by Ashley Pullo
Jules: Right.
Julia crawls under her comforter, careful not to disturb Fletch, and powers on the TV. Cuddling a pillow, and watching the morning broadcast of BBC America, she begins to sob. Tears of frustration, anger, heartache, everything and anything that crosses her mind. But as she catches a glimpse of her ex’s auburn hair and radiant smile, the crying transforms to self-loathing, which eventually lulls her to sleep.
So when Theo knocks on the door at twelve-forty-five a.m., she doesn’t answer.
“People believe it’s the water that makes New York bagels the best in the world, but after twenty years in the business, I know it’s the method that matters. Boiling the raw dough in barley malt prior to baking is what magically turns an unexciting dinner roll into a dense and chewy gift from God.”
Chapter Ten
Carlos Rodriguez unlocks the doors at the Maiden Lane bagel store every morning at five a.m. Kissing his wife and two kids goodbye before the sun rises, he then takes a bus and a subway to his tiny shop in the Financial District. Business is great – he’s doing so well in fact, that he hasn’t been able to take a day off in ten months.
Listening to Metallica with his Chinatown-purchased radio, he hand rolls thirty dozen lumps of dough into pristine circles, boils them in batches, bakes them in shifts according to their topping, and then delivers them to the front of the store by seven a.m. in time for the store to open. Tristan and Rena, the shop’s only two employees, work the counter until noon six days a week. They’re both actors, hip and beautiful, so Carlos lets them handle the marketing, like the social media Flavor of the Week tracker.
This week’s winner is a special pumpkin apple strudel; an orangey bagel with a nutmeg and cinnamon crust.
Carlos hates the specialty bagels almost as much as offering almond and coconut milk for the cheap coffee, but the trendy additions seem to boost his sales and set him apart from the other ten bagel shops in FiDi. So he’ll swallow his pride and make whatever the fuck the people want.
“Hey, man,” Theo says, tapping the marble counter. “All alone today?”
“Theo! The kids are out delivering a big order to City Hall. You want your usual?” asks Carlos.
“Lemme have four plain.”
Carlos likes Theo because he never orders the specialty bagels. “Cream cheese?”
“Nah, man. We like to eat ’em right from the bag.”
“We? You got a we?” He chuckles.
“I got a girl, Carlos.” Theo smiles.
“Does your girl drink coffee? The Kona blend is ready.”
“Bring it on.”
“Milk and sugar?”
“Yep,” replies Theo.
Carlos dumps a tablespoon of sugar in each cup, fills the cups three-quarters full with piping hot black coffee, and then tops them with whole milk. “You feelin’ the Mets? I think this is their year, man.”
“The Dodgers are having a great run, but I have faith.”
Carlos fits the coffees inside a cardboard tray and passes it to Theo. “I threw in some extra napkins. Eight-eighty-one, please.”
Taking the brown bag of steaming bagels and cradling it in his arm, Theo hands him a ten and says, “No wallet, just keep the change.”
Carlos nods with a smile as he shoves the cash in the register. “Bring your girl in here next time.”
“Will do,” he replies, grabbing the cardboard drink carrier. “Get outside later and enjoy the weather!”
“I’ll try, man!” Carlos waves to Theo, and then greets the policemen entering the shop. “Good morning, officers. Usual?”
Theo nods politely to the young policeman holding the door, thankful his days running from blue uniforms are over.
As he walks back to his apartment building, worried that Julia might be pissed about last night, Theo quickly sends her a text. Balancing the coffee and the bag of bagels in one hand, he thumbs the phone screen with his other, cursing as autocorrect changes every single word.
Theo: We hear plants. Got dressers!
Jules: Um, sure.
“Oh, fuck it,” he mumbles, placing the phone between his lips and jogging back to the apartment.
Tapping on her door and cleaning the spilled coffee from the tray, he whispers, “Jules, it’s me.” As he knocks again, Fletch scratches the other side of the door while Julia unlocks the chain.
“Theo, it’s like really early.” She rubs her eyes.
