The Art of Love (17 page)

I can hear a burst of derisive laughter from someone in the large crowd of staff and patrons that’s formed in the kitchen. I peek around my apron and see Kiki, her face still colored in like a clown, laughing so hard she’s clutching her side. The waitress, Donna, is looking over at her like she’s lost her mind, but Kiki obviously doesn’t care.

“
Don't worry, sweetie,” the director says to me, putting a hand on my shoulder and employing a reassuring voice. “We'll just scrape this off and try again.” Turning to her crew she bellows, “Makeup!” and a woman rushes forward carrying what looks like a giant fishing tackle box.

The makeup lady is wearing less makeup than you’d think for someone in her vocation. Apparently, she prefers to apply her craft to others rather than herself. I can tell from her expression that she thinks I look like a horror show, but she is professional and suppresses whatever comment has immediately leapt to mind.

First, she tries to come at me with some type of wet-nap to remove makeup, but that apparently doesn’t have the cleaning power to deal with my kind of epic oil spill of a disaster. Eventually, she lowers the moist towelette and says in a low voice, “Is there somewhere we can go to sit down? Maybe someplace with a sink?”

The employee locker room has a sink, and maybe it will give me a little cover from the dozens of gawking eyes of the Bouche patrons and staff. I feel like the featured act in a freak show.

There’s so much commotion in the kitchen that whoever is in the locker room obviously doesn’t realize additional people have entered the room, and one of those people happens to be Kiki. She’s still busting a gut over the success of her attack. Tears of mirth roll down her face as she scrubs off her thick layer of makeup at the sink.

“I still don’t get what’s so funny,” Donna tells her.

“It's Sue,” Kiki explains. Her face is pink from the laughter and scrubbing. “She's just so stupid. She tries to act tough, but she's just so pathetic.”

“By the way, what’s going on with your face?” Donna asks. “Why put on all that makeup just to scrape it off again?”

Kiki checks her newly denuded face in the mirror. “Just a little something I had to do to get what I want.”

“
Well,” Donna tells her, “it made you kind of look like a drag queen. I mean, a fancy one, but still... I’m sure most of the customers thought you were a man.”

Apparently, Kiki doesn’t take this as a compliment because she snaps, “
You've got no room to talk. This look you've got going on is borderline homeless at best. Keep dressing like this and you'll be booting up your computer to collect unemployment.”

Donna is insulted and turns to leave, and that’s when the two of them notice us standing in the doorway. I’m speechless to have heard Kiki’s full confession on how she suckered me in. The makeup woman must be used to behind-the-scenes intrigue because she doesn’t seem at all surprised. She just says in a brisk, professional voice, “We need this room if you’re done in here.”

Caught red handed, Kiki sweeps all of her makeup into her bag and makes a hasty retreat, probably to re-craft her face in the ladies room off the lobby. Donna follows her but at least has the decency to look me in the eyes and say, “Sorry.”

After they’ve left and the locker room is clear, the makeup woman firmly closes the door in the gawkers’ faces and says, “Okay, now we can get to work.”

She pulls out a mirror, and I finally get a full view of the Dali-esque nightmare that is Kiki’s makeup job after I’ve been standing over a hot stove for a few hours. I look like a melted clown.

The camera is rolling. Toulaine is seated at a table with a spotlessly white tablecloth. He’s tucking into one of the specials: rack of lamb with rosemary mashed potatoes. I know from my research that deep in his heart,
The Specialist
is a meat and potatoes man. Much to my relief, he’s obviously enjoying my creation.

Toulaine holds up one chop with his hands
after he has bitten into it. He likes to eat a lot of food with his bare hands, and this is no exception. The rest of the chops on the plate are formed with their bones stacked on top of the mashed potatoes, making a small teepee of meat. Rack of lamb isn’t exactly an innovative menu item, but presentation can do a lot to conceal that fact.

I’m
standing awkwardly nearby. The makeup woman has worked a miracle on my face, and while I do still have makeup on, it’s been redone to look more natural. She did have to apply a lot more base that usual because I can’t stop blushing with embarrassment.

“
Mmmmh...” Toulaine says, waving the chop in my general direction and nodding his head. He rarely comments beyond grunting when sampling the food. Unless he doesn’t like it, of course, so I take his guttural sounds as a good sign. Almost all commentary for the show is done in voice-over.

