by Lee Hollis
“The boy told me he brought them special for me. I didn’t know you had ordered a side of chips, Sal, I swear!”
“Isn’t it convenient the kid is long gone and not here to back up your flimsy story!” Sal said, folding his fat arms and glaring at her.
Hayley picked up the bag and tried to hand what was left of the chips to Sal. “You can have the rest of them if you want.”
“After your wet fingers have been all over them? You know I won’t even share a tub of popcorn with my own wife at the movies! I hate people’s fingers being on my food!”
“I’m sorry. Listen, I should probably wait until you’ve cooled down a bit before I ask about some time off . . .”
“Really? You want to ask for time off now? After you’ve inhaled most of my potato chips? Is that what you really want to do?”
“It’s just that my high school reunion is coming up, and I promised to help plan the whole thing, not to mention Gemma’s prom and I have to take her dress shopping . . .”
“You’re talking to me like I care about any of this. You know June is our busy season. Tourists are pouring in from all over and we have to cover a lot of stories and I’m understaffed as it is . . .”
“I do have a few personal days and a couple of vacation days left that I could cobble together. I’d be out for a week tops . . .”
“I see your lips moving but I’m not hearing what you’re saying.”
“Sal, please. What if I ran to the sandwich shop right now and brought you back three bags of potato chips, each one a different flavor?”
“I’m listening.”
“And paid for it out of my own money! Not petty cash.”
“I’m still listening.”
“And I hear they also sell these amazing peanut butter cookies.”
“One week, Hayley. But you get no break from your column. You don’t have to come into the office, but you still have to make your deadlines! If one column is late, it’s right back in the office. No excuses.”
“It’s a deal.”
“Now go get me my chips,” Sal said, wiping a small glob of horseradish off the corner of his mouth with his bare knuckle and licking it off.
Hayley was out the door in a flash.
Island Food & Spirits by Hayley Powell
With my daughter’s senior prom looming right around the corner, the quest to find the perfect dress became the top priority in our household.
So when I arrived home one night last week exhausted from a long day at the office, all I wanted to do was make myself a cocktail, kick back, and relax. I had a taste for something cold and refreshing. A delicious creamy concoction called a Dreamsicle. So I had picked up the ingredients on the way home.
As I entered the house through the back door with my recyclable grocery bag, I stopped suddenly at the chaotic disaster that was my kitchen.
For a brief moment as I stood there in stunned silence surveying the mess, I thought I had stumbled into one of those crime scene investigation rooms that they set up after a murder occurs, just like the ones on Criminal Minds, of which I am a loyal viewer. I have a raging crush on that dashing Joe Mantegna, and of course the hunky Shemar Moore. Hell, I love all the men on that show. But I digress. Let’s get back to the state of my kitchen. There were rows and rows of pictures tacked up on the wall like murder victims and suspects.
Upon closer inspection, I realized the pictures were of models wearing various party gowns and designer couture. On the floor were four teenage girls surrounded by piles of magazines and armed with scissors as they furiously cut out every photo of a dress they could find. In the hallway were stacks of ripped up and shredded magazines that they had already meticulously pored through.
The girls hadn’t noticed me yet.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded to know.
In hindsight, I probably should have opened and shut the door again or even just cleared my throat to alert them to my presence, but I guess that’s why they call it hindsight.
My booming voice startled the girls so much they erupted in screams and one was so frightened she threw her scissors. I had to duck to avoid losing my right eye.
That’s when I noticed the giant pile of discarded magazines in the hallway just outside the kitchen begin to move and come to life. Apparently the screaming awoke my dog, Leroy, who was sleeping underneath the magazines. He shot out of the giant pile like his tail was on fire, totally confused and sliding all over the floor on the slippery papers while trying to find his footing.
My daughter berated me for scaring them as her traumatized friend sputtered apologies for nearly stabbing me in the face. I gave the girls five minutes to clean up my kitchen and then whipped up my yummy Dreamsicle cocktail, leaving them alone while I plopped down in my favorite chair with Leroy snuggling next to me, and then surfed the channels until I found a Criminal Minds rerun.
Studly Shemar was chasing down a suspect, which normally would keep me glued to the TV, but all the prom dress talk and visuals in my kitchen brought up a feeling of nostalgia, so I ran to a drawer in my den and hauled out my old photo album from senior year. I flipped through it until I found a picture of me in my prom dress. My curly brown hair piled high on my head. My too-fake tan from a can. A wide smile plastered on my face. You could tell I thought my dress was the fashion statement of the century. It was a strapless gown that was fitted to the waist. From the waist on down was layers upon layers of what seemed like floating chiffon that stopped just above my knees. The color of the dress was a bright over-the-top orange. Same color as my Dreamsicle cocktail! Of course! All this talk about prom and dresses must have subconsciously brought back the memory of my own dress and the color triggered my craving for a Dreamsicle cocktail!
Now that I had almost downed the entire cocktail, maybe it was time for something more substantial. Once the girls cleared out of the kitchen, maybe I had the ingredients to bake a Dreamy Orange Dreamsicle Cake!
