The Return of Betty Snickerdoodle Read online

  “Another distinguishing feature of the Treacle Town tales is the conspicuous absence of modern communications technology. Texting and emailing are all-but-non-existent in the books. Many people attribute this unusual feature to Miss Snickerdoodle’s own distrust of technology. [citation needed]”

  “Hahaha,” howled Bea as she commanded Rebecca to stop speaking. “If only those ‘many people’ could see me now! Angela, should we try another – Rebecca, who are the Betty Bros?”

  Rebecca whirred to life again. “The Betty Bros are a group of young men, mostly in their twenties, who are unabashed fans of Betty Snickerdoodle’s Treacle Town series of Christmas romance novels. While the majority of Treacle Town’s fan base is women middle-aged and older, the Betty Bros are a surprisingly devoted minority.

  “Sometimes mocked for their avid fandom, Betty Bros celebrate their unconventional love of Miss Snickerdoodle’s books in clubs and conferences all around the United States. The Bros frequently dress up as their favorite Treacle Town characters at these gatherings, sometimes acting out their favorite scenes from the books or their own affectionate fanfiction extensions of the stories. Some fans even concoct their own teas and, especially, hot chocolate blends to celebrate the world of Treacle Town.

  “The Betty Bros are a loose community of fans, with no leadership to speak for their entire ranks. But on rare occasions when Bros have been interviewed, they’ve said they’re attracted to the simple morality of the books. They appreciate that the men are heroic in an old-fashioned way, but the women are heroines, too.

  “Miss Snickerdoodle has never commented officially on the Bros. But numerous sources report that she finds them charming and is ‘moved’ by their ardent appreciation of the series.”

  “What?!” Bea exclaimed. “Moved? Moved like a bowel! Rebecca, wrong!”

  “Would you like to edit the entry for Betty Bros?” the voice in the tube responded mildly.

  “Yes!”

  “What is your edit?”

  “Betty Snickerdoodle does not find the Betty Bros charming. She thinks they’re weirdos –“

  “Rebecca, cancel!” Angela interrupted.

  “Would you like to cancel your edit for Betty Bros?” the tube asked.

  “YES!” Angela shouted, making sure to drown out Bea’s reply of ‘no.’

  Bea parked her free hand on her hip and shot a look of annoyance at Angela.

  “Bea, the Bros are some of your biggest fans. You can’t just go insulting them. If you must say anything about them, say thanks. Saying nothing at all is best. Trust me. This is the kind of thing you’re paying me for.”

  “It’s just – I never said that!” Bea replied. “And I never would say that! Why does The Winkypedia think I did? It doesn’t even sound like me.”

  Angela’s face started to pink. She knew exactly how “The Winkypedia” learned that “numerous sources” reported Betty’s appreciation: because she herself had written the entry.

  “Bea, do you know how valuable those ‘weirdos’ are?” Angela began carefully. “They pride themselves on maintaining a complete collection of your books – and whenever you have a special edition or bundle, they buy those, too. They’re more loyal as a group than your female readers. I would guess they’ve put at least a million dollars in your personal bank account – and they’re ready to buy anything else you serve up. Wouldn’t it be smarter to encourage them?

  “Not to mention … it’s not supposed to sound like you, it’s supposed to sound like Betty,” Angela continued gently. “And what’s so bad about being a bit of a weirdo? I mean, it could be argued that you march to a different drummer yourself, Bea.”

  Bea frowned as she considered Angela’s point. She had to admit that she might have more in common with those oddball Betty Bros than she did with Betty’s “normal” fans. After all, no one reveled in doing exactly as she pleased more than she did.

  “You know, you’re right, I suppose I am slightly weird. And like the Canuckies say, chacun à son goût – even if you’re a dude with arrested development and your goût is my books for ladies,” Bea snickered. “Now how about some breakfast? All that dancing works up an appetite.”

  “Oh no! I forgot to stop for egg sandwiches!”

