Friend of A Friend

It didn't matter if you looked left or right, you couldn't escape it. From the floor to the ceiling it was in your face. It was unapologetic, direct, sizzling hot and it made me smile.

I knew the first moment I walked into the Cooks N' More I was a goner. My pulse raced and I think I finally understood how Imelda Marcos felt about shoes--but for me it was Le Creuset cookware and bundt pans shaped like castles. There was no saving me now. I had never been in a store before, heck; I had never been shopping for anything before that made me as happy I was when I walked into the renovated store that was a church in its former life.

Faded Texas limestone walls still retained their holy elegance. It wasn't until you walked into the store that the sexy hotness smacked you in the face and took your breath away.

"Ah, another victim." The man who spoke those words smiled from behind the register. He closed the cookbook he had been reading, carefully marking his spot with a wooden spoon. "Welcome to Cooks 'N More. It's not much, but I call it home."

"I really love your home." I slowly replied, not taking my eyes off the multitude of kitchen goodies that filled every shelf, display case and even dangled from light fixtures. Gleaming pans hung over my head--a display that would even make Julia Child stop and stare.

"Tell me I haven't died and gone to gourmet heaven." My unfettered laughter was that of a child. I found myself mentally processing all the recipes I could make if I only had the Ebelskiver Filled-Pancake Pan or the Miyabi 7000 pro knife that I knew would fit my hand perfectly.

"You haven't died, but this is my take on heaven," the man said. "The name is Warren and this place is my baby. It's always great to convert another soul to the goodness that is cooking."

"Hello, Warren. My name is Dicey and I am very happy I decided to stop and check out your place."

I couldn't help myself; I walked over to a display and started browsing the copper cookie cutters hanging from a wooden peg display. All shapes and sizes glimmered in the diffused sunlight. Bells, stars, gingerbread men and the traditional candy cane shapes were mixed with off-the-wall designs--from dinosaurs to presidents of the United States and even one in the shape of the great state of Texas.

"These are so cool."

"If you don't see anything you want, let me know. I can order practically anything you want and I know a lady who can custom make any cookie cutter you'd need." He brushed his hand through his straight brown hair and contently looked around his store.

The inside of the store was mainly one big room with the register near the front. Looking toward the back of the store on the right, bookshelves lined the walls.

"Cookbooks?" I whispered reverently.

"Cookbooks," he replied with pride. "New or used. I also have a sharing library where you can bring in books to swap. Sometimes people buy books they later don't use. So they bring them here, and find another one they like and leave the one they don't. I also have a reference cookbook library people can access if they need."



Oversized chairs were scattered near the area and a few were filled with customers reading while others sat a large wooden table, copying recipes onto notepads.

"I have cooking demonstrations every Wednesday night in the demo area. I also offer cooking classes." He pointed to the back of the store to the left. A small kitchen opened into the room with a large island that could easily sit 10 people.

"This place is amazing."

"Thanks. It's nice to know I'm not the only person who thinks so," Warren said, with a chuckle.

They walked toward the back of the store. A display table held an assortment of books stacked in-between kitchen accessories. "Catering to Nobody," sat next to potholders, while "Fatally Flaky" tipped out of a KitchenAid food processor.

"Diane Mott Davidson is one of my favorites." My hand reached out to pick up a copy of "Cereal Murders." "I love her recipes. I've actually made a few of them. Mysteries and cooking--you can't go wrong there."

"Have you read Joanne Fluke's series? Her cookie recipes are to die for." He said with a wicked grin.

"I've read them all. I'm a readaholic." I shrugged my shoulders as if I should apologize for my love of reading.

"Nothing wrong with that. It could be worse; at least you aren't an alcoholic."

"True. Sometimes it's just as addicting. But it is one vice that does increase my vocabulary."

"If you like reading cozy mysteries about cooking, you should check out our book club. We meet once a month and discuss the latest culinary mystery and we make recipes from the books. It's called, "Dying to Cook."

