Just Desserts
‘Oh Libby, listen to this one: “I’m planning to propose to my girlfriend after dinner, please give me all the help you can!” Oh, how sweet. Can I put his hamper together?’
Libby looked across the large kitchen at her cousin. ‘Sure. What’s he asked for?’
Sasha read the order form, murmuring under her breath. ‘He wants an easy-to-heat soup to start, followed by an easy-to-heat casserole and then an easy-to-heat dessert. God, what’s with the easy-to-heat business? Does he live in an igloo?’
‘No, he probably means something he can microwave.’
‘Well, that’s not exactly romantic, is it? Imagine, you’re in his arms, he’s whispering sweet nothings in your ear, the delicious smell of cooking is wafting through the living room, then ping, the microwave goes. Dinner is served.’
Libby grinned. ‘Sash, we’re caterers not cooking police. He can heat it up with a blow-torch if he wants to.’
‘I just think it’s a shame. We supply him with the whole package: fantastic food, mood music, coffee-table books as conversation starters,’ Sasha waved her arms around the room, pointing at the library of books and CDs, ‘even real linen serviettes, and he ruins it all with one ping of the microwave.’
Libby was openly laughing at her cousin now. ‘Leave that poor man alone. He’s obviously so nervous about proposing he can’t bear to do the cooking as well. He doesn’t need you shouting at him from the sidelines.’
‘Well, I just hope his girlfriend knows what she’s getting herself into. She might think he’s a good cook. What happens when she realises, after she’s said yes and it’s too late to back out, that he can’t cook anything more elaborate than baked beans on toast and he’s a big fraud? What does that make us? Accessories after the fact?’
‘No, with any luck he’ll become completely reliant on us smuggling wonderful meals in to him and become our number-one customer.’
Losing interest in that fax, Sasha picked up the next one on the pile. ‘Now, what about this one? “My husband has invited his boss over for dinner and, quite frankly, I couldn’t cook my way out of a brown paper bag from McDonald’s. Help!!!” You’re more like a Good Samaritan than a chef, aren’t you, Libby? You should change the name of the company, I reckon. From Big Night In to Big Rescue. But then you’d get all sorts of calls from people – cats stuck up trees, kids down drainpipes, wouldn’t you? And you’d have to explain that it’s actually a catering company, not an emergency rescue outfit.’
Libby stared at her cousin. Sasha really needed to cut back on the coffee.
‘That’s right, Sash,’ she said carefully. ‘Now, how about we start putting the orders together? Can you choose the books and the CDs while I do the shopping lists?’
That worked. For the next fifteen minutes Sasha stood in front of the wall-to-wall library, trying to select coffee-table books and CDs to suit each order.
Revelling in the quiet, Libby looked down once again at the food orders in front of her.
She was catering for six formal dinners, one children’s party and one Sunday brunch, all for delivery by six o’clock Saturday evening. She cast a quick eye over the dishes her customers had chosen. Nothing too outlandish or out of the ordinary, she was relieved to see. Most people had stuck to the suggested menus she’d supplied, with just one or two exceptions. Gooseberry fool? She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to do that one.
Sasha’s voice floated over. ‘Libby, what does romantic music mean, exactly? It depends on your taste really, doesn’t it? Teenagers would find the Pussycat Dolls romantic, wouldn’t they, but they would scare the willies out of an oldie. And I can’t imagine a couple of eighteen-years-olds smooching away to Val Doonican or Nana Mouskouri. Should I ring this bloke and ask him to be a bit more specific, do you think?’
‘No!’ Libby nearly shouted. It was a good thing her cousin was such a sensational pastrycook, she thought, or she would worry she’d lost all reason hiring her in the first place. ‘No, we’ll take a punt. What age is he?’
Sasha looked at the form again. ‘Oh, he’s ancient. Over fifty. Euch! And he’s trying to be all romantic. Isn’t that the most disgusting thought? Two old people —’
‘Sasha! What should he be doing? Ironing his lawn bowls outfit and watching black-and-white movies?’ And fifty isn’t so old, Libby didn’t say out loud. She was only fifteen years off it herself. Oh my God, she thought, realising how true that was.
