Cupcakes, Sales, and Cocktails
A Novella
By
Pamela DuMond
CUPCAKES, SALES, AND COCKTAILS
Copyright Pamela DuMond © 2011
Digitally (ebook) Published by: Pamela DuMond
All Rights Reserved
eISBN: 2940013792135
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination of are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Cover Art Design: Michael James Canales, http://michaeljamescanales.com
Digital book(s) (epub and mobi) produced by: Kimberly A. Hitchens, [email protected]
Dedication:
Nancy Jean Timmel Stallter
April 13, 1933 – October 18, 2011
To the best aunt a girl could ever wish for. Love you always, Aunt Nance.
Contents
Cupcakes, Sales, and Cocktails
Copyright Page
Dedication
One The Divine Divorcee
Two Mission Sex-You-Up
Three Waste of Time
Four Her Golden Years
Five Game Changers
Six Lace Hankies
Seven Ladies’ Lingerie
Eight Smelling the Roses
Nine Killer Cocktails
Ten What a Feeling
Eleven The Time of Her Life
Acknowledgments
…An Excerpt From Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys
About The Author
One
The Divine Divorcee’
“You need to get a little sexed up.” Julia munched on a cupcake as she and Grady lounged on either sides of Annie Graceland’s couch in her teeny living room.
Annie stood in front of them, one hand on her hip. “Trust me, I’m already sexed up. Feedback on my new cupcake – ‘The Divine Divorcee’?”
Julia picked up a tennis ball from the couch and tossed it to Grady who caught it even though he was flipping through a script. “I know sexed up when I see it and you are not sexed up,” she said.
Grady lobbed the ball back to Julia.
“What are you doing?” Annie asked.
“I just ate a decadent cupcake.”
“Actually you ate three.”
“I am exercising. Easy-Peasy Exercise says that every throw not only tones and firms muscles but has cardiovascular benefits. Here.” Julia threw the ball to Annie who frowned but caught it with one hand.
“This isn’t exercise.”
“If you don’t watch your girlish figure no one else will either. Stop being a party pooper and toss it back.”
Annie hurled it at her.
Julia caught it before it smashed into the mirror on the wall behind the couch. “1-800-Anger Management? You’re getting divorced, Annie. You’re putting the moves on a hot cop and you need some new clothes. Something form fitting, maybe some Spanx, a pushup bra and clothes definitely trendier and tighter than vintage Gap size XXL.”
“I am not an XXL.” Annie glanced into the mirror and confirmed she was still a size medium and not totally unfortunate in the looks department. She pushed her long auburn locks back and pulled her XXL scoop neck threadbare T-shirt back onto her shoulder.
“I know. But you seem to be married to Flashdance, the movie where an unrealistic character – a young woman who’s a welder by day and an exotic dancer by night – ”
“That could totally happen,” Annie said.
“— is rescued by her handsome but creepy middle-aged boss.” Julia pitched the ball to Grady who dropped the script and reached for a cupcake.
Theodore, Annie’s enormous longhaired cat, vaulted from the corner high into the air, paws extended and intercepted the ball. He landed on the wooden floor and batted it away.
“Flashdance. 1981.” Grady munched on a cupcake. “Starred a young Jennifer Beals. Won Oscar for Best Original Song. What a Feeling by Irene Cara.”
“That song still makes me cry,” Annie said. “And dance. Sometimes both at the same time.”
Grady’s eyes practically rolled back in his head. “This Divorcee’ cupcake is wicked,” he said. “It’s got a hint of spice and enough sugar. It’s tempting and has a definite strong, almost bitter, aftertaste. Like really dark chocolate.”
“Thank you.”
“We need to take you on a shopping mission.” Julia picked up a newspaper and paged through it.
“Maybe I like loose T-shirts?” Annie frowned, marched five feet from her Venice, California living room to her adjoining kitchen where she bent down and pulled another tray of cupcakes out of the oven.
“I see London, I see France. I see it’s time you bought new underpants,” a silky smooth male voice purred.
Annie whip turned to face the blue ghost of the very metro Dr. Derrick Fuller as he perched on her kitchen counter wearing only his silver Pucci thong. “Get off my counter now, Derrick!” She slapped the cupcake tray on a baking rack, grabbed a bottle of spray bleach, and aimed it at him.
Derrick leapt three feet to the other side of her kitchen.
She blasted the tiles where his behind had previously rested.
“I sense hostility, Cupcake.” Derrick leered at Annie. “Julia’s right. Some new lingerie, and a few cute outfits might improve your mood.”
“Dead Derrick’s here?” Grady’s eyes widened and his hands assumed the shape of a fake camera behind which he squinted and panned Annie’s apartment. “Slicetime Network is developing a series loosely based on him. They totally stole my idea. But I can’t prove it.”
Julia’s head was buried in the newspaper. “Hello! Snotsky’s Department Store is having the mother of all Easter/Passover sales to celebrate their store’s renovation and fortieth year serving Los Angeles. Look – major discounts, special events, and free chocolate.”
“I don’t love shopping.” Grady said. “I’ll catch a movie and meet up with you later.”