Dreamsicle Cocktail
Ingredients:
2 ounces vanilla vodka
2 ounces cream
4 ounces orange juice
1 ounce triple sec
Fill your shaker with ice half way (chill beforehand if you have time) then add in all of your ingredients. Shake vigorously, then pour into a tall cocktail glass with ice, then sip and you will feel just like a kid again!
Dreamy Orange Dreamsicle Cake
Ingredients:
1 box orange cake mix
2 eggs
½ cup oil
1½ cups water
3 ounce box of orange Jell-O mix
Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Then combine all of your ingredients in a bowl and with an electric mixer mix for 2 minutes until blended.
Pour into a greased and floured 13x9 baking dish.
Bake for 30 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean.
Cool your cake completely then frost with a whipped topping of your choice.
Chapter 5
Hayley and Liddy had been waiting thirty-five minutes for their classmates, Sabrina Merry-weather, Nykki Temple, and Ivy Foster, who were the self-appointed high school reunion planning committee. They had all agreed to meet at the reunion venue, the Kebo Valley Golf Club, precisely at 4:00 PM. It was no shocker the mean girls were late. Ever since high school it was assumed (by them) that their time was always more valuable than anybody else’s.
Liddy was steaming and ready to wash her hands of the whole affair and drive home, but Hayley stalled her by soliciting her ideas for how they should handle the reunion. Liddy loved to be consulted on how to plan an event, but when it came down to the nitty gritty details and the actual hard work of seeing it through, her interest quickly waned.
Liddy still couldn’t believe the mean girls had put off planning the reunion until just a few days before, so she strongly believed the best course of action was to go simple. Nothing too fancy.
“I can call in a few favors. Ther
e’s that new caterer, Betsy Myers, who just moved to town. She does a delicious assortment of appetizers and I’m certain she’ll give us a break because I got her a great deal on her house.”
“Well, I’m just happy that the cooking won’t be my responsibility for once,” Hayley said.
“We’ll do a cash bar to save money and Sonny loves to DJ on the side so I’m sure he’d be willing to spin tunes for free if I ask nicely.”
Sonny Lipton was a local baby-faced lawyer and Liddy’s current beau who was a good deal younger than her.
“And if that doesn’t work, I can always use other means of persuasions,” Liddy said, cocking her head to the side and winking at Hayley.
“Enough! I don’t need to hear the details,” Hayley said, putting a hand up.
“Anyway, I’ve crunched the numbers and I think if we really went bare bones we could get away with just charging twenty dollars per person.”
“What about decorations?”
“We’re adults celebrating twenty long years since high school. We’re way past the crepe paper and streamers stage. The golf club looks lovely just the way it is. This is more about seeing old faces than over-the-top decorations.”
That sounded good to Hayley, who stared out the bay windows overlooking the lush green golf course.
This place was perfect.
At that moment, the door to the main dining room and bar, which served as the nineteenth hole for club members, swung open and in breezed Sabrina along with one of her foot soldiers from high school, Nykki Temple.
Nykki was still a spark plug. Short. Fiery red hair. And wearing a casual business suit that was almost an exact replica of the one Liddy was wearing.
And Hayley knew that was not lost on the extremely style conscious Liddy Crawford, whose eyes nearly popped out of her head.
Nykki kept her distance, acknowledging Hayley with a slight wave as her eyes stayed glued to her smart phone.
“I’m so sorry we’re late,” Nykki said in a clipped voice that betrayed not a hint of remorse. “It’s all my fault. Sabrina and I decided to car pool but when she showed up at the hotel to pick me up I was still out showing a lovely home with ten acres of land just outside of town to an interested couple from Delaware looking for a summer getaway.”
“I . . . I beg your pardon . . . ?” Liddy stammered, not quite believing her ears. “What are you doing showing property in Maine? Don’t you live in Boston?”
“Yes. But I have my real estate license in every state in New England,” Nykki said, not even making eye contact with Liddy. “The thing is, I found a summer rental in Seal Harbor on the water for me, Ivy and her husband, and Sabrina and her boyfriend to share. Four bedrooms. Classic New England style. Steps from the ocean. It got me thinking. I could clean up here. I’m bored selling high-end condos in Boston. Maybe it’s time to pull up stakes and move home again.”
“You do realize I am the premier real estate agent on Mount Desert Island,” Liddy said, clenching her fists so tight her knuckles turned white.
“Oh yes,” Nykki said, finally looking up from her phone, a sly smile on her face.
“But why would you want to move back here? You must remember the awful rough winters and the messy muddy springs not to mention the slim pickings when it comes to finding a man. I can tell you’re still single because you’re not wearing a wedding ring and let’s face it, Hayley snapped up the last good one to come to town, Dr. Aaron, a hot veterinarian.”
“Bravo for you, Hayley,” Nykki said. “But I’m not looking for a husband thank you very much.”
Liddy was now on an emotional spiral.
The last thing she needed was increased competition in the local real estate game.
Hayley stepped forward and gently touched her arm. She knew her friend would be completely useless for the rest of the planning committee meeting.