Sasha laughed. ‘Sorry, I’m terrible, aren’t I? Just as well you’re here to curb my excesses. So let me think. Romantic music. How about a bit of Bach? And then a bit of Burt Bacharach. Bach and Bacharach, geddit? As a kind of theme? Bach-ground for a Bach-analian feast.’
‘Sasha, isn’t it time you went to the market?’
Sasha looked at her watch.
‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’
‘No. Goodbye.’
After Sasha had gone, Libby took a moment to relax and have a cup of coffee. She picked up the order form from the man who wanted to propose to his girlfriend. How sweet. And how heartening. Romance was alive and well for a lucky fifty-year-old.
Maybe there was hope for this single 35-year-old yet, she thought.
*
Libby came in early the next day. Friday was Big Night In’s most frantic day. There were usually a couple of last-minute orders waiting on the fax machine, despite the plea on their promotional brochure that Thursday was the deadline.
Sure enough, there were two faxes waiting. She’d read through them before Sasha had the chance to grab them and give her running commentary.
The first one was easy – an order for everything needed for a barbecue. Can you please send us fish, chicken, sausages and lots of salads – don’t need the books or the CDs, thanks! Great. She liked that sort of order.
Libby picked up the second fax. Her heart nearly stopped.
It was from Hayley Kemp.
Hayley Kemp. She couldn’t believe it. Hayley Kemp was daring to order a meal from her.
She read it quickly. It was definitely the same Hayley Kemp she used to know. Libby recognised her distinctive flamboyant handwriting. She was surprised Hayley had managed to fill out the order herself. Didn’t she have slaves to do this sort of thing these days?
It was a very specific order. Hayley wanted the most up-to-date and innovative Australian cuisine possible. Asian fusion. Bush tucker. All and everything. She wanted two different entrées. Three different main courses. Four – four! – desserts. The latest CDs, all by Australian artists. The latest books, all from Australian authors. There was even a long list of the newspapers and magazines she would like Big Night In to supply.
Libby couldn’t believe her eyes. What did Hayley Kemp think she was? A caterer or a set decorator?
She heard the door open behind her. It was Sasha.
‘Hi there, Lib. More orders? Gee, people can be thoughtless, can’t they? Don’t they realise we can’t just magic their orders out of nowhere? Anything too complicated?’
Libby just handed her Hayley Kemp’s order.
Sasha looked down and gave a low whistle. ‘Hayley Kemp? The Hayley Kemp?’
Libby nodded. The Hayley Kemp indeed. Socialite. Author. Snob. Idea-snatcher. Client-snatcher. Boyfriend-snatcher.
Yes, that Hayley Kemp.
‘You used to work with her, didn’t you?’ Sasha asked. ‘Up in Sydney? Wasn’t she that old cow who nicked all your ideas?’
That was putting it mildly, Libby thought. ‘Yes, Sasha, that old cow. That old schemer. You know the whole story?’
Sasha shook her head. ‘Only bits of it. Come on, spill the beans.’ She sat down opposite Libby and waited, bright-eyed. She loved a good gossip.
Libby sat down too. ‘Hayley and I met at catering school, twelve years ago. We went into business together, running a corporate catering company. It went fine for the first year. Until I realised she was stealing all my ideas and passing them off as her own to pr
ivate clients she was working for, outside our company. And then she went further – she started contacting our clients on the sly and undercutting our prices, offering to do it on her own, more cheaply. Turned out she’d been planning to open her own company, using all my contacts and recipes.’
Sasha was wide-eyed. ‘How dare she!’
‘How dare she is right. She was quite ruthless about it. And then I discovered she wanted my boyfriend as part of the package too.’
‘That’s awful,’ Sasha breathed. ‘She took your clients and your boyfriend?’
Libby nodded. She should have guessed much earlier than she did. All the flirting. On both sides. But it had been an awful shock to come home to the flat one night after catering for a corporate function and find her boyfriend in bed already. With Hayley.
‘And that’s why you haven’t had a boyfriend since? You’ve never got over him?’
Libby was a little stung. ‘I have had the occasional boyfriend, Sasha. You make it sound like I’ve been living in purdah for ten years. No, actually, I did get over him. That night, in fact. I got over a lot that night.’
