His Uptown Girl

“No. Because I’m not buying you a new purse. Too much money and you’re lucky you have the Louis Vuitton. Your grandmother’s a generous woman, and I do not want you asking her for this money. It’s not a necessity.”

Silence sat like a bullfrog on the line.

“Blakely?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“No. Because you aren’t telling me what I want to hear. I know it’s selfish, but I really love it—it’s shiny pink with the cutest bow.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “And you’re a Phi Mu. Everything must be pink.”

“Of course,” Blakely said with a smile in her voice, something that gave Eleanor a dollop of joy. She missed teasing Blakely. She missed a lot about having her daughter home...at least the daughter she used to know. This one seemed so distant, so not like the Blakely she’d raised to be smart, selfless and independent. “But Grandmother would—”

“Honey, Margaret and Porter already pay half your tuition.” And, Lord, didn’t Margaret love to remind Eleanor. Didn’t matter the Theriots had paid the full bill on their other grandchildren, Margaret liked to remind Eleanor of the power they still possessed over her life in the form of their granddaughter, the last vestige of their precious angel of a son Skeeter.

“Fine,” Blakely said, her voice showing not total acceptance, but at least acknowledging the truth in Eleanor’s words. Blakely had turned nineteen several months ago, and had suddenly fallen victim to the spoiled New Orleans debutante her grandmother pushed her to be. Eleanor had done her best to ground her daughter, but it was hard for Blakely to resist the lavish gifts, the fancy school and the convertible BMW sent her way. The Theriots had money, position and shitty self-control when it came to their grandchildren.

“So, how’d you do on your last psychology test?”

“Okay,” Blakely hedged and Eleanor could almost see the panic in her daughter’s eyes. Blakely had always been a B student in high school and wasn’t a serious academic. “Hey, Mary Claire just texted me. We have to set up for the Kappa Alpha mixer, so can I call you later?”

“Sure. Have fun. I love you.”

“You, too,” Blakely said, hanging up.

Eleanor sighed and tossed the new invoices down onto the desk as Tre passed by.

“Hey, Tre?”

The boy stopped and shifted backward to look into her office. “Ma’am?”

“How was the game?”

His normally guarded expression softened as it always did when he talked about his younger brother. “He did good. Only seven goals, but he had a lot of assists. Word’s out about him and they double-teamin’ him.”

“That’s great.” She really liked Tre’s ten-year-old brother, Devontay “Shorty D” Jackson, who possessed more swagger than any hip-hop star and wore sunglasses à la Usher. Brash, funny and hiding a sweet heart behind his bravado, Shorty D was a favorite at the Queen’s Box. “Bring him by for doughnuts tomorrow after school.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that,” Tre said, glancing about as if he were in a prison warden’s office. Always guarded to the point of looking hunted, Tre was the opposite of his younger brother. Tre graduated from St. Augustine, a traditionally African-American boys’ school, over a year ago and was saving up for classes at Delgado Community College in the fall. So far, he’d been a good worker—respectful, industrious and trustworthy—but Eleanor still didn’t know him well because he rarely talked about himself.

“No deliveries this afternoon, but Pansy wants to rearrange the back room with the brass bed and steamer trunks, so if you’d give her a hand...”

“Sure.”

The phone rang and Tre backed out of the office, heading up front to where Pansy conversed with a customer who wanted a Tiffany-style lamp with a peacock shade. Eleanor answered the phone, hoping it was the guy from the glass company. “The Queen’s Box.”

“Well, about time you answered my call. You’d think you’d have more respect for your husband’s family.”

“Margaret,” Eleanor said, closing her eyes and banging a fist softly on her desk. Why hadn’t she checked caller ID?

“Yes. Your mother-in-law. Or have you already forgotten so quickly?”

“How could I?” Eleanor purposefully made her tone light...for her daughter’s sake. Blakely never saw past her grandmother’s veneer to the controlling nutcase beneath the cashmere sweater sets. Years ago, after a heated discussion with the Theriots, ending with Blakely in tears, Eleanor had promised to tolerate Margaret’s meddling, if only to keep the peace. “My shop was vandalized last night, and I’ve been quite literally picking up the pieces.”

“When will you let that store go? It’s been nothing but trouble—a complete money pit—and Skeeter left you more than comfortable. Why don’t you spend your time more wisely, working with the family charities and taking care of your daughter?”

Eleanor gritted her teeth and begged her temper to take a hike.

“What’s that noise?” Margaret asked.

“What? Oh, nothing. We’ve been over this before, Margaret. The Queen’s Box belongs to me. The insurance money and Skeeter’s trust have been set aside for Blakely when she’s of age. I can earn my own living.”

Barely.

“Stubborn mule,” Margaret quipped.

“Meddlesome cow,” Eleanor returned, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“What did you say?” Margaret squeaked.

“Oh, I didn’t mean you, Margaret. Sorry. I was talking to Pansy about an item someone wants to buy,” Eleanor said loudly, hoping like hell Pansy would hear and save her.

Like an angel, Pansy appeared in the doorway, holding up a finger to whoever stood at the counter.

“I found the cow creamer set! Sorry to bother you,” Pansy yelled.

“That’s okay. You didn’t know I was on the phone with my mother-in-law,” Eleanor said, pointing to the phone before slapping her hand once again over her mouth, this time to prevent laughter. Pansy grinned before ducking out. Sometimes it was a blessing that Pansy was nosy.

“You talk very loudly, don’t you?” Margaret said with ice in her voice. Eleanor wasn’t sure the older woman had bought her white lie.

But did it matter? Blakely was no longer living at home, and thus, the uneasy peace she’d kept between herself and her former in-laws seemed not as important. The Theriots made her unhappy, and she was tired of allowing their machinations to affect her outlook. Margaret knew how to suck the joy out of the happiest of occasions. “I wanted to discuss Blakely’s upcoming debutante season. I’m taking her to New York over spring break to shop for her wardrobe. I’ve already purchased airfare and secured a room at the Seasons.”

Eleanor closed her eyes and counted to ten. Margaret knew very well Eleanor was taking Blakely and a few of her friends to the beach over spring break. She’d told the woman last weekend when she’d dropped by to help plan a bridal brunch honoring one of the Theriot cousins. Margaret’s presumptuousness was another attempt to gain control of Blakely’s life.

“If you remember, Blakely and I already have plans. The cottage in Seaside I booked for a long weekend? I can’t—”

“You’ll have to cancel, of course. The parties will begin in the summer, and since I’m chairing the benefit for St. Jude’s this year and Justine’s getting married, I won’t have another chance to get away. We must have Blakely looking her best. She’s—”

“My daughter,” Eleanor finished, steel creeping into her voice. Eleanor knew very well Blakely was a Theriot and didn’t begrudge her grandparents that disclaimer, but Blakely was also a Hastings. Eleanor’s family was intelligent, hardworking and didn’t suffer put-on airs. Eleanor would be damned if she let Margaret turn Blakely into a soulless, snobby bitch. “I don’t mind you spending time with your granddaughter, but I’m standing firm on this. Ask Blakely about the last half of the break. Perhaps you can work something out.”

For a moment there was nothing but cold silence on the line.

“I should have called Blakely in the first place,” Margaret finally said with a sniff.

“No, you were right to call me.”

“But she’s old enough to make her own decisions, isn’t she?” Eleanor knew there would be trouble. And probably a new Valentino handbag on Blakely’s arm as part of the bribery.