.... To be continued

Silent Thoughts

The hands moved gracefully through the air. With a gentle tip and swish the woman communicated in a silent, yet incredibly boisterous language. Her long blonde hair was held back with a delicate seashell hair clip. The inner light that shone from her face was so raw, so powerful that it made Rae lose her breath. Rae stood in the checkout line at the grocery store and did her best not to stare at the young blonde woman and a man as they carried on their conversation.

"Geez, what the hell are they doing?" Rae heard a rude voice directly behind her. She turned around and eyed the person who had spoken. He stood slouched against the checkout stand. It was a twenty-something holding a bottle of Pepsi and a pack of cigarettes in his hand. Rae noticed his nails were jagged and bitten to the quick. His hair was cut extremely close to his head and dyed a shocking pink. Not only did his nose sport a ring, but so did both ears and his lip. She briefly imagined other places on him that were pierced, but quickly tried to erase the disturbing image.

"Looks like they are talking idiot talk to me." The man's companion, almost a carbon copy of his friend, looked at the couple and laughed.

Rae cringed and fought the urge to lean over and slap the man across the face. A white, cold hatred rose from her belly. The couple were not aware of what the men had said. They waited for their groceries to be rung up and continued with their conversation. The deaf man's hands danced a rhythmic dance, his face contorting, exaggerating his conversation. Rae tried to give them privacy, but she could tell the man was relating a funny story to his wife. They both wore smiles that instantly made others around them smile, without knowing why.

That is, except for the two rude men standing behind Rae. She debated what to do, whether to say something or keep her mouth shut. She knew she would say something. Her temper always got the better of her--especially in a situation like this. Her own personal safety flew right out the window when it came to such ignorance.

"That's not idiot talk, you moron. They're speaking sign language. They're deaf." Rae heard herself speak the words before she knew it.

The men stared at Rae as if she had just landed from another planet. It wasn't often that someone responded to their talk.

"Yea, sign language. You mean like this?" The first young man moved his dirty, nail-bitten hand and wiggled it obscenely in the air. He started to laugh and the other one joined in.

Rae took a deep breath and tried to keep the bile down that kept rising up in her throat. She turned to see that the couple was still oblivious to the teenagers’ actions. She returned her gaze back to the men who were slapping each other on the back for what they thought was a good joke.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves. Acting like this. You should know better than to treat people that way. Why don't you guys just grow up?" Rae stood there with a disgusted look on her face. The men looked abashed for a brief second then they went back to their antics mimicking the deaf couple's conversation.

"I wouldn't keep that up if I were you." Rae threatened.

The twenty-somethings laughed at her and shook their heads.

"Oh, I guess we'd better be afraid of this chick. She might kick out butt," the second guy said in an exaggerated tone. He moved his shoulders side-to-side, his leather Doc Marten boots squeaked as he shifted his weight.

Rae turned as her groceries were moved forward. She gripped her purse so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. She noticed that the deaf couple had finished their transaction and were headed out the door into the night. As far as Rae knew they were not aware of what happened. The men were laughing and goofing off behind Rae. They taunted and began making her the target of their attention.

"Knock it off you two," snapped the checkout clerk. The men quieted down. It probably helped that the clerk was a well-built man whose muscles bulged out of his blue and white shirt. It didn't make Rae feel any better about what had happened. She kept her mouth shut and as soon as the clerk was done ringing up her groceries she quickly left the store.

The punks laughed as she headed out the door. She could hear them calling her names.

It was less than five minutes later that the two of them came out of the store and walked across the parking lot to a dented blue Ford that was illegally parked in two handicapped parking spaces. The driver opened the door and tossed his soda and cigarettes into the dirty front seat. Empty beer cans sat on the floor alongside remnants of past meals. The driver didn't realize he'd been hit until he felt his body slam into the metal door frame.

"What the fuc...?" Another swift kick slammed him onto the ground. He heard his buddy yell and run around the car. Before he could raise himself up he saw his buddy fall beside him in the darkened parking lot. He felt a strong kick on his back as both he and his buddy were being pummeled. Kick after kick. No spot was spared. The kicks came so fast they couldn't move. He cried as each kick found tender spots on his body.

