Chapter 40

"You sure about this?" asked Philip, scratching his chin in skepticism at the discolored heap before him. This had to be one of the ugliest cars he'd ever seen.

"Hey," grinned Shawn, who gave the boy gazillionaire an elbow in the ribs, "You of all people should know that it's the inside that counts."

"Yeah, you should know, with that face," joked Jase, expecting the jovial shove.

The boys followed Jason to the hood of car, which their friend had opened. They'd known that Jase had been saving for a set of wheels, but neither had expected to come with him on this perfect Saturday afternoon to check out this. It seemed their buddy had had his eye on this for a while. They exchanged a shrug and leaned in to inspect the engine.

"Carburetor might need some work. Definitely new spark plugs, engine/transmission flush," diagnosed Jase with a keen eye, "But starter, alternator, and timing belt're still good and the main hoses and supports are holding up. A little work and she'll be flying."

Brows high and hands in his pockets, Philip kept the rest of his comments to himself. He admitted that he knew diddlysquat about auto repair, but this would take work. A lot of work.

Jase moved from under the hood of the pickup and wiped his grimy hands on the cloth that he'd brought with him. "So," he said with his eyes shimmering, "What do you guys think?"

Shawn, whose credibility on car repair exceeded Phil by many impressive folds, was the first to speak, "We're talking about a couple grand to replace the carburetor, plugs, new coats of paint…" He gave the tires a dismissive kick. "New tires, tune up, filters, new tank for the windshield wiper fluid, and floor mats and seat covers for the hell of it."

"I got a little over a grand left over, after I pay for her. And my birthday's coming up." Jason wiggled his eyebrows to his buddies in suggestion. "I can count on you guys helping me out, right? Working on her and stuff."

His friends turned their heads ever so slightly to take another once-over at the pickup and then looked back at Jase's excited face. Hell. This was what friends were for, right? Exploitation.

Shawn just smiled and threw an arm around his pal. "Sure, bro."

Philip sighed. Oh, what an interesting summer this would be.

"So, gentlemen," announced the balding man in an eye-popping green plaid suit, who closed in for the sure kill, after observing his customers from afar. He took in the brand name shoes, upscale sport watches, and their ages. This would be taking candy from babies. Literally, he thought with amusement. "Are you ready to take this beauty home?"

"Beauty?" Cocking a doubtful Kiriakis brow, Philip let the scoff slip into his tone. "Whatever you say, Mister…"

"Gaines. Marshall B. Gaines," he grinned, extending a pudgy hand out to the boy.

Taking it, Philip gave an answering sparkling smile. He may not know shit about cars but understood this aspect to the tee. Business. Salesmanship. Bargaining. Deal making. They were in his blood. This would be his contribution. "Well, Mr. Gaines. My associates and I were looking over this ole…" He pursed his lips a bit and timed his words. "…Beauty here. And it's definitely going to need some work. But we might have some time to tinker around this summer. So, what're you asking for it?"

When the salesman gave the sticker price, Phil gave a dramatic sigh. "Marshall, Marshall-may I call you Marshall?" Not waiting for a response, he flashed his thousand-watt smile. "Marshall, I'm sure, we can do better than that…" He casually placed his arm around the older man's shoulder, led a slow path around the vehicle, and began.

Fighting laughter, Shawn and Jase stood back and watched their friend go to work. His girl, Chloe, had once called him a hustler. Maybe. Maybe not. But poor Marshall B. Gaines and his plaid suit never knew what hit 'em.

The girls stared at the gloppy goo before them.

"I don't know, Belle," mumbled Mimi with eyes wide, "I don't remember my mom's being that way."

"Well, this is what my dad wrote," chirped Belle, taking another look at the directions again, "Sugar, check. Brown sugar, check. Softened butter, egg, flour. Check, check, check. Salt, nuts, chocolate, and some soda." She scratched her head. "You think, using Sprite instead of Coke was ok?" Maybe the dough needed to fizzle more, she thought. After all, she heard that some recipes called for beer.

