Rendered (The Cass Chronicles Book 3) Page 5

  They had decided to not give too much free airtime to the asshats at Reign. They mentioned the ludicrous and repugnant “Whale shaming campaign” and moved on. They had decided not to provide links. Tabby had thought it would “derail the narrative.” Cass just didn't want to give those assjacks any publicity. Very quickly, they were discussing Sarah’s upcoming nuptials.

  “We’re going to follow this wedding step by step. You’ll see us do all of it—unlike some wedding shows where they flip the camera through a room full of crafty little touches and don't tell you how to do it.” She reached over to squeeze Sarah’s hand. “We are so lucky that such an awesome lady has invited us along for the ride.”

  “I’m the lucky one—I’m such a fan.” Ben swirled his finger around in the air, signaling that the love fest needed to segue into a how to show.

  “There are two ways to go about starting. The two elements that sort of set the tone for the whole shebang. The location or the dress. Many girls know what sort of gown they want and if that's the case, start there. Sarah is coming at this the opposite way.

  Sarah nodded. “That’s right—we are getting married in the Scottish Rite Cathedral.”

  Cass allowed herself to roll her eyes in bliss. “Gorgeous location—gorgeous. Kilts on the guys?”

  Sarah nodded. “Yes. His dress was picked before mine.” The two women laughed easily.

  The magic of television transported Sarah and Cass to the cathedral. Cass explained to the viewers that you needed to take the scale of your location into account—the cathedral was huge with vaulted ceilings, marble floors and richly hued stained glass windows. “Tomorrow, we will talk about how you find a dress that won't get lost in this magnificent setting.” Then they were back in the studio. “I can't let you go without a recipe, today. It is a recipe for white chocolate lemon truffles.

  “These are a snap—they look awesome on a tiered silver server. They can also be boxed as favors. I’m pretty vociferously anti favors—but we’ll deal with that later… they also work great for a shower of any sort.”

  She began by zesting four lemons, making sure to avoid the white pith. She then halved the lemons and began to juice them, chatting with Sarah all the while. She combined the juice, zest, powdered sugar, heavy cream and softened butter. Once it was thoroughly stirred she packed it into a Tupperware container and stowed it in the fridge. “Since I am on TV, my chill chest is always a step ahead of me.” She winked at the camera. “Seriously, you have to get one of these… they rock!”

  She withdrew the chilled solid, fragrant, white mixture. She dipped a small ice cream scoop in a tall glass of hot water, and in no time flat had a pan full of perfect little spheres of citrusy goodness. She returned the pan to the freezer. “These puppies need like ten minutes in here. Lucky me, the freezer fairies have been here.” She pulled out a finished cold pan. “Now, my lovelies, we have some decisions to make. My preference is to do this.” She held up a lidded container full of confectioners sugar and dropped three little balls in. “Shake like you are making daiquiris on a Cuban beach.” She looked down at her quaking bosom and lost herself in laughter. “Now, someone with a better work ethic than I could totally use a toothpick to dip these into melted white chocolate. You could, although I never, ever would, tint a bit of the white chocolate yellow and once your truffles are cold, add a colored zig zag across the tops.” She held up a glass cake plate of the coated truffles. “Other than being WAY easier, I like the powdered sugar since it reminds me of those lemon cookies that make you look like you have the world's worst case of dandruff.” She grinned, and flirtatiously pointed first at herself and then at the camera. “I am Cass. I cook. You peeps are delicious.”

  She was somewhat miffed that, in real life, no one yelled “Cut” or even “that's a wrap.” Apparently everyone already knew that when the camera lights went off, things were finished.

  Once they turned the overhead lights off, she could see that Killian was waiting just off set for her. The grin that man possessed. She hurried over to kiss him.

  “Hey, babe, guess who has an employed husband?”

  “Hmmmm, the first lady?”

  He nestled a kiss deep into her neck. “Her, too. But you are way hotter.” He glanced over her shoulder and, seeing no one behind her, slid a hand down to squeeze her bottom cheeks. They had to get out of here fast or she was going to be famous for an entirely different kind of TV show.

