A Date With Fate (10 page)

I was pondering the merits of gardenia oil over orange blossom lotion when I heard the buzz of my cell announcing a message. I had forgotten the phone was in the bathroom on the charger.

There was a text with the one word:
Awake?

Let me backtrack here a second. When I introduced myself, I mentioned which nicknames I do answer to, but neglected to say which names I don’t answer to. I will never answer to the name Ana.

I’m sorry Anna’s of the world, but that name brings back memories of a little brat I met when I was five and starting the first grade. It was the very first day of big-girl school for me.

She called me “a baby” when I got teary-eyed before class started. I had choked up because bossy Anna informed me the fistful of yellow, daisy-like flowers I had painstakingly picked for my new teacher were dumb, icky weeds.

None of the adults heard Anna the Botanist tormenting me first. No, they only saw me swatting her with the flat side of my Troll lunch box upside her fat head. I was officially marked a troublemaker and a kid to keep an eye on from day one of my school career because of Anna Lynn Johnson.

Don’t worry, I got even.

Anna Johnson and I have been fast friends ever since. We are the inseparable, dynamic duo—Anabel and Anna, still hanging and still managing somehow to get into trouble together almost twenty-five years later.

To this day, it’s still perceived by many that I lure her into bad behavior with my evil ways and she is the proper, good girl. The reality is somewhere closer to this: On the outside, Anna is pretty and vivacious. She’s a brown-eyed, brown-haired cutie that resembles a chipmunky cheerleader. With her trendy hairstyles and preppy, conservative clothes, she could pass for a preschool teacher or a pastor’s wife. On the inside, she is a frustrated cage dancer and wildly fun.

Anna wasn’t technically an orphan like me. Her Mom gave birth then dumped the baby Anna on her much older, spinster sister Lily. She took off for parts unknown and died a couple of years later in a DUI, head-on car crash with a telephone pole. Anna’s father was a blank space on her birth certificate.

Unfortunately, Anna has no siblings or extended family. Her elderly Aunt Lily provided the basics; shelter, clothing, and food, but she is a rigid, morally self-righteous woman. It isn’t just a shell on the outside that covers up a tender heart. Aunt Lily is through and through one uptight, battle-axe of a fundamentalist church lady.

She is a cold and unaffectionate woman, but I guess if she loves anyone it is Anna. This questionable love manifested itself by her being extremely over protective of Anna growing up, to the point of ridiculousness.

Aunt Lily believes evil lurks in the hearts of all mankind, especially women. Yep, EVIL is just waiting to prompt us female sinners to do any number of deviant deeds. I’ve not heard too many people referring to Jezebel in casual conversations, but Aunt Lily seems to know the woman personally. Anna’s aunt is a woman who believes many women are reincarnated Jezebel’s responsible for tempting and leading poor, defenseless men astray.

I discussed this with my grandmother after first hearing the name Jezebel when I was quite young. NanaBel’s private opinion to me was Aunt Lily’s harshness stemmed from a bad experience with love that soured her as a young woman. My private opinion to nobody but myself; describing Aunt Lily’s temperament as only soured at love was like saying Hitler was merely miffed at the Jews.

Aunt Lily diligently works full time at her church thrift store during the week. She belligerently stomps around brandishing her antique cane she was never without while bullying people into buying junk they don’t need. On the weekends, she devotes her time to her church--doing God only knows what.

It wasn’t Dickensian, but still sad. It was not a very fun home life for a kid as lively and loving as Anna.

Somehow, ruthlessly sly NanaBel convinced the domineering and fanatical Aunt Lily that it was her own idea that Anna spent a majority of her time on Division Street with us. Anna was growing up smack dab in a nest of bourgeoning mini-Jezzie’s while being nurtured by the biggest Jezebel in the Northern Hemisphere, or quite possibly, the world. Yep, that’s right, my grandmother.

Anna fit right in to our riotous household like a homing pigeon come to roost. Anna and my grandmother were a mutual adoration society. Anna was treated like another granddaughter, Chore Chart and all. My siblings probably thought she really was another sister; she’d practically lived in the apartment since first grade. Because of Anna being my BFF, I chose bunk beds for my room instead of the Princess Pink Ruffles canopied bed I lusted after with all my little girl heart.