Next, Toulaine tries the wild mushroom and nettle risotto. It’s been a Bouche favorite ever since I put it on the menu a few weeks ago, and Toulaine is an instant fan. He rolls his eyes to the back of his head and lets out an, “Oh…” I’m standing behind him like a wooden statue, not sure if I should smile or just pretend like his reaction was nothing less than I expected.

Finally, it’s time for dessert, and Toulaine selects the chocolate-covered pyramid. It’s white cake layered with different berries and cream filling. It’s in the shape of a pyramid, of course, and capped with a chocolate shell. There’s a choice of milk or dark chocolate, and Toulaine goes after the dark. He cracks through the shell and shovels a healthy bite of pyramid into his mouth. After chewing for several seconds, he closes his eyes and lets out an, “Oh... ho!”

I’m so relieved, I feel a little light-headed, but the thought of passing out and possibly cracking my head open in front of the cameras is too embarrassing, so I stay upright.

Toulaine pushes back from the table and rubs his nonexistent tummy. He looks over in my general direction but still has his face angled for the camera. “I've got to hand it to you, Chef Sue. The chops were incredible. The ganache in the pyramid. It was so unexpected. I don't know how to explain it beyond...” he puts is finger tips to his lips and kisses them in that traditional Italian gesture, “Mmmwah!”

Chapter 18

I don’t know how I’ve managed to survive without spontaneously combusting from embarrassment, but the shoot is finally over, and the crew is packing up their gear to leave. Aziz and Michael Toulaine are goofing around, hassling each other like the old friends that they are. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing, so I’m standing out of the way and feeling like an idiot. This has been my predominant emotion of the day. Trent is also hovering on the fringes, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen him be anything but confident.

The director walks over to Toulaine and says, “We’re just about to wrap things up here.”

“Good to see you, Mikey,” Aziz says, and the guys do that handshake-hug thing men like to do that is kind of professional and also kind of intimate. My imagination always thinks they’re patting each other down for weapons.

“Same here, Aziz,” Toulaine tells him.

In a lower voice, Aziz adds, “And thanks for doing this. I appreciate it.”

“
No problem,” Toulaine assures him. “It was actually pretty good.”

“That’s good. I’d hate to drag you out here and have you feel like you didn’t get a good show out of it.”

“No, I think we got some footage we can work with,” Toulaine assures him. Shooting a glance in my direction, he lowers his voice when he says, “Although your new chef is pretty interesting.”

That’s it. I’m officially becoming a hermit.

“Isn’t she?” Aziz grins. “Don’t forget to call me the next time you're in town.”

“Don’t forget to come work for me when you finally decide to live in a real city,” Toulaine fires back at him.

Toulaine turns to talk to Trent, who has been hovering closer and closer. Aziz looks around and spies me hanging in the background, feeling awkward. “Sue!” he calls to me with a megawatt smile.

I’m still feeling humiliated and hurt over the whole “follow Kiki’s makeup advice” thing, so I don’t exactly want to talk to Aziz, even if he is the one that set up Bouche to be featured on
The Specialist
. Aziz obviously has no clue how I’m feeling because he makes a beeline right for me. “How'd it go?” he asks, still all smiles.

I can’t even believe he’s asking me this. How the hell does he think it went? Yes, Kiki was successful in making a complete ass out of me in front of everybody. I can’t even think of what to say, so I find myself repeating, “
How'd it go?” in an incredulous voice.

This, for whatever reason, confuses Aziz. “Um
? Yeah. I was mostly behind the bar, but Mike seemed to enjoy the food.”

I’m so angry, I’m finding it difficult to speak. I can’t even look at his stupid, handsome face. Turning away from him, I say, “
It went fine.”

Aziz just stands there staring at me for several moments, and I wonder if he’s fighting the urge to burst out laughing, but I refuse to turn back in his direction to find out. “That's good,” he says, finally. Adding, “Is something wrong?”

That really just tears it, and I wheel around to give him a piece of my mind, but he’s looking at me with such an open face and in no way appears to be gloating over my humiliation that I have to suffice with, “I didn't realize you were such good friends with Kiki.” I say it in as snippy of a tone as I can muster.

“
Sure...” He looks puzzled. “I'm friends with Aspic, too. Is that important to you?”

