Fire In the Kitchen (3 page)

Cassidy heard her mother’s long, exaggerated sigh before she saw her approaching in the café they ran together. She had the same sandy blonde hair and blue eyes as Cassidy’s, but their energy levels of late didn’t match. Cassidy was worried about her.

“Hey you,” Cassidy said, walking around the counter and giving her a quick bear hug.

“Hey you, yourself,” Elizabeth said, heaving herself up onto a high stool. “Busy day, love, I’m beat. How about you?”

“I’m pumped.” Cassidy did a punching action with her fists.

“Ah, to be twenty years younger…show off.”

Elizabeth leaned her elbows on the bench and rested her chin on her palms.

“Take a break,” Cassidy said. “I’ll finish up.”

She walked back around to the serving side and offered Elizabeth the last piece of cake she’d been saving for her. “Usual macchiato to go with it?”

“I’d prefer a nettle leaf tea for a change.”

“Do we even have that sort of tea?” Cassidy tiptoed up to the higher shelves to look through the rest of their extensive tea selection.

“Third shelf on the left.”

“Aha. Got it.” She chose one of their eclectic teapots and warmed it. “People drink this stuff?” she asked, opening the tea tin and taking a sniff. “Smells like grass.” She prepared the tea and allowed it to brew.

“It’s okay with honey,” Elizabeth replied.

Cassidy nodded and located it. “You okay, Mum? What’s going on? It’s not like you to be so wrecked. Do you think you’re coming down with something?”

“I’m just tired. I keep thinking I’ll catch up on my sleep, but every day I feel more drained. Maybe it’s a lack of iron. I’ll have a big steak tonight.”

Elizabeth ate some cake without comment while Cassidy finished preparing her tea. She watched as Cassidy poured her a cup and passed it to her. “Ah,” she sighed after taking a long sip. “There is a Tea God.”

“But how was the cake?”

“Good, love.”

“Just
good
?”

Just
good
wasn’t good.

“It’s nice, darling, but you know you always want me to be honest. It’s missing something and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Darn it,” Cassidy said as she reached over to try a piece. “Yep, you’re right – it’s just passably
good.
”

“I put another recipe in your father’s old notebook this morning. Maybe you could try it out?”

“Ouch. Consider this the first and last time I make this cake.” Cassidy reached for the bookshelf behind her and grabbed her father’s notebook. She saw the handwritten recipe when she opened the cover and put it on the counter. “I’ll check it out later,” she said, “after I’ve dissected where I went wrong with this one. Where’d you get it from?”

“Can’t remember. You know how many of my friends want to get their thrills from us serving food made from their original recipes. I saved it from the heavy-duty wash cycle.”

Cassidy turned when she heard the familiar click of the lock at the front entrance of the café. She watched her best friend, Amy, turn the “Open” sign to “Closed” and then sashay toward them. She wore a short black dress that showed off the tattoos down her slim arms and legs. After the broadcast of excessive ink, one noticed she had an attractive face.

“Most of your cake tryout went to table six,” Amy said. “Can you believe the woman kept asking for another slice? I had to stop myself from telling her off for being a pig.”

“She’s a new customer,” Cassidy’s mother said. “Be kind.”

“Okay, a pig
let
.” Amy squeezed her employer’s shoulder good-naturedly. “She was wearing pink after all.”

“She’s the same woman who came to my class last night. She must’ve been hoping for another encounter with
Dante Cristiani.
Obviously disappointed he didn’t come back.” Cassidy reminded herself for the umpteenth time that day that
she
wasn’t disappointed.

“Are you
seeeeeerious?
” Amy put her hands over her eyes. “The one night I decide to go home on time, you get Mr. Dream Chef on your doorstep.”

“I was waiting for you to bring our celebrity up,” Elizabeth said, leaning back and crossing her arms. “Gary told me about him last night.”

“
So
unfair,” Amy continued. “What’s he like and what on earth was he doing here?”

“I think he asked himself the same question. He left pretty fast.” Cassidy ignored the sudden tightening of her chest and grinned at them. Then she noticed the dark rings circling her mother’s eyes. “Mum, you look really sick.”

“Nothing a hundred-hour nap won’t fix.” Her mother stood and stretched. As she did so, a loud yawn escaped her lips.

