7. Hadley’s Journal

 

August 1^st , 2009

 

As I write this, I am sitting in the empty café. It's 2:30 and we've closed for the day. I'm waiting for Pippa to take a quick shower (she spilled a whole pitcher full of "Pants Off Lemonade" on herself) and then she is taking me clothes shopping.

I'm glad I grabbed my song journal (even though the last song I wrote was almost a year ago) when I was getting evicted from my apartment (and soooo glad also grabbed my iPod charger too!). I guess maybe I should get back to writing?!? Maybe someday, I'll look back at this and laugh and maybe someday I will make it big as a singer and this can go in my autobiography (or is it biography? I can never remember which is correct).

 

After the reporters left, I didn't know if I should cry or laugh. I felt like I was in one of those movies on Lifetime or on some hidden camera reality show. I mean, seriously, WTF? Is this all a joke? But hello, if it is a joke, it started over a year ago – and I might be naïve (because, you know, in junior high, my older brother Henry told me that Michael Jackson was NOT Janet Jackson's brother because Michael was white…which I insistently repeated to the whole 7^th grade until Mr. Schott, the gym teacher, brought in his Thriller album- which, most of us had never even seen an actual record so my screwup kinda got forgotten about), but I really doubt that anyone is capable of pulling off a year long joke. Right?

It's hard to believe that this time, last year, my life kinda did turn into a movie when a rep. for Go Big Studios came up to me after I sang 3 songs ( I was drunk – celebrating my 21^st birthday at a place called The Vintage – a band named Bare Knuckle Boxers was playing and I, full of Happy Hour beer and Happy Birthday shots of Jack Daniels – kept shouting "let me sing, let me sing" and so finally they did) and asked if I'd ever consider singing professionally. Like professionally. Like 'rock star' or 'pop star' status.

And then it was all big news – how a little nobody like me got picked from a small bar outside of Philly to be the next Britney Spears or Jessica Simpson.

Hello? I wondered if Go Big Studios realized I really was a nobody. Well, my family does own a large accounting firm and is well known in the little town of Nesquehoning – but I learned really fast when I left high school (where I was the first junior to ever be chosen for homecoming queen!) and went to college at Temple for a year that, hello!, I am NOBODY. I was nothing but a dorm number, or seat number, or school badge #. No one noticed if I ate corn chips for dinner or cared if I put a pink stripe in my hair or asked how my Granny Dottie was feeling after she fell down the steps and broke her hip.

And then when I didn't return to Temple after Christmas Break, I discovered that most of my friends were living their own lives in colleges that were far away, and they liked the fact that no one asked about their Grandma (or even knew who their Grandma was) and they liked the fact they could dye their hair and no one would flip out – or even notice!

I had no idea what I wanted to do with life. I mean, wtf? I can't decide between Frosted Flakes and Fruity Pebbles in the morning, so I just put them both in a bowl. I have over 1,000 songs on my iPod and bands that I was madly in love with 4 weeks ago, I could care less about today. Out of 1,000 songs, I think I only seriously like about 200.

Okay, yes, here's the thing. I've been writing songs since I was like, 11? It was actually an angry poem to the first boy I ever like (Steve) who said he liked me back but then made fun of me in front of ALL HIS FRIENDS when my bikini top fell off in the lake.

I wrote a poem. Henry found it in my notebook and made fun of me (just like rotten Steve) but then when he saw me crying (and it was the last time I ever cried over anything) – he took his guitar and turned my poem into a song.

And then Henry told me it was actually good. And Henry, who was 4 years older than me at the time, hated EVERYTHING. Our parents. School. Vegetables (actually, he hated any food that didn't list sugar as the first few ingredients). Going to church. Walking the dog. He didn't want CMP sundaes from Annies up in Jim Thorpe. He even said he hated Lengyels, the little restaurant we went to every Sunday for homemade pierogies and homemade holupki – he was totally lying – I found out later that what he really hated was that one of the waitresses was in his Algebra class and she'd turned him down when he asked her to go to a dance.

