Virtually Perfect

by Paige Roberts

  Maybe Lizzie was just projecting, as she often did.

  She was toying with calling her mom to check in when another text from April appeared on her screen:

  I’ll be in Avalon for the 4th. Assume the Silvesters will be doing another party? Could maybe catch up then. Though I guess you’ll be working?

  Did Lizzie detect some smugness in that last question? Of course she did. Why wouldn’t April feel smug? She had a plum position at Jim’s company and Lizzie was his cook, and it all seemed like a perfect case of poetic justice. But Lizzie decided to rise above her insecurities and texted back:

  I’ll be working but could probably hang out after. Would love to reconnect.

  —even if she knew she was probably the only one who felt that way.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, as she was scrubbing the beets, Lizzie looked up to see Zoe in the doorway of the butler’s pantry. The thin strings of her turquoise bikini peeked out from beneath her sheer black cover-up, which hit at mid-thigh. Her sunglasses rested on the top of her head, holding back her tousled blond waves like a headband.

  “What are you making?” she asked. She had a way of speaking that bordered on aggressive, as if she were interrogating Lizzie and not simply trying to make conversation.

  “Roasted beets,” Lizzie said. “For a salad.”

  Zoe inched closer, narrowing her eyes as she examined the beets. “What kind of beets?”

  Lizzie studied the vegetable in her hand. “Regular red ones.”

  “Are they organic?”

  “I . . . think so? Maybe? I bought them at the farmers’ market.”

  “Just because they’re local doesn’t mean they’re organic.”

  Lizzie wasn’t sure what she’d done to antagonize Zoe, but already they seemed to be at odds. They’d spent less than ten minutes together the entire weekend. What could Lizzie possibly have done to rub Zoe the wrong way? Nothing, as far as Lizzie was concerned. She knew it shouldn’t matter. Kathryn had hired her, not Zoe. And anyway, Lizzie had taken an almost instant dislike to the Silvesters’ daughter from the moment they met Friday night. If she didn’t like Zoe after such a short time, then surely Zoe had every right to dislike her. But here her lifelong character flaw reared its head once again: She couldn’t stand being the target of anyone’s disapproval, even if she disapproved of that person herself. It was a foible she couldn’t shake. The fact that she’d ended up working in television—on camera, no less—was laughable to anyone who knew her. No career was more savage than one on TV. Lizzie had always tried to accept criticism with maturity and grace, but she’d hated every second of it and felt as if a piece of her died inside with each nasty e-mail.

  “Sorry—I didn’t check. Next time I’ll ask.”

  “Please do. Because I only eat organic.”

  Lizzie tried to content herself with Zoe’s use of the word “please.” She wondered if this meant Zoe wouldn’t touch any of the food at dinner.

  Zoe pulled the sunglasses from her head and gnawed on one of the arms. “I used to watch your show sometimes,” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t half-bad.”

  Lizzie brightened, then hated herself for it. Why should she care whether Zoe liked her show or not? But she did, and more than a little.

  “Some days that feels like a lifetime ago,” Lizzie said, scrubbing the dirt and grime off another beet.

  “I was still in high school, so yeah. Long time.” She watched as Lizzie finished cleaning and seasoning the beets. “What have you been doing since then? This?” She waved her hand around the butler’s pantry.

  “Sort of. More personal chef work than private chef work.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  Lizzie stuck the pan in the oven. “Personal chefs have several clients, and you don’t have to be at their house all the time. I’d leave a week’s worth of meals in the fridge with a note, and that would be that. A private chef works for just one person or family, and . . . well, I’m still learning how that goes.”

  “So you had, like, a business? Must not have been doing that well if you’re here now.”

  “I got by.” Barely.

  “Must be a huge bummer, though. To go from TV star to this.”

  There was a tinge of glee in Zoe’s voice, as if she was hoping those wounds were still a little raw. It was similar to the way April spoke of Lizzie’s fall from grace, except there was a reason April sounded that way. Lizzie supposed Zoe had a reason too. She just didn’t know what it was.

  “To everything there is a season . . .” Lizzie said.

