Cook the Books (15 page)

I listened to students present several cases that made mine look like a walk in the psychotherapeutic park. Julie was doing her field placement in the foster-care system, a setting that not only required her to navigate a nightmare tangle of red tape, but also involved challenging, emotionally demanding client work as well. Robert and Ann Marie were both at a geriatric home, and Simon was working at a community outreach program for teens. When it was my turn to present, I pulled my case files out of my folder and set them on my lap. I also had handy a rather sizeable stack of recipes that had to be tested. The recipes didn’t exactly need supervision, but should there happen to be any volunteers . . .

“So, Chloe, tell us about this week’s session with Ms. A.” Professor Ruiz adjusted his nearly invisible glasses and crossed his legs, raising his pant legs to reveal mismatched socks.

We never used clients’ real names. Instead, we referred to a client by the first letter of the person’s first name, or we made up a name. Julie always named her clients after celebrities. We’d spent last week’s class hearing all about “Bono’s” struggle to find a loving foster family to take him in. The week before it had been “Mark Wahlberg’s” suspension from high school for smoking pot in the girls’ room. My professor had cut Julie off when she’d launched into a speech about how poor “Colin Powell” had caught gonorrhea from “Bruce Springsteen.” I just stuck to letter names.

I scanned my notes. “Well, Ms. A continues to remain unsatisfied in her current relationship with T. She claims he is dull and unexciting, and she now has her sights set on a professor who is more than twice her age. It’s my impression that she may have concocted his attraction to her and that she has created a romantic connection between herself and the professor as a way to escape her reality. Her current boyfriend actually sounds like a really decent guy who adores her, and I wonder if she has fabricated a relationship with this new man as a way to avoid intimacy.” I paused. “As a way to protect herself from getting hurt.” The picture I was painting suddenly started to sound all too familiar. I hadn’t deluded myself into believing that I had a romantic relationship with Kyle, but there was, I had to admit, a genuine possibility that, in fantasizing about him, I was avoiding real intimacy. “Um, let me move on to D, whose father continues to put unreasonable demands on him leading D to push himself further and further to impress his father. An impossible task, if you ask me. I cannot get D to see that he needs to recognize his own wishes and goals and not to live his life according to this asshole’s . . . er, excuse me . . . the unreasonable paternal expectations.” When I shared Danny’s hand injury with the class, everyone was as visibly horrified as I was. Shared. In supervision, we were encouraged not simply to describe or report or tell things; rather, we were supposed to
share
them. “And yet, even with incidents like that, D continues to want to please his father.”

Julie whipped out a pencil, stood up, and paced the floor in front of me. “I think there is an important angle to look at here. Let me take a guess. The more this father pushes his son, the more the son screws up, correct?”

“Yes, actually, that’s true.” I nodded emphatically.

“Okay, so D’s image of his father is one of an important, successful, almighty power, essentially. That only serves to increase the son’s sense of incompetence, thereby making him genuinely incompetent. Like the accident with his hand? Probably a result of his nerves and his fear of failure. He’ll never feel whole and develop positive self-esteem until he stops believing everything his father says.” Julie sat back down, clearly pleased with her insight.

“You’re right,” I said. “But how in the world do I help him see what’s so obvious to us?”

Professor Ruiz leaned forward, intertwined his fingers, and looked thoughtfully at me. “If I were D, I would be pretty angry at my father. But it sounds like your client has turned that anger onto himself. See if you can get him to acknowledge that feeling. It’s okay to love someone and also hate some of the person’s behavior and words. That’s a tough dichotomy to balance, but we are allowed to have mixed feelings about the important people in our lives.”

There’s a fine line between love and hate
.
I thought of Josh. I was furious with him for leaving me, of course, but Adrianna had been right when she’d said that I still loved him. Damn. Why couldn’t I just be done with him and let that relationship go? There were other men in the world, right?

But there was only one Josh.

“Oh, while I’m here,” I said as nonchalantly as possible, “and since I really appreciate all the help the group has given me this semester, I thought of a way to thank everybody. I’m working on a cookbook with a very famous chef, and I’ve brought some of the secret recipes that will be in the book.” I stood up and began handing out sheets of paper to the mystified students. “Julie, you look like a tiramisu girl, am I right?”

“I guess so,” she said.

