“What, no coffee?” It was Sue, practically stepping on Chris’s heels and carrying an attractively arranged plate of Better-than-Sex Brownies as well as a pan of Rocky Road Fudge.
“We don’t want to confuse our taste buds,” said Lucy, echoing Chris. “We’re having water instead.”
“My taste buds never get confused,” said Sue, checking to make sure the coffee pot was ready to go and then switching it on. “Now where do you want these babies?”
Lucy resisted the urge to check with Chris and told Sue to put them on the coffee table. “The dog’s outside so it should be okay.”
“Lucy, if you don’t mind a teensy little suggestion,” said Chris. She didn’t wait for Lucy’s reply but continued, “let’s use your dining room. We’ll need to take notes and I think it would be more comfortable if everyone is sitting at a table.”
Lucy’s and Sue’s eyes met. “Sure,” said Lucy. “I’m not sure if I have enough pens and paper.”
“No problem,” said Chris, opening her briefcase and producing a pile of small notepads and a handful of new pencils. “I thought of everything.”
“Now if she could only cure cancer,” muttered Sue, under her breath.
“There’s the doorbell,” said Chris. “Lucy, why don’t you get the door and, Sue, you can help me carry these things into the dining room.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sue, adding a salute for emphasis but Chris didn’t seem to notice.
Mimi was at the door, full of apologies for missing the earlier meeting. “I had to work, you know, but I’m so glad I could make it tonight. I think the Hat and Mitten Fund is a wonderful idea. In fact, the town employees make a donation every year.”
“And we’re very grateful for it,” said Pam, who had followed her up the walk, carefully balancing a tray of oatmeal raisin and peanut butter cookies. “No yolks,” she whispered to Lucy, with a wink. “And I used applesauce and canola oil instead of butter.”
“Ooh, yummy,” cooed Sue, receiving a warning glance from Lucy. “Sorry, Pam. I’m just a little tired of Miss Bossy Pants.” She cocked her head towards Chris, who was setting out the pads, pencils, and water bottles on the dining room table.
“Oh, Lucy,” she called, “I think we need a few more chairs.”
“No problem,” replied Lucy, as the doorbell chimed again. “Will you girls grab a couple of chairs from the kitchen?”
“Sure, Lucy,” said Sue. “We’ll set out the cream and sugar, too.”
Lucy was beginning to get a headache, but she smiled brightly as she opened the door to admit Willie and Bonnie. “Thanks for coming, go right on in to the dining room,” she told them, keeping the door open for Rachel and Frankie. She pointed them in the right direction and then dashed into the kitchen for the doggie treats, which she added to the array of baked goods on the dining table. “All present and accounted for,” she announced, taking the last empty chair, next to Mimi.
“Then I’ll call the meeting to order,” said Chris, producing a gavel and tapping the table.
“Hey, who made you chairperson?” demanded Sue. “Pam’s in charge of the Hat and Mitten Fund.”
Pam shrugged. “It’s fine with me. Chris can be President Pro Tempore.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Mimi. Her tone was a tad too aggressive and put off the other women, who seemed to avoid acknowledging her question.
“Temporarily,” said Rachel, always a champion of the underdog. “For this matter only. The bake sale.”
“Well why didn’t she say that?” grumbled Mimi, glancing resentfully around the table.
“Moving right along,” said Chris, briskly tapping the table again, “I propose we each introduce our products. Don’t forget to include a brief synopsis of the recipe including expense and level of difficulty. By way of example, I’ll begin.” Chris produced a square tin from her briefcase, which Lucy was beginning to think must have the same magic properties as Mary Poppins’s carpet bag, and pried it open. “These are my Kitchen Sink Cookies. They’re a version of a peanut butter cookie with the addition of raisins, a few chocolate chips and nuts.”
Across the table, Pam grimaced at Lucy as if she knew her healthy peanut butter cookies were doomed.
“The main virtue of this recipe,” continued Chris, “is that it’s easy to make and the recipe makes a lot of cookies. They do contain butter and white sugar, but those ingredients are offset by the peanut butter, raisins, and nuts, which make them a relatively healthy treat. As I mentioned, the amount of chocolate chips is really quite small but they have a big impact.”
She passed the plate and everyone took a cookie, bit into it, and chewed.
“Mmm,” said Lucy. “How do we score them?”
“One to five,” said Chris. “Rachel, would you collect the papers and add up the scores?” When Rachel agreed she pulled a calculator out of her briefcase and slid it across the table to her.
Time passed quickly as the women nibbled on cookies and sipped water and jotted down their scores. Willie was the only one who tried the dog biscuits, but she pronounced them quite good. Chris was willing to take her word for it, but suggested Lucy give the dog treats an egg wash to give them more eye appeal. Her second entry, lemon-poppy seed muffins which she’d whipped up from a mix at the last minute, didn’t score well, which was fine with her. Pam’s oatmeal cookies got the okay, but her peanut butter cookies were judged inferior to Chris’s Kitchen Sink Cookies. Though Frankie’s chocolate genoise was voted delicious but not practical for the bake sale, her madeleines passed muster. Bonnie’s homemade arrowroot cookies got an enthusiastic nod but Rachel’s carob oaties and granola goodies were deemed to have too much fiber. Mimi’s pumpkin-raisin cookies got a cool approval—they were awfully good but nobody wanted to admit it—and Willie’s angel food slices were judged too difficult and expensive to make.
“Difficult for whom?” demanded Willie. “Anybody can whip up egg whites.”
“Too wasteful,” said Frankie. “What are we supposed to do with all the yolks?”
“Feed them to the dogs, that’s what I do,” said Willie. “Especially if I’ve got a pregnant bitch.”
“Well, I don’t have a bitch,” snapped Frankie.
“That’s what you think,” countered Willie.
“Let’s taste Sue’s brownies,” said Lucy, interrupting Frankie before she could utter a rejoinder. “They really are better than sex.”
“Nothing’s better than sex,” chuckled Frankie.
“You ought to know,” said Willie.
“At least I haven’t forgotten, like some people,” said Frankie.
“Time out,” called Rachel. “We’re considering the brownies. I give them a five.”
Sue beamed at her.