Midas Touch

by Frankie J. Jones

  Sandra sat at the wooden table. “It always amazes me your kitchen is so small,” Sandra said, gazing around the compact room. “I’d expect someone who makes their living creating new recipes to have an enormous, professionally stocked kitchen.”

  “I want to create simple recipes anyone can prepare. I keep my kitchen similar to my mother’s. If I can cook it here, then I know anyone can replicate it.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that,” Sandra said, thinking about her own cooking skills. She cooked for her father for years and later for herself, until she hired Margaret, but her efforts were mediocre at best.

  “Your problem is you don’t like to eat,” Laura said. “You don’t take the time to understand and enjoy food.”

  “I eat when I’m hungry,” Sandra defended.

  “Which is precisely my point. You eat for survival. I enjoy the smell, taste and texture of food.”

  “You make it sound like sex,” Sandra said as Laura bent to remove the casserole.

  “Actually, food and sex have a lot in common. They both satisfy a basic human need. We wouldn’t survive without them.”

  “You will not die without sex,” Sandra snorted.

  “Speak for yourself!” Laura quipped and placed the casserole on the table. “Speaking of such, how is Carol?”

  “We’ve split up,” Sandra replied.

  Laura stopped and looked at her. “Do you want to talk about it?” “There’s nothing to talk about,” Sandra said.

  Laura nodded and began to remove plates from the cabinet.

  Sandra got up to get the silverware.

  They ate and discussed the delicious new recipe. Laura made a few notes on changes she wanted to try. She would continue to experiment with the recipe, until she achieved the exact taste she was looking for. They talked about the weather and the local news as they did dishes. Afterwards, they settled on the large, overstuffed couch in the living room with a cup of coffee.

  “It’s still too cool to sit on the porch at night,” Laura stated.

  “We’ll have to make do in here.”

  Sandra took a sip of the coffee and leaned her head back.

  “Are you ready to talk about what brought you out this way?”

  Laura asked as she curled her feet beneath her.

  Sandra pulled the letter from her purse sitting on a table at the end of the couch. “I found this in my father’s wallet today.”

  She continued to sip her coffee while Laura read the letter.

  Laura went through it slowly. “I’ve often wondered about your mom,” she said, re-folding the letter. “You’ve never mentioned her except that one time in college when you told me she left when you were a child.”

  “I told you all I knew.” Sandra set her now empty cup on the floor. “Dad wouldn’t talk about her. I never knew any other family members who could tell me. According to Dad, my grandparents died when I was young, and he and mom were both from single child homes. There was no one else to ask.” She found herself wondering if it was true. Had he lied about that too? Stabbed by guilt, she pushed the thought away. Her father obviously had a good reason for lying to her about her mother.

  “You were four when she left?”

  Sandra nodded.

  “Do you remember anything about her?” Laura asked.

  “I think, I recall a trip to the zoo. I may remember laughing with her and her hugging me. But, that may have been a dream or something.” Sandra’s voice cracked and she coughed to cover it. “I have no memory of her leaving or what she looked like.”

  Laura held up the letter. “This sounds like she wanted to see you, and your father wouldn’t let her.”

  “Why would he do that?” Sandra leaned toward Laura. “I’ve spent the entire day wondering what she could have done that was so horrible he felt he had to keep me from seeing her, and for him to lie to me all of those years.”

  “He must have felt like he had a reason,” Laura said.

  Sandra pushed her hair away from her face. “I was remembering how we used to move around so much. I can’t help but wonder if it was so she wouldn’t know where I was.”

  “It’s possible,” Laura agreed. They sat quietly for a moment.

  “What do you plan to do about this?” Laura prompted.

  “Nothing. It’s too late now.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve not seen her in thirty-three years. I’m sure she has a life with a family. I doubt she’d be too happy to have me show up.” Sandra shrugged. “Think about it. I’ve not exactly spent my adult life as a hermit. She could have found me during the last few years if she wanted to.”

