Behind the Seams (2 page)

Adele saw her opening and went for it. She leaned her beanie-covered head toward CeeCee. As usual, she’d gotten a little carried away with crochet. The hat was so covered with flowers, it made her head look like it had lumps on top.

“We have to do something. The knitters”—Adele interrupted herself with a harrumph sound as she threw up her hands in frustration—“have all kinds of people. I read that Sandra Bullock keeps calm by knitting, and Julia Roberts knits. Even Russell Crowe. And the list goes on and on. Just think if you could teach Barbara how to crochet on the show. I’m telling you, we need more celebrity crocheters. All we have is Vanna White,” Adele said.

“Excuse me,” CeeCee interjected.

“Right, we have you, too,” Adele said. “But we need more. We need someone big and splashy.”

Nell Collins, CeeCee’s niece, came in at the end of the interchange and stopped in the doorway. Adele saw her and her face lit up.

“Can’t you do something about getting your aunt to do a crochet demonstration on the talk show? You work on it, don’t you?”

Nell looked like a much younger version of her aunt. Only the brown of her long hair was all natural. She had come out from Ohio a few months ago with the idea of getting into the entertainment industry and was staying with CeeCee. But unlike her aunt, Nell was really interested in working on the production end rather than in front of the camera. She laughed at Adele’s comment. “I’m a production assistant, which basically means I’m a gofer. I already get a lot of grief because some people think Aunt CeeCee got me the job, so I try not to bring up any connection.” Nell sighed. “But I think I know why they didn’t want you to teach Barbara how to crochet. I heard one of the segment producers has a show coming up in a few weeks with some celebrity knitters, and they’re going to teach Barbara how to work her needles on the show. Everybody knows about Barbara’s battle with her weight, nail biting and general anxiety. The knitters claim to have a cure-all for that.”

Adele jumped up at the word knitters. We all understood Adele had her reasons for seeing it as being the crocheters versus the knitters. It went back to a Cinderella-type stepmother and stepsisters who were all aggressive knitters who shamed Adele about her yarn hobby. We all loved crochet but weren’t as reactionary as Adele. Still, this time I could see her point. It irked me that the knitters were getting a platform on the show but the crocheters weren’t.

“I’m telling you that host needs a crochet intervention. She’s always going on about her weight problems and her nail biting. Knitting isn’t going to help that. All those clacking needles will just make her more nervous,” Adele said.

Sheila Altman said, “Hear, hear” from the corner. If anyone knew about the therapeutic aspect of crochet, it was her. Sheila had sensitive nerves and she’d learned to handle her anxiety attacks with crochet. In fact, this whole discussion seemed to have stirred things up for her, and I noticed she’d taken out a hook and string she always carried. She didn’t even have to look as she made a bunch of chains and went back over them with single crochet stitches.

“Ladies, we’re getting off track here,” Dinah Lyons said. Along with being a fellow hooker, she was my best friend. She taught English at a community college to reluctant students and knew how to keep things on subject. “The show is tomorrow and CeeCee needs to get this recipe down cold.” Dinah bristled with energy as she looked over the setup. She added numbers to the labels on the small bowls, showing the order they should be used. I wrote out a list of steps and put it next to the large bowl. It still took a few more tries before CeeCee ended up with a pan of apple slices correctly covered with the bumble-crumble topping. This time, she put it in the real oven—with us looking on to make sure she did it right. It came out smelling delicious. We all congratulated CeeCee on her success at cooking, and she triumphantly put some on plates for all of us.

“It seems a little plain,” CeeCee said, looking at the serving she’d taken for herself. “Can’t we jazz it up a little. How about whipped cream?”

CeeCee was astonished to hear there was a way to make it besides squirting it out of a can. I made a fast grocery store run and came back with some heavy cream. Luckily I got several containers, knowing CeeCee was likely to have a problem. She went wild with the hand mixer and ended up turning the first attempt into butter.

“Dear, this is fascinating,” she said, taking a taste of her creation and deciding it would be tasty on scones. She went slower with the next batch and stopped when it was still whipped cream. CeeCee added a dollop to each of our plates, and we all dug in. “This is wonderful. I can’t believe I actually made it,” she said, punctuating her comment with her musical laugh.

