Reserved for You

by Brenda Margriet

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Yes.” She released a soft breath. “Last week, NationWide came, recorded video and did an interview with you. You were told it was for a feature on up and coming restaurants.”

  The hairs on the back of his neck rose. He nodded warily.

  “I asked them to. I am one of the producers of a new reality show developed by NationWide.”

  He couldn’t see how those two facts connected. “What does that have to do with the news feature?”

  “We wanted video of you, and that was the best way to get it.”

  Muscles that had barely begun to relax snapped tight. Unwilling to let her see how disturbed he was, he propped his elbow on the back of his chair and asked mildly, “Why would you want video of me?”

  She leaned forward, elbows on the table. Two minutes earlier he would have been intrigued by the luscious cleavage she presented, but now it left him cold. She fixed him with a passionate stare. “Reservations for Two—the new show—will blend the best elements of two of today’s more popular programs. Think Iron Chef meets The Bachelor.”

  “I’ve heard of Iron Chef, of course, but not The Bachelor.”

  “You haven’t?” she said, shocked.

  “You forget, I work evenings. When I do have time for television, I don’t generally waste it on reality shows, which I often find are as far removed from real life as it is possible to get.” He spoke with disapproval, but Lainie didn’t seem the least flustered.

  “Let me explain. It’s an excellent concept.” Her expression was eager, her tone zealous. “Female contestants, chosen from all walks of life, with varying levels of cooking experience, will take part in weekly Kitchen Challenges. The woman whose meal is judged the best will go on a date with our bachelor—our Chef d’Amour. At the end of the date, he will send one woman home—either the woman whose meal was judged the worst, or the woman he dated.”

  “Who does the judging?”

  She slid the folder across the table. “NationWide wants you.”

  Paul stared, stunned. He cleared his throat before trusting his voice. “Why me? How did you find me?”

  “We advertised online and on our own TV and radio stations, asking for nominees. Your name was put forward.”

  Disjointed memories of a long-ago conversation swirled in his brain. Lainie jumped when he barked out, “Daniel! Get out here!”

  It was all coming together. Now he knew why Daniel had been acting weird all evening. He’d known who Lainie was, and why she was here. And he’d known Paul wouldn’t like it.

  His cousin came through the door from the kitchen so quickly Paul suspected he’d been watching the whole humiliating episode. He stood next to the table, legs spread, arms behind his back, face defiant.

  “You son of a bitch.” Frustration more than fury coloured the words. “Is this what you were talking about? I didn’t clue in until Lainie mentioned nominations.”

  “We’d been open a couple of months. You were up to your eyeballs in keeping us afloat, and didn’t have enough time to consider what a great opportunity this is.”

  “I considered it. And I said no.”

  “Think of the publicity,” Daniel pleaded.

  “Easy for you to say, when you won’t be the one being ogled and examined.” He turned to Lainie. “I’m sorry this idiot brought you here for nothing. I told him I wasn’t interested when he first mentioned it, and I haven’t changed my mind. I had no idea he went ahead with the nomination anyway.”

  “It’s not just about you, you know.” Daniel’s voice was sharp. “I’m invested in this restaurant, too. I think we should do anything we can to make it work. Do you want Titio João to say, I told you so?”

  Paul wished his father wasn’t so set against him opening his own restaurant. His mother had tried to explain, saying his father was upset because Paul hadn’t been satisfied with the legacy of his family’s restaurant, but he knew it was more than that.

  The thought of having to admit his father was right, that his dream was a failure, was enough to make him sick to his stomach.

  His eyes fell to the folder on the table.

  Daniel, sensing success, punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Besides, it might be fun.” He grinned, a wide-open ingenuous grin. Paul was reminded of childhood, when that very attitude presaged an adventure that generally led to a fierce scolding from one or both of their mothers.

  Lainie pushed the folder nearer. “Read the contract. Find out what you’re refusing before you reject it.”

  Still he hesitated.

