A Date With Fate

by Tracy Ellen

  Aunt Lily diligently works full time at her church thrift store during the week. She belligerently stomps around brandishing her antique cane she was never without while bullying people into buying junk they don’t need. On the weekends, she devotes her time to her church--doing God only knows what.

  It wasn’t Dickensian, but still sad. It was not a very fun home life for a kid as lively and loving as Anna.

  Somehow, ruthlessly sly NanaBel convinced the domineering and fanatical Aunt Lily that it was her own idea that Anna spent a majority of her time on Division Street with us. Anna was growing up smack dab in a nest of bourgeoning mini-Jezzie’s while being nurtured by the biggest Jezebel in the Northern Hemisphere, or quite possibly, the world. Yep, that’s right, my grandmother.

  Anna fit right in to our riotous household like a homing pigeon come to roost. Anna and my grandmother were a mutual adoration society. Anna was treated like another granddaughter, Chore Chart and all. My siblings probably thought she really was another sister; she’d practically lived in the apartment since first grade. Because of Anna being my BFF, I chose bunk beds for my room instead of the Princess Pink Ruffles canopied bed I lusted after with all my little girl heart.

  When the need arose, and it frequently did, I would complain in a whisper to NanaBel about the latest stunt Aunt Lily had pulled to keep Anna at home. Aunt Lily was always denying permission for Anna to come with me to a materialistic birthday party, or to the ruinous movies. NanaBel insisted it was done out of Aunt Lily’s love she harbored for Anna, even if she was cold and undemonstrative. I was pretty convinced it was because Aunt Lily was a mean, old bitch, but I wisely kept my own counsel. I didn’t want to be grounded for discourtesy and cursing. NanaBel was tough on those subjects, especially with seven-year-olds.

  Besides, NanaBel would pick up the phone and perform her magic. Nobody can withstand NanaBel, and she’d smooth over whatever objections Aunt Lily had to allowing Anna to join me and the other kids having fun.

  Anna’s also my one exception to my rule of everyone forgetting my daily existence before ten in the morning.

  I checked my phone. It was 7:45 AM. After her text, I called Anna and put it on speaker. I chose the gardenia oil and begun to smooth it up my legs, feeling my bliss at the slightly peppery, floral scent.

  “Okay, it’s opinion time.” My friend announced in lieu of a greeting. “I’m deciding between mammoth, blueberry muffins with a sugar crusted topping, or vanilla frosted, raspberry scones for the feature of the day. Which sounds more scrumpdillyicious to you?”

  I didn’t need to think. “Size always matters. I vote massive blueberry.”

  I could hear pots and pans clanging noisily in the background as she worked. Whatever Anna did, she did loudly and with frenetic energy. Her home kitchen was outfitted to meet professional catering standards. She rose early six days a week and cooked in the comfort of her own kitchen for Bel’s Books café, Laissez Fare.

  A couple of years ago, Aunt Lily had deeded title of her house over to Anna with the caveat of life tenancy—good health prevailing. Anna was pleased with this deal while it chilled me to the very marrow. I was horrified at Anna’s Stygian bargain of life tenancy with that strong-as-a-pack-mule, hellfire spouting, seventy-five-year old Debbie Downer of an auntie. It was a living nightmare worse than anything I could wish on my worst enemy. Anna had shrugged at my appalled protests on her behalf. For her, having her soul destroyed was worth the price of a free house.

  Anna’s laughter has a musical sound. The lucky wench can carry a tune, too. “I said mammoth, not massive. Besides, I remember you distinctly telling me size doesn’t matter, Junior.”

  “No way did I say that. That’d be crazy talk.”

  “Yes way, you did say that.” Anna also has a memory like a steel trap. I don’t ever have to worry I’ll be able to forget something from my past.

  I scanned my memory banks and hit pay dirt. “Ah yes, I told you that years ago when things seemed to be getting serious between you and, what was his name…Stan, Steve? Whatever, we all knew he had a pencil dick. I didn’t want you to feel bad.”

  Over the whirring noise of an electric mixer Anna exclaimed, “What? No way! How did everyone know he had a pencil dick? Who’s everyone, anyway?”

