Obsessed (13 page)

“Maybe what?”

“I thought that maybe he might be having his fraternity ring made smaller for me.” Ingrid sighed deeply. “At least, that’s what I hope.”

Judy nodded. She didn’t trust herself to comment. If Mi chael was giving Ingrid his frat ring, he was making a ter rible mistake.

“He told me he was crazy about me. And he really likes my family. You don’t think it’s wrong for me to get my hopes up, do you, Judy?”

Judy sighed. “I don’t know, Ingrid. Michael doesn’t con fide in me anymore. Maybe you’re right . . . and maybe you’re not. Is he taking you somewhere romantic on Sunday night?”

“He said he made ten o’clock reservations at Monty’s Steakhouse.”

Judy frowned slightly. Monty’s Steakhouse was at the top of a high-rise building in Westwood, and it definitely had a romantic view. It was also terribly expensive. If Michael was taking Ingrid there for dinner, it must be a very special occasion. “Ten o’clock’s pretty late for dinner. Why aren’t you going earlier?”

“I’m working at the church carnival until eight. Michael’s picking me up there. We’re dropping by his frat house so he can introduce me to some of his college friends, and then we’re going to Monty’s.”

Judy tried to keep the expression of dismay off her face. Michael had never introduced her to any of his frat brothers. And he’d certainly never taken her to Monty’s! “Are you all going in a group?”

“No.” Ingrid shook her head. “He said it would be just the two of us. Vera says she thinks he’s going to propose, and I’m so excited, I can hardly stand it!”

Judy raised her eyebrows. “You told Vera about it?”

“Well . . . yes. But she promised not to tell anyone else. I just had to tell someone!”

Judy nodded. “Did you tell anyone else?”

“I mentioned it to Andy. He thinks Michael’s going to give me a friendship ring. But Berto’s sure it’s going to be his frat ring.”

“So the only ones you didn’t tell are Carla, Mr. Calloway, and Linda?” Judy’s frown deepened.

“I told Linda. She said she really didn’t know Michael well enough to even guess. And I mentioned it to Carla, but she didn’t have an opinion, either. Of course, that’s not surprising. Carla doesn’t know very much about men.”

“You told everyone?” Judy could hardly believe that In grid had asked everyone what they thought Michael’s in tentions were.

“No. I didn’t tell Mr. Calloway. They’re very close, and I thought he might mention it to Michael. And I wouldn’t want Michael to think I had a big mouth.”

“Of course not.” If Judy hadn’t been so upset, she might have laughed out loud. She was about to tell Ingrid that she really ought to learn to keep a secret, when the audience burst into applause. The duet was over. Judy clamped her mouth shut, and turned back to the light box to dim the lights.

“I’ve got to get back to work.” As Ingrid moved past, she reached out to touch Judy’s arm. “I’ll call and tell you what happened first thing Monday morning. Isn’t it fantas tic, Judy? I’m so excited, I could just die!”

“Fantastic.” Judy tried to smile as Ingrid gave a little wave and went back out on the floor. Was Michael really going to propose to Ingrid? The girl who couldn’t keep her mouth shut, and blabbed her hopes and dreams all over Covers? It seemed impossible, but Judy knew that Michael had always beena sucker for a pretty face. And Ingrid was certainly pretty.

The applause died down, and Judy brought up the spot again. Linda and Michael were doing another song together, something Michael had written two nights ago. They’d re hearsed it only once, and Judy had been so busy writing down lighting cues, she hadn’t paid any attention to the song.

Then Michael started to sing, and Judy drew in her breath sharply. The song was about a girl with hair the color of sunshine. A sweet and gentle girl he loved. Linda’s voice answered Michael’s on the chorus, proclaiming the girl’s love for him and promising how she’d always hold him close in her heart.

Judy turned to look at Ingrid. She stood transfixed, a tray of food in her hands, gazing up at Michael with a look of loving devotion. It was enough to make Judy weep.

It seemed to take forever, but at last the song was over. Judy’s hand was shaking as she dimmed the lights and the audience burst into wild applause. The audience always loved sappy love songs, and this was the sappiest love song that Judy had ever heard.

But it wouldn’t be sappy if
Michael had written it for me, Judy’s conscience reminded her. Then it would be beautiful.

