by Abby Tyler
They waited in the corridor. Sandy could just make out the muffled sound of a man talking over the sound system, and the laughter of the crowd. River and Andrew were out there. River had secured invitations, and Sandy had a seat reserved for her.
As soon as the presentation of the cake was over, she would go change and join them. She had missed the meal, but there was still the dance and walking around to spot celebrities.
“In five,” Marcella said firmly. “Four, three, two, and go.”
A pair of security guards opened the doors from the other side as the chef led the way into the main room.
Sandy felt too overwhelmed to possibly take everything in. The room sparkled. Dresses, jewelry, decorations, twinkling lights. Everywhere were flowers and people and security.
Marcella ushered them to the center of the room. She’d ditched the clipboard somewhere.
The announcer spoke. “And finally, we have our glorious cake depicting this year’s theme of tragedy and comedy.”
The cloud clapped appreciatively.
“This six-tiered wonder was baked by renowned pastry chef Pierre La Tour. The layers are made of lemon chiffon with almond cream cheese frosting. And we’re all going to gain ten pounds just looking at it.”
The audience tittered.
“The cake is lavishly decorated to depict the history of dramatic arts by Sandy Miller, the patron decorator of artist River Montgomery.”
Really? Patron decorator? Sandy stifled a giggle. She guessed they had to do something to make her seem important.
Marcella gestured at her and Pierre, and they followed her to the corner of the stage. The four cake handlers twirled the cake in a circle so that everyone could see all parts of it.
Sandy looked upon it with pride. Each layer depicted different periods, beginning with the Greek tragedies and going up to Shakespeare, opera and stage plays, silent films and into the modern Hollywood era. A total of seventy-five scenes had been carefully selected by both her and the committee, and hand sculpted to be placed on the cake. It was a momentous work. She would probably never do anything like it again.
The announcer described the more interesting elements of the cake, and then Marcella escorted Sandy and Pierre back into the bowels of the building.
“Thank you for your contribution to this year’s Gala,” Marcella said coolly. Her clipboard had mysteriously reappeared.
And with that she was gone.
Sandy hustled to the back storage room where the staff had been instructed to leave their personal belongings. The coat check girl retrieved her garment bag, and Sandy hurried with it to the employee powder room.
It wasn’t easy changing into a shimmery evening gown in a bathroom stall, but Sandy was used to making do. The dress itself had been a gift from Andrew’s mother, and Sandy treasured it.
Doris McCallister loved Sandy. In the year that Sandy had been dating Andrew, the two of them had formed a close friendship. Doris had become the kind maternal presence that Sandy had never known growing up. Sandy’s only aggravation with her was how often she hinted, not so subtly, that her son needed to get his act together and get married.
Why hadn’t they? Sandy was happy in her job decorating cakes for Betty, although large bakeries in several major cities had offered her positions. That would get even more intense after tonight. She would be able to move anywhere she wanted.
Not that she did. Andrew had committed to one more year at Applebottom, as none of the college positions he’d considered felt quite right.
But all the opportunities lay before them.
She turned to the mirror, garish and yellow, but at least it was something. Her hair had been elegantly styled into a swirly updo for her earlier that day by the Gala staff. It set off the dark blue dress that shimmered with beads and crystals over the entire bodice and down to the floor.
She tugged at the close fit self-consciously, then turned back to her bag.
Sandy folded up the white baker uniform and apron as well as she could. The outfit was definitely a keepsake.
She returned to the staff check room to hand over the garment bag for safekeeping. The girl looked surprised at Sandy’s new outfit. “Are you going in to the ball?”
“I am,” Sandy said with a giggle. “I’m River Montgomery’s patron decorator.”
She cut through the kitchen, where the atmosphere was much more relaxed now that dinner had been served. The process of cutting and serving the cake would take fifteen to twenty minutes, according to the master schedule. She had changed just in time to eat a piece of her own creation.
She tugged her ticket from her purse as she hurried back down the hall to enter the main ballroom as a real person this time.
She was stopped by the guards and showed them her ticket. They called over an usher to escort her to her seat. She was glad for that, because in the sea of tables, she had not managed to spot River or Andrew in the few minutes that she had been inside the room before.
Her nerves settled completely as she slid into the empty chair.
“How was dinner?” she asked.
“Magnificent,” River said. “Everyone is talking about your cake.”
“And the fact that I’m the patron decorator of artist River Montgomery?” Sandy asked.
River laughed. “And possibly that. No one has ever heard of such a title.”
“Well, I am more than honored to be the first.”
A waiter leaned near her ear. “Would Madame like a plate or a salad?”
“I’m just here for the cake,” she said.
“Coffee?”
“Now that would be amazing,” she said.
Andrew leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Did you get to eat?”
“Oh, yes. They had a buffet for the staff. Not exactly what you guys were eating, but it was something.”
“Extraordinary, isn’t it?” Andrew asked. “I don’t feel very small town right now, do you?”
