Take the Cake

by Sandra Wright

“Well, I wore a dress,” Kate went on, rolling her eyes as Wren feigned a shocked response of her own.

  “You did?” Wren replied, clapping her hands to her cheeks. “Which one?”

  “Remember the yellow and white halter-neck one you made for me?”

  “Rowr.” Wren nodded with approval. “And I bet you looked great. Did you pick up anyone?”

  “Uh,” Kate stalled for a moment. “Nope, but I had a great day. The sun was shining, I saw some great things, bought myself some presents.” She picked up two cups. “Mocha for you?”

  “Yeah,” Wren replied. “Grande, thanks.” Sometimes she forgot that Kate only gave herself one day off a month, and she obviously cherished her free time. Wren gave a mental shrug, perhaps her radar had been off after all.

  “How about you?” Kate said as she wiped down the spigot and passed Wren her mocha. “What did you get up to, or should I say, who?”

  “You know me too well,” Wren replied, toasting Kate with her cup before taking a sip. She gave it some thought, and then wrinkled her nose at Kate. “He was cute enough, but nothing serious.”

  “Right, but did you have a good time?” Kate called as she ducked into the kitchen to turn on the industrial oven for pre-warming.

  “Yeah, we did,” Wren conceded. “He was nice but young and forgettable.” Wren sipped her mocha again as she turned the piece of chalk over and over in her fingers, then gave Kate a smug smile. “But I’m pretty sure he’ll remember me for a while.”

  “That good?”

  “Oh, I was very good. I think the next woman he’s with will offer some thanks up to my tutoring skills.”

  Wren put down her cup and wrote on the chalkboard. When she was finished she held it up to show Kate who laughed and gave her a thumbs-up. Wren carried the chalkboard outside and hung it carefully on the hooks, grinning to herself as she went back inside.

  Emily arrived a few minutes later and stopped to read the chalkboard before entering the store, laughing and shaking her head. “Good weekend?” she asked as she put her things away.

  “Very satisfying,” Wren replied with a smile. Sewing and creating always made her feel good, sometimes she had to admit, albeit very quietly, that it was even better than sex.

  “Where’s Kate?” Emily asked, then paused as she heard the mixer start up. “Never mind.” She glanced at Wren. “Has she told you what today’s cake is?”

  Wren shrugged. “Nope, but when she saw the quote for the day she said she had an idea, then just got straight to work. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Guess that’s why she’s the boss,” Emily agreed.

  “So how was your weekend?” Wren asked as she began to fill the water jugs.

  Emily paused as she picked up a tray of bagels that she would be turning into the daily lunch specials. “It was good.” She considered, then looked at Wren and blushed.

  “Look at you! What’s his name?” Wren dropped a slice of lemon into one of the jugs with a plop and turned to give Emily her full attention.

  Emily heaved the tray onto the island behind the main counter and opened the refrigerator built in underneath, so her reply was muffled as she took out some ingredients.

  “Sorry?” Wren called. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  “I don’t know what his name is; I just think he’s cute. He works at a bookstore,” Emily confessed. “And he seems really nice.” She gave a small shrug. “I bought something and we just got to talking.”

  “Nice,” mused Wren. “It’s a good start. Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”

  “I don’t think so. He asked if I had a boyfriend so maybe he’s available too,” she said in tones of quiet hope.

  “Well then, what are we going to do about that?” Wren paused and pointed her paring knife at Emily for emphasis as she spoke. “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to find out who he is, and then make sure he falls madly in love with you.”

  Checking the oven, Kate smiled to herself as she listened in on the girls’ conversation. Thank God for Emily. The heat would be off her for a while, and she was all the more thankful that she hadn’t told Wren about Michael. The Pocket Rocket would have gone into paroxysms of joy at the prospect of having not one, but two, friends’ love lives to oversee.

  “Wow,” Emily commented. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “What can I say? I’ve got plenty of experience.” She looked up at Emily and gave her an urchin grin. “Mind you, it’s generally of the short term variety.”

