Cook the Books

by Jessica

  “Really? That’s great. It sounds like a job that I’d love.”

  “Excellent. Maybe we could set up an interview. In fact, why don’t we meet at a restaurant? Have you been to Oracle?” Kyle asked.

  “No. That place opened about six months ago, right? I’ve heard good things about it.” I’d been dying to go there, actually. Josh and I had managed to get a reservation one night last summer, but he’d had to cancel at the last minute when his boss at his old restaurant, Simmer, had insisted that Josh needed to work.

  “Any chance that you’re free to meet tomorrow night? Seven o’clock? I’m really behind on this project, and I’d love help as soon as possible.” The hint of desperation in Kyle’s voice raised my hopes for securing the job. “I’ve already made a reservation there for four, since I’d been hoping for a number of candidates to interview, but one enthusiastic response like yours is better than three wishy-washy ones.”

  “Perfect. I’ll see you then. And thank you so much for calling.”

  When I hung up, I realized that for the first time since Josh had left, I was feeling truly upbeat and optimistic. It felt good to have something to look forward to. The only thing nagging at me was the prospect of going out to dinner with a strange man. Not that Kyle had sounded particularly strange on the phone, but dining at a restaurant with a man brought up images of an actual date, something I was nowhere near ready for. Stupid of me, I thought. This was a job interview. I hadn’t met Kyle on a dating site, for Pete’s sake. Still, I was suddenly nervous. For all I knew, Kyle was a psycho ax murderer, and posting ads for cookbook writers was his way of finding victims. Unlikely, I admit, but I nonetheless did what any other sensible, modern woman would have done: I searched Google Images for Kyle Boucher. After skipping over photos of men who certainly weren’t my prospective employer—unless he was ninety-eight years old or a professional soccer player or a congressman—I located one shot of him. He looked normal enough, but in the picture he was in a group of people at a high school reunion, and I continued to feel wary. Sociopaths were always described as totally normal looking, and I wasn’t in a mood to take risks right now. I called Adrianna.

  She picked up after a few rings. “Spit-up and poop central. How can I help you?”

  “Stop answering the phone like that,” I complained. “It’s so gross. Patrick does more than spit up and poop.”

  “True. He does occasionally sleep. Although not for more than four hours at a time. And he cries, too. It’s charming.”

  Adrianna sounded beyond exhausted. Before Patrick’s birth, Ade’s knowledge of children in its entirety could have been handwritten in large print on a small index card. What’s more, she’d never been one of those women who spend their lives dreaming about becoming mothers. On the contrary, she’d always had a rather strong dislike of children. Consequently, she’d reacted to finding out that she was pregnant with horror followed by panic. Fortunately, by the time Patrick had entered the world, she’d mellowed out, and some sort of instinctual parenting impulse had kicked in. Ade was hardly the soft, soothing motherly type, but Patrick was bringing out the best in the previously underdeveloped side of her. Besides, Owen was a fabulous father, and his enthusiasm had been contagious.

  “But you know,” she continued, “I wouldn’t trade this little guy for anything. He giggles a lot now, too. Have you seen that? I got the cutest picture of him smiling. I’ll send it to you later. So, what’s up, Chloe? Are you coming over later? We miss Auntie!”

  “I’m totally bogged down with homework for the rest of the day, but I wanted to see if you could come out to dinner with me tomorrow. Will Owen be home to stay with Patrick?”

  “Yeah, Owen will be here, but I cannot afford to go out, you know that. And neither can you!”

  “Actually, it’s for a job interview.” I explained the ad and the call from Kyle. “I don’t think I should go alone.”

  “Chloe, you can’t show up for a job interview with your best friend tagging along. It’s not quite as bad as bringing your mommy, but close.”

  “Please! I’ll pay for you, and it’ll give you a good excuse to get out of the house for a few hours. We’ll come up with an explanation for why you’re there, and then I won’t worry about being kidnapped after dessert.”

  Adrianna paused. The prospect of going out for a real meal had to be enticing. “Fine. But don’t blame me if you end up embarrassed that you brought me. Oooh, what am I going to wear? And I’ll get to do my hair and everything!”

