Let's Dish

by Catherine Wade

  "So why I am here?"

  He looked at me and seemed surprised, almost like he hadn't realized I was in the room. “Sorry, I shouldn't be telling you this. I don't want to make this awkward for you."

  "But if you want to win this contest, why would you help the competition? Really, Kevin. What do you want from me? Why am I here?"

  So much for civil. I was getting sick of walking on eggshells and I had occupied the kitchen for all of ten minutes. Kevin, however, didn't seem put off.

  "I told you. Yes, I want to win this thing. Yes, it means a lot to me and, yes, it would have been a lot easier with you out of the way.” Why was I picturing Marlon Brando carrying a pair of cement shoes? “But I don't want this thing to be a cakewalk. If I win, I want to earn it. And to me, earning it means beating you. Fair and square. No games, no tricks."

  I wasn't sure I believed him, but what choice did I have? “You're awfully confident in your abilities. Who says either one of us will win?"

  Kevin laughed. It was an arrogant laugh, yes, but there was something charming about it. “Anything's possible. Come on, do you have more to bring in?"

  "Just a little."

  "I'll help you. Then you can get busy trying to kick my ass. So to speak."

  With a wink, he was leading me out front again. This might not be the worst week of my life, I decided. But it might very well be the most confusing.

  * * * *

  I stood at the counter with my hands covered in dough, but I was staring blankly at the flour-encrusted chrome at Best Dishes. It was ten thirty at night and the place was quiet and still. I didn't even have Armand to yell at.

  I'd been thinking of Ted. I was really done with him once and for all. But it seemed I was clearing the decks. I had no one left except my screwball mother, football-obsessed father, and a benevolent enemy who was impossible to figure out.

  When Ted left for Atlantic City, it seemed like the end of my life. In a way, it was. It was the end of an innocence I had clung to with a certain stubbornness only attributed to the Irish. The end of one life, but the beginning of another. So I realized, as I stood in the empty kitchen of Kevin's store, that this, too, would be a new start. Like life had a giant reset button, and I had the opportunity to push it. Again. Whether I liked it or not.

  Then again, maybe I was just tired. Or hormonal. Or desperately panicked.

  I looked down at the bowl of sludge it had taken me two hours to concoct. It was supposed to be dumpling dough, but I had let it sit while I rushed to get the turkey breast from the oven. Correction—charcoal that used to be a turkey breast. It had been Armand's job to pull it out. I forgot he wasn't there to do it and, for a fraction of a second, considered screaming at him. When I realized he was nowhere to be seen, I screamed anyway.

  The whole thing was falling apart. I'd have two hours on Sunday to prepare my meal from scratch. It had to be a complete feast. Armand and I had gotten it down to a science. Without him, it looked more like a science experiment gone bad. Really. Really. Bad.

  I glared at the stuff a second longer and considered tasting it. But when I dipped my finger in, the goo sucked at it with a force that threatened to take the whole hand. I decided eating it was most likely a bad idea, too. I dumped it over the charco-turkey in the garbage can and went back to my box of goodies.

  "Thank God for instant pudding,” I said to no one in particular and grabbed a little yellow box out of the bottom. Cheesecake-flavored pudding. It wasn't Ben and Jerry's, but in a pinch...

  I didn't bother to wait for it to set before I dove in with a soupspoon. A half-hour later, I found a semi-comfy spot on a couch near the back door and curled up with my bowl and spoon. There was no more pudding in the bowl, but I figured that was beside the point.

  * * * *

  "You make that lemon cream pound cake, don't you? That stuff is killer."

  "Indeed it is. So how many people do you want this to feed? Twenty?"

  "Oh, at least. Maybe we'd better plan for thirty. No big deal if we have leftovers."

  My eyes blinked open and I felt like a vampire waking up in Miami Beach. When I tried to yawn, I realized I still had pudding crusted to my face and the bowl and spoon nestled in my hands. I could have sworn I'd heard Lyla's voice, but I must have been dreaming. Wow. That's what I get for eating an entire box of cheesecake pudding and sleeping on an old couch.

  "Let me ask,” Kevin's voice came from the front, “why isn't Armand doing it?"

