Four To One

By Mary Gant Bell

Ava planned to get her life together once she found time to take a breath. She spent every minute racing from one responsibility to the next, working double shifts just to make ends meet. Her goals of marriage and children raised in a home with a yard disappeared when her sister left town. Now it fell to Ava to take care of everyone else. Everyone but herself. Her schedule, or finances, didn’t allow opportunities to meet a man, no less find time to convince him that she was worth the trouble.
Bradford William Truman IV possessed enough money to hire an army of people to run his business. Except he lacked the ability to release control of his family’s dynasty to anyone. His career demanded his full attention, leaving no time for personal relationships or romance. If not for his mother’s nagging to produce an heir, he’d live the bachelor life until his dying breath. Or until he met a woman who could be a suitable life partner.
Could their chance encounter redirect both their futures? Or would family obligation and duty keep them isolated in their own worlds, destined to lament their unfulfilled dreams?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781312812475

Book preview

Chapter 1

The bell above the door announced the arrival of a new customer. Ava’s face sprung into a programmed smile. As automatic as dogs sniffing trees.

Take a seat. I’ll be right with you. Ava’s smile stayed in place as she delivered the breakfast orders to table seven. Pancakes, sausage, sugar-free syrup, orange juice, and coffee. The mayor and his wife ordered the same thing every Sunday.

When are you going to visit our church, Ava? Margorie, the first lady of Newley, asked this question every week.

I went to early service at my church. I can’t take all of Sunday off. Without the tips from generous church-going folks like you, I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent.

Are you implying that you’re capitalizing on our devotion to God? The mayor poured syrup over his pancakes.

No, sir. But whenever you good Christians leave your guilt dollars on the table, I’m going to pick them up. Ava heard the mayor chuckle as she returned to the kitchen. She’d successfully convinced herself that she didn’t need to be inside a church building all day Sunday in order to feel God’s presence. He remained by her side everywhere she went. Besides, even if she spent every hour of every Sunday in church, the mayor would make the same comment. The long-standing joke was one more thing in Ava’s life that never changed.

Ava? Myrtle, the owner of the diner and her boss, glared at her. Fix your hair. Nobody wants your unruly curls in their waffles.

The bell above the door chimed again. Ava automatically plastered a smile on her face and said, Take a seat. I’ll be right with you.

I’ll be at my usual chair. No rush.

Joe. If she’d been paying attention to the clock instead of the ache in her feet, Ava would’ve known he’d be walking through the door. With all the windows in the front of the diner, she should’ve seen him coming.

Ducking into the tiny restroom, Ava closed the door and leaned against it. She squeezed her eyes shut and released a groan of frustration. Joe. Why wouldn’t he get the hint? What could she say to make him understand?

Ava shook her shoulders, as though she could dislodge him from her life. One look in the mirror reminded her it was once again time to cut her hair. If she could afford it, she’d go to the beauty shop and have a professional cosmetologist subdue it into a very short bob. One that wouldn’t escape the million bobby pins and anger her boss. But even the generous tips she’d receive today wouldn’t stretch past the utility bill to reach the hairdresser. Bobby pins won again.

Meeting her own eyes in the mirror, Ava said, You can do this. Go out there and tell him it’s time to move on. Hiding in the bathroom long enough for Myrtle to take Joe’s order and deliver his meal wouldn’t solve the problem. Joe didn’t come here for the food.

Except Joe would disagree. His explanation habitually circled back to …

The knock on the door made her jump, dislodging more curls from the other side of her cap. Ava. Folks looking for coffee refills.

I’m coming. Without regard to appearance, she stuffed her hair back into the pins. The look gave a whole new definition to ‘fussy bun.’ Until she got home and found her scissors, this was the best she could manage. Hopefully, it wouldn’t impact her tips.

With her cheeks firmly stretched across her face, Ava picked up the coffee pot on her way to the counter. Joe’s hopeful eyes studied her as she filled his cup. I’ll bring your usual after refreshing everyone’s coffee.

No hurry.

Even though he didn’t say it, Ava still heard the words as loudly as if he’d yelled them in her ear, I’m happy to sit here and watch you all day long. They lingered in the air.

Joe.

While he pretended to ignore her, Ava waved goodbye to the last of the regular customers. Her apron pocket carried enough to finance the rest of her rent and maybe half the utility bill. If she worked double shifts for a few days, she might be able to keep the lights on.

All you have to do is ask. Joe twirled his mug.

Excuse me? Ava wiped the counter and topped off his coffee. She knew he wouldn’t leave until the end of her shift.

How much do you need?

Oh, Joe. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t take your money.

