Market Street by Anita Hughes Read Free Book Online Page B

something exceptional, a reason itself to go down the escalator. James drew some sketches. Look.” Diana walked over to an antique desk and picked up a leather binder. She placed it on the coffee table and took out four sheets of paper.
    Cassie leaned forward and looked at the designs. James had drawn a space with a checkered floor, yellow walls, and display cases of all different colors. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling, and every counter was filled with vegetables, fruits, loaves of bread, and wedges of cheese.
    “It looks like a Roman orgy,” Cassie said.
    “Exactly!” Diana beamed. “Produce spilling into the aisles, wine bottles lined up like soldiers, oranges and lemons forming pyramids. And I want wonderful smells. Fresh croissants, just-baked apple pie, stinky cheese.”
    “It’s interesting,” Cassie conceded.
    “It’s revolutionary! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Of course all the interior design would be ‘green.’” Diana paced across the marble floor. “James works mainly in Chicago but he doesn’t have another project lined up for a few months. He said he’d consider taking it on.”
    “It would cost a fortune,” Cassie said doubtfully.
    “Reinvention is the key in marketing and I’ve fallen behind. Of course Fenton’s gets the old guard, and the thirtysomethings who need Ferragamo shoes and Chanel bags. But that’s the beauty of young ideas and young energy: James was inspirational.”
    “Why are you pacing, Mother?”
    “Because I’ve been up all night thinking about this. I need you to run it.”
    “Me?”
    “You’re young, you know all the women who would shop there. Think if we can convince the girls in the Junior League and the Young Friends of the Opera to buy their produce and cheeses from Fenton’s.”
    “I’m not a member of those organizations.” Cassie shook her head.
    “But you went to school with them. And you’d be the perfect buyer. You can find local growers who produce twenty different kinds of lettuce. You can stock asparagus tips, artichoke hearts, avocados, pomegranates. No other store would offer a greater selection.”
    Cassie looked out the window at the skyline. She could see Coit Tower and the red cable cars crisscrossing the streets like figures on a Monopoly board. Her mother’s excitement was contagious. She imagined herself presiding over the food counter, handling heirloom tomatoes the size of cantaloupes. She pictured herself encouraging customers to purchase the sweetest snow peas, to stay away from peaches when they weren’t in season, to buy locally grown strawberries instead.
    “It would be a huge undertaking.” Cassie fiddled with her wedding ring. “I don’t have the time.”
    “You don’t know how satisfying it is to wrap something in a Fenton’s box, and know when the customer takes it home it will give her and her family pleasure. You’d be making a difference in kitchens all around San Francisco. Don’t you think Aidan would find that worthwhile?”
    “It’s not about Aidan.” Cassie blushed.
    “It’s always about Aidan. He’s like a black bear, growling at everything you do.”
    “Aidan told me just a couple of days ago how proud he is of my volunteer work.” Cassie sniffed.
    “Volunteering doesn’t compete with Professor Aidan Blake’s sense of grandeur.” Diana sat on the love seat opposite Cassie.
    “Cheap shot, Mother,” Cassie replied.
    “Darling, let’s not talk about Aidan. A food emporium might be terrifically successful, and I can’t think of anyone more suited for the job.”
    Cassie took a deep breath. “I’m starving. You invited me to lunch. I smelled Maria’s paella when I walked in.”
    “I’ll tell Maria we’re ready for lunch on one condition.” Diana stood up.
    “What?” Cassie asked.
    “You have dinner with James and me next week and hear his vision.”
    Cassie glanced at her mother. She resembled a modern Katharine Hepburn, all angles and hard edges.