“Thank you, Mrs. Blue. In the bottom of the bag is a cookie. Please, taste it.”
Ruby withdrew a small oatmeal raisin cookie and bit into it. Her eyebrows shot upward in stunned surprise. “This is a Mrs. Sugar cookie!”
. “Yes, in a manner of speaking, it is. But in Atlantic City we call them Mr. Malas’s Cookies. Both my wife’s mother and my own made those cookies for us in the Ukraine when we were little children. When we came here to America, we wanted to be Americans, so we changed our name, but we wanted to retain something of our homeland, so we started up our little bakery.” “My father changed our name, too,” Ruby said thoughtfully as she tried to anticipate where the conversation was going. “What is it you want me to do for you, Mr. Malas?” “I would like to sell you my brownie recipe. I talked it over with my two sons and they agreed. Mama ... Mama, she would approve if she was thinking clearly.” “I’m sure she would,” Ruby murmured.
Mr. Malas waited, his bright eyes twinkling.
Ruby smiled. “Mr. Malas, how would you like to bake me a batch of these brownies here in our test kitchen?”
“I’d like that very much. By a batch do you mean a dozen or twelve dozen?”
“How about six dozen?”
“Six dozen it is,” the old gentleman said as he followed her from the room.
“Well, here it is,” Ruby said pointing to a gleaming, white kitchen. She hesitated a moment before she opened the door. “Mr. Malas, why did you come to me?”
“Because I didn’t want to go to those other cookie people. They make dry, hard cookies and then put them in cellophane bags. Then they put them in a box. My sons work for Nabisco. I don’t think they make brownies. They would put so many preservatives in them they wouldn’t be fit to eat. I can’t pronounce the ingredients. If I can’t pronounce it I don’t want to eat it. Other people shouldn’t eat it either,” he said spiritedly.
“I hear you,” Ruby grinned. Damn, he really did look like Santa Claus. She said so. He laughed in delight.
“I’m ready,” Mr. Malas said.
“Then I guess you should get started. I have to go back to the office so you’ll be alone here. As a matter of fact, I have to come back here to make some phone calls. Tell me,” she said, looking over her shoulder, certain she was going to see eight prancing reindeer following her, “are you available to go into New York? When the brownies are done, of course. I’ll send you in a company car, and my driver will wait and bring you back here. My attorney will be prepared to make you an offer.”
“I understand, and yes, I can make the trip, but I must call the nursing home and tell them I won’t be there today. I don’t like this kitchen,” Mr. Malas said, looking around at the antiseptically white room.
Ruby smiled. “I don’t like it, either, but the health codes say it must be sterile. All the supplies are fresh, stocked daily before the start of business. I’ll turn on the oven for you. Don’t worry about cleaning up, we have people who do that. See that buzzer, just press it when you’re ready to come back to my office. I’m sorry, but when the kitchen is in operation, the door locks automatically. Will that be a problem for you, Mr. Malas?”
“Not at all, little lady.”
Ruby’s heart went out to the old man as he handed her his shabby topcoat. She swallowed past the lump in her throat when she saw the neatly darned elbows of his cardigan. Mrs. Malas must have been a superior needlewoman. The seat of his pants, she noticed, was as shiny as his bulky-toed shoes.
“You must wear this ... this wraparound coat and hat,” Ruby said, pointing to the items in a drawer beside the sink. “Health codes,” she muttered. “Mr. Malas, how much do you want for your recipe?”
The old man’s shoulders slumped. He threw his hands in the air. Ruby smiled.
“It will be a fair offer, Mr. Malas.”
The two attorneys thought her offer was too fair. “A half million dollars,” Alan squawked. “You’re out of your mind,” Marty shouted.
“You’re probably right, both of you. Let’s just look at it as my good deed for the decade. Listen, I’m not a fool. Mr. Malas’s two sons work for Nabisco. If I’d turned him down, he would eventually have gone there. Who knows? They might have offered him more. I don’t want to take that chance. I want the recipe. He has it with him. I want all the family members to sign an agreement that they are giving up all rights to the recipe.”
