by Tracy Ellen
“Okay, then. I will tell you why I have no earrings on today.” I pulled my hair back with one hand, blowing out a heavy breath in defeat. Both Anna and Stella watched me suspiciously from the doorway of my office.
I bent my head, and confessed in a quiet, dignified voice, “I have a prescription drug problem that I have been trying to kick. My hands were shaking too much to fit any earrings through the holes in my ears this morning. See?”
I lifted my head and held a hand up, letting it quiver and tremble in the air between us all. “Are you two happy now?”
Anna and Stella looked at each other, then at me, and then back at each other. They went hysterical at the same time. They held onto each other. They screamed with laughter and made mean-girl comments about my acting skills. I sat in my office chair, swiveling gently and smiling contentedly while they were busily whoopin’ it up at my expense. I cast a quick look at the clock. 9:59 AM and counting.
“Ah, Stella love, I hate to interrupt your bonding moment with Anna here, but I do believe it’s time to open the store?”
“Damn!” Stella cried as she ran out of the office. She called back over her shoulder, “I haven’t forgotten this, Auntie.”
“Thanks again for the lovely presents!” I called after her.
Anna plopped down on the moss green velvet loveseat near my desk. “Okay. What are you holding out on, Junior?”
“Forget the earrings. I think some serious stuff is going down. I’m very worried, actually. Bob Crookston was here earlier, and you will not believe what’s been going on with his wife, Cheryl.”
Anna’s cocoa-brown eyes are shaped round, but now they grew huge. Her eyebrows rose high under her long bangs. She sat forward expectantly. “Why? What’s going on?”
I stood up, needing to stretch. The only two hours of sleep was catching up with me. I also wanted to get out of Dodge before Luke sauntered in. His untimely appearance would ruin my clean getaway after all my hard work not telling on myself that he was upstairs.
‘Geez Louise. How late would the lazy man sleep on a Saturday, anyway?’
“How about I fill you in as we drive? Are you ready to go now or do you need a few minutes?”
Anna jumped up again. “Give me a couple to make sure everything’s in order with Trent. Did you know the Ladies of the Lanes bowling league are meeting here today at one o’clock in the Garden Room?” Stretching my arms towards the ceiling, I paused to give her a look. She laughed. “Of course you did.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, and do not let me forget to tell you my news, too. It’s the main thing I wanted to tell you this morning when we talked, but you got me flustered with the puny penis thing. Thanks again for that, by the way.”
I smiled, reaching over and shutting down my PC. “My pleasure. Okay, hurry up and we’ll talk in the jeep.”
“The catering is no biggie. Trent’s got it covered for today. It’s coffee in urns, bottled waters, wraps, and a variety of cookies. They’re good to go.”
I perked up at the mention of cookies, my stomach growling. That handful of walnuts seemed like years ago and the lip stain wasn’t very filling. “What kind of cookies are we talking?”
“The kind that makes your ass big, Junior. You can’t have any for free.”
Laughing, I followed Anna out into the store. She took off to Laissez Fare to talk with Trent. I could see the big guy was already at work making drinks for a couple of younger girls.
Trent looked my way. He did an exaggerated double take, grinned widely, and held both hands to his heart. In return, I drew a heart in the air with my two forefingers and pointed at him with a small smile. The two girls, they were barely in high school, followed his glance over to me and scowled.
Trent Christensen is twenty-three, grew up in Northfield, and has worked with Anna at the Fare since it opened two years ago. He is currently training to be a Pastry Chef at the Minnesota Institute of Arts Culinary School in South Minneapolis. I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Anna partnered up in the future and expanded the business. I’d be interested in backing them to start branding and packaging their own recipes for sale locally- maybe wholesale and retail distribution. I put aside the idea for further consideration to discuss with Anna.
