“I’m not just talking about a toll with your appearance. You could risk putting your life, or someone else’s, in danger.”
“How do you mean?”
“If the spell makes someone go unhinged, what if you end up getting raped? Or what if two guys get into a fight over you, and one shoots the other? Those are extreme scenarios, but not out of the realm of possibility.”
“I’ll be careful, cousin.”
“You’d better do more than that.”
I offered her the couch for the night, but she left. I think under normal circumstances more wine and magic would have been her preferred course of action, but she didn’t trust me not to try and steal the compact away from her.
I couldn’t blame her. Had I the opportunity, I definitely would have tried to take the mirror and break the spell on my own.
Once she was gone, I turned to look at my father, who lingered.
“What do you think of all this?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I think Lindy named her right. But instead of plenty of blessings and plenty of good fortune, she gives us plenty of trouble.”
30
ALL THE NEXT day I spotted no sign of Plenty. Normally I could expect a couple visits to my shop when I was around, as I knew she preferred someone closer to her age to entertain her. Today, she had made herself scarce.
Jordan was in my store fussing with his Halloween display, making it more showy.
“Does my mom need you for anything?” I asked. He was welcome to stay, but if he was needed across the way at Thingamajigs, then I thought that would be wise to attend to.
“Fiona is manning the register,” he said. “She said I should get some training over here.”
“Why? She never does that sort of thing. She always leaves a sign on the door or has Vanessa, or now you, do that. She hates just standing there and will do anything she can to avoid it.”
“She’s out there because Plenty was in the kitchen, and said she wanted time away from, well … I won’t repeat the exact words she used.”
“That bad, huh?” I asked. Jordan’s eyes were huge and round as he nodded. My mother must have used some choice profanities to describe Plenty.
“Plenty’s so annoying that it has Fiona actually working in her own store,” Vanessa laughed. “When is she going to blow up and threaten to curse her or call her a bubble-headed booby?”
That was a good point. “Speaking of bubbles …” I looked Vanessa up and down. She was dolled up in a tight V-neck sweater that amplified her already ample assets and a pair of high-heeled boots. All day long she’d alternately harrumphed in disgust and did little happy dances when another hour ticked past with no sign of Plenty.
I pointed at her. “Now, Van, I can understand you being happy she’s not showing her face, but why do you also seem grumpy about it?”
“Would you look at all this?” She waved her hands around and gestured to her hourglass curves.
“Okay, yeah. I see a tight fuzzy sweater and all the gifts that Mother Nature so very, very generously endowed you with. Blind men can see that you’re stacked.”
She smiled. “I wore it because I was hoping that pea brain of a cousin of yours would come in here, and I was hoping she’d be mad when she saw all this.”
I laughed out loud. “You came ready to strut your stuff. Your very ample stuff, I see.”
“I don’t get it,” Jordan said.
“You know how when men get macho and face off we joke that they’re whipping out their, um, manhoods, and measuring them?”
Jordan nodded.
I continued. “Well, what’s one way – or what are two ways – that women can square off?”
Recognition dawned. “Oh …” he said softly.
“That’s right,” Vanessa said. “I kind of hoped she’d come in here and try to be all fancy and all ‘oh, look at me,’ and I’d –” she raised her chest up, squared her shoulders and inhaled as she planted her hands on her hips. If she had the right costume and a black-haired wig, she would have put Wonder Woman to shame.
“You were hoping for a boob-off,” Jordan said.
“I think we know who’d win that contest,” I quipped.
“Exactly,” Vanessa nodded.
I made my way to Jordan and clapped my hand on his shoulder. “It’s nice not having a guy around who gets distracted by our, um, charms.” I realized what I said the moment I uttered it and felt my face reddening. “Oh crap, that was too presumptuous of me, wasn’t it?”
Jordan looked uncomfortable, like we’d discovered some deep, dark secret. A moment later he relaxed. “Is it that obvious?”
Vanessa gave him a kind look. “No. On the surface it’s not obvious.”
“Then how did you know?”
“We’ve got pretty decent gaydar, but we didn’t really know for certain until you said something about all these hot guys being here. You remember, the other night, at Freighters?”
He nodded. “Sorry. That slipped out.”
“We don’t mind,” I said. “I’m sorry I just blurted that out. I tend to do that, sometimes.”
“I guess I have the same tendency,” Jordan said. He gave a weak smile. “You really don’t mind, though?” He looked hopeful.
“Not at all. Why would we?” Vanessa said, coming around to his other side and wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close for a half hug.
He relaxed. “Whew. It feels kind of good to have that out in the open.”
“It usually is, especially when you won’t catch hell or questions about it.”
“Or conversion therapy,” Jordan added.
“Conversion therapy?” I asked.
Jordan nodded. “I promised myself I’d leave home when my dad threatened to send me to a camp to try and turn me straight. To throw him off, I pretended I liked a girl who already had a boyfriend, and then once I got my diploma, I left town.”
“Conversion camp? Oh, that’s low,” I said. “Though I kind of wish you had gone because I’m curious about what they’d do.”
“I hear it’s a good way to meet guys,” Vanessa said. “What? That’s what I’ve heard.”
