“Guess so.” The first time we ordered in Chinese together, on maybe our sixth date, his fortune read, “Stop searching forever. Happiness is just next to you.” Chills all around.
“Ooooh. Maybe we should have Chinese for dinner!” he says.
“That’s a deal.” And I head for home, the home that is currently mine, but soon, ours.
23
And why exactly do I need to look so sassy?” I ask Dana, one of Maria’s producers, who has just had me sit down for hair and makeup.
She looks at me a little quizzically. “Because on top of everything else, Maria has all the kids from your program as special guests in the audience today, and she wants to do a photo shoot after the taping with you guys to use for the program annual report and other materials.”
“She’s very sneaky.”
“You might very well say that. I could not possibly comment,” Dana says with a wink.
At least I’m dressed well enough to have my picture taken. Bennie insisted this morning that I could not spend my birthday in cargo pants and a black hoodie, and said she would not set foot in the Peninsula Spa with me dressed like a skate punk. So out of my comfy work gear, and into a skirt and blouse I got, since no one argues with Bennie.
“Don’t you look gorgeous, my little birthday girl!” Patrick flies into the room, kisses the top of my head, and plops himself in the seat next to me to get his makeup done as well.
“Thank you. You look very handsome yourself.”
“My little Alana, all growed up and FORTY! Who would have thunk it?”
“Yes, I know, I’m forty, big whoop.”
“It IS a big whoop. This is THE decade. When everything happens.”
“Well, it is certainly starting off well.” I’m not one of those women who freaks out about birthdays. I love birthdays. Any excuse for cake and presents is all right by me. And these odometer birthdays? The big, round numbers? Bigger cake, more presents. Whenever anyone in my family makes a comment about getting older, Mama just says, “Ess bitter zan alternateeve.” Which is, when you think of it, very true.
“Hey, I need you to do me a favor,” he says.
“Sure, what is it?”
“Well, um, Leesa was in town last night.” Leesa Thorne, current British It Girl, who has been in Chicago off and on filming her first American movie, who had dinner at Conlon her first week in town and succumbed to the charms of our Patrick like so many before her.
“Bully for you, guv. Did you remember to bring doughnuts?” I don’t know when or why the tradition started, but for some reason, on our crew, if you get lucky with someone new, or have a particularly robust evening with your significant other, you bring in doughnuts for everyone.
“Practically bought out the Doughnut Vault. But that isn’t the issue.”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t really get a chance to work on the recipe for the demo today.”
“Patrick! That’s a new recipe; you’ve never done it before.” It’s one of Maria’s favorite dishes, a Cuban pork and plantain stew, and it has a lot of steps. I’ve prepped everything; he mostly just has to explain what has already been done, chop an onion, toss everything in the pot, and then pull out the already finished dish that is in the studio oven. But still, it isn’t the easiest.
“I’m aware. Look, I’ve read it, I think I can wing it, but I was wondering if you might Cyrano this for me, just in case.”
Oy. Every now and again Patrick is somewhat less than prepared to do one of my recipes on camera. The first time it happened it was the fault of Tony Bourdain, Bill Kim, and a series of Jaeger bombs. He showed up to the studio completely hungover, and having not even read over the recipes for the first shoot. The sound tech popped a tiny earpiece in his ear, and hooked me up with a mic pack, and I talked him through it. It worked brilliantly, even if it did put my bowels in an uproar all day, and when the shoot was over he called me his Cyrano. We don’t have to do it very often, but we do have it down to something of a science.
“Seriously, Patrick? CYRANO? On Maria’s show? Are you fucking KIDDING ME?”
Maria flies in en route to her final walk-through. Patrick puts his finger to his lips.
“Mi amorrrrrs, I am so ’appy to ’ave you both herrrrre.” She air-kisses my cheek, and walks over and squeezes Patrick’s thigh. Then she is gone in a cloud of Chanel No. 5.