"I don't know, Belle," said Chloe hesitantly, "The recipe Nancy gave me doesn't mention any soft drinks. It does have Rice Krispies, though." She looked over to the card in Mimi's hand. The Lockhart version included oats and coconut. She looked back down at the flatulent mass, which intermittently bubbled a bit. The first of the three recipes did not appear promising. Surely, out of the combined Black, Lockhart, and Wesley files, there would be one suitable recipe for chocolate chip cookies.

"Well, why don't we just put this batch in the oven?" suggested Mimi, still poking at the weird-looking dough with her finger, "And we'll start on the other two and have a taste test at the end."

The friends looked to one another and shrugged in consensus. They each moved around the Wesley kitchen to gather the ingredients and mixing bowls. Nancy had made it crystal clear. The kitchen was to be exactly, as they'd found it, or there'd be hell to pay. Chloe's mother would have normally flat out refused to let anyone in her pristine kitchen, but Chloe had never asked to use the kitchen before, much less borrow a recipe. So, the doting mother laid down the law, took one last look at her prized kitchen, said a prayer, and left to run errands. Thus far, only the counter and a bit of the floor were sprinkled with flour and such, but with three novices, even the best of intentions was a mess waiting to happen.

"So, ok, what're we doing this for again?" asked Mimi, as she measured out the dry ingredients from her mother's recipe. Nowhere in the journalist's handbook did it indicate culinary skills required. But she had to admit, it was fun playing around in the kitchen with her friends.

Spooning the glop onto the aluminum sheet, Belle giggled, "I think Chloe wants to cook something for her man."

Chloe's cheeks flushed. "I think Nancy keeps the coconut shreds in the fridge." She turned away from those knowing smirks and foraged the fridge for the necessary ingredient. Inwardly, the feminist in her threw up her hands in dismay, while the nurturer within her was dancing in glee. As a compromise, the all-encompassing, fiercely independent spirit figured some passable experience in the kitchen was required, if she was to make it on her own. One couldn't subsist on takeout boxes forever. After closing the fridge, she handed Mimi a bag of powdery white things. "There's the coconut."

"Well," began Mimi, shaking her head at the mixture forming in her bowl. It was the polar opposite of Belle's. The dough, if one courageously deemed it that, was comprised of broken thick clumps. Not quite like her mother's. "If a guy is willing to stomach any of this, it's definitely love."

"Wait," pointed out Chloe to the Lockhart recipe card, "We haven't added the butter yet. 'Butter, softened.' Maybe that'll make it look better."

"Hey, Belle," said Mimi, "How'd we soften the butter before?"

"Oh, I just popped it in the microwave," she explained, after she set the oven to 375º.

"For how long?"

Her friend shrugged. "Like five minutes. Until it melted."

Chloe's forehead creased intuitively. "Wait. What's the difference between melted and softened?"

The girls paused to mull over that thought. Semantics in the world of baking. They shrugged.

"Let's try two and a half minutes for this batch and a minute for the last," suggested Mimi, following logic. Sooner or later, they'd get it.

"So, when do you guys want to go shopping for Last Blast?" asked Belle, greasing another cookie sheet. "It's just a couple of weeks away."

Mimi didn't say a word, as she added a teaspoon of baking soda into the mixture. She didn't want to start on that usual discussion about the dance and possibly going with a certain cute jock. She still wasn't sure what to think of… all of this. Of him, in particular. Wait. Baking soda… Could it? Nah.

"I don't know, Belle," answered Chloe, looking over Nancy's recipe, before she started reaching for the ingredients. It's like chemistry, she realized. Just add the right elements and follow the correct procedure to get the desired result. "Philip and I haven't talked about the dance yet. Maybe, we won't go."

"What?" gasped Belle, accidentally greasing Mimi's arm.

