Take the Cake (10 page)

Alistair laughed. “I’ll take what I can get.” He paused. “So,” he began delicately, “are you able to tell me anything about it?”

“Uh,” Michael stalled. To be honest, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d written. It had been a stream-of-consciousness ramble that had run on for a few thousand words, and he hadn’t had the opportunity to re-read it yet. “You know, I’m not entirely sure what it’s going to be at this stage. I’m still getting a sense of it myself.”

“Okay,” replied Alistair, the disappointment evident in his voice. “We can talk about it later.”

“Thanks, Alistair. I appreciate it.”

“Any time. I’ll give you a call in a week or so. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Michael grunted.

“Try to control your enthusiasm. I’m doing my job, remember?”

“Yes, dear,” Michael sighed, startling a laugh out of Alistair. “Can I go now?”

“I think I’ll let you. Talk to you later.”

“Okay.”

Michael hung up, staring at the handset for a moment before tossing it onto the bed. He turned to leave the room, and then glanced back. Hitching his towel into a firmer position around his waist, he tugged at the quilt and sheets, making the bed and rearranging the pillows for the first time in longer than he cared to admit. He picked up the phone again and paused before dialing.

“Hey, Watson,” he began. “You free for a run sometime?”

Plans were made, and he snapped the phone shut, this time with a distinct sense of satisfaction. Yesterday at the market with Kate had been fun, and it made him want to get out into the world again.

~~~

Michael had made his way over to Washington Square Park and was doing some warm-up stretches when he looked up at the sound of his name being called. He waved, and David waved back, jogging toward him.

“Hey, thanks for the call. The way things are going at work it’s good to be out of the office.”

“No problem. You sure you’ve got time?”

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for a few people to call back with some quotes, and the deadline for those isn’t until tomorrow. All good,” David replied. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Michael straightened up. “But it’s been a while, so be gentle.”

The two of them set off at a steady pace, talking as they jogged.

“You been up to much?” asked David.

“Well …” Michael paused to think of what to say. “I guess you could say I’ve gotten some work done.”

“Cool,” David replied.

They kept jogging, and when David remained silent, Michael shot him a quizzical glance.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

David shrugged. “I figure you’ll tell me more when you’re ready. I question people for a living, so I know when people are ready to talk and when they’re not.”

Michael thought about this for a few more paces. “Thanks. I wish there were more people like you out there.”

“Have you told your folks you’re writing again?”

“I haven’t had a chance to. It only started last night.”

They rounded a curve on the path and veered to the side as some cyclists wound their way past. They were nearing the dog park and Michael grinned as he saw the dogs and owners playing. Maybe he’d get a dog one day.

“Well, you’ll tell them when you’re ready,” David suggested.

“Again with the thanks.”

They jogged on through dappled shade and open sunny stretches of pathways. Michael’s lungs were starting to burn, and he felt sweat pooling on his back and chest. It had been a long time since he’d done this. A sideways glanced showed that David barely looked winded. Michael realized he was going to have to jog more often. How had he managed to lose his fitness so fast?

“So,” he gasped after a while, “how’s your work?”

“Aw, hell.” David grimaced. “I guess it is what it is. All the papers in this town are having a hard time, so I’m thinking about quitting.”

Michael shot him a surprised look. He hadn’t realized David was so unhappy at work. “What’s going on?”

David shrugged. “It all seems to be going to shit. The paper’s in trouble with a few lay-offs here and there, so it’s not looking good.”

“Is your job in trouble?” Michael asked.

“I’ll be fine, but it’s not as much fun as it used to be. Still, I’ve got a few options.”

“Such as?” Michael asked.

“All in good time.” David shot him an amused glance. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

“Point taken,” Michael conceded with a grin, and they jogged on.

“Hey,” David ventured after a while, “do you ever think it’s funny how we both ended up making a living in publishing?”

“Yeah.” Michael smiled. “Sometimes.”

“Me as the History major, you studying Economics, what the hell happened?”

“We discovered booze and rock-n-roll, my friend.”

“True,” conceded David. “And damned if we didn’t have a good time.”

“Amen to that, brother.”

They looked at each other and laughed.

