Page 11 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes
For one last lingering moment, Candace kept her eyes trained on Daisy. Then, with a vicious thumb-swipe, she answered her phone and spun on her heel. As she power-walked away, her voice, which raised to an impossibly sweet tilt, carried with her.
“Uncle Per-per! Thank you for—. Yes, I understand. Of course. Be there soon.”
Daisy watched until the woman was swallowed up by the bustling throng. Candace Perry, who looked like a picture-perfect businesswoman but was, in fact, jobless and down on her luck. She probably deserved it, Daisy thought. She’d done something or pissed off someone, and that was why the woman was forced to this “awful” place.
Still, it was a difficult position to be stuck in. Wonderwood was a paradise for most people, but for Candace, it was a punishment. While everyone else was having the time of their lives, she couldn’t wait to leave.
Daisy understood the feeling.
Chapter 3
Candace
“Candy,”Uncle Perry started right in, cutting off her greeting.“Meet me at Ferdinand’s in a half hour and we’ll catch up. Don’t forget to change out of that PTA Karen outfit. Give the boys something nice to look at.”
Phone conversations with Peter Perry were one-sided, frustrating exercises in steamrolling. With Candace, calls always followed the same script: a curt confirmation he was speaking to whom he wanted, what he wanted, and when he wanted it.
End call. No hello, no goodbye.
The man treated his family like business and business like family. It was his right to conduct his relationships as he saw fit. Even so, it rankled Candace to be nothing more than a pretty prop to parade around his friends. She cringed at the knowledge that he was judging her outfit through the piersecurity cameras, yet she expected nothing less. He was a control freak through and through.
To change into the “something nice” her uncle demanded but still meet him on time, Candace needed to book it back to her motel room at the Comfort Clam Inn. It was off-island in Cape Crest, a small town on the mainland bay where vacationers who were looking to save on accommodations flocked. Not that it was cheap by any stretch, but it was less expensive than the mini mansion rentals or hotels built up along the boardwalk.
Most importantly, it was what Candace could afford. It was also a fifteen-minute drive across the bridge and another ten from there to the marina—far too tight for comfort, which her uncle no doubt knew. She bowled through boardwalkers towards her car like she was aiming for a high score.
It was a beach day miracle. Candace was not blocked from getting out of the overpriced car lot by families unloading their horde of hyper children, nor did she hit a single sun-sapped pedestrian as she worked her way through town to the traffic-free bridge. Choosing an outfit that her uncle would approve of turned out to be the most difficult part.
When the dire reality of her jobless and unhirable position set in, Candace sold what she could to cushion her finances. The majority of her designer clothes, expensive yoga gear, and other non-sentimentals were fair game when it came to keeping up the buffer between herself and groveling to her uncle.
Ultimately, though, it was moot. Candace was still standing in her stuffy motel room that was either blazing hot or bone-chillingly cold (nothing in between), sorting through an old Lululemon tote bag stuffed with what was left of her wardrobe.
Candace knew what her uncle was looking for: that careful mix of sexy but nottoosexy. Enough for Peter Perry to show off that his niece was “fuckable,” yet too pure to touch. Something that wouldn’t “embarrass” him. In the end, she settled on astylish sundress.
It was a classic look and fit, quarter-sleeved, falling a little below her knee and cinched around her waist with a thick, bow-tied belt. The base dress was navy, and it had an outer, modest layering dotted with white polka dots in a breezy chiffon-like material. She completed the aesthetic by lacing her hair into a loose French braid that fell over one shoulder; cute, but practical. Candace gave herself one last survey in the mirror while the bathroom vent sputtered death rattles overhead.
She could do this. All she had to do was dress nicely, smile, and pretend a cadre of rude, morally dubious humans were likable. If she could do that, she could get on her uncle’s good side. Then maybe,just maybe,secure some gainful employment out of him rather than relying on occasional handouts.
Candace knew that his in-house accountant, Mr. Leary, had recently passed away. He would never trust her to take over the books, not in a million years. But maybe, at least for the appearance of giving her something to do, he would let her take over while he looked for someone permanent.
And if she could prove she could do the job…
Again, Candace shuddered. The idea of working with her uncle full-time, moving back to Wonderwood, filled her with dread. However, handling an account as mountainous as the pier, even for a little while, might buy her back the credit she needed to work elsewhere.
It had to.
The wanna-be macho man valet at the marina parking lot was less than pleased having to take Candace’s car. It was a limited-edition sunflower gold (with a littleactualgold) convertible BMW, and the one expensive possession she had not been able to part with since it had been a present to herself after years of careful planning.
Candace loved her car. It was gaudy and ridiculous, unapologetically existing in a world that had gone dark and gloomy. Without it, she would have nothing to show for her hard work.
Plus, the speedy gal got her to the marina right on time.
If Candace weren’t terrified of tripping her heels through the gaps in the plank deck, she would have sprinted. As it was, she did a sort of hopping dance in her mad dash to reach Ferdinand’s beyond dozens of busy boat slips.
Thankfully, she spotted her uncle right away. He was seated on the popular brunch spot’s sunny oceanside veranda. There, surrounded by his friends at an umbrellaed circular table laden with neat bourbons and artful canapes, he looked like a king holding court. Candace’s mouth watered at the sight of crispy gnocchi-olive-chorizo skewers, tartlets filled with savory bacon and tangy cranberry cheddar cheese, and some kind of creamy, dill-dusted smoked salmon pate surrounded by an array of fancy crackers.
The local celebrities who were her uncle’s friends picked at the gourmet selection. They were businessmen, politicians, and law enforcement, all useful relationships built on parasitic symbiosis. She heard they even managed to start their own ‘non-partisan’ political party, “Wonderwood Works,” and get a mayor elected. Life was a game to this group, and in the small oceanside hamlet, they were cleaning house.
Candace had known most of her uncle’s regular associates since she was a teenager, meeting them at various galas and public events she attended at his insistence. Growing up, none of them paid attention to her until she was old enough to leer at. Now, they did not even try to be discreet.
