The Return of Betty Snickerdoodle Read online

  “You type so fast,” Angela said, looking at Bea’s gnarled fingers, wondering how she did it. “It blows my mind. If we keep up this pace, we’ll be done in a few days.”

  “Back in my day, typing was a survival skill for us ladies,” Bea replied. “Who would’ve thought it would still be so handy 50 years later?”

  “Next step is planning how to publish it,” Angela said. “I’m thinking that maybe Aseem can help. Would that be okay with you?”

  “As long as he won’t find out who Betty Snickerdoodle is,” Bea said. “You’re sure, right?”

  Angela nodded. “We can keep it secret. But, anyway, I trust him. He’s never been much of a gossip. Like most guys, I’d be shocked if he’s even heard of Betty Snickerdoodle. And he and I can work on it at my place, so he won’t even make the connection with you.”

  “At your place, huh? Just the two of you? Sounds pretty cozy. Are you sure any work will get done?” Bea accented her comment with a lascivious wink. Her facial expression approached maximum inappropriateness.

  “It’s not like that,” Angela protested, her face reddening. “You know I have a home office. That’s where we’ll be working.”

  “Well, I could tell he’s got designs on you, but I hope you don’t feel like you have to have sex with him on my account. I’m happy to pay a reasonable rate for his service!” Bea teased. She was enjoying making Angela uncomfortable.

  Angela rolled her eyes and scowled impatiently. “Gross, Bea. It’s not like that. And yes, his rates are reasonable, and I’ll be adding them to my bill. Anyway, I thought you’d be happy that we’ll be able to get the book out faster. Aseem knows everything about print-on-demand and e-book publishing.”

  “Speaking of publishing,” Bea said, “I still haven’t heard from Charlie. I’ve been thinking I should try going to his office.”

  “In San Francisco?” Angela said.

  “Yeah. I was hoping you’d take me. I was thinking about going tomorrow. But now that you’re so overloaded with work – and your, you know, other plans – I can’t imagine you’ll have time.”

  Angela ignored Bea’s innuendo about “other plans,” but considered her point about the timing. If she drove out to the wine country, picked Bea up, and drove her back and forth from San Francisco, they’d both lose a whole day’s work.

  “Well, we would lose a lot of ground on the book if we both went,” she said. “But what about ride-sharing? Remember the app I told you about, on your tablet? It’s the easiest thing in the world.”

  Bea looked alarmed. “You’re telling me to carpool with strangers?”

  “It’s not that kind of ‘sharing,’” Angela laughed. “It’s like a private car service, arranged over the internet. Everyone uses it.”

  “Do you have to pay for it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well how in the blue blazes is that sharing? I don’t see why you kids have to rename everything and make it more confusing.”

  “Well, you have a point. But look, I’ll show you how to get a ride in any case, all you’ll need to do is book a car to take you to Charlie’s office, and then log back in to get one to pick you up and bring you home when you’re done.”

  “You want me to carry that tablet thing with me?”

  Angela had forgotten about Bea’s resistance to carrying a cell phone. She couldn’t even be persuaded to carry a purse. She knew Bea would love calling her own cars once she got the hang of it – she was taking to technology like a duck to water. For the moment, though, Bea wasn’t equipped for computing on-the-go. Angela needed a work-around.

  “Okay, so here’s what we’ll do. We’ll set your car up for tomorrow right now. And when you’re done at Charlie’s office, just use the phone there to call me, and I’ll order the return car for you. Easy peasy.”

  Angela showed Bea how to start the car-sharing app on the tablet, and the two of them reviewed the options for a ride from the wine country to San Francisco in the morning.

  “Well look at this,” said Angela. “British luxury SUV. You’ll love it! It’s like a fancy living room on wheels.”

  “Oh yes, that’s so me,” snorted Bea, adopting an affected model’s pose. “I’m all about appearances.”

  “It’s just the kind of vehicle celebrities ride in,” said Angela. “If anyone knew you were Betty Snickerdoodle, they’d expect you to be in a vehicle like that.”

