chapter Seven
Sugar stared at Lucy and Maggie. “But you said you were close to remembering Grandma’s recipe, Mom.”
“I know.” Maggie’s face was miserable. “It is close, it just isn’t the right recipe. I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t remember!” Maggie wailed. “It’s like my memory refuses to cooperate.”
Lucy patted Maggie’s hand. “Mom, it’s all right. You remember things fine. Ingredients in a recipe are harder. It was an old-time recipe; it probably had a thousand spices and things in it.”
“It did.” Maggie wiped her nose with a tissue Sugar handed her. “That’s what made it so wonderful.”
“Don’t worry,” Sugar said automatically. “We’ll just keep working on it.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Maggie said, her voice quiet. “I’ve been working on this ever since we got here. It’s been weeks! I’m forgetting instead of remembering. Back in the old days, I kept recipes in my head. It used to amaze my mother. When we were in the grocery store, if she couldn’t remember something in a recipe, she’d ask me. I always knew.” Maggie looked at her daughters. “I had perfect recipe recall from at least the age of eight. My one specialty is recall.”
“It’s okay,” Sugar soothed. “Mom, you don’t just lose your specialty. It’s the move; it’s the stress. Let’s just keep playing with the ingredients and make our own knock-your-socks-off pecan recipes.”
“Yeah,” Lucy said. “Take a few days off from it, Mom. You’ve been worrying at that recipe for weeks now.”
Maggie sniffled. “It’s your dream, Sugar. I want to support you and your new business, not be the reason it never gets off the ground.”
Sugar thought about the bills she owed and the money she had left, and felt a bit closer to panic.
“Maybe you ought to be nicer to Jake, instead of pushing him into the creek just because he makes a pass at you in broad daylight,” Lucy suggested.
Sugar got up, went to clean the pan and utensils in the sink. “Every time I start thinking Jake’s a pretty nice guy, he reminds me that he’s a fink.”
“The fink with the roof over our heads,” Lucy said.
“That same fink over-advertised this place and took advantage of three women.” Sugar scrubbed at the pan with some passion. “Don’t worry. Jake can take it. He’s got backup.”
Lucy came to dry the pot and utensils Sugar placed on the clean cup towel to drip dry. “I wouldn’t expect a man like him to lack for female backup.”
Sugar shrugged. “I don’t trust him. Not entirely. Which reminds me, Maggie, Jake the Snake says you’re on for Christmas mayor.”
“He’s not a snake,” Maggie said. “He just has a strong-willed mother. It’s made him a bit ham-handed with females.”
Sugar thought about Jake daring her to play strip pool with him. “I’ll say.”
Lucy sidled up to her sister. “How does he kiss?”
“I don’t intend to find out.” The peck she didn’t confess—it would only encourage Lucy with the whole Jake-might-be-our-lifesaver routine. They didn’t need a lifesaver; they needed a working business model. “So, are you going to put yourself in Vivian’s line of fire, Maggie?”
“Oh, she doesn’t bother me.” Maggie let Paris in, toweling her at the door’s edge. “Vivian is just trying to hold on to the past, for whatever reason she needs to.”
Because her husband was back there, her marriage was back there. “I refuse to feel an ounce of sympathy for Vivian.”
“I have to go with Sugar on that one,” Lucy said. “Old Viv’s my idea of Mommy Dearest.”
Sugar laughed. “That may be a bit mean.”
Lucy bumped her with a hip. Sugar righted herself and looked at her sister.
“I bet if you made a habit of kissing Jake,” Lucy said, “you’d bring out Vivian’s Mommy Dearest, big-time.”
“That makes my blood run cold, Lucy,” Maggie said. “Vivian can’t be that bad.”
“Wanna bet?” Lucy went off with Paris, the two of them bounding up the stairs.
“Don’t pay attention to her,” Maggie said. “If you like Jake, go for it. He’s a grown man. Vivian can’t do a thing about it.”
Sugar didn’t care about Vivian. She didn’t like Jake.
At least, she didn’t want to. She was ankle-deep in issues at the moment, and the last thing she needed was Jake Bentley seducing her.
She had a feeling it would be fabulous, and irresistible, and something that wouldn’t be easy to turn away from once that particular bridge was crossed.
This was his reality.
Perhaps the basement of Bait and Burgers wasn’t the reality every man would want, but it was his, and it was what he’d dreamed of in Iraq and Afghanistan.
