By Susan Waggoner
Be cautious what you need for. . .Food author Annie Wilkins is on an show elevator to repute and fortune, due to study scientist/husband Tom's outstanding invention: fat-free, carb-free, calorie-free chocolate that tastes higher than the true factor! as soon as decreased to writing walleye-on-a-stick articles for Minnesota Menus, now she's residing huge in exhibit homes and hobnobbing with the hoi polloi. Annie and "America's Sexiest Scientist" Tom fortunately settle for their new prestige because the nation's such a lot occurring amazing Couple.But as a high-profile spokesperson, Annie's obtained a company accountability to alter her hair, her sort, and lose twenty-five kilos. Her children have gotten too worldly too quick and Tom's famous for lots greater than simply his sweet. If this can be the yankee Dream, Annie must get up simply because instantly her marriage and her sanity are in jeopardy. . . and she's approximately to backside out on best!
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Twenty pounds? ” She gave an exasperated sigh and picked up the phone. Her ﬁrst call was to someone named Koli, in trafﬁc, who apparently was the last word in deadlines. Then she speed-dialed again. “Luba, golubushka. How are things Better Than Chocolate 47 in legal? Have we poisoned anyone? Well that’s a relief! Listen, I’m here with Annie Wilkins. ” She lowered her voice. “Well, no, not drab, exactly. But we’re going to have to do a fat clause here. How much are we authorized for? ” Lucie put the phone down and looked at me.
Jeff was disgruntled about the prospect of changing schools in midyear. “I like Willow Lane,” he protested. “I don’t want to go to a different school. I have cool friends here. ” Where indeed? I wondered and returned to the real estate section with renewed zeal. We didn’t tell our friends either. Not just because IM had sworn us to secrecy, but because it was, well, crass, to call people up and shout, “We’ve hit the jackpot! ” It was acceptable to crow a bit over these things once we could spread the largesse around, but to throw our future in the faces of all and sundry while still parading around in old T-shirts and eating at Dog ’n Suds with everyone else would have been, as my mother would say, putting on airs.
So,” I said thoughtfully, “let me get this straight. We’re going to sell tequila-shot Korn Klippers so people won’t have to bother to buy liquor. ” Jeff shrugged. Now he was beginning to make miniPyrénées out of his pilaf. “I’d say Blade has a lot to learn about market economy,” I concluded, starting to gather up the dishes. Tom’s absenteeism was really beginning to bother me. I ﬁnally established contact with Tom while Jeff was reading Sophie her bedtime story. Unlike houses ripped by the blood-curdling screams of sibling rivalry, ours was a placid little patch, and Sophie adored her big brother.
Better Than Chocolate by Susan Waggoner