by Carrie Doyle
Jonathan had a guilty look on his face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But I couldn’t help but overhear the other night when you were talking to Joseph. I was outside cleaning up those overflowing ashtrays that Kendra and Marty never deign to take look after. I didn’t want to say anything, really none of my business, but when I saw you hand it to the detective today, I was quite relieved.”
“Um, yes. I’m glad I returned it.”
Jonathan nodded. “I’m sure you’ll sleep quite well tonight.”
And here Antonia had been thinking herself the only one at the inn who knew everything that was going on. Now it appeared she had some competition.
14
A good twenty minutes later, Antonia was up to her elbows in food. The kitchen was the most fulfilling place in the world for her. She enjoyed caramelizing, braising, roasting, frying and baking. The aroma of chopped onions cooking in butter was her favorite smell (although she primarily used shallots these days.) It reminded her of when she was very little and would help her mother prepare Thanksgiving dinner. Despite having taken cooking classes, Antonia did not consider herself a classically trained chef. She had never worked the line at a four, or even a three, star restaurant. She had never apprenticed under a master chef. She had come to her current status through a route that is often looked on with derision: catering. For true food devotees, that’s like saying you were a cook in the army.
In stressful times, the kitchen was a sanctuary to Antonia. She threw on her apron and forgot about everything else other than the new pork chop recipe she was fiddling with. Several hours ticked by and Antonia didn’t even notice. Therefore, it came as an utter shock when Glen popped his head into the kitchen and announced breathlessly:
“They’re here.”
“Who’s here, jerk-off?” sneered Marty.
“Nick Darrow and Melanie Wells,” said Glen purposefully, as if he couldn’t believe how clueless Marty was. “I seated them at table four.”
Antonia felt as if she had been shot. It was a strange, primal feeling. She had often wondered if Nick would ever come to her restaurant. In some ways, she was surprised that he never had. She had the best damn restaurant in town! Secretly, Antonia had reasoned to herself that it was because Nick would have to bring his wife, and that would somehow seem offensive to Antonia. She couldn’t believe that he was finally here. And this week, of all weeks.
“Actors are the pickiest goddamn eaters in the world,” Marty said in his flat Brooklyn accent.
“I didn’t know they had booked a table,” said Antonia, wiping her hands with a dishtowel.
“They didn’t. But they’re famous so I made room for them,” said Glen, his eyes widening. He quickly scurried away to return to his maitre d’ post.
Soyla, who was plating the amuse bouche (a white bean and truffle ‘cappuccino’), glanced up from her station. “Antonia, if you want, you go, we’ll be okay.”
Antonia shook her head vigorously. “I have no need to go suck up to celebrities.”
Soyla stared hard at Antonia, but quietly resumed her work. Soyla was one of the most intuitive employees Antonia had ever had—Antonia sometimes felt that she knew everything.
“She doesn’t need to go suck up,” sneered Marty as he brought up the flame on the burner. He threw two pork chops on the pan, which sizzled as they landed. “Glen’s already got his lips glued to their asses for sure. He’s probably out there right now humping their legs. He’d take either of them as long, as he could get away with it.”
“Oh, Marty, you have a way with words,” laughed Kendra, who placed two entrees on the dock.
“I have a way with a lot of other things, Kendra. Take me up on my offer and let’s have a roll in the sack.”
“How could I turn down a come-on like that?” asked Kendra rhetorically. She put her hands on her wide hips and did a little jig. Her fat rolls wiggled like a dish of Jello.
“Why waste time on compliments and all that bullshit? We both know what we’d be after. It would be memorable for you.”
“You’re very confident in your abilities,” said Kendra.
“They don’t call me tripod for nothing.”
Antonia and Kendra groaned in unison. “Lovely,” said Kendra.
“Don’t let those ice cream scoops go to waste. Let daddy lick them.”
“Okay, enough,” said Antonia. Sometimes she felt as if her job description was more den mother than executive chef. Marty and Kendra always engaged in this sort of R-rated sparring.
