“OK.”
Fernando seemed to be satisfied and the rest of the morning went smoothly.
Suzanna looked around the kitchen. Her practiced eye told her that today they were doing cucumber, curried chicken, and egg salad. They started making the finger sandwiches in what she hoped was companionable silence but was in fact abject terror that her clientele was going to think they were being served some penicillin-laced delight.
Suzanna flitted between the two establishments as sort of an overseer, but always made sure to be on hand for the afternoon tea rush, serving as the hostess. Her nerves were on edge as Harri carried out the first tray of mountain laurel finger sandwiches. Harri shot Suzanna a confused look.
Oh, no! A panic swell.
Suzanna clutched the little podium that stood at the entrance to the tearoom, but it was no use. Her heels lifted off the ground. She tried to concentrate. Sometimes, if she could focus, she could keep her big toe on the ground, but the sight of the triple-tiered tray full of crustless purple finger sandwiches was too much for her. She felt herself floating perpendicular to the podium.
Well, at least I’m not on the ceiling.
Even though her ears were clogged, and every sound seemed far, far away, Suzanna managed to hear a squeal from table twelve.
Maybe I should let go of the podium. It might be safer on the ceiling.
But the squeal turned out to be one of delight. The Red Hat Society—women of a certain age who wore red hats and purple dresses to their weekly tea at the large circular table—called Fernando out and were showering him with applause and kisses. They loved the purple sandwiches.
Pop! Suzanna’s feet were back on the ground. She shook her head and realized that Harri was standing beside her. Suzanna was always stunned when Fernando’s crazy ideas and fits of pique met with approval from the customers. He marched to his own drummer and people seemed to get in line to join his band.
“I sometimes wish I could just soak up his vision,” Harri said. “I mean, I just don’t understand how you could be working away in a kitchen and suddenly think, ‘You know what these sandwiches need? Some red and blue dye . . . . just mix them together and add to the dough until it’s a nice . . . mountain laurel and I’m good to go.’”
The rest of the afternoon rush passed pleasantly. Eric stopped in to make sure Fernando and Suzanna weren’t plotting each other’s demise, and Suzanna had to sheepishly admit that Fernando had a winner on his hands—everyone seemed to love the bread. They were chatting when Phyllis, a tiny firecracker of eighty and one of their regular customers in both the tearoom and the bookstore, started past them on her walker.
“Hey, Phyllis, what did you think of the new sandwiches?” Eric asked, knowing that of all the customers, Phyllis was sure to hate them.
Phyllis was as old and bitter as the day was long.
“I don’t know what you were thinking,” she said. “Why don’t you just leave well enough alone?”
Suzanna thought instantly of her dance instructor and pushed him out of her mind.
Phyllis never had a good word to say about anything that was served at the Rollicking Bun. Suzanna used to worry that she would stop coming to the tearoom—granted, it would be a much more pleasant environment without her, but she spent a lot of money there. Last year, Phyllis had had a hip replacement and wasn’t around for a few months, and Suzanna was surprised to find that she really did miss her. Phyllis was frailer since her surgery, and used a walker. She never stopped complaining, but she never stopped coming in, either.
Phyllis turned her remarkably keen eyes on Eric.
“Did you get that book I called about?”
Eric and Suzanna exchanged a look over the old woman’s head. Phyllis would never say the name of a book she had asked for. She wanted to make sure Eric remembered on his own. Eric called it “proving his love.”
“Yes, I did. The Beggar Maid, right?”
Phyllis beamed.
“That’s right.”
“I put away a copy just for you.”
Phyllis headed across the hallway toward the bookstore. Eric tried to take her elbow, but she slapped him away.
“I can manage,” she said. “I’ll go look around the store.”
Eric and Suzanna watched her go.
“What a day!” Suzanna said.
“See? All’s right with the world,” Eric said. “Now, if Phyllis had liked those sandwiches, then you’d have something to think about.”
Suzanna leaned her elbows on the podium.
“I’m exhausted.”
“You need to have more faith in us.”
