Kate’s face softened. “How did you manage that? You’ve been at work all day.”
“We have the internet, you know. It also helps that I’m friendly with the cleaning staff. I watched a YouTube video about removing blood stains. It kind of worries me that a video like that is necessary. It had a thousand likes. I picture hitmen sitting around a table and watching it together.”
She laughed. His imagination had always been one of his qualities that most appealed to her. Where other men saw obstacles, Lucas saw opportunities.
“Apparently there’s more on YouTube than my videos.” She gave an exaggerated shrug. “Who knew?”
“Believe me, I would’ve preferred to watch you. The guy in this video was definitely an axe murderer.”
She accepted the dress, her gaze still pinned on her husband. “Thank you, Lucas.”
“It’s a beautiful dress and you’ve had it for years. Be a shame to toss it now because of a bad experience.”
Kate nodded slowly, grasping his meaning. “I’ll hang it back in the closet before it wrinkles.”
“Wrinkles are good,” Lucas said. “Wrinkles mean that dress had a good time.”
She kissed his cheek and carried the dress upstairs.
Chapter Eleven
Kate went through her morning routine with a heightened sense of anticipation. Last night she’d downed the cocktail she’d created and went straight to sleep, hopeful today would bring a reversal of fortune. If not, at least she knew there were more options on deck. Lucas had raised an eyebrow at the sight of the stacked containers in the refrigerator but wisely kept any comments to himself.
Cat-Cat followed her from room to room, seemingly invested in the outcome of Kate’s experiment. Kate finally replied to the email about the radio show and requested a phone meeting. In light of her conversation with Lucas, she wasn’t sure if she could make it work, but it was worth a phone call. When it was time for her rescheduled virtual meeting with Simone, Kate ejected the cat from the office.
“I don’t need an assistant, thanks.” She closed the door before the cat could step a paw across the threshold.
Kate gave her hair a final check and adjusted the lighting to make it look less pink. She’d already stuck a small, flesh-colored Band-Aid over the wart and had prepared a story about a biopsied mole.
She clicked the ‘call’ button on the laptop and waited for Simone’s face to appear. Her client was based in Los Angeles, although she often talked about relocating to somewhere less intense. She was a former television actress with self-esteem issues, and Kate’s main job was to teach her how to be her own best cheerleader. Simone had been in-demand a decade ago, but one failed television show had tanked her career and she’d been fighting her way back ever since. She and Kate had a standing monthly appointment where they met virtually for an hour.
“Hey, Simone,” Kate said.
Her client brightened at the sight of Kate on the screen.
“I’ve been dying for this meeting,” Simone said. “I’m so sorry I had to cancel.”
“Good news or bad news?” Kate asked, bracing herself for bad news. It usually was.
“The best news,” Simone said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Remember that talk show my agent told me about?”
“Of course. It sounded right up your alley.” It was a show similar to The View featuring four women in different stages of their lives.
“Well, drum roll, please. I got the job.” Simone waved her hands excitedly.
Kate pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, wow. That’s incredible news. Simone, I’m so pleased for you.”
“And I’m moving to New York, which means we’ll finally be in the same time zone.”
“This is amazing. All your hard work is finally paying off.”
“If it weren’t for you, I would’ve given up ages ago.”
Kate gave her head a dismissive shake. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a fighter, Simone. You got back on your feet every time you got knocked down.”
They continued to talk about the show and Simone’s new apartment in the city. Kate had never seen her client so animated. It felt good to know she’d helped someone get back on track. Simone was fifty-two. In Hollywood years, she was a walking corpse, so it was gratifying to see a middle-aged actress staging a comeback.
“I hate to ask, but what’s going on with your skin?” Simone asked. “If you’re having an issue with breakouts, I can recommend something. My dermatologist swears by it.”
Kate’s fingers brushed against the Band-Aid. “It’s a biopsied mole.”
Simone leaned forward and squinted. “Oh, I didn’t even notice the Band-Aid.”
Kate swallowed a cry. What was wrong with her skin now?
“I’m digging the pink hair, by the way,” Simone said. “Very trendy.”
Kate stiffened. “Thanks. I don’t think it suits me, but I need to wait for an appointment to change it back. I don’t trust myself to do it right.”
“Ha! As if you could do anything wrong.”
Kate was relieved to end the call. She immediately looked in the mirror to inspect her skin. It wasn’t as flawless as usual, but it didn’t seem that bad to her.
The cat scratched at the door and Kate stood to readmit her. “Did you hear all that? Simone’s suddenly living her best life and I’m...not.” Kate began to understand how other women must feel in her presence.
Cat-Cat jumped onto the scratching post and dug her claws into the fabric.
“Work it, girl,” Kate said.
The phone trilled and she gasped at the sight of the New York City area code. Finally! She snapped up the phone. “Kate Golden.”
“Kate, it’s Timothy Turnbull.”
“Mr. Turnbull, so good to hear from you again.”
“I’d hoped to get back to you sooner, but that’s life.”
Kate held her breath. Had they changed their minds already? She hadn’t even pitched them in person yet.