Antonia saw Kendra’s large frame sidle up to her station and stand next to her expectantly. She glanced up. Kendra had soft doughy features and eyes hidden by layers of chubby cheek rolls. Her weight gave her the deceptive appearance of someone soft and gentle, but in fact she had a fiery temper. “So, are you going to do a special tasting menu or anything for them?”
“For who?” asked Antonia.
“The movie stars!” said Kendra, wiping her forehead with a red bandana. She always carried one in her pocket and wore one on her head.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
“They may expect it,” said Kendra. “When I was at Caché we were always making special courses and dishes for celebrities. It was all white truffles and caviar and fancy stuff, and it was all comped.”
“Well, that’s not my style,” said Antonia. “If Nigella Lawson or Julia Child walked in here, they could eat for free. Other than that, they have to pay.”
“Julia Child is dead,” said Kendra.
“Then I guess she won’t be receiving a free meal,” said Antonia, throwing some chopped chive as a garnish on top of the baked lobster special.
“What about the President, would you make him pay?” asked Kendra.
“I don’t know. Did Dan Barber make him pay when he went to Blue Hill?” asked Antonia, cleaning her board with a dishtowel.
“I think politicians have to pay,” said Kendra.
“They don’t pay for jack,” said Marty. “They steal everything. A bunch of thieves.”
“It’s true, a bunch of crooks. Look at East Hampton. The goddamn town went bankrupt because of the former town supervisors. Stole all the money and put it where? God knows. All these fancy houses paying enormous taxes, we shouldn’t be bankrupt,” said Marty.
“Just keep your money under your mattress,” laughed Antonia.
“Oh, I do, sweetheart.”
“I don’t know, I think Nick Darrow and Melanie Wells will expect something. Just wait and see,” said Kendra, bringing the conversation around.
Antonia sighed and scanned the kitchen. Perhaps she was right. Maybe Nick Darrow would expect something. She had to look at it objectively. He was her friend, sort of. If she had other friends visiting who had never been to her restaurant she would send them a free course, wouldn’t she?
“Alright. Slip something in there,” Antonia said finally. “Either the chicory and pecorino salad with the Meyer lemon vinaigrette or the jicama ‘tacos’.”
“Sounds good,” said Kendra.
Glen returned five minutes later with their order. Antonia took it in her shaky hands and read it over and over, as if it held some mysterious message for her. She finally hung it up on the board and set to work, summoning all of her expertise to help her.
“Don’t worry, it will be great,” said Soyla quietly.
* * * * *
Antonia breathed a sigh of relief about ten minutes after Nick and Melanie’s desserts went out (another free course dispatched “with compliments from the chef.” They had ordered only coffee and mint tea but Antonia could not bear the fact that they might not sample the Valhrona chocolate panna cotta with dulce de leche sauce or the rustic caramelized apple tart with honey mascarpone.) If they had anything to complain about then they were just picky eaters. Nick’s rack of lamb had been cooked perfectly
; Melanie’s halibut steamed to perfection. She had, of course, requested sauce on the side and vegetables instead of potatoes, but Antonia stealthily cooked the fish in butter sauce. There was no way she was sending out a dry piece of fish, no matter what diet Melanie Wells was on.
“Antonia, someone would like to say hello to you,” said Glen gaily. He stood half inside the kitchen door, while someone stood behind him out of view.
This is it, thought Antonia. Nick Darrow would finally come to her kitchen, her safest spot in the world. She felt more naked that she did if she was actually naked. “Okay,” said Antonia. Despite her best efforts, her voice wobbled.
“They can come in,” said Antonia. She turned so that her body was completely facing the door. She felt frozen in place.
Glen smiled and opened the door all the way and in walked…Sam.
Sam!
Sporting a corduroy blazer and even a tie, he sauntered in with a large grin on his face. That is until he saw Antonia’s face, which had fallen when she realized he wasn’t Nick.
Noting that something was wrong, Sam’s eyes darted around the kitchen. “Bad time?” asked Sam sheepishly.
