Market Street: A Novel - Softcover
From Anita Hughes, author of Monarch Beach, comes Market Street, a delicious story of a department store heiress, her messy marriage, and her passion for food
Cassie Blake seems to lead a charmed life as the heiress to Fenton's, San Francisco's most exclusive department store. But when she discovers her husband, Aidan, a handsome UC Berkeley professor, has had an affair with a student, she flees to the comfort of her best friend Alexis's Presidio Heights mansion, where she wonders if she should give their marriage one more chance.
Whether or not she can forgive Aidan is not the only choice Cassie has to make. Cassie's mother is eager to have her oversee the opening of Fenton's new Food Emporium, which Fenton's hopes will become San Francisco's hottest gourmet shopping destination. Cassie's true passion has always been food, not fashion, and Cassie suspects her mother might be trying to lure her into the Fenton's fold by entrusting her with such an exciting opportunity. And then there is James, the architect designing the Emporium, who is quietly falling in love with her...
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About the Author:
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
ANITA HUGHES is also the author of Monarch Beach. She attended UC Berkeley's Masters in Creative Writing Program, and has taught Creative Writing at The Branson School in Ross, California. Hughes lives in Dana Point, California, where she is at work on her next novel.
1.
Cassie tore the edge off her croissant and looked out the Fenton’s department store’s floor-to-ceiling windows at the street below. Christmas was over, the post-Christmas sales were limping to a close, and men and women walked with their coats wrapped around them. The giant tree in Union Square had been carted away. The dazzling window displays in Gucci and Chanel of Cinderella slippers studded with real diamonds to wear to holiday parties and little black dresses accessorized with stacks of multi-colored bracelets had been replaced with sensible January displays: rain boots, umbrellas, and floor-length winter coats. Even Burberry’s window looked bleak. The sweet reindeer wearing a plaid sweater and socks had been exchanged for a faceless mannequin wrapped in scarves like a mummy.
“People in San Francisco don’t know how to do winter,” Cassie said, dipping her croissant into a white Limoges coffee cup. “They think California in January should be blue skies and seventy degrees.”
“We could go to Mexico till March. Stay at Betsy’s condo and sip sangria through pink plastic straws.” Alexis picked a petit four from the silver tray on the table and bit into it tentatively. She blotted her lips on the white linen napkin and stirred cream into her demitasse.
“Some people have jobs,” Cassie replied, “or at least their husbands work. You don’t just jet off to Mexico because the Christmas ornaments are gone.”
“Carter would never miss me. He’s too busy trimming trees, or whatever he does from six in the morning till midnight. We haven’t eaten dinner together since Thanksgiving, and that was only because his mother insisted we join the family in Pacific Heights. You know old Betsy’s on her second husband since Carter and I got married. I don’t know how she keeps the place cards straight.” Alexis tapped her long French-manicured nails on the edge of the coffee cup.
“Your husband runs a hedge fund; he doesn’t trim trees.” Cassie collapsed in a fit of giggles. She dusted croissant flakes from her pants and glanced around to see if the society matrons sitting at the adjoining tables were listening.
“Trees, hedges, it’s all the same to Carter. Money is the only kind of paper he knows. He does compensate well. I got some lovely baubles for Christmas.” Alexis rolled her eyes.
“You don’t have to pretend with me. We’ve known each other since kindergarten and even then you made rings out of Cheerios. Be happy Carter buys you jewelry.”
“He does have great taste. He gave me the most beautiful sapphire necklace, with tiny diamonds like snowflakes. I just sometimes feel like a courtesan instead of a wife. Fling a necklace or a bracelet at me and bring me out to impress the midwestern clients who want to invest in pork futures,” Alexis replied, twisting her diamond wedding band around her finger.
“Carter loves you, it’s just his way of showing it. Most wives would be envious,” Cassie replied.
“I take it Aidan didn’t shower you with jewels?” Alexis raised her perfectly arched eyebrows.
“Fuzzy socks, a cashmere scarf, gardening gloves, and packets of exotic vegetable seeds: fennel, purple spinach, and okra.” Cassie counted presents on her fingers.
Alexis picked up another petit four, eyed the layered chocolate, and put it back on the plate. “I’ve exceeded my caloric limit for the day. Lettuce and soy sauce for dinner tonight.”
“You’re the only person I know who loses weight over the holidays. I gained three pounds smelling the pumpkin pie.” Cassie pushed the plate of mini desserts toward Alexis.