When the need arose, and it frequently did, I would complain in a whisper to NanaBel about the latest stunt Aunt Lily had pulled to keep Anna at home. Aunt Lily was always denying permission for Anna to come with me to a materialistic birthday party, or to the ruinous movies. NanaBel insisted it was done out of Aunt Lily’s love she harbored for Anna, even if she was cold and undemonstrative. I was pretty convinced it was because Aunt Lily was a mean, old bitch, but I wisely kept my own counsel. I didn’t want to be grounded for discourtesy and cursing. NanaBel was tough on those subjects, especially with seven-year-olds.

Besides, NanaBel would pick up the phone and perform her magic. Nobody can withstand NanaBel, and she’d smooth over whatever objections Aunt Lily had to allowing Anna to join me and the other kids having fun.

Anna’s also my one exception to my rule of everyone forgetting my daily existence before ten in the morning.

I checked my phone. It was 7:45 AM. After her text, I called Anna and put it on speaker. I chose the gardenia oil and begun to smooth it up my legs, feeling my bliss at the slightly peppery, floral scent.

“Okay, it’s opinion time.” My friend announced in lieu of a greeting. “I’m deciding between mammoth, blueberry muffins with a sugar crusted topping, or vanilla frosted, raspberry scones for the feature of the day. Which sounds more scrumpdillyicious to you?”

I didn’t need to think. “Size always matters. I vote massive blueberry.”

I could hear pots and pans clanging noisily in the background as she worked. Whatever Anna did, she did loudly and with frenetic energy. Her home kitchen was outfitted to meet professional catering standards. She rose early six days a week and cooked in the comfort of her own kitchen for Bel’s Books café, Laissez Fare.

A couple of years ago, Aunt Lily had deeded title of her house over to Anna with the caveat of life tenancy—good health prevailing. Anna was pleased with this deal while it chilled me to the very marrow. I was horrified at Anna’s Stygian bargain of life tenancy with that strong-as-a-pack-mule, hellfire spouting, seventy-five-year old Debbie Downer of an auntie. It was a living nightmare worse than anything I could wish on my worst enemy. Anna had shrugged at my appalled protests on her behalf. For her, having her soul destroyed was worth the price of a free house.

Anna’s laughter has a musical sound. The lucky wench can carry a tune, too. “I said mammoth, not massive. Besides, I remember you distinctly telling me size doesn’t matter, Junior.”

“No way did I say that. That’d be crazy talk.”

“Yes way, you did say that.” Anna also has a memory like a steel trap. I don’t ever have to worry I’ll be able to forget something from my past.

I scanned my memory banks and hit pay dirt. “Ah yes, I told you that years ago when things seemed to be getting serious between you and, what was his name…Stan, Steve? Whatever, we all knew he had a pencil dick. I didn’t want you to feel bad.”

Over the whirring noise of an electric mixer Anna exclaimed, “What? No way! How did everyone know he had a pencil dick? Who’s everyone, anyway?”

“Yes way, and umm…let’s see. Reggie told me and my sisters. Guess he must have seen Stan or Steve’s little pee-pee somehow. Didn’t they go to the same club around then?”

“I don’t know, but that’s too funny.” She kept laughing, “I never did it with him. So that’s why they called him ‘Little Stevie’. Gosh, and here I thought it was because he was sort of short.” She abruptly stopped laughing. “Oh just great, your jerk of a brother must have laughed his ass off knowing I was going out with a pencil dick. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! Junior, you’d better tell me what you know about anyone’s dick size I go out with. I don’t want to hook up with any more baby dills! Oh my god…”

I meekly promised to keep her updated.

She demanded, only half in jest, “What about Jim? Do you know anything about him? Tell me!”

“Well, geez Anna, gossip from the bookstore’s men’s bathroom has his girth measuring in at…You freak, I promise I know nothing about Jim’s manroot size.” Now I was laughing. “I could guess, though, if it would make you happy. Hey, I know, we could start a Fantasy Package League like guys do with football.”

After we ran with that idea, stopped wetting our pants, and had both settled back down Anna said, “Okay, I’ll assume no news is good news where Jim is concerned.”

Jim Mardsen was Anna’s new flame. Her question about his penis size was interesting since they had been going out for a few weeks all ready, but I made no further comment.

