Seasons of Her Life (50 page)

“Andy, you are the marvel in marvelous. Guess we'll have to cut you in for a percentage. On the other hand, if we get Mrs. Sugar to the stage where we have to have a building, you can design it for us. Think about it, okay?”

“You got it, Ma. I want to call Jeff now. Talk to you tomorrow. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Andy.”

There were tears in Ruby's eyes when she turned to Dixie. “Guess you heard all of that.”

Dixie shook her head. “My ears are still ringing. That kid is something else. I guess we're in business,” she said carefully.

“Looks like it,” Ruby said just as carefully. “Can we do it, Dix?”

“Not with one stove. Or even two. We need three, or else we need a commercial oven. I don't know what they cost. A lot, I think.”

“Look,” Ruby said, reaching for a pencil, “we don't have to move on this right away. Let's look at it as a business opportunity, fine-tune it, and see if we can handle it. Tomorrow we'll go to a restaurant supply house and see how much an oven costs. We owe it to ourselves to give it a try, but I don't think we can bake enough cookies to sell every day, even if we have a commercial oven. Maybe three times a week. Our other alternative is hiring someone to make our deliveries. Then we'll have to pay for gas, tolls, and wear and tear on our cars. I had no idea going into a business of your own had so many problems. I have to start thinking about health insurance, too. Andrew said he's cutting me off his. Can we do this, Dixie?” Ruby asked worriedly.

“Of course. We both knew, we talked about this, Ruby, that we might have to work around the clock till we got established. I'm prepared. I know you're worried that I won't be able to hold up my end, but I can. I won't let you down.”

“Dixie, I know that. It's me I'm worried about. We aren't twenty years old and living in Camp Lejune anymore. In those days we could go all day and night and not wipe out. We're forty now. I get tired, so do you. I can't handle more than a fourteen-hour day. We have to think logically and hire someone. And we have no money. We already know we can't get credit. The five hundred from Grace and Paul isn't going to last very long. And I can't take out a mortgage on the house my parents live in. If we flop in this business, I won't have any means of paying it off, and now that I don't have a husband or a steady job, a bank is going to be leery about lending me money.”

“Do you have anything you can sell at a flea market? I have some old stuff in the attic I could sell. You must have the same things I have. We might be able to get fifty or seventy-five dollars for the lot and use it to pay a driver and that will free us to bake. We'd have to do it on a Saturday, because that's the only day the flea market is open. I can bring my stuff over here during the day and Hugo will never know.

“It's the practical thing to do. All that stuff isn't being used, will probably never be used, and is taking up space. We can pay for a lot of hours and tolls, not to mention gas, if we net seventy-five dollars. And on that note I think I'll leave.”

 

Ruby spent the next several hours adding, subtracting, and multiplying. She scribbled and tossed wads of paper into the trash. She longed for an adding machine. Finally, in disgust, she picked up the phone and dialed her husband's number. She was surprised to hear his sleepy voice. “I need to talk to you, Andrew,” she said briskly. “Wake up.”

“Ruby! For God's sake, it's quarter after two. If you're calling to tell me the house is on fire, tough, that's your problem. You kicked me out. Call me at the store tomorrow.”

“Andrew, I have to talk to you now. I need a commercial oven, maybe two. Does Sears sell them? Do you know where I can get them at a good price?”

“You called me in the middle of the night to ask me something so stupid?”

“Think of it in terms of your percentage, Andrew. Dixie and I are going into the cookie business and I need commercial ovens.”

“You're what?” Andrew exploded.

“You heard me, the cookie business. We have too many orders and can't fill them with our home ovens. Andrew, are you listening to me?”

“You're nuts, Ruby, and I'm nuts for listening to you.”

Ruby clenched her teeth and then crossed her fingers. “I have orders.”

“I don't believe you.” He sounded interested.

“You're a dipshit, Andrew. This is going to work. I told you to think in terms of your percentage. You'll be a rich man.”

“Three percent,” Andrew said craftily, fully awake now.

“Two,” Ruby said coldly. “Providing you get me two ovens at wholesale prices.”

“Four,” Andrew said coolly.

“Two and a half. That's my only offer. Two and a half is not shabby.”

“When do I start getting my share? When can I quit this lousy job?”

“When I'm rich and famous. Don't quit your job, Andrew, I could fall flat on my face, but it won't be because I haven't given it my all.”

