Delicious

by Jami Alden

  Virginia Caldwell was a rarity—a female senior partner at one of Boston’s biggest law firms, and she’d expected her daughters to follow the path she blazed to some high-powered career. It had merely broken her heart when Reggie didn’t go to law school and “settled” for a master’s degree in finance.

  When she’d quit her job as an accountant to pursue a career in food, it was nearly grounds for disownment.

  Reggie hoped that with her next book on the way and another TV show about to go into production, her mother might finally realize that following her heart was the smartest business decision Reggie had ever made.

  For now, she much preferred it when her mother focused on Reggie’s big butt and not her so-called worthless career.

  One would think that given how many hours Virginia worked, she wouldn’t have time to wage a long-distance campaign to keep Reggie from letting her career go to her hips, butt, and thighs. But God forbid one of her daughters look less than perfect and reflect poorly on her.

  Like Natalie, her mother knew to the decimal point the calorie amount of every bite of food she put in her mouth. As far as she could tell, both her mother and sister existed on a steady diet of dry lettuce, water, and black coffee. It was one of the few areas in which Natalie—whose aspirations of TV stardom were yet another source of maternal disappointment—and her mother found common ground.

  She scrolled down, deleting offers to adjust her mortgage and increase her penis size. She came to one with the subject line:

  You Look Lovely in Blue.

  The creepy feeling stole over her again as she glanced down at her shirt, a slate-blue cowl-neck with long sleeves. It was probably just meaningless spam. Her finger hovered over the mouse, hesitant to click it open. Curiously, the “From” line was empty. She took a deep breath and opened it.

  Darling Reggie,

  You looked so lovely today, your blue shirt showing off the beauty of your neck, the glow of your skin, the lush roundness of your breasts. I love the way the afternoon sun brings out the reddish glints in your dark hair. You are breathtaking, and you don’t even seem to be aware of it. It was all I could do to resist the urge to run up and claim you as my own. But for now, I think it’s best I remain anonymous. I hope you enjoyed my token of affection. I hope someday soon you can experience them up close.

  I can’t wait to taste your cherry pie.

  He’d been watching her! Reggie jumped up and hurried through the apartment, closing and locking every window and drawing every curtain and blind. She sat back in front of the computer, taking deep breaths to calm the pounding of her heart. Mentally, she scrolled through her day, cataloging everywhere she’d been.

  First, the studio this morning for filming. Maybe loverboy had seen her there. But no, she hadn’t been outside, having gone directly from the parking garage into the building. It had to have been after, when she’d walked down to the Marina to window-shop and pick up groceries for dinner.

  It is probably nothing.

  But he knows where you live. He could be outside right now. She peered out of her office window, which looked out over the street. Nothing but regular evening traffic. No creepy degenerates staring up into her apartment. She pulled out the card Sergeant Mulvaney had given her and picked up the cordless phone. Then she paused. What could they do? He hadn’t threatened her, and his e-mail appeared to be untraceable. Likely they’d just take another statement and add it to the file.

  Her computer dinged, indicating another incoming e-mail. Sharon, her editor, again. Jeez, it was nine o’clock on the east coast. Didn’t the woman ever stop?

  She pressed her thumbs into her eye sockets and groaned. She didn’t have time to waste going to the police for a most likely harmless fan. The demands of filming and promoting two shows and a book while writing another required all of her attention right now.

  The familiar anxiety settled in her chest, threatening to cut off her air supply. Though she was grateful for her sudden and sometimes overwhelming success, lately she’d felt more and more pressure to keep her career on its unnaturally steep trajectory.

  Her next TV show had to be a hit. Her upcoming book had to be a best-seller. Just because she’d been lucky enough to hit it big the first time didn’t mean she was a proven commodity. The network was taking a huge risk and spending a lot of money on Simply Delicious, USA, and she knew if she wasn’t at the top of her game, there was always some other celebrity chef wannabe waiting in the wings to take her job.

