Comfort Food (30 page)

“Slow down,” Oliver said now. “Sunday is a day of rest.”

But Gus couldn’t stop moving, had to keep going to outrun all the fears and anxieties that had crept into her bones the previous night. Onward, she told herself, don’t look back. It’s how she’d dealt with it all before and it had worked, hadn’t it?

She felt angry with Alan for setting her up with that damned investment adviser, had been too shocked to tell him so, though later she felt somewhat mollified knowing he was in the same sort of pickle. Aimee had delivered her a snapshot of what she’d found so far; all was not lost. It was just so much less than what she’d had a few days ago. No doubt it was all about numbers to her former money manager, but for Gus, being conned felt deeply personal.

Still, there was the manor house and some miscellaneous investments she’d made on her own over the years, more as an experiment than anythingelse, a savings account, and the chunk of insurance money she’d put aside for the girls’ weddings and had continually rolled over in a certificate of deposit for the last eighteen years. A fluke, really, since she’d often consideredcashing out the CD and turning it over to her financial adviser.

“It’ll be okay, Mom,” Aimee had said. “And if it isn’t, you can come live in my room in the city.” They’d laughed at that, a shared joke. Sabrina had felt left out then, she could see it in her face.

“Let me help, too,” Sabrina had said but Gus demurred, pointing out Aimee’s skill with numbers. Later, though, she’d wondered about that, knowing she’d have been less comfortable with her younger daughter knowingwhat was what. “There’s no need for you to worry,” she’d said. It had just seemed necessary, somehow, that Sabrina remain innocent and in need of babying.

“Saw the papers today,” Oliver said, keeping pace with her. He pointed to a red bird hopping on a tree branch. “And I’ve asked that little fella to peck out that guy’s eyes.” He whistled and the bird flew away.

“Message transmitted. My buddy’s off to the Cayman Islands to find and torture him,” he said matter-of-factly. She laughed, though in truth she wouldn’t have minded if something had befallen the crook who stole her money.

“It’s all quite embarrassing, really,” said Gus. “I’m not as smart as I thought I was.”

“Nah,” said Oliver. “Never feel bad for being swindled. Scam artists are pros.”

“You handled other people’s money. Were you ever tempted?”

“No. It wasn’t mine to take. You must have serious delusions to want something that isn’t yours.”

“Well, I’ve lost all my leverage with Alan,” confided Gus, a nice achy feeling creeping into her legs. She hoped she’d be able to sleep that night, that the day’s exercise would knock her out. “Now I can’t throw up my hands and threaten to abandon the show.”

“No one believed that anyway,” he said, offering her a sip from his water bottle. She declined. “You have too much pride in your work.”

“Pride goeth before the fall.” Her skin was starting to feel warm.

“You’re still standing,” he said.

“With no one to catch me if I collapse.”

“Doesn’t have to be that way.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” said Gus.

“Sure you do. I am asking you out. On a date.”

Gus frowned. “I am your boss, you know.”

“Okay, then I’ll quit,” he said. “Although I checked out the CookingChannelpolicy—there’s no restriction.”

“No one sent me the memo,” she said.

“I have a lot of virtues,” he continued. “Like being patient. When I want something, I have all the time in the world.”

“Well, I don’t. There’s too much going on in my life right now. And besides, it simply wouldn’t be appropriate. The end.”

“Don’t fall into that routine with me,” said Oliver. “I see you behind the scenes, and frankly, I like the real Gus better. She’s just as cute but far less proper.” He leaned his head in close, which immediately sent every nerve in her body on alert. She took several quick steps to get ahead of Oliver; he kept pace. Don’t talk, she told herself. Not a word.

“So you want real Gus, do you?” The fresh air and lack of sleep was going to her head, loosening her tongue before her brain cells transmitted the message to shut up. “What would you even know about real Gus? This isn’t actually the life I’d planned to be leading, you know?”

Shut up, Augusta! Simply stroll silently the rest of the way. Just zip those lips.

“I didn’t plan to become a widow in my thirties,” she blurted. Oh my God, she was still talking.

