Dress Rehearsal

by Jennifer O'Connell

  I’d asked Vivian to meet me after work and she’d suggested I come to her house in Cambridge. She greeted me in running shorts and tank top, and led me through the kitchen and out onto a slate patio. Even though it was after six o’clock, the sky was still a brilliant blue, its clear color set off by the cottony white clouds that sporadically floated over us. Vivian’s yard was fragrant from the springtime blooms crawling up the back fence and along the hammock strung up in the far corner, while long, stringy wild flowers dotted color throughout the garden that bordered the patio. Although the long, narrow back yard was typical for a city row house, very small and completely fenced off from her neighbors by brick walls, Vivian had created her own little garden of Eden.

  She gestured to a padded garden chair and took a seat on the opposite side of the wrought iron table. She poured fresh squeezed lemonade from a chilled glass pitcher on the table, and waited for me to talk.

  “So what’s up?”

  “I’d like to make some changes to the book.”

  “Weren’t you happy with Pietro? I know he can be a bit much sometimes.”

  “No, he was fine. But I had another idea.”

  “What’s that?” She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms expectantly.

  “I don’t think it should be about my cake predictions.”

  Vivian laced her fingers together and sat forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Remember that little event we had at that boutique? The one attended by more than twenty journalists who showed up to hear you tell them you’d be revealing your secrets?”

  “But I can still do that, only they’d be different secrets I’m revealing.” I paused and waited for Vivian to object, but she was still listening. “I was thinking we include recipes, but also a behind the scenes look at how the cakes are made, pictures of the kitchen and the process as well as tips on how to select a cake that the bride and groom can both enjoy. It would still be wedding focused, because that’s what we’re known for, but maybe it could lead to other dessert books – special occasion desserts, seasonal desserts, children’s desserts, that sort of thing.”

  Vivian squinted and brought her hand up to her chin, where it stayed while she thought over my idea. I was afraid she’d outright reject my suggestion, but as long as Vivian was seriously considering the change, I decided to continue.

  “Let’s be honest, not many brides are actually going to bake their own wedding cakes. But you said I could be like the Emeril of wedding cakes, and Emeril doesn’t just show you pictures of the food, he lets you come into his kitchen and watch how it’s done.”

  “I see where you’re going with this.” Vivian let her hand drop to her hip. “You’re thinking it would be a glimpse into what goes on behind the scenes, the nitty gritty work behind the finished cakes, the inner workings of Lauren Gallagher’s sugary sanctuary.”

  I sat back in my chair and started to relax. Vivian got it. “Exactly.”

  “Lauren Gallagher’s recipes for love,” she mused.

  “I don’t know about a recipe for love, but definitely recipes for some amazing cakes.”

  “We can use Pietro’s photos for the cakes, but I want to reshoot the interior of the boutique, get you in the kitchen. We need to show you working. Maybe this time we’ll go with someone a little less polished, more raw. It’s fantastic.”

  “Good, because I have another idea. Robin and I talked and we think there’s a ton of opportunity to work together.”

  Chapter 33

  The general contractor was at the boutique by nine o’clock sharp the following Monday morning. I showed the four men through the gallery and into the kitchen, where the stainless steel workbench had been moved aside to give them room to set up their tools. As they assembled the saw horses and snaked the extension cords around the floor like orange spaghetti, I stayed out of the way, observing from my desk until the noise of sledgehammers crashing into the wall between the gallery and the kitchen became too great, and I finally gave in and took the architect’s blueprints into the gallery to take one more look around the boutique as I knew it.

  Once we’d decided to go ahead with the cooking program, I didn’t waste any time putting our plan into action. Paige knew just about every architect, developer and building inspector in the city, and she put me in touch with a small firm in Cambridge, who in turn recommended a contractor who had room on his schedule for a small renovation, and the contacts to get the permits needed for the work.

  The architect had translated my idea exactly as I’d envisioned. The large, empty gallery was going to be split into two sections. The first section, the smaller of the two and the area you stepped into immediately upon entering the boutique, was going to take up about eight feet and be a miniature version of the existing gallery, with the tasting table and chairs taking up most of the space. A half wall of glass bricks would separate the tasting section of the gallery from the classroom. Although I’d originally thought that we’d have to divide the gallery into two separate rooms, the architect suggested that by using a five foot wall of glass bricks we’d be able to create distinct areas while allowing the classroom to be viewed through the front windows and from the scaled down tasting gallery. This way when I was seated at the tasting table with clients the kitchen would still be visible through the new picture window the crew was installing in the wall – and that was the whole point of the change, to allow clients to see the cakes being made, the mixing and beating and icing that resulted in the beautiful desserts.

  I’d cleared my schedule for the week, and by Thursday the bulk of the construction was expected to be completed. That would still give me time to fulfill the weekend’s orders.

  As I waited on hold for confirmation that the new butcher block island and surrounding work stations would be delivered by Friday, I was interrupted by impatient knocking on the front door. The boutique was closed all week, and the sign on the front door explained that, but the knocking continued so I looked up. And there was a short, stocky Italian woman staring at me through the front door.

