Just Desserts

by Barbara Bretton

  She was going to have this baby.

  Everything else would simply have to fall into place behind that.

  Now

  And for a little while it had.

  Jane leaned back against her hospital pillows and closed her eyes.

  She wasn’t one to indulge in looking back. Nostalgia was history bathed in sentiment and sentiment tended to soften edges, to cast flattering light into the places where darkness lived.

  He was barely twenty years old. He had his whole life ahead of him. He was standing on the cusp of something huge, the type of fame most people only dreamed about, and even Jane could see he had the talent to back up the promise. They had shared a weekend together and she had been old enough and wise enough to understand that was enough.

  Jane wasn’t known for her insight into the human condition but she knew at a visceral level that, young as he was, Tom Stiles would do what he perceived as the “right thing” for her and the baby and that choice might cost him his future. She was an established professional woman whose position in the world was secure. She had money enough to sustain herself and her child. She would let Tom Stiles follow his destiny and wish him Godspeed.

  And so she never told him.

  She had misgivings on the day of Hayley’s birth and filled in his name on the birth certificate but soon changed it back to Father: Unknown. The world had continued to change around her and by the time Hayley was a toddler, nobody in her world batted an eye at the middle-aged professor with the baby girl with the beautiful blue-green eyes.

  Except for a brief burst of adolescent anger, Hayley had accepted the story that she was the result of AI via an anonymous sperm donor. Everyone did. The story fit right in with Jane’s ascetic lifestyle and her commitment to the pursuit of science. There was no reason to question what sounded so right.

  For over thirty years Jane had believed she was home free until a doctor in Mumbai discovered that she had metastatic stage IV breast cancer and the genetic component suddenly took on great significance. Hayley and Lizzie deserved to know their complete genetic profile. The options in medical care were changing almost on a daily basis. The amount of family medical history a person brought to the table made a huge difference in both diagnosis and course of treatment. She could no longer deny those two beloved women half of their history.

  “I found the Atlantic Monthly, Time, Newsweek, and U.S. News and World Report.” Her beloved John strode into the room with all the confidence and hope of a man who had always believed happiness was his birthright. “I intend to sneak back down later for a fresh copy of People. We can pretend the last patient left it behind.”

  She wanted to laugh but she couldn’t. Emotions, powerful and unexpected, lay waste to her power of speech.

  “Are you in pain?” He was at her side in a heartbeat. “Jane, tell me.”

  She shook her head. She was in pain but it wasn’t from her cancer.

  “I wish—” She stopped. I wish…If only…Why didn’t I…”

  He knew. He always knew. He had from the first moment.

  He lay down on the bed next to her and she settled into the shelter of his arms as if she had been there her entire life.

  “I wish I had met you a long time ago,” she whispered.

  “So do I,” he said, holding her close. “So do I.”

  18

  Atlantic City—the Night Before the Concert

  Zach and Winston were sitting in front of the big multicolored fountain in the lobby. Finn was surprised how forlorn two teenage boys with access to a private jet and room service could look.

  “What’s up?” he asked as he approached.

  “He’s busting our chops,” Zach said about his father. “He won’t let us into the casino.”

  “The State of New Jersey won’t let you into the casino either,” Finn said, trying hard not to laugh. “You’re not twenty-one.”

  “We could pass,” Winston said. “We went to—” He shut up when his brother applied a sharp elbow to the ribs.

  Finn decided to opt out of the requisite why you shouldn’t use fake ID lecture that every underage kid in America had heard a thousand times. Besides, that was Tommy’s territory.

  “You know it’s been a while since your dad performed live. He’s probably wound pretty tight right about now.”

  “He blew during rehearsal,” Zach said. “Pitched a fit right in the middle of a song.”

  “Yeah,” agreed Winston, “it was pretty intense but it didn’t have anything to do with the music.”

  The two boys exchanged looks.

  “What was it?” Finn asked and then it hit him. “It’s Willow, right?”

  “She dumped him,” Zach said. “She showed up at the airport just before we boarded the jet and they had a major fight on the tarmac. Everybody heard them.”

  “She didn’t dump him, you asshole,” Winston sneered. “She said she wasn’t going to go to the concert unless he signed something.”

  “The prenup,” Zach said. “That’s gotta be it. She probably wants all our money.”

  “Pretty cynical,” Finn observed. “Maybe she’s worried about the baby she’s carrying.”

  “Why?” Zach countered. “She’s got plenty of money. She’s a supermodel.”

  Which sent Zach and Winston dissolving into laughter.

  “Damn good thing your father takes these things seriously,” Finn shot back. “Otherwise you two would be in vocational school some place, not flying around in private jets and trying to get into casino VIP rooms.”

  “What’s his problem?” he heard Winston ask as he walked away. “You’d think he was her lawyer or something.”

  He finally tracked Tommy down backstage at the showroom.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Tommy roared when he saw him. “I thought you were coming down with the band.”

  “So did I,” Finn said, trying to rein in his own temper. “I had to wait for some faxes to come through.”

  Today Tommy looked every bit his age. “Anything I need to know about?”

  “A copy of Hayley’s original birth certificate with your name on it.”

