Page 6 of Beaches, Bagels & Babes

Candace

“C andy,” Uncle Perry started right in, cutting off her greeting. “Meet me at Ferdinand’s in a half hour and we’ll catch up. Don’t forget to change out of that PTA Karen outfit. Give the boys something nice to look at.”

Phone conversations with Peter Perry were one-sided, frustrating exercises in steamrolling. With Candace, calls always followed the same script: a curt confirmation he was speaking to whom he wanted, what he wanted, and when he wanted it.

End call. No hello, no goodbye.

The man treated his family like business and business like family.

It was his right to conduct his relationships as he saw fit.

Even so, it rankled Candace to be nothing more than a pretty prop to parade around his friends.

She cringed at the knowledge that he was judging her outfit through the pier security cameras, yet she expected nothing less.

He was a control freak through and through.

To change into the “something nice” her uncle demanded but still meet him on time, Candace needed to book it back to her motel room at the Comfort Clam Inn.

It was off-island in Cape Crest, a small town on the mainland bay where vacationers who were looking to save on accommodations flocked.

Not that it was cheap by any stretch, but it was less expensive than the mini mansion rentals or hotels built up along the boardwalk.

Most importantly, it was what Candace could afford. It was also a fifteen-minute drive across the bridge and another ten from there to the marina—far too tight for comfort, which her uncle no doubt knew. She bowled through boardwalkers towards her car like she was aiming for a high score.

It was a beach day miracle. Candace was not blocked from getting out of the overpriced car lot by families unloading their horde of hyper children, nor did she hit a single sun-sapped pedestrian as she worked her way through town to the traffic-free bridge.

Choosing an outfit that her uncle would approve of turned out to be the most difficult part.

When the dire reality of her jobless and unhirable position set in, Candace sold what she could to cushion her finances.

The majority of her designer clothes, expensive yoga gear, and other non-sentimentals were fair game when it came to keeping up the buffer between herself and groveling to her uncle.

Ultimately, though, it was moot. Candace was still standing in her stuffy motel room that was either blazing hot or bone-chillingly cold (nothing in between), sorting through an old Lululemon tote bag stuffed with what was left of her wardrobe.

Candace knew what her uncle was looking for: that careful mix of sexy but not too sexy. Enough for Peter Perry to show off that his niece was “fuckable,” yet too pure to touch. Something that wouldn’t “embarrass” him. In the end, she settled on a stylish sundress.

It was a classic look and fit, quarter-sleeved, falling a little below her knee and cinched around her waist with a thick, bow-tied belt.

The base dress was navy, and it had an outer, modest layering dotted with white polka dots in a breezy chiffon-like material.

She completed the aesthetic by lacing her hair into a loose French braid that fell over one shoulder; cute, but practical.

Candace gave herself one last survey in the mirror while the bathroom vent sputtered death rattles overhead.

She could do this. All she had to do was dress nicely, smile, and pretend a cadre of rude, morally dubious humans were likable. If she could do that, she could get on her uncle’s good side. Then maybe, just maybe, secure some gainful employment out of him rather than relying on occasional handouts.

Candace knew that his in-house accountant, Mr. Leary, had recently passed away. He would never trust her to take over the books, not in a million years. But maybe, at least for the appearance of giving her something to do, he would let her take over while he looked for someone permanent.

And if she could prove she could do the job…

Again, Candace shuddered. The idea of working with her uncle full-time, moving back to Wonderwood, filled her with dread. However, handling an account as mountainous as the pier, even for a little while, might buy her back the credit she needed to work elsewhere.

It had to.

The wanna-be macho man valet at the marina parking lot was less than pleased having to take Candace’s car.

It was a limited-edition sunflower gold (with a little actual gold) convertible BMW, and the one expensive possession she had not been able to part with since it had been a present to herself after years of careful planning.

Candace loved her car. It was gaudy and ridiculous, unapologetically existing in a world that had gone dark and gloomy. Without it, she would have nothing to show for her hard work.

Plus, the speedy gal got her to the marina right on time.

