Seasons of Her Life (51 page)

Ruby gnashed her teeth together. “Good-bye, Inspector.

“Two more days, Dix, that's all, and we'll be back in business. Mr. Spitzer said he didn't think there would be a problem. His cousin is on the town council.”

Joel Spitzer was wrong; there was a problem. The town council voted to allow Mrs. Sugar to operate for ten months at number 7 Ribbonmaker Lane. Their thinking, Spitzer told Ruby the night of the meeting, was that the business would mushroom and bring too much traffic to the street: delivery trucks, drivers making cookie deliveries, and customers who walked in off the street.

“Look at it as a vote of confidence, Mrs. Blue,” Spitzer said. “The men on the council are businessmen, and if they feel your business is going to grow, it probably will. Ten months is plenty of time for you to find a suitable location downtown. You're going to need a parking area and a loading dock. You're probably going to need a bigger refrigeration system, more ovens, and shelves. In other words, more room. I consider this a win for you, Mrs. Blue. I hope you do, too. And, my wife, who considers herself one of the better cookie bakers in our family, said your cookies are the best she's ever eaten. Congratulations!”

Ruby walked on air as she relayed the news to a jittery Dixie. “He's right, Dix, it's a win for us and ... a real plus that those men think we're going to make it. We can look for a new location on weekends. Now we have to start mixing dough for Monmouth College. We have four days till our first delivery. You did find us a driver for our other customers?”

“Two. One who is on call. He's a retired public service man. It's a good way for him to supplement his income. His wife took the job for him, but he agreed. The crossing guard downtown gave me his number, and they're both nice men. They won't let us down.”

The following morning the ovens were turned on five minutes after the gas company hooked up the gas—for the second time. The women virtually worked around the clock, taking catnaps every four hours or so until their first order for Monmouth College was completely filled.

Kevin Sandler balked at Ruby's demand for cash when she wouldn't hand over her cookies to his driver. “A check will do nicely, Mr. Sandler. Because I'm a woman, I can't get credit for my supplies, so that means I have to deal on a cash basis. I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be.”

“This is a major problem, Mrs. Blue. I wish you had told me this before we signed our contract.”

“Why is that, Mr. Sandler? Were you planning on stiffing me? I pay cash, you pay cash. From here on in, it shouldn't be a problem. The cookie business is not like most businesses. You eat the cookie, it's gone. If you haven't paid by then, it's only human nature not to want to pay.”

“Okay. I'll write it in my report, and I'll be out there sometime this afternoon with a check.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Sandler. These cookies don't leave here till I have a check in my hand. Your driver is waiting. What should I tell him?”

“Tell him,” Sandler said through tight lips, “a special messenger is on the way with a check. He should be there in thirty minutes.”

Ruby smiled. Dixie smiled. The driver munched on cookies.

 

Mrs. Sugar and her cookies thrived. Three part-time housewives were hired to bake in four-hour shifts. At the end of three months, Ruby and Dixie hired a night crew to bake until the early hours of the morning. Three more drivers were added to the payroll, and still there wasn't enough help or enough ovens to fill the demand for the sweet confections.

In the fifth month they purchased two more commercial ovens and hired more housewives. They now had a list of women waiting to be hired for the night shift. Retirees knocked on the door constantly, asking for jobs as part-time drivers.

By the end of the sixth month Mrs. Sugar was forced to move from the cramped garage into new downtown quarters. Ruby and Dixie no longer actively baked, but they did mix the dough; they didn't want to give away Ruby's grandmother's old country recipes. Their time was suddenly filled with paperwork, visits to Joel Spitzer's offices, scheduling, handling phone calls, and seeing to the distribution of their cookies. Thanks to Kevin Sandler, they now held the exclusive contract for every college and university in the state of New Jersey, although they'd had to reduce their unit price by fifteen cents.

By the time Mrs. Sugar's first anniversary rolled around, the company was operating in the black. They put their first five-dollar bill of real profit in a frame and hung it in Ruby's kitchen over the stove, as a symbol of both their success and the strength of their partnership. All bills were paid and a prestigious accounting firm was hired to handle finances. Joel Spitzer relinquished their account to the even more prestigious firm of Friedman, Farren, and Armenakis, saying he could no longer do them justice, but keep sending the cookies, please.

