people like a slower pace.” What was she saying? The truth, a voice whispered. Some people do like a slower pace.
Madeline just wasn’t one of them. Was she?
“And there are people who pierce major body parts, too, but that doesn’t mean they’re sane.” Janice’s voice took on her familiar I-want-everything-to-go-perfectly desperation. “Please tell me they have balloons.”
“I’m about to find out.” Madeline headed down one of the aisles, passed a variety of cookies in favor of a large package of Double Stuffed Oreos. Otherwise known as inspiration. Whenever she came up against a brick wall at work, she would indulge in Oreos and free her creativity.
With the wedding looming and a size-ten bridesmaid’s dress to squeeze herself into, she’d been Oreo-free for the past few weeks, so she’d yet to come up with any really great ideas. She had a few so-so ones, but nothing outstanding. Or revolutionary. Nothing guaranteed to wow the CEO of V.A.M.P. and move Madeline the final step up the corporate ladder to head of research and development.
Yet.
With the aroma of chocolate wafers and sweet cream filling her nostrils and blessed solitude helping her focus, she would surely come up with something brilliant. Then it was back to Dallas and constant interruptions and her strict diet regime that consisted of Melba toast, grilled chicken salads and Pilates. “Okay, we’ve hit pay dirt on the balloons,” she told Janice a few seconds later.
“And hats? Do they have hats, too?”
“It’s a bachelorette party, not a birthday party.”
“Hats are festive. I want everyone in the party mood. I want tonight to be special.”
“We’ll all be together for the first time in twelve years. It’ll be special.”
“Except that Cheryl Louise is bringing her poodle, Tilly. Remember? She’s the one that farts when she wags her tail. Every time she wags her tail.”
“We’ll make the best of it. Focus on the positive.”
Madeline had learned that all-important lesson when she’d left Cadillac and headed for the big city. One of her first life-changing vows had been to stop stressing over the fact that she wasn’t thin enough or pretty enough or outgoing enough, and do something about it.
She’d done just that and changed her life forever.
“Girl, you’re absolutely right. She may be bringing Tilly, but at least she’s leaving Twinkles at home,” Janice sighed. “Otherwise, we’d all end up covered in dog hair. That blasted thing sheds like—ohmigod! Peanuts!” she shrieked. “You can’t forget the peanuts. Cheryl loves peanuts and I want to have all of her favorites tonight.”
“Got ’em.” So much for a pep talk. “See you in a little while.” No sooner had she punched the off button than the phone rang again.
“A black laundry marker,” Janice quipped. “Do they have one?”
“Skeeter’s has everything.”
It was the typical old-time drugstore that carried everything from small hardware items to makeup, canned goods to candy. They even had a pharmacy in the back where Ben Skeeter had been filling prescriptions for as long as Madeline could remember.
“Good. Now hurry up. Sarah just got here with the cheese dip.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She dropped the phone into her purse.
A few minutes later, after retrieving the requested marker, she headed for the pharmacy counter at the rear of the store where a silver-haired woman hoisted a large box onto the counter next to the cash register.
“Maddie Hale?” Camille Skeeter pushed her wire-framed glasses up onto her nose for a better look. “My word, is that you?”
“It’s me, all right. Madeline Hale.” She’d left the name Maddie behind with her geeky image.
The older woman smiled as she yanked open the box and reached for her pricing gun. “My, my, you’re a sight. I wish Ben were here to see you, but he’s over at the community center leading the dedication for the new monkey bars.” She tapped the button pinned to her white smock.
Ben Skeeter’s image stared back at Madeline along with the phrase printed around the edges that read Ain’t Nothin’ Sweeter Than Electin’ a Skeeter.
“Ben’s the mayor now,” Camille told her. “Second term.”
“I heard through the grapevine. Congratulations. So, are you handling the store all by yourself now?”
“Sure am.” Camille wiped the sweat from her brow, hoisted the box to the side and reached for Madeline’s basket. “But a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do and I always stand by my man. So—” she started ringing up items “—how are your mama and daddy doing? Haven’t heard much from them since they retired down south. How do they like Port Aransas?”
“They were a little bored at first, but they’ve fallen into a nice routine. Dad spends his days fishing and doing his best to steer clear of anything that even smells like a doughnut. Mom opened a seashell shop.”
“Sounds like they’re having a ball.”
“Finally.” Her mother had spent twenty years as a high-school science teacher while her father had run the local doughnut shop. Her mother had been an academic, content to study life rather than really live it, while her father had been a workaholic who’d observed it from behind a counter.
Until last year.
Her mother’s diagnosis with chronic heart disease had helped them realize what Madeline herself had learned that fateful day she’d lost Sharon—life was simply too short to waste. They’d sold their house and the doughnut shop and headed for the Texas coast.
“Mom’s making conch-shell necklaces and Dad’s catching giant redfish.” And Madeline had a full jewelry box and an overflowing freezer to prove it. “They’re really into this new phase of their lives.”
“That’s because it’s fun. Ben and I need more fun in our lives, but his schedule is so demanding and the store needs me practically twenty-four/seven.” She sighed, then smiled. “What about you, sweetie? I hear you’re working for one of those fancy cosmetic companies up in Dallas.”
“V.A.M.P. Cosmetics.” Madeline rummaged in her bag. “Here are some samples of our new berry-flavored lipsticks.”
Camille dabbed on the color and licked her lips. “My, my, but this tastes good. Whewee! My taste buds are in overload. I bet Ben will love it. He hates the brand I wear now. Says it tastes like wax.”
Marketing objective accomplished.
V.A.M.P. Cosmetics had grown from a small business to a major corporation by focusing on the sensual nature of their products. They had lotions that tingled when applied. Mascara that made even the skimpiest lashes look lush and sexy. Bath gel that smoothed over the skin like a lover’s silky touch. And lipsticks to spice up every kiss. Seduce your senses. That was V.A.M.P.’s creed.
“So