“Patrick, we’re ready for you,” Dana says, and he gets up from the chair, kisses Julie, the makeup artist, and rubs my shoulder.
“Break a leg, bossman,” I say to his back. He waves over his shoulder.
“There, you are, gorgeous. And happy birthday,” Julie says. She has done a beautiful job; I am as adorable as it is possible to be, even if it does have the goopy heaviness required for photographs.
“Thanks so much, you are a miracle worker.”
“Okay, let’s get you hooked up,” says a sound tech, who wanders in with a mic pack.
Sigh. “Okey dokey.” I take the mic and thread it under my blouse, handing the end to the tech who clips the pack to the back of my skirt and plugs me in while I attach the mic to my collar.
Verna, the stage manager, leads me to the wings, where I watch Maria do what she does so well. The show is divided into five acts, sort of like a play, designed to accommodate the four commercial breaks. The first act is the intro and basic interview, light and funny. The second act will be the more serious part of the interview, a little introspective and where she will try and make him cry. Act three will be the cooking demo. Act four will be the discussion of his participation in the intern program and a couple quick shots of the kids with maybe one or two of them commenting about their experience. And finally they will wrap up with some Q&A with the audience and say their good-byes.
Maria introduces Patrick, and the two of them fall easily into a bantering interview, with some quips and quotables on both ends. They know each other well, they are comfortable together on camera, and they pretty much ooze charm all over each other. During the second part of the interview, Maria delves into his past, his parents, and his playboy lifestyle. She gets him to open up a little bit, especially about his mother, and while she doesn’t get the full blubber, she does get him to well up just enough for the camera to catch it. My heart breaks for him, and I am reminded once again how amazing my family is and how lucky I am to have them.
They get set up for the cooking demo during the commercial break, and I grab my notes to get ready to walk him through the recipe. I give him basic instruction, toss him some info about Maria having the dish as a child, and lead him step-by-step through the process. He is a rock star, smooth as silk, and before I know it, he is feeding Maria a bite of the finished stew, and she is rolling her eyes and mumbling things in Spanish. I take a deep breath and let my sphincter unclench. Always an adventure with Patrick.
They get settled back down on the couch for the third interview section, talk about the Master Class he did, and get great quotes from both Joseph and Clara. The kids look great, it is clear that they all got Maria-ed, new clothes and hair and makeup, and now I’m a little bit excited about this photo shoot since it means I’ll get to see them for a few minutes before I have to leave.
After the kids are done speaking, Patrick turns to Maria and says with a grin, “Maria, I want you to know that I have been so moved by the work you are doing with these young people, and I had such a great time teaching that group over there”—he gestures at the students in the front row—“I want to make sure you are able to continue to do this amazing work. So I am creating an endowment for the culinary intern program for ONE MILLION DOLLARS!”
The place erupts, and suddenly a stagehand is delivering one of those enormous cardboard checks to Patrick and Maria.
“Isn’t he amazing?” Maria claps delightedly, and I can tell this is a genuine surprise to her.
I look out at my students, and the guys are high-fiving and the girls are crying, and I can feel a lump rise in my throat. Patri
ck. I know that he is a celeb and has a lot of money coming in, but he’s no George Clooney, making twenty million a movie. A million dollars isn’t nothing to him; it is significant. For him to make a million dollars liquid is huge, I don’t care what kind of tax break it will get him. My heart swells. They cut for the commercial break and Patrick walks the big check back over to where I’m standing.
“You’re amazing,” I whisper to him.
“You’re not kidding. Look at the fine print.” He points to the memo portion of the huge check. It says The Patrick Conlon and Alana Ostermann Endowment.
I’m flabbergasted. “Patrick …”
“Hey, I would never have gotten involved if it weren’t for you, and I genuinely loved teaching those kids, even for just one day. I could have been any one of them, and I can only imagine what it might have been like for me growing up if there had been a program like this. I believe in it, and I know it will be great because you were and are a part of making it happen.”