“Is that you talking, Ruby? The Ruby who can do anything? The fixer-upper Ruby I was married to? Nah, she never fails. She can do anything.”

Ruby could feel the tears spring to her eyes. “I never said I was all those things. That's the way you thought of me. It wasn't fair to me, Andrew, then or now. I'm trying, so give me some credit, okay? If I succeed, so do you. I won't ever cheat you. I think you know that.”

“Okay. How soon do you need to know about the ovens?”

“Tomorrow morning, before ten. Call the manager of the appliance department before you go to work, and get back to me. By the way, Andrew, you left a lot of stuff in the garage—tools and things. If I clean them up, do you mind if I sell them at the flea market? I need the money to pay a driver for a while. I've already borrowed everywhere I can.”

“You aren't signing my name to anything, are you?” Andrew demanded, a hard edge to his voice.

“No, I wouldn't do that. Can I sell the stuff or not?”

“How much do you think you can get for it? Those tools are top of the line.”

“Rusty tools. Twenty-five dollars, maybe thirty-five. Enough for me to pay a driver for a few days.”

“That's piss-away money. Okay, but if you get more than that, I want a share. I trust you, Ruby, not to cheat me.”

“I'm flattered, Andrew. Good night.”

“Ruby?”

“What?”

“Aren't you going to ask me how I am?”

“The kids said you're fine. I'm glad you're okay. I'll talk to you in the morning.”

It wasn't until she was halfway up the stairs that she realized he hadn't asked how she was. Some things would never change, she thought wearily.

The brand new, ugly commercial ovens were turned on for the
first time at 7 Ribbonmaker Lane the day before St. Patrick's Day. The time was 8:01
A.M.
They were turned off fourteen minutes later by the town's health inspector. A representative from the gas company arrived at 9:25 and disconnected the gas he'd turned on the day before.

Dumbfounded, Ruby and Dixie could only stare with their mouths hanging open as they listened to the health inspector tell them their operation didn't meet the sanitary codes of the town. “And,” he said coldly, “you don't have a license to operate a business in your home. This is a residential area. It isn't zoned for business. Furthermore, you need a fire wall behind the ovens and a fire door. You are not up to code,” he said, slapping a bright orange sticker on the wall behind the ovens. “What all this means, ladies, is you are to cease and desist until the town council can meet two weeks from tomorrow. I would suggest you at least apply for a license. Your presence is requested at the meeting. There's a fine for operating a business in a residential area without the proper authorization. Licenses and Permits will tell you how much it is. Today,” he said, tongue in cheek, “would be a good time to pay it. Good day, ladies.”

“Drinking on the job.” The inspector clucked his tongue to show what he thought of two women with wineglasses in their hands at nine-thirty in the morning.

“Now, just a minute,” Ruby said in a hoarse, crackling voice. “We didn't know we needed a license. What's wrong with my garage? It's clean. I cleaned it myself. And we aren't drinking. This is ginger ale!”

“Ignorance of the law is no excuse. Leave it up to a woman to make a mess of things,” he muttered.

“You come back here,” Ruby yelled, emerging from her daze. “Are you saying we messed up here because we're women and women are stupid?”

“That about covers it,” the inspector yelled over his shoulder, ignoring her order to return to the garage.

“You can't do this!” Ruby screamed.

“I just did it! We take our laws seriously in this town,” the inspector shot back.

Andrew took that particular moment to waltz through the side door. He was smacking his hands gleefully, demanding to see the first cookies roll out of the oven.

“Shut up, Andrew. Just shut up!” Ruby fumed. “We're out of business.”

Andrew craned his neck to stare out the side window at the departing health department car and gas company truck. “I should have known this was a harebrained scheme; you can't do anything right, Ruby. I bought these ovens under my name. Who's going to make the payments? They can't be taken back. They're goddamn used!” he bellowed.

“There's not a crumb in them. They were turned on and turned off.”

“They're used!” Andrew continued to bellow. “And who's that kid?” he said, pointing to a young man dressed in a three-piece suit and carrying an imitation leather briefcase. Dixie met him at the front door.

Ruby's eyes rolled back in her head when she heard the young man ask for Mrs. Sugar. He took a scarlet bag from his briefcase. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Dixie lead the young man into the kitchen and close the door. She was back five minutes later, her face drawn and white. In a hoarse croak she said, “He wants to order fifty gross of cookies, assorted, every week, for the school cafeteria at Monmouth College. How many is fifty gross?”