“Yes. Happy Indigenous People’s Day!” He gently pushes her from the door and steps inside her apartment. Following the delicious smell of fresh bagels, Fletch waits by Theo’s feet as he sets the bag on the dining table. “I brought bagels and coffee,” Theo announces, removing his jacket and rolling up the sleeves to his flannel shirt.
“You didn’t have to bring me breakfast,” she grunts, tightening the terry robe around her waist.
Ripping open the bag and allowing the steam to rise like a genie from a lamp, Theo sits at the table and pulls back the tab to his coffee. “Sit down and eat, Jules – we have plans.”
Pulling out the other chair and tucking her short robe under her ass, she scoots in across from Theo and pats Fletch’s head. “I thought we hear plants,” she teases.
“Ha, ha. We have to plan the wedding, remember?”
“Oh, Theo,” she shakes her head, “you don’t have to -”
“I don’t have to watch Fletch, I don’t have to bring bagels, and I definitely don’t have to plan a surprise wedding for your friends, but, Jules, I want to,” he insists, reaching for her hand.
“This,” Julia motions between them, “is confusing.”
“But that’s what makes us exciting – we don’t need to define this.” Theo waggles his brows as he tears off a piece of bagel with his teeth.
Julia reaches for a bagel and smiles. “Then I guess we should get to work.”
“What’s first?”
Springing from the table and taking her bag from the desk, she answers, “A city clerk ceremony shouldn’t be a problem, but I need to convince Bradley and Meredith to process their marriage license today.”
“Ah, what’s the waiting period?”
“Twenty-four hours.”
“And then we have to find a venue.” Sitting back down at the table and removing a notebook and pen, Julia writes a checklist. “Parks require permits . . . a restaurant could work, but I’ll need a head count . . . and shit, that could get costly . . .” she trails off, sipping her coffee.
“Do you know their families?”
“Huh?” Julia asks, looking up from her notebook. “Oh, Bradley’s family is on the Upper West Side, Meredith’s parents live in New Jersey – I’ll call them first.”
“How ’bout you make the phone calls, and I’ll take Fletch to the roof?” He stands from the table, allowing the crumbs to rain down on the hardwood floor. “Thatta boy – clean Julia’s floor.”
“Theo!” she reprimands, as she dials Meredith’s number.
He hooks the leash on Fletch and blows Julia a kiss. Smiling, she grabs the kiss in the air and waves him off.
“Jules, what’s wrong?” Meredith barks.
“Good morning to you, too,” she says.
“Seriously? You call me at nine o’clock on your day off and expect me not to freak out?”
“Are you at work?”
“Yes.”
“I was, um, thinking about your Vegas wedding.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, what can I do to help?” Pen ready, Julia waits for her answer.
“There’s not much to do, that’s sorta the beauty of eloping.”
“Do you have a dress?”
“I have a fucking Pnina Tornai gown, Jules. I’ll pick it up from SoHo Bridal on Friday.”
“Perfect.” Julia scribbles the name of the shop in her notebook. “Oh, you should get your wedding license today!”
“They’re closed today for the holiday. But we can probably swing by the Worth Street office tomorrow.”
“Gee, Jules, what’s with all the questions?”
“Um, I’m your friend? And I love Nana.”
“We should be talking about you and Theo – did he come back over?”
“We’re good – I’ll call you later,” she hurries, ending the call.
Writing Thursday in her notebook, she then searches the white pages app for Royce Gilmore of New York, New York. There are five, so she scribbles down the numbers as Theo returns to the apartment.
“Jules!”
“Good, you’re back. I’m hopping in the shower and then we have to go to SoHo to pick up Meredith’s dress.”
“Jules!”
“Do you think Rembrandt’s on Broadway has enough space for fifty people? Let me call them . . . wait, it’s too early.”
“Jules!” He waves his hands.
“What?”
“I know where we can have the reception!”
“Where?”
Smiling, Theo points to the ceiling. “The roof.”
“Do you have a plan?” he asks, his voice low and Get Smart-ish.
“Not really, just follow my lead.”
