Chapter 2

Cilla stretched, cringing at the pops and cracks as she worked out the kinks. She rose from the table and walked around it, checking the cake from all angles. It was finished. The top tier did indeed look like a small purse and she had fashioned a clasp out of modeling chocolate and silver dragees. She had decorated the tiers with star bursts, music notes and had hand-painted the various articles of clothes that were scattered around the sides of the cake. She had fashioned shoes out of more modeling chocolate and the girl's name, Stephanie had been done in gold fleck across the front of the bottom tier. She took several photographs before moving the cake to the refrigerator.

Glancing at the clock she winced. It was nearly 6. She remembered Sid stopping to give her a kiss before he left and reminding her about brunch on Sunday. She walked through her shop, the cases were empty and all the pans were washed and stacked, waiting to be refilled. All she had to do was pull the gate down out front and lock up. She walked around the corner of her shop, up the outside stairs and unlocked her door. She lived above the shop. She had four rooms, plenty for her. She didn't have much in the way of possessions, her ex saw to that. He took just about everything. She did manage to save her CDs and a few prized items, but everything else he had smashed or taken with him and that was fine with her. She hadn't wanted anything from him by the end anyway.

Her sofa and oversized chair were thrift store gems that she had covered with slip covers she had sewn herself and the coffee table was a flea market special that she had refinished. The television and stereo were second hand and her bed, well, her bed had been a splurge. She hadn't been able to resist the queen size wrought iron bed after she laid eyes on it in the catalog. She'd ordered it right then; that and the Egyptian cotton sheets. Those had been on clearance though, as had the quilt. Hanging over the bed was the only thing of any real sentimental value that she managed to salvage from the breakup and that was only because she had smuggled it to Sid before her husband could do anything about it.

The poster was vintage now. It was 20 years old if it was a day. The guys had all their glorious long hair and were adorned in leather and spandex. Cilla sighed, she remembered the day she got it autographed. They had been in London the day the band had their signing at Tower Records after New Jersey had come out. Charles had taken her to London for a vacation, before everything had gone wrong. When she heard they were going to be at Tower Records she begged him to go. They had stood in line for hours, but it had been worth it. She had all their autographs, all five of them. When they returned to the states Charles had taken the poster had had it framed for her. She had hung it in their spare room and looked at it every day when she walked on her treadmill.

Cilla walked over to the poster and ran her hand along the black lacquer frame, at least I managed to save this. She sighed and sat down on her bed. Things had been so good and then had gotten so ugly and she still didn't understand why, but here she was, 42, divorced, running her own business and alone. She kicked her shoes off, pulled off her shirt and pants and headed into the bathroom to fill the tub. Looking in the mirror she remembered what Sid had said earlier, if you do something with this, you'd be able to snag yourself a man.

She sighed, at 5'4" and 115 lbs, she was by no means a hag, but the lines on her face told another story. She piled her dark hair up on her head and turned to the tub. She loved her claw foot tub. She could sink to her chin in the bubbles and soak away the aches and stress of the day. It wasn't quite full yet so she went to the kitchen, poured her self a glass of wine and turned on the stereo. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the towel she had hanging over the back of the tub and let the music take her.

Cilla burst into the apartment, 'Charles! I got them, I got tickets to see Bon Jovi at MSG!' They were the hottest tickets going and that she had been able to score two was a miracle. He came from the kitchen, "you're not going." He was in one of his moods, his tone was flat and his eyes were flatter. Cilla's face fell, "why not? I paid for the tickets with my own money. If you don't want to go, I'll just drag Sid with me." He crossed the room and got right in her face and hissed, "I said you're not going. I don't care how you paid for the tickets and you certainly aren't going with Sid."

Tears burned her eyes but she wasn't going to cry, "I've got third row seats! I damn well am going with Sid." He grabbed her arms and shook her, "are you sleeping with him?! Is that it?! What is it with you and him, how long have you been at it? Do you laugh at me when you're with him?!" He was in a tirade now, she shrank back in fear of him. When he backhanded her and she slumped to the floor he fled the apartment. She called Sid. When he got there she had pulled herself together, gathered some of her things, including the poster and he took her to his place.

Cilla sat up straight in the now cool water and shook her head. She hadn't thought about that night in years. She stepped from the tub and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. As the tub drained she took the pins from her hair, letting the chocolate cherry curls trail down her back. Walking into the bedroom she dug out her favorite night shirt. It was a man’s deep red silk shirt she found at yet another thrift shop. Her last thought as she closed her eyes and drifted toward her dreams, I wonder who ordered the cake.