I reach forward and give him a huge hug. “Thank you, Patrick, thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
And in a weird way, him endowing the program in both our names, acknowledging my role, it makes me feel a weight lift from my shoulders. Because I know that if I decide to leave him to work with this organization, he will genuinely understand and wish me well. And that if I decide to stay, I’m staying with someone who would not only make that kind of massive personal financial sacrifice, but would do it in the name of someone he knows would if she could, but cannot.
“Hey, we’re a team, we’re in all of this together.”
Velma gives him the high sign and he kisses the top of my head and scampers back onto the stage for the next part of the interview. Maria facilitates some questions from the audience, Patrick fields a funny marriage proposal from a smitten woman in her eighties, and then she returns to sit with him on the couch. Then she asks Patrick what he has coming up.
“Well, Maria, I’m very excited to give you an exclusive on that.”
“Rrrrreally? More excitement on top of excitement! We loaf a scoop, what is yourrrrr news?”
“I am officially going to be the new Warrior Chef on Master Chef Challenge!”
The audience goes nuts.
“Congrrrrrratulations, Patrick, that is wonderrrrful for you.”
“Not just for me, Maria, but for someone we both know and love.”
Oh. No. Everything slows down, and one by one things click into place.
The clothes, insisted upon by Bennie.
The hair and makeup, supposedly for a photo shoot.
The Cyrano schtick to get me in a mic pack. My stomach clenches up.
“Your former personal chef, one of the teachers in your program, the other name on the new endowment and my right hand, can’t-do-it-without-her girl, Alana Ostermann, is going to be my official sous chef on the show!” Patrick actually gets up on the couch and does a full-on Cruise.
The audience is going crazy. I turn to my left where they have stashed the equipment from the cooking demo, and promptly vomit up my breakfast into the garbage can. Velma, cool as a cucumber, produces a bottle of water as if by magic, and leans over to whisper in my ear. “You can do this, baby girl. There are only seventy-five seconds left. You go out, you smile and wave, you sit on the couch. That is Maria out there, she loves you, and she will take care of you, just maintain eye contact with her and it will be over before you know it.”
I take a sip of water.
“And she is here today with me, what do you say, everyone, want to meet her?” Patrick is milking this for all it’s worth.
“Alana, come on out,” Maria says.
My feet are leaden, but Velma gives me a little push and I robotically move forward into the bright light of the studio.
I have no idea what happens. I cannot remember one thing that I say or is said to me. I know that Maria asks me a couple of questions, and that the audience laughs at my answers in a way that sounds like they are not laughing at me, but think I am funny. I know Patrick keeps touching my shoulder and putting his arm around me. I know that I am smiling even though I’m filled with a combination of fury and nausea. But ultimately, Velma was right, I just keep looking into Maria’s eyes and it is over quickly, and then I am offstage again. And then we are taking pictures, and all the kids are so excited and eventually my blood pressure returns to normal and my stomach stops doing jumping jacks.
“You werrrrre fantastic, I am so proud of you!” Maria says when the hoopla is finally done.
“How could you do that to me?” I whisper. “You know how I feel about being on television. How could you ambush me like that?”
And she looks at me and her whole face sinks. And I suddenly realize that she didn’t know it was an ambush.
“He didn’t tell you, did he?” I nod my head in Patrick’s direction, where he is saying good-bye to the kids, who are buzzing around him like bees. “He told you I was on board.” No wonder Dana looked at me like I was insane for asking her about my hair and makeup.
“Oh, honey, of courrrrrse he did. I would NEVER do that to you, not in a million …” Her beautiful brown eyes fill with tears.
“It’s okay, Maria, he’s an ass. I should have known it wasn’t you.”
“And on your BIRRRRRRTHDAY!” She wipes at her eyes with a handkerchief, and then launches into what I can only presume is a Cuban curse on Patrick’s manhood and lifespan.
“Hey! My gorgeous ladies! Wasn’t that fun?” Patrick glides in from the green room.
