Slice and Dice (6 page)

Standing outside the double glass doors, she checked the daily specials. They were posted in brightly colored chalk on a blackboard sitting on an old-fashioned wooden easel. It was going to be a long afternoon if she had to cover Constance Buckridge’s appearance at Kitchen Central. She was about to succumb to the shrimp jambalaya when she felt a presence behind her. She turned and looked up into the face of a man she hadn’t seen in more than twenty-five years. “Nathan?” she said tentatively.

“Sophie?”

The voice told her she was right. “What on earth are you doing here?”

He stared at her for a moment, almost too stunned to speak. “I’m here with the family. Mom’s on a book tour. God, Sophie, you look wonderful.”

The sound of his voice caused her to shiver slightly. It was the faint breath of memory. Seeing him again plunged her instantly back to her youth — to the last time they’d spoken.

It was the early Seventies. Against her wishes, Nathan had followed her to California, to the Bible college in Altadena where she was a freshman. She’d been adamant about not wanting to see him again. God had called her to a different life, a higher purpose. But he’d refused to understand, wouldn’t let her go. She was the woman he loved, the woman he wanted to marry. She’d told him they were too young, that it was just infatuation, though she’d known in her heart that she was deeply in love. Giving him up, convincing him to return to Minnesota without her, had been the hardest thing she’d ever done in her young life. She’d actually seen it as the sacrifice God demanded of her to prove her devotion. She’d been eighteen, Nathan twenty. Colors had been brighter back then, emotions stronger. Urgency had been attached to every feeling, every thought. As she looked at him now, it surprised her to find those feelings still stirring. The passion might be gone, but the remembrance of that passion vibrated deep inside her. Nathan had been her first love.

“The … reservation,” she stammered. “It said only ‘Buckridge, three suites.’“

He cocked his head. “Did your parents tell you my mother was coming? They still own die hotel, right?”

“No,” she said, continuing to stare at him. “I own it now. I saw the reservation the same day it was made. But I never expected you to show up.”

“You own —” He stepped back, but his eyes remained fixed on hers. “But, Sophie, last I heard, you were living in Montana with your preacher husband.”

“God, that was a lifetime ago. I guess we haven’t… kept in touch.”

“No,” he said, his brown eyes softening. “So … are you telling me you’re no longer part of that church?”

Even after all these years, his voice still held bitterness. “I haven’t been for a long time.”

“And your husband? The minister?”

“We’re divorced.”

He gave a slow nod.

Sophie’s mind flooded with questions of her own.

“Look, I’ve got to head over to a book signing this afternoon. Mom’s written something new and it’s kind of a command performance. But” — he glanced at his watch — “what do you say we have lunch first? Catch up a little. Please don’t say no, Sophie.”

The truth was, she was eager to talk to him.

Once they were seated and had placed their orders, Nathan just stared at her, making her feel awkward, scrutinized much too carefully. She wasn’t eighteen any longer and didn’t figure she’d come out on top if he was making mental comparisons. Thinking she had to say something to break the ice, she nodded toward his face. “You don’t have your beard anymore.”

He touched a hand to his jaw. “No. When I began apprenticing as a chef, it was just too much trouble. Besides, I only grew it because I knew you wanted me to.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I guess I always did like beards on men.” She could still remember the soft, silky feel of it against her skin. “Probably my hippie leanings.”

“Your radical period, right before your religious period. What period are you in now?”

She could read die humor in his eyes. “My boringly stable middle-aged period.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

She hesitated. “Nathan, you’re remembering someone who doesn’t exist anymore. We knew each other a long time ago. A lot has happened since then.”

“Do you remember where we met?”

“Of course I do,” she said indignantly.

“Where?”

“A Greenpeace rally at the Unitarian Society on Mount Curve.”

“Very good. What were you wearing?”

She groaned. “I can’t be expected to remember that sort of thing.”

“You were wearing tight-fitting bell-bottomed jeans and an equally tight-fitting fuzzy yellow sweater. I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”

“You were handing out leaflets at the entrance to the sanctuary.”

“And I stopped you on the way out the door and asked if you needed a ride home.”

“I thought you were pretty full of yourself — and more than a little dangerous. Seriously counterculture in your frayed jeans, work boots, and chambray shirt. You seemed so much older than me. I guess I was flattered that you’d even talk to me, but I was also more than a little scared.”

“But you let me walk you through the park to your girlfriend’s car. And you gave me your phone number.”

“A moment of youthful insanity.”

“Was it?”

She hesitated again, then said, “I thought you were the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen.”

“I fell in love with you that night, Sophie. I went home and told my brother that I’d met the girl I was going to marry. Funny how things that seem so right can go so wrong.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she was glad when the waiter arrived with their drinks. After taking a sip of her iced tea, she said, “That was a long time ago, Nathan.”

“You keep saying that, but, to me, seeing you like this again … time has no meaning. How often have we eaten together in this very restaurant, Sophie? We’d head up here after a movie or a lecture and order cheese fondue for two and those huge Caesar salads. We’d talk until the waiters threw us out. And then, remember when we used to sit up on the roof, watch the stars come out? We’d bring a blanket. I’d smuggle a bottle of wine from my mom’s wine cellar. It’s where we first made love.”

She felt the heat in the room zoom up a good sixty degrees. “Nathan —”

“You haven’t forgotten. I can see it in your face. You could never hide what you were thinking from me.”

“I don’t want to hide anything.” She pulled her iced tea in front of her. Thinking that she needed to cool the conversation down, she said, “Why don’t you start by telling me what you’ve been doing for the last twenty-five years.”

