I know. I did not lie to him, he said he wanted to marry me, so we didn't need condoms.
Poor girl, foolish, sad girl.
Luckily, I have a good job, for now at least. The studio is closing in a month, so I am looking for something new.
Oh thank god. Where are you living?
Oh I still have the apartment.
Wait? Steph moved out? When Cass and Stephen had finally split after a slow, excruciating humiliating end, she had left him the apartment they shared.
He couldn't pay the rent. So I got a roommate and I kept it.
Cass gave a decidedly unladylike hoot of pleasure at the idea of Steph being unable to make his rent. Is he still in town?
In the suburbs—Glenlake, 512 Yew Arbor Terrace.
It took a minute for Cass to realize she knew exactly where that was. The hoot of pleasure turned into a full-on gale of laughter. It rolled out of her as her shoulders sagged against her chair. Ahab the pussy-slayer lived in his mom’s house.
She scrolled through more of the hateful screed about Mimi’s pregnancy.
ON the one hand, superior genes do need to be passed down. The most attractive women are the ones with the best genes. I have no intention of being locked down, but siring children with a variety of beautiful women is one way to improve the planet.
The comments were horrific.
The problem with this plan is that these children will be raised by whores who couldn't keep their legs shut.
Can’t believe you forgot the prime directive, “protect your seed.” An alpha man of your caliber should always remember that it is “liquid gold.”
Antithesis of synergy (fucking stupid name, Cass thought) offered this gem:
Perhaps we need a long term plan to impregnate high quality women but then remove the children to be raised appropriately. This would allow true patriarchy to reign (fathers would be in charge) and allow for inferior looking women with sweet natures and dutiful spirits to have a chance to nurture children of superior genes.
Ahab replied, That might be the very plan that could save our civilization.
The spree of hate reading only ended when Jen’s phone rang.
“Oliver’s hungry—”
“You have to go, I know. Let me just sign off with Mimi.” Cass typed her message quickly. I have to run-You are really brave—if I can help, please let me know. My phone number is 716-542-7890. Call anytime.
She closed Jen’s laptop and slid it into its bag. She had another thought. “Hey, one question—is this a conspiracy? This knock-up pretty women and steal the children thing?” Cass asked.
“Only if they are serious. Saying stupid shit on the Internet does not a conspiracy make… Action has to be taken, it's not illegal to talk about committing a crime. I could use that as evidence of intent, but that wouldn't mean anything until someone committed a crime.”
“Look at you, going all LA Law.” They kissed goodbye and Cass hurried to work.
Chapter Twelve - A Tartan Too Many
Cass and Sarah were sitting around the table on the set of Cass Cooks. Cass was seriously rethinking her idea of following planning a real wedding When she had hatched this brilliant idea, she had not considered that it would involve a large bridal party with all of the men in it wearing entirely different tartans. The table was littered with swatches of each of the different plaids. The cathedral where the wedding would take place was famous for its floor to ceiling stained glass windows in brilliant hues. Sweet Jesus, this wedding was going to be seizure inducing. “Okay,” she looked at the camera. “Most of you won't be faced with this problem—typically in the US the men in the bridal party all wear the groom's tartan. Since Connor is having his friends wear their own, we need to finesse the bridesmaids’ dresses.”
Sarah held up some solid color swatches. “I had been thinking I would have to go with black, but I’d rather not.”
“I am pretty pro color myself,” Cass proffered. “We’ve narrowed it down to either this,” she held up a deep midnight blue, “or this,” a soft buttery yellow. “If you don't have a favorite color that you are just hell bent on using, then you can take a lot of factors into consideration.” A large picture of the cathedral suddenly appeared behind them. Cass held up a finger. “Venue—you want a color that will work within the environment you have chosen while still providing you a little ‘pop.’” A graphic of a bright sunny sky appeared next to the cathedral, and Cass held up another finger.