Jogging in silence for a while gave Michael the time to mull over David’s comments. Their lives had started out on different career paths and yet they had ended up on a kind of parallel. Having known each other from an early age thanks to their parents, everyone had been delighted when the two boys had been accepted at the same college. What the parents had been a little
less
enchanted by was David’s decision to start playing guitar in a local band while Michael had starting writing review articles for local music magazines. Their parents had, after a few “summit meetings” as Charles had called them, been concerned that the boys find a life path that would ensure a steady income, although they had been careful to encourage and support them all the way through college, lest they rebel and drop out.

In the meantime, Michael and David had somehow stumbled across their futures by accident. David had a natural way with people that encouraged conversation, usually much to their surprise as they found themselves revealing far more than they wanted to. Michael, on the other hand, was a natural observer. He was quieter by nature and tended to stand back and take everything in, chiming in on later conversations with a knowledge and complexity of understanding that left people wondering at the depth of his insight.

Although Michael was the natural writer of the two, David was the one that had delved into the media world first. He had completed his degree and had been offered a job with a small newspaper. He had become well connected through the band circuit, and his network of contacts had become legion. David’s people skills seemed perfectly suited to journalism, and so his career began.

It had been Michael’s mother, Susan, who had inadvertently changed Michael’s career direction. She had been helping him unpack his books from college and had found some files that he had filled with random pieces of writing. After asking what they were, Michael had suggested in an off-hand manner that if she needed the files for work she could ditch the contents. Susan hadn’t done that, a fact she was thankful for even now. She had taken the files into her study and, later that night, had begun to read. Charles had sleepily come in to see if she was coming to bed at a very late hour, and she had wordlessly handed him one of the files she had finished and kept reading the next.

They read through the night, and a few days later, Susan casually asked Michael if he had any more writing. Michael had nodded and mumbled through a mouthful of cereal that he had an extensive collection on his MacBook. He’d referred to the files as “just some assorted ramblings, nothing much.” Susan and Charles had, with Michael’s amused permission, shown his work to some people in the publishing industry and things had never been the same after that.

By the time Michael and David had completed the park circuit, Michael thought he was going to die, much to David’s amusement.

“Just go on,” he wheezed. “Leave me, save yourself.”

“Aw, c’mon, it’s not that bad.” David laughed.

“Just promise me you’ll put up a plaque where I fall, saying something touching about my courage and dauntlessness.” Michael bent over double, bracing his hands on his knees, trying not to throw up. He hadn’t had enough water to drink.

“You’re the better writer out of the two of us. I think I’ll leave it up to you.”

“Damn.” Michael straightened up with a groan and squinted at David. “And I’m in no shape to dictate. Guess I’ll have to pull through.”

The two men walked toward the edge of the park and back out into the streets.

“That’s my boy.” David clapped him on the back. “I’m proud of you.”

“Bite me,” Michael replied.

“Speaking of which,” David said, a distinct gleam in his eye, “what was the name of that place we met at for lunch a while back?”

“Take the Cake. It’s in the Village. Why?”

“It was good. I might go there again sometime,” David replied.

“Really,” Michael responded, watching David’s expression.

“Yeah, really.” David said. “I need lunch. How to you feel about a Tube Steak?”

Michael grimaced. “You want street meat after a jog like that?”

“Hey.” David cuffed him on the shoulder. “It might have been a workout for you, but I’m well ahead of the game. I need mustard and onion too, and I can smell a vendor here somewhere. C’mon.”

After waving David off, Michael walked home slowly, already feeling his muscles protesting after his exertions. David had returned to work somehow still managing to look fresh, which firmed Michael’s resolve to go jogging more often. As he strode through the crowds, deep in thought, he completely missed the admiring glances from the women in the street … and from a few men. He moved with an unconscious grace and assurance that, centuries before, could have commanded armies, but all he knew was that he felt rank and desperately wanted another shower.