  Was she quoting the Bible now? And if so, did that line even make sense? Zoe didn’t look entirely satisfied with this as an answer, and Lizzie couldn’t blame her. At the same time, Lizzie wasn’t willing to give her the satisfaction of knowing, Yes, it was a huge bummer, and if I’m being honest, I still haven’t fully come to terms with it. She hadn’t admitted that out loud to anyone, and she wasn’t about to make Zoe her first confidante.

  “Anyway,” Lizzie continued, “I still have a bunch of prep work to do before dinner. I assume you’ll be eating with your parents?”

  “I guess.” She sounded thoroughly unenthusiastic about the prospect. “What time are they eating?”

  “Six thirty, I think. Your dad has to get up early tomorrow morning to head back to Philly, so he wants an early night.”

  “Big surprise there.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Nothing. My parents are lame. But I should be at dinner. Assuming there’s something I can eat.”

  “For sure. The greens are all organic, and I’m pretty sure the beets are too.” This was a lie, but she didn’t want to be the source of more tension between Zoe and her parents. Kathryn, in particular, wanted Zoe to join them for pretty much any activity—a meal, a walk on the beach, a few minutes by the pool—and seemed continually disappointed when Zoe either rejected her invitations or wasn’t even present to hear them. If lying about the provenance of tonight’s vegetables would keep the family peace, Lizzie was willing to do it. She wondered if Zoe could tell.

  “I guess that’s fine. It’ll make my parents happy. And then I can tell my friends I ate a meal prepared by a former Food Network star, which is pretty cool, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

  Lizzie smiled, feeling pretty pleased with herself, until Zoe added, “I mean, hanging with a has-been doesn’t really do it for me, but other people might be impressed.”

  And just like that, Lizzie felt her good spirits evaporate, and if Zoe’s expression was any indication that had been her intention all along.

  * * *

  Lizzie watched as Renata set the table, laying Zoe’s place at the head, between Kathryn and Jim. Lizzie admired Renata for the care she put into even the most menial tasks, the way she buffed the water spots off the knives or positioned the place mats so that they were even with the edge of the table. Depending on what Lizzie had made for dinner, Renata would select coordinating plates and cutlery (the Silvesters had a few different sets) and would infuse jugs of spring water with fruits and herbs that complemented the meal—watermelon and basil to go with grilled fish, pineapple and mint to go with turkey burgers. Lizzie sensed Renata did all these things not out of fear of retribution but because she actually enjoyed making things nice for a family she’d known for many years, a family that, from what Lizzie had seen, treated Renata more like a relative than an underling.

  Back in the kitchen, Lizzie put the finishing touches on the beet salad, sprinkling a handful of chopped scallions over the top. She scraped the sautéed spinach, peas, and asparagus into a bowl before stepping out the side door to take the turkey burgers off the grill. Renata helped her carry all of the platters into the dining room, where Jim and Kathryn had already taken their seats. Zoe wasn’t there.

  “Look at all this!” Kathryn said as Lizzie and Renata laid the platters and bowls on the table. She glanced at her watch. “Zoe shou
ld be here any minute. . . .”

  “What time did you tell her?” Jim asked.

  “Six thirty,” Lizzie and Kathryn said in unison.

  “So she had two people tell her and she’s still managed to be late.”

  “It’s six thirty-one,” Kathryn said. “I’d hardly call that late.”

  “Considering she’s nowhere in sight, I wouldn’t call it on time.”

  Kathryn’s cheeks flushed, and she smiled tightly. “Can we please not do this now? She’ll be here. She promised.”

  “Don’t you trust me, Daddy?” Zoe appeared in the dining room, a weighty DSLR camera slung over her shoulder. She’d changed out of her bathing suit and cover-up and was now wearing a navy romper.

  “There you are!” Kathryn cried. She eyed Jim and smiled. “See? I told you.”

  Zoe slid into her chair. “So what is all this?”

  Lizzie inched closer to the table and gestured at each dish. “Turkey burgers and toppings. Beet and avocado salad. Early summer sauté, with spinach, peas, and asparagus.”

  “Isn’t it a little late for peas and asparagus?”

  “They had some at the farmers’ market, so . . . I guess not?” She hoped she didn’t sound too snippy, but after only two days her patience with Zoe was wearing thin. She wondered if every meal would involve Zoe giving her the third degree.