I absolutely cannot tolerate his condescending attitude, and I am about to let fly, but suddenly the world is going round and round as Trent spins me in his arms. “
You did it, Sue! You're a flipping genius!” He sets me down but has to keep me in his embrace because I’m a little woozy on my feet. “Reservations have been flooding in,” he says. “We're booked out for weeks.”

“
How is that even possible?” Aziz asks. “The show won't air for months.”

Trent lets out a loud laugh. He’s so jubilant, he’s almost drunk. “
When a camera crew shows up, word gets around. And,” he adds, “I might have put in a few phone calls. Let word slip out.” He winks at Aziz but doesn’t get a friendly reception. Aziz did make everyone promise to keep things a secret, so I don’t blame him for being a little annoyed.

I’m steady on my feet again, so Trent releases me from his embrace but still keeps hold of my hands, which he gives a warm squeeze. “
Let me take you out to a late dinner. We have to celebrate.”

I feel a warm flush of pleasure wash over my body.

              “Oh,” I exclaim, feeling for a moment like a princess in a Disney movie, but then I remember that I’m actually working and have to say, “I'd love to, but I have to finish up the dinner shift.”

Trent makes a face. “
Blow it off.”

“I couldn’t do that,” I tell him.

“Oh, come on.” Trent nudges me with his elbow. “Call in sick. You've worked enough for today.”

I can’t believe the man who actually owns Bouche is telling me to blow off work. “
You don't understand,” I tell him. “I can't call in sick. Not unless you want me to ruin all that good publicity we just created.”

Aziz just kind of fades into the background with a big scowl etched across his face. I feel a momentary pang of guilt. I know he helped Kiki pull a fast one on me, but he also called in a huge favor to make me look good, so I’m not really sure if I should thank him or tell him to go to hell.

Trent doesn’t notice as his friend leaves. “I guess you’re right,” he says, a little deflated but still holding my hands. “Can’t ruin our good reputation now.” I’m right, and he knows I’m right, but I feel a stab of disappointment that he doesn’t try to persuade me a little harder. “But at least join me in my office for a glass of champagne to celebrate,” he insists.

“Okay,” I say shyly, feeling the warm glow return.

“Great.” He dazzles me with his smile. “I'll have some sent up.” Then he says, “Oh…” frowns and bites the side of his lower lip. “If I’m serious about the budget, I can’t keep slinging champagne around.” He glances at me. “But this is a special occasion…”

“We can always drink the champagne you sent me,” I tell him.

His eyes brighten, but then he shakes his head. “No, I couldn’t ask you to do that. It was a gift.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I reply. “It’s just sitting in the fridge.” I don’t add the fact that it’s hidden behind some spoiled meat that no one has been brave enough to dispose of and I haven’t ordered anyone to dispose of because I know it’s keeping the champagne safe from a thirsty staff.

The next thing I know, I’m in Trent’s office, and he’s blowing the cork off of the magnum of champagne. At first, I keep expecting more of the Bouche staff to show up because the bottle is so large, but it turns out to be just the two of us. Trent fills two champagne flutes to the rim and hands me one. “Here’s to you, Sue. You’re doing an amazing job.”

I take a sizeable sip from my glass and enjoy the bubbles as they tickle my nose. This is just like in a dream. Except for, if I were dreaming, I probably wouldn’t be wearing my chef’s clothes and have my hair tied back. Still, I decide not to worry about it and just to enjoy the moment.

“We’re going to get a lot of press out of this,” Trent says, topping off my glass, “and it’s all due to you.”

I take another sip before saying, “That’s not true. Everybody worked hard. And Toulaine is Aziz’s friend. We would have never even had a chance of being on the show without Aziz.”

“You’re so modest.” Trent reaches forward and clinks his glass against mine. “Drink up.”

I’m not a huge drinker in general. I mean, I like a glass or two of nice wine, but the Chinese half of my body is constantly at odds with the Irish half as far as being able to tolerate alcohol, and for some reason, champagne always hits me harder than wine. But today I figure I deserve a quick little buzz to take the edge off after all that filming. Trent leans up against his large desk and nods at the open space next to him for me to join him there. I perch as elegantly as possible, again wishing I were dressed in something that at least hints at sexy. Trent is being pretty quiet, and I can’t think of anything to say, so we just sit there in silence, sipping our drinks.