  “See? This’ll be fun. I’ll pick you up at six thirty tomorrow.”

  I was starting a new chapter in my life: a Josh- free chapter. Good!

  TWO

  “HURRY up!” I pleaded with Adrianna. “You look as disgustingly gorgeous as you always do. I don’t want to be late.” Adrianna was in her bathroom touching up her eye makeup for the fiftieth time.

  I stood in the doorway cradling Patrick in my arms. If I held this little bundle any longer, I might not want to leave. Ade had just nursed and burped him, changed his diaper, and dressed him in an adorable blue sleeper. I rubbed his peach fuzz with my finger and stared into his blue eyes. “Your mother is obsessing over perfection, isn’t she?”

  “We’re not going to be late, Chloe. And this is practically the first time that I’ve gone out at night since I had the baby, and I want to look nice. There, this is as good as it’s going to get, I guess.” She spun around. As usual, I was taken aback by how beautiful my friend was. Her perfectly foiled blonde hair fell across her shoulders and down her back in soft curls, and even exhaustion couldn’t detract from her modelesque face. Her body was heavier than it had been prepregnancy, but the little bit of extra weight only made her more curvaceous and attractive than ever. Breastfeeding had kept her cleavage annoyingly full. God, sometimes I hated standing next to her.

  “You look too nice. With you there, Kyle won’t be able to pay attention to any of my qualifications.”

  “Shut up,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “You look awesome.”

  Oracle was a pretty high-end restaurant, so I’d put on a sleeveless black dress that fell just above the knee and paired it with simple black pumps. With hair as red as mine, there’s no need to add additional touches of color. I’d flat-ironed my curls until smoke had risen off my head, and then I’d slathered in defrizzing serum. It had taken me nearly thirty minutes to do my makeup because I’d been fussing over how much or how little made me look professional and competent.

  “You ladies ready to go?” Owen called from the kitchen. “Or am I going to have to shove you out the door?”

  We walked down the short hall, and I reluctantly passed Patrick over to his father. “Here you go. If this dinner wasn’t about securing a job, I’d hold this kid all night.”

  “Go have fun. Although I still think it’s weird that you’re bringing a chaperone to an interview.” Owen lifted Patrick high in the air, eliciting a smile from the baby. He kissed Patrick’s belly and then continued nuzzling his face into the baby’s tummy. Patrick grabbed a fistful of Owen’s hair and pulled.

  “Don’t let him do that,” Adrianna said. “He’ll lick his hands and get poisoning from your hair gel.”

  Ade’s husband had taken to styling his black hair with gobs of gel. The result was alarming height and elaborate waves. Owen’s wild hair matched his outgoing and even eccentric personality. I thought that it suited him perfectly. He was just as gorgeous as his new bride. I found his dreamy Irish looks to be quite handsome.

  “Get out of here, ladies. Go have fun. Patrick and I are going to grill burgers for dinner. It’s men’s night here.”

  “Where are you going to grill?” I asked.

  “Out on the fire escape.”

  “You are not!” Adrianna shrieked. “That is an old wooden fire escape, and one little spark from your decrepit grill could ignite the entire building! That teeny little area out there is not a porch, Owen. It’s a safety feature. Or it was until you deci
ded to make it hazardous.”

  I crossed the room and looked through the window on the back door at Owen’s grilling area. There was barely room for two people to stand. “Yeah, I think it’s illegal to grill on a fire escape.”

  “We’re on the top floor of this house, so we’re not blocking anyone’s path out,” Owen insisted. “Besides, it’s the back of the house, so no one driving by could see me out there. And I can’t imagine that our landlords downstairs would care. Anyhow, they’re away for two weeks.”

  “Well, you better not grill after they get back,” Ade said sternly. “They’re looking for any excuse to kick us out, so please don’t hand deliver a reason for them to evict us.”

  “Why would they kick you out?” I asked. “You guys just moved in here four months ago.”

