by Evy Journey
“Sure. I’m going nowhere and I believe my dad has given you my phone number. May I ask what’ll happen to Cristi?”
“I honestly can’t say, Miss Lambert. The stabbing qualifies as either assault or battery but there’s always extenuating circumstances.”
Something about the lieutenant’s eyes stays with me and I can’t help wanting to know what it could be.
*****
Cristi visits me the following day, chaperoned by her mother. At first, I wonder why Mrs. Silva came, but I understand why when we settle ourselves in the living room—me with my mother and she with hers. My mother joined us when she saw Mrs. Silva enter behind Cristi.
Cristi’s eyes look glazed and her mind seems to be far away. She’s moving like a zombie and I think it’s the drug they’ve given her. She can hardly open her mouth to greet me. Once seated, she stutters her apologies for hurting me. But her words sound rehearsed. All I can do is sit and wish all over again that we could go back to the day before Thanksgiving.
After some uncomfortable minutes where nobody can think of anything to say, I try small talk and ask a question foremost in my mind—one I’ll also have to answer for myself. And soon. “When does your leave end, Cristi? When are you going back to work?”
She looks at her mother, who answers for her. “We’ve called her work. She’ll stay home for another week.”
I say, “I may have to do the same. My work needs strength and stamina, and my shoulders are still swollen.”
Cristi knits her brow and turns her face away.
I say, “I think it’s a good thing to stay home for a while. I need rest. I’ve been driving myself hard for the last three years.”
Mom says, grinning, “We’re quite happy to have you here, imposing on us a little longer. Haven’t seen much of you these last two years. When you’re a little better, maybe you can cook some fancy restaurant dish.”
Mom gives Mrs. Silva a wink which Mrs. Silva answers with an uneasy smile. I know Mom is doing her best to reassure mother and daughter that what happened is just another one of those incidents that can happen among neighbors. It’ll pass and we’ll all go on as before.
Mom means well, but her effort to rebuild a bridge that’s still burning upsets Cristi. She bolts from her chair and runs toward the door, crying, her hands on her face.
Mrs. Silva bounces from her seat and runs after Cristi. She bangs the front door closed behind her.
Surprised but not necessarily puzzled, Mom and I look at each other. After a couple of silent minutes, she says, “I think the coffee is ready. I guess I only have to bring two cups.”
Mom calls me weeks later to tell me that Mrs. Silva has been trying to avoid her. And I don’t see Cristi again for a long time.
8
Laure generously gives me a whole month to recover but she says—through Marcia—that she expects me to be in top form when I return. She hired a couple of new apprentices because word about the restaurant is continuing to spread and it’s busier than ever.
At the end of my second week at home, Marcia invites me for coffee on a Tuesday when the restaurant is closed. She picks me up in her car at my parents’ house and we go to her favorite coffeehouse, not too far from the restaurant.
She grills me for details about the stabbing, and she gossips about the new apprentices, who are both having a hard time keeping up with the pace of the restaurant.
Marcia says, “I bet Laure will kick out at least one of them when you return. I miss you, you know. Can’t wait for you to come back.”
“I’ll be back in two weeks. I hope my shoulders won’t be sore by then.”
“Good,” she says distractedly, her gaze drifting up to someone behind me. Her lips break into her brightest smile and she says, “Come join us.”
I crane my neck to see who can bring that extra sparkle on her face. Leon smiles down at me. My breath catches for a second or two but seeing him reminds me of Cristi. I scowl, annoyed that he stands next to my bench, clearly expecting to sit next to me. I don’t budge and I glare at Marcia.
Leon says, “Not Marcia’s fault. I badgered and bribed her for this meeting.”
I don’t look up and I don’t move.
Marcia gets up, reaches over to pat my hand. “Don’t be too mad at me. And hear him out. He means to make up for what happened.”
To Leon, she says, “I’ll do a little shopping at the boutique next door. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
Leon sits where Marcia sat. He says, “You don’t know how sorry I am for what you had to go through. I suspected something was wrong after my chauffeur came back a few times unable to deliver your flowers. He said no one seemed to be at home. So, I called Marcia. She told me about the stabbing.”
I’m still annoyed at Leon, but now, also at Marcia. I feel like she deceived me. “You know Marcia well enough to call her?”
He smiles. “Marcia and I go back a long way. Before she started working at Laure’s restaurant. I don’t know why she didn’t tell you.”
“Was she one of your conquests?”
“You are direct, but I like that. I’m not one to kiss and tell, though. You’ll have to ask Marcia. I’ll respect what she decides to share with you.”
I shrug. “She probably was, then. Doesn’t mean anything to me. Well, I don’t mean to be part of that unfortunate group.”
“Not all of them in that group will agree with that assessment, I assure you.”
“Maybe not. Anyway, your attention is wasted on me. I’ve already been hurt by it. I don’t intend to suffer from it more than I already have.”
“Okay, I can accept that. But won’t you let me make up for it?”
“I don’t need you to make up for it and I don’t see how you can. I’ve lost a childhood friend because of you.”
“That’s not really my fault, though, is it? It certainly isn’t something I’d have wanted to happen. Have you thought about the possibility that Cristi just has a fragile ego?”
