TEN
It was my ritual to make myself a nice breakfast along with French press coffee on Sunday mornings. I used the nice china and put the newspaper on the table next to my place. As I brought in my plate of food, I looked at the whole scene with fresh eyes. Single woman with cat who writes love letters for others’ lives with just her memories and has habitual pattern for Sunday morning. It was just another reminder of how stuffy I’d become. I was so out of touch that I had to look at others to realize how couples acted. In a desperate act to do something different, I took my plate and sat on the couch in the dining room to eat and read the paper. This is what I’ve come to: that the wild and crazy thing I did amounted to moving my meal a few feet.
I needed to liven up my life.
Maybe if I played detective. I left the newspaper half read and didn’t bother clearing my plate before I went to my computer. I’d been so interested in the post-office box before, I’d ignored the so-called company name. This time I did a search of TR Enterprises. There were actually quite a few, but none of them seemed to be connected to the person I’d known. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that his business was bogus, now that I knew he had at least one alias. Was he pulling some kind of scam? Were the letters I’d written involved? I criticized myself all over again for being taken in by his charm. I hadn’t really thought about it until now because it had never been an issue, but writing love letters came with a responsibility. I should never have been OK with the glossed-over story he’d given me about the purpose of them.
I tried to put everything about Tony or Ted out of my mind and instead focused on my clients. I would go ahead, even without signed proposals or getting retainer fees. I needed more information about them specifically to write their copy, but in the meantime I could do some research. Not only did I have the Internet, but my place was like a library. There were bookcases in every room but the bathroom. I had books on everything. I had vaguely organized them and found a book with the history of food, one about kitchen science and another that I used a lot that had the origin of common things.
I lost track of time as I searched for information about the history of ice cream. In no time I forgot about the research being for a client and it became for my own curiosity. One thing led to another and before I knew it I was researching ice harvesting, ice houses, and how they kept the ice from melting. Who knew that ice was cut from rivers and lakes in the winter and brought to ice houses where sawdust was used as insulation to keep the ice from melting.
I found out that something resembling ice cream was made in China in 2000 BC. A mixture of a paste made from overcooked rice, spices and milk was packed in snow to solidify. Needless to say it was only available to the wealthy.
It was a long journey to the ice cream of today which is rated as Americans’ favorite dessert. A big change happened when a man in Italy figured out that if you added saltpeter to the ice bath around the ice cream, it froze faster. It had to do with it lowering the freezing point of water, which drew the heat out of the cream mixture. And while I found out that chocolate and vanilla were the preferred flavors, Haley wasn’t the first person to come up with unusual flavors. How about in Japan, there was an amusement park that offered raw horsemeat ice cream. Other places had flavors like lobster ice cream and ghost pepper ice cream, which was apparently so hot that a waiver had to be signed before it was served. It wasn’t clear how popular any of the weird flavors were, though.
I wrote up a bunch of notes to use in the copy and saved them before sitting back and glancing toward the window. If I craned my neck, I could see past the brick wall of the next building and catch a glimpse of the sky and, if I really pushed it, I got a view of the space between our building and the next and caught sight of the dome of the Museum of Science and Industry. The lights that ringed the dome were on and the sky was darkening. How long had I been working?
I sat back in my chair and stretched out my arms. They felt cramped after the hours at the computer. In the process my hand brushed the mouse and the screen switched to the letter I’d pulled up to show Ben. It stirred up all the thoughts about Ted that I’d tried to push away. The best case was to take his death at face value. That he’d interrupted a burglary and gotten stabbed. It was a random murder. But two things popped into my mind. Ben saying that it appeared to be a burglary and Tizzy saying that it seemed convenient that his girlfriend had been the one to find him. I’d had the thought in passing, but hearing someone else say it made more of an imprint. If it was the girlfriend and she was the recipient of my letters, did that mean I was somehow involved?
The random burglary was a possibility. It happened all too often that someone went through an apartment looking for cash or jewelry. Ted could have walked into the place and the burglar panicked, grabbed one of the kitchen knives and they scuffled, or Ted could have tried to use the knife to confront the burglar and they’d scuffled. Either way, it left me and my letters uninvolved with his death.
I went back to wishing that I’d never taken Ted on as a client. I got myself so worked up I had to get away from the computer and go into my living room. Just walking around the room lifted my mood. It was full of color from the artwork on the walls and the patterned rugs on the floor and felt warm and cheerful. I checked the view out the windows. Lights were coming on in the building across the street. Somehow the view made me feel connected to the outside world.
I grabbed the bag with one of my crochet projects from the straw basket at the end of the couch and settled into the wing chair. Crocheting was for me like having a glass of wine was to other people. Just a few minutes of working my hook with some yarn and I began to relax. It was one of the reasons I’d settled into making squares. They were easy to make and the end was in sight as soon as I’d started. Because I varied the stitches, yarns and motifs, it was never boring. And when I sewed them together they became unique blankets. I looked with a bittersweet feeling at my first attempt that hung on the wall behind the black leather couch.
I’d given that one to my father and he’d proudly hung it in his office at the university. It had just been the two of us then, trying to muddle through it after my mother died.