Trent’s very attractive, like a giant Teddy bear. He stands a solid six-five. He has a curly mop of black hair. His dark blue eyes have a way of twinkling slyly at you, even when his mouth isn’t smiling. He’s a large boy, but you want to cuddle him. Women of all ages love him. Men find him harmless. Like the two girls glaring over at me from the Fare, both ideas make me laugh. Trent has the greatest, if the weirdest, customer service skills. I like working with him just to hear what comes out of his mouth next. The customers get a kick out of his conversational gambits, too.
Stella was over helping a customer in the Sci-fi section. I recognized the younger guy, since he’s been in the store often lately, but haven’t met him yet myself. Stella seemed to help him whenever he was browsing. I chuckled to see her talking and smiling animatedly while gesturing emphatically with her arms like she was a full-blooded Italian, instead of predominantly Scots and German.
I looked to my left. Larissa Butler was down at the end of the checkout counter ringing up a single book purchase. That was some fast shopping, but I knew from experience there were certain people that weren’t bookstore browsers. Sacrilegious, I know, but there you go. They enter the store, go directly to the new book section, grab their book of choice, and vamoose.
Larissa’s a part-time employee and a friend of my youngest sister from their high school days. I’ve known Larissa casually forever, but not really known her well until she started working for me last summer.
Larissa had married young and moved out of state. I hadn’t seen much of her for several years. She came back to Northfield after a particularly nasty divorce about eighteen months ago.
The older man who’d swept her off her feet and married her had turned out to be a monster, not Prince Charming. He’d been terrorizing Larissa by beating the crap out of her for years because he was insanely jealous and possessive. Larissa’s a knockout. She’s tall and slender, has a heart-shaped face, big, crystal blue eyes, and perfectly straight, thin blonde hair. She’s also so sweet-natured and harmless you couldn’t even hate her for being beautiful. It would be like hating rainbows or white, fluffy clouds.
As for smarts, Larissa’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. While a sweetheart, most of her limited conversation and interests revolve around cute, baby animals. Since my sister Jazy is horse crazy, I can only guess that was the reason for their teen friendship.
Larissa is a woman whose life took a horrifyingly wrong turn by hooking up with the wrong man. If life were fair, she would have an adoring husband who wouldn’t blink an eye that she’s a boring dimwit because she’s so sweet and beautiful. They’d have three shy children she’d dote on with all the baby love in her heart, and a house full of kittens.
Instead, Larissa had been living a nightmare for years with a man who beat her up regularly for her every supposed infraction. Thankfully, her parents finally figured out what was going on, helped get her out of that life, and got her some professional help. She’d left her crazy ex, took back her maiden name, and moved back home to get her life on track. The ex has been serving time for assault. Not for beating Larissa, but from going nuts on a trucker at the MacStop gas station off 35W in Lakeville while stalking Larissa last year after the divorce.
I hired Larissa after Jazy had told me her story and asked for my help. I was appalled when I realized the extent of the damage this girl has suffered. I hadn’t even known her that well, yet I could see the dramatic difference in her personality and confidence.
Months after being home with her folks, when Larissa first came to talk with me about a possible job, she was still a shell of her former self. Skeletal thin and dull-eyed, submissive and subdued, she was broken and pitiful.
During the interview, I had taken one look at her and
every fiercely protective, maternal instinct I didn’t know I possessed had come roaring to life. I spoke to her softly and gently about our shared past, a light banter to put her at her ease. After several minutes of this, I was rewarded with quick, furtive glances of eye contact. After I spent a half an hour telling her cute, g-rated stories about the store and our lives with NanaBel, she’d been able to watch me talk, sat up straighter, and actually smiled cautiously once or twice. When the hour interview concluded, she was softly talking with me. The tiny spark of hope I saw in her gentle eyes made me want to lay my head down on my desk and weep like a baby for all she’d endured. The scars I caught a glimpse of on her thin arms under the cuffs of her blouse, some faint white lines, others angry red circles, made me want to repeatedly punch a wall.
Maybe not a perfect choice for an employee in sales, but I’d been determined Larissa was going to succeed at Bel’s. She could have a place here for as long as she needed or wanted. Once I’d worked through the process of getting her trained and comfortable, Larissa has turned out to be a good, dependable employee and was now solidly part of the Bel’s Books family.
