Simmer Down

by Jessica Conant-Park

  “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Chloe,” he said, shaking my hand. In my eagerness to find a strong motive for Hannah to have murdered Oliver, I was almost disappointed that Barry failed to attempt any inappropriate touching, thereby confirming that Full Moon establishments were rife with sexually aggressive behavior. Did I really expect him to just reach out and grab my boob as confirmation?

  I introduced Sean and Barry to each other and got a puzzled look from Barry, as though he’d caught me cheating on Josh.

  “Sean is an old friend of mine,” I said. “He was at Food for Thought the other night,” I explained, meaning that Josh knew of Sean’s existence and that I was not some horrible tramp involved in clandestine meetings with other boys in nightclubs.

  “We just stopped in for a bite to eat,” I said. “To catch up.”

  Barry nodded. “Everything is on the house for you two. Frankly, I couldn’t ask someone with your taste to pay for the food here. It’s garbage, if you ask me. Oliver really wanted standard bar food here, so that’s what we did. I don’t know how you can eat here when you’re used to Josh’s food. I don’t know if you know, but I used to go to Magellan all the time.”

  Magellan was Josh’s old restaurant, where he’d run a very successful kitchen. He was reusing some of his best dishes from his stint there by putting them on Simmer’s menu.

  “I’m sure everything will be fine,” I assured Barry. “Not all food has to be totally upscale all the time, right?”

  Barry shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose. Well, anyhow, go ahead and order whatever you can stomach and consider it covered. Sean, it was nice to meet you.” He shook Sean’s hand, smiled at me, and left.

  We looked at the menu and, after Sean had proclaimed that everything looked great, the bartender took our order for spinach and artichoke dip with tortilla chips, buffalo wings, and loaded potato skins. It wasn’t exactly a high class selection, but that kind of food definitely had its place.

  “I’ve got dinner plans later,” Sean said, “so I probably shouldn’t eat too much, but I’m starved.” From what I remembered, Sean was always hungry.

  I reached across him for the three-page laminated descriptions of Eclipse’s bar offerings. “I think I’m going to get a drink.” I scanned pictures of neon-colored concoctions.

  “Chloe, the reason I called you is about what happened the other night,” he began again.

  “Uh-huh,” I nodded, searching for the bartender. “Oh, excuse me. Could I have a Global Warming, please?” I’d just ordered the most politically incorrect drink I’d ever seen, but it had lots of rum.

  “When I was at the gallery the other night, I was looking for the restroom, and I accidentally came across one of the office rooms back there. I saw a man and a woman in there. And the man had himself pressed up against the woman, forcing himself on her. I was about to step in, but the woman didn’t seem to need my help. She pushed him away and said every four-letter word I’d ever heard. Then she started hitting him with a bag of chips. I’m not sure how much good that did, but it did seem to surprise him. I didn’t realize it until later that night, but the woman was Hannah. And when I saw the newspaper the next day, I figured out that the man was the guy who was killed: Oliver.”

  I knew it! “So Oliver was after Hannah?” I asked excitedly. “Wait, could she have been holding a bag of dried snap peas? And not chips?”

  Sean took a sip of his beer. “I guess. There was some green on the bag, now that I think about it. I wasn’t really paying attention to what brand she was using to batter the guy with. Maybe I should’ve gone in to help her, but I guess I was afraid of embarrassing her. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, but then Oliver was murdered, and it wasn’t until the next day that I made the connection. And I’d seen Hannah fighting with him. I’m not sure whether or not to tell the police about it.”

  My Global Warming arrived. I took a long drink and then remembered that I was driving and shouldn’t drink much of it. Before responding to Sean, I pretended to be studying the contents of my glass. Okay, I thought, so the anonymous woman who’d been calling Naomi worked for the Full Moon Group, as did Hannah. The caller was being harassed, as was Hannah. At least one time, that is. So, was Hannah, in fact, the caller? Was Hannah driven to kill the man who was harassing her? As overeager as I was to throw Hannah in the slammer, it sounded as if she’d defended herself pretty effectively against Oliver. From what I knew of her, she was outspoken and tough. I wasn’t sure she would’ve put up with routine harassment from her boss.

