She was the one who had made a pact with Gran about seeing her through this. She was the one who had made Gran see the spe¬cialist. Seattle Eats and all its possible free publicity would be there next year. Next year she'd make sure she had a full week with no
distractions at all. Of course, she'd planned that this year, but fate had firmly taken a hand with a fire, and now this.
She slipped away halfway through the morning and called Emily. She knew Emily was busy and wasn't surprised to get her voicemail. With the door to her bedroom closed, she said quietly, "I've had a change in plans that I'll explain later. My grandmother's surgery has been moved up and I won't be able to complete my entry for the competition. I wanted to let you know right away. I'm so sorry, you went to a lot of bother. Maybe we can talk tonight? Or when we get together tomorrow night? I'm really sorry about all of this, but there's nothing I can do."
She went back to making lists with Gran.
Emily didn't call until almost nine. "I couldn't believe it when I got your message. Tell me everything."
Sugar explained about the surgery and what it meant for Gran. She closed her bedroom door as she was speaking and added, "I can't tell you how scared she was this morning when I got home. I felt so guilty."
"Can you hire someone to take care of her? This contest is so important to your future. I think you've got a huge shot at win¬ning."
Ruefully, Sugar replied, "I am the person we hired to take care of her. I made her a promise and encouraged her to do this as soon as possible. I can't take that back."
"Of course you can. She'll understand."
"I haven't told her."
"Well, as soon as you do—"
"I'm not going to because you're right. She'd insist on waiting so I could do the entry I really want to do. But she shouldn't wait. She was frightened this morning, and so was I. If she falls and actu¬ally breaks a hip because I made her wait, I will never forgive myself. Emergency surgery is far more risky, and in many cases it's not even possible. That means a wheelchair, permanently."
"I don't understand. A hip replacement isn't urgent."
Sugar was having a hard enough time keeping her resolve, and it didn't help that Emily wasn't getting the point. "She let it go too long."
"Well, then, that's not your fault. Why should you lose because of it?"
Sugar sighed. "Getting angry about it and deciding it's not fair doesn't get me anything." She abruptly thought of Tree. Tree wouldn't argue. "I am really sorry to be disappointing you. I know this will set back my plans and yours. But there is next year."
Emily was silent for a long time. "I think if we break down what needs to be done we'll find a way for you to finish your entry."
"I'm sorry, Emily," Sugar said slowly. "All my instincts about what I'm capable of doing and what my obligations are tell me I won't do the best that I can. And that's what it'll take. I think enter¬ing something inferior, especially after you've given me such a leg up, would reflect badly on both of us, and some people would never forget it."
"Let me be the judge of that."
Sugar fought down a sudden surge of anger. "When it comes to what I create in my kitchen, I'm the judge."
"Well. That puts it pretty plainly. I think you're making a mis¬take. With those priorities you're not going to get where you want to be."
Anger faded as Sugar realized the truth. The image of investors and fame in her future was certainly appealing, but they didn't fit with her life right now. They were like pretty party decorations that Emily was putting up, but on the wrong day. "No, it means I won't get where you want me to be. But I'll be very happy with where I am if my grandmother comes home safe and healthy because I was there for her as I promised I would be. I know you're upset—"
"I told Elaine you were a pro. I've been raving about you to everybody."
"I understand, and all I can say is I'm sorry. The contest will be there next year, but my grandmother might not be if I screw this up."
"Well, you've made your choice," Emily said, her voice tight
with anger. "The contest might be there next year, but I might not be."
The click in her ear was as quiet as the resulting silence was loud.
Hours later, still faming, Sugar concluded that not only was her date tomorrow with Emily off, so was the relationship. If it ever had been a relationship, that is. The sex was great. They'd been rabbits together. Fine and good, the best sex she'd ever had. But Emily did not respect her. If she did she would have accepted Sugar's judgment about her business instincts. A mediocre entry would be as disastrous as a bad one. Better to withdraw than be labeled forever as just another local talent.