“Only because I swam forty laps before every holiday party and spent thirty minutes in the steam room each night,” Alexis said, adjusting her skirt. She wore an emerald green miniskirt and a white angora wool sweater. Her blond hair was scooped into a high ponytail and tied with a green velvet ribbon.
“Oh, to have your own indoor swimming pool and sauna.” Cassie finished her coffee and put her napkin on the table.
“You could have all that. As I recall you did have all that. You’re the one who married the Communist professor.”
“Aidan is not a Communist. He’s a professor of ethics, which means he doesn’t believe in excess. We live well, just not in a three-story mansion in Presidio Heights with an elevator.”
“If you’d gone to UCLA with me instead of Berkeley we would have found you a nice movie star to marry. I remember the day you packed your car and headed over the Bay Bridge. I thought, why is Cassandra Fenton, heiress to San Francisco’s oldest, most exclusive department store, going to school in Bezerkely? I was right, you know.” Alexis eyed her friend objectively. “Your Tod’s are as old as my college diploma and your Michael Kors jacket is vintage. Except it’s only had one owner: you.”
“I’ve never had your flair. You could shop at Target and come out dressed for dinner at Chez Panisse. I’ve always been happier wearing gardening gloves than opera gloves. I am happy, Alexis, and so are you.” Cassie played with the cuff of her shirt, twisting off a few stray threads.
“What would we talk about if we didn’t complain about our husbands?” Alexis shrugged, sifting through her purse for a tube of lip gloss.
“The homeless on Market Street, the lack of fresh water in Africa?” Cassie suggested.
“We could always talk about shoes.” Alexis stood up and pulled her skirt over her thighs. “Let’s stop downstairs and see if there are any Jimmy Choos left on the sale rack.”
Cassie followed Alexis to the escalator and surveyed the elegant floor displays as they descended to the third floor. The fourth level had always been her favorite; her mother used to treat her to high tea in the café on weekdays after school. Cassie thought every third-grader practiced their cursive on a linen tablecloth while sipping hot chocolate served by uniformed waitresses. Her mother would leave her in the café while she prowled the other departments, making sure cashmere sweaters were stacked in neat piles and salesgirls holding bottles of Chanel No. 5 were positioned in the aisles.
“Cassie, how nice to see you.” A tall man wearing a navy suit took Cassie’s hand as the escalator deposited them on the third floor. “You just missed your mother. She had to rush off to a restaurant opening. Emerald on Post Street. The Chronicle says it’s going to be the next dining destination in the city.”
“My mother’s always rushing around.” Cassie smiled. “I saw her on the way up. Do you remember my friend Alexis?”
The man put on rimless glasses and looked closely at the two women. “Of course. The last time I saw you, you were being trailed by half a dozen bridesmaids collecting cosmetics samples.”
“I’m an old married woman now”—Alexis grinned—“with spending power.”
“In that case, let me direct you to our newest jewelry line. I’m told all the thirtysomethings are wearing it.” The man extended his arm and navigated Alexis through the aisles full of shoppers to a large glass case at the front of the store.
Cassie and Alexis gazed in the glass like small children admiring Halloween candy. Rows of pendants, bracelets, and rings were displayed on a bed of crushed orange velvet. Cassie ignored the bracelets—they would be covered with potting soil within a day—but the pendants caught her attention: bright-colored stones on short filigree chains. She put her hand to her neck as if imagining she was wearing one.
“These are right up your alley.” Alexis tapped her nail on the glass. “That one would go so well with your eyes, Cassie. Try it on.”
“Okay, just for fun.” Cassie nodded. “Derek, could I see that one?”
Derek unlocked the case with an oversized gold key and placed the pendant in Cassie’s hand. “Your mother found these on a buying trip to Buenos Aires. They are the accessory on the polo fields this season.”
Alexis watched Cassie click the pendant around her neck. The stone was a turquoise amethyst and made Cassie’s eyes look like a powder blue sky.
“Take it home,” Alexis insisted. “Tell Aidan you did your own post-Christmas shopping so he wouldn’t feel guilty for getting you fuzzy socks.”
“He didn’t only get me fuzzy socks. But it is really pretty.” Cassie leaned closer to the mirror.
“He can’t complain about excess since it’s not a diamond or a ruby. And you’d be supporting the Latin American economy. He’ll be pleased.” Alexis took a few bracelets out of the case and slipped them on her wrist.
“I don’t need it,” Cassie said uncertainly. She wasn’t very interested in clothes and usually pulled whatever was clean and pressed out of her closet, but she loved colorful jewelry. When she was a teenager her mother brought home bags of necklaces, earrings, and broaches, and Cassie was allowed to pick what she wanted. She still kept them in heart-shaped jewelry boxes and would snap in a hair clip or put on dangly earrings when she drove into the city for lunch.