  Both the women laughed, and then got back to work.

  In the kitchen, Kate paused and considered Wren’s glib comeback. She didn’t judge Wren for what Tom called the “love ’em and leave ’em” approach, but she hadn’t failed to see the flash of vulnerability on Wren’s face when she had dismissed her Saturday evening encounter. Wren needed more but wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

  A while later, Kate delivered the daily cupcake special along with an array of the usual butter cake and vanilla frosted ones that had always been Jack’s favorite. They were all frosted in different colors with different sprinkles, making the display cabinet look lush and inviting.

  “Ohhh, I’d better have one of those with lunch today.” Emily sighed. “What are they?”

  Kate set the tray down and adjusted a few cupcakes so they could be displayed to their best advantage.

  “I’ve made these in honor of our Pocket Rocket,” Kate replied, speaking in a voice loud enough to carry to Wren who had been collecting cups from a table at the front of the store.

  “Wait! Wait! I’ll get the chalk!” Wren hurried forward, setting down her cups with a clatter and picking up the little chalkboard that sat on an easel on top of the counter. “Okay. Ready. Fire away.”

  “That’s what she said,” Kate replied, laughing as Wren gave her a look of amused exasperation. “In honor of our dear Wren …” She inclined her head toward Wren who gave a gracious nod of acknowledgment in return. “I give you Sugar Mama Cupcakes, a caramel cupcake topped with white creamy frosting and sprinkled with shattered caramel toffee.”

  “I think I just gained two pounds,” replied Emily in a mournful tone although her expression was still covetous.

  Wren finished writing and propped up the chalkboard, then nodded approval to Kate.

  “Nice one,” she said.

  “Thanks,” answered Kate. “I’m pretty pleased with them myself.”