  Ade shrugged. “It seems that they just don’t want to rent the third floor anymore. They’ve been using the first two floors, and they’ve decided that they really want to convert the whole house back to its original design and use the entire building for themselves. It’s only the two of them, so I don’t see why they need all the space, but I guess they have the money to do it. Unfortunately for them, we signed a one-year lease, so they’re stuck with us until next July. Unless my husband gets us sent packing.”

  Owen shrugged. “Well, we could use more space, so maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing. You have to admit that we are totally cramped in here.”

  Adrianna nodded and sighed. “I know, but we practically just moved in, and I don’t feel like moving again. But you’re right. We barely fit into this place, and it’s just going to get worse in a few months when Patrick starts to crawl. But for tonight, please be careful and don’t burn the place down, okay?”

  “Nothing is going to happen, Adrianna.” Owen rolled his eyes at his wife’s worrying. “It’s a nothing little grill, and don’t forget that yours truly was a Boy Scout. I’m an expert when it comes to fire safety. My son and I are bonding this evening, so leave us alone to do manly things like play with fire. And burp.”

  After reeling off endless baby-care instructions, Ade kissed Owen and Patrick, and then stood frozen at the front door, staring at her boys. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? I won’t be gone too long.”

  “I promise we’ll be fine, babe. Please go out and have fun. You spend twenty-four hours a day with the baby. You deserve a few hours off, okay? I swear I’ll call you if we need anything.” Owen smiled reassuringly.

  “Okay.” She sighed again and didn’t move.

  “Ade, you’re making me feel guilty. If you don’t want to come, I understand,” I said.

  “No, she’s going with you. Chloe, drag her down the stairs if you have to,” Owen ordered.

  “I’m going. I’m going. Bye,” she said pathetically. “I love you guys.”

  “We love you, too. Bye, Mommy.” Owen lifted Patrick’s hand and waved his son’s arm. “Have fun, Mommy.”

  “Oh no, Adrianna! You can’t cry,” I insisted. “Not after you spent all that time on your makeup!”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” She rushed out the door, down the stairs, and into my car.

  We drove in silence to the downtown restaurant. I knew that once I got her inside she’d relax. There was no way she’d be able to resist a good meal, and Oracle had been receiving glowing reviews in both local and national publications. For once, I sprang for valet parking. Tonight, I didn’t want to waste time cruising Boston’s jammed streets and risk finding nothing but an itty-bitty space that would require parallel-parking skills superior to mine. As I got out of the car, I felt self-confident. We were on time. I was going to make a good impression on Kyle Boucher. I was going to keep Ade from crying. Most of all, I was going to get this job.

  THREE

  FOR a Wednesday night, Oracle was crowded. I took its popularity as a sign that the food would be wonderful. The large dining area was almost entirely pale blue, as if the designer had wanted to create the feel of an artful house of ice: blue walls, blue linens on the tables, and even ice blue tile on the floor. The candles glowing from wall sconces and the miniature glass pendant lights hanging from the ceiling suggested a starry sky above the diners. It was magical! Better yet, contrary to appearances, the temperature was perfectly comfortable.

  I approached the hostess stand. “I’m here to meet Kyle Boucher.”

  “Excellent. Your party is already seated. Right this way.”

  I followed the hostess to a corner of the restaurant, where a blond, goateed man in his early thirties sat alone. I recognized Kyle from his photograph, but he was much better looking than the small picture had indicated. He slid out of the semicircular booth and stood up. With a warm smile, he said, “You must be Chloe.”

  “And you must be Kyle.” I shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And this is my friend Adrianna.” Uh-oh! I’d forgotten to come up with an explanation for her presence at dinner.

  “Adrianna, it’s lovely to meet you, too.” Kyle showed no sign of finding it bizarre that a job applicant had turned up for her interview with a friend in tow.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I tagged along,” Adrianna said apologetically. “I have a three- month-old baby, and I practically begged Chloe to bring me with her tonight. I just had to get out of the house.” Talk about a true friend!

  “I don’t mind a bit. The more the merrier,” he said graciously and gestured for us to take seats.

