Krista had a genuine appreciation for his strategy. “Thinking outside the box, that’s the way to get an edge in a big contest like this.”
“Exactly right.” He grinned so broadly, she wondered if his face might bust in half.
“So give me an assignment,” she said eagerly.
“You can go get my ingredients.” He handed her a five-by-seven inch laminated card bearing the number seven. “Turn in this card and they’ll deliver the stuff to us.”
Just then Rachel popped her head back into their booth. “I hate to interrupt again,” she said sweetly. “But we have a question about your changes, Michael.”
He bit his lip. “Yes?”
Rachel flounced up to him with the recipe in a manicured hand. “It’s the measurements, you see—”
“I’m sure the substitutions aren’t in perfect balance, but by following them you should end up with a reasonable dessert.”
“But exactly what are a tisp and a tibble?”
“Huh?” Michael followed her red-tipped index finger to the sheet of paper.
“This code. We’re not familiar with this code.”
He mustered the grace to be indulgent. “Tsp is short for teaspoon. Tbls is short for tablespoon. It’s common to abbreviate the two.”
Rachel tipped her blond head from side to side.
“You use measuring spoons.” Michael sighed bleakly. “You can’t cook worth a damn, can you?”
“Not very well,” she admitted. “That’s why we gave it up years ago. When we did make something, it was with Readiquick.”
“Then, why did you tell Gerald you’re good?”
“Because it made him so happy to hear it,” Rachel said matter-of-factly. “We often tell men things to make them happy.”
Michael clasped his hands together desperately. “Please, oh please, go back to your station.”
“Our deluxe station. Given to us in faith. By your precious Gerald.”
“I, too, have faith that you can make this dessert if you try.”
“Do you, Michael?” Rachel smiled girlishly. “Coming from you that is high praise. I’ll go back and tell Beverly.”
Krista clicked her tongue over the exchange, doubting Michael realized that as with Gerald, Rachel had just turned on the charm with the express purpose of making him happy.
“I’m off, then,” she said, waving the card bearing the seven.
“Feel free to check on the aunts, on your way back,” Michael invited somewhat reluctantly.
“Thanks. I’ll make it quick.”
She dropped off the card at the ingredients counter and took several short steps to the aunts’ nearby station. As purported, it was a deluxe model, perhaps double in size to the others.
But Gerald Stewart’s presence somehow shrank it to doll’s house proportions. He had somehow made his way back. The Mattson sisters flashed Krista some desperate looks as he appeared to be settling in on a stool.
“I thought you were cruising the room, sir,” Krista said.
“I was, but ended up back here.” He chuckled. “Decided to watch these pros in action.”
Krista gasped dramatically. “Gerald, don’t you realize you are a lethal weapon to us Mattson women? My aunts can’t possibly concentrate with you here. You are way too big a distraction!”
“Is that so?” Gerald beamed as the aunts confessed it was true. He smoothed his toupee with an excited jerk of his hand. “In that case, I’ll just run along before someone overheats.”
“Strut those wiles, Krista!” Rachel cried once he was gone.
Beverly nodded. “You certainly have blossomed fast in the man-handling department.”
Krista found herself glowing under the praise. “I’ve surprised myself more than once the past few days. Had no idea taming men would be so fun. Have you ordered your supplies yet?”
Rachel shook her head. “Though we did find the tisp and tibble, thanks to Michael.” She lifted the ring of tin spoons and caused them to clink. “He’s so smart.”
Krista took their clipboard in hand. The only sheet of paper attached to theirs was a food order form. “I’ll get you started by filling out this form. Read those ingredients to me, Beverly.” That accomplished, she sent Rachel to the order booth. Then she attempted to reason with the more practical of the pair. “Aunt Bev, you can do this if you keep your cool.”
“Always keep my cool!” she thundered.
“Well, yes—”
“Oh, go back to your own booth.” She shooed her off gruffly. “We can manage fine, now that Gerald’s gone. It’s no lie that he makes me feel all silly and incompetent.”
Krista arrived back at station seven with their small shopping cart of ingredients. Michael’s welcoming smile was bright enough to melt an ice cap.
“Let’s get to work, partner.”
The couple went to work shoulder to shoulder, assembling the miniature upside-down cakes, baking them, popping them out of their molds. Krista entered a whole new world as she drained cans of crushed pineapple, chopped cherries and sifted dry ingredients. Michael did the necessary beating of dough with a wire whisk and a strong arm.
As she paused to speak, Michael playfully dipped his finger in the batter and plugged it into her open mouth. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, “the eggs are pasteurized. It’s completely safe.”
There was nothing safe about it. A frisson of delight ran the length of her spine as her tongue tasted the batter, his skin.
Seemingly startled by the contact, Michael withdrew his finger from her mouth with a pleased grunt. “Like it?”
She smiled slyly. “I like it.”
It was almost three hours later when Beverly and Rachel reappeared at their station. Both looked bedraggled, dusted with flour and sugar, smudged with fruity juices. Beverly had an added speckle of pineapple in her gray curls.