As we ate, she took the list of steps I’d written out and said she’d make a cheat sheet on her hand for the show. She’d call her agent to make sure they wrote the ingredients on the bowls and to make sure they had whipping cream and a mixer.

The baking smells must have wafted through the house because I heard CeeCee’s two Yorkies barking and scratching from the service porch where she’d put them to keep them out of the way.

“I appreciate that you all want to come to the taping and give me moral support, but its really not necessary,” CeeCee said. I knew what CeeCee was really saying was that she didn’t want the group to come. Not that they got it. Everyone insisted it was no problem and was thrilled when Nell started to hand out the tickets.

“Getting these is the only real thing I’ve done,” Nell said as she gave the last one out. Right after that, everyone took off. Even Dinah, which surprised me. My friend usually hung around until I left. I couldn’t help but wonder what was up with that.

I hadn’t been sure what kitchen equipment CeeCee had, so I’d brought the ingredients, bowls and pan. I took everything in the kitchen and started to wash the dishes. CeeCee said I could have left them for her housekeeper to deal with in the morning, but I felt funny about giving her extra work.

When everything was clean and packed up, I passed through the dining room and heard voices coming from the living room, and the tone sounded like somebody was unhappy. I peeked in the living room with the idea of saying good-bye. Nell and her aunt were sitting on the sofa, and the younger woman’s face was twisted in frustration. It didn’t seem right to interrupt, so before they saw me, I backed out of sight.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Robyn is on my case all the time. She keeps bringing up that I got the job because of my connection to you, or as she puts it, I took the easy way, while she got in all on her own.” Nell slumped farther. “She screwed something up and then made me take the blame. It’s just so unfair. My life would be so much simpler if she was out of the way.”

CeeCee seemed at a loss for suggestions and uncertain about how to comfort her niece. She started to put her arm around Nell, then took it back. Finally, she sighed. “I didn’t get the job for you. I made some calls and my agent got you the interview. You got the job on your own merit.”

Poor Nell. She was just out of college, where there was some effort to keep things fair, and she was getting her first taste of the unfairness of the world. Apparently, CeeCee was thinking the same thing. She told the girl she’d just have to deal with the woman who was causing all the problems. There was no magic cure.

If anybody knew about things not being fair, it was CeeCee. When her dentist-husband died, she found out he’d lost all their money and she had to start over. CeeCee might be a little self-absorbed at times, but she wasn’t all fluff. Hidden behind the sparkling eyes and tinkling laugh was a will of steel. Though at one time she’d been the star of the
CeeCee Collins Show
, when that ended, she set aside her pride and had taken any small part or cameo role she could get. She had even hosted an infomercial. She made it a point to be easy to work with, knowing it would help her get more and hopefully better parts. Her determination had paid off.

I waited a moment longer and made sure Nell was done before I walked in to say good-bye.

“Thank you, Molly. What would I have done without you?” CeeCee got up and walked me to the door. Nell had let the dogs out and they were actively searching my shoes for crumbs. “You’re coming to the show, aren’t you?” CeeCee said, stopping in the foyer.

“Actually, I wasn’t planning to. Adele has her heart set on going, and it’s hard for both of us to be gone from the bookstore at the same time.”

CeeCee’s smile faded, and she grabbed my hands in a frantic manner. “You have to come. You really do. Molly, we can’t have the Hookers in the audience on their own. Who knows what they’ll do.” I knew she was really talking about Adele, and since I’d seen what Adele could do when left on her own, I agreed to work it out so I could go.

I came home with the magic combination of food and animal scents, and my two dogs stuck to me like glue after I walked into my kitchen. Blondie, the strawberry blond terrier mix, and Cosmo, the small black mutt, were joined by Holstein and Cat Woman, the two cats my son had brought with him when he moved back home.

I’d had my share of cats over the years and was always amazed at how distinct each of their personalities were. Holstein was more like a cat-dog. He joined the dogs in following me around the house and couldn’t get enough attention. Cat Woman was more like the generic idea of a cat. She tended to be more aloof except around food. She always sat at my feet and patted my leg with her paw until she got a taste.

