Hot Dish (44 page)

“Oh, Steve, I’m sorry,” she said, touching his arm. His face was all creased with unhappiness and filled with sweetness.

“It’s all right,” he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. He kissed her knuckles. “I was actually sort of impressed she’d never sold it. I mean, she’s had it for years and she’s never sold it, so it must mean something to her and that means she must have some sort of a soul, right? I told her so, too, and she said she was never as much of a bitch as I
thought she was, and I said I was never as big of a prick as she thought I was.”

Steve’s brow furrowed pensively. “I thought having that statue would somehow make up for that part of my life, the divorce. I thought if I had it, I’d be done with Fabulousa. But, Jenny, I’ll never be done with her. She’s there. In the past. And she always will be. For all the shit she put me through, and it was a lot, it was shit that made me who I am and
I like who I am
. Most of the time.”

“Great. But I don’t understand what this has to do with me.”

“Because of the second thing I have to tell you: Ken Holmberg needs to win this tournament.”

At this, Jenn snorted. “He can stand in line.”

“No, Jenny. I heard him talking and he’s in trouble unless he can come up with ninety thousand dollars by tomorrow. He’s in real trouble, Jenn. Like legal trouble.”

“Gee, I’m looking down the track but I don’t see the pity train coming.”

“Look, I have forty thousand dollars—”

“And I need fifty,” she finished in exasperation, “in less than two hours. This is the only way. Besides, you told me that revenge was sweet. How much sweeter could this be? Ken Holmberg is a pompous ass. He deserves what he gets.”

“I just told you, Jenny, the whole revenge thing … it’s a waste of time. And besides, it’s not like Ken is the only person who’ll suffer if you do this. What about his employees? What about the town? Heidi told me that if his hockey stick plant folds, the town will follow.”

The domino effect. She knew all about it. She hadn’t lived in Minnesota, listening to the virtues of small-town life for twenty years, without understanding the economic realities that faced most small towns. On the surface, fifty families might not seem like a lot, but in the delicate ecobalance of a small town, it was immense.

But she wasn’t going to feel sorry for them. No way. Her gaze shifted away from his. “I don’t see how this is my problem. What do I care if Ken Holmberg goes belly up and chooses to close shop? What do I owe these people?”

He reached up, balancing her chin on his fingertips and tenderly turning her face toward his. He gave her a lopsided grin. “Everything. Think, Jenny. I know you try to ignore it or discount it or whatever else you want to call your denial of this town and what it means to you, what it’s done for you, but stop trying to look past Fawn Creek and look
at
it.”

His hands fell lightly to her shoulders and he dipped a little at the knees so he could look her squarely in the eye. “They made you. If Jenny Hallesby hadn’t come to Fawn Creek, there wouldn’t be a Jenn Lind. Just like if Fabulousa hadn’t screwed me over there wouldn’t be a Steven Jaax. You learned how to cook here, how to appreciate good food, right? You learned how to appear calm and confident by copying these people here, right? You got on television the first time because of this town, right? And now the fate of Fawn Creek is in your hands.”

She didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want the fate of Fawn Creek in her hands. And it wasn’t! If Fawn Creek was on the verge of imploding, it was Fawn Creek’s fault. She bent down to pull the wedge from under the door. He straight-armed the door shut. She looked up at him, her face taut.

“Jenny, what are you doing here?”

“Trying to make sure my life is on track. Trying to guarantee myself a little security.”

“
What
life, Jenn?”

His words hit her like a slap. Her head even tilted back as though she’d received a blow. “Ouch.”

“And you want security? Commit a crime and get a prison cell. But if you want a life, walk away from this, from AMS, and start working toward a dream, not a goal.” He flung out the words she’d thought the night of the blizzard like he’d read her mind. Oh, man. He didn’t play fair. But then, she wouldn’t expect him to.

“I
have
plans. I don’t
have
a dream,” she said, trying to sneer the word but only managing to sound lost.

“Then it’s time to find one.”

“
Tournament players, please return to the table
” a male voice piped in through the loudspeaker system said. “
Tournament players, please return to the table
.”