And now he was gone too. I thought back to Detective Jankowski’s comment about me living in the condo alone. It was a lot of space for one person. Condo seemed like a too-modern term for such an old building. There were still pipes in the ceiling that had carried gas when it was still used for lighting. Of course, they were sealed off now, but the idea of flickering flames in a fixture hanging from the ceiling seemed incredible in this time of smartphones and international space stations.
My mind tended to wander when I crocheted. I wondered what my parents would think of my profession as a writer for hire. They probably wouldn’t approve if they knew it had connected me to a murder. And there I was, back again to thinking that working for Ted had pulled me into trouble. There would be no peace until I knew the truth about what happened.
ELEVEN
Much as I wanted to stop everything and investigate what happened to Tony, I mean Ted, my life had to go on and I had clients to deal with the next morning.
I took my coffee in the living room to have a look at the weather and consider my day. The sky was a gun-metal-gray and gave no hint that the sun was up there above it all. The light coming in the windows was so low I had to turn on a lamp.
I hadn’t heard back from Haley or the Handelmans about getting the proposals and the deposit checks. I knew the best way to deal with it was by asking for them in person. It was my least favorite part of the job, but also necessary. And then I thought about Ted again. He’d been quick to give me back the signed proposal and a check for even more than I’d required as a retainer and look how that had turned out.
I was dealing with neighborhood people, but I still needed to look professional, though thankfully that didn’t mean dressing up in a suit with a pencil skirt or heels. I had several work outfits to choose from and decided on the black t
urtle-neck and gray slacks. The outfit seemed about as gloomy as the day. Thinking about it, all my work clothes were on the gloomy side. Professional didn’t mean that I had to look like a funeral director. I needed to inject some color in that part of my life too.
I waited until I walked out of the vestibule to zip my jacket and pull on my beanie. It was one of the non-square items I’d crocheted and I loved it, though by now I was already longing for it to be warm enough to go hatless.
Spring couldn’t come fast enough for me. Everything looked brown and dead. The blades of grass looked sad and bent. It was hard to believe they would ever be green again. The bushes I passed had a few dried-up leaves still clinging to the branches. There was a moment of hope as I passed some violets growing in a crack in the sidewalk. It amazed me how the dainty blossoms could manage to bloom in such cold weather. But they were tough little flowers, which might be why they’d been chosen as the state flower of Illinois. Somehow they managed to thrive in such a hostile environment. They were also an urban forager’s dream because they could be used in salad or even candied. I wondered if Haley had considered using them in ice cream.
The door was locked at the ice-cream place and I had to knock. Haley seemed surprised when she opened it and saw me.
‘I thought I’d stop by and see if you had looked over the proposal.’
‘Oh, right.’ She seemed a little distracted, but stepped aside to let me in. I could see how she could lose track of everything. With the windows papered over, it was easy to forget that outside even existed. The blue-gray walls seemed even darker with the gloom outside. I got that she was going for a stark look, but it seemed a little depressing.
‘As long as you’re here, you might as well taste my new creations,’ she said. I realized this was going to be more than a quick stop and took off my jacket.
‘Can we take care of the proposal first and deposit check?’ I said. I was doing my best to sound business-like.
She seemed uncomfortable and I had a dark thought. She might have rethought hiring me since it seemed like she was being forced to do it. I’d gone on good faith before and it had backfired.
There was no point in prolonging this, so I put it out there. ‘Let me know if you’ve changed your mind,’ I said.
‘I do want your services. It’s been pointed out to me that I can be too literal and my website and promotional material need something more poetic.’ She stopped and seemed upset. ‘I’m the boss, but my investor is the one to sign the proposal and the check. It’s no problem since it was their idea. I’m sure they will.’ She looked around her and pulled out her purse. ‘I can give some cash if it’s a problem.’ She pulled out a couple of twenties. ‘I don’t want to wait to get started.’ She peered at me from behind the big glasses. There was just the hint of desperation in her eyes.
I would never make it as a tough businessperson. I agreed to start working with her even without the signed proposal. I refused her cash saying it would confuse my bookkeeping. ‘But I appreciate your effort.’
‘OK, then,’ she said. ‘What do we do now?’
‘I just thought you might want to reconsider what you’re going to call the place.’ I chose my words carefully. ‘You are clearly a frozen treat artist, but calling it the Ice-Cream Experience might make people expect a traditional ice-cream parlor. I thought you might want to call it something else like Just the Experience, or maybe the Iced Experience or the Frozen Experience.’ I looked at her for her reaction.
With the large frames of her glasses it was hard to tell, but then I saw some light in her eyes. ‘I don’t know what to do. I’ve been in a dither about it. There are rules about what can be called ice cream. It has to be made with dairy products and contain at least ten percent milk fat. But after seeing how you didn’t eat bacon, I started thinking about people who are vegan or lactose intolerant and I started working on a mix using coconut and different nut milk. So using “ice cream” in the name of the place is really incorrect. Also, I wouldn’t want people to come in expecting pink walls and regular flavors. Maybe I should call it what it is – Frozen Unusual Flavors.’ She looked to me for my reaction.