“I won’t listen to you badmouth my friend.”
“No, I’m not badmouthing her. I just want you to see that you can’t really blame me for something Cristi did.”
“Okay, I won’t. But Cristi doesn’t deserve to spend time in prison. She was in pain and wasn’t thinking when she attacked me. So, no, you’re not responsible for her attacking me, but you did hurt her.”
“For that, I’m truly sorry. I thought she understood that I couldn’t promise her commitment. I made that clear when we started going out.”
“I don’t know what Cristi understood. But I know she was suffering. And I think you’re so self-centered, you ignored what you call her fragile ego.”
Leon winces and he’s turning red. “Is that what you think of me? A selfish bastard?”
I don’t answer. Maybe, I’ve offended Leon enough that he’ll leave. I didn’t mean to, but I’m still upset at what happened to Cristi.
But Leon doesn’t leave. He says, “You’re right. It’s a mistake going out with Cristi. Actually, I broke up with her once I realized she was too fragile. But, apparently it was too late.”
Leon surprises me. I didn’t think he was capable of seeing—much less of admitting—he’d made a mistake. I say, “Please let’s leave it at that. I want to move on, that’s all, and for me to do so, I’d like you to turn your attention somewhere else.” I start to get up but he reaches out and restrains my arm.
“I want to move on, too. Get beyond that unfortunate incident.”
“Good. Then we agree. Let’s start by you letting go of my arm.”
“I’m in love with you, Gina. I don’t see how I can move on without me telling you that.”
I’m dumbfounded and, for the moment, I can’t move a muscle. I never expected such an admission. I can feel my heart flutter. With excitement, yes. Pleasure? That, too, for sure. I’ll be lying if I say that a declaration from a guy like Leon doesn’t get to me in any way. The f
act is, it does. Big time. Still, there’s Cristi. Who knows how many more Cristis there have been among Leon’s conquests?
As tempted as I am to find out what it’s like for Leon to love me, I tell myself that it can only end in heartache. So, finally, I say, “You’ll get over it. It can’t be anything meaningful. You hardly know me. Anyway, you’ve had a lot of experience getting over things, after all.”
“You mean my attraction to your friend Cristi?”
“And Marcia and God knows how many more women out there.”
I try to get up to leave, but I’m flabbergasted to find my legs have turned to jelly. Leon’s “confession of love” must have affected me more than I realize.
Before I can think of what to do, Leon says, “You’re different, Gina. I’ve never fallen for anyone the first time I met them.”
“It’s lust, not love.”
“Maybe, but the women, I’ve been with—they fall for me before I fall for them. Cristi included. My trouble is, I can’t resist the allure of a pretty woman. When you think about it, they seduce me. And, maybe that’s why I tire of them eventually.”
I think How can they not? but I say, “That sounds like a lot of ego to me—to think that women seduce you.”
“They do, actually, in so many different, individual ways. You did, too, but effortlessly. Maybe just by being who you are. The others are pretty blatant about their attempts. But I fell for you even before you became aware I was there.”
“Lust, I still say. Anyway I knew you were there. As I was leaving the kitchen Marcia warned me that “Table 29 guy” was a regular client Laure wanted to keep. But at the time, I was more anxious that the dish I was serving would make a good impression. It’s basically my creation that Laure and Guy worked on with me.”
“I sincerely loved your tuna, and I told Laure so.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
“I think you have a promising future as a chef.”
“You think so?”
“I’m considered a connoisseur of good food, as you might know, so you can take my word for it.”
“I love experimenting with new dishes and I’d love to open my own restaurant but that may remain a pipe dream.”
“Who knows? Anyway, Laure also thinks you have great potential. That’s quite an endorsement coming from her. I know she’ll help you as much as she can. So, you must hang on to your dreams.”
“I mean to. I’m really just starting, so you could say I’m still burning with hope.”
He smiles. “I’ll hang on to mine as well.”
“I bet you don’t have to worry about making your dreams come true.”
“Why? Because I was born rolling in dough? True, money has gotten me farther than anyone I know and I don’t think I’d ever want to be without it. But it seems my money is not enough to get me everything I want.”
“Then I guess you can take your own advice and hang on to your dreams. They may come true someday.”
“Don’t you want to know what my dream is?”
“Not particularly. But if it makes you feel better to tell me, go ahead.”
“Mine is for you to give me a chance, one day, to show you I can make you happy.”
I blush and say nothing.
Leon says, “Do you think my dream will ever come true?”
I stay silent a little while longer. Leon watches me, and waits.
I’m getting more uneasy. Finally, I say, “I’m open to being friends. You seem nice enough.”
He smiles doubtfully. “I’m glad you at least feel that way. I’m friends with Marcia. But I don’t think that’s possible between you and me. I’m sure, sooner or later, I’ll try to make love to you.”
“Then it looks like we’ll have to say goodbye right here, right now.”
He smiles ruefully and gets up. “Here comes Marcia, but I promise you this isn’t goodbye. I don’t give up easily.”
Leon is gone before I see Marcia coming from behind.