  “Go on. What can it hurt?” The confident look on her face was undermined when she bit her lower lip.

  With a feeling of inevitability he flipped over the cover. The sheets inside were covered in single spaced writing, and he scanned the first few pages, barely taking in the legalese gobbledy-gook.

  Then he reached the section detailing his remuneration.

  For four months of work, and only a few days each week, he could earn enough to pay off the debts he had incurred opening the restaurant. And the promotional value NationWide was willing to give Paulo’s was worth twice as much.

  Daniel and Lainie chatted in hushed voices, waiting for him to finish, but silence surrounded him. It was as if he was in an invisible bubble, one that would pop if he moved too quickly, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

  He thought back to tonight’s dearth of customers. If he truly was willing to do anything to help Paulo’s succeed, he should jump at the chance Nationwide was offering.

  And still he couldn’t bring himself to decide.

  He shuffled the papers together and closed the folder. Lainie and Paul watched him with identical expressions of fearful hope. He crossed his arms over his chest and his eyes wandered once more around the quiet room. Taking a deep breath, he met Lainie’s gaze. “Let’s talk.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After almost two weeks of job hunting, Jemma had moved past panic into desperation.

  Every morning, Miriam stoutly stated today would be the day Jemma would find work. And every afternoon when she came home from a day of rejections, Miriam patted her shoulder and told her not to worry, everything happened for a reason.

  She wished she shared her grandmother’s confidence, but as the days passed, she couldn’t prevent a twinge of irritation in the face of Miriam’s certainty.

  Relief washed over her when she returned from another fruitless search and found Miriam out. She needed time alone to gird herself before admitting failure yet again. Throwing herself onto the couch, she wallowed in the doubtful joy of self-pity.

  Every time Jemma thought she had climbed out of the pit of financial troubles her grandfather had dropped his family into, something knocked her off the shaky footing. Eight years ago, paying Henry’s debts had been going well, until Alice started drinking. While Jemma could see a future clear of debt, her mother fixated on the staggering amount that needed to be paid and spiraled into despair. Soon the inevitable happened. She was fired. Two people Jemma should have been able to rely on, who should have supported her as she moved to adulthood, had smashed her dreams, dashed her aspirations. She grew closer than ever to Miriam. Then one day Jemma came home—to find a drunkenly scrawled note on the floor outside the door of the bedroom she shared with Alice.

  It’s no use. I can’t take it anymore. You’re better off without me. Mom.

  Jemma jumped off the couch, memories skittering like spiders under her skin. She paced to the large window overlooking the dingy back alley and stared out.

  Another funeral, another goodbye. During those days, it was as if the slightest touch would shatter Miriam. Jemma handled her with care, while wrapping herself in a carapace of detachment, once again dealing with the details, accepting the condolences. At least this time there were no nasty surprises from the bank.

  Jemma leaned her forehead against the cool glass. A scrawny black cat with white boots dashed across the grungy lane, disappea
ring behind a rusted green dumpster. She’d learned to be competent and careful with money and expectations. She and Miriam shopped at thrift stores and clipped grocery coupons, and if a penny was missing from her account, she tracked it down ruthlessly. She paid her rent and other bills exactly on time. She tossed every credit card application that appeared in the mail slot.

  Her resentment of her mother and grandfather grew as she struggled to meet the obligations of her tiny family. She vowed to depend only on herself, never to rely on anyone else to provide and care for her. As long as she had Miriam, she didn’t need anyone else. Paying Henry’s debt was a mark of honour, but she also squirreled what she could into an emergency fund.

  Thankfully, since making the final payment, Jemma had been able to stockpile more. That money had given her and Miriam a single month’s reprieve. As of yesterday, the account was as good as empty. She had less than three weeks to earn what she needed for next month’s obligations. Her stomach knotted and queasiness rose in her throat.

  A rattling at the door nudged her out of her desolate contemplation. She dragged herself across the room and met Miriam as she bustled in carrying two canvas bags.