“Time of day. Sarah’s getting married at three in the afternoon.” She turned to Sarah trying to make it look like a natural chat. She failed, but it was a good try. “How did you pick that time?”
Sarah laughed. “It was the latest wedding the church will do.”
Cass grinned. “Perfect, that's exactly the kind of thing most brides come across. I recommend you figure out what issues are non negotiable—if you want to get married in the same church that your ma and pa did, then you may need to be flexible with your timing.”
Sarah shrugged her shoulders. “Such is life. We are thrilled to say that the Carlton Hotel is where we will hold the reception. Details to follow.”
Cass gestured back to the graphics. A calendar took the third spot on the wall and she lifted a third finger. “Season. Sarah is getting married in the fall. You have a lot of options now, the days of June being the only game in town are over.”
Sarah was better at this than Cass as she made their chatting seem totally natural. “Where do I consider my bridesmaids’ preferences?”
“There are two ways to look at that. It is true that the day belongs to the couple. My personal belief is that the wedding party needs to show up and smile. However, it is nice if you consider the feelings of your favorite girls. I think you need to consider people's modesty codes—if your sister is, I don't know, Amish—don't insist that she wear a strapless dress. Often now you can find variations of similar dresses. If you are open to that, it allows each bridesmaid to pick what she thinks is the most flattering. In our case, we already have PLENTY of variation. Color is something that I think the wedding party just needs to go along with.”
All of the graphics were suddenly replaced by a large swatch of soft butter yellow. “Now this part is a little tricky for us because we have promised Sarah that her wedding dress won't be on the air until after the wedding. So you’ll just have to trust us that these bridesmaids’ dresses all coordinate with the wedding gown.” Cass and Sarah had agreed that they would not use models, so three photos of all of the bridesmaids wearing each of the dress options appeared. There were certain advantages to being on TV, although Cass couldn't say that—you wouldn't want to say to your audiences, “Haha! You can't do this… better luck next time…”
“The kilts threw us at first, didn't they?” she asked her guest.
Sarah laughed. “Oh God, yes.”
One of the pictures was suddenly blown up. It featured Sarah’s friends in a creamy light yellow scoop neck satin dress with an empire waist. It was a pretty, elegant dress and flattered all the various body types featured in the wedding party.
“We are featuring both Sarah’s family farming heritage and Connor’s Scottish roots, so now I'm going to give you some ideas for beverages. You can never go wrong with beer. Like ever. A keg is less expensive, but if you want a lot of variety, chilled bottles of beer are a good way to go. Since Sarah’s family farms apples, I would highly recommend a sparkling cider instead of champagne. Some of them really are every bit as delicious, and it’s just that touch different. I seriously want you to think about spending a little bit of time and going table to table and pouring some bubbly for your guests and toasting each table. You will never ever forget it and neither will your guests.”
“What an awesome idea!” Sarah enthused. “I just love that, really I do.”
“I do too!” Cass confided. “It doesn't cost a cent more than having toasts passed, and it allows you to let your guests know how important they are to you. One more way
to keep it…”
By now the studio audience had seen a few of her shows and they raised their voices to finish her sentence with her. “DELICIOUS,” they roared. Cass waved to them but had to duck her head to hide the tears that had suddenly filled her eyes.
* * *
Tabby walked her out to her car, all the while keeping up a running lecture preparing Cass for her first radio show. “Now, this is live, remember. Do not swear. You should be fine; it's a cooking show. The callers will ask you questions… Just be yourself, only don't talk too fast, do NOT swear… just be your friendly self and remember to keep your answers under about sixty seconds. It will be fun.” The young producer was still assuring/preparing her as Cass shut her car door.
She drove to the radio station. She wished Killian could go with her, but he was working. She willed herself to relax as she put the headphones on. She tried to imagine herself as an erstwhile Amelia Earhart, it didn't work.
