by Laura Quinn
As the two young employees signed out, Claire handed them each a cash bonus for answering the last-minute call to work on a Saturday night.
“Cool, thanks,” Zac said. “I’d offer to help you take those bags tomorrow, but I have to help my friend Keckers set up the Reeve house. We’ve got to get there at the crack of dawn to get everything done before the reporters arrive. She’s got some big circus theme planned, with photo booths, bouncy tents, water slides, and formal table settings. She should have hired more people; we’re going to be there all day.”
Zac’s sister mocked his toil behind his back, before topping his work detail with her own. After cheerleading practice and a dress rehearsal of the routines along the two-mile parade route, she was helping set up tents for the high school’s various organizations. Both grabbed extra flyers from the table, each vowing to hand out more than the other.
“Are you sure you won’t need me tomorrow?” Barbara asked. Despite her many social and charitable obligations, the manager insisted upon working a full schedule. Keeping busy kept her young, she was fond of saying.
“No, I’ve got this,” Claire said.
“I can tots come in before I go to practice,” Emma offered. “I could use some extra money for my trip to Milan next month. It’s so unfair that the airline charges for extra baggage. Is it my fault that it’s such a shopping mecca? Dad says I have to pay for any overages myself.”
“He had to put in some limits,” Zac said. “Otherwise, the plane would be grounded by the weight of your new wardrobe.”
“You might understand if you had a micron of fashion sense,” Emma said, giving the side eye to his black Muse t-shirt and brown shorts. For good measure, she added, “Pleb.”
“I’ll be fine,” Claire interrupted. “Besides, Traci is going to stop by in the morning to add her finishing touches to the displays and offered to help.”
Marti was still working at the table, the three dogs snoozing at her feet. As soon as Claire proposed taking a walk, the trio jumped up and ran to the door. Patriotic banners, bunting and bows rustled against the mall’s brick exterior and the LED American flag on the clock tower was just beginning to glow in the dusk sky. Fireflies flitted above the landscaped planters, bursting with plumes of fountain grass, lavender, snapdragons, petunias and ivy.
With all the stores closed for the night, Marti and Claire had a chance to enjoy the window displays with an unobscured view. Red and white mugs were stacked in stripes in front of a curtain of blue and silver stars, cut out from organic coffee bags and tea sachet packets at Java & Tea, Naturally. Stacks of American history, biography and memorabilia books supported a collection of historical dioramas in Henry’s bookstore. Le Bon Boutique featured an animated Betsy Ross mannequin, sewing the thirteenth star on the flag. The Chocolat Shoppe created a tri-color hard-candy mosaic that looked like a stained-glass map of the country with a red-white-and-blue swirled star beside Lake Michigan to represent North Haven. Olde World Bakery created a cupcake rendition of the Statue of Liberty, with a faux flame flickering from a cream horn base.
As they reached the end of the block, Claire looked back at her shop. Even unlit, the distinctive bone-shaped sign was easily spotted. The gated patio looked festive in its red, white and blue streamers and strings of paw-shaped patio lights. She was still amazed when she thought how the charming space had been just an empty two-story shell a few months before. Everything had happened so quickly since that fated day in April when she inquired about the available retail space in North Haven Mall.
The two friends walked past Sushi Rush, and its usual crowd of elegantly-dressed, beautiful people wrapped around the block. The bouncer flexed his pecks and smiled as Claire and Marti walked by, the only person paying attention to them. Everyone else fawned over the dogs, with several people asking about Baron’s breed. Claire told them about the Eurasier, known for their intelligence and loyalty. The two beagles, bored with the attention paid to their friend, began pulling their owner away. Taking the hint, Claire and Marti turned the corner and walked back to the pawtisserie. The dogs plopped down on the cool tile of the café area, slurping down their bowls of chilled water.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you load these into your car tonight?” Marti asked.
“No, you’re worked hard enough today,” Claire said. “I can’t exhaust my shelter coordinator before the grand opening. Besides, I still have to add custom goodies to the fest committee’s VIP bags, and I’m too tired for details like that tonight.”