Judy felt her eyes sting, and she blinked back bitter tears. The way things were going, Michael would never write a love song for her. And she wanted him to, desperately. When she went to bed every night, she gazed out at his window and prayed he’d notice her. She knew she could make Mi chael happy, if he’d only give her a chance.

She waited until the applause had died down, and then she brought up the lights again. Linda had one more number, a country western song she’d written about a girl who mourned for her lost lover. The melancholy refrain threat ened to bring more tears to Judy’s eyes, and she busied her self at the light board, playing with the spot until she had just the right amount of color in Linda’s face. When she turned around, Michael was standing behind her, grinning.

“I guess they liked our last number.” Michael looked pleased. “Linda’s good, isn’t she?”

Judy nodded. “She’s very good. And you made her sound even better.”

“Thanks, Jude.” Michael reached out to give her a hug. “Are you still president of my nonexistent fan club?”

“Always. And it won’t be nonexistent for long.”

Michael grinned. “May your words be as true as bread and milk.”

“What?!”

Michael’s grin grew wider. “Search me. I don’t know what it means, either. It’s an old Swedish proverb that Ingrid taught me.”

Judy took a deep breath. The time was right. Michael had mentioned Ingrid and this was the perfect opportunity to tell
him that she’d blabbed their plans to everyone at Covers. Would Michael be so upset by Ingrid’s indiscretion, he’d break up with her?

“Michael? Can I talk to you about something very seri ous?”

“Of course, Jude.”

Michael smiled, and the warmth in his eyes made Judy almost lose the ability to speak.

“It’s . . . uh . . . it’s about Ingrid.”

“I saw her back here when I was singing. She’s an inspiration, Judy. I’ve never met anyone so absolutely good. Do you know that she spends four hours every Saturday morning working as a volunteer with retarded kids?”

“Uh . . . no . . . I didn’t know that.”

“She’s so loving.” The expression in Michael’s eyes was tender. “You wouldn’t believe how patient she is. She’s go ing to make a fantastic wife and mother one day.”

“Yes. I’m sure she will.” Judy felt suddenly cold, and she gave a small shiver. Michael really was crazy about Ingrid.

“So what is it?”

“What’s what?” Judy was puzzled.

“You said you wanted to talk to me about Ingrid.”

Judy took a deep breath. It was definitely time to change tactics. Michael had been totally taken in by Ingrid, and nothing she could say would change that. There was an old Roman custom of killing the messenger who’d brought bad news, and Judy knew it would be foolish to give Michael any bad news about Ingrid. Michael wouldn’t kill her, but their friendship might die a painful death if she bad mouthed the girl he thought he loved.

Michael was looking down at her, and Judy gave him a blinding smile, a smile she hoped looked totally genuine. “Oh, yes. About Ingrid. I was just going to tell you what a wonderful girl I think she is.”

Eleven

It was almost seven o’clock on Sunday night, and Ingrid was so happy she was practically walking on air. She’d spent all afternoon working at the bake sale booth, and they’d sold everything except one loaf of Swedish rye.

“Ingrid, dear. Why don’t you take this to your boyfriend’s family.” The plump Mrs. Bergstrom put the last loaf of bread in a white paper bag and handed it to Ingrid.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bergstrom.” Ingrid smiled at her mother’s friend. “How much did we sell?”

Mrs. Bergstrom glanced down at her tally sheet, and a satisfied smile spread across her broad face. “Twenty dozen rolls, sixty loaves of bread, and fifty dozen cookies. We made over five hundred dollars.”

“That’s wonderful!” Ingrid beamed at her.

“Putting the cookies in small packages was a good idea, Ingrid. We sold almost all of them at four for a dollar. And our original price was two-fifty a dozen. We made fifty cents extra on those smaller bags.”

Mr. Bergstrom, a tall, middle-aged man with snow white hair, came up in time to hear his wife’s comment. “My, my! It sounds like we have a retailing genius here. Maybe we should ask Ingrid to come down to the store and give us advice.”

“I don’t think you need my advice, Mr. Bergstrom.” In grid smiled at him. The Bergstroms owned a very successful Scandinavian import store and they contributed generously to all of the church charities. “You can’t sell lingonberries at four for a dollar.”