  She closed the offending e-mail with a definitive click. On the verge of ensuring she was more than a one-hit wonder, she simply didn’t have time to be distracted by some weirdo who thought it would be fun to mess with her.

  A branch rattled against her office window, sending her nearly to the ceiling. She picked up the phone.

  Natalie answered on the second ring, and Reggie quickly filled her in on the e-mail.

  The audition must have gone well, because Natalie made appropriate sounds of distress. “Did you call the police?”

  “No, I don’t want to bug them. But do you think you could spend the night tonight?” Reggie’s fingers tensed around the phone as Natalie paused.

  “Okay,” Natalie said finally, “but it won’t be until at least ten. I’m having dinner with that guy I met last week.”

  Reggie berated herself for being such a wuss. Did she really think this guy was going to break into her apartment, just because he’d sent her a picture of his scrotum? “Never mind. I don’t want to ruin your night—”

  Natalie cut her off with a laugh. “Look at it this way. You’re saving me from potential stupidity, like sleeping with him on the first date.”

  Reggie hung up and clicked open the file for her cookbook. Thank god Natalie was coming over. Not that her underfed little sister could provide much extra protection, but she knew she’d sleep better knowing she wasn’t alone.

  After pulling together her notes for the side dish chapter, Reggie started on desserts. She pulled out a file of recent show scripts, disappointed that she’d done desserts for less than half the episodes. Not much of a dessert eater herself, she found those recipes the most challenging to develop. And telling her readers to enjoy a square of really good baking chocolate probably wouldn’t cut it.

  Maybe she could come up with yet another variation on a sundae.

  She was typing out the ingredient list for “Hey, Your Peanut Butter’s in My Chocolate Sundae” when the phone rang.

  “I have the best idea!”

  “Hey, Nat. How’s the date?”

  “He’s a loser. But that’s not why I called. I know how to deal with your problem. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier.”

  Reggie cradled the phone between her neck and shoulder as she typed. “Yeah?”

  “Remember my friend Adrienne from college? Now she’s married to some hotshot investor guy and has gobs of money. Anyway, her brother was in the Special Forces.”

  “So?” Reggie said, only half listening.

  “So now he’s out of the military and is some kind of personal security guy, like a bodyguard.”

  Reggie rolled her eyes. “I’ll admit things are a little weird, but I don’t think this warrants me getting a full-time bodyguard.”

  “He does other stuff, too, like figuring out how to make your apartment safer, teaching you self-defense things, stuff like that. A lot of people I knew in L.A. hired people for this.”

  “I don’t have time—”

  “I’ll set it up. I’m your assistant, right? Let me assist.”

  Reggie barely managed to stifle a scoffing sound. She’d hired Natalie a month and a half ago to be her personal assistant, hoping to help her sister make rent more regularly since commercial acting jobs had proved few and far between. So far, Natalie’s idea of “assisting” took the form of doing Reggie’s makeup for television when she could drag herself out of bed at the ungodly hour of seven A.M., occasionally running personal errands for Reggie, but only i
f Natalie had something to do herself, and pissing off Reggie’s PR manager, Tyler, by constantly entering incorrect information into Reggie’s online calendar.

  But hey, if Natalie was going to take it upon herself to hire Reggie a bodyguard, what better guarantee that it wouldn’t get done?

  Chapter Two

  The following night, Reggie took Natalie out to dinner at her favorite Persian restaurant in the Marina, partly to thank her for staying over last night, and partly to gently confront her about her less than stellar assistant skills.

  Reggie had to give Natalie credit, though. She had actually managed to call and schedule an appointment with Adrienne’s brother, who was supposed to fly up from L.A. tomorrow afternoon for an initial consultation. She’d nearly choked when Natalie quoted her the fee, but as Natalie pointed out, it wasn’t like she was living off leftovers from her private chef gigs anymore.

  The restaurant was quiet for a Thursday night, for which Reggie was grateful. As much as she enjoyed interacting with fans, she didn’t want any awkward interruptions as she had what would surely be a delicate conversation with her sister.