  “Not as pleased as I was on Saturday night when he—” Wren began, whooping with laughter as Kate and Emily both gave an affected squeal of dismay and clapped their hands over their ears.

  ~~~

  Michael woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in a long time. His dream still clung to him, following him into the bathroom, back into the kitchen, whispering to him as he plugged in his espresso machine and gave a massive yawn. He headed back toward the bathroom, stripping off and standing under the hot shower spray for a long time, gazing sightlessly at the tiles as his dream played in his mind’s eye once more.

  He had been in a maze of white walls, stumbling along and feeling his way by touch, squinting against the bright light. He hadn’t known where he was, but he knew there was something or someone waiting for him at the center. He ran his hands over the seemingly endless white walls, losing his way and coming up against dead ends countless times. Finally, he saw a speck of color on one of the walls and had run toward it. A word: laughter. He knew what he was looking for now.

  Michael had kept searching, darting forward whenever he saw a word scribbled against the white. First there had only been the one word, then two, then five. Then he saw a steady stream, unraveling and coiling around the walls of the maze, guiding him on.

  He ran on, trailing his hand along the wall’s surface, his fingers brushing over the words that dipped and swirled, guiding him ever onwards. After what had felt like an eternity of searching, he rounded a corner and stopped short. The corridor of the maze had opened into a sm
all room, three white walls, and the fourth … the fourth was the shop front of Kate’s store. He stood gaping at it, looking down to see the words had slithered off the walls and were pooling around his feet, swirling with an invisible current, eddying toward the store. He took an uncertain step forward.

  The door opened, and Kate stepped out. She was wearing the sundress she had worn at the market. Her hair was still down, and her smile was a beacon of warmth against the white surroundings. The words surged and crested against Kate’s feet, making her look down and laugh as they swirled into the store. She had held the door open and extended a hand toward him in invitation.

  It didn’t take a genius to interpret that dream; it seemed even his subconscious realized that Kate restored his words. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stood brushing his teeth, deep in thought at the bathroom basin. His head jerked when he heard the phone ring, and he spat and rinsed before padding into the room to snatch up the handset.

  “Hello,” he offered in a soft growl.

  “Michael,” said a voice in a very careful tone.

  “Alistair,” he acknowledged. “How are you?”

  “I’m …” Alistair hesitated. “I’m well. Did you have a good weekend?”

  “Thank you, I did,” Michael replied, and then paused. He wasn’t a talkative man by nature at the best of times, but for some reason of late, Alistair brought out the worst in him.

  “Dare I ask?”

  “Yes, Alistair,” Michael said in a quiet voice. “I’ve been working.”

  There was a slight pause, and Michael pictured Alistair leaning forward in his chair, eyes bright with curiosity.

  “And?”

  Michael shrugged even though he knew Alistair couldn’t see the gesture. “It might be something,” he allowed, “but then again, it might be nothing at all.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Alistair rushed in. “The fact that you’re writing again is all that’s important.”

  “I’m not going to meet deadline,” Michael cautioned. His contract was for a number of publications within a certain timeframe, and this time he was falling well past the mark.

  “That’s not for you to worry about,” Alistair said in a reassuring tone. “Leave that to me. I won’t let anyone bother you.”

  “Thanks,” Michael replied, surprised to discover that he appreciated this source of unexpected support.

  “Anytime, Michael. Look, I know that I’m a pain in the ass, but that’s what they pay me for,” Alistair went on. “I’m here to help. Just try to remember that next time you want to kill me.”

  “I’ll try,” Michael replied in a dry tone. “But I’m not promising anything.”

  Alistair laughed. “I’ll take what I can get.” He paused. “So,” he began delicately, “are you able to tell me anything about it?”

  “Uh,” Michael stalled. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d written. It had been a stream-of-consciousness ramble that had run on for a few thousand words, and he hadn’t had the opportunity to re-read it yet. “You know, I’m not entirely sure what it’s going to be at this stage. I’m still getting a sense of it myself.”

  “Okay,” replied Alistair, the disappointment evident in his voice. “We can talk about it later.”

  “Thanks, Alistair. I appreciate it.”

  “Any time. I’ll give you a call in a week or so. How does that sound?”

  “Fine,” Michael grunted.

  “Try to control your enthusiasm. I’m doing my job, remember?”

  “Yes, dear,” Michael sighed, startling a laugh out of Alistair. “Can I go now?”

  “I think I’ll let you. Talk to you later.”

  “Okay.”

  Michael hung up, staring at the handset for a moment before tossing it onto the bed. He turned to leave the room, and then glanced back. Hitching his towel into a firmer position around his waist, he tugged at the quilt and sheets, making the bed and rearranging the pillows for the first time in longer than he cared to admit. He picked up the phone again and paused before dialing.

  “Hey, Watson,” he began. “You free for a run sometime?”

  Plans were made, and he snapped the phone shut, this time with a distinct sense of satisfaction. Yesterday at the market with Kate had been fun, and it made him want to get out into the world again.

  ~~~

  Michael had made his way over to Washington Square Park and was doing some warm-up stretches when he looked up at the sound of his name being called. He waved, and David waved back, jogging toward him.

  “Hey, thanks for the call. The way things are going at work it’s good to be out of the office.”

  “No problem. You sure you’ve got time?”

  “Yeah, I’m just waiting for a few people to call back with some quotes, and the deadline for those isn’t until tomorrow. All good,” David replied. “You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” Michael straightened up. “But it’s been a while, so be gentle.”

  The two of them set off at a steady pace, talking as they jogged.

  “You been up to much?” asked David.

  “Well …” Michael paused to think of what to say. “I guess you could say I’ve gotten some work done.”

  “Cool,” David replied.

  They kept jogging, and when David remained silent, Michael shot him a quizzical glance.

  “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  David shrugged. “I figure you’ll tell me more when you’re ready. I question people for a living, so I know when people are ready to talk and when they’re not.”

  Michael thought about this for a few more paces. “Thanks. I wish there were more people like you out there.”