“Your proposal has been making the rounds and you’ll be pleased to know you’ve added a few new subscribers to your channel from our office. They’re instant converts.”
“That’s great. I’m so glad they like it.”
“They like you so much that we’d like to skip the next phone call and have you meet with us in New York.”
Kate nearly floated out of her chair. “That’s fantastic. I’d love to. When?”
“How about the first week in December? That’s not too far away.”
That worked for Kate. Thanksgiving and all its unhappy associations would be past her, not to mention the holiday workload. Every year she hosted Lucas’s parents for Thanksgiving and this year would be no exception.
She was tempted to ask about the dodgy director’s book deal—the one who’d drugged actresses—but it seemed like a futile gesture. After all, the director already had a contract with the publisher and Kate was still trying to secure one. She had no power here and she knew it.
“Tuesday of that week is best for me,” she said. There were various school activities that week, including a Christmas concert at the elementary school. Kate would have to work around them somehow.
“Perfect. I’ll schedule it and email you the details.”
“Thank you so much. I’m looking forward to it.”
Kate set down the phone with a smile, wondering whether the publisher’s welcome news meant her cocktail had worked. The phone rang again and Kate recognized the number of her salon. Lacey said they’d had a cancellation and could fit her in if she was interested. Kate jumped at the chance.
With her hair back to its normal shade of blonde, Kate started to feel more like herself and even wondered whether she’d created all the mishaps. Like Lucas had said, some kind of placebo effect from the original cocktail.
As she paid at the front desk, the owner of the salon emerged from her office to signal Kate. As a successful businesswoman and the member of a prominent local family, Mrs. Quincy was a f
ixture in Lake Cloverleaf.
“Kate Golden, please step into my office, you gorgeous creature.”
Kate crossed the salon floor to the office, curious as to why she’d been summoned.
“Have a seat.” Mrs. Quincy motioned to the chair across from the antique desk that had been repainted a bubblegum pink.
Kate noticed Trixie, the salon beagle, sniffing her feet. The dog didn’t usually take an interest in her.
“She must smell my cat,” Kate said.
“I bet she does.” Mrs. Quincy smiled at Kate. “I was hoping to talk to you about a local nonprofit organization called RISE. Are you familiar with it?”
Kate shook her head.
“The organization assists women in challenging circumstances to rise up and make positive and meaningful changes to their lives. We’ve devised a program that provides them with educational opportunities, sessions on financial planning, employment preparedness—all sorts of tools to help them develop their skills and confidence. I’ve served on the board for a number of years now, and it’s an excellent organization.”
“That all sounds like amazing work.”
“It is, but we can do more.” She slotted her fingers together and regarded Kate. “You’re a homegrown success story, Mrs. Golden. We’d love it if you’d consider speaking to these women. Offer one of your motivational talks. I’m a huge fan of your YouTube channel and I think you could help these women perform miracles in their lives.”
Kate laughed awkwardly. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Water off a duck’s back for someone like you,” Mrs. Quincy said. “Will you consider it? I understand your time is valuable—so is mine—but I believe it’s our duty to those less fortunate to extend a hand and help them rise above their situation.”
Kate squirmed in her seat. She disliked being put on the spot. The holidays were on her doorstep. Thanksgiving, in particular, was a challenging time for Kate.
“I’m not sure my schedule will allow it, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Mrs. Quincy wagged a finger. “I recognize when someone’s blowing me off, Mrs. Golden. No matter. You’ll come around.” She offered an easygoing smile. “Just call me when you change your mind.”
By the time another Friday rolled around, Kate was more than ready for cocktail club. It was Julie’s turn to host, although she’d warned the women in advance that her mother was in a foul mood.
Sure enough, Doris, otherwise known as Der Kommissar, hobbled into the kitchen, her cane clicking steadily across the floor. She wore a peach-colored robe and matching slippers.
“Happy Friday, Doris,” Rebecca greeted her.
“Every day is Friday when you’re my age,” the older woman snapped. “Don’t go drinking yourselves into a stupor and leaving me a mess to clean up.”
“When do we ever drink ourselves into a stupor?” Rebecca asked.
“Or leave you a mess to clean up.” Julie glared at her mother. “I always clean up.”
“Don’t be too noisy. I’ll be on a Zoom call with the ladies from my bridge club.”
“Would you like an appletini to go?” Libbie offered.
“An appletini? What on earth is that?” She shook her head angrily. “How a generation can manage to destroy a perfectly good cocktail is beyond me.”
“I’ll take that as a no,” Julie said.
Her mother swiveled around and stalked out of the room.
“Isn’t she supposed to avoid the stairs?” Libbie asked.
Julie shrugged. “Does she ever listen to me?”
“She could fall and break a hip,” Rebecca said.
“And if she does, it will be all my fault.” Julie took a careful sip her cocktail. “Let’s talk about something else. We’re witches now. I’m afraid if we say something out loud, we might make it come true.”
“If only our magic was that obedient,” Kate said.
“Are you still having a hard time?” Julie asked.
“Things are still off,” Kate admitted. “I thought the second cocktail I made turned things around, but now I don’t know.” She swallowed a generous mouthful of her drink. “Things feel...harder.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing?” Libbie asked. “You’re always telling your clients they have to put in the hard work if they want to see results.”
