Breakfast in Bed

by Rochelle Alers

  “You wouldn’t have to deal with the cold and snow if you decide to come on down and work with us.”

  “Give me a couple more snowstorms and I’ll definitely start thinking about it. Luckily, I don’t have to go out until the weekend, and hopefully by that time most of the snow should be cleared away.”

  “Have you heard from Jasmine?” Tonya asked.

  “She called yesterday to tell me she has the flu. I asked her if she wanted me to bring her some homemade chicken soup, but she told me to stay away because she’s been barking like a seal.”

  “Has she seen a doctor?”

  “Yes. He told her to stay in, get some rest, and drink plenty of liquids. He did give her a prescription for cough medicine, but she claims the codeine makes her feel loopy.”

  “Call her back and let her know you’re going to order from Grub Hub and have them deliver soup and whatever else you think she needs to keep up her strength, because we know she eats like a bird.”

  “That’s a good idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “It’s because you’re not a mother who’s had to take care of a sick child.”

  “You’ve got that right. I’m going to hang up now and call a restaurant close to her place, and hopefully they’ll deliver in this weather.”

  Tonya wanted to tell Nydia that blizzard conditions slowed down the city, but did not shut it down completely. “Tell Jasmine to call me once she feels better.”

  “I will. Adios, mija.”

  “Good-bye, Nydia”

  She disconnected the call and began the task of cleaning up the kitchen. After stacking dishes in the dishwasher, she turned off the radio, and settled down to watch television. The large flat-screen sat on a shelf in the massive, ornately carved armoire. When Tonya first saw the two-bedroom guesthouses, she likened them to luxurious suites in some upscale hotels. They were furnished with exquisite reproductions that only an expert in antiques would be able to authenticate. The electricity had been updated to include cable and Internet access.

  Hannah had shown her the architect’s renderings for the café and supper club, and Tonya was caught completely off guard with the incredibly beautiful depictions of her new restaurants. He had divided the café with an area for dining and another into a parlor with chairs, loveseats, and sofas where guests could relax before or after breakfast.

  The supper club was designed for intimacy, with loveseats instead of individual chairs at more than half the tables. There was a dance floor and a raised stage for a band. He decided to keep the wood-burning fireplaces and replace the chandeliers with hanging fixtures resembling late-nineteenth-century gaslights. The kitchen, streamlined to provide optimum dining room space, was to be equipped with top-of-the-line commercial appliances. The architect’s specs also included a central cooling unit for each building. The supper club was configured with a capacity to seat forty at any given time. Once the club was open to the public, she planned to offer open seating Tuesday through Thursday, and reservations for Friday and Saturday.

  Hannah planned for nine of the eighteen bedroom suites in the mansion to be set aside for guests, which meant at any given time Tonya knew she would have to prepare enough food for no more than twenty-five if the inn was filled to capacity. Seven suites were doubles, and the two remaining suites were triples.

  She watched the news on CNN, then picked up the remote device and began channel surfing and saw that The Best Man Holiday was scheduled to begin in ten minutes. It was one of her favorite movies. The highlight for her was the scene when Morris Chestnut, Taye Diggs, Terrance Howard, and Harold Perrineau danced to New Edition’s “Can You Stand the Rain.” Their smooth dance moves never failed to make her smile. Once the movie ended, Tonya turned off the television and made her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth and shower. No more sitting up late watching movies and talk shows or reading because she had to get up early to go into Chez Toussaints to bake bread.

  Patting the moisture from her body with a thick velour towel, she walked on bare feet into the bedroom. How different, she mused, her new, although temporary, home was from her East Harlem apartment. She didn’t have to walk up four flights of stairs or share the fifth floor with three other apartments. Tonya rarely encountered her neighbors, and when she did they usually acknowledged one another with nods, smiles, and not much more. They, like most New Yorkers, were in a hurry to get where they were going.