  Then I caught myself. I had just blamed the victim. As Naomi was forever pointing out, harassment was not something that women allowed or didn’t allow. Strong, independent women were victims of harassment all the time.

  Our food arrived in all its deep-fried, high-calorie glory. “Ooh, this looks good,” Sean said, grabbing a chicken wing. Sean’s culinary preferences seemed to have deteriorated since we’d dated. In those days, he hadn’t displayed a marked craving for frozen appetizers. “So, what do you think? About calling the police?” He had a large glob of buffalo sauce on his cheek.

  “I’m thinking,” I answered, scooping up dip with a tortilla.

  If Hannah was the anonymous caller, she certainly had the support of the Boston Organization. More to the point, at the Eliot Davis Gallery, when Oliver had forced himself on her, she’d known that she was not alone in dealing with harassment—if, of course, she was our caller. And Naomi had been right there in the gallery. A terrible thought entered my mind: If the anonymous caller was Hannah, Naomi, who had spoken to her quite a few times on the phone, would have recognized Hannah’s voice when they met at the gallery. Naomi, herself the victim of harassment, had a passion for defending harassed women and had a particular interest in this case since she had formed a relationship with the caller. Seeing Oliver at the Eliot Davis Gallery, had Naomi connected Hannah’s description of her harasser with Oliver, who was also there that night? Maybe Naomi had even witnessed a scene like the one Sean had just described and had taken radical action to end Hannah’s victimization. With all of her yoga muscles, Naomi could easily have lifted up the Robocoupe and slammed it down on Oliver’s head. I had a clear image in my mind of Naomi leaving the office this morning for the Eliot Davis Gallery, supposedly to deliver a gift to Eliot. But didn’t criminals often return to the scene of the crime?

  “Chloe?” Ugh, Sean still had the sauce on his cheek. Couldn’t he feel it? Should I shove some napkins at him or just reach over and clean him up? Or would he take that the wrong way?

  “No, don’t call the police.” The last thing I wanted was for Naomi to be implicated, and if the police heard about the harassment Sean had seen, they’d inevitably follow the new lead to my supervisor. “I don’t think the Hannah and Oliver incident has anything to do with his murder,” I lied.

  “Good,” my ex said. “I still feel like I should’ve done something when I saw them fighting. I didn’t really want to have to tell the police about Hannah because—”

  “Look,” I interrupted. “It sounds like Hannah handled it.” I was done talking about Hannah the Horrible.

  Relieved that Sean obviously had no interest in reviving our failed relationship, I asked him about his life and caught up on his family. Twenty boring minutes later, I had heard every detail of his parents’ cruise to Alaska and of his nephew’s rise to stardom on the local T-ball team. Sean hadn’t been dating anyone seriously but was still looking for that special someone. Yawn.

  We finished eating. I felt bloated and gross. Whenever I gorged myself on Josh’s food, I felt full, but I never had the disgusted and disgusting sensation that this food was giving me. Barry had warned us that the food was garbage. He hadn’t been kidding. But I had to admit that I was really enjoying my drink, and drinks were, after all, what the place was about. I stretched my back, which was cramped from sitting on the uncomfortable stool.

  Even with the dim lighting, I spotted Hannah right away.

>   She was not at home! Not at home having my boyfriend prepare dinner for her! She was not with my boyfriend at all! What had I been thinking? There was no way Josh was going to leave Simmer the night before the opening to cook for Hannah Banana! On second thought, it was still early enough for her to meet up with Josh later. Watching Hannah, I realized that she was at Eclipse because she was working. Standing at the back of the bar, she held a clipboard and was scanning the room and making notes. If I were Hannah, I thought, I’d be writing, The terrible food should be updated with refreshing new cuisine. Lose the circa 1980 neon, and install comfortable seating.

  Coming to my senses, I realized with a jolt that I definitely did not want to be caught by Josh’s ex while out with my ex. Hannah would love to let Josh know that I was at a bar with Sean. I had to escape before she saw me.

  Sean had his back to Hannah, and I tried to angle my body so she wouldn’t see me. I did my best to crouch down in my seat, which was, of course, a barstool and consequently didn’t lend itself to crouching. The result of my effort was to make me look as if I had early-onset osteoporosis. “Sean, I’ve got to run, but I’m glad you asked me about calling the police, and it was good to see you again.” I reached for money to cover my drink, of which I’d had only half.