Cassidy thought back to her father’s heart attack. It had seemed so sudden, but in retrospect all the signs had been there long before they’d lost him. It was like she heard whispering in her ear, similar to the robot from
Lost in Space
.
Danger, Will Robinson, Danger.
“I’m taking you to the doctor tomorrow,” she said, her tone indicating there was to be no further discussion about it.

Amy leaned in. “So tell me more, Cassidy. Did you get his mobile number, pasta recipes, and marital status? And if you didn’t, I can probably answer all those questions for you, courtesy of Google.”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Cassidy wiped down the bench again. It was destined to be the cleanest bench in town. “He was pretty full of himself,” she continued, “and he’s the first person who’s ever rejected my caffeinated advances.”

“Seriously? It’s always the sumptuous ones who have the most flaws.” Amy smeared her finger through the cake frosting on Elizabeth’s plate and then sucked it. “Yum.”

“That’s disgusting, Amy,” Cassidy said. “Leave Mum’s plate alone.”

“You’re lucky I’d had enough, young lady,” Elizabeth said, pushing the plate toward Amy and gulping down the rest of her tea. She walked away and called out over her shoulder, “I’m sure today was twice as long as usual. After I mop the kitchen, I’m off duty.”

“Leave it, Mum,” Cassidy called after her. “I’ll get to it later.”

“Not fair.” Her mother grinned. “Won’t take long.”

“So, was he hot enough to melt ice cream in the freezer?” Amy asked after Elizabeth was out of earshot. She snapped her fingers as she tried to get her friend’s attention. “Wanna know more about his good-boy image being tainted recently?”

Cassidy wanted to act nonchalant, but her curiosity won; she knew it was only a matter of time. “Ok, tell me if you must.”

Amy made an imaginary lasso with her hand. She ran to the back office for her computer tablet and then sprinted back to the counter and started looking through the search engine.

“What’re you doing?” Cassidy peered over her shoulder.

“Check this out. You know his restaurant in Cottesloe with the glass floor jutting out over the ocean?”

“Azzure. Everyone who has a pulse knows it.”

“Newsflash! Bet you didn’t know this: he’s been charging his customers top dollar and using inferior produce. Apparently he got greedy.”

“Give me that.” Cassidy took the tablet from Amy and sat down next to her. She continued their conversation as she located his picture. “How?” Cassidy’s fingers hovered over Dante’s photograph until she could no longer resist enlarging his image. She felt the attraction of the night before return with equal force.

Amy looked at Dante’s picture, too. “He wasn’t paying his local suppliers, so they cut him off and he went elsewhere. He also has a reputation for being nice in the front of house, but tyrannical out the back.”

“Strange. He didn’t come across as the type of person who wouldn’t do the right thing. Opinionated, yes. Mean, no.” Cassidy bit down on her thumbnail and shook her head.

Amy pulled Cassidy’s hand away and chastised her. “Do I have to get you a pair of rubber gloves to stop you from chewing on that?”

Cassidy shrugged apologetically.

“You learned all this from Dante in a couple of hours?” Amy continued.

Cassidy smiled weakly. “Just a hunch.”

Amy sighed. “Please tell me they touched up this photo,” she said. “No one looks that good in the flesh.”

Cassidy looked at his picture again and nodded that he did. “A man like that doesn’t just wander in from off the street,” she said. “Wonder why he was slumming it in here? I accused him of being like the awful people in that new café and trying to steal my shortbread recipe.”

“You didn’t! Reality alert, he’s known for his own range of biscotti. He sells it in his café and in the shops. Want me to buy you a packet from the local deli to try?”

“No, and thanks for your support by rubbing it in.” She squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could erase that part of the evening before.

“Maybe he just heard we make the best coffee in Fremantle and he wanted to try one,” Amy replied. “Amend that: change
we
to
you…you
make the best coffee in Freo.”

Cassidy looked around the café she and her mother had kept afloat after her father had died so unexpectedly. There was a colorful mix of mismatched comfortable furniture, rattan ceiling fans chosen to create a relaxed atmosphere, and unpolished wooden floorboards scuffed from happy years of serving contented customers. Cassidy always felt safe here, as though her father was watching over her. All his hopes and dreams had been woven into this place, like a tapestry that had taken many loving years to create.

