A Catered Birthday Party (8 page)

T
he storm blew itself out around four in the morning, leaving lampposts capped in little hats of snow and cars buried halfway up their tires. For a short while, until people got up, everything was sparkling white.

“You have to admit it’s pretty,” Bernie said, looking out the window as she sipped her coffee.

“It’s beautiful,” Libby allowed as she dug her snow boots and mittens out of the closet. “And if we didn’t have to shovel it would be even prettier.”

It was a little after six, but Libby figured they’d better get started clearing the sidewalk. At least that way they wouldn’t be too far behind with the other stuff they had to do.

“I wonder if Trudy goes out in the snow?” Bernie mused while slipping into her Uggs and ski parka.

“She probably has custom-made boots and a matching jacket,” Libby said as they started down the stairs.

Bernie dug her mittens out of her parka’s pockets. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

It took the sisters a little over an hour to salt and shovel. They were totally exhausted by the time they were done, but as their dad said when they got back upstairs, people might not be able to drive down Main Street yet, but when they were able to A Little Taste of Heaven would be ready to receive them. Which was a good thing, because the number of people who started trickling in as soon as they opened the doors wanting to buy coffee and a pastry or two surprised Libby.

By nine o’clock the shop had already sold out of their apple, apple cranberry, and prune and apricot pies, as well as their corn, pumpkin, and chocolate chip muffins, in addition to their apricot and oatmeal cookies. Googie and Amber, who had fortunately made it in, were a blur of activity behind the counter.

Libby and Bernie were in the kitchen drinking coffee, eating slices of two-day-old apple pie that hadn’t sold, and getting ready to make some more muffins.

“Pie in the morning,” Bernie observed. “Nothing better.”

“For sure,” Libby said as she mashed the last crumbs of the crust onto her finger and conveyed them to her mouth. “You know,” she said, “I was thinking. Maybe we should try half whole wheat and half white flour in the pie dough.”

“I don’t know.” Bernie added a little more heavy cream to her coffee. “I think I go with Mom’s adage: If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.”

Libby cut herself another little sliver. “She never said anything like that.”

“She didn’t have to. That’s the way she lived.”

“Maybe,” Libby conceded. “But there’s always room for improvement.”

“Not with our pie dough. Our pie dough is perfect.”

“We could sell this as a healthier alternative.”

“Then we’d have to have too many different types. We’d end up throwing too much out.”

“We could only do it by special order.”

Bernie frowned. “I don’t know. It’s one more thing to keep track of and we don’t do such a good job keeping track of what we already have, as it is. Basically, I think it’s going to be too much work and not enough profit.”

“Boy you’re in a bad mood,” Libby noted. Normally she was the negative one, not Bernie. Bernie was always up for trying something new.

Bernie shrugged. It was true. She was. Mostly because she hadn’t gone home with Brandon. She’d been afraid she’d get stuck at his place and not be able to get back in time to help open the shop. Sometimes, she wished she’d stayed in California and hadn’t come back to work here. This place ran her life. Then she shook the thought off. She was just in a funk brought on by too much work and not enough sex.

“Okay. Try the crust out,” Bernie said. Then she added hastily, “But not today.”

Today they wouldn’t have time to do anything but keep baking so they could restock the display cases. That was the problem with making everything fresh: It was a balancing act. Too much and they had to throw stuff out. Not enough and they had unhappy customers.

Libby was just about to tell Bernie that she agreed that today wasn’t the day to start experimenting with anything, that they’d be lucky if they had time to pee the way things were going, when Googie came in with an envelope and handed it to Bernie.

“This guy said to give this to you.”

“What guy?”

“Don’t know.” Googie straightened his hat. “He gave it to me when I was waiting on Mrs. Ruffo,” he told Bernie.

Libby peered over Bernie’s shoulder while she opened the envelope. There were three tickets to
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
inside.

“Kevin O’Malley,” Bernie and Libby said together. Then they took the tickets up to show to their dad.

“I guess he really wants to tell us something,” Libby said.

“I guess so,” Sean agreed, putting his coffee cup down. “He’s obviously sticking to the letter of the law.”

Libby gave her dad a puzzled look. “Law? What law?”

“His law,” Sean explained. “Last night he told you….”

“He told Bernie….”

“Then Bernie—that he couldn’t tell you anything directly. In his mind that would be gossiping, but if he points you in the right direction and you make the connections you need to make, you find out whatever it is that he deems important, well then, that’s not his doing. He’s in the clear. I wonder what made him change his mind?” Sean mused as he picked up yesterday’s paper and scanned the headlines. He liked his news a day old. It put everything in perspective.

