by Cocktails
‘You know why no one makes it your way any more, Milo?’ The girl rolled her eyes and made a face, but winked at me.
‘Because nobody can get it right?’
‘Because it’s pretentious and people would rather have a fish bowl of Woo Woo, even if it tastes like someone tried to hide the taste of vodka with a bucket of Listerine.’
Milo turned to me and pointed at the bartender ‘Can you believe you’re hearing this?’
He sounded even more American, suddenly making me feel uptight and overtly English somehow.
‘Come on, Dana, you can do it, I believe in you. Two Manhattan Twists, for old times?’
‘What, those times where you called yourself the best bartender in London and jumped ship to work at a fancy restaurant?’ Dana bit back, but she was already making the drinks. ‘Sure.’
‘Don’t forget –’
‘The extra lime juice and to char the brown sugar slightly. Fuck off, Superman, I’ve been doing just fine without you.’
Milo turned to me. ‘She loves me really. I taught her everything she knows.’
‘I can see that,’ I laughed. ‘Seems to be endless waves of affection and gratitude.’
He twisted his body to face me, laughing slightly. His smile was soft and I liked the way his eyes crinkled and a dimple briefly appeared in his cheek, before disappearing.
‘So, this isn’t the way I usually do things, but I was thinking, seeing as we’re here –’ He gestured around them. ‘We’ve shared recipes, I’ve seen you a few times and you’re possibly going to make me look bad at my own art… what’s your name?’
I laughed, clapping my hands over my mouth. ‘Have we really not –’ I pointed between the two of us, and shook my head, before putting out my hand awkwardly.
‘Savannah Curtis.’
He took my hand, thumb stroking gently as he smiled.
‘Milo Durante.’
I smiled too, waiting for him to let go of my hand, and he did, his eyes still on mine.
‘Savannah, I never would have guessed that.’
‘It’s too interesting, right?’ I said without pause, as if I was talking to Mia or Jen. ‘It doesn’t fit at all. I’d be better off as a Sarah or a Mary or a normal name.’
His forehead creased, and he raised an eyebrow at me. ‘That wasn’t what I meant. I just wondered what led your parents to name you that. Were you conceived at a safari park?’
I snorted, shaking my head as the bartender brought over the drinks. I smiled at her as she placed them down, and left.
‘I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before.’
‘I get that a lot.’ Milo laughed, pushing the drink towards me. ‘Try it.’
I sipped tentatively, closing my eyes and licking my lips. ‘Okay, yeah, it’s good, but who the hell puts lime with a Manhattan? Is nothing sacred?’
‘Oh, so now you’re a purist!’ That dimple appeared again. ‘I go with the unexpected. It’s not a Manhattan, but I didn’t know what to call it. Besides, it never made it onto the menu here.’
‘Then why’d you order it?’
‘It’s the drink that got me into Soraya and Cafe Argentine. Restaurateur Club standard. Why they hired me. My interview piece, in a way.’
He looked so proud of himself, not vain or showing off, but quietly pleased.
‘I’ve always loved that playfulness, that there are basic cocktails and things you can improve on,’ I told him. ‘I’ve been doing it with food more and more too now. My colleagues are convinced I should quit and go off to cookery school.’
‘You’re not sure?’
‘I…’ I winced a little before speaking. ‘I’ve had a fairly small life. Simple. I did my job and I came home and I loved my family and spent time with my friends, and that was kind of it. The idea of taking a risk, doing something I’ve never done before…’
‘It’s scary,’ he finished.
‘And invigorating, and exciting. I don’t have to tell you – you’re here.’
Milo smiled softly, nodding at the bar as he sipped his drink. ‘Sure, exciting and scary. And lonely. And sometimes you wonder what the hell you’ve done or why you’re here.’
‘Well, thanks!’ I laughed. ‘That’s exactly what I needed to hear when making a big scary decision about my life!’
He winked. ‘There’s good bits too. Adventures, you know? Can’t beat a good bit of adventure.’ Milo put down the drink. ‘This big life change wouldn’t have something to do with an ex, would it?’
