Chocolate Quake (32 page)

Many in the crowd cheered. I couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride in my mother-in-law, just out of jail and already on the front lines. The priest glared at her, but he did leave, his six followers trailing behind. Beside me, Kara was saying, “I have to tell you something, Porter. It’s only fair that you know my name used to be Karl.”

Well, there goes the dinner date,
I thought, but I was wrong because Porter laughed and said, “You’re kidding. Well, I have a confession, too. My name used to be Por tia.”
Oh my goodness,
I thought.
They’re made for each other. I guess.
I wasn’t sure how it would work, not being that familiar with transsexuality, and I wasn’t about to pursue the matter, but I did wish them well. Sam, wouldn’t you know, was grinning at me. I suppose he knew that Porter had once been female. Vera was giving Jason a hug, and then, for a wonder, me.

“I have to say, Carolyn, Margaret has been keeping me abreast of your activities on my behalf, and I’m impressed. You’re a much gutsier woman than I would have thought. Maybe you should think about giving up food articles and becoming a private investigator.”

“
Mother,
” protested Jason, horrified.

“Oh, don’t be a goody-goody, Jason,” she said and walked away, laughing, only to be accosted by the delighted and amorous Bruno Valetti. The two of us stared at each other, amazed. Such good humor was unlike Vera, and I, for one, doubted that it would continue unless she managed to get away from her admirer.

And then the cake girls came out of the kitchen in a row, proudly bearing their cakes to a table that had been set aside for them. Each of the ten cakes held a burning candle, representing one year in the center’s history, and the young women had added decoration I wasn’t expecting. On the end cakes were balloons outlined on the frosting with M&M’s. On the eight middle cakes they had written, with good intentions but poor spelling,
Hapy 10 Aniv ersery Unon St Womin Centar.

We all clapped enthusiastically, and Nora announced that each head of department present would blow out a candle. Then the ground pitched under our feet, and the cakes slid apart, all four layers going every which way, balloon cakes falling off the ends of the table in pieces. I grabbed hold of Jason and held on for dear life, women and children started screaming, and Sam looked up at the house. It wasn’t, thank God, falling down, but then the old Victorians survived earthquakes well because they were made of redwood. They just burned down afterward, for the same reason.

“It’s over, folks,” he shouted above the din. “Couldn’t have been more than a three and a half. Just a little stress on the fault. No big deal. Help yourselves to some cake.” Somehow or other, his words seemed to calm everyone. Except me. People began scraping cake bits off the table onto paper plates that had held the main courses. The cake plates had fallen off with the balloon cakes.

“Jason,” I said, “this is really too much. I want to go straight to the airport before the Big One hits.”

“OK,” he agreed, “but which are you more upset about? The tremor or the destruction of your cakes?”

Now there was a question. “I’m not sure,” I replied. “But I do think the tremor could have held off an hour or so. Those young women were very proud of their cakes. They worked hard.”

“Well, their work is being appreciated.” We looked at the cake tables, which were almost bare, while a lot of children were smiling and smeared with chocolate.

“Just a typical day in San Francisco,” Sam remarked, grinning, as he came up to give me a hug. Then Jason and I said goodbye to everyone, including his mother, and escaped out the gate.

“I never did get to see the sea lions at Seal Rocks,” I lamented as we headed for Union Street. “I wonder how they feel about earthquakes. It’s probably traumatic for a sea lion. One minute he’s sunning himself on a nice rock. The next his rock is jumping up and down, maybe even breaking apart.”

“He probably just slides off into the water and frolics around until it’s all over,” said Jason, hailing a cab.

“We should be so lucky,” I mumbled. “I’ve now lost three very nice desserts to earth tremors. I’m not sure I want to come back here.”

“Sure you do,” said Jason, helping me into the cab. “You liked the food, and the chances are minimal of my mother being in jail the next time we visit, or even of another series of tremors occurring.”

“You wanna go anywhere in particular, man?” asked the cabdriver.

“Sacramento Street, first,” said Jason. He provided the address because we needed to pick up our luggage at Vera’s sublet.

“Just what are the chances, would you think?” I asked. “Of more tremors if we come back?”

“I know a man in the Math Department who could figure it out, if you’re really interested,” Jason replied.

“That might be reassuring.”
We in the academic world do have certain perks,
I thought.
Travel to interesting places. Access to all sorts of information—including my chances of losing another three desserts if I return to San Francisco, which, earthquakes aside, is a wonderful city. We could even visit Sam again if it didn’t turn out to be too dangerous. And visit the sea lions.

Recipe Index

Citizen Cake’s Hazelnut on Chocolate

on Hazelnut on Chocolate

Italian Omelet

 

Dragon Rolls (or not)

 

Zaré’s Wild Mushroom Soup

 

Zaré’s Dungeness Crab Cakes

with Whole-Grain Mustard Sauce

 

Star Salad—Beet, Avocado, and Endive Salad

with Orange-Sherry Dressing

 

Coquilles Saint-Jacques

 

Chocolate-Black Raspberry-Walnut Cake

 

Easy Pappa al Pomodoro

 

Quick and Scientific Pasta Sauce