Sizzling in Singapore (A Carnal Cuisine Novel) (9 page)

"I've missed you too, Tank. All of you. How's everything going at the shop?"

Tank grinned wide enough to see the several missing teeth that bespoke a childhood spent in deprivation. It always tugged at her heart when Mae recalled the stories her gentle giant of a friend had told her about his youth. The lulls in a kitchen's frenzy tend to promote intimacy and Mae and Tank had come to know each other very well.

"Mae, this new guy is something else. He's jumped in with both feet and dances like he was born in our kitchen. He's been doing your job and Kurt's without missing a beat. I couldn't do as well, I know that."

Tank caught the fleeting look of dismay on Mae's face before she answered with a desultory
"that's nice"

"I didn't mean we don't need you, love. We do. Besides, Nick's made it crystal clear that as soon as management finds a replacement he's outta here with his ass on fire. Man's got big plans and they don't include the Elysium."

"Plans?"

"Shit yea. He's already bought a property outside of Charlotte, North Carolina of all places. He's getting ready to open his own place. Small place. Maybe a dozen tables. Doing his own thing. He was just about ready to get started when he got the call to bail our asses out."

"I see." Mae tried to digest what she already knew. That Nick was not only temporary, but anxiously so.

"Man's spent his life in hotels. He grew up in hotels. He's just counting the days 'til he can have his own little show and a real house. That's the way he put it. 'A real house'. He's got himself a property with an old farmhouse and he's turning the barn into a restaurant. How cool is that?"

"Extremely cool," Mae said coldly.

Tank looked at her with eyebrow cocked. "What have you got against this guy? I mean, he practically saves your life, he steps into a difficult position simply out of loyalty to the Elys, he's a kick-ass chef and, to tell you the truth, he's a pretty nice guy."

"I have nothing against the man, Tank. I guess I'm just cranky and sick to death with boredom. And maybe a little jealous that I can be replaced so easily."

"Aw, c'mon Mae. You know that no one's irreplaceable. Not even the ole'
Tankman. You
are
missed and you'll be back in no time. Claude will find a new, permanent exec and we'll all get back to normal."

Mae wondered about that. Somehow she felt that since Nick Seville had entered her life nothing was really ever going to feel 'normal' again. With only a couple more days to go before she could return to work, Mae was becoming more nervous and agitated every time she thought about seeing Nick again. Part of her hoped that he'd be gone by the time she got back to the Elysium and part of her fervently hoped he would not.

***

Mae was just about finished making a salad to go with dinner when the doorbell rang. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she walked across the small living room and opened the door not really giving much thought to who it might be.
The girls aren't here, whoever you are…

"Nick
!" Surprise was a vast understatement for what went through Mae's mind. This was literally the last person she expected when she opened the door. And just as quickly as her surprise subsided, it was replaced by undeniable little surge of joy at seeing him.

"Sorry to just drop in like this but I was afraid if I called you wouldn't want to see me." He proffered a peace offering in the form of the Elysium Danish that he knew she liked. "Cheese and peach Danish. I've been told they're your favorite. They'll be day-old by tomorrow morning, but I didn't know what else to bring."

Mae had to grin at the boyish way he presented the Danish. And the dazzling smile that caught her eye in the first place was hard to ignore. He took up nearly as much of the doorway as Tank, only in a much more proportional way. She was overwhelmed with the realization of how glad she was to see him. There was no point in trying to kid herself.

"C'mon in. I guess they told you I was crashing at my friend Cess's place. Just couldn't bear being at the Elys without working."
And I wanted desperately to avoid your oh-so-delicious self…

"Thanks."

"No. Thank you. I've meant to call or something but I'm not sure what the protocol is on thanking someone for saving her life. And the orchids were beautiful."

"No thanks needed. I'm... I'm really... What I mean is that I'm just so grateful that you're okay" He stared at her in a way that made her a bit self-conscious.

