And He Cooks Too

by Barbara Barrett

  “Okay, Leonie. I left the table so I could talk more openly. Now, tell me what’s so important you would have me be rude to my dinner guest.”

  “I have to show you, dear. I’m working on a major change for the show and need your input before tomorrow morning, when I have to make my decision.”

  “Can’t Jasper help? That’s more his kind of thing.”

  “He’s coming too. But I need your perspective. You’ll see when you get here. Please, Nick. This won’t take long.”

  Nick checked his watch. Eight-thirty. At least an hour for him to get to Leonie’s, stay a few minutes, and return to the restaurant. He couldn’t ask Reese to stick around that long. Maybe he could take her with him. Right. That would go over big with his aunt. He felt like a jerk for what he was about to do, but Leonie had that coaxing, can’t-get-along-without-you edge to her voice. He’d better not take it lightly.

  He slipped the phone in his jacket pocket and returned to his table, motioning for the waiter to bring him the check. To Reese, he said, “Something’s come up with my aunt. I have to get over there right away. I’m sorry.”

  Reese’s forehead creased in concern. “Is she okay?”

  He could have invented some ailment for Leonie, but Reese had said she wanted the truth from people. “No emergency, but she’s working on something for the show that needs immediate input. She gets like this sometimes. I’ve found it best just to humor her.”

  At the mention of the word “humor,” Reese screwed up her face, as if she hadn’t heard him correctly.

  “Family members are sometimes demanding without realizing it.” He handed the waiter several bills. To Reese he said, “The restaurant will take care of your cab fare. We can, uh, finish our review next week.” Then he raced for the door, reproaching himself yet again for not standing up to Leonie.

  For a Saturday night, traffic was light and Nick made it across town to Leonie’s apartment in eighteen minutes. Leonie’s housekeeper answered the door and led him to the drawing room, where he found Leonie and Jasper leaning over what appeared to be a small dollhouse on the coffee table. As he moved closer, the object took on the shape of their set.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Leonie placed a hand on his arm. “Nick. I’m so glad you came. This decision just couldn’t wait any longer.”

  Nick took a second glance at the mock-up. “Tell me you didn’t pull me away from a delicious dinner just to have me pick a paint color.”

  Leonie sought out Jasper, who rolled his eyes, then glanced away. “Of course, not, dear. This change is much more involved than that. I’ve noticed how your new wardrobe fades on camera. That’s totally unacceptable. The whole point of the new clothes is to make you stand out.”

  “Excuse the cliché, Leonie,” Jasper said, inserting himself into the discussion, “but clothes don’t make the man. Nick’s camera presence and the way he makes his cooking look so easy week after week count for much more than whatever shirt he’s wearing.”

  Leonie shot a look to the ceiling. “Of course, Jasper. I don’t disagree. But every little detail matters right now, when we’re on the brink of network recognition.”

  Not that again. He waited for Jasper’s response. However, instead of his usual warning not to take the network too seriously, Jasper threw up his hands and walked away.

  Undeterred, Leonie pulled a folder from the table and retrieved what appeared to be several large color samples. Each had a sort of oblong shape cut into one side. “I couldn’t judge how well these colors would work with your complexion from just your headshots. That’s why I needed you here tonight. The painters start tomorrow morning, so they can be done before we tape next week.”

  “You’re not serious?” Nick asked, incredulous. This had better not get back to Reese. What an insult to learn her dinner companion had left her for a color check.

  “Bend down,” Leonie ordered.

  “Huh?” But he complied.

  She selected one of the samples and placed it over his head, tiara-style. “What do you think, Jasper? How does this one go with his face and hair?”

  Nick jerked upright, the flimsy card stock caving in but still circling his head. “Get this off me! I must look ridiculous.”

  Jasper returned from where he’d been taking cover on the side of the room, a hand across his mouth in a lame attempt to conceal his grin. He stood back from Nick, one elbow resting on his other palm, his free index finger stuck in his chin. “I don’t know, Nick. This one definitely brings out the midnight blue of your eyes.”