  “Have you ever thought about trying to find her?”

  Sandra rested her head on the back of the couch and stretched out her legs. “I’ve considered it several times over the years. I even hired a private investigator once, but I chickened out and called it off before he could find anything.”

  “There’s an address on the envelope,” Laura observed as she sipped her coffee.

  “It’s thirty years old. She wouldn’t still be there.”

  “Probably not, but it would be a place to start”

  “What if she’s remarried? I’d never find her,” Sandra argued.

  “Go to San Antonio, look around, and check the county records. They will inform you if she’s remarried.”

  Sandra couldn’t sit still and kept rearranging her body on the couch. “My problem isn’t how to find her,” she finally admitted.

  It’s more a matter of whether I want to. And even if I did, would she want to be found.”

  Laura groaned, “Sandra, you are my burden in life.” She held out her arms. Sandra scooted around and sat between her legs with her back resting against Laura’s body. Laura wrapped her arms around her. “You make life so complicated,” she admonished as Sandra examined Laura’s hands.

  “I can’t just act, the way you do,” Sandra justified.

  “I know. You have to analyze everything to death. Have you ever done one spontaneous thing in your life?”

  Sandra had a sudden vision of Lona’s tangled black hair between her thighs and felt a light sweat break out along her collar.

  “I didn’t think so,” Laura chided, taking Sandra’s silence as an admission of guilt. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, but you probably already know the answer, since you know everything.”

  Laura playfully punched her arm. “Why didn’t you bring Carol with you when you would come to visit me?”

  “You mean besides the fact you two disliked each other instantly?”

  “I didn’t necessarily dislike her. I just felt you two weren’t exactly compatible.”

  Sandra remained quiet for a moment. There was more to her keeping Carol and Laura separated, but how could she explain?

  “It’s so complicated,” she began. “I didn’t want you to know me in that part of my life. I think I was ashamed.”

  “Of me?” Laura’s voice sounded hurt.

  “No, of myself. I was ashamed of the person I became when I was with Carol. Maybe I was even ashamed of Carol, and the way she treated people. I didn’t want any of that world to contaminate this one.”

  0

  Laura seemed to hesitate. “No one called me when you were hospitalized. I read about it in Molly Devonshire’s article.

  It scared me. I didn’t feel comfortable calling you. I don’t even know if you’re all right now.”

  Sandra turned to find tears in Laura’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. It was only an anxiety attack. The doctor says all I need to do is rest.” Sandra wiped a tear from Laura’s cheek. “I’m so sorry.

  I thought about calling you,” she said lamely. “It’s not right for me to just show up when I need someone to help put me back together, or get me back on the right track. I shouldn’t do that to you.” She wiped another tear away. “I really am sorry. Would you like to go home with me? I could introduce you to Margaret.”

  Laura
laughed. From everything you’ve told me about Margaret, I’m not sure I’m ready for her. Maybe you could list me in your Rolodex as someone to notify in case of an emergency.”

  “I have a better idea,” Sandra joked. “Why don’t I leave half of Tate Enterprises to you instead? And then, if I die, they’ll be sure to notify you.”

  Laura laughed again and sniffed. “Would it provide me with enough money to give up my consultant work and concentrate full time on creating new recipes?”

  Not with the way you buy groceries.”

  Sandra did not tell Laura that she had, in fact, named her as beneficiary for half of Tate Enterprises, or that at present value, the company’s worth amounted to more than Laura could spend in three lifetimes.

  “Can I spend the night?” Sandra asked to change the subject.

  “Only if you brought your own toothbrush.”

  Later that night, they lay curled together in Laura’s only bed.

  Laura yawned loudly. “Why do you think we never became lovers?

  We’re best friends, and we’ve done everything else together.”

  “Because you insist on being straight and I’m not a man,”

  Sandra said as she closed her eyes.

  “Oh, yeah,” Laura mumbled sleepily. “Do you remember the wild dream you had when I first met you?”

