Market Street (6 page)

Cassie closed her eyes and saw large baskets of vegetables, glass cases filled with goat cheese and baguettes, stands brimming with chocolate-covered strawberries.

“The design of course is key. It has to be something exceptional, a reason itself to go down the escalator. James drew some sketches. Look.” Diana walked over to an antique desk and picked up a leather binder. She placed it on the coffee table and took out four sheets of paper.

Cassie leaned forward and looked at the designs. James had drawn a space with a checkered floor, yellow walls, and display cases of all different colors. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling, and every counter was filled with vegetables, fruits, loaves of bread, and wedges of cheese.

“It looks like a Roman orgy,” Cassie said.

“Exactly!” Diana beamed. “Produce spilling into the aisles, wine bottles lined up like soldiers, oranges and lemons forming pyramids. And I want wonderful smells. Fresh croissants, just-baked apple pie, stinky cheese.”

“It’s interesting,” Cassie conceded.

“It’s revolutionary! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Of course all the interior design would be ‘green.’” Diana paced across the marble floor. “James works mainly in Chicago but he doesn’t have another project lined up for a few months. He said he’d consider taking it on.”

“It would cost a fortune,” Cassie said doubtfully.

“Reinvention is the key in marketing and I’ve fallen behind. Of course Fenton’s gets the old guard, and the thirtysomethings who need Ferragamo shoes and Chanel bags. But that’s the beauty of young ideas and young energy: James was inspirational.”

“Why are you pacing, Mother?”

“Because I’ve been up all night thinking about this. I need you to run it.”

“Me?”

“You’re young, you know all the women who would shop there. Think if we can convince the girls in the Junior League and the Young Friends of the Opera to buy their produce and cheeses from Fenton’s.”

“I’m not a member of those organizations.” Cassie shook her head.

“But you went to school with them. And you’d be the perfect buyer. You can find local growers who produce twenty different kinds of lettuce. You can stock asparagus tips, artichoke hearts, avocados, pomegranates. No other store would offer a greater selection.”

Cassie looked out the window at the skyline. She could see Coit Tower and the red cable cars crisscrossing the streets like figures on a Monopoly board. Her mother’s excitement was contagious. She imagined herself presiding over the food counter, handling heirloom tomatoes the size of cantaloupes. She pictured herself encouraging customers to purchase the sweetest snow peas, to stay away from peaches when they weren’t in season, to buy locally grown strawberries instead.

“It would be a huge undertaking.” Cassie fiddled with her wedding ring. “I don’t have the time.”

“You don’t know how satisfying it is to wrap something in a Fenton’s box, and know when the customer takes it home it will give her and her family pleasure. You’d be making a difference in kitchens all around San Francisco. Don’t you think Aidan would find that worthwhile?”

“It’s not about Aidan.” Cassie blushed.

“It’s always about Aidan. He’s like a black bear, growling at everything you do.”

“Aidan told me just a couple of days ago how proud he is of my volunteer work.” Cassie sniffed.

“Volunteering doesn’t compete with Professor Aidan Blake’s sense of grandeur.” Diana sat on the love seat opposite Cassie.

“Cheap shot, Mother,” Cassie replied.

“Darling, let’s not talk about Aidan. A food emporium might be terrifically successful, and I can’t think of anyone more suited for the job.”

Cassie took a deep breath. “I’m starving. You invited me to lunch. I smelled Maria’s paella when I walked in.”

“I’ll tell Maria we’re ready for lunch on one condition.” Diana stood up.

“What?” Cassie asked.

“You have dinner with James and me next week and hear his vision.”

Cassie glanced at her mother. She resembled a modern Katharine Hepburn, all angles and hard edges. “Either you are a very good saleswoman or I’m so hungry I can’t think straight. I’ll have dinner with you and James.”

“Excellent. Tuesday at eight o’clock at Boulevard. I already made the reservation.”

“Of course you did.” Cassie smiled, following her mother into the dining room.

*   *   *

When Cassie
left her mother’s building, carrying a Burberry lunch box of Maria’s paella, a familiar Range Rover was idling at the sidewalk.

“I’m not stalking you.” Alexis rolled down the passenger window. “I called your house and Aidan said you were having lunch with your mother. I need a favor.”

Cassie peered into the car. Alexis wore oversized Oliver Peoples sunglasses and a Miu Miu purple shirtdress.

