The Coincidence of Coconut Cake

by Amy E. Reichert

  Devlin leaned in and kissed Lou on her cheek, but his eyes never left Al’s face. As he pulled away, Devlin met Lou’s unreadable eyes, then scanned her clinging clothes and dripping hair.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  He reached for her arm, but she pulled it out of reach.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I’m entertaining clients.” He pointed to the VIP area next to the stage. “I saw you dancing in the rain.”

  Al noticed he didn’t mention her dance partner.

  The joie de vivre overflowing from Lou just moments ago dried up and drifted away. Her lips remained sealed tight. Al wished she would say something so he could tell how she felt. He’d love an excuse to tell this prat to shove off.

  “There are things you don’t know. About that morning.”

  Lou stayed silent, but her eyes looked watery.

  “I didn’t sleep with her. I didn’t even tell her to come over.”

  Al rolled his eyes. He was really doing this right now.

  “Lou, I can take you home.” Al took her hand. Devlin glared at him.

  “You can leave. This doesn’t concern you.”

  Al took a step forward and Lou pulled him back, squeezed his hand, and let it go.

  “It’s okay, Al.” She turned to Devlin. “Go on.”

  Devlin looked at Al.

  “He stays,” Lou said.

  Devlin shrugged his shoulders.

  “Megan had been working with me. The night before my birthday, I told her I needed a memo first thing in the morning. She took it literally and arrived shortly before you did. I answered the door in my boxers, assuming you were surprising me. I went to the bathroom to get dressed and she found your lingerie. By the time you arrived, I had realized her intention and was collecting her clothes for her.”

  Lou showed no sign of responding. Devlin took a step closer to her.

  “I didn’t cheat. I would never risk our plan like that.”

  Lou took a deep breath and blinked a few times.

  “Thank you for telling me.” She looked at Al. “I’m ready to leave.”

  She turned and walked away, neither fast nor slow, weaving through the crowd. Al followed her.

  As they left the grounds, he asked, “You okay?”

  Lou nodded.

  “That was unexpected and answered a few questions,” she said.

  “You believed him?” Al wanted to gather her back in his arms, worried that if he didn’t keep her close, she would slip back to Devlin. His worry made him breathless.

  Lou shrugged. “It’s something to think about, anyway.”

  • • • • •

  The sweat followed the path of least resistance down Lou’s spine, past the waistband of her shorts, and onward—or perhaps downward was more accurate. It didn’t help that she kept recalling the feel of Al’s arms around her as they’d danced at Irish Fest a week ago, or the solid wall of his body when he spun her. With those types of thoughts, she was steamy inside and out. If only it were New Year’s Day and she could do the Polar Bear Plunge in Lake Michigan. That might cool her off.

  She was too pale to be out in this sun. Lou usually did the roasting, not the other way around. But how can you say no when your best customers offer up their vegetable garden if you’ll help weed? So that’s where Lou and Sue were on a ninety-degree day in late August. Otto and Gertrude supplied cold lemonade and fresh radish sandwiches, thinly sliced radishes with butter and salt on white bread—delicious. Sue and Lou supplied the labor.

  She yanked each weed with fervor, imagining it as a hair on Devlin’s perfectly coiffed head. How dare he ruin her night with Al and muddle everything with the truth. And it was that. Devlin never lied. Why should he when he could negotiate his way out of any dilemma? So everything that had happened since the coconut cake coincidence could have been avoided if she’d stayed for two more minutes that morning. She and Devlin would still be affianced. She wouldn’t have gone on tilt at the restaurant. A. W. Wodyski never would have written that searing review, and she wouldn’t be faced with having to give up on her dream.

  But she and Al wouldn’t be friends.

  And there was the rub. Even with all the heartache, Lou wouldn’t change the past few months.

  Lou stood up, a handful of weeds in one hand, the other using an already-damp bandanna to smear perspiration around her face. Sweat that had pooled on her flat back while she was bent over sluiced down, putting her already damp underwear into the realm of drenched.