So when Henry, the Hater, turned my poem into a song and said it was 'actually good' – I bought little notebooks and stole pens from everywhere (banks, doctors offices, friends, teachers, parents) and wrote song after song after song.

The only person that knew about this was Grandma Dottie (and, of course, Henry). Everyone knew that I was good at singing – hello! I did hold the lead roles in 3 out of 4 of our school musicals – and NO – my father did NOT pay the drama teacher as some people who are obviously JEALOUS have said – but no one knew that, deep in my heart, I loved writing songs. And sometimes when the inspiration to write a song hit – even if I was out with my girlfriends, I'd say I had to go to the bathroom and write the song in a little notebook I kept hidden in my purse.

Henry went to college in California – UCLA – majored in marijuana (that's what my dad says, anyway) but when he graduated, he opened up a branch of the family accounting firm in California (Sacramento) and doesn't come home too often. I think it's because his accounting partner is really his partner – if you know what I mean. I'm sure he thinks mom and dad would flip out, but honestly, they still watch Rock Hudson movies, and they LOVED LOVED LOVED the show Will and Grace and still watch reruns, so I think they'd be totally cool with it.

I sang the songs I wrote to Grandma Dottie – using Henry's old guitar – and she always always told me that one day I'd be a famous singer. Usually, though, this was after she drank half a bottle of wine, and she was, afterall, my grandmother, and didn't grandmas say that sort of thing?

And then when Go Big Studio offered me a contract, it seemed everyone turned against me. My parents thought it was "suspicious" and asked "Since when did you want to be a singer? Is the family accounting business not good enough for you?"

My girlfriends stopped calling me, said I was ignoring THEM – but HELLO! Go Big had me in promotional meetings and marketing meetings and projection meetings and there were makeovers (and, by the way, the Go Big records hair stylist would totally DIE if he saw my hair now. Seriously? He might cry so hard he'd need to take off the pink scarf he always wears around his neck and blow his nose with it.) and meetings where they tried to teach me how to answer interview questions and then there were actual interviews with PEOPLE and US and OMG Rolling Stone. Which, to be honest, I wasn't really into, but when I met "Fast George" the DJ and he said he LOVED the Rolling Stone interview and that I was REALLY going places if Rolling Stone liked me - which, after reading the article, I wasn't too sure they liked me AT ALL – and here's the thing I was starting to learn – some people really do NOT like when good things happen to people.

All of a sudden – people you don't even KNOW are writing you emails saying how you don't deserve a recording contract – there are people that have been singing for YEARS and YEARS in crummy bars and high school parties and in church choirs and here comes someone with NO EXPERIENCE and what is FAIR about that? And then they tell you they hope you die and HA HA HA, they hope you fall flat on your face!

But what they didn't know – and what Go Big Studios didn't want me to ever tell anyone – was that I'd been writing and singing songs for years.

At my first big "meeting" at the Go Big office (they have the worst furniture – it's plastic- like sitting on fast food furniture – but they did not laugh when I mentioned that) – I excitedly told them that I was so thankful and guess what ! I've been writing songs since I was in like – 5^th grade! They didn't want to hear any of my songs, they didn't care, and they said, "do not tell anyone that you are a songwriter!" and there were a-lot of sideway glances going on and I wondered if I had bits of bacon stuck in my teeth from the breakfast bagel I'd scarfed down on the cab ride to the meeting.

"I thought you said she knew nothing about music. I thought you said she was a music virgin!" Some bitchy looking lady with a BALD SPOT on top of her head said to Ronnie (the rep that made me the offer at the Vintage Pub).

Ronnie – who had SO MUCH hair he could cut off half of it to cover the angry lady's bald spot and still have plenty left over – got all red in the face and said he had no idea until now that I wrote my own songs – that I knew how to play guitar.

And after that day, I was forbidden to ever mention it again.

Grandma Dottie was not happy when I told her.

"Hadley, these people are trying to turn you into something you're not. As soon as you turn your back on what lies in your heart, your heart becomes empty and you spend the rest of your life trying to fill it with things that don't belong – until you become someone you don't recognize or love."