  “Cut the crap, Jasper,” Nick growled, snatching the paper from his head.

  Leonie quickly replaced the rejected color sample with another. “Try this.”

  Jasper moved to one side of Nick, then to the other. “Makes him appear too sallow.”

  Nick locked eyes with the man. “This little palette party had better never be mentioned again.”

  “Were you serious about the sallow part, Jasper, or just having fun with my nephew?”

  “I didn’t see any difference between the first and the second,” Jasper replied. “Pick something and put Nick out of his misery.”

  Leonie held up three more samples that looked identical to Nick’s discerning eye. “They’re each a light silver gray, but I wanted to get just the right amount of blue in it to pick up Nick’s eyes.”

  Jasper thumped his head. “I was kidding about the eyes before. I had no idea that was what you had in mind.” He seized one of the samples in her hand and gave it to her. “Here. Use this. Nick, go enjoy the rest of your evening. Our dance night has been put on hold long enough.”

  Leonie placed the sample near Nick’s head, though she spared him the humiliation of wearing it again. Studying it further, she announced, “All right. We’ll go with this one. But don’t leave just yet, Nick.” She turned to the older man. “Why don’t you make us some cocktails before we roll back the rug?”

  “I can take a hint,” Jasper said. “Especially a blatant one.”

  Once the director was out of earshot, Leonie said, “See? I told you this wouldn’t take long. I’m sure Ms. Dunbar will be happy to see you back so soon.”

  Nick cocked his head. “You knew all along. Why am I not surprised?”

  She offered a sweet smile. “It’s a small production company. I know everything that goes on.”

  Don’t let her know she’s tripping your trigger. “Simply following orders. You told me to find out more about her.” He kept his tone light, unemotional. Non-accusatory.

  She raised a carefully drawn brow. “I don’t recall wining and dining being part of the scenario.”

  “Really? That tactic has always worked for you. Thought I’d give it a try.”

  “And? Did it?”

  He offered his aunt a sly smile. “What do you think? I learned from the best. Plus, as you so love to remind me, I do a fairly passable job charming the ladies.”

  She sniffed, as if having to prod him for information was beneath her. “What did you learn?”

  How much should he tell her? This was his opportunity to patch up the strained relations between the two women. Yet, he had to avoid overselling. That would completely turn off Leonie. “She knows her stuff. She’s a straight shooter. Skips the sugar coating.”

  His aunt waved away his words with a hand. “And very little gets past her. Including how the amount of food she and that other PA…”

  “Trudy Grabowski.”

  “Whatever. She already noticed how the supply decreased overnight thanks to our secret rehearsal. She wants to start an inventory. Can you imagine?”

  “Sounds like our rehearsals are coming to an end.”

  “Don’t even joke about that,” she snapped. “Her continuing presence represents a real threat to the show. We have to get rid of her.”

  So much for his plan to build Reese up as his replacement. He had to rescue it now, before it disappeared down the drain. “Threat? You don’t know that.
Especially if we both set about winning her over.”

  She threw the color samples on the table. “Are you crazy? She’s going to bring us down, as soon as she figures out you can’t cook and I’m the one pulling the chef strings.”

  He shot a quick glance toward the kitchen area to see if Jasper was in earshot. “Shh! You don’t want Jasper to hear, do you?”

  “I told you to learn more about her, Nick. Not socialize with her. You don’t want to get too close to this one.”

  For once, though for different reasons, he agreed with his aunt. If he was going to use Reese Dunbar to spring himself from the show, it was best to keep his distance. He already felt himself being drawn to her for more reasons than her cooking skills. Still, he had to build a good work relationship with her in order to sell her on his plans.

  He made a point of checking the time. “I’m off to see how much of the evening I can salvage.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Jasper said, reentering the room with a tray filled with two margaritas and a pitcher full of refills.