  I froze mid-stretch and heard, “He wanted to, but he's just too busy at the restaurant right now. Fred made him head chef, so he's got a ton to get organized. Besides, we wanted the best. Well, the second best."

  The laugh that followed was Lyla's. Definitely Lyla's. Followed by Kevin's. Okay, not dreaming. Possibly my worst nightmare, but not a dream.

  "So getting it together quickly isn't going to be a problem?” Lyla asked.

  "Nah, it's pretty simple, really."

  There was a pause, and I could almost see Lyla's face as she hesitated. “And you don't mind? I mean this could put you in a rather awkward position."

  "A job is a job."

  "Thanks, Kevin. Despite some people's opinion of you, I know you're a decent guy."

  "Think you can convince someone else of that?"

  "Doubtful."

  I couldn't quite catch the rest of the conversation. They must have been moving toward the door. There was something about the Civic Center and I thought I heard something about the weekend. The last thing I heard was Lyla's voice. “And don't tell Maggie. Whatever you do, don't let her know."

  "She'd kill me if she knew I was working for you. Don't worry, she's not going to hear it from me."

  I was frozen to the couch listening as the two plotted against me. Well, at least I knew Kevin's spots hadn't changed. Why was that thought comforting? But Lyla! I knew she was mad at me, but hiring Kevin to cater something! This weekend? What the hell was she up to? Not that I cared, I tried to convince myself.

  It wasn't working.

  Kevin's footfalls came into the kitchen and it occurred to me that he had probably already found me with the evidence of my late-night snack. How humiliating! Even more humiliating, though, would be him finding me with pudding on my face and eavesdropping. I quickly ducked my head back onto the arm of the couch and shut my eyes.

  I could feel him hovering over me, watching me. What a freak! Before I betrayed myself, I made motions of waking up, blinking my eyes and stretching.

  "Good morning, sunshine,” he said. “You must have been wiped out last night to sleep on that old lumpy thing."

  "I was.” I faked a smile.

  "What were you making last night? I think you used a whole bag of flour."

  "Oh God, I forgot to clean up. I'm sorry."

  "Don't stress.” I could see his smile, looking all self-assured and conspiratorial. Bastard. “I got it covered. You want some coffee? Or maybe some espresso? I don't quite make it like Armand, but—” I must have winced, because Kevin stammered. “Oh. Oh, wow. Sorry. I didn't mean—"

  "It's okay.” I experimented with sitting up and felt my back and head pound all at once. I swear I must be the only person in the whole world who gets a pudding hangover. I'm that pathetic. “Actually, I'd love some coffee."

  "I'll get you some aspirin while I'm at it. I used to have that couch in my apartment. The only reason I didn't toss it out is because it makes a good place to put boxes when we get deliveries."

  "Wouldn't a counter be more convenient?"

  "Now you're starting to sound like Angela.” The smile was still on his face, but even tired and grumpy with a pudding hangover, I noticed there was no humor in his voice.

  Looking down at the couch, it seemed even more out of place in the gleaming chrome kitchen than it had when I'd collapsed on it the night before. It was a tattered old green thing that had once been made from fine brocade. The faint ghost of the pattern was still visible—just barely—in a ray of sunshine that st
reamed in from the window. The back had once curved elegantly to form a heart shape. Now one side hung slightly off-kilter. If I was feeling charitable—which I wasn't—I would have said it was the one thing in the whole place that really looked like Kevin. Not run down. Classic, if a little worn. And an incredible pain in the ass.

  He handed me the aspirin, a cup of coffee, and placed a slice of creamy coffee cake on a shiny red plate. If I hadn't hated him with every fiber of my disheveled being, I might have thought it was a sweet gesture. As it was, when he sat across from me at the counter and started on his own slice of coffee cake, I glared at him. There was no subtlety on my part. I openly glared.

  "You okay?” he asked around his first bite.

  "Fine.” For someone who you just screwed over.

  "You sure? You look like you've had a rougher night than even that old couch could account for. Maybe you'd better go get some decent sleep."

  "As if I want to go back to my folks’ place. Mom would stuff me full of store-bought macaroons and then pour Slim-Fast down my throat."

