“It was about her Web site,” Lizzie finally said.
“Her Web site?” Kathryn looked at Jim, then back at Lizzie. “Why would you be arguing about her Web site?”
“Because . . .” Lizzie looked over her shoulder to see if Zoe was listening. She knew it shouldn’t matter—wrong was wrong. Nevertheless, she was still a little afraid of Zoe and wasn’t sure what would happen if she told Kathryn and Jim about The Clean Life.
“Because?”
Lizzie turned back around. “Because her site is a lie.”
“A lie?” Kathryn laughed nervously as she looked back and forth between Lizzie and Jim. “What do you mean? It doesn’t exist?”
“It exists. It’s just . . . the whole story behind it isn’t true.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. What story?”
“Zoe claims she cured her friend of cancer by helping her follow a special diet, but that isn’t true because her friend is dead.”
“What friend?”
“Marie.”
Kathryn’s face went white. Jim narrowed his eyes. “Marie,” he repeated. “Isn’t that—”
“There are lots of people named Marie,” Kathryn snapped. “It isn’t necessarily—”
“The one she met at summer camp?” Lizzie offered.
They both turned and looked at her. “Who told you about that?” Kathryn asked.
“Nate.”
“Ah. Nate.” She huffed. “I should have known. Well, I hate to break it to you, but anything Nate says should be taken with a large grain of salt.”
“So . . . Zoe didn’t have a friend named Marie from summer camp?”
“I didn’t say that. What I said was you should be careful throwing around accusations when Nate is your source.”
“Okay, but I’ve talked about some of this with Zoe herself. Hence the five a.m. argument.”
“Of course there was an argument. You’re calling her a liar—she had to defend herself.”
“Right. And then coincidentally, a few hours later, your cookbook goes missing and ends up in my bag. Doesn’t that seem a little convenient?”
“I’m missing the connection.”
Lizzie met Jim’s eyes. “Really? Because it seems pretty straightforward to me. I confronted Zoe about her site being a scam and threatened to tell you about it, but before I could, she made me look like the liar instead.”
“Oh, please,” Kathryn groaned. “Like Zoe would go through all that trouble for some little Web site.”
“It isn’t little. She has almost two hundred thousand followers on Instagram. Her site is very popular.”
Jim raised his eyebrows. “Two hundred thousand?”
“Give or take.”
He nodded, his eyebrows still high on his head. “Impressive.”
Impressive? Lizzie was speechless. She’d thought Jim would be her ally in this, but she was beginning to wonder if she’d misjudged him.
“I told you she had an entrepreneurial spirit,” Kathryn said.
“I thought it was just some blog. I didn’t realize she had a legitimate platform. With that big of a following, she could probably monetize aspects of her brand.”
“How do you mean?” Kathryn asked.
“Well, aside from things like book deals and ad space, she could branch out into other media as well, particularly in the mobile space. I wonder if she’s thought about an app.”
“She already has one,” Lizzie said. “It’s on the Apple watch.”
“Wow—really?” Jim smiled. “That’s incredible.”
Lizzie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “It would be if it weren’t for the fact that a lot of the information on her site is bogus.”
“Bogus how?”
“Like she claims her advice can help people beat cancer without having to go through conventional treatments like chemo and radiation.”
Jim shrugged. “Well? Maybe it can.”
“Except she has no evidence to prove it. The one story she gives is about a friend who, come to find out, died five years ago.”
“You’re talking about Marie?”
“Yes.”
Jim sighed. “Listen. We know Zoe had a camp friend named Marie who died a few years ago. To be honest, I never knew much about her until after she died. I still don’t know very much, but Kathryn and I recognized that Zoe was very upset about her passing. Her grief manifested itself in many ways, most of them unpleasant, which is why we’ve attempted therapy so many times. But if she’s finally found a way to channel that grief in a positive way, well, I’d say we’ve turned a major corner.”