"Leave us alone. Leave us alone." They yelled, pain filling their voices. Both laid still, their hands over their heads to protect their acne-scarred faces.

They heard their assailant breathing hard. The person finally leaned over the first boy and whispered in his ear. "Don't ever make fun of someone who is different from you. Especially, if they are deaf. Or I'll come back and finish the job."

The driver was shocked at the voice he heard. A woman's voice threatened them. His face wore a look of disbelief. He heard footsteps and raised his head and watched as the woman from the grocery store walked slowly away. She tucked her shirt back into her pants and pulled out her car keys.

"A fucking woman kicked our ass?" The first punk was stunned into silence. His buddy just shook his head and painfully raised himself to the side of the car. There were no other people in the dark, empty parking lot. No one had witnessed the fight. No one had seen them get beaten up by a girl.

"Let's get the hell out of here," he finally said. They carefully sat in the front seat. Blood trickled out of the second one's mouth. He ran his tongue over a loose tooth in the front left side if his mouth. The driver was sure he had a busted rib.

"Do you want to go after her?" His passenger asked, using his dirty, plaid shirt to wipe blood from his mouth.

The driver looked at the retreating woman. She drove away as if nothing had happened. Her Toyota 4Runner leaving slowly, as if daring the boys.

"Hell, no. She ain't worth it."

Rae looked into her rear view window as the two men sat in their car. She took deep breaths and tried to get her pulse down to normal. She had lost her temper. She admitted it. But those two deserved it. If anyone deserved a good ass kicking it was those two punks.

She reached into her change tray and slipped her two hearing aids back into her ears. She hadn't wanted to fight with them on. Those little things were expensive to replace. Anyway, she decided she didn't need to hear to teach those two punks a lesson.

Her favorite song was playing on the radio and she loudly sang along.

© Robin Bailey

Irish Ties and Other Tales

Bernie heard the sounds in the darkness off to his left before he saw the killers. Mickey and Aaron were stalking him like a wild animal. Sweat dripped down his face, blurring his vision and burning his eyes. He dared not wipe it away.

The glare from their flashlights bounced off the walls, methodically searching for their prey. Bernie was sure he looked like a deer frozen in deadly headlights. He leaned into the cartons that hid him from the pair, trying to make his short body as invisible as possible as the goons walked past his hiding spot.

"Come on out Bernie, there's no way you are going to escape, you know," Mickey's whiny voice echoed in the large warehouse.

Aaron stopped almost even to where Bernie was hidden and turned his head as if he could hunt Bernie down through echoes. Bernie became as still as a statue. He held his breath, afraid Aaron would hear his ragged breathing.

Minutes--to Bernie they felt like hours--trickled by. Finally, Aaron moved forward. Bernie quietly exhaled and prayed once again to whomever it was watching over him to save his butt. He'd be good. He'd stop gambling, drinking and cheating on his wife. If only he'd get out of there alive.

Bernie's small eyes carefully looked over the piles of boxes stored in the marina warehouse. Rotten fish smells intermingled with the salt of the Atlantic Ocean. It was dark and quiet and Bernie knew if his rotten luck didn't change he wasn't going to live to see another sunrise over New York City.

"Bernie, you know I how I hate to do this, but you brought it on yourself." Aaron's deep voice still had tinges of Irish brogue behind it.

"You stupid fegger. Didn't you think that Little Moe would find out you stole his money?"

Bernie heard them yell more obscenities as they moved farther down the warehouse walkway. Bernie was starting to piss them off by not showing himself so they could get their job done and be on their way. They had things to do and places to go.

Bernie stole the money. He wouldn't deny it. The money had been there for the taking. Little Moe had tons of money. Bernie had figured he wouldn't miss measly $75,000. He was wrong.

"You shouldn't have stolen from one of your own, Bernie. It was really stupid. Little Moe is very unhappy. He trusted you. He loved you like a son. And you went and betrayed him. Very, very stupid," Aaron said.