“Oh, right! Did you have faith in those sandwiches?”
“I didn’t have to . . . . I run the bookstore,” he said, kissing her on the top of her head. “Just relax, Suzanna. How many times do I have to tell you that? Things always work out.”
Suzanna knew that the kiss was just friendly. She had trained her heart to not leap when he did that, but it was still an act of will not to react. She watched him go back to the bookstore.
Eric was right about a lot of stuff, but he wasn’t right all the time.
Everything didn’t always work out.
CHAPTER 6
Suzanna had been taking dance lessons for several weeks, and every bone in her body screamed. In tempo—but it still screamed. She had no idea dance classes would be so draining. Of course, the mental exertion of trying to learn dance steps while fantasizing about her instructor probably added to her exhaustion. Suzanna knew in her aching bones that if she could just master some of the movements, she’d have a shot at her teacher. As it was, that infernal Lauren still appeared to be teacher’s pet.
Keeping her salsa secret proved to be easier than she had thought it would be. The boys went about their business and she went about hers. The only real problem she faced was practice. With the guys living and working side by side, she really couldn’t focus on practicing between classes. As it was, every morning, while Suzanna brushed her teeth with a two-minute-timer Sonicare toothbrush, she focused on various instructions. She also practiced her steps when she was grocery shopping, banking, or any time she found herself in any kind of line. Besides getting her ready for the next class, these impromptu practice sessions made her feel as if she were getting closer to Rio.
Business was good, both in the bookstore and the tearoom. There was a bit of a spike in business when the regulars and marijuana users found out, through word of mouth and tweets, that Fernando was serving lavender sandwiches, and everyone wanted to see for themselves. Personally, Suzanna was hoping the curiosity factor would soon wear thin; she was sick of Fernando’s gloating face every time a customer raved about his innovation.
One afternoon, while the afternoon-tea crowd was ebbing, Suzanna gathered up the day’s receipts and was about to head into the back office, when the door of the tearoom opened. Although the sun was in her eyes, Suzanna could decipher the silhouettes of a man and a woman entering.
Damn! Latecomers.
Suzanna sighed and neatly stacked the receipts on the podium. She put on her best welcome-to-our-cozy-corner-of-the-world smile and grabbed some menus. As the door closed and her eyes adjusted to the light, her smile froze.
It was Rio and Lauren.
Suzanna’s palms started to sweat. She grabbed the menus, but they started to slip out of her wet palms. She fumbled, but retrieved the menus before Rio or Lauren noticed the slipup—or her. Suzanna looked around the room in a panic. Because the afternoon rush was over, Harri was off duty and Fernando was busy cleaning up in the kitchen. She was on her own. Appearing as casual as possible—or at least trying not to float to the ceiling—Suzanna sauntered over to them, making sure she was not hunching.
“Table for two?”
“Yes, thank you,” Rio said.
“Follow me.”
Suzanna led them to the best table in the house. Maybe she couldn’t impress these two with her dancing, but she could show off her establi
shment to the best of her ability! As she put the menus on the table, she could see Rio had his hand on the small of Lauren’s back, ushering her toward a seat. They were both dressed casually, in jeans, so Suzanna knew they hadn’t come from the dance studio. Suzanna smiled brightly, but not too brightly.
I’m playing it cool, pretending I don’t know them.
They, too, seemed to be playing it cool. Either that, or they didn’t recognize her from class.
Neither of them looked at Suzanna as they glanced over the selections. Suzanna was torn as to what to do next. She didn’t want to risk turning them over to Fernando, in case it suddenly dawned on them who she was and they start discussing class (although this was seeming less and less likely as the seconds ticked by). But if she took their orders and they did suddenly mentally engage, she’d look like an idiot for not saying anything.
The decision was made for her, when Fernando, who had radar for new faces, came out of the kitchen.
“Hello, there!” Fernando said. “Welcome to the Rollicking Bun!”
Suzanna slunk away, realizing that she was not in jeopardy of being recognized.
“First time here?” Fernando asked.
