by Ryli Jordan
“Of course, Staci.”
“It’s Miss Abrahams,” she said suddenly, with a bit of a caustic smile.
“Umm, okay? Look, I appreciate your enthusiasm. But between the restaurants, the island property, TV spots, my speaking engagements, documentaries, books and all that I have in Free Holdings Limited, I have enough money to never work again. So let’s not get carried away. I mean, haven’t you heard that I’m planning to open three restaurants overseas with Whiterock LTD, for a hotel project? Not even counting consulting and the University of Hard Knox…”
“Are you done?” she said with a half smile, but not nearly bubbly enough for my taste.
I leaned back deep in my chair, my hands threaded together behind my head and tilted. “Oh please, go on, young lady. Tell me about all your expertise in cooking.”
“Not in cooking. In business. And there’s no need to be a smart-ass.”
I snickered, as if I was back in elementary school and the teacher was calling the room to attention.
“Of course you’re never going to have to work again. But I’d like you think about the future. You have an opportunity to grow beyond just a rich chef and restaurateur. You can be a philanthropist. You can branch out into even more lucrative opportunities that help the world economy, not to mention the United States’ economy. You can create even more jobs, more culinary schools, you can give more to charity on a worldwide level. Your brand can become far larger than it is, and all it takes is some efficient planning for the future. Bear market is coming, Mister Free. When people goof off with their surplus, and recession hits, they react in fear. Clients typically sell off good investments and miss bounce back opportunities. We…I…can help you in this regard.”
Staci Abrahams. A by-the-rules kind of woman and definitely unavailable. She acted as if she hated every inch of my existence. Why then did I start to look at her differently, like a rare exotic spice that I just had to sample? Like saffron, or my personal favorite dish, almas caviar. Something rare and exquisite, a new sensation worth going the distance.
“Well,” I said, brushing off my schoolboy crush. “It’s an interesting point of view. I’m not really that type of person, however.”
“What, the person that wants to make a difference in the world? You’re not that type of guy?”
“I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth, young lady.”
“Oh spare me the young lady routine. You’re not that much older than I am. Come on, Mister Free. Don’t live up to your name. Responsibility is the privilege of an adult. It feels good to give.”
“Well I do give, Miss Abrahams, I’m more interested in living a simple life right now.”
“You mean you just want to hold all that money and bury it somewhere? How heroic.”
“It’s my money.”
“Okay…try to think unselfishly for a moment...and I know that’s such a stretch for you…”
I couldn’t help but laugh as Staci continued her verbal shoving. She, however, was serious as can be, staring a hole through me as she shared her worldview without apology.
“You want to expand your business because you want to multiply your assets. Holding onto money helps no one and deflates your own net worth. Why not think about giving back to the community that made you what you are? It’s profitable and it shows you give a damn about others.”
“All right. How about this? If I say yes…” I said with a smile. “You say yes to dinner with me.”
“Nope.”
I leaned forward wishing for a better rebuttal. “Wow. That was a quick response. You are rough around the edges, Miss Abrahams.” I knew she was only being a good girl. I could have fun with the good girl routine, it was the ultimate turn-on to see the good girl act change when the lights were dark and the bedroom ripe for pleasure.
“I can be,” she said, finally forming a half-smile and tilting her head. “But I think after we learn how to deal with each other you will appreciate me in the same spirit as you appreciated Mister Jameson. I worked with him too, by the way. We both loved him.”
“Amen to that.”
Staci stood up and nodded as she walked to the exit. I followed her, not having the slightest idea what I did wrong or why such a disagreeable woman was so interesting. Her sweet perfume, nomadic and elegant, was getting to me again as she so cruelly walked by me without an embrace. My cock hardened.
I was ready to use all my aces for sure, but she was one-step ahead of the hunter.
“You know I was talking to my good friend Ray Valenti…” I said, as she turned back to me.
“Ohhh,” she replied with a sour face. “You’re friends with him?”
“Well yeah, for a long time.”
“I didn’t know the man was capable of having friendships. I thought he just slept with everything that moved and played video games all day long.”
I laughed heartily. “Well…we weren’t that type of friends.”
“I just didn’t think you were that type of guy. You know, the pussy posse type of guy?”
“Oh…well…no, that’s not what I meant…”
“But anyway, go on. You were saying?” She asked.
“Here’s the point, Miss Abrahams. I actually rented him my private island with a beach house a couple months ago.”
“Uh huh?”
“Yes, I actually do own an island. And it’s a refreshing change of scenery…”
“You don’t say!” Staci answered, her eyes finally lighting up.
“Yes!” I replied merrily. “It gives one a sense of escape, a world away from home. One could easily fall in love with the idea of communing this closely to nature, miles removed from civilization, answering to no one but God, the sky…the air and the waves of tranquility.”
“Wow, that’s so great. Because I would be very interested in renting it for events.”
“Oh…”
She smiled and I smiled back. Apparently, I didn’t communicate the invitation so well. Most women are impressed with a man who owns his own island. Staci was as hard as fucking dark chocolate.