It appeared routine and steadiness were key for her, so I made sure she did the same duties every shift. I pushed her to learn new things, but slowly and surely with no pressure. Working a Saturday shift was new for her. Her normal schedule was during the weekdays, usually when I was working. I believe she felt safest with me around.
Larissa appears much healthier these days. She’s on the timid, quiet side by nature, but gradually, she’s been gaining back some confidence and some much needed weight. She’s no longer rigid with internal fear when a man comes near her in the store, or jumps in terror if a book drops with a loud smack. She seems content working at Bel’s Books. I believe the upbeat, fun atmosphere has had a soothing, beneficial effect on her battered spirit. The older ladies and young mothers love her. They probably believe they’re being assisted by a sweetly shy Cinderella, you can almost hear the cartoon chirping birds and talking mice.
After her customer left, I walked down to her. “Howdy, Ms. Butler, what’s shakin’ today?”
Larissa doesn’t like being hugged, and I can relate to that. For some reason, she loves double high-fiving. It makes her giggle. Her giggle sounds like a squeaky, little bat, and that makes me giggle. She said my giggle sounds like I just did something naughty which makes her giggle even more. I have no clue what she means by naughty, but when you look into her eyes and see the child-like innocence shining back despite what she’s gone through; I don’t think our concepts of naughty are remotely the same.
“Hello, Anabel.” Gigglefest over, she motioned grandly to the store at large. “I’m keeping it real today.”
Larissa was proudly smiling when I burst out in delighted laughter to hear her quoting Billy Carlson, my other store manager. He’s a great guy with a great big heart. It seemed simple enough on the surface, but it was a leap of fantastic progress for Larissa if she’s comfortable enough with Billy to be intentionally joking about his sayings.
A few minutes later, I was sitting at the Fare counter and drooling while waiting for Anna to be done with her work. My eyes were reluctantly drawn away from the bakery case when I noticed the water level in the bottle sitting in front of me shake, and a second later, shake again.
The shaking reminded me of the build-up scene in the first Jurassic Park movie when something was coming and the puddle tremored. I felt the same dread now.
I turned on my stool to observe Aunt Lily thumping her way down the main aisle towards us. Her head was swiveling from side to side as she glared around Bel’s Books. You’d swear she had entered a den of iniquity, instead of what most sane people refer to as a used bookstore. I’ve heard her dogmatic opinion, ad nauseam, of the dark sins that lurk within any books not of a non-fiction, Christian genre. I’ve got nothing against believers, but Aunt Lily’s not a woman you’d want as your poster girl. Any organization she reps gets a bad rap simply by being associated with her fanatic, mean self.
Lily Johnson’s sparse, gray hair is worn scraped back in a wincingly tight bun. Her black brows resemble furry centipedes in motion across her broad forehead. They shade the beady, unblinking eyes of a carrion predator. She has a beefy nose with wide, flaring nostrils. Her mouth is perpetually twisted, as if sucking nonstop on a lemon. If that isn’t scary enough, she has a massive body an aspiring lumberjack would be proud of, even at her age. Aunt Lily is the stuff of nightmares. Not quite as terrifying as a T-Rex, but pretty damn close.
On the crook of one meaty arm hung the purse she’d carried forever. It’s a huge, black monstrosity circa 1900. Shiny and furry looking, it was possibly constructed out of an animal she had killed and tanned herself for fun as a child. Hanging daintily from the other elbow, and incongruously out of place, was a familiar pink bakery bag. Firmly clenched in her right hand was the black cane that resembled a long chunk of basalt. She certainly doesn’t need the cane for walking, but uses it purely for intimidation purposes.
It works.
To keep current with food trends in her café, Anna likes to do what we term ‘spying.’ Spying involves periodically visiting different surrounding towns and checking out the competition to see what’s cookin’.
