“I have to say, Chloe, that I was a little skeptical when you first started here last fall. But I’m happy to say that I have seen such growth in you! I feel that you are really on your way to becoming an exceptional social worker.” Naomi beamed at me.
Was she kidding?
“You and I have very different work styles, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t able to do anything you want in this field. It’s taken you some time, but I can see that you are really beginning to define yourself in this profession. I’ve given you very good marks in most areas.” When she held out the evaluation form, I could see that she had, in fact, scored me high. “We don’t have to go over all of this. I think we have spent enough time each week discussing your performance in our staff meetings.”
Another thing I wouldn’t miss: staff meetings! With only two of us working at the BO, we could hardly have avoided meeting, but Naomi nonetheless insisted that we hold regular staff meetings to discuss the organization.
“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me, Naomi. You have really been great, and I’ve learned a lot from working with you, and—”
Before I could finish my sentence, Naomi threw her arms around me and started rocking me back and forth. Luckily, my hangover was subsiding. Otherwise, I might have hurled all over the horrid industrial carpet. I should have known there was no way I’d escape one of Naomi’s hugs. In her view, this stressful line of work demanded that we offer support and express our solidarity by reaching out to each other. In other words, she was incessantly engulfing me in hugs and insisting on holding hands. I vaguely wondered whether I’d spent the year being harassed at an antiharassment agency, but I hugged her back, nonetheless.
“Now, before you leave, you must tell me what’s going on with you. How are you handling finals? Are you reaching out for support from your fellow students? And from your friends and family?”
“Finals are looking okay. I think I’m ready, but we’ll see when I actually get into the room to take those tests.” I considered telling her about my goal of correcting sexism in the culinary industry, but I couldn’t face the hyperenthusiastic response I’d be doomed to endure. Naomi was the sort of person who would fly onto the bandwagon and have me calling senators and organizing boycotts of restaurants before I knew it. As she’d just pointed out, we had very different styles. “But there is actually something bigger going on. Do you and Eliot know what’s been going on at Simmer?”
Naomi’s boyfriend, or “partner” as she preferred to call him, owned an art gallery right near Simmer. His name was Eliot Davis. Now that Naomi and Eliot were together, she was a frequent visitor to Newbury Street. Naomi was not Newbury Street material, and I was always deathly afraid that some Prada-wearing, size-zero woman would point and scream at the sight of my tree-hugging supervisor and that the fashion police would then scoop Naomi up and haul her off for an extreme makeover. So far, I’d heard no reports of any such happenings, but it was only a matter of time.
“Eliot told me about the tragedy. Everyone must be in incredible pain right now. This is a perfect opportunity for you to hone your skills by making yourself available as a resource to everyone at the restaurant. You may want to organize a few support meetings with the staff until the immediate feelings of anguish pass.” Always the social worker! It was vintage Naomi advice.
“Oh, of course. I’m definitely doing that.” I nodded my head sincerely. “How is Eliot? How are you and Eliot?”
“Thank you for asking. I appreciate that.” Naomi patted my arm and squinted her eyes in thanks. “Our relationship is taking a lovely path. The journey we are sharing together is such a positive experience for us both. We’ve enrolled in a couples’ class in aromatherapy deep-tissue massage. Oh, you and Josh should take this with us! So you can do some massage work together! I have a pamphlet somewhere here.” As Naomi rummaged through her massive folder in search of the dreaded pamphlet, I made faces at the thought of the two of them doing “massage work.”
I cleared my throat. “Josh is very busy at the restaurant, though, and he’s exhausted, so I’m not sure we’d have time right now. Maybe when things ease up.” Or when pigs fly. Whenever.
“Oh, in that case you should definitely work this into your schedule, because they teach a fabulous black pepper rub to counteract exhaustion.”
“That sounds very…unusual.”
Naomi temporarily abandoned her search. “You know, Eliot eats at Simmer quite often. He adores the food there. In fact, he’s taking me there tomorrow for a late lunch. Around two o’clock. You should stop by and see us.” She reached out and grabbed my hands enthusiastically.