Theo opens the door to the SoHo Bridal Boutique and follows Julia inside. Staring at a mannequin made of boxwood and roses, he groans, “Oy vey, will this take long?”
“I hope not.”
“Hello,” a snotty woman says. “Do you have an appointment?” She hangs a veil with a tiara on a rack and then crosses her arms.
Julia smiles and replies, “No, I’d like to pick up my dress today.”
She tilts her head and asks, “Who is your consultant?”
“Oh, um, ah nah mah . . .”
“Ann Marie? She’s off on Mondays.”
Thank God, she thinks.
“Well, maybe you can help us,” Theo suggests, picking up a pair of lace gloves.
“Sure. I’m Caroline – what’s your name?” she asks over her shoulder, walking toward a computer. “And please don’t try on the gloves, sir.”
“I’m Meredith Rice,” she snickers.
Typing the name, Caroline glances at Theo and scowls. “Okay, here we are. Your gown is with Darla in alterations. Are you sure you want your fiancé to see it before the wedding?”
“Oh, he’s not my fiancé.” Julia chuckles and slaps his arm. “Theo is my gay best friend!”
“Of course he is.” Caroline heads toward a long hall of mirrors and instructs, “Follow me.”
As Julia and Theo trail behind, he grabs her elbow and whispers, “Those gloves were just fabulous!”
Stopping at an office enclosed by frosted glass, Caroline peeks in and asks, “Darla, do you have a moment to help a bride?”
Standing from a design board and removing her purple glasses, a small woman with a southern accent drawls, “Come on in.”
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Caroline quickly says before hurrying back to the showroom.
“How can I help you, sugar?”
“Oh, I actually want to take my dress home today,” Julia replies.
“Without any alterations?”
“My Aunt Brenna is a seamstress, and she’s flying in from Minnetonka, Minnesota to do the alterations as a wedding gift.”
“Minnetonka . . . like the moccasins?” Darla snickers.
“Er, yes?”
“I see, well, let’s get you your dress. Your name, hun?”
“Meredith Rice.”
Moving to a large storage room, Darla carefully sorts through several dresses before landing on Meredith’s Pnina Tornai lace gown. “Ah ha!” she shouts. “Found it.” Returning to her office with an orange tag, she runs her eyes over Julia’s frame, shaking her head when she pauses on her curvy hips. “Are you sure you purchased a size four? Because honey, it’s easy to make a dress smaller, but nearly impossible to add fabric.”
“Yep, that’s the one,” Julia replies defensively.
“Okie dokie then, let me just clear this with the owner,” Darla says, taking the orange tag and scooting off down the hall.
Ogling the dress from afar, Julia steps inside the storage room and runs her hand over the ivory Chantilly lace. “Holy, shit, it’s gorgeous.”
From a chair in Darla’s office, Theo asks, “What’s the price tag on something like that?”
“A lot,” she replies, taking the empty seat next to him.
“I wonder if there’s some sort of relation to the cost of a wedding and a future of happiness.”
“The average cost of the weddings mentioned in the paper is fifty-thousand dollars. And fourteen of the ninety-nine couples I’ve featured in the Herald are divorced. Marriage never promises happiness.”
“Here we go, Meredith!” Darla bounces into her office with a contract and a troll pen. “Can you verify the credit card used for the purchase?”
Panicking, Julia thinks back to the conversation she had with Meredith about Bradley’s credit card. “Oh, um, American Express issued to Bradley Gilmore.”
“Perfect. Just sign here and you can take the dress home today.” Sitting at her desk, she slides the contract and her fuzzy pen across to Julia.
Swallowing hard, Julia signs Meredith’s name and passes the contract back to Darla.
“I’ll need to bag it, but I have an appointment waiting for me in the fitting room. Can you come back in the morning?”
“What if we just pay to have it delivered to your apartment, Jules?” Theo asks.
“Who’s Jules?” Darla asks, scratching her head.
Eyes wide, Theo stutters, “Oh, I um call her that sometimes. Meredith is my sparkly box of jewels,” he taps her nose, “like diamonds,” he taps her lips, “and rubies. Plus, I’m gay.”