“I heard that, too, later on,” Jordan agreed.
I gave his shoulder a warm squeeze. “Well, you don’t have to worry around here. We’re not going to try and change who you are.”
“Thanks.” He turned and gave a Vanessa a curious look.
“What?” she asked.
“Well, with all this boob talk, I was wondering if I could touch yours?”
Vanessa’s smile vanished. “No.”
I cracked up.
“Why are you laughing?”
“It’s funny. All men want to touch boobs, no matter if they’re gay or straight.”
“Can I touch yours?”
My laughter stopped. “That would be a no.”
“Not even once?” Jordan’s expression was earnest.
“Come on, Poppy,” Vanessa nudged. “You can let him touch.”
“Nope. And I’ll tell you why. Because boobs are just like Lay’s potato chips.”
“What?” Jordan and Vanessa replied in unison.
“Remember the slogan? You can’t just have one?”
“It’s actually ‘Betcha can’t eat just one,’” Jordan corrected.
“Well, eating or squeezing, no one ever just wants to do it once.”
“But they are attached to a woman, so I’d only want to touch them once.”
“They’re warm, soft and squishy,” Vanessa said, cupping her hands over her breasts. “No one can resist touching them more than once.”
“What’s going on here? Are we giving ourselves breast exams? If so, I like it.” All three of us turned, surprised that we hadn’t noticed our visitor arrive.
It was Scott Seymour, my ex-boyfriend.
I smiled and gave him a welcoming hug. “Scott! How are you?”
“Good. Very good.” He turned and greeted everyone as I introduced him to Vanessa
and Jordan.
“You know I’m off the market,” I teased.
“So am I,” he replied, giving my braid a playful tug.
“Did you two used to date?” Jordan asked.
“When I was in college,” I said, “and then once more on the merry-go-round a couple years later.”
“I’ve seen you around before,” Vanessa said. “You tend bar here and there.”
“That I do,” he smiled. “Soon I’ll be tending to my own place.”
“That’s right. You got cleared for the loan and are fixing up a spot. And you’re still with your lady friend? Amber was her name, right?”
He nodded. “Yes. We’re working together. And yes, things are going well between Amber and me.” He broke into an easy-going grin. I could see he was happy with his lavender-haired lady. “How about you? Things are still well with Roger?”
“I’m sure you already know,” I said.
“Yeah. I saw him the other day at the Classy Dive. He looked a bit worse for wear.”
“Was that before or after the big fight?”
“Fight?” His expression grew keen.
I told him what had happened the other night.
“I heard there was a fight. I was working that night, so I saw the cop cars up the road, but that’s hardly anything new. When you stir together hormones and booze in close quarters, trouble easily follows.”
Jordan nodded sagely. I suspect he was enjoying the view. Scott was tall, solid and had a square jaw and easy smile. Scott turned to him. “So you’re new to Poppy Land?”
He nodded.
Scott looked him up and down. “I’ve seen you around town before. That jacket, I recognize. It’s pretty cool.”
Jordan looked down at his coat and smoothed the front with tender pride. “Thanks.”
“What brings you here?” I asked.
He raised a sack. “I picked up some fudge next door at Farley’s,” he explained. “Amber’s been craving it lately, so I thought I’d pick some up for her.”
“Craving?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “As in simply craving sweets, or is there something more going on here?”
Scott laughed and wagged an index finger in warning. “Don’t you start gossiping about us. It’s just PMS.”
“Ah,” I said. “Say no more.” I raised my fingers to my temples. “Chocolate?”
“But of course,” Scott said. “I also picked up some pumpkin butterscotch.”
“Huh. That must be a new one.”
“It is, for the season,” Scott agreed. “They have samples, and it’s good.”
“Samples?” Jordan said, his eyes lighting up.
“Yes, and not just the pumpkin butterscotch. They have a few other new flavors out, too.”
Vanessa and Jordan quickly excused themselves to go and seek out some sweets. “Bring me back something pistachio if they have it,” I called out.
Once they were gone, Scott and I caught up. Things were progressing nicely with Amber, and with his new microbrewery prep.
“So, where is this place and when do you think you’re opening it?” I asked.
“It’s by the bridge, up Ashmun.”
“Oh, that empty building, where a few eateries and bars have opened up over the years?”
Scott nodded. “I got it for a really good deal, and it’s in decent shape. I’m just putting my own spin on the place. Hopefully I can open it soon. Ideally if things get underway early enough, I may have some tasting nights tied to city events, you know, like the snowman burning or St. Patrick’s Day. Or earlier, if I can swing it.”
“That sounds fun,” I said. Something nipped at the back of my head when I considered the location. Nothing ever stayed open there for the long haul, and it seemed like it should, considering that it was in the downtown area and that our town had a never-ending thirst for watering holes.
“What are you thinking?” Scott said. “You have this look like something came to you. Have you heard gossip?”
Considering how often Scott was high on pot, he was surprisingly observant, intuitive and highly functioning.
