“You’re the heart. I’m the legs and maybe the hands.” The smell of cake swirled around me. There was a time when I adored the smells of confections. But lately I had been around it so much I’d lost my taste. “This year for my birthday, I know what I want.”
“Cake?”
“God, no. I want a bag of chips, a cheese pizza, and a day of dull moments.”
“At the rate things are going for us, you might have to settle for cake. We ain’t gonna be earning big money.”
“Don’t I know it.”
When we arrived on the eighteenth floor, the elevators opened to the quite sterile environment of Davenport Property. There wasn’t the rush of customers coming and going, the clang of pots, or the gurgle of the espresso machine. I’d longed for this clean sterility just a month ago and now found it flat and dull.
A secretary, sleek and tall with smooth blond hair, rose from her station. “Union Street Bakery?”
Rachel, who’d been on fire in the kitchen, seemed to wilt under the woman’s icy stare. She opened her mouth to speak and then glanced at me.
“That’s us,” I said as cheerfully as I could manage. “We’re here with Mr. Davenport’s cake.”
“In the conference room. Follow me.”
As we followed, I glanced at Rachel and wagged my eyebrows. I mouthed the name Cruella Deville, which coaxed a little smile.
A long bank of windows, with its views of the Potomac River, dominated the room. It was impossible not to stop and stare at the stunning view. I was only sorry it was a cloudy day. No doubt on a sunny day, the views extended down to the river plantations nestled on the fingers of land jutting into the river.
Rachel carefully pulled the box off the cake and together we lifted it onto a credenza. The cake weighed a good fifty pounds and was a bit unwieldy. But when in place, it was a sight to behold. Rachel had outdone herself.
Even Cruella lifted an eyebrow as she picked up a phone receiver. “As soon as Mr. Davenport gives his final approval, I’ll cut you a check.”
“Great.”
Rachel pulled a small digital camera from her pocket and snapped several pictures. “For our website.”
“Which I’ve got to do this weekend.” The to-do list only seemed to get longer.
Davenport appeared minutes later, cold, stern, and distant. Gordon had been much like Davenport when he’d worked at Suburban. Tight, controlled, and like ice. I’d liked that about him at the time. Untouchable had suited me just fine then. Now, I thought about Gordon’s sun-brushed hair and easy smile. He was now so approachable, touchable . . . and frightening.
“The cake appears off center,” Davenport said. He must have been six or seven inches taller than Rachel. And his broad frame dwarfed her size.
Rachel tucked her camera in her pocket and studied the cake. “It is perfectly straight.”
He moved closer to her to study the cake from her vantage. “It tilts.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “It’s not a skyscraper. It’s a cake. And I promise you when you bite into it, you will feel as if you’d died and gone to heaven.”
“Doubtful.” He reached in his pocket and handed her a check. “But I’ve no doubt that it will do.”
“It. Will. Do. My cakes will do better than just do. They will make your event.”
Her tone had me straightening. You go, Mama Bear.
“I’m sure you believe that,” he said. “But it is just a cake.”
I really thought Rachel’s eyes were going to pop out of her head so I hooked my arm in hers. “I promise you, Mr. Davenport, Rachel is an artist. You will not forget this cake.”
He checked his watch. “I’ll forget the cake.”
I glanced at Rachel’s face. His indifference had not only stunned her, it had offended her. She’d put her heart and soul into this cake and it was a masterpiece. And this guy didn’t think it was much more than a Hostess Twinkie. I took the check from Rachel’s clenched fist and tossed a fleeting look at the $1,400 windfall. This check was going to solve more than a few problems. It was hard cash we could really use.
“Take the check back,” I said.
He frowned but didn’t reach for the check. “I pay my debts.”
I laid it on the credenza next to the cake. “If that is not the best cake you have ever eaten in your life, then don’t pay us.”
“That’s a lot of money, Ms. McCrae.”
“It is. But the way I see it, my money is safe.”
Rachel’s eyes widened as her gaze darted between the check, Davenport, and me. For a moment I thought she’d cave and take the check but her voice was clear and strong when she said, “And when you discover that that cake is the best you’ve ever had, I expect you to make us your exclusive caterer.”
Amusement danced in his eyes. “You’re quite confident.”
“About my baking, yes.”
“Deal.”
“That’s quite a few groundbreakings, Mr. Davenport,” I said. An exclusive deal with Davenport could mean tens of thousands of dollars.
“I’ll call you in the morning with my verdict.”
We left the offices feeling courageous for as long as it took us to reach the elevator and for the doors to close behind us.
“What have we done?” Rachel buried her face in her hands.
“I just turned down fourteen hundred dollars.”
“Fourteen hundred frickin’ dollars.” She sounded a little hysterical. “I should have grabbed the check and run.”
My heart hammered in my chest. “It’ll be okay.”
The doors dinged open and a couple of men in suits stepped onto the car. I lowered my voice. “Because that cake is a masterpiece.”
“I know that. You know that. But what if he hates the cake? What if he reneges on the deal?”