Maria turns on him with venom in her eyes. “No, Patrick, it is not fun to lie to me and upset my best frrrrriend on national television.”
“What are you talking about?” He looks confused.
“Maria, don’t. It doesn’t matter. I have to go, I’ll see you tonight.” I give her a look that tells her clearly that this is my fight, that I need to do this for myself and on my own. She nods and I kiss her cheek. Then I turn to the man who completely swung my emotions from the highest to the lowest in the span of fifteen minutes. “Patrick, car. Now.”
Maria’s show always sends a limo for guests. We walk out to the underground parking garage, and I take deep slow breaths. We get in the car and the driver pulls out. I press the privacy button and raise the window between the front and back seat, and then turn around and sit facing him.
“How could you do that?”
Patrick reaches into the little cooler near him and grabs a bottle of water. “Do what?”
“Announce that I am going to be with you on Master Chef Challenge, make me come out on the show without telling me about it.”
“I thought it would be a fun surprise, and the network thought it was brilliant. And I didn’t tell you because you would have said no.”
It boggles the mind. “If you KNEW I would say no, why the FUCK would you think I would be okay with a freaking AMBUSH?”
“Look, the network knew I was going on the show and wanted me to announce it exclusively to Maria. I called and told Maria that we should introduce you as well, so that people can start to see us as a team. Maria said you had stage fright and she was surprised you were going to do the show, and I said not to worry, that you’re a trooper and are on board.”
“But I’m NOT, Patrick. I’m not on board. I told you I had to think about it, I haven’t committed to do the show at all.”
“But you are going to.”
“I might not.”
“Of course you will. Come on, Alana, of course you will. You’ll never get a better offer. And now you’ve broken your television cherry and you can see it’s no big deal. And that was with a studio audience, on Challenge you just have to be there with the crew and staff and judges.”
He thinks he did me a favor. Like a parent teaching their kid to swim by chucking them into the pool. “Patrick, I want to be very clear about something. This was not a favor, and it wasn’t about me. This was about you assuming that you’ll always get what you want. That you
are somehow entitled to have everything fall at your feet. But let me be clear. I have not yet committed to this show, and I have very grave concerns about what it would mean for me and my life. You can’t just railroad over me, and you can’t do things like you did today. It was thoughtless and selfish and enormously upsetting.” I know I’m going cry, and I can’t let him see it. I have to stay grounded. I roll down the barrier and ask the driver to pull over at the next intersection. “Do me a favor, Patrick. Don’t come tonight. You have done a great deal to ruin my birthday already, and it is going to take me most of the rest of today to try to ignore how furious and hurt I am by your disregard of me and my feelings.”
“C’mon, Alana, isn’t that a little dramatic? I’m sorry if I handled this wrong, but it isn’t that big a deal. You know you’ll be sad if I’m not at your party.”
“Patrick, the best present you can give me tonight is your absence. You are very genuinely not welcome, and I can tell you for sure that if you do come, we are done. I mean it. I need a couple of days.”
His jaw flops open, and I know that he finally realizes that I’m serious.
“I’m getting out here,” I say to the driver, who gets out of the car and walks around to open the door.
“Alana …” Patrick starts, but I put my hand up.
“Don’t.” I get out of the car, cross the street and hail a cab. And to my credit, I don’t start to cry until we are a block away.
Maria calls just as I get home, and I sit on the stoop to chat with her before I go in.
“Arrrrre you okay, mi amorrrrr? I feel just terrrrrrible.”
“I’m okay, Maria, I am. I gave Patrick what for, and uninvited him to the party tonight. I just need some space.”
“Good forrrrrr you. That son ov a beetch.”
“Indeed.”
“But you will be okay? I feel so awful that this happened on your birrrthday.”
“I will be fine. If I let Patrick Conlon and his inane pranks ruin my lovely birthday then I am an even bigger idiot than he is. Bennie and I are going for a whole afternoon at the spa, and then the party is tonight, and nothing is going to ruin that for me.”
Off the Menu Page 27