"Margaret, honestly! What is the matter with you this morning? There's no one here! And your father's at work!"
"Oh.” I relaxed again. Well, as relaxed as I ever get around my mother. “So who's theoretically pursuing me?"
"Why, that charming Kevin Best, of course! He's the young man courting you, isn't he?” Delight spread across her face like dawn on a clear day. At the same time, disgust spread across mine.
"Kevin? Are you kidding me? I wouldn't give Kevin the time of day if he asked, let alone let him ... court me!"
"And just why not?"
"Because ... well, he's just not a nice guy."
My mother folded her arms, looking skeptical. “Not nice? He came over here to make sure you were all right after that ridiculous little shop of yours burned down. He offered you kitchen space to work on this silly competition, even though he's doing it, too."
"Ma, could you use the word ‘silly’ or ‘ridiculous’ one more time? I'm not feeling quite belittled enough."
"I have no idea why such a wonderful man would be interested in you anymore, Margaret. You've gotten quite a mouth on you.” She glanced down, disapproving of my loose tee shirt and leggings. “And quite a belly, too."
"Bite me, old lady, I'm knocked up!"
No, I didn't say it out loud. But I was going to have to find a way to tell her. Pretty soon, she'd stop thinking I was fat and start realizing I was just a slut. Instead of venting my anger, I slumped my shoulders and sighed. “Mom, I just really need a shower, okay? I'm tired and smelly. So if we can just skip the hysterics for once—"
Her arms uncrossed and her smile returned. “Of course, darling,” she said, channeling Sybil. “You go get cleaned up, and when you're done, I'll have some nice chocolate chip cookies ready for you."
"Chocolate chip—” Oh, hell. “Thanks, Mom.” No point arguing. As I walked up the stairs, I rubbed my tummy and whispered, “For your sake, Bob, I hope insanity isn't genetic."
* * * *
I spent my afternoon at Let's Dish trying to get most of the garbage into the dumpster out back. I stood in my kitchen—well, it was my kitchen until I couldn't pay up on the mortgage, anyway—and surveyed the damage. Ordinarily, it wouldn't be so bad. Twenty grand and I could get it up to livable standards. There were two problems with this. One, I didn't have twenty grand, and two, livable wasn't good enough for the health department.
Rich men were starting to look better and better, but to my great dismay, the only man who kept running through my head as I threw out rotten food and melted cookware was Kevin Best. Go figure—trash reminded me of Kevin.
I thought back to when we were partners at the academy. It was true that Armand and I had always made a good pair in the kitchen. We'd had a partnership that was equal and giving. As long as I was in charge. But Kevin and I had a natural rhythm. Though I was reluctant to admit it, Chef was right when she'd paired us to match one another's strengths and weaknesses. We read each other well, able to anticipate and coordinate our actions and reactions to work in a small space without tripping over each other.
As I scrubbed charred countertops, one afternoon in particular came into my mind. The assignment had been to create a unique dessert menu, including pastries, cakes, candies and various other treats. We were to invent distinctive recipes, then make them. Kevin and I leaned over our counter, our heads close together as we whispered, certain the others were tying to listen and copy our best ideas.
"We should start with the basics,” Kevin said. “Then we can do something different. Add a twist to the everyday."
"Pound cake. You can't get much simpler than pound cake. But what could we do to it? A ganache? No, too simple. Too ordinary."
"A white chocolate ganache,” Kevin said. We both shook our heads, rejecting the idea.
"We should do something with fruit. Maybe berries,” I said.
"Lemon cream.” Kevin looked like he'd been struck by a lightning bolt. “We pipe lemon cream into the center of a pound cake. Then we cover it in white chocolate ganache. You know, you could bake it in different molds and make one heck of a wedding cake!"
As I sorted through the memory standing at my blackened counter, I gasped loud enough that I startled myself. Lemon cream pound cake. Kevin had come up with the idea, not me. “Oh, Jesus,” I whispered to the charred cabinets. “All this time, I thought..."
