3 Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys Read online

  “Thanks for the super fun offer but I have to pass,” Julia said. “I’m definitely working that weekend. Another Smooch cupcake, please.”

  Annie tossed Julia a cupcake, which she caught.

  Grady flipped through the paperwork. He frowned at first. Then he smiled. “Um, Annie?”

  “Yes, you can have another cupcake too.”

  “I’ll skip the cupcake, but I’ll take you up on your offer to be your Plus One at the July 4th dealie,” Grady said.

  “Sold!” Annie said.

  Julia eyed Grady suspiciously. “You’re hiding something from me.” She zeroed in on the contents of the envelope that lay in Grady’s lap and lunged for them. But Grady hugged the envelope and its contents to his chest and curled up into a ball on the couch.

  “Give!” Julia tickled him.

  “You already blew it.” He giggled.

  “That’s the title of Julia’s future memoir,” Annie said, dang curious what this fight was about.

  Julia wrestled the paperwork away from Grady, leapt off the couch and leaned back against Annie’s front door while she flipped through the pages. Her face turned white. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God!” she exclaimed.

  “What? What!” Annie asked as Theodore cowered on the floor, his head hidden under her couch while the rest of his fat long fuzzy body stuck out.

  “Your mom didn’t sign you up to be a celeb judge for a Hot Pies Contest,” Julia said. “She signed you up to be a judge for Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guys Contest. You’re going to get up-close-and-personal access to the most smokin’ guys in the Dairy State. I am so your Plus One.”

  “Hot guys?” Annie asked. “How could Mom get that confused with—?”

  “Get real!” Julia said. “Has anything changed since high school? I formally accept your invite to accompany you back to Oconomowoc for the Fourth of July festivities.”

  “No, no, Missy,” Grady said. “You have to work, remember? You already passed. I am a more deserving Plus One than you.”

  Their bickering escalated as Annie contemplated what her mom had done. So what if the contest was about Hot Guys instead of Hot Pies? Did it matter? She was already happily involved with Raphael Campillio, her own personal hot guy. It was a chance to visit home on the cheap. She’d get in. See her family. Do the judging thing. She’d get out.

  Really, how difficult could it be?

  Grady won the coin toss and got to be Annie’s Plus One. But Julia was not about to let an event this tantalizing slip through her twitchy fingers. She snagged a couple of vacation days from work and planned to cash in a hunk of frequent flier mileage she’d inherited from her stepdad.

  Annie asked for week off work, and her boss gave it to her. Even though her mom insisted she stop slaving at Mort Feinberg’s Famous Deli, Mort was simply the nicest boss she’d ever had. She had finally graduated from the deli’s Back Back Kitchen to the Back Kitchen. Not that it really mattered. She still dressed like a beekeeper, baked desserts all day long and got hit on by guys half her age. There were worse ways to make a living.

  After a romantic tryst that involved dark chocolate and peanut butter, Annie told Rafe that her Mom had signed her up to judge a hometown contest. She’d be back in L.A. in no time.

  There was just one small glitch. Apparently Rafe had planned to introduce her to his family at their family reunion on the July 4th extended weekend. Annie didn’t know this before she made her travel decisions. Now she felt awful. “Should I cancel?”

  “No. Go home and see your family. Family’s important,” he said. “Besides, with the contest, it’s a free trip. You can’t beat it. You can meet my crazy relatives some other time.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But I feel bad.”

  “Do you have old boyfriends you’re dying to see back home?” Rafe asked.

  “That would be a definite, no,” Annie said.

  “So you’ve got nothing to feel bad about,” he said and kissed her. “Don’t forget me when you’re gone.”

  “I could never forget you,” Annie said.

  It was the morning of June 29th. Annie’s luggage was packed. Small liquidy things were stored in see-through plastic bags that could easily be tossed into a plastic container for a trip through the airport’s X-ray machines.

  Julia and Grady convened at Annie’s place, as it was closest to the LAX airport. Grady ordered the cab, which screeched to a stop in front of Annie’s 1950s style apartment complex and honked twice.

