Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
“You taught yourself to speak fluent Spanish. I am sure you can figure this out, too. By the way, charcuterie is French.”
Melanie shrugged and poured them both a glass of wine. The woman sat beside her, then rolled herself a joint. Knowing English didn’t smoke, she no longer offered. English sipped her wine and looked at the television for a bit.
“Yes, your Honor. I signed a contract with Ms. Hopkins on the 8th.” The plaintiff handed paperwork to the bailiff, who then approached the judge with the forms. “I gave my deposit of five hundred dollars for her to supply all of the desserts for my bachelorette party. Ms. Hopkins assured me that she knew how to make a banana pudding cake.”
“…And I do.”
“Ms. Hopkins, please stop interrupting Mrs. Dantley.”
“Sorry, your Honor.”
“I ordered three of these banana pudding cakes to accommodate my guests. Instead of usin’ sugar and real bananas, like normal people, Judge, Ms. Hopkins here bought a bunch of those vanilla flavored Snack Pack pudding cups from the Dollar Tree, and some—”
“You don’t know where I bought the ingredients from, hussy! And it sure wasn’t no Dollar Tree!”
“We all saw the wrappers in the trashcan, Brittany! You’re ratchet!”
“Liar. It was Aldi’s and I got the proof! The only thing that came from the Dollar Tree was that bubble gum machine wedding ring you got on! It looks like a Barbie Disco ball. ‘I love the nightlife! I like to boogie! On the Disco roooound! Oh yeah!’ Be mad about THAT!”
*GAVEL BANGING LOUDLY*
“Ms. Hopkins! This is your final warning! Please continue, Mrs. Dantley.”
At this point, English and Melanie were dying laughing. It felt so good to not think of anything but relaxing and giggling with her friend. It was long overdue.
“Thank you, your Honor. She definitely went to the Dollar Tree, because I have the receipt for that too, and this person,” the plaintiff rolled her eyes at the defendant, “bought store brand vanilla wafers for the crust. There were no graham crackers like she said she’d mix with it, and she used brown slices of banana which were all throughout the dessert. Mushy. That dessert alone, for three trays of it, came up to six hundred dollars. I then had to pay an additional four hundred for two store-bought box cakes that I could’ve made myself for about ten dollars each. It was barely worth five bucks for all of it, and nothing was from scratch!”
“Don’t matter! It still tasted good, and it took me a long time to make them.”
“Ms. Hopkins, please tell the court why you are not willing to refund Mrs. Dantley’s money?”
“Your Honor, I object. This isn’t fair, and it isn’t right. This lady’s guests ate the desserts all up—no one complained at all. In fact, several people asked for my business card. I have been baking desserts for all kinds of events for over eight years, your Honor, and I have a 4.8 rating on my social media pages. How is she going to have the nerve to ask me for a refund after the food is gone? Make it make sense. On top of that, she paid the rest of the invoice. Now it’s three months later, and she wants to complain. I heard she’s fallen on hard times. I heard her husband lost his job, and that’s probably what this is about.”
“That don’t have anything to do with this!”
“Like hell it don’t! You’re looking in the seat cushions of couches trying to find a dime or two, aren’t you? You’re not about to ruin my reputation and shake me down, sweetheart!”
“And you’re not about to stand here in court, lie, and pass off some smooshed twinkies, stale cookies, and ninety-nine cent puddin’ cups for a pack of four as wedding party cakes! Bootleg, ghetto Betty Crooker! Run me my money, honey!”
“Why do you watch this mess? You know most of these cases are staged.” English giggled, tickled with the broadcast regardless.
“It’s entertaining, and not all of them are fake.”
“How do you know?” English reached for a bowl of popcorn Melanie had set before her earlier.
“Because my friend Kyla was on one for a paternity test, and it was real. He was the father, just like she said, but from what I know, he still hasn’t paid child support… I’m so damn glad I don’t have kids.” Melanie slipped her tongue along the edge of the joint, sealing it, then flicked a lighter. “English, when were you going to tell me about this shit you’re going through? The stalking?”
English pursed her lips, then made a conscious effort to relax her muscles.
I knew this would eventually get back to her.
“Melanie, it wasn’t a situation I was telling anyone at the time. It happened a long time ago, and that’s where I wanted it to stay. It was traumatic for me, and,” she shrugged her shoulders, “even though there’s a fair share of embarrassment and upset attached to it, I’ve gotten through it. It only had to be discussed because the son of a bitch resurfaced, just like a characteristic psychopathic narcissist. I tried to handle it, but the police wouldn’t help me.”