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Liza smiled. “Works for me.”
“Great. You being from New York and all, I know this perfect little Italian place. Very authentic. Pietro’s.”
“Sounds right up my alley.”
“Thanks so much, Liza. I guess I never really thought that I had alternatives. And I just couldn’t imagine what I was going to do with all this inventory when I was forced out of the building.”
“Well, you’re not out yet. You might want to consider a buy-one-get-a-second-half-off sale to bring in the customers. And some sexier window displays than what you’ve got. Why not advertise a little more? Entice passersby with some paired pieces so they can see an entire ensemble and walk right in and ask for it in their size.”
“I do need to get more creative, don’t I?”
And a bit bolder. Show Lydia Bain she doesn’t own the street.
“Everybody has alternatives,” Liza assured Ginger as she collected her credit card and bag and turned to go.
“Monday, then?”
“You bet.” Liza was even looking forward to it.
As she left Ginger’s boutique and walked down the street toward the general direction of her car, she passed a quaint, burgundy awning-topped shop screaming the logo she’d been desperate to see the past few days. Cut-N-Color.
Hallelujah!
Grinning, Liza pushed open the glass door encased in white-washed wood and stepped into the large foyer that boasted full shelves of hair products. Her own personal heaven! She scanned the glass shelves for her favorite brand while voices from the back room drifted her way. She was ensconced in a small hallway as her eyes skimmed the labels. But she wasn’t so far removed that she couldn’t hear the conversation coming from the salon.
“I just ran right into Jack’s truck,” she heard a familiar voice say, and her ears instantly perked up.
Lydia Bain.
“I was so mortified,” she continued on. “Things just don’t distract me so that I can’t drive.”
“Ginger should know better than to put that kind of trash out on the sidewalk.” A different voice said. “What was that girl thinking?”
Liza’s temper flared again, but she tried to think strategically, rather than act impulsively.
The contingent agreed with Lydia and her friend. Liza lingered inside the foyer, her eyes on the shampoo bottles that were neatly arranged on the display as she debated her course of action.
“And she was with him,” Lydia continued on.
Liza’s brows jerked upward.
“The one Teddy said he saw at Jack’s saloon last night?” Another woman inquired in a high-pitched voice.
“The very one,” Lydia confirmed.
“Do you know Teddy said she was wearing green snakeskin high heels? Who owns shoes like that, I ask you?”
“Oh well,” Lydia said before making a disapproving tsking noise. “You should have seen her today when she got out of Jack’s truck.”
“Out of his truck!” one of the women exclaimed.
Lydia continued on. “She was wearing some skimpy, drapey, blue thing…so very inappropriate on a Saturday afternoon.” She paused dramatically, then added, “I’m telling you, that girl is like a disco ball at a wake.”
Liza’s jaw dropped and her temper finally did get the best of her. Grabbing a bottle of volumizing shampoo, she stalked into the room. She forced a calm, polite tone as she announced her presence.
“Excuse me, but there’s no price tag on this bottle. Can you please tell me how much it is?”
All eyes flicked to her. The expressions that greeted her were enough to make Liza snicker. They were so busted. And they all knew it.