“I have many powerful and wealthy clients and they love that sort of showy bullshit. It would wow them to take them to an island with my marketing team.”
“Oh, well yes. Sure…as a matter of fact, I’d like to show it to you. We can take a jet and I’ll give you a personal tour. It’s in Devon. Have you heard of it?”
“Oh no, I couldn’t impose,” she replied. “Besides, I trust you. I seriously doubt you would make up a story about owning an island. I think you’re on the level, my friend.”
We laughed awkwardly again.
“But yeah, I have been looking for an out-of-the-way location for when I meet with my more prestigious clients…”
I opened my eyes in disbelief.
“I’m sorry, that sounded rude. I meant my other clients.”
“How are they more prestigious than me?” I shook my head and grinned. “I mean, not to toot my own horn but you know I was interviewed by Oprah…”
“I meant my other clients who are philanthropists and do so much good for the poor, for the environment, and for the world. But yes, I’m sure you’re worth much more than they are, so no harm intended,” she said.
All I could do was chuckle uncontrollably at this point. The woman was so feisty she was like a feral cat…only one with manners and restraint. But once she decided she didn’t like you watch out for verbal scratches.
“You know, Miss Abrahams, you really do remind me of Mister Jameson,” I said. “He was a good man. My mentor in many ways.”
“Well, anyone could be a mentor if we are humble enough to listen.”
“I’ll tell you what. I’m going to give your way a try. Maybe it will work, maybe not. But you sell yourself well.”
“I sell business strategy. I’m not for sale. Mister Free.” She finally winked.
“I know that,” I replied. “But if you want the truth…”
“Always.”
“I had talked to Henry about branching out before. Maybe with him gone…maybe now is a good time to think about it.”
“I’m sure wherever he is, he would appreciate that gesture.”
We both finally smiled without the sarcasm, a gentle note to end our conversation.
“The island is yours if you ever need it,” I said. “I look forward to meeting with you in the future. Thank you Miss Abrahams.”
“Thank you, Mister Free!”
A woman that plays by her own rules. A woman that doesn’t need any of us, just a reason to live all her own. No wonder I found her intriguing. The sting of rejection was no big deal. I could bed a dozen groupies this weekend and reclaim my masculinity.
But it was something else…the essence of what she was saying. My God, I know the late Henry Jameson was always admonishing me about doing more good for the world. I can almost hear his avuncular voice…
What’s the matter with you, son? You need to think more with your heart. Not your stomach. There’s more to life than a good meal you know. Not much more, but a little more.
Maybe the serendipitous encounter with Staci wasn’t about conquest or hedonism. Maybe there was a greater calling, a more important reason I met her than just more empty sex. Maybe she would be my connection to the world, a chance to grow into a better person, a more giving person. She could be the start of a positive change in my career and my legacy.
If only she wasn’t so fucking sexy. I distract so easily…
I eyed her through the window as she left the building. Not even a look back. All business, all mission statement. No connection with anyone. The only difference, I was a slutty chef who refused to get involved. But she was a woman of virtue who somehow reflected back my own fear and weakness.
I had no idea how…but sooner or later I was determined to wine and dine with Miss Abrahams.
Chapter 3
Knox
“When I’m cooking I’m the king of the fucking world. When I make a woman a meal, I’m giving her an orgasm of the taste buds. I fuck every woman I meet with my entrees.”
“You piece of shit! You call that a steak? If it were any more blue rare, the fucker would be still scampering away crying for its mommy!”
“That’s right, you’ve been fired by the School of Hard Knox. Run home and cry to your auntie and try eating her Hamburger Helper shit from now on.”
“The real Kenneth ‘Knox’ Free exposed! Inside Edition reports on the dark side of TV’s Cooking Giant. His ex-employees say he’s a monster in front of the camera and a special kind of evil behind the camera. We interviewed several of Mister Free’s associates. Former publicists, housekeepers and exiled relatives who Knox cut out of the will! The story gets more shocking as we go along and discover…”
“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled to Cassie, my gray-haired housekeeper—the one that doesn’t currently hate me. “They took a few quotes completely out of context and they make me look like a monster.”
“I don’t think the audience understands you were joking when you made those comments,” Cassie replied. “You were joking, right?”
“Well yes…I do tend to run off at the mouth. But I did apologize.”
“Well everyone gets upset…you just tend to get too creative with the insults.”
Cassie, my longtime worker and friend, and a relationship that predates even my fortune, even my career. I first met Cassie when she worked for my father, and at a time where I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life. Maybe leave cooking behind and go backpacking, or join the Secret Service. As I matured and outgrew my silly ambitions to be a spy, I began to realize cooking really was my gift. And Cassie, bless her heart, has always been loyal. Far more loyal than some…
“You know what else he used to say to me? That he could poison me with just a few sprinkles of cyanide and I would never know the difference!”
Cassie and I laughed at Evelyn, my ex-maid, who left with great animosity and prejudice. Of course she ran to Inside Edition, for some sort of comeuppance against me. I thought a severance package was far too generous for a woman whom I caught stealing merchandise.