Suzanna stopped, mid-slink. Was it their first time here? She strained to hear their reply, but she could detect only a murmur. She went back to the podium and tried to busy herself so that she could be where the action was but remain out of sight.
She listened while Fernando explained the various choices, which were:
CREAM TEA: Tea, scones (orange and raisin), jam, and cream
LIGHT TEA: Tea, scones and sweets (mini raspberry cheesecakes and chocolate-dipped strawberries)
FULL TEA: Tea, sandwiches (on mountain laurel bread!) scones, and sweets.
“We’ll have the cream tea,” Lauren said.
“Two cream teas, it is,” Fernando said, as he flipped their menus expertly to the back page where the tea selections were found. The Bun had a dizzying array of loose teas, and Fernando knew all of them by heart.
When Suzanna, Eric, and Fernando first got to Los Angeles, the three of them went to a Mexican restaurant where there were no menus. Instead, an old waiter would recite the selections. The waiter was entranced by his own descriptions as he led them through their choices. There was a beef tamale that “is a tribute to the corn fields of Mexico,” a tostada whose “lettuce is wet with the tears of the migrant workers,” and a chicken mole “whose white meat tastes like it was born in the sauce.” The food lived up to the hype and the three of them went back again and again. One day, they realized that the descriptions were always the same, and the magic started to wear thin.
One night, Eric joined them late and when the old waiter came over, Eric said absently, “Just give me the chicken that tastes like it was born in the sauce.”
They never went back after that, but Fernando embraced some of that old waiter’s theatrics, because he loved to show off his teas.
“What tea do you recommend?” Rio asked.
“Well, we have several excellent teas . . . our Jasmine Blossom Green is very popular, our herbal is Peach and we’re featuring a wonderful white. White tea is the rarest of all teas . . . and ours has some lovely nutty overtones.”
Suzanna’s mouth dropped open in shock. She couldn’t believe that Fernando was pulling out the white tea! That was their private stash! And why? Rio was obviously straight—it was written all over his disdainful face. But it was clear that, even given his sexual orientation, Rio had managed to cast his spell over Fernando.
Suzanna lost track of the conversation when Fernando lowered his voice to what he always thought was a sexy growl, but Suzanna thought made him sound like a gay James Cagney. She quickly grabbed a dust cloth and started swiping at teapots not far from Rio and Lauren so she could hear better. She knew she was taking her chances, but the thought of missing out on any utterance of Rio’s was too much.
Apparently she hadn’t missed anything, because when she tuned back into the conversation, it was still about tea.
“The Japanese Cherry is very special, too,” Fernando said.
“Do you have Earl Grey?” Lauren asked.
Suzanna tried not to snort out loud as Fernando’s face fell. He had offered her a pearl and she had asked for the discarded oyster shell.
“Earl Grey, it is,” Fernando said.
He spun on his heel and returned to the kitchen. Suzanna tried to keep an ear to the ground in order to catch pieces of Rio and Lauren’s conversation, but she didn’t hear anything worthwhile—nothing to help her determine the nature of their relationship. Actually, the only thing of any note that Lauren said was, “Oh, look, the sandwiches match the walls.”
Finally Rio and Lauren left. Rio gave Suzanna a quick nod, which made her heart lurch. As much as she wanted to convince herself that his nod meant something, in all honesty it looked like the sort of nod everybody gave her when they were leaving the place. Only a little less friendly.
After she finally managed to close the tea shop, Suzanna peered into the bookstore. Eric was helping a gorgeous woman load up on books from the dollar section. He followed her to the door and Suzanna stood with him as they watched the woman walk down the path. It was hard not to be mesmerized by the lettering on the butt of her sweat pants. It read SASSY and the Ss moved in rhythm to her steps, one S going up and one down with each contraction of her buttocks.
Eric took his eyes off the girl’s ass and turned to Suzanna.
“Hey!” he said. “Are you OK?”
Suzanna could feel tears welling up inside her. Damn Rio! She thought perhaps she was being too hard on her old friends and that maybe she’d confide in Eric. They used to share all their secrets. Maybe it was better that way after all.