I blinked and he laughed. ‘Your friend, remember? At Cafe Argentine. She said she’d had to put up with you moaning about your ex.’
I nodded, taking a breath. ‘Ah, you remember that.’
‘Yeah, so I wondered if that was why you looked so sad today…’
‘You saw that all the way from the bar?’
‘I think you could see that sad, beautiful face from the moon, it was so full of despair,’ he said softly, eyes hovering on my lips before meeting my eyes. I snorted gently at the cheesiness, but he looked incredibly earnest.
‘It wasn’t Rob today. It was Rob a couple of weeks ago, when he was proposing to another woman. After leaving me because we didn’t have anything in common after nearly a decade together. And I’m the moron who was plodding along with damp socks and lonely Friday nights instead of kisses like fireworks.’
I blushed, staring at the bar.
‘Fireworks, huh.’ He grinned, waiting for me to look up. ‘Good to know. So what was today about if it wasn’t about the damp-socked moron?’
I paused, wondering how to say it. I avoided telling people about her, because it just led to endless questions, and a fake sense of who I was. I wasn’t the child of some rock-and-roll star. I’d grown up in a semi-detached in Watford, with my dad living a couple of roads over. I wasn’t who she made me sound like.
‘It’s about one of your guests, at Soraya today.’
Milo tilted his head. ‘Get a bit star-struck? I know it’s easily done.’
I bit back a smile. ‘I don’t really have that problem. Unfortunately I know that fame often doesn’t make a difference to who someone really is.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Persephone Black was there today, which means she’s probably staying in the penthouse suite above the restaurant I’ve read about.’
Milo paused, sipping his drink. ‘I can officially neither confirm nor deny that.’ Then he blinked, twice, incredibly slowly, then grinned.
‘It’s okay, I know because I bumped into her there. Or rather, she bumped into me, quite literally.’
‘And that’s what made you sad?’
I took a breath, and sighed. ‘She didn’t recognize me. I mean, we haven’t seen each other for a while, but she didn’t recognize me.’
He smiled suddenly, like it was the most adorable thing that I was upset about that. ‘I wouldn’t take it personally. I’m sure she’s just got so many fans around the world that she can’t always –’
I laughed, shaking my head. ‘I’m not a fan. I’m her daughter.’
Milo blinked, widening his eyes and turning his whole body on the bar stool to face me.
‘You’re Persephone Black’s daughter? Persephone Black is your mom?’
‘Uh-huh… It’s not as exciting as it sounds.’
‘And… she didn’t recognize you?’ I shook my head and he pushed the drink away. ‘Well, fuck, we should be drinking something stronger.’
I laughed, swirling the final dregs of the drink around my glass. ‘Go on, ask.’
‘What?’
‘Ask the same question everyone always asks – what’s it like to have the wondrous Persephone Black as your mum? What’s she like?’ I made my voice starry-eyed and full of awe.
He laughed, shaking his head. ‘Actually, I was going to ask how you were feeling about that.’
I shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘Really?’
‘It’s complicated. I’m pissed o
ff that I’m not memorable, I’m sad because I felt invisible. I wish I’d walked over to her and told her to fuck off before she disappeared, and yet… I’m relieved because I don’t think I could have dealt with her bullshit, pulling me into some big, fake, emotional reunion. She’d have had her favourite journalists running a story about Persephone Black’s tearful reunion with her long-lost daughter before I’d left the building.’
‘Sounds like that would have been fun to grow up with,’ Milo said.
‘And that’s why I was very lucky that I didn’t grow up with her. She dumped me with her sister when I was 7. And I’ve had a lovely, very quiet, very happy life without her. Very boring, the end.’
‘Wow,’ he said, nodding. ‘I don’t think that’s the end.’
‘Well, I’ve got a very mixed view of her. Like, in some ways, I have some amazing fun memories, living on a tour bus as a kid, and all the roadies who looked after me and made me feel special, but… well… my mother is a mess.’