Libby had dissolved the company there and then. In her bedroom. She’d practically thrown her boyfriend and Hayley out of the house. She’d considered legal action to get her clients back and copyright action to get her recipes credited. Then she’d realised that neither action was worth the bother. The legal fees would bankrupt her.
So she’d decided to just cut her losses and start over.
She’d moved to Melbourne and started up her own business again. Hundreds of kilometres from Ms Sneaky Trousers Kemp. But now Ms Sneaky Trousers had come visiting.
Sasha was reading through her order. ‘Wow, she’s really got a big evening planned, hasn’t she? And look at the address.’
Libby glanced over her shoulder. Oh, please don’t say Hayley had moved to Melbourne. Please let her just be visiting. This city wasn’t big enough for the two of them. No city was big enough for Hayley Kemp.
Sasha whistled. ‘The Riverview Hotel Apartments. They’re the sensational ones right in the city centre. With all the penthouses. I saw a full-page ad in the paper on the weekend. They’ve only just opened.’
That would be Hayley, Libby thought. Staying in the trendiest spot in town before anyone else. She wondered who she’d conned to get into there. She was probably staying in the show apartment. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d done that.
Hayley was obviously trying to impress someone. Who? Libby wondered.
Hayley had written a mobile number on the fax. Libby couldn’t help herself. ‘Sasha, can you do me a favour? Ring that number and say you’re just looking for some more details about her order. Find out as much as you can, will you? I can’t do it, she’ll recognise my voice.’
Sasha leapt at the idea. She picked up the phone, cleared her throat and dialled the number.
‘Ms Kemp? Good morning. Sasha Delahunty here, from Big Night In caterers. Thank you so much for your order, it is clear you appreciate quality and excellence.’
Libby had to stop herself laughing. Sasha sounded like she’d spent the past twenty years at a Swiss finishing school.
‘No, no, there’s no problem at all with your order. It will be our utmost pleasure to meet your every need. But perhaps you can just give me a little more detail about the evening, so we can be sure we have the complete picture and can fulfil your every request.’
Sasha wandered over to the other side of the room. Libby could hear snatches of the conversation.
‘Mmm. Yes. Is that right? What a marvellous compliment. Oh yes, indeed, I can think of no finer ambassador for our country’s cuisine than you. Yes, of course. By six o’clock. Yes, of course. Thank you, Ms Kemp. Yes, goodbye now.’
She hung up and spun around, grinning at Libby. ‘Gee, what a blabbermouth. It’s all for an interview she’s doing. For a big colour feature in some international magazine. Foresee or something, have you heard of it?’
Libby nodded. Of course she’d heard of 4C magazine. She even bought it occasionally. It was the trendsetter’s bible, its articles highlighting ideas and fashions months – or sometimes years – in advance. How in God’s name had Hayley Kemp managed to pull off an interview with that magazine? And why was she doing it in Melbourne? she asked aloud.
Sasha shrugged. ‘She said something about Sydney being so yesterday. Everyone’s sick of it since the Olympics, she said. So she’s doing the interview here. She said that Melbourne is the new Sydney.’
‘Melbourne is the new Sydney? So where does that leave the old Sydney? The real Sydney?’
Sasha shrugged again. ‘Dunno. So, anyway, they’re doing a feature on her. Dinner with Hayley Kemp. “Food for the new century” or some such thing, she said.’
Libby felt her blood begin to simmer. Then boil. Sasha watched, quite amazed, as mild-mannered Libby blew her top.
‘No way, Sasha! Absolutely no way! She did it to me ten years ago; she’s not doing it again. Nicking my ideas. Passing them off as her own. To hell with her order. I won’t do it.’
Sasha looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Um, actually, Libby, she didn’t mention you. At all. She probably doesn’t even realise it’s your company.’
That stopped Libby in her tracks. ‘She didn’t mention me? At all? Really?’
‘No, she just said she’d heard Big Night In was the most innovative of Melbourne’s caterers.’
‘Did she?’
‘She also said money was no object. And she was happy to pay in full in advance if necessary.’
‘By cheque?’ Libby didn’t trust her. That woman had bounced more cheques than Libby had made hot dinners.
