We hoisted Billy Bacon up to his feet and trundled him across the street to the Buick. We buckled him into the backseat, gave him the rest of the donuts, and Lula and I each took a piece of pizza.
“You’re going to get me out of jail again, aren’t you?” Billy asked us.
“As soon as we can,” I told him. “I’ll call Connie and tell her you want to be bonded out.”
“I can’t eat these here donuts with my hands behind my back,” Billy said.
I took a donut out of the box and crammed it into his mouth.
•••
It was almost two o’clock when Lula and I got back to the office. I gave Connie the body receipt certifying that Billy Bacon Brown was in police custody, and Lula gave Connie the last two pieces of pizza.
“Are we going to spring Billy Bacon?” Lula asked.
“If the court sets bail,” Connie said. “And if he can come up with something as security. Vinnie was already downtown, so he said he’d look in on him.”
“He’s not such a bad person,” Lula said. “He’s just not smart.”
“Gotta go,” I said. “Things to do.”
“Like what?” Lula asked.
“Things,” I told her. “Email, laundry, thinking.”
“I’d help you out with all that,” Lula said, “but I gotta finish reading my Star magazine. I gotta see what’s happening with the Bieber.”
I left the office and chugged off in my Buick. I parked in my apartment building lot, took the stairs to the second floor, and stopped in front of my door. There was an FTD flower arrangement sitting there. I carted the flowers inside and read the card.
Happy Birthday. Sorry I couldn’t be here to celebrate it with you. Kenny.
First, it wasn’t my birthday. Second, I didn’t know anyone named Kenny who would be sending me flowers. Third, it was definitely my address on the card. Four, no return address for Kenny.
I could see getting weird mail at the office. I gave out business cards to all sorts of people. At one point Vinnie had my picture on a billboard. And there was the occasional newspaper story about me burning down a mortuary or creating chaos at a bingo game. It bothered me that someone sent flowers to my apartment, though, because I was careful about giving out my home address. Although, now that I thought about it, my apartment had been firebombed a couple times, so clearly it wasn’t impossible to find me. At least it was flowers this time and not a dildo.
I left the flowers on the kitchen counter and said hello to Rex. He was in his soup can and didn’t acknowledge me. Probably he’d had a tough night running on his wheel and was still exhausted. I knew how he felt. I didn’t have a lot of gas left in my tank, either.
I went to my computer and googled pastry schools. I’d fibbed to Lula about the email and laundry. I’d really wanted to come home and look into baking. I mean, how hard can it be? You follow a recipe, right? Chances of stepping on a snake and getting hit in the face were small in a bakery. The pay couldn’t possibly be any worse than what I’m making now. And I would wear a cool white pastry chef coat.
I searched around and found there were a couple programs at local junior colleges, and a bunch of online courses. Or I could go the do-it-yourself route and download some cake recipes. Sort of do a test-drive to see if I liked baking cakes as much as I liked eating cakes.
I found a recipe for chocolate layer cake that looked straightforward. I’d never made a cake on my own, but I’d watched my mom and Grandma Mazur make tons of cakes. I printed out the recipe and made a list of ingredients, including two cake pans.
I had plenty of time until Ranger was due to pick me up so I trekked out to the supermarket and got everything I needed to make a cake, plus a six-pack of beer, a bag of chips, and lunch meat for sandwiches.
“This is exciting,” I said to Rex, when I got back to my kitchen and lined my ingredients up on the counter. “This could be my dream job. This could be my life’s work. It’s possible that I was always meant to be a pastry chef and just never realized it before now.”
Rex was nosing through the litter on the bottom of his cage, looking for hidden food treasures. I dropped a single Frito corn chip into his cage and he was beside himself with happiness. This is why hamsters are better than boyfriends. It doesn’t take a lot to make a hamster happy.
FOURTEEN
I WAS WAITING outside when Ranger drove up. I was wearing a black skirt, a stretchy red top, a white linen jacket, and black flats. The bruise on my cheek was green, black, and blue. I went with extra mascara to balance out the cheek color, and I substituted first-aid ointment for lip gloss.