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From the hallway window she saw Sharlene crossing the street, carrying her crockpot. This was when Abby decided that the thing to do was to leave her a goodbye note. She was Abby’s one and only friend. And friends want to be involved. They want to help.
After she got back to her office and conspicuously arranged her fresh selection of office supplies, she took out her personalized, embossed company stationary, delivered along with another ten thousand business cards to her office a week earlier by a sneering Danielle.
“I really don’t know why you’d need this, or why the company spent over a thousand dollars on personalized paper products for you, but here you go,” she’d told Abby, dropping everything on the floor just inside her door.
Abby penned her note; it was mainly, but not entirely, about how she had the funniest story about Danielle that she couldn’t wait to tell Sharlene on Tuesday. She put the note in its matching envelope and sealed it up. Sharleenie the Weenie she wrote on the outside, in the bubbliest, happiest cursive she could produce. She drew a heart after her name. It made no sense. That was fine. She walked back to Sharlene’s desk, hidden in its own little corner, set the envelope on her chair, and pushed her chair in. No one back there noticed or cared what Abby was doing. People dropped things off on each other’s desks all the time. Most of the time they were glad it wasn’t something getting dropped off on their own desks, since it usually meant more work. Sure enough, the window was open a crack. Abby took a look down – the ground was about six feet below – and was amused to see cigarette butts scattered all over the pavement.
She went back to her office, grabbed her purse, and took a final last look around. Content with it all, she closed her office door like she did every Thursday afternoon. Sticking with patterns. Being predictable.
“See ya,” she said, sauntering past Danielle on her way out. Danielle was on the phone. In her usual dismissive style she waved, if it could be called that, without looking up. Abby wasn’t going to leave without at least some final eye contact.
“Seeee ya,” she repeated.
Danielle looked up in annoyance and Abby smiled. Waved goodbye. Her fingers were happy sprinkles of friendliness.
Bye Danielle mouthed to Abby.
Good enough. Abby went out the front door. Out on the hot street, she took one parting look. There was nothing classy about this place. Instead of some nice little sign, or a whole lot of elusive nothingness being on the outside of the building, a maroon and gold awning covered in bird poop broadcasted: Lorbmeer, Messdiem & Miller: Attorneys Who Fight For You!
To her surprise, she felt a little sad. She turned and walked away before that feeling had any room to grow.
Chapter 38
As soon as she was done with Krissa’s check-in call, Abby went into the kitchen to find her housekeeper.
“Esmeralda, right?”
“Si. Yes, ma’am.” The housekeeper looked up from unloading the dishwasher and smiled. Since Abby had given her those shoes, Esmeralda had a whole new attitude.
“I need you to do me a super huge favor. Our wine bottles are getting all icky and dusty, and I’d really like you to clean them. Could you do that for me today?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Wonderful. The thing about the wine collection is that Randall is really fussy about it. You can’t shake it up, and you can’t break any bottles, and even tilting them too much makes him kind of mad, so you have to be really careful. Can you handle that?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I knew you could do it. Have you been in our wine cellar?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Follow me. You don’t see a lot of wine cellars in Florida, but you know Randall. He’s quirky. He added this on. It’s not technically a cellar, but he likes to call it that since he’s Mr. Fancy Pants. Yep, right here through this hallway. You’ve probably never even been back here, have you? We don’t use it much. There’s one of our spare powder rooms. Do you need to use it?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Call me Abby. This is going to take a few hours. Do you need a snack first?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Okay. So here we are. Come on inside. It’s cold in here, isn’t it? Do you want a sweater?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Here. Take mine. I insist. There’s maybe, I don’t know, a thousand bottles or something like that. I’d like all the bottles carefully removed, the shelves wiped off, the bottles wiped off, and everything put back in its exact place. Use some damp cloths. Not drippy wet. Just a teeny bit damp. Got that? No cleaning products. That powder room we passed, the one we never use? There are plenty of towels and rags in there. You’ll find everything you need. And don’t forget: You’re going to need to keep this door shut the entire time because it’s temperature controlled in here.”
Esmeralda nodded. She looked a little put off by the scope of the project.
“Let’s gather everything you need to do this, so you don’t have to stop and start a hundred times. I really think we should get you a comfy chair to sit in. Do you want some music to listen to? You’re going to be in here for hours. Sorry there are no windows, but sunlight’s bad for wine.”
