Killer Pancake

“No, that’s not exactly it.” We walked inside. “Here’s what I was thinking,” I said. “You could sell me something that I can take to my friend. Hand cream, lipstick, makeup, I don’t care. Then we can go around and sample the food fair. Twelve-fifteen? I’ll pick you up?”

“Actually,” she said in a low, hesitant voice, “no, I can’t do it. If that’s okay. I’m behind on my sales for the last two months, so I’ve been asking to work through the noon hour. That’s when most of the women shop. You know, they’re on their lunch hours. Or businessmen visit us then, for their wives’ birthdays, and they want to buy perfume or something…. Why don’t you come in and get your stuff when you finish at the fair?” She swallowed the last bit of cookie and attempted a cheerful grin. “But I need to go now.”

We had arrived at the long, brightly lit Mignon counter. It faced the store entrance, prime shopping space that Mignon used to good advantage with sparkling mirrors, gilt decorations, and several video screens. I promised Dusty I’d see her later, then stood transfixed in front of the video screens. In my hurry yesterday, I had not stopped to watch the short films. The first showed impossibly thin twenty-year-old women frolicking beside a fountain. Gaping at them were what looked like well-built Italian movie stars posing as construction workers. Another video showed people clapping wildly as skinny models sashayed down runways wearing dresses that dripped long strands of beads. They were not the kind of outfits I could wear to the grocery store. But it was the third film that made me groan aloud. A lovely young woman knelt by the flat tire on her car just as an impossibly gorgeous guy drove up in his white convertible. Within five seconds she was driving off in the convertible with the fellow. With Mignon makeup, the video implied, you can even save on Triple-A dues!

Harriet Wells appeared and gave me a huge smile. The head sales associate wore her green smock and diamond-cluster earrings, and as usual her spun-gold hair was done up in an impeccable twist. “The caterer again!” she exclaimed. “Nick Gentileschi was looking for you, something about your check. Want me to see if he’s in his office?”

I nodded. “That would be great, thanks.”

She drew out a foil-wrapped package from underneath the counter. “My spice muffins. Why don’t you try one and tell me what you think is in it?” She treated me to another sparkling grin. “Free perfume sample if you guess correctly. I’ll be right back.” And with that, she turned on her high heels and moved to the phone by the cash register.

The foil crinkled in my hand. I didn’t really care about perfume samples, but I was a sucker for a bet on my tasting abilities. The muffins were tiny and golden, and flecked with something brown. I took a bite and then another: crunchy, with zucchini and cinnamon. Delicious. As I calculated what it would take to reproduce them—honey for the sweetener, large, ripe, extra-juicy zucchini, filberts chopped fine … I had the uncomfortable feeling that I was being watched.

I glanced around to the shoe department. A tall man with wild, white-blond hair had been looking at sale espadrilles. Now he was staring at me with his mouth open. Maybe it was against the rules to eat muffins inside the store. I swallowed the last bite, straightened up, and pretended to be studying the face cream display that cried: You deserve to be retextured! There was a tipped mirror a little farther down the counter. I moseyed over and acted preoccupied with my reflection.

Harriet’s smile was icy when she returned to me. “The head of security is occupied and can’t look for your check at the moment. He wanted to know if you could come back later?”

Occupied doing what, I wondered. Clearly Harriet was also upset that the head of security was unavailable.

I said that was fine, thanked Harriet, and told her her muffin was made with zucchini, filberts, and cinnamon. She laughed her high tinkling laugh and rewarded me with two perfume samples: One was called Foreplay and the other was Lies. I never wanted the samples, I just wanted the muffin. Oh, well.