White chocolate mints had come out of that afternoon, as well, born from the white chocolate ganache we put on the pound cake. Most of my signature desserts had come out of that project, more or less. And this whole time, I had tricked myself into thinking he'd stolen them all.
"Shit!” I pounded the heel of my hand against my forehead. “How can I be such a bonehead?"
The answer came to me with the clarity only years can bring. I needed to hate Kevin. I had to because I'd been more attracted to him than I'd wanted to admit. He'd given me plenty of reasons to hate him, too. For one, he made me realize that the perfect life I wanted wasn't happening with Ted. Kevin was the one who discovered my husband's secret, even though at some level, I knew it, too. He'd come on to me at an inopportune moment, and I had enjoyed it. It was self-preservation. I had to hate him or realize I was at fault, too.
I had hated Kevin longer than I wanted to think about, and just that morning, he had told me he loved me. Mom was right. I had a nice man who still cared. Who knew why? And I hadn't totally screwed up.
Or had I? I had been pretty harsh with him. After beating his head against a wall for years on end, maybe I had finally laid the last straw on the camel's back.
I grabbed my bag and shot out the door, heading for the car. I'd wasted too much time and swallowed enough pride not to care if I was making a fool out of myself anymore. I was off to the chrome-encrusted kitchen of Best Dishes, and I wasn't going to leave until I told Kevin Best I was a complete jackass.
* * * *
"I can't believe you, Kevin! She's sleeping here now? Using our kitchen was bad enough, but this isn't a hotel!"
My hand wasn't even off the door handle when I heard Angela screech. I'd spent the drive to Kevin's thinking about all the ways I could apologize to him. And jump his bones. It had been a long time since I'd had sex—about four months, actually—and even longer since I'd had sex I could clearly remember. My hormones were in overdrive. Angela's words, however, were a cold shower.
"She's not really sleeping here,” I heard Kevin say. “I think she just got tired while she was working. Trying to single-handedly create and prepare an entire meal is not an easy job, you know. Especially when it's going to be judged."
I smiled. Kevin was a nice guy. The kind of guy I'd pushed away for far too long. The kind of guy I wasn't going to push away ever again.
"But why does she have to do it here? Frankly, Kevin, I'm getting a little tired of you mooning over that woman. She's short. And she has that red hair!"
I self-consciously ran my hand through the wayward curls that had been ticking me off for a lifetime. Leave it to Angela to hit on my one big insecurity.
"Actually, I happen to like red hair,” Kevin replied. “But I assure you, I'm not mooning over her. Haven't you ever heard the old saying?"
"What old saying?"
Yeah, what old saying?
"Keep your friends close. And your enemies closer. If she's here, I can keep an eye on what she's doing."
My heart dropped to my shoes with a moist thud. How could he? Just when I was thinking he wasn't a total creep, that I may actually care about him, he proved he couldn't be trusted. I shouldn't be surprised. He was, after all, a man. And men could never be trusted.
Before I had time to realize I was sounding like a shrew, Kevin continued. “Anyway, Angela, she's not going to be here that much longer. After this weekend, with any luck, you'll never have to see her again."
I heard his voice coming toward me but my feet were unmoving, stuck right where they were, and unable to get me the hell out of there before Kevin caught me loiteri
ng at his back door.
He looked at me in shock. “Maggie.” He'd managed to say my name without a sneer, I noted childishly. “How long have you been here?"
"Long enough.” I'd kept tears from springing to my eyes, but I'd forgotten to eliminate them from my voice. My words came out strangled and thin, surprising even me.
"Oh, hell,” he muttered, and shot a glance over his shoulder. “Maggie, let me explain—"
"There's no need.” This time, I sounded slightly steadier. “I know everything I need to about you, Kevin. And I was right about you all along. I'll collect my things tonight. After you've gone home."
"Maggie,” he said, and I could feel him reaching for me. But it was too late. I had already slammed the door behind me and was stomping off to the car.
I fell into the driver's seat and beat my head against the steering wheel, letting out a strangled sob. “Damn it, Maggie,” I said to myself. “When you decide to swallow your pride, you sure manage to make an ass of yourself.” I turned the key in the ignition and put the car in gear. “Damned hormones anyway."