‘You know what you should do?’ Milo said. ‘You should walk up to her and announce yourself as her daughter in front of everyone.’
‘Just walk in and say, “I’m Persephone Black’s daughter”?’ I laughed. ‘That’s the only label I’ve ever been allowed to own. I was Rob’s girlfriend, and Persephone Black’s daughter, and a doormat for anyone who felt like walking over me.’
Milo tilted his head. ‘Really? I don’t get that, because you seem like Savannah Curtis, overly polite to serving staff, food obsessive, cocktail-making genius, who is just waiting for her adventure to start.’
I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. I coughed, instead, looking at the ceiling.
‘Seems as if you’ve got me down pretty easily, especially from a couple of chats across a bar and a scribbled note on the back of a receipt.’
‘Well, you’re pretty memorable.’
I shook my head. ‘Now that is one thing I am not. My own mother doesn’t even remember me.’
‘Then maybe you’ve changed.’
‘I hope I have. I think I’m changing,’ I smiled, feeling the warmth of the alcohol in my cheeks.
We moved to a booth in the corner, ordering a bottle of wine and some tapas. We picked at it, talking about the flavours, the textures.
‘I love tapas!’ Milo exclaimed, holding up a deep-fried croquette. ‘I want to open a tapas bar one day.’
He paused before looking at me, as if waiting for laughter or derision.
‘That sounds awesome. Tapas is the friendliest way to eat, isn’t it? Sharing everything, tasting little bits of everything.’
‘Exactly!’ He sat up straighter in his seat, beaming. ‘The family weren’t so keen on that idea. If I was going to give up my life to cook food, why couldn’t it be good, traditional Italian food?’
‘Ah, well, excellent question – why not Italian food?’
He smiled at me, shaking his head. ‘Don’t get me wrong, there’s magic to Italian food, there’s flavour and passion and home. But it’s like your response to that Manhattan – you’re not allowed to bend the rules or play with recipes. You’re meant to make it the way your grandma makes it. The way her grandma made it before her.’
‘No changes?’
‘No changes. My mom… my mom once left a restaurant because she saw they were serving jalapenos on pizza. She was a purist.’ He smiled sadly, shaking the memory away. We sat quietly for a moment.
‘So where’s this wonderful tapas place gonna be – London?’
He shrugged, throwing his hands up. ‘I have no idea. I have no idea if I still even want to do it. I’ve been jumping from job to job for so long, with this little dream in my back pocket, that I didn’t even stop to think it might die if I didn’t keep dreaming.’
‘Dreams don’t die. They just sleep sometimes.’ I nudged his shoulder, my inhibitions softened by the wine. ‘They adapt, like your Manhattan.’
‘I think I need to remember it – Soraya may like my cocktails, but they’re not mad about my manner,’ he sighed, shrugging.
‘You’re perfectly polite, what are they on about?’
‘I’m too friendly… informal was the word they used. People who pay money like that want to be reminded that they’re paying your wages, sir, madam. Even if they’re sauntering in hungover on a Sunday, wearing a onesie, you can’t chat to them like a normal human being. And that’s kind of my thing.’
‘So they want you to be more stand-offish?’
Milo grinned. ‘Their precise words were, “Milo, we would appreciate it if you would strive to be just a tad more… well, British,” I believe.’
I snorted. ‘Painfully polite and uptight. Of course.’
He smiled, wide and beaming, and I was taken aback by how gorgeous he was. How his dark hair flicked over his eye, just a little, and how the hands on the table were tanned and gentle. ‘So cookery school wasn’t always your dream?’
I lifted my glass. ‘I was one of those rare people who didn’t have dreams. I was too busy helping other people make theirs come true… actually, that’s not true. All I dreamed of was a quiet life, with structure, stability and boredom. I wanted every day to be like the day before it.’
‘Being the daughter of a rock star could do that, I’d imagine,’ he smiled. ‘So what happened to that dream?’
I paused. ‘You know, I think I was wrong. Dreams die. They die when they’re ready to die, and when new ones are ready to bloom.’
