The election is over! I invite Bitsy to join me at the Riverside to get caught up and, quite simply, catch our collective breath.
I am glad to hear her say she’ll still be involved in Wanda’s term, but I’m equally glad to hear it won’t be daily. She hasn’t been around here much, and though I enjoyed the break, I’ll be glad to have her back.
She walks in, looking unusually fresh and rested.
“Well, you finally got some sleep, yes?”
She nods. “And my hair is done, too. All of that politicking, I forgot I needed a perm!”
She settles in and points to her favorite bottle of cabernet, which I’ve only just opened. “I’ll take one of those, please. You’re joining me, right?” She looks around. “We’re ahead of the lunch crowd.”
I nod and reach for a glass of Pinot Grigio.
In true Bitsy fashion, she tosses back her head, new curls bouncing, and raises her glass. “Here’s to a win!”
“Here’s to a win,” I say. We both sip.
“What would you like for lunch today?”
“Oh dear, I think a simple egg salad will do today. On rye, if you don’t mind.”
I place the order and walk it over to Cecil who gives Bitsy a wave.
“Mrs. M, how are you?”
“Greetings Cecil. Just fine. Nice to see you.”
She sits back in her chair and looks out the front window.
“We did good, you know?” I can tell she means it because she’s smiling across her whole face. Nothing fake, nothing put on – it’s a genuine sentiment. I’d never seen her like this.
“I mean, I love Shirley and all, but this is Wanda’s time. I can feel it.”
I lean onto a stool behind the bar and take a sip. “I think Shirley saw the opportunity in front of her and took it. You know, she took advantage, handing out business cards at Wanda’s after-party here and, in general, taking it all in. She came across well through the whole thing.”
Bitsy nods. “Yes, she did. A good sport that one. I have to say, I’m not sure Elyse was the one running her campaign – that woman strikes me as all over the place. They must have sparked somehow.”
“Well, we handled our money well, and I think the debate landed squarely for our side,” I tell her. “Shirley was not nearly as prepared for the debate as we were. I’m not saying Elyse was at fault necessarily. I’m just making an observation.”
I nod. “Agreed. Anyway,” I say, draining my glass. “Shall we chat a bit of business?”
Bitsy nods, draining her own glass. “Yes, and a refill, please.”
I oblige and pull my iPad out from under the bar.
Bitsy sits straight up in her seat. “Seriously, you don’t expect me to look at one of those things, do you? Why can’t we keep the books in an actual book, like a ledger?”
“Because it isn’t 1942,” I tell her. “Now, we need to get back together here – election’s over, summer’s here, this is a big part of the year, and we need to be organized.”
I tap around on the screen. I retrieve a P&L document I’d worked up the day before and hand her the device.
“You see that number?” I point to the bottom of the income column. She nods. “I thought for sure we’d be up 30 percent from that, with the election and the celebrations and all, but we aren’t. And we were busy, too. It’s not like people were eating anywhere else those days.”
Bitsy nods. “Okay, so what do you think?”
“I think we should update the menu, expand our cocktail offerings, maybe even hire another person,” I tell her. “Maybe start some programming – a music series, or maybe trivia, karaoke, contests?”
Bitsy sits back in her chair, her face shriveled like she’d eaten a bad piece of fish.
“Karaoke?”
Cecil breezes in behind Bitsy, egg salad in hand, and places it in front of her.
“Mrs. M, I’ve got a million ideas! A million, I’m telling you! I can set up a tasting and you can see what you think. How about that?”
Bitsy smiles. “Sure. Let’s do it. … Oh, you know, we can try out some new things on the book club. What do you think?”
“I’d love to see us invite one of the authors to come speak,” I say. “That could help you grow it, too. We could expand it and charge admission, then discount their membership.”
Bitsy is nodding profusely at this point. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“Perhaps we should think about setting up a private meeting room where clubs could gather,” I say. (I know I’m pushing the envelope here, but if we’re on the subject, I figure why not.) “We could look into investing in some renovations to create a separate dining room, one just off the river.”
The phone behind the bar rings, interrupting the revelry, and I answer.
“Riverside, Cassie speaking.”
“Oh great, Cass, hey, it’s Jill.”
“Jill …” I am not recognizing the voice. “I’m sorry, how can I help you?”
“Jill, your sister.”
“Oh my God! What … how are you? Where are you?”
She talks for several minutes about her status, the divorce she’s currently living through (I can’t remember if it’s second or third, and I don’t have the guts to ask). Her soon-to-be ex sure sounds like a pill, what with him being on Wall Street and all.
“So what can I do for you?” I ask, with trepidation.
“I’d like to come there and work, if possible, at the Riverside. There’s really nothing for me here and, until the settlement is set, I can’t really afford anything in the city on my own.”
Of course, she can come – I am receptive. We Cunningham girls have to stick together, particularly since neither of us can pick a husband.
“Yes, yes, yes … sure, please, come here. We’ll work it out. You can sleep on my sofa while we find you something more comfortable and semi-permanent.”
I look back toward the bar. Cecil is still kidding around with Bitsy, regaling her with food concepts. Bitsy looks in my direction.
“What is it dear?”
I cover the receiver. “My sister wants to move here. Mid-divorce. She’s going to stay on my couch.”
Bitsy waves her hands in front of her. “Nonsense. I have a whole house, and Mercury will be moving out at some point very soon, now that she’s done with her divorce. She’ll come stay with me. What’s her name?”
“Jill.”
Bitsy nods. “I’ll have a room prepared right away. When will she arrive?”
I return to the phone. “When are you coming?”
“Tomorrow,” she says on the other end. “If that’s okay.”
I look at Bitsy. “Tomorrow?” I ask.
She nods. “Yes, we’ll do it.”
I hang up the phone as Bitsy is putting on her coat.
“Bitsy, I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t be silly. You have, you give, you need, you take. This is life. Besides, change is good. And now I’m ready to talk renovations, fireside author chats, and Cecil’s new vegetarian lasagna. Yum!”
And just like a warm breeze in the summer, Bitsy is gone, Chanel No. 5 in her wake – and I have a new employee.