They both laughed at the absurdity of her request.

“I don’t know where to begin,” he said, pouring some cream into his coffee.

“Are you married?” Probably not the best question to ask right off, but she had to know.

He stirred the coffee for a moment, then said, “Well, I suppose it would be more romantic to say that since I couldn’t have you, I’ve lived a life of total celibacy. Joined a monastic order. Eschewed all earthly pleasures. The truth is, I did try marriage once. It lasted two years — your basic disaster.”

“Children?”

He shook his head.

“You said you’d become a chef.”

“Must be in the genes.”

The waiter arrived with their food.

Taking a bite of his grilled chicken sandwich, Nathan chewed for a moment, then pushed it away. “After you booted me out of your life, I hitchhiked back to Minnesota. It was a pretty rough time for me. I moped around the house for a while, but Mom finally put her foot down, said I had to get either a degree or a job. I toyed with the idea of working in a restaurant, but eventually I started at the U. I got sidetracked by anthropology for a while. It’s really a very poetic science.” He paused, collecting his thoughts. “Anyway, during the summer between my sophomore and junior years, I flew to Paris for an internship. That’s where I had the experience that changed my life. It was a twelve-course meal, Soph. When I was done, I realized God had spoken through the chef. I knew then and there that I had to learn what he knew.”

She could see the same old fire in his eyes. It was one of die qualities that had first drawn her to him. When Nathan got excited about a subject, he became totally absorbed and was capable of learning at a furious rate.

“That was a long time before Mom started her culinary academy, but her TV show was really catching on. The idea that her oldest son wanted to study cooking in Paris must have appealed to her. She offered to pay to send me to the Cordon Bleu. After I graduated, I worked in France for a while, then in Italy for almost ten years. In ‘86 I returned to the U.S. and worked at a bunch of exclusive country clubs and resorts.”

“Like where?”

“Well, die Trump Taj Mahal Casino Resort in Atlantic City for one. We might do as many as twenty thousand meals a day. The last place I worked was a cattlemen’s club in Houston. I was hired to be the garde-manger. One day I filled a ten-foot-long ice corral with twelve thousand shrimp and totally blew out my sciatic nerve. I was in bed for a month.”

Sophie winced.

“Cooking is hard physical work. When I was young, I loved it. Loved the chaos. Saut6 was the biggest challenge. It’s where the action is. Fire this! Fire that! I could be jiggling eight or ten pans all at once, flames leaping, making things happen. I loved the hot seat in any kitchen. I met some pretty incredible people, too. I’ve worked for chefs that I knew were completely mad, but behind the line, they were geniuses. One guy, I never knew if he was laughing or screaming. It didn’t matter. He was brilliant. The pace in a kitchen is fierce — everything’s in motion. I guess I must love that kind of intensity. I couldn’t imagine anything more creative, more sensual than working with food. I mean, when you cook, it’s like making love. You’re using your eyes, your mouth, your ears, every sense you have. And if you’re really good, you’re cooking with your soul, too. I couldn’t get enough of it.” He leaned back in his seat and took another sip of coffee. “But by the early Nineties, I was getting tired. Too many nights I’d end up in a bathtub with a woman I barely knew and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red, just trying to survive the day. I’d been cooking professionally for fifteen years by then. Mom had started her school many years before. My brother had graduated from the Culinary Institute of America and was pretty much running the academy.”

“Your brother, Paul?”

“You seem surprised.”

She laughed. “All I remember is him looking like Ted Nugent and jumping out at me when I went over to your house.”

“He still looks like Nugent, but he had to cut his hair to get into the institute, and now it’s all falling out.”

“Is he married?” she asked, her spoon midway to her mouth.

“No, he’s too busy being Mr. Big Shot Administrator. He eats, sleeps, and breathes that cooking school.” He shook his head. “I suppose Emily’s the only one with a remotely normal life. She’s got twin boys and a lawyer husband. My mother’s already grooming the grandkids to take over the reins of her culinary empire. She cooks with them every Sunday — well, every Sunday she’s in town.”

“Your mom’s really done well for herself. She’s a huge name in the culinary world. Right up there with Julia Child and James Beard.”

“Yeah, she’s made history all right. And she’s made money hand over fist with her books and TV shows. It really is an empire now. Six years ago, when I decided I was sick of beating myself up, she asked me to oversee a new project. She and Paul wanted to open a series of restaurants all over the country and use them as training grounds for young chefs coming out of the B.CA.”

Sophie shot him a questioning look.

“Buckridge Culinary Academy. Sorry, I’m used to our shorthand. Anyway, I’m no dummy. I jumped at the chance. Since I came on board, we’ve opened nine of the finest restaurants in the United States. As director of operations, it’s my job to oversee them. We offer our top graduates a chance for some on-the-job training at a good salary, including benefits. Best of all, I’m not killing myself any longer and the pay is ten times better.” Taking a sip of coffee, he added, “That’s my life story in a nutshell. It’s your turn.”

Since he’d done most of the talking, she’d nearly finished her jambalaya. Tapping a napkin to her lips, she said, “I don’t know where to start.”

“I’ll interview you. Do you have any kids?”

“One son.”

“The preacher man’s the father?”

She nodded. “His name is Rudy and he just graduated from the U of M with a degree in theatre arts.”

“He wants to be an actor?”

“He has a lot of interests. Right now he’s in Italy traveling with his partner, John.”

Nathan looked confused. “Business partner?”

“His lover. Rudy’s gay. Before they left, he and John had a commitment ceremony. We had the reception here at the hotel.”