Turn Up the Heat (4 page)

As Leandra walked away, she looked over her shoulder at us and gave Owen a wink. What the hell was that about? I shook it off and touched Josh’s arm. “Josh, can we go say hi to Isabelle before we leave?” Isabelle had been working in the kitchen at Simmer since they opened, and I liked to check in with her once in a while because I’d gotten her this job. I’d met her in late December when I’d volunteered at Moving On, an agency in Cambridge that provided temporary housing for women in crisis. Isabelle had been kicked out of her house when she was sixteen, and until she had found help from Moving On, she’d been living mainly on the streets. I’d have thought someone with her background would be thick-skinned and street-smart, but Isabelle struck me as fragile and vulnerable. I adored her.

“Sure. I have to finish up this list and make sure the guys are all set back there.”

I dropped more tip money for Leandra and followed Josh through Simmer’s heavy glass door into the main dining room. We made our way past a few lingering diners and bar customers to the back of the room. Josh pushed open the kitchen door. Cleanup was underway. Javier was busy using the industrial spray hose to clean oversized pots and sauté pans, and Santos was methodically scrubbing food and grease off the stainless-steel counters and cooking equipment. Josh still hadn’t figured out exactly how the two workers were related (somebody’s cousin had married somebody’s half sister?), but they came off as father and son. Javier was in his midfifties, short, with a round belly that stretched his short-sleeved white kitchen shirt. His graying hair curled around his hairline. Santos was Javier’s opposite, weighing half what his relative did and, at six feet, towering above him. While Javier was loud and garrulous, Santos was horribly shy and barely said a word unless spoken to.

“
Hola
, Chloe!
¿Cómo estás?
” Javier called above the din of rushing water.

“Estoy bien, señor.”
I’d been trying to learn Spanish with the help of an online Spanish tutorial and had amassed a collection of travel phrases.
“Dónde está un buen restaurante?”
I asked with a smile.
Where is a good restaurant?

“You are funny, señorita.” Javier bellowed his wonderful laugh.

“All right, señorita.” Josh smiled and shook his head at my Spanish. “I’ll be back in a minute. Check the walk-in. Isabelle might be there.”

I waved to Javier and Santos and went to look for Isabelle. After searching the walk-in refrigerator, where the perishable food was kept, I went to the dining room to see if I’d missed her there. Isabelle was near the bar, bagging table linens and aprons for the cleaners to pick up. I was happy to see her doing so well here, by which I don’t just mean that she was competent at bagging linens. Josh said she was a good employee and that although she’d never worked in a kitchen before, she was becoming a good prep cook. Whatever Josh taught her, she picked up quickly. In some ways, Josh told me, he preferred working with people without kitchen experience because he could teach them to cook the way he liked and didn’t have to break them of bad habits.

Isabelle smiled when she saw me. “I heard you were here tonight, Chloe. It’s so good to see you. Guess what? Josh is going to teach me how to cut and debone fish tomorrow!” she said excitedly, her short black curls bouncing as she spoke. Like all new employees, Isabelle had been paying her dues in the kitchen by performing the most tedious of tasks, like peeling gallons of potatoes, so each time Josh taught her a new skill, it was a reward for her good performance.

“That’s great. I’m so happy this job is working out for you. How is your apartment?” Isabelle had recently found a three-bedroom apartment that she shared with five other girls. In spite of the cramped quarters, she’d been totally giddy at the prospect of moving into a real place rather than living in social service housing in Cambridge.

“I love it! You wouldn’t believe how cool my roommates are! One of them works at this TV station and…” Isabelle launched into details about the other girls. I listened to her happily describe her new life and new friends. The only time she paused for breath was when Simmer’s owner, Gavin, passed by. I was pretty sure I detected a nervous blush color her cheeks. But who wouldn’t have a crush on Gavin? He was young, handsome, wealthy, hardworking, and successful: the perfect catch. But Isabelle was only nineteen, whereas Gavin was in his midthirties, so I suspected that her crush would remain just that. Furthermore, Gavin already had Leandra. I talked with Isabelle for a bit while she finished with the laundry and then started to help clean the bar.