Both women gasped when the twinkly-eyed Friedman said they should give some thought to expanding and possibly offering franchises at some point. He handed them a list of colleges and universities in the Manhattan area. Ruby was at a loss for words. Dixie smiled happily. “A retainer will be required,” Friedman said. “I'd like you to meet my associate, Alan Kaufman. He'll be handling the franchising if you agree.”

Ruby studied the urbane Kaufman and made an instant decision. “Okay, but not yet. I want to lock in a certain supermarket chain's account first. I have this friend . . .”

 

On the first day of May, two weeks after filing her personal income tax return, Dixie, with Ruby's help, filed an amended return, and rented a post office box and a safe deposit box. The keys were kept in a locked drawer in their new offices.

The second major event on the first day of May was the contract the two women signed with a trucking company to move their cookie dough to a Mrs. Sugar at an as yet undisclosed location.

The third was the arrival of heavy-duty mixing machines, which would free Ruby and Dixie from their long night's labor. In a little less than two hours the machines did what it took Ruby and Dixie eight hours to do.

On the eve of their second anniversary Mrs. Sugar moved to a converted warehouse in Asbury Park, which they rented with an option to buy. Mrs. Sugar now employed close to a hundred people, most of them housewives, and ran three full-time shifts. The twelve-thousand-square-foot building had wall-to-wall ovens, islands of refrigerators, and six double sinks. Paper products were stored in an adjacent building, which they had also rented with an option to buy. The refrigerated trucks were now moving Mrs. Sugar's cookie dough to New York and Pennsylvania.

“We're going out on the town,” Ruby said when the two women returned to her house in Rumson. “We're driving into New York, and Mrs. Sugar is picking up the tab. We'll wear those fancy outfits we bought in Bloomingdale's last month when we were in New York. I called the Four Seasons and made a reservation this morning.”

Dixie's eyes sparkled. “A real New York restaurant! I've never been to one.”

“Neither have I. You use the downstairs shower and I'll use the one upstairs. Your clothes are all in the front closet.”

“I feel like I have two identities. I'd love to go,” she said dejectedly, “but I have to make Hugo's dinner. Some other time.”

“Oh, no, that isn't going to work. You want me to come up with an excuse or a way out for you. This time, Dix, you're on your own. But I'm telling you this, I'm going, with or without you. We've done nothing but work round the clock for two full years. We are never going to have another second anniversary. I'm celebrating! This is my night!” Ruby called airily over her shoulder as she made her way up the steps.

Ruby waited at the top of the steps. She let her breath out in a loud swoosh when Dixie called, “Okay, okay, I'm going, but I have to go home and leave a note for Hugo. I'll be back in ten minutes, or as long as it takes me to come up with a plausible explanation.”

“A suitable explanation would be to tell him to drop dead,” Ruby muttered under her breath. “Barring death, tell him to take a hike and never darken your life again.” She stopped short. She was interfering in Dixie's life again, even if in a different way. She was about to reach for the phone to call Dixie and cancel the evening, when the phone rang. “How's this sound?” Dixie chortled. “Hugo, I'm going out to dinner with Ruby. I'm probably going to be very late, since we're going to New York. If I get back after twelve, I'll sleep over at her place. I'm sorry, but if I don't get back, you'll have to make your own dinner and breakfast.”

“It's the truth!” Ruby squalled in delight.

“Exactly. I'm tired of telling lies. I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“I was just about to call you and cancel. I don't want to make trouble for you, Dixie.”

“Fat chance. You aren't celebrating our second anniversary without me. We're a team.”

They were a team with plenty to celebrate, Ruby thought happily as she stepped into the shower. Right now she had more money than she knew what to do with. Seeing an investment counselor was on the top of her priority list. Everyone was happy, even Andrew. Young Andy was ready to go out on his own with a friend and open his own business. She'd promised, with Dixie's approval, to have him design a new building that would be the Mrs. Sugar corporate headquarters.

