Part 41 (2/2)
”Baby?”
”Hidden in each king cake is a plastic baby. Tradition says whoever finds the baby in their slice of cake must host the next party or buy the next king cake.”
How quaint!
”One king cake,” my mother said.
”I love my mommy!” I said. ”Ooh. How about those?” I'd spotted squares covered in a mountain of powdered sugar.
”Beignets. Like a doughnut, but without the hole. They come in threes. Served warm with a gla.s.s of chocolate milk or cafe au lait, they are-” he put his fingers to his mouth and made a kissing sound, ”perfection.”
I put my head on my mother's shoulder and looked up at her with pound-puppy eyes.
”Please, Mommy!”
She sighed. ”Three please.”
”When she says three, that really means nine, you know, since they come in threes,” I reminded the baker. He shook his head and went to fill our order.
”Look, there's Keelie!” My mom said, and I turned. Cameras trailing in her wake, she looked a far cry from the vivacious redhead I'd first seen five days earlier. Manny trailed a discreet distance behind.
”Is that her mother?” Taylor asked.
I nodded.
”She looks like Jessica Rabbit,” Taylor observed.
I stared. ”Oh, my G.o.d! She does! She really does!”
”Now stop it, girls. Don't you dare make a scene!” our mother warned us.
”Hi, Jean! Hey, Tressa. Uh, Taylor, right? This is my mom, Candice.”
”h.e.l.lo. Nice to meet you,” Taylor extended her hand. Candice was too busy fanning herself with a purple, green, and gold Mardi Gras fan to notice Taylor's outstretched hand.
”Are you having a good time with your mother?” my mom asked Keelie.
”I had a tarot card reading,” she said, side-stepping the question. ”You know. The usual stuff. Be leery of dark, handsome strangers. Unparalleled fame and fortune are within my reach. Beware the masks of Mardi Gras. Danger lurks where you least expect it. Typical mumbo jumbo.”
”This whole Creole charade is embarra.s.sing. We can afford to experience the real thing in New Orleans. Why squander time on this cultural wasteland?” Candice said, and brought her arm up to fan herself again. ”And the heat is beastly.”
”Well, after all, it is the 'Big Easy,' Taylor said.
”You mean the big sleazie,” Candice said. ”Talk about your poor excuse for a party. Can we get this lame stroll down by the riverside over with? It smells like fish down here.”
”You'd know.”
For a second I wasn't sure that I'd heard correctly-or that the softly-worded, but clearly enunciated, remark came from my mother, board member of the state CPA a.s.sociation, food bank volunteer, and deaconess of the Open Bible Church.
”What did you say?”
”Why do people do that?” my mother said.
”Do what?” At least three people responded.
”Ask 'what did you say' when they know perfectly well what the other person said. It seems superfluous to me.”
”Superfluous?”
”Unnecessary. Not needed. Redundant.”
Okay. That's where Taylor got it.
”What is your problem, lady?” Candice Keeler asked.
”I don't have a problem. I'm here with my two daughters enjoying a Midwestern Mardi Gras celebration that a lot of very good people went to a lot of hard work to put together. Which leads me to wonder if your performance is for the camera or if you really are so incredibly miserable and unhappy that you can't keep from spreading it around. Oh, and by the way, Jessica. Where's Roger?”
Candice blinked. ”Roger?”
”Mr. Rabbit.”
I couldn't believe it. My mother had gone from Debbie Reynolds to Joan Rivers in the blink of an eye.
It took a while before Candice got the gist of the reference. I wondered if, under that wig, there was a blonde itching to break free.
The dumbfounded vendor stared at the show going on, our lovely king cake in his hands, ready to box.
”Oh! Look! A king cake!” Candice exclaimed, stepping up to the booth. ”Is it sold?”
The baker's head went up and down. ”To the nice lady.”
”It's not carrot cake, but it'll do,” she said, showing she was no pushover in the snark department.”
Before I knew what was happening, Candice Keller's mauve nails ripped into the cake like a one-year-old on his first birthday. She pulled out a handful of gooey, crummy cake. She turned.
”Roger sends his regrets he couldn't be here,” she said and threw the handful of cake in my mother's face.
I stared, stunned by Jessica's surprise attack. When my mother stepped over to the vendor and sunk both hands, into the cake, digging out not one, but two handfuls of king cake, I was mesmerized.
She turned. I held my breath.
”You really must take some cake home for the poor dear,” Mom said.
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