  Opening a drawer in the mahogany chest-on-chest, she took out a cotton nightgown and pulled it over her head, and then climbed into the four-poster canopy bed draped in white mosquito netting and dotted with tiny embroidered yellow butterflies. Whoever had decorated the room favored butterflies, which were stamped on the window seat cushion and the padded bench at the foot of the bed. She thought of the bedroom as romantic and whimsical.

  Although she had settled comfortably into the house, she still needed to unpack two more boxes that were in a corner of the smaller bedroom, boxes filled with books and magazines she still had not read. Reaching over, Tonya turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. In her second day as a transplanted Louisianan, she was involved in preparing the dishes that made Chez Toussaint a popular eating establishment. Spending hours in the restaurant kitchen reminded her why she had made the decision to become a chef. Although the activity was not as frenetic as it had been for her when working in larger, fully staffed restaurant kitchens, she still had to bring her A-game. Despite being professionally trained, she had a lot to learn about authentic Cajun and Creole cuisine with its unique flavors and textures.

  Her day had begun with and ended with Gage. There was no doubt he was shocked to see her when he opened the door to her ring. And her day had ended with him when they shared cooking duties, dinner, and a dance. It wasn’t vanity that communicated to Tonya that he was interested, if not intrigued, with her. There was something in his personality that reminded her of Cameron Singleton when he had questioned her about Jasmine. And it was obvious that if either man saw someone or something they wanted, they wouldn’t allow anyone or thing to deter them, even if it meant it wasn’t good for them.

  Tonya recalled her grandmother’s warning: What may be good to you may not be good for you. Her grandmother was right when she flew up from Florida to New York for her granddaughter’s wedding to Samuel Alexander. Grandmamma Martin took one look at Samuel and tried to dissuade her from marrying him, even though she was carrying his child. In hindsight, she wished she had taken her grandmother’s advice. She’d grown up when she had the option of terminating the pregnancy, bringing it to term, and/or choosing whether to marry or become a single mother.

  She closed her eyes, smiling and wondering if becoming friends with Gage Toussaint was good for her. Tonya knew she had to be very careful or she would find herself succumbing to his captivating presence. He made her think about things that had nothing to do with a shared passion for cooking. Sleep was slow in coming, but after tossing and turning, she finally fell asleep.

  Chapter 10

  Gage knew it would take time to get used to starting his day at the high school at eight in the morning, although he did not have a class until later in the afternoon. But as a faculty member, and now an acting department head, he was required to clock in and out. He had emailed everyone involved in the school’s concerts about a meeting, and fortunately they indicated they were all free to meet for lunch. He had visited the faculty lunchroom and ordered a salad plate and water, then returned to his office before the others arrived. Minutes after noon the art, drama, and choral teachers strolled in, carrying trays. Only the director of the marching band was missing. He’d emailed Gage earlier indicating he had a family emergency and would not make the meeting.

  Gage pulled out a chair for the drama teacher, who smiled at him over her shoulder. He waited for the two men to sit before taking his seat at the round table. “Thank you for coming. Even though I never would’ve imagined I’d be sitting here taking over for Louis, I hop
e with your help, the transition will be a smooth one.”

  Karla Holcomb pressed a tissue to her nose. “I still can’t imagine someone running him over and then leaving him bleeding in the street.”

  Gage met the drama teacher’s tear-filled light-blue eyes. “I spoke to his wife earlier this morning, and she said he’s still in ICU, but she predicts he will be moved into a private room by the weekend. She’ll let me know when he’s ready to receive visitors.”

  Karla sniffled loudly. “That’s encouraging.”

  Bobby Mays rested a hand on Karla’s back in an attempt to comfort her. “My brother-in-law who’s a cop told me they have the license plate number and a pretty good description of the vehicle they were able to pull off a couple of traffic cameras.”

  Gage nodded with the art teacher’s disclosure. “It shouldn’t take the police long before they identify the driver.” Then he changed the subject. I called this meeting because I need your feedback on some ideas I have about the spring concert.”