Andrew's eyes popped. “One hell of a lot of cookies, and you have no way to make them.”

“I hate your attitude, Andrew. I mean, I really hate it!” Ruby said, sticking her face right up against her husband's. “Please leave so I can tend to business.”

“Ruby the screwup. I should have known better than to go along with this cockamamie idea. You damn well better come up with a way to make the payments on these ovens,” Andrew snarled.

“I'll remind you of your attitude when it's time to write out your first check. I'm going to deduct. Do you hear me, Andrew? I'm going to deduct for every miserable, negative word you said here this morning. I want you out of here. Now! This is my house and I want you off the property. I'll take a broom to you if you don't move right now!”

Andrew leaned against the wall. “It's not yours yet! You don't get the deed until you get fully caught up with the mortgage and give me my money, and, by the way, when is that going to be? Exactly?”

Ruby picked up the long wooden paddle that was to be used to remove the cookie trays from the oven. She swung it wickedly. “You've pushed me too far, Andrew. Out! Call your lawyer, call mine, but get out of here!”

Andrew's Buick Special roared out of the driveway. He was shaking his fist at Ruby as he barreled down the street.

Inside the sweet-smelling kitchen Ruby found herself gaping at an array of papers spread out on the kitchen table. These papers belonged to the young man. Business papers, probably contracts. He was serious. Well, by God, so was she. She smiled and held out her hand. “I'm Ruby Blue, half of Mrs. Sugar. I'm sure Dixie introduced herself. I hope it's not too much trouble to ask you to explain your offer again.”

Kevin Sandler pushed his glasses closer to his eyes. “I represent the food concession for the Monmouth College cafeteria. My sister is matriculating there and she dates a boy from Rutgers. It seems her boyfriend bought a bag of your cookies and shared them with her. She said they were excellent, and now that Mrs. Sinclaire has given me one of each to try, I'd say I agree. We'll pay seventy-five cents a dozen. We'll pick up ourselves. The bags, while nice, aren't really necessary. Since we'll be buying by the gross, you can pack them in baker's boxes, which we'll return, so you'll need two sets. We also supply the food for Rutgers, Princeton, Rensselaer, NJIT, and quite a few of the community colleges. It's just a matter of time before we're under contract for
all
the community colleges.”

“Ninety cents,” Ruby said briskly.

“Seventy-seven,” Kevin said just as briskly.

“Eighty-five.”

“Eighty. Don't counter, it's as high as I'm authorized to go.”

“Agreed,” Ruby said coolly. “However, we can't make delivery until the first of April.”

“That's fine. It will take that long to get the paper work under way. This is our agreement. Show it to your attorney. I'll be in touch. You don't have any extra cookies I can take along with me, do you?” he asked, snapping the briefcase closed.

Dixie handed him two bags. He thanked her politely and left as quietly as he'd arrived.

“He said we need business cards,” Dixie whispered, “and he gave me the name of a printer. Ruby, what are we going to do?”

“I don't know. I really don't know. I hate to admit this, but I think Andrew's right. I am stupid. How could I have forgotten something as important as a license?”

“Then I'm just as stupid, because I didn't think of it, either.” Dixie groaned.

“What are we going to do with all this dough we made last night?”

Ruby looked at the huge stainless steel bowls full of cookie dough. It had taken them hours to mix. “We're not throwing it out, that's for sure. One of us has to stay here and bake and the other one has to go down and get a license they won't let us use. Do you have any extra money? All I have is eight dollars.”

“Ruby, you know I don't have any money.”

“You keep saying that. Look, I've been robbing from Peter to pay Paul. You're going to have to do the same thing. Look at me, Dixie. There's no place else I can get money. I am tapped out. I can't come up with a dollar extra. It's your turn. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. Otherwise, we have to pack it in and call it quits.”

“What . . . what do you want me to do?”

“You told me you and Hugo have a joint savings account. That means whatever is in that account is half yours. If you want to, you can draw out money; all you have to do is sign a withdrawal slip. I'd hoped it wasn't going to come to this, but I can't carry all the burden. As it is,
I
owe Andrew for the ovens.
I
owe Paul and Grace.
I've
juggled my own bills to pay
our
bills. The money I get from my closing next week is already spent. We have to get a lawyer, too.
I've
covered your part-time salary these past weeks so Hugo won't find out what we're up to.”