I saw you fingering the cash in your pocket. The scowl on your face means it’s not enough. Joe reached for his wallet.

We’ve been over this too many times to count. I’m not taking your money.

You can’t live in the dark. Joe laid out enough cash to cover double his bill.

I’m only home long enough to sleep anyway. Who needs lights when their eyes are closed? Ava refused to acknowledge the tip he’d left even though she’d counted it as she slid it in her pocket.

You need air conditioning. The nights are still too warm. No one can sleep on sheets wet from sweat.

When you’re as tired as I am, it’s easy. Ava couldn’t say that out loud. Especially not to Joe. I’ve been sleeping at Granny’s lately. I keep the temps cool for her to be comfortable.

How is Granny? Myrtle asked, reminding Ava secrets didn’t exist in Newley.

Not good. She’s trying to hold on, but it gets tougher every day.

Well, she’s lucky to have you. Myrtle patted Ava on the shoulder and disappeared into the kitchen. She’d help her husband, Buck, prepare recipes before the dinner crowd arrived. Ever since they’d opened the diner, Buck remained behind the grill filling orders while Myrtle managed the customers. Ava envied their marriage … when she had the mental energy to think about it.

Just like I’m lucky you’re planning my bachelorette party. Brittney bumped her hip against Ava’s as she gathered dirty dishes from the counter.

Ava rubbed her forehead. Remind me again why your maid-of-honor isn’t doing that? How did I get roped into it?

"You’re the only one organized enough to think of every detail. Without you, we’d end up in my mother’s living room watching a movie on the television. That’s not how I want to celebrate my last night of freedom."

Brittney and the dirty plates disappeared into the kitchen. Ava looked at Joe and smirked. What makes her think I know anything about how to arrange a wild and crazy night in the big city? Brittney insists we go to Houston. I haven’t been more than two miles from home in the past five years.

It’s about time you had some fun then. This is the perfect opportunity to let your hair down.

Unconsciously, Ava adjusted the pins in her curls. I’m not even in the wedding party.

Why not enjoy the ride? Especially since Brittney’s paying for it.

How did you know …?

The bell over the door chimed, providing the perfect opportunity to end this conversation. The fact of the matter was she hadn’t done anything yet to create the night Brittney expected. She had so many other worries on her plate that babysitting a bunch of drunk girls who barely counted as her friends got shoved to the bottom of the list.

Herding a wedding party from bar to bar. Tiptoeing around Joe’s emotional expectations. Changing Granny’s diapers. Caring for her own mother. Filling customer orders. Keeping Myrtle happy with her job performance. Babysitting the neighbor boys when their mother needed a break. The number of people depending on Ava to keep moving never ended. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had time for herself. Or even a few consecutive hours.

She handed a menu to the newcomer and fingered the top button on her blouse as she turned away. Did Brittney’s cleavage earn her that much more in tip money that she could afford such a lavish wedding? Was reliable electricity worth the price of exposing herself that way? One voice in her head accused her of being a prude. The other one, the voice that sounded like her father, reminded her that if she lived according to the flesh, she would die.

Securing her button, Ava decided she’d rather live without electricity than die. Even if that life included avoiding Joe.

∞∞

Brad ignored the phone when it rang. His secretary would answer it, take a message, and make sure he received the message promptly. The clock above his office door ticked off the seconds as predictably as the sun rose each day. The imported rugs artfully positioned on the hardwood floors muffled the outdoor sounds on the other side of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Sometimes, his secretary caught him standing in front of those windows. She probably assumed he watched the activity of the park across the street with its energetic joggers darting around tree limbs. The truth was his thoughts turned inward, searching for solutions to company problems or contract negotiations. His habitual train of thought.

The stack of paperwork on the corner of his desk fit in the category of predictable as well. No matter how many pages he read or documents he signed, the pile remained. It laughed at him when he considered leaving the office each night.

Silently, the office door opened. Kay said, Fifteen minutes, Mr. Truman. She disappeared as soundlessly as she’d arrived.

Brad continued working.

Fourteen minutes later, he closed the folder, set his pen in its mahogany holder. He stood for the first time in two hours, stretching his arms above his head. As his neck cracked, Kay returned. She handed him his suit jacket and an envelope. Everything you need is in here. Warren has the car waiting for you.

Brad stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Why do you tell me that every time I leave?

Kay shrugged and folded her hands in front of her. If it bothers you, I’ll stop.

I only mean that you are so efficient and organized that I trust everything is in order. I feel no need to open this envelope and double check its contents before leaving. Brad attempted a friendly smile. In other words, I know what you are saying is accurate without needing to hear the words.

Kay responded weakly, Thank you.