Emily didn't agree and, even worse, she'd seemed to have no sympathy at all about Sugar's plight with her grandmother. It was as if Gran's needs and worries and what they might mean to Sugar were of no interest to Emily. And maybe they weren't. Maybe that was why Emily lived all by herself in a house that could sleep twenty.
She kept thinking that Tree would have instantly understood. She'd have sympathized with Sugar's dilemma, would have agreed that Sugar had made the right, albeit painful, choice. She'd have commiserated, offered a hug and friendly ear. Noor would have done the same.
She'd been so upset by the conversation with Emily that she'd immediately started boiling the sugar-water solution that would become fondant when kneaded. She'd tucked Gran into bed and put her anger into her work. Charlie's cake would be the best damn cake she'd ever made. She didn't care if dyke divas and investors and socialites didn't get to taste it. She'd put a smile on Charlie's father's face, she hoped, and that would be reward enough.
Her hands occupied with rhythmic scrape-fold-pull motion of kneading, she had to wipe her teary eyes on her sleeve.
Chapter 8
Time was no longer short. Sugar woke Saturday morning and devoted her energy to helping Gran get her baking done early. When Gran left with Bridget to deliver the goodies and make calls, she started on the ingredients for Charlie's cake. Charlie's father's cake, she reminded herself.
She stripped vanilla beans out of pods and took comfort in their heady fragrance. Grating chocolate for the ganache allowed her to sample a little, just for the flavonoids, she told herself. Gran was back sooner than expected, looking wan and bedraggled from a brief afternoon rain shower.
Sugar had a wonderful idea. Not being pressed for time was a luxury, so why not take advantage of it? "You look like you could use a trip to the hairdresser. If we do it now we can cross it off the list for Monday. Maybe your lady can fit you in."
"Oh, I don't know." Gran brightened a little bit. Sugar remem¬bered long-ago—and little heeded—advice from Gran about all
women deserving to have someone else wash their hair once in a while.
"Let's call." Sugar bounced up to take care of it, wheedled just a bit over special circumstances, and they were very shortly there¬after on their way in the palatial comfort of Gran's Olds. "I think it'll be no problem getting you home from the hospital in the backseat. This car couldn't be more comfortable."
"I think you're right." Gran was definitely looking less pinched and worried. "And a nice rinse and set will make me feel so much better. Thank you, Sugar."
"You're welcome. I'll hop over to the market while you're being worked on. I can't believe we're short on salt."
"It's always the little things."
"Salt's only a little thing if you've got plenty." Sugar steered the car into a wide handicapped parking spot. "I love your license plates, Gran. Makes it so easy."
"It does." Gran gathered her purse and opened the door. By the time she had her feet out, Sugar was there with the walker and a strong arm. She saw her grandmother settled into the haircutter's workstation. The stylist promptly put something that looked like a swim cap over her grandmother's head and began pulling bits of hair up through it.
"I'll just go over to the market, Gran. Is there anything else you'd like?"
For a mo
ment, her grandmother, in spite of the silly-looking cap and dwarfing smock, looked like the woman who had once thundered at Sugar "the gates of hell shall not prevail" when she'd missed one too many trips to church. "Yes, there is something I would like," she said in her finest brimstone voice. "Honor thy grandmother's wishes!"
Sugar's mouth dropped open. "What?"
"Get thee into the nearest empty chair and have thy hair cut, young woman!"
Sugar laughed. "Oh, Gran, I don't—"
"Yes, you do. This is my treat, young lady. You're long over¬due."
The stylist working on Gran was laughing. "Pete's available."
Pete practically flew to Sugar's side. He was so swishy that Sugar couldn't believe Gran had tolerated giving her business to a place that employed one of those kind. "You," he said repressively, "are a mess."
"But, Gran, the salt—"
"Will still be on the shelf when we leave here."
Sugar found herself in Pete's chair wearing the same cap Gran was. "What are you doing?"