  “Why didn’t you just use your key?” I asked Maria, as I shut the door behind her and slid the deadbolt back into place.

  “I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome.” Maria looked around the boutique, her eyebrows furrowing as she took in the paint splattered drop clothes protecting the hardwood floor and plastic sheeting hanging on the walls to keep the saw dust off of the pictures. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

  “We’re doing a little construction.” The air compressor hose and nail gun started pulsating in the background as if I’d asked for audible proof.

  “Are we still in business?”

  “Yes, we’re still in business. In fact, Robin and I are working on something that means we’ll be doing even more business, even if it is a little different than what we’re used to.”

  I took Maria over to the blueprints laid out on the tasting table, and explained how I came up with the idea for baking classes.

  “So you’ve been doing all the baking yourself?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good.” Maria squeezed my arm and gave me an approving smile. It was the closest she’d ever come to giving me a compliment.

  “What did you expect me to do? I wasn’t given much of a choice.”

  “I didn’t know. I wanted you to get yourself back into the kitchen, to do what you were doing when you first hired me. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten that most of the pleasure in this business is in the creating, not the end result that gets packed up and shipped out to some hotel’s ballroom. I was afraid you’d find someone else to come in here and pick up where I left off.” Maria stopped talking, waiting for the high-pitched whine of the saw to stop. “I can tell you that I never imagined I’d come back to this.”

  Despite myself, Maria’s reaction made me feel like I’d made the right choice.

  “You know, I’ve never regretted turning down Mario Spinelli,” she said, out of nowhere.

  “
Really?”

  “Not once.” Maria shook her head with authority and I knew she meant it.

  “So what do you think?”

  Maria surveyed the room and nodded appreciatively. “It’s about time.”

  “Better late than never.”

  The contractors completed the finishing touches on the classroom by Thursday afternoon, and just as I was about to begin the weekend’s orders, the UPS driver was at the back door ready to unload the butcher block work stations. I’d ordered six stations and twelve wooden stools for seating, and once I realized that the driver was simply going to park all the boxes on the kitchen floor, I handed him a twenty dollar bill and asked if he wouldn’t mind putting all the boxes in the classroom instead. As much as I wanted to unpack the boxes, we needed to start making the cakes if we were going to get them finished and delivered on time.

  Maria had offered to come in to help, but I told her to enjoy the last few days of her vacation and to come in on Saturday morning as usual. I could have used her assistance, but I was looking forward to the time alone, without contractors or clients or the staff. Just me and the possibility of what was to come.

  Once the batters were mixed and the cakes were poured into their pans, I set the timers, grabbed an Exacto knife, and headed into the classroom. It was weird, seeing the towering brown cardboard boxes where once there was nothing but open, empty space. As I started to unpack each work station, carefully unwinding the bubble wrap cocoon that protected the wood as it traveled from the factory, I tried to imagine how different the boutique would be from here on. Even though I’d still have to schedule tastings and meet with clients, I couldn’t wait for the classes to start.

  “Looks like it’s starting to shape up,” Robin commented, coming through the front door.

  “You’re welcome to help me with these.” I pointed to the stacks of boxes and Robin rolled up her sleeves.

  “Have you heard from Paige?” she asked, taking the Exaxto knife from me.

  “She said she’d stop by this week to check out the new space, but she never showed. I just figured she was swamped with showings.”

  “We were supposed to have lunch yesterday but she cancelled. And when I called her office told me she’d called in sick – sick! Paige doesn’t call in sick.”

  “Maybe she’s just tired. She’s been working really late the last few weeks.”

  “No she hasn’t. I ran in to Sheila and she said that Paige has been dashing out of the office by five every night, all giddy.”

  “Giddy? I didn’t know a thirty two year old woman could act giddy.”

  “You don’t think she’s sleeping with Hugh, do you?”

  “She can’t be. Amanda stopped by the other day and told me that Hugh hasn’t seen Paige since their first date.”

  “Then why was she telling us they kept going out? Did you ask her?”

  “No way. The last thing she needs from us is more meddling. I just figured she wanted us to leave her alone for a bit.”

  Robin set up the workstation she’d unpacked and stood back to observe. “These are exactly what the classroom needs, but what’s the rush? The classes won’t start until September.”

  “I just wanted to get used to the idea. Besides, this way clients will see the classroom and start telling their friends about the classes. Maybe I’ll even get some advance reservations.”

  “Hey, I thought I was the one in charge of bringing in the students. Your job is to teach them how to bake.”

  “What?” I asked Robin, just so I could hear her say it again.

  “Your job is to teach them how to bake,” she repeated.

  I let the words swim around my head and settle in comfortably. I could practically smell the vanilla beans as their thick skins were slivered, see the melted chocolate squares begin to slowly bubble in the double boiler. And it was going to be my job to share that with our students.