  Annie had her obligatory carry-on. Her one big suitcase was stuffed with all the makeup, hair products and fancy outfits she’d assumed she’d need to be a contest judge. She’d never been a judge before, but had watched enough seasons of American Idol and X-Factor to know Paula, Nicole, Kara and J-Lo were totally glam.

  After a little drama about how many suitcases Julia could bring (she’d packed four) they piled into the cab’s back seat and were on their way.

  Annie frowned. “I hope Theodore’s going to be okay while I’m gone. The cat sitter seems nice but a little flighty.” Annie spotted an eerie blue light emanating from the passenger seat next to the taxicab driver. The light turned into wisps of blue smoke that twisted around each other. They wove back and forth, curlicued around each other, grew thicker and finally coalesced. In their midst a familiar shape of a tall half-naked blue man wearing a silver thong took form. That man was the ghost of Dr. Derrick Fuller.

  Derrick shook his immaculate head of thick, albeit dead, groomed hair and glanced down at his silver thong. “Well, congratulations to me! Not only do I look superb, just like I did before I died, but if there are no limos available and I am forced to ride in a cab, at least now I can sit in the front. Not be stuck in that disgusting, germ-ridden, vinyl seat located behind the smudged I-doubt-it’s-bullet-proof Plexiglas partition.”

  “Whatever, Derrick,” Annie said. Great, she thought. She was headed out of town to be a judge at a beauty pageant. The last thing she needed right now was the narcissistic ghost of the self-help author-guru who not only ruined her marriage, tanked her bakery business when he was killed with one of her signature cupcakes, but then haunted her to solve his crime. And when she finally nailed his killer, asshat Derrick Fuller still didn’t pass to the Afterlife.

  “Derrick’s here?” Grady asked and eyeballed the cab’s interior.

  “You told him that he can’t come to Wisconsin with us, right, Annie?” Julia rifled through her purse. “Who needs a blue ghost in a silver thong when there are so many red-blooded live men? I can’t find my lip plumper. I think I forgot my lip plumper.”

  “No, Derrick’s not coming to Wisconsin with us,” Annie said. “He’s working very hard on performing good deeds so he can pass to the Afterlife.”

  “Say the word and I’ll try my best to travel with you,” Derrick said. “It might count as a good deed.”

  “The word is No.”

  “You’ll miss me in Wisconsin, cupcake,” Derrick said. “A disaster or debacle will ensue. You’ll be pulling your cheaply dyed hair out of your large head as you frantically attempt to reach me for advice. But I will be too busy helping other people.”

  “I will have you know my hair dye costs $8.99 a box,” Annie said.

  “What if the recycled airplane air sucks the hydration from my lips and I arrive looking wrinkled?” Julia asked. “Do you think they have lip plumper at the airport stores?”

  “What airline?” the cab driver asked as he turned onto Lincoln Boulevard heading south toward LAX.

  “One second.” Grady flipped through their itinerary. “Damn! Excuse me, driver. Pull over for a moment, please?”

  The cabbie pulled to the side of the crowed zooming six-lane thoroughfare. “Meter running, you know.”

  “What’s up?” Annie asked.

  “We’re going back for my lip plumper?”

  “We’re not leaving from LAX.” Grady grimaced.

  “Long Beach?” Annie asked.

  “John Wayne Airport?�
�� Julia chimed in.

  “No,” Grady said.

  Julia’s Margarita Smooch Cupcakes

  Yield = 12 cupcakes

  Ingredients:

  1/2 stick butter (1/4 cup) softened

  1 cup granulated sugar

  2 eggs - room temperature

  .75 Tsp vanilla extract

  3 Tbsp canola oil

  One large lime, zested

  1.5 cups cake flour

  .75 Tsp baking powder

  .5 Tsp baking soda

  1/4 Tsp salt

  3 Tbsp tequila

  3 Tbsp lime juice

  1/2 cup sour cream

  1/2 cup milk

  Instructions:

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line standard-size muffin pans with paper liners.

  Cream butter and sugar together 5 minutes or until smooth. Add vanilla then add eggs one at a time. Add tequila and lime juice. Mixture will look curdled. Add oil.

  In a separate bowl combine dry ingredients: flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt and pudding mix. Add zest.

