Month of Sundays (6 page)

Aggie’s eyes glinted. “What if I want to hold you captive for longer than ten minutes? Could that be arranged?”

Griffin tapped her chest, reminding Aggie their microphones were live. Everyone in the studio could hear their conversation.

Aggie covered her own microphone with her hand. The look she gave Griffin could have melted steel. “Why don’t we pick this up later? Come over to my place tonight for a drink. I mix a mean margarita.”

“Sugar the rim and I’m all yours.”

Aggie slowly licked her lips. “I like the sound of that.”

The floor director held up a hand to get their attention. “Places. We’re on in five, four, three, two…”

He pointed to the lead camera. The red light went on. Aggie flashed a brilliant smile as she stared into the camera lens.

“And we’re back. The holidays are right around the corner. You know what that means. Family dinners that are high in fat and calories. Our guest today, noted chef Griffin Sutton, is here to take some of the guilt out of overindulging.” She caressed Griffin’s shoulder. “At my house, traditional Christmas dinner consists of turkey and stuffing, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and sweet potatoes loaded with brown sugar and marshmallows.” Her hand slid down to Griffin’s lower back. “Can you offer me some healthier alternatives so I won’t have to waste a New Year’s resolution on trimming my waist?”

“I’d love to.” As Aggie’s hand continued to roam out of camera range, Griffin pointed to the traditional meal choices and their low-calorie substitutions. “Instead of turkey and stuffing, try herb-roasted turkey breast. Instead of mashed potatoes loaded with butter and sour cream, combine sweet potatoes and Yukon gold potatoes for a savory medley. Like you, I have a weakness for sweet potato casserole, but maple root vegetables satisfy my craving for something sweet and alleviate the guilt.”

“If your family’s anything like mine, you grew up with a mother who kept reminding you to eat your green vegetables. Now you’re saying some vegetables are bad for me?”

Aggie finally reclaimed her wandering hand, but her smile indicated she didn’t plan to hold it—or herself—in check for long.

“Not the vegetables themselves. The way they’re prepared.”

“What about green bean casserole? Green beans are low in fat, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are, but the rest of the casserole’s traditional list of ingredients—French fried onions, sour cream, canned soup, and pre-packaged cheese—certainly aren’t.”

“What do you suggest as a viable alternative?”

“Sautéed kale or, my personal favorite, spinach salad.”

Griffin glanced at the floor director to see if she needed to speed up or stretch for time. He gave her an okay sign, which meant she was right on schedule. While Aggie made small talk, Griffin toasted some almonds, combined them with fresh spinach and dried cranberries, and tossed the ingredients with a light vinegar and oil dressing. Then she plated the dish.

Aggie grabbed a fork and helped herself to a sample of the finished product. “Mmm,” she said as her eyes rolled back in her head. “Now that’s the best thing I’ve had in my mouth all day. Griffin Sutton, thank you for joining us today.”

“My pleasure.”

Aggie turned to the camera. “When we come back, our film critic will review this week’s new offerings. Stay with us.”

Griffin smiled into the camera until the red light extinguished itself.

“And we’re out,” the floor director said. “Great job, ladies.”

Griffin lifted her arms as a technician stepped forward to remove her microphone and battery pack. Tucker handed over her coat and gloves. When she headed for the elevator, Aggie followed her.

“See you tonight?”

“My dinner break’s at eight. I’ll see you then.”

She wondered if Aggie’s invitation came with a two-drink minimum.

“Let’s go to the store, Tuck,” she said as the elevator doors slid shut. “I need to pick up some sugar.”

*

“Are you ready for this?” Jane asked.

“No, but let’s do it anyway.”

Rachel and Jane selected a gym located halfway between their respective offices. After perusing the gym’s menu of services, they paid for two basic memberships and signed up for a variety of classes that varied from spinning to yoga to weight training. By the time they were done, their bodies should look like a cross between a cyclist’s, a gymnast’s, and a bodybuilder’s. Sounded painful. Rachel couldn’t wait.

She and Jane left the safety of the locker room and headed upstairs to find the beginners’ yoga class. Dressed in baggy shorts and loose T-shirts, unlike the spandex-sporting students sharing space with them, they stuck out from the rest of the class. For instance, they referred to themselves as students while their classmates called themselves practitioners. Apparently, yoga was a practice and not an exercise. Who knew?

They decided to start with yoga first, saving the more difficult classes for later in the week. As far as Rachel could tell, yoga was just stretching and breathing. One she did when she got out of bed each morning, the other she did without even thinking about. How difficult could it be to combine the two?

Less than five minutes into the class, she had her answer.

The instructor’s name was Fernanda Gil. A bubbly Brazilian hard body who looked like she weighed ninety pounds soaking wet, she led the class through a brief warm-up.

“Okay, let’s get the blood flowing and pump some energy into those bodies,” she said brightly. Her Portuguese-accented voice carried throughout the overheated room even without the small microphone clipped to her ear.

Taking deep breaths, Rachel raised and lowered her arms several times and performed something called a sun salutation. Her muscles responded favorably to the stimulation and Jane unleashed a loud “Ahhh” when her iffy back popped as if Colleen had just spent fifteen minutes walking across it.

Rachel and Jane shared a look and flashed each other a thumbs-up sign, silently agreeing that this workout thing wasn’t going to be as bad as they initially thought.

Then the pain began.

Downward facing dog bit Rachel in the butt and the plank position made her want to find one to walk off of.

Blossom, Fernanda’s assistant, wandered around the room giving extra attention to those who looked like they needed it. Halfway through the class, she stopped working the room and planted herself next to Rachel’s mat. For some moves, namely the warrior poses, it took both of them to manipulate her body into position.