~~~

“A hot dog.” Kate stared at Wren, who had given a guilty start from her corner in the kitchen. “I slave over a hot oven to create culinary delights, Emily wears her fingers to the
bone
creating gourmet bagels and you come in here with a
hot dog?”

“Don’t be mad,” Wren pleaded. “I just felt like one!”

“Oh, Wren.” Kate shook her head. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do with you.” She gave the hot dog an arch look. “You know that’s not even real meat, right?”

“Don’t spoil the illusion!” Wren yelped, taking another bite and trying to talk with her mouth full. “I know it’s plastic, I know it could withstand a nuclear war, but I
wanted
one.”

“Fine,” Kate sighed. “I’ll make sure we’ve got Tampax in the ladies’ room next week.”

“Huh?” Wren looked mystified, and Kate smiled at her.

“You always crave stuff like that when you’re due, same as I usually want sweet or savory.”

“It’s cheese for me,” commented Emily as she carried a tray of cups inside and stacked them into the dishwasher. “And you know it’s only a matter of time before we’re in sync.”

“Men have it so easy.” Wren contemplated her hot dog for a moment, and then resolutely bit into it again. “They never have to put up with this shit.”

“Babycake!”

Kate looked up with a delighted smile of recognition. Paul was coming into the store, and he stopped short and stood aside to let a female customer leave who brushed against him, offering a smile of thanks for his chivalry as she passed. Paul stood stock still and watched her leave, his eyes following her progress with an appreciative gleam. When he turned back to Kate, he looked pole-axed. He wandered toward the counter and stopped in front of it, looking at Kate.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s all I’ve got to say, wow.”

“I take it you saw something you like?”

“Something like that,” Paul replied. Kate had a cupcake on a plate and was making some more coffee.

Wren appeared, wiping crumbs off her hands with a dishcloth, and beamed at Paul.

“Hey, Paul,” she called as she glanced at Kate. “You gonna take a break, boss?”

“You know, I think I will.”

“Ah, the privilege of power,” Wren replied with a wink. She loved working with Kate and was delighted to see just how relaxed Kate was today. Maybe she had needed the Sunday off even more than she thought. She made a mental note to have a talk to Emily to see if they could somehow reduce Kate’s workload a little.

Kate selected a “Jack” cupcake and followed Paul to a table, where he was already opening the file he’d been carrying and was making some room for their cups and plates.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Kate asked as she sat down.

Paul licked some frosting from the corner of his mouth, and then glanced at Kate.

“Kat, do you have an idea as to how the business is going?”

“A little.” She shrugged. “Seems to be going okay. Why?” She looked worried. “What’s wrong? Am I wrong? Am I struggling more than I thought?”

Paul gave her a look that was rich with affection. “Calm down. You’re doing better than okay. Seems you’ve found yourself a good little niche here in the Village after all. How was your weekend?”

“Uh …” Kate was flummoxed at the change in topic. “It was good. Great, even. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I had the chance to relax.”

Paul regarded his sister. He loved her with all his heart, which was considerable, and always would. After Jack’s and Gwen’s passing, the two of them had grown even closer. Partners had come and gone and had always been welcomed into the fold, but their bond had grown stronger over the years. Kate was, he had to admit, a striking woman—sister notwithstanding—having a quiet kind of beauty that drew people to her. He took enormous pride in her success but had watched with concern as faint purple smudges of fatigue had appeared beneath her eyes as the years went by. He had cautioned and advised, and now he was in a position to remedy the situation.

“Would you like to have more?”

“Oh, God,” Kate groaned. “Now you’re just talking dirty.”

“I’m serious, Kat. You can all give yourselves a two-day weekend, just like the rest of us. How ’bout it?”

Kate gaped at him. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Your turnover has been steadily increasing and you’re sitting in a good place. You’ve got some good cash reserves now, good staff. I think you need to start to pace things before you burn yourself out and it goes south.”