“How is this a positive way? She’s lying to people.”
“Not necessarily—”
Kathryn turned to Jim. “That’s right. Remember what Dr. Stephens said—if she truly believes it in her own mind, it isn’t really a lie to her.”
Lizzie was beginning to wonder if this conversation was actually happening. Maybe it was a dream and any second Jim would morph into an elephant wearing a bow tie and then she’d wake up. Because this couldn’t be real. She couldn’t be sitting in front of two adults who were explaining away their daughter’s dangerous behavior and instead seeing it as an achievement.
“Does that really matter?” Lizzie asked. She was trying to be delicate—after all, this conversation had begun as an interrogation that might lead to her dismissal—but she was having trouble maintaining an even keel.
“I think so,” Kathryn said.
“Really? Some lady in Kansas with colon cancer could stumble across Zoe’s site and decide, ‘Hey, I think I’ll give this a try instead of chemo.’ ”
“That would be her decision to make,” Jim said.
“But it would be a misinformed one.”
Kathryn wagged her finger. “Says you, the woman who tried to steal my cookbook.”
“I didn’t try to steal your cookbook!”
“Right. Maybe it’s like Dr. Stephens says. If you believe it . . .”
“I don’t believe. I know. Don’t you see? Zoe just wants you to think that because—”
“Ladies!” Jim held up his hands. “Enough. I don’t have time for this. This is supposed to be my vacation. I’m already dealing with work calls every damn morning. I don’t need to play referee on top of it. Whether Lizzie took the book or not, it’s back in its rightful place now, so there’s no point in going on and on about it. Lizzie, we like your food, and you helped my buddy Sam in his moment of need, so you can stay.”
“Jim, don’t you think we should discuss—”
He silenced Kathryn with a wave of his hand. “But know that we will be watching you, and if there is any more funny business, we won’t hesitate to fire you. Understood?”
Lizzie nodded.
Jim slapped his knees and got up from the couch. “Good. Now, let’s get back to vacation, shall we?”
He headed out the back door, and Kathryn followed him, looking unsettled but cowed. Lizzie sat on the couch, watching them through the floor-to-ceiling windows, before returning to the butler’s pantry to continue with a job she was no longer sure she wanted.
* * *
The afternoon wore on. For most of it, Lizzie was in a daze. The conversation with the Silvesters didn’t make any sense. They thought Zoe’s Web site was a good thing? What was wrong with them? She suddenly felt uncomfortable being in their employ. If she took their money and they supported their daughter in her shady venture, then was Lizzie effectively complicit in the whole enterprise? The thought made her queasy.
She needed to find a new gig as soon as possible. Almost anything would be better than this. But until she did, she wasn’t in a position to turn down the Silvesters’ money. She had loans to pay off and overdue credit card statements to settle, so she couldn’t afford to quit before she’d lined up something else. Could she work for another family in Philadelphia? Or would she do something else altogether? She wasn’t sure, but she vowed to put out feelers this week.
&nbs
p; Cocktail hour approached, and Lizzie hurried around the kitchen as she prepared the nibbles that would accompany the wine and prosecco. Kathryn had requested simple hors d’oeuvres—crudités, Paleo-friendly dips, nuts, and olives—so Lizzie didn’t have much to do other than chop up some vegetables and whiz some ingredients in the food processor.
As Lizzie puréed a bunch of avocados, Nate knocked on the door frame. “You busy?”
“What does it look like?”
Lizzie realized she sounded snippy, which wasn’t her intention. She liked Nate. A lot, actually. But the conversation with Kathryn and Jim had disrupted her equilibrium, and she was having trouble readjusting to reality.
“Sorry,” he said. “Need any help?”
“I’m okay. Thanks, though.”
He tapped his fingers against the frame. “Did something happen earlier? I heard one of the guests say something about a stolen book . . . ?”
Lizzie clenched her jaw. “Wow, news travels fast, huh?”
