Hard To Handle

Since Lauren and Rory weren’t her sisters by blood, but of the heart, their relationship was even more precious to Mikki. Rory’s mother, Emma, had been Mikki’s foster mother from the time Mikki had been placed in the Constable home when social services had stepped in to remove her from a bad situation.

Twenty years later she still cringed whenever she recalled what a horrid little witch she’d been those first few months. Mouthy. Sullen. Sneaky… She’d ducked out one night and got herself busted for lifting a bag of potato chips from the corner liquor store. Another night, she’d been picked up by the cops on a curfew violation. All in all, she’d just made a general nuisance of herself. After cutting so many classes she now considered it a miracle she’d even made it out of the seventh grade. She hadn’t made Emma Constable’s job easy, but then, Mikki hadn’t been expecting to stick around for long. Why would she when, at twelve, she’d already been shuffled through a half-dozen foster homes in less than two years?

Initially she’d kept her distance. She hadn’t seen the point in becoming attached to people when they’d eventually call her social worker and toss her out because she wasn’t worth the effort. Although she had instantly recognized that Emma wasn’t like the other foster moms she’d been subjected to, she hadn’t been dumb enough to believe the woman’s earth-mother mask had been for real. In her experience, once the social worker dumped her and took off, the wholesome, all-American family facade faded fast and Mikki would be faced with a not-so-pleasant reality that consisted of foster parents who cared more about the state’s monthly stipend than the kids in their care.

But Emma had eventually proven different. Months later the mask remained firmly in place, which had only added to Mikki’s confusion. On the surface Emma’s devotion to each of the children in her care appeared sincere. She’d been kind, fiercely protective and gently handed out discipline when warranted, the latter of which Mikki had earned plenty of during those first few months. Regardless of whatever stupid stunt she’d pulled, though, Emma’s affection had remained steadfast. With an abundance of unconditional love, an unending supply of patience and her own odd brand of homespun wisdom, Mikki had eventually figured out that Emma Constable was the genuine article.

A number of troubled young girls had benefited from being placed in Emma’s care over the years, but for the most part, they hadn’t been long-term cases like herself and Lauren, who’d arrived four years after Mikki. Lauren had been fifteen, scared, confused and orphaned, and one year behind Mikki in school. As a matter of emotional survival, Mikki had made a habit of keeping people at a distance, but she’d done the unthinkable the day a group of preppies had picked on Lauren and had become her champion. Mikki had gone ballistic and ended up with a two-day suspension for fighting. To this day, she wasn’t about to stand down when someone messed with her family.

She remembered expecting Emma to ground her for a month after that trick, but while the peace-prone Emma hadn’t condoned Mikki’s behavior, she hadn’t exactly condemned it, either. Instead she’d encouraged Mikki to nurture her protective instincts in a more positive way. With Emma’s guidance and encouragement, she’d become an attorney. She truly loved her work as a child advocate with San Francisco County Legal Aid, representing kids with backgrounds similar to her own who desperately needed someone in their corner.

A smile touched Mikki’s lips as she pulled a pair of tickets from her handbag. “Because Saturday would be too late,” she said, handing one to each of them. “These are only good for Friday night.”

Rory set her mug on the table and shot Mikki a wry glance. “What’s this all about?”

“A charity event.” She sounded much too chipper, instantly raising her sisters’ warning flags. They really did know her far too well.

“‘Unlock the possibilities,’” Lauren read, then regarded Mikki with the same wariness as Rory. “Mikki, you’re up to something.”

Mikki took no offense at the accusation in Lauren’s tone. “Before either of you even think of saying no, it really is for a good cause.” Forget playing a trump card, she’d go straight for the emotional jugular. “Maureen Baxter is hosting the event to raise money for a transitional home for young girls in crisis situations. With the shortage of qualified foster care, Baxter House will be an alternative to county housing.”

What were once commonly known as orphanages or county homes were supposed to be safe havens, but overcrowded conditions and understaffing had all too often led to less than desirable environments that made the juvenile facilities an unfavorable option for displaced children.

“You know what nightmares those places can be,” Mikki added, shooting Lauren a meaningful glance. “Courtesy of all the budget cutbacks, the situation is only becoming worse.” Mikki and Lauren had both briefly lived at McClanin Hall, a county facility with a bad reputation due to its rough, prisonlike atmosphere. Rory had heard their horror stories and Mikki felt confident that that alone would be more than enough to push her sisters into conceding.

They both looked resigned, which made Mikki smile. Maureen Baxter, who was a couple of years younger than Mikki, had been another of Emma’s girls. She had come along during Mikki’s last year of high school after her mother had been killed by her abusive husband. Mikki wasn’t as close to Maureen as she was to Lauren or to Rory, but they still shared a few bonds. Their affection and respect for the woman who’d cared for them for one, their work with children being another. As an attorney and child advocate for legal aid, the bulk of Mikki’s caseload came from the child welfare division, where Maureen was employed as a social worker.

“If anyone can make it happen,” she continued, “it’ll be Maureen. She’s one of the most compassionate, driven women I know.” Mikki supported the cause completely, and had been working closely with Maureen, wading through the sea of legal red tape involved in such a huge undertaking.

“She already has the licensing,” she told them. “Between what little government funding she’s finagled, and the generosity of several financial contributors, she’s close to turning Baxter House into a reality. She’s having it built on that piece of raw land she inherited from her mother’s estate. This event is to raise money for the building fund.”