“Ah, I wondered how they got anyone to serve on that committee. Imagine having to spend all day judging the best float, costume, pie, and whatever else., then sticking around with the same people for the fireworks and after-party.”
“Take a peek,” Claire said, handing one of the luxury totes to her. Marti marveled at the swag. Local businesses donated monogrammed 14K gold American flag charms, Kate Spade flip-flops, Mark Jacobs sun glasses, Belgian chocolates, premium spirits, etched Waterford glasses to toast during the fireworks, and many other luxury items.
“Are those Spanx?” Marti asked. “Who would have the nerve to give those out, let alone guess someone’s size?”
“Olivia told me about those. Jill Tonelli gave everyone, even the men, two pairs to wear until they slimmed down with her new ‘Tone with Tonelli’ fitness DVD and line of ‘Tonelli No-Belly’ slimming snacks. Currently, they’re only available at her husband’s chain of gyms, but she’s hoping Ken Bancroft will pick up her products as his latest investment.”
“Good luck to her,” Marti said. “Ken is focused on products that do good, and I don’t think an overpriced diet line marketed to the already-thin are quite up his alley.”
“I’m not so sure they are even diet food. Liv slipped me an extra sample of the brownie, asking for my opinion. It was delicious, but I don’t know how Jill could achieve that texture without any fat. Plus, there isn’t any trace of that slightly bitter carob aftertaste. I would swear that she’s using chocolate, but an independent nutrition lab certified them.”
“In that case, she should talk with Ken’s wife. Kim is more open to dodgy deals, or so says the rumor mill. She’s nothing like his late wife,” Marti said. “Ken might offer you a deal when he sees your treats, though. I remember he was always the first person in line at our school bake sales, and bought all your lemon squares and brownies. Which treats are you giving to them?”
“The Bancrofts always had Old English Sheepdogs when we were growing up, but the brief said Kim doesn’t have a dog. I thought I would give her a gift card to pass along to a friend or donate. Most of the other committee members have dogs, though, so he might see those.”
“I doubt he’ll be there. Ken doesn’t like to be in the spotlight any more. He leaves appearances like that to Kim now.”
The girls finished their drinks and told their dogs it was time to go. Baron rolled over and looked at his human to see if she was serious.
“Yes, we’re really going,” Claire said. “Poor Hercule and Penny will never speak to me again if I spend one more night here.” She still wasn’t sure if the decision to add a studio apartment to the upper floor for late baking nights was a good one or not. The cats certainly did not think so.
“I’m sure you’ve had a cat sitter come to visit and feed the poor orphans,” Marti correctly predicted.
“I didn’t want them to feel abandoned again. It wasn’t so long ago they were dumped at the shelter.”
Baron yawned and stretched as Claire put on his leash and finalized plans for Monday. Marti carried her dogs into the backseat of her Prius, hoping they would sleep during the half-hour drive back to the city. Claire grabbed a stack of laundry from her last few days at the shop and threw it on the passenger seat. Baron jumped up into his bed in the back seat of the silver Land Rover LR4, covered in paw prints and the Posh Pup logo. He fell asleep during the eight-minute trip, but awoke when the car turned into the familiar curve of the driveway.
> Claire let Baron run in the fenced backyard while she began the long process of returning to the cats’ good favor. After sufficient kowtowing and an ample serving of shaved Bonito fish flakes, Hercule Purrot and MeowyPenny gracefully leapt up to the breakfast bar. Baron barked to be let in, and sniffed at the tails swinging along the counter. Hercule, the large orange tabby and Penny, the lithe white Siamese, looked at their canine brother and purred. Having been adopted within weeks of each other bonded the trio, which occasionally resulted in their scheming together.
Claire looked through three days of mail that the sitter placed on the hall table. A scenic postcard from her parents in Capri wished her good luck with the store opening, with apologies for missing it during their tour of the Amalfi Coast. A large purple postcard from Northwestern University’s alumni association listed the many activities she would have to miss during the launch of her new shop. Her favorite running store sent a “we miss you” coupon. One “resident” envelope attracted her attention among the piles of Fourth of July promotions. It was from the Concerned Citizens of North Haven, detailing the highlights of a boisterous final hearing regarding the proposed lakefront condominium development.