“Let’s just say some of these people have a lot of free time on their hands.”
“Too much, if I had to guess.”
“So if you don’t mind my asking . . .”
“In a nutshell? Kathryn’s signed Martha Stewart cookbook went ‘missing,’ and then Zoe ‘found’ it in my bag and accused me of stealing it.”
“And I’m guessing that isn’t what actually happened at all.”
“Correct.”
“Care to set the record straight?”
“I tried earlier with your dad and Kathryn. Didn’t exactly go as planned.”
“What happened?”
“Well, to explain why Zoe would accuse me of stealing, I had to tell them what she and I discussed at five a.m. when we ran into each other in the kitchen.”
“Which was . . . ?”
“I confronted her about her Web site. The whole Marie story.”
Nate groaned. “Didn’t I warn you not to do that?”
“Yeah, and I thought that was pretty lame, to be honest. She’s basically peddling quackery. Maybe you’re fine having that on your conscience, but I’m not.”
“It’s not that I’m okay with it. It’s just . . . I know how she is.”
“Which is what? Crazy?”
“That’s a little strong, but . . . well, yeah. I mean, look what happened. You confronted her, and—surprise, surprise—she tried to get you fired, right?”
“For the record, it didn’t work. I still have my job.”
“So Dad and Kathryn believed you?”
“Kind of. I don’t know. I’m pretty sure Kathryn still thinks I stole the book, but your dad seems skeptical.”
“Dad is a little more levelheaded when it comes to Zoe.”
“Not really. When I told them about her site, he was the one who seemed the proudest.”
“Proud? Of what?”
“Something about her channeling her ‘grief in a positive way.’ ”
In a flash, Nate’s mood soured. “Fucking classic. I’m a professor of sociology at a legit university, and they basically think I’m a loser. But Zoe pens some bullshit blog about . . . what? Fairy dust? And she’s the one doing something positive and meaningful.”
“I think Kathryn used the word ‘entrepreneurial.’ ”
“Of course she did.” He pressed his palms against his eyes. “God, my family is so screwed up.”
“I mean . . .” Lizzie trailed off as she realized there would be nothing to gain from agreeing with him, even though she did.
Nate gave a halfhearted laugh. “Bet you’re super excited you still have your job, huh?”
“Listen, it pays the bills.”
“So does working at Starbucks, and my guess is it comes with a lot less drama.”
“But where’s the fun in that? I wouldn’t get to take midnight trips to the ER, or stumble across an old guy getting a blowie, or have these enlightening conversations with you.”
“Wow. Good to know where I rank in the scheme of things.”
“You’re probably a small step above. Just a small one, though.” She smiled. “In all seriousness, I appreciate the advice you gave me last night in the ER. You gave me a lot to think about.”
“My pleasure.” He glanced up at the clock. “Listen, I’m not sure what time you get off, but I was going to grab a drink with some friends at the Windrift later if you wanted to tag along.”
“Wait, you have friends? I thought Zoe said . . .”
“Okay, okay—technically it’s just one friend, and she’s not even really a friend. It’s that woman Kathryn and Sam are trying to set me up with.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—you want me to be your wingman?”
“Wouldn’t you be the wingwoman? Anyway, no, it’s not like that. I think she’s meeting some other people she knows too, and I’ve made it very clear this is not a romantic rendezvous.”
“Unless she turns out to be attractive, right?”
“What? No. Give me a little credit.”
“What makes you so sure you aren’t interested?”
“Aside from the fact that she has a major endorsement from Sam Offerman?”
“I bet he’d endorse me. Am I so bad?”
Nate flushed. “No. But that’s different.”
“I don’t see how, but whatever.” She looked at the clock. “Dinner is at seven, but I will probably be finished by nine or ten. Where did you say you were meeting up?”
“The Windrift. It’s like a five-minute drive. If you want, I could wait and give you a lift . . . ?”