“Maybe his conscience?” Bernie said.

“He ran a strip club,” Libby protested.

“So? What’s that have to do with anything?” Bernie demanded.

“Oh, come on,” Libby said. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’re becoming very judgmental in your old age.”

“No. I’m not,” Libby told her.

“Ladies,” Sean growled, glaring at both his daughters. “Sometimes I don’t know what’s wrong with you people,” he declared. “All you do is bicker. It gets very trying.”

“Sorry,” Libby and Bernie murmured, although from where Sean was sitting they didn’t look at all repent.

“It’s an interesting question, isn’t it?” Bernie said, getting back to the matter at hand.

“What?”

“Why Kevin sent us the tickets. It would be so much easier if Kevin just came out and said what he wanted to, but at this point I guess we’ll have to take what we can get.”

“When are they for?” Sean asked.

“Tonight,” Bernie told him. “Unfortunately.”

Libby stifled a yawn. “I just hope I don’t fall asleep in the middle of it,” she said. There was something else about the play that was important, but Libby couldn’t remember what it was. The trick was to stop thinking about it. Then it would come to her. Probably when she was rolling out dough for the pies. That’s when things always seemed to pop into her head.

Bernie patted her on the back. “Don’t worry. If you start snoring, I’ll wake you up.”

“I don’t snore,” Libby protested.

Bernie crossed her arms over her chest. “You most certainly do.”

Libby appealed to her dad. “I don’t, do I?”

Sean decided to concentrate on the paper. Replying would be a lose-lose situation for him. He’d learned from years of living with his wife and daughters that there were some questions you never answered, the archetypical one being,
Does this make me look fat? Do I snore?
might not be as laden as that one, but it was close enough.

“Would you like to go?” Libby asked.

Sean refolded the paper. “Go where?” he asked as if he didn’t know.

Libby sighed. She hated when her father did this. “To the play, of course.”

“I’d love to,” Sean lied. “But Clyde is coming over.”

Bernie put her hands on her hips. “Dad,” she said.

“It’s true,” Sean blustered. Clyde wasn’t really coming over for a visit, but he was sure he could lure the big guy to the flat with the promise of some lemon squares and pecan bars.

In Sean’s opinion there were some things that went beyond the call of duty and this was one of them. Why sit through an inferior version of one of his all-time favorite movies? After all, who could replace Elizabeth Taylor as Maggie? No one. That’s who.

T
he Longely Playhouse was based in the Longely Community Center, an old firehouse on Warren Street. The town had done a very nice job of remodeling the building several years ago after the fire department had moved into more modern quarters. Now the two-story building housed a variety of activities, up to and including yoga classes, story times for toddlers, lunches for senior citizens, figure-drawing classes, as well as local theatrical efforts, or amateur theater as Sean insisted on calling it.

Superior Productions, the company that was mounting
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
, had been in business for the last three years. Sometimes it benefitted from Longely’s closeness to New York City, by getting a number of out-of-work actors who were looking to build up their resumes to perform in its plays. But mostly it relied on local talent.

The theater, which accommodated a respectable seventy-five people, was practically empty when Bernie, Libby, and Marvin arrived, a fact that didn’t surprise Bernie, Libby, or Marvin. Even though all the roads were clear, people were tired from their round of early morning shoveling and were opting to stay in and watch TV, a course of action Libby kept telling everyone she would have liked to have followed as well. And Bernie had to admit that she wouldn’t have minded too much either. Between the baking, the shoveling, and clearing the van off so they could get to the store and buy more butter and vanilla, the day had just worn her out.

The three of them had just walked through the door and were standing in the entranceway studying their tickets to find their seat assignments when Libby gave Bernie a sharp nudge in the ribs.

“What?” Bernie asked, rubbing her side. “That hurt.”

Libby pointed. “That’s what I was trying to remember,” she said.

“You want to take a figure-drawing class?” From what Bernie could see, Libby was pointing at the schedule for art classes.

“No, dummy. I’m talking about Sam.”

Bernie hit her forehead with the flat of her hand. “I can’t believe I forgot. That’s right. She said she had a bit part in the play.” She continued, “Well, she does. In a broad sense. She’s acting as an usher.”

Sam came toward them. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“We’re going to see the play,” Libby said.

Sam practically shoved their programs in their hands, then hurried off.

“I think she’s embarrassed,” Libby observed as they took their seats.

Kevin had gotten them center-row seats.

“I don’t think anything would embarrass her,” Bernie said as she put her coat over the back of her seat.

