Writing a Wrong

by Betty Hechtman

A woman of similar age with a clear family resemblance was at the front counter. I walked up to her and put on a friendly smile. ‘You must be Emily Handelman,’ I said, taking out a business card. ‘I’m Veronica Blackstone.’ I glanced toward the man. ‘I spoke to your brother on the phone about some copy you needed.’

  Her wavy dark hair was cut short and her silver dangle earrings jangled as she leaned toward me and kept her voice low. ‘It was my idea to contact you.’ She drew me over to the side. ‘Our grandparents were running the place until they moved to Florida. Business had been going down and they wanted to close up the shoe store, but Lewis convinced them to give us a shot at running it. Well, and he convinced me to go in on the plan. It was always just a store for locals, but Lewis thinks we can make it into an iconic place through a website and some PR. That we can somehow convince people to come here where an experienced staff can properly fit their children’s shoes instead of buying them online or picking them up at a store with shopping carts where you are on your own.’ She let out her breath and I smiled at her, thinking that was sure a mouthful. She looked at her brother. ‘Lewis thought he could create all the copy for the website – don’t tell him I said it, but he’s not a writer. Actually, he’s a substitute gym teacher. We’re sharing the duties of running the place while we both have other jobs until …’ She rolled her eyes and I got the message until the place was profitable.

  ‘I love this place. I know the décor is dated, but I think it’s adorable.’ She looked at me. ‘I heard good things about what you do. You wrote a mystery and write all kinds of copy. I heard you even solved a murder.’

  I bowed my head and blushed. ‘I did write a mystery, and I do write all kinds of copy. The murder solving is more or less true,’ I said. It was funny how I liked hearing good things about my accomplishments, but I was uncomfortable at the same time. I was anxious to change the subject and I looked around at the place. ‘I think I understand what you’re after. You need to give the store a personality, make it a star. Of course, I’d need background information to create a story.’

  She stopped to think for a moment. ‘Lewis and I know some stuff, but you’d really need to talk to our aunt. She worked here when she was in high school and college, but then she became a jewelry designer. She knows all about everything.’ She glanced toward her brother who’d brought out several boxes of Incredible Hulk sneakers and was showing them to the boy’s mother. ‘I’m sure she’d talk to you. She’s kind of bummed out over a bust-up with her boyfriend. She’s in her fifties and I thought you took things better by the time you got older.’ She stopped herself. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you her personal business. Please don’t say anything about it to her. I’m not even supposed to know.’ She glanced in the direction of her brother as he held up a bright green shoe.

  I was only half listening and nodded in agreement just as my smart watch binged, announcing my next appointment. ‘I’m going to see another client after this. LaPorte’s,’ I said, pointing in the general direction of the bakery and café.

  ‘They’re your clients?’ she said, sounding impressed. She was curious what I was doing for them. There was nothing secretive about the sort of copy I was providing for them, so there was no reason not to tell her.

  ‘It’s a family business like yours,’ I began. ‘And they’ve decided to open up branches in other neighborhoods. I’m going to be writing some publicity material for them with the history of their business. It’s about the personality of a place, but then I think you know that.’ She nodded with a smile.

  ‘The original owners are neighborhood people like my grandparents. I heard they were expanding. I love their chocolate mint cake. It’s been a birthday tradition for us.’ She laughed. ‘I’m making myself hungry. I think I’ll grab lunch there today.’

  She had a sudden thought. ‘I didn’t tell you, but we’re bringing back the prize jar.’ She left and came back with a huge barrel-shaped jar filled with clear cellophane bags. Each contained a toy or game.

  ‘I remember the prize jar,’ I said. ‘I got my shoes here when I was little.’

  Emily smiled. ‘I got mine here, too, but then I guess that’s obvious. We love this place, that’s why we’re doing whatever we can to keep it going. We need to change it from being a neighborhood place where people bring their kids to get shoes, to being a destination where people come from all over.’ She smiled sheepishly. ‘I know I’m repeating myself, but I’m afraid all I think about is how to make this store more successful. We want to sell the experience and the quality we offer. We don’t just bring out shoes for kids to try on. We fit them. You can’t get that online.’ She sighed. ‘Here I go again. I can’t seem to turn off. Sorry.’

