The Return of Betty Snickerdoodle

by Pepper Frost

  “Hallooooo!” called an exuberant voice – Bea’s!

  “Angie, you here? Can I get a little help? I can’t get the door open with all this stuff.”

  Shocked, Angela dropped everything right on the floor and rushed to the back door. She let out a sob of joy and relief – then stopped and stared, mouth agape, at the barely recognizable woman she saw in the doorway.

  “Girlie, aren’t you going to grab some of these bags?” Bea said. She was struggling with the door and numerous shopping bags while Angela watched, seemingly mute. “And why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I’m sorry, Bea. It’s just … I didn’t know where you were. I was so worried. I missed your call yesterday, and I was afraid you were stranded. And now you look … well … a little different.” Angela struggled to take in the startingly new Bea in front of her. Bea’s appearance was transformed from head to toe. She was even wearing quite a bit of carefully applied, if garish, makeup.

  “Ain’t it great?” Bea enthused. “I don’t know why I gave up shopping. It’s hella fun! Help me get all my stuff inside and I’ll give you a twirl!”

  Angela hastily grabbed several of the shopping bags Bea was wrestling with. The bags were adorned with a graphic of a soaring bird of prey and the words “Gift Shop & Mercantile.” Bea’s cane was poking out of the top of one of them. “What’s your cane doing in here?”

  “Oh, I don’t think I need it anymore,” Bea said. “After my spa treatment, I feel like a new woman. Massages. Who knew they had such restorative powers?”

  Angela tried to absorb this revelation as she helped Bea pile the bags on the living room floor. Then the tiny woman delivered the promised twirl, showing off her new outfit: a shiny, black satin jacket, overlaid with huge pink, red, and purple flowers; slim, stretchy denim pants – Angela guessed they had stirrups; and tall sheepskin boots with a bright, Native American design on a band around their tops. The ensemble was … extraordinary. It wasn’t exactly more fashionable than Bea’s normal garb, but it had quite a bit more personality.

  “Well, whaddaya think?” Bea asked, beaming. “I’m most excited about the hair!” In place of her old helmet hairstyle, Bea had a soft, flattering cut – with a zippy stripe of purple in the bangs that stood out against the white and gray. Angela thought the new style suited Bea – lively, low-maintenance, and a bit unusual.

  “I love the hair, especially your lavender stripe,” Angela enthused. She was being completely honest about the hair, which she considered a massive improvement. She wasn’t as sure about the outfit, but decided that on balance it was a step up from the velour track suits.

  Bea’s pronounced moustache was also gone, and her eyebrows had been radically pruned. The outlines of her former beauty had been revealed, like a magnificent painting rediscovered under years of painstakingly removed grime. The cracks in the canvas were perhaps more visible, but the original splendor was now unmistakable. “Bea, am I right that you’re wearing makeup?”

  “Yep. Professionally applied. How could I have forgotten how much fun it is to shop? Especially since I’m rich!” said Bea with a hearty chortle and a habitual slap of her knee. “Of course, I didn’t even pay for any of this stuff myself. It was the perfect way to celebrate quitting smoking.”

  “Wait, what?” said Angela, reeling from yet another bombshell. “You quit smoking?”

  “You didn’t notice? I’ve hardly been smoking at all while we’ve worked together. I didn’t intend to give it up at first, but I just had less time for it when we started the new book. Then when I saw all those folks huddled around the ashtray outside the poker room at the casino last night, I thought, those cigarettes are like a ball and chain. So I decided I don’t do that anymore! Just like that.”

  Angela bit her lip to keep from laughing as she absorbed this news. Of course Bea could go from decades-long chain-smoker to non-smoker on a whim. Because Bea – well, she does whatever she wants. “Bring me up to speed. So I guess Swooping Falcon is where you were last night?”

  “It started when I got stranded at Charlie’s office,” Bea said, aiming a teasing sidelong eye roll at Angela. “As you know, someone who was supposed to send a car for me didn’t answer her phone. By the way, why is your voicemail always full? I would have kept trying to call you – it’s a long story, but the short version is that Charlie has a nosy neighbor who’s a private investigator and also a very pushy cow.”