During one point a couple of months ago, I thought Anna might hook up with Reggie. At first, this seemed bizarre to me, maybe even slightly incestuous. I mean, come on--Reg and Anna? Upon further reflection, I could see the attraction of like to like. I don’t know what happened to stop the would-be lovers, but something went drastically wrong. One day they were flirting like mad, the next day they were giving each other the cold shoulder. If one entered the room, the other would leave with their face all screwed up like they smelled something foul.

Maybe it was just as well that a romance between Reggie and Anna was over before it began. My brother’s m.o. is to go out with the same woman only a couple of times before moving on. He’s upfront he’s out only for a fun time, not a relationship. I’d hate to think he’d give Anna the same cavalier treatment, but I’d hate more to see her hurt by my feckless brother.

Most curious was Anna not rushing to tell me every detail. I had to respect her silence, and Reg wasn’t talking, either. I was positive Reggie had done something extraordinarily dumb to make the normally forgiving Anna not want to acknowledge his existence on Earth any longer.

Anna sighed. “I’m going with the scones today. I can’t think about mammoth anything right now. The visual is too disturbing.”

I laughed.

Anna and I co-owned but she operated Laissez Fare, the organic bakery, deli, coffee and juice bar located within my bookstore. It was one in a series of ongoing improvements I was implementing to increase revenues when facing reality at the advent of e-books as competition for printed books. Laissez Fare was, by far, the most expensive investment I have made over the last two years.

Northfield is a river town of about twenty thousand located roughly fifty minutes south of the Minneapolis-St Paul metro area. The town has two colleges, St Olaf and Carleton. Both are highly ranked private schools. There were approximately five thousand students with money to spend coming to our thriving downtown area regularly to eat, shop, and hit the bars. I can’t compete with the bars, but the shopping and eating parts were up for grabs. I knew anytime I stopped at a Barnes and Noble in the suburbs of the cities, I hit their café area. I had a ready-made hungry and thirsty clientele shopping at my store. I had a best friend with a culinary background tired of working for someone else. Anna and I brainstormed two years ago and the café Laissez Fare was our resulting creation.

I may own Bel’s Books and the building free and clear, but the heating and cooling bills alone were killer. I needed to be innovative and proactive to keep growing my business and generating profits. The gambler in me didn’t balk at using a portion of my nest egg capitol to make investments towards the future. The businesswoman in me knew making solid investment decisions meant having a well-defined and researched master game plan outlining the goals I wanted to achieve. Then I had to be flexible enough to be willing to sometimes toss the game plan aside. Opportunity has a way of popping up without warning or planning. Always helpful were a good banker, good advice, good credit, and good karma. Knock on wood.

Bel’s Books is an institution in Northfield. Thanks in large to my grandmother, the bookstore has had a solid rep for over forty years. With the addition of Laissez Fare, we are now known also as the place to get organic, high-quality “fast food”. We serve coffee drinks, juiced concoctions for an energy boost, sandwich wraps, soups and salads, and my personal living hell on earth: fresh daily and incredibly tasty bakery treats.

Customers have always hung around the store. Since Laissez Fare opened, a significant number more stayed to eat and drink while they did homework, browsed and read, hung out with friends, or hit on my assorted staff members. As long as people spent money and didn’t cause any commotion, I was cool with it all.

Anna was making a living doing something she loves, and by existing on a miniscule wage, has almost paid me back the start up costs. I leased out the space, got a percentage of the profits, and free coffee drinks for life. She cut me off cold turkey from free bakery goodies a week after opening. I loved or hated her for that, fluctuating with my blood sugar levels.

Banging away in her kitchen this morning, Anna complained, “Are you on speaker? I hate that tunnel sound. What are you doing now, anyway?”

“I’m rubbing oil on my buttocks. Gots some ground to cover, but I’ll be done in a minute.”

Anna’s laugh ended on a groan. “Oh god, tell me about ass acreage. I have got to quit eating my product. I’m getting depressed my jeans are so frickin’ tight lately.” Anna’s figure is small on top and bigger on the bottom. Any weight gain did go straight to her thighs and gluteus maximus, but on the bright side; she has a slender neck and thin face.

“Huh, that’s never a good sign. Perhaps wearing a muzzle while cooking may help?” I suggest, helpful friend that I am. I glanced in the full length mirror and checked out my waistline. I should probably thank my friend for cutting me off the sugar gravy train.