There was a twinkle in Mr. Bergstrom’s eyes as he nod ded. “Yah, that’s true.”

“But, maybe you could . . .” Ingrid blushed and shook her head. “No. It was just a silly idea.”

“What is it, Ingrid?” Mr. Bergstrom looked interested.

“Well . . . I was just thinking about those gift packs they sell at Christmas. I’m sure you’ve seen them. A bottle of wine, a couple of wine glasses, and some chocolates all wrapped up in a pretty basket.”

Mrs. Bergstrom nodded. “Yah, I’ve seen them. They charge a fortune for something you could make yourself.”

“That’s just it.” Ingrid blushed even harder as she told them her idea. “Why don’t you make up Scandinavian gift packs? You could put a package of Swedish pancake mix and a jar of lingonberries in one of those wonderful griddles you sell. If you wrapped it all up and put a bow on top, people might buy the package for a gift.”

Mrs. Bergstrom turned to her husband, and he began to beam. “I think that’s a very good ideal We could do all kinds of packages, a little of this and a little of that, all wrapped up for Christmas.”

“Everything except lutefisk.” Ingrid shuddered as she thought of lutefisk. It was a slab of cod that had been dried as stiff as a board. The lutefisk was soaked in lye to recon stitute it, and then boiled or baked at Christmas. It was a Norwegian tradition, and Ingrid’s father was Norwegian. He insisted that Ingrid’s Swedish mother make lutefisk every Christmas.

Lutefisk smelled horrible when it was cooked, and it tasted the way it smelled. It had the texture of fish jello, and she’d begged her mother not to serve it when they had company at Christmas. But Ingrid’s father, normally a rea sonable and taciturn man, refused to sit down for Christmas dinner unless lutefisk was served as the first course.

“Don’t worry, Ingrid. We won’t include lutefisk.” Mrs. Bergstrom laughed. “I always say that God gave us lutefisk to remind us of His suffering. And then He gave us lefse to prove that He had mercy.”

“Ilka!” Mr. Bergstrom gently chastised his wife, but his eyes were twinkling.

Ingrid burst into laughter. “It’s true. My father says lute fisk proves that God has a wicked sense of humor. And we must show our appreciation for His joke by pretending to enjoy it!”

The Bergstroms burst into laughter that lasted for a full minute. Finally, Mr. Bergstrom took out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “Oh, yah. That’s good, Ingrid. My compli ments to your father. I agree with his sentiments exactly. No lutefisk. But we will definitely have lefse. Ilka makes wonderful lefse from her grandmother’s recipe.”

“I know. My mother buys it every year.” Ingrid nodded. Mrs. Bergstrom sold homemade lefte right before Christ mas, and the thin pancake-like bread made of potato was one of Ingrid’s fav
orite Norwegian foods. She liked to spread it with butter, sprinkle it with sugar, and fold it up like a tortilla. “Are you really going to make gift baskets, Mr. Bergstrom?”

Mr. Bergstrom nodded. “Yah. Your idea is good, Ingrid. And if you have any other ideas, I hope you’ll tell me about them. I think you have a pretty good head for business.”

“She certainly does!” Mrs. Bergstrom patted Ingrid on the shoulder. “Does your young man know how talented you are?”

Ingrid felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Her mother must have told Mrs. Bergstrom about Michael. “Oh, I’m not the talented one. Michael is.”

“She’s modest, too.” Mr. Bergstrom smiled at his wife. “Come along, Ilka. Now that you’ve sold everything in the booth, we have time to see the rest of the carnival.”

Ingrid lingered at the booth after the Bergstroms had left. There was really nothing to do now that they’d sold every thing. The fair still had another hour to run, and Michael wouldn’t be here to pick her up until eight. Perhaps she should walk around and see how the other booths and the rides were doing. She’d posted a notice at Covers advertis ing the carnival, and several people had promised to try to come. Since she’d been working at the bakery booth all day, she hadn’t had time to see if any of her friends from Covers were here.

As she walked through the crowded fair grounds the church had rented, Ingrid could see that business was boom ing. Children and their parents were lined up to buy tickets on the merry-go-round, and everyone seemed to be carrying food.