Baker's Dozen

Home > Other > Baker's Dozen > Page 16
Baker's Dozen Page 16

by Cutter, Leah


  At least Patrice had hope, for once. Maybe this had been the last time she’d have to endure her curse. Her twenty-five-year high school reunion was in two weeks.

  It hadn’t been too hard to figure out who’d cursed her. It had to have been Rose Akel, the self-proclaimed witch from high school. Some other kids had sworn she’d cursed them. Patrice hadn’t believed them until much too late. Rose had never shown up at any of the other reunions; however, for the first time her name was on the attending list.

  Patrice had thought about it for over two decades; how she’d confront Rose, convince her to remove the curse. She had arguments, counterarguments, defenses, and strategies. Finally, she was going to have an opportunity. She’d move heaven and hell to get there, to see Rose.

  She just had to find the perfect dress first.

  * * *

  Lurid orange and blue balloons arched above the hotel hallway. Patrice tried to reconcile the tacky color with the muted brown-and-tan marble columns of the hotel, but failed. At the end of the hallway, the double doors to the ballroom stood open and noise from the gathered crowd poured out. Patrice had meant to get there earlier, but the perfect dress had turned out not to be as such: The back zipper had broken. She’d only noticed it going out the door. It would have been perfectly depressing to show up with that much skin gaping.

  Instead, Patrice wore a cute 1950’s-style cocktail dress, black, with a great skirt that she could twirl in, as if she were a fairytale princess, like her baby niece always claimed to be. It was a bit more elegant than she figured the occasion warranted; then again, she was going to go confront a witch, and she hadn’t been able to find any etiquette guides for such a meeting.

  Moe, the class president, greeted people at the door. Patrice walked up at the end of the apology Moe shouted: “Insurance and liquor. Our two biggest sins.” The couple—two people Patrice didn’t recognize—laughed and entered the hall.

  “Patty!” Moe exclaimed, swooping in for the double-cheek kiss.

  Patrice restrained him to just one. “Patrice,” she said, holding Moe firmly in place. He looked very similar to how she remembered him from high school: freakishly tall, with corresponding long hands, long nose, and extra-long chin. His eyes shone clear gray behind bangs that hadn’t been in style since the decade before she’d known him. He still gave her a charming smile, as if he really was happy to see her.

  “What was that all about?” Patrice asked, waving in the general direction of the people who were still standing close to the doorway.

  “They’d wanted to know why it wasn’t like the movies—why we were at a hotel instead of the high school. It’s an insurance nightmare to stage anything there, and we couldn’t serve alcohol.” Moe winked at her. “Besides, I know the general manager here.”

  Of course he did. That was Moe all over, always a mover and shaker, knowing everyone and everything.

  “Have you seen Rose Akel?” Patrice asked before Moe turned to greet the next people.

  “You know, you’re the third person who’s asked me about her. She came early.” Moe finally lowered his voice to a normal speaking level. “I’m wondering if she’s on some kind of program, you know, apologizing to those you wronged. She took one look at me and said she was sorry. Don’t know for what, though.”

  Patrice blinked. “Don’t know,” she finally managed to say before Moe turned away and enthusiastically greeted the next couple, more people Patrice didn’t recognize.

  Had Rose cursed others? Was Patrice not alone? Maybe they could form their own self-help group, Were-Teens Anonymous or something. Except she knew her teenaged self would likely be kicked out for being too emotional and overly dramatic.

  The ballroom had been set up with buffet tables to the right and circular tables covered with white linen and orange and blue streamers in the center. At the end of the room lay an empty dance floor, with a DJ doing his best to incite people to move by playing the best of the ’80s. However, most people had clumped to the left, in front of the most important station in the room: the bar.

  Patrice decided that before she sought out Rose, a cocktail or three wouldn’t be bad. She hadn’t taken two steps that direction before she heard someone calling her name. A tall, gorgeous man floated her way, followed closely by a gloating hulk.

