Dirty Lace

Timothy had a refined voice, though raspy with age. “Give it to me,” he demanded. With a desperate lunge, he tried to grasp the smoldering cigarette clenched between Lace’s lips. “Take that infernal thing out of your mouth, Young Lady!”
With her height of six feet, Lace slipped her willowy body from Timothy’s limited reach. Her slow halting voice elevated sharply, “Stop that. This is my kitchen and I’ll smoke wherever I please.” She placed the cigarette in an ashtray then carefully peeled back the foil on an aluminum container. Closing her green eyes, she inhaled the moist hickory-smoked aroma of BBQ ribs. “That smells divine.”
“And how would you know?” Timothy asked, leaning his robust frame against the kitchen counter. “The only smoke you enjoy is that horrible smell in your hair and on your clothes.”
Lace dipped her finger into the sauce, then licked the tasty remains. “There is nothing wrong with my taste buds.” She turned her gaze toward Timothy. “You really seem nervous about this class reunion. It’s not like you have anything to hide.” She smoothed her short skirt, sat down, then perched her freshly shaven legs upon the barstool beside her.
Timothy closed his eyes in frustration. “Why shouldn’t I be nervous? You led this entire town to believe I was your father. Furthermore, what was wrong with admitting you were the heiress of a multimillion dollar industry?” He threw his palms upward in dismay. “And, just look at you! I’ve tried to make a lady out of you. Where did I fail?” He folded his arms and shook his head.
Lace thumped ashes into the ashtray. “You know how people are. At the time, I just wanted to fit in. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just my own person.”
Timothy sighed, and ran his fingers through his silver curls. “Ahh Lace, you’ve lived a lie for so many years. You just didn’t turn out the way your parents would have expected.”
Lace’s emerald eyes sparked with interest then narrowed at the mere mention of her deceased parents. “Don’t bring my parents into this, Timothy. You did a damn good job of raising me!”
“See, that’s what I mean.” Timothy cringed. “Just listen to yourself! Your parents would not have approved of such language. Please restrain from using profanity and all other sorts of vulgarity …at least, while your guests are here. What are your friends going to think of you, after all these years?”
She lit another cigarette, and blew smoke in Timothy’s face. Her deep voice lingered over her sarcasm. “Look, you can stop pretending to be my father. I smoked in high school, and I used a few flavorful words. Why should I change now?”
Fanning the smoke, Timothy sputtered, “You should have a refined quality like your Christian mother, God rest her soul. Instead, you are discourteous, insensitive, sarcastic, and spiteful. I’m surprised you had any friends at all, Lace Garnett.” Timothy marched toward the sink to wash his smoke tainted hands.
This time, Lace blew her smoke upward. “Timothy, people loathe me because I’m honest. And, I am who I am.”
With water running Timothy admitted, “Well Miss Honesty, a ten year reunion is a fine time to come out of the closet—an heiress, indeed!”
Annoyed by his distressing behavior, Lace crushed her cigarette in the ashtray then stood up. Nonchalantly, she strolled toward him. She towered above his thinning crown, trapping him against the sink.
He swept his eyes past Lace’s cleavage, and then looked into her eyes. “Ghastly.”
“Who am I hiding from now?” Lace pressed.
Turning with force, Timothy snatched a paper towel, and crushed it in his hand. He locked eyes with hers, and ran his fingers over the manicured hairs of his white beard. “Don’t try to intimidate me, young lady. I knew you in your mother’s womb.”
Lace touched his chest with a sharp finger. “I said. Who am I hiding from now? Soon, my friends will discover I’m a spoiled heiress who doesn’t give a sh… “
“Lace!” Timothy interrupted. He grasped the sharp finger imbedded in his chest.
“…darn what people think of me,” she continued, with her body defensive and stiff.
Accustomed to Lace’s vile demeanor, Timothy kept his temper. He eased from the mousetrap she had fashioned for him. “It isn’t about what people think, Lace.” Timothy turned to face the doorway. He gazed around the room, and stretched out his arms to encompass the modernized kitchen. “This is your inheritance. Just look at what you own. Gaze across that exquisite courtyard. You own all of this—a home in California, and an enormous lodge in Denver. You owe your comfortable life to your parents. Sayers Electronics has a reputation to uphold.
Now, for the sake of your saintly father, and the company’s name, please use restraints while your guests are here. You represent Sayers Electronics now! I don’t care what the media says; this is no way for an heiress to behave.” His shoulders slumped as he sauntered to the walk-in refrigerator.