“Oh, damn. I completely forgot about that planning committee meeting,” Claire said aloud. She had promised her mother she would attend, to support old friends who chaired the preservation society. She hoped the measure would be defeated when the village board voted. Or, maybe the Italian coastline would distract her parents from asking during their next Skype time. Even questions about her love life were preferable to a lecture on civic duty. Claire lived in the shadow of her mother’s legendary service to the town and its many charities.
MeowyPenny jumped up on the table, scattering the colorful envelopes. Baron picked up the letter concerning his mistress and ran around the great room in a burst of energy. Claire tried not to laugh as she summoned an authoritative “leave it!” The furry felon was too cute, showing his prize just long enough for Claire to almost reach it, then running away again.
Hercule joined his sister as they swatted envelopes across the marble entryway. Claire joined in the chaos by kicking her flip-flops in the air and declaring, “Let’s go to bed. I’ll clean this mess up later.”
Baron dropped his soggy prize immediately upon hearing one of his favorite words. He raced ahead, up the curving staircase to the second-floor master bedroom. He was circling around his blanket on the bed, taking care to nestle his fluffy tail under his snout. Claire swiped a moisturizing makeup removal pad around her face, then slipped into bed next to Baron. The cats, demonstrating lingering crossness due to her extended absence, remained downstairs for fifteen minutes before hopping on the king-sized bed.
Outside, the clouds thundered and let loose a downpour. Before she fell asleep, Claire thought about bringing extra bug spray for the torrent of mosquitos that would undoubtedly chase her in the damp park. The thought morphed into a nightmare, playing on her fear of creepy-crawly bugs.
Chapter 2
Sunday, July 3rd
Baron growled when the morning alarm went off for the third time. Claire grunted and hit the snooze alarm. Ten minutes later, the cats meowed and walked across their servant’s head, a not-so-subtle reminder to get up and feed them. She went downstairs and opened two cans of flaked trout for the hungry duo, set down a bowl of organic kibble for Baron, started the coffee maker for herself, and ran back upstairs to take a shower. Baron was still sprawled out on the bed, gently sleep-woofing.
Dressed in a flouncy yellow sundress and flipflops, Claire tied her hair into a ponytail and put on a splash of makeup. The extra effort was due to her visit to the committee when dropping off the bags later that day. She doused herself in the organic insect repellent she bought from Carrie Teaford, the coffee shop owner.
After cleaning the empty bowls and adding filtered water to their fountain, Claire swished the ribbon wand back and forth in the air. The cats watched her, tracking the aerial loops for a few minutes before getting bored and heading to their morning baskets in the sunny bay window. Claire called Baron’s name, and the re-energized dog trotted down the steps. He sniffed at his bowl, and walked away.
“That’s good for you,” Claire said. “Why don’t you try a little?” Defying the trainer’s edict, Claire kneeled down and offered a handful of beef and bison kibble to the discerning dog. He turned his head away in an exaggerated motion, in case she didn’t pick up the hint. “It’s nummy nummy for your tummy,” she sang, to no avail. “Okay, we’ll get you something at the shop. I made those cheese quiches you like,” she promised, scheming to add some kibble under the cheese sauce. Claire grabbed a protein bar and tall travel mug of Kona coffee with stevia and skim milk.
It was after nine by the time she arrived, later than she planned, but still with plenty of time to finish the bags and deliver them by noon. She turned on the tv for Baron and started gathering the perfect treats for each custom bag. Double-checking the list, she realized one of the dog’s names was mis-spelled on the personalized bone. She melted a small bowl of carob to pipe on a new cookie, spilling some on her hands when the back doorbell rang. Simone, owner of the neighboring couture dress shop, held a Le Bon bag that contained a pink and brown box, wrapped with a pink satin bow.