I did a double take when I heard hammering coming from the other room. Supposedly I had been living alone since my husband Charlie died, but then my son Samuel lost the place where he was staying and moved back in with the cats. And then there was Barry Greenberg. . . .

I followed the sound to the dining room. The lights were on and the skeleton of a shelving unit was on the floor. Barry set down his hammer and looked up as I walked in. He wiped some sawdust off on his faded jeans and rolled up the sleeve that had come undone on his blue and black plaid flannel shirt. “What do you think?” He gestured toward his work. Last time I’d seen it, it was a pile of wood in the back of his Tahoe. The change was definitely impressive.

“Great,” I said, trying to sound one hundred percent enthusiastic. Really, I was still getting used to the changes around here.

I used to be upset at referring to Barry as my boyfriend. I mean, he’s in his fifties and a homicide detective. To me, the title
boyfriend
was somewhere along the lines of wearing clothes that were too young for you. Even if you still had the legs to wear a short little skirt, it looked off. I really didn’t have to worry about the boyfriend title anymore anyway. When Barry presented me with the blue velvet box with a diamond ring inside at Christmas, everything changed, including the title he was after.

He’s been talking about us getting married long before the ring, and I know most women would have been thrilled. But it was just that I was still getting over Charlie’s death. And to be honest, there was something more. I’d married young and had never been on my own to try my wings. I was in my late forties and finally getting that chance. I liked it; I really did. I’d started a whole new life with my job at the bookstore and the crochet group.

There were other issues, too. Barry’s job, for one. Forget about making any plans. If he picked up a murder, he could practically disappear for days with barely a call. And then out of nowhere, show up at my door with just a call from his cell phone to let me know he was there. I wasn’t sure how I could deal with a husband who did that.

And there was the communication thing. Charlie had worked in public relations and talked about it extensively. I’d helped out with his business, too, so it was always in the open. But Barry wanted to shut the door on his day when he came over. I understood, but it still felt uncomfortable, as though I was shut out of a large portion of his life. Again, it was one thing if that was going on with someone you were going out with, another if you were married to them.

But I pretty much forgot about those problems when he was around. Even if he wouldn’t talk about it, I found it exciting that his work world was dark and dangerous. I felt safe with him. Maybe it had to do with how he was able to fix anything that broke in my house. It felt like he could take care of things. And, of course, there was this chemical thing when he was around. Barry was hot. What could I say?

I glanced down at my bare left hand. The ring was still in the box in my dresser drawer. I’d thought his getting the ring was a romantic gesture and all, but I still wasn’t ready to be a fiancée.

Barry wasn’t happy with my fence-sitting and dealt with it by ignoring it. He’d begun leaving more of his things at my house and had gone ahead and started making changes, like building this shelving unit to add to what I already had for my yarn. Those shelves were already overflowing and there were grocery bags filled with my stash on the floor again.

Barry rocked back on his heels before standing and slinging his arm around my shoulder. “I’ve been thinking, babe. We should get our own place.” He caught my look of surprise and quickly added. “That is if you decide to say yes.” He said
if
, but I knew he meant
when
. Once he’d thrown out that qualifier, he continued on. “It would be better to start fresh, no memories.” He didn’t say it, but I knew he was thinking,
And no baggage, either
. My son Samuel had just walked in the room and was looking over Barry’s work-in-progress.

He gave Barry a cursory nod and turned all his attention toward me. “I’m leaving,” he said. “I’m filling in at that new restaurant that opened up in the Village Walk.” Samuel was a musician waiting for his big break. In the meantime, he was a barista at a local coffee place and took whatever gigs he could get. He picked up his guitar case and headed toward the door.

Barry made a noise as Samuel left. Something along the lines of a displeased grunt. You didn’t have to be an expert to pick up on the undercurrent of hostility between Barry and Samuel. Barry didn’t think I should have let Samuel move back in when he lost the place he was sharing with a bunch of guys. And Samuel was still getting over his father’s death and wasn’t comfortable with someone taking Charlie’s place in my life.