Rachel didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed because she was so uncoordinated she required extra help or because Blossom’s hands on her body were the most action she had received in months.

By the end of the class, she was drenched in sweat and her muscles were shaking from exhaustion. Jane wasn’t much better off.

“Why did I let you talk me into this?” Jane asked as they limped toward the showers.

“Because you’re as crazy as I am. And I must be certifiable if I’m willing to subject myself to being seen naked in a group shower.”

“This feels like high school all over again, doesn’t it? Except instead of being surrounded by hot cheerleaders, we’re surrounded by hot trophy wives. Then again, some of the bottle blondes encircling us could be the same girls but twenty years older.” Jane took an appreciative glance at the eye candy scattered around the room. “Nice work if you can get it.”

Rachel told Jane her big news to take her mind off their surroundings.

“Guess whose holiday party is going to be held at Match Friday night?”

“How did you swing that?”

“Two words: Etta Simms.”

Jane shook her head in amazement. “I’m going to have to lure her away from you one day. How much are they paying her over there?”

“Not enough, I’m sure, but if you steal her away from me, I might not speak to you again.”

“Considering the miracles the woman works on a daily basis, I think I’d risk it.”

“Thanks, buddy. I love you, too.”

“What are you going to wear Friday night?” Jane asked after they dried off, dressed, and prepared to return to work.

“The dress code is business casual, but I’m sure the outfits will range from jeans to black tie. Or, since we’re talking about accountants, from gray suits to Sansabelt slacks.”

“Colleen has to work that night. I’m available if you need a plus one.”

“And you’re offering out of friendship, not because of the free meal, right?”

Jane’s broad grin let Rachel know she knew she had been busted.

“Sorry. I already told Etta I’d be coming stag.”

“I’m sure Griffin will be happy to hear that.”

“You think so?”

Jane looked at Rachel out of the corner of her eye. “Are you fishing for compliments or looking for reassurance?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Let’s put it this way, you’re a hell of a lot easier to read than
War and Peace
.” She gave Rachel a hug when they parted ways at Park Place. “Are we spinning tomorrow or hitting the weights?”

“Let me see how much pain I’m in tomorrow morning and I’ll let you know.”

Rachel picked up a turkey sandwich from a nearby deli and headed back to the office, where she polished off the three-bean salad she had ordered as a side dish. By the end of the day, she had put a serious dent in her inbox and her brain was still firing on all cylinders.

Maybe there were benefits to healthy living after all.

The day after her first trip to the gym, Rachel woke up so sore she could barely move. Spinning made it worse, weight training even more so. By the time Thursday rolled around, however, her body had adjusted to her new routine and she had dropped almost seven pounds. Her self-confidence rose as the number on her bathroom scale fell.

After work, she braved the crowds of last-minute shoppers and headed to a department store to buy an outfit for her company party. She was tempted to buy an ugly Christmas sweater, but she doubted if anyone but Etta would be able to tell she was being ironic instead of genuine. She settled on a white silk blouse and a pair of black slacks. To make sure no one would confuse her for a member of the wait staff, she threw in a sequined red vest she confiscated from a clearance rack.

Closer to home, she stopped by the salon she often frequented and got her hair cut. She said she wanted a trim, but her stylist convinced her to try something different. Several passes of the clippers later, most of her hair was lying on the floor and she was sporting a fashionable new ’do that nearly made her unrecognizable even to herself.

Etta’s friendly face was the first familiar one she saw when she walked into Match on Friday night. The greeter directed her to one of the private banquet rooms. Etta, resplendent in a beaded black dress, was standing outside the entrance. A tall man in a charcoal gray pinstriped suit stood by her side. Etta introduced him as her husband. With his razor-thin pencil moustache, soul patch, and elegant mien, Lawton looked like a jazz musician, but Rachel remembered Etta telling her once he was a retired mechanical engineer.

“You
do
exist.”

“You’re the second person who has told me that tonight,” he said in a voice as deep as Barry White’s. “I’m beginning to sense a trend.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said as they shook hands. “You’re a lucky man.”

“Yes, I know. She reminds me every day.”

Etta took Rachel by the shoulders and looked her over. “I love your hair like that. Are you going to keep it short?”

“For a while.” Rachel rubbed her hand over her closely-cropped hair. The curls she used to hide behind were long gone. “It’s time I learned to walk without crutches.”

“Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. You’re looking good tonight, baby girl.”

“Thank you.”

She hoped Etta wouldn’t be the only woman here who thought so.

*

Griffin chugged a bottle of water. She could already tell the evening would be a test of her endurance and her patience. She had placed Erica Barrett, her assistant chef, in charge of the house, freeing her to take care of the private party in the banquet room. The sous chefs were divided between them, most supporting Erica as she tended to the main diners, the rest helping her cater to the needs of the gaggle of accountants she was about to introduce herself to. If that weren’t enough, the reporter from
Gourmet Magazine
who had interviewed her for nearly three hours on Thursday had decided to shadow her at work to “add context” to the story.

I’d better clean up my language tonight unless I want to be painted as a tyrant.

While the reporter watched her, she observed Erica. Though only two years removed from culinary school, Erica was preternaturally poised and exhibited tremendous promise. Griffin didn’t think it would be long before she was fronting a restaurant of her own. Tonight, however, she was being forced to deal with a chef’s worst nightmare—a hard-to-please customer. Griffin watched as the third medium rare steak Erica had prepared for table six was returned to the kitchen.

“Looks like we’ve got a Theresa Testi,” headwaiter Paul Lacey said. Theresa Testi was the secret name the staff used to refer to difficult female customers. Thomas Testi was her male counterpart.