Dinner at Sam's Read online

  Dinner at Sam’s

  A Ruby’s Novel

  DL White

  Copyright © 2018-2019 by DL White

  ISBN 978-1-7334150-1-9

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my Aunt Marilyn, whom I wish I would have known longer.

  And, as always, my family— especially my parents, who never stop letting me know how proud they are.

  I love you all.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  About the Author

  Also by DL White

  Acknowledgments

  Writing is such a solitary act, but many on the outside don’t know that it takes a village to write a book.

  Thanks to my village. I am indebted to you!

  Prologue

  Excerpted from Brunch at Ruby’s:

  * * *

  Maxine

  * * *

  I pass an open, lit office and don’t think anything of it. It’s not unheard of for an agent to be working past six o’clock. After all, I’m still in, as is Virgil.

  A sniffle and half of a sob makes me stop in my tracks. I’m late. I don’t have time, but I double back anyway and stick my head into Vanessa’s office. She’s at her desk, which faces the door, but she’s turned away, her head in her hands. She sniffles again.

  “Hey. Vanessa. What’s up?”

  Her head pops up and she nearly jumps out of her chair. “Maxine! I didn’t know you were still here.”

  “I was just leaving. Are you alright?”

  Her face falls like she’s going to start crying again. “I just got some bad news.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  I’ve loved hearing her laughter waft down the hall into my office, but the chuckle she gives me isn’t her usual fun and bubbly quality. It’s sardonic and gritty.

  “Unless you can work some kind of miracle? I’m fucked.” She gulps, her eyes flying up to my face to see if I’ve frowned at her utterance. “Sorry.”

  I ease into her office and take one of the seats across from her desk. Her office is simple and tasteful, minimal without being plain. She’s orderly and likes clean surfaces. Except for her computer, a file organizer, a three line office phone and a few framed photos, her desk and credenza are clear of clutter.

  “You’ve been quiet, I’ve noticed. Is there something going on?”

  She shakes her head, moaning. “My husband. Soon to be ex-husband, rather. He’s been living... what do they call it? A double life?”

  “What's that? A double life?”

  “He’s having an affair. Well, it’s more than an affair. It’s like he’s with me and her. And here I thought I was his one and only.”

  She sniffles, leans over to grab the handles of her purse and rummages around in it until she produces a packet of Kleenex. She pulls one cloth from the plastic case and dabs at her eyes and nose.

  “He’s a salesman. Technology, cloud computing, all those buzz words. Business is booming, he says. He has all these business trips he needs to go on. Clients to schmooze. Deals to close. He’s gone for weeks at a time and he’s always on the phone, it seems like. I never even thought to question him. Everything was always taken care of.”

  Her lip quivers and her nose flares and tears fill her eyes again. “They have a house together, Maxine. They take vacations together–vacations he and I planned but he could never get the time off of work. Meanwhile, our mortgage and our family and the life we built together-he left it all behind. I don’t know which life is fake and which is real.”

  “How did you find out about this? About her?”

  She sighs, wiping away the streaks of mascara from under her eyes and down her cheeks. “He always handled the finances. He opened the mail and paid the bills. He's just always taken care of everything. I never had to worry. I never thought to save any money. That was for me and the kids and fun things.

  "Anyway, a few months ago, one of the kids picked up the mail. I happened to flip through it and some envelopes looked serious.”

  With bated breath, I wait for the dramatic reveal. Paternity results? A welfare check? STD Test?

  “We were in foreclosure. Thousands in arrears, plus late fees and interest. I almost passed out.” She pauses and sniffles, taking another swipe with the wad of Kleenex clutched in her palm.

  I’m almost afraid to ask. “And the others? What were they?"

  “Notices from the IRS for back taxes. We file separately. He said that made more sense because of his business expenses. It turns out it's because he doesn't like to pay taxes. He hadn’t paid them in years. He’s into the government for almost fifty grand. That’s where I lost it. What if they come after me? I don't have fifty-thousand dollars!

  "I confronted him and he swore on the bible, on our kids, on his mother’s grave that it was a mistake. He’d take care of it. Well, I started snooping and finding things, stuff I hoped I wouldn’t find and didn’t want to believe, but it was right there in my face. He always said he didn’t believe in Facebook, but he has a profile where he’s connected to her. This woman. Jasmine.

  "They have friends and a social life. Barbecues and couples nights and last spring, when our youngest had her kindergarten graduation and he said he had a conference he couldn’t miss because he was the Keynote Speaker?" She huffs. "He was at happy hour with her and their friends at Davio’s.”

  I’m floored. Jaw on the floor, limbs numb, speechlessly floored. “Wow. So bold.”

  “He was always too busy to do anything with me or our kids. He always had to work. Now I know what he was working on. How does he even live with himself?”