“We’re lawyers,” Alan said testily.
“Right.” Ruby laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you how to do things. I just bake cookies.”
Ruby curled up in the chair near the fire that Olga had replenished while she, Ruby, had walked Conrad Malas to the car. She called the nursing home, left Mr. Malas’s message, then dialed Silas Ridgely. She presented the morning’s happenings. He squawked louder than both attorneys. “This is not good business sense. First you hand over a small fortune to your husband to buy Jet Skis, and now this. You aren’t even sure you will ever use this recipe. I really don’t see the point. And before you can ask, I’m booked on a six o’clock flight out of Kennedy. I’ve already called your husband, who has promised to meet me at the airport. He said he liked the way I do things and that my personal touch won’t go unnoticed, whatever that means. Ruby, this is not a good financial move for you,” he said sternly.
“Only time will tell. Listen, I want you to apprise Mr. Malas of the tax laws. Make sure he understands, Silas, that if he takes all the money at one time, he will be paying out a great deal to the government. Give him a payment schedule of some kind out of an escrow account in his name. Make it all clear to him, Silas. Oh, one more thing: think of me curled up here by the fire when you step off that plane in Hawaii and some pretty girl throws a lei around your neck. Bye, Silas.”
Ruby poured still another cup of coffee even though her hands were shaking from the six cups she’d consumed earlier. Thank God, the pot was finished. Dixie should have been here for this. Where was she?
Every nerve in Ruby’s body was twitching when she picked up the phone to dial the Sinclaire house. She let the phone ring twenty times before she hung up. Where could Dixie be? Then a thought struck her. Maybe Dixie wasn’t at home recuperating after all. She called the travel agent the company used for corporate travel. She identified herself and said, “I’m calling to see if Mrs. Sinclaire picked up her ticket. It seems the secretary forgot.”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Blue, Mrs. Sinclaire picked it up Friday afternoon. She was booked for an early flight this morning. I think it was for seven A.M. I can check if you’d like.”
“No, that’s not necessary, as long as she picked it up. What I need to know is, is it an open-ended ticket?”
“Yes, it was. Direct to Rochester, Minnesota, and the return was open. Is there a problem, Mrs. Blue?”
Ruby laughed ruefully. Rochester, home of the Mayo Clinic. “It looks like I may have to join her. I’ll call for my reservation as soon as my plans are firm. Thank you, Joan.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Blue.”
Dixie was finally going to get her operation. Why else would she be going to Minnesota? They’d discussed it for hours while they watched over Hugo. Still, it would have been nice if Dixie had told her she was going through with it now. Ruby felt a lump settle in her throat. She hoped it was a success. Dixie would do what was right for Dixie. Ruby wouldn’t call her. That would only upset her. Ruby dozed, her half-sleep filled with Calvin. An hour or so more and he would call. Then she would go home and have a solitary dinner, just the way Calvin would do. It wasn’t fair. They should be together.
Ruby was jarred from her fragile sleep by a knock on her door. She felt groggy when she opened it to Conrad Malas, who was beaming from ear to ear.
“What can I say?” The old man fretted.
“Nothing, Mr. Malas. I only bought what someone else would have bought from you. I believe Nabisco would have given you the same amount.”
Malas shook his head. “They are too big, too impersonal. They would h
ave packaged it in a dry old box, filled the recipe with preservatives and things I can’t pronounce. It wouldn’t be the same. My Inga would like you, Mrs. Blue. She would understand all this. My Inga was always better at the business than I was. I just know how to bake.”
Ruby pretended not to see the faded eyes fill with tears.
“The lawyers explained everything to you?”
“Oh, yes, and other man, too. The lawyer said if you ever decide to market the brownies, I would get one and a half percent. I told them that wasn’t necessary, but they said it was. They said it might never happen, but if it did, and Inga and I are gone, my two sons will receive the money.”
“That’s right, Mr. Malas. It’s fair.”
