Читать книгу Under The Boardwalk - Amie Denman - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

VIRGINIA HAMILTON PARKED Betty’s red wagon in front of the Midway Bakery, where Gus stopped working, wiped her hands on her apron and leaned across the counter, smiling at her visitor.

“All ready for opening day?” Virginia asked.

“You tell me,” Gus said. “How many customers do you think we’ll have?”

“Depends on the weather, of course, and the local schools are still in session a few more weeks, but I’d say we can count on ten thousand or so. A lot of regulars come for opening day every year.”

“Ten thousand cookies coming right up,” Gus said, laughing. “The rest of the special cookie cutters I ordered should be in tomorrow. I think you’ve already seen the carousel horse, but wait till you see the roller coasters—especially the new Sea Devil—on a cookie. My favorite is the Starlight Point skyline. We plan to ice those cookies in dark twilight colors so the coaster lights will really pop.”

Movement on the midway caught her attention. Jack Hamilton rode slowly past her shop on an old tandem bicycle, one of the employee loaners. The vacant seat made him look like a man dancing alone on an empty floor. He waved and continued down the midway, a rubber band around the leg of his suit pants.

Virginia waved to her son and turned back to Augusta. “I know you’re busy, but can I borrow a minute to talk about my summer project? I’d like to get the plans going right away.”

“What can I do?” Gus asked, striving for a neutral tone.

“I was thinking,” Virginia said. “All these young men and women will probably be parents someday. Most of our older employees already are.” She reached across the counter and laid her hand on Gus’s arm. “Family is very important here at Starlight Point.”

And they have no idea how lucky they are. Virginia had lost her husband, but she still had three children close at hand. As an only child with parents who moved often because of her father’s job, Augusta craved the sense of family and belonging that everyone else seemed to have. But she did have her aunt and a fledgling business—otherwise she’d still be adrift.

“Of course,” Gus said as she forced her thoughts back to Virginia’s summer project. “It’s a family amusement park, gotta love families. But what would you like me to do?”

This was getting scary. Was she supposed to teach them about family values? Natural childbirth? Installing a car seat correctly? Sibling rivalry?

Betty snored loudly in her wagon. She’d seen lots of summer improvement programs come and go. Maybe dog grooming had been one of them.

“What is an important thing that all parents should be able to do?” Virginia asked.

“Um...tie shoes? Sing the alphabet in two languages? Apply Band-Aids?”

“Make a birthday cake!” Virginia exclaimed. She smiled broadly and clapped her hands together once, leaving them joined.

“Oh,” Gus said. “That was my next guess.”

“Every parent should be able to bake and decorate a birthday cake for their child.”

“I think so, too. But they can also get one from a bakery,” Gus suggested, grinning. “I could recommend a good one for anyone looking.”

“But not every year, dear. Moms and dads should bake a cake, frost it, make it look pretty and be able to write their child’s name on it. And their age.”

“I think most people figure it out,” Gus said. “I learned how to make a birthday cake from my aunt.”

“Unfair advantage. Not everyone has an aunt Augusta,” Virginia said. “Some people never figure it out and they disappoint their kids every year.” She dropped her large purse onto the counter and dug through it, finally pulling out a packet of wallet-sized photos in a yellowed cellophane holder.

“See this picture? This is Jack’s fifth birthday.”

Gus took the photo, which showed an adorable dark-haired and dark-eyed boy at a kitchen table. Disgracing the table in front of him was the ugliest birthday cake in the world. It was an uneven round shape, covered in lumpy chocolate frosting. Canned frosting. A squiggly red line—probably from the dreadful white tubes sold in grocery stores—made a crooked border. In the center, uncertain writing appeared to spell out Happy Birthday, Jack above a disproportionate and crooked number five. The only things that pulled the scene together were the five flaming candles and the happy family behind him.

His father, looking much like Jack did right now, held a girl who appeared to be about three. Virginia, much younger, had a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“That’s our middle daughter, June,” Virginia said. “She’s in New York City working as a dancer in a Broadway production. Our younger daughter hadn’t come along yet when that picture was taken.”

“It’s a beautiful picture,” Gus said.

Virginia looked at her, both eyebrows raised.

Gus laughed. “Okay. All except for the cake.”

They both laughed, and the sound echoed under the steel awning. Betty climbed out of the wagon. She licked her owner’s hand and wagged her tail. Maybe she knew the word cake or she just liked a good party.

“See my point?” Virginia asked. “With your talent, you could improve the birthdays of hundreds, even thousands of children.”

“That many? That’s a lot of birthdays.”