I laid my hands on her shoulders. “Rachel, he will love the cake and thanks to your throw down, we just might land a great catering gig. And I know Davenport. He never reneges.”
“I shouldn’t have said that. You said so yourself: When it comes to business, I’m not so talented. And what if he hates the cake? Do you know how much it cost me to make it?”
“I’ve seen the receipts.”
“The specialty chocolate and organic eggs tipped me over budget, but I just really wanted to blow his socks off.”
“You will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know you and your talents. You are a genius. Not in the office, but in the kitchen there is no one better.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She hugged me, unmindful of the suits staring at us.
For a moment, I stiffened before relaxing into the hug. “I do have my moments.”
“So if you can believe in me so much, why can’t you believe in yourself?”
“I believe in myself.”
She shook her head, fished a tissue from her pocket, and blew her nose. “No, you don’t. You have about as much confidence in yourself as I do in business.”
“I’m superconfident.”
“You’re a marshmallow.”
“I am not.”
“Then go see Terry again. Talk to her. Get to know her.”
“I don’t need Terry to feel good about myself.”
She tucked the tissue in her pocket. “That’s the thing. You do.”
Tears stung my eyes and for a moment I tipped my head back so that I could corral them. “I don’t need her.”
“Not on a day-to-day basis. But you need to make peace with her so you can make peace with yourself.”
“This is bullshit.”
Rachel, who had never uttered a harsh word in her life, met my gaze head-on. “Life is full of shit we don’t want to deal with. I’m living proof. Now pu
t on your big girl pants and go see Terry before she leaves town.”
We got into the truck and Margaret fired up the engine. “So where is the big money?”
“We didn’t get paid,” I said.
“Did that cheese dick stiff you?” Margaret said. Her bracelets rattled as she turned the corner.
“No. I kinda got pissed when he dissed Rachel.”
Rachel leaned forward between the seats. “That’s not important. You need to take Daisy to Terry’s hotel.”
Margaret slammed on the brake, narrowly missing the BMW in front of us. “I can do that.”
“No,” I said. “Take me home. I need to shower and change first. Provided I live that long.”
“Sure. But if you don’t leave within the hour, we’re tossing you into the street,” Rachel said.
“Fine.”
Margaret hit the accelerator and the van lurched forward. “Guess this isn’t the best time to tell you the rest of my story.”
“Birth mother. Rejection. Financial ruin. Maybe later.”
• • •
As promised, I showered and dressed for another meeting with Terry. This time I lingered in the shower, washing my hair twice and shaving my legs. I dug a clean pair of jeans out of a garbage bag of clothes and an olive-green blouse, which was one of my favorites. I dried my hair and applied makeup.
This was the most pulled together I’d looked in months and that included my interview with Ralph and my quick change in the fast-food ladies’ room. I’d done my best to look my best—all for Terry. “So like she’ll like you better if you wear mascara? Pathetic.”
As I headed downstairs, Anna’s and Ellie’s giggles drifted out from their rooms. The sound was so pure and joyful that I had to stop and listen. They were whispering to each other and laughing.
I rounded the corner and found the two sitting cross-legged on the floor around a picnic blanket. A child’s plastic tea service was set. The cups were filled with milk and the plates filled with Oreo cookies. There were three place settings.
“Store-bought cookies, ladies?”
Anna laughed. “Mom said we could have real cookies if we were good.”
“Real cookies do not come out of a box.”
Ellie’s eyes widened. “They do! All the girls at school have them.”
“I wish we had more real cookies instead of that homemade stuff,” Anna said.
“Don’t tell your mother that. So what are you two doing?” I said.
Ellie smiled. Her neck was draped in bright, colorful beads. She’d lost her front tooth last week and now whistled when she talked. “We’re having tea. Can’t you see?”
“I can see you’ve set a lovely table.” Rachel had liked tea parties when we were little, but I’d never had much patience for them once the cookies and milk were gone.
Anna had a boa around her neck and the feathers tickled her nose, making her sneeze. “Ellie won’t let me eat my cookies until we’ve finished.”
“Finished what?” I sat between the girls in front of the untouched tea setting.
“Our discussion. And you are sitting in her spot,” Ellie said.
I stared at the single Oreo and full cup of milk. “Is Mama coming?”
“No.” Ellie giggled. “She’s taking a nap.”
“I don’t think she slept much last night.”
“Baking a cake,” Anna said.
“So who is the setting for? Grandma?”
“No,” Ellie said. “She’s at yoga.”
“Grandpa?”
“No.” Ellie laughed. This was turning into a game for her. “He’s at Roters.”
“You mean Rotary?”
“I guess.”
I rubbed my chin. “Is Aunt Margaret coming?”
“No. She’s at the center. She’s got a tour this afternoon.”
I shrugged. “Well, I give up. Who is your mystery guest?”
The girls looked at each other and giggled.
I waited, starting to wonder what I was missing.
Anna leaned forward, cupping her hand over her mouth, and whispered, “It’s for Susie.”
Susie. For a moment I froze. “You have a friend named Susie?”
“Yep,” Ellie said. She picked up her teacup carefully and raised her pinky as she sipped. “You have to drink tea like this.”