We were closing up the café I catch a reflection in the café windows; a waitress with bags under her eyes, a slouch in her shoulders' she looks like the whole world is against her with her awful red, red, red, short, uneven, hair.

Of course, I realize, that the reflection is me.

Someone I don't recognize. Someone I don't love.

For the first time since I was 11 years old, I start crying.

I just kept crying and crying and crying. It was the first real, true, honest, emotion I'd had in the last year.

There I stood, crying in the café. Crying in the café with a plate of chicken salad in one hand and a broken heart in the other.

It was like the line of some cheesy country song.

OMG. Was I turning into a country singer?

Could life get ANY WORSE?

6. The Arrival of Red

 

 

 

 

Emerson is standing in the kitchen, her mouth as wide as the mixing bowl she's holding in her hands.

"What do you think?" Pippa asks – a bit nervous because she's never known her sister to be at a loss for words.

Hadley's face is flushed red, almost as red as the new color of her hair.

Pippa admits "Okay , perhaps just because I've spent a-lot of time at Blue Hair Studio, admiring their work, doesn't necessarily mean I knew exactly how to dye hair -or cut it – but hey they make it look so damn simple! All that easy going bantering back and forth between Will and Frankie as scissors fly and hair dryers whir - they make it look so easy!"

The kitchen remains quiet.

"Emerson?" Pippa prods for a reaction.

"The good thing is," Emerson responds slowly, "Hadley doesn't look one bit like the person she was when she came in here."

Emerson reaches in her back pocket and pulls out three slips of paper. She turns to Hadley. "Go give these to the people at the counter. If they don't recognize you, you're golden."

"Golden?" Hadley asks.

"It means you're good. No worries."

Hadley leans forward to take a peek at the customers out front.

"Oh No! That's Anita from TMZ," Hadley whispers.

"Good." Emerson gives Hadley a little push. "Go on, you've got to start, might as well be now."

They watch as Hadley totters to the front in the lime green heels Pippa loaned to her. Hadley's head is hanging like a flower that's spent too much sun and hasn't seen a drop of water in weeks.

"Nice touch," Emerson says. "Putting her into one of your dresses."

"I know. So not her style, right? And she totally balked the whole time. Says she hasn't worn a dress since her first communion," Pippa said.

"Is that supposed to be a bob haircut?" Emerson asked.

"Yes. I was going for a Victoria Beckham look."

"It's a bit lopsided, don't you think?"

"Yes! And so is Beckham's!"

"And red. Really red. All the fire trucks in town will be envious."

Emerson puts the mixing bowl on the counter and motions for me to follow her out to the front.

"I may have left the dye on too long." Pippa whispers as they make their way next to Hadley.

The woman that Hadley had referred to as 'Anita' is shaking her head. "This is the worst food I've ever tasted. There is no way I'm paying for this."

"Do you know Hadley Bliss?" Tattoo boy asks, pushing a ten-dollar bill into Hadley's hands.

Hadley glances at the money and looks as if she might crumble into a ball like the paper in her shaking fist.

Emerson pulls the money out of Hadley's grasp and smoothes it out.

"How much is it worth to you?" she asked Tattoo Boy.

Instantly, wallets flew open and a stack of money grew on the counter. Emerson reached over and swooped up the pile of bills, tucking them in the front pocket of her jeans.

"I saw her get into a sports car this morning." Emerson points a finger at the front window. Her nails are ragged and often caked with flour and sugar. "Right across the street. I think that's where she lived, right Red?" Emerson turns her brown eyes on Hadley.

"Uhhh, right."

Curly's pen is poised over a mini notebook decorated with a skull and crossbones on the cover. "What color was the car?"

"Who was driving?" Anita jumps in. "Man or woman?"

"Did she eat here?" Tattoo Boy asks.

"Do you know her?"

The questions peppered them like bullets from a rapid-fire gun, drawing Huck from the kitchen. He glances up at the loud reporters before plopping back down under the counter, sniffing around for stray piece of bread or bacon.

Emerson glances at Pippa; Pippa had majored in theater in college, after all. And Improv class? Nothing but straight A's.