Bernie heard a gun go off and he felt as if his heart left his body. A warm sensation slipped down his leg and he realized he had wet his pants. He slowly slid down to the cold cement floor and closed his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged them tightly, not saying a word.

"Did you get him?" Mickey asked hopefully. He had a hot date planned for the next day and he wanted to go home and get some rest.

Girls always went gaga for his looks. His red hair, blue eyes and big muscles made girls swoon. Then they got a taste of his hot temper. Most of his dates rarely went past the third meeting. But Mickey didn't care. There was a ready supply of unsuspecting women willing to date him.

"Shit, no. Must have been a rat or something," Aaron said, looking around the darkness. Where Mickey was bulky, Aaron was skinny. Many men had underestimated his strength and died because of it. Aaron boasted slim muscles that were mean and tight. That summed up Aaron's personality, too. Aaron was totally fearless. He had no relatives except his adopted uncle, Little Moe, to whom he was completely devoted.

Aaron silently motioned for Mickey to move over to the far walls of the warehouse and move back the way they just came.

"Bernie, come on out. Let's talk about it, you know. Maybe we can go back and talk to Little Moe and you can give him back his money and things will be okay."

Bernie held his head in his hands. Still squatting behind the cartons. He felt dizzy, sick and tired. He had a blind hope that maybe things could be worked out. Maybe Little Moe would forgive him and he could go on with his life.

"Bernie, listen. I'll make you a deal. You come out now and we will go straight to Little Moe. You can tell him your story and get him to change his mind."

Aaron and Mickey were closing back in on Bernie. He could hear their voices move toward him. He had no choice. He knew they were going to find him.

The room was becoming brighter as the sun came up over the bay. Bernie could discern more around him as boxes became visible. He read the words on the cartons. "This Way Down." Bernie had to stifle a crazy laugh. Those three words summed up his life at this point. This way down. Down to misery. Down to fear. Down to death.

He decided to take a chance and let the goons take him to Little Moe. Maybe he could talk his way out of this. He'd been in tight spots before and pulled his way out. Why not now?

"This is your last chance, Bernie. Come on out now and we won't hurt you."

Bernie stood up, pulled his shoulders back and stepped out into the walkway.

"Don't shoot. I'm coming out. You promised you wouldn't hurt me. I can explain everything, you know," Bernie said, walking into the open. He stood embarrassed and scared at the same time. An obvious stain was spread out in the crotch of his dirty gray pants.

"He lied," Mickey said, taking aim at Bernie and shooting him straight-on between the eyes. Bernie fell instantly upon the cold, hard floor.

"We've got to work on this lying of yours Aaron, me boy. It's not a very good personality trait, you know," Mickey said, stepping over Bernie's sprawled form and walking side-by-side with Aaron to the warehouse front door.

"I know, Mickey. It'll be the death of me yet," Aaron said, slamming the metal door shut behind him.

The sun rose quietly over the dark water. Mickey and Aaron climbed into their Cadillac, oblivious to the beautiful sunrise that was filling the sky.

© Robin Bailey

In Sickness, In Health

One of my creative ramblings.

In Sickness, In Health
by Robin Bailey


January 21, 1992

My dearest Journal.

God, what a cold thing to write to--a journal. I don't like the sound of it. I think maybe I will call it by a person's name. Yes, I think I like that much better. I know. I will think of it as if I am writing a letter to my bestest friend. That is, if I had one. What shall I call her? Elizabeth? No. That sounds so formal and stiff. I don't like it. I know! I will call my journal Sarah. I've always loved that name.

My dearest Sarah,
It's been so long since we've talked last. I've almost forgotten what you look like.

I hate my own name. Ann. Have you ever heard of anything so plain and boring? It's not anything that's like the real me. The real me. No one truly knows the real me, except for Edward. Ah. Edward. Not Eddie, or Ed or any other name for him. It is always Edward.