  Sean stopped me. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it. I’m meeting someone anyway, but it was good to see you, too.” He didn’t seem offended by my eat-and-run attitude, so it was easy to avoid an awkward good-bye. I gave him a quick, polite hug and left Eclipse.

  I was halfway home before my car finally warmed up. I thought holiday thoughts and admired the preparations for First Night, Boston’s annual New Year’s Eve celebration. Ice sculptures were taking shape. Banners had been hung over the streets, and strings of lights were strewn across trees. Feeling the residual effects of Global Warming, I succumbed to maudlin reflection: it was all so beautiful, and I was in a rotten mood.

  I was glad that Sean had sought my opinion instead of going directly to the police to report on the altercation between Hannah and Oliver, but the possibility that Naomi might also have witnessed it left me with a terrible feeling. Had her passion for her work become violent passion? Naomi was admittedly eccentric, but there was a beautiful purity about her fervent devotion to her cause. The image of Naomi behind bars was horrifying. On the one hand, Oliver’s murder was an inexcusable offense. On the other hand, I couldn’t let Naomi, of all people, go to jail.

  ELEVEN

  I arrived back at the condo to find Noah once again on the wooden structure on the back of the building that served as a fire escape and outside stairway. On the night before New Year’s Eve, he was belatedly stringing lights. Clad only in a pair of workout pants, he looked ready to provide bodily services at any moment to any interested woman who happened upon him.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, put on some clothes,” I snapped as I brushed past him. “This weather we’re having? It’s called winter.”

  “Aren’t we cranky tonight,” he commented, smirking.

  “Yes, ‘we’ are.” Stomping up the stairs, I hoped I was accidentally-on-purpose kicking wet slush down on top of him. “And having to look at your ass isn’t helping.”

  “That’s not what you used to say,” he hollered.

  Must he constantly remind me of last summer’s indiscretion? I reached my landing, jumped up and down, and mashed wet snow between the cracks in the floor boards. Then I dumped an old window box full of ice water down on him.

  “Hey, cut it out! You’re not very full of the holiday spirit!”

  I slammed my back door. If only it’d been cold enough earlier this week, I could have sent icicle spikes through his head.

  Suddenly exhausted, I flopped down on my bed and grabbed the cordless phone from the nightstand. Three messages: Doug, Adrianna, and Josh. I kicked off my shoes and listened to the first one, from my friend Doug, who confirmed that he would pick me up at six forty-five tomorrow night to go to Simmer. Doug was so much fun that I was embarrassed to realize that I’d completely forgotten he was coming with me tomorrow night. He was a doctoral student at my graduate school and a teaching assistant in a couple of my classes. I’d met him the previous September, on my first day of social work school, when he’d rescued me in the bookshop by tossing most of my so-called required reading back onto the shelves, thereby saving me hundreds of dollars and thousands of hours of boredom. Adrianna, who was extremely envious that I had a gay friend, had been bugging me for months to ask Doug to hook her up with one of his gay friends. Since she’d started working on her own and was out of the salon scene, she’d lost touch with “her boys,” as she phrased it.

  I dialed her number. “My gay friend is escorting me to Simmer tomorrow. Guess you’re stuck with a plain heterosexual to bring you, huh?”

  “Damn you!” she snapped back at me. “Where’s mine?”

  “Gay people are not like Halloween candy. He doesn’t have a stockpile that he just goes handing out to whoever asks!” I insisted. I couldn’t very well go to Doug to request that he fix up one of his homosexual friends with one of my straight friends as if he ran some backwards dating service. Still, having a good gay man in her life was every woman’s dream, so I felt a little selfish about not wanting to share Doug. At the same time, I felt possessive; Doug was mine. Ade would have to go find her own.

  Ade said, “Well, Owen will just have to do. Anyhow, I had a great time today, and Kayla set me up to go in and do some volunteer stuff with the women at Moving On. I’m so psyched to do this, so thank you for bringing me today.”