Our spying adventures began, in part, because of mean Aunt Lily. Since the opening of Laissez Fare, Aunt Lily has taken perverse pleasure stopping by Bel’s with food from other eateries about every second month.
After watching her depress Anna one too many times, I always try to wander unobtrusively over to the Fare’s counter when Aunt Lily stomps down the main aisle trailing her miasma of malevolence. Aunt Lily’s main goal seems to be driving home to Anna how her cooking doesn’t measure up to whatever is in the bag she brings. Yeah, she’s a real sweetheart of an Auntie.
I was positioned perfectly for the interception today. Aunt Lily’s big on proper posture, so I slumped lazily on my stool. My back and elbows rested slovenly on the counter behind me. My legs were sprawled apart while I waited to make my move.
“Oh my, onward Christian soldier,” murmured Trent in my ear, leaning down right behind me. The high school girls had wandered off, and except for the oblivious Anna banging trays around behind us in the sink, we were alone watching Aunt Lily’s lumbering forward progress down the aisle. “Didn’t she bring a bag from the Northfield Bakery last time she graced us with her charity? While we’re on the subject of charity, what would you say if I told you I was signing up for ChristianSingle.com?”
I answered out of the corner of my mouth, “I’d say, ‘Trent, what did the Christians ever do to you?’ That’s what I’d say.”
“God, Anabel,” Trent exclaimed in a fervent undertone. “I love your sassy mouth! Are you sure you won’t reconsider and go out with a younger man who has the soul of an old degenerate?”
I stifled my giggles with difficulty. “Quit it. Don’t make me laugh.”
Trent straightened up to his full, impressive height and said with exaggerated courtesy, “Why hello, Ms. Johnson.” He leaned forward, one arm resting on the top of the cash register. “Are you having the best day of your life today?”
Ignoring Trent like he was invisible, Lily Johnson placed the pink bakery bag on the counter. After looking me up and down, Aunt Lily pinned me with her special glare of virulence she kept reserved especially for Liberals, Infidels, and Jezebels. She snorted angrily at my wide smile of greeting, and at my thighs swaying indecently open then closed.
She turned her attention to Trent and continued her pleasantries.
Her cane hit the edge of the counter with a loud crack a scant inch from Trent’s hand. He jumped back in stumbling haste at the unexpected attack. He sidestepped behind me. I felt his hand clutching the back of my vest like a talisman to ward off evil.
Aunt Lily started thundering, “Young deviant, the best day in the life for the devout will be the day they meet the One True God and His Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. Renounce you
r ways and fight the Devil inside you before it is too late!”
Oh yes, did I forget to mention Aunt Lily was convinced Trent is one of those despicable homosexuals?
“Be saved or beware! You do not want to face Our Father come Judgment Day as the sinner that stands before me.” She paused and commanded menacingly, “Now, boy, be useful and inform my niece I’m here.”
Anna turned off the water at the sink, saw her Aunt, and came hopping over to join us at the counter. Aunt Lily spread her lips in a scary grimace that was supposed to pass for a smile.
The Behemoth cooed, “Anna, come taste these divine cruellers from the Northfield Bakery. Chef Leonard received his training at the International Culinary Center in New York City.”
She said the words with a malicious reverence, as if the school was located in the Garden of Eden and not just NYC, and the training received guaranteed a quality of baked goods comparable to that of manna from heaven, and not a basic recipe anyone could follow.
Anna blinked once, her happy smile of welcome wobbling. It disappeared at the sight of the Northfield Bakery bag.
Before Aunt Lily could stop me, I snatched the pink bag off the counter. I glanced inside.
Disdainfully, I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t you mean crullers?”
The “crull” in crullers rhymes with skull. Not to be confused with cruellers. That is pronounced like the word cruel. As in the cruel and unusual punishment Anna’s aunt was attempting to deliver right along with the pastries. Anna had plans to attend that school in New York, but cancelled and went local when Aunt Lily had a “heart attack” and desperately needed her niece by her side.