  “His day planner must be serious.” I instantly want to take back my snide comment but Vanessa laughs.

  “He’s mega organized, obsessive about planning. That’s why I couldn’t believe he hadn’t paid the mortgage. You don’t forget to pay the mortgage six months in a row.”

  “So today you got some bad news?”

  She sniffles, the corners of her mouth pointing toward her chin. “Our house is scheduled to be sold at auction. I was hoping I could save it, but after the bank kicked me and the kids out, I've had a hard time getting back on my feet."

  Vanessa sucks her teeth and sighs. "I love that house," she moans. My heart almost breaks. "It was the first piece of property I owned. We bought it together.”

  “The first piece of property you bought with this man and he let it go under? For some other hot thing? That’s we call a sign. Now you get to find a place that’s all your own, that you will love just as much or more because it’s yours. And that will happen in no time at all because your listings are selling–”

  She snickers. “None of that matters with this foreclosure on my credit. He shut off our cards, drained our accounts and he's gone... everything's gone. I sold everything I could, pawned my jewelry, put my nice
clothes into consignment. The kids and I are in my aunt’s basement. I don’t know what to do.”

  She starts to warble again, but I reach across the desk and lift her chin so she can see me. “What’s this bastard's name?”

  “Warren.”

  “Is Warren Jackson is sitting around, crying because the house got sold and his marriage is over and his credit is bad?”

  She shakes her head. “I know you want to drown your sorrows and feel sorry for yourself, but you don’t have time for that. Good riddance to bad rubbish, Grandma Elise used to say. You get yourself together and get back on your feet. Show Warren he might bring you down, but he didn’t take you out. You have children?”

  She nods. "Two girls."

  “They’re going to need you to be strong and press on. You can do this. I might not know exactly what you’re going through, but I’ve been through some things in my life. Tomorrow, we’ll do lunch and I’ll tell you all about it. And we’ll work on a plan to get you where you need to be.”

  I stand and hook the strap of my bag over my arm. “For now, go wash your face and gather your things. Go be with those girls. There’s more to life than work and they need you more than Donovan does right now.”

  Chapter One

  Vanessa

  * * *

  “Sam’s Bar and Grille. Sam speakin.'”

  My uncle's voice, even over the phone, had always been a salve to my soul. Slightly soft, slightly gritty, like low grade sandpaper. He owned Sam’s Bar and Grille, home of his popular, well-seasoned and fried-to-order chicken wings. Though we tried not to refer to his wings as famous— we’d never hear the end of it— people had been known to get hooked on his special spice blend and drive from far and wide to the heart of Decatur, Georgia, which made Uncle proud.

  I would have smiled upon hearing him in my ear, but I was in a terrible mood.

  “Hi, Uncle; It’s Vanessa.”

  “Hey, Lil’ Girl! You don’t sound so good.”

  “The car died on me, in the middle of interstate traffic. I need to pick up the girls from the after-school program and they’re going to charge me for being late and I don’t even know what’s wrong with this car but I know I can’t afford to fix it and–”

  “Hold on, hold on, hold on. I’m an old man, you know. Deaf in one ear and can’t hear out of the other one. You say you’re stuck somewhere? In this rain?”

  “Yes, in this rain,” I answered, watching the torrential downpour from inside the car. I had stood outside with my head under the hood, like I knew what I was looking at or how to fix it. I finally came to my senses and got back in the car.

  Now I was wet and stranded. “I don’t know what Roscoe did to the car the last time I took it to the shop, but whatever it was didn’t stick. Now I can’t get to the girls–”

  “I said hold on, now!” Sam’s tone was gruff but his bark was worse than his bite. He wouldn't even kill spiders. Out of respect for him, though, I pressed my lips together so I couldn’t say another word. “Tell me where you are. I’ll send Roscoe to you with the tow truck."

  I gave him my location, with landmarks to help my cousin find me. I heard him growl out the order on a two-way radio he keeps at the restaurant for just such an occasion. A few squawks on the other end confirmed my rescue was en route, and even if it was my slow-footed cousin, I was relieved.

  "We got that settled; now what about the girls?”

  “They’re at Kid Care on Claremont. They have to be picked up by six o'clock or they charge me extra." I glanced at the face of my watch and groaned. "If Aunt Marilyn could–”

  “She’ll pick them up. Have Roscoe drop you over to the house. Stay warm and dry. Help is on the way.”

  Help is on the way. How many times had my uncle uttered that phrase to me in my lifetime?

  My head was heavy as I tipped it back against the headrest and watched rivulets of water squiggle down the windshield. Today's rescue would add another hash mark to the hundreds of hash marks I’ve counted over my twenty-eight years, a never-ending cycle of my aunt and uncle coming to my rescue. First when my mother died, later when I rebelled against their strict upbringing and did everything a respectable young lady shouldn’t do.

