Simmer Down (4 page)

I busied myself filling a plate and eavesdropped on the Full Moon Group. Barry had tight brown curls that clung to his head and deep brown eyes that exactly matched his suit. He was absorbed in commenting on the artwork hung in the gallery: “The artist’s use of color in this one indicates his attempt to…”

Oh, blah, blah, pretentious blah,
I thought.

Oliver burst out with a deep, raspy chortle. “Oh, shut it, Barry. What are you, some goddamn art collector now? You’re not fooling anyone.”

Barry’s face reddened. “I know, I know. You don’t care about art, but I really enjoy these galleries.”

Oliver softened a bit and said, “Well, keep the business moving, and you can collect all the art you want, right? I know you’re a food nut. What do think of what the cook has here?” With another chortle, he led Dora off into the crowd.

Cook?
There is nothing more insulting to a chef than being referred to as a
cook
. In the culinary world, it’s a slur, a derogatory term that devalues the professionalism of chefs. An executive chef has earned that title and expects to be called “Chef” by the kitchen staff. Sous chefs, second in line to the executive chef, are often called “Chef,” too, although, depending on the restaurant, they’re sometimes called by their first names. But even those outside the restaurant world should know that there is an important difference between the words
chef
and
cook
. Although the Full Moon Group’s establishments offered nothing even remotely like fine dining, Oliver should have understood and respected the distinction. Indeed, maybe he understood it perfectly and was just a prick. I was glad that Josh hadn’t overheard him.

Josh leaned into my ear and whispered, “Hello, my little snooper.”

“I know. I can’t help myself,” I whispered back.

“So, Josh,” Barry began, “you’re going to be the executive chef at Simmer? What are your plans for the menu?”

Josh filled Barry in on some of his ideas. Meanwhile, I sank my teeth into the beef medallions. Oh, destemming the herbs had been well worth the work! The flavor was rich and complicated and amazing.

“Tell me, what inspires your cooking? Where do you get ideas from?” Barry helped himself to another appetizer. “These are wonderful, aren’t they, Sarka?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Wonderful,” she murmured unenthusiastically. Her food was untouched, and she couldn’t have looked less interested, and she was so thin that she probably never ate anything anyway. Sarka had a natural beauty that would have made even my beautiful friend Adrianna jealous. Her dark hair was slicked back into a simple ponytail. The severe style highlighted her gorgeous cheekbones and wide hazel eyes. It was impossible to stand next to someone like this and not feel horrendously unattractive. I yanked at my red hair, willing it to not succumb to the unseasonable humidity and frizz up.

In an effort at friendliness, I said, “Sarka! What a pretty name. And so unusual.”

“Check,” she said, as if we were going through some sort of to-do list together. Rather, that’s what I heard her say.

Responding to what must have been my baffled look, she said in a flat tone, “As in the Czech Republic.” Her face was as expressionless as her voice.

Feeling like a dope, I listened in as Josh and Barry continued to talk. It became apparent that Barry truly appreciated wonderful food. In view of the forgettable and, in fact, forgotten menu at Lunar and the reputation of the Full Moon Group’s other places, I found his enthusiasm and knowledge surprising. Barry had traveled widely and had spent a large part of the past year in southern France, in various parts of Italy, and in a few countries in South America. “I went on a culinary tour of Italy that you wouldn’t believe,” he was telling Josh. “Sarka didn’t want to come. She said she grew up having to travel all the time and getting lugged all over the place as a kid by her parents, and she was never touring anything for the rest of her life. So I had to go alone. But the meals I had were phenomenal. Our group visited a handful of cities and ate the regional specialties wherever we went. Same deal in South America. I really wanted to get some ideas for Full Moon’s next location. Obviously, we didn’t get the space we wanted”—he smiled—“but congratulations to you and Gavin. Fair is fair.”

Josh nodded his thanks. “Gavin got the space. I just hope I can do it justice. Stop in anytime you want, and I’ll show you around. And you should come in on New Year’s for the opening.”

Barry eagerly accepted Josh’s invitation and took his bored wife off, presumably to listen to obtuse remarks about artwork.

“Josh?” I looked at him in disbelief. “Why on earth would you invite the competition to your opening?”

“Look, first of all, this guy, Barry, obviously cares about food. Second, it never hurts to show off. You don’t ever burn any bridges in this business. The Full Moon has money, and you never know what they’ll do in the future, right? How do I know Simmer won’t shut down in six months and leave me without a job? You know Quasar in Kendall Square? Full Moon owned that, and they just closed. Probably because of its crummy location, but even so…you can’t count on anything in this business.”