“I’ll see if I can do that,” I promised. I wondered what in the world Naomi would eat at Simmer. Her strictly organic, politically correct vegan diet left her consuming almost nothing besides locally grown bean sprouts.
“We’re going with his gallery assistant, Penelope, because we are actually trying to do a little matchmaking.” She sang the word matchmaking as if the activity were slightly naughty and daring.
“Who are you trying to set her up with?” I asked. “Someone at Simmer?”
Naomi bobbed her head up and down dramatically. “Yes, with that nice bartender there. Kevin. He seems to have developed quite the crush on Penelope. Eliot told me that Kevin has come into the gallery with flowers and other little gifts for her on a few occasions. He is very sweet. I don’t have the impression that Penelope is quite as smitten, and, according to Eliot, she has lots of men who find her alluring. But we thought we’d give it a try. Kevin seems so interested.” I could practically see the lightbulb go on in Naomi’s head as she added, “Maybe they might like this massage class. I’ll have to give them the information, too. Couples massage could be a profound way for Kevin and Penelope to connect with each other. A little myrrh, a little orange blossom…Who knows what might happen!”
Poor Kevin and Penelope had no idea what was about to hit them. I doubted that romance would bloom among smelly oils, but I crossed my fingers for Kevin anyway. He seemed like a good guy, if somewhat of a misfit. And spring was the time for romance! Could I even help to move things along at lunch tomorrow? I wrapped up my meeting with Naomi, got swaddled in another tight hug, and assured her that I’d see her tomorrow. With Eliot and Penelope, too, of course.
I got in my car, flew down Commonwealth Avenue, and dropped off a term paper at school. After all the work I had put into it, I’d probably never see it again unless I flunked the course. In that case, someone would presumably get in touch with me. With a few hours to kill before the memorial service, I headed home to lie down and shake off the remains of my headache.
The nap was a success. I awakened with the conviction that I just might make it through this thing. As I was changing into black clothes, I realized that people might be expected to speak at the event. I hurried to the computer, did a search for “funeral readings,” and printed out the ones that seemed most appropriate. I shoved the materials into the memorial book and took off.
I reached the sidewalk outside Simmer at exactly three o’clock. The service would be blessedly short, because everyone present would have to finish preparations for dinner service, which started in a few hours. I took a deep breath and pulled open the front door. Oh, there was food! One could act appropriately mournful and yet enjoy a tasty treat at the same time. I knew what I was smelling, too. The wonderful aroma drifting my way came from Josh’s spring rolls. These weren’t on Simmer’s menu, but I’d tasted them when I’d first met Josh. His spring rolls, which were unlike any others I’d ever had, were made of oversized wonton skins filled with a mixture of fresh vegetables, roasted garlic, coriander, cumin, and other ingredients that he refused to reveal, even to me. But I did know that once filled, the spring rolls were deep-fried. I wondered what kind of sauce he’d serve with them today.
All of Simmer’s employees seemed to be here, most of them seated at tables or leaning against the bar waiting for the big event.
I walked toward the bar, where Josh and Snacker were talking together. “How are the hungover boys today?”
“Ah, we’re good.” Snacker pounded his chest. “You know us chef types. Nothing knocks us down!”
“I see you’re feeling fine.” I turned to Josh. “How are you, hon? Am I smelling what I think I’m smelling?”
Snacker answered. “His stinky ass, you mean? Yes, you are, and you’d better get used to it!”
Josh laughed and waved him off. “Don’t mind him. He’s still drunk. And you bet I made those spring rolls just for you. Come here.” Josh pulled me in for a kiss. “Food is love, baby.”
“Then you must really love me.” I kissed him back.
“Do you know they’re still making these at one of my old restaurants?”
“What? How can they do that without you there anymore? It’s your recipe!” To my mind, Josh’s spring rolls were his signature dish. It appalled me to think of anyone else making them and taking credit for Josh’s genius.