  “Like what, Toussaint?” asked the choral instructor.

  He gave Cleveland Brown a direct stare. The students in the mixed chorus said Mr. CB was cool with them because he liked rap and hip-hop. “I was playing around with the idea of putting on a production chronicling the journey of music from human chants, drumming, classical, blues and jazz, R and B and to today’s hip-hop, rap, electronic techno, and electro-funk. Not only would it cover different musical genres, but also dances from countries around the world.”

  Cleveland was grinning from ear to ear. “I like it!”

  “Me, too,” Karla agreed. “But how will the musical theater students be involved?”

  Gage exhaled a breath of relief. It was apparent they were warming to his idea. “Several of them will be narrators, while others will have to be taught various dances to accompany the music genres.”

  Karla nodded, smiling. “That’s not a problem. Is there money in the budget to rent costumes?”

  “I’ll check with the school’s business manager,” Gage said. “Once we decide which time periods we want to highlight, then we’ll have to come up with a figure for costumes and other incidentals.” He wanted to remind the drama teacher that the school charged admission to offset the cost of putting on the production, but decided it wasn’t the time to bring it up.

  “What about set decorations, Toussaint?” Bobby questioned.

  “I don’t believe we have enough time before we go into rehearsal for the art students to build all the sets, so I thought maybe you could create computer generated images and project them onto a blue screen like—”

  “Yes!” Bobby shouted, startling everyone at the table with his effusive outburst. “I know a few students who are into graphics. They can design images of whatever you want.”

  Gage laughed loudly. “We’ll start with an African landscape and the a capella group singing Swahili. There will be no drums, just voices. Can you work with your chorus to accomplish this, Mr. Brown?”

  Cleveland ran a hand over his neatly braided shoulder-length hair, his dark eyes filled with laughter in an equally dark face. “My students can give you whatever you want. Give me a list of the songs you want them to perform and they’ll bring it.”

  “Bragging, CB?” Karla teased.

  Cleveland winked at the attractive blond teacher with a fashionable chin-length bob. “Of course. You should know by now my kids are the best in the city.”

  A flush suffused Karla’s fair complexion, and Gage wondered if something was going on between the two. Even though the principal frowned on his teachers forming personal relationships, there was little he could do to prevent it.

  “Before you start crowing, CB, let me remind you that the orchestra and jazz band can also bring it when need be,” Gage countered.

  “Damn, Toussaint. Why are you trying to throw shade?” Bobby asked. “Because I happen to have the most talent of all of you.”

  Karla shook her head. “Why is it men always have to resort to a pissing contest to see who can pee the farthest?”

  The three men exchanged sheepish looks. “On that note,” Gage said, “we’ll conclude this meeting and get together next week, same time and same place, to go over what I’ve come up with. If any of you have any ideas, please put them in my mailbox or email us in advance.”

  Bobby stroked the full sandy beard that matched his long ponytail. “I must give you credit, Toussaint. You’ve come up with something completely different from the Broadway productions we’ve been putting on in the past.”

  “I agree,” said Cleveland. “Maybe one of these days we’ll put on a performance of Hamilton for those who will never get to the Broadway show.”

  “Hamilton, Cats, Phantom of the Opera, and The Lion King are my personal favorites,” Karla said.

  In between bites of food the quartet talked about plays they’d seen and those they wish they had seen. Gage had one up on them because he had attended college in New York City, and whenever he wanted to see a play he would go to 47th Street and Broadway and line up at TKTS to buy discounted same-day tickets for Broadway shows. During his freshman year there had been one time when he had spent most of his monthly allowance after attending three shows that month and had to eat pasta, rice, and beans for two weeks until his father deposited money into his bank account. He had been tempted to call his mother and ask her to send him money, but thought better of it because he didn’t want his parents to know he had been that irresponsible in choosing pleasure over necessity.