Before I could ask Josh why he wanted a potential employer but not a reviewer present on opening night, Naomi interrupted. “Chloe! What are you doing?” I’d forgotten about her. Again. She was looking really irritated with me. For good reason. I did keep disappearing.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I swear I’ll focus from now on.”

Josh saved me from further groveling. “Oh, my God. I don’t believe it. Are you kidding me?” I looked at him and saw him staring at a young woman standing with Oliver, Dora, Barry, Sarka, and Eliot.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“That’s Hannah,” he answered.

“Hannah, your old girlfriend Hannah? The one who only liked turkey burgers Hannah?”

It made no sense to me that Josh had dated someone who cared nothing about food. Josh had told me that she’d never appreciated his cooking and had insisted that he make her turkey burgers all the time for dinner. After they’d been dating for almost a year, Miss Hannah Hicks had announced to Josh that she couldn’t stand the hours he worked and that he’d better find a nine-to-five job if he wanted her to stick around. And that was the end of that.

“The one and only, Hannah.”

7. New boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend appearing on big night. Or ever.

H
ANNAH
had straight dark brown hair that hung just below her ears and razor-sharp bangs that cut across her forehead. She was so neat and tidy and put together that I wanted to squash her like a bug. I immediately hated everything about her: her minimal makeup, her tiny frame, and her simple, tailored clothes, undoubtedly bought in the petite section at Talbots. Worse, she was pretty in a pinched, uptight, naughty-secretary kind of way.

“Oh, good,” I snarled. “Now we both have exes here. I’m just oozing warm fuzzies from every pore.”

“I don’t know what she’s doing here.” Josh shook his head. “Last I heard, she was living in New York.”

“Well, she’s not there now,” I pointed out brilliantly.

“You don’t need to be threatened by her presence,” Naomi tried to assure me. “As uncomfortable as these situations are, you have the skills to handle difficulties such as this.”

Social work wisdom was not what I needed right now. I needed a best friend. Oh, how I wished Adrianna were here with me! She’d know exactly what to do. I had no idea, and all I could think was that I was being punished for some unknown sin.

Hannah scanned the room in time to catch Josh, Naomi, and me all staring dumbly at her.

“Josh? Is that you?” she mouthed with exaggeration.

“I suppose I have to say hello,” Josh said with resignation. He took a few steps forward, and Naomi and I immediately followed.

“Hannah,” Josh said blandly. “What a surprise.”

Hannah Banana cocked her head to the side and flashed my boyfriend a smile. “I never thought I’d see
you
again.” She reached out and lightly thumped his chest with her hands.
And left them there, touching him!

Josh took a step back and pulled me next to him. “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d see you again, either. This is my girlfriend, Chloe Carter. And this is Naomi Campbell. They’re here running the sexual harassment booth.”

“Oh, yes. Nice to meet you, Chloe.” Hannah gave me an icy handshake. “And, Naomi.” Staring pointedly at Naomi, she probably had the same reaction most people did to the name that my Naomi shared with the notoriously unpredictable celebrity; the fear that Naomi might reach out and bite her or hurl a cell phone at her head.

“So what brings you to Boston?” Josh asked.

“I was hired by the Full Moon Group to head a marketing campaign for them to kick off the new year. I’ve been here for about six weeks, and I have another two to three months of work to do for them. Have you seen any of the publicity I’ve done for them? I’ve been killing myself, but the money is worth it.”

“Then back to New York?” I wondered hopefully. I couldn’t get her out of Boston fast enough.

“You know where I’m from? I see Josh has told you about me.”

Dammit!
“I guess he must have said something in passing,” I said as casually as I could. I could’ve kicked myself for giving her any sign that Josh had even considered her worth mentioning.

“I’m not sure what my plans are.” She eyed Josh. “It depends on a lot of things.”

I obviously had to get rid of her as quickly as possible. After tonight, Josh and I would never have to see her again. As if to reinforce my hatred, Hannah reached into her purse and pulled out a small bag of what looked like dried snap peas—with Josh’s beautiful food right in front of her. The barbarian!

“God, I’m starving,” she said, crunching into a green crisp. “I can’t get enough of these. Want one?” she offered us. Her fingers were covered in pale green dust, and I was afraid she’d stick them in her mouth and suck on them in shameless flirtation.

“Okay, well, nice to meet you,” I said in the hope of ending conversation. Forever. Bad enough that she was still interested in Josh, but what kind of sick human being would choose dried snap peas over his food?