  ‘It looks like your brother is going to be awhile,’ I said. ‘I think I understand what you want. How about I write up a proposal and come back tomorrow when we can all talk?’

  ‘That sounds perfect,’ she said.

  She’d gotten me excited about the place and I was already rooting for them to succeed. I knew I’d get the gig, but I also knew that – with what they had on the line and the fact both of them were working at other jobs – there was no way I would charge them anything close to what I usually got paid.

  Just then the cow started making its trip over the moon while below it a dish and spoon were holding hands and their feet moved. The movement of the cow was hardly smooth, but it was fun to watch anyway. I looked at the junior Spider-Man checking it out. To my surprise he clapped his hands with excitement. Good to know that they could still delight.

  LaPorte’s Bakery and Café was barely a block away. I jumped at the chance to do some work for them when I was contacted by Rex LaPorte. It was local and a place I liked. All the backstory I really knew about the bakery and café was that it had started with a cake and had recently relocated from a storefront on the ground floor of an apartment building to a newish structure that had housed a bookstore from a now defunct chain.

  From what I gathered, everyone in Hyde Park knew about the place and probably had had one of the chocolate mint cakes as a birthday cake, but they were only known marginally outside the neighborhood.

  It had been fine to have the menu of the café offerings on a dry erase board, but now that they were expanding they wanted to have something printed that had more detail. Rex had said they were looking for a way to play up the family angle for the new locations as well. They needed website copy, menu descriptions and promotional material – it was a big job for me and paid accordingly.

  I walked into the ground-floor area of the two-story building. Big windows looked out on the street and let in copious amounts of sunshine. The floor was a pale wood, as were the tables, all of which added to the brightness of the interior. In addition to the smaller tables, there was a long community table which had become the norm. A buttery smell of sweetness permeated the air as I looked around the interior. Several people were in line to order food at the counter. A dry erase board stood on a chair with their offering. I smiled at the soup offering listed simply as vegetable and thought of what I could do with it. Something like a hearty broth with chunks of garden vegetables. Maybe I’d be more specific and say sweet kernels of corn, vine-ripened tomato quarters and corkscrew pasta. I passed by another counter with a line waiting to buy baked goods and found the elevator hidden on the side, taking it up to the second floor.

  The baking smells wafted up there, but it looked totally different. The space had been divided into offices with a communal area in the front with some tables and chairs. As I approached the door leading to the offices, I heard conversation coming from inside. Conversation was a nice way to put it, but it sounded more like a disagreement. Interrupting an argument didn’t seem like a good way to start with a new client. No one was watching me, so I decided to give it a few minutes and see if the dispute was settled and then I’d knock at the door. I told myself I was only eavesdropping so I could tell when the argument was over.

  ‘This is so las
t minute. I don’t understand why you agreed to it,’ a man’s voice said.

  ‘It will be fine. When people want to get married and want to keep it simple, there’s no reason it can’t be done,’ the woman said.

  ‘Don’t you at least think you should consult with the family for their input?’

  ‘No,’ the woman said, sounding exasperated. ‘They’ll only make a fuss. It’s best to leave it as is.’ I could only hear part of what the man said, but it was something about all the information.

  That seemed to be the end of their discussion. I waited for a breath and then knocked on the door.

  Instead of inviting me in, they came out, both giving me a blank stare. I recognized Rex LaPorte as he was a familiar figure around the neighborhood and the person I’d been in contact with.

  ‘Veronica Blackstone,’ I said, reminding him who I was and that we’d spoken on the phone and emailed back and forth. His face lit with recognition and he shook my hand. The casual dress of jeans and a polo shirt made him look more like a worker than the boss. He seemed somewhere in his fifties and had the shape of someone who enjoyed a good meal.