  I scooted into the middle of the arched booth so that I sat between my friend and my potential boss. Kyle was indeed a good-looking man. Not that I cared, obviously, but he was tall, and his athletic build was visible even under his navy suit. His golden hair was neatly cut, but his goatee needed a trim. That slight hint of imperfection gave him a scruffy appeal.

  The waitress appeared with our menus, and Kyle ordered a bottle of white wine for the table. Ade smirked at me, and I rolled my eyes. Since Patrick’s birth, Adrianna had been out at night only once before, when I’d insisted that she accompany me to a local bar. In full-blown mourning for Josh, I’d gotten it into my head that nothing but a night of beer and tequila shots would heal me. According to Adrianna, the evening ended with my performing an atrociously morose rendition of “Son of a Preacher Man.” On the walk home I capped the performance with a rather violent bout of vomiting. Perhaps I wouldn’t drink much tonight. Just one glass. Or two, maybe.

  “I guess I should start by telling you about the project I’m working on. Then you can decide if it sounds terrible or not. I won’t be offended if you rush out of here before dessert,” said Kyle, crinkling his eyes in a smile.

  “If it has to do with food, I’m sure I’ll love it,” I said.

  “Well, the cookbook I’m putting together is going to be a compilation of recipes from Boston chefs. My plan is to visit local restaurants, make sure the food is good, of course, and then solicit recipes from the chefs.”

  I immediately realized that Kyle’s plan had a major problem—namely, the existence of cookbooks exactly like his, such as the popular The Boston Chef’s Table. My job prospects seemed to be dwindling by the second. “Do you have a publisher lined up?”

  My face must have shown my concern because Kyle said, “Yes, and don’t worry. I know that there have been other Boston-based cookbooks, but this one’s going to be part of a series of books with recipes from restaurants in major US cities. Boston is the first of the series, followed by LA, Chicago, Seattle, Atlanta, and Miami. My father is actually the name and the force behind the books. You may have heard of him. Hank Boucher?”

  “Wow,” I said, stunned.

  “No way.” Adrianna’s mouth dropped open.

  Hank Boucher was a nationally known chef who, according to all of the tabloid shows and entertainment magazines, catered everything from celebrity weddings to award-show parties. He was almost as well known as Wolfgang Puck or Mario Batali. I’d seen him on television and in magazines many times.

  Kyle laughed lightly at our expressions. “So I gath
er you do know who he is. That’s my father. And so the cookbook series is going to be his, with the titles including his name. This one will be Chef Boucher’s Favorite Recipes from Boston. I really need help fast because I’m racing against a deadline. Then I’m off to LA to work on that book.”

  “Do you live in Boston?” I asked.

  Kyle shook his head. “No, I’m just renting a small apartment near Boston Common. I’ve been in town for a few months already, but I haven’t exactly gathered much material.” He cleared his throat. “And, see, my dad is in France right now, but he’ll be coming to Boston tomorrow to check on my progress, and . . . well . . .”

  “You don’t have anything to show him?” prompted Adrianna.

  “Correct,” he said sheepishly as he nodded at her. “That’s where I hope Chloe will come in. But first things first. Let’s order, shall we? If the food here is as good as it’s rumored to be, Chloe might have her first assignment: soliciting the chef here for a recipe.”

  We opened our menus, and I read every delicious line. “It certainly looks incredible.” Considering the exorbitant prices, it had better be. Well, I’d just charge the meal to my credit card and pray that Kyle hired me.

  As if reading my thoughts, Kyle said, “Please order whatever you like. This is my treat, of course. In fact, order more than you like. We should taste as many dishes as we can so we can see which ones we might like for the book. And Adrianna,” he said to my friend, “you especially should eat a lot, since you probably have no time to eat while taking care of a tiny baby, huh?”

  Ade nodded. “That’s very true. It’s amazing how much time I spend holding Patrick, my son, rocking him, nursing, trying to get him to sleep. Not to mention doing the obscene amount of laundry the kid generates. Half the time I’m too tired to think about finding something to eat, never mind actually cooking anything. I’m usually in bed by eight o’clock, so forgive me if I nod off,” she said jokingly. “The other mothers in my new-moms’ group all say they do the same thing.”