was ‘climax on a cloud.’ He’s an old friend of my dad’s.”

“You?” the bartender growled at Angelica.

She folded her hands on the bar like a perfect student. “Chardonnay, please.”

He shot her a glance of approval before going about fulfilling their orders. “You new around here?” he asked, placing the generous pour in front of her.

Glory spoke before she could. “This is my friend Angelica Rodriguez. She’s seeking work, if you hear of anyone who needs help. She’s part-time at the store and I can give her a glowing recommendation.”

He ran an assessing gaze over Angelica. “Has a flatlander look about her.”

Angelica bit her lip. She knew the word was synonymous with other to the people who lived full-time in the mountains.

“Yep,” Glory said, waving a hand. “But she’s up the hill now and wants to stay that way.”

Angelica busied herself with her wine as an excuse not to watch the man’s reaction. Too much was at stake.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the bartender said, and she glanced up. He winked at her. “I can pass the word.”