by Tracy Ellen
Aunt Lily’s eyes were slits of hard obsidian. She reached for the bag. “No, Anabel Axelrod. Chef Leonard said these are Persian cruellers.”
I held the bag back. I shook my head decisively in the negative. “They most certainly are not. Cruellers are fluted and shaped round. They’re also generally thought to be of French origin. What’s with Chef Leonard and the pretentious Persian name? What a poser. Persia isn’t even a country anymore. He may as well have called them Prussian cruellers or Rhodesian cruellers.” I snorted derisively. “No, these are crude donut sticks that are knock offs of the more elegant, delicate cruellers. New Yorkers call them crullers. They hawk them on the street out of those street carts.”
I tilted my head while I took in the sight of the angry, red-faced woman standing in front of me. “Do you have any idea why this cruller is shaped like a rectangular stick, Aunt Lily?”
After getting an eyeful of Aunt Lily’s working mouth and clenched fists, Anna broke in tentatively. “Umm, maybe we should try one and…”
Trent interrupted Anna. He was feeling braver a few feet out of thrashing range and was my obliging straight man. “Tell us, Bel. I’m very interested to know why these crullers are shaped like a stick.”
I met Aunt Lily’s basilisk glare with a relaxed, cool smile, totally at ease with certain people wishing me dead- after they’ve had the pleasure of beating me bloody with their cane. Using a napkin, I reached into the bag and pulled out a sugary glazed pastry.
The cruller glistened under the light from the pendants hanging over the counter.
I held the pastry aloft with two fingers, as if it were dog poop. “I’ve been told on good authority that this cruller shape came about because New Yorkers found it too difficult to fit the original circular crueller into their coffee cups for dipping.” I smiled angelically at Aunt Lily. “It never crossed their minds to break them in half.”
Trent guffawed loudly and Anna let loose a giggle before hurriedly covering her mouth. Aunt Lily continued to stare at me with a flat expression somehow more ominous than if she were enraged and swinging.
I made a face at the cruller in my hand and continued to pour gasoline on the blaze of my eternal Hell-fire. I took my time inspecting the pastry while making soft, negative noises in the back of my throat.
I finally finished my careful exam and looked up at the trio watching me.
Thighs still lazily swaying to and fro, I sighed. “Okay, not real thrilled here with the weight or looks of this thing, but time for the ultimate test. How does it taste?”
I pinched the tiniest, most miniscule sample bite humanly possible. After barely allowing it to touch my tongue, I sat up straight and promptly spit it out into the napkin with a loud, disgusted exclamation.
Gagging, I shuddered. “If you think these fat-filled disasters are divine, Aunt Lily, you’ve been sampling your soup kitchen food too often. Ugh! Majorly greasy grossness.” I spit again for good measure. “Ugh!”
If I had my way, Aunt Lily the Unloving wouldn’t leave Bel’s Books any happier than when she had arrived. Today, she furiously did an abrupt about-face and thumped out of the store without another word to anyone. Not to be immodest, but I have to pat myself on the back here. I think it was my personal best ever Interception of The Behemoth.
Trent leaned across the counter and twirled me around to face him. His grin was wicked. “I want you for my bride. Think about it. In the meantime, don’t hog the bag. Man, I love these things!”
I had stuffed half a cruller in my mouth the minute Aunt Lily was out of sight. Chewing while rolling my eyes in blissful agreement, I passed over the pink bag. Trent and Anna dived in.
Anna aimed a swat at me. Over a mouthful, she garbled, “Way to go, Junior. I have to live with that woman!”
I protested around my own mouthful, “Don’t call “it” a woman. You choose to live with it and will get no pity here, Miss Martyr.”
Stella came over and grabbed the bag from an unsuspecting Trent. She looked inside and scoffed, “No more cancer crullers for any of you. I can pour some poison down your throats if you’re still hungry. It’s the same thing as eating all this leaf lard, refined sugar, and bleached flour.”
Trent put his hands around his head, as if hugging his bursting brain. “My GOD, I love the women in your family. You’re all so mean! Stella, please, you can pour anything down my throat, even leaf lard, whatever the hell that is. I promise I’ll swallow and die a happy man. I’m waiting for you to hit legal drinking age, and then I am moving in, girl.”