“More than fair. Tomorrow I will tell this to my Inga, and maybe ... there will be a little spark, a glimmer that she understands. Sometimes that happens.”
“I hope so. It’s snowing again, are you sure you want to go all the way to Atlantic City? The roads aren’t good at this time of the day.”
“The nice man who drove me to the city had two of your people put the chains on my tires. I’ll be just fine. Thank you for everything,” Malas said formally.
“Come along, Mr. Malas. I’ll walk you to the door.”
When Ruby returned to the apartment, the receptionist buzzed to say a Paul Farano had called.
“What did he want? Did he leave a message?” Then she remembered Paul Farano was Calvin’s alias. “Did he say he would call back?”
“No, Mrs. Blue, he didn’t.”
“Did he ask me to return his call?”
“No, Mrs. Blue, he didn’t. I’ll be leaving now myself, unless you want me to stay longer.”
“Good night, Maria.”
“Good night, Mrs. Blue.”
Ruby felt her spirits sag. There would be no call from Calvin now unless he called her at home, which she thought unlikely. She brightened when she remembered her promise to write. That’s what she would do this evening after dinner. She’d build a fire, curl up on the sofa, and write a long letter to Calvin. Her spirits lifted almost immediately. Outside, with the snow falling, Ruby realized she was more than content. She was almost happy.
After dinner, Ruby showered and got comfortable for the evening. Then she walked back to the kitchen to call the Mayo Clinic. She couldn’t bear not knowing how Dixie was. She said she was Dixie’s sister and wanted an update on her sister’s condition.
The young voice on the other end of the phone informed her that Mrs. Sinclaire had gone through preliminary testing. Tomorrow the doctors would decide if they would operate on Wednesday. “Would you care to leave a message for your sister?” the young voice asked.
“No, no message. My sister wants to go through this alone, so we all promised not to bother her with calls.”
“Some patients are like that,” the young voice said cheerfully. “If you want to call back tomorrow, ask for me, Dawn Baker, and I’ll be glad to give you an update.”
“Thank you, Miss Baker. I’ll do that.”
“I have the early shift.”
Ruby didn’t know if she felt better or worse after the call. The blank paper stared up at her. How was she going to write a letter to Calvin when Dixie was on her mind like this? Dixie was about to go through a serious operation. Somebody should be there, somebody who cared. But maybe Calvin would know what to do. Maybe that’s what she should write to him about.
Ruby’s pen literally flew over the lined paper. Writing about Dixie was easy. Occasionally a tear dropped, puckering the yellow paper. She didn’t care. Calvin would understand.
At nine o’clock, when she had sealed the letter in an envelope, the phone rang. An operator told her she had a person-to-person collect call from Paul Farano. Ruby blinked. Collect. Person to person. She felt a surge of something she couldn’t identify. She accepted the call as she sent the blank envelope sailing across the coffee table.
Calvin’s voice was hushed and whispery as he identified himself. “I’m sorry to call collect, but I wanted to talk to you and there’s no way I can get out at this time of night without Eve getting suspicious. As it is, she’s been looking at me strangely all evening. I must be giving off something. I’ll give you the money for the call when I see you.”
“I thought you said you didn’t care about Eve, Calvin. What difference does it make if you make long distance calls or not? She doesn’t know who I am. You really didn’t have to make the call person to person, either. No one is here but me.”
“Listen, Ruby,” he whispered, “I thought we talked this through. You know I can’t put these last months in jeopardy. For now, this is the best I can do.” His whispering made him hard to understand.
“You’re going to have to talk louder, Calvin, I can’t hear you,” Ruby complained.
“If I talk louder, Eve will hear me. Turn off your television set or turn the volume down,” Calvin said.
“I can’t talk to you and enjoy our conversation if you’re trying to ... if your wife is close by. I can see how the phone calls can add up, so why don’t you find a phone booth somewhere, get the number, give it to me, and we’ll take turns calling at an agreed time. What’s wrong with getting a legal separation the way I did?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, but Eve won’t do it. I told you about that religion thing.”