  She rounded her shoulders a few times, stretching the tightening muscles. A vision of Al rubbing her lower back flashed and a new warmth flickered. This had to stop! She couldn’t keep having flash fantasies about Al. Lou shook her head and returned to the weeding.

  The Meyers’ garden wasn’t large, but weeds threatened to drown the tomatoes, eggplants, and peppers—a summer ratatouille plate formed in her mind. It appeared they hadn’t done much weeding at all this summer. She wanted to pull them all so Otto and Gertrude wouldn’t try to clear the garden themselves. Lou glanced at the elderly couple.

  Otto hovered over Gertrude, adjusting a large umbrella he had attached to her chair, making sure she stayed in the shade. He puffed a little with even that effort. Gertrude smiled at her husband’s attentions but still looked a little too pale. They both did. Sue had encouraged Gertrude and Otto to go inside while she and Lou finished, but they refused to leave, insisting they would keep her and Lou fed and watered.

  “So Lou, Sue tells us that Devlin interrupted a kiss with a certain English gentleman.”

  Still folded at the waist, Lou raised her eyebrow at Sue, who didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. Lou straightened so she could look at Gertrude.

  “I’m not sure the term ‘kiss’ is entirely accurate.”

  “He used his lips? Yes?”

  “Yes, but he missed and got my nose. And thanks to Devlin’s interruption, we didn’t get the chance to work on his aim.”

  “Aahhh, and you believe Devlin’s story?” Gertrude pointed her finger at Lou.

  “Does it matter?” Lou shrugged.

  “Perhaps, perhaps not. Do you feel like Ginger Rogers? Is he your Fred Astaire?”

  Lou nodded.

  “Then Devlin’s story does not matter.” Gertrude paused. “Sue says your young man is handsome.”

  Lou looked at Sue again, blushed, and tried to cover it by dabbing her face with her limp bandanna.

  “He has this amazing rim of golden yellow around his pupil that separates the black from deep blue. It’s like a solar eclipse. I can’t stop staring.” Lou looked up into the sky for a moment, then back at Gertrude. “And a wet shirt looks exceptional on him, too. As my mom would’ve said, ‘I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.’ ”

  Gertrude laughed and clapped her hands together. “Aha. The truth is out. We must meet this love.” Gertrude’s smile revealed how much she enjoyed sharing these little bits of their lives. Lou returned the sentiment. In so many ways, Gertrude and Otto had filled in for her parents this last year. While they’d only known each other a short time, Lou enjoyed having someone to check up on and who checked up on her.

  Lou bent to pick a few more leaves and chewed the inside of her cheek. “I could; it might be fun—if Sue and Harley can control themselves. Maybe a barbecue? Would you be up for that, Gertrude? I’d have it on my patio. Something relaxed, where everyone can get to know everyone else.”

  “Ah, Liebchen. We’ll leave the late nights to the young.” Gertrude’s hand trembled as she sipped her lemonade. “Bring your young man into the restaurant sometime—then we’ll meet him properly. Besides, then your barbecue can be the double date Sue really wants.” Gertrude’s lips twitched upward.

  Sue stood up suddenly, braids racing to catch up with her head. “What? Why am I getting dragged into this? Clearly I’m not the only one who talks.” Sue looked at Lou, then let her suppressed laughter escape. “We are quite th
e pair. You have the hots for a guy who can’t find your mouth, and Harley and I couldn’t figure out how to repopulate the planet after Armageddon. Pathetic.”

  Lou gave Sue a quick side hug.

  “We’re two bright and creative ladies—I’m confident we’ll sort it out.” Lou paused. “Should we? Have a barbecue?” Lou said, tilting her head sideways to emphasize the question.

  “Absolutely . . . I want to meet this guy. And I can’t wait to see what Harley does.”

  “You don’t think Harley will scare him off, do you? He can be a little intimidating when he wants.”

  “If you like him, Harley would never do that.” Sue shook her head, then continued. “When should we do it?”

  Lou paused, closed her eyes, and used her fingers to count out dates.

  “How about the first Tuesday in September?”

  Gertrude looked confused and asked, “But won’t you need to work at the restaurant?”