"Highlights. You need highlights. Most people have ten to twenty different shades of hair on their head, but you've been given just the one. We'll rinse after with a nice relaxer, which you are going to buy a bottle of and use regularly, and then we'll see ..." He sighed. "We'll see what we can do with what you've got."
"I like it long," Sugar said stubbornly.
"So do the rats," he answered tartly, indicating the large snarl he was trying to work a comb through.
The next two hours were frustrating and worrisome. She hated being fussed over and Pete was ruthless. With Gran and the other stylists egging him on, he lopped off yards of her hair, leaving her with locks a full inch above her shoulders. The highhanded treat¬ment put her stomach in knots. She wasn't a doll to be dressed up and paraded around. She realized, then, that Emily's "diamond-in-the-rough" comment had truly rankled. She didn't want to be a persona crafted for market share. She did not see why she couldn't be herself and be successful—according to her own standards—in her business. The problem was that Sugar was increasingly certain that Emily's definition of success wasn't negotiable. Unless Sugar measured up, Emily would never truly respect her.
Pete finally put down the scissors. Her bangs were combed back into the rest, and the side graduated to frame more of her face.
"I don't like using a blow dryer or a curling iron. It just makes it frizz more."
"You must rinse with the relaxing conditioner. You'll avoid a lot of frizzing if you never use the brush and the hair dryer at the same time. We don't have all day for it to get dry, so I'm being more aggressive than you'd need to be. I think you're going to have a simple wash-and-wear style when I'm done. You be glad to have naturally curly hair. Believe me, there are women who are paying plenty for this kind of wave. You just need to keep your hair thin¬ner and softer than you have."
Sugar watched her hair lighten as it dried. The highlights in the mousy brown were dark gold and she had to admit they looked okay. The short cut would take getting used to, but she'd spend a lot less time coaxing out snarls, she supposed.
Pete stood back when her hair was dry. He tipped her head this way and that, measuring length against his comb and making the occasional adjusting snip until he was satisfied. "There," he said triumphantly. "That's the best I can do."
"Sugar," Gran said with a big smile, "you look wonderful. Without those bangs I can see your eyes."
"Now if you can just peel her out of that awful T-shirt," Pete said.
Gran was positively twinkling. "I think a grandmother can only do so much. I think I'll leave that to one of her girlfriends."
"You have more than one? You go, girl," Pete enthused.
"Oh, please," Sugar said. "Is it time to go?"
Gran finished writing her check. "This was worth every penny. Sugar, you'll look great for that contest. When was that again?"
"Oh, that's not important." Sugar hugged her grandmother before helping her to her feet. "Thank you, you were right. I was long overdue. I have an ex-girlfriend who will be thrilled. You look wonderful, too."
They were in the car and headed for home when Gran asked, "Would that ex-girlfriend be that nice Middle Eastern girl you roomed with there for a while?"
"Yes, Noor and I were . . . together. I'm sorry I lied to you. I wasn't sure you'd love me if I told you the truth." Sugar was amazed she sounded so nonchalant.
Gran's sigh was deep and heartfelt. "I have been very confused since Easter, at times simply not knowing what to believe. My pastor, now, he's not at all sure that Jesus spoke to me, given the way I've been behaving lately, the poor man. I can't say I blame him, because I think he's wrong. I know I was wrong. You can't frighten people into loving God. You can't scare your family into telling you the truth. You can't force love, which means you can't force trust. Your grandfather tried all his life to teach me that. I thought he was wrong. When he died I prayed God would forgive him for being so misguided that he went golfing with Jews and stopped in at that Muslim bakery near his office." She sniffed suddenly.
Alarmed, Sugar fished in her bag for a tissue.
"I'm the one who needs prayers. When your parents died I thought they'd been too lax with all of you. All my raging did was make you lie to me." Her grandmother took the tissue and dried her eyes.
Sugar eased into a left-turn pocket. "I don't know if you saw Jesus either, Gran, but I am so happy to be a family again. It's worth everything." Suddenly, it was. The contest was meaningless. "Let me run in here for some salt. And we're out of creamer, too."