“What kind of favor?”

“Hop in and I’ll tell you.” Alexis opened the car door.

Cassie climbed into the passenger seat, moving a stack of books to the floor. “Do you read all these?” Cassie flipped through Jane Green, Jennifer Weiner, Lauren Weisberger, and the latest Shopaholic.

“I belong to four book clubs. We don’t actually read the books, we use them as coasters for our wineglasses.” Alexis laughed.

“Where are we going?” Cassie remembered when Alexis would drive her home from school, and they’d cross the Golden Gate Bridge on a whim, or go down to Fisherman’s Wharf and eat ice cream with the tourists.

“Thursdays is couples yoga and Carter is in Dallas. Will you be my yoga partner?”

“You’re hijacking me to attend couples yoga?”

“I can’t go alone to couples yoga,” Alexis protested. “The class will think my marriage is in trouble.”

“They might think your marriage is in more trouble if you bring me.” Cassie grabbed the dashboard as Alexis took a sharp turn onto Chestnut Street.

“Please, yoga really centers me. I don’t want to miss it.”

“I don’t have yoga clothes.” Cassie pointed to her pleated skirt and wool sweater.

“I brought an extra leotard, just in case.”

“I’ve wasted most of the day, I guess I could be Zen for an hour. As long as they don’t make me stand on my head because it gives me a headache. Can we go to Just Desserts after and have those amazing custard Danishes?”

“What good is yoga if you follow it with custard Danish?” Alexis shook her head.

“I meditate better if I’m imagining custard,” Cassie replied.

*   *   *

“How did
it go with Aidan before the make-up sex?” Alexis asked over cups of steaming chai tea. They sat at a window table at Just Desserts, watching the joggers run around the Marina Green.

Cassie peeled off a layer of Danish. She was flushed and sweaty from the yoga. The instructor was a German woman who had glided around the room pressing in stomachs and straightening backs.

“That wasn’t yoga, that was boot camp.” Cassie poured hot milk into her tea.

“You’ll appreciate it if you take a few more classes. Gerta is a disciplined teacher, but she gets great results,” Alexis replied.

“If you want your body to be shaped permanently like a pretzel. I’m going to stick with early morning walks to the Rose Garden.” Cassie added two spoonfuls of honey.

“You’re avoiding my question. How is the professor?”

“Aidan was only trying to do good,” Cassie mumbled. The Molly episode still hurt, like a pin stuck in the hem of a dress.

“I thought charity began at home.” Alexis ate a thin slice of Danish.

“He bought the pendant for me for Christmas. He ran into Molly at Peet’s on his way home. She was all broken up because her boyfriend ran off with her best friend, so he just gave her the box.”

“Handed her a Fenton’s box in the middle of Peet’s?” Alexis raised her eyebrows.

“He said he preaches about doing good in his lectures, but never gets the opportunity to put his words into action.” Cassie shrugged.

“He could volunteer at the soup kitchen, or adopt a stray kitten.” Alexis pushed her Danish aside.

“No kittens, thank you. I still have to feed and clean up after Isabel.” Cassie dipped her finger in the custard. “I think he meant spontaneous good. Helping someone without being asked, just because the situation presents itself.”

“Are you going to keep the pendant?” Alexis asked.

“I don’t think so,” Cassie said. The box had been sitting in her closet all week. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to open it. “The color doesn’t do much for my eyes.”

“Then exchange it for something fabulous, like another cashmere scarf. One of the new patterns.”

“You get one, and I’ll borrow it.” Cassie ate the center of the Danish. The custard was light and sweet.

“I’m sick of shopping.” Alexis put down her teacup. “I know that sounds spoilt but I’ve been shopping since we got married. First it was for a wedding gown and bridesmaids’ dresses, then bikinis and sarongs for the honeymoon. Then a whole year of shopping to furnish the house. Christmas presents for Carter’s clients, hostess gifts for their wives. I’m shopped out.”

“Don’t let my mother hear you say that. Women should never get tired of shopping.” Cassie laughed.

“How was Lady Diana at lunch?” Alexis asked.

Cassie smiled. Alexis referred to Diana as the “The Duchess” during high school because she dressed as if she was attending a royal tea. Alexis said she never saw Diana without a silk scarf tied around her neck, or without her gold Cartier dangling from her wrist.