Suzanna noticed that Eric was wearing a new T-shirt. It read THE BEST MAN FOR THE JOB MIGHT BE A WOMAN. She wiped at her eye.
“Nice T-shirt.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It helps me get laid.”
Suzanna bounded into the hallway between the tea shop and the bookstore and ran upstairs to the Huge Apartment. She could hear Eric calling up the stairs, “That was a joke!” as she slammed the door.
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.
She cried so hard that she couldn’t breathe. After an hour or so of self-inflicted misery she got up, washed her face, and headed down to the office to input the day’s receipts—her goal before she was sideswiped by Rio and Lauren. She wasn’t sure if she was more annoyed with Lauren and Rio or with Eric for insisting on all this financial planning and updating that was taking up more and more of her time. Hell, she wasn’t getting the business degree!
She clomped down the stairs and passed Fernando and Eric in the kitchen. She pretended she didn’t see them and, mercifully, they pretended they didn’t see her.
Putting aside her irritation at having to follow yet another of Eric’s computer programs, she threw herself into the project with complete concentration. Drowning herself in work had always been a lifesaver for Suzanna and she could feel her feeling of hopelessness lifting. She somehow managed to toss all her emotions aside when there was a stack of bills to be paid or major decisions to be made. Hours could go by without her even realizing it—a merciful skill, she had to say. It had saved her time and time again.
Once all the receipts were entered, bills were paid, and food and supplies orders placed, Suzanna stretched. She looked at the clock. She had been at it for almost three hours. She smiled. Three hours when she didn’t think about men! She shut off the computer and headed back up the stairs. As soon as she hit the first step, she could smell the aroma of gingerbread coming from the kitchen. Suzanna inhaled deeply. Her mouth watering, she headed up to the kitchen.
Maybe this is a peace offering?
Suzanna thought back to Fernando’s lavender loaves.
This gingerbread had better be brown!
As Suzanna climbed the stairs, it occurred to her that everything Eric worked on—books a
nd computers—was quiet. Everything Fernando did, on the other hand, was noisy. He was always banging around either the tea shop kitchen or the Huge Apartment kitchen, whipping up new things
Suzanna followed the wonderful aroma into the kitchen, where Fernando stuck a warm confection under her nose. Suzanna inhaled. Heaven! But mysterious. Suzanna examined the tray in Fernando’s hands. Mercifully, it was the right color, but it didn’t really look like gingerbread . . . it looked like fudge.
From the look on his face, Suzanna could tell this was exactly the response he was looking for.
“OK, I give up!”Suzanna said.
“It’s medieval gingerbread,” he said, plunking the tray on the counter and sprawling on the large upholstered chair that sat incongruously in the corner of the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with regular gingerbread?” Suzanna asked, poking at the medieval-thing-on-a-plate.
“Boring . . . I know you think we have to stick with the tried and true Englishness of our tea shop, and I am looking for something interesting to do, you know, so that I don’t blow my brains out, and I found this recipe on the Internet. It’s from The Canterbury Tales. You don’t get much more English than that!”
Suzanna ignored his tirade and took a bite.
It did not taste like gingerbread, but it was amazing. Fernando and Suzanna had been tasting recipes together for so long that he didn’t even need to ask. By the rapt look on her face, he knew he had a winner. He jumped up and down on the chair like a gay Tom Cruise and told Suzanna that he had had to translate a recipe from the fifteenth century, which was full of terms he didn’t know, such as “throw thereon and strew thereon,” but he finally figured it out and came up with his recipe.
“I’ve tried making it with several different honeys,” he said, “because the honey really flavors the gingerbread, and I think jasmine honey will work the best for the shop . . . it will taste great with tea.”
Suzanna readily agreed that they should add this astounding new item to the menu, but she remained braced. She knew that the gingerbread sample was just a bribe. These late-night chats always came with an agenda and she waited until he decided to let her in on the latest inner workings of his brain.
The Merchant of Venice Beach Page 6