Chapter Thirteen - Cooking in Chi-Town
The jovial host began by mentioning what a big fan he was. That helped considerably. He asked her questions about the show. They had a nice rapport. He spoke about his own daughter's wedding and how it had been expensive and the food had been disappointing. Cass commiserated. The first caller had a question about estimating how large of a wedding cake she would need. Cass rattled off the correct formula and even remembered to slip in a plug for the show’s website. So far so good. The next caller had questions about the cost benefits of a buffet or a sit down dinner. Cass held very strong opinions on this subject.
“People assume that a buffet costs less, but that's not really true. They do take less staff, but people eat more entrees. I like a sit down dinner from a set menu, it allows for a more cohesive meal. But—and it’s a biggie—if you are juggling many different dietary needs, you have vegans, and paleos and diabetic grandparents and your college roomie’s toddlers, a buffet is a good way of managing that. Do make sure that smaller servings of the entrees are offered, otherwise you will end up throwing away a lot of half eaten filets, and nibbled on chicken breasts.”
The caller, who was named Jeanie, agreed, “Oh, that would make me crazy.”
Cass leaned into the warmth and continued, “You don't really want to be known as the mother-of-the-bride massacre-er do you?” The host laughed, the caller laughed. Cass relaxed. There were lots of calls.
“Dessert buffet and cake?”
“Absolutely—if you were running out of ways to spend your money.”
“Cash bar?”
“Meh, not really. Consider offering beer and wine only.”
“Cocktails before the actual wedding?”
“Are we talking the bride's parents having a quiet drink before guests arrive at their home for the fireplace nuptials or risking drunken frat brother groomsmen in the church?” Cass asked with a chuckle.
“Good point,” the caller quickly responded. “No cocktails before the wedding.”
The time had flown by, the host mentioned that there would be one more call and that he hoped Cass would return soon.
“I would like to talk to Mrs. Nelson about how she feels about promoting a wedding industry that discriminates against men.”
“Oh for F…” Tabby’s concerned face floated before her in the ether. “… freak’s sake,” she responded. “Let me guess, you are one of the Made to Reign goons.”
“Actually I blog about what the bible says about the roles of men and women, but I notice you are quick to dismiss the concerns of all men.”
The host looked baffled. This had clearly never happened on Cooking in Chi-town before. “Let me explain,” Cass offered. “This guy is a men's rights activist.” She put “activist” in air quotes. A rather useless gesture on the radio.
“That doesn't mean I am not right about modern marriage marginalizing men.”
Cass wondered if her eye roll was audible. “This is a cooking show,” the host ventured timidly.
Cass gave vent to her frustration. “He doesn't care; he just hates all women. Listen, Buddy…”
The guest cut her off, “We do not hate women. I do feel that they are designed to inhabit a specific sphere.”
“Yeah, a sphere defined by you.”
“Do you have a cooking question?” the host tried to interject.
“No, it is defined by God HIMself,” the odious guest continued smugly.
“Look, I’m sorry you can’t…” She was about to say “get laid,” so she was actually grateful when he interrupted.
“Do you want to know what we MRAs say to the women we care about?”
“PFFFFT. I already know,” she raised her voice to a yell. “Mooom—I said do NOT come into my room until you have my goddamned tacos!” The host gave an almost hysterical laugh.
“You have no idea how many good men you have just roused from their slumber.”
“Slumber? Listen Grimm’s fairy tales, no one cares what you assholes think.”
“You and that feminazi lawyer will care when we picket her wedding.”
Click. The host looked at her over his spectacles. “Um, yeah, so this is Cooking in Chi-town and to recap, a buffet isn't always cheaper, watch how much your guests drink, and yeah, I guess that's about it.” He did not repeat how much he hoped she would return soon.
* * *
Sarah and Cass leaned on the counter of the studio kitchen. Cass winked conspiratorially at the camera. “Now for the real reason people go to weddings… Booze!”
Sarah laughed. “Especially if you are marrying a Scotsman.”
“A good place to start is wine—red and white, but stock up on the one that goes with the dinner entrees you are serving. Beer. Icy cold.”