  One of the greatest things about Chicago is that they could walk places. You did plenty of walking in Slick Trench too—but not TO anywhere. You couldn't walk to a store. Slick Trench Pizza, the only restaurant in town, was decidedly not worth it. Hand in hand, they moved in the direction of their apartment while deciding if they should stop for Thai or Ethiopian. She moved as close to him as she could. The first time he had ever spanked her had been on a walk. “Do you remember our walk that first morning, when we went to see the huckleberries?”

  He laughed. “You mean the one that damn near turned into a RUN away from a mother bear?”

  “Yup, that one.”

  “Unforgettable, babe. It was, and so are you.”

  They went with Ethiopian and got it to go. There was kissing to be done, they needed to get home.

  * * *

  Cass rolled over, stretching her arms over her head and allowing herself to slowly wake up. Killian had left for the day. She had a few minutes so she opened her laptop and checked email. There was one from Sarah. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you may want to go look at Made to Reign.

  Surely Killian didn't expect her to ignore that. She pressed the link and immediately wished she hadn't. There was a gif of her and Sarah standing in the Cathedral. Cass said, “We'll need a dress big enough to stand out in the setting.” At that, there was a crashing sound and the picture zoomed in on Sarah’s midsection, a laugh track had been added and a sneering voice said, “Shouldn't be a problem, ladies…” She felt sick. She shouldn't care, but she felt bad for Sarah and the comments only made her feel sorry for herself, too.

  The Cass girl has a pretty face. I’d bang her if nothing better was around.

  Are you kidding me? She’s at least fifteen pounds overweight? Why would you bang that when there are younger, thinner pussies available? Have some self respect

  Another reason TV is destroying western culture—fat broads talking about food for a wedding so that the fatter girl can divorce rape the poor beta cuck she’s conned unto marrying her.

  The owner of the site had chimed in. She’s got pretty eyes; I’ll give her that. But she’s a lumpy lardass and an arrogant witch. -Ahab

  A gif had been made of her as she shook the lemon truffles. While her breasts jiggled and she began to laugh, the words, “I even admit I am a lazy cunt” trailed along the bottom. “Modern women have no shame” appeared in dark lettering over her face

  She cried in the shower. And then was mad at herself for crying. She considered calling Killian but he was at his new office and she didn't want to disturb him to say that she had ignored his request that she not visit that site and had ended up with hurt feelings.

  * * *

  Cass cooked a number of meals to deliver to Jen. The new baby was colicky and she had an eighteen-month-old. She went with one classic—chicken and noodles, and minestrone and then tried something a little new, a Mongolian chicken that could be served as lettuce wraps or over rice. She packed everything up, including a Ziploc bag of washed and dried lettuce leaves and headed over.

  Even exhausted, Jen was a balm to her soul. Cass held the new baby boy. “Where the hell did all that black hair come from?”

  Jen gave a frazzled smile. “We have no fucking idea. But he absolutely has his mama’s lungs.” They chatted with the easy companionability of women who have been friends for decades. Jen would be returning to work part time in a few weeks. Her husband would then be switching to part time too, so they would not need a nanny. Cass was impressed. “Well, we’ll see—it might just
mean that we BOTH end up unemployed and freaking crazy,” Jen deflected.

  “Doubt it. Have you ever heard of the manosphere?”

  Cass pulled up some of the gems she had found on her phone and they took turns reading them in different voices. Jen went first in her best valley girl twang, “To every princess, who despises a man for being a nice guy and not noticing what a special snowflake princess she is, I say, you have destroyed western civilization.” They looked at each other in bemused horror and then burst out laughing.

  Cass took the phone back and scrolled for another one. In her best James Earl Jones, “Luke I am your father” gravitas tone, she intoned, “When we let the whores out of the kitchen, when we allowed them to think that anyone gave a fuck about their degree in women's studies, we destroyed all that was ever noble in the feminine race.”