"Hey!" complained Mimi, grabbing a cloth to remove the icky oil.

"Of course, you guys are going!" asserted Belle, shaking the saturated paper towel at Chloe, "It's the last dance, before we graduate. It wouldn't be the same without you there. Plus, you guys were last year's king and queen. Everyone will be expecting you there."

Chloe sighed. "I don't know. That chicken blood-"

"Oh, please," retorted Belle, "Like anyone's going to try something like that again."

Mimi again kept her mouth shut. She hadn't been in cahoots with the prank, but at the time she had gotten some enjoyment out of their friends' expense.

Chloe simply shrugged. "We'll see."

"Come on," encouraged Belle, "We can at least do some preliminary shopping. Just to see what's out there, before all the good stuff's gone. How about it?"

Chloe and Mimi exchanged bored expressions. Shopping at warp Belle, part infinity. But the girls finally shrugged. "Ok."

"Super!" clapped Belle, dripping some of the oil onto the counter, "We'll go to the mall right after we finish cleaning up here."

Chloe nearly rolled her eyes but smiled.

Baking progressed much faster with Nancy's twin ovens. After the last batches of cookies were placed into the ovens, the timers were set, and the girls got the kitchen as spotless as they could, they filed into the living room and collapsed onto the couch. This domestic stuff was draining.

"Wanna watch a video, while we wait?" asked Chloe, "I think we've got 'Ever After' somewhere around here." Anything to delay shopping.

"Ooo, Dougray Scott," grinned Mimi, thinking of the hunky prince charming, "I could get into some of that."

Chloe had just risen to search for the movie, when cheerful honking came from outside. Curious, she walked to the front door and peered out the glass. "Oh, wow."

"What?" Her friends scurried from sitting to see what was all the hubbub. "Oh…"

The girls opened the door and walked out to greet Jason, Shawn, and Philip, who stood proudly before a somewhat downtrodden-looking truck. Philip's shiny BMW sport convertible was parked behind it.

"Hey, ladies," greeted Jason, happy as a clam. "Just got her today. Ta-da!"

"This is yours?" asked Mimi, coming closer for a better look.

"Yep," he grinned, running a hand over the siding, "All mine."

Chloe moved to hug her boyfriend in hello, before he slipped his arm around her. "This is certainly a red-letter day," she commented, looking over the faded paint and slightly rusted bumper. Hey, as long as it got you from point A to point B, she thought.

"This is so great, Jason," smiled Belle, poking her head through the open passenger window to look around.

"It just needs a little work," explained Jason, "But we got her for a really good deal."

"Yeah," chuckled Shawn, "We basically ripped the guy off. Thanks to Phil."

When Chloe cocked a brow at him in question, Philip simply shrugged and grinned.

"Yeah," elaborated Jason, "K-Man got the dude to cut fifteen-hundred bucks off sticker and even throw in the tags, taxes, and stuff. It was so awesome."

Chloe nearly laughed, "Kiriakis to the end."

"You'd better believe it," grinned Philip.

"It'll take us maybe a couple of months to get her purring," added Shawn, "But she rides alright, as she is."

"Us?" asked Belle, climbing in now to test the seat.

"Yeah," grinned Shawn, squeezing in beside her to play with the radio, "Me, Jase, and Phil are gonna work on her together."

Each girl with eyes alight in humor looked at her respective boy. Oh, this was going to be interesting. Kodak moment interesting.

"Hey." Philip sniffed the air, like a terrier. "I smell chocolate."

"Oh!" gasped Chloe, before she sprinted into the house with her culinary partners in pursuit.

Intrigued, the boys followed the girls and found them frantically pulling out trays from the ovens.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Jason, automatically reaching for the endless containers of cookies. Unfortunately, he reached for the Black contribution first. He swore his teeth almost chipped apart. "Damn. What is this? A hockey puck?"

"Hey!" Insulted, Belle smacked him in the arm.

