License to Shop (12 page)

Who knew my mother had a
little spy in her. Maybe I hadn’t fallen as far from the tree as I
had thought.

My checkout experience was
a little sad—the girl forgot to ask for my shopper’s card and she
didn’t say thank you and use my name (from the shopping card, which
I gave her since it offered me savings on several
items).

This wasn’t a reveal shop,
so I just smiled at her and thanked her as I made a note of her
name and the fact that she was not wearing the uniform jacket she
should have been.

I don’t know what happens
to those employees whose names I carefully document after my report
goes in. Sometimes, like today when someone like Cheri doesn’t pass
with flying colors I’m glad she’ll never know I’m the one who
ratted her out.

“
One store down,” I said to my mother, who was
waiting for me by the car.

“
That was more fun than I
thought.” She was almost gushing. “I hope you don’t mind, I picked
up some things I thought you might use for your dinner
party.”

“
Thanks,” I said,
wondering what she’d bought. I had paid little attention to the
actual groceries I’d bought because I’d been documenting the area,
and the checkout clerk’s actions.

“
Do you think you could
drop me off at your house, though?” she asked as we climbed back
into the car. “I need to freshen up before my
presentation.”

I made an ‘I’m sorry’
face. “I can’t. I’ll make it as quick as I can, though,” I
promised. I didn’t mention that unless time moved backward, we’d
end up having to stop to pick up the kids at school before we made
it home.

Taking out one of the
little clean-wipes she carried with her everywhere, my mother wiped
the dust off my dashboard as she asked, “How often do you do one of
these little shops?”

“
I try to do at least six
a week. Sometimes I do three in one day, so I don’t shop every
day.” It felt odd having my mother treat me as if she were
interested in what I did, even if she was cleaning the inside of my
car at the same time.

“
And they paid you fifteen
dollars to do this?” She wadded up the now very dirty clean-wipe
and put it into a small trash bag that — again — she always carried
with her.

“
They did.” Well,
technically, they would, once I submitted a report, Sue approved
it, and then — eventually, the paperwork made it’s way through the
company snake-like gut and my payment was disgorged. “It’s how I
make the grocery budget stretch,” I defended myself.

I chose a close parking
spot at the fancy new grocery store Paradise Farms, in the pretense
of trying to hurry. I liked shopping at Paradise Farms, even though
I couldn’t afford to shop unless they were paying me.

Mom said, “Don’t worry
about me, I’ll just wander around and meet you outside when you’re
done, Nancy Drew.”

“
Thanks” I grabbed the
second list Penny had helped me make. I had to supply cupcakes to
Anna’s class tomorrow. I had planned to bake them, but Paradise
Farms made cupcakes that doubled as works of art. Buying them would
save me an hour and probably delight the kids since I could get a
variety, rather than make all vanilla (which you had to do nowadays
because so many kids were allergic to chocolate).

Paradise Farms also had
gorgeous looking sugar-free treats for the kids who were allergic
to sugar. Easy on the eyes, hard on the pocketbook, we joked as we
made the list.

Despite my cleverly
scribbled list, things did not go as smoothly as I’d
hoped.

First, the meat department
had no London broil out on the rack. Part of the shop required an
interaction with the butcher, but if he had to make up an order of
London broil for me it would take more time.

I rang the bell for the
butcher—though it was hidden, I knew where it was from the last
times I’d had to ring it to satisfy my shop requirements. Of
course, it took a while for someone to come. I’d seen the guy in
the bloody white coat before and thought of him as “the
butcher.”

I glanced at his nametag.
Tom. Tom the Butcher. He didn’t look friendly. But then again, I
didn’t need friendly, I just needed to complete my shop questions,
and a nice London Broil for eight. No. Nine.

Tom had dropped a huge
slab of beef in order to answer my buzz on his buzzer. He had a
cleaver in one hand and the other, bloody one, he wiped on his
blood-smeared white smock. “London Broil? Can you give me a
minute?”

“
I have to get some
cupcakes and some vegetables,” I conceded. He was allowed to ask
for a minute to fulfill my order, but he was supposed to be nice
about asking. I was also allowed to walk away and return at the
specified time.

“
I’ll have it for you when
you get back.” He still didn’t smile. I wasn’t sure if he could,
his face had that stern look best captured in paintings like the
one of the dour couple with the pitchfork. Only Tom had a cleaver
and wasn’t in overalls, but a bloody white smock.

I picked up the cupcakes,
asparagus, and new potatoes, giving Tom the time he had requested.
Paradise Farms had the best produce in town, even if you did have
to hock a kidney to pay for it. To my chagrin, I noticed that the
extra time I thought I’d have before I needed to get the kids had
somehow slipped away.

I needed to hurry for
real, now. I was more relieved than surprised that Tom the Butcher
was also as good as his word. I spied the neatly wrapped London
Broil waiting for me on the “special order” shelf at the meat
counter.

My mother stood there,
talking to him. I froze. What was she doing? I edged closer, trying
to pretend I didn’t know her, and was just patiently waiting until
it was my turn to be helped.

Tom the Butcher turned and
saw me, and held up one finger to indicate I should
wait.

I heard my mother say,
“Really, just a little more fat off?”

He sighed, nodded, and
took my London broil into the back with him.

“
Where are you going,” I
asked him, still not acknowledging my mother.

“
This lady thinks I should
trim off just a little more.”

“
Oh.” I wanted to strangle
‘this lady’ if it wouldn’t totally blow my cover. “Thank
you.”

“
No problem.”

I turned to glare at ‘this
lady’ but she had disappeared.

The store wasn’t busy, and
since I had under ten items, I calculated I could manage a swift
checkout.