Even Naomi didn’t like Hannah. I could tell. Naomi hadn’t said anything to Hannah, which was very unlike my talkative supervisor. In fact, she seemed to be staring at Hannah with curiosity, wondering which evil planet had shot Hannah through space and beamed her down here. Naomi was on my side! I hadn’t known she could feel such loyalty to me as I faced off against a horrible rival. I hadn’t been the best social work intern, but I’d apparently been good enough to endear myself to her. Under other circumstances, I realized, Naomi would probably have gobbled up those snap peas, which were just the type of flavorless, natural food she liked. But she wouldn’t take them. Not from Hannah.

“I should get back to work,” Hannah said, as though I hadn’t just kicked her out of our social circle. “Nights like this are all about networking, aren’t they? Josh, let’s catch up soon, okay? Here’s my new cell number.” When she handed Josh her business card, I was elated to see him carelessly fold it in half and put it in his pocket.

“Yeah, definitely,” Josh spoke with what I heard as marked sarcasm.

Hannah gave him a close hug while I made juvenile gagging faces behind her.

When she finally left, Josh said, “I cannot believe I ever went out with her.”

“Me neither,” I agreed. “At least she’s gone now.”

Before I could add any other thoughts on Josh’s dating history, a booming voice over a microphone asked everyone to gather at the front of the gallery for a toast.

“Chloe, I’m going to tidy up the tables in case anyone stops by during the toast, okay?” Naomi rushed off. God forbid anyone miss out on an important harassment fact for ten minutes.

“I think I’ve got enough food out to keep everyone fed for a little while.” Josh put his arm around me, and we moved through the crowd. “Should we go hang out with Sean now?”

“Ha-ha. Actually, I’d like to talk to Heather for a minute if you can stand being near my family.”

“I love your family. Heather included, even if she doesn’t love me.” Josh gave me a quick kiss and went to talk to my parents while I made a beeline for my sister.

I grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her away from Ben. “Start talking,” I ordered.

“Don’t be mad at me, please. I just ran into Sean the other day and I thought you might like to see him again—”

“No, you did not run into him. He told me you called him! And why would I want to see him again?”

“I just want you to really think about getting involved with someone like Josh. Chloe, honestly, what kind of life could you have with him for the long term? He’s a chef. He’ll work long, late hours. He’ll be gone evenings, weekends, holidays. What if you two get married and have children? He’s not going to be there the way somebody like Sean would. And Josh is never going to make a lot of money. You know what most chefs make. Are you two going to live in your little condo forever?”

I was fuming. “You are so out of line, it is incredible we are related. First of all, I am
already
involved with Josh, and I don’t need to think about it. I know what his career is like, and I would rather be with someone who is passionate and creative and dedicated, even if it means he isn’t at home as much, than with someone I didn’t love who works some boring, uncreative nine-to-five job,” I spat out. “How dare you, Heather? Do I look unhappy to you? Did I ask for you to decide what I want? What I need? And what have you done to Sean? Did you tell him I want to get back together? God, you are unbelievable. I’m disgusted with you.”

Heather had tears in her eyes. Oh, no! I’d gone too far and made her cry.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I am. I just want you to have what I have. But I didn’t say anything to Sean, I promise. I just told him you wouldn’t mind seeing him again, that’s all.”

“Heather, I don’t need a goddamn picket-fence life like you have. I’m glad you are happy and have a great architect husband and great kids and a big, fat house in snooty old Brookline. Really, I am. I want a great life, too, but I might do it differently.” Especially if having Heather’s life meant getting pregnant and being hit with the notion that wearing L. L. Bean and listening to Celine Dion made you some sort of Earth Mother. “Maybe I’ll be with Josh, maybe someone else, but you have to stay out of it, okay? Please?”

Heather nodded rather pathetically. “I will try. I promise.”

I gave her an exasperated hug. Static came over the loudspeakers, and I turned to the front of the gallery.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m Randolph Schmitt, and I’d like to welcome all of you to this year’s Food for Thought!”

The distinguished-looking Randolph Schmitt was flanked by Gavin and Naomi on one side and Eliot on the other. After issuing a great many unsubtle hints about opening our wallets and donating substantial amounts of money to the Food for Thought charities, he introduced Naomi, who, he promised, would make some brief remarks about workplace harassment.