  Only when the man in question had drawn close enough could Patrice make the connection. “Derik?” she asked, incredulous. He’d lost significant fat and replaced it all with chiseled muscle, cut his hair to a military standard, and wore a suit that probably cost more than a month of her mortgage.

  “Patrice!” Derik exclaimed. “Darling! I’m so glad you’re here. Let me introduce you to my boyfriend, Lee.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Patrice said, bringing back her hand slowly after Lee had tried to squeeze it to a pulp.

  “I was just telling Lee about you, how you’re the last woman I’ve ever even looked at.”

  “Thanks, I think,” Patrice said, throwing a questioning look at Lee, who merely continued giving her the stink eye.

  “And now, look at you! You still look fabulous. Are those Jimmy Choos you’re wearing?” he asked, looking down at her feet.

  “And the bag,” Patrice had to admit, showing it to him.

  “Oh, stop it!” Derik exclaimed.

  “Stop what?” Patrice deadpanned. They both laughed. It was their signature call and response. It was corny as hell, but it was still good to remember that warm feeling of always knowing where you stood, and that you were found. “So, what are you doing? You look great as well. Really good.” Derik looked as though he’d worked to perfect his body during his mid-20s, then had managed to freeze it there.

  “It’s all the dancing,” Derik confided. At Patrice’s raised eyebrow, he continued. “I’m a professional male stripper.”

  “Like Chippendales?” Patrice asked, confused but intrigued.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. Mainly parties and some corporate events. I don’t always strip. Lee would prefer it if he was the only one who got to watch me taking my clothes off.”

  Lee finally smiled as he nodded, still watching Derik, one hand possessively wrapped around Derik’s arm. Derik smiled back at him. “Lee works as a security officer. He was a bouncer at one of my earlier parties.” Derik sighed. “They keep threatening me with younger men, asking me to take bookings and do more planning, but it isn’t all about youth, I keep telling them.”

  “But it is all about the kid,” Lee added gruffly.

  “So true.” Derik’s smile grew warmer and he suddenly calmed down, as if the Valium he’d taken fifteen minutes beforehand had just hit his system. He pulled out his phone and showed the lock screen to Patrice. An adorable Asian boy with wide eyes and an even wider grin stared at her. “Our son. We adopted him from Korea. It took—god—forever. But he’s worth it. He’s worth everything.”

  “I’m so happy for you,” Patrice said. And she was.

  “I bet you have a passel of them, don’t you,” Derik said.

  “Not one.” Patrice beamed at him. “Kids aren’t really my thing. I make a great aunt, though. I do things with the kids primarily to scare my brothers. Like take them out of the country to see the ice bar in Stockholm, or visit the Mayan ruins in the Yucatan. I’m already threatening Burning Man once they’re old enough.”

  “Would you be my aunt?” Derik asked immediately.

  Lee didn’t quite growl, but it was a close thing.

  “So how do you afford such a glamorous life?” Derik asked. “Don’t tell me—he was rich, old, and besotted with you.”

  “No,” Patrice said, restraining herself from hitting him. “I made it the old-fashioned way. Investments and banking. Though now I mainly work with non-profits, helping them get loans and grants.”

  “Smart and beautiful. Still the one who got away.”

  “You’re gay,” Lee said, definitely growling this time.

  Derik shrugged. “There’s that, too. Oh, see over there? Linco
ln Hernandez. He’s just as big a snob as ever. You should absolutely go and say hi. And be sure to mention the banking and all the extra money. It was so good to see. But now I must see a man about a dog.”

  After more air kisses, Derik took Lee’s hand and headed for a darker corner. Patrice didn’t watch them leave; she didn’t want to know what mischief they would be getting into. Instead, she continued her interrupted progress to the bar.

  As the bartender was mixing her Cosmo, John Pierce came up and interrupted. “How much for the bottle,” he said, pointing to the tequila sitting on the portable bar. Even in the dim light, the flush on his face glowed bright red, almost the same color as his natural carrot-top hair.

  “Sir, we don’t sell—”

  “I don’t care.” John had already gotten a one-hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and was waving it in front of the bartender’s face. “Please. I need it.” He got out a second hundred. The bartender looked around the room, then slowly handed over the bottle.