“She used to work at the Coffee Grounds,” Marvin told them.

“Really?” Libby said.

“Yup. I remember her because she tripped and spilled the coffee she was carrying all over my shirt. She had purple hair then.”

Somehow Bernie wasn’t surprised. “Well, she was wearing a gray wig the last time I ran into her. She probably changes her hair color the way some people change their shoes. Do you know anything else about her?”

Marvin thought for a moment. Then he said, “I heard her mom died last year down in the city. She was involved in some sort of accident, so Samantha came up here to live with her dad, Robert Barron.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow. Robert Barron was a developer, although what he developed no one seemed to know. About six months ago, she’d read an item in the business section of the local paper about a deal Robert Barron was finalizing with Colbert Toys. That might explain why he didn’t want his daughter even peripherally involved in anything that had anything to do with any sort of scandal that would affect his business.

Marvin bent down and pulled up his socks. “Supposedly, she’s his kid from his first marriage.”

Libby put her program down on her lap. “I didn’t know he had a first marriage.”

Marvin straightened up. “It didn’t last too long.”

Libby took a chocolate bar out of her bag, broke off a piece, and passed the rest to Marvin. “Now I feel bad for the kid,” she said as the chocolate melted in her mouth.

“Why?” Bernie asked as she got out of her seat. “Just because her father is an egotistical, self-absorbed moron?”

“Something like that,” Libby replied.

“Wow,” Marvin said. “That’s quite a mouthful.”

“We did a dinner party for him a couple of years ago and never got paid,” Libby explained. “He’s very cheap. Not to mention the fact that he has these disgusting hunting trophies all over his house.” She looked up at her sister. “Where are you going?”

“To find Sam.”

“She didn’t say anything before,” Libby said. “Why do you think she’ll say anything now?”

Bernie reached up and repinned her hair. One of these days she was going to cut it all off. “As Dad says, ‘persistence is the cornerstone of good police work.’”

“You’re not a policeman,” Libby retorted. “You’re a caterer.”

“I never would have known,” Bernie said as she walked up the aisle.

The building housing the Longely Community Center was a small place composed of a large entranceway, the performance space, four rooms on the bottom floor and three on the top floor. Therefore, it didn’t take Bernie long to locate what passed for a green room. It was the second room on the left-hand side of the hall. Sam was sprawled out on a mustard yellow sofa that looked as if it had been dragged in off the street, listening to her iPhone and licking the vanilla cream from the middle of an Oreo cookie. Evidently she was taking her ushering duties as seriously as she took her cleaning ones, Bernie thought as she stepped inside.

It took a moment for Sam to notice her. When she did, she lifted herself into a sitting position.

“You can’t come in here,” she told Bernie, not bothering to take her earphones off. “This is for cast members only.”

“I had a part in
The Wizard of Oz
once.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I was Glinda. And I was very good. You can ask Miss Grover, my fourth-grade teacher. No? You’re not going to? Fine. If it bothers you that I’m in here, we can step outside.”

Sam ate the last of her cookie and brushed the crumbs off her hands. “I don’t have to talk to you and I’m not going to.”

“Okay. I’ll just sit here till you do,” Bernie said. “That sofa looks awfully comfortable.”

Sam pointed to her ears. “I can’t hear you.”

Bernie took two quick steps toward Samantha, reached down, and yanked Sam’s headset off. “There,” she said, holding it up. “Problem solved.”

“You can’t do that!” Sam squawked.

“I just did.”

“Give them to me,” Sam demanded as she grabbed for her earphones.

Bernie took a step back. “I will after we’re finished talking.”

“They’re Bose. They’re really, really expensive.”

Bernie smiled. “I know. I have a pair.”

Sam glared at her. Bernie returned the favor.

“Well,” Bernie said after a couple of moments had gone by. “It looks like we’re at a stalemate.”

“What’s a stalemate?”

“An impasse.”

Sam put her hands on her hips. “My dad says I don’t have to say anything to you, so I’m not going to.”

“Who is your dad?” Bernie asked, wanting to hear what Sam was going to say.

“What do you care?”

“Maybe I want to call up this paragon of silence and talk to him. See if I can change his mind.”

An expression of alarm flickered across Sam’s face. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

“I might,” Bernie said, thinking as she did how young and vulnerable Sam looked.

Sam thought for a moment before shaking her head. A triumphant expression replaced the one of alarm. “Like, duh. You must think I’m really dumb. You can’t call him. You don’t know who he is.”

“Actually, I do.”

“No. You don’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me.”