  “Which one? Becoming President of the United States or marrying Mrs. Peal and living happily ever after?”

  “Neither. The one about buying a motorcycle and riding all over the country.”

  They both drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sandra sat in bed, twisting the gold ring off and on her finger, as she watched a flock of sparrows invade the bird-feeder. Her thoughts were too ridiculous to put into words. Margaret would surely have her committed. What would Laura think? She gazed at her best friend’s face, now softened with sleep.

  She recalled Laura’s question of the previous night. For a moment, she indulged in a fantasy. What would it be like to wake up beside Laura every morning? She glanced around the sparsely decorated room. They would probably be able to live together peacefully, and Sandra did love her. As one loves a sister, she mused.

  Laura would be an amiable partner, but Sandra needed more.

  She wanted a relationship with passion.

  Before she could settle into a relationship, she had to find out who she was. She squirmed with impatience; she wanted answers.

  She never liked questions in her life, but had carried one around with her for as long as she could remember. Maybe it was time to find the woman who gave her life and ask her why she abandoned

  her child.

  “Sandra,” Laura moaned in a voice heavy with sleep. “I’m not a morning person, in case you’ve forgotten. Please, tell me why you’re sitting in the middle of my bed at the crack of dawn, huffing and puffing like a marathon runner.”

  “Did I wake you?” Sandra teased. Laura’s bark was much worse than her bite.

  “No, mija. I always wake up before the sun comes up. It gives me time to feed the chickens and milk the cows.”

  Sandra snorted. “You wouldn’t know which end of a cow to milk.”

  “Oh, and I suppose you would?” Laura gave up the pretense of sleep and propped her back against the headboard.

  “No, but since milk comes from a female cow, I bet I could figure it out faster than you.”

  Laura grimaced. “If you are going to be crude, I’m going to shower. Then, I’ll fix breakfast.”

  “I have a better idea,” Sandra said, beginning to fidget.

  “What?” A look of mock horror crossed Laura’s face. “Oh, no. Please tell me you aren’t going to suggest you cook breakfast?”

  Sandra stuck out her tongue. “Let’s go in to the city. I’ll buy you breakfast, and we’ll go shopping.”

  “Shopping! You? You hate shopping,” Laura exclaimed.

  “You’re the person who used to do my math homework for a whole semester just so I’d go once a year to buy you a couple of shirts and a pair of jeans.”

  Sandra crawled off the bed. “I wasn’t thinking about shopping for clothes.”

  Laura frowned. “What do you want to shop for?”

  “Promise you won’t laugh.”

  “Okay, I promise.”

  “A motorcycle.”

  Laura’s mouth fell open. She stared at Sandra for several seconds before speaking. “Are you serious?”

  Sandra smiled and nodded.

  “You’re really going to do it?”

  Sandra kept nodding. ‘After talking to you last night, I got to thinking about the dream I had of buying a motorcycle and driving off into the sunset.” She shrugged. “I’m not interested in driving off into the sunset anymore, but I have a lot of free time to fill before going back to work. I think maybe it’s time I had some fun.”

  “You’re really, really going to do it!” Laura shrieked, leaping over and grabbing Sandra in a bear hug. “Damn, Tater, I’ve waited twenty years for you to loosen up and do something wild.

  I knew you had it in you.”

  Sandra grinned as Laura pulled her from the bed and danced her around the room.

  “It’s been about that long since I let anyone get away with calling me Tater,” Sandra said.

  “Come on,” Laura urged. “Let’s skip breakfast and go buy it before you change your mind.”

  “Don’t you think we should pick up some literature first?”

  Sandra hedged.

  “Agghh!” Laura shook her. “Just once, Tater, go with your gut instinct and do something just for the sake of wanting it. You’re filthy rich. If the damn thing breaks, buy another one.”