  She fired her first salvo over the hummus appetizer. “Thanks again for scheduling the security thing.” Lead with a compliment, proceed to the criticism. She paused, momentarily fascinated by the way Natalie carefully peeled apart her pita until it was a single ply, then applied a layer of hummus so thin it was barely visible to the naked eye. “Careful there. You might accidentally ingest a fat gram.”

  Natalie scowled.

  Reggie scooped up a glob of hummus in the warm, soft pita, humming in pleasure as the creamy, lemon-tinged spread hit her tongue. “I think it’s great you took the initiative on that.”

  Natalie smiled and took a little bird bite of her pita sheet.

  “But there are some other things that need improvement.”

  “Are you, like, micromanaging me?”

  Reggie argued around another mouthful of pita. “I’m not micromanaging. I asked you a week and a half ago for my final travel schedule for the first week of shooting, and I still haven’t seen it.”

  “I’ll get it to you soon.”

  “Tomorrow, noon. Tyler needs my schedule so he can schedule some book signings while I’m on the road. He can’t do that until he gets my travel and shooting schedule.”

  “But I have an audition.”

  “That’s the other thing—last week you scheduled four cryptic appointments into my calendar that I can only conclude were your own auditions.”

  “It hasn’t been that bad.”

  “Remember when you mailed my last two chapters to the wrong department? It took two weeks to track down that package.” She placed the bread on her plate. “When you pull stuff like that, it makes me look unprofessional and incapable of handling my career. I know you think all of this just dropped in my lap, but I’ve worked my butt off to get where I am. I can’t let your incompetence make me look bad.”

  “Fine.” Natalie folded her thin arms over her chest.

  “If you don’t want to work for me, just say so. It’s not like you’ll hurt my feelings if you quit.”

  Natalie was silent for several seconds, her face compressed in a scowl as she traced designs in the hummus with the tines of her fork. “I can’t quit. As much as I hate to take your charity, I need this job right now.”

  Reggie’s reply was interrupted by the arrival of their entrées. Sighing, she saw that her waiter had gotten her order wrong, giving her the Chicken Kebab instead of the Chicken Shawerma. She cursed herself for not ordering before her sister. Natalie’s order for a Greek salad, no dressing, no cheese, no olives, and no onions had thrown the waiter, as happened at every restaurant. Invariably, whenever they went out, Natalie systematically stripped down a salad until she was left with a plate of dry lettuce, tomatoes, and the occasional cucumber. Waiters found this so confusing that any subsequent order placed was inevitably misunderstood.

  Oh well, at least she liked kebabs.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Cuisine Network’s big new star.”

  Reggie closed her eyes and sighed. Craig Ferguson, self-styled “Bad Boy” of the San Francisco restaurant scene, had arrived just in time to ruin her dinner.

  Taking in his designer jeans, motorcycle boots, and black silk sweater that probably cost a month’s rent, Reggie was astounded that she’d actually dated and thought herself in love with this man for over two years.

  Oh, he was cute, with his dark blond hair styled with more hair product than she’d ever used in her lifetime and his blue-eyed, boyish good looks. And he could be funny and very, very charming as long as everything was going in his favor. But now that she’d had over a year and a half to distance herself from their relationship, she wondered how she’d missed his self-serving, self-absorbed core.

  Reggie pasted a smile on her face and greeted him cordially. Craig had been the host of his own show on the Cuisine Network, but much to his dismay, production had been canceled about a year ago. Right when they had picked up Simply Delicious for a primetime slot.

  The last thing she wanted was for someone to recognize them. Too late. Other diners were already whispering and nodding their heads in Craig’s direction.

  “I caught your show today,” he said with a cheeky grin. “That thing you did with the tortilla wrap—nice. Have you started visiting trailer parks for inspiration?” He said it like he was kidding, but Reggie knew better. Even when they were dating, he’d never let Reggie forget that he was a chef, with a degree from the Cordon Bleu and several successful restaurants on his résumé.