* * *
We talked about pointless things after that, the songs playing over the speakers, the taste of the food, how we’d change it or make it better. What I’d cooked that day and stories of Arabella and the Martini Club girls. It was easy, easy to talk and be listened to, and somehow, easy to believe that I was interesting, that he wasn’t pretending when he leaned in close and asked me questions.
When we stumbled from the bar it was late, and though I wasn’t drunk, I felt light, giddy. I felt visible. He grinned at me, awkward, hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.
‘So…’
‘So… I guess I’ll head to the station.’ I shrugged. ‘This was fun. Really, really fun.’
‘Well,’ he smiled, ‘if it was really, really fun, you think you’d want to do it again? I thought maybe I could cook for you, and you can make changes and make it better. Might as well carry on as we’ve started. Whatcha think?’
I pressed my lips together to stop myself from smiling too much. ‘Yeah, sure.’
He paused. ‘So… could I have your number to go with your newly acquired name?’
‘Oh!’ I laughed. ‘Sure! Sorry!’
We switched numbers and gave each other a hesitant grin as we put our phones away.
‘So…’ I said.
He shook his head, leaning in and kissing my cheek, the stubble scratching my skin softly, the smell of him engulfing me. ‘I had a good time too,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘A really, really good time.’
And then he was gone, and I felt the loss of him, the warmth of his body dissipating, as I watched him walk down the road.
Turn back. I crossed my fingers behind my back. Turn back and look.
I almost lost him in the crowd, but just before going left, he turned around, saw me looking, mouthed ‘Shit’ to himself and waved, grinning widely, before speeding around the corner.
I laughed as I skipped down the steps at Piccadilly Circus, hearing music in the stamps, coughs and conversation of the strangers around me. When I fell asleep that night, it was with a smile on my face, his assertion that I was memorable rolling around my head. I had changed, I was changing.
Chapter Eight
I woke with a fire in my belly, and I knew exactly where I was going. I teased my curls, watching the darks of my eyes in the mirror, the frown of intention in my brow line. I saw the certainty in the smirk of my lips as I painted them Dirty Trollop red. I remembered thinking I was scandalous, and loving it just the tiniest bit. I pressed my lips together and blew
a kiss at my reflection. Today was the perfect day to be Savannah Curtis, who made an excellent cocktail and whose life was just beginning. But first, I had to push some boundaries.
I texted Milo:
I need to be completely inappropriate and ask you for a big favour – I’m taking your advice. x
The phone beeped almost immediately.
Well, good morning to you too, sunshine. One date and already asking for favours. What do you need? x
I fought back a grin.
Date?
The response was even quicker.
Don’t do that. You know very well what that was. Ask for your favour instead of making me nervous. M x
I took a breath.
I need to know if she’s booked in at the restaurant today. I’ve got a rock star to confront. x
The pause was slightly greater this time, and I shook with the fear that he’d refuse, that I’d ruined something wonderful with my insistence, my sudden need for… something.
I see how it is, using me for my important connections. I’ll see what I can do. x
My hands shook a little, my fingers hesitant over the keys. Should I explain? Should I say I had a nice time? Should I tell him how much it meant?
Thank you. x
There was no way Persephone wasn’t staying in the grand penthouse above Soraya. I would have staked my life on it. I could remember that she didn’t like to go far, and that her accommodation was never anything less than luxurious. She would be there, chilling in the rooftop hot tub or making use of the private spa next door. I’d done my homework. Soraya was known as one of the best restaurants in town for celeb-spotting, and the hidden hotel suites nearby were one of the reasons.
I knew it was finally time to say my piece.
* * *
I spent the morning with Jen in the garden, telling her about Milo, talking about food and dancing and Manhattans made a different way, and tapas on tiny plates.
‘I remember Spain.’ Jen smiled to herself, leaning back on her haunches, closing her eyes. ‘I went on a college trip, to study art. Fell in love with Manuel, stayed there for three months. I was only meant to be gone a week.’