  They moved apart. Sandra picked up her shoes. “All right, Ms. Spontaneity. Let’s go. I’ll buy the first bike I see that I like,”

  Sandra promised as she pulled on her shirt. She stopped fiddling with her collar and looked at Laura frowning. “Should we stick to brand names?” she asked and ducked as Laura threw a pillow at her.

  They were at their eighth dealership, Dee’s Bike and Repair Shop. Laura spied the small, unassuming place as they drove along the interstate. Sandra and Laura walked into the showroom, which paled in comparison to the previous dealerships they had visited. Sandra was about to suggest they go elsewhere when she saw the bike. It was red and white with an abundance of gleaming chrome. “That’s it,” she breathed in awe.

  Laura turned to where Sandra was pointing. “Isn’t it kind of big?”A tall, muscular woman with short black hair approached them. “Good morning. I’m Dee Salazar,” she said, beaming what Sandra now thought of as a dealership smile. “What can I show you today?” Her gaze slid over Laura.

  Are you the owner?” Sandra asked, reading the hand-painted sign on the far wall. Dee nodded proudly.

  “She’s interested in the red and white one over there,” Laura broke in.

  “Great choice. That’s a 1997 Honda Valkyrie. Come on.

  Take a closer look.” Dee’s hand touched Laura’s arm briefly as she steered them to the bike.

  Sandra saw the gesture and suppressed a smile as Dee began her spiel.

  “She’s like brand new. She has six cylinders, six carburetors, and hot cams. If you’re going to be doing any driving through neighborhoods, you’ll really appreciate the quiet shaft-drive and tuned six-into-six exhaust. She has a close-ratio five-speed transmission, maintenance-free hydraulic clutch, electronic ignition, massive 45mm inverted fork, adjustable dual rear shocks, large-section radial tires, triple disc brakes and she rides like a dream.”

  Sandra walked around the bike, ignoring Dee’s list of specifications. She was already in love. She didn’t care about carburetors or performance. She didn’t even glance at the price tag Dee tried to show her. She was already imagining what it would be like to be astride this beauty on the open road. Dee and Laura were talking, but Sandra ignored them. It had taken her six months to select her Jag. She read dozens of specificatio
n brochures and went to three different dealerships before buying it. Today her heart was buying this Honda.

  “I’ll take it,” Sandra said, interrupting an astonished Dee in mid-sentence.

  “Ah, great,” Dee stuttered. “Would you like to take it out for a spin first?”

  Sandra shook her head. “I can’t drive it, and besides I don’t have a license.”

  Dee rubbed her chin and then slid a hand through her hair.

  “Maybe you should start with something smaller, lighter. We have a…”

  “I want this one,” Sandra interrupted again.

  “Can you ride?” Dee asked Laura.

  “Only if it comes with a saddle, four legs and knows the meaning of whoa,” Laura assured her.

  Sandra could tell Dee was having a problem. “What’s wrong?”

  she asked.

  “Well,” Dee said, looking up as the door to the shop opened.

  A short, thin woman waved as she came in. Dee waved back. “My mechanic,” she explained. “We do repair work also.”

  Sandra sensed Dee was stalling. “The bike,” she prompted.

  It’s sort of complicated.” Dee put her hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of candy. “I’m trying to stop smoking,” she explained, and offered them a piece of candy.

  As they unwrapped the sweets, Dee continued. “Motorcycles have really come under a lot of governmental scrutiny during the last few years. Some people believe they’re too dangerous to be on the road and,” she glanced at Sandra, “without the proper caution and equipment, they can be.” She motioned around the showroom. “We take our commitment to the safety of our customers seriously. So before you buy this Honda, I think you should learn to ride on something smaller, easier to handle.”

  “I’ve already been to eight dealerships and no one mentioned what I should buy,” Sandra said, curious as to why this woman would jeopardize a sure sale.

  Dee took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I have to live with my conscience. If I sell you this bike knowing it’s unsuitable for you and you get yourself killed, I’d have to live with that. If you want something like this,” she patted the bike,