  Finally, the oddity of seeing Jasper here at his aunt’s apartment for reasons other than business struck him. “What did you mean about your dance being postponed, Jasper?”

  While Jasper set the tray on the coffee table, Leonie moved over to the entertainment center and turned on a Harry Connick, Jr. album.

  An amused expression crossing his face, Jasper pulled Leonie into his arms. “Not that we owe you an explanation, but I frequently stop by on a Saturday night. Neither of us likes to go out that much anymore, so we keep each other company.”

  Who would’ve thought? Nick retreated a step, attempted a weak smile. “Oh. That’s great.”

  “Is it so inconceivable, boy, that two middle-aged adults—” Jasper turned to Leonie—”sorry, but we have to admit we’re both in our middle years, could find each other’s company the least bit agreeable?”

  “When have you two agreed on anything?” Had he dropped down Alice’s rabbit hole and landed in a parallel universe?

  “Nick, you’re being boorish,” Leonie intervened. “Jasper and I are old friends.”

  Involuntarily, Nick moved closer. “You disagree constantly at the studio. What else should I expect?”

  “That our private lives are quite different than our day-to-day work relationship.”

  “If you say so,” he told her, still more than a little skeptical.

  He didn’t get it, but he wasn’t going to waste any more of his evening pondering the idiosyncrasies of these two momentarily peaceful adversaries. Backing out of the room, he said, “Let the dance begin, then. I’m out of here.”

  Leonie and Jasper—a couple? No. They said they were old friends, that’s all.

  He glanced at his watch again. Nine-fifteen. Still early. But too late to call Reese and resume their evening together. She’d be long gone from the restaurant by now.

  But he still could call her. And say what? “Sorry I had to run, but my aunt needed me to help her pick a paint color.” No, he’d have to invent some excuse to give Reese the next time he saw her. If he called her now, she might misinterpret the interruption as his excuse for not spending the evening with her.

  Back in his apartment, he found himself wandering idly from room to room, unable to sit. He needed a hobby. Something to occupy his time. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life just entertaining the ladies and studying his lines. He’d tried acoustic guitar once. Discovered he didn’t have rhythm. Though he did play golf, on occasion, he didn’t know of any nighttime courses.

  Out of ideas, he wound up staring at a twenty-year-old TV sitcom, willing morning to come. Surely there was a better way to spend a Saturday night.

  Chapter Seven

  Reese’s cell went off shortly after she walked into her apartment.

  “I know you had that dinner tonight,” her mother began, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Her question ended on a hopeful note.

  “My business dinner is long over.”

  “Oh.” One syllable, the tone conveying obvious disappointment.

  Reese related how Nick had been called away suddenly.

  “And you have no idea why?”

  “I think it had something to do with his aunt, the despot in designer duds.”

  A moment’s hesitation on the other end of the line. “So, Nick Coltrane is no longer in the picture?”

  “He was never in the picture, Mom. I told you all along, this was not a date. There may have been a real emergency. I’ll see him again at the studio on Tuesday. Maybe he’ll explain then.”

  “Perhaps you should call the man before then to find out if he was able to take care of the emergency?”

  “Mom, forget about Nick.”

  “Assuming there was a real emergency, it’s the polite thing to do.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it,” she agreed, ending the call. Anything to get her mother off her case. Maybe she should call him, if she could figure out what to say. Before she got that chance, though, the phone rang again. “Reese? It’s Nick. Just calling to see that you got home all right.”

  She started to reply but couldn’t. Her mouth had gone dry. What was with that? She swallowed to produce more saliva. “Yes, I did. Thanks for taking care of the cab.” Why was she feeling so relieved? Had she unconsciously been hoping he’d call? “I, uh, hope everything’s fine on your end? The, uh, emergency, I mean.” Could she trip over her feet any more awkwardly?

  “I had to weigh in on a design change my aunt wants to make right away.”