Brad didn’t hear her. He was already halfway to the car. His mind focused on the meeting ahead.

As he expected, Warren stood waiting to open the car door. Brad admired the leather as he slid into the back seat. He’d sold his limousine last year, opting for this more maneuverable town car. Warren, his driver, no longer struggled to find adequate parking. Brad calculated this saved him at least sixty minutes a month. Yes, this town car had been a wise investment.

Unfortunately, he expected little benefit from his dinner meeting tonight. Why did people think they had to eat in order to discuss business? If they hoped to distract him and use food to manipulate him into submission, they were sadly mistaken. Brad considered himself far too shrewd of a business man to fall for those tricks.

Kay frequently brought lunch to his desk. Her belief suggested food nourished the brain, causing people to think more clearly. In Brad’s experience, it only covered important documents with crumbs. Food could wait until business concluded. He felt the same about hard liquor.

Pushing thoughts of meat and vegetables aside, Brad turned his brain to the purpose of tonight’s meeting. The premise was simple, really. He wanted to retain exclusive rights to his designs and receive a favorable price on the products necessary to assemble them. Anyone who couldn’t comprehend the validity of those requirements shouldn’t sit at the negotiation table. There were plenty of other suppliers. If this dinner didn’t go as planned, he’d pursue others until he got what he wanted. At the price point he demanded. If tonight’s representative proved unacceptable, the delay of replacing him caused Brad’s jaws to clench. But Brad was used to getting what he wanted. By the time dessert arrived, he’d have the signatures and commitments he sought.

Then he’d return to his condo and relax. Whatever that meant.

As CEO and owner of Modest Unmentionables, Brad accepted the weight of responsibility that came with the title. Not only the obligation to turn a profit every quarter. But also the expectation to breathe life into the family dynasty. In the first years after his great-grandfather opened the doors, they’d sold laces, ribbons, and fabrics. As the 1920’s began roaring and women let their hair down, production shifted to discreet lingerie. Brad recalled his grandfather’s stories about how World War II impacted manufacturing plants as well as people’s disposable income. War widows stopped buying risqué unmentionables. This caused his grandfather to focus more on slips and camisoles, things worn by older widows hunting for second husbands. When his father inherited the business, he shifted his marketing toward the upper-class ladies and his production toward fulfilling desires. Post war women were tired of living on bare necessities. His father had provided high-class options. Now it was Brad’s turn to adjust to the market and preserve the family legacy.

Maintaining the modest in their company’s mission statement grew increasingly more difficult each year. By some accounts, women had replaced their shirts and tank tops for bras and camisoles. Brad’s most urgent task remained convincing customers that modesty mattered, that underwear should remain under outerwear hidden from view.

His determination never wavered.

Brad smiled at the hostess as he entered the restaurant. He couldn’t help but notice the longing in her eyes. He’d seen it a million times before. He possessed that dreamy sort of tall, dark, and handsome that women seemed to desire. At least that’s what they claimed. In reality, all they truly required was his bank account. And his willingness to share his credit card with them.

Why didn’t women think about the future? What did their psyche lack that caused them to sell their souls for immediate gratification? If Brad were looking for a mate, he’d be thinking long term. The woman would have to have all the qualifications to make her the perfect life-long partner, not just one night of fun on his bill.

No, the hostess gazed at him just like all the rest of his miserable dates. She’d settle for the exterior package, not the internal character. She’d be happy with a handful of years chasing the dream instead of waiting for the right man to be her happily-ever-after.

Brad didn’t want any part of that.

His lifestyle reflected that as well. He’d moved into the penthouse condo a couple years ago, allowing his secretary to purchase and position the necessary furnishings. She’d done an excellent job, as he knew she would, accommodating his minimalistic tastes. His home contained everything he needed to be functional and comfortable. The uncluttered space kept his mind clear to focus on work.

Business remained the only thing that mattered. Building his empire and expanding the production lines consumed every waking minute. His professional schedule left zero time for friends or entertainment. Even if he wanted to socialize for pleasure, there weren’t enough days in the week. Too many evenings ended like this one – dinner while negotiating a contract. It wasn’t his fault no additional time remained to develop friendships.

Or romantic relationships.

The hostess stopped at the table where his business associate waited. He shook hands with the man. As he made himself comfortable in the chair, he graced the hostess with one last smile. No reason to be rude.

Pushing the memory of the stars in her eyes out of his brain took one heartbeat. Shifting into business mode removed the weight from his shoulders, creating his preferred comfort zone.

The steak and baked potato were almost as enjoyable as securing the terms he’d expected. When dinner ended, Brad mentally patted himself on the back as Warren held the car door for him. Yes, he loved his job. And he excelled at it. He’d taken a successful business and doubled its profit margin in just five years. Imagine what he could accomplish in the next five?