‘She didn’t say.’ Sasha was watching her very closely. ‘But we can insist on cash. Was she that bad, Lib?’
‘She was that bad.’
Sasha beamed. ‘So. Have your revenge. Give her an awful meal. Show her up in front of this journalist.’
Libby gave a slow smile. She was tempted. What could Hayley do? If she was going to attempt to pass it off as her own cooking, there’d be no one she could blame, either …
She thought about it. She was more than tempted. She was really tempted. Sasha was watching her, all eager-eyed, ready to burst into action.
Then Libby came to her senses and shook her head. It was nearly ten years ago. She’d put it all behind her, surely. She had a very successful business now. It was time she got over Hayley.
‘No, Sasha, I don’t think so. We won’t do anything.’ She was glad to hear herself sound like the grown-up voice of reason. ‘That’s the thing about running a business. You have to learn how to keep your personal feelings separate. Be professional.’
‘Oh, Libby, come on. It’d be funny.’
‘No, Sasha, I can’t do it.’
‘Even though she was such a bitch to you in Sydney?’
‘Even so.’
‘That’s your final word?’
‘That’s my final word.’
‘Rats,’ Sasha said.
*
By five o’clock on Saturday, the Big Night In kitchen was an absolute hive of activity.
Libby and Sasha had been joined by Alan, the other apprentice chef. The hampers were laid out in long rows. The food was being assembled on the stainless-steel counters, all in the distinctive Big Night In foil containers.
Sasha had just finished putting the last of the CDs, books and magazines into one of the hampers.
‘Are you sure the barbecue people didn’t want any CDs, Libby?’ she called across to her cousin. ‘I could put in Cheap Trick’s “The Flame”, or “Burn for You” by INXS.’
Alan joined in. ‘Or what’s that old song by Paul Young? You know, that ballad?’ He burst into song. ‘ “Every time you go away, you take a piece of meat with you”.’
‘It’s “piece of me”, not meat,’ Sasha said, snorting with laughter.
Libby grinned. ‘Thanks, Sasha, thanks, Alan, that’ll be fine. Are we all
done? Can I ring the courier?’
They both nodded. The hampers were all lined up, ready to go.
Libby dialled the number. ‘Tim? Ready when you are. Two loads tonight, okay? See you soon.’
A little while later, Sasha and Libby sat down to enjoy a glass of wine. Alan had gone home for the night, after helping them to load the first lot of hampers into the back of Tim’s van.
‘You sure you’re okay to help Tim with the other four?’ he’d checked with Libby before he left. ‘It’s a filthy night, with that wind and rain.’
Libby had waved him away. ‘No worries, Alan. See you next week.’
Libby had just taken a sip of wine when her mobile rang. ‘Big Night In, good evening.’
She listened for a few minutes. ‘Oh, Tim, that’s awful. Are you okay? The van’s okay? And the hampers? You’d already delivered them? No, of course you can’t. No, don’t worry. Sasha and I are here. We can do them ourselves. Really. Go home, Tim. And don’t worry, really.’
She finished the call and turned to Sasha. ‘Tim’s had an accident. He says the roads are really slippery and the wind has brought some trees down. He didn’t see them till it was too late. Nothing serious, but his van’s off the road. There’s no time to organise another courier. We’ll have to deliver the last four hampers ourselves. Do you mind?’
Sasha shook her head. ‘No, I’m not going out till nine anyway. Which ones will I do?’
Libby checked the addresses. One in South Melbourne. One in West Melbourne. And two in the inner city.
Including the one to Hayley Kemp.
Well, there was no way she was going to deliver that one herself.
‘Will you do Hayley, Sasha? And the other inner-city one? Do you mind?’
‘Mind? I’d love to. I can slip a little broken glass into her soup at the last minute. A couple of lizards into her salad. She wanted authentic Australian cuisine, didn’t she? And you won’t mind, will you?’
Libby wasn’t sure if her cousin was joking. ‘Sasha,’ she warned, ‘you won’t, will you? Promise me?’
Sasha laughed. ‘Of course I won’t touch her food. I promise. Cross my heart.’
All Together Now Page 2