“—and I wanted my clock radio and a box of Kleenex.”
“And that was the first prototype of these.”
“Last year we brought three-dozen screens and a dozen headboards and went home with enough orders to hire two people to help us,” Mai said proudly. “A carpenter and a painter.”
“And if we do good this year,” said Jeff, “we can maybe move out of the garage and get a real workshop.” They told me that this was the first time they’d rented an official showroom.
“Before, we’ve had open booth spaces across the street at Market Square. This year we can afford a real showroom. We may be small, but our quality is high and we don’t make promises we can’t deliver on.”
They gave me their brochure and an order form and I found the model number of the headboard I was sure would be perfect for my new house, whatever that house turned out to be.
“This is my first Market,” I said, circling the model number, “so I don’t quite understand why you think that guy was stealing your designs. Don’t you have a patent?”
They laughed and Jeff Stanberry said, “You
“All we can do,” said Mai Stanberry, “is try to land as many new accounts as we can before the big boys notice us.” She gave a winsome smile. “So! Does Home-Lite do a large volume in sleep products?”
Guiltily, I realized that my badge had misled them into thinking I was a buyer. “I’m afraid I’m not exactly a commercial customer.”
Jeff Stanberry gave me a wary look. “Hey, you’re not another exhibitor looking to knock us off, are you?”
“Nothing to do with the Market at all,” I assured him. “Someone gave me this badge so I could get into one of the parties upstairs. I’m actually a district court judge. And I really do like that headboard. Does anybody in the Raleigh area carry it?”
“Not yet,” said Mai. “But we’ve had nibbles.”
“If you land one, would you please have the store drop me a note? Or can I order from you directly?”
“Tell you what,” said Jeff. “If you’re going to be around till the end of the show next week, we’ll be selling these samples at wholesale so we don’t have to cart them back to the mountains with us. If you like, I’ll red dot the one you want and you can pick it up then.”
Before one of us could change our mind, I sent Reese a mental thank-you and reached into my tote bag for my checkbook.
Instead of my purse, though, my hand closed around a plastic bag of fried chicken.
5
« ^ » “
The Stanberrys stared while I slapped at my pockets in mild panic. All I needed to make this day complete was having to spend half the night on the phone trying to cancel all my credit cards.
My wallet is nothing more than a flat nylon-and-Velcro folder made to hold driver’s license, the usual set of cards and whatever paper money I happen to have on hand. When I travel, I usually stick it in an inside jacket pocket so that I don’t have to dig through my purse at the gas station or ATM.
Happily, my wallet was still there.
Unhappily, my car keys were with my purse and checkbook. Not to mention my cellular phone, lipstick, hairbrush and God knows what else.
“Something wrong?” asked Mai Stanberry.
“This isn’t my tote bag.”
Of course it had to be Savannah, the erstwhile Matilda McNeill Jernigan alias Louisa May Ferncliff alias Melissa Dorcas Pond or whatever that last alias was, who had taken my bag by mistake.
At least I
“
“
The Stanberrys were sympathetic once I convinced them that this wasn’t some sort of con game. They weren’t set up to take plastic, but they did agree to take my business card and a fifty-dollar deposit, which was all the cash I thought I could spare without hunting for an ATM.
By then it was two minutes till nine, and now I had to worry that Dixie might leave without me.
“Hey!” called Mai as I hurried down the hall. “I thought you wanted to get to the main elevators.”
“I do.”
“Then you’re going in the wrong direction. It’s this way. Come on, I’d better show you.”