“Come on. It’ll be fun,” I begged.

“I like to cook,” Robert said. “What else do you have?”

“Open ravioli with spinach, tomato, and cream?”

“Yup, that’s mine.” Robert snatched the paper out of my hands.

“So you all get to test a recipe for the book, and your names will be in the acknowledgments. Isn’t this cool?” I said enthusiastically. “Simon, how about I give you lamb? And for you, Ann Marie? Chicken Creole!”

“I love anything Creole.” Ann Marie rubbed her stomach. “That’ll be dinner tonight, for sure.”

“Chloe, I don’t think this is really—” Professor Ruiz began.

“You’d like one, too? Of course.” I beamed and handed him Vietnamese fresh wraps with chili-peanut sauce. Then I hurriedly distributed the rest of the recipes. “Thanks for all the great work, everybody! Oh, looks like class is over. Let me know how the dishes turn out. My e-mail address is on there. I need to hear back from you by Sunday. Just imagine! You’ll all have your names in print!” I quickly gathered my belongings and bolted out of the lounge before my professor could protest. My method wasn’t the smoothest, most polite way of soliciting recipe testers, but I really had no choice.

I was in an excellent mood during the drive home. Besides having made solid progress on the cookbook, I’d just recruited recipe testers. What’s more, I was looking forward to a wonderful restaurant opening tomorrow. And I had a hot new dress to boot. Things were looking up.

EARLY
on Friday evening, my condo looked as if a tornado had swept through and flung my possessions across every available surface. Well, come to think of it, a tornado
had
struck: the tornado’s name was Chloe. The living room was absolutely covered in cookbook material and client notes, my bedroom was thick with yet more paper as well as with clothes, and the bathroom had become a solid mass of beauty products. Although I’d spent an obscene amount of time that afternoon getting ready for the Penthouse opening, I’d been slow to realize that I’d need to wear shoes and nylons. While tossing pretty much the entire contents of my dresser and closet onto the bed and the floor, I’d found a pair of strappy navy heels underneath a box of Christmas gift bags and a non-ripped pair of nylons in the back of my pajama drawer. The shoes needed a bit of polishing with a wet washcloth, but they cleaned up fairly well. I’d pulled my hair into the fanciest updo that I could manage without Adrianna’s help, and my makeup was flawless. I repeatedly told myself that my obsession with my appearance had nothing to do with Josh and everything to do with Kyle, but the nothing-to-do-with-Josh mantra didn’t seem to be sinking in.

Kyle showed up promptly at seven. When I was dating Josh, I’d spent countless hours either waiting for him to get off work or having him entirely cancel on me because the restaurant “needed” him. He was rarely on time, and his perpetual tardiness had always irked me. Kyle, on the other hand, was here when he said he’d be. Unfortunately, this was one time when I’d have been grateful for an extra fifteen minutes so that I could tidy up the place and finish fussing with my hair.

“Come on in! I’ll be right out!” I called from the bathroom as I jabbed another pin into my hair. “I’m so sorry about the mess, but you can see how hard I’ve been working on the book!”

Kyle’s warm laugh echoed down the hall, and I heard the back door shut. “Don’t worry, we’ve got time.”

I snarled at my reflection. A damn wisp of hair had fallen out of my updo, and it took me a few minutes to fix it. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I was appalled to see that I hadn’t even left a clear spot where Kyle could sit. He stood formally in my small living room, his hands clasped together as he waited.

“God, this is horrible! I’m so sorry!” I quickly rushed to the couch and gathered up my client notes.

“Are you afraid I’m going to read your diary?” he joked.

“Yeah, right. I’m just horrified about this mess.” To have left the confidential notes lying around was really inexcusable. Not that Kyle would be terribly intrigued by the details of my internship, but if I intended to behave professionally, I needed to get in the habit of leaving the notes at work, or at least keeping them zipped in my bag.

“Chloe, you look absolutely stunning.” Kyle voice was touchingly sincere. “That dress is perfect for you.”

I swear that I felt my cheeks heat up. “Thank you,” I said with a smile. “And you, sir, look very dapper yourself.” Kyle’s goatee was trimmed tonight, and I liked his barbered look even better than his usual cute scruffiness. As I was silently admiring his obviously expensive black suit, it occurred to me that he looked like a male escort I could have found online. Even so, he looked great.