My niece folded her arms. “Trent, aren’t you in school learning to be a Pastry Chef? Leaf lard is pig fat found deposited around the kidneys and loin of the poor pig. It’s used in baking because it doesn’t have much pork flavor and gives pastry crusts that flaky texture.”
On a dirty laugh, he repeated the only word a man would hear. “The loin, eh?”
Stella threw up her hands and walked away. The brat took the pink bag with her. Trent hopped the counter and followed, protesting loudly.
Anna regularly insisted on fairly evaluating the treats Aunt Lily dropped off. Normally, I wouldn’t eat them if Anna paid me, considering who delivered them.
In fact, Trent was right and Aunt Lily must be slipping. The bag of chocolate chip cookies I’d brought over to Reggie’s the day I had met Luke were the last offering Aunt Lily delivered to Bel’s, and had also been from the Northfield Bakery. Chocolate chip cookies are easy for me to resist. Plus, I figured if the Behemoth had sprinkled them with poison, my brother’s cast iron stomach could handle it. It was an added bonus that Cousin Candy had been there that day at Reggie’s and ate several of Aunt Lily’s tainted treats.
But even my fear of being poisoned by Aunt Lily, or refined sugar and bleached flour, couldn’t hold out against a bag of fresh Persian crullers. They are finger-licking fabulous. Although, now the whole leaf lard thing was ricocheting around in my cranial cavity, right up there with those poor cow teats.
‘Damn, I hate when Stella ruins another one of my life’s little pleasures.’
Chapter VIII
“Would I Lie To You?” by Eurythmics
Saturday, 11/17/12
10:23 AM
Anna and I headed out the back door to the double garage on the southeast edge of my property in the parking lot. I let out a long sigh of relief to finally escape the building for the next few hours.
We hopped in Lady Liberty. I drove the couple of blocks through town, crossed the Water Street bridge over the Cannon River, and then we were headed north on Highway 3.
Farmington is a small town a straight shot north about twelve miles. This was our first stop on today’s agenda before heading to the Grand Avenue neighborhood in St. Paul. I didn’t waste any time. Verbatim, I started filling Anna in on my conversation with Crookie from earlier this morning.
Anna had gotten to know Crookie pretty well our senior year in high school. It was usually a package deal back then. If either Anna or I had made a new friend, so did the other. Anna was even starting to like him-like him a few years back, but couldn’t be convinced to tell Crookie. It had been frustrating for me because the giant nerd was completely oblivious of her interest. Anna always thought he was a hottie with a body. I had thought they’d make a cute couple, but then came “The Day of Infamy” and here we are today, cursing his soon-to-be ex-wife to hell and back.
Anna was furious at Cheryl’s slutting it up, never dreaming it had been that bad for Crooks since the beginning of his marriage. Every time she interrupted my narrative to call Cheryl a splendidly foul name, I’d agree with an, “Amen, girlfriend!”
It was immensely satisfying talking with someone who was as irate over Cheryl’s behavior on Crookie’s behalf as I was. That’s why best friends are so terrific. Maybe when Cheryl resurfaced Anna and I would beat her up.
After I arrived at the point where I called Reggie to get the low down, Anna was listening intently to every word. She wasn’t bouncing arou
nd in her seat any longer while throwing jabs and pretending to be a boxer beating the daylights out of Cheryl. She was biting the inside of her cheek and casting quick glances at me as I drove.
That’s a sure tell with Anna that she has information. Sometimes Anna looks so guilty and furtive when she knows something that she thinks I don’t, it takes all I have not to bust a gut.
When I repeated Reggie’s inventive swearing answer about not screwing around with Cheryl, Anna’s face went hard and her lip curled in contempt.
“I suppose you believed him?” She demanded, sniffing haughtily and tossing her head.
“Sure, I guess so. Why would Reg tell me a lie about boinking Cheryl Crookston?” I asked casually.
Anna snorted. “Oh, I don’t know, Junior. Let’s see, maybe because he can? Or he doesn’t know the meaning of the word truth? Or because your brother’s a total buttwipe?” Anna shrugged in disgust. “Take your pick.”