  Plausible. If he’d gone off to be with some hot tamale, he wouldn’t be calling this soon.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get to finish dinner. I’d like to make it up to you.”

  “That’s not necessary. These things happen.”

  “Maybe so, but I’d like to redeem myself. Is it too late for a nightcap?”

  “Oh, I’ve already changed.” She stood there in only her bra and panties fanning herself. Though the AC was on, heat surged from her torso out to her limbs. Was she coming down with something? Or the arroz con pollo hadn’t agreed with her?

  “Hey, I know. A buddy of mine has been doing a showcase down in SoHo. How about catching his last show tonight?”

  He wanted to take her out? The non-date had graduated to a real one. She pulled her cell away from her ear to give her brain time to readjust. She brought the phone back to her ear. “Showcase?”

  “He’s a comedian trying to break into the business. He’s putting on a one-man show to attract industry types and the media. Want to check it out?”

  Comedian? A trip to SoHo at this time of night? “Okay.”

  While she waited for him to arrive, she debated whether to wear the new sundress again. She’d looked great in it for all two hours she’d had it on earlier. But now that it was later in the evening, a more casual look, seemed more in order. But what? It had taken every minute since Nick had approached her about dinner two days ago, plus several calls to her mother and a whirlwind shopping trip to arrive at the first look. What was she going to wear now? In the end, with two minutes to spare before his car showed up downstairs, she chose a pair of black slacks and a lightweight white pullover, once she’d taken a fast shower to cool down.

  The showcase took place in what appeared to be a converted storeroom in the back of a pizza parlor. The stench of old grease and stale tomato sauce greeted them as they entered the impromptu theater. Ten tiny round tables crowded together behind a single stool and microphone, three-fourths of them already filled.

  “We got here just in time,” Nick observed. He had to shout above the din of the excited audience as they threaded their way to one of the last open tables. Once seated, he asked, “Would you like a beer?”

  “Bottled water, if they have it.”

  She’d never been to a comedy club. Was this place typical? To put it nicely, it was a dump. And yet, there was a certain bohemian allure to it all. Nick was watching her. Couldn’t appear
ill at ease, though his scrutiny was unnerving.

  She nodded, even smiled at those around them, trying not to look like a fish out of water. Leaning closer to Nick, so he could hear her, she once again breathed in that pungent, earthy aroma, the kind of scent that made a woman forget her inhibitions. “What kind of act does your friend do?”

  “Not sure how to describe it. Not blue or raunchy. Dave isn’t like that. His name’s Dave, by the way. Dave Macklin. He’s from the Midwest. Kind of a Ray Romano type. Spends most of his time talking about his family back home. Stuff like that.”

  She smiled. This venture had just taken a turn for the better. Nick’s friend wasn’t one of those raging cynics or foul-mouthed comedians whose acts seemed to thrive on shocking their audiences with their audacity. She liked that.

  Just as the lights came up, Nick said, “I have to warn you—” But the announcer’s introduction cut him off.

  “What?” she whispered near his ear, attempting to ignore the sensations the nearness to him generated throughout her body.

  Dave Macklin stepped into the spotlight amid polite applause. Not quite as tall as Nick and not quite so built, but his fair-haired good looks shouted boy-next-door likeability.

  During the first few minutes of his set, his delivery seemed forced, tentative. Then, as he launched into several anecdotes about his family in small town Iowa, he seemed to relax, hit his stride. After a bit, he called for the house lights to be brought up so he could visit with the audience.

  “I returned home recently for my annual visit. That trip usually follows the guilt trip my folks start laying on me about ten months from my last visit. Any of you go through something like that?”

  A few heads nodded.

  “Some of you can relate.” He detached the mic from the stand and walked to the closest table. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my family. And I admit, I start to miss them after awhile. It’s just that inevitable cross-examination about my life in New York within minutes of my arrival that sends me packing right away and wait-listing the next return flight back east.”