The general manager, Wade, nodded his appreciation to Isabelle. “Thanks for your help, Isabelle. We got killed tonight.” His black T-shirt clung to his muscular chest and arms, and a simple silver chain peeked out from under his shirt. He had this weird Ryan Cabrera hair thing going on—lots of long gelled strands puffed out from his head—and he had his usual few days’ growth of facial hair. I’d have put money on it that he spent more time in front of a mirror than I did.

“How was your dinner tonight, Chloe?” Wade asked as he began going through a mountain of receipts.

“Excellent, as always.”

“Good. Josh made us all something to eat before the dinner rush. Did you have that new scallop entrée? God, that was good. Your boy has got talent. I can definitely say that.”

“I did, and I agree. I loved it.”

Kevin, one of the bartenders, began cleaning out the taps. I couldn’t help but think what a crappy job it was to clean up at the end of the night. These guys had just spent hours serving wealthy customers and hobnobbing with Boston’s young and elite, and here they were dumping backwash out of glasses and mopping liquor off the rubber mats that lined the floor behind the bar.

“Wade, could you grab me more tequila, rum, and triple sec? I’m low on everything.” Kevin shook his head and started wiping off bottles. “I can’t believe how much we went through tonight.” Wade nodded and disappeared to restock the bar.

Since restaurants make most of their money from liquor sales, I was delighted to hear that Kevin was running low. With Josh’s food and a little luck, Simmer could soon become a real moneymaker.

“Ready to go, babe?” Josh came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Kevin? Do you need anything else before I go?” Josh asked.

“Nah. Thanks, though. Wade and I can handle this mess. See ya tomorrow.” Kevin waved good night and continued polishing a bottle of Irish whiskey.

THREE

WHY
the hell was my alarm clock going off this early? I reached over Josh to hit the snooze button and accidentally whacked my sleeping chef on the head. He was so overtired that he didn’t flinch. I rolled over to go back to sleep and remembered my promise to Owen. I’d been on the verge of reentering a dream about Donatella Versace and Wentworth Miller, my
Prison Break
crush. Well, best to wake up from that, anyway.

I climbed over Josh and fumbled around in my closet to find something to wear. Owen and Ade had crashed at my place so often that Owen wouldn’t expect me to look good at this hour, but I didn’t want to run into any of Simmer’s front-of-the-house staff, who’d all be groomed according to Newbury Street standards, while I was in sweatpants and my hair was sticking out of a big clip. I took a quick shower but didn’t dare wash my hair because I couldn’t be bothered to spend an hour wrangling my curly strawberry blonde mane into smooth locks. My blow-dry from last night had done a good job of flattening itself while I’d slept, and I wasn’t going to undo a good hair day. I tossed on jeans, a white camisole tank, and a cute, pink, fuzzy cropped sweater Ade had temporarily grown out of. My hair had been foiled to within an inch of its life, so I had enough blonde to pull off the pink without blinding anyone. Otherwise, Owen would’ve had to wear sunglasses on our drive over.

I started up my Saturn Ion, grabbed a couple of coffees at the Dunkin’ Donuts in Cleveland Circle—practically the one Dunkin’ in the entire world that didn’t have a drive-through—and reached Owen’s apartment at six forty-five. I beeped a few times, and Owen bounded down the steps. I immediately noticed his long-sleeved shirt that read, We’ll Give You Crabs!

“Nice shirt, Owen.” I rolled my eyes. “Does your boss know you’re wearing that?”

“Course he does,” he grinned. “He had ’em made for us! Hey, thanks for picking me up. Ade has been so tired with this pregnancy, and I’m sure she’s still sound asleep. Oh, did I tell you? I’m going after work today to pick up a crib and a travel system that I ordered. Ade’s going to love them!”

“Owen, where are you going to put all this stuff? Your new apartment isn’t that big. Don’t you think you should wait until closer to when the baby is going to be born?” I turned onto Beacon Street and headed for Kenmore Square. Even at this hour, Boston traffic sucked. I forced myself to stop at a yellow light and not block the intersection. My reward was a slew of horn honking from the cars behind me. “And what the hell is a ‘travel system,’ anyway? Where are you planning on going with this kid?”

“Well, the stuff was on sale, so I wanted to buy it now. And a travel system is this cool stroller that comes with an infant car seat you can plunk right into the stroller. It also has a base that you strap into the car, and then you can just pop the seat in and out without having to worry about the buckle. So when the baby falls asleep in the car, we can just keep it in the seat and plop it in the stroller. Cool, huh?”