“That is a lie!” Cassie said. “Evelyn is lying. I was the one that said you could poison someone if you wanted to.”
“Yes, but please don’t say that in public,” I said with a grin. “People today are so gullible they believe everything they hear on television.”
I inhaled and lost my smile. It was late and it was about time for Cassie to go home. Another long and lonely night to come. I neglected to meet a party girl this past Friday, probably because I was currently fascinated with Staci, the new financial planner in town who taunted me with her beauty and sass.
“I must say…I realize now why Staci is so reluctant to flirt with me. People really do think I’m callous, don’t they?”
“Well you have a temper, dear. You are a little abrasive. But when you speak to a person one on one…you’re a charming young man. And so many young pretty women would agree I’m sure.”
“Yes…”
So many women indeed. Jesus, no wonder Staci thinks I’m the plague. I’m cruel to people I work with and treat women like sex objects. That’s what the media says about me. And part of me wonders if they’re right. I am hard on my staff and I do enjoy one-night stands with girls who worship the ground I walk on. But that’s not how a grownup behaves, is it?
“Cassie?” I said to my dear housekeeper, just before she left the fortress of solitude.
“Yes?”
“Do you think someone like me is ever capable of…you know? Loving?”
“I don’t know, Kenny,” she answered honestly, reflecting on the past, as did I. “But it’s not because you don’t deserve to.”
Spoken like a loyal housekeeper. With that thought, I had a stubborn realization that Staci’s instincts were pure and practiced. She had to avoid me. She sensed the horror of my character, even as my own conscience whispered warnings.
Don’t let her in. Everyone who gets to know you is disappointed.
Perhaps the mature thing to do would be to leave Staci alone. To learn something good from her without the obsessive need to conquer her body.
She knew it as well as I did. Just like my damned housekeeper knew it. As much as I wanted to be a better person, a great philanthropist who could fall in love, raise babies and run for congress…I just couldn’t do it. I was broken. All I had to give anyone, all I had left, was a talent to feed, to heal the grief of my fellow humans with meals that nurtured. Made them feel alive…complete.
Quite pathetically, I fell asleep on the couch that night with the taste of brandy in my palate and thinking of yesterday. Old memories that have no bearing on the present. Memories of meals, dinners and lunches twenty years ago that I can still taste. My grandfather once said that we taste the moment as much as we taste the ingredients. Our happiness, our mood, permeates what we eat and it’s a piquant taste that can literally last a lifetime.
I still remember what I ate the day I fell in love for the first time. Stilton and pear gnocchi. As I tasted my first bite, feeling a rush of adrenaline and admiring the aesthetic of a pretty young woman dressed for prom night. The air smelt like roses, our table was adored in white. And the future smelled like parsley. At that moment, it was the greatest meal I had ever tasted.
Chapter 4
Staci
On June 25th, I attended Tony Sparko’s debut, the newest New York five-star restaurant, at the request of Chef Kenneth Free or Knox. Naturally, it was official business. I had successfully negotiated a partnership between Knox and the Carter Children’s Charity, a deal that was sure to help homeless children on a path to success. There was surely no way I would have accepted just a dinner date from a man I had no respect for.
But since this was business, I didn’t mind dressing up in a black sheath gown with a high slit on the thigh, dressed to impress the elite crowd. Knox told me that Tony Sparko was his old competitor, but tha
t he was one of the very few competing chefs he could actually respect—because Tony seemed to like cooking the foods Kenneth didn’t bother to make.
I admit that it was a strange feeling being alone with Knox, as we both waited on the third party—Mister Fairwell from the charity foundation, who was characteristically late. I was so excited about the deal going through that I actually allowed myself to enjoy the meal, even when seated across from Knox.
His blue eyes where fascinating and peered through me like he was searching to bring out something. Knox was so goddamned sexy. Bastard. Why does he make me nervous? I figured it was because he was rich and powerful, but it had to be something more. He sat in his chair legs wide and dominate, his dominate stature claimed the restaurant. It was like it was his property and everyone present was his guest. Knox wore a steel gray suit with an azure tie that matched his striking blue eyes. He had the most seductive smile and he knew it. His broad jaw highlighting a masterpiece of bearded perfection. I could tell from the details in his appearance that he took a lot of pride into his body, he was fit and gorgeous. Knox sat next to me, ever the gentleman, pulling out my chair and pouring the bottle of red wine into my glass. I started to relax.
“So, what do you think?” Knox questioned.
“It’s marvelous,” I said with a nod. Tony Sparko really is talented, isn’t he?”
“He is. Of course he does a lot of that traditional stuff, but some people go for it.”
“Well I certainly do. It’s amazing.”
“It is, isn’t it? The sheer genius of the recipe boggles my mind.”
“Mine too,” I said, perking up, sensing that Knox was jealous over my gluttony of the Exotic Japanese Risotto. It felt good to confess my lust…and certainly not give Knox the credit he craved.
“Of course you know,” he said with a sneaky smile, “the cook only can do so much. He is a hired pair of hands, no special talent required. But the chef is truly a gifted man. The recipe requires great patience, great adherence to principle.”