Sandy shook her head. “Definitely not. They’re going to want to have a town meeting just to have us talk about it.”
Andrew laughed. “They will.”
“Isn’t that a sad sight to you?” River asked, gesturing to the rapidly disappearing cake.
“It was well-photographed,” Sandy said. “I don’t have a permanent medium.”
“You should. I’ve heard you’re taking a sculpting class.”
Sandy grinned at Andrew. “This one bullied me into it. So yes.”
“Excellent. I should like a full representation of your work to be sent to my house for temporary exhibits as soon possible.”
Sandy’s cheeks burned. “I don’t think I’m going to be that good.”
“Nonsense,” River said. “You’re a genius. An artist must be full of himself. Otherwise, he will be riddled with self-doubt.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” Sandy said.
The waiter returned with her coffee and a slice of cake.
“All, there it is,” River said. “It looks as though you got Marilyn Monroe. How perfect.”
“I’m surprised I got one with something on it,” Sandy said. “Most of the cake is just going to be random swirls.”
Andrew looked down at his piece. It was mostly white. “Obviously the pretty ladies get the best parts.”
“As it should be,” River said. “It appears that I got half of Romeo’s dead body.”
Sandy could not control the snorting laugh that came out. “I can’t believe they cut it right at his chest.”
“It’s as if they know me,” River said with a dramatic flourish of his fork. “Now, I shall stab his worthy torso.” He stuck his fork into the gold fondant tunic.
After the closing remarks, guests were instructed to mingle among the open areas of the museum. River moved on with some of his art friends, and Sandy and Andrew held hands and wandered through the exhibits.
“I’ve never been to this museum before,” Andrew said.
“I’ve never been to New York be
fore. These two weeks were a whirlwind. I can’t wait to do some actual sightseeing.”
Andrew stopped them in front of a glorious portrait of a woman and her child in the middle of one of the smaller halls. He gazed at the image of the woman cradling her infant. They were both dressed in simple peasant clothing with rough fabrics, but their cheeks were rosy, and happiness emanated from both their faces.
Sandy couldn’t take her eyes off of Andrew. In his black tuxedo, he looked even more handsome than in his sport coats. Together the two of them looked downright big city. She had certainly never pictured a moment like this ever happening to her. Not in all those years that she struggled with an angry mother and a little boy.
“Can you believe we’re here?” she asked.
He turned to her. “Absolutely. You were always destined to have your work in front of important people.”
She laughed. “I guess I did manage to get my work in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Even if it did end up in everyone’s stomach.”
He drew her close. “It’s the beginning of wonderful things.”
“It’s already wonderful.”
They walked on, leaving the back side of the exhibit, and into the great hall, filled with people and chatter. They passed the fountains and moved into a garden, which was quieter since the air had turned cool, even for May.
A photographer approached. “May I take your picture?” he asked.
Andrew’s grip on her fingers tightened. “Actually, I would love that. Especially if you would stay just a moment.”
The man nodded and lifted his camera to his face.
“Step up here,” Andrew said, guiding her to stand on the wide marble ledge about a foot off the ground, just in front of a fountain.
“Oh, I’m not exactly important,” Sandy said, her face growing warm. “I only decorated the cake.”
“I got to photograph that,” the man said. “It was splendid!”
“Thank you.”
Andrew was waiting patiently for her to step up, so she lifted the hem of her long dress and rose above him.
“That’s lovely—” the photographer said, then cut off abruptly when Andrew got down on one knee, holding out a black velvet box. “Oh!” He began firing flashes at them.
“Andrew?” What was he doing? Her hands pressed to her cheeks.
Andrew gazed up at her, his expression earnest. “Sandy, almost twenty years ago I waited too long and missed my chance to make you mine. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”
He lifted the lid. Inside, a simple square-cut diamond rested on a velvet cushion. It sparkled in the twinkling light above their heads.
“I’ve loved you since I was too young to know what the word meant. But I know it now. And I would be so honored if you would allow me to love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”
A small crowd had gathered around them, realizing a proposal was happening. Everybody loves love.
But Sandy kept her focus on Andrew. His eyes held hers, anxious for her answer. He already felt like home to her. This would only make it official.
A few of the other photographers caught on to the moment, and more flashes bounced off the crystal beads of her gown.
“Yes!” she said. “Of course. Of course I will.”
A great cheer went up from the crowd, and the applause made her smile. She held out her hand and Andrew slipped the ring on her finger. She lifted him to stand on the ledge with her, for what was taking a risk in front of famous strangers unless you did it together?
The flashes continued to fire as Andrew turned her to face him. Sandy remembered that first night he might have kissed her, after visiting River. And the first time he actually did, behind the curtain at the Applebottom centennial when she confessed how she felt about him.
Now he had shown his feelings to her.
Their lips met, warm and familiar. There had been many kisses in between, but this one topped them all. It was the kiss of promise, of commitment, the kiss of forever.
Her love for Andrew clicked into place, as easy and wondrous as the one she felt for her child, both strong and true.