  Whereas she was a mere cook.

  He’d never gotten over the fact that her simple, down-to-earth approach to cooking had proved infinitely more popular than his own all but unattainable haute cuisine approach.

  Natalie bristled. “At least she doesn’t expect people to spend thousands of dollars and half a day cooking up some truffle stew.”

  As much as she didn’t want to see them get into it, Reggie’s insides warmed at Natalie’s staunch defense. So what if her sister was a flake and occasionally made unintentionally cruel remarks? Natalie was always first in line to defend her.

  Craig hit Natalie with a scathing glare. “Ooh, that hurts, coming from someone who knows even less about food than your sister. How’s that lettuce treating you, Nat?”

  Reggie made a last-ditch attempt to keep Natalie and Craig from going after each other like rabid dogs. Later, she would wonder why she had bothered. Even when she and Craig were dating, Natalie and Craig had barely tolerated each other. “You guys, come on, can we not—”

  Natalie interrupted, “You’re just pissed because your show got canceled and your book tanked.”

  “Natalie, don’t.” Reggie said.

  Craig leaned down and shook his finger in Natalie’s face. “If your sister wants to cater to the fat housewives of America, that’s fine, but when they want to learn from a real chef, they come to me.”

  Ouch. She’d put up with his pointed jabs as her success proved too much for his surprisingly fragile ego, figuring that if that was what he needed to make him feel better, so be it.

  But denigrating her fans…that was below the belt, and she didn’t have to put up with Craig’s bad attitude and scathing sarcasm anymore.

  Considering all the times she’d helped him out with his own show and pinch-hit as a sous-chef when he was shorthanded, she deserved more respect than that. “My fans are not fat housewives. They’re people like me who don’t want to spend hours reducing sauce to make dinner every night.”

  Craig made a harsh scoffing sound. “Ride this wave as long as you can, because believe me, once people get sick of that perky chatty Cathy act of yours, you’re through.”

  Reggie stood up and threw down her napkin, punching her finger into Craig’s chest. “Oh yeah? If I’m such a flash in the pan, why am I leaving for New York in two weeks to start filming my new show? And why did I get a seven-figure adva
nce on my next book? Just wait. This one is going to hit the New York Times list too.”

  She took unholy satisfaction in Craig’s bewildered expression.

  “New show?”

  “Simply Delicious, USA,” Natalie chimed in. “Reggie’s going to the biggest food cities in the country to bring regional specialties to your living room.”

  Reggie grinned down at her. “So you have read the promo materials.”

  Craig’s expression reverted to its previous snarky state. “I can’t wait to see your latest variation on the tuna casserole.” He stalked off to a table in the back of the restaurant.

  Reggie sat down and contemplated her suddenly unappetizing plate of food. Someone tapped her on the shoulder. A young woman, maybe twenty-five, wearing a tweed skirt, chocolate cashmere sweater, and knee-high boots smiled tentatively at her. “Hi, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m such a big fan.”

  So much for having an anonymous dinner. Reggie smiled and reached out to shake her hand.

  “I don’t care what that guy says, my friends and I think you’re great. We even have monthly dinner parties based on your show.”

  Soon Reggie and the woman, who had introduced herself as Karen, were chatting like old friends, and even Natalie joined in the conversation, suggesting movies and music to go along with various dinner party themes. By the time Karen left, Reggie had almost forgotten Craig and his nasty attitude.

  But Natalie wouldn’t let her. “Craig is such an asshole,” Natalie grumbled as they walked back to Reggie’s apartment.

  Reggie murmured in agreement, recognizing the familiar bitter taste she always had when she thought of Craig and how he’d slunk out of her life. “Yeah,” she said, “you spend two years of your life trying to give them everything they want, and the second you take something for yourself…” she trailed off. She couldn’t help Craig’s bitterness and knew not to take it personally, but sometimes she wondered if maybe she were somehow better—nicer, prettier, kinder, more patient—he could have kept loving her in spite of her success.