It took seven long years of working fourteen to sixteen hours a
day before Mrs. Sugar's Cookies were sold on virtually every college campus in the United States. The cookie lady, as Mrs. Sugar was called, became a household word by the middle of the sixth year, and franchises were offered to the public at half a million dollars each.

On a bleak, snow-filled day two weeks before Christmas, in their seventh year of business, Ruby opened her front door to greet Marty Friedman, Alan Kaufman, and her investment banker, Silas Ridgely.

“Oh, uh, come in. Gee, it's snowing . . . ah, whatever it is you've come for will have to wait till Dixie gets here. Sit down ... no, not here, I hate living rooms, in the kitchen. I'll make coffee. There are some cookies on the counter . . . I have to get dressed . . . it's Andrew, isn't it? No, don't tell me ... someone got sick from the cookies and is suing me. I'll be right back. The ... ah, the coffee is over there in the can. Six scoops, seven cups of water . . . I'll be right down,” she said, racing up the steps.

Damn that Andrew, he must want more. Wasn't he satisfied, living in her condo in Hawaii, having her pay his bills, driving a Mercedes-Benz she was paying for, and accepting his damn two and a half percent? She'd even paid for his outrageous trips to Europe and for the bimbo he was squiring around—although she hadn't known that until after the fact. I'll kill you, Andrew, really kill you if you think you're getting one more penny out of me. I mean, that damn Marine pension of yours, you aren't sharing that with me, are you? Damn right you're not. “Oh, shit!” She dithered.

She wasn't going down those steps until Dixie arrived. God, maybe it wasn't Andrew at all but Hugo. Hugo would . . . Hugo would. Oh, shit!

She could hear voices now. God, she hadn't washed her face yet. “Who cares?” she muttered. She slapped a wet washcloth against her face and dried it. She looked at herself in the mirror. She'd grabbed the first thing she could lay her hands on. A Rutgers sweatshirt with a hole in the sleeve and her well-worn jeans. One foot was covered in a green sock, one in yellow. “Oh, shit,” she yelped again as she looked for the mate for either pair. She ended up settling for a pair of plain white socks with a hole in the heel.

Dixie's eyes were the first to meet hers in the kitchen. They held fear. Obviously, she'd been thinking along the same lines Ruby had. She inched her way over to the counter and stood next to her partner. In a raspy voice she demanded, “Which one is it, Hugo or Andrew?”

The men laughed. And laughed. No one said anything.

“It can't be the kids, they're too decent,” Dixie said in a twin of Ruby's voice.

The men laughed and laughed.

“Ladies, all the franchises have been sold. As you know, we still have a waiting list. The last of the money arrived yesterday, according to Silas. We've come to offer our congratulations. You are now among the Fortune 500.” Marty beamed.

“I closed the last deal personally.” Alan grinned. “Well done, ladies!”

Not to be outdone, the austere banker, Silas Ridgely, smirked happily. “Investing your profits at twenty percent interest these past few years helped to boost you over the top. I would like to offer my congratulations, too. As Alan said, ‘Well done, ladies! '”

In a daze, Ruby clutched Dixie's arm for support. She licked her dry lips. “My . . . my husband stood right here in this kitchen, looked me square in the eye, and said, ‘You have . . . you have two chances of pulling this off ... slim and none.' ”

Silas Ridgely's back straightened. He said prissily, “I'd live with that if I were you, and advise against sending him a quarterly financial report.” The attorneys concurred.

Ruby risked a glance at Dixie, who was clutching her arm so tightly, Ruby knew she would have black-and-blue marks.

“More coffee, gentlemen?” Ruby squeaked.

“Thanks, no, Ruby, we have to drive back to the city. We wanted to deliver this news in person. We're going to leave you ladies now since we know you must have a lot to discuss. What can we say but congratulations?”

“That's good enough,” Ruby said, her head bobbing like a puppet. Dixie still looked like she was carved from stone. She hadn't moved at all.

The round of handshakes was firm and hearty.

Back in the kitchen, after seeing her guests out, Ruby snapped her fingers under Dixie's nose. “Hey, lady, wake up. I hope you took all that in, because I can't remember half of what they said. What's the matter with you?” she demanded uneasily.