“Bonjour, Claire. How are you?” the statuesque blond asked. Claire still doubted the dressmaker’s age, which slipped when Simone told her how she named her shop. Having been in love with Simon Le Bon since she saw him perform at the Capitaine Video Club in 1981, she thought it would be fun to name her shop Simone’s Le Bon Boutique.
“I’ll be much better once I drop off all these bags at the fest. I’m so nervous having them here. Mike will kill me if anything happens to them.”
“That’s why I’m here. These gloves just arrived from Paris. Do you mind bringing them to Kim? I had them custom-made for her to christen the yacht for the after-party. I was so afraid they wouldn’t be made in time.”
The box was sealed with the gold embossed logo of a top French fashion house. “I bet they are tres elegant. Do you mind if I try them on?”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Simone said, turning to protect the box. “These are mulberry silk.”
“I wish you could see your face,” Claire said, wiping her carob-stained hands on her apron. “I was kidding; I wouldn’t even touch the box.” She opened the file drawer and indicated to Simone to safeguard the package there. Claire would add it to Kim’s bag at the top.
The French expat laughed, apologizing for her response. She explained that the prized silk was not only difficult to come by, but also very absorbent. It was perfect for perspiration in the July heat, but notoriously easy to stain. Promising to be at Claire’s grand opening, the clothier walked back to her shop.
Traci arrived shortly after, with design plans and tool box in hand. Claire offered to help, but Traci said she preferred to work by herself, to become one with the space. Claire finished assembling her customized treat packages and carried them up to the second floor. She added them to the side of each monogrammed VIP bag, careful not to disturb the contents, then added glittery stars-and-stripes tissue on top. It was before eleven, meaning she was ahead of schedule for a change. Traci ran past her on the stairs, having forgotten the decorations to hang in the upstairs event room. She pulled out a large cosmetic brush to wipe away the residual patriotic glitter that glistened on Claire’s face and arms.
“Always be prepared. We learned that on day one at NYSID,” Traci said. She tucked the brush away in its designated spot in her bag.
“I never realized you went to the New York School of Design; I lived a few blocks from there. Those students always struggled to maneuver their art cases on the bus.”
“I don’t miss the days of being dependent upon public transportation. That probably explains why I have three cars now, one for summer, one for winter, and one for just in case.”
Claire laughed, remembering the challenges. “It was great inspiration fo
r me to walk as often as possible. After a while, I think I was actually faster on foot. Speaking of which, I better get running.” She gasped, noticing the first gift bag was in disarray. “Baron, I told you to be very careful around this table. I’ll be killed if anything is broken, especially in the chairperson’s bag.”
Hearing his name, Baron ran up the stairs. He offered his toy to Claire. “Is this to make me feel better?” She hugged the furry miscreant. “It’s not your fault. Fine crystal goblets have no place in our establishment.”
Claire held her breath as she looked more closely. Although the cushioned box had slipped down into the tote bag, the glass seemed unblemished. She was about to reach in to fully examine it, when Traci cautioned her not to leave fingerprints on the crystal, unless she wanted to endure Mike’s wrath.
Owing to the recent brush with disaster, Claire decided to leave the precious cargo on the table until everything else was loaded. Traci helped stack the cart with boxes of giveaway bags they filled the night before and Claire ferried them to her car. As Claire maneuvered the last box into position, she was startled by a raspy voice behind her.
“Shouldn’t you be moving things in? Or, did you wise up and cut your losses?” The willowy brunette flicked her cigarette to the ground, grinding it in with her floral Birkenstock clog. She pulled out an all-natural spritzer from her Java & Tea, Naturally apron pocket to negate the lingering smoke.
“Hi Carrie,” Claire said, giving one last thrust to the bulging baggage. “These are the bags for the Fourth Fest from the Chamber. Everyone gets one after the parade, to cut down on the mess on the street, according to Mike.”
“I don’t know why you’re helping this village; they’re pure poison to us small business owners. Unless you’re one of the ‘it’ businesses. Maybe if I used Botox instead of my homemade apricot face cleanser, I might be on that list. Please don’t tell me that you’re going to become one of NoHa’s perkies.”