“I didn’t plan to become a TV star,” she continued. “I didn’t plan to become Carmen Vega’s meal ticket. I didn’t plan to go on Gare’s little resort adventure. And I didn’t plan to have someone else hatch my nest egg. So there!”

Ah, yes, giving the silent treatment. Clearly she was very good at it, she thought sarcastically.

“There’s the life we dream,” Oliver said, “the life we deserve, and the life we get. I’ll take what I got over what I deserve any day.”

“And now you’re the sous chef philosopher,” said Gus. “How clever. I don’t want to encourage you any more or pretty soon you will want your own show. I’ve enough competition, thank you very much.”

“I just want to savor what’s on my plate,” he said simply. “Maybe explore a relationship for a bit of seasoning.”

“Not much flavor here, I’m afraid. My cupboard is pretty bare at the moment.”

“Okay, okay,” said Oliver. “Message transmitted. For now. But look, I really can offer you some solid advice about the money stuff. Put you in touch with some people. Just don’t let this guy take away anything more than what he’s already stolen. Don’t lose faith, Gus.”

“Because I’ll be fine, of course.”

“You will.”

“I hate that, you know, when people say that,” she said. “It doesn’t actually make me feel any better. But don’t worry, I’m the champion of turning that frown upside down. That’s what I do.” Her tone was laced with sarcasm.

“I’m not trying to diminish anything you’ve faced,” he said. “But you deal with everything with such grace. Another person would be crying and moaning about the theft, and instead you’re out here doing yoga and hiking and putting me in my place. You’re something to watch.”

“Like yesterday’s blowup with Aimee and Sabrina,” she said. “That was so well handled, I almost popped a vein in my head.”

She paused. “I apologize if I’m testy. It’s just been a very bad weekend.”

“You’re great,” said Oliver. “Every family has its issues. My own brother didn’t call me after nine-eleven.”

“That’s terrible!”

“He checked in with my mother. And that was good enough for him. Peter had kind of written me off back then. But we’ve reconnected.”

“You knew a lot of people downtown.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “It’s part of being on Wall Street.”

“Is this why you got into cooking?” she asked. “Most folks in your positionmight have invested in a restaurant rather than trying to work in a kitchen.”

“I was already into food,” he said. “But maybe a bit, yeah.”

“I have this funny thought sometimes,” admitted Gus. “That the people who die young get to escape the pain while the rest of us are left picking up the pieces.”

“I’m sorry about your husband,” said Oliver. “But that’s not what defines you. Yesterday was awkward in the session but I think you’ve truly raised two nice girls.”

“Far from perfect, I’m afraid.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Excuse me, Gus?” It was Priya, huffing a bit as she jog-walked to get closer to them. She had the look that Gus knew all too well: the wide eyes and wistful expression, as though she believed Gus was going to impart some secret about life that only she knew. She’d met fans like that before, of course, but it wasn’t just strangers who looked at her that way. Gus had seen that look on Aimee and Sabrina, sitting on the stairs waiting for her to bring their father home, and on Hannah the summer she kept dropping by with pies, and even on Troy, when she’d gone to visit him after Sabrina had stomped all over his heart. “Will you save me?” said the face. “Can you make it all better?”

What was funny was how easily she had slipped into the role when Christopher had always watched after
her
. Gus had been the coddled one and she hadn’t even known it. But there was no warm-up, no practice session,just the sudden transition and Christopher there in the hospital bed and every decision was hers and hers alone. It got so that she almost welcomedthe challenges and the crises, big and small, in the lives of those around her. She was very good at knuckling down and just getting on with it, Gus had learned, something her younger self would never have believed. She was very good at taking care. The bitter pill was that it took Christopherdying to finally figure things out. And she’d been spending years makingit up to him.

She’d fretted that there hadn’t been enough I-love-you’s between them. Even though there had been plenty. She just wanted one more. One more “I love you,” one more night together, even just one more minute. She would have accepted that, too, and gratefully. Gus made little changes—she stopped scattering her shoes across the closet floor and began using the rack Christopherhad purchased—and she made big ones, sticking with a profession even as the novelty wore off. In a vague way, she’d had a notion that she could date again at some point, but she’d had no idea when that time might arrive.