  Sue and Lou exchanged a look. Lou said, “Starting in September, we won’t be open on Tuesdays anymore. We can’t really afford it.”

  “First Sundays and Mondays. Now Tuesdays? Liebchen, why are you keeping it open?”

  “We don’t need to close it yet. There’s still time.” Lou tromped to the other side of the garden and began weeding, ripping handfuls of crabgrass and clover from the earth. Flecks of dirt flew high and flurried to the ground.

  Gertrude watched Lou’s reaction and nodded her head. “I see. She doesn’t want to scatter her family to the winds.”

  “She won’t close until we all have jobs lined up. She handed out recommendation letters. The busboys and waitstaff are starting to leave for better-paying jobs.” Sue leaned in closer to Gertrude. “And she worries about you two; worries you won’t have anywhere to go that will take care of you like she does.”

  “Bah. Those are excuses. She is afraid. She needs something to nudge her confidence, give her a safety net.” Gertrude looked up at Otto, who nodded in agreement at his wife’s astute wisdom. The three watched Lou attack the verge.

  • • • • •

  Al looked down at the text message.

  Next Tuesday @ 6, my place. Me, you, & 2 friends. Come hungry.

  He looked up at the dark glass in front of him. Moisture beaded on the other side, condensing on the cooled window. He strode to the kitchen to refresh his tea and check the time. Twelve thirty. Lou’s up kind of late, he thought. Wonder why. He felt a twinge thinking she might be on a date, a little jealous other people spent time with her. He poured fresh water into his electric kettle and flipped it on.

  An invitation to dinner had to be a good sign, right? He had worried she believed Devlin’s story and considered taking him back. If she believed him, why wouldn’t she? They had a history, he had a successful career and superhero good looks. But Al was the one with an invitation. Ace!

  Al leaned against the counter, his eyes tracing a familiar path to the cast-iron frying pan hanging on the wall. It looked as if a small child had decorated it with stickers. He had added to his magnet collection. His brat and Chihuly now kept company with a State Fair cow, a red Summerfest smiley, a Bernie Brewer, and a cheese wedge. Each magnet a memory, a reminder of everything good about his life in Milwaukee, and each one connected him to Lou.

  He should probably reply. Al picked up his phone on the counter, read Lou’s text again, then typed a reply.

  Still awake? I’ll be there. Can’t wait.

  He watched the text go and waited, hoping for the little beep. Less than a minute passed, and it came.

  Go to bed, it’s late.

  Al laughed and replied.

  I’m a night owl. Best time to work. What’s your excuse?

  Beep.

  Me too. Makes AMs rough. Done working, need to shower.

  Seeing the word “shower” sent off an explosion of detailed images in his mind. Al’s reaction was immediate and a little painful. With a deep exhale he typed.

  Need help?

  Then erased it.

  Then typed,

  I’ll bring the wine.

  And erased that.

  With a sigh, he typed,

  Sweet dreams.

  And hit Send. He needed a shower, too, of the chilly variety.

  Beep.

  You too.

  • CHAPTER SIXTEEN •

  Lou gnawed on a fingernail as she watched Al and Harley out the kitchen window while a vase filled with water. They stood on her patio, discussing something, apparently with gusto. Harley could intimidate people without realizing it, and she didn’t want Al scared away.

  “If you keep eating your nail, you won’t want any Cuban pork,” Sue said as she stepped next to Lou. “He’s nice. I can see why you’ve kept him to yourself. With an ass like that, all the waitstaff would be after him.”

  “Especially Billy.” Lou smiled, thinking of her best waiter. Billy was so efficient, with business slowing he could work most nights by himself with the help of two busboys. That kept him happy because he earned more tips, and kept her happy because she only had to pay one server.

  “Should I go out and save him?” Lou asked.

  “From what? Harley?”

  Lou nodded, moving on to her next finger.

  “Harley loves him.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because he’s still talking to him. You know that. If Harley didn’t like him, he would turn his back and not speak another word to him. Then, if he hurt you, Harley would crush him.”

  “He never crushed Devlin.”

  “Devlin would sue. Harley’s protective, not stupid. But he’d do it if you asked.”