  In a small bowl, whisk together 1/2 cup milk and sour cream thoroughly

  Add dry and milk/sour cream mixtures to the mixing bowl in two additions, scraping down sides and bottom of bowl. Mix until smooth.

  Divide the batter evenly between the prepared liners, filling each about two-thirds full.

  Bake until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, 18 to 20 minutes, rotating the pans halfway through baking. Let cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.

  Margarita Frosting Ingredients:

  4 oz. butter, room temperature

  4 oz. cream cheese, room temperature

  2 cups powdered sugar

  1 tablespoon lime juice

  2 tablespoons tequila

  Frosting Instructions:

  Add butter and 1/2 of the powdered sugar to large mixing bowl. Combine on low speed.

  Add tequila and lime juice and gradually add remaining powdered sugar. Once combined, increase mixer speed and whip until light and fluffy. Add additional powdered sugar if stiffer consistency is desired. Garnish with lime wedge and sprinkle of sea salt.

  Recipe courtesy of Cupcakes-A-Go-Go in Madison, Wisconsin. Co-Owner – Laura Devries (Address, store hours and links at book’s end.)

  Three

  Hoofing It

  Annie pulled her wheelie suitcase as she looked up at the Blackhoof Bus Station sign in downtown L.A, located square in the middle of skid row. The scorching summer desert sun blasted down on her and seared every pore on her face. “You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me!” She held one hand high overhead and attempted to shade her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Grady said. “When I saw it was the Hot Guys Contest, I totally blanked on the location of our departing venue.”

  “Midwest Airlines versus Blackhoof Busline?” Annie asked. “The pristine pain-in-the-ass security riddled gargantuan airport versus the teensy urine and taco scented bus station in downtown L.A.?”

  “Again,” Grady said, “I might have experienced a tiny brain fart.”

  Julia yanked enormous black sunglasses out of her over-sized designer purse and slid them on her face. “You all stay out here and acquire a little more sun damage. I’m going inside to buy my ticket. Then I’m hitting the pharmacy across the street for lip plumper and some SPF 60. Because when I hit fifty, I want to continue to look thirty, darlings.” She walked off.

  Two days later, Annie watched Julia and Grady as they practically melted down the bus’s stairs in front of her.

  Julia’s hair was in a bun that stuck to her skull and didn’t budge.

  “Hey, look Julia,” Grady said. “Your head’s been Saran-Wrapped.”

  Julia flipped him the appropriate finger.

  Annie clomped down the bus’s enormous stairs and glanced around at their destination. It was hard to miss the banner hanging from the station’s roof, “Welcome to Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. Home of Lac LaBelle: Stay and Play a While!” It was a hundred degrees outside and felt like a steam room inside of a sweat lodge.

  The bus driver quickly unloaded the passengers’ bags and set them on the curb. Arriving passengers walked past travelers who wiped their dripping brows as they boarded the bus. One big fellow wearing a muscle T-shirt was red as a tomato, wet like he’d just taken a shower and looked like he might explode at any second.

  “So help me God, if this is what that flippin’ brochure meant by ‘Hot Guys,’ I will kill someone.” Julia pinched Grady’s arm.

  “Ow. Is there some reason you always have to take it out on me?” he asked.

  “Yes. You’re always the closest.”

  “I learned the hard way back in high school not to be anywhere in arms’ length of Julia when she’s crabby,” Annie said.

  “Grady, be a love and help me with my luggage.” Julia tossed her carry-on over her shoulder. “Where’s the nearest AC?” She fanned herself and headed for the bus station’s front doors.

  Grady wiped his glistening face with a tissue. Its remnants stuck to his two-day face stubble like TP on the bottom of someone’s shoe. “Why should I help?”

  “Because you always do,” Julia said.

  He sighed, grabbed Julia’s three other bags, as well as his one, and stumbled after her. “My back hurts. I’m not having fun yet.”

  “I didn’t force you to come here.” Annie ran her hands through her hair which felt as sticky and crusty as an old cinnamon Danish.

  As she searched for her suitcase in the smallish line of bags perched on the curb she felt a zit erupt on her forehead. An old hunched geezer toddled off with his blue suitcase. A tatted teenage girl grabbed her enormous backpack, hoisted it onto her shoulders and hiked away. There were only four suitcases left on the curb. But none of them were hers.