“We have two thousand employees here this summer.”

Gus’s shoulders sank. “You want me to teach two thousand people to make a fancy birthday cake?” Right now, all she could think of was baking enough cookies for one day—opening day, only seventy-two hours away.

Virginia took a long, slow breath. “Not all two thousand. Always made it a requirement in the past—didn’t want people to miss out on a good thing. But this season is different. Life’s too short to make people do things they don’t want to do. Or have time for. So I’m making it voluntary this summer. My STRIPE program is getting soft in its old age—that’ll shock some of our longtime employees, I know. People who want to learn to make a cake can do it.” She shrugged. “The rest of them will miss out.”

“I understand that the STRIPE clause is in the contracts,” Gus said.

Virginia shrugged. “I’ll take it out. My son, Jack, is officially taking over, but I’m still his mother and have some influence. Besides—” she paused and smiled “—I don’t think anyone’s going to fight me on making it voluntary.”

“I still don’t know,” Gus said. She wasn’t sure she could handle the STRIPE program, but her thoughts swung to Virginia’s influence. Could she be an ally in contract negotiations?

Doubtful. Blood was thicker than water.

“You’ll probably have only a couple hundred students at the most. And you’ll have help. I always get volunteers.”

“I’m just worried about spreading myself too thin, running these three bakeries while my aunt handles the downtown one.”

In answer, Virginia held up the picture, raised her eyebrows and pointed to the ugly cake in front of her adorable son.

“Oh, all right,” Gus said.

Birthdays tugged at her heart. They represented permanence, family and tradition. No matter what part of the country or world her father’s job took their little family to, birthdays were celebrated the same. How could she pass up the chance to make hundreds or thousands of birthdays brighter?

Virginia squeezed Gus’s arm. “I’ll be your first student. Jack turns twenty-seven on June first, which is also my birthday. Best present I ever got. Maybe you could help me surprise him with a cake. My daughter June will be here that weekend and of course so will Evie. Think you could give her the day off?”

“Sure. She’s going to be my account manager and supervise the Lake Breeze bakery, but family birthdays are more important. I’ll help you learn to make a perfect cake, but only because I love a challenge.”

Virginia laughed. “I need people like you and your aunt to cheer me up. This is my first summer without Ford in more than thirty years.” She tried to cover her tears by leaning down to scratch under Betty’s chin. “I wonder sometimes how all this can go on...but my Jack has a will of iron.”

“I’ve heard that,” Gus commented.

“But a soft heart,” Virginia added. She picked up Betty, plunked her in the wagon and rolled away.

Gus wondered just how soft Jack’s heart was.

* * *

TOSHA, BERNIE AND several other vendors came by as Gus finished stocking and cleaning the Midway Bakery. The sign crew had already been there and a large electric cookie with the name Aunt Augusta’s Midway Bakery hung over the shop.

“I should get a new sign,” Bernie said. “Had the same hand-painted French-fry sign for fifteen years.”

“Can’t afford it this year,” Tosha commented.

Gus propped her elbows on her counter. “I’m sorry. I tried to see him before the deadline. Three times. I should’ve fought harder for all of you.”

“Nonsense,” Tosha said. “It’s business. And you’re not responsible for all of us. You’ve got enough on your plate. I plan to see how this summer goes and then reevaluate for next year. Gonna take it one ice-cream cone at a time.”

“Summer hasn’t even started and we’re already in too deep to change anything,” one of the souvenir vendors said. Ricardo sold Starlight Point hats, shirts, key chains and plastic snow globes featuring the roller coasters and the Star Spiral. “Got all my merchandise ordered already.”

“One thing I’m not short on is employee applications,” Tosha said.

“Me, too,” Bernie agreed. “But I only need a few summer workers. Had to turn a bunch of ’em away this year. Way more than usual.”

“A friend in human resources told me Starlight Point was cutting the summer workforce ten percent across the board. That’s two hundred people they’re not hiring,” Tosha said.

“Apparently the new management figures on keeping more of the profits for themselves,” Ricardo grumbled. “I think they’re going to learn some things the hard way.”

“Doesn’t solve the problem of our contracts,” Hank reminded the group. “That’s what I’m worried about right now.”

“We could try renegotiating later in the summer,” Gus suggested.

“Don’t see why Jack would do that,” Bernie said, “unless it was in his favor.”

“I guess I don’t, either,” Gus admitted. “The only thing I can do right now is get all my shops ready for Saturday and hope like crazy I’ll make so much money this summer I can cheerfully hand over a chunk of the profits.”