  “Honestly, I don’t think I care enough anymore. He just doesn’t matter, even after he explained about that morning.” Lou opened the oven to stir the Cuban black beans, scenting the kitchen with garlic and bacon. Sue finished frying up the plantains and sprinkled them with salt.

  “You’re really over him? I expected a longer mourning period.”

  “Yeah, I think I got over him months ago. He was convenient and safe, so I didn’t see a reason to change. He sent me tickets for a play downtown.” Lou pointed her chin toward the end of the counter where a pristine white envelope lay. “He keeps trying to ‘sweeten the deal.’ His words, not mine. Honestly, I should send him a thank-you note for the birthday debacle.”

  “You can only send him a thank-you if I get to hand-deliver it. I want to see his face when he reads it.”

  Lou turned off the faucet and set the vase on the windowsill. She slipped a bouquet of pristine white calla lilies into the water.

  “He did good.” Sue nodded at the flowers. Lou smiled, still thrilled Al had remembered her favorite flower.

  “Yes—yes, he did.”

  They grabbed the still-warm plantains and a pitcher of mojitos and left the kitchen for the patio.

  • • • • •

  Lou’s apartment was tiny and cozy, with a brilliant patio—the perfect spot for summer gatherings. Looking to the south, Al could see the tall buildings of downtown Milwaukee against the still blue sky, to the north, trees and swaths of green intermingled with postwar houses. As he had walked through her flat, he caught glimpses into each room, little flashes of Lou. In the dining room he saw several photos with laughing and kind faces. He hoped to hear the stories behind each one. Her kitchen overflowed with food preparation and delicious aromas, while her living room housed an impressive cookbook collection. He spotted a copy of Modernist Cuisine and looked forward to seeing where their collections overlapped and deviated.

  Al and Harley turned as Sue and Lou stepped onto the patio. Upon first meeting Harley, he had worried they wouldn’t have much to discuss. After all, what would a tattoo enthusiast have in common with an Eton-educated food writer? To his surprise and relief, they shared the same passion for quality tea, and he now knew of three stores where he could purchase it in bulk.

  Lou stopped next to him and handed him a fresh moji
to. He scooped a handful of plantains as Sue walked by with the still-warm-from-the-oil pile. As he chewed, Sue asked the question he dreaded.

  “So, Lou tells us you’re a writer. What do you write?”

  Al swallowed and sipped his drink while perfecting his answer.

  “I write freelance pieces. Thanks to Lou, I’m working on an article about the various ethnic influences in Milwaukee’s food scene.” All true. He’d already spent hours researching the ethnic festivals’ origins, the people involved, and their affiliations with local restaurants.

  “So you write about food?”

  Sue looked thrilled by the idea. Al’s heartbeat raced. He needed to change the topic. He liked these people; he didn’t want to lie to them. So far, he’d gotten away with revealing so little, even after his failed attempt to show Lou his Good Land article.

  “I write about whatever I’m hired to write about, unless I have a story to pitch, like Lou’s idea.”

  “And he’s an experienced Irish rain dancer.” Lou winked and touched his arm. Sue and Harley exchanged confused looks.

  “So,” Harley said, “you could write about Lou.”

  Al’s forehead scrunched.

  “Now, I’m not sure I follow?” Al said.

  “Well, since her review, work’s been rough. If you wrote about her, that might help.”

  Al opened his mouth to get more information.

  “Harley.” Lou rolled her eyes. “Al doesn’t want to write about me. We’re here to have fun, not talk about my catastrophe of a career.” Lou looped her arm in Al’s. “Besides, he wants to see what’s on the grill.”

  Lou pulled him away from Sue and Harley, toward the smell of garlic, citrus, and oregano wafting off the grill. He was curious about their work, but he couldn’t ask without the risk of having to answer more questions about his own job.

  Lou lifted the hood. He had tried to peek earlier, but Harley had physically blocked him with a terse “No peeking.” What was finally revealed went beyond his expectations. A large butt of pork looked blackened with a thick coat of spices, fat melted down the sides adding flavor and moisture to the crust. His mouth drowned in saliva.