  “Her name wouldn’t be Pat, would it?” Angela asked. “She said Charlie asked her to watch the place while he’s on a cruise with his son – she said to tell you the picture you saw was of Charlie, his son, and his son’s roommate. And to let you know she is sorry she kicked you out. She thought you seemed like ‘a suspicious character.’”

  “That woman is a boob. Tough, but not too smart. I was tempted to knock her out with my cane, but then I thought better of it,” Bea snorted. “Hey, maybe you’re right – that cane does come in handy. Plus it does help convey a frail appearance. You know how I enjoy being underestimated.” Bea pulled the cane back out of the shopping bag, and brandished it toward Angela in an exaggerated display of faux menace.

  Angela laughed as she stepped back. “Actually, Pat did say you almost broke her arm with that cane. She’s got respect for your physical game.”

  “Haha! I knew I got her pretty good.”

  “Yeah, unfortunately, that’s one of the reasons she thought you might be a criminal. Anyway, so what did you do after Pat ejected you from Charlie’s office?”

  “Luckily, Fred, the nice doorman at Charlie’s building, had a phone I could use to call Perry at his casino. Perry couldn’t pick me up himself, but he had the idea to hook me up with a limo from Swooping Falcon. He said that his friend who runs the poker room there is always looking for high rollers. So he got them to set me up with a nice line of credit and a comped room at the resort – as long as I agreed to play their big game for a few hours. I guess they took Perry’s word that I’m loaded, so no cash, no problem,” Bea guffawed.

  “They were all excited to have a new whale to help fill up their big game. Excellent game, just a bunch of blustery dudes at-the-ready to misjudge the old lady. Even at the big stakes, people never suspect the old lady’s bluffing them. It was a thing of beauty, Angie. The casino got their action, and I won enough in a few hours for a fancy dinner, spa treatments, even an extra room night. Plus, plenty left over to blow in the boutique,” Bea continued, fishing in her bags to show some of her haul to Angela. “Why haven’t I been getting out more, Angie? I’ve been missing out on too much fun. Check out all this stuff.”

  “I’m just so relieved you’re okay,” Angela sighed, dutifully oohing and aahing over Bea’s booty. The bags contained a peculiar mix of expensive classics, turquoise jewelry, kitsch souvenirs, and tacky, loud … stuff. It struck Angela that Bea’s haul was a representative cross-section of the typical Indian casino gift shop inventory. Had Bea even left anything in the store for the tourists?

  “For the love of Pete, sometimes it’s like you don’t know me!” Bea said.

  Angela knew what Bea meant: Bea was quite possibly the most self-reliant person on the planet. Still, Angela was mystified that Bea didn’t even seem that annoyed that she’d been stranded with no phone and probably no money, credit cards, or ID.

  “I have to tell you, Angie, I even kind of enjoyed hanging out with people.”

  “Are you saying you’re not a misanthrope after all?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. It’s easier to like people when you’re taking their money,” Bea joked, punctuating it with another swat to the patella.

  Angela chuckled and continued poking through Bea’s shopping bags, eventually fishing out a designer purse. “Hey, is this what I think it is? And are you really going to use it? Did you really buy it for yourself?”

  “Yep. If I’m going to be out and about now, it’ll be a lot easier if I bring money. And ID. Maybe I’ll even get a cell phone,” Bea cackled. “You
’ve shown me the light on technology. I think I kind of love it now. If I want to go to Swooping Falcon, they’ll send a limo right out for me. But who knows, maybe I’ll want to go somewhere else? That’s why I need to be able to call the Youber myself.”

  Let it go, Angela reminded herself, deciding not to correct Bea’s latest mangling of modern technology terms. Then her eyes narrowed. It occurred to her that Bea might actually be faking it to get her goat. It never paid to underestimate Bea’s wiles.

  “Oh, and I got a present for you,” Bea beamed, pulling out a mug with playing cards and lettering decorating its sides.