The little old lady ahead
of me, the same one who had run me over at the entryway, didn’t
seem to realize I was in a hurry. First, she noticed her jar of
honey had a broken seal. Then, when the clerk ran to get a new one,
she dithered for a long moment on whether or not she needed the
honey or not.

After counting out her
change, she gave the clerk (who was hopping from foot to foot with
impatience) a queenly wave of her hand to indicate he had her
permission to get a new honey. Which he did, pretty quickly
considering the honey was all the way at the other end of the
store.

Granny Slow Motion smiled
at me and said, “Everyone’s always in a rush these days. Can’t give
a body a moment to think.”

I wondered if she had
already forgotten that she’d almost knocked me over because I was a
little too slow at the entrance? “He’s young,” I said, in mock
sympathy, though I suspected she was deliberately baiting me to see
if I’d be one of the disrespectful young’uns and speak sharply to
my elder. I’d seen the game before. My mother played it sometimes
when she was annoyed at the person behind her in line for some
reason.

But I was in a hurry and
so I held my tongue. If I hadn’t, Granny Slow Poke was quite
capable of counting out her change five times “to make sure.” Like
I said, I’ve seen my mother play that game. I don’t know if her
grocery clerks know she always has an emergency hundred dollar
bill, in addition to four twenties for normal expenses. But if they
do, they don’t let on.

Finally, the clerk was
back with the honey, Granny checked out, and it was my turn. Good.
I checked the time. Anna wouldn’t have to worry that I’d forgotten
to pick her up. I might not be first on the pick-up line, but I
wouldn’t be last, either.

The cupcake pricetag/seal
caught and ripped right over the bar code. There was no beep and
there never was going to be from that one. I repressed a sigh as
the clerk smoothed out the label and squinted to read the bar code
numbers as he manually entered them as slowly as if he were
entering the code to get into Fort Knox for the gold and if he did
it wrong, he’d not only not get the gold, but get blown
up.

At last, I was free to go.
The school wasn’t far from the grocery store. I crossed my fingers
that my mother would be waiting by the car, and I wouldn’t have to
go searching for her. She was.

“
I hope you don’t mind.
That butcher didn’t trim the fat as closely as he should have. I
didn’t want fatty meat to ruin your dinner party.”

“
Thanks, Mom. We need to
hurry, though. Anna worries if I’m late to pick her up.”

“
You should plan your
schedule better, Molly. Then she wouldn’t have to
worry.”

“
The school is close,” I
said, ignoring her criticism.

Normally, I’m not fond of
the proximity because it is all-to-easy to stop in the morning or
the afternoon to pick up things we’d probably all be better off
without. Why is it that picking up milk always involves a renegade
bag of chocolate chip cookies?

“
We’ll be home as soon as
we stop by school. The kids will be so glad to see you.”

“
Children, Molly. You did
not give birth to goats.”

“
Could have fooled me,” I
said cheerfully.

CHAPTER TEN

My Mother the Minor Celebrity

It is an
odd thing to see your mother standing before an adoring crowd. Even
odder when your own children, your friends, PTA compatriots, and
neighbors are there, part of said adoring crowd.

I realized I didn’t always
give my mom credit where credit was due. Probably more than she
gave me, but still. She was pretty amazing.

She had set up a stack of
Hands-On Homemaker books in an attractive design, had directed Ryan
and Anna in unpacking the mugs and napkin rings she always brought
with her to sell, or randomly gift to an especially rabid
fan.

They were her willing
minions, and I tried to figure out exactly how she got them to do
what she told them, after only telling them once.

I was surprised, but
pleased, to see Deirdre. I had warned her about my hair, so she
didn’t even flicker an eyelid when she looked at me. I supposed a
heart surgeon was used to seeing some gruesome sights, so my hair
was not all that bad in the big scheme of things.

I was not quite as pleased
when Deirdre was followed in by Henriette Stubbs.

“
Dr. Stubbs, I didn’t know
you were a fan of Ariadne Dobbs.”

“
Why should you?” she
asked bluntly. “Dear heaven, what have you done to your
hair.”

“
A beauty shop mishap,” I
quipped lightly, with as much of a smile as I could manage. “I’ll
be getting it fixed next week.”

“
I can’t believe they let
you walk out of the shop with it looking like that.”

I couldn’t resist, “They
didn’t. It was much worse when I walked out of there. But a few
friends helped me make it slightly less awful.”

“
I see,” she said in a
tone that indicated she clearly did not. “You also read Ariadne
Dobbs?”

“
She’s my mother.” I said
it as casually as I could while also hoping it would ensure that I
would be hired as the new Admissions Counselor.

She did look impressed,
but then the library director tapped on the mic and told everyone
to take their places so the presentation could begin. I couldn’t
quite tell if she’d been impressed enough to guarantee me the
job.

I don’t like thinking it’s
who you know that gets you the job. But if my mom could help me, I
was willing to test the adage.

Watching
the Hands-On Homemaker, I learned a few things about how to get
stains out of almost everything, not to mention tie a napkin or a
small towel into four different animal shapes. I could tell that
everyone was quietly impressed that Ariadne Dobbs was my mother.
What I was impressed with was that, as her daughter, I’d never seen
this side of her.

Even Bianca was looking at
me as if I were slightly higher on the food chain than dryer lint.
I had not thought to see that happen, not since the day I managed
to spill chocolate ice cream on her dress in exactly the wrong
place. She might have forgiven me, if the entire kindergarten full
of children hadn’t burst out laughing and called her Poopy Skirt
all day.

And then a cell phone
rang. It was Dr. Stubbs’ phone. She looked embarrassed as she left
her seat. Her faux pas was rapidly repeated by the Dean, and then
by Seth.