“I asked you because I was curious to hear what you would say.”

“How would you know?”

“This is a small town. People know things. Your dad is Robert Barron.”

The alarmed look on Sam’s face returned. She scrunched her eyes together as if she didn’t want to see what was going on in front of her.

Bernie pointed to the package of Oreos sitting on the table. “Mind if I have one?”

“You know something? You suck,” Sam cried.

“So I’ve been told,” Bernie replied as she went over and helped herself to one of the cookies. She twisted off the top, ate the cream filling, and then ate the cookie. God, she loved these. “Now then, why did your dad tell you to keep away from me?” she asked Sam when she was done eating. “If he did.”

Sam dragged the toe of her foot across the floor. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.” Bernie watched Sam. It was obvious she wanted to talk. She just needed a nudge.

“You might feel better if you tell me,” Bernie suggested gently.

Sam mulled that idea over for a while. “I don’t really know anything,” she finally said. “It’s not like I saw anyone putting poison in Annabel’s wine, or anything like that.”

“Then what’s the big deal?”

“It’s just that Richard is a friend of my dad’s. My dad says it wouldn’t look good if I got”—she made quote marks with her fingers—“involved.”

“But you don’t think that’s the case?”

“My dad doesn’t have friends. He has business acquaintances. I mean he actually sleeps with his Blackberry. That’s why my mom left him. She said he spent all his time doing boring business stuff. She never saw him.”

“I’m sorry for what happened to your mom,” Bernie said to Sam as she watched the girl’s eyes mist over.

Sam looked down at the floor. “Stuff happens.” When she looked back up she had a smile plastered on her face, but her eyes remained hooded. “But me and some friends are getting an apartment in Fort Green in a couple of months,” she said brightly. “So that should be cool.”

“No doubt,” Bernie said.

“My dad doesn’t think so. My dad wants me to go into finance.” Sam made a face. “How lame is that?”

“Pretty lame,” Bernie conceded as she glanced at the clock on the wall.

“And he hunts. That’s even lamer. He has these disgusting heads on the wall.”

“I’ve seen them,” Bernie said.

“He’s really proud of them, but I think they’re really yucky.”

“Me too,” Bernie said. And she meant it. Ten minutes to showtime. It was time to wrap this up.

“Okay, Samantha,” Bernie continued. “I just have one more question for you and then I’ll let you get back to work.”

If Sam caught the irony of Bernie’s statement, she gave no notice of it. Instead she cocked her head and waited.

“The guy who plays Brick,” Bernie continued.

“That’s Rick Crouse.”

“Well, I was just wondering, where does he hang out after the play?” Bernie asked.

“Why?”

“You saw the guy I came in with?”

Sam nodded.

“He’s from ICM,” Bernie amazed herself by saying. “He wants to talk to Rick.” Bernie touched her finger to her lips. “But don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Wow,” she said. “That’s huge. Aren’t they the biggest talent agency in the country?”

“One of the biggest,” Bernie said.

“I hope that happens to me one day.”

“It will,” Bernie assured her. She felt ridiculously guilty about the lie she’d just told. Why did she do things like this? Especially at times like now when it had been totally unnecessary.

Sam went over to the table and took another Oreo cookie. “Rick will be at Leon’s. That’s where everyone goes after the show.”

Leon’s. Bernie had forgotten all about that place. It had been years since she’d been in it. Bernie nodded her thanks and turned to go.

“That’s it?” Sam asked.

Bernie turned back. She could tell from Sam’s voice that there was something else she wanted to say. “Yes?”

Sam scratched her head. “It’s nothing. It’s just that I’m surprised…you don’t want to talk about the other thing.”

“Well, you told me you don’t want to.”

Sam corrected her. “I told you I
can’t
talk about it. That’s different. My dad told me he doesn’t want me getting involved.”

“So you said. I can understand that,” Bernie answered. “It wouldn’t be very good for him.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Sam said. “But, on the other hand, what happened to Annabel wasn’t very good either.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Bernie declared.

Sam ran her hands through her hair. “Have you ever been someplace where things just didn’t feel right?” she asked.

Bernie nodded.

“Well, that’s what the Colbert household was like. Everything was business. It was all dollars and cents. Poor Trudy. They spend all this money on her, and no one likes her. She’s an accessory to them. I was going to smuggle Trudy into our house, but my dad said he’d kick me out if I ever did anything like that.” Sam sighed. “I mean, when people get married they should stick together, right? They shouldn’t go off sleeping with everyone they feel like. I’m not gonna do that when I get married…not that I will.”