  She didn’t have to say a word. One look at her face was enough to make Miriam say cheerfully, “Never mind, dear. I know it will work out in the end.”

  Jemma took one of the bags and carried it to the kitchen. “I’m letting you down.”

  Miriam followed her. “You could never let me down. You’re a good girl. We’ll get through this.”

  Jemma placed the bag on the counter. “Didn’t you go shopping yesterday? What did you need today?”

  “I used up the eggs with our fried-egg sandwiches last night. And we needed milk and fruit.”

  Jemma opened the fridge. Inside were two-dozen eggs, a jug of milk, and a bag of apples. Inside the canvas bags Miriam had just brought home were two-dozen eggs, a jug of milk, and a bag of oranges. “We had the sandwiches two nights ago. You went shopping yesterday.” She pulled the refrigerator door wider. “See?”

  Miriam peered into the fridge. “Isn’t that silly of me?” Nerves jangled in her laughter. “I’d forget my head these days if it wasn’t screwed on tight.”

  Together they made room for the extra groceries, and Jemma soothed her own rising fears. Miriam had simply had an off day, that’s all. The doctor had said it might happen, despite the medication. There was nothing to worry about. There couldn’t be. Jemma wasn’t sure she could take any more bad news.

  Paul walked up the front path, lined with excruciatingly neat flowerbeds, to his parents 1950’s bungalow on West 15th Avenue. The house looked insignificant surrounded as it now was by the monstrous residences that had taken the place of the original, smaller dwellings on either side.

  He missed the look and feel of the old neighbourhood.

  He unlocked the door, kicked off his shoes, and stepped out of the narrow entryway into the dim hall. It smelled of mothballs and fresh bread and crisply ironed laundry. It smelled like home.

  He followed the muffled sounds of a television set into the living room. His mother looked at him from her accustomed place in an upholstered rocking chair. “Querido!” She smiled. “How are you? Are you hungry?”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Where’s Dad?”

  “In the kitchen. Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

  “I’m sure.” He pulled up a puffy ottoman and settled next to her.

  Beatriz Almeida had dark, curly hair going softly grey, and her light blue eyes glowed with pleasure at his visit. Her fingers worked busily, crocheting a thick red and green blanket that covered her knees. She unwound the wool from her fingers and patted his hand where it rested on the arm of her chair. “We hardly see you anymore. You are working too hard. The restaurant...it is doing well?”

  He couldn’t tell her the truth, as she would worry, and he was already doing enough of that for both of them. Yet he couldn’t lie to her. “Your shrimp is one of our best-selling dishes,” he evaded.

  She flushed with delight.

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” His father stomped into the room, carrying a glass of water.

  Paul stiffened. “I left early. I’m allowed to do that once in a while, aren’t I?” He raised an eyebrow.

  João snorted. “Why do you ask? You are the one that knows best all the time.” He dropped into his recliner and picked up the remote, changing channels rapidly.

  A familiar ache lodged itself behind Paul’s eyes. He knew he’d made his father angry by refusing to be satisfied with the family business. But he believed his biggest transgression by far had been asking his father for money to help with the start-up costs for Paulo’s.

  João had refused without a second thought. “Why should I throw good money away? Your fancy restaurant, it will close in less than a year. Then where will I be?”

  It made Paul more determined to succeed. To do anything to prove his father wrong. Including humiliating himself on live television.

  He turned to his mother. Lines creased between her eyes. He knew the strain between her husband and son bothered her. He squeezed her fingers gently, reassuringly. “I wanted to talk to you. To both of you.”

  “What about?” She straightened in her chair. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why do you always think something’s wrong?” He frowned in mild exasperation. “I have a job offer, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Her grip on his hand tightened. “Job offer? What about Paulo’s?”

  “I would do both. This new job is only for a few months. It could be really good for the restaurant.” He told her about Reservations for Two. When he mentioned The Bachelor she nodded vigorously.