  “It’s okay, I’ve got three pizzas in the fridge. I could use help eating them – I’d like to order more.” Bea was enjoying ordering pizzas via Rebecca so much, she had amassed an inventory in just a couple of days.

  “By the way,” Angela said, “I had no idea you spoke French.”

  “Haha!” Bea snorted. “Chacun à son goût. Merde. Putain. Poutine. That’s all I remember. I knew a Montrealer from poker back in the day.”

  “Oh Bea,” Angela said. “How does someone like you end up writing treacly Christmas stories?”

  “You know how in touch I am with my sweet side,” Bea replied. “C’mon, you see how happy I am when someone wins a car on ‘The Price Is Right.’” Angela opened her eyes wide, as if they were propped with sturdy toothpicks – another technique to prevent smirking. Bea recognized this one for what it was.

  “Harrumph,” Bea said. “No one asked Irving Berlin how a Jew wrote the best Christmas songs.”

  “Actually, I think they did.”

  “Yeah, well ordinary people are clueless about the creative process. We artists have depths others can’t fathom.”

  Angela opened the refrigerator and grabbed an unopened box of pizza. The door conveniently hid her reaction from Bea. “Of course you’re right. So, shall I heat up the pizza? We need sustenance for our writing project today.”

  “Yes, let’s eat, then get cracking,” Bea agreed. “I want to get this new book done in record time. I think we can do it in two weeks – maybe a week if we’re really fast.”

  “Wait, what? What’s the rush?”

  “Once I set my mind to writing, I want to get it out of my head all at once. And October’s just a few weeks away – isn’t that the best time to release a new book, once people start thinking about the holidays? And haven’t the fans waited long enough?”

  These were all very rational reasons – good ones that Angela could hardly disagree with. But Bea had another reason that was much more important that she wasn’t sharing: She wanted to be ready in case Cash did something with that manuscript he stole.

  “What’s the point of delaying, anyway? We’re not getting any younger – you especially,” Bea laughed, smacking her knee like she always did to punctuate her own jokes. “And it’s going to be easy. 200 pages, I figure we can do 30-40 per day – hell, we’ll be done with the first draft in less than a week. Then I’m figuring we can get it out to the fans in less than two – don’t you agree?”

  Angela was mystified as ever by Bea and her odd bursts of energy and motivation. She knew, though, it was best just to roll with it. It was a gift horse – why look it in the mouth? If they hustled, Bea could have a new Betty ready in just a few weeks. That was something to get excited about. But she did some quick math in her head: 40 pages per day at 250 words per page was 10,000 words per day – a tall order. Could it even be done? “At 40 words per minute that’s four hours per day just for typing – not counting figuring out the story.”

  “Oh please, I can do 60 per minute easy on my Selectric,” Bea snorted. “Imagine how fast I’ll be on the Mach 5,” she added, nodding at the computer on her desk. Since the tube got a name, Bea figured the computer should have one, too.

  Angela heated up the pizza in the house’s one pan, an ancient cast-iron that weighed about six pounds. She handed Bea a plate with a warm slice of leftover pepperoni and sausage and served another to herself. Her excitement about getting started on the book – with a bird’s eye view of the process – outweighed her doubts about Bea’s timeline. Maybe Bea would even let her help with some of the writing. “Okay, well let’s talk about the story.”

  “I’ve got a complete new plot in mind already,” Bea chirped, mouth full of greasy pizza. “But here’s my th
ought. Maybe some of the fans on Bookface have ideas for new character details or minor story lines? Maybe we can incorporate those into this new book.”

  A new book, with details suggested by the fans? It was like a marketer’s dream. Selling it would be child’s play, Angela thought. The only negative was the crazy timeline. An idea like this deserved a well-planned marketing effort, with weeks or even months to build excitement. But Bea was determined to hustle – so hustle they would.

  “I have some ideas already, but I’ll post a survey tonight. It will be a great way to get some buzz going, too.” Angela envisioned working nights on the world’s fastest book release marketing plan, and days at Bea’s house helping her with the manuscript. “With just a couple of weeks until the draft is done, I want to move fast on marketing, too.” Her head was spinning – but it was exciting, too. She was glad that her careful tending of Betty’s online presence had netted so many followers and email subscribers. That would make the task of getting the word out much easier.