If Candace weren’t terrified of tripping her heels through the gaps in the plank deck, she would have sprinted. As it was, she did a sort of hopping dance in her mad dash to reach Ferdinand’s beyond dozens of busy boat slips.

Thankfully, she spotted her uncle right away.

He was seated on the popular brunch spot’s sunny oceanside veranda.

There, surrounded by his friends at an umbrellaed circular table laden with neat bourbons and artful canapes, he looked like a king holding court.

Candace’s mouth watered at the sight of crispy gnocchi-olive-chorizo skewers, tartlets filled with savory bacon and tangy cranberry cheddar cheese, and some kind of creamy, dill-dusted smoked salmon pate surrounded by an array of fancy crackers.

The local celebrities who were her uncle’s friends picked at the gourmet selection.

They were businessmen, politicians, and law enforcement, all useful relationships built on parasitic symbiosis.

She heard they even managed to start their own ‘non-partisan’ political party, “Wonderwood Works,” and get a mayor elected.

Life was a game to this group, and in the small oceanside hamlet, they were cleaning house.

Candace had known most of her uncle’s regular associates since she was a teenager, meeting them at various galas and public events she attended at his insistence. Growing up, none of them paid attention to her until she was old enough to leer at. Now, they did not even try to be discreet .

“Candy!” Tim Burgson, who had hopped from a position on the town council to big-wig county executive despite several sexual harrassment suits from his secretaries, greeted, “I’ll be damned! Here, have a seat.”

Without waiting for a reply, the man rose and offered Candace his wicker chair—mostly, she thought, so that he could have the excuse to hover and look down her dress.

He continued. “We didn’t believe Pete when he said you were coming.

A pretty woman like you has better things to do than spend your time with a bunch of old men. ”

A candid, “I do,” slipped out before Candace could stop herself. Without missing a beat, she added, “But it wouldn’t be half as fun! Nice to see you, Uncle Tim. And everyone else, too. It’s been ages.”

One by one, Candace said her hellos to the table. She wanted to remind them both that she was not some airhead, and that she knew who to file charges against if they decided to get fresh. Uncle Perry tipped his bourbon at her.

“Welcome home, Candy. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist Wonderwood for too long.”

Candace worked her grimace into a toothy smile. “Spot on, as always. Happy to be home.”

From there, Candace hoped to fade into the background.

She would laugh at the occasional off-color joke, throw out some pleasantries, and bide her time.

When they were alone, after she took whatever mocking she had due for the loan, she would ask her uncle about a job.

Beg him. She would frame it as her getting into the family business, something wholesome he could play up with his friends and fans.

His ego was huge, so there was a chance he would go along.

Unfortunately, the group’s attention stayed stuck on Candace.

“You were up in New York City, weren’t you?” Ed Cando, the former police chief, probed, “Are you visiting for the summer, or is Real Housewives: Wonderwood getting a new cast member? ”

“Oh, the housewives and I are getting our nails done tomorrow,” Candace said, flipping the misogynistic joke. “They’ve got to catch me up on all the gossip with you boys. But they couldn’t afford my full-time fee. I’m a guest star.”

“Is that so? Too bad. See, we heard you might be making a more permanent move. I was going to set you up with my boy. He could use a good woman like you.”

Even with the sun landing right on her, it took Candace considerable effort to contain her shiver. She popped a ham and cheddar croquette into her mouth to give herself time to think of a reply.

Although they had not gone to school together, the ‘boy’ had been a part of her extended friend group during her time spent on the island.

It was difficult to imagine he had matured much from the obnoxious beach bro he was back then.

Ted Cando would never be the one for her.

She wouldn’t be interested in him even if she were interested in men, and there were no ifs when it came to that—she’d tried.

Across the table, Uncle Perry eyed Candace with something that was a cross between disdain and amusement.

He’d known she was a lesbian from reading her journals and monitoring her internet search history when she was forced to share a roof with him.

He knew, and his biggest concern was that she did not embarrass him by confirming it to mutual acquaintances.

Now, because he had no desire to broach the topic of his niece’s sexuality with his conservative-leaning cohort, he came to her rescue.