  “Where’s my suitcase?” Annie started to panic. That bag had all of her fancy contest judge clothes, as well as her makeup, yoga mat, and her book, How Not to Stress.

  The bus huffed, puffed and lumbered out of the parking lot. Her bag had to still be on it. She frowned. “Stop!” She chased after the bus. “You have my luggage!”

  But the bus didn’t slow down. It belched a big puffy gray cloud of exhaust smoke into Annie’s face. She coughed and stumbled after it.

  “Stop! I need my fancy clothes! I beg you, please!” Her eyes teared.

  An older van, with a satellite dish on its roof and a green and yellow sign emblazoned with “WNOC,” screeched into the Blackhoof parking lot. It barely missed Annie and separated her from the bus and her luggage.

  “No!” Annie smacked her palm on her forehead.

  A coiffed thin young woman with teased big blonde highlighted hair that hadn’t wilted from the heat stepped out of the van’s door. She wore a tight Ralph Lauren knock-off summer suit, clutched a microphone and strode toward Annie. The woman glanced back at the van as an older schlubby blond man eased out the driver’s door carrying a video camera. “Olaf, pick up the pace, my strudel,” the woman said.

  Olaf grunted, bent down and rubbed his knee. “Yeah there, Stephanie,” he said. “Right after my third double bypass.”

  Annie watched the bus rumble, puff and belch away with her luggage and everything she needed to be a contest judge. How could she do this gig without all her proper clothing and accessories? She couldn’t. She hunched over and covered her eyes with her hands.

  “Yay!” Stephanie jumped up and down in front of Annie and clapped like a cheerleader. “You’re Annie Graceland Piccolino in the flesh.”

  “Annie Graceland.” She stood back up. “I’m losing the Piccolino forever when my divorce finalizes.” She hacked. Her mouth tasted like she’d been sucking on an exhaust pipe. “So nice to meet you, but I have a wardrobe emergency. The bus just left with my luggage and I’m a judge—”

  “You’re a judge in the Hot Guys Contest! You’re one of my inspirations,” Stephanie said. “A local girl who made it good.”r />
  “More like made it semi-medium,” Annie said. “But thanks.”

  “I had to be the first to welcome you back. I’m Stephanie Storms and I officially represent WNOC, the local premiere cable news station.” She grabbed Annie’s free hand and shook it enthusiastically.

  “Awesome to meet you.” Annie extricated her hand from Stephanie’s zealous grip.

  “Olaf-kins,” Stephanie said. “Contact HQ. Tell them to send the intern to intercept the No.154 bus on its way toward Appleton and search for Annie Graceland’s luggage. Top priority.”

  Olaf sighed and pulled out his Blackberry.

  “That’s sweet of you,” Annie said. “Tell me that thing’s not on?” She pointed at the mic.

  “Not until Olaf gets here,” Stephanie replied. “Professional courtesy. But honestly, I would very much appreciate a heads up on the dishy details during the Hot Guys’ Contest.”

  Annie frowned. How was it possible Stephanie hadn’t broken a sweat while Annie’s complexion was most likely gray from the exhaust smoke and she sported armpit stains that headed toward her knees? “Don’t know. The contest people might have rules or conditions about press leaks that I don’t know yet.”

  Stephanie opened her timeless Coach bag and pulled out several documents.

  Stephanie had a vintage Coach bag? Annie loved Coach.

  “I thought of that,” Stephanie said. “Legal at WNOC drafted this document that grants you permission to share color commentary contest information with me. As you can see, the Wisconsin’s Hot Guys’ contest president signed here, the VP here, and legal counsel, here.” She pointed to their signatures.

  “Oh.” Annie scanned the documents and felt a stab of envy that she wasn’t that organized.

  “Obviously you can’t share voting results with me, but you’re not privy to that information anyhow. This copy’s for you. You can call the station and speak to my supervisor if you have any questions.”

  “Okay,” Annie said. “Let me get settled at my hotel and give me a shout. Especially if you find my luggage.”

  “Absolutely!” Stephanie jumped up and down. “This will be, like, so much fun!”