  “Ade, that’s great! I’m so glad this worked out.” I’d taken Adrianna with me to Moving On mainly because I’d gone into a panic when I’d been informed that we social work students were required to volunteer somewhere for the day. Other students were reviewing mental, and maybe even written, lists of their own talents and figuring out ways to put those gifts to good use. My friend Julie, for example, decided to help remodel the common room in a subsidized apartment building. I was barely able to hammer in a nail without fracturing my hand, and it took only one glance around my condo to know my painting skills had never advanced beyond the preschool level. Bursting with enthusiasm, I had no capacity to paint within the confines of pesky walls and floors. Having no discernable talents, I’d decided to volunteer Adrianna’s services.

  “So, Chloe, guess who called me today? Dora! Oliver’s wife?” she reminded me.

  “Why did she call you?”

  “Remember? I told you. I do her hair. She called to see if I could come over tomorrow to get her ready for New Year’s Eve. Typical. It’s just like Dora to call at the last minute. But can you believe that it’s been only a couple of days since her husband died, and she’s worried about her hair? God. As much as I like hair, if Owen were murdered, I’d have other things on my mind besides whether or not my roots were showing.” She paused. “Probably.”

  Dora, the happy widow, thrilled to be rid of her nasty husband, celebrates by glamming up for the night? Dora killed her husband and was now celebrating? Aren’t most murders committed by the family or friends of the victim? Maybe Oliver hadn’t been harassing Hannah but had just been hitting on her, and if that was the case, it probably hadn’t been the first time he’d gone after another woman. I could see it all: Dora, fed up with her husband’s philandering, or attempted philandering, had whacked him! Naomi was thus off the hook. Unfortunately, so was Hannah. Unless the two of them had conspired…?

  “Can I come with you?” I begged. “I’m kind of curious about her. We can say I’m your assistant.”

  “Didn’t she meet you the other night at the gallery?” Adrianna pointed out.

  “Oh. Good point. Well, she probably won’t remember me. And if she does, who says I can’t be a social work student interning as a stylist-in-training? She’s not going to care. Just let me come with you.”

  “Fine. I think this is ridiculous, but whatever you want. Just be prepared to stand there and hold h
airpins for an hour. Dora likes weird updos with complicated twists.”

  Next, I called Josh back at Simmer.

  “Yeah?” he said into the phone, obviously swamped.

  “It’s me. Just returning your call. What’s up?” I asked.

  “It’s mayhem here. I’m going to be working all night. And get this. I found out Gavin is bribing that restaurant reviewer, Mishti Patil, to write a glowing preview review of the restaurant. Can you believe that? I don’t need some pity review. She’s coming tomorrow, and she’d see on her own how the food is. This is bullshit,” he vented to me.

  “Oh, my God. I can’t believe Gavin did that. That is so insulting, Josh! And I can’t believe Mishti could be bribed. I thought she was a straight-and-narrow tough reviewer. That’s why she has so much clout, isn’t it?”

  “I guess she’ not so straight and narrow after all.”

  “How did you find out? I assume Gavin didn’t just tell you. Or did he?”

  “No, one of my dishwashers, Javier, heard it. Gavin probably thought he didn’t understand English, and he must’ve mouthed off about what he was doing when Javier was nearby.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing. What can I do? Anyhow, that Isabelle girl is here. She seems like a good kid. She doesn’t know how to do anything, and she’s probably wondering what you got her into, but she’s working tomorrow just because I need the extra set of hands. Let’s hope we don’t scare her off.”

  I hesitated. “What are you going to have her do?” What had I done to poor Isabelle? She was going to be caught in a kitchen storm with Josh and Snacker yelling at everyone, screaming for orders to be put up, and generally behaving like psychotic chefs on an opening night. I hoped she would understand that would not be the norm at Simmer. Or I hoped it wouldn’t be the norm.

  “Oh, she’ll be busy doing whatever I need done. I’m going to show her how to prep some of the vegetables for me in the morning, and then at service, I’ll have her fill in wherever she can. And she’ll probably help keep the kitchen clean while we’re working. I’m going to give her a quick tour of the kitchen tomorrow morning, and then I’ll keep her with me to go run and grab anything I need. She’ll be okay. I’ll take care of her, so don’t worry,” he reassured me.