“Everything’s ten to seventy percent off.”
“Meh,” Grady said.
“Holy smokes, yippity zippity! Snotsky’s is also opening their new cocktail bar on the second floor,” Julia said. “They hired a slew of new bartenders which means a fresh supply of impossibly young gorgeous guys who want to be actors.”
“I could go for a little shopping,” Grady said.
“Happy Easter, indeed!” Julia said.
“She can so sunrise service that,” Derrick said.
The Divine Divorcee’
Description: Dark bittersweet chocolate (Use the best - no skimping allowed.)
Appropriate Occasions: Ditching the worthless soon-to-be ex-husband. Celebrations! Starting dating life with renewed vigor.
Best Served With: A commitment to exercise frequently.
Two
Mission Sex-You-Up
Annie checked her watch as she stood outside Snotsky’s, a freshly sandblasted four story brick building that occupied a full block of prime Santa Monica commercial real estate just blocks from the Pacific Ocean. She’d arrived on time and parked her POS car in the underground garage because the fancy over-priced department store was vali
dating three free hours today.
She tucked her parking stub in her wallet next to the ones, between a card shaped like a foot for Happy Toes Massage Spa, and a hot pink coupon for a complimentary Boomba class. That way she could easily find and get it validated by one of Snotsky’s clerks.
She hadn’t been back to Santa Monica’s commercial hub since her life Debacle several months earlier. That was the mess she survived when her soon to be ex-husband’s lover was murdered and she was framed for it. Even worse, the victim, Dr. Derrick Fuller, became the most irritating ghost in the world, haunting her, because she had a pinch of psychic ability.
When very stressed, Annie was empathic. She could feel what was actually happening in someone else’s body. She despised being consumed by someone else’s job frustration, another’s angst over a shoddy pedicure, or that woman with her insatiable desire for Kettle chips. Oh, wait. That last urge was hers.
Dead Derrick knew she was empathic and had used this to his advantage, nagging her until she solved his case. Technically he was still haunting her, but at least he wasn’t as whiny since she’d apprehended his killer. Mostly he just showed up to leer or act the obnoxious, uninvited 4th wheel when her friends came around.
Despite the palm trees that towered several blocks away, the late afternoon fog sifted through the fronds, drifting through the streets. The air grew chilly. Annie zipped up her hoodie. Shoppers clutching Snotsky’s bags exited the store and moved past other shoppers who were still entering through the three main front doors. Everyone appeared to be their own little worlds, didn’t make eye contact and politely ignored each other.
She tapped her foot and cracked the joints in her fingers. Annie didn’t mind the southern part of Santa Monica. But crossing north over the 10 Freeway made her feel like she’d landed in Zombie Land, USA. She looked at her watch and leaned back against the building. Where were Grady and Julia?
Snippets of passerby’s conversations wafted past her, “Script’s going out…” Annie’s heart pounded and she clutched her chest. “The audition’s tomorrow at eleven…” Annie’s nervousness segued into hope, then panic. But these weren’t her feelings. They were other people’s feelings and definitely empathic hits.
A forty-something actor from the hit TV crime show she watched on late night re-runs walked toward her talking on his cell. He was just yards away. He was really cute. And wowsa. He was so much shorter in person than on TV.
Suddenly Annie felt queasy. The actor passed just inches from her. Her stomach rumbled and she placed one hand on her tummy.
“No can do, my high colonic’s scheduled this afternoon,” the actor said and walked on by.
Damned empathic reactions, Annie thought as her stomach stopped its acrobatics and returned to normal.
One of Snotsky’s front doors flew open and a female hand grabbed Annie’s arm. “Hurry! We’ve been here for fifteen minutes, completed reconnaissance and discovered the women’s size two, four and sixes are almost completely pillaged.” Julia dragged her inside.
* * *
Annie let Julia pull her through the shoe department, which was next to the hats, the scarves, the perfume section, the purse/briefcase/manly bag sector, and the makeup department.
When a huge banner ad for Ageless - The Makeup stopped Annie in her tracks. “Look! It says their new technology soothes fine lines and firms skin. It makes most women appear ten years younger.” Annie patted her own face with one hand as she turned and hauled Julia toward the product’s counter.
“No no!” Julia huffed and yanked Annie in the opposite direction toward the sky-high escalators. “We are on a Sex-You-Up clothes mission. The Anti-Wrinkle operation will be scheduled in the near future.”
Annie glanced down and checked her sneakers – her laces were tied tightly. There would be no shoelace getting caught in the escalator debacle today. She stepped carefully onto the scary moving stairs and clutched the handrail. The down escalator was adjacent to the one going up in the middle of a bright tall open foyer.
A giant crystal chandelier hung from the foyer’s ceiling at least four stories up. Piano music emanated from the floor above her. Some dramatic love song.
“Where’s Grady?” Annie asked.
“Guarding the tens and twelves in the Women’s Department on the third floor.”
“But I’m a six. Or an eight, tops.”
“And I’m Paula Abdul!” Julia snorted.