“Have you made out with her yet?” Kel asked as Jake rummaged through the stock closet.
“I assume you’re inquiring about Sugar. If so, the answer is no. Emphatically no, edged with a this-conversation-is-closed.” Jake slammed the door, not feeling like dissecting his situation with Sugar with his buddies.
“I’m pretty sure she’s the kind of girl who’ll expect you to make out with her a few times before you do her,” Evert offered. “Probably even take her to the city for a few dates. Pay for play, is what I call it.”
Bobby German kept rolling napkins around utensils without looking up. “I like the Cassavechias. I think they add something to the town, so I hope they stay.”
It was only the beginning of September, the start of a new school year in PC, and already they were worrying whether the new people would want to stay. Jake privately admitted to some anxiety himself—and it wasn’t about the rent they were paying him for the family home. “I’ve asked Maggie to be the Christmas parade mayor. I think they’re committed to at least then.”
“Were you even going to make a cursory denial that you have the hots for Sugar?” Kel asked. “I didn’t hear one. Did anybody else?”
His buddies stared at him. “Look. Just because you guys have weather vanes in your pants that point in any direction when a pretty girl walks by, does not mean I suffer the same issue.”
“Wow,” Bobby said, “she turned you down.”
Jake sighed. “Keep rolling, Bobby. It may occupy your mind.”
Kel sat next to Bobby and took some of the utensils to roll, though he wasn’t as proficient at it. “We noticed you brought Sugar down here.”
Jake tried to remember how many boxes of ketchup and mustard he’d counted in the storage cabinet. Once upon a time, he could do inventory without writing anything down. It was like the pool table; every food item had its proper pocket. Now he thought about Sugar so many times a day he was beginning to need a notebook.
Not good. “Yeah, I gave her a tour.”
“Thing is,” Bobby said, “we feel this is our place. We keep it secret, private, for obvious reasons. Having a dame down here who we really don’t know can or will keep our secret is a bit of a problem. This is the only place any of us have where our wives and girlfriends leave us alone, mainly because they don’t know about it. We’d like to keep it that way.”
“Oh,” Jake said, ignoring the fact that he owned Bait and Burgers, lock, stock and barrel, in the realization he’d broken a man law with which his friends weren’t comfortable. “Point well taken. Won’t happen again.”
“It will happen again,” Evert said, “because you dig her. You loved showing this place off. We just want a commitment that you don’t bring her down here during our time. We’re not ready for a swing shack, dude.”
“Swing shack?” Jake looked around at his buddies. “Could you clarify?”
“It’ll feel like we’re cheating,” Evert said. “We tell our significant others that we’re never with other women. It’s true, ’cause we’re not. We’re down here, doing nothing, sure, but nothing’s not bad if it doesn’t involve a female. If Sugar is a regular visitor, then there’s no reason other ladies can’t come down, and then our one haven becomes a hangout. We don’t want our ladies here, so if other women are here, technically we’d be cheating.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Jake examined the complaint from every angle, impressed by his friends’ consideration of the issue. “And I swear she’ll keep our secret. One thing about the Cassavechias, they’re not much for gossip.”
The men nodded.
“Thanks for understanding,” Kel said. “It’s a small thing, but really important, you know?”
“It is important,” Jake said, but Kel raised a hand to stall him.
“Debbie and I are getting a divorce,” he said, “and I don’t want her to have any reason to hit me with anything that would alienate me with the courts.”
“What?” Jake exclaimed. “Kel! For the love of God!” He stared at his friend, shocked, realizing he was serious. “Debbie was all you talked about when we were over on the other side of the world, convinced we were never going to get back. Debbie and those ugly kids of yours. Pull your head out, man, you love your wife. And if this is about Lucy,” Jake said, shaking his head, “you are barking up a dead tree, my friend. Cassavechias are nothing to mess with, and as much as I hate to dent your ego, Lucy does not know you’re alive.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kel said miserably. “Debbie knows.”
Evert slapped a commiserating paw against Kel’s back. Bobby German shook his lunkhead and looked like his own heart was breaking.
“My God.” Jake sank onto a barstool, absolutely mystified. “Kel, think, man! Think about those kids of yours. I know I call them ugly, but that’s just because I’m jealous as hell. You’re the only one with little tax deductions. Their lives will change without you around. They already spent way too many years without you while we were serving. Do not throw your marriage away over a fast—I mean, over Lucy.”