“Very cool,” I agreed, impressed with Owen’s knowledge of baby paraphernalia.

When we neared Newbury Street, I asked Owen whether I could just pull onto one of the side streets near Simmer and leave him to walk down the alley to his truck. I wasn’t crazy about weaving my relatively new car around Dumpsters and subjecting the tires to broken glass and crumbling pavement.

“I thought you wanted to see my truck,” Owen said pathetically.

“Oh, right. Of course I do.” I nodded with all the excitement I could muster at this hour.

Owen showed me where to turn to reach the back entrance to Simmer and the other Newbury Street businesses. Most of the buildings in this part of town were beautiful old brownstones and converted town houses, many with large bay windows that displayed high-end products. But behind the glamorous storefronts and equally glamorous stores, the alleys were the same trash-filled back streets you’d find in any other part of Boston. As I eased my car down the alley, I kept an eye out for anything that might puncture a tire.

I knew Simmer from the front, but the alley robbed me of my sense of direction. “Which one is Simmer’s door?” I took my eyes off the pavement for a moment to glance around.

“Right there! Right there! See my truck?” Owen pointed excitedly at a white pickup truck. “Just pull over in front of me,” he said, leaping out the door before I’d even shifted into park.

I got out and took a look at what was apparently the most thrilling truck of all time. It was just as Owen had described it last night: a white pickup with a white box unit the size of a small shed set in the bed of the truck.

“See? That’s the refrigeration unit. Can you even imagine how much fish that could hold? I could make millions!”

The refrigeration box occupied the entire truck bed and rose above the cab of the pickup. “You’re not going to fill that thing up on your deliveries, are you?”

“Well, no,” Owen admitted. “Not yet. But I’m just saying…”

“It’s very cool. You were right. I like the logo on the side there.”
The Daily Catch
was scripted in red paint and surrounded by sea creatures done in black.

“I’m going to get it done on the box, too. Want to see the inside?”

“Um, sure.”

Owen was about to open the back door to the truck when a raspy voice rang out. “Hey, guys! What’s up?”

I turned around to see Snacker at the top of Simmer’s back steps. He was propping open a heavy steel door. “Hi, Snack,” I called. I could tell Snacker was as tired as Josh, but even severe fatigue couldn’t change his olive skin, dreamy brown eyes, and chestnut hair: the perfect example of tall, dark, and handsome. On the one hand, I felt as though Snacker was the brother I’d never had. On the other hand, it was impossible not to drool a bit every time I saw him. I wiped my chin. “Owen left his truck here last night, so I drove him in to get it.”

“Come on in. I’ll make you some breakfast. And Owen? I’ve got an order for you, if you’ve got a minute.”

“Yeah, no problem, man.”

These two were forcing cordiality for my sake, and the result was totally unpleasant. The Adrianna incidents that had taken place in the winter still created plenty of tension between Owen and Snacker. The bad feeling was especially unfortunate because, if Snacker had never hooked up with Ade, these two might have been friends.

Owen followed me up the stairs. Snacker released his hold on the door as I passed through Simmer’s back entrance. Since Snacker was trailing right behind me, Owen was forced to grab the heavy door himself. Owen muttered “Asshole” under his breath.

“You’re here early, huh, Snack?” I asked. “I thought you chef types didn’t have to come in until later?”

“Too much to do, too little time,” Snacker said as we passed the doors to Simmer’s storage rooms. “And we’ve got an early delivery today, so I wanted to be here. Our produce guy keeps trying to drop off rotten shit all the time, so Josh and I have been keeping an eye on him and going through everything before we sign for it. Last time, I refused the brown cabbage, and I had to run out myself to a supermarket. But I don’t mind opening, because I usually get a few minutes to myself before other people come in. Anyhow, I’m glad you guys came around the back, because the front is locked, and we’ve got the music cranked.”

Did they ever. We entered Simmer’s main dining area, and Stevie Wonder’s “Superstitious” echoed throughout the room. The doors to the kitchen were propped open, and even this early, delicious smells poured out. With all the lights on, the restaurant didn’t have its usual atmospheric illumination. The floors showed their dirt. Stray napkins were piled on tables, and half-filled glasses sat on the bar. I knew that Wade and Kevin had closed last night and wondered whether they had cut out early and whether they were going to catch some heat from Josh and Snacker for some of this mess.