“Would you two girls mind watching the display for a moment? I just saw Mrs. Benson go up the escalator. She’s one of our best customers but she’s almost deaf and she tends to scare the salespeople.” Derek put the gold key on the glass.
“We’ll do anything if you call us girls.” Alexis smiled, putting the bracelets back in the case and scooping up a selection of colored rings.
“...
Cassie tore the edge off her croissant and looked out the Fenton’s department store’s floor-to-ceiling windows at the street below. Christmas was over, the post-Christmas sales were limping to a close, and men and women walked with their coats wrapped around them. The giant tree in Union Square had been carted away. The dazzling window displays in Gucci and Chanel of Cinderella slippers studded with real diamonds to wear to holiday parties and little black dresses accessorized with stacks of multi-colored bracelets had been replaced with sensible January displays: rain boots, umbrellas, and floor-length winter coats. Even Burberry’s window looked bleak. The sweet reindeer wearing a plaid sweater and socks had been exchanged for a faceless mannequin wrapped in scarves like a mummy.
“People in San Francisco don’t know how to do winter,” Cassie said, dipping her croissant into a white Limoges coffee cup. “They think California in January should be blue skies and seventy degrees.”
“We could go to Mexico till March. Stay at Betsy’s condo and sip sangria through pink plastic straws.” Alexis picked a petit four from the silver tray on the table and bit into it tentatively. She blotted her lips on the white linen napkin and stirred cream into her demitasse.
“Some people have jobs,” Cassie replied, “or at least their husbands work. You don’t just jet off to Mexico because the Christmas ornaments are gone.”
“Carter would never miss me. He’s too busy trimming trees, or whatever he does from six in the morning till midnight. We haven’t eaten dinner together since Thanksgiving, and that was only because his mother insisted we join the family in Pacific Heights. You know old Betsy’s on her second husband since Carter and I got married. I don’t know how she keeps the place cards straight.” Alexis tapped her long French-manicured nails on the edge of the coffee cup.
“Your husband runs a hedge fund; he doesn’t trim trees.” Cassie collapsed in a fit of giggles. She dusted croissant flakes from her pants and glanced around to see if the society matrons sitting at the adjoining tables were listening.
“Trees, hedges, it’s all the same to Carter. Money is the only kind of paper he knows. He does compensate well. I got some lovely baubles for Christmas.” Alexis rolled her eyes.
“You don’t have to pretend with me. We’ve known each other since kindergarten and even then you made rings out of Cheerios. Be happy Carter buys you jewelry.”
“He does have great taste. He gave me the most beautiful sapphire necklace, with tiny diamonds like snowflakes. I just sometimes feel like a courtesan instead of a wife. Fling a necklace or a bracelet at me and bring me out to impress the midwestern clients who want to invest in pork futures,” Alexis replied, twisting her diamond wedding band around her finger.
“Carter loves you, it’s just his way of showing it. Most wives would be envious,” Cassie replied.
“I take it Aidan didn’t shower you with jewels?” Alexis raised her perfectly arched eyebrows.
“Fuzzy socks, a cashmere scarf, gardening gloves, and packets of exotic vegetable seeds: fennel, purple spinach, and okra.” Cassie counted presents on her fingers.
Alexis picked up another petit four, eyed the layered chocolate, and put it back on the plate. “I’ve exceeded my caloric limit for the day. Lettuce and soy sauce for dinner tonight.”
“You’re the only person I know who loses weight over the holidays. I gained three pounds smelling the pumpkin pie.” Cassie pushed the plate of mini desserts toward Alexis.
“Only because I swam forty laps before every holiday party and spent thirty minutes in the steam room each night,” Alexis said, adjusting her skirt. She wore an emerald green miniskirt and a white angora wool sweater. Her blond hair was scooped into a high ponytail and tied with a green velvet ribbon.
“Oh, to have your own indoor swimming pool and sauna.” Cassie finished her coffee and put her napkin on the table.
“You could have all that. As I recall you did have all that. You’re the one who married the Communist professor.”
“Aidan is not a Communist. He’s a professor of ethics, which means he doesn’t believe in excess. We live well, just not in a three-story mansion in Presidio Heights with an elevator.”