Kel got up and found himself a contraband beer. “Debbie knew, man. She knew when we made love that I’d gotten the hots for another lady. She put up with it for a while, but when certain things in our sex life changed, she filed. There’s nothing I can do.”
Jake cleared his throat, glancing at Evert and Bobby for assistance. “Change it back, whatever it was.”
“I can’t.” Kel’s face was a study in complete confusion. “Certain things just aren’t working anymore, when we get together. Debbie said I used to be like a jack-in-the-box. Now she says I’m more like one of those water-wiggle things that only flop around when the water spigot’s on full blast.”
“Crap,” Jake said. “Go see a doctor. Get some of those blue pills. Get a girlie magazine. Take Debbie to a dirty drive-in, or better yet, send the kids off and rent some porn. Figure out a way to save your marriage.”
Kel shook his head. “I think I need to find out what’s on the dark side, man.”
Jake closed his eyes for a minute, seeing Sugar lying on the pier, those beautiful breasts kind of relaxed and loose under the tight tank top. Could he blame Kel for losing his mind over Lucy?
He was no better than Kel.
I’m just single, which is what he understands. He doesn’t want to “cheat” on his wife by having females down here, but I’d take Sugar on the pool table if I could.
“Which reminds me,” Bobby German said, “Averie came by the restaurant to see you. Said she had something she wanted to give you.”
Jake looked up from pondering a nonexistent bump in the pool table felt. “Give me what?”
“I don’t know,” Bobby said, “but I think it was either sex or a piece of her mind. She’s heard that you’ve got a thing for the new muff in town.”
“I do not,” Jake said, “have a thing for what you just said.” He got up and went to get a beer from the same stash Kel had hit. “What did you tell her?”
“That you’d be by tonight at eight o’clock to pick up whatever she wants to give you.” Evert shrugged. “Far be it from me to judge.”
Jake stared. “Who are you, my social secretary?”
“Kind of,” Evert said. “She said it was important. She also said she’s thinking about going out with Kennedy Carson, because she’s getting tired of waiting on you to pull your head out of your butt. I’m not supposed to tell you that,” Evert continued with some pride, “so please don’t mention it. I kind of like being the guy the ladies tell their troubles to, but trust is imperative.”
“You don’t say.” Jake stood. “I don’t want sex with Averie, and I don’t want a piece of her mind.”
“Those Cassavechias really know how to take a man apart, don’t they?” Kel sighed dramatically.
“Just buy Debbie some sexy lingerie and fix your marriage, Kel,” Jake said, heading up the secret stairs to get away from all the angst in the pit.
He was in as bad a spot as Kel.
Vivian looked at Jake when he appeared in the kitchen of her small, two-bedroom home located at the opposite end of Azalea Street, not too far from Charlotte Dawson’s house. “If you’re here to twist my arm further about the Cassavechia woman, I’m late for a meeting with the committee.”
“You can tell them,” Jake said, “that Maggie Cassavechia has graciously accepted the position of mayor.”
“I think you know that woman is not what I had in mind when I envisioned presenting Pecan Creek to the visiting public in a positive, welcoming light.” His mother looked at him, her gaze bitter. “We will hardly end up on the pages of Southern Living as a small town worthy of interest with her smoking cigarettes and advising the public of the fun of lying out topless in one’s backyard.” Vivian sniffed. “Yes, I heard about that. Your meathead friends can’t keep a secret to save their lives.”
Jake leaned against the kitchen counter. “Mom, look. Maggie is not the devil you paint her as. She’s a nice, friendly lady. Visitors will love her.”
“They may find her quaint, but they won’t be convinced to bring their money to Pecan Creek.”
“And it all comes down to commerce.” Jake sighed.
“Yes, it does,” Vivian snapped. “How do you think I pay for this place, Jake? And where do you think the revenues come from to keep Pecan Creek up to date and well repaired? You may not be aware of this, but it does cost quite a bit of money to keep Pecan Creek with the town services we all enjoy. Perhaps you’d prefer to raise taxes on a town that hasn’t had a decent employment rate in the last five years?”
“So we make our money on body potions and body candy.” Jake shrugged. “It won’t be the end of PC commerce if Maggie serves as our mayor.”
“The super-tanned, rumpled persona of Pecan Creek. Let’s see, would you respond better to a woman who looks like she’s been down a few hard miles of road, or a confident man who’s a war hero?”