But before Hayley had a chance to pitch their low-cost ideas for the reunion, the door swung open again and Sabrina’s other wingman, Ivy Foster, walked, or rather, danced inside. Ivy, with her flowing curly blond hair, and flower child essence, was more of a let-it-all-hang-out girl, wearing a loose sun dress with a green print that looked suspiciously like marijuana plants. She squealed in delight and grabbed Hayley in a bear hug, squeezing her so tight, as if they had actually been close in high school.
As Ivy descended upon Liddy, she tried to back away, a panicked look in her eye, but there was no escaping Ivy, who succeeded in wrapping her bony arms around her as Liddy wiggled to free herself.
Luckily for Liddy, the moment was broken by a cacophony of barking.
Or rather yapping.
Loud, intense, ear-splitting yapping.
Seven scampering high-energy toy poodles strained at their leashes to wreck havoc in the golf club held back only by a bespectacled wavy haired wisp of a man in a bright yellow golf shirt and green pants, his large hands attached to frighteningly skinny arms trying valiantly to keep a hold on the seven leashes.
Ivy was completely oblivious to the storm of activity in her wake. She just simply talked above the noise. “Oh my God, Hayley and Liddy, you two haven’t changed a bit! You look just like you did in high school!”
A backhanded compliment to be sure since Hayley fought acne and frizzy hair right up to high school graduation and beyond.
“You have to meet my family,” Ivy cooed.
But instead of introducing her husband, she began rattling off the names of her miniature dogs he was desperately trying to corral. “This is Doc. Sleepy. Happy. Grumpy. Sneezy. Bashful. Dopey.”
Hayley had seen Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs enough times with her kids to know the dogs were wearing knitted sweaters that matched in color the costumes of their namesakes from the 1937 animated classic.
Someone was a true Disneyphile.
“They’re my babies!” Ivy shouted over the din of her barking dogs. “I never go anywhere without them.”
“I can’t believe there’s only seven of them,” Liddy yelled. “Sounds more like 101 Dalmatians.”
“Oh, I loved that movie too!” Ivy screamed, choosing to ignore the true intent of Liddy’s remark. “I love anything Disney. We have an annual pass to the theme park. We fly to Orlando every vacation.”
“Hello, everyone,” her husband said in a thick British accent, almost out of breath from wrestling with the tiny dogs, “I’m another person in the room.”
“Oh, right. This is my husband Nigel. If I knew how sarcastic the English were, I probably never would have said, ‘I do.’”
“We all have our regrets in life, to be sure,” Nigel said icily.
The tension was thick in the room, broken only by the still barking dogs.
Hayley quickly stepped forward and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Nigel. I’m Hayley. Did you two bond over your love of everything Disney?”
“Good God no!” Nigel spit out. “I pray every night the factory where they mass produce those tacky little porcelain figurines based on every character in every cartoon they’ve ever made would burn to the ground in a raging fire so I wouldn’t have to find room in our house on some shelf or nightstand or coffee table every time they put a damn movie out.”
Ivy reached down and picked up one of her dogs. “This isn’t the only one we call Grumpy.”
Suddenly one of the dogs, Sneezy if Hayley had kept track of the names correctly, spotted a squirrel sprinting across a tree branch just outside the window of the dining room, and led a revolt. He wrenched free from Nigel’s grasp, surprising him and causing him to let go of the other six leather handles. All seven yapping dogs scratched the hardwood floors with their toenails as they raced to the window, jumping up and down, barking at the top of their lungs, trying to get to the squirrel, who was now frozen in fear and staring through the glass at them.
“Nigel, would you please take the dogs for a walk so I can have a civilized meeting with my girlfriends about the reunion?” Ivy yelled scornfully.
“Bu
t I’m supposed to play a round of golf with a nice gentleman I met in town earlier today,” Nigel whined.
“I don’t care. Stop being so selfish,” Ivy said, before spinning around and sighing to Hayley and Liddy. “He’s never willing to help me with anything! And you would think that might be his top priority since he is a struggling novelist who hasn’t written anything that’s sold. I’m basically supporting the two of us plus the dogs with my thriving cupcake business. Did you know I was recently featured in the pages of Bon Appetit magazine?”
“Congratulations,” Hayley said, keeping one eye on Nigel, who had retrieved four out of the seven leashes, his face red with embarrassment over his wife berating him in front of her friends.
“I know exactly what you’re going through. My ex-husband was a starving artist,” Sabrina said, piling on poor Nigel. “He hardly touched a brush to his canvas because he was more interested in watching cable news and leaving me to pay all the bills!”
Nigel at this point looked completely emasculated, wanting to disappear into the floor.
Hayley attempted to break the tension. “What kind of books do you write, Nigel?”
“Murder mysteries!” Nigel bellowed, snapping up the last of the leashes and yanking the dogs back from the window so aggressively they all slammed into one another.
“I love murder mysteries! Are you writing one now?” Hayley hollered over the high pitched yelping.
“Yes. I’m working on a story about a henpecked husband who murders his nagging wife! But the twist ending is he gets away with it because after hearing the torture she put him through, the jury refuses to convict him!”
There was an awkward silence.
Except for the barking dogs.
Without saying another word, Nigel wrangled the leashes and stormed out, dragging the dogs behind him.