Free The Plug's Wife by Chynna Page B

sorry.  I- I- I didn’t think…” he stammered, an awkward, nervous smile pasted on his lips.  Summer recognized him as one of the flunky workers for the crew. 
    “Where is the meeting?” Summer asked coolly. 
    The man’s head snapped up, seemingly surprised. 
    “Right this way…” the man said, his words rushed and quivery.  He ushered Summer up a flight of stairs and down a long hallway.  There were two, heavy, wooden doors at the end of the hallway.  I never knew this was up here. 
    “Right in there,” the man urged, pointing her in the direction of the forbidden underworld realm.  Summer glided down the hallway like the Queen Cleopatra.  She took a deep breath and turned both knobs simultaneously opening the French doors. The scene before her seemed to pause like a DVD movie. All the men stood stock-still, jaws hanging wide.  Summer felt suspended in time herself, her feet seemingly rooted in place.
    Mitch was the first to react.  He jumped up from the end of a shiny, black lacquer table and rushed towards Summer. 
    “Hey, Summer. Uh, what are you doing here?” he stuttered, slowly coming closer, as if she would bite.  She had never seen his small beady eyes look so wide and round. She couldn’t tell if it was fear or anxiety that she heard in his voice. 
    “Either I’m looking especially good today, or you dudes haven’t seen a woman in a long time…which one is it?” Summer asked, a chuckle leaving her lips involuntarily. 
    “What are you doing here?” Mitch whispered harshly, finally able to form a sensible sentence.  He was so close now that Summer felt the pendent from his Jesus piece hitting up against her arm. 
    “You didn’t think I was going to let my husband’s business partners meet without someone being here to represent him, did you?” Summer asked snidely, her head tilted and eyes squinted into slits.  She hated feeling the same desperation she’d felt so often as a child.  She wondered if these men could sense how fearful she was of being hungry, homeless, and indebted to another.  Summer willed herself to be strong.  Think like a man. Demand to take his place at the table. 
    “It’s not like that,” Mitch mumbled, grabbing her arm.  “Let me talk to you outside.”
    “No! I’m going to sit at this table or wherever Jesse sat.  I’m going to listen and learn what I need to know about my husband’s business dealings.  If somebody in this room thinks he can fill his shoes, he better think again,” Summer gritted, her words forceful enough to send him scurrying away.
    What am I doing here!  They can all shoot me down right here in this room! Though the thought flitted through her mind, she knew that she couldn’t back down.  Summer was on the edge of insanity, forcing her way into that meeting with men who were clearly not discussing any club business. 
    A wave of groans traveled the length of the table.  Summer had seen some of the men before at events she went to with Jesse, but many were new faces.
    “Well, what’s this meeting about?  Let’s get started,” Summer said boldly, sitting her bag down on the end of the table.  Each man turned to each other incredulously.  Summer knew they were expressing their shock at her bravado.  She was all in now.  There was no turning back.  No showing signs of weakness either.  Without Jesse, she had to look out for herself. 
    “Don’t tell me a bunch of important men like you all are afraid of a little, grieving widow?”
    A dark haired, Hispanic man slammed his hands on the table and stood up so fast he sent his rolling chair into the wall behind him.
    “No tengo tiempo para jugar. ¿Qué va a hacer, nos dan una lección de cocina?” I don't have time to play.  What is she going to do, give us cooking lessons? He spoke to another man who stood at the back of the room like a sentry.
                  “We don’t just allow outsiders into our business meetings!” someone else