“If you’d gone to UCLA with me instead of Berkeley we would have found you a nice movie star to marry. I remember the day you packed your car and headed over the Bay Bridge. I thought, why is Cassandra Fenton, heiress to San Francisco’s oldest, most exclusive department store, going to school in Bezerkely? I was right, you know.” Alexis eyed her friend objectively. “Your Tod’s are as old as my college diploma and your Michael Kors jacket is vintage. Except it’s only had one owner: you.”
“I’ve never had your flair. You could shop at Target and come out dressed for dinner at Chez Panisse. I’ve always been happier wearing gardening gloves than opera gloves. I am happy, Alexis, and so are you.” Cassie played with the cuff of her shirt, twisting off a few stray threads.
“What would we talk about if we didn’t complain about our husbands?” Alexis shrugged, sifting through her purse for a tube of lip gloss.
“The homeless on Market Street, the lack of fresh water in Africa?” Cassie suggested.
“We could always talk about shoes.” Alexis stood up and pulled her skirt over her thighs. “Let’s stop downstairs and see if there are any Jimmy Choos left on the sale rack.”
Cassie followed Alexis to the escalator and surveyed the elegant floor displays as they descended to the third floor. The fourth level had always been her favorite; her mother used to treat her to high tea in the café on weekdays after school. Cassie thought every third-grader practiced their cursive on a linen tablecloth while sipping hot chocolate served by uniformed waitresses. Her mother would leave her in the café while she prowled the other departments, making sure cashmere sweaters were stacked in neat piles and salesgirls holding bottles of Chanel No. 5 were positioned in the aisles.
“Cassie, how nice to see you.” A tall man wearing a navy suit took Cassie’s hand as the escalator deposited them on the third floor. “You just missed your mother. She had to rush off to a restaurant opening. Emerald on Post Street. The Chronicle says it’s going to be the next dining destination in the city.”
“My mother’s always rushing around.” Cassie smiled. “I saw her on the way up. Do you remember my friend Alexis?”
The man put on rimless glasses and looked closely at the two women. “Of course. The last time I saw you, you were being trailed by half a dozen bridesmaids collecting cosmetics samples.”
“I’m an old married woman now”—Alexis grinned—“with spending power.”
“In that case, let me direct you to our newest jewelry line. I’m told all the thirtysomethings are wearing it.” The man extended his arm and navigated Alexis through the aisles full of shoppers to a large glass case at the front of the store.
Cassie and Alexis gazed in the glass like small children admiring Halloween candy. Rows of pendants, bracelets, and rings were displayed on a bed of crushed orange velvet. Cassie ignored the bracelets—they would be covered with potting soil within a day—but the pendants caught her attention: bright-colored stones on short filigree chains. She put her hand to her neck as if imagining she was wearing one.
“These are right up your alley.” Alexis tapped her nail on the glass. “That one would go so well with your eyes, Cassie. Try it on.”
“Okay, just for fun.” Cassie nodded. “Derek, could I see that one?”
Derek unlocked the case with an oversized gold key and placed the pendant in Cassie’s hand. “Your mother found these on a buying trip to Buenos Aires. They are the accessory on the polo fields this season.”
Alexis watched Cassie click the pendant around her neck. The stone was a turquoise amethyst and made Cassie’s eyes look like a powder blue sky.
“Take it home,” Alexis insisted. “Tell Aidan you did your own post-Christmas shopping so he wouldn’t feel guilty for getting you fuzzy socks.”
“He didn’t only get me fuzzy socks. But it is really pretty.” Cassie leaned closer to the mirror.
“He can’t complain about excess since it’s not a diamond or a ruby. And you’d be supporting the Latin American economy. He’ll be pleased.” Alexis took a few bracelets out of the case and slipped them on her wrist.
“I don’t need it,” Cassie said uncertainly. She wasn’t very interested in clothes and usually pulled whatever was clean and pressed out of her closet, but she loved colorful jewelry. When she was a teenager her mother brought home bags of necklaces, earrings, and broaches, and Cassie was allowed to pick what she wanted. She still kept them in heart-shaped jewelry boxes and would snap in a hair clip or put on dangly earrings when she drove into the city for lunch.
“Would you two girls mind watching the display for a moment? I just saw Mrs. Benson go up the escalator. She’s one of our best customers but she’s almost deaf and she tends to scare the salespeople.” Derek put the gold key on the glass.
“We’ll do anything if you call us girls.” Alexis smiled, putting the bracelets back in the case and scooping up a selection of colored rings.
“...
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- PublisherSt. Martin's Griffin
- Publication date2013
- ISBN 10 0312643330
- ISBN 13 9780312643331
- BindingPaperback
- Edition number2
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