Having evidently overcome her anxiety about being surrounded by Boston’s elite, Naomi practically leaped toward the microphone. Eliot looked so nervous that his frizzy hair seemed to pulsate with energy. He was, I assumed, appropriately afraid that Naomi would say something so bizarre that tonight’s visitors would never again enter his gallery. He did, however, manage to clap politely as Naomi seized the microphone in both hands. She immediately thanked Mr. Schmitt, Gavin, Josh, and me for our hard work. “And a special thank you to Eliot Davis for his belief in our organization and for giving us the opportunity to spread the word about harassment in this phenomenal gallery of his.”

Harassment right here in this gallery of his? Naomi, that’s not at all what you mean!

Luckily, Eliot showed no sign of having heard her thanks as an accusation, and no one in the crowd laughed. Eliot, in fact, looked pleased as he modestly waved away her comments.

Eighteen minutes later, Naomi’s audience was still suffering through a forceful speech condemning inappropriate workplace behavior, which is to say, a detailed lecture that could have been entitled “What to Do When Your Boss Tries to Lick Your Neck.” Bored and restless, people began to talk among themselves. I glanced around the room, looking for Josh, and spotted him at the side of the room talking to Hannah, who must have lured him away from my parents. However terrible Naomi’s lecture was, talking to Hannah had to be worse. The front door to the gallery repeatedly opened and closed as visitors escaped Naomi’s fervent assertion that everyone here was “empowering harassers by remaining silent.”

Oh, Naomi
! She knew exactly what she was talking about, and she held wonderfully strong beliefs. When I’d heard her speak at rallies in front of the State House, the crowds gathered there had cherished her every word. I knew how helpful she could be to women who called our organization. But she clearly had no ability to read her audience. The less attention tonight’s speech received, the more flustered Naomi became and the louder she spoke. “…so you must document every step you take! You must make copies of every complaint you file with your human resources department! You must not let anybody get away with…”

A piercing, high-pitched scream from the back of the gallery cut Naomi off. Like fans in a football stadium wave, the mass of people, suddenly silent, turned as one toward the continuing shrieks that reverberated throughout the cavernous room. Turning with the crowd, I saw Hannah standing at the far end of gallery, by the back hallway. Every part of her body was motionless except for her mouth, which opened and closed with each yell.

During Naomi’s endless talk, I’d apparently acted on a subliminal desire to distance myself from her by inching my way out of the front room toward the giant egg and the booths in the back area. As one of the people closest to Hannah, I started to step toward her when Barry brushed past me, rushed to Hannah, and grabbed her shoulders. “Hannah? What’s wrong?”

She pointed behind her to Eliot’s office. “He’s dead! He’s dead!” she said hysterically.

For a second, I wondered why Barry, the food-loving partner in the Full Moon Group, had taken it upon himself to be the first to rush to Hannah. Then I remembered that she’d been in Boston working for the group for—how long had she said?—six weeks. And the partners, Barry and Oliver, must have known her before that, or they wouldn’t have gone to the expense of bringing her here from New York.

Barry took a few steps to the doorway and peered in. “Oh, God! Oh, my God!” Barry disappeared into the office and immediately reappeared. “Oliver! It’s Oliver!” he called out. “Call nine one one!”

By now, Josh was next to me. I caught his eye, and we silently agreed that he should get to Hannah before she had a total meltdown. I followed him. When he reached her, she fell into his arms and buried her head in his chest.

“I think someone hit him on the head with your food processor!” Hannah’s voice was forced and had a strangely mechanical quality. Just as I was feeling worried about her and sorry for her, she did something so disgusting that I hate to report it: she used my boyfriend as a handkerchief. Josh, to his credit, made a face as she wiped her mascara-stained eyes and, yes, her runny nose on his brand-new chef’s coat. “His head is all…bashed in,” she stammered. To my relief, she did not go on to recite gory details.

The crowd that moments ago had been shocked into silence was now bustling about and reaching into Prada purses and Gucci suits to pull out cell phones. A man up front began shouting, “A doctor! Is there a doctor here?” Another man was supporting Oliver’s wife, Dora, who had collapsed. She looked ghastly. Even from a distance, I could see that the stretched skin on her face, and especially on her forehead, had turned a peculiar shade of yellowish white. Oliver, I thought, wasn’t the only one who needed a doctor, and he was apparently beyond help. Well, in this group, there was certainly no shortage of doctors.

Police, too, were available in large numbers. When Josh and I had arrived on Newbury Street, Food for Thought hadn’t even begun, and there had already been cops on the street corners. Now, four uniformed police officers entered the gallery. One positioned himself at the front door and loudly announced that no one was to leave.