  He could almost see the fight seep from Tommy’s bones.

  “I have a knot in my gut the size of Kansas,” Tommy admitted. “A few days ago I couldn’t wait to meet her.” He dragged a hand through his perfectly cut and colored hair. “I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “This has to be resolved soon, Tom. That birth certificate is pretty strong proof that she’s your child.”

  “I want it resolved,” Tommy said. “Don’t get me wrong about that. If she’s my child, I’m going to do right by her. It’s just Willow…the other kids…Shit, I don’t know how to handle this.”

  “I don’t think Sloan is going to wait beyond Monday morning. Either we take matters into our own hands or he will.”

  “You mean he’ll tell Willow?”

  “I mean he’ll tell Willow and the press and anybody else who’ll listen.”

  “Willow’s not coming to the concert tomorrow.”

  “I heard.”

  “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

  “It only buys us one night, Tom. I thought we could take our time on this but I was wrong. I advise you to tell Willow what’s going on as soon as possible.”

  Tommy met his eyes. “And what about Hayley and Lizzie?”

  “They need to know what’s going on too.”

  “I’ll talk to her at the after-party.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

  “She’ll be there, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You know me better than almost anyone, Finn. I’m not going to be able to be in the same room with her and not tell her everything. You knew that before I did. She’s my kid. You know it. I know it. And now she needs to know it too.”

  “Not tomorrow,” Finn warned. “There’ll be wall-to-wall press. You don’t want this story leaking until you’ve told the
family.”

  “What would I do without you?” Tommy said with a shake of his head. “You’re like one of my own. Always looking after me.”

  But not this time, Finn realized. This time he hadn’t been looking out for his old friend Tommy.

  He was looking out for Tommy’s daughter.

  Goldy’s Bakery

  She had put out an SOS for help and her friends and staff had answered the call.

  “You’ll get time and a half for this, guys,” Hayley said as she gathered up the empty pizza boxes and tossed them into the trash. “And a bonus as soon as we get paid. Even if you don’t work for me.”

  “Just get us tickets to the show next time,” Maureen said.

  “And his autograph,” Sarah, one of her former protégées, chimed in.

  “The hell with his autograph,” Dianne said with a laugh. “He hasn’t married that supermodel yet. There’s still hope for me.”

  “You’re too old,” Hayley reminded her old friend. “You can’t be a trophy wife if you’re over thirty.”

  “Who said anything about being a trophy wife?” Dianne shot back. “I want him to be my trophy husband.”

  Laughter rocked the room.

  “Shh!” Hayley said, pointing upstairs. “Lizzie’s asleep.”

  “Asleep?” Dianne checked her watch. “It’s not even nine o’clock yet.”

  “She might have caught Michie’s flu bug.”

  Paula pretended to cross herself. “Thank God for flu shots,” she said. “That should keep the damage to a minimum.”

  If you didn’t consider not being able to use the backstage passes part of the damage. Actually Lizzie had taken it better than her aunt Michie had. Michie had wailed about the inequities of life and how nothing wonderful ever happened to her while Lizzie had sneezed, popped some vitamin C, then said, “I saw him on VH1. He’s really pretty old, isn’t he?”

  “We have a lot to do,” Hayley reminded them, “and not a lot of time to do it. I don’t expect any of you to stay here all night. Whatever time you can give me is appreciated.”

  “I’m splitting the shift with Frank,” Maureen said. “He’ll take over around one.”

  “I’ll stay until my head hits the counter,” Paula said. “John’s mother is living with us this month so anywhere is better than there.”

  Sarah, who was barely twenty-one, smiled one of her Zen-like smiles and said, “Whatever,” which Hayley took to mean she would be there as long as needed.

  Or something like that. It was hard to tell.

  “I start my shift at the hospital at two,” Dianne said, “so I can stay until about twelve thirty.”

  “Mo and I baked the cakes and cookies today. They’re on the racks along the far wall. Sarah will make the ganache for the filling and Maureen will show you how to apply it. After the ganache sets up, Sarah and Mo will prep the cakes for the assembly line. Mo and I will handle the rolled fondant. We still don’t have the silver and gold leaf so that’s going to have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “What if it doesn’t arrive tomorrow?” Sarah asked.

  “I didn’t hear that,” Hayley said, clapping her hands over her ears. “I really didn’t hear that.”

  She was flying blind. If the shipment of gold and silver leaf didn’t show up, those platinum and gold record cakes were going to have to morph into something else equally fabulous but she hadn’t a clue what that might be. Sometimes you had to shut your eyes, cross your fingers, and jump in feetfirst and hope for the best.

  “You’re hovering,” Mo pointed out as Hayley peered over her shoulder. “We don’t need to be hovered over.”

  “I’m not hovering,” Hayley protested. “I’m supervising.”

  “She’s worrying,” Dianne said as the silky ganache slid down the sides of the cake. “She hovers when she worries.”

  “She’s always worrying,” Paula said. “Lizzie told my Dana that Hayley thinks Katie Couric should—”

  “We’re talking cakes only tonight, ladies,” Hayley said over their hoots of laughter. “Let’s leave the psychoanalysis at home, thanks.”