* * *
A half hour later Annie staggered toward the dressing room carrying a mountain of promising tops, bottoms, cute casual dresses, and a few skirts that Julia and Grady had plucked from the sales racks. “There’s a hanger that’s seriously indenting my left boob. Could one of you take some clothes off the top, please?”
Grady reached to help her, but Julia waved her arms in front, blocking him.
“Easy-Peasy Fitness says carrying heavy stacks of clothes counts as weight-lifting. It’s good for building muscle as well as increasing bone density. Which is crucial for a woman your age.”
“I’m four months older than you, Julia.”
Julia nodded. “If I wasn’t cool with us having a May-December friendship, I would have told you in high school.”
“I’m thirty-eight. Not eighty-eight.” Annie grunted and slogged toward the dressing rooms just feet away. She swayed under the weight of the clothes and spotted several chairs next to the rooms. “You all sit there.” She tilted her head in the chairs’ direction.
They did.
“In case I get carried away with all this clothes buying fun,” Annie said, “I want to thank you in advance from the bottom of my heart for your help. You two are the best friends a girl could ever have.” She teared up a little. Maybe it was the emotional significance of having such great friends. Maybe it was the pain of the hanger’s metal hook impaling her breast.
“We heart you.” Grady made a little heart with his thumbs and index fingers.
“We’d do anything for you,” Julia said.
“Attention Snotsky’s customers,” a sexy male voice crooned over the loudspeakers. “The Cocktail Getaway Bar on Snotsky’s second floor is officially open for your pleasure. Two for one appetizers and the freshest organic cocktails in California.”
“See ya.” Julia popped off the chair and bolted towards the escalator.
“Later, Pookie.” Grady chased after Julia.
“But who’s going to help me? I hate picking out new clothes. I’d rather have another root canal by that demented dentist,” Annie said. “I can still hear the piercing sounds of the drill and the spit sucker machine penetrating my brain as he shoved a fistful of torture tools into my mouth and twisted my tongue into the next county.”
Grady stopped in his tracks and turned toward her. “Marathon Man, 1976. A young Dustin Hoffman played you while the Nazi dentist role went to Laurence Olivier, who was nominated for an Academy Award. Here’s a Snotsky’s clerk coming to help you right now.”
He pointed at an impeccably attired older woman wearing black cat-eye glasses. Her silver hair was pulled back in an immaculate French twist.
For some reason, Annie shivered.
The clerk walked gracefully toward Annie, her spine ramrod straight. She wore a name badge on her lapel, a silk Hermes scarf draped around her neck and a frown permanently etched between her eyebrows on her thin patrician face.
“Narrow that pile down and then come on down to the Getaway Bar. We’ll set up a fashion command post there and give you a thumbs up or down,” Grady said. “What could go wrong?” He leaned in, kissed her on her cheek and bolted towards the escalators. “I call first dibs on the metro blonde bartenders with accents!”
“Not if I get there first,” Julia hollered back.
The elegant clerk assessed Annie. “Welcome to Snotsky’s. My name is Edith Flowers and I will be assisting you today.” She lifted half the stack of clothes from Annie’s arms and carried them to a rack. “Oh my, we have sizes eights, tens, twelves and even
several sixes. Which means we are hopeful, ambitious and have our work cut out for us.”
Annie sighed and extracted the hanger out of her sweaty cleavage and offered it to Edith. “Thank you, ma’am. Thank you so much. My name’s Annie.”
Edith frowned, pinched the hanger with two fingers and held it at arms length and walked to a little trashcan. She placed the toe of her low-heeled pump on the foot pedal, pushed the top open and dropped the hanger inside. Pulled an anti-germicidal wipe from a canister bolted onto the dressing room’s wall, wiped her hands twice, then tossed the wipe into the can.
“It will be my pleasure to work with you today, Annie.”
Three
Waste of Time
Edith scooped up the remainder of Annie’s clothes and sorted them with lightening speed, hanging them on the clothes rack. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course,” Annie said.
“Many of these items do not match your coloring, your size, or other sensibilities,” Edith said. “Trying them on would be a waste of your time. You look like a practical woman.” She pushed half the items to one side of the rack. “These are not for you.”
Annie frowned. In the blink of an eye the herd of clothes was dramatically thinned. “But what about that super cute top with the stripes?”
“The stripes are going the wrong way.”
“The dusty rose capris with the daisies print?” Annie asked.
“Appropriate for freshman year of high school or if your vision is severely impaired. Or – you’re on the Lido deck departing on a bargain basement cruise.”
Annie frowned. “The triple cotton blend T-shirt that says, ‘Kindness is my religion—the Dalai Lama’?”
“Olive green’s not your color and only college students should be allowed to wear religious statements on their chests.” Edith took out a keychain from her pocket. “Which reminds me. You’re going to need a new brassiere. Forty-year-old breasts need a little more lift than thirty-year-old breasts. But surely you knew that.”
Annie clutched her chest, and stared down at her girls, horrified. Had they become depressed and sagged in the hour since she’d returned to the scary part of Santa Monica? “Technically I was a late bloomer and they didn’t even appear ’till I was fifteen. So that makes them twenty-three year old breasts.”
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