[This is a short story I wrote during the pandemic. Does it verge on the melodramatic? Yes. Does it capture a sentiment I still hold? Also, yes. It sadly still seems timely considering current events…]
Sue Avery’s Aunt Marie had just died. Her only aunt. The one she shared a studio apartment with. Sue was only 14 and had nowhere to go. She had seen enough of the foster care system before she finally got to her auntie’s six years ago to know she’d never go back. She was alone, poor, and pretty enough to be in danger all the time. She had exactly $4.32 in her back pocket and she knew going home wasn’t an option. She went to the local corner mart and got a small package of vanilla wafer cookies. They were cheap and sweet and the only thing she could grasp onto in the horror of the moment she found herself.
After she had made her purchase, she went outside to sit on a bench and enjoy the tiniest bit of sweetness she could muster from this bitter life. While she was carefully pulling apart the layers to make the cookies last longer, she heard a woman’s voice. The woman called her over to what she could tell was a very expensive car. “Young lady, have you ever considered modeling?” Um, yeah, that doesn’t happen, Sue thought. Stepping out of the Mercedes, the tall brunette with short hair came to sit by Sue on the bench. She smelled wonderful, like the expensive perfume counter. The one where the clerk gives you dirty looks. “You have incredible bone structure and symmetry. I’m telling you, I’m a scout for a major agency and I find hidden gems like you.” Sue was leery, but the tiny package of wafer cookies was the only thing that stood between her and starvation, so she started asking the lady question. “Oh yeah, which agency?” “Marquee, my dear girl. Have you heard of it?” Of course she’d heard of it. All the best-paid models came from that agency. She couldn’t afford the expensive fashion magazines, but every once in a while the neighbor lady would give her the old ones that had all the perfume samples torn out.
“Come with me and we’ll do some preliminary headshots. I’ll be sure to have you home by dinner.” That comment made Sue visibly tense up and the brunette’s eyes narrowed, almost as if she knew she’d landed a big fish, a vulnerable young girl with no strings attached, just like the boss liked. “You’ll need to throw out that package of cheap cookies, though, I’m afraid we mustn’t get any crumbs in the boss’s new car,” she said with a wink as she grabbed the remaining cookies and threw them in the nearest trash bin.
That first day with Camille was a blur. Sue remembered the glimmer of hope she had when she got in the car. It seemed like an impossible dream, but that’s because it was. Oh sure, she got headshots that day and was fed well and told all kinds of fanciful lies. And she also got told that one of the responsibilities of all the models was to do massages at fancy parties and of course, she had to be checked out as to how good she was. She was forced to give the head of Marquee Modeling a massage immediately. No, Sue was fed and given a place to stay, clothed in nice things and made to feel mostly comfortable. So when her time came to give Jordan Thibault his massage she sort of knew what was coming. All the other young models said it was no big deal, he kept his underwear on, you bagged $300 or $400 depending on how well he liked you and then you didn’t really have to think about it much. That sounded gross, but not unmanageable. She’d dealt with worse than that from groping strangers on public transit.
That first night came and she was told to wear just a bra and panties. Ewww. Okay, well, this will be over soon, she thought. She was directed by Camille to go upstairs of the ornate mansion, disrobe and wait for Jordan in the third door on the left. That part she never forgot. The THIRD door on the left. Don’t enter ANY other doors, she was warned. She entered and found Jordan face up on the massage table. No one prepared her for that. “Come closer. There we are. Oh my dear, that vanilla scent you’re wearing is so tacky. You smell like a cheap cookie!” He laughed. “I’m sorry, I can go wash my hands if it really bothers you.” “No, no,” he reassured her. “That will be your gimmick, Cheap Cookie!” He laughed at his own joke while she was confused, insulted, and increasingly terrified. “They’re going to love you, my sweet, Cheap Cookie.” Everything she’d been told about what to expect was a lie. She could barely walk back down the stairs in the jacket she had to throw over her naked body. Camille came to collect her and was sharp and irritated when she tightly clipped, “Get in the car and don’t make any noise.”