I forced myself not to make a face at the name. ‘That says what your shop is, but there’s no magic. Maybe we should table the name for a moment and focus on the story of the place.’ We talked back and forth. I brought up what she’d said about mixing ice-cream flavors when she was a kid and how she was now a flavor artist with ice cream as her canvas.
‘Artist, hmm?’ she said. ‘I don’t know. Artist implies some out-there person who’s erratic and undependable. Would people trust that person for a consistent experience? I see myself more as a scientist.’
‘You’re selling what people think of as a treat and something with fun connected to it,’ I said.
‘I don’t see why it has to be that way,’ she said.
I felt myself hitting a wall. I would write what she wanted, but I also wanted to help her succeed. She seemed to want to turn ice cream into a bitter pill. I tried another tactic. ‘What is it that you are trying to do with this place?’
She thought a moment. ‘Prove that I’m right. That I can make flavors that nobody has ever thought of for ice cream.’ I listened to what she said and considered what to tell her.
‘I’m assuming you also want this place to be a financial success.’
‘Well, yeah,’ she said.
‘Maybe you also need to consider what your customers might want.’ What I was thinking, but didn’t say, was there might not be enough people interested in tasting smoked whitefish ice cream to make the place more than a short-term pop-up business.
‘I am. I decided to table the Caesar salad flavor,’ she said. ‘The texture of lettuce doesn’t seem to work in ice cream.’ She went in the back and returned with a tiny scoop of something with a yellowish color. I was almost afraid to ask her what she’d flavored it with.
She urged me to taste it and I scraped a small bit off with the spoon. Reluctantly, I took a tiny taste.
It was spicy hot and there were raisins and cashews mixed in with the creamy mixture. It left a nice aftertaste. ‘It’s one of the vegan flavors I came up with,’ she said. ‘I made it with coconut milk and I thought I’d call it yellow curry.’
‘It’s definitely a taste experience,’ I said.
She seemed relieved by my comment. ‘My investor didn’t like it.’ She sounded deflated. ‘They actually said I should have vanilla ice cream. Are you kidding me? What’s special about that?’
Reading into everything she’d said, I got a sinking feeling. ‘Are you worried about losing your financing?’
She nodded with a groan. ‘I thought the money was supposed to be a graduation present and mine to handle, but now it turns out they’re trying to use it to impose their will on me. I don’t want to be just another ice-cream place.’ Her lips twisted into a pout.
‘I understand your mission,’ I said. I also should have said that now I understood how shaky her business was, but I felt for her. ‘Let me think about it. Maybe I can figure something out.’
‘Really?’ she said. She pulled out the two twenties again and pushed them on me. ‘Please take them. Thank you for believing in my vision.’
The weather wasn’t any more cheerful when I got outside. Dreary was probably the best way to describe it. The world around me seemed to be in a dingy monochrome. Maybe it was the way I felt, too. The ice-cream project was melting into nothing. Haley was obstinate. What could I possibly come up with that could please her, her investor and customers? I was a writer not a magician, though I did have a pretty good imagination.
I’d stuffed the two twenties in my pocket, realizing it might well be the only profit I saw from that project. And then there was the ridiculously low offer to do the work for the Handelmans because I liked them. It came back to me how I had let Ted slide. I just didn’t have it in me to be a tough businessperson. At least the LaPorte Bakery and Café had given me a signed pr
oposal, paid a deposit and seemed pretty straightforward in what they wanted.
A Metra train was just pulling out of the station on the tracks above me and someone on a bicycle zoomed past me as I turned on to Lake Park. After that I was too deep in thought about my crumbling current situation to notice my surroundings as I continued on my trek, until I turned on to 53rd Street and all the activity of traffic and people cut through my mental ramblings and zapped me back to the present. I passed LaPorte’s as a woman came out carrying a sunny-yellow pastry box and I got a whiff of the sweet smell. The kids’ shoe store was barely half a block away. I was hoping to catch the sister and brother, or at least one of them, to deal with the contract and deposit. This was definitely not my favorite part of the job, but there was no way out of it.
Both of them were waiting on customers. Lewis looked up and smiled at me, pointing to a seat. He was dealing with a girl and a boy who didn’t seem to be able to sit still. Somehow he’d turned the whole shoe-fitting into a game and the kids got to jiggle while they tried on shoes. The mother was sitting on the edge of her chair with a tense expression as she watched the proceedings. She only relaxed when Lewis had packed up the shoes they were getting and he’d brought out the prize jar.
‘Thank you,’ she said with a grateful smile. ‘They’re special needs and this is the first time they haven’t thrown tantrums when we went for shoes. You’re a miracle worker.’
Lewis turned around the compliment. ‘I wish all our customers were as much fun as your two,’ he said.
‘That’s not the usual response I get,’ she said, looking at the kids who were practicing jumping up from their chairs. ‘We’re definitely coming back to this store. I’m going to tell all the people in my mommy group, too.’
I had edged in by now and, after asking Lewis if it was OK, explained to the mother what I was doing for the store. ‘Could we include a quote from you?’ I asked.
Writing a Wrong Page 9