January 22, 1992

Dear Sarah,
I must tell you about the wonderful vacation we are having. Edward and I are at one of our favorite resorts. It's up in the mountains. Today, we had breakfast together and he went off for a hike while I sit here relaxing. I love days like the one we are having. The view from the resort's porch is quite breathtaking. Sarah, I know you'd love it if you were here. The sky is so clear and the air has the smell of pine cones. I can see the lake from where I sit--the water is so blue it makes your eyes hurt.

The real me. I've always been an adventurious-type of person. I can't even count on both hands all the journeys I've taken to far-off lands. Of course, many of those trips have been between the covers of great and wonderful books. Edward loves my books almost as much as I do. I know one day we're going to take a cruise around the world in 80 days. We will. Edward and me. He's even pinky-promised me. So you know he means it.

March 14,1992

Dear Sarah,
We plan on staying here on an extended vacation, my dearest Sarah. Edward has worked day and night for the past sixteen years so his business would be successful. And it is! We sacrificed for so long and now we are reaping the benefits. God, it is so beautiful here.


Edward works so much. Day and night. Night and day. We go days without seeing each other. But I know my dearest Edward thinks of me. He often tells me so. They say confession is good for the soul. I think I am going to use my journal to confess a few of the mistakes I've made lately. It can't be used against me. And no one will know. I plan on ripping this up as soon as I'm done. But I know I will feel better to write everything down. And I do feel better already.

March 29, 1992

Dear Sarah,
Oh, Sarah. Edward fed me grapes last night. We had such a wonderful evening. We sat underneath the star-filled night sky on our blanket and snuggled, laughed and completely enjoyed ourselves. Many people here say we act like newlyweds. They find it hard to believe that we've been married for 17 years. But we do love each other so. Edward said I was the only woman for him.

Only woman. I have to admit Edward was completely honest with me there. I was the only woman for him. The only problem was, I wasn't quite enough man for him. It's amazing how you can be married to someone for 17 years and never know his true feelings. Actually, Edward isn't gay, he is bisexual, as he explained to me. That was the day he told me he was finally leaving me for his lover. Bob.

What a boring name Bob is. His lover couldn't have an exotic name like Tomas or Sven. No, it was Bob. Not even Robert. But Bob. Bob was a man Edward had known for as long as we'd been married. Balding, paunchy, near-sighted Bob was an accountant. In fact, he was our accountant.

How dull it must be, crunching numbers all day. But this was the great love of Edward's life. he finally realized he'd rather live with Bob than be with me. It's not that he didn't love me, Edward proclaimed as he packed his bags. He just loved Bob more.

April 24, 1992

My dearest Sarah,
Edward and I made love last night as the stars twinkled above us. It was as delicious as lovemaking could be. Edward and I both saw a shooting star. We made a wish and even though I know you aren't supposed to share it outloud, we did. Edward and I share everything. We never keep secrets from each other. Edward said his wish was never to leave my side and to be the kind of husband that I deserved.

Oh Sarah, I started crying at that point. I hugged Edward and told him he already was the husband that I deserved. He is so perfect, so handsome, so devoted. I told him my wish was for that night to never end. I know we are always going to be as happy as we are tonight.

I wasn't mad when Edward left. I guess I should have been, but for some reason I wasn't. I sat there on my favorite oversized chair, my latest book clutched against my chest and wondered what I would do about dinner. Should I make a sandwich or go out and get something to eat.

I knew Edward would come back to me. I had complete faith that he was just going through a mid-life crisis. This was his way of sowing his wild oats or something. Edward loved me. He always did and always will. I know he will come back. Bob couldn't love him the way that I do. No one loves Edward as much as I do. I'd die for Edward. Bob wouldn't. For God's sake, Bob is an accountant! All he cares about are numbers. Edward would come to his senses. We have a life to share together--until the end of time. In sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer .. and the rest of the wedding vow mumbo-jumbo.