  “I don’t remember you being that much of a drinker, John,” Patrice said. He’d been a quiet, nerdy guy, like she’d been in high school. Not the brainiest, but not the dumbest, either.

  “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” John said after pouring himself a slug from the bottle and gulping it down.

  “Try me.”

  “You remember Rose Akel?” John said after a second shot.

  Patrice grabbed a spare glass from the bar and indicated that John should pour her a shot. “I do. I need to see her tonight.” She raised her glass in salute, then downed the fiery liquid. “Maybe get my life back.” She didn’t dare say anything more.

  John looked at Patrice sharply. Then he picked up the bottle, the glasses, and grabbed Patrice’s arm. “We need to talk,” he said, heading for a different corner than Derik and Lee had walked into.

  Patrice followed, slightly dazed, as well as astonished that there was someone who understood her pain, who’d been going through the same thing as she had been.

  Dread also stalked her. She wondered if John’s experience with Rose hadn’t worked out that well, given how tightly he was gripping her arm, as well as the bottle he held just as tightly in the other.

  She could do better, though. She must. She’d given up too many nights to living the past.

  * * *

  “Rose cursed you, didn’t she?” John started out bluntly after another shot. “I can tell from the look in your eyes. God, what a bitch. Witch. Whatever.” He took one more drink. “The worst part was that I didn’t realize right away what was happening. You know?”

  Patrice nodded. She did know. She’d started growing up, but would sometimes feel as if she hadn’t. It took a few years for her to distinguish between her new adult self and the teenager she reverted to. She’d always been ashamed at how long it had taken her to figure it out.

  Looked like she wasn’t alone in that, either.

  “You’re right, I didn’t drink much in high school. Or in college, either. I couldn’t explain it, what was happening to me. I accused my college roommate of drugging me. But it kept happening after I moved out. Finally I put it together with the full moon.” John gave a complete body shiver. “I don’t know which was worse, though, honestly, not to know what was happening, or to know it was coming and be unable to stop it.”

  Patrice filled both their glasses, though she didn’t need a third shot. She suddenly realized she must cool off and get a clear head before she saw Rose.

  “Then, to feel my intellect drain away—it was one of my worst nightmares. I’d never been that stupid before. Never. And I wasn’t a happy stupid, either, though I imagine some people might be,” he said, nodding to Patrice.

  “Wait, what happened to you?” Patrice asked to cover her anger. How dare he imply that she was happy losing everything she’d gained once a month. “How did you change?”

  “I grew stupid.” John shook his head. “It really was the worst thing she could have cursed me with. My mom had always told me it was a good thing I was smart, because I wasn’t anything to look at.” He paused then asked, “That’s what happens to you, isn’t it? You were always one of the brighter ones.”

  “No,” Patrice said. “I revert to a teenager.”

  John stared at her with his mouth open. “God, I think that might be worse.” He giggled, sounding as stupid as if he’d been cursed. “Though maybe not. Cause at least you’re young, right? And horny?”

  “Did Rose reverse the curse?” Patrice asked, not sure what she wanted to hear. For herself, she hoped the witch had. For John’s sake, she spitefully hoped Rose hadn’t.

  John took another drink before he hesitatingly nodded. “Had to practically get down on my knees and beg her forgiveness. And just because I’d gotten better test grades than her. Not because I’d ever done anything to her. It was all her, always attacking. Not me.” He picked up his glass and tilted it at a side door where Michelle Bayar had just walked into the room. “Rose is in that hallway. Dealing with people.” He followed Michelle with his head. “I bet she was cursed too. We should make a club. The formerly cursed. Or something. Excuse me.” John grabbed his bottle, got up and walked, slightly swaying, over to where Michelle was ordering a drink that seemed to require half the bottles at the bar.

  Patrice stared at the closed door, gathering her courage. She’d racked her brains for decades, trying to figure out what she’d done, who she’d done something to. Finally, she could end it.

  Before Patrice lost her nerve, she stood and walked out the door.

