Page 12 of Heartbreak & Cupcakes
“You need to tell the man that they are still doing that,” Yana barked. “And that the outlet to the freezer still isn’t working. There were sparks that flew from the wall when I tried to plug it in. I have to bring extension cord from house.”
The “man” she was talking about was Mr. Wilcox. He owned the building that was falling apart. The first time I’d spoken to him on the phone, I knew he’d sounded ancient. But when I met him, I was actually surprised at just how spot-on I’d been. He walked with a cane, and honestly looked like he was pushing a hundred and ten. I wasn’t sure how old he was, or if he was actually hard of hearing and had memory problems. But it seemed every time I emailed or called with a repair; those qualities were more apparent than ever.
Funny, his hearing was just fine when I’d asked him how much the rent was on the apartment and if I would get a deal if I rented the apartment and leased the commercial space. His answer was a resounding no. Which was fine. I could afford it. Barely, but I could afford it.
But if I emailed or called to let him know the lights were on the fritz and that the outlet still wasn’t working, I knew exactly what he’d say, “I’ll have someone come out and look at it.”
Then I’d wait. And no one would come. I’d wait an appropriate amount of time, five to ten days, then contact him again. He’d act as if it was the first time he was hearing anything about it, and the cycle would begin again. It didn’t matter if I had “receipts” as the kids called it, and copy and pasted past messages or emails of our exchanges.
A pattern had emerged the past six months. Anytime an issue would arise, I’d inform Mr. Wilcox who would assure me that he would take action to resolve said issue. But no action has ever been taken.
Yana’s arm flew in the air. “You need to call the people.”
“The people?”
“You know…” She waved her hand. “The people that police the landlords.”
“I don’t know who those people are.”
“This is why you need a man,” Yana said beneath her breath.
Yana was old-school. She believed that I needed to be married and having babies by now.
“I don’t need a man, Yana!” I called out over my shoulder as I began to work on the recipe for today’s Sadie’s Special. Every day I made a limited number of cupcakes that were a little off the beaten path. Yesterday I’d made strawberry lemonade cupcakes. The day before that it had been salted caramel.
Today I was making peanut butter cookie dough. I’d already made the cookie dough yesterday and it was in the fridge. So now I just needed to work on the cupcake batter and icing. I dumped the flour, baking soda, baking powder, cocoa powder and salt into the large stainless steel mixing bowl and whisked it. Then I added cocoa butter, sour cream, a cup of vegetable oil, a half cup of water, four eggs, and one tablespoon of vanilla.
As I turned on the industrial mixer, my mind wondered down the path that always seemed to lead to Mr. Smolder. Did he like peanut butter or cookie dough? Would he be in today to pick up a dozen donuts and a Sadie’s Special?
He averaged three and a half visits per week. Some weeks he’d come in four times, other weeks only three. It wasn’t like he came in every day, or every other day, or always on Mondays and Thursdays. There was no rhyme or reason to him showing up.
The only predictability of his appearances was that he always came in around 7:45 a.m. or within a ten-minute window of that time.
Which kept me wondering, would today be a day that I’d get to look into the eyes of a man whose name I didn’t know but who I felt saw me in a way that no one else ever had.
I glanced up at the time. It was 4:25. In less than four hours I’d have the answer to my daily burning question. Would I get a Mr. Smolder fix today?