  “Yes way, and umm…let’s see. Reggie told me and my sisters. Guess he must have seen Stan or Steve’s little pee-pee somehow. Didn’t they go to the same club around then?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s too funny.” She kept laughing, “I never did it with him. So that’s why they called him ‘Little Stevie’. Gosh, and here I thought it was because he was sort of short.” She abruptly stopped laughing. “Oh just great, your jerk of a brother must have laughed his ass off knowing I was going out with a pencil dick. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! Junior, you’d better tell me what you know about anyone’s dick size I go out with. I don’t want to hook up with any more baby dills! Oh my god…”

  I meekly promised to keep her updated.

  She demanded, only half in jest, “What about Jim? Do you know anything about him? Tell me!”

  “Well, geez Anna, gossip from the bookstore’s men’s bathroom has his girth measuring in at…You freak, I promise I know nothing about Jim’s manroot size.” Now I was laughing. “I could guess, though, if it would make you happy. Hey, I know, we could start a Fantasy Package League like guys do with football.”

  After we ran with that idea, stopped wetting our pants, and had both settled back down Anna said, “Okay, I’ll assume no news is good news where Jim is concerned.”

  Jim Mardsen was Anna’s new flame. Her question about his penis size was interesting since they had been going out for a few weeks all ready, but I made no further comment.

  During one point a couple of months ago, I thought Anna might hook up with Reggie. At first, this seemed bizarre to me, maybe even slightly incestuous. I mean, come on--Reg and Anna? Upon further reflection, I could see the attraction of like to like. I don’t know what happened to stop the would-be lovers, but something went drastically wrong. One day they were flirting like mad, the next day they were giving each other the cold shoulder. If one entered the room, the other would leave with their face all screwed up like they smelled something foul.

  Maybe it was just as well that a romance between Reggie and Anna was over before it began. My brother’s m.o. is to go out with the same woman only a couple of times before moving on. He’s upfront he’s out only for a fun time, not a relationship. I’d hate to think he’d give Anna the same cavalier treatment, but I’d hate more to see her hurt by my feckless brother.

  Most curious was Anna not rushing to tell me every detail. I had to respect her silence, and Reg wasn’t talking, either. I was positive Reggie had done something extraordinarily dumb to make the normally forgiving Anna not want to acknowledge his existence on Earth any longer.

  Anna sighed. “I’m going with the scones today. I can’t think about mammoth anything right now. The visual is too disturbing.”

  I laughed.

  Anna and I co-owned but she operated Laissez Fare, the organic bakery, deli, coffee and juice bar located within my bookstore. It was one in a series of ongoing improvements I was implementing to increase revenues when facing reality at the advent of e-books as competition for printed books. Laissez Fare was, by far, the most expensive investment I have made over the last two years.

  Northfield is a river town of about twenty thousand located roughly fifty minutes south of the Minneapolis-St Paul metro area. The town has two colleges, St Olaf and Carleton. Both are highly ranked private schools. There were approximately five thousand students with money to spend coming to our thriving downtown area regularly to eat, shop, and hit the bars. I can’t compete with the bars, but the shopping and eating parts were up for grabs. I knew anytime I stopped at a Barnes and Noble in the suburbs of the cities, I hit their café area. I had a ready-made hungry and thirsty clientele shopping at my store. I had a best friend with
a culinary background tired of working for someone else. Anna and I brainstormed two years ago and the café Laissez Fare was our resulting creation.

  I may own Bel’s Books and the building free and clear, but the heating and cooling bills alone were killer. I needed to be innovative and proactive to keep growing my business and generating profits. The gambler in me didn’t balk at using a portion of my nest egg capitol to make investments towards the future. The businesswoman in me knew making solid investment decisions meant having a well-defined and researched master game plan outlining the goals I wanted to achieve. Then I had to be flexible enough to be willing to sometimes toss the game plan aside. Opportunity has a way of popping up without warning or planning. Always helpful were a good banker, good advice, good credit, and good karma. Knock on wood.