“He’s that bad? Huh.”
We were both quiet while I accelerated into the oncoming lane and zoomed around a slow pickup truck. Anna was white-knuckling the dash, but I ignored her silent slur on my driving skills while looking at the countryside around me and contemplating my brother.
Anna relaxed when we were back in our lane in one piece. “Hey, I know what that ‘huh’ sounds of yours means. I didn’t want to drag you into the middle of this because I know how close you and Reg are, but with Cheryl missing everything is different.”
“Thanks, and I agree. I just don’t want any trouble for Reg, since we know he saw Cheryl that night.”
Anna snorted again, louder. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about your darling Reggie getting into any trouble over that detail.”
I snorted back. “Good, but enough messin’ around. Tell me what you know, please.”
Anna angled in her seat to face me and got comfy. “Okay. I was baking a cake in the kitchen that night when Cheryl came knocking at Reggie’s.” Anna pretended not to notice my surprised glance. “Slut Cheryl started humping on your stupid brother the minute she was through the front door. I shit you not, Junior. She jumped on him and he almost fell down! I never came out of the kitchen,” Anna lowered her voice and mumbled quickly, “umm...because my shirt and bra were in the other room.”
Ignoring my huge grin, she hurriedly resumed speaking in her regular voice, “I peeked around the corner and saw everything; but Cheryl had no idea I was there. Your brother got her off him, she yelled some crap at him, he kicked her out, and she drove off exactly like he said.” Anna reached over and smacked me on the leg. “Quit laughing! It wasn’t funny.”
“Ow! Hey, I’m driving here.” I was laughing in relief Reg hadn’t been alone with Cheryl. Okay, I was cracking up even more at the thought of Anna topless in Reggie’s kitchen while Cheryl was in the living room putting the moves on my brother. It sure explained why he had remembered the exact date and time.
“Oh Anna, I’m sorry. I bet that sucked big time.” I broke down giggling again and slapped the steering wheel. “But come on, you gots to admit it sounds like a French farce!”
Anna crossed her arms and smiled smugly. “Sure I do, Junior. Just as soon as you admit what Luke’s truck was doing parked down the street from your building early this morning. Where was he, hmm? Playing with his cucumber in an alley?”
‘Ah, man. Have I said lately what a pain in the butt best friends can be?’
Growing up the middle child with four siblings, you learn real fast there are two ways to deal with sticky situations. Go on the offensive with no holds barred, or avoid, avoid, avoid.
Some might see a third alternative. Admit when you’re wrong and take whatever punishment you deserve like a man. Get it over with, and move on.
Fortunately, I realized real young that I was not a man. My take, after plenty of experience, was the third alternative of copping to your crime is not a good idea. The third alternative guarantees you will most definitely get a whipping in some respect. By acting on the choices of going on the offense or avoiding the issue altogether; there’s still a hope in hell you can get off scot-free.
We were now in Farmington. I stopped for the red light at Hwy 50.
I glanced over at my smirking friend. I chose to ignore what she’d said about Luke’s cuke and be offensive. “Okay, Betty Boobies Crocker, you can keep your secrets to baking the perfect pound cake with my brother. But please answer these questions. Did you drive over in your own car to Reggie’s that night or get dropped off? And where, pray tell, did you leave your shirt and brassiere?”
“Yes, I drove over. I came from Rueb’s after having a late drink with Jazy and Tre J. As for my shirt…” She closed her eyes to recall the night while I grinned in amusement at the revealing booty call nature of her answer. “I think I left my shirt and bra on the card table in the dining room.”
I sighed. It wasn’t too hard now to figure out what had caused their nasty attitudes towards each other these past two months. The next part was not going to be pretty.
“Reggie swore to God today that he’s never had sex with Cheryl Crookston.”
The light changed to the green arrow and I accelerated through the intersection. Anna audibly sucked in a breath; her face gone stark white. The sprinkling of tiny freckles across her nose stood out against the pale relief of her skin.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” she moaned, incredulously.