  Frank took over for Maureen at one o’clock. Mo promised to return at four to start the breads, bagels, and muffins for the morning crowd. The sixty-something baker could be difficult (and that was putting it mildly) but for all of her threats about moving over to Abruzzo’s, Mo was as loyal as they came.

  Every so often she heard the jingle of incoming e-mail and forced herself to ignore the temptation. Except for various Nigerian entrepreneurs, there was only one person on the planet who would be e-mailing her at this hour.

  She couldn’t just stop what she was doing and check her e-mail. That was all this group would need. They would flock around her and try to read over her shoulder and she would face serious teasing for the rest of her natural life.

  Of course, she could always slip upstairs ostensibly to see if Lizzie was okay and check her e-mail on Lizzie’s computer but then she would be sucked into that whole flirty back-and-forth thing. She would look up and realize two hours had gone by and she had nothing to show for it except a great big smile.

  “You’re smiling,” Paula said. “Anyone who can smile at three a.m. deserves a medal.”

  “I’m not smiling,” she said, smiling wider. “It’s a facial tic. Pay no attention.”

  “She’s probably thinking about the lawyer,” Frank the Big Mouth piped up. “Every time he e-mails she gets that big smile on her face.”

  “How do you know who’s e-mailing me?” she asked him from across the room. “My e-mail is private.”

  “You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure it out,” Frank said. “Every time you sit down and start e-mailing, you start smiling, and then just like clockwork your cell phone rings, you say ‘Hi, Finn!’ and you disappear into the pantry.” He winked at Paula and Sarah, who were laughing along with him.

  “You need a hobby, Frank,” she said. “Clearly you have too much time on your hands.”

  Or else she had to learn to be more discreet.

  The hours passed quickly. Too quickly. She was working on the lettering for the bass drum when Maureen returned and fired up the ovens for the morning rush.

  Sarah appeared at her side. “We did all we can do on the cakes, Mrs. G. Without the leaf, our hands are tied.”

  “You did a great job,” she told the young woman. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “You would have managed,” Sarah said with a big smile. “You always do.”

  She sent everyone but Mo and Frank home. They were hard at work filling the ovens with fragrant yeasty breads, sweet blueberry and tart cranberry-orange muffins, tray after tray of soft, warm bagels yearning for mountains of cream cheese. All the wonderful things that made Goldy’s the institution it was.

  There was something to be said for tradition. People knew what to expect when they showed up at Goldy’s and they were never disappointed. If you wanted to be a success in Lakeside, you stuck to the tried and true and that was what she had done. Goldy’s didn’t belong to her. Not really. It was a Goldstein family institution.

  Although it pained her to think about it, Michael still owned 40 percent of Goldy’s. If she came into a windfall of cash, the first thing she would do was buy him out. Then every improvement she made, all of the hard work, would be for Lizzie’s future and not to pay her ex-husband’s bills. The fact that it would also free her to pour her energies into building the cake-decorating part of the business was another incentive.

  Her daughter might not end up baking cakes for a living but with a little luck the bakery would provide a financial safety net to see her through the inevitable tough times.

  With a little more luck, the bakery would run itself while Hayley secured her position as the undisputed Queen of Fancy Cakes. Examples of her work would be installed in museums from coast to coast. The Food Network would beg her to participate in one of their challenges and she would become a cultural icon on a
level with Martha, Rachael, and Emeril while the man in her life looked on proudly.

  And if that man happened to be Finn Rafferty, she wouldn’t complain.

  Atlantic City—Around three a.m.

  “You’re drunk,” Anton said as he flopped down on the sofa opposite Finn.

  “Not yet,” Finn said, “but give me another hour.”

  “Where’d you get the Glenfiddich?”

  Finn gestured behind him. “There’s a bar back there. Help yourself.”

  Anton grabbed himself a sports bottle of still water and settled back down across from Finn. “You’re going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, old friend.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Anton took a pull of water. “Not bad but it’s not Grey Goose.”

  “How long’s it been? Ten years? Twelve?”

  “Eleven years, eight months, fourteen days.” He took a long look at Finn. “You’re not a drinker, friend. Take it from someone with experience: whatever you’re getting from the booze tonight won’t be worth the way you’re going to feel in the morning.”

  “I’m in love with Tommy’s daughter.”

  Anton paled visibly. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Wish I could. It hit me about two hours ago.”

  “Amber and Beryl are married. Topaz is a half step up from jailbait.” He met Finn’s eyes. “You’re talking about the cake baker?”

  Finn nodded. “The cake baker.”

  “Not good.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I mean she’s great. Don’t get me wrong. She’s about as terrific as they come but, dude! There are some complications here even my therapist couldn’t figure out.”

  Finn looked at him over his glass of Scotch. “You’re seeing a therapist?”

  “Couples therapy. It was Lyssa’s idea.” Anton looked embarrassed. “Forget I said anything.”

  “If I wasn’t halfway through this Scotch I’d make your life a living hell.” He took another gulp of booze. “Lucky for you my own life is a living hell.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  He refilled his glass. “Finish the single malt, for starters.”