  And much later, when my husband left me and our daughters with a mountain of debt, a foreclosed home and a car that needed more than prayer and duct tape to hold it together, Auntie and Uncle had come to save us, moving us from a near palatial estate on the outskirts of town to a daylight basement in their house.

  I was still an agent at Donovan Luxury Realty. Maxine Donovan— Glass since she got married— owner and principal agent, knew the whole story of how Warren was living a double life, somehow married to me and building a life with another woman. She’d given me a lot of leeway, but I could tell her patience was running thin.

  Honestly, so was mine. I needed to get my life together.

  A few months ago, I was able to move the girls and I to a two bedroom condo, not far from Auntie and Uncle, and a few blocks from Sam’s, so we still saw them often. Once I divorced that son of a bitch Warren Jackson, the future would be bright.

  The loud rumble of the tow truck startled me as it passed, then pulled off the interstate and backed up to my car. When the brake lights glowed and the driver's side door opened, I grabbed my bag and got out of the car. The downpour had eased, but raindrops still pelted us from above.

  Roscoe wore his usual uniform, blue overalls permanently smudged with motor oil. "Go ahead and get in!" He yelled over the sounds of traffic speeding by. "I'll strap her up and we'll get going."

  I ducked around the rear of the white truck with the Roscoe's Auto Repair logo on the side and climbed up into the cab. I was relieved to be sitting in a heated vehicle, but regretted inhaling so deeply once I was in and settled. The truck smelled like old hamburgers and feet. I rolled the window down an inch to breathe in the fresh air from outside.

  A few minutes later, my Audi was hitched up to the truck and Roscoe climbed inside. He put the truck in drive, waited for an opening and slammed his foot on the gas, shooting us into traffic. I braced myself against the dashboard with one hand while I pulled the seatbelt across my lap.

  "Take it easy, Roscoe! Are you trying to kill us?"

  He grinned, both hands gripping the large steering wheel, the radio crackling in the background. His other tow truck drivers were having a lively conversation over the airwaves. He reached above his head and turned a small dial, which quieted the cackles and rowdy conversation.

  "So, what happened this time?"

  "Same as last time. I lost everything. Engine, power steering…everything. I barely got it to the shoulder. I thought you fixed the…” I flapped my hand around in the air, gesturing toward the engine of the truck. “You know… the thing."

  Roscoe laughed. “I thought I fixed the thing too. I told you I don't know nothin’ about German cars. I did the best I could."

  "I know," I grumbled, folding my arms across my chest. "I don’t want to take it to the dealership but I might have to. What if I had a showing today? What if I had a closing? I can't be late to a meeting with DJ Fresh Beats because my car decided not to work."

  "You sellin' a house to DJ Fresh Beats?"

  Occasionally, I forgot who I was talking to and dropped a name. Dre Prescott, as he was known off-stage, was a DJ turned record producer who'd won a Grammy for his work on an R&B artist's debut single. He decided he needed a home large enough to house a studio. Since he was making royalties hand over fist, he wanted something over the top.

  Of course, he called Donovan. And of course, Virgil, Maxine’s assistant and office manager, assigned him to me. For no reason, other than my relative youth and proximity to popular culture, I was assigned to the clients who were around my age group and so rich they didn’t know what to do with themselves. Unfortunately, Dre didn’t make a move without the approval of his mother and girlfriend and between the three of them, I hadn't made any progress.

  "Tryin
g to. If his mama and his girl would stay at home, we could get somewhere. My point is, I need a reliable car." I sucked my teeth and propped my elbow up on the windowsill, glaring at nothing. "I think I'm going to have to break down and take it in."

  "You know the dealership is going to rob you blind."

  I bounced my glare from passing traffic to the pudgy, dimpled man in the driver's seat. "Getting it fixed for free isn't doing me any good, is it?"

  "Guess not. But I was just saying; be ready for that bill. If I can’t fix it, it’s something fancy. And fancy means a fifty-dollar part and twelve hours of labor at you can’t afford that prices.”

  He flipped his blinker and pulled off at an exit, then slowed as we entered a familiar residential area. "I'm taking you to mom and dad’s, right?"

  I nodded and rode along as he navigated the narrow streets in the wide truck, eventually stopping in front of a modest brick ranch with two magnolias shading the front yard and a red Cadillac in the driveway.

  "You don't want me to do anything to the car, then?"

  Under my breath, I cursed Warren, as I had a hundred thousand times since I found out about his other life. I hated feeling helpless.

  "Take a look, I guess. If it's not simple, don’t mess with it. I’ll have you tow it to Audi." I climbed out of the truck and walked up the driveway to the front door. Before I could reach for the knob, the door swung open and two little brown girls spilled out of the house.