  I glanced over Robin’s shoulder at the stools lined up against the wall waiting to be put to use. In a few months they could be filled to capacity or sit empty. There was no way to tell whether or not anyone would embrace the new Lauren’s Luscious Licks. According to Robin and Vivian we’d have a waiting list, but there was always the possibility that people didn’t want to learn what went into making their desserts. It might be like pulling back the curtain and discovering that the wizard is in fact an average little man with funny ears and a megaphone. Maybe the result would be somewhere in between, but either way I was willing to take the chance.

  And that’s when I knew that, for the first time in years, my heart was in it.

  Chapter 34

  “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t like Robin to drop by on a Saturday afternoon. Then again, it wasn’t like me to be in the boutique trying out new recipes on a Saturday afternoon.

  “I thought I’d come by and say hi. The contractors did a great job.”

  They did. Even thought the gallery had been divided up into two distinct sections and the new window in the back wall gave visitors a view of the inner-workings of the kitchen, the effect wasn’t as hall-like as I’d feared. Instead of feeling like a long, narrow space, the new design followed a natural progression – first the kitchen with its large ovens and sinks and industrial sized mixers, then the learning space where clients would have hands-on instruction, and then the tasting area where the final product was presented.

  Robin walked over to the large plate glass window separating the gallery from the kitchen. She knocked on the glass and Maria looked up. “I see Medusa came back.”

  “Yeah, she’s back.”

  Robin waved to Maria, who blew away a stray hair that had fallen out of her bandanna, and went back to work. “What’s she think about the cooking school idea?”

  “She said it was about time I got my hands dirty again.”

  “We won’t be using your dirty hands as a selling point in the brochures.” Robin came back to the large butcher block island in the center of the classroom area, and took a seat on one of the wooden stools.

  “She does know that you’re the one who’ll be teaching the classes, right? We can’t have her smacking the knuckles of our paying clients with a rolling pin, no matter how incorrectly they’re separating the egg whites.”

  “Don’t worry, Maria has no desire to get involved with the classes. She’s content to stay in the kitchen filling orders. But, you know, if we’re going to begin offering programs in the fall, we have a lot to do – there’s the curriculum and the ingredient lists, not to mention all the new equipment I’m going to need to buy for the classes.”

  “That’s kind of why I’m here.”

  My heart dropped into my feet. This couldn’t be happening. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out? You can’t do that.”

  “No, I’m not backing out. I just wanted to say thanks for asking me to do this with you.”

  “Don’t thank me. I couldn’t do this without you. I still can’t believe it.”

  “Me neither,” Robin admitted before a small smile crept across her face. “It’s going to be fun, isn’t it?”

  “It’s going to be a blast. Here.” I handed Robin one of the Polaroids I’d taken of the new space. “Maybe you can put this in one of those frames you have at home.”

  “This is awesome. Thanks.” Robin smiled at the picture for a few seconds before asking, “Are you scared?”

  I looked around the boutique at all the changes. “Scared shitless.”

  “Well, I’m happy for you, I really am.” She stood up and came over to hug me. I was all too happy to hug her back.

  “What’s this?” a voice called from the front door. “I go away for a few days and you two go all sappy on me?”

  “Where have you been?” Robin demanded, pulling away from me.

  Paige came toward us, beaming. “Las Vegas.” She held up her left hand, where a thin gold band circled her ring finger.

  “You got married without us?” I cried, rushing toward her. “What about
those Vera Wang dresses you promised we’d be able to wear again?”

  Paige shrugged. “Looks like we’ll all be doing without the gala at the Four Seasons, but it certainly was memorable, none the less. We were married by Elvis.”

  “I’m assuming that when you say we you mean you and Steve, and not you and Hugh.”

  “Yes, I mean me and Steve.”

  “Is that why you’ve been avoiding us? Have you been sneaking around with Steve?”

  “Not sneaking around, just trying to figure things out. And in a way I have you two to thank for that.”

  “Us? What’d we do besides make you lose your deposit at the Four Seasons?”

  “You set me up with someone who was perfect for me in every way, and it made me realize that love wasn’t about being perfect.”

  “You sound like a fortune cookie, let me get a good look at this thing.” Robin reached for Paige’s hand and inspected her ring. “So, you were married by the King? Would that be the young, hip swaying Elvis or bloated pill-popping Elvis?”

  “We’re talking full on Vegas Elvis, complete with white rhinestone-studded jumpsuit and big bushy sideburns. It was unbelievable.”

  “Sounds like you didn’t miss the ballroom and the horse drawn carriage.”

  “You know, not at all.” Paige reached into her bag and pulled out two t-shirts. “They may not be the most appropriate bridesmaids gift, but I think they’re more fitting, given the circumstances.”

  Paige handed us each a t-shirt and we held them up to read the flamingo pink writing scrawled across the fronts. My friend got married in Las Vegas and all I got was this stupid t-shirt.

  “It’s classic,” Robin said. “Thanks.”