“There’s nothing I can do about it, because, technically, it became the restaurant’s recipe. But don’t worry, there’s no way they’re as good as mine because the recipe they have on file is missing a few things.” He gave a sneaky smile. “If they want to try to do what I do, let ’em.”
Gavin stepped into the dining area, and the room quieted. “Would everyone please take a seat so we can begin.” He was dressed in a fashionable black suit and looked ready to walk the red carpet and give E! a stellar interview on his latest film.
I quickly served myself a spring roll and sat down next to Josh at one of the dining room tables. Josh had made my favorite mango sauce to go with the spring rolls, and I greedily inhaled the mix of crunchy shredded vegetables and smoky spices. Blythe took the seat next to me, and Snacker sat next to her. I simply had to tell Josh that Blythe was stealing more than silverware and napkins from Simmer; she was stealing Wüsthof knives from him! I dreaded breaking the news. Josh was obviously under stress right now. Blythe’s betrayals would seriously tick him off. The moment that this memorial gathering ended, he’d rush off into the kitchen, and I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to him for the rest of the day. Maybe I could catch Josh tomorrow after I had lunch with Naomi, Eliot, and his assistant, Penelope. Another day wouldn’t hurt, right?
Gavin stood at the bar while his employees and I sat like expectant diners waiting to give our drink orders. A framed eight-by-ten photograph of Gavin and Leandra in a tight hug rested on the bar, and a garish heart-shaped floral wreath sat on a wooden easel. The heart was made of red roses, and the overall effect was Valentine’s Day gone bad. A sash draped across the front of the heart read In Loving Memory. Isabelle approached Gavin and appeared to whisper gentle condolences.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming. As some of you might know, Leandra had no family. At least none that we know of, so in many regards, we were her family. I thought we could all take a few moments today to speak some final words about Leandra.” He paused, placing one hand on the bar as if to steady himself. “I guess I’ll start.”
Gavin coughed a few times and then broke into heavy sobs. It was an uncomfortable moment as we all sat there, unmoving and unsure of how to handle his grief. I hoped that this was a time when the best thing to do was nothing. When the worst of his crying had subsided, Gavin held his head up high. “As you can see, I am having a terrible time dealing with Leandra’s death. I cared for her very deeply, and in the short time we were together, we became closer than most of you probably know. She made me happier than I could have imagined, and for once it seemed like my life was perfect. That incredible woman was a force of nature.” He chuckled lightly. “She was opinionated, tough, sassy, and driven. But, oh, what a woman she was! After years of waiting, I finally had my dream restaurant, my restaurant that was meant to be, and I had the perfect relationship. Leandra had a special light around her that touched me profoundly.”
I swear to God, if he lifted his hands and started signing You complete me, I was going to puke. People were shifting in their chairs at Gavin’s expression of profound devotion to a person who’d otherwise been universally disliked. There was only one possible explanation for Gavin’s infatuation with Leandra: the two had shared an incredible sex life. Needless to say, I did not stand up and voice that conclusion.
“I am shocked and heartbroken at this sudden and totally unexpected loss.” Gavin’s voice began to rise. “Whoever murdered my beautiful Leandra deserves to suffer for the crime, and I know that the police will find her killer! It is intolerable that someone would strangle this innocent, loving soul! That someone would do this to us!” Gavin broke down again. He was barely comprehensible as he asked others to come up and speak.
No one volunteered. Four or five employees began eating their spring rolls, a response that was obviously a tribute to Josh rather than to Leandra. Desperate to generate the kind of response that Gavin needed, I pulled out a copy of the Twenty-third Psalm that I’d printed from a Web site, and I shoved it into Josh’s hands. “Go read this,” I ordered quietly. “With feeling!” However deluded Gavin was about his beloved Leandra, he was undeniably in real pain. We were obliged to make an effort to support him.
“Oh, man,” Josh muttered under his breath as he took the paper and moved through the tables. He whispered something to Wade, who was seated near the bar, and then stood next to his tearful boss. Wade rose and helped Gavin to a seat.
