sticks, only one step away from her white-trash roots. Or so she thinks. On top of that, she has real issues with men. Now the thought of a romantic relationship flips her out, I guess because she’s afraid she’ll go back into doormat position. She avoids serious romance as diligently as she avoids IRS audits for her clients.
The birthday dinner posed a double threat. There would be senators, diplomats and Washington bigwigs there, and even though Mom can be as polished as the best of them, that kind of company scares her to death.
The other threat came from Steve’s dad. Despite my assurances that she was invited to the party as a courtesy, her romance antennae had gone haywire because Lou Santorelli called her to offer the invitation long before the invitations were mailed.
Okay, the truth is, Lou did ask Mom because he’s got a thing for her. But Mom couldn’t possibly know that. As far as she knew, she’d never met the man.
A few weeks earlier, Lou was in Midland, working undercover for an antiterrorist group, looking for terrorist financiers. He happened to meet Mom, who had no clue who he was, or even that he was male, because he was disguised as a very large woman. Lou’s pretty wacky. He was a POW in Vietnam, and like so many of those guys, it did something to him. Rules? Who needs ’em? He got it bad for Mom and asked her to the dinner via telephone, I think so he could talk to her as himself. It’s kinda cute, in a weird way. And I was dying to see how they hit it off.
“Mom, you’re a kick-ass CPA, and you can hold your own with überconservative businessmen. This is no different. Just be yourself.”
“Don’t you get it? Being myself is the bad part. I cuss like a sailor, have a tendency to bite heads off, and I’m way too opinionated. Besides, when I get flustered, this damn hick accent comes out so strong, people think I just fell off the cotton truck.”
“You just don’t get it, do you, Mom? All of that is what makes you so remarkable. You’re unique, interesting and funny.”
“And neurotic. Don’t forget neurotic.”
“So? Everybody’s a little neurotic. Just go to the party and relax. If nothing else, look at it like you and I will have a chance to catch up.”
“That’s true.” She sighed into the phone. “Promise me you’ll call Ed.”
“Fine! I promise.”
Around five o’clock, Taylor came into my office and closed the door. She looked positively radiant. Tossing a stack of invoices toward me with check copies attached, she said smugly, “I called China Pearl and they say all of their invoices have been paid. Then I called Robert Wang at the CERF office in Beijing, and he checked these invoices against the copies he keeps before he mails the originals to us. He doesn’t have any of these invoices. Which means they were generated by someone outside the invoicing department at China Pearl.”
I eyed the invoices. “They’re identical to the ones from China Pearl. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to get these printed. I wonder if they have fingerprints on them?”
Taylor looked like she wanted to cheer. “Yours, Pink. Your fingerprints are all over them. You’re the one who approves all invoices for payment. Remember?” She glanced at my printer. “Did you know every printer has a unique imprint, that printer companies make them that way, so they can trace which printer was used to generate documents?” Her green gaze went to my computer. “And did you know computers have a unique identity, that the cops can trace any Internet transaction?”
My violent tendencies were coming to the fore. I guess we’re not so far from our caveman ancestors. If I’d had a club, I’d have conked her on the head. “Did you know I leave this office every day a little after five and the printer and computer are alone until nine o’clock the next morning?” I leaned toward her and crossed my arms on my desk. “Give this some thought, Taylor. As much as you resent me, would you really feel good about me going to prison if I’m not guilty?”
She glared at me with open hostility. “I’d throw a party, and invite some of the staff from the old firm. You don’t have a clue how many of us hated you, Pink. Always ordering everyone around, demanding we work unholy hours, giving us bad performance reviews for stupid things like wearing the wrong clothes and cussing in front of clients.”
“So I deserve to rot in prison because I insisted the staff present a professional image? Because I took my job seriously and expected others to do the same?”
“You were such a bitch about it all.”
“It was always all about the job, and making sure I did the best I could for the firm. That’s called loyalty.”
“You wouldn’t know loyalty if it bit you in the ass!”
I leaned back, realization dawning on me. “This isn’t about how I did my job at the firm. This is about that night you called and asked me to lie to your husband about where you were. You wanted me to say you’d been at my house, and I refused.”
“We were friends! I needed help, and you blew me off.”
“That was a million years ago, when we were still staff slaves. You’ve been divorced almost six years. And you’re still blaming me?” I shook my head, more disgusted than I would have thought possible. “Face it, Taylor, I wasn’t the one boinking the client’s mailroom guy. That was you, and to hold such a grudge because I didn’t go along with your lie is seriously chickenshit of you.”
“It’s not that you didn’t go along with the lie. You ratted me out to the big dogs at the firm. Because of that one indiscretion, I was way behind everyone else in promotions.”
“You’re wrong, Taylor. I never said a word to anyone.”
“Liar!” She grabbed up the invoices and waved them around. “You’re gonna get what’s coming to you!”
It took a superhuman effort not to lose my temper, but I managed. “If you finger me as the rat, you’ll regret it, Taylor. I’m not behind this, but someone is. I suggest you find that person and lay off this immature grudge-fest.”
So far, so good. I hadn’t lost any ounce of professionalism, or sunk to Taylor’s level.
Then she went over the line. With a smirk on her wide mouth, she said with dripping venom, “I figured out a long time ago, your problem is that you’re a coldhearted, frigid bitch. George told me he had to get it somewhere else because you quit putting out.” She stepped back toward the door and reached behind herself for the doorknob, just before she lobbed a nuclear bomb into my lap. “You divorced him because he slept with whores, but didn’t you ever wonder if he got some he didn’t have to pay for? You were the office joke, Pink, because half the women up there had a little bit of George. We all felt sorry for him, did you know that? I remember a Christmas party when George was doing Beth in the ladies’ room. You went in there, and had no clue they were in the stall right next to you.” She laughed. And laughed.
Unable to stop myself, I stood and shouted, “Get out!”
When she kept standing there, laughing, I reached for my coffee cup and hurled it at her, just as she opened the door. The damn thing flew right through the opening and crashed across Samantha Booker’s desk, knocking over a pencil cup and splashing coffee all over Samantha’s pretty white blouse.
I have never been