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Chapter Nineteen
Alone. I was completely alone. I had come back to my parents’ house and grown roots to the couch. The sun had set hours ago and yet I stared at Mrs. O'Keafe's giant oak tree across the street, watching the gentle breeze sway the big branches I had climbed as a kid. But I didn't see a thing.
Since I'd planted myself there at four that afternoon, Mom had tried to get me to eat chocolate chip cookies, put a bowl of something I assumed was supposed to be tomato soup in front of me, and had even brought a tray with whiskey Coke and two Dexatrim, telling me that if I was thinner, I'd be happier. I hadn't touched any of it. Not even the whiskey Coke, although that was the only thing that looked even remotely tempting.
It was over, the whole thing. Let's Dish was gone. Forever. My friendship with Lyla—a friendship that had lasted since first grade—was over. Armand hated me, Kevin had manipulated me and my ex-husband was a drag queen who didn't want anything to do with our baby. A baby who, when I finally found a voice to tell my parents about him, would surely label me as loose and lacking morals in their eyes forever.
My pride was gone, and so was the driving ambition that had been the only thing keeping me going since Ted left. There was nothing more for me to do but become one of those bums who live in their parents’ basements and watch trashy talk shows all day. Jerry Springer made me nuts, but I could learn to live with it.
I didn't know what time it was when I drifted off into a fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep, but I remember waking to headlights streaking across my face. A car door slammed. I assumed it was the wild teenager next door coming in from yet another late night. Bet he'd end up on his parents’ couch, too, one day. A burn out. Just like me.
Hey, a girl's gotta find friends where she can.
But it wasn't the teenager next door. Or, if it was, he'd gotten his directions turned around in a big way because he was pounding at our door. I hauled myself off the couch, bleary-eyed and defeated, and prepared to tell some drunken loser that he had the wrong house. When I opened the door, though, it wasn't a drunken loser. It was a lying rat.
"Go home, Kevin. This isn't funny."
"Maggie, I'm a complete ass."
"Newsflash."
"I've been an ass to you for as long as I can remember. It's like I'm some stupid little kid who has to pull your pigtails."
"If anyone has a pigtail, Kevin, it's you. You pig.” Hey, this was a pretty good retort at God-only-knew-what-time in the dark morning.
"Who the—” My father stumbled into the living room carrying his nine iron. “Oh, Kevin. I thought it was a burglar. Do you know what time it is?"
"Two forty-five a.m.,” Kevin supplied after checking his watch. “Sorry to wake you, Mr. Donnely."
"George, what is it?” My mother arrived on the scene, her hair in pin curlers and her robe gathered so tightly that it stretched across her tiny frame. “Kevin! My, do you know what time it is?"
"Two forty-five a.m.,” he said again. “I know it's late, but I had to talk to Maggie."
"Well, Margaret,” my mother chided, “invite your boyfriend in!"
"He's not my boyfriend, Ma."
"Just because you two had a lovers’ quarrel doesn't mean he doesn't still love you, dear."
I turned around, suspecting I looked like a cross between the Bride of Frankenstein and Dracula. “He's not my boyfriend, Ma. Never was and never, ever will be!"
My mother took a step backward, as if my words hit harder than Dad's golf club. “All right, dear.” She turned to my father. “George, I'm going back to bed. I suggest you follow me. Now."
"I'm coming.” He shuffled his feet, obviously reluctant to leave me alone with some near stranger who showed up in the middle of the night. “Margaret, close the door, will you? I'm not paying to heat the neighborhood."
"Gladly.” I tried to slam it right in Kevin's face. He was a little too quick for me, though, and slipped in before I had it shut. “Give me a break, Kevin. You've played with me enough for one day. I'm not a mouse you can bat at for hours on end. Go home and take more lessons on being a complete jerk from Angela."
"Angela is a jerk,” he said. “And so am I."
"It's not like you have to convince me, Kevin."
"Maggie, will you just cut me some slack for a second, please?"
"Why should I cut you anything?"
"Because I've had a hell of a night."