  Pizza finished, Bea and Angela settled down in front of the computer to get to work. Bea sparked up a cigarette, took a drag, and balanced it in the ashtray on the desk.

  “I’m thinking if you show me how this contraption works,” Bea said, “we can work on the first couple of chapters together, then figure out how to split up the work. What do you think?”

  “I’m at your service,” Angela said. “About the feedback from the fans, one thing many people ask for is an update on some of the previous characters. Did they get married? Have kids? You know, that sort of thing. It’s been a long time since we’ve heard about some of them. How would you feel about revisiting them?”

  “Great idea. In fact, that’s exactly the direction I’ve been thinking about,” Bea said. “Now how do I turn this thing on?”

  Chapter Nine

  Cash had been pacing the floor of his tiny Tenderloin apartment like a panther in a cage. After such a strong start, his plan for a quick financial hit had stalled. He now had less than 20 days to get everything done — and still no enterprising assistant.

  Who knew it would be so hard to find help getting Betty’s typewritten manuscript ready to publish? His ad had produced plenty of inquiries, but most missed his requirements by a mile. Some weren’t hungry enough. (“I’d be happy to write you a formal proposal for marketing services. Can we arrange a conference call next week?”) Some just didn’t seem smart enough. (“I saw your ad. I don’t know how to deal with a manuscript, but I’d love to learn, because of how much I love reading!”) And the worst ones seemed too smart (“We can get anything done in a week if you’ve got the budget”). Those were the ones he found the most annoying. There was only room for one shakedown artist on this little project.

  He was down to one decent candidate: a techie with a Middle-Eastern name who said he could get a new website and social media presence going in a week. Even in a renowned sanctuary city like San Francisco, a guy like that’s gotta hustle, Cash thought. Cash’s white-bread experiences hadn’t yet intersected with anyone from that part of the world. He automatically assumed that the guy would be here illegally, trying to avoid the feds. That suited Cash just fine. He liked the idea of a desperate immigrant who would be unlikely to question the terms of the deal – and would be just as happy to get paid for performance, maybe even under-the-table for a big discount.

  Cash glanced at his phone, then grabbed his keys and headed downstairs to the coffee shop next door. The candidate was right on time – five minutes early, in fact. Promising. Hungry.

  “Are you Cash?” the young man sitting alone at the corner table asked, extending his hand warmly. “I’m Aseem. Nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah, you, too. Shall we get down to business?” Cash explained that he had a paper manuscript from a “client” of “his literary agency” that needed to be transcribed and prepped for publishing, and that a web site and social media presence were needed, too. Cash told Aseem that while the client was new to him, she’d been a client of his dad’s for two decades.

  “An older lady who retired after writing a series of more than 20 best-sellers,” Cash said. “She has unexpectedly decided to publish one more book. Since she is resurfacing after years away, fresh ideas are in order.” Cash explained that while the author had a large audience of online followers already, this unexpected new release warranted a whole new approach.

  “Let’s just ignore what’s out there already for now – in fact, I’m not even going to tell you about it,” Cash continued. “This book will need its own site – with a commerce engine so people can buy the book. Sound like something you can do? Along with the formatting of the files for print and e-book?”

  “Easy,” replied Aseem. “And I know just the person to work on the social media side, too – a person with book experience. Okay for me to bring in a colleague?”

  “Well I’ll need to meet him, to be sure he’s trustworthy, before you share any of this information with him,” Cash cautioned.

  “It’s a she,” Aseem said. “And that should be no problem. Did you bring the manuscript? I can get that part done this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, well about that, there’s only one copy, and I’m not going to be letting it out of my sight. Can you work on it in my apartment? It’s right next door.”

  Aseem stood up and pulled his laptop bag off the back of the chair. “As long as you’ve got a scanner – and your checkbook – we’re good to go.”