"Silver car. Man driving. Actually, young man driving. She ate here once – lovely girl." Pippa laces her hands over her heart – showing off brilliant, bright red, shiny, nails.

"I knew Hadley only a short time – it's such a shame what her record company did to her. I mean, what kind of legitimate business fires someone using Twitter? Frankly, I think she's better off without them. You wait, when Hadley Bliss returns, and she will, she will be stronger and smarter, and no one will ever be able to take advantage of her again."

Pippa waits for a round of applause for her passionate monologue but, alas, none was forthcoming. Though Huck's ears perked up, and he lifted his head for a second before a fly caught his eye and he lost interest.

Emerson patted Pippa's back. "I agree. Wholeheartedly." Emerson turns her attention to Hadley, "What do you think Red? Will Hadley Bliss make a comeback?"

Hadley looks over her shoulder, wondering who this "Red" person is, and then catches her reflection in the mirror and realizes Emerson is calling her 'Red,' and okay, so her hair is a bit uneven and horribly bright (actually, it looks a-lot like Pippa's nail polish), but there is a bit of spark in her eyes that wasn't there this morning.

"Right," she says, turning around, and wobbles back into the kitchen on lime green heels.

5. Black Bowl Chicken Salad (or The Art of Scaring Away Bad Customers)

 

"Well, Huck, looks like we have a few customers, obviously none of them are local, and food is the last thing on their mind." Emerson says to Huck, who is sprawled on the linoleum floor in the kitchen, pressing his black and white fur against the cool refrigerator.

Two men and one women are sitting at the counter. They are not 'together' – each of them is separated by an empty chair – and yet they are together – furiously punching buttons on their cell phones, stealing glances at each other, twisting their heads every time someone walks by the windows outside.

"What'll ya have?" Emerson walks into the center of the U shaped counter space, her pen poised above the order pad. Though she knows what they'll have as she is drastically limiting their options.

"You seen Hadley Bliss?" The heavy set guy with a mop of curly black hair and a failed attempt at a moustache asks.

"This is a café, not an information booth," Emerson says.

"She probably doesn't even know who Hadley Bliss is." The woman speaks, her eyes raking over Emerson's Toby Keith t-shirt.

"If you're gonna sit in here, you've got to order something to eat," Emerson says.

"What's the special?" The last guy asks, getting in on the conversation. He has full sleeve tattoos on each arm and wears a camera around his neck.

"Chicken salad." Emerson grins.

"It's only eight in the morning. What about breakfast?" The woman asks.

"We're only serving chicken salad."

"Fine. I'll have the chicken salad." Curly shrugs.

"Me too," Tattoo boy says.

"Fine." The woman puts her Prada purse (that screams street corner rip off) on the counter and pulls out a small notebook and a pen and dismisses Emerson with an eye roll.

In the back of the refrigerator, on the bottom shelf, behind the blocks of cheddar, colby, and Monterey jack cheese, is the black bowl chicken salad.

You see, unlike most cafes and restaurants, the Storms (well, Emerson more than Pippa) do not feel the customer is always right. There are some customers that are just plain rude and obnoxious. There are some people that will order lunch or breakfast, eat the whole meal, and then complain they didn't like it and think they should get it for free, or, at the very least, 50% off. There are some customers that want to know if they accept coupons from other restaurants, and if not, they will leave. There are some customers that read the hours of operation on the door, notice that closing time is 2pm, and decide that, since it's 1:55 pm, they are hungry, place a large order, and lolly gag around, reading the paper or talking on their cell, while they eat very very slowly.

The Storm's save their Black Bowl Chicken Salad for these customers. Even Pippa, who is not keen on being 'mean' to anyone, and was initially against the idea, has been known to serve up a plate or two – and if Pippa is reaching for the Black Bowl, well, the customers must be real schmuks.

"Don't you think those unhappy customers will spread the word around?" Pippa had said when Emerson brought up the idea.

"Yes. Exactly! I want them to tell their friends. What did Dad always tell us? You are the sum of the 5 people you hang around with. Lay down with dogs, wake up with fleas. Like attracts like. If obnoxious, cheap, rude, customers go out and tell their friends, we don't have to worry about attracting more obnoxious, rude, cheap, customers!"