It was then I noticed in the shadows cast by the streetlight that Kevin looked like he'd been through a meat grinder, black eye included. I couldn't smell alcohol on him, but his shirt was stained with something dark and, judging from the gloss that caught the light from time to time, sticky.
"What happened to you? And what's on your shirt?"
"Molasses."
"Molasses? Don't you wear an apron when you—"
"Of course I do.” He ran his hands through his sandy hair. “Maggie, can we just sit down for a minute? I need to say something to you—get it off my chest. I know you think I'm lower than pond scum, but there are a few things I need you to understand."
Hormones! I was starting to feel sorry for the guy. “Come into the kitchen,” I said, making sure my sigh was loud enough to get across my exasperation, but not appearing too calculated. “I'll make a pot of coffee. No point in trying to go back to sleep, anyway. Can never do it once I get woken up."
I grumbled all the way into the kitchen, flipped the switch on the wall and jumped when I caught my reflection in the mirrored glass of the china cabinet. The Bride of Frankenstein thing hadn't been too far off the mark. When I turned back to Kevin, though, I realized he made me look like a supermodel. “Mary Mother of God! Did you roll in that molasses? And what's on your collar? Oatmeal?"
"It's possible.” He slid onto a chair at the table, careful not to rub anything off on it but looking very grateful for the place to perch. “When Angela gets mad, she throws stuff."
"So I see I'm not the only one who's come to my senses enough to loathe you."
"Yeah, yeah. Get your digs in."
I turned from the coffee grinder to glare at him. “This isn't going to be any fun if you go along with it."
"What?” he asked, distracted. Then he furrowed his brows. “Oh, sorry. Don't. Please. Stop. Better now?"
I stared at him. My anger faded and I actually felt some concern for the guy. As if I cared. I pushed the button on the coffee maker and sat down across from him at the table. “Maybe you'd better back up and start over."
"Yeah, maybe I should.” He picked a silk flower from the arrangement in the center of the table and started twirling it between his thumb and forefinger, looking at it instead of me. “Angela was on my butt all day. She'd heard us talking in the kitchen this morning and ... well, I guess, Angela always thought of our partnership as significantly more than financial."
I raised my eyebrow, but
decided not to say anything. Best save up my smartass retorts to nail him once he was finished baring his soul.
"She knew I always had a soft spot for someone else, but never figured out who. Until today."
"And she didn't take it well."
"Ah, no. Not so much."
I felt a little vindicated. Not that I wanted Kevin, by any means, but I had to admit that the fact he'd carried a torch for me over the ever-slick and stylish Angela gave me a little ego boost.
Yeah, I'm that shallow.
"She started pulling this whole ‘It's Maggie or me,’ thing on me, and so I started trying to convince her I'd invited you to use the kitchen just so I could keep an eye on you. You know, as the one other chef we needed to be concerned about for this competition."
The anger grew hot in my belly again. “So you supposedly have been all hung up on me for how long? And you decide to stab me in the back to pacify someone you absolutely hate?"
He swallowed. “Yeah. That's pretty much the case."
"Jerk."
He nodded. “But I was thinking of the money. You see, without Angela and her dad's money, there would be no Best Dishes. Or, I should say, there will be no Best Dishes."
My eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?"
He sighed, as deeply as I had, and I wondered if his was as carefully calculated as mine had been. Just a couple of players trying to mess with one another's heads.
"When you ran out today, I realized what I had done. Damn it, Mags, I really didn't mean it. I was just saying that! The problem was, Angela knew that, too. When I tried to run after you, she grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and started beating the tar out of me!"
I couldn't help it. I laughed. Long and loud. I laughed as I pictured skinny, perfect Angela taking Kevin to the woodshed. “And the molasses?” I finally managed to ask.
"She started throwing stuff.” The flower in his fingers was twirling faster and faster.
I couldn't stop myself. I was giggling uncontrollably. This was the funniest thing I'd heard all week. “Oh, Lord, Kevin. And you just stood there and took it?"
"What else could I do? Then she started screaming at me that I had ruined her life. So then I told her."
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