  “Excellent,” smiled Cash. “I’ll pay you a down-payment in cash today. But the real money will be in your share of the profits. Your email said you were looking for projects with a share of the upside. Well, if you do a good job with this, we’ll both get that big payday that’s coming to us.”

  “Just what I wanted to hear,” said Aseem.

  Chapter Ten

  Bea woke up feeling out of sorts. She’d had a strange dream about a tsunami hitting the West Coast, leaving debris everywhere. She normally scoffed at dream analysis woo-woo. Yet even the ever-unflappable Bea couldn’t deny that her subconscious was processing some big loose ends: Cash and her stolen manuscript, and Charlie still being out-of-touch. Bearing down on the new book was her way of dealing with these problems. She wanted to shake off her unease and get right back to it.

  She looked at the pack of cigarettes sitting on her nightstand, and considered lighting one, like she always did. Smoking had oddly been less satisfying lately. It slowed her down, interrupting her productive flow. Instead, Bea got dressed and headed to the kitchen to grab a canned coffee from the fridge. Angela would arrive soon and they could continue cranking out the new Betty.

  Bea took a sip of the cold coffee. “Rebecca, tell me a joke about coffee.”

  “Waiter, this coffee tastes like mud. Yes sir, it’s fresh ground.”

  Bea chuckled. Her mood started to lift.

  “Rebecca, play ‘You Sexy Thing’ – loud!”

  Ah, that was good, Bea thought, after her vigorous four-minute dance workout. She grabbed another can of coffee and sat down at the desk in the spare bedroom/office that she and Angela had turned into the Treacle Town war room. The outline of the book was mapped out in big blocks and taped up on the walls, so that they both knew where the story was going. That way, if Angela helped with some of the writing, they wouldn’t have to worry about continuing the threads of the plot.

  Bea turned on the computer to pick up on the chapter she’d started the night before. Angela had taken a stab at writing the one before it on her own – and Bea had been damned impressed. Bea had expected to spend a lot of time coaching her, but Angela wrote in Betty’s sweet style like it was the most natural thing in the world for her. The girl excels at marketing, technology, and, apparently, writing treacly fiction, thought Bea. Was there nothing she couldn’t do?

  “Bea? I’m here,” Angela called out as she let herself in. “Ready to roll.”

  Angela handed Bea a bag and a tall cup: an egg sandwich and her favorite iced coffee.


  “Angie, you get me,” Bea said with a big, gap-toothed smile. “You really get me. Shall we get started?”

  “I finished a draft of chapter nine last night. I printed it so you can take a look. I was able to work in some of the ideas we learned from the survey. Like what’s happening with Rebecca and Nick – some fans suggested I give them twin girls. I hope you like that idea! And Luke and Clara are opening another cookie shop and planning for a big anniversary party.”

  “Fab! Those things fit them to a tee,” said Bea. “So, that gives me an idea. What if we split our duties – I’ll keep writing from here, and you can work on edits. With nine chapters done, we can haul ass and get the draft done in a flash!”

  “Of course, if you want to,” Angela said, looking disappointed. Had Bea been unhappy with her chapters? “But what if I just put more time in instead? It’s just …it’s just, I’m really enjoying helping with the writing.”

  “But you’re working night and day as it is. And since you finished adding the updates to the old characters, we’re just working on my original plot, anyway.”

  “I know, but I’m enjoying the writing. And I can do it all, really, I can. I’ll do editing here and work on my new words at home.”

  “And what about the marketing?”

  “I can do it all. I promise,” Angela said.

  “It seems like too much work,” Bea said. “But I believe in miracles!” Bea awkwardly burst out singing the line from “You Sexy Thing,” leaving Angela looking confused. “Never mind. Just go for it – if you’re sure you can do it,” Bea said.

  “I’m sure.”

  The pair got down to business in their workroom. Within 30 minutes, they’d settled into a brisk rhythm, Angela editing on her laptop in the upholstered chair, Bea tapping computer keys at the desk. A few hours later, they had four chapters edited and two more ready for review.