“Life isn’t secure, Jenny,” Steve said. “You can’t control it and there are no guarantees. People are born, people die, and in between, they take chances. Sometimes there’s a big payoff and sometimes they go bust. But one constant holds true: the unexpected happens. Like you happening to me and me happening to you. Whatever you decide to do, that’ll stay true.” He gave her his crooked smile.

“
Last call. Last call. Will the tournament players please return to the table now? Play will begin in five minutes
.”

“I have to go,” Jenn said.

“I’ll be in the bar.”

She made it back to the table just as the other contestants were taking their seats. She was waiting at the velvet rope for the guard, who was
occupied with doing something for Ken, to let her in when a female voice whispered in her ear, “You beat the pants off him, Jenn.”

Caught off guard, she swung around. Missy Erickson was standing next to her, smiling encouragingly. The last time she’d spoken to Missy had been in the sauna ten years ago.

“Excuse me?” Jenn asked.

Missy leaned forward and pitched her voice so only Jenn could hear. “Don’t know why you’re in disguise but we figure you must have a good reason so that’s okay by us. But we want you to know we’re behind you. It’s about time someone took old Holmberg down a peg.”

Jenny, caught between amazement and despair, felt her mouth opening and shutting like a guppy’s. “We? Us?” she finally managed.

“Sure,” Missy whispered back, looking amused. “Most everyone from Fawn Creek knows who you are. How couldn’t we? We’ve known for years. You’d have to be a blind, self-centered idiot not to realize who you were—like Ken. You don’t got to say nuthin’. Just wanted to wish you good luck, is all.” And with that, Missy melted back into the crowd.

The guard finally saw Jenn and hurried over to unsnap the rope and let her through. Would Missy feel that way if she knew what Ken’s loss would mean to her father, who Jenn knew worked at Stixs, or the rest of the town?

Jenn took her seat. Her thoughts scattered in disarray, she glanced around. It was weird seeing so many faces she knew in that crowd: Greta Smelka, Einer Hahn, Missy Erickson, Leona Unger and the Jorgenson twins, the guy who owned Hank’s Hardware, and at least a dozen others, and she saw it now: they did know her, unlike the AMS guys sitting at raised tables toward the back, watching with bored detachment. They kept smiling at her and nodding encouragingly, turning the prick of conscience into a stab.

“What’s wrong, sugar puss?” Ken said, drawing her attention. “Getting cold feet? You don’t want to quit, do you?”

“No,” she said, steeling her resolve.

Half an hour later, the Asian guy, the old lady, and the kid from St. Cloud were out of the game, and true to her predictions, Jenn found herself sitting across the table from Ken Holmberg. He kept taking off his stupid
mosquito: the minnesota state bird
cap, swatting his thigh and putting it back on. And smirking at her. Once he’d even said, “Don’t worry, sugar puss. I’ll buy you a real dress once I’ve won.”

In front of him were twenty thousand dollars in chips. In front of Jenn were twenty-five. The game was Texas Hold ‘Em. Seven cards in all, each player first receiving two facedown, then “the flop,” where the dealer laid
three cards faceup on the table, and finally two cards dealt faceup by the dealer, one at a time, called the river. Each player would make the best hand possible out of the cards available.

“Shall we begin?” The dealer slid out the preflop cards. Jenn tipped the corners of her cards up. Two kings. Ken opened with a thousand-dollar bet. She called.

The dealer turned over the three flop cards. A king of spades, an eight, and a ten of clubs.

For the first time since she’d begun playing last night, Jenn’s body reacted to her hand. Her heart thundered in her chest. She could win this whole thing. Right now. All she would have to do was go “all in.” Ken would call, because Ken would never let a woman bluff him, and she would win. She could walk out of here, pay off Dunkovich, and return to the life she’d known.

And Fawn Creek could die.

She looked up, a little light-headed.

“Your bid, Ms. Uri,” the announcer prompted.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, taking another peek at her cards. She sighed and the Poker Network’s camera swung toward her like an accusatory eye.

She looked up and saw Paul LeDuc rubbing his hand over his face, looking careworn and nervous. Leona Unger and the guy from the hardware store stood nearby and—Good Lord, Heidi was here, too, right behind Missy Erickson. Heidi blew her a forlorn little air kiss for luck, and Jenn smiled until she realized that it was a kiss that had landed her here.