  He cocked his eyebrow in disbelief. “You're kidding."

  "I wish.” I stabbed at my coffee cake. “If she's not doing that, she's trying to set me up with a neighbor or someone Dad works with or some guy she found sleeping on the sidewalk.” I felt like spilling my guts to someone. Anyone. And there had always been something about those damned green eyes of Kevin's that made me want to bare my soul. All I had to do, though, was think about the conversation I'd awakened to and I was back on the warpath.

  Kevin looked me over. I was somewhat flattered, but mostly mortified. After all, I hadn't taken a shower in too many hours and no doubt had couch marks on my face. After several seconds, Kevin nodded his approval.

  "Well, as far as I can tell, you can eat as many macaroons as you like, but only if they are made by someone who knows what they're doing. You can forget the Slim-Fast. Stuff tastes like nuclear waste, anyway. And as for setting you up? Well, that's completely unnecessary."

  "Why?” I prepared for some slick line.

  "Don't get defensive.” Obviously my tone had been as harsh as I'd intended it to be. “I just meant that you're doing fine without some guy tagging along making your life difficult."

  "I suppose that role now falls to you."

  It wasn't a joke, but Kevin smiled anyway. “Hey, I'm trying to make your life easier."

  By catering for my used-to-be best friend behind my back. Instead of saying it, I resumed my glare. I nibbled at my cake, not wanting to admit just how good it was. At least this was one recipe Kevin hadn't stolen from me. It was one of the basic dishes we were taught first in cooking school. He'd added something, though. If I'd been more awake and less ticked, I might have been able to identify it. As it was, I just ate in a bitter silence.

  "Are you sure you're okay?” he asked again. “You've had a lot to deal with lately. You sure you're up to these hours and the pressure of the competition?"

  I'd been waiting for an excuse to blow. That was it. “Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? For me to throw in the towel and go under. And then you wouldn't even have to take the blame for it, because you supposedly tried to help me. Then you could steal all my recipes and you and Angela could just monopolize all the business in this town. Is that it, Kevin? Is that why you wanted me to work here?"

  His hands flew up in self-defense. “Whoa, Nellie. I keep telling you I'm trying to help you out. Since I met you, I've been trying to help you out. And all I get from you is suspicion and this bitter, bitchy thing."

  "Excuse me? Did you just call me a bitch?"

  "No, I—"

  "Yes you did. You called me a bitter bitch! Well, we're seeing your true colors now, aren't we, Kevin? I always knew you had a nasty side."

  "I have a nasty side? And just what the hell is this? Your sweet disposition?"

  "Oh save it for all the bimbos who swoon at your every move, Kevin.” If you're thinking I was just venting for the sake of venting, you're right. But Kevin deserved it.

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "You know what it means. You've always had women fall for your line, and I was the one who didn't. You tried to destroy me once, Kevin, and you keep trying. I'm not that easy to get rid of!"

  "I never said you were.” Both our voices had raised well above a normal level. I had no idea what time it was, but if there were customers out front, they were getting a show. Not that I cared.

  Kevin didn't seem to care, either. “I have never tried to destroy you. Not once. I've tried to help you as best I could. I've always wanted what's best for you. Maybe I didn't always go about it the right way. Maybe I'm not as socially gifted as you are. But, damn it, Maggie, I've tried and been met with a brick wall from you every goddamned time. Honestly, I have no idea why I bother."

  "Good question, Kevin. Why, exactly, are you doing this?"

  "Because I love you! God help me, I don't know why I always pick the wrong women, but I do!"

  I'd asked. It was my own fault. I stopped screaming and tried to catch my breath as I stared at him. His eyes met mine for a brief moment, but then slid back to his plate. He picked at his cake and pushed it around, looking like a ten-year-old who didn't want to eat his broccoli.

  "There it is.” I had to strain to hear him, his voice had dropped so low. “That's why I've been stalking you, as you put it. I thought maybe you were finally over everything. And over Ted. And don't tell me you had no idea, because you did. You've had me wrapped around your finger since I met you. So I guess I'm the idiot here."

