Page 82 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes
Promising to return with more bombs, it was late by the time they left Norman. Too late to ask Ted to drop what he was doing to come and get them. Blushing furiously, Candace invited Daisy to spend the night in her motel room.
The Comfort Clam lived up to its reputation as a less-than-reputable establishment. Daisy was not one to put much stock in ‘vibes,’ but the whole feel of the place was off. The u-shaped two-story strip was a collection of building code violations and repairs done by a questionably sober maintenance person. Loitering around, the other guests of the inn were, nicely put,roughtypes.
As their car pulled into the central parking lot, the driver asked if they were sure about staying there. Brushing him off, Candace paid the man and led the way inside.
“Um… It’s been a long day. I’m going to shower and change out of my work clothes.”
Becoming a blur, Candace disappeared into the bathroom on the other side of the small space. The rattling vent fan and sounds of running water came through the door.
Daisy was not sure what she expected of the place Candace Perry lived. The woman oozed class, so it was only natural for her to be surrounded by the finer things in life—not this musty mess.
The room was… eclectic. Nothing was thrown about or misplaced. Yet, it was like standing in a clash of personality as fashion and financial forms warred to dominate the space.
Just about every surface was covered in the guts of Candace’s binders, from stickers to spreadsheets. A closet was filled with all of her office clothes and Bagel Bombs! tanks, plus an overflow rack beside it. There was an old, fat TV wedged withina rickety wardrobe cabinet along with a mini fridge and a desk that had clearly been the site of many brainstorming sessions. The hot plate she had on the edge was a fire hazard, but there was nowhere else it could go.
This was where Candace went back to every night? A place where roach traps were a part of the decor, and there were Rorschach mystery stains on the drop ceiling?
Wide-eyed, Daisy perched on the bed's edge, absorbing every detail.
It was a while before Candace emerged in a cloud of floral-scented steam. TV remote in hand, Daisy had just turned it on.
“Hey,” Daisy asked, “how was your—”
“Oh yeah, baby! Give it to me!!”
The sounds of enthusiastic fucking burst out from the TV. In a thumbnail on the pay-per-view screen, a woman was being pounded by a man wearing a delivery uniform. Candace dove and snatched the remote from Daisy’s hands.
The silence was loud as she flicked the TV back off.
“This is… more of an hourly establishment,” Candace explained.
Something about the way she said the words—embarrassed, but with the utmost decorum—made Daisy crack up. Once she started laughing, Candace broke, too, and all the tension drained with it.
Thinking aloud, Daisy asked, “Do you want to go get ice cream? My treat.”
“That is, I stress, never a question with me.”
“Noted. Lead the way, princess.”
The Adventure Put Put right down the road had a side soft serve stand, Scoopy-doopies. The big brown dog mascot painted over its sign was, what one might call, copyright adjacent. It boasted an impressive twenty flavors, from standard favorites to ones made with local berries and more adventurous fare.
Daisy and Candace got their frozen treats—a cup of banana soft serve topped with walnuts and a cone of saltedcaramel-fudge respectively. Then, they walked to the nearby playground. Sitting on a pair of swings, the pair caught up on all the little mundane things they had missed over the last couple of weeks.
Candace told Daisy more about her uncle’s secretary, Janice, and the woman’s awful fashion sense. It sounded as if she drove her up the wall preaching nonsense and praising Peter Perry. Being cooped up in the pier under depths with her seemed like its own special kind of torture.
Daisy only died a little of embarrassment as she showed off her most recent artistic creations. She tried to make one thing a day, finding inspiration in whatever she could. Caricatures of boardwalk passersby… sculptures with the washed-up treasures she found on her beach walks…
Lately, though, her main source of inspiration was playing hard to get.
Candace ate her ice cream one small, savoring lick at a time. Similarly, Daisy was in no rush. They both wanted more. More deliciousness. More time together. More—
“Can I try some of yours?”
“Sure.” Daisy scooped up a bite. Instead of handing over the spoon, she poised it next to Candace’s mouth. “Open wide.”
The other woman did as she was told, looking annoyed and eager at the same time. Daisy loved the feeling of control she had dipping the utensil into Candace’s mouth, the way her lips caught and bounced as the spoon pulled back out; the satisfied sound she made, her eyelids fluttering with contentment.
“Mmm… That’s tasty.”