The next four years were a bit of a blur in terms of day to day life. Sue, who was given many different names over the course of that time period, was referred to as “Cheap Cookie” by every man of power, privilege and distinction she had to service. While she was spared the worst job, recruiting other girls like herself, she still had to attend lavish parties and pretend to enjoy the company of men so depraved and high on their power they disgusted her. Camille and Jordan disgusted her the most, but her survival and the time to execute her plan made them necessary evils. For with each sweating, pawing, backroom meeting with a dignitary, district attorney, businessman, judge, commissioner, or politician, Sue began to make a list of exactly who would pay.
May 22nd was her 18th birthday, and Sue knew the time was drawing close for her to begin her future outside the House of Marquee and ultimately her revenge. A few weeks earlier she’d heard of a bakery opening up in a neighborhood near the university district and it was run entirely by drag queens in full regalia. She wanted to treat herself to a box of cookies, something she was forbidden to indulge in while she had to maintain her model image. Upon entering the bakery, every sense that had been shut off to her, were reignited. Color from the decorations to the costumes to the ornate cakes, pastries and cookies filled her eyes. The scent of warmed sugar and butter made her feel like there might be something hopeful in the world again. Her ears were flooded with the sounds of laughter and some singing. Over in the corner, one drag queen dressed like a dolled up 1950s house wife with rolling pin and apron began singing Barbra Streisand’s “People.” Sue was in heaven. She went to the counter to look over her options. She now had plenty of money all her own—she’d earned it. Where to begin? A warm, honeyed baritone called to her, “Look sugar, I can promise you it’s all good, every damn bite. So you can’t make a wrong choice here.” Sue looked up to see the kindest eyes she’d seen since before her auntie passed away. “It’s my birthday,” Sue said, “and I wanted to treat myself.” The Lucille Ball look-alike came around from the other side of the counter and gave Sue a hug, the kind that is all giving and no expectation, held tight until every last tension disappears. Sue couldn’t remember the last hug she’d ever gotten that someone didn’t expect something from her and she melted into this one. Lucille smelled like a cherry popsicle and the starched ruffles gently grazed Sue’s cheek. “Honey, I was the most feminine boy in the entire state of Iowa. I know what heartache and fear look like because that’s what stared back at me in the mirror every day I lived there. And if I know anything, you’re heartbroken and afraid. I promise you this, at Heaven’s Bakery, you will always be loved and safe.” And Sue believed her. “What’s your name, sugar?” Um, well, people call me lots of things,” Sue replied. “Well, I’m going to call you Cookie, because you sure are one tough cookie and sweet, too.” It was different hearing that name from Lucy. It meant something different. Sue was no longer cheap; she was tough. Tough cookie—that had a nice ring to it. So Cookie she became.
Within a week, Cookie was sharing a one bedroom apartment with Barbie and Lucy, the co-owners of the bakery, sleeping on the pull-out couch, learning make-up tricks, and how to roll out pie crusts. Mastering lip-liner and short crust pastry came easier to Cookie than she expected it would. She really began to love life, but she still had a plan in the back of her mind. She just wasn’t quite ready yet. She needed to learn more. Fortunately the bakery was smack dab in the university district and Cookie had an idea. By the number of college students stocking up on their baked goods throughout the day, Cookie was certain that evening delivery would increase their profits while also giving her access to the knowledge she so desperately craved. With a poster board and some stapled reports, Cookie pitched her idea to Barbie and Lucy who fell in love with the notion of evening delivery to the college campus, but they worried about safety. Cookie assured them she would keep to the public areas and make sure she carried her mace, assuring both that she’d grown up in the city and knew how to take care of herself.
Heaven’s Bakery delivery service became a critical aspect of the business and Cookie proved herself in no time. Whenever she ventured away from the bakery she disguised herself well with a different costume each time—partly to keep the college students guessing, but also to keep her former abusers at bay. Certain study groups became regular customers and invited Cookie to join in for some of their conversations, or shared their syllabi. The public library let her check out most of the books on their lists and she devoured them. Art History, Law, and Psychology were her favorite subjects which coincided with who bought the most late-night cookies. The math and engineering tables were also good customers, but they largely ignored her, not quite sure of what to make of her flamboyant outfits and over-the-top make-up until one brave soul struck up a conversation with her. Ben was a math and engineering double major. He was earnest and kind and as innocent as they come.
