“I bet you enjoyed making them,” Beth teased.
“Naturally I did! The art of the doughnut is a religion.” Delving into the stack of dessert plates delivered to her elbow, she used a tong to place a doughnut on each plate and hand them around the table.
Krista bit into hers with appreciation. The taste was heavenly. “Why did Gerald choose to retire this recipe?”
“His late wife Gloria tired of them some years back and asked him to do so,” Norah replied. “I believe the flavor reminded her of their struggling years and she wanted to put the past behind her. Gerald never would have denied Gloria anything.”
“Wouldn’t it be a thrill to win that contest, all the fame and money?” Laurie said on a sigh. “We were so close last time, with the logo competition.”
“C’mon, Ms. Berkeley graduate,” Lucy argued with a grin. “Your entry was some sort of hieroglyphic nobody aside from the world’s dusty old professors could read.”
Laurie sniffed. “Gerald Stewart has been to Egypt and completely understood the theme.”
“Our image was quite effective, too,” Amanda put in. “Gerald himself was very impressed with the doughnut-juggling clown.”
“I’d like to see all your logos,” Krista announced. Broad smiles reflected back at her.
“That would be fun, showing them to someone in promotions,” Lucy decided. “Krista can give us her professional opinion.”
“Norah,” Beth said, “get us some pens. Felt tip, if you have them.”
Norah wore the grumpy expression of a hostess who has perhaps lost control of her table. “What ever will you write on?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Impulsively Beth picked up the large square paper napkin from her lap. “Bring a few more of these.”
“I’d love to see your logo, too, Norah, of course,” Krista coaxed.
“Very well.” The woman rose and lumbered off.
Beth leaned over the table to whisper, “See, you’re already showing her you’ve got a backbone. She’ll soon realize you aren’t putty.”
The women spent the next twenty minutes sipping coffee and sketching their logos with felt-tip pens.
“Who did win the contest?” Krista asked, stirring some cream into her cup.
“Haven’t you seen the logo?” Lucy asked. “It must be all over Michael’s shop—even the rest room doors.”
“I haven’t been to his shop or any other,” she confessed. “I’m from Minneapolis. Gerald’s chain hasn’t quite reached us yet.” To her relief they all seemed to accept this edited version of the truth.
Norah tapped her temple with a finger. “The winner was some diabolical genius from Houston who thought to put Gerald’s picture in the center of a doughnut, pompadour wig and all.”
A round of laughter filled the air.
“It was quite brilliant,” Beth agreed, “as Gerald is so very fond of his own image.”
Once the sketches were finished, they were passed to Krista. There was Amanda’s juggler, Laurie’s hieroglyphic, Beth’s picnic basket, Lucy’s oven, and Norah’s bakery case. Naturally, they were rough copies, but in her opinion, all original and well thought out. She was lavish in her praise, but did take the time to offer tips on making the logos more effective—in case DD ever found itself in need of another.
They all expressed gratitude for her input.
Krista felt she was the one learning the most, however. Norah’s narrow-minded devotion to her husband’s life was exceptional. These women, who had chosen to partner with their husbands, were bright and ambitious, leading rich full lives. Leaving Krista to believe there had to be great satisfaction in doing so. Never once in her adult career had she thought of participating in something outside her own zone of expertise.
“Now it’s your turn,” Beth encouraged.
Krista was startled to realize Beth was addressing her.
“Go ahead and make a logo of your own,” Amanda pressed. “Unless, of course, you think Gerald’s mug rightfully belongs in that doughnut hole.”
“Actually, his mug should be on the logo,” Krista told them. “He has such a wonderful reputation. But I do have an alteration in mind.”
Norah swiftly held a pen and napkin under her nose. It was their turn to enjoy coffee while Krista sketched.
Krista was always confident in her work, but when she finished, felt a slight twinge of insecurity as she held up her sketch for perusal. With neat practiced strokes she’d created a logo with Gerald’s face inside a store window versus a doughnut hole. The biggest change, however, was the loss of his toupee. She didn’t know the shape of his head, of course, but it was now hairless on top.
