Annie's Rainbow - Fern Michaels [12]
“That’s why they have Yellow Pages. I would think so. Why?”
“Take a look at those windows. They’re just crying for something cheerful. I could make them. If we can fit some material into our budget, I can buy some great fabric and some sailcloth to make an awning for over the front door. There’s something quaint and homey about an awning. Don’t ask me what it is, it just is. I could paint daisies and sunflowers all over it. White muslin for the curtains with the same hand-painted flowers. For some reason people just seem to home in on things like that. I can redo those two tables and cover the seats with the same muslin. I bet we could find a bench to put outside the door, too. Little things like that for eye appeal. We have to get them in the door.”
“We’re going to need a catchy name for this place,” Annie said, her shoulders lightening imperceptibly. “Something we can both relate to. Something that takes in my coffee and your painting. You can make the sign, can’t you?”
“Sure, and the chains are still hanging outside. I could make it in the form of a daisy or a sunflower, or how about a rainbow?”
Annie choked on her own saliva. Jane thumped her on the back. “You okay?”
“I just swallowed wrong. None of them sound professional. We need something with some zip to it. We’ll think of something tonight.”
“I’m really psyched about this, Annie. I’m disappointed, though. I thought you’d be just as excited. It’s not as though we haven’t talked about this for years.”
“I guess it’s the financial end of things that’s spooking me.”
“You!” Jane scoffed. “You’re the girl who makes things happen, the girl who knows how to squeeze a nickel eight different ways, the girl who can make a six-course dinner out of nothing and have it taste good. You!”
Annie laughed. “We’re going in three different directions. We agreed to waitress part-time. We’re sending out resumes for full-time jobs. Now this. I know it was part of our grand plan, but how are we going to do it all now? What if we don’t make a profit? Think about the bills.”
Jane planted her hands on her bony hips. “You’re starting to scare me, Annie. Look, we don’t have to waitress. We don’t have to send out resumes. We can tackle this and hope for the best. I’m for whatever will take that awful look off your face. This is supposed to be a happy time for us.”
“You know what, Jane, you are absolutely right. Let’s go home, unpack the cars, go out to dinner to that big steak we promised ourselves, and really talk this through. Look, if things start to get sticky, I can always ask Elmo for a loan. I’m sure he’d give it to us. I think it’s not having a cushion to fall back on in case things are lean for a while,” Annie said.
“We aren’t going to think about that. I like it when you’re being the eternal optimist and I’m the pessimist.”
Annie shivered. “Then that’s the way it’s going to be,” she said, linking her arm through Jane’s. “Come on, let’s lock up our shop and head home. We have a home now, you know.”
“Good idea,” Jane said.
On Monday, June 6, 1980, the Daisy Shop opened for business. There was no advance notice, no fanfare, and no publicity because the owners couldn’t afford it. No one was more surprised than the owners at the steady stream of customers. Jane said it was because of the daisy-patterned awning. Annie said it was Elmo’s mother’s tuna fish sandwiches that were served from twelve to one.
By four o’clock, they had gone through ten pounds of coffee and 150 tuna sandwiches. By four-thirty they had to tell disappointed customers they had to close to restock. The groans and moans were music to their ears.
In the small storage room at the back of the shop, the two women danced and twirled in glee. “Do you think it will be like this every day, Jane?”
“God, I hope so. I sold, are you ready for this, eighty-five hand-painted postcards of this shop at three bucks a pop. Annie, that is two hundred forty-nine dollars. I know that isn’t going to happen every day, but tourists will still come in. If I sell twenty or twenty-five a day it will keep