“Easy on the war-hero stuff, Mom,” Jake warned. “Maggie will be fine.”
“Maggie, as you call her, wouldn’t be put forth as the face of Pecan Creek if you didn’t have significant hots for her daughter. A mistake you will rue, I feel certain, when Averie marries someone else. And I hate it when you call Pecan Creek PC. I really do. I’m well aware you’re making fun of the quiet businesses the ladies run by disparaging us as not being exactly politically correct.”
Jake shook his head. “Let’s not go there today, all right? Go to your meeting. I’m going to sit here and think. You got a beer in the fridge?”
“I do not,” Vivian said, her tone frosty. “I do not drink.”
“You do drink,” Jake said, pulling open a cabinet in the kitchen and pulling out a bottle of homemade wine fresh from her small fermentation station in the backyard shed. “I hope this has some kick.”
“Is something wrong?” Vivian asked, her motherly instincts rising to the surface.
“No.” Jake slung himself into the wicker sofa facing out into a backyard where the last flowers of summer ran in riotous tangles of white crepe myrtle blossoms. “Everything is just ducky.”
“It’s that woman, isn’t it?” Vivian asked. “You know, Averie is aware your attention has become a bit divided.”
He opened the bottle. His mother handed him a crystal long-stemmed wineglass. “Are you kidding me? Don’t you have something more user-friendly?”
“No,” Vivian said, “use this and don’t drink out of the bottle. I’m running low on my private label.”
Jake laughed. “Private label. Is that what they called it during Prohibition?” He poured some in the delicate wineglass and took a swig. After a moment of the wine moving past his taste buds—granted he’d swigged it pretty fast, but the hints remained—he looked at his mother. “Damn, that’s pretty good. Why don’t you just sell wine instead of fronting sex businesses under the radar for your friends?”
“Does it bother you if the ladies make a little pin money on the side?” Vivian asked curiously. “They pay taxes to the town on their revenues. They do community service. Do you have a complaint?”
“No. I just think your wine is pretty good.” He looked at the liquid in the glass. “If you’re worried about money, this could be a very viable option.”
“I don’t think winemaking is a business model I’ll employ. When I was growing up, we weren’t even allowed to go into a liquor store. My parents didn’t have anything in the house that had been fermented unless it was brandied fruit.”
“Come on, Mom. You know very well your parents had a bit of brandy tucked away for medicinal purposes. It wasn’t all about the fermented fruit on shortcake.”
Vivian picked up her straw handbag, sending him a last glance. “Lock up when you leave, please. And don’t forget to call Averie. She’d really like to chat with you, sooner than later.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing between Averie and me. It was over months ago. Just because she says there’s something to talk about doesn’t mean there is.”
“She’s from a very nice family, Jake. One with roots in this community, who will be here long after the Florida God-knows-whats are gone.”
He raised his glass to his mother. “I’ll lock up.”
Vivian left, and Jake let the stillness envelop him. He closed his eyes on the wicker sofa, enjoying the peace and quiet. He tried not to think about Kel’s problem, and the fact that Lucy had run over his friend like a bulldozer and didn’t even know it.
Damn, he did not want to end up like Kel.
Hey, red leather, nearly untouched confidante,
Haven’t checked in lately. Actually not since the first entry. Maybe Maggie and Sugar are being more loyal to the red journal idea. I’ve never been much for writing letters or anything else. I’d like to say I’ll try harder, but I was just trying to amp Sugar when I agreed to this, so don’t count on it.
Lucy leaned back on her bed in the Belle Watling madam room, admiring the red velvet drapes and the gold-tasseled bedding. “Vivian may be a stick, but she gets what makes a girl feel sexy,” she said, then continued her confession.
Just wanted you to know I’m pretty sure we’re screwed here in Pecanland. Not to be the voice of doom, but between Maggie’s memory and Sugar’s leap of faith, I fear the FOB may be DOA.
But, whatever! Cassavechias can handle anything.
At least I hope we can.
P.S. I’ve got a job. It’s kind of whack working for Whistler’s Mother shipping this season’s fashion outerwear for the discerning ding-a-ling, but it’s money. What’s a girl supposed to do? Cash is queen in my book.
Maybe I’ll start a blog about our journey. It’d be a helluva lot more interesting than talking to myself in this stupid diary!