you hear?”
“That you’ve whipped up boxes full of something deliciously decadent to tempt us all.” Alva pouted a bit. “Walter, the old bear, wouldn’t budge when I asked him for more details this morning over my morning biscuits and jelly at Laura Jo’s place. By the way, have you seen Laura Jo since she talked Cynthia over at the salon into dyeing her hair? My land, she’s a sight, but she dearly loves being a redhead, let me tell you. Claims it makes her feel bold, willing to take risks.” Alva lowered her voice, but just slightly. “Ask me, I think if she wants to be bold, she should reconsider those floral blouses she favors for solid colors and something a little more form fitting. Show a little cleavage. I keep telling her she’s got a figure under all that foliage. Assuming, of course, that this entire makeover business is really all about snagging the attentions of that new fellow who took over Biggers’ Bait and Tackle after Donny Biggers up and took off with Delia Stinson. Delia Stinson. Twenty years younger and she could do much better if you ask me. I didn’t see that coming. Felipe Montanegro is the new fellow’s name. Have you met him?”
Lani shook her head, trying to keep up. Twitter had nothing on Alva Liles. For that matter, neither did all of Facebook. She was a superhighway of information, all by herself. “Not yet.”
“Well, he’s dashing enough, I suppose. If you like the swarthy Ricardo Montalbán type.”
Lani had no idea who Ricardo Montalbán was, but didn’t ask for further illumination.
“Although, I suppose being a redhead certainly didn’t hurt Lucy when she went after Desi.”
Okay, Ricky Ricardo she did know, but Lani didn’t know whether to nod or shake her head. She’d lost track, so she changed the subject. “I’m sure she’ll figure something out. Did you want to look at today’s special flavors? Maybe try a taste bite of the Boston Creme?”
Alva bent slightly so she could peer down her nose through her bifocals as she investigated the various trays and stands filled with cupcakes lining the inside of the pastry case. “I’m tempted, but your red velvet there is simply sinful. Like heaven in a cup.” She glanced up at Lani, with a speculative twinkle in her eyes. “It’s by far your best, if you ask me. Is that, perhaps, what you made for the auction?”
Lani shook her head.
“Oh, come now, don’t be coy. You know you can tell me. I won’t breathe a word to a soul.”
Lani struggled not to roll her eyes, but her smile was genuine. “You’ll have to wait until they put the official auction list up before the dinner tonight.”
“You know, I tried to explain to Walter and Arnold that they’re being very shortsighted about this whole secret silent auction thing. If they’d let us know more in advance about the sponsors and the specifics of the auction items, we could start talking them up, get a bidding war going before the auction even begins.”
Lani knew exactly why the silent auction was a secret silent auction, but there was no point in belaboring it directly with the very person responsible for the rule change.
“I will tell you this much,” Lani said, and Alva moved closer, her expression sparked with conspiratorial glee. “If you do score a dessert box? Your poker group will think they’ve died and gone to heaven. I promise. These are the most decadent cupcakes I’ve created yet.”
Most women Alva’s age played bridge. Lani’s mother, her grandma Winnie, and her great-grandmother Harper—Nanny, as Lani had called her—had all loved the game, and Sugarberry had always boasted quite a lively and active women’s bridge club. Lani had learned, however, that the Sugarberry senior center sponsoring the card club had politely asked Alva to quit their bridge group when they found out she was taking side bets on the North and South partnerships versus East and West teams. Betty White the neighborhood bookie.
Alva had
“That you’ve whipped up boxes full of something deliciously decadent to tempt us all.” Alva pouted a bit. “Walter, the old bear, wouldn’t budge when I asked him for more details this morning over my morning biscuits and jelly at Laura Jo’s place. By the way, have you seen Laura Jo since she talked Cynthia over at the salon into dyeing her hair? My land, she’s a sight, but she dearly loves being a redhead, let me tell you. Claims it makes her feel bold, willing to take risks.” Alva lowered her voice, but just slightly. “Ask me, I think if she wants to be bold, she should reconsider those floral blouses she favors for solid colors and something a little more form fitting. Show a little cleavage. I keep telling her she’s got a figure under all that foliage. Assuming, of course, that this entire makeover business is really all about snagging the attentions of that new fellow who took over Biggers’ Bait and Tackle after Donny Biggers up and took off with Delia Stinson. Delia Stinson. Twenty years younger and she could do much better if you ask me. I didn’t see that coming. Felipe Montanegro is the new fellow’s name. Have you met him?”
Lani shook her head, trying to keep up. Twitter had nothing on Alva Liles. For that matter, neither did all of Facebook. She was a superhighway of information, all by herself. “Not yet.”
“Well, he’s dashing enough, I suppose. If you like the swarthy Ricardo Montalbán type.”
Lani had no idea who Ricardo Montalbán was, but didn’t ask for further illumination.
“Although, I suppose being a redhead certainly didn’t hurt Lucy when she went after Desi.”
Okay, Ricky Ricardo she did know, but Lani didn’t know whether to nod or shake her head. She’d lost track, so she changed the subject. “I’m sure she’ll figure something out. Did you want to look at today’s special flavors? Maybe try a taste bite of the Boston Creme?”
Alva bent slightly so she could peer down her nose through her bifocals as she investigated the various trays and stands filled with cupcakes lining the inside of the pastry case. “I’m tempted, but your red velvet there is simply sinful. Like heaven in a cup.” She glanced up at Lani, with a speculative twinkle in her eyes. “It’s by far your best, if you ask me. Is that, perhaps, what you made for the auction?”
Lani shook her head.
“Oh, come now, don’t be coy. You know you can tell me. I won’t breathe a word to a soul.”
Lani struggled not to roll her eyes, but her smile was genuine. “You’ll have to wait until they put the official auction list up before the dinner tonight.”
“You know, I tried to explain to Walter and Arnold that they’re being very shortsighted about this whole secret silent auction thing. If they’d let us know more in advance about the sponsors and the specifics of the auction items, we could start talking them up, get a bidding war going before the auction even begins.”
Lani knew exactly why the silent auction was a secret silent auction, but there was no point in belaboring it directly with the very person responsible for the rule change.
“I will tell you this much,” Lani said, and Alva moved closer, her expression sparked with conspiratorial glee. “If you do score a dessert box? Your poker group will think they’ve died and gone to heaven. I promise. These are the most decadent cupcakes I’ve created yet.”
Most women Alva’s age played bridge. Lani’s mother, her grandma Winnie, and her great-grandmother Harper—Nanny, as Lani had called her—had all loved the game, and Sugarberry had always boasted quite a lively and active women’s bridge club. Lani had learned, however, that the Sugarberry senior center sponsoring the card club had politely asked Alva to quit their bridge group when they found out she was taking side bets on the North and South partnerships versus East and West teams. Betty White the neighborhood bookie.
Alva had
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