  “Huh. Weird.”

  “Well, whatever the season, it looks delicious,” Kathryn said. She had reached for the serving spoon when Zoe reached out to stop her.

  “Hang on—let me get a photo first.”

  She removed the lens cap and took a series of photos of everything on the table, rotating bowls and platters in different directions and, at one point, standing on her chair to snap a few aerial shots. The entire episode struck Lizzie as a little odd—Jim and Kathryn just sitting there while their burgers got cold as Zoe turned the meal into a photo op.

  “Zoe has a blog,” Kathryn said as she sat awkwardly with her hands folded in her lap.

  “You mentioned that at the interview,” Lizzie said. “What is it called?”

  “I’m not . . . Zoe, sweetie, what is your blog called? I can never remember. . . .”

  “That’s because I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “I’d love to take a look sometime,” Lizzie said, trying to sound encouraging but really hoping Zoe would bring the photo session to a close. The turkey burgers were getting colder by the second, and although Zoe wouldn’t eat them, they were the main component of her parents’ dinner.

  Zoe snapped the lens cap back into place and slung the camera over the back of her chair. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s eat.”

  Lizzie let out a sigh of relief and headed back to the kitchen. At least they were eating. She did wonder about Zoe’s blog, but not enough to delay dinner any longer than Zoe already had. Would every meal be like this? And would Zoe be posting those photos to her site? The thought hadn’t occurred to Lizzie as Zoe snapped shot after shot, but as Lizzie rinsed the cherries under the tap she wondered whether Zoe would credit her with the food and, if she did, what the context would be:

  Dinner with a former Food Network star!

  My lame dinner by a washed-up Food Network star . . . womp, womp.

  Ever wonder what happened to Lizzie Glass? Of course you didn’t.

  This is what failure tastes like.

  Lizzie tried to shake the headline images from her mind. It was just a silly blog. Who cared? Frankly, at this point Lizzie viewed any mention of her name as a good thing. It was a way to keep her relevant, to keep her name alive in the food world. Any publicity was good publicity, right? Zoe might not even mention Lizzie at all. But as that thought chased the others away, she suddenly felt disappointed, as if another opportunity to resurrect her career had slipped through her fingers, even if the opportunity had been nothing but a figment of her imagination. And that’s when she realized: Yes, it was just a silly blog, but she did care, and for reasons that, at this moment, didn’t make her particularly proud.

  CHAPTER 13

  The week that followed wasn’t nearly as bad as Lizzie thought it might be, but that was mostly because Lizzie had envisioned living under some Zoe-led totalitarian regime and, as it turned out, Zoe wasn’t around all that much. She’d pop in for the occasional meal, which she almost always photographed with her digital camera or iPhone, sometimes both. But that only happened two or three times, and when it did it came as a surprise to both Kathryn and Lizzie. Kathryn pretended she was fine with Zoe’s capricious (and, Lizzie thought, disrespectful) ways, but Lizzie saw through her act. Was she putting it on for Lizzie? Or herself? Lizzie couldn’t tell.

  When Friday morning arrived, Kathryn burst into the butler’s pantry full of excitement. Jim’s college friend Sam Offerman was coming for the weekend, and she wanted Lizzie to plan a few menus for his stay.

  “Maybe a Mexican night. Or Italian! Although I guess that’s a little tricky, since I can’t have pasta and Jim shouldn’t have garlic. No, Mexican would be good for one night. And maybe splurge on lobster for another. Lobster is Paleo, isn’t it?”

  Lizzie had no idea. She somehow didn’t picture cavemen dining on crustaceans, but what did she know?

  “Well, even if it isn’t,” Kathryn continued, not waiting for an answer, “Jim loves it, and so does Sam if I remember correctly, so I say let’s do it. Oh! And for lunch one day, could you make that beet salad again? Or a variation on it. It doesn’t have to be exactly the same. Maybe you could add arugula or something. Listen to me! Telling you how to cook again. Ignore me. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “Arugula would actually be really nice,” Lizzie said, feeling slightly dizzy, as she often did in conversation with Kathryn. “Maybe with some nuts for crunch.”