“So where is your friend?” I said, peering around.
“She comes and goes,” Anna said.
“Where is she now?”
“I dunno. Around,” Ellie said.
“What does she look like?”
The girls looked at each other as if they didn’t know how to answer. “She looks like Susie.”
I didn’t want to describe my Susie because I wanted to make sure I’d not put answers in their heads. “What does she wear?”
“A white dress and white stockings,” Anna said.
“A white dress with black ankle boots,” Ellie offered. “And she has ribbons in her braids.”
I glanced down at the untouched cookie. Nerves had me picking it up and taking a bite.
“Hey!” Anna said. “That is for Susie.”
“If we’re talking about the same Susie, she doesn’t eat.”
“Why not?”
Because she’s a ghost and she’s dead. “I dunno.”
“She might want a cookie,” Anna said.
“If she comes and wants a cookie I’ll get her one.”
That satisfied the girls enough so that they let me eat the cookie. And so we sat, eating our Oreos and drinking lukewarm milk. I was also careful to keep my pinky elevated as I sipped.
“She knows you,” Anna said.
“She does?”
“And she wants you to do something,” Ellie whispered.
“What is that?” I whispered back.
“She said you have to talk to Terry.”
I swallowed wrong and for a second coughed and struggled to catch my breath. I’d never mentioned Terry to the girls and knew they’d been out of the bakery during her visit. “Terry?”
“The lady who looks like you,” Ellie said. “Don’t you know anything?”
“I don’t think I know so much anymore.” I looked down at the dark crumbs sprinkled on my plate and lap. I was tempted to search out the remaining Oreos and polish them off alone in my room. “Did she have anything else to say?”
“She misses Hennie,” Ellie said.
“And sometimes she argues with the mean man,” Anna added.
“What mean man?”
“She won’t tell us,” Anna said.
“But,” Ellie said in a whisper, “he really doesn’t like you.”
• • •
I passed a few lively and fun-looking bars as I walked up King toward the Armistead. I could have ducked in any one of them, ordered a few beers, and eaten chicken wings until I was sick. I could have even rounded the block and gone to the center and hung out until Margaret returned from her tour.
Instead, I kept putting one foot in front of the other and found myself standing in front of the mahogany desk in the Armistead’s reception area. The lobby had an old-world feel with Oriental carpets, leather chairs, and a large stone fireplace still sporting the charred embers from last night’s fire.
“I’d like to ring Terry Davis’s room,” I said to the receptionist.
“We announce all guests to our visitors. May I give her a name?”
“I’m Daisy McCrae.” I hesitated and then added, “Her daughter.”
The clerk, a young girl with straight blond hair and clear skin, nodded. She dialed the room and announced me.
I pictured Terry receiving a message that her daughter was downstairs. Not Daisy. Not a friend. But her daughter. A part of me wanted the announcement made to t
he entire lobby just to upset her . . . a little payback, I guess. But a bigger part of me wanted her to feel some sense of joy or happiness that her own child stood in the lobby waiting for her.
I moved away from the desk, shoving trembling hands in my jeans pockets and took a seat at a baby grand nestled in a corner. Mom had signed me up for piano lessons when I was a kid but I’d had no interest in learning. The eight weeks’ worth of lessons in Mrs. Grover’s house had been living hell and I’d been sure to let Mom know all about it each time she picked me up. As a result, the best I could manage on a keyboard was “Chopsticks” and I didn’t think the lingering guests wanted to hear that. I traced the black and white keys lightly with my fingers, marveling at the worn softness of the ivory.
“Do you play?” Terry’s raspy voice jostled me to my feet.
“No. I made an attempt when I was ten but I didn’t have the patience. Both my sisters play.”
Terry wore a black long sleeve T-shirt, black jeans, and heels. She’d swept her dark hair back into a ponytail bound at the base of her head with an ebony clip. She wore almost no makeup but that gave her a natural attractiveness. With luck, I’d at least age gracefully.
“Why don’t we have a seat by the fireplace? I’ll order coffee.”
“Sure.” She was polite and formal when all I wanted was a hug. But when we sat, she ordered our coffees, scooted back on the full cushions of a red couch, and stared at me. “I’m guessing you have questions.”
“Honestly, Terry, I don’t know where to start.” Though I’d called myself her daughter at the front desk it never occurred to me to call her “Mom.” I knew Sheila McCrae as “Mom.” “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around everything.”
She sat back on the couch. Though we were both tense, at least this time it wasn’t the paralyzing fear that had made it tough for us both to breathe. “It must be confusing.”
“Confusing is on a different scale from what I’m feeling. Confusing is equivalent to a brush fire. I’m standing on the surface of the sun.”
“Okay.” She crossed and recrossed her legs. “Maybe I should start with the questions.”
“Sure.” Our coffee arrived and we both passed on the sugar and cream. “Everyone in my family took cream but I’ve never had a taste for it.”
“I’ve never cared for milk in my coffee.” A half smile tipped her lips. “Genetics is a crazy thing.”
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