“Well,
Chef
Dante Cristiani obviously didn’t think we were good enough. He should go back to his glass restaurant so I can throw stones at it. Bastard.” Cassidy tried to make sense of why she felt so strongly about him. He meant nothing to her. He was just a famous face splashed in the media with a different woman on his arm every time. Why did he visit her shop?
Why?
It didn’t make sense.

“Harsh! It’s not like you to speak like that.” Amy grabbed her arm. “What on earth did he say that upset you so much?”

“Nothing. No big deal.” Cassidy forced a smile. “It’s what he didn’t say, I suppose. He walked out mid-conversation.”

“Now you have me intrigued. What were you talking about?”

“Coffee,” Cassidy said, shrugging.

“But I don’t understand, it’s one of your favorite subjects.”

“No, it’s not.” Cassidy sighed. “Getting the bank loan for the extensions is one of my favorite subjects. We really need this to keep things fresh so our new competitors don’t have a chance.”

“You’ll get it,” Amy replied brightly. “You and your mum deserve it so much, after everything you’ve been through.”

“We’re going to set up a corner with an e-book area. The reading tablets will be inset into the table tops, and customers can read my blog posts about my cooking experiments.”

“Win, win!” Amy’s eyes glistened.

“Yes, and they can rate whether or not they want them to be on the menu permanently. Verrry interactive. They’ll feel they have a say in what they come here for.”

“I’d pay for that.” Amy reached into her apron pocket and put a few coins in the tip bowl labeled:
Afraid of change? Leave it here
.

“It’s a pretty cool idea, isn’t it?” Cassidy nodded. “I also want to introduce suspended coffees, where people pay for them in advance and they’re available for those down on their luck.”

Amy leaned down and assessed the money in the glass bowl. “I think we’ve got at least fifty…”

A loud clang from the kitchen interrupted their conversation.

“Mum?” Cassidy raced to find her when she didn’t get a reply. Elizabeth was sitting on the floor with the mop in her hand and a dazed expression. “What happened?” Cassidy asked, kneeling down and lifting her mother’s limp wrist.

“Someone stole the bones from my legs. Is the air conditioner working?” Elizabeth’s voice sounded frail. “Everything’s spinning. Call Gary.”

“I’m calling an ambulance first.” Amy’s voice was urgent as she picked up the wall phone and dialed emergency, giving them the details.

Cassidy felt her heart scrape at the bowl of her chest as her mother lost consciousness. “Mum! No!”

Waiting for the ambulance, Cassidy felt as if she were removed from her body while she watched Amy position her mother on her back and then elevate her feet using a milk crate.

I should be helping her, but I can’t think.

Not Mum, not in exactly the same place
as Dad – too ironic, too cruel…please no
.

She looked away and stared at the walls. “Is she breathing?” she whispered to her friend.

“Yes, but it’s very faint. I hope they hurry.” Amy stayed by Elizabeth’s side, holding her hand. “Get me a clean tea towel with cold water on it. Come on Cassidy, snap out of it. We need you, kiddo.”

Cassidy forced herself to follow Amy’s instructions, even though she felt she was in a dark cave and there was no light. Her mother had always been well and fit and energetic. She didn’t smoke, she didn’t drink, and she laughed a lot. She’d finally found happiness with a man she loved, having never believed it possible after losing her husband. This couldn’t be happening.

Not to Mum.

Not now.

Dante arrived in the kitchen. His chefs stopped talking when they saw him and worked on in silence, refusing to meet his eyes. He knew he was being punished for having fired a vital member of their team. They didn’t realize it had hurt him more than it hurt them. He and Carlos had grown up together. They had gone to the same local high school and had the same group of friends and relatives. Dante hadn’t fired him on a whim.

Looking at his sullen chefs, he felt a surge of indignation—they might be joining Carlos if they too questioned his values.

Dante approached his sous chef and asked him what the special entrée would be that evening. The other chefs stopped working and waited for their comrade’s response. He stood tall and crossed his arms.

“New Zealand salmon with a macadamia-and-white-tea-infused crust.”

“Why didn’t you use our local fishermen?”

“Why should we acquiesce to your dictatorship? Are we not free to choose our own ingredients and follow our own inspirations if the price and quality is right?”