  “This I know. Why Mark did not choose the lovely Tiffany, and instead proposed to Gianetta I did not understand.”

  Paul’s mouth gaped. “You watch it?”

  “It is crap,” João growled. “But she must watch it. I leave the room.”

  “Go on,” Beatriz urged. “You? You will be the bachelor?”

  He explained the premise of the show. Her eyes brightened and she clapped her hands.

  “You will do it, yes? You will meet the perfect woman, and fall in love, and give me grandbabies.”

  Paul laughed. “I doubt that will happen. Honestly, can anyone meet their soul mate on a reality show? That’s part of the problem. How can I do this show when I don’t believe in it, when I think it’s silly? I’d be doing it for the restaurant, the publicity. And for the money. Is that lying to those women? Is it cheating?”

  “Oh, Paul.” She shook her head. “You never lie. You never cheat. And you do not do so in this. You do not promise these women you will fall in love. But you might.” She smiled wistfully.

  “You are such a...such a...woman,” João spat, jutting his chin out. “And your son is stupid. What? Do you not have enough work to do in your little restaurant? Now you will neglect it to be a movie star?”

  Paul bit back his first sharp retort, refusing to rise to the baiting. “I won’t be a movie star, Dad. But in a few months Paulo’s would be debt free. The show will only tie me up three days a week. I’ll be at the restaurant almost as much as I am now.”

  “Pah.” João sneered. Not once had he looked Paul in the face. When he spoke he kept his gaze on the television screen.

  “Me, I think you should do it.” Beatriz turned Paul toward her with a gentle hand on his chin. “It is an experience, an adventure!”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Paul glanced at João, who continued to ignore him. “I have to let the producer know by tomorrow.”

  Beatriz tapped him playfully on the cheek. “My baby, on television! Your Titia Benedita will not believe it.”

  “She probably already knows. I’m in this because of her son. I told Daniel he’d better start praying a novena this is a success, because if it’s not, I’m blaming him.”

  As they made and ate dinner, Miriam chattered cheerfully—about Je
mma’s job hunt, about her favourite television program, about Mrs. Ziminski’s recipe for apple pie that didn’t use apples. “It’s made of Ritz Crackers, of all things, and you’d never know the difference.” She talked about anything and everything, except her duplicated grocery trip.

  After dinner, she watched Wheel of Fortune with her usual enjoyment while Jemma sprawled on the couch. When her cell phone buzzed, she could scarcely summon the energy to reach into her pocket.

  It was Lainie. Jemma toyed with the idea of not answering. She might be her best friend, but she couldn’t stand another relentlessly cheerful person at the moment.

  Before she could decide, the phone stopped vibrating. An instant later, a text message chirped.

  Call me now, idiot. Or don’t you want the job?

  Jemma jolted to a sitting position. She bobbled the phone in her haste, fingers fumbling on the touch screen.

  Her sudden moves startled Miriam. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Something might be right for a change.” Her throat tightened, preparing for disappointment. “Lainie says she might have a job for me.”

  Miriam muted the TV and clutched the remote, staring at Jemma with wide, hopeful eyes.

  Lainie answered on the first ring. “You didn’t find work yet, did you?”

  “No.”

  “You start tomorrow.”

  After so many depressing days, her words made Jemma’s head spin. “I don’t understand.”

  “One of my flakier production assistants has taken off for the golden land of Hollywood. I don’t have time to interview replacements. You have a theatre background and you understand food service. I need you, and I need you now.”

  “Production assistant? I don’t know what that is.”

  Lainie had raved about her new gig when they’d met for beer. Jemma had pretended to be interested, but as far as she was concerned, the last thing the world needed was another stupid reality show. This one sounded lamer than most—some loser trying to find the love of his life by making women cook for him. Even if she believed in marriage and happily-ever-after—which she didn’t—it was beyond her how anyone thought a reality show was the way to go about it.