“No,” Candace answered. Then in less than ten minutes she rejected all of Mae’s other ideas. Mae wanted to kill her and had to remind herself that she needed the money.
“For my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary, I was hoping for something a little more unique. You haven’t shown me anything special. I wish Ray was here. He’d come up with something really nice.”
All the menus Mae had showed her were nice. In fact, they were from Ray’s menu file. Mae felt her temper rise and forced herself to ask as pleasantly as possible, “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I don’t know. You’re the caterer. You’re supposed to be creative.”
But Mae had never been the creative one.
“I haven’t seen anything special. Do you have anything else?”
Mae reached for a photo album and flipped it open.
She doubted Candace would find anything to suit her. She was convinced that Mrs. Sullivan’s sole reason for coming was to drive Mae to drink. “These are pictures of jobs we’ve catered. Perhaps you’ll see something you like.”
“I hope so.”
“Excuse me,” the girl in pink at the desk cut in. “I couldn’t help but overhear y’all. Maybe I could help.”
Mae had forgot Georgeanne was even in the room, and turned to look at her.
“Where did your parents honeymoon?” Georgeanne asked from her seat behind the desk.
“Italy,” Candace replied.
“Hmm.” Georgeanne placed the tip of the pen on her full bottom lip. “You could start with Pappa col Pomodoro,” she advised, her Italian sounding peculiar with that southern accent of hers drawing out all those vowels. “Then Florentine roast pork served with potatoes, carrots, and a thick slice of bruschetta. Or if you prefer duck, it could be served Arezzo style with pasta and a fresh salad.”
Candace looked at Mae, then back at the other woman. “Mother loves lasagna with basil sauce.”
“Lasagna with a nice radicchio salad would be perfect. Then you could top off the meal with a delicious apricot anniversary cake.”
“Apricot cake?” Candace asked, sounding less than enthusiastic. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s wonderful,” Georgeanne gushed.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” She leaned forward and placed her elbows on the desk. “Vivian Hammond, of the San Antonio Hammonds, is positively mad for apricot cake. She loves it so much, she broke a hundred-and-thirty-year tradition and served it to the ladies at the annual Yellow Rose Club meeting.” Her eyes narrowed and she lowered her voice as if she were sharing a tasty piece of gossip. “You see, until Vivian, the club had always served lemon pound cake at their meetings, lemon being the same color as yellow roses and all.” She paused, leaned back in her chair, and tilted her head to one side. “Naturally, her mama was mortified.”
Mae lowered her brows and stared at Georgeanne. There was something a little familiar about her. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it and wondered if they’d met before.
“Really?” Candace asked. “Why didn’t she serve both?”
Georgeanne shrugged her bare shoulders. “Who knows. Vivian is a peculiar woman.”
The more Georgeanne talked, the stronger Mae’s feeling of familiarity grew.
Candace looked at her watch, then at Mae. “I like the idea of Italian, and I’ll need a big enough apricot anniversary cake to feed about one hundred people.” By the time Mrs. Sullivan left the building, Mae had a menu plan, a contract written, and a check for the deposit. She leaned her behind against the table and folded her arms beneath her breasts.
“I have a few questions for you,” she said. When Georgeanne looked up from the application she pretended to study, Mae looked at the menu she held in her own hand. “What is Pappa col Pomodoro?”
“Tomato soup.”
“Can you make it?”
“Sure. It’s real easy.”
Mae set the menu on the table by her right hip. “Did you make up that apricot cake story?”