After the sisters open up a café in a new location, it generally only takes about a week for word to spread (both good and bad) and after that, the café is usually filled with the customers they like; cheerful, upbeat, thoughtful people that really appreciate a good home cooked meal.

Emerson uses the ice cream scoop and place a mound of chicken salad on a bed of lettuce on each of the plates – and for this occasion, shes's not using the Fiestaware, she's using paper.

The chicken salad is made with three different kinds of onions, garlic salt, soy mayonnaise, cooked white rice, raisins, and, chopped olives. There's not even any chicken in it. Why waste good meat! Emerson tasted it one time, and her mouth still puckers in disgust every time she pulls out the Black Bowl.

As she's getting ready to deliver the worst chicken salad ever to the reporters, she hears footsteps in the back stairwell.

She gently opens the door a crack.

"Pippa," Emerson whispers.

"Yeah?"

"I've got 3 reporters at the counter."

"Oh no."

Emerson can smell Pippa's fruity breath through the crack of the door. No doubt, she's helped herself to a glass of Chardonnay. Pippa is on a different time schedule. She rarely sleeps; it's more like napping, and usually she rests between 2am and 4am, so drinking wine in the morning for Pippa is pretty much like the average person having a bottle of beer with their cheeseburger at lunch.

"I'm about to serve them Black Bowl Chicken Salad."

"Good, they'll be gone in five minutes!" Pippa said.

"How's Hadley look?"

"Oh My God, you're not going to believe it when you see her!"

Pippa and Emerson are only one year apart. They shared a room until they moved out of the house when they were in our twenties. But then they opened the 8Storms Brewing traveling café and have worked together every day for what feels like a lifetime to them.

They always live above the café, sometimes on separate floors, like now, but there have been times when they've had to share apartment space. Emerson thinks she know Pippa better than she knows herself. Emerson believes Pippa is well past the point of shock or surprise.

Until now.

4. HOW TO HIDE A ROCKSTAR

 

Hadley counts each hardwood step as they make their way up the back stairs of the café that leads to the sisters' apartment. They stop on the twelfth and final step.

This is lucky – twelve is the month of her birthday, twelve is the age when she first started signing (publicly- it was in the talent show at school. She got a standing ovation and even snide spinster English teacher, Ms.Smith, congratulated her afterward, she actually smiled, and said Hadley should consider a career in singing).

Pippa opens the door to a living room: It's like a freezer full of sherbet ice cream had exploded:

The walls are the color of bananas, the loveseat is orange, an overstuffed chair is pastel plaid.

"We'll go upstairs to Emerson's apartment – her bathroom is much larger than mine. I just need to grab a box of hair color and some scissors," Pippa said. "What color would you like to be? Red? But not too red, we wouldn't want to call too much attention to you. And redheads get more attention than other colors. In the spring I dye my hair red – believe me, red hair attracts men like an electric socket attracts fork wielding toddlers."

Hadley rubs a strand of hair between her fingers; she's never been anything but blonde since she was 13 and had her first official visit to her mother's hair salon.

"Grab a stack of those magazines and pick a short hair style." Pippa points to the pastel plaid chair and a stack of People magazines.

"Short? I don't know about going short," Hadley worries out loud. She's never had short hair. Ever. And wonders if Pippa even knows how to cut hair.

"Of course you have to go short! Don't you watch movies and read books? Every time a woman has to go into hiding, she cuts her hair and dyes it. It's like, Rule #1 of going on the lam."

"Yes, but, since everyone knows that, wouldn't it make sense to keep my hair long?"

Pippa shakes her head, opens a closet door and scoops up a few boxes of hair dye.

"So, you know how to cut hair?" Hadley asks, feeling panicky. Her hair is about the only thing she has left – her cell phone is dead, the charger left behind in haste in her apartment – along with the charger for her laptop. She doubts Mr. Fromstein would allow her back in – knowing his frugal ways, he's probably on eBay, selling everything she left behind. And George, well, he loved her long hair. Chopping it off would really finalize the fact that he was gone too – and worse yet, with her car.