May 1, 1993

Dear Sarah,
Edward was so funny this morning. Before he left for his daily hike he ate a huge breakfast. I am amazed tht a man as trim and handsome as he, can eat so much and not gain an ounce. I eat one piece of chocolate and I instantly gain five pounds. I am a very lucky woman to be married to such a wonderful man. Edward brought me a single long-stemmed rose when he came to breakfast. He handed it to me and kissed me. He said the beauty of the rose barely matched my own beauty. Oh, how my heart fluttered. Edward is such a sweet-talker. It's a shame you two haven't met. I know you are busy with your life half-way around the world. One day we must get together so you can meet my knight-in-shining armor. I know you'd love him as much as I do. Maybe now that Edward has retired we can plan a trip to Cairo and visit you. Oh, wouldn't that be devine! I must talk to him about that as soon as he gets back.


Edward slammed the door in my face telling me that he wasn't coming back to me. He said if I didn't leave him and Bob alone he was going to call the cops. The police. Yeah, right. Edward woudn't do that. He loved me. He's just going through a phase. He wasn't happy with Bob. I could tell. His face was tired looking and definately looked unhappy when we talked. He'd be coming home soon. I knew he would.

July 4, 1994

Dear Sarah,
What a simply wonderful holiday Edward and I shared. The fireworks in the sky were almost as dazzling as the ones he and I shared from our beach cabana. yes, dear heart we are now in Tahiti. We have our own private beach. We've made love so many times I've lost count. There must be something in the tropical air! I've managed to achieve a little bit of a tan. You know how I usually burn and peel, but I think the sun down here is much better for my pale skin. Edward says I have quite a glow about me. What a fantastic man he is. I am so very lucky.

As I started to leave the ritzy apartment building Edward shared with his boring Bob I saw a familiar face. Bob was crossing the street and heading straight for me.

Without a second thought I hid behind a huge ficus tree in the lobby. Bob entered the building and headed for the elevator. He never even saw me. But I saw him. He wasn't so hot to look at. I don't know what Edward saw in him. Bob's off-white pants were wrinkled. He wore an army green polo shirt that stuck to his back in the summer heat. His thinning salt and pepper hair hung down in strings from his sweaty, bald head.

I don't know what made me do it. I walked up to him and stabbed him in the back with my paring knife. You know, the knife Edward gave me last Christmas. Remember, he gave me silverware in a really beautiful pattern as my present.

Now one saw me do it. Bob slumped and I quickly removed my knife. The door opened and I pushed Bob into the empty elevator. He never even saw me. He landed face down onto the hard floor. The red stain was spreading across his back. It turned his green polo shirt a muddy color. I smiled as I put the knife in my pocket.

Edward would come home now. I wondered as I left the building if I would have time to stop by the grocery store and buy a couple of steaks. There's nothing Edward likes better than a rare steak, except maybe making love to me.

September 4, 1995

My dearest Sarah,
Time has seemed to stand still. Edward and I are sailing around the world in our sailboat. We have visited many islands and countries. We are having a great time. We spend our time eating, sleeping, and making love.

I can't remember the last time I even worried about being somewhere. We are so lazy nowadays. I sit around and sunbathe while Edward sails the boat. We fit together so well, my dear friend. We will reach your home one day.


The overweight nurse quietly pushed the medicine cart down the sterile hallway. There weren't that many noises this time of night. Most patients were peacefully sleeping the Darvon and Percodan-type of sleep one would expect in a mental hospital.

The nurse, known as Sarah, entered room 113 with a careful step. This particular patient has been convicted of killing a man. Nurse Sarah was always wary when entering this room. They didn't pay her enough to risk her own life with a crazy killer.

With a gentle shake, nurse Sarah woke up Mrs. Tilton. "Here you go hun, take your medicine and go back to sleep."

A sleepy-faced old woman accepted the pills and gratefully swallowed. Her head falling back to a soft pillow, a smile on her wrinkled face, a book clutched to her chest.

Nurse Sarah shook her head, and felt sorry for the crazy woman who always had her nose in a book and never quite connected with reality. She guessed that's what happened when you were locked up in a mental hospital for 15 years and never had any visitors.

©1995 Robin Bailey