She sits down at the place Leon vacated. She looks contrite. “I’m sorry to spring that on you. But he kept hounding me. Then he bribed me.” She takes out a package she’s obviously bought at the expensive boutique she went to.
She opens it to show me a beautiful necklace, studded with what I’m sure are diamonds. “I’m such a sucker for these things. This is something I can never afford on my salary. Well, maybe I could, but I’d have to work years to save money to get this. But it’s peanuts to Leon. Will you forgive me?”
I can’t help smiling. “Oh, Marcia, what am I supposed to say? With Cristi hating me now, you’re the only best friend I’ve got. And how can I deny you something that seems to make you so happy? Well, it’s not me who gave it to you, but I guess I helped in some way.”
“You sure did. If not for you, Leon would never have thought of bribing me.”
9
On my first day back at Du Cœur, my senses come alive again at being with people who work hard and take pride in creating dishes that not only give our customers pleasure but also new dining experiences. Inventive concoctions they won’t easily forget; feasts for the eyes, nose and taste buds. That’s the wonderful thing about being at this restaurant. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.
I also find, though, that after a month of near idleness, not only does your body get flabby and lazy, your skills can rust. So for a few days after I return, I come in an hour earlier than usual. I do some prep work to get used to the feel of the knives, the pans—all the various “tools of the trade” so that I can go about my tasks without having to think about them.
I want to live up to Laure’s opinion of me. I’m also banking on what Leon said about Laure helping me go after my dreams.
I haven’t seen Leon since the coffee shop and he has stopped sending me flowers. I am relieved but also a little sad. Regardless of Leon’s effect on me, those roses brightened my days and my drab, cramped apartment. I miss them.
My life is back to its normal, hectic routine—I find that comforting. Nothing much out of the ordinary to upset me or excite me too much. I can focus on working toward the day I can take full charge of my life; when it’s me who decides and chooses what I need to help me get what I want. For now, all I have is a dream. The dream my grandfather started. He’s communicating with me, Mom says. He wants me to finish his dream.
The restaurant opens for the week on a Wednesday and it’s the start of my third week back. It’s past four in the afternoon and in an hour, the first customers will be arriving. The pace in the restaurant has picked up. The arms in my muscles are tense and beads of sweat are flowing down my neck and my back.
I’m startled from my concentration on the fish I’ve been slicing by Laure’s voice. She’s standing behind me. “There’s a Lieutenant Hansen waiting to talk to you in my office.”
“But …” I protest, gesturing towards the filet of fish.
“Go! I’ll take over what you’re doing until you come back.”
I wipe my hands on my apron. I’m a little irritated at getting my work interrupted, so I don’t care if Lieutenant Hansen thinks I smell fishy.
Like the first time he came to ask me for my version of what happened with Cristi, Lieutenant Hansen plays the polite and formal detective. He gets up, greets me, and shakes my hand.
Our eyes meet and for a few moments, neither of us speaks. I smile shyly, and find myself apologizing for something I thought I didn’t care about. “My hand’s fishy. I’m sorry.”
He gives me a little smile. “I’ve smelled worse.” He has a nice smile although it doesn’t lift the troubled look in his eyes. “This place smells delicious, though.”
His gaze flits from my face down to my toes. “And white suits you.”
Warmth creeps up my face; I must be blushing. The sad solemn lieutenant has taken the edge off my irritation. He can appreciate good things, after all.
I take the seat across from him. “We
’re lucky. We get to smell what’s cooking, and we also get to taste it.”
“It must be wonderful to work in a place where what you do nourishes both body and spirit in your customers.”
He understands what my work means to me and I smile sweetly, ready to answer all his questions. “What can I do for you today, lieutenant?”
“First, I thought you should hear this from me. The district attorney is filing a battery charge against Miss Silva.”
“Oh, no! Does that mean she’ll go to prison?”
“That’s possible, but you never know how a jury will go. The max for a prison sentence for battery is two years but she could get out before that.”
“I’m so sorry for Cristi. Even a day in prison will be bad for her. She really doesn’t belong there. Is there any way I can help so my testimony would make it easier on her?”
“You’ll have to talk to a criminal lawyer. You have a big role in this trial, Miss Lambert. You’re the prosecution’s main witness.”
“How do I talk to a lawyer? I don’t even know where to find one.”
“A lawyer from the DA’s office will likely talk to you, but he may not be the right person to ask. His intent is to convict. The defense lawyer will probably talk to you, too. She’s the one to ask. She’s a no-nonsense but very helpful lawyer.”
“You know who’ll be defending Cristi?”
“I’ve heard rumors. Nothing has been announced. Miss Silva’s family can’t afford to hire a lawyer so someone from the public defender’s office has been assigned to defend her. I do still have a couple of questions to ask you, Miss Lambert.”
“Call me Gina, please, unless you’re not allowed to.”
The shadow of a smile plays on his lips again but he ignores my remark. “How well do you know Leon Barrett?” He sounds like a teacher asking questions on a history or literature exam.
“I’ve actually only talked to him twice.”
“When?”
“I already told you about the first time—I served him and Cristi a dish I created here at the restaurant.”
“You mean when he was on a date with Miss Silva?”