“Um, okay,” Darla drones. “I was married to a homosexual in the eighties – I get it.”
Standing from the desk, Julia promises to pick up the dress before the store opens tomorrow morning. Grabbing Theo’s arm and guiding him back toward the hall, Julia turns over her shoulder and says, “Thank you, Darla.”
As they walk back through the showroom, Julia tucks her arm inside his warm, flannel shirt and whispers, “You’re the best, Theo.”
“I know.” He shrugs. “While you and Darla were trading stories, I was doing some thinking. What if we have the ceremony on the roof as well? A city clerk’s office is no place for a wedding.” Theo opens the door and waits for her to answer.
Scrunching her nose, she says, “I guess we could rent an officiant, but we don’t have a lot of time to vet that person.”
“What about a pastor or a reverend?”
“They are usually booked for months.”
“Yeah, but what if I know a guy that owns a suit and owes me a favor?” Theo smiles and nudges Julia’s hip. “B-I-N-G-O,” he sings.
“Reverend Douglas!”
Nodding proudly, Theo says, “I’ll call him this afternoon.”
“You’re actually giddy!” Extending her free arm into the street, Julia flags down a speeding cab. Getting in the backseat, she pulls out her phone and looks up an address.
“Where are we going?”
“Fifteen west thirty-seventh street, please,” Julia instructs the cab driver.
“Please tell me we’re having lunch.” Theo rubs his growling tummy with an adorable pout.
“I promise we’ll eat soon, but first, I have to call in a few favors.”
Arriving at a floral shop in Midtown, Julia pays for the cab as Theo buys a bottle of water from the pretzel cart. A little bell rings when they open the door, notifying a flamboyantly-dressed man arranging a petite centerpiece at a stainless workstation.
“Hello,” he chirps.
“Hi, I’m looking for Scott.” Julia watches Theo sniff a bucket of orchid blooms, and then tugs on his shirt.
“I’m Scott! It’s not every day I have two beautiful people in my shop to sniff the flowers �
�� come,” Scott insists, waving his arm.
“Hi, Scott. I’m Julia Pierce, from the Herald?”
Clutching his chest, he shrieks, “Julia! I’ve been dying to meet you – wait, am I dead? Pinch me now.”
“And I’ve been dying to meet you. Scott, your store is amazing!”
“Mostly because of your column – just mentioning my name has propelled my little shop into a wedding must-have.” Scott pinches his cheeks and squeals, “Oh Mylanta, are you two getting married?”
“Oh, no. We’re just, um, he’s -”
“I’m her assistant-slash-eye candy-slash-best friend,” Theo interrupts. “And she doesn’t even feed me.”
Disappointed, Scott huffs. “Well, how can I help you, lovely Julia Pierce?”
“I’m planning a wedding for my best friend. Actually, the bride is a fashion reporter at the Herald.” Julia clears her throat and lowers her voice. “We need flowers, Scott.”
Scott claps his hands and chants, “I’ll do it!”
“Wait – the wedding is on a rooftop,” Julia begins.
“So you’ll need arrangements and maybe shrubbery, ooh, and an arbor!”
“The wedding is on a rooftop this Thursday.”
Resting his chin on his hand, Scott whines, “Well, that’s a pickle.”
“Scott, this wedding is for a columnist at the New York Herald,” Theo interjects.
“I understand, but-” he hesitates.
“Planned by the Julia Pierce. Just think of the exposure for Flowers by Scott.” Theo holds up his hand waves it across the air, painting an invisible picture of wandering ideas. “Say it with me – multiple locations.”
“The magic words. What would you need?” he asks, fluttering his eyes.
“Nothing outrageous. One bridal bouquet, ten small table centerpieces, and maybe some arrangements for the ceremony.”
“Are you picky about colors?”
“Not really, but no pink.”
“What about her style?”
“She’s very chic and modern, but her dress is actually a vintage-style Chantilly lace.”
“Hmmm.” Scott taps his chin. “Thursday?”
“Look, I can’t promise anything, but off the record, I promise to approve your ad space for the next six months,” Julia barters.