“Mother wants me to work at Fenton’s. She met a young architect who had this brilliant idea of turning the basement of Fenton’s into a food emporium, with locally grown produce. Vegetables, fruits, local cheeses, bread, wine. She wants me to run it.”

“Is he cute?” Alexis leaned forward.

“Is who cute?” Cassie frowned.

“The young architect.”

“You’re married, remember.” Cassie shook her head.

“I’m kidding, I’d never cheat on Carter. I just see Carter so rarely; sometimes I forget what he looks like. Every girl needs a little eye candy.”

“I have no idea. He’s from Chicago. I’m having dinner with him and my mother next week,” Cassie replied.

“So you are considering it.” Alexis looked at Cassie. “What would Aidan say?”

“I don’t know if I’m considering it, though it is interesting. Can you imagine driving to local growers and finding their best produce? Discovering white eggplant, Chinese broccoli, cheese made with chives and garlic. Then displaying it all in a beautiful space.” Cassie’s eyes sparkled.

“Broccoli doesn’t excite me, but I think it would be a gas to work at Fenton’s. I’m dying to work; I sit at home and watch my nails grow.”

“Why don’t you get a job?” Cassie asked.

“I was a dance major. I don’t think the San Francisco Ballet is hiring hedge-fund wives for the corps de ballet. We don’t want to have a baby yet. I read if you have a baby too early in the marriage you’ll never be a ‘fun young couple’ flying to Europe, trying new restaurants, attending the theater. The problem is Carter travels nonstop on business. When he’s here he entertains clients at night, or he’s so tired he falls asleep before I can fix a pre-dinner martini.”

“You could open a little boutique on Sacramento Street. You have the best style,” Cassie suggested.

“Every wife in Presidio Heights has a boutique on Sacramento Street. I can’t walk a block without one of my friends waving hello from their bath boutique, or their antique furniture salon, or their high-end consignment store. It’s like a never-ending Tupperware party.”

“Yoga instructor?” Cassie grinned.

“I’d have to hold in my stomach all day.” Alexis blotted her mouth with her napkin and re-applied pearl pink lip gloss. “Carter has his eye on a summer home in Napa. It’s on an acre of vineyard. He wants to gut it and furnish it in ‘early Californian.’ That will keep me busy for a year and by then it’ll be time to shop for bassinets and booties.” Alexis looked at her watch. “I should go. He’s on the six o’clock into SFO and I need to pick up a dozen oysters.”

“Don’t you think you spoil him?” Cassie put her napkin on her plate.

“Oysters are a natural aphrodisiac. Carter’s been gone for five days, at least we can have great ‘welcome home’ sex. I’ll drive you back to your car.”

*   *   *

Cassie drove
into the parking lot of the Berkeley Co-op. She walked into the co-op and looked around with new eyes. She noticed how the green vegetables were grouped together, and the front of the store was piled with citrus fruits. One corner was devoted to varieties of lettuce: endive, bok choy, arugula, mesclun. A wooden table held pots of mustard with handwritten labels. Cassie sampled a horseradish Dijon on a stone wheat cracker.

“Are you looking for something special?” the clerk asked. He had a scruffy goatee and wore a green T-shirt that said, “Order Whirled Peas.”

“My husband loves to make soup. Which are the tastiest vegetables in season?” Cassie asked.

The clerk scratched his chin. “Our buyer just scored some turnips from a farm in Stockton. With the right herbs, they make a delicious base.”

“I’ll take a bag. Do you have any chard? And brussels sprouts. My husband can make brussels sprouts taste like candy.” She loaded her shopping basket with produce.

Cassie stood at the checkout. The paper bags also said “Order Whirled Peas” under a picture of two doves. The clerk put a sample of organic fruit loaf in her bag and suggested she try a jar of kiwi jelly. Cassie walked back to the car, her arms filled with produce, thinking about her mother’s idea. A food emporium, having a job involving the things she loved, was suddenly tempting.

*   *   *

Aidan was
hunched over his laptop when Cassie walked into the house. He had a pencil tucked behind one ear and a box of dark chocolate truffles on the table beside him.

“You came home at just the right time. I’m out of truffles and getting nowhere with this paper. Maybe you could create a diversion.” Aidan kissed Cassie and lifted a grocery bag from her arms.

“I bought ingredients for soup. But I don’t know how exciting that is after a box of truffles.” Cassie carried the other bag into the kitchen.