  The hallway was obviously intended for hotel staff only. It was small and full of folded-up tables leaning against generic white walls. Bare fluorescent bulbs illuminated it; the expensive fittings were just for guests. Rose stood alone a few feet away, wearing a pretty red vintage dress with an asymmetrical hem; a diamond pin gathered the folds between her breasts. She took a sip of her drink before she looked up. “God, you too? What did I do to you?” she asked, sounding bored and aggrieved. She looked as though she’d done better for herself than Derik: not only had she stopped aging in her mid-twenties, she’d then worked with what she had. She was absolutely stunning.

  “You cursed me,” Patrice said.

  Rose nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I was experimenting, okay? I cursed a lot of people. I had no idea that any of them stuck.”

  “I turn into a fifteen-year old once a month,” Patrice said, holding onto her temper.

  “Huh. That’s unusual.” Rose waved a desultory hand at Patrice. “Should be gone now.” Rose picked her drink back up, completely oblivious to Patrice.

  Patrice looked around. She didn’t feel any different. Had Rose really done anything? “That’s it?”

  Rose shrugged. “Sorry. Magic isn’t really that fancy. I just had to find the part of me still attached to you and let go.”

  Patrice turned to leave, then turned back. Maybe that third shot of tequila hadn’t been a good idea. “Do you know how long I spent agonizing over what I must have done to you? Without realizing it?”

  “Don’t talk to me about casual cruelty,” Rose warned Patrice, engaging for the first time. “You don’t know how harsh kids can be, especially when they don’t mean it.”

  “Actually, I do,” Patrice said, crossing her arms over her chest. A part of her was screaming, “Go! Get out now! Before she curses you again!” But the rest of her needed to have this out. “I became a teenager, one of those kids, every month. I wallowed in hurts that I hadn’t even noticed as an adult. I pushed myself every time I came back, to be kinder, to do more, to live more fully, because I knew exactly what it had been like, where I’d be going back to.”

  “So the curse worked,” Rose said slowly. “That’s what you’re telling me. You’ve lived a better life because of it.”

  “No,” Patrice denied. “Well, yes,” she admitted after a moment. “But that’s not the point.”

  “Then what’s the point?” Rose asked, smiling like she final
ly knew a secret.

  “I—you—it wasn’t me, was it?” Patrice said after a moment’s flailing. She took a deep breath, relaxing for the first time since the reunion’s guest list had shown up in her in-box.

  Rose’s smile morphed into a huge grin. Her beauty lessened and became more human. “There’s hope for you yet. And you’re right. It wasn’t personal, not really. It was mostly me, lashing out. I am sorry for that.”

  Patrice sat back on her heels, stunned. Suddenly John’s reaction made sense. “You told John Pierce the exact same thing, didn’t you?”

  Rose giggled. “Yeah. He’d built up this whole persecution complex, that it was me warring against him. Some great conspiracy.”

  Patrice shook her head. “Is that why you came back? To end all these curses?”

  “No.” Rose sighed. “I hadn’t even realized I’d cursed, like, half the people here. I just came back to talk with people I hadn’t seen since forever; you know, go to my high school reunion. I’ve been out of the country for most of them, working with local healers, trying to improve women’s lives in third world countries. I just wanted to laugh and dance for a night.”

  “Then come on,” Patrice said. She nodded her head toward the door. “Let’s go dance. You can lift curses later.”

  “You’d dance with me?” Rose asked, taken aback.

  “Why not?” Patrice said. “As you said, the curse worked, though I’d never thought of it like that before. And I promise not to step on your toes if you promise not to curse me again.”

  Rose laughed. “I don’t do that anymore. Not casually, at any rate. Are you sure you want to be seen with the high-school witch?”

  Patrice snorted. “What are they going to do to me? I won’t see any of them ever again.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  The rest of the night flew by and Patrice found herself laughing more than she had in months. She had a lot in common with Rose, working for non-profits. At first they talked about meeting later, then later turned into the next morning after spending the night together, over eggs and bacon in Patrice’s kitchen.

 

‹ Prev