"Actually, you'll be my first customer. But don't worry. I get my hair cut at Blue Hair Studio – they are fabulous over there. I go every time I'm in the area. I pay close attention to how they cut my hair. I'm like a sponge when it comes to learning new things. I'm sure I can make you look fabulous. Trust me."

Trust her? Hadley tries not to laugh. In the last six months, those two words have been repeated by her manager (who stopped taking her phone calls two days ago, now she realizes why), her boyfriend (exboyfriend, that is). George convinced her it was okay to spend money that she hadn't received. Her club friends Ashley and Amber told her to trust them when they gave her Adderall ("you won't become addicted, it's harmless and you'll lose weight!"). Of course, there was Hadley's record label, 'Go Big Studios' – "If you sign with us, we'll make you a star. We're offering more money than anyone else and we'll treat you like family. Trust us." HA! Hadley thinks now, knowing that her family, though not speaking much to her these days, would never disown her by announcing it on Twitter and would never use Twitter to air dirty laundry – but then again, to be perfectly honest, her family probably has no clue what Twitter is.

"Okay." Pippa is holding a Wegman's shopping tote filled with scissors, hair dye, a hair dryer, comb, and some towels. "Let the transformation begin!"

They go out the front door, walk down a short hallway, and climb up eight more steps.

Emerson's apartment is the complete opposite of her sisters; it was like walking into a spa retreat. The walls are the color of cocoa. A single white couch faces a flat screen TV that is suspended on the wall. A pile of books is neatly stacked on a white coffee table.

To get to the bathroom, they walk through Emerson's bedroom. A king size bed takes up most of the space. White netting is suspended from the ceiling and forms a canopy around the bed. Flip flops are lined under the bed like colorful soldiers. A small stone water fountain bubbles on the nightstand next to a lavender plant.

Hadley feels the tension in her body melt…and stares at the bed longingly; she'd like nothing more than to crawl under the chocolate colored duvet and fall asleep for days, thinking that maybe when she woke up, she'd discover Go Big Studios changed their mind, and George changed his mind, or at the very least, he returned her car.

"Okay, you sit here." Pippa points to the lid of the toilet and hands Hadley her breakfast.

"Don't be grossed out because you're eating in a bathroom. Emerson is a clean freak. There are less germs in here than in an operating room."

Hadley is so hungry she thinks she'd gladly eat while sitting in the middle of a garbage dump.

"Ready?" Pippa takes out a comb and slices the scissors in the air. "What color do you want? Brunette or auburn?"

Hadley shrugs.

"Whatever you decide. I trust you," she said – and surprisingly, she meant it.

3. Welcome to the Family, Hadley Bliss.

 

 

Emerson knew who Hadley was as soon as she fumbled her way into the café – Pippa leaves her tabloid magazines in the back of the kitchen – and Hadley Bliss – the hottest, youngest, rising star in the music industry – often stares at up at Emerson from butter stained magazine covers.

She also knew that, despite the clear morning sky, something dark and angry was speeding toward them.

Rowan was sprawled across the ledge of the window, so perfectly still she looked like a stuffed cat you could win a carnival if you were strong enough and lucky enough to knock down weighted bowling pins.

Pippa rounded the corner and clipped an order to the clothesline suspended over the counter used to make salads and sandwiches.

Emerson glanced at the slip of paper.

"A short stack of strawberry pancakes, two fried eggs, and, an order of bacon? And homefries with onions? And an English muffin?" Emerson crosses her arms over her chest. "All this for one girl?"

Pippa grins as she slices the English muffin and tosses it in the toaster.

"She's as thin as a paperclip! Besides, she's going to work for us, so she needs to sample our food, and she needs energy if we want her to be up to the challenge."

The grill sizzles as the eggs slide out of their shells.

"Pippa, no." Emerson groans. In all the years they've run 8 Storms Brewing they have mostly managed to run the café between the two of them.