  Bel’s Books is an institution in Northfield. Thanks in large to my grandmother, the bookstore has had a solid rep for over forty years. With the addition of Laissez Fare, we are now known also as the place to get organic, high-quality “fast food”. We serve coffee drinks, juiced concoctions for an energy boost, sandwich wraps, soups and salads, and my personal living hell on earth: fresh daily and incredibly tasty bakery treats.

  Customers have always hung around the store. Since Laissez Fare opened, a significant number more stayed to eat and drink while they did homework, browsed and read, hung out with friends, or hit on my assorted staff members. As long as people spent money and didn’t cause any commotion, I was cool with it all.

  Anna was making a living doing something she loves, and by existing on a miniscule wage, has almost paid me back the start up costs. I leased out the space, got a percentage of the profits, and free coffee drinks for life. She cut me off cold turkey from free bakery goodies a week after opening. I loved or hated her for that, fluctuating with my blood sugar levels.

  Banging away in her kitchen this morning, Anna complained, “Are you on speaker? I hate that tunnel sound. What are you doing now, anyway?”

  “I’m rubbing oil on my buttocks. Gots some ground to cover, but I’ll be done in a minute.”

  Anna’s laugh ended on a groan. “Oh god, tell me about ass acreage. I have got to quit eating my product. I’m getting depressed my jeans are so frickin’ tight lately.” Anna’s figure is small on top and bigger on the bottom. Any weight gain did go straight to her thighs and gluteus maximus, but on the bright side; she has a slender neck and thin face.

  “Huh, that’s never a good sign. Perhaps wearing a muzzle while cooking may help?” I suggest, helpful friend that I am. I glanced in the full length mirror and checked out my waistline. I should probably thank my friend for cutting me off the sugar gravy train.

  Anna’s ungrateful suggestion what I could do with a muzzle made me think she didn’t find me helpful in this instance.

  “Are we still on at ten for spying in St. Paul today?”

  “Okay by me.” Frowning, I thought of the sleeping Luke. He had to be awake and long gone before ten this morning when I needed to leave. If not, I could leave him a note. I guess since he had no problem unlocking my door somehow last night to come and get me, he could manage locking it on his way out.

  “I’ll be there before ten. Hey, wait. What are you wearing?”

  “Umm…I’m naked.”

  Anna burst out laughing. “Junior! I meant tonight when we go to The Rock. Are you dressing up?”

  Ana likes to know what others are wearing before we go out. I’ve never cared what other girls are wearing. I can get excited over clothes, shoes have been known to cause spontaneous combustion, and jewelry—well, what happens between me and earrings is too private to describe, but I’m missing the let’s-all-dress-alike gene common amongst so many of my girlfriends.

  I put the gardenia oil aside, took the phone off speaker, and went into my closet once again. “Anna Lynn, I’m not even dressed for the first time today, much less thinking about tonight. You’ll be the first person I’ll tell when I decide. I’ll post on face book and then twitter about it.”

  “Like that will happen, you Neanderthal!” Anna snorted loudly.

  I always give her grief about her religious devotion to social networking; particularly re-tweeting. She’s always got an eye on her phone or a screen. I was a social throwback compared to her. I find nothing redeeming about face book for social purposes. I get very sick of friends stalking friends on face book—who went out, who wasn’t invited, who was in pictures, who was unfriended--the damn drama it causes seems endless.

  Anna switched topics. “Are you done with that zombie book yet so I can read it? Hey, did Luke ever end up calling you last night?”

  “Nope, I fell asleep while reading and Luke didn’t call me.” I wasn’t fibbing.

  “Oh, no! Isn’t that weird for him to miss a Friday night phone call? Aren’t you nervous?”

  Anna knew Luke called me on the Friday nights when he was working—a ritual he had started after the first week we met. She’s been there on a few Fridays when he’s called, plus she met him three weeks ago.

  When he is gone from town for his job, she now frets over him like a mother hen. I have no idea why. She knows fewer specifics about what he does on the job than I do. Anna’s convinced he’s a secret agent risking life and limb for the good of our country, an unknown and unsung hero.

  She rushed on, a natural worrier. “You haven’t heard from him this morning, either? I hope he’s okay.” She muttered anxiously under her breath. I heard water running and rattling noises, it sounded like silverware being tossed around. “When did he call you last?”