They’d emerged from their pasts, a little jostled and a little bruised. But free nonetheless. The only thing they needed now was to enjoy the future that waited for them.
This was a good start.
Love Applebottom?
Next up, a newcomer to town has a giant Great Dane she can’t control! Who does the town send to help her tame this beast? The single football coach!
* * *
Read about Carter and Ginny in The Perfect Disaster.
* * *
(Learn more about them in Gertrude’s meeting minutes — just turn the page!)
Applebottom Meeting Minutes
APPLEBOTTOM TOWN SQUARE PROPRIETORS
Minutes by Gertrude Vogel, secretary
* * *
Because nobody else in town is literate.
* * *
Today we met at the Applebottom Pie Shoppe, owned by yours truly.
Maude Lewis, my nasty old co-owner, tried to cross out the pe at the end of shoppe in my notes and got purple ink on the sleeve of my brand-new Walmart blouse.
I told her to watch where she aimed that infernal pen, and she told me I shouldn’t have gotten all fancy with the word shoppe and named our store a normal shop like a regular human.
I told her that our pie shop had been a shoppe since President Nixon and she just needed to get over it already.
She said she wished she’d made me change it when she bought half of it.
I told her I wished she’d just hush up about it.
We’ve been having this same argument since 1997.
Delilah Jones, owner of Nothing but a Pound Dog, butted in and reminded us to get back to the agenda. As if we had one.
Maude went to get a Tide stick for my blouse, and we poured another round of coffee while we waited for her to get back.
Our illustrious mayor T-Bone added a splash of whiskey to his coffee, but nobody said nothing about it, given that it’s five o’clock somewhere.
I’ve been known to nip some of the bourbon we keep for the pecan pie any time that tall drink of water Alfred Felmont comes in to fetch a slice of lemon meringue, his favorite. Lord, that man makes me tongue-tied.
Maude came back and took another peek at my notes and told me I was too old to be sparking over Alfred Felmont. I nearly smacked her with my good leather notebook, except I have a high regard for our distinguished group and don’t want to get blood on our minutes.
Delilah cleared her throat and plumped up her beehive, which is supposedly vintage retro style, but the only beehives around here are out on Grant Nelson’s farm. With bees in them.
Delilah went on to tell us what transpired in her dog bakery.
A new girl named Ginny Page came trotting into town with a behemoth of a dog, a Great Dane she calls Roscoe. He outweighed the girl by a good bit, and she had zero control over him. Delilah had her door propped open to snatch some of the fall breeze (I told her she’s going through the change but she doesn’t believe me, they never do) and the dog dragged the girl right inside her store. He proceeded to ransack the place.
Topher and Danny Smith-Cole, who own Applebottom Blossoms, about jumped out of their chairs, hollering something about twisted gut syndrome and had anybody checked on the dog after he ate all that. But Delilah shushed them and said the dog was fine and just yesterday was seen dragging that poor girl down Main Street and almost causing three car accidents when he cut through traffic.
She insisted we had to do something, or she didn’t dare open the doors to her own bakery lest the dog eat her out of house and home. Maude said she was out of order since it was her business and not her place of residence, and Delilah got huffy and her cheeks turned red, which is not a good look for a fifty-seven-year-old woman. Especially since she’s obviously going through the change.
Danny said it was a shame we’d just lost Horace Sh
illings, the only dog trainer in Applebottom. He moved to Arkansas to a cabin in the Ozarks proper and was rumored to be a fan of the Razorbacks now.
Maude caught sight of my notes and tut-tutted in her ornery old way. But we were all in agreement that it’s a sacred sin to switch teams like that. Danny and Topher got a good chuckle when I said it, and I don’t know why, but I’m good for laughing when the laughing’s good so I jumped right in.
Delilah insisted we do something, but nobody had any ideas. Maude asked who in town had any expertise in dogs, but most everybody we know has an animal they can control. Delilah suggested asking Savannah’s help, but Maude said no, that poor girl has enough to manage out at the animal shelter with Boone so far out of health.
Danny said maybe we could just find someone strong enough to help her until she could teach it some commands. We all thought about it for a while, then Topher remembered that the football coach looked pretty strong and since he was single and all, he might have time to help her.
Betty Johnson, who runs Tea for Two, said he was a total hunk, and it was a shame no local girl had caught his eye in the two years he’d been coach.
And that settled it. Delilah said she’d send a book over to the girl on how to train your dog, and someone could call the high school and ask if the coach would help her out.
T-Bone pointed out it was football season and the coach might be busy, but then everybody laughed because our team hasn’t had a winning season since 1985 and they can’t be practicing all that much.
We assigned the call to Topher, since his mother Sadie is the school secretary, and everybody got a slice of our newest creation, a cranberry-plum pie in honor of the coming season. Maude and I call it Red Slice.
Meeting adjourned.
Want to know what they’re talking about? Check out Ginny and Carter’s puptastic romance in the next Applebottom book The Perfect Disaster.