Sarah played along brilliantly. “Should I get a keg?”
“That's not an easy answer. In general, a keg is cheaper, but if you want to serve a variety of microbrews, which are super popular at the moment, bottles are your best bet. Visit the web site for a list of our favorite beers. Now, whiskey. A whiskey tasting bar is also a great thing to do. But…” She paused and held up a finger. “You really want to make sure you have bartenders at the top of their game if you are going to offer this. Drunk people driving will totally ruin your big day.
“I would also recommend a whiskey punch. This one is sophisticated and sort of Autumnal.” She turned to her compatriot. “Damn. That's a fun word to say… AuTUMnal.”
Sarah agreed, “A fine word indeed.”
“This punch relies on scotch whiskey—not top shelf but not low end floor stripper stuff either.” She simmered honey with cinnamon sticks, cloves and some black peppercorns. She strained out the spices and mixed the hot honey with the whiskey. She held up a lidded pitcher partially full of cooled black tea, and sliced oranges and lemons. and poured the liquid over the fruit. She gave it a good stir with a wooden spoon. She had to force herself to focus on her show. Once you’d been thoroughly spanked with a wooden spoon, you would never view them the same way again—they were nowhere near as innocent as they seemed.
“This can be done days ahead… let it sit at room temperature for a few hours before you slide it into the chill chest.” Sarah lifted a beautiful punch bowl onto the counter—it was full of ice cubes, orange slices and frozen pitted cherries. They poured the whiskey syrup and club soda in and gave a gentle stir.
“Could I have my bartender serve these?” Sarah asked
“Totally.” They toasted each other with a frosty small glass cup of punch.
“This is Sarah.” Cass nodded her head in her guest's direction. “I’m Cass and I cook—Make it delicious.”
They were on the front page of Made to Reign before they were off the air.
I’d need the whole bottle of whiskey—straight—to want to bang either of them.
In the redhead's defense—she can cook and that’s a damn sight better than any American woman I've ever met.
Cuck—you just know she has a bookshelf of Das Feminazi theory.
; A woman had responded. I don't think either of them are that big. Why are you so mean?
Go away, cupcake!
Read the rules, you don't belong here—we are here to get away from obese, lesbian, stupid whores.
The woman, she had chosen the appeasing nickname of “fair feminist” responded. I am not fat. I have had sex with one man in my life, and I am an engineer.
The response was ferocious.
Attention whore!
Bullshit
Even if it's true, you took a job from a real engineer.
Fairfeminist kept trying. I had excellent grades.
Sheesh, Cass thought, “Honey they are never going to like you. Just find another hobby.”
That thought seemed somewhat disloyal since FF had stuck out her neck to defend her. She jumped when her phone rang. Tabby sounded strained. “The Carlton Hotel has cancelled on us—they are leery of any brouhaha.”
Cass was shocked at her own instantaneous and vitriolic reaction. “Fuck them and fuck the horse they rode in on.”
“Well, it’s problematic,” Tabby reminded her.
“We’ll find somewhere else.”
“I think we need a backup—worst case scenario, perhaps we can transform the studio.”
“That’s actually a good idea. But I think we can find a spot.” Her confidence was a front. They didn't have much time, and the church was booked. As if she needed one more reason to loathe the “Reign douchecanoes.”
Chapter Fourteen - Pastrami Can Heal Most Things
Cass cradled her phone; she had head gotten a text from Mimi. Thank you for being so nice to me the other day, it said. She removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She wished the world was different. She wished she could help Mimi. She had really hated Mimi for a while after Stephen had replaced her with the much younger, thinner woman. Time had softened her feelings, it was only when she thought Stephen and Mimi would empty her business bank accounts to go taste wine in Paris that she had taken action and responded to a blog fan in Alaska. That had turned out remarkably well, she thought, gazing around her apartment, filled with photos of her with her handsome husband. Cass responded, Of course!! I would love to meet you for lunch.
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