“No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. It sort of depends on how the evening goes anyway. If someone else splits his head open on the bottom of the pool . . . I may not make it.”
“Understood.”
He rubbed his hands together. It seemed like he wanted to linger but wasn’t really sure what to say. Part of Lizzie wanted him to stay. She enjoyed the company, and his in particular. But she knew she’d enjoy it far more over a drink at a bar, so if she had any hope of meeting up with him later she needed to keep moving.
“Anyway, I guess I’d better let you get back to . . .” He eyed the puréed avocado in the food processor. “Whatever that is.”
“Avocado dip.”
“Paleo?”
“Do you even need to ask?”
He smiled. “I like you,” he said. “I hope you can make it later.”
“I’ll try,” Lizzie said, even though she knew she’d go, because the truth was, she liked him too.
* * *
To Lizzie’s great relief, cocktail hour and dinner passed without incident. No drunken injuries, no stormy arguments. Kathryn still seemed leery of Lizzie, but she put on a happy face in front of her friends and Lizzie figured her distrust would wane over time. If it didn’t . . . well, that was Kathryn’s problem. Lizzie had nothing to hide, and with any luck she’d be out of there in a few weeks anyway.
Lizzie hadn’t seen Zoe since she managed to find the cookbook that morning, and no one else had seen her since she’d left for the beach that afternoon.
“I think she’s taking photos for her site,” Lizzie overheard Kathryn telling Barb. “Did you know she has more than two hundred thousand followers?”
Lizzie wasn’t sure how “almost” had morphed into “more than,” but she was pretty sure that by the end of the summer Kathryn would be telling people Zoe’s site reached millions. Lizzie found it odd that Kathryn hadn’t shown any interest in actually seeing the site itself or pointing others in its direction. She seemed more interested in bragging about it in the abstract. Maybe that’s how she rationalized its existence in her mind. If she never visited The Clean Life, she wouldn’t know for certain that Zoe’s site was bullshit, and if her friends didn’t visit either, they couldn’t criticize it.
Once Lizzie had helped Renata clean up from dinner, she showered and put on fresh clothes and, though she hadn’t made a habit of it this summer, som
e makeup. Back when she was on TV, she never left the house without wearing makeup, on the off chance she ran into someone who recognized her from her show. The one time she made an exception and popped into her local bodega without even a hint of mascara, she’d run into someone who was quick to inform her, “You look WAY better on TV. Like, a lot.” After that, she didn’t take any chances. Her big fear was that if there were a fire in her building in the middle of the night she’d have to run out to the street without putting her face on and a photo of her pale, bare mug would be splashed across the Internet. Maybe people would start to suspect her appearance wasn’t the only thing she’d made up.
But once her fame fizzled, she cared less and less about getting dolled up, whether it was for a personal chef gig or a run to the grocery store. On some level, whenever she dabbed concealer beneath her eyes or swept blush across her cheeks the face staring back at her reminded her of the person she used to be—the star, the It Girl, the up-and-comer. That wasn’t her anymore, and the fact that being that person involved wearing a mask of powder and gloss made her wonder if it ever had been. It’s not that she no longer liked making herself pretty. It’s that she’d spent so many years covering up her face that she’d forgotten there might be any natural beauty in it. She eventually grew used to seeing her bare reflection in the mirror. She didn’t look like a TV star, but then maybe she never had.
Now, though, for a night on the town, she layered on the eye shadow, blush, and mascara. She wasn’t doing it for Nate; she was doing it for herself. Did she want him to do a double take when he saw her? Maybe. Okay, yes. But she also wanted to draw the distinction between Private Chef Lizzie and Real Person Lizzie. Not that Private Chef Lizzie wasn’t a real person. But that was her work persona, sweating over a hot stove and shoveling hamburgers or kebabs onto a platter. She was that person, but she was also a person who read books and drank wine and occasionally danced. She wanted to show Nate that side of her, but she wanted to remind herself of that side too.
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