“No, I am not kidding you. He swore he’s never touched her and I believe him one hundred percent. You messed up, didn’t you?”
“Oh, crap, I think I messed up in the worst way, Junior,” Anna agreed, still moaning. Then she smacked the dash. “Why wouldn’t Reg swear to God when I asked him? He only stared back at me and wouldn’t answer. I went nuts thinking that he had been with Cheryl! I thought the big dickhead went silent rather than lie and swear.”
Anna went quiet, biting her lip and staring out her window. I didn’t say anything, but waited for her to tell me the rest as I drove west to the main drag of Farmington’s small business district.
“After Cheryl left that night, we had a knock down about all this.” Angrily, she threw out her arm and almost nailed me. Luckily, I jerked my head to the side, but Anna didn’t even notice. “I can’t get over that bastard brother of yours let me think he had lied! Junior, our fight went ballistic. I went off on him and left pretty hysterical. It killed me to hear that he had sex with Cheryl right after the night of our first real date.” In case I couldn’t do the math, she added for clarification, “Our first date was that Friday night before she claimed he did her in the parking lot.”
I nodded solemnly, keeping my eyes on the road. “Yeah, I’m following so far.”
“Reg said he bought her one drink at the bar on that Saturday night because she cornered him.” Anna gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, right. I blew him off and didn’t believe him.” Her voice escalated. “My God, Cheryl’s exact words were ‘they fucked in his truck when the bar closed.’ She didn’t even know I was there listening in the kitchen!” Anna wailed out, “Why would I believe she was lying?”
Wiping her eyes with her hand, Anna reached down blindly for her purse, rooting for a tissue. Sitting up, she sniffed loudly. “Our week together was so amazing. I wanted to tell you so bad, but didn’t want to jinx anything. It was all too new.” Anna sniffed again and made a face. “I know Reggie’s history better than anyone. The last thing I wanted was to be another dumb chick he nailed who thought she could change him. How sickening would that be? I totally believed him when he said it wasn’t that way with us….but he let me go that night and he hasn’t tried to get me back.”
Anna covered her face with her hands, losing the battle to keep her composure. Her narrow shoulders shook with her sobs.
In the course of normal events, Anna doesn’t cry over guys. True, she’s a romantic, but more apt to tear up out of happiness over a sappy movie or a newborn baby. Men she gets mad with get a piece of her mind, or a sock in the gut-
not sobbed over two months later. I was feeling her misery. My brother had really gotten to her.
I spotted a diagonal parking spot across from Ye Old Downtown Bake Shop. I zoomed in and turned off the engine.
I reached over and rubbed Anna’s shaking back lightly, making comforting noises while she cried it out. I agreed with her that boys suck in general. I agreed with her their purpose for existing was to make our lives miserable, when they weren’t making us delirious. While I privately thought castration fell under the category off cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face, I agreed with her hiccupping curses that it was the solution to all her problems.
Rubbing and soothing, I thought to myself that Anna was right to believe in Reggie’s words to her, even if they had tentatively dated only one week. I know my brother. If he told Anna he had feelings for her, he meant it. It certainly explained his crappy attitude for the last couple of months. He must have been going nuts watching Anna dating Jim Mardsen while not knowing how to stop the insanity and still save face.
At that image, I chuckled inside. Reggie’s always had it too easy where women are concerned, since he normally didn’t give a damn. If he was into Anna, he was like a babe in the woods- stumbling around with emotions he didn’t know what to do with, probably didn’t want, and choking on his manly pride. I also understand why he wouldn’t swear to God to Anna.
As I absently comforted the crying Anna, now thankfully winding it down, I was thinking how their budding relationship had been blown to smithereens by Cheryl appearing on the scene that fateful night. Geez, what were the odds you’d have to deal with a mental chick like her spewing devastating lies the first week you were going out with someone?
I decided it would do no harm to share some of my theories with Anna on what had gone down that night with Cheryl and Reg. Normally, I don’t like to get involved, but I hate seeing my friend so down and it might help. Besides, Anna has a mind of her own. She’d decide on the course of action to take with Reggie after I told her my views. Hopefully, her choice would involve mega amounts of torment.