  “’I don’t even fold my laundry?’” Angela read off the mug, perplexed. Next to the caption was a picture of a seven of spades and a two of hearts – the dreaded seven-deuce off-suit, the worst hand in hold ‘em poker. Angela guessed the joke was that the owner of the mug wouldn’t even fold the worst hand in poker – which didn’t sound like her at all.

  “It’s supposed to be ironic,” Bea snickered. “Sorry, but don’t you agree you are a bit of a rock? We’re going to have to loosen you up a little if you want to join me at the big table next time.” She pulled a Swooping Falcon-branded deck of cards and chip set out of one of the bags. “Don’t worry, we’ll practice.”

  Angela nodded noncommittally, wondering what kind of high-stakes poker adventures Bea envisioned, knowing it would be pointless to resist. “So, should we talk about the book? I read all the pages you left, and made some edits – hardly needed any, as usual. I think it’s fantastic. The fans are going to love it, Bea.”

  “Excellent,” said Bea. “What about your chapter? Is it done?”

  “Yep. Do you want to take a look? Once we drop it in, we’ll be just about done,” Angela said, standing up and motioning toward the office.

  “That sounds great. I’m so pleased we’re almost done,” Bea said. “But one more thing before we get down to work: let’s get the blood pumping before we sit down to work. Rebecca, play ‘Paperback Writer’ by the Beatles,” Bea announced in the direction of her internet speaker. “This one’s for you, Angie.” The magical metal cylinder came to life, whirring and glowing and finally playing Bea’s request at high volume.

  “Do you wanna be a paperback writer?” Bea squawked along over the music, while dancing in her high-spirited, jerky style and urging Angela to join in. Angela embraced the fun, and by the end of the song, she was exuberantly twirling Bea. As the music faded out, the pair plopped down on the couch, slightly winded and laughing hysterically.

  “I love that song,” said Bea. “It was playing at the casino when I decided to try my hand at writing Christmas stories.”

  “So you think it was an omen? Is that how you decided to invent Betty?”

  “Nah – well, not exactly. I don’t believe in signs. I believe in luck – good luck, bad luck, any poker player knows they’re for real. But the full story of how I decided to create Betty is a long one – I’ll tell you someday, once we get our book done.”

  “Okay, then, so should we get to work?” said Angela.

  “Yep. If you wanna be a paperback writer, Angela, we’ve got to put this sucker to bed,” laughed Bea. “But just one more dance first. Let’s get some more oxygen into our brains.”

  Bea’s dance craving satisfied, the two women settled down in the office to begin the final steps of finishing the manuscript. Bea sat at the desk, reviewing Angela’s final chapter – repeatedly noting her approval. Angela finished her last few copy edits on the other sections, and waited for Bea to close out the document so that she could begin to string the final versions of all the chapters back together.

  “Can I ask you something, Bea?” Angela ventured. She knew it wasn’t the best time to ask, but when would she get another chance?

  “I’m working here! Weren’t you just nagging me to get started just a few minutes ago?”

  “I know, bad timing,” Angela said. “It’s just, I have to ask. Weren’t you scared? When I left you stranded in San Francisco? I just feel so sorr—“

  Bea cut her off. “Nope!” she said. “Not really. I mean, sure, I was a little nervous. But I know how to take care of myself. Don’t you?”

  “Yes. Maybe. I think so.” Angela was flustered. Bea’s question sounded like a test, one that she might not be able to pass.

  “Look, if you have other people you can rely on, it’s a lucky break. I’m lucky I can rely on you – most of the time, anyway,” Bea teased. “But no matter how many friends you got, there’ll come a time when not one of them can help you. Sometimes, even your best friend will let you down – even if they don’t do it on purpose. That’s when you have to know you can figure things out for yourself.”

  “I shouldn’t have let you down,” Angela said. “I really am sorry.”

  “Nonsense,” Bea said. “I was just needling you. If Pat hadn’t kicked me out of Charlie’s office, I would have just stayed there until I reached you eventually. You know, most people look at me and assume I can’t handle myself. They just see an old lady. But you know better. So don’t worry so much. I can take care of myself. And I know you can, too – just don’t you ever forget it. Now let’s get this puppy done, shall we? We’re on the verge of bringing Betty back from the dead,” Bea laughed. “We should be celebrating, not fretting!”