As they rounded the last turn toward home, Sugar was sur¬prised to see a low, sleek Jaguar at the curb in front of Gran's house. She hadn't thought Emily knew where Gran lived. Was she here to apologize or to apply more pressure?
"That's the producer," Sugar said.
"Your girlfriend?"
"Well, that remains to be seen. We're having a difference of opinion about something. A test we might not pass."
"Oh, I see. Well, if you'll help me get into my bedroom, I'll brush hair off myself and read for a while."
Emily stayed in the car while Sugar took in the small bag of groceries and returned to help Gran with the walker. Then she took a moment of her own to shake hair off herself by changing out of the T-shirt and into a simple rose-colored top. She wasn't sure it worked with the change in her hair color, but for now it would do.
As she approached the car Emily got out, looking sheepish and welcoming. "I didn't want to disturb your grandmother. I didn't know if she knew about me. I left you a message on your cell."
"Oh—you must have called when I was getting my hair washed."
"It looks great." Emily touched the tidy ends of Sugar's hair with her fingertips. Sugar felt a telltale shiver in her skin. Whatever chemistry it was that they had it sure was powerful. "I like it very much. I was going to suggest you get it done before we started filming. I think I'd have preferred more curls, but I suppose this works."
With a pang, Sugar realized that any future with Emily would have been founded on Emily's plans to change Sugar into some¬thing she was not. Not wanting to start a pointless argument, she merely said, "I'm not the feminine creature that you are."
"That's quite okay with me."
Sugar was aware of her body tightening. Emily smelled won¬derful, and looked extremely kissable. Those blue eyes were mes¬merizing. She said wryly, "At least one thing about me is okay."
Emily seemed to miss Sugar's sarcasm. "I'm sorry I was a bitch. Yes, I was very disappointed that your family needs were going to interfere with such wonderful, fruitful plans. But I wasn't very nice about it."
Sugar shrugged. "I made the right choice, for me."
"I wish we could have talked it over before you decided."
"It wouldn't have changed my mind."
"You don't think so?" Emily laughed, and one hand lazily stroked Sugar's arm. It felt wonderful. "I can be very persuasive."
Sugar stilled Emily's hand.
"It wouldn't have changed my mind," she repeated. "I've done a lot of thinking about it, and I'm not sure that our visions of my future are heading in the same direction. We moved really quickly in getting to know each other. We skipped over a couple of steps, maybe."
"I don't usually jump on women I've just met." Emily was pout¬ing now. "Even if they have a body wet dreams are made of and eyes I see in my sleep."
We're more than bodies, Sugar wanted to say. Yes, she'd dreamed about Emily's eyes and hands and body, too. They'd done incredibly intimate things together, and yet Emily wasn't even beginning to fill the parts of her that cuddling with Tree had nour¬ished. "Neither do I. Believe me. I was overwhelmed by how turned-on being with you made me."
"It still does," Emily whispered, her gaze sweeping over Sugar's body. "We'd have a really nice time."
"Until we had to talk." Abruptly, Sugar remembered Charlie's saying that the older she got the harder it was to spend time with a woman she couldn't talk to.
"Why is it that I find women I could talk to all day and not want to fuck, and then there's you, where I could literally spend all day in bed and, yeah, we have things in common we could discuss, but..."
"I was just thinking along those lines myself," Sugar said.
"I'll make you a deal." Emily pulled her hand away from Sugar's grasp and leaned against the car. "Let's separate business and pleasure. I really do want to do that segment for Best of Seattle. Whether you and I are sleeping together has no bearing on that. And next year, if you're in the Seattle Eats contest, I'll be your biggest promoter. And if you're single, and we find we have a night here and there we'd like not to be alone, then maybe we can reach a mutually satisfactory... meeting of the minds."
Sugar was laughing by the time Emily finished. "Yes, I would like that, though, as you know, I'm not casual."
"Oh, but please say you'll try." Emily ran one finger under the hem of Sugar's shirt and it took no effort at all to think about Emily's hand running up her stomach to her breasts.
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