  I felt bad for not reassuring her that Luke was fine and dandy and hogging my bed even as we spoke, but there…I’m over it. Anna knows what I think about sleepovers and boyfriends. She would be agog at my departure from the norm and want all the details. Maybe at some point I’ll tell her more, if there is more to tell, but not now.

  “Don’t worry, Mother Hubbard. I’m sure he’s fine.” I hurried her off the phone. “I’ve got to get dressed. I am freezing standing here. See you later at ten.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about my best friend and lover becoming friends, much less Anna starting to romanticize Luke into some sort of American James Bond. I guess it was slightly better than if they hated each other.

  Chapter V

  “Torn” by Natalie Imbruglia

  Saturday, 11/17/12

  8:00 AM

  After ending the daily call with Anna, I quickly finished getting ready. I blew my long layers straight and put on a little make-up. I dressed casually in a favorite pair of skinny, black jeans and a white, button-down shirt. I rolled up the cuffs neatly. I don’t like long sleeves. Over this, I wore a short, fitted black vest trimmed with gunmetal buttons in a baroque flower pattern. I left it unbuttoned.

  Stella and I are jewelry fiends. She has shopped with me since she was old enough to point and drool at what she liked. We love to look for treasures in places like antique and flea markets, or in tucked-away neighborhood shops. We often use our finds to create something else, such as using old, architecturally interesting earrings to decorate a hair clip, or trimming the vest I just put on with cool, funky buttons. There’s not too much we can’t improve upon. I zipped on sturdy, ankle boots with silver side buckles and only three-inch-high, square heels.

  I was ready to search out my morning coffee. Looking in the mirror, I put a hand to my ear and frowned. Make that almost ready. Without earrings on I may as well be naked, but they are kept in my bedroom. So are my necklaces, bracelets, and rings. These I could live without for a short time, but not wearing earrings really bugged me. Feeling a little cranky over being inconvenienced in my own home, I shrugged it off to another reason not to do sleepovers.

  I planned to sneak in some work on the books before Stella arrived to open. My store office desktop is where I preferred to work. I wasn’t going to hang around the apartment and wait for Luke to wake up. I decided correct morning-after behavior didn’t really matter to me, bu
t I didn’t want to text Luke and wake him. I left an actual handwritten note taped to the one place a man would be guaranteed to see it; the toilet lid. It read:

  Dear Mr. Muscles,

  I’m worried our dates are becoming ho-hum…

  I’m out and about doing stuff, so please lock up on your way out.

  If you’re in town, you’re invited for Sunday dinner @ 5pm.

  Have I told you lately you are very, very impressive?

  X

  Anabel

  p.s. Your turn?

  Purse swinging in hand, I was walking down the hall when the building’s front doorbell rang. And rang, and kept on ringing. Whoever was outside my building pressing the doorbell wasn’t letting up and the annoyingly shrill buzzing sound was continuing nonstop.

  I quickly dashed over to the master station intercom on the wall and checked out the view screen. I was surprised when I recognized who it was. This was out of left field.

  Smiling, I pushed the button to speak. “Crookie! Hey, easy on the buzzer. It’s so nice to see you, but why am I seeing you?”

  The irritating noise stopped and a garbled voice queried, “An..el? Is ..at you?”

  I watched the screen as Bob “Crookie” Crookston bent from his considerable height to speak directly into the box attached to Bel’s front entrance outside wall. He appeared to put his lips against it. I giggled, I couldn’t help it--this was so like him. He was essentially a rocket scientist, but didn’t get intercom systems and microphones had evolved since his ghetto, ancient apartment days at Purdue.

  “Tis I, Anabel of Northfield. What’s up?” I reared back in shock when a blast of jumbled, shouted words was my answer. Bob excited and loud was one thing, but Bob angry and yelling? This was very strange behavior coming from him.

  Bob was an old buddy from high school. We had bonded our senior year as science partners. I had learned to really like the loveable boy. He was very tall even then and gangly skinny. He dressed goofy and wore ugly, thick framed glasses. He was your typical nerd; incredibly intelligent and incredibly socially awkward.