“What about the quilt? If we have no money and can't make any until we get the town's okay, where am I going to come up with a quilt? He'll kill me if he finds out,” Dixie blubbered.

“The quilt is taken care of. I wrote to Nola's mother and asked her if she'd make one for you. She said she would and promised it for Mother's Day. She agreed to wait for the money.”

“Okay, I'll do it!” Dixie said in a shaky voice after a long moment of struggling with her fears. “How much?”

Ruby swayed dizzily. “At least a hundred dollars. We'll find a way to put it back before the bank computes the quarterly interest. If Hugo gets nasty and finds out, tell him the price of materials for quilts has gone up.”

Dixie wiped her tears. Ruby blew her nose.

“We survived this hurdle,” Ruby said. “I'll stop by and see that lawyer, the one who's on the corner of Main Street. You get the money and meet me at the town hall in half an hour. While I get the license and fill out the papers, you come back here and take some of the dough home and bake there. I'll finish up here with the rest of the dough. Is that okay with you?

“Hugo Sinclaire, if you so much as touch a hair on her head, I will personally kill you,” Ruby hissed in her quiet, empty kitchen.

Ruby dropped her head into her hands. She cried, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. What right did she have to tell Dixie to steal from her husband? What if something happened to her friend? She shouldn't be expected to carry the whole load—workwise and financially. Partners meant a fifty-fifty split in every sense of the word. Business was business. Time was money. “What about friendship and endangering one's life?” She wailed. It was Dixie's decision in the end. Dixie didn't have to do it. Sure she did, her conscience pricked. You goaded her. “It's fair,” Ruby shouted. Financially, it's fair; morally, it isn't. You know it, Ruby Blue. You know it!

Ruby reached for the phone. She dialed Dixie's number. Her heart pounded as she listened to the ringing phone. Finally, Dixie's breathless voice came over the wire. “Don't do it, Dixie. Don't go to the bank. I'll think of something else. Come back here for the cookie dough. I'm sorry, Dixie. I had no right to put you in a position like that.” The relief in her friend's voice was obvious. My God, what kind of person was she turning into? Fall back and regroup.

The something else came to Ruby after she had paced out of the kitchen, into the hall, through the dining room, into the living room, and back to the dining room.

The first used-furniture dealer she called said he would stop by with his truck at four o'clock. “I won't take a penny less than five hundred dollars. If you aren't interested, don't take up my time. This is solid cherrywood and has two hutches and eight chairs, plus two table extensions in perfect condition. It seats twelve comfortably. Bring the money.”

It took a long time for Ruby to soothe the sobbing Dixie when she found out what Ruby had done. “You don't need me, Ruby. I'm more of a problem than I'm worth. When we needed my help the most, I didn't come through. I'm so sorry.”

“You were willing to do it and that's all that matters. We're friends, I thought you knew that. Later, when we get some cash flow, you can put some back in the business if you feel that strongly.”

“But, Ruby, you love that dining room set. I'm so sorry.”

“One should never get attached to material objects. Besides, now we'll have a nine-by-twelve room to fill with cookies. Wall to wall.” She laughed then because she didn't want to cry.

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Ruby. She had a license to operate Mrs. Sugar's Cookies, but it was temporary, pending council approval. She'd paid a fifty-dollar retainer to the law firm of Spitzer and Spitzer to handle their case at the council meeting, and she had five hundred dollars in her purse from the sale of her dining room set. But the best thing that happened was her realization that friendship was more important than material things, or even the business, when it came down to the bottom line. She felt now as though her friendship with Dixie was carved in granite.

 

The days until the council meeting were hectic. Ruby tramped the streets with a petition for permission to operate Mrs. Sugar out of her garage. It took her ten days to cover the five-block radius the town required. She had no objectors. While Ruby trudged the streets, Dixie oversaw the sketchy work that was going on in the garage to bring it up to town code. A white tile floor was installed. A fire wall and fire door took two full days of work. Two coats of fresh white paint were added to the new plasterboarded walls. Even the secondhand refrigerator gleamed with a fresh coat of enamel. The effect was so sanitary-looking, it blinded the eye.

Ruby called for an inspection the day after the work was finished.

To Ruby's delight, the health inspector slapped an approved sticker on the wall. “This doesn't mean the town is going to let you run this business. All this sticker means is it's up to code. You have to pass the zoning code before you can turn those ovens on again.” He looked at the crisp dimity curtains on the garage window and door. He snorted. “It figures; women think curtains will fix up anything.”