She almost felt guilty when he asked her out the first time. What would he do if he knew? How would he treat her? Barbie and Lucy refused to let her give in to worry and so Cookie and Ben went on their very first date, a quirky museum and ice cream to follow. It was heavenly. They chatted and laughed and kissed and it was perfect. “Has anyone told you how incredibly witty and intelligent you are?” he asked at the end of the evening. Cookie just smiled, winked and said, are you trying to tell me I’m a smart Cookie?” They both laughed and then he kissed her one final time before she went into her apartment. Their courtship progressed in the same way and Cookie found herself the wife of one Mr. Ben Farly.
Married life suited Cookie. She made regular visits to the bakery and worked with Barbie and Lucy on how to expand the Heaven’s Bakery brand. Ben started as an entry-level engineer in a green energy start-up that took off and eventually went public. Ben’s ideas and inventions had wide-scale implications in dealing with climate change and the market rewarded him for it. Between the two of them, their wealth began to increase exponentially. Everything seemed perfect until one morning, Cookie heard over NPR a voice from her past giving an interview.
One of the judges that frequented Jordan Thibault and Camille’s parties could be heard over the alarm radio in the other room. “It is an honor of a lifetime to be considered as the next Supreme Court Justice by this administration.” Cookie’s heart dropped to her stomach while ice ran in her veins. Judge Kevin Brant’s laughter at her nickname “Cheap Cookie” still haunted her. He had mean eyes and he like to torment the younger girls the most. Eventually, Cookie aged out of being scheduled with Brant. Judge Brant and his wife vacationed on the coast near the Farly’s summer cottage. The interviewer asked where Brant would be spending time before the congressional hearings. Brant mentioned he might take some time off on the coast before heading to D.C. “Ben?” Cookie called down to the kitchen. “Ben, I need to go the cottage to work on the cookbook.” “Okay, sweetie, do you need me to join you this weekend?” “That sounds great, sweetheart,” she added.
Cookie remembered some of Kevin Brant’s evening habits, particularly when his wife and kids weren’t around. He had arrived at his vacation house alone. Cookie watched him for a few days before she made her move. She knocked on the front door with a big smile. Brant opened the door and asked if he could help her with something until he saw that she was wearing a loose-fitting trench coat over red lingerie. He ushered her in quickly trying to make sure no one noticed her. Perfect, thought Cookie. “I remember you from Thibault’s parties and I knew you were in town. I had to see you one more time,” she cooed. Brant looked nervous and intrigued. “Why don’t we have a drink?” Cookie continued. Brant got out two tumblers and a bottle of bourbon. He poured himself a quick drink before pouring one for them both. Ever the selfish horse’s ass, she thought to herself. Brant started getting nervous with all the drapes open, so he went around the main floor closing things up. Good boy, thought Cookie. While he stepped away, she flicked a ring open and dropped some white powder in his drink, swirling it around, as she kept him distracted with flattering statements. “Wow, Supreme Court Justice, oooh, all that power, all eyes looking to you.” Blah, blah, blah, thought Cookie.
Brant returned to Cookie’s side and downed his drink again and poured himself a third. She had a limited amount of time to get him into the bathtub before he collapsed. She asked which way to the biggest tub and Brant grinned sloppily and led the way, banging into the wall on his way down the hall. Cookie hurriedly help Brant disrobe and get him into the tub. He did cop a feel or two, but Cookie had to stay focused. Nice warm water, bath oils, and as Brant slid into the water, Cookie reminded him who she was, what they had done together, how he was implicated in a ring of crooks and criminals and child traffickers so repulsive, the American public would revile him and he would NEVER be confirmed as a Supreme Court Justice. The jolt of fear gave him a spark of clarity before the drugs took over and he slid down into the tub, to drown a few minutes later. Before Cookie left the house, she opened one cabinet in the kitchen and left a small package of vanilla wafer cookies.
Over the course of ten years with no rhyme or reason, many prominent men in positions of power died, some during their sleep, some in strange accidents, some by suicide, like Jordan Thibault. All of them seemed to have one thing in common. They all liked the same brand of cheap, vanilla wafer cookies. After Jordan’s death, Camille went into hiding. Cookie wasn’t worried.
She focused her attention on Heaven’s Bakery and Ben.
[If you enjoy or get anything special out of my writing, you’re welcome to leave a tip in my virtual tip jar: https://venmo.com/u/Rebecca-Lubbers-1]