“You’ll know when you’re ready,” was something her mother used to say to her in the early years after Christopher died. But what if she didn’t? What if she never did? She missed being with Christopher, ached for his hands on her, and was frankly freaked out by the thought of really feeling another man’s touch. Even as the fantasy excited her.

Instead, she’d tried hard to fulfill all her longing for connection by nurturingeveryone else. It had worked, for a while, but after eighteen years of being alone it wasn’t satisfying in the same way. Still, she knew others continuedto count on her.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Priya,” Gus said, rubbing the woman’s arm very gently, and being rewarded with a flash of white teeth. “You have a lovely smile,” she said, waving goodbye to Oliver and leaning in closer to hear every word Priya wanted to share.

They’d tramped around for more than two hours before they finally made it back to the lobby.

“Thank God you’re back,” said the resort manager. “We’ve got a dire emergency. Our chef’s fallen ill and we have two hundred salespeople here for an executive conference. They’ve paid for a special tasting menu but he didn’t write anything down.”

“What happened?” Gus was genuinely concerned.

“He broke his leg falling off a trampoline,” the manager said.

“Well, surely he can offer instructions from a chair,” she said.

“No, he’s been taken away in an ambulance. I know this is terribly inappropriate,seeing as you’re a guest here, but I was hoping, Ms. Simpson, that you could do something for us?”

“Are your sous chefs still here?”

“Of course,” said the manager. “They’re familiar with the regular menu for the rest of the diners. But the conference attendees ... I’ll be blunt. They’ve paid extra for something special.”

She conferred with Oliver. “We’ll have to see what’s in the kitchen but I suppose we could help out.”

She motioned Gary to join them. “What are your plans this afternoon?” she asked the facilitator.

“Three-legged races,” he replied.

“Yes, Oliver and I will cook for you,” Gus said quickly. More games were definitely not on her agenda. “Hannah, run back and see if you can rustle up Carmen. She and Aimee are dawdling on the trail. The rest of you, I wish a pleasant afternoon with Gary.”

Four hours later, Gus, Carmen, and Oliver shared a celebratory bottle to toast the best meal they had ever cooked on the fly: plates of a paella-inspired risotto with clams, salt-crusted trout with fennel, thinly sliced Wagyu beef with thyme butter, and a trio of cream puffs flavored with ginger, green tea, and chocolate-chili, among other dishes. Exhausted, they left Oliver behind, to meet up with Troy and finish their arcade game tournament, and headed over to the elevator, too tired even to find anything to bicker about.

It had been illuminating to watch Carmen really dig in and cook withoutcommercial interruption, without cameras. Her pout was gone, replaced by a look of studious concentration, and she had chopped and minced and blended spices to create amazing bursts of flavor. The
sofrito
she had made, saucing together onion, tomato, and garlic in olive oil, had elevated the roasted chicken into a fragrant and unforgettable dish.

The men and women working the line in the kitchen had been shocked, initially, to see Carmen, Oliver, and Gus make their entrance, but in quick order everyone had gotten down to business. As a team. There were paying customers to be fed, after all.

It was, quite frankly, the first time she’d ever worked
with
Carmen and not just next to her. The rivalry remained, certainly, as they tasted and sampledand continually suggested to each other how to improve their dishes. But, for once, the food took precedence over personality. After all, there was no one watching: no Alan, no Porter, no millions of eyeballs on the other side of the camera.

The elevator came up from the lower-level ballroom and opened. Gus and Carmen stepped on in silence, exhausted from a day of yoga, hiking, and running around the kitchen. A thirtysomething man was already inside, slightly unsteady on his feet, his arm around an attractive blond woman who seemed somewhat off-kilter herself.

“Are you here for the sales conference?” The woman slurred her words, clearly tipsy.

“No, though I’m sure it’s quite lovely,” Gus said, moving to one side. Carmenlooked at the floor, wishing for her bed.

“Hey, aren’t you the broads from that cooking show?” The man elbowed the woman at his side as though she could have missed what he said. “Hey, hey, that’s that Gus Simpson and Carmen Vega.”