  “Well, I hope it won’t attract too much attention in San Francisco,” Bea said.

  “As if. Half the city drives cars that nice,” Angela said. “Celebrities got nothing on Silicon Valley wealth. You’ll be as invisible as ever.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Bea had to admire the gleaming black paint and shiny chrome of the upscale SUV Angela had ordered. “Glad I wore my dressiest track suit today!” she shouted as she closed the door to her little house and caned her way briskly to the car. Her velour ensemble – newly purchased over the internet and rushed to her door, with the help of Rebecca – approximated the bright orange color of a traffic cone. (“I need something new in case I see Charlie,” she’d thought.) Bordered by sparkly gold braiding, the suit was complemented perfectly by her neon teal sneakers (with neon green Velcro). Despite her tiny size, in that get-up, it was quite possible Bea was visible from space.

  The driver, a clean-cut, Nordic-looking, twenty-something man, hopped out of the driver’s side to offer Bea his assistance. He looked tidy and professional, straight out of the Northern California business casual playbook: a well-pressed plaid shirt, loafers, and khaki trousers. “My name’s Oliver,” he said cheerfully. “Here, let me open the door,” he added, grabbing Bea’s cane and placing it on the far seat.

  “It sure is a long way up there,” Bea remarked, grabbing the handle attached to the ceiling and preparing to hoist herself into the back seat. The young man stood behind her, ready to support her arm if she lost her balance.

  Bea planted her foot on the SUV’s step and groaned with the effort to haul herself up into the car’s cabin. As her head cleared the entrance, she reached for the console between the back seats to steady herself, exhaling with relief – almost there! But her hand slid right off the console. Oliver had just spent hours carefully detailing the car, and, unfortunately, the leather had a fine, slippery polish.

  As Bea started to fall, the helpful hand Oliver had intended for Bea’s elbow aimed straight for the zone of Bea’s buttocks – and wound up somewhere even more embarrassing. “Yowza!” howled Bea as she tumbled into the seat in a heap. “That’s some service you provide! We haven’t even left the driveway. Can’t wait to see what else is in store for me.”

  Oliver closed the car door and hustled red-faced back to the driver’s side. He settled himself in the passenger seat and fiddled with the navigation system, trying not to look at Bea. Bea was amused to see that even his neck was turning the color of a cooked beet. “So, was it good for you, too, Oliver?” she cracked.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any offense,” he finally said. “Are you okay?”

  “Never better! No need to apologize. I do have one hell of a wedgie now, though,” Bea howled, clumsily trying to adjust her pants by grabbing at her own derriere. “I just hope I don’t have camel toe for the rest of the day – and that Angela has set you up with a very nice tip!”

  Oliver breathed audibly and began to relax a little as he changed the subject. “So, downtown San Francisco it is, right? The timing is excellent. Rush hour’s died down and we’ll have a great view of the Golden Gate Bridge today. The fog is light.”

  “Fantastic!” said Bea, still fumbling with her pants.

  Oliver steered the comfortable vehicle onto the main wine country trail, heading south. It was a beautiful day, and Bea was enjoying the ride. Given her hermit habits, she often forgot how beautiful her surroundings were. She made a mental note that it might be a good idea to get out a little more, once the new Betty was published. This new ride-sharing idea that Angela had tur
ned her onto could be just the ticket.

  “Are you hungry or thirsty?” Oliver asked. “Help yourself to the treats in the center console or one of the bottles of water in the cup holders.”

  “I thought I smelled something sweet. Maybe in a bit. By the way, this car is fabulous. And how nice of you to keep snacks for your passengers,” Bea said.

  “Well, it helps the ratings. I make most of my income from driving, so it helps to be popular.”

  “Ratings?”

  “Passenger reviews. People rate their experiences, and I use them to market my services. You know, like on social media? Besides the ride-sharing app, I help people with errands and such, and I use social to get the word out.”

  “Oh, social media,” Bea replied. “Don’t know much about it, but I know it really helps my sales, too. My girl Angela has built a whole community for my readers.”

  “You’re an author? Written anything I might have heard of?”