  For about ten seconds, I actually felt sorry for him. Then I thought about my lemon cream pound cake, my white chocolate mints and Lyla. He was playing me. He just had to be playing me.

  "I guess you're just going to have to learn to live with that,” I said, as coolly as I could. Which was rivaling Angela's Ice Queen act on this particular morning. I slid off my barstool and headed toward the door. “I'll clear out my stuff tonight after you leave."

  Kevin shook his head. “Damn, you're stubborn. Oh, hell, let's not let this ruin everything. Don't leave. I'll make myself scarce, if you want. Come back tonight. I'll be gone."

  His voice sounded defeated. Again, something in my gut pulled at me and made me feel guilty. As if I was actually the one being unreasonable. I hovered with my hand on the doorknob, not exactly sure what I was waiting for. Finally, I sighed. “We'll see,” I said, and turned the knob.

  It occurred to me at that moment that maybe the world wasn't out to destroy me. That maybe, just maybe, I could shoulder some blame for my own problems. Then I decided not to think about it, climbed into my bomb of a car, and drove off, never intending to see Kevin again.

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  Chapter Eighteen

  Number of nonfat, decaf caramel macchiatos one can drink before feeling like a swarm of bees has nested in her gut: four. Amount of time one can spend in Starbuck's muttering to herself about stupid men: three hours. Well, actually, more like three minutes, but at three hours, the startled stares finally made me feel uncomfortable.

  I'd used the time to mull it all over. I had no desire whatsoever to go back to Kevin's kitchen, but without it, I would never win the competition—and without winning the competition, Let's Dish was history. Not that I had much of a chance of winning that competition, anyway, since I'd spent two hours the night before spinning my wheels and creating a few lumps of slimy, gross ... stuff. I'd either have to simplify the menu or forget the competition. Of course, simplifying the menu would compromise my chances of winning, yada yada yada. I had to face it—by myself, my cooking was just like my mother's. I figured I might as well call it quits, marry the first rich guy my mom could dig up and convince him that Bob was premature. By four months. And, judging from the way my tummy was stretching, ten pounds.

  My mother. I couldn't avoid her much longer. I'd been away from the house more than twenty-four hours, and I suspected I still had pudding caked in my ha
ir. Oh well, it lent itself naturally to the whole muttering-maniac-drinking-caramel-macchiatos thing I had going. Still, a shower was probably in order. I had a suspicion I didn't smell the best, either.

  I pulled into the driveway, my engine idling as quietly as it could idle, and looked around to see if there were any strange cars, motorcycles or—oh heck, who knows!—bikes with training wheels hanging about. You never knew who my mother would dig up. I sneaked in the kitchen door, glancing this way and that as I crept across the tile in my soft-soled shoes.

  "Well, there you are!” My mother's shrill voice assaulted my ears. It was her annoyed tone. Oh goodie.

  "Geez, Ma, you scared me half to death!"

  "Oh, and my nerves aren't frayed from waiting up for you all night? Wondering where you were? If you were dead? If you were off somewhere getting yourself into trouble?"

  Ouch. That last one hurt. Since it was true and all. “Oh, for Pete's sake, Mother, I'm a grown woman! And I told you I'd be working at Kevin's after hours. I can't believe you waited up for me!"

  She walked over to me and shoved her pointed nose in my face. “Margaret, do I smell sugar on your breath?"

  No, not liquor. My mother wouldn't worry if I'd been slugging tequila shooters since breakfast. Yesterday. It was sugar she had the issue with. “I just had a couple of caramel macchiatos over at Starbucks.” My tone was slightly more defensive that I had intended. “It's not like I had a tarte au tain for breakfast or anything."

  "Margaret Mary, I have no idea what you just said to me, but it can't be good. You really need to be watching your figure, especially now that you have such a charming young man pursuing you."

  I'd managed to relax a fraction of an inch, thinking if Mom had time to chew my butt, she must not have a man lurking around the corner. The second she said a man was pursuing me, however, I immediately sprang back on edge. “Who? Where? What have you dragged up this time?” My eyes shot from corner to corner and I ducked my head into the dining room. “Where are you hiding him?"