  Decaf shot out of Jen's nose. “Race? They think there is a feminine RACE? How do these people remember to breathe?” Laughing at it made it less frightening. “I’ll go. Hmmm… John Wayne accent… Girls don't belong in the gym, pilgrim.” Cass rolled off the couch laughing so hard that she was very glad that she had secured little Oliver in his swing before Jen had begun.

  “Cardio should be mandated by law to keep them at a fuckable size… But they have no business asking to use the weights I am using.” Jen’s brow furrowed, a lawyer to her core. “Unless she is paying the same rate for a membership that he is…”

  “Haven't you learned anything? Women don't ever pay. Betas just give them shit…”

  Jen reached for Ollie and began to unhook her nursing bra. “Betas’? How do those redfish buy anything?”

  “Beta is what these crazies call men who are, you know, productive citizens and don't hate all women. Of course, they've just been fooled by us evil women.” Suddenly it was much less fun. “Here,” Cass continued, “I’ll find another.” She cleared her throat. In her best Queen Victoria prissy pants voice she trilled, “There is no excuse for an alpha to allow himself to be divorce raped. Hiding your assets is simple, set up separate accounts without letting the nag you’ve handed your balls to know about it. Offer her a ‘girls day’ at a spa (although we both know that if she was still a ‘girl’ you’d be keeping her around.) While she is gone, have all of her things moved to a storage locker. If you had any sense at all, she has no income of her own and has spent the better part of twenty years popping out a whelp a year. She will have to struggle on the sidelines, a pathetic used up shell of a human while you move onto a piece of pussy the same age as your oldest daughter. Not a thing the nag beast can do about it. There will be nothing she can do legally.” Cass’s accent had faded as she’d read this delightful bit of legal advice. “Is that true?” she whispered.

  Jen nestled the fussy baby in her right hand and used her left to unhook her nursing bra. Her face was grim. “Let the worm try.”

  Chapter Eight - Misandrist Sperm Filcher of Doom

  Sarah and Cass were talking about wedding cakes. They had a number of beautiful cakes on stands of varying sizes all along the table. Cass was presenting Wedding Cake 101 in case anyone had missed her numerous blogs on the subject. Sarah, as always, was the perfect foil. “Should I offer like ten different flavors or only one?”

  “Well, if you go with several flavors, make sure the pieces are cut smaller than normal, people will want to taste several flavors.”

  Sarah and her groom tasted several kinds of cake. Cass offered them chocolate, white cake, lemon, dulce de leche and an apple caramel cake with brown sugar butter cream. “That one!” they said in unison, forks still in the air as they sampled the apple. “This is a nice way to give a nod to the season, without veering into kindergarten Halloween party territory.” Several of the best bakers in town had provided cakes in exchange for being mentioned by name on the air. There was an intricate filigree wonder that looked like a royal wedding cake—cream fondant with white delicate scrollwork that looked like it had been created by some sort of magical dainty fairies. There were a few staggeringly tall cakes, and some smaller ones with delicate sugar blossoms. As she had suspected she would, Sarah gravitated towards the cake that Cass had done. It was a small cake—only one tier, iced with her silky smooth Swiss buttercream icing. A cluster of real yellow roses was the only adornment.

  “That’s more us,” Sarah began.

  “But it isn’t too small?” asked her groom.

  Cass was ready for that. “Well, we could treat this as the top tier and make many larger tiers to go underneath. But I sort of had an idea.”

  She walked them toward a different part of the studio where a round table was set for ten. On a simple glass cake stand the cake served as a centerpiece. Pewter colored candlesticks in varying heights circled the cake. The linens were a luscious cream, the charger plates had a thick pewter ring around them. A crisp linen napkin in a yellow with a dark gray damask pattern rested atop each plate, adorned with simple modern cutlery. Above each place setting was a small glass vase filled with a delicate nosegay with the calligraphed place card clipped into the dainty foliage. The effect was striking: some modernity, some traditionalism, feminine flowers, and masculine silverware. The cake as a centerpiece was a truly lovely touch. Sarah gasped with pleasure. Connor grinned. Cass continued her spiel, “See, each table would have a cake that serves ten. You could have a more elaborate one at the head table.”