When my glass is half empty, Trent leans toward me and asks, “
A little more bubbly?”

This time, I really have to refuse. The champagne is already in the carpool lane speeding toward my brain. “
No, I can't,” I tell him. “I'm already a little tipsy, and I really need to get back to work.”

“You can stay for another minute,” he says, filling my glass anyway. “I’m your boss. I give you permission.”

He’s leaning closer to me, and I know the combination of his proximity and the alcohol has probably turned my face to the color of a beet. “Okay.” I give in. “Just for another minute.”

“
I really appreciate what you did for Bouche today,” he says in a husky whisper. I don’t think he’s drunk nearly as much as I have. Or maybe he just has a higher tolerance.

“
Thanks,” I say, “but you know it was mostly Aziz. He's the one that set up everything with Toulaine.”

“You keep saying that.” He smirks at me.

“Because it’s true,” I reply.

Trent’s intercom beeps, startling me. It’s obviously Linda in reception trying to get a hold of him, but Trent ignores her. “I
t's you that came up with the fabulous dishes that made Toulaine happy,” he points out. “It's you that keeps getting more creative and more beautiful every day I know you.”

I can’t believe Trent Winchell just called me beautiful. Me, of all people. I would think I was hallucinating, but I haven’t drunk
that
much champagne. He’s so close to me now I can smell his breath. “Oh...” is all I manage to utter.

The intercom beeps again, and I jump a little. I don’t know if it’s from the beeping or because he’s so close. We’re really only a kiss apart, but the beeping distracts me. “
Should you get that?” I ask and then mentally kick myself for ruining the moment.

“
No. I'm sure it's nothing.” Trent waves it off. “Sue,” he says, pulling away slightly, and I mentally kick myself a second time. “I want you to keep just going for it with the menu. Be as creative as you can get. And I want you to keep doing such a fantastic job in the kitchen, and I want...” He pauses, looking deep into my eyes. I force myself not to look away.

“
What?” I ask.

“You,” he whispers.

This is it! Trent Winchell is going to kiss me, right here, right now! I close my eyes and tilt my head back, eager for our first embrace.

Linda barges into t
he office, and Trent springs away from me like someone just stuck a firecracker under his butt. “Sorry,” Linda says, all no-nonsense, “but your father's on the phone, and you know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Swinging around to buttonhole me, she says, “
Sue, you're needed in the kitchen. Right now.”

Trent rounds the desk and snatches up the phone. I guess there’s one person out there that can make Trent Winchell hop to. “Hello?” he says into the receiver. “Dad?”

I’m on my feet as well with Linda ushering me toward the door. “What are those numskulls up to now?” I ask, hoping that the kitchen hasn’t gone up in flames during the twenty minutes I’ve been gone.

“
Yeah... um...” Linda has me by the elbow. “I’m not sure. I think they just need you for something.” I have no doubt they need me for something, but you’d think they could handle any minor crisis on their own. I don’t know why they feel the need to turn to me for every little decision.

Trent is randomly stabbing at the buttons on his phone. I don’t think he even knows what he’s pressing. “
Hello?” he says again. “Dad?”

Waving the receiver in the air, Trent shouts after us, “There’s nobody there.”

Linda doesn’t bother to stop but calls over her shoulder, “He must have hung up. I’ve been buzzing you for ten minutes.” That’s an exaggeration, but it might have been ten minutes according to the senior Winchell’s internal clock.

In the reception room, I head for the exit, but Linda calls after me, “
Hold up a minute, Sue. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay, but can you make it quick?” I tell her. My imagination really has set the kitchen on fire with the staff having no idea where to find the fire extinguishers.

Linda takes extra care closing the door to Trent’s office and then says, “You're a nice girl and...”

“Whoa.” I interrupt her before she can go any further. I know exactly where these you’re-a-nice-girl conversations usually lead. She knows a young man, maybe the son of a friend, who is maybe a little socially awkward and a little too into comic books, but all he really needs is a nice girl to bring him out of his shell.
“Uh...” I flounder and then decide to just forge ahead. “You're not just about to try to fix me up with your nephew or something, are you?”

“No…” Linda says in a hesitant way that makes me think she actually is.