Loaded Fruitcakes

Thud! Thud! Thud! The dreadful sound of machinery putting together fruitcake slabs assaulted the tender ears of Sakura, recently appointed as the Fruitcake Fairy by the Boss Fairy who found her deficient in more critical assignments of inducing sleep, hiding socks, and turning wine. She despaired, "Waaaaa! I should have applied myself in fairy school and more diligently performed my duties. Now I'm in this dead-end job until I'm eligible for my pension. And considering my salary, I will have to live under the bridge with the trolls!"

But then a glimmer of hope presented itself. Sakura remembered how humans loved alcohol so much; and wondered if she could, er, enhance the product a tad. This was just an idea until she was hanging out in Pepito's Lounge for relaxation, to get over her dispiritedness. There she met Bob, a guy who chatted her up. He seemed unprepossessing, and she first thought, "Oh great! Time to get hit on by another third-class loser!"

But her pessimism (and sheer snobbishness) was unfounded. It turned out that Bob was a Chem. E. major from L.S.U. and a wheeler-dealer on the side. Plus he had gorgeous blue eyes. They turned out to have a lot in common! Together, they found a way of walking on the wild side for fun and profit.

You see, Bob found an easy, inexpensive way of producing a supreme cognac; and melded it into the fruit cakes on stock. Sakura applied her marketing skills and knowledge of the customers. She designed provocative labels which attested to their strength of the cognac-laced fruitcakes, rating them as 100% octane V.S.O.P. and all of that.

Naturally, they had the usual market to draw on: the L.S.U. frat houses, the Acadian whiskey bars, the drive-in daiquiri stands, the New Orleans gin mills. And their business did tolerably well. But Sakura then discovered an unexpected outlet: The aristocratic old lady trade in Uptown New Orleans.

Now you must remember that these ladies are the upholders of severe community standards. While they like a libation now and then, they possessed a sentiment that drinking alcohol in mid-afternoon was just not done; it was not genteel, you know. Drinking before 8 P.M. implied that all was not right in the family; it was seen as overtly self-indulgent.

But what could be more harmless than an afternoon coffee and tea party with a fruitcake snack? Anyway, Sakura sold one to a hostess and promised to act as a server at the party. The fruitcake part of the party was a success: the first one ended with the entirety of the fruitcake consumed, and subsequent tea parties required more and more fruitcakes.

Sakura and Bob worked out a system of buying the fruitcakes and ingredients wholesale, and sold the "improved versions" at a 400% markup. The money started to roll in.

As one satisfied customer put it, "I never knew afternoon tea parties could be so fun."

Months went by, and things were going well. However, eventually, things began to come unraveled. The New Orleans Police Department's Vice Squad formed a Fruitcake Division, and there was several officers that worked full-time to suppress the illicit fruitcake trade. Fortunately for our heroes, they diversified their holdings, and vacated the business.

Bob is presently a casino kingpin on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Sakura spends the day lounging around the swimming pool in a bikini and manages their portfolio. She occasionally drafts a report to the Fairy Office that the fruitcake trade is doing okay, but tries to keep a low profile. Things are going well; don't fix what ain't broken.