"Is something wrong?"

"No...it's just that I've never seen your hair down. Not dry, anyway." He grinned that little kid grin again. "And you look so different from the last time I saw you."

"I've been soaking up some sunshine."

"You were mostly gray when they took you to the hospital. Gray with purple lips." He grimaced. "You look fantastic with some color. The sun agrees with you. You look all shiny and healthy."

Mae smiled at the 'shiny and healthy' He said it like you'd expect someone to describe a puppy. "The doctors say I have come through with flying colors. Apparently, you knew just what to do."

"I read somewhere that flesh on flesh is a good way to warm someone who's frozen stiff. And you were just about gone."

"It took me a while to remember what happened to me. Even now, I'm not sure everything is clear." Mae was lying. She vividly remembered, now that she was recovered, the sensation of being in his arms, flesh upon flesh--of coming back into the world--and feeling safe.

"I wanted to come and see you in the hospital, but I was afraid you wouldn't want me to."

"Why ever not?" Mae turned her back to him toward the kitchen. Had she been so transparent in her confusion about him that he knew she wanted to avoid him and why?

"Well, when I was trying to rouse you from a near-coma you couldn't remember where you were. But you did remember who I was."

Mae shot a puzzled look at Nick.

"I asked you who I was and you answered without hesitation. You said 'You're the new asshole'"

The walls Mae had hoped to erect between them came tumbling down with her laughter. "I didn't!"

"You absolutely did!"

"Oh my God, Nick. I am so sorry. I was delirious. I…I…

"It's okay, Mae. I guess I am kind of an asshole."

"No. Really. I've been unfair to you and I know it. We both...made that decision... and I can't blame you for wanting the same thing I wanted."

"But I should've come clean from the start about why I was here."

"Water under the bridge." I have to stop this conversation. NOW. I don't want to revisit our passion in the pool. "Hungry?"

"Pretty much twenty-four seven. What's cooking?"

Mae looked a bit sheepish as she admitted that what was cooking was
macaroni and cheese.
"It's one of my secret pleasures. I love all the Asian stuff but let's face it; cheese is not a staple in this culture. I miss my mom's cooking sometimes."

"I would utterly adore some mac and cheese."

While Nick busied himself opening one of Cess's bottles of "cheap but drinkable wine" Mae dressed the side salad with her favorite simple vinaigrette and pulled some plates out of the cupboard.

"Here, if you could set the table, I'll get the casserole out."

She set the steaming dish on a trivet between them at Cess's tiny table. The macaroni bubbled with golden deliciousness--all crusty with buttered crumbs and fluffy with the eggs that were its secret ingredient.

A chef appreciates comfort food more than nearly anyone. Spending your life trying to reinvent the wheel and dazzle an audience jaded by countless culinary adventures gets tiring. Sometimes all a chef wants is meatloaf and mashed potatoes. A grilled cheese with canned tomato soup. Fried chicken.

Macaroni and glorious cheese. The casserole was an admirable thing. It puffed and glistened with the promise of a rich explosion on the tongue. The homey smell of fatty cheddar, the whisper of yeast from the crusty topping--it was literally mouth-watering.

"Dig in," Mae smiled as she saw the genuine hunger on his face. Chefs feed people but seldom get to share the pleasure of watching them eat.

Nick served himself a big portion and inhaled the aromatic clouds that rose from his plate. "Oh God it smells good." He forked a mouthful and blew on it furiously. Mae thought he didn't blow nearly long enough. "Mmmm. Oh
, yum. Damn this is good, Mae."Another forkful. "Ahhhh. HOT!!" He breathed hard trying to combat the hot cheese and pasta he shoveled into his face.

"Easy there, cowboy. You're going to burn your mouth like that."

"It will be worth it. Damn, this is good."

"Yes, you've said that. I'm glad you like it."