  He glanced at his watch and his face clouded over. ‘I’m so sorry. I forgot you were coming. There’s so much going on with the expansion and trying to keep this place humming. I’m actually on my way out. You can talk to my sister,’ he said, indicating the woman.

  She was wearing a white chef’s coat over a pair of jeans. Her brown hair was tied back, a few tendrils falling free. I’d noticed that many people had one feature that seemed to define them. With her, it was her smile. It was big and a little goofy and hers turned her eyes into slits that carried the merry look.

  He turned to her. ‘Be sure and tell how we started.’ The woman made a face.

  ‘I know what to tell her,’ she said. Then she looked at me. ‘He’s used to being the one in charge.’ She shook her head in an exasperated manner. ‘He forgets that I’m a grown woman who knows what she’s doing.’

  ‘I’m sure you like to think so,’ he said. ‘All I’m saying is not to rush into anything.’

  I felt like I was in the middle of something between them, probably connected to whatever they were discussing before. It was as if she realized how they sounded and tried to smooth it over.

  ‘Don’t mind us. We had a disagreement about a wedding cake order. That’s what happens when you have a family business,’ she said with a shrug.

  ‘Right,’ he said in a flat tone. ‘Now I really have to go.’ He went to the counter and picked up one of their trademark sunny yellow boxes with LaPorte’s Bakery written in a dark gold and hesitated.

  ‘Go, already,’ she said, waving him off with her hands before turning back to me. ‘Excuse my brother’s manners. I’m Cocoa LaPorte. My real name is Jennifer, but everybody calls me Cocoa.’

  ‘Is that like Coco Chanel?’ I asked. The mood had changed with the departure of her brother and she seemed ultra-friendly.

  ‘No, C-o-c-o-a as in the chocolate powder. It’s because of our signature cake. My mother thought Cocoa sounded better than Choco.’ She looked at me to see if I understood. ‘It’s short for Chocolate.’ She glanced toward the seating area. ‘We can sit over there. After we get you something to eat. We never do anything here without food.’

  She walked me over to the kitchen area. There was a plate of mini cinnamon croissants and two vacuum pots with coffee. One was labeled decaf and the other dark roast. I grabbed a paper cup and gave the top of the pot a push; a tiny stream of dark liquid came out, followed by some bubbles and a whoosh to indicate it was empty.

  Cocoa looked displeased as she pulled out her cell phone and tapped something in it. She stepped away, but I still heard her chew somebody out for the empty coffee pot. A moment later, she was all smiles when she pointed me to one of the tables. ‘Someone will bring you a fresh cup in a minute.’

  I thanked her and pulled out my notebook and pen. I decided to start with a little small talk. ‘Do you have children working in the business?’

  ‘Twins, and not only do they want to be different from each other, but separate from me.’ She added a sigh and it seemed as if she accepted their decision, but didn’t like it. ‘My brother thinks you are just what our business needs, now that we’re expanding out of the neighborhood. We need to have something to make us stand out. To make us legendary.’ She punctuated it with a big smile.

  ‘I’ve heard good things about you,’ she continued. ‘I understand you write mysteries and anything that has words in it.’

  ‘It’s mystery,’ I said. ‘I like the way you described what I do. I may just use that and say I’ll write anything that has words in it.’ I looked down at the notebook. ‘We probably should get started.’ Just then my coffee arrived and I took a grateful sip. I set it down and took a dainty bite of the cinnamon croissant. It tasted so good it was hard not to swoon.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you the deluxe version. The best place is to start at the beginning. Our whole soon-to-be empire began in my mother’s kitchen. She was a fantastic baker and her signature cake was the chocolate mint cake with buttercream icing. Everybody who tasted it, loved it. She began to get orders for the cakes. It came at a good time because she’d been laid off her teaching job and we needed the money. The orders kept coming. I helped her with the baking and Rex was the delivery guy. The orders were from neighborhood people and he used our red wagon to carry the white cake boxes. Everyone was happy to see him because it meant there was a cake on the way. It’s the same now. He does a lot of deliveries himself. And everybody is still happy to see him. Of course, now there’s more than just our signature cake and the boxes are yellow.’