The table grew silent. Krista sensed that perhaps they felt upstaged. “Keep in mind, this sort of thing is my business.”
“Gerald would’ve hated it,” Norah declared bluntly. “Nothing personal, Krissy, but anything short of his exact self-image wouldn’t cut it. I kick myself nearly every day for not realizing it before the Texan.”
Murmurs suggested everyone agreed with Norah on all counts.
“One consolation is that there is another contest in motion this year,” Krista pointed out. “More cash prizes.”
Norah happily agreed. “The prize for the logo was only twenty grand. For this doughnut flavor competition there’s a lot more at stake—a hundred grand and nationwide fame for the winner, fifty grand each for the two runners-up.”
“Truth be known,” Lucy said, “I think our Butterscotch Sunny has a great chance of taking some honor.”
Laurie gasped. “Lucy! You know Kyle would have a fit if he heard you divulge the name of your entry.”
Beth watched Lucy whiten. “Oh, c’mon, Luce, it’s only us.”
Lucy’s fist rapped the yellow tablecloth. “Kyle will kill me.”
“Not if we all confess the name of our doughnut entry,” Beth decided. “Then we’ll all be even. Okay, everyone? I’ll start. The Norquist entry is called Cinnamon Spice.”
“Ours is Vanilla Scoop,” Amanda reported.
Laurie sighed and gave in. “Ours is Burnt Brown Sugar.”
“I don’t like this sort of pressure,” Norah claimed. “But for the good of the sisterhood, I’ll tell. Our entry is Norry’s Cherry Chip Glory.”
Krista wondered if she was the only one who noted the Larkins had deliberately combined Norah’s name with that of Gerald’s late wife. Perhaps it was Krista’s promotions expertise that gave her the edge on that one.
Presently, they were all waiting expectantly to hear the name of Michael’s doughnut. “Oh. My turn.” Krista swallowed hard. “To tell you the truth, I have no idea.”
Moans of disappointment, maybe even disbelief, filled the air. “No, honestly. Michael hasn’t told me a thing.”
“But you are engaged.”
“This must be consuming his life.”
“What do you two talk about?”
Krista hesitated. “Well, he’s taken quite an interest in my shoes.” To her relief, laughter broke out around the table.
The party extended into the afternoon. Moving outside to the pool, everyone splashed about in borrowed swimsuits from the Larkins’ vast collection.
The atmosphere was quiet later as Norah’s pink Cadillac retraced the route to the hotel. Krista used the time to think. The Larkins did truly care for Michael. And plainly, he owed them for pulling him up to a higher status. But she guessed that he had already paid them back over and over again for their kindnesses, dating back to his teenage years at the shop. Knowing him as she did, she imagined him eager and helpful always.
What mattered most was today, his future. Continuing to use the Larkins as role models was proving a detriment. Understandably they stood for continuity, security. But it was time for him to move on, build his own unique niche.
Michael needed a woman just like her, Krista decided.
Perhaps even Krista herself.
Beth’s encouragement, today’s group acceptance, went far toward b
ringing the idea closer to reality. But was it possible to make him see their compatibility, when she was lying about who she really was? Could he accept her despite her deception? And if she had to show him the difficult truth about the Larkins, could he ever forgive her that?
Chapter Nine
Convention activities broke off about three that afternoon. Randy Norquist caught up with Michael as he poured a glass of water from the table at the rear of the conference room.
“Saw you come in about forty minutes into the presentation,” Randy said, shifting his briefcase, identical to the one Michael carried, from one hand to another.
“I was in a marketing workshop but couldn’t resist getting a look at the new cash registers Gerald’s come across.”
“They’re technical wonders, aren’t they?”
Michael nodded. “I may have to invest in a couple. How about you?” The moment Randy’s expression fell, he knew he’d made a mistake.
“You know I can’t spare the money right now. Not with Katy’s health.”
Michael was appropriately rueful. “Has she taken a turn for the worse?”