Antonia quickly recovered. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to the door. “No, no, please. Come in.”
Sam’s smile returned. “I just wanted to say thank you so much for a delicious meal. My buddies were right; you can cook your butt off.”
“I didn’t even know you were here! I would have really turned it on.”
“You did turn it on,” he said. “It was delicious.”
“But had I known…”
“I never reveal myself when I’m going to a pal’s restaurant. I don’t want any of that fake stuff like complimentary courses and all that jazz. And you didn’t disappoint.”
Antonia flushed with pride. She hoped Nick had felt the same way. “You are too kind.”
“Not sure about kind. But definitely experiencing some professional jealousy here. I may have to steal that pork chop recipe. That lime chutney on top was off the charts.”
“That’s a good one, isn’t it?” asked Antonia.
The other workers in the kitchen had resumed their duties, completely disinterested once they realized that Sam was not a movie star. He moved closer to Antonia.
“I was wondering if you can steal away for a nightcap?” he asked.
Antonia’s eyes gave him an appraising look. Once again, she was drawn to the large muscular body underneath his clothes. She had never been a body person, obviously, or else she would have lost the twenty extra pounds attached to her ass, but in this case, she had a physical reaction to Sam. He was sexy. And yet…he was cute for sure, but he was more like the guy you have a crush on that you assume nothing will ever happen with, whereas Nick Darrow was the guy who you love. It actually didn’t make sense, as it was usually the movie stars that were unattainable. This was the reverse.
“I don’t know,” said Antonia, looking up at the wall clock. It was almost ten fifteen; dinner service was coming to a close. She could slip away if she wanted.
“Come on,” coaxed Sam. “Even if we just go out to your dining room and have a drink.”
She hesitated. Nick was out there. What would he think if he saw her with Sam? Maybe he would be jealous, Antonia thought suddenly, with a rush of adrenaline coursing through her body.
“Sure,” she said finally. “Let me just take off my chef’s jacket. I’ll meet you in there.”
Antonia kept an emergency “presentable” outfit in the mudroom to dazzle VIP’s when she had to make a hasty change. Now was the time to put it to use. She gathered the magenta DVF wrap-dress, chocolate leather boots and a small Estée Lauder cosmetic bag (free with purchase of a sixteen ounce jar of “body glow’ sea salts) and moved into the small powder room, where she changed and put on fresh makeup. After the final mascara application, she slid the elastic out of her hair and ran a brush through it, before fluffing it with her hands. There was no doubt about it, she had what Genevieve referred to as ‘80s hair,’ woefully out of date.
Oh well. At least Marty whistled as Antonia walked through the kitchen on her way to the dining room.
“Mama mia, that guy is one lucky son of a bitch. You got that roll around with me look, sweetheart.”
“Enough,” reprimanded Antonia, rolling her eyes.
She placed her hand on the swinging door. This was it. She would finally meet Melanie, her imaginary rival. She would see Nick Darrow, but on her own turf. Antonia had this strange certainty that when she opened the door, her destiny would change forever. It was completely irrational, she knew. Deep down she felt that she had won tonight’s battle. She had poured all of her love into the meal that she made for Nick. He had to have sensed that. And what can be more luscious than being fed by someone who cares for you? He would have to see that all of his sparring with Melanie was a vicious cycle that had to end. Not that Antonia would ever break up a marriage, especially when a child was involved. Hadn’t this marriage been dead for years? Isn’t that why Nick came to see her every morning and poured out his heart?
Antonia opened the door. She smiled with expectation. Her eyes scanned the room. Bridget was alone at table one, stirring her cappuccino. She looked up when Antonia entered the room. Antonia smiled distractedly. Sam was seated at table ten, against the wall. He was leaning back in his chair, his legs outstretched with his feet crossed, a bottle of beer in front of him. He rose as she approached. Antonia glanced around the rest of the room. Table four was empty. Her heart sunk. Where was Nick? It was then that she glanced at the front door. She froze, the gleeful expression fading from her face.
