With Daddy fighting in Korea and Mom working 9 to 5 at Woolworth’s, it was up to Cally to make her own cake for her 16^th birthday. But it was so hot! As Cally mixed the batter, she had a naughty thought. Her boyfriend Cole would have said “so fucking hot,” and then blushed red as the devil’s hiney. Cally blushed to think of it, but she also tingled. Cole was off at boot camp, and Cally wondered if she’d ever see him again. She wondered if they’d ever do more than kiss. Poor Cole. Poor Cally. It was so fucking hot. And the old stove was just making things hotter. Cally set Grandma’s timer, and to its rhythmic tick she shed her clothing. That’s better. Or at least a little better. She flipped on the trusty Philco and danced around the kitchen to Georgia Gibbs singing ‘Kiss of Fire.’

She almost didn’t hear the bing of Grandma’s timer. Wouldn’t that be great—to burn the cake and maybe burn down the whole apartment because she didn’t hear the timer while dancing to ‘Kiss of Fire’? Cally chuckled with such thoughts as she bent to open the oven. “Ice Mon!” came the cry, and a hard rap at the door.

Oh no, oh no, oh no! Cally thought. “Just a sec,” she called out, while quickly fetching the cake from the oven and setting it on a tray. She was about to put on her clothes when the door swung open.