Meanwhile, Philip bit down on another and it crumbled into a million pieces onto the floor. Apparently, the fates smiled upon Shawn, as he chewed on his choice with some satisfaction.

"Hey, not bad," Shawn said, reaching for another, "You guys make these?"

Belle huffed. Big deal. So, she was no Martha Stewart in the kitchen.

Chloe shook her head at this bizarre episode of "Goldilocks" and emptied the remaining trays of cookies into serving plates. Philip smiled at the image of his girl with oven mitts and competent domestic gestures. Maybe feeling pride and indescribably comfortable with her in the kitchen was a sexist, politically incorrect reaction. But that's how he felt. He moved, so he could whisper in her ear, "Which one's yours?"

She indicated to the Wesley batch that Shawn had drawn from. "It was the last one that we did together. By then, we had an idea of what we were doing."

Philip reached for one and grinned. "Chocolate chip. My favorite," and popped it into his mouth. Chloe smiled.

From the scowl on Belle's face, Shawn could guess which one was her attempt. He pulled her to his side and kissed her. "And you know that I've gotta try one of these." He plucked one up and bit down. "Um…" he said, when the object wouldn't give, "You guys got milk? Can't have cookies without milk, right?" Lots of milk, in this case.

Not one to be particularly picky, Jason popped one after another of the crumbly cookies. He wasn't much of a nibbler anyway and his approach conveniently avoided the explosive mess that Phil had before. "Awesome cookies, Meems."

"Oh, boy," groaned Shawn with a somewhat pasty complexion and rubbed his tummy, "I don't feel so good, guys." He leaned back in his ultra-hip though obscenely uncomfortable .Com high chair.

Philip shook his head without looking up from his computer game. "That's what you get, when you eat stuff of questionable origins."

"Hey, Belle is not questionable," defended Shawn, while his gurgling stomach begged to differ.

Philip cocked an incredulous brow with Jase in the opposite console.

His buddy only laughed, "Dude, I didn't even try gnawing on that thing. And I eat anything."

"Yeah," said Shawn, "Like half of Miss Lockhart's batch. Damn, talk about suck up."

Jason rolled his eyes. "At least, mine was edible. Just wait, 'til you try to pass those things."

"Guys," interjected Philip, somewhat disgusted at the topic before dinner, "Hello? We're in public."

"And you," accused the incapacitated Shawn with a weak finger, "You ate everything that Chloe made."

"Can I help it, if my girl's a better cook than yours?" grinned Philip with undisguised pride. "And you, my friend, drank enough milk to put cows in traction, man."

"He had to," laughed Jase, "No way those bricks would've gone down without some serious erosion."

Shawn couldn't come up with an adequate retort, as his stomach acid waged war with the indomitable substance. "Oh, God," he groaned in agony, "What the heck got into them? And how do we keep it from coming back?"

Philip laughed, still watching the computer screen, as he landed a solid roundhouse kick to Jase's chest. "Hey, I'm not complaining. My girl knows what I like. I love those things, but chocolate chip cookies are like blasphemy in my house. Last time I asked Cook for some, he almost took a griddle to my head."

"Man, ever heard of Chips Ahoy? Pepperidge Farm? Not everything has to be homemade, ya know," said Shawn, "You know you started this, don't you? Chloe probably felt sorry for you and dragged Belle and Mimi into this."

Jase grinned, sending Phil a lightning bolt punch, "Why not? Chicks pee in packs. Why not bake in packs?"

Closing his eyes, Shawn shook his head. "And now they're shopping in packs. For the Last Blast."

Philip's eyebrows furrowed. "I didn't think Chloe wanted to go."

"This way they can dress in packs. Sense the trend here?" Shawn shrugged. "So, Jase, you gonna ask Mimi or what?"

Jase's character groaned, as Phil performed a lethal combination. Spurting blood from all extremities, the defeated body collided with the earth. KO. "Another round, K-Man?"