"Look – her record label dropped her – by announcing it on Twitter for God's sake." Pippa folds berries into a bowl of pancake batter. "She's broke. She spent all her money against the advance they were going to give her." She hands Emerson the bowl.

Emerson pours three generous dollops of pink batter next to the eggs.

"What about her friends? Family?" Emerson said.

Rowan has come to life, flicking her tail as if she's batting away invisible flies.

"Don't you ever listen to me?" Pippa asks, not waiting for her sister's negative reply. "I've been telling you for months that she's been alienating her friends and most of her family has turned their backs on her."

"Just because you read something in a tabloid doesn't mean it's true." Emerson hisses as she slides the silver spatula under the eggs and flips them over with swift wrist action.

"The tabloids are spot on." Hadley Bliss is leaning against the doorway of the kitchen.

Emerson face turns the color of the strawberries they bought at the Meadow Breeze farm market stand on their way into town.

"I don't want to cause you any trouble. You can forget my breakfast. Forget the job." Her voice is defiant but her eyes give away vulnerability.

"Don't be silly!" Pippa grabs Rowan and pushes her against Hadley's chest.

Hadley is now trapped, cradling a 15 pound cat.

Rowan's eyes close and her purr machine trips into overtime.

Pippa throws Emerson a look of satisfaction.

Pippa transfers the English muffins to a small orange Fiestaware plate. "As soon as you walked in the café, Hadley, I knew you were the reason we came to this town."

Emerson flips the eggs and pancakes onto a larger plate.

"We're here to help you," Pippa says.

Hadley bites her bottom lip.

"Well, then, if you're really serious about it – you might want to think about hiding me for awhile. I just saw a guy wandering around the outside of my apartment building, and I'm pretty sure he's the same guy that interviewed me last month for People magazine."

Pippa grabs a take out container and dumps the food from the plates into one steaming heap.

"We'll be back in two hours," she promises Emerson as she holds open the door that leads upstairs to the sisters apartments. "Follow me, Hadley."

Emerson gently lifts Rowan from Hadley's thin arms that have grown cold with goose bumps.

"My sister may be a bit crazy," Emerson assures her. "But trust me; once she's on your team, you've got a friend for life. And if Pippa is your friend, then you're my friend by default. Welcome to the Storm family."

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2: Help Wanted

 

Pippa Storm is sprinkling powdered sugar on French toast for the customers sitting at the counter: Will and Alice - Chalfont post office employees that actually seem to have a sense of humor - when Hadley Bliss pushes open the wooden green door of the café, a half moon cutout carved at the top. The door was handcrafted by the Storm sisters great grandfather, and always moves with them.

"Good morning, honey." Pippa calls out to Hadley as she slides the breakfast plates in front of Will. He folds the sports section of the newspaper in half and reaches for the butter. Alice continues to read her paperback book with one hand and grabs a fork with her other.

After Hadley bypasses the counter seats, and, noticing the dog stretched under the only booth at the back of the café, plops her backpack on the yellow bench seat and kneels down to rub the ears of the black and white speckled dog.

"That's Huck – short for Huckleberry." Pippa pours coffee into a cup and places it on Hadley's table. "As you can see, he's friendly and lazy and will happily eat any food you can't finish."

Hadley takes in Pippa's outfit; candy apple heels, a white sundress with red crinoline that puffs out the skirt around Pippa's long legs – her dark hair is pulled high in a ponytail that swings like a pendulum every time she moves her head.

"I only have a dollar-fifty." Hadley confides in a quiet voice. She feels an overwhelming urge to be honest with this woman that can't be much older than Hadley, yet dresses like she is in some sort of 1950's sitcom.

Pippa tilts her head, her ponytail swings to the right. "Do you need a job?"

Hadley runs her tongue across her bottom lip. She realizes she has left all 5 of her Bonnie Bell lip glosses in the apartment. She figures her lips will be chapped and dry within hours.

As Pippa stands waiting patiently, Hadley considers future headlines in People magazine and Rolling Stone; "Promising Young Rock Star Now Serving Lattes"

She considers her family; they were disappointed she'd dropped out of college after the first semester, that she turned her back on the family accounting firm that had paid for her private school education.