Lauren flicked her fingernail over the glossy black ticket with bright neon-pink lettering. “Fifty dollars?” she exclaimed, upon closer inspection. “Per person?”

“It’s on me,” Mikki reassured her. Fifty bucks wouldn’t make a dent in Rory’s wallet, and would leave only a small one in her own, but Lauren was a struggling journalist who worked for little more than peanuts half the time.

“Exactly what kind of possibilities are we supposed to unlock for fifty bucks?”

Rory leaned forward on the table, giving the éclairs she’d foresworn a longing look before resolutely wrapping her hands around the mug. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“Ever hear of speed dating?”

“Sure,” Lauren said with a shrug. “You pay an entry fee and then spend ten minutes chatting with some guy. If you hit it off, great. If he’s a dud, then in ten minutes you’re free to move on to the next one.”

“Count me out.” Rory plunked down her mug and stood.

“But—”

“Speed rejection is more like it. Forget it, Mikki,” Rory said in that stubborn way of hers that drove Mikki even crazier than when she called her Mikki Mantis. “I’ll reimburse you for the ticket and I’ll fork over a nice-size donation, but there’s no way I’m going to subject myself to that kind of humiliation.”

“Oh, come on, Rory,” she argued. “It’s not technically speed dating. Actually, it’s more like a key party. Sort of.”

Looking even more dubious, Rory smoothed her sweater over her generous hips. “A key party? Like in The Ice Storm? You’ve got to be kidding. I thought those died out way back in the seventies, along with Mom’s love beads and hookah pipe.”

“Key parties are trendy again.” Mikki grinned. “I hear hookahs are, too.”

“I’m not the trendy type.”

“Oh, I dunno, Rory,” Lauren chimed in hopefully. “It might be fun.”

“It will be,” Mikki rallied. “Fifty dollars buys a key or lock ticket. The male guests are all given keys and the women an adorable pendant in the shape of a tiny white-gold suitcase. Which, by the way, we get to keep. How can you say no to free jewelry, all for circulating, flirting and having fun trying to find out who holds the key to your locket? The guy with the key that opens your suitcase is your date for whatever prize is drawn from the raffle ticket hidden inside. Everybody wins.”

Non-key-holder tickets were also available, but Mikki kept that fact to herself. She knew which option Rory would choose and, in Mikki’s opinion, there was more to life than bread rolls and solitary annual excursions to France. Her sister desperately needed a life—even if she refused to admit it.

Rory still didn’t look too convinced. “I don’t know…”

Mikki understood her sister’s hesitation, although she didn’t agree with it. Rory was a beautiful, striking woman, but after an awkward adolescence plagued by weight problems and few dates, coupled with a nasty breakup with her only long-term boyfriend, she was now painfully self-conscious about her figure. Having more than a few hang-ups of her own, Mikki couldn’t completely discount Rory’s apprehension.

“Oo-oh,” Lauren murmured, putting down her ticket to pluck a flyer from Mikki’s purse. “The grand prize is an all-inclusive weekend in Mendocino at the Painter’s Cove Resort. The winners share a luxury suite with a hot tub and private pool.” A lascivious grin canted her lips. “I could handle that.”

“A weekend with a total stranger,” Rory reminded them. “It could end up being the blind date from hell.”

“Or not,” Lauren said, opening the brochure. “Tennis, golf, horseback riding on the beach. Even an on-site spa. Oh, my God—they have mud baths and hot stone massages.”

Rory shuddered. “A naked weekend with a total stranger.”

“No one says you actually have to go on the date with the guy,” Mikki pointed out. “Look, Maureen’s been working hard on this event and is counting on all of us being there to support her. The backing from city merchants has been amazing.”

Lauren perused the extensive list of prizes, then handed the brochure to Rory. “It looks like every movieplex in the entire Bay area has donated passes.”

Rory brightened. “Movie passes? Now you’re talking my language.”

“Tons of them,” Mikki said. “Including the theaters, the opera house—even the ballet company. They were all happy to hand over almost a dozen pairs of tickets. Maureen’s gotten just about every trendy or exclusive restaurant in San Francisco to each contribute three or more dinners for two, and even managed to wrangle nearly a third of the B and B’s in Napa to donate weekend stays. There are a couple of day-spa packages, too. I would love to get my hands on one of those.”

“She really worked hard on this,” Rory said. “It looks like every lock-and-key ticket holder will receive a prize of some sort.”

Mikki sensed her weakening and went in for the proverbial kill. “Baxter House is important to her. And to me, too. I wish there’d been a place like that when I was in the system,” she added, hoping it would be the final push over the edge into acceptance.

Rory let out a sigh, then placed the brochure on the table before crossing the workroom to pull a lavender apron from the hook by the rear door. “I’ll reimburse you for my ticket, but I don’t need to be there.”

“Well…” Mikki hesitated. She wasn’t all that comfortable the key party plan herself. When it came to men, she didn’t exactly wear a user-friendly label. The truth was, she had a tendency to use men for sex. She had no use for relationships or romantic entanglements. The female version of the old love-’em-and-leave-’em cliché. “You sorta do.”

Rory slipped the loop of the apron over her head and tied the sash. “Why, exactly, do I sorta have to be there?”

“Because I kind of promised Maureen you’d…” Oh, she’d really done it this time. Rory was going to kill her.

Her sister’s eyes instantly filled with suspicion. “That I’d what, Mikki?”

“Donate desserts and pastries from the shop,” she said in a rush.