Ruby felt the beginnings of a headache. She’d looked forward to this call all day. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She should be feeling elated, loving. “I have a blinding headache,” she said. The blinding headache became a reality the moment the words were out of her mouth.
“You’re unhappy with me, aren’t you? You’re having second thoughts. I’m picking up something in your voice,” Calvin whispered.
“No, Calvin, I’m not unhappy with you, but I am unhappy with your situation. I didn’t think it would bother me, but it does. No, I’m not having second thoughts. How could I? I love you. I didn’t plan this headache, it just happened. When will you call me again?”
“On Friday, when I leave the office. Five-thirty or so. Is that okay?” Ruby shook her head, them remembered he couldn’t see her. She gritted her teeth. “I’ll look forward to it, Calvin.”
“I should have my schedule set by then, so we can make some plans. I love you Ruby, I truly do. Dream about me, okay?”
“Okay,” Ruby whispered in return.
“What did you say? Why are you whispering?”
“So you’ll know what it sounds like,” Ruby said. “Good-bye, Calvin.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The first thing Ruby did after she dressed on the following morning was to call the Mayo Clinic. It was still hard for her to accept that Dixie had just up and gone without telling anyone. She was probably scared to death and knew talking about her operation would only make her more anxious. Even so, Dixie simply didn’t do things like that.
“Miss Baker? This is Ruby Blue, I’m calling for an update on my sister, Dixie Sinclaire,” Ruby said into the phone. She could hear the worry in her own voice.
“Mrs. Sinclaire’s surgeon has scheduled surgery for eight A.M. tomorrow,” the young nurse said cheerily. “It’s a very long operation, Mrs. Blue. You can call tomorrow evening. Ask to be put through to I.C.U.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Dixie must be frightened out of her wits, Ruby thought after she hung up. How could she go this alone? Ruby made her decision to fly to Minnesota in the time it took her heart to beat twice.
Ruby called Northwest Airlines, booked a seven P.M. flight to Minneapolis, where she would change planes for Rochester. “Your arrival time is eleven P.M.,” the reservation clerk said briskly.
Good. She could put in a full day at the office and leave for the airport at closing time.
Ruby stepped off the plane at Rochester Municipal Airport at eleven-fifteen. She had a sour stomach, a miserable headache, and she had to go to the bathroom.
She found a ladies’ room, then went outs
ide to look for the taxi stand. She thought she would die when the twenty-below temperature whacked her body.
The warm, steamy taxi felt like a sauna. “Take me to the nearest hotel or motel,” Ruby gasped.
“Won’t do you any good,” the driver said, leaning over the backseat.
“Why? Please don’t tell me there’s a convention in town and all the hotels are booked. Please don’t tell me that,” Ruby pleaded.
“Worse than that. You have to make reservations months in advance. Mayo Clinic patients and their families always have the rooms sewed up tight.”
“What do people do?” Ruby demanded irritably. Damn, why hadn’t she thought about this?
“They look for boardinghouses, bed and breakfast inns.” He shrugged.
“Can you take me to one of those places?”
“Ain’t any.”
“Then take me to the clinic. I’ll stay in the waiting room.”
“Okay,” the driver muttered as he swung his hack onto the hard, crunchy snow. Ruby hated the snow, the cold, Minnesota, her fatigue, and the place the driver was taking her to.
The lobby of the clinic was warm, but not as warm as the taxi. Ruby sank down on one of the imitation leather chairs. She would not look at the other people, who were either talking in hushed tones or crying. She thought she heard someone say a Hail Mary as she closed her eyes. She fought the urge to tell the person to stop. When push came to shove, people always turned to prayer. If you do this for me, Lord, I swear I will never do another wrong thing in my life. Did they think God was stupid?
Her eyes still closed, Ruby searched her own life. So often she’d felt the presence of a higher power giving her direction and hope when she needed it. This higher power she called God. And at times, like now, she spoke to him, but not to ask for anything.
Seasons of Her Life Page 52