The very thought made his heart sing.

Chapter 2

Ava scanned the dining room one last time. Her feet ached, but it didn’t matter. If she kept moving, she’d finish everything she needed to do before the dinner rush hour.

You have everything set for tomorrow night, right? Brittney used her reflection on the stainless pie cabinet to check her lipstick. We only have the limo for six hours, so you’ll need to keep us on track. Everyone has a favorite bar they want to hit.

Actually, I canceled the limo. Ava averted her eyes. She’d hoped to avoid this conversation.

You did what? Brittney forgot all about her lipstick.

It’s a lot cheaper to get a room at the hotel and celebrate there. Safer, too. None of us want to spend the night in the back of the limo dealing with traffic. We want to party.

We want to party alright. Just not in one place all night long. How do you expect us to hit all the bars without a driver?

Think about it. A year from now, what do you want to remember about your bachelorette party? Arguing with me about when it’s time to leave so you don’t miss any of the places on your list before bar time? Or being with your best friends, enjoying each other and playing as many drinking games as possible? Besides, if everything goes as planned, I’ll be the only one who knows where we are anyway. The rest of you will be so drunk, one place will look the same as the rest.

You might have a point there. We’re still going to Houston though, right? I can’t host a bachelorette party in small-town Newley. I have my heart set on going to the big city. Houston or bust!

Of course, we’re going to Houston. I’ve arranged a table at that dance club you’re always talking about. We’ll get a top-notch waitress who will keep our glasses full. It’s going to be amazing. Ava smiled brightly. At the end of the night, we can all go to the hotel room and crash. Safe and sound without any hassle. Just incredible memories and incriminating photos.

You might be on to something. Brittney tilted her head back and forth as she considered the idea. Fine. We’ll do it your way. But it better be the most talked about bachelorette party in history.

Ava hid her disgust until Brittney walked out the door. Then she stomped her foot and let loose a wail. How do I get myself into these situations?

You’re too nice, Myrtle said, removing her hair net. Someday you’ll learn how to say no to folks when they try to take advantage of you.

I’ve been accused of being the one taking advantage of Brittney. A night on the town at her expense.

You’re not even in the wedding party. Myrtle patted Ava’s shoulder. You don’t have to agree to everything everyone wants from you.

Tell that to my mother. Ava huffed and glanced at her watch. If she calls looking for me, tell her I’m mowing Jim’s lawn before stopping by her house.

Your car acting up again?

Jim’s taking care of it. Only cost me three weeks of yard service. Pretty good deal if you ask me. I can’t hear anyone asking for favors over the noise of the lawnmower. Ava snickered as she opened the door. See you at four for the dinner crowd.

I’ll check on Granny this afternoon for you.

You don’t have to do that. It’s my responsibility.

No. Actually it’s not. But I won’t bother you about that just now. If I take care of Granny, you’ll have time to shower before coming back here. Don’t want you running my customers off because grass clippings fell into their meatloaf.

Ava dropped her chin and acquiesced. Thanks, Myrtle. You’re very kind. Regardless of what other people say about you. With a quick wink, Ava walked into the sunshine and heard Myrtle lock the door behind her.

Story of my life. Walking away from locked doors. When will the future be in front of me?

Ava strode the four blocks to Jim’s home. She appreciated that he repaired her car, yet again, without charging her cash money for his labor. But how much longer would he be able to keep the thing together? So far, she’d successfully buried her stress under the reality that everything in Newley was a short walk. Every place she needed to go, anyway. Thinking about how much she could save on insurance if she sold the car, Ava almost walked right past Jim’s house. If the stray cat who lived in his garage hadn’t rubbed her leg, she’d be two blocks past before noticing.

Cute kitty. Time for me to do my duty to save a car I don’t want or need. Seems I only keep it because no one would buy it. Not even for parts. Ava headed toward Jim’s garage with the cat following closely behind.

Mowing soothed her brain. As she concentrated on straight rows and not missing any spots, all other troublesome thoughts disappeared. When people she knew passed by, she waved. No one expected her to stop her work to listen to their life stories. Ava wondered how many more tips she’d get if she stopped chatting with her customers as much as she did. On the one hand, she enjoyed listening to her regulars as they shared their memories with her. She felt as though she belonged when the sparkle in her customer’s eyes included her in their lives.

Yet it pained her to watch Brittney rake in the cash after each shift. How did exposing cleavage make up for her co-worker’s rudeness? How did Brittney’s impersonal nature generate piles of tips? Since Brittney and Ava were the