  “I doubt it. My books are mostly for ladies of a certain age. And a lot older than a certain age – some of them are almost as old as me!” she added with a little snort. “Just some sweet, romantic stories that always have happy endings.”

  “I love stories like that,” Oliver said. “Well, at least there’s one author I love. She writes Christmas romances – she used to, anyway. It’s been years since her last new one. Her name’s Betty Snickerdoodle. She writes the Treacle Town books. Ever heard of her?”

  “Um, yes, I’ve heard that name – isn’t she famous?” Bea said, squirming in her seat a little.

  “Oh yeah, Betty’s a sensation. I think she’s sold millions of her Treacle Town books.”

  Just then it dawned on Bea that the sweet, intoxicating smell softly drifting from the console was familiar: cinnamon. She opened the latch and found the source: a wax bag with warm, homemade cookies inside. “Don’t tell me. Snickerdoodles?”

  “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my favorite cookie happens to be the snickerdoodle. I bake them as my little homage to Betty. And I keep all 20 of Betty’s books on that tablet in the seat pocket, in case anyone wants something to read. Feel free to take a look if you like. I’ve also got all of them in print, too, tucked in the back of the car. Sounds silly, I’m sure, but I’ve heard rumors she lives in Northern California. I keep hoping I’ll get a chance to drive her. If it happens, I want to be ready to ask her to sign my books.”

  Bea felt a slight pang of guilt on hearing this. But what could she do? Even if she’d been willing to give up her secret, she doubted Oliver would even believe her. “Well, have you tried contacting this ‘Betty’? Perhaps she could send you a signed copy. I know Angela sends out books when my readers write in. I mean, I’m no Betty Snickerdoodle, but I do have my fans,” she was quick to add.

  “Maybe I should. Believe it or not, a lot of young guys love Treacle Town. Actually, what the other Bros and I should do is try to get her to come to one of our cons. But she’s very reclusive. Her last known public appearance was more than five years ago – and some people even believe it was an actress playing her, and not Betty herself at all! Can you believe it? I guess I understand. If I were that popular, I’d probably want to hide out, too.”

  Bea couldn’t believe she’d found herself in the presence of a real-life Betty Bro. What were the odds? She couldn’t resist a little investigation into what makes her unusual contingent of fans tick. “You mean bros like ‘brothers’?”

  “I mean the Betty Bros. Loads of guys love Betty – and we’re used to getting teased about it. But once we started finding each other online, we realized we’re a really big group. We don’t have to take any grief from anyone,” Oliver laughed. “Besides, most of the people mocking us just don’t understand. If you read any of Betty’s books, you’d understand why we love them. They’re all about tradition and giving and love and community and friendship. Everything works out for the best in Treacle Town. And, of course, Christmas! You don’t have to be a ‘woman of a certain age’ to value those things,” Oliver said sincerely.

  Bea considered Oliver’s earnest explanation of why the Bros loved Betty. She’d always thought of the Bros a bunch of freaks, but he seemed so normal, and his explanation so logical. Bea wasn’t prone to letting guilt interfere with her opinions, but here was a reader telling her that he loved her books because he valued the very things they were supposed to be about – and he was part of an entire community that joined together to celebrate those things, too. Bea had to admit that the Bros deserved her appreciation -- especially since, just like Angela told her, they were buying tons of her books!

  “Betty Snickerdoodle is one lucky author,” Bea said. “Any author would be lucky to have fans like you Bros.”

  “Ha! We’re the lucky ones,” Oliver said. “I know it sounds corny, but being a Betty Bro has been one of the most fun things to happen to me. Guys don’t have a lot of outlets for homey fun. Especially straight guys. We’re always supposed to act tougher than that. Plus, who doesn’t love a good con?”

  There was that word again. Bea was confused. “A good con?”