“‘The Lord is my shepherd: I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.’” Josh managed to deliver what at least sounded like a heartfelt reading. Josh looked at me, and I urged him on with repeated nods, indicating that, yes, he was supposed to read the entire psalm. For Pete’s sake, he was halfway through already! “‘…and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.’” Josh shook Gavin’s hand and then returned to his seat next to me.
I sent Kevin up to the front with “The Road Not Taken,” followed by Wade with a poem called “The Final Flight.”
I leaned past Blythe and passed the rest of the readings to Snacker. “Pick one of these.” One more speaker should be enough to round out the memorial service.
Snacker distractedly took the last page of my collection of readings and went up front. “‘Disorders in this category include failure or extreme difficulty in controlling impulses despite the negative consequences. This includes the failure to stop gambling even if you realize that losing would result in significant negative consequences. This failure to control impulses also refers to the impulse to engage in violent behavior—for example, road rage—sexual behavior, fire starting, stealing, and self-abusive behaviors.’”
Wait, what? Oh, shit, I must have accidentally mixed in my DSM notes with the readings I’d printed out! I began frantically gesturing and shaking my head at Snacker while simultaneously trying not to draw attention to myself.
Josh leaned in to me. “Chloe, what the hell is he talking about?”
Oblivious to the meaning of the words he was mechanically sounding out, Snacker continued. “‘Intermittent Explosive Disorder. This disorder is characterized by frequent and often unpredictable episodes of extreme anger or physical outbursts.’”
Of all the inappropriate things to read aloud at the memorial service of a woman who had been strangled! “Wrong page! Wrong page!” I yelled out. “The Keats poem! Read the Keats poem!”
Snacker looked up at me. “Yeah, I thought this was sort of weird.” He shuffled through the papers until he found Keats. “‘Oh, soft embalmer of the still midnight! Shutting with careful fingers and benign…’”
Thank God! Except that I probably should have chosen something that didn’t include the word embalmer. Too late now.
Snacker’s horrendous reading came to an end, and I did my best to salvage the mess I’d created by presenting Gavin with the memory book. I stood next to the grotesqu
e flower heart and spoke to the seated employees. “Thank you, everybody, for all the extremely loving memories you shared with me.” While Gavin took the book from me, I quickly shot the room a snotty look, admonishing everyone for the across-the-board failure. “I hope that the words in this book offer you some comfort.”
“Thank you so much for this, Chloe. This means everything to me.” Gavin leaned in to give me a polite hug, and I returned to my chair. “To end the service today, I would like to have a final toast to Leandra.” Blythe and Kevin rose from their seats, retrieved glasses from behind the bar, and began pouring drinks. “Her favorite drink was Oban, a wonderful, smooth, and satisfying single malt scotch.”
A glass of whiskey? What kind of favorite drink was that for a young woman? And the last thing I needed today was hard liquor.
Blythe carried a tray full of glasses and placed four on our table. “Enjoy. It’s a miracle that there’s enough Oban to go around. Wade is forever walking off with it.”
In response to my questioning look, she nodded. “Oh, yeah. He kisses Gavin’s ass and then helps himself to the top shelf. Prick.” She continued serving the other employees. Josh and Snacker were leaning behind me talking and missed what Blythe had said.
While we raised our glasses in a final farewell, I couldn’t help focusing on the news that Wade was stealing, too. And stealing expensive bottles of single malt scotch at that! Here was yet another person who could have been found out by Leandra and would consequently have been motivated to silence her. I looked around the room and watched Wade and Kevin lift their glasses of Oban and swallow their drinks in one gulp. I touched my glass to my mouth but didn’t let any of the whiskey cross my lips. I was pleased to notice that Isabelle did the same thing; she was underage. There was at least one law-abiding person here. Or was Isabelle refusing to drink a toast to Leandra and secretly celebrating the young woman’s demise?
Turn Up the Heat Page 15