“I have to tell Hugo now. It's still a mystery to me how we've managed to keep my real name out of it for so long. Do you realize he still thinks I'm your bookkeeper? He's been content with my one-hundred-ten-dollar check every Friday. How will I explain that I locked in certificates of deposit at”—her eyes glazed over—“and didn't share it with him.”

“Dixie, you knew this was going to happen someday. You said, you told me more than once, that the minute you were solvent you were leaving your marriage. You had your chance to do that, and for whatever reason, you didn't take it. We could have gone round and round over this, but I didn't want to stick my nose in and prod you. Now you have to tell him. There's no way we can keep you out of it any longer. The media loves stuff like this. Two housewives . . . I don't have to tell you the rest.” All the joy was gone from her eyes.

“I'm going to go home now, Ruby. I need to be by myself for a while so I can think. I spoiled it, didn't I? I'm sorry, Ruby. This ... I still can't comprehend . . . don't worry about me, you bask in our success, okay? Will you forgive me?”

“There's nothing to forgive. We're partners, friends forever. You said that, remember? If I can help . . . do you want me with you when you tell him? Can you handle it, Dixie?”

“I hope so,” Dixie said, struggling to her feet. “Give me some time. There's nothing really pressing at the office, is there? If I take off a day or so ...” She let the rest of what she was about to say hang in the still air of the kitchen.

“Take as much time as you need. We own this company. We can take off whenever we want. But don't let any moss grow under your feet. We have to start giving some thought to going worldwide, the way Marty suggested. That means a lot of travel. Imagine, Mrs. Sugar in, say, Greece, England, Paris. Lord!”

“All that money,” Dixie said listlessly. Ruby's eyes clouded over as she held Dixie's coat for her.

“Call me, okay?”

Dixie nodded.

Dixie was right, it hadn't been easy keeping her part of the business from Hugo, but like Dixie said, all he was interested in was her check on Friday night. In the early days, when she had been working virtually around the clock, Dixie told him she was getting double time. As the business smoothed out and knowledgeable people were hired, both women were usually able to leave at six o'clock, though Dixie often worked at home at night when Hugo was asleep.

Amended tax returns hid her income. There was a way around everything, Ruby thought. It wasn't her fault that Hugo Sinclaire was a stupid, greedy monster of a man. She hadn't twisted Dixie's arm to deceive her husband. You aided and abetted her to insure your own success, a worrisome voice whispered. Her own success, too, Ruby argued. But now what?

“Now,” Ruby said, “Dixie stands up to her husband and whatever happens happens.”

Suddenly she felt guilty. Her desire to run after Dixie was so strong, she dug her heels into the rug by the kitchen sink. The hell with it. Dixie would have to deal with it. She could stand up for herself.

I should be doing something, Ruby thought. Calling the kids, Grace and Paul, her sisters . . . maybe even her parents. Calvin. Andrew. Yes, Andrew.

Ruby reached for the phone. Andrew's voice sounded alert even though it was the middle of the night in Hawaii. Ruby thought of warm, fragrant breezes wafting through the penthouse apartment. And she could never think about Hawaii without also thinking about St. Andrew's.

“Are you on the balcony, Andrew, staring out at the ocean?” she asked quietly.

“As a matter of fact, I am. Why are you calling in the middle of the night?” he asked suspiciously.

“Because I want half of your military pension,” Ruby snapped irritably. She heard her husband's squawk of outrage. Ruby ignored him. “Actually, Andrew, I called to ask you something. Do you remember the day you stood in the kitchen and told me I had two chances of making Mrs. Sugar's Cookies work? Do you remember that, Andrew?” She heard another squawk and ignored it, too. “You said my two chances were slim and none. Slim and none. I want . . . I'm calling you to ... to thank you. Every time I was down, every time something went wrong, every time I thought I wasn't going to make it, I thought about those two words.” Her voice turned reminiscent. “Remember the time we made fifteen thousand cookies, had them ready for delivery to Rutgers and Princeton, and found out the schools were on spring break? You told me if I was dumb enough to screw up like that and not check my dates, then I deserved to go in the hole. You also told me to stand on the street corner and give them away. I did that, Andrew, and you know what? To this day, Rutgers, Princeton and the towns themselves remain our biggest customers. I want to thank you for that, too.”