Krista laughed. “Sorry I didn’t get back. We’ve been up to our necks in it.”
Michael gallantly tried to stifle his chuckle behind a cough. “What happened to you two?”
Beverly’s double chins quivered. “We’re finished, that’s what.”
Krista rejoiced. “Where’s the result? The oven? A cooling rack?”
Beverly voice was falsely high. “At this very minute?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “It’s in the garbage.”
“You can’t be serious!” Krista cried.
“Oh, no?” Beverly strolled over to Michael’s open briefcase and tossed the soiled fax inside. “I’m returning this recipe for torture and humiliation—this witch’s brew. Since it holds such happy memories for you, Krista, perhaps you will make it for your grandchildren one day. But save this copy, as the original will be set aflame the minute we reach home.”
Krista regarded them in exasperation. “It’s a rotten shame, after all your trouble.”
“Maybe it was wrong to show off for him in the first place,” Michael ventured to say, “just because he expressed an admiration for good cooks.”
“Oh, get off your high horse,” Rachel snapped, flicking some brown sugar off her nose. “You’d think this was a lipstick convention, with all the kissing-up going on.”
To Krista’s relief, Michael laughed. “Touché.” He offered the aunts doughnuts. In fact, they all paused to eat one. The ladies’ high approval rating mellowed Michael out considerably.
“So what is your next move with the big guy?” he eventually asked the aunts, who had mellowed some themselves.
“I suppose you could consider telling him the truth about your ineptness in the kitchen,” Krista said. “He’s still bound to like you just as much—maybe even respect the truth.”
Beverly hooted. “Any man sporting a hideous rug like Gerald’s doesn’t put a high value on truth in advertising. Like most men, he prefers gushy little lies that enhance his masculinity. Why a man would think any hair is an improvement on baldness is beyond me. Just goes to show you men are perhaps e
ven more vain than…”
During this speech Krista was going through a series of contortions to halt the tirade on male vanity and gullibility. They were in the process of burying Michael with the ultimate snow job. It didn’t seem wise to send him on a mission of self-exploration in the middle of the game. He might begin to question the whole deal.
Michael seemed to be taking Beverly’s tirade with humor, though he did heartily approve when Krista offered her a second doughnut to keep her jaw busy. He went even further by offering the aunts the whole batch, swiftly setting the treats inside a red plastic DD storage container specifically made for storing doughnuts. “I wasn’t planning to go back to our room just now, as there is a lecture on managerial skills starting in twenty minutes.” He glanced over at Krista. “I’d hoped you would join me for that.”
She tugged at her official red polo, feeling a part of things like never before. “I did have a look at some of your company literature, and would like to hear Jonathan Smithers live and in person.” Truth be told, she had found the DD brochure frustrating and had many ideas to bounce around with someone in higher authority.
“We’ll be off, then,” Rachel said, taking hold of the red box.
“So, what will you tell Gerald of your misadventure?” Michael asked.
Beverly’s reply was airy. “You hit a snag with the tibbles and called on us for assistance. Therefore we had to abandon our project completely.”
Agog, Michael sank onto a stool. “Help me, Krista, I can’t feel any of my limbs.”
Krista and Michael were finishing the cleanup of their station soon thereafter, when Norah appeared, dressed in a red DD polo shirt and plain dark slacks, carrying a bulky napkin. “Hello, Mikey, Krissy.”
“Ah, Norah.” Michael leaned closer so Norah could peck his cheek. Krista couldn’t help thinking that she had the best kiss-up lips in the bunch.
“How did your practice run go?” Krista asked politely.
“Well enough. How did you two fare?”
“Very well,” Krista took pleasure in saying.
“I’ve brought you a sample of our cherry chip.”
Krista and Michael split the doughnut she had wrapped in a napkin, sampled it and were lavish with praise. Michael went on to explain why they couldn’t offer her a sample in return, which didn’t please her much.
She wasn’t offended enough to leave, however, and wandered around the small station. The area was clean and relatively bare, save for Michael’s open briefcase. She stopped by the case and glanced down at the contents.
“Krista tells me you’re keeping an eye on my case,” Michael noted with humor. “Surely you have no complaints about the way I’m taking care of it.”
She broke from a thoughtful frown to say in delight, “Of course not! Just can’t stop mothering you.”
Michael sighed after she left. “Do you think I tease her too much?”
“I think you’d explode if you didn’t have a sense of humor.”
They shared a chuckle. Michael went over to his briefcase. The first thing he saw was the grease-smudged fax. “You want this recipe from your hapless chefs or shall I toss it?”
“I want it,” Krista assured. “It’ll be interesting to prepare it at home according to directions, without relative interference.”
He closed the briefcase, then, putting one hand on her shoulder he used the other to brush some flour from her forehead. “I noticed something today.”
She felt her heart flutter. “What was that?”
“That you aren’t all that comfortable in the kitchen yourself.”
“Oh?” She averted her gaze.
“You gotta admit your dicing, slicing and beating skills can use some work.” He captured her chin to make eye contact.