  “I think Sam is allergic to nuts. Or is that someone else? I’ll check and let you know.”

  “How many nights will he be here?”

  “Just tonight and tomorrow. He leaves Sunday after breakfast. Oh, breakfast! Jim asked if you could whip up a few special breakfast treats for Sam’s stay. Maybe some scones or muffins or that kind of thing.”

  “Should I make them grain-free so that you can eat them?”

  “Oh, God no. Jim won’t touch them if he thinks they’re diet food, and Sam will just tease me. Mind you, last time I saw Sam he looked a little like a muffin himself, if you catch my drift. A grain-free diet might actually do him some good. But it isn’t my place to say anything. That would be his wife’s domain—or should I say ex-wife’s.”

  She raised her eyebrows conspiratorially, as if she’d just passed along a juicy piece of gossip Lizzie should be delighted to learn. But Lizzie didn’t know Sam and barely knew the Silvesters. Hearing that one of their friends had gotten a divorce meant nothing to her. And anyway, after her parents’ divorce she couldn’t think of any failed marriage as titillating news. Divorce was sad and hard and sometimes ugly, and no matter how gory the details, they were really no one else’s business.

  However, given the look on Kathryn’s face, she clearly didn’t see it that way. “Affairs,” she said, leaning in. “On her side. Lots of them. Apparently the latest was with her tennis instructor. Big surprise there. I met him once when we visited their place in Montauk, and the first thing I said to Jim was, ‘Watch out for that guy—he’s trouble.’ Charming, tan, fit. T-r-o-u-b-l-e!”

  She went on to describe the various ways in which this now ex-wife was terrible and why she’d always known the marriage would never last. Lizzie let it all wash over her as she let her mind drift to what she might make this weekend, which she decided was more important and relevant than hearing about the charges Sam’s ex-wife had made to his credit card and the damage she did to his Jaguar convertible. Maybe some cherry streusel muffins? Or a blueberry coffee cake? She could also make some yogurt and granola parfaits to leave in the refrigerator. If Kathryn wasn’t planning to eat any of it, anything was fair game.

  �
�Mind you, Sam is hardly the innocent,” Kathryn continued. She was still talking. How was she still talking? “There’s a reason she was wife number three. He’s a huge flirt. HUGE. Just wait—you’ll see.”

  Lizzie had no interest in seeing and wished Kathryn would steer the conversation back to more pertinent subject matter. Did they want lunch by the pool or in the house? How many people should Lizzie expect for dinner?

  “So about the weekend . . .” Lizzie cut in when Kathryn paused to catch her breath.

  “Right! The weekend. Let’s do Mexican tonight and lobster tomorrow. Tonight can be like a fiesta—margaritas, fish tacos (no tortilla for me, of course!), lots of avocado and salsa and that kind of thing. Oo-o-oh, and we can eat outside!” She clapped her hands excitedly. “I’ll tell Renata to light the tiki torches.”

  “Will Zoe be joining you?” Lizzie immediately regretted asking the question when she saw the expression on Kathryn’s face. On the one hand, Lizzie needed to know how much to cook and how much of that needed to be organic, gluten-free, and vegan. But Kathryn’s stress levels seemed to rise at every mention of Zoe’s name, which only made her talk faster. Lizzie could barely keep up as it was.

  “I think so. She hasn’t seen Jim since Sunday, and she always gets a kick out of Sam—Uncle Sam, as she calls him. Plus, I’m sure she’s dying to pry details out of him about the divorce. Zoe loves that kind of stuff.”

  Other people’s misfortune? Lizzie wondered. Or just gossip in general?

  “So, yes, count on Zoe. And Barb! Can’t forget Barb. Between you and me, I would love to set her up with Sam. I mean, yes, okay, he’s a flirt, but he’s a very successful property developer, and at this point I don’t think either of them is anxious to get married again. It could just be for fun—a summer fling! At our age, can you imagine? Not that I’m looking for anything like that. Jim is all the man I ever need, trust me. But for Barb . . . Anyway, that’s five including Barb, and then I think my friends Diana and Wendy are planning to swing by tonight, too, so that makes seven. Three single ladies—Sam will really have his pick of the litter!”