“Of course, I remember.” Kate smiled at the memory. “What a lovely woman she was.”
“Is,” Jessie said. “She didn’t die just because you sold out.”
“I didn’t sell out-”
“And that old man-what was his name, Richards? The one with the shoe-repair shop.”
“Richter,” Kate said. “Mr. Richter. How is he?”
Jessie shrugged. “How should I know? Like it’s my job to keep an eye on all those little businesses you played midwife to.”
“Very subtle, Jess,” Kate said. “And I didn’t sell out-I’m doing the same thing.” At Jessie’s skeptical look, she added, “I am. I’m just saving much bigger businesses for a lot more money. I’m still helping people.”
“You’re helping a bunch of suits,” Jessie said.
Kate held on to her patience. “Why don’t we just agree that we have no respect for each other’s career choices and forget the whole thing?”
“You used to have respect for my career choice,” Jessie said. “You helped me save my career.”
“I couldn’t help it,” Kate said. “You were such a mess, standing in the middle of my office at the SBA, raving about creating the greatest cakes in the civilized world.” She smiled at Jessie and shook her head. “I’d never seen anyone like you before.”
Jessie grinned back. “I felt the same way. I’d never seen anybody as polished as you. You looked like you’d been varnished. I thought, Oh, good, I’m in big trouble and they send me to Wall Street Barbie.” She tilted her head and looked at Kate with deep affection. “And then you saved my business.”
“It was a business worth saving,” Kate said. “You truly do make the most beautiful cakes in the civilized world.”
“Uncivilized, too,” Jessie said. “Which brings us to the subject at hand-men.”
“Jessie,” Kate said. “You’re even more inept with men than I am. You keep dating those boneless, purposeless men who need someone to take care of them.”
“Yes, but that’s because I don’t care,” Jessie said. “When I care, I will be ept.”
“Well, when you’re ept, I’ll listen to you.” Kate tried to pick up her paper, but Jessie put her hand on it again.
“Listen,” Jessie said, leaning forward. “I’m willing to approach this your way.”
“My way?”
“Right. Logic and reason.” Jessie made a face. “I prefer instinct, but we’ve gotta go with what we’ve got, here. Now, you want to get married, right?”
Kate looked wary. “Right.”
Jessie spread her hands apart. “So what have you done all your life every time you wanted something?”
Kate looked even warier. “I made a plan?”
“Exactly,” Jessie said. “So we make a plan. What do we do first? I’ve never planned anything before, remember? You were the one who came in and did my business plan.” She stopped to consider. “Which means I owe you this plan. It’s the least I can do.”
“The least is what you always do,” Kate said. “If you’d followed the timetable in that plan, you’d be a rich woman today. What happened to all the promotion plans? The growth plans?”
“Too fast,” Jessie said, waving the idea away with her hand. “If I’d stuck to your timetable, I’d have lost all the fun of designing the cakes. I’d end up turning out sugar roses like a robot, and after a while all my work would look like everybody else’s, and nobody would be paying my prices, so I’d have to lower them, and then I’d have to make more cakes to cover the loss, and then they’d get really ugly, and I’d go out of business and starve.” She looked at Kate triumphantly.
“You just don’t want to succeed,” Kate said. “You just want to noodle around with sugar, having a good time.”
“And you want to succeed too much,” Jessie said, leaning forward again as she closed in on her point “You think you just want to make money, and having a good time doesn’t matter. But it does, honey, and that’s why you’re miserable today. And I’m not. And I don’t noodle. I’m an artist.”
“Jessie…” Kate began, but Jessie overrode her.
“Come on. How do we start making a plan?”
Kate sighed and decided that humoring Jessie was easier than fighting her. “Well, first, you have to set goals.”
“Okay.” Jessie reached down and fished in her floppy embroidered bag for a pencil. While she was searching, Kate stood, walked over to her writing table, picked up a gold Cross pen, walked back, and handed it to Jessie.
“Thanks,” Jessie said, dropping her bag. “I’ve got to clean out this purse. Make sure I give this back. I forget and keep them all the time.”
“I know,” Kate said, sitting down again.
“Now, what is your goal? To find Mr. Right and get married, right?”
“Right.” Kate moved Jessie’s paper aside to find her coffee cup.
“So what kind of prospects are we looking for, here?”
The edge of Jessie’s paper had flopped into her cup, so Kate pulled it out, blotting it with a napkin so it wouldn’t stain her tablecloth. “Your newspaper was in my coffee.”
“Sorry.” Jessie pulled the paper aside and began to write in the white space of a Bank One ad. “Number one, he has to be rich.”
“He does not,” Kate said. “I’m not mercenary.”
Jessie looked up at her patiently. “No, but your daddy’s rich and your stepmom’s goodlookin’. Being poor is what sank Derek-who-wanted-a-premarital, remember? You’ve got to find somebody who’s got more than you’re going to inherit.”
“Janice is not that good-looking. And she will probably be doing the inheriting.” Unless Dad moves on to wife number six.
Jessie waved Kate’s objection away. “You’re just jealous because she’s ten years younger than you are. Okay. Number two. He has to be older than you by about, oh, fifteen years.”
“Why?” Kate asked, mystified.
“Because you’re obviously looking for a father figure.”
“I am not. Give me that.” Kate took the paper away from Jessie and crossed out one and two. “All right. One, he has to be intelligent. Very, very intelligent.”
“Intelligent’s good,” Jessie said, grinning.
“And not only the academic kind of intelligence. He has to be, well, discerning. He has to…know quality.”
“Look for the designer label?” Jessie made a face. “This is your dream man?”
“And distinguished,” Kate said, caught up in the plan. “Well-mannered. Someone who would be comfortable at the opera.”
“You hate opera.”
Kate waved the objection away. “And aggressive. He has to know what he wants and go after it.”
“Okay.” Jessie picked up her coffee cup and tried to drink while Kate worked. The cup was empty so she swapped it for Kate’s.
“And successful. He has to be successful.”
“In whose eyes?”
“What?” Kate looked up, distracted.
“Well,” Jessie said reasonably, “different people define success different ways.”
“Making at least four times his age, with the same in blue chips.” Kate spoke automatically, barely aware of what she was saying as she went back to her list.
“Sounds like a quote,” Jessie said. “Now let me guess who said it first? Shakespeare? Naw. Mark Twain? Naw. Wait. Wait. I’ve got it Bertram Svenson, father of the year.”
“What?”
“So have we got to the good stuff yet?” Jessie asked.
“What good stuff?”
“Great sense of humor. Equal rights for women. Terrific in bed. Loves you to the point of madness.”
“Well, yes, of course.” Kate looked down at her list “Did I mention successful?”
“Several times.” Jessie took the paper back. “Okay, we have the animal defined. Now, what’s the next move? To find him, right?”
“Right.” Kate picked up her coffee cup, frowning when she saw it was empty. “Did you drink my coffee?”
“Yes. I was feeling aggressive. Now, your next step is to find a hunting ground.”
“Jessie, I don’t…”
Jessie held up her hand. “Which I have already found for you.” She carefully tore Kate’s list out of the paper and handed it to her. “Keep that.” Then she turned back to the Travel and Leisure section. “Look at this.”