Julie laughed. “You make her sound like a fitness instructor.”
“She’s a fitness instructor for the soul,” Libbie said.
“Move over SoulCycle,” Rebecca murmured.
“It’s not hard work that’s the problem,” Kate said. “I already have a system that works for me. Everything’s under control, or it was before that stupid recipe appeared.”
“When I was upset about my job and Chris, Lorraine told me not to resist but to surrender to it. To listen to what the universe was trying to teach me.” Libbie’s mouth formed a half smile. “And if I recall correctly, you said you liked that idea.”
“You did,” Rebecca said. “I remember.”
“Lorraine was as high as a kite,” Kate said.
“Doesn’t mean she gave bad advice,” Julie said. “It seemed to work out for Libbie.”
Libbie’s expression softened. “I’m not foolish enough to tell Kate Golden what to do, but maybe think about slowing down. You’re always on a schedule.”
“With color-coded lists,” Rebecca added.
Julie nodded. “You make the Energizer Bunny look like a lazy piece of shit.”
“It seems like your system is controlling you instead of the other way around,” Libbie said. “The holidays are coming up. Maybe let go of your lists and your schedule, at least for a little while. Take time to focus on yourself, and I don’t mean on your wart.”
Kate mulled it over. “Maybe you’re right.”
Several of Kate’s YouTube videos touched on this subject, including one of her most popular ones entitled Shifting from Autopilot to Manual, where she talks about the importance of staying present and engaged in daily life. She encourages people to act with intention rather than simply going through the motions. Part of that involves getting off the hamster wheel and getting to know themselves—their authentic selves and not the mask they wear for others. What are their needs? Their passions?
What were Kate’s needs? Her passions?
She wasn’t sure anymore.
“Any update on the book deal?” Julie asked.
“I’m going to New York in less than two weeks to meet the executives in person.”
Rebecca raised her glass. “Cheers to that.”
The other women lifted their glasses. “To Kate, for successfully navigating challenging times.”
As they tapped their glasses together, Kate’s mind drifted to her meeting with Mrs. Quincy. Something about their conversation nagged at her. It suddenly bothered Kate that she’d basically said no to the request. But wasn’t this a good development—that Kate had declined to take on yet another project? That she was willing to look incapable by not overloading her schedule with an additional task?
“Do you know there’s actually a spell witches can perform to help them get through challenging times?” Kate asked.
Libbie’s brow lifted. “A spell?”
Kate nodded. “In one of the books I ordered, there’s a section that talks about spells and divides them into categories. I’d ignored it because I was focused on the cocktails, but now I’m wondering if I should’ve tried a spell.” Maybe a cocktail alone wasn’t enough for Kate’s situation.
“How does it work?” Julie asked.
Rebecca looked at her with an eager expression. “Yeah, what would we have to do? Christmas is coming up and I would love to know how to navigate difficult holidays.”
Kate tapped her fingernails on the stem of her glass, trying to remember the salient terms from the book. “I don’t know exactly. Let me see if I can find it online.” She held the phone at an awkward angle as she typed.
“Where are your reading glasses
?” Libbie asked. “What’s the point of getting them if you don’t intend to wear them?”
“I don’t need them. I can see fine. As a matter of fact, I found it.” She increased the size of the webpage and was able to see the words without help.
“What does it say?” Julie prompted.
“It says we need candles, a lemon, and an orange.” Kate scanned the rest of the paragraph. “And we need to do it outside.” She craned her neck. “Is there a clear sky? We need to be able to see the moon.”
“I can see the moon,” Rebecca confirmed.
“How do we know this is legit?” Julie asked.
“We don’t, but it’s worth a try.” Kate set down the phone.
“We can use the fire pit,” Julie said. “That’s better than candles.”
Hesitation flickered across Rebecca’s features. “Are we sure this is a good idea? Lorraine said we needed to be ready to do magic.”
“No, Lorraine said we needed to be ready to receive the gifts Inga left us,” Kate said. “And Libbie and I have received them, so we’re good to go.”
Julie turned and plucked a lemon and an orange from the fruit bowl. “Someone get the lighter from the drawer next to the fridge.”
Kate retrieved the lighter. “We also need chalk to make a circle.”
Julie chewed her lip. “I don’t have any chalk.”
“I have plenty of chalk at home,” Kate said. “Ava’s drawn so many butterflies on the driveway, you can’t see the slate color anymore.”
Rebecca opened a cabinet door. “What about flour? That’s a white powdery substance and we can make a circle with it.”
“Too bad nobody has cocaine,” Julie said.
“I know a guy,” Rebecca offered.
Julie laughed. “I bet you do.”
Rebecca took the bag of flour from the shelf and the women made their way to the backyard to plant themselves around the fire pit.
“I love sitting by the lake when it’s dark,” Libbie said.
“We should’ve brought our sweaters,” Kate said, rubbing her arms.
“We should’ve brought our drinks,” Rebecca said. “I feel like attempting a spell requires more alcohol.”
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