She’d never been embarrassed by the fact that she’d kissed Heidi. She’d felt a little guilty because Heidi had been so obviously mortified by all the attention, but she’d never been embarrassed. Just like she wasn’t embarrassed by her friendship with Heidi and never had been. That friendship would have to be carefully monitored from now on, though. AMS and Dwight Davies would be watching her from here on out. She’d have to be careful not to do anything suspect or open to speculation. She guessed that included sex in fish houses, too.

Jenn frowned, troubled by the thought of living life according to Dwight Davies’s rules. Why hadn’t this seemed like such a big deal last week? She’d made compromises before and managed to live with them in order to achieve that Holy Grail called security. But in the few days since she’d been here, she’d been more relaxed, more irritated, more surprised, more comfortable, more engaged, and more
herself
than she had in years. Wasn’t … wasn’t that security of a sort?

What had Heidi said?
It’s not a matter of choosing a home as much as accepting where it is
.

Was Heidi right? Could Fawn Creek really be Jenn’s home? This crappy little place filled with back-stabbing, gossiping, holier-than-thou small-town elitists?

In all the years I’ve known you, the only place you are relaxed, the only place you’re not worried about making an impression, the only place you wear comfortable clothes and no makeup, the only place you swear is here. Why
?

Because no one here cares
.

No
, Heidi had said.
Because they know you
.

Damn it. They
did
know her. Far better than Dwight Davies and Bob Reynolds and even Nat. They knew her. No, that was not what Heidi had really meant; she’d meant that warts and all here they
accepted her
.

“Can’t make up your mind, sugar puss?” Ken asked, his voice dripping with confidence. “If you can’t stand the heat, stay of out the kitchen.”

Like he could afford to … Behind the dark glasses, her eyes widened. Dear Lord, she realized, Ken was reenacting her father’s path twenty-four years ago. It was like she’d been plunged into some bizarre world where someone was doomed to repeat the same bad decisions over and over again, and she was doomed to be a spectator. She wondered faintly if Ken had a teenage daughter, and if she’d hate wherever they ended up as much as she hated … No, she didn’t hate Fawn Creek. She’d used it as a scapegoat, an excuse to be afraid of taking chances or exploring options.

She’d told herself she’d lost her best friend because of this town, but the truth was, she’d found her best friend. And her parents, who’d been nothing but vague, benign presences in Raleigh had become full-fleshed people here. And then there was Steve….

“Ms. Uri.”

“I’m thinking!”

Fawn Creek wasn’t a great place. It was provincial and patriarchal, and it had a huge small-town chip on its shoulder, but it was … her town. Her hometown, she guessed. And she couldn’t be part of its extinction. She just couldn’t.

Abruptly, she reached down and swept a quarter of her chips out onto the table. “I’ll bid five thousand.”

Ken’s brows nearly climbed up to his cap, and she knew he had a good hand. He was a lousy bluffer. He made a show of vacillating, finally raising her bid by five thousand. She practically threw her chips into the center. She had nine thousand left. Ken had fourteen.

The dealer flipped over a jack of diamonds. Ken bet seven thousand. Jenn called. The crowd buzzed. The commentators hummed. Ken called.

The final card turned over. It was a king.

She had four kings. She bit her lip. She tapped her nails on the table.

He went all in. She called with the last of her money. He turned over a straight, king high.

With a magnificent show of feigned disgust, she surged to her feet and threw her cards facedown on the table. “Congratulations,” she said.

The crowd went nuts. Ken surged up out of his seat, pumping his stubby arms in the air, making a weird “Whoop! Whoop!” sound and looking like he might stroke out at any minute. His round face had flushed the color of federal bricks, and his comb-over flopped limply against the back of his neck. Missy Erickson stared at her, disappointed but sympathetic. Paul looked relieved. Heidi nodded.

Ken, grinning like an idiot, started to reach for her cards but she slapped his hand away. “Nah-uh,” she all but spat. “You won. I concede it, but you are not going to see my cards. I called your bid and the person who calls
never
has to show their cards. Right, dealer?”

The dealer must have felt the laser-like lash of her glare because he nodded nervously. “That’s correct.”

“Ah. Come on, suga—”