“I don't get it,” Andrew barked. “Are you going through the change of life or something? What's with all this ... this thank-you stuff?”

“This stuff, Andrew, is what kept me from buckling under, from quitting. Today, Mrs. Sugar made the Fortune 500.” The complete silence on the other end of the line brought the first smile of the day to Ruby's lips. She was still smiling when she hung up the phone. “I really meant it, Andrew,” she murmured, “thank you.”

Ruby's next call was to Opal, who picked up on the first ring. She sounded sleepy. It was almost noon. “Hi, Opal, how's it going?”

“Ruby? Lord, why are you calling so early? Is anything wrong? I'm not real up this morning. I have a hangover. Mac and I partied all night.”

“No. I just thought I'd call and share some good news. At least it's good for me and Dixie. We made the Fortune 500 today.”
Hangover. Partied all night.

Ruby could hear Opal yawn. “That's great, Ruby. What does it mean?” She yawned again. “I see your cookies all over the place. I bought some one day. They taste just like Bubba's cookies. Mac said they were too sweet, but he ate them. Hey, Ruby, I've been meaning to write you and tell you I met that guy you used to be so hung up on, what's his name . . . the one that's related to Nangi. Mac and I were at the Officers' Club one night, and he was there. He's a general now. I was a little tipsy, so when we were introduced, I didn't place him. It wasn't until the next day that I realized who he was. He kept looking at me that night and saying I reminded him of someone. You, probably. Anything else, Ruby? Hate to cut you short, but I have to shake it. Write me. I love getting letters, and you're the only one who ever writes.”

“Okay,” Ruby whispered. Her knuckles were as white as the sheet on her bed. Don't think about what she just said, Ruby. Block it out. You're real good at that. Break the connection and make your next call.

Nangi's voice sounded far away, as though he were talking from inside a drum. He was shouting. She shouted back her news.

“Ruby, that's wonderful! Congratulations! I would not be averse to selling your cookies in Saipan. The children love them. I bought some when I was in San Francisco last year. If you ever decide to open an Asian division, count me in.”

“Are you serious, Nangi?” Ruby shouted.

“Absolutely. I'm not getting any younger, and it would be nice to work for myself for a change. I think Amber would be receptive to the idea.”

“Then it's yours. Just today my attorneys suggested we go worldwide. They mentioned England and France. Asia now . . . Tell you what, let me check out a few things, and I'll make a trip over there. It'll be nice to see you again.”

“Ruby, I can't come up with franchise money,” Nangi shouted.

“You don't have to. I'll give you a share of the profits and you can run the operation, if we can get it going. I'll call you back later in the week. How's Amber?”

“She's fine, but she isn't here right now. She'll be sorry she missed your call. I know she's going to be delighted when I tell her your good news.”

It was time to say good-bye. She had to ask. She wanted to ask.

“Have you heard from Calvin?” she blurted out.

“He's up for his second star, but he said he doesn't think he'll make it. He says he's the Air Force's token minority general. He was here about six months ago. Didn't Amber write you?”

“No!”

“As always, he asked about you. I made sure I told him about your thriving business. He couldn't believe it. He said . . . his wife buys your cookies all the time. He's still at the Pentagon. I took him aside and told him you and Andrew were legally separated, and I suggested that he write to you. He feels . . . he failed you. Actually, the word he used was
betrayed.
If you ever want to see Calvin, Ruby, you will have to make the first overture. I don't think I'm out of line by saying he spoke of getting a divorce. I'm going on too long here. You're going to have an enormous phone bill, Ruby.”

“Give my love to Amber. Thank you, Nangi, thank you very much. I'll be in touch.

“Don't think about that, either,” she cautioned herself as she dialed Grace Zachary's number at the store. Their conversation was long, wonderful, and uplifting. Ruby felt happy when she hung up the phone.