“I’d tip my hat to you if I had one.” Kyle winked at me. “Should we go get Adrianna and Owen now?”

“Yes. You know, I think this is the first night out they’ve had together since Patrick was born. Well, the first without the baby along. Owen found a really sweet girl who lives down the street from them to babysit, so if she works out, maybe they’ll be able to go out more. Not that they can afford to very often, but they’d like it.” I locked up and followed Kyle to his car. “Of course, I’m always happy to sit for Patrick, but it’s good for them to have another option.”

Kyle double-parked in front of Ade and Owen’s building while I went to get my friends. I rang the bell, waited to be buzzed in, and then made my way up the flight of stairs. I stopped outside their door and cringed. They were having some sort of fight. I sighed and knocked.

Ade whipped the door open. “Hi, Chloe,” she said rather seriously. “You look smokin’.”

“Um, thank you.” I glanced at Adrianna and Owen. Both were dressed beautifully, Ade in a long, soft pink dress, and Owen in a remarkably normal- looking suit. But there was one clear problem: Owen was holding Patrick. Glancing around the living room, I saw no sign of a babysitter. “Uh-oh.”

“Yeah.” Owen nodded. “Our one babysitter got some sort of
Exorcist
-type stomach bug and apparently puked her guts out an hour ago. Her mother called us and apologized, but it’s nobody’s fault, obviously. Please tell Adrianna that she has to go tonight. I’m fine with staying home.”

“No way, Owen,” Adrianna said firmly. “I got to go out to dinner with Chloe the other night, and I got my hair done. You haven’t been out at all, hon. I want you to go.”

“Absolutely not,” Owen said as he moved to the love seat. “Patrick and I are in for the night. Besides, now I can take off these uncomfortable clothes.” He smiled broadly at his wife. “Go, go, go! I swear I don’t mind.”

Ade bit her lip as she looked back and forth between Owen and me. “What do you think, Chloe? Am I a rotten mother for wanting to go to a restaurant opening instead of staying home with my son?”

“Of course not. I think you should do whatever you want to. But one of you is coming with me! And right now, because Kyle is downstairs with the engine running.”

Owen shooed us away with his hand. “Off you go, ladies!”

“Oh, all right! Fine, I’ll go.” I was surprised that Ade didn’t stomp her foot. “But you’re having a guys’ night out soon, Owen, okay?”

“I’ll take you up on that, babe. Come give me a kiss, and I’ll see you and your sexy dress later.”

Ade grinned, rushed over to Owen, and planted a long kiss on his lips.

“Okay, lovebirds, the clock is ticking,” I said as they continued to kiss. “Seriously, we have to go!”

“I’m coming,” Ade said as she slowly pulled away from Owen. “I’ll see you later on tonight.” After giving Patrick a quick snuggle, she headed for the door.

“God, you two make me sick,” I teased. “Good-bye, Owen!” I practically dragged Ade away from her husband as the two blew kisses back and forth. I somehow managed to get her down to the first floor. “Christ, you two are like rabbits now, huh?”

“Very funny. Hey, is that a new dress and coat? They’re gorgeous. But aren’t you supposed to be saving your money?”

“These? Oh, I got them on sale,” I lied. Yes, I had a wee spending problem, but at least I now had a lucrative job. “Here, hop in the front seat,” I said pointing to Kyle’s car.

“Thanks.” She waved to Kyle and opened the door.

I got in the back and pulled my coat around me. Thank God for fake fur! It was so bitterly cold tonight that I felt justified in my extravagant purchase.

“Where’s Owen?” Kyle asked with concern as he pulled the car away from the curb. “Is he sick?”

“No,” Ade said as she crossed her long legs. “The babysitter is. The truth is that we really can’t afford to pay for one anyhow, so it’s probably for the best. He’ll go out another night.”

“That’s too bad.” Kyle turned up the radio. “Oh, I love this song!”

“Me, too!” Ade squealed.

I endured their enthusiastic, if tuneless, rendition of Aerosmith’s “Dream On” and momentarily felt like a child being chauffeured around by embarrassing parents. Fortunately, what came on next was an ear-piercing Mariah Carey song that neither of the front-seat karaoke singers wanted to attempt.