Mae allowed her own food to cool to a reasonable temperature before tucking in. Meanwhile she watched Nick fight the temperature and smiled at the obvious pleasure her simple dinner was bringing him. By the time she began eating he had already served himself a second helping.

"This is like a great soufflé wrapped around macaroni. You're going to have to give me the recipe."

"It is, essentially just that. My mom ran across a recipe once for something called 'convent pie' in one of her mom-magazines. It was a way to use up leftover spaghetti. Like a frittata, only with spaghetti in it. Mom decided that was a good way to make mac and cheese and this dish came out of that."

"I suppose your mom is a great cook."

"She was. She died when I was twelve."

"Oh. I'm sorry. That's a tough time to lose your mother."

"Thanks. It was pretty tough. She was a great cook. She's the one who made me want to be a chef. How about yours?"

"My mom couldn't boil water. She was graceful and beautiful and strictly ornamental. I didn't know women could cook for most of my childhood." He ate another bite with visible delight. "My dad was a chef. I grew up in hotels."

"Is that why you want the farmhouse and the barn restaurant?" She saw the question in his eyes. "Tank told me about your plans."

"Oh. Well, yes, that's part of it. That and my desire to cook what I want to cook. I mean, mango-curry lamb shanks are great, but there's a whole world of honest food that's been bastardized. I want to bring some 'real' back in my restaurant."

He finished his third helping a bit more slowly as they talked easily. All of the earlier discomfort was set aside as they shared a common love of the most basic of human needs. Both knew that what they did was a sort of brotherhood in the world. Anyone can roast a chicken, but for a chef it is never 'just' a roast chicken. Even in the busiest, the trendiest, the most elevated of kitchens, the basic premise remains for those to whom the profession is more a calling than a job: to give the people more than they expect. To know, without hearing, the sighs of satisfaction and the murmurs of contentment that really good food elicits.

"I want a homey place. The barn is amazing. All gray and aged but sturdy as the day it was built. The house is big, much bigger than I need but so classic. And I want to have a garden where guests can stroll and see where the produce for the menu comes from."

"I can really picture it, Nick. I love vegetable gardens. My mom had an awesome one when I was little. I think she had more than forty different kinds of herbs growing there." Mae grew wistful thinking about helping her mother pick vine-ripe tomatoes or gathering herbs. "She always called it her 'garden of earthly delights'"

"Did she take that phrase from the Bosch painting or the Joyce Carol Oates novel?"

It was not the first time Mae had been surprised by Nick's broad ranging knowledge. Whether it was knowing the cultural context of this common phrase or fixing the gas intake to the flat-top, he seemed to know more than a little bit about a lot of things.

"You know, I'm not sure where she borrowed the phrase. Maybe she just heard it somewhere. Because neither of those sources call up a particularly happy image. And her garden was most definitely a happy place."

After dinner, they sat on the couch nursing a final glass of wine. The air was clear and both realized that they did, in fact, like one another. In spite of his deception, in spite of the devil-may-care romp in the pool, in spite of perceived slights; the common bond was there.

"Let me see your hands." She offered them up to him and he held each in one of his. "I kept them warm in my armpits."

"I think that qualifies as too much information."

He lifted first one and then the other to his lips and softly kissed each palm.
"I went to the kitchen because a dream woke me up. I was dreaming of you."

"Oh?"

"I'll save those details for another time. But, Mae…

"Yes?"

"It was a good dream. A scrumptious dream." He leaned toward her and brushed his lips against her temple. "You are scrumptious."

As he traced the outline of her face, brushing the wild tendrils back she knew that she would yield, happily, to his body once again. This time, though, there was a gentler rhythm to their pace.

He leaned toward her and traced her nose with his. She breathed his breath into her sigh. She felt every amplified touch with the exquisite sensitivity of one who has recently faced certain mortality. She felt a fierce hunger in his touch as he told her, "I thought you might actually die that night. It was terrifying to hold you and wonder if you'd survive."