“She’s no worse than when you saw her Labor Day weekend. But the doc is keeping close tabs on her and it’s costing me.”
“My offer to help stands—”
“I know.” Randy’s tone was abrupt. “I do appreciate the offer. Every time you make it. But I can take care of my family.”
“Have you discussed my offer with Beth?”
“No!”
“Because she might take me up on it,” Michael predicted dryly.
“Don’t even go there, buddy.”
“Okay, okay. Pride is a good thing, but should be taken only so far…”
“With any luck we’ll win this contest,” Randy said hopefully. “A hundred grand and the fame that will come from being the recipe king.”
Michael wanted the win so much himself that he declined comment. He’d much prefer loaning his friend the cash to giving up the joy of winning. There was silence as he sipped his water. Finally he said, “Wonder if the women are back from Norah’s yet.”
“Allan called home about an hour ago and they were swimming. Krista much of a swimmer?”
The question made him squirm a little. “I’m not really sure.”
“I suppose in the rush of switching fiancées, some details got lost.” Randy took the glass of water from his tense friend’s hand. “C’mon, let’s go find something tastier to drink.”
They ended up in one of the hotel’s three casinos, a center of action, noise and dim lighting. Roulette, craps and blackjack tables were clustered around the vast room, as well as row upon row of slot machines blinking and clanking as gamblers pulled arms and cheered on the spinning reels.
The men settled in at a bar for Manhattans.
“Maybe we should have changed clothes,” Michael said. “We look like twins with our cases, dressed in our red Decadent Delights polos.”
“Ah, but if Gerald sees the shirts, he’ll be so gratified.”
“You never stop angling.” Michael rested both arms on the bar and stretched his spine. Unaccustomed to the sitting these conventions required, he always grew restless. He was feeling another discomfort, as well, over the lie he was living with Krista. He certainly was in no position to chide his friend for angling for the boss’s favor. He was just as bad, toting along a fake fiancée for the express purpose of pleasing Gerald Stewart. He had considered telling Randy the truth from the get-go, but only briefly. They were close friends. But in a company contest, it was every man for himself.
Randy was perusing the room. “Don’t look now, but we’re in the sights of two very eager females. Who knows what sin they might have in store for us.”
Michael stared at Randy Norquist in surprise. “That’s no way for a family man to talk.”
“Humor me. Take a look.”
Michael glanced over his shoulder. Rather than a pair of babes on the prowl, he found women in their sixties, a petite blonde and a more formidable type with a cap of gray curls. Both were dressed in shiny nylon jogging suits, bright in color, the blonde’s suit predominantly pink and the other’s mostly blue. “I don’t think we’re in any danger of losing our wallets or our shorts to them.” With a chuckle he turned back to his drink.
Randy pounced on him again in short order. “So, my man, how is it that in place of skinny whiner Colleen, you have an angel on your arm?”
Michael gave him a sidelong glare.
“So that was her name. I thought so. Colleen McManus. Good old fiancée number one.”
“She’s history, Randy.”
“That was only two months ago. What happened to her?”
“Don’t make a case out of it. You only met her once.”
Randy’s jaw was set stubbornly. “Just three weeks ago, at my Labor Day barbecue, you said Colleen was fine. Colleen McManus was fine.”
Michael was now as tense as a tiger. If only Randy had never laid eyes on Irritated In Illinois. Somehow, he had to satisfy his friend’s curiosity, put Colleen behind them for good.
The two older women had at some point eased up on bar stools beside Michael, but he didn’t pay any attention. “Colleen was fine—is fine.”
“Was she gone by Labor Day?”
“Things were rocky by then,” Michael said distantly. “I wasn’t ready to talk about it.”
“Beth and I figured you came alone that day because it was a potluck and Colleen didn’t want to deal with handling a share of the food.”
“Her obsession with starvation was embarrassing at times.”
Randy nodded. “Gerald would never have accepted that skeleton in the long run, his whole life centering around the joys of fat and carbs.”