  “Short for conference. We have gatherings of Bros all over the country now – online ones, and in-person, too. They’re not really full-on conferences – it’s not like we have lectures or booths or any of that stuff. We just have fun and celebrate all things Betty. Some people dress up like their favorite characters. Others share crafts based on Treacle Town – Christmas ornaments and stuff. Bros present fan fiction, too – their own stories about what happens with the characters after the stories end. That’s the thing everyone likes most, I think. Oh and there’s a whole contingent that focuses on baking the treats Betty describes in the books. By the way – we’re coming up to Sausalito and the bridge soon. Stand by for a beautiful view.”

  Bea considered the “Betty Bro con” idea’s incredible business potential as she peered out the window and admired the view of Sausalito, Tiburon, and the City as the car wended its way toward the Golden Gate Bridge. It was breathtaking on a day like today. Little sailboats were rocking gently on the glistening water, the idyllic image framed by steep hills dotted with charming houses.

  “We’re just about 15 minutes from your destination now. I’ll take Lombard to Gough, unless you prefer a different way. Sound okay?”

  “Sure, whatever you think is best. I’m not on a schedule, anyway.” Bea thought it unlikely that Charlie would even be in his office, but at least she might get some answers by showing up there. And now she had quite a story to share with him: an encounter with a bona fide Betty Bro! She looked forward to telling Angela about it, too — especially the part about the cons.

  Oliver snagged an especially lucky parking spot right in front of Charlie’s office building, then hopped out to help Bea out of the car. “Just the hand this time,” he joked politely.

  “That was quite a ride,” Bea said. “I don’t know how to do your ratings, but I’ll have Angela show me. You’ll get an A++ from me!”

  “Thank you – and here’s my card with my cell. If you want me to come to you before you book your next rideshare, just send me a text.”

  Bea didn’t think it was worth it to explain that she didn’t have a phone and didn’t really understand what “texting” was, so she tucked the card in her pocket and thanked Oliver for the lovely ride. “Oh, and here’s a snickerdoodle for the road,” Oliver said, grabbing a cookie from the console and handing it to Bea “By the way, I’m kind of surprised that sweet romance stories are your thing,” he added with a grin.

  “I don’t understand why people never seem to realize I’m a complex person with many dimensions,” Bea complained.

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Oliver said. “I just wouldn’t have thought sugary romance would be one of them. I think I might have guessed something like ‘elder erotica with bondage,’ if that’s a category.”

  “Well I’ll just take that as a compliment!” Bea snarked.

  Bea took a bite of the cookie �
�� not bad, maybe not the best snickerdoodle, but of course she was very picky about snickerdoodles – and waved as Oliver drove away from the curb. Then she turned to the entrance of the old office building in front of her. How long had it been since she’d visited Charlie here – five years, ten? Time flies by if you let it, she thought. She was looking forward to a long-overdue catch-up with Charlie, and hoped against hope that she’d find him in his office.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bea had to yank the big handle and lean back as hard as she could to heave open the ornately decorated door to Charlie’s building. The red-carpeted lobby was a bit dark. The dim lighting accentuated the building’s faded art deco grandeur. Bea had forgotten what a stunning old place it was.

  Elegant wrought-iron dials above each elevator car tracked progress from one floor to the next. An attendant, dressed like a train conductor, directed visitor traffic.

  “What floor are you looking for, ma’am?”

  “14, I believe,” Bea said.

  “Take this car right here,” he replied. “14 is the first stop.”

  Bea was joined in the car by a few businesspeople and a mother with three children. Most of the suites in Charlie’s Union Square building were occupied by dentists and doctors. A few independent businesses like Charlie’s took small spaces in between.

  The elevator dinged at 14, and Bea stepped out into a quiet hallway. Marble walls and classic black and white mosaic floors complemented the elegant metalwork on the ceiling and elevator doors. Bea took her time walking down a long hallway of glass doors with quaint gold lettering and substantial metal door handles, taking in the atmosphere.

  Charlie’s office was a three-room suite at the very end of the hall. The one door next to his led to a single-room office that had been home to a string of solo lawyers and consultants over the years – quiet tenants, ideal neighbors for a literary agency. Charlie had worked in this location for more than 30 years – since long before Betty was a glimmer in Bea’s eye.