  The bell rang, and the three teachers picked up their trays and hurried out of the office before the start of their next classes. Leaning back in his chair, Gage laced his fingers behind his head. The meeting had gone better than he had anticipated; he hadn’t been certain whether he would be met with acceptance or resentment. The other teachers could have viewed him as an interloper—an artist-in-residence who would only be there until the end of the school year.

  He wasn’t concerned as much about their reaction to him as their direct supervisor, but he was glad they were willing to work together to put on a musical production that would define Jean Lafitte High School’s music and art program for years to come.

  Gage went online and searched for local businesses specializing in costumes from those worn by Shakespearean actors to Cossack dancers as a sheaf of paper filled the printer’s tray. He gathered the pages and locked them in the desk drawer. Time had passed quickly. His jazz class was about to start. After practice he would retrieve the pages and go over them at home. He had overheard teachers complaining about taking tests and papers home because they did not have enough time during the school day to go over them, and now he was about to do the same, but without complaining.

  Music was his passion, and he felt he would be lost without it. However, Gage was realistic enough to know his tenure with the school would end in May, and it would be with no regrets, because he still had Jazzes.

  * * *

  Tonya saw it was minutes before closing time; she had just rung up the last customer’s order when she saw Hannah standing in front of her. “What brings you to this fine establishment?”

  Hannah smiled. “I’m here to buy something for tonight’s dinner. St. John went up to D.C. to lecture at his alma mater as a visiting professor for a week, so I decided not to cook tonight. By the way, how is it to work for Eustace?”

  “He’s a teddy bear. What can I get you?”

  Hannah’s green eyes scanned the menu board. “I’ll have a container of crabmeat and corn bisque, a small order of red beans and rice, and a couple of crab cakes.” She paused. “Why don’t you double the order and come over and eat with me?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Tonya. I also want to give you a copy of the video and an album of photos from the wedding.”

  Tonya picked up a ladle and filled a large cup with the soup. “How did they turn out?”

  “They’re beautiful. The photos in the garden are br
eathtaking.”

  She remembered Gage’s comment about how she looked in her gown, wondering if the neckline had been too risqué. “I can’t wait to see them.”

  Hannah pointed to the bread basket. “When did Eustace start ordering baguettes?”

  “I didn’t,” said Eustace. He’d come from the back in time to overhear Hannah’s question. He walked over to the door and locked it. “Thanks to Tonya, we’ll now have freshly made baguettes. And I must admit I like them better for our po’boys. I had one this morning right out of the oven with cheese and coffee and thought I was sitting at an outdoor Parisian café enjoying the sights and sounds of the city.”

  Hannah smiled. “It sounds as if you need to visit the City of Lights to experience Paris firsthand.”

  “That’s not going to happen because I still have to work here,” he said as he joined Tonya behind the counter.

  “Maybe you’ll be able to take a vacation once I’m able to duplicate all your recipes,” Tonya volunteered. Eustace stared at her as if she had taken leave of her senses.

  He shook his head. “No, Tonya. I can’t have you take on that responsibility.”

  She scooped up rice and filled a round plastic container and filled another with red beans and then covered them with see-through plastic lids. “I don’t mind. Don’t forget that your daughters are here to make sure I don’t mess up.”

  Eustace adjusted his baseball cap. “I’m not worried about you messing up. It’s just that you have to be up before the sun is up and prep everything before my girls get here.”

  “I’ve been getting to work at the crack of dawn for the past thirty years, so it wouldn’t make a difference if you took a couple of weeks off to go on vacation.”

  “What about catering orders?”

  Tonya realized Eustace was inventing excuses not to leave his business for any appreciable amount of time. “Gage can help me with those.”

  Eustace stared at Tonya, and then Hannah. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Don’t think too long, Daddy,” Nicole said, smiling. “You know Mama’s been complaining that you never take her anywhere, so why don’t you take Hannah and Tonya’s suggestion and go on vacation. This place will not fall apart because three women are running it.”