  “I love that!” Sarah exclaimed. Cass looked at the camera. “Now, the bakeries I spoke to all quoted me prices for ten cakes that feed ten at just slightly higher than one cake that feeds a hundred. However, if you have a friend or an aunt who likes to bake, they may find making ten ‘regular’…” she used air quotes, “cakes less intimidating than making a very large tiered cake. And you wouldn’t need to buy a number of different sizes of cake pans. Also, you won't be paying for floral centerpieces, so do consider that.”

  She walked back towards the table and a large photo of tables with a different cake in the middle of each one, appeared behind her. “We already have a lot of variety in this wedding,” (bloody kilts… she thought) “but you could do a cake decorated differently at each table. Or even different flavors. That might be a way to get people mingling as they wander from table to table to sample all the different cakes!”

  The show ended on a high note. “I’m Cass. These adorable people are Sarah and Connor, and you,” she said, pointing at the studio audience. On cue they bellowed “ARE DELICIOUS.” Cass looked at Sarah and whispered, “That just won't ever get old.”

  “I wouldn't think so,” Sarah replied. She continued, “Connor has to get right back to his office, but can I take you out for a drink to celebrate how well the show is going?”

  “You know, I would just love to. But I am meeting my girlfriend Jen. Hey, she’s a lawyer too! Small world! Could we make it a threesome?”

  “Is she the Jen you talked about on your old blog? I would love to meet her.”

  There was nothing to say to that except the obligatory, “And she would love to meet you too!” There was no reassurance of anything of the sort—Jen was still feeling shlumpy and post partum, and, at the best of times, showing up with an unexpected companion to a scheduled get-together was a damn good way to begin finding yourself less and less likely to be included in scheduled get-togethers.

  She washed her makeup off, hung up the dress that was actually too nice to cook in, and texted Jen. I am sorry, I sort of invited Sarah to join us.

  “The lawyer bride? That’s great.”

  “You are a good egg. And I’m a chef. I know all about eggs.”

  Chapter Nine - The Avariatic Sperm Filcher of Doom

  It was early afternoon when the three women slid into a booth at a nearby wine bar. Cass ordered a glass of chardonnay and was promptly kicked under the table by Jen. She looked quizzically at her friend. Through clenched teeth Jen whispered, “You want a half carafe.”

  “No, I don't.”

  Jen was determined. “Yes you do, you told me e
arlier.”

  Whatever was going on, Cass didn't want to argue with her friend who had clearly lost her childbearing mind. “Ummmm. Yeah, you are right.” She handed her menu to the server. “I want the goat cheese and walnut bourekas and a half carafe of chardonnay.” Her companions nodded in approval of her order—thankfully they were all of the “order something scrumptious for the table” ilk. Jen ordered an iced tea and the prawn cocktail with garlic aioli. Sarah ordered a whiskey sour and the baked brie. No sooner had their server turned away when both Sarah and Cass turned to Jen and whispered a variation of, “why did you say that?”

  Jen lowered her voice deliberately. “Because you are secretly sharing with me.”

  “Why secretly?”

  Jen rolled her eyes obviously reminded once again that her lifelong best friend was something of a moron. “They know about Oliver,” she whispered as if that made any sense at all.

  Cass turned to Sarah. “Not an affair- that's her new baby.”

  Jen turned to Cass. “Like you needed to clarify that?”

  Sarah saved the day by saying, “Yeah she did—I would never have guessed that you had a new baby.” Jen was mollified.

  Cass never could leave well enough alone. “But why does it matter if they know you have a new baby?”

  To Cass’s jealous annoyance, the two barristers glanced at each other, as if to say, “No, really, you explain it to her…”

  Sarah rose to the challenge. “She thinks they will disapprove if they see her order alcohol since she has a new baby at home.”