  She stopped for a moment and took a piece of a cinnamon croissant. ‘You’d think I’d be immune to all this by now. But I have to say our baked goods are fantastic. We use the best of ingredients, just like my mother did.’ She shook her head and smiled. ‘Sorry for getting off track. I was telling you how we got started. The chocolate mint cake was super popular, but I guess she got bored just making one kind of cake and she added a pound cake and carrot cake. Then she started adding some other items. These cinnamon croissants were next. And our kitchen became too small, so she rented a commercial kitchen. It got to the point where she was selling the baked goods through several stores in the neighborhood. That’s when she and my father decided to take the leap and open our own place. There was some extra room, so they added a few tables. She started making bread which led to us offering sandwiches. Salads came next. The menu was small but we kept the prices low. Through it all my mother and I did most of the baking and my father handled the business.’ Her shoulders dropped. ‘But it all changed when he died. Now it’s just Rex and me running things, though the expansion idea was mostly his. Soon the whole city will love the chocolate mint cake,’ she said with a smile, then dropped her voice. ‘We’re the only ones who know the recipe.’ She leaned closer. ‘Top secret. If I tell you what’s in it, I’d have to kill you.’ Though it seemed like she was teasing, something in her expression made me wonder if she meant it. Before I could think much about it, she had sat up and moved on.

  ‘One of the things we’re going to want you to do is write up new descriptions of the menu items. We keep expanding our food offerings and changing them. We’re trying more ethnic dishes. Up until now, the descriptions were really just a laundry list of what was in something. Like one of our sandwiches is listed as ham and cheese on your choice of bread.’ She looked at me. ‘That doesn’t really work anymore. We need to say something more exciting. You know, something more descriptive.’

  While she was talking my cup of coffee arrived and I took another bite of the croissant and was instantly lost in the deliciousness of the pastry. She gave me a knowing smile and continued talking, letting me savor every delicious bite. When I’d eaten the last crumb, I offered my suggestion for the ham and cheese sandwich. I had the gig and didn’t have to audition anymore, but I couldn’t h
elp myself. ‘I’d probably suggest something like savory slices of oven-roasted ham paired with flavorful English cheddar cheese on freshly baked bread or a flaky croissant.’

  ‘That’s excellent,’ she said, giving me a tiny round of applause, ‘but we’re all about being authentic so we’d like you to sample everything and write your descriptions from your experience.’

  My smile at the praise faded and I realized there was a problem.

  ‘About that ham sandwich,’ I said, feeling uncomfortable before explaining my dietary situation. I could see the job ending before it began.

  ‘So you’re a vegetarian,’ she said, looking over my face as if there’d be some kind of telltale sign. ‘I guess we can work around it. We like the idea of working with someone local. You can use your fiction skills on anything with meat. All you have to do is throw in some interesting adjectives,’ she said with a friendly smile before looking down at my notebook. I had put down the pen when I’d gotten so immersed in eating and went to grab it back. ‘To continue with the story, we’re a family business and we’ve always kept things small. It took forever for us to move here. We’re expanding because we have enough adult family members to run new locations. That should give you some background,’ she said, standing. ‘You can do it in a series of tastings. It’s too much for one sitting. And there will be chances for you to get more information. This is all new to us. Thank heavens we have some help. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are some cakes waiting for me to bake.’

  I walked home with an upbeat feeling, being pretty sure that I had three gigs. Next time I heard from Tony, I was going to tell him we were done.

  FIVE

  ‘I found the perfect place to check out romantic behavior. It’s not in your neighborhood, but if you’re free, we could go there tonight,’ Ben said. I’d barely gotten in the house when he called. He’d just gotten off his shift and suggested driving into the city.

  I thought about it for a moment. It was tempting. I was without a car and I used Uber and Lyft sparingly, depending mostly on the Metra train. The idea of being whisked away someplace interesting sounded great. I could start work on my three gigs in the morning, writing up the notes from all of them and preparing the proposals for Haley and the Handelmans.