They all nodded seriously.

“And if I don’t, I’ll chase him down and pelt him with rubber bands until he either cries uncle or names a roller coaster after me. The Zinger.”

“That’s the spirit,” Tosha said. “Now back to work.”

Gus headed for the Wonderful West and her Last Chance bakery. With her long stride, she zipped past her friends setting up their food and souvenir stands, power walked by the Scrambler and passed the old Silver Streak coaster that had stood by the bayside of the peninsula for forty years. Carousel music put a spring in her step and strengthened her hopes for a great season.

A bicycle bell jingled right behind her, cutting into “In the Good Old Summertime” tinkling from the carousel organ.

“Ride?” Jack asked.

He pulled in front of her on the red tandem bicycle. Although early in the summer, he already had a nice tan. His dark hair waved back from his forehead, his deep brown eyes less serious than usual.

Gus stopped on the bright white concrete, which was baking in the afternoon sun.

The ride was tempting. The Wonderful West was a good hike from the front entrance, and her hair was already stuck to the back of her neck. But the shade trees were just ahead. She could make a break for them and resist the charming and enigmatic Jack—the man who made her heart race and her blood boil.

“Depends on where you’re going,” she said in an attempt to stall and escape gracefully.

“Canada,” he answered. “It’s just across the lake.”

“I figured. Are you a decent driver? How’s your safety record on this thing?”

Jack planted both feet, balancing the bike between his long legs. Gus felt the heat even more. Why did the company owner and general enigma have to be so attractive?

“See this scar?” he asked, pointing at a small white line on his chin. “That was from my first bike accident.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-five. I’ve gotten more careful since then.”

“I see,” she said. “I’m considering your risky offer.”

“Last Chance.”

“I’m thinking.”

“No, I mean, I assume you’re headed for your Last Chance bakery. You might as well get on and save your energy for opening day. I’m hoping for fifteen thousand people. At least.”

At the thought of baking fifteen thousand cookies, Gus surrendered and swung her leg over the seat in back. She would need all her energy if his prediction came true. From the backseat, her view was all broad shoulders and tailored suit. Why didn’t he get heatstroke in those suits?

“I can’t see anything from back here,” she said.

“Don’t need to. You can’t steer, either.”

Before she could protest, the bike started rolling. Gus gripped the handlebar and pedaled, trying to accustom herself to being totally at someone else’s mercy. She focused on the shops, restaurants and trees whizzing by. She attempted to summon carefree childhood memories of racing on a bike, the wind in her hair. But she wasn’t fooling anyone. She wanted to steer that bike like kids wanted to catch Santa on Christmas Eve.

Especially when Jack careened much too close to a tree. And when he skirted the edge of a curb in front of the HoneyBee kiddie coaster. He nearly crashed into an oncoming bike, but swept to the side at the last second and gave Gus only a brief glimpse of the near disaster.

The man was a maniac on a bike.

“I want off,” she said.

“Trust me. I could do this with my eyes closed.”

“I think you are.”

He finally stopped in front of her Western-themed bakery sandwiched between the shooting gallery and the train tracks. She stepped off the bike, straightened her apron and admired her new sign as she tried to regain her equilibrium. The sign was like the one at the Midway Bakery, but Aunt Augusta’s Last Chance Bakery was spelled out in neon ropes and the cookie wore a cowboy hat.

“Nice,” Jack commented. “You’re breathing new life into these bakeries.”

He planted his feet again. Gus thought for a moment he’d put down the kickstand and invite himself in. Instead he sat and looked at her as if he were at a loss. He must have a million things to do with only days until the season started. Just like she did.

“Work to do,” she said, unable to restrain a smile.

He nodded. “Want me to pick you up later? It gets pretty lonely on this bike by myself.”

“I think I’ll take the train,” she said, sounding much more flirtatious than she wanted to.

“Too dangerous. We’re training new engineers before the season starts.”

Gus laughed and then sobered quickly, thinking of how late she’d be here tonight and how she’d have to struggle all summer to make a profit. She’d be baking and decorating faster than the spinning rides in Kiddieland.

Gus couldn’t invite any kind of a friendship with Jack Hamilton—too many people depended on her commitment and hard work. And her current loyalty was to the other vendors. Even after only a few weeks, they were starting to feel like family.

“You’re a busy man, I hear. Too busy to be bothered with lease vendors like me.”

The smile creasing his face and lighting his eyes flashed out like a switched-off bulb. Gus felt a stab of guilt at her bitter words. But they were the truth.

She walked away and shoved through the swinging saloon-style doors into her bakery.