The last time I’d imbibed had been while dating him, many years ago. It was an August night and we’d gone camping for a weekend. I’d taken two tokes and ended up standing there, staring at the stars for what felt like hours. When I came back to earth, so to speak, Scott had pitched the tent, set up our sleeping bags, collected more wood for our campfire and cooked dinner over the flames – and accomplished it while high. All I had done in that time was wonder about Orion’s Belt, and if I’d drown if it started to rain since I was standing there with my mouth open.
“I was just thinking about that time we went camping near Monocle Lake,” I said.
“The time you stared up into the nighttime sky for ages?”
I nodded.
He chuckled at the memory. “I had warned you not to take too big of a hit off my joint. You could always hold your booze like a champ, but not your weed.”
“Yeah, it was a bit much,” I agreed. “They should issue that stuff at the DMV or anywhere you encounter long lines. It’d be a breeze to endure.”
“I’d have no issue with that. Now, what else were you thinking?” He gave me a pointed gaze, daring me not to change the subject.
“What makes you think I was thinking other thoughts?” I asked.
“Just this look you had on your face a few seconds after you mentioned that empty building.”
I shrugged. “I was just remembering that location has a few past lives, shall we say.”
“There have been a few businesses in that spot, most definitely,” Scott agreed. “It was that Irish place some years back, then a pizza joint. Then someone wanted it to be a gay bar, but that didn’t stick.”
“Yes, and it was also turned into some kind of fifties hangout, too, with the vinyl booths and the chrome accents.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that place. So, do you think there’s something off with the location?”
“I don’t think so. It probably just needs the right business. A brewpub sounds like a good fit for that spot.” I was telling the truth because I liked the sound of a brewpub there, but I was also trying to put Scott at ease. “It probably needs the right management, too. The pizza at that place was never good – it was always overcooked or too gooey. The fifties spot, the fries always burned or the pop was never fizzy. Then they had the waitresses on roller skates for a hot minute, and they almost always seemed to be tumbling over. The malts and milkshakes there always were too hard or too melty. And the Irish pub, well, that had fights all the time.”
“You’re starting to make me wonder if I picked a cursed spot.”
I waved off Scott’s concerns. “I don’t think so. We already have a fifties restaurant up on the Spur. We also have that tiny Irish pub a few doors down. And pizza places, we have tons of them. A brew pub is more unusual in these parts. Just serve good beer in a nice atmosphere and they will come.”
“I hope you’re right,” Scott said. He tried to give an easy smile, but I could see a flicker of concern in his hazel eyes. “When you get some time during the day, drop on by and see what we’re making of the place. I’d love to see if you get any vibes off the spot.”
“I’d be happy to do that.”
31
THE NEXT DAY Mom invited Vanessa and me over to dinner, trying to seem casual about it. Neither of us was inclined to go, but she insisted, clearing the path to her door with fuel from every guilt trip she had in her arsenal, including “I hired you,” “I was in labor for twenty-three hours,” and “I feel like a mother to you both, so you shouldn’t be such ungrateful daughters.”
Finally, we relented, figuring we’d basically dine and dash.
Jordan was slicing bread when we arrived. Tom was seated, playing a game of solitaire and talking about some show on PBS with Aunt Lindy, who was cutting vegetables for a salad. My mother hovered over the stove, stirring something in a pot.
“What’s
on the menu,” I asked.
“Whatever it is, it smells good,” Vanessa said.
“Beef stew. It’s a bit chilly out so I thought that would be appropriate and tasty.”
I looked over at Aunt Lindy and felt a pang of regret that we hadn’t chatted more this visit. Her temperament was much more subdued than my cousin’s and I enjoyed spending time with her.
“What are you talking about,” I asked.
“PBS had a documentary on World War I,” Tom said. “Lindy here watched it. I still have one more episode to go.”
I nodded, knowing what they were talking about. “I saw parts of that. It covered a lot of interesting and disturbing ground, with the weapons, the racism, women’s rights…”
“What are you guys going on about?” Plenty interrupted as she breezed into the kitchen. She was dolled up once again, this time in a shimmery peach blouse and a cream-colored skirt, her hair meticulously blown out and her makeup applied with a heavy hand.
“We were talking about a World War I documentary,” Aunt Lindy said.
“Oh, how boring. It’s all in the past, so why not let it stay there?”
“There is that saying, dear,” Tom said, as he peered over his reading glasses, “about those who don’t know history being doomed to repeat it.”
“Hear, hear,” Aunt Lindy nodded.
“Whatever.” Plenty made her way to my mother. “Whatcha cooking, Aunt Fiona?” When she peered over Mom’s shoulder she screwed up her nose. “Is that beef stew? I can’t eat red meat. I only eat fish and chicken.”
“Well, you can scoop out some green beans and carrots and eat that,” Mom said.
Plenty’s eyes landed on me. “Poppy, how about we go out?”
I shook my head. “I’d rather have some stew, and enjoy a low-key and cheap night.”
She shrugged and took a seat next to her mother, snatching a tomato from the salad bowl and popping it into her mouth.
“How come you’re not asking me if I want to go out?” Vanessa asked. She was standing near my mother, with her hands on her hips, her assets on full display. Plenty darted her eyes in Vanessa’s direction now and then.
“Um, well, I wanted to spend time with my cousin,” Plenty said.
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