“Well, I may not be quite the kitchen aid you thought.”
“That you led me to believe, you mean.”
“It all started with the lasagna back at my place,” she confessed anxiously. I would have gladly confessed that it was frozen, but Judy insisted I try and impress you by taking credit for preparing it.”
“I suppose the salad and bread that went along with it were—”
“Prepackaged. It’s partly your own fault, Michael. I quickly discovered that I like your admiration. Think how disappointed you would have been to learn that I can’t whip up simple dishes with ease.”
“I suppose so.”
“Sometimes charades in a relationship are for a better good.”
He gave her a quick impulsive kiss. “The very idea that you can so easily wiggle out of things with me, Krista, makes you a very dangerous woman indeed.”
“I think I can come to like being dangerous. Like it very much.” She kissed him then, slowly and deliberately.
Chapter Thirteen
The meeting room hosting the managerial workshop was one of the larger ones. This didn’t surprise Michael in the least. Demand was bound to be high as Decadent Delight franchise owners very frequently managed their own shops.
He was surprised that when left to lead them to seats, Krista chose two front and center. It was his choice, as well, when attending an important lecture or seminar. Funny, he would have imagined the temptress behind “Simona Says” at the rear of any gathering at the newspaper, ready to duck out if proceedings got bogged down with mundane issues. But more and more, Krista was an ill fit for the Simona veils of impish mystery.
Even now she was shifting in her chair, straightening her spine, watching Gerald’s ace assistant Jonathan Smithers take the podium with dignity in a sober black suit and dapper bow tie. He was an exception to the rule of wearing red polo shirts. Even Gerald was wearing a polo today.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Jonathan began with trademark aplomb. “I trust those of you who entered the contest had ample time to get here. I find it rude to enter a lecture in progress. We will be discussing managerial skills for the next hour. I will lecture for three-quarters of the time, then will allow questions for the last leg…”
Despite Jonathan’s dry delivery and hard-line tactics, Michael felt the lecture was thought provoking. Jonathan spoke on how to curb absenteeism, how to keep employees honest and loyal. Michael took copious notes on issues he hoped to debate with Randy and the other fellows later on. To every employee who knew him, Smithers was a thorn in the company’s side, a narrow-minded leader who tended to crack the whip. But he was also a man Gerald held in highest regard. So no one challenged his authority. Ever.
Never in Michael’s imagination did he expect Krista to fire up the question segment of the hour. With a blowtorch.
When recognized, Krista stood, with notes of her own jotted on a company notepad. “Mr. Smithers, I can appreciate the idea of running a tight ship. But I find your guidelines a bit too extreme.”
“Is that so?”
She glanced at her notes. “First off…”
First off? The room had fallen into a numb hush. Michael felt his throat tighten. He reached up to loosen his tie and realized he wasn’t even wearing one.
“I’d like to address your theory on curbing absenteeism.”
“You don’t agree that requiring a doctor’s written excuse will slow it down?”
“I hardly see it as an effective deterrent with part-time employees,” she said, “many of whom are liable to be students. Take the truly sick first. A lot of young people rarely go to the doctor for treatment of the most common cold or flu because their young bodies can recover quickly or because they can’t afford office calls for minor ailments. Forced to produce written proof, they will come to work, instead. Anything contagious can be hazardous when working with food.”
Smithers, startled by the challenge, blustered, “Something has to be done to discourage the fakers.”
“Sure, your plan will stop some cheaters from taking the extra odd day off. But the bottom line is that it will force many honest young people to come in while sick, and, in turn, cause a health risk to everyone else who enters the s
hop.”
Jonathan scanned the crowd as if searching for a question from another source, but Krista dug in again, tapping her pen to the notepad. “And about employee incentives. Rather than dismissing the whole idea of incentives to keep the budget level, wouldn’t it be worthwhile to try an experiment with different—”
“We haven’t dismissed all incentives. Gerald Stewart’s doughnut contest is a fine example.”
“Yes, but it is exclusively for the benefit of owners. I am referring to lower-level incentives, which you, sir, claim to be in charge of yourself.”
“The topic of commission is a long and hot one,” Jonathan snapped. “I see no alternative but to discourage it. Putting the clerks who run the registers at an advantage doesn’t sit well with the rest of the staff.”
“Agreed. It is wrong to reward a few. I was going to suggest a group incentive. Such as a cash bonus to split among everyone if a monthly sales quota is met. If a shop cannot afford that, perhaps a doughnut party for an employee who comes up with a sales gimmick for the shop window. A designated parking spot for the employee who arrives on time for a whole month. Or, to put a positive twist on your sick leave threat, why not award an official certificate to anyone who is responsible about sick leave? That will go nicely in one’s personnel file, and encourage good workers and slackers alike to make mature decisions.”
Michael sat up straighter in his chair, amazed and impressed with Krista’s mind. Others were watching her, as well, with nothing less than awe and respect. She was revved, humming smoothly like a tuned engine. She was enjoying herself, mainly because she had nothing to lose, being outside the company. But somehow, this sort of debate seemed natural to her.
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