She doubted they'd lend her any more money, and she couldn't stomach the thought of being trapped in an office with spreadsheets and calculators and people who have no idea what a playlist or an iPod is.

She considers her friends; they had warned her about Fast George the Club DJ. She turned her back on them and befriended people that talked about designer labels and expensive cars like astronomers talked about galaxies and telescopes.

"Are you offering me a job?" Hadley asked.

"If you only have a dollar fifty and need to earn some money, then yes, we could always use an extra hand," Pippa said, though she is crossing her fingers behind her back.

Pippa and her sister Emerson, who is tucked in the back of the kitchen, pouring orange cranberry batter into muffin cups, had run their traveling café just fine for years without any staff other than Huck the dog who kept the floors clean, and Rowan the chocolate point Siamese who kept the pests out.

A thought came to Hadley.

"Do you know who I am?"

Pippa tilts her head to the other side, her ponytail swings to the left. Her brown eyes travel over the full, lumpy backpack resting on the bench; they roam over Hadley's stained jeans that hang off her hollow waist; over her matted long blonde hair, and finally rest on Hadley's makeup smudged eyes.

"I know you need a good hot meal. And I know you probably need a good friend."

Hadley swallows the lump that blossoms in her throat.

"I'll take it. When do I start?"

 

 

1. The Rabbit Rabbit Curse

Hadley Bliss forgot to say "Rabbit, rabbit," when she woke on the morning of August 1st, which, inevitably, as Pippa Storm would later point out, led to Hadley's run of bad luck.

The first bomb of bad luck occurred as it often does, in threes – but the worst of all was that Hadley's recording label, Go Big Studios, didn't call her to break the news they dropped her contract; they didn't even bother to send her a text message – they broke up with her using Twitter.

The heavy scent of chocolate woke Hadley the morning of August 1st. The remnants of too many flutes filled with champagne were thumping inside her head and someone was pounding on the door of the apartment.

"Hadley, I know you're in there – your good for nothing boyfriend dimed you out before he left, " Mr Fromstein, the landlord, shouted.

Hadley felt the rumpled sheets where "Fast George" Mackenzie the III, up and coming club DJ, had slept bedside her the last month.

The 1,500 thread count linens were (one of Hadley's first splurges on her credit card after she signed with Go Big Studios) still felt warm to the touch. There was, however, a note.

Mr. Fromstein's voice torpedoed through the door.

"Hadley. Your rent is due. Now."

Hadley picked up the note, her long blonde hair spilled over the words scribbled in George's familiar writing – "Hadley, it's over. Check Go Big's Twitter. Sorry."

The Vivienne Tam Netbook (another splurge) was open on the night stand, the Twitter page of Go Big Studios was still on the screen and using less than 140 characters (52 to be exact), Hadley's future crashed faster than a car driven by a blindfolded, drunk, 16 year old boy.

"Hadley Bliss dropped from our label. Reckless and Irresponsible - no input = no output."

10 minutes later, Hadley stood on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building, a backpack stuffed with as many clothes as she could fit, her iPod, and her netbook. She'd left behind the keys to her apartment, a red faced landlord, and credit card bill statements totaling over one hundred thousand dollars. She'd had every intention of paying them off on the day she was to receive her five hundred thousand dollar advance from Go Big…June 1st.

She had exactly one dollar bill in the pocket of her champagne stained jeans (she hadn't quite mastered the art of club dancing while drinking). Through blood shot eyes clouded by confusion and anger, she noticed the café across the street: 8 Storms Brewing. It was new. Or at least, she thought it was new. The chocolate scented air now had a location, and Hadley allowed her jewel speckled flip-flops to carry her across the street.

She desperately needed coffee and hoped that 1.50 would buy an endless cup – she had a feeling it would take an eternity to sort this mess out.

There was a lilac bush blooming in front of the café window, fragrant and pink; it seemed to grow magically through the cracks in the sidewalk.

Hadley was amazed she'd never noticed it before, but then again, she was starting to realize there were many things in her life that had escaped her attention.