Michael was resigned. “I know. When I began to date Colleen, I didn’t realize her eating problem was so serious. A lot of women do pick at their food. I was focused on other pluses, her vitality, her energy. Coupled with the fact that she had no solid career plans as yet, she seemed a likely candidate to fill the shoes of Mrs. Delectable Delights.”
“Don’t look so glum about the mistake. You saw the best in her.”
“Of course I did! But as it turns out, she had no interest in even checking out my workplace, giving it a shot. All she did was whine about my long hours.” He waved a dismissive hand.
“Well, she’s missing out on a great guy.”
“Is she?” The aging blonde at his elbow intruded with a flutter of mascara-coated lashes.
“Yes!” Randy assured.
“Can you dance?”
Michael was startled. “I guess. A little bit…”
“Popular with your peers?”
“Back in high school he was prom king!” Randy tossed in.
“But you work too hard?”
“Maybe a little too hard,” Randy replied. “He learned the work ethic early because he had to support his mother. But get him going and he’s the life of the party.”
“This Colleen may have had you all wrong, then,” the larger woman surmised. “She didn’t give you a proper chance to prove yourself.”
“No, she didn’t. Ma’am.” Michael’s impatience with this unexpected interference was growing evident. “But I jumped to some assumptions myself, figured with a little push she could see my vision. Turned out she had no career plans because she preferred to play, exclusively and indefinitely. Her charms, her clothes, even her starvation, were all signs that she was stuck in the teenage groove. She wasn’t ready to grow up and settle down.”
“You paint a vivid and stark picture of her.”
“I paint a gray picture of her,” he corrected. “The world is shades of gray. And it wasn’t entirely her fault. For my part, I was so anxious to marry, I pretended she was something she wasn’t.”
“We can all make mistakes in judging people,” the same woman grumbled not too happily.
The blonde patted Michael’s hand. “Plainly, all you want is to settle down with a nice
caring girl. A fine goal.”
The women beside him were making clucking sounds. Embarrassed by the admissions he had just made to the strangers, he glanced at them sharply. “Would you ladies mind…” He paused in midgrowl. How could he rebuff them when their eyes were misty in sympathy? “Would you ladies mind…a drink?” he offered lamely.
“We haven’t even been formally introduced,” the larger one demurred.
“I’m Rachel and this is my sister Beverly,” the blonde swiftly supplied. “And I’d like a martini. Two olives.”
Beverly’s ample bosom rose and fell as she frowned upon her flashier companion. “I wouldn’t mind a gin and tonic. No ice.”
“Nice to get the amenities out of the way so smoothly,” Michael said with a tinge of humor, hailing the bartender.
Minutes later, with drinks in hand, Michael offered them a toast. “To ladies who possess both beauty and experience, and who know better than to mess with a man’s heart.”
The sisters blushed, appearing uncomfortable with his praise.
“Without doubt, you are better off without this Colleen,” Rachel stated.
Michael shrugged. “I do feel sorry for her, though. She will probably continue to stumble around. Doesn’t even have the common sense to discuss her problems openly, at the source.” He was aware of three sets of eyes trained on him. “Instead of giving me a chance to work things through with her, she actually went to a third party for advice. A very nosy third party who, without any insight, whacked off my—uh, pride.”
The ladies inhaled air and liquor. Randy picked up the gap. “Don’t worry about this fella. Since his breakup, he has hooked up with the loveliest girl you can imagine. Don’t understand how he did it so quickly, though.”
“It wasn’t that fast.”
“Sure it was.” Randy raked his hand through his hair. “Why, when you sent in the news of your engagement to the DD newsletter, it was in reference to Colleen. Had to be.”
“Yes—”
Randy leaned over the bar. “There, you see, ladies? Fast.”
“So you’re happy now?” Beverly prompted.
“It does seem the luckiest find of my life,” Michael stated, a bit amazed at his gusto. “She is everything a man could want. Lovely, charming, sweet. A little bossy and chatty, maybe. A little too interested in my business affairs.”
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