Nick was helping Melanie on with her jacket. He waited while she put both arms in then pulled out her long straight hair that had gotten caught underneath. She was more petite in person than she appeared on screen, and more ethereal. She had beautiful green eyes that were set wide apart, giving her an almost feline quality. Worst of all, she had that celebrity aura, where she appeared to be bathed in a shimmering light that emitted a glow, like a hologram from a sci-fi movie. Antonia felt as if everything started to slow down and the room began to spin. There was something very tender and gallant about the way Nick attended to Melanie. Not like a husband who was at his wit’s end with his wife. On the contrary.
At that moment, Nick turned and met Antonia’s gaze. She held her breath. Was she ready to receive his compliments? Would it be awkward to meet Melanie? Nick expression brightened. And then…he waved at her. She watched the corners of his mouth curl and he mouthed “thank you” before taking Melanie’s arm and escorting her out the door.
15
Antonia felt as if she had been slapped. A mouthed thank you? That’s all she got for the meal of her life? Nick didn’t even have the dignity to come over and say it to her face—he made do with an off-hand, across the room brush off? Antonia continued walking over to Sam, her mind bursting with embarrassment. How could she be so stupid? So ridiculously naïve? At the same time, she also wanted to blow his effing head off.
“Is everything okay?” asked Sam, putting his hand on Antonia’s shoulder. His touch was gentle, but she felt as if she had been stung. When Nick walked out that door, Antonia zipped up her emotions like a cocoon and planned on denying entrance to anyone who asked.
She looked up at Sam as if she had never seen him before. His eyes returned a quizzical, worried look. Get a hold of yourself, Antonia. Take deep breaths. This is absurd. Don’t collapse in front of everyone in the restaurant. Antonia straightened up.
“Wonderful,” she said.
“You sure?” asked Sam, cocking his head to the side. His air was watchful and concerned.
“I’m sure,” said Antonia firmly. She sat down at the seat across from him. “It’s just been a long day, and I need a drink.”
Sam remained staring before returning to his own seat.
“I know the feeling.”
The waitress brought Antonia a glass of Stag’s Leap cabernet and a plate of chocolate biscotti. Sam watched Antonia pensively, while she in turn took a long sip of her drink in an effort to compose herself. She picked up a cookie and took a bite.
“Ah, chocolate and red wine, there is no greater combination for soothing the soul,” said Antonia. “You know what I mean? One of God’s best pairings.”
“A dark ale beer and fried shrimp po’ boy soothes my soul,” said Sam.
Antonia nodded. “I hear you on that. Riesling and blue cheese salad with Anjou pears can also do the trick nicely.”
“Too complicated. I’ll take a vodka shot chased by herring on a thick piece of dark buttered bread with a dash of salt.”
“We could play this game forever,” mused Antonia.
“I know, and I wouldn’t get bored.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Antonia couldn’t help but think that Nick and Melanie would be in their car now, driving home. Would they discuss their dinner? Was it one of those meals that stay with you forever, that you refer to as one of your top ten? Perhaps they were immune to sensational cooking.
“So, did you see Nick Darrow and Melanie Wells?” asked Antonia. She was attempting to be casual and hoped Sam wouldn’t see through her.
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Not impressed by movie stars?”
“He seems like a jerk to me. Isn’t he the one always making those political statements? I hate it when famous people pontificate. He should just shut his pie hole.”
Antonia felt defensive of Nick. “I think he feels like it’s his responsibility because he has a forum.”
“His responsibility is to entertain me,” said Sam, taking a sip of his beer. “Other than that, he can pipe it. When you or I cook for people it’s also a sort of performance. We don’t have to shove our political views down their throats.”
Objectively, Sam had a point. Nick did make some pretty wild statements about the government, and was such a vocal critic of the previous administration that he swore to leave the country if they remained in power. She had admired his conviction. Hearing it from Sam’s standpoint, coupled with Nick’s snub, Antonia felt maybe she should reevaluate. At times, Nick did come off as a blowhard.