  “Yes, let’s get it done,” said Angela, relieved. “As soon as you’re done with that section, I can string it all together and get it ready to publish.”

  While she waited, Angela ran the next steps of marketing through in her mind. They were so close to releasing the book that she was getting both anxious and excited. There wasn’t much time to figure out what had to be the fastest book roll-out in history. Engaging the fans would be easy, though. They’ve wanted a new Betty for so long, they’ll go absolutely bananas when one appears out of nowhere.

  Perhaps I should post a teaser tonight, Angela thought. With the edits nearly done, she could have the formatting of the e-book set in a day. A teaser right before the actual launch could create a fan frenzy.

  Mulling over how her post should look, she picked up her phone to check the fan activity on Betty’s pages. OMG, she murmured, as she took in a completely unexpected flurry of hundreds – maybe thousands – of posts and comments. Wow! Angela thought. That’s strange – but what a happy coincidence. What a lucky break that the fans were unexpectedly buzzing about something, just as she was contemplating giving them the thing they love the most. This launch was going to be a cakewalk.

  But Angela’s delight quickly turned to distress when she realized the comments all seemed to have two things in common. They all had hashtags like #bettyreturns along with excited messages about a new Treacle Town book that was about to be released. And they all pointed to a new site and new social media pages that she’d never heard of – and that she didn’t create.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cash was stomping around the floor of his studio and whooping aggressively as Aseem looked on. “It’s all coming together.” he said. “The seeds are sprouting. Almost time for a big effing harvest! Wahoo!”

  Aseem was wary of planning the banquet before the crops had matured. He had to agree, though, that building audiences for the new social media identities they’d set up had gone astonishingly fast. It had just been so incredibly easy. In just a couple of days, they’d attracted thousands of followers from Betty Snickerdoodle’s original communities to their new social media pages. Aseem had had only one plan: personally nurture the new communities with relentless attention. He hoped that his approach of continuous posting and replying would be enough – he had no plan B. He could hardly believe it, but it had worked like a charm.

  Everything Cash said about Betty had been true: People were overjoyed at the prospect of a new Treacle Town book, and happy to follow new pages – even cough up their email addresses – for the possibility of being the first to read it. Thousands of avid fans had already registered on their new sites – incredible.


  The hard part was thinking up new things to post. With the sites poised to open for business, Cash told Aseem he now wanted to grab the audience from Betty Snickerdoodle’s current pages. The thing was, the content there – sweet holiday stories, recipes, and crafts – didn’t seem to correspond with what Aseem knew about the new story. Nobody on the current Betty pages was crying. The cookies were never burnt. Everyone visiting Betty’s pages seemed happy. Nobody was reaching for booze, butts, or pills. Nobody even swore!

  Aseem’s unease with the project was building. He didn’t know what to make of the strange mismatch between his Betty pages and the originals – but he also knew better than to ask Cash. The guy seemed to always be on the edge of cracking up – and not in the fun way. Aseem thought he could be one Cash rage fit away from being fired, and wanted to make sure he got to the end of the project and got paid. He wanted to stay on Cash’s good side until he’d built up that email list and released their teaser content. After that, Aseem could hold the passwords for everything over Cash’s head if he tried any funny business with the money – or if it turned out there was anything they were doing that wasn’t on the up-and-up.

  The simplest course of action was to follow the content on the original page. That’s the stuff that got the original audience engaged, after all. Good grief it was boring, though. How many sugar cookie recipes are there in the world? After just a day or two, Aseem was running out of ideas. What incredible luck that the audience was so easy to lure. Aseem couldn’t understand it, but he appreciated it. He got pretty far just posting a countdown and to-do list for a perfect Betty Christmas. He stole the ideas right off a six-year-old post on Betty’s page. They were among the most popular posts, but surely the author would have forgotten about them by now. They had to have posted at least a thousand recipes and Christmas craft pictures since then.