  “Have you told your folks you’re writing again?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to. It only started last night.”

  They rounded a curve on the path and veered to the side as some cyclists wound their way past. They were nearing the dog park and Michael grinned as he saw the dogs and owners playing. Maybe he’d get a dog one day.

  “Well, you’ll tell them when you’re ready,” David suggested.

  “Again with the thanks.”

  They jogged on through dappled shade and open sunny stretches of pathways. Michael’s lungs were starting to burn, and he felt sweat pooling on his back and chest. It had been a long time since he’d done this. A sideways glanced showed that David barely looked winded. Michael realized he was going to have to jog more often. How had he managed to lose his fitness so fast?

  “So,” he gasped after a while, “how’s your work?”

  “Aw, hell.” David grimaced. “I guess it is what it is. All the papers in this town are having a hard time, so I’m thinking about quitting.”

  Michael shot him a surprised look. He hadn’t realized David was so unhappy at work. “What’s going on?”

  David shrugged. “It all seems to be going to shit. The paper’s in trouble with a few lay-offs here and there, so it’s not looking good.”

  “Is your job in trouble?” Michael asked.

  “I’ll be fine, but it’s not as much fun as it used to be. Still, I’ve got a few options.”

  “Such as?” Michael asked.

  “All in good time.” David shot him an amused glance. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

  “Point taken,” Michael conceded with a grin, and they jogged on.

  “Hey,” David ventured after a while, “do you ever think it’s funny how we both ended up making a living in publishing?”

  “Yeah.” Michael smiled. “Sometimes.”

  “Me as the History major, you studying Economics, what the hell happened?”

  “We discovered booze and rock-n-roll, my friend.”

  “True,” conceded David. “And damned if we didn’t have a good time.”

  “Amen to that, brother.”

  They looked at each other and laughed.

  Jogging in silence for a while gave Michael the time to mull over D
avid’s comments. Their lives had started out on different career paths and yet they had ended up on a kind of parallel. Having known each other from an early age thanks to their parents, everyone had been delighted when the two boys had been accepted at the same college. What the parents had been a little less enchanted by was David’s decision to start playing guitar in a local band while Michael had starting writing review articles for local music magazines. Their parents had, after a few “summit meetings” as Charles had called them, been concerned that the boys find a life path that would ensure a steady income, although they had been careful to encourage and support them all the way through college, lest they rebel and drop out.

  In the meantime, Michael and David had somehow stumbled across their futures by accident. David had a natural way with people that encouraged conversation, usually much to their surprise as they found themselves revealing far more than they wanted to. Michael, on the other hand, was a natural observer. He was quieter by nature and tended to stand back and take everything in, chiming in on later conversations with a knowledge and complexity of understanding that left people wondering at the depth of his insight.

  Although Michael was the natural writer of the two, David was the one that had delved into the media world first. He had completed his degree and had been offered a job with a small newspaper. He had become well connected through the band circuit, and his network of contacts had become legion. David’s people skills seemed perfectly suited to journalism, and so his career began.

  It had been Michael’s mother, Susan, who had inadvertently changed Michael’s career direction. She had been helping him unpack his books from college and had found some files that he had filled with random pieces of writing. After asking what they were, Michael had suggested in an off-hand manner that if she needed the files for work she could ditch the contents. Susan hadn’t done that, a fact she was thankful for even now. She had taken the files into her study and, later that night, had begun to read. Charles had sleepily come in to see if she was coming to bed at a very late hour, and she had wordlessly handed him one of the files she had finished and kept reading the next.

  They read through the night, and a few days later, Susan casually asked Michael if he had any more writing. Michael had nodded and mumbled through a mouthful of cereal that he had an extensive collection on his MacBook. He’d referred to the files as “just some assorted ramblings, nothing much.” Susan and Charles had, with Michael’s amused permission, shown his work to some people in the publishing industry and things had never been the same after that.