Waiting for Mr. Darcy (7 page)

“What do you think?”

“It's a nice place.” Lauren looked around at the comfortable, homey décor.

“The food is very good here.”

“Do you know the chef?” she asked before she sipped her water.

“Yes. He's a good guy.”

She opened the menu. “All right then, what do you recommend?”

He opened the menu, too. “Let's see.” He studied the contents. “There are a lot of good choices here. What do you feel like?”

“I know we're in a French restaurant, but I'm in the mood for pasta.”

“Ah, great minds think alike. They have some terrific pasta, with a French flair of course.”

“Of course.”

“How do you feel about
pasta du sud?
It's fresh pasta with green olives, a fresh tomato sauce with basil, and Reggiano parmesan cheese. It's good and it's perfect for a light summer dinner.”

“Mmm, you sold me.”

The waiter came over. “
Bonjour
. May I start you with something to drink from the bar?”

Lauren made a face. “I think I'll stick to mineral water with a twist tonight.”

Randy laughed. “You can make that two.”

“Wonderful. Are you ready to order or would you like me to bring your beverages first?”

“We're ready to order. We're both having the
pasta du sud
.” He handed him the menu.

“Very good, sir, I'll be back with your beverages.”

“By the way, is Rafael in tonight?”

“No, he was here earlier.”

“I'm sorry I missed him. Please tell him Randy asked for him.”

“I will.” He walked away.

He reached across the table and took Lauren's hand in his. “I've been thinking about you all day.”

“You have?” Her heart fluttered.

“Oh, yes. I was distracted the whole day, which isn't good when you're working around hot pots and sharp knives.”

She rubbed his hand. “It looks like you're still intact.”

The waiter brought the beverages back.

“Thank you,” Randy said.

“This is a good time to get to know each other better now that we have our land legs, so to speak.” She stopped to sip her beverage.

“Indeed it is, especially without the pomegranate haze.”

Lauren was embarrassed. “I'm so sorry about that. I don't usually drink that much.”

“It's okay. Under the circumstances you were justified.”

“Yes, it's not every day you become a three-time loser at love.” She looked away.

“It was their loss.”

“Thanks.”

He looked around. “Are you sure Ken isn't going to come in here and tackle me for saying that?”

She laughed. “You're safe, believe me. Ken and I have been over for a while. Last night finally put a period on it and ended the story.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be, it's okay.” She exhaled.

“On that note we'll change the subject.”

“Good. Tell me a little more about you.”

“My father's from Puerto Rico. He and my mother met while he was vacationing in Madrid, Spain.”

“That sounds romantic.”

“I guess it was. After a whirlwind courtship they married and settled in Madrid. We moved to America when I was four.”

“Wow.” She sighed dreamily. “Spain is one of my favorite countries. It must have been a little bit of a culture shock for your mother.”

“My father said she was homesick for a while, but we lived in one of Manhattan's many colorful neighborhoods and she made friends easily.”

“Oh, that's good. Were your parents in the restaurant business?”

“Not exactly. My father owned a small produce market, but he always had specialty items from Spain, Puerto Rico and the Caribbean so people could bring a little of their homeland to their American kitchens.”

“He was a good businessman. Does he still have the store?”

“No. He sold it a few years ago. He and my mother moved to Miami. They're really happy there.”

“They're enjoying their golden years.”

“It's more like their platinum years. My father made a killing when he sold the store.” He laughed.

“Good for him.”

He sipped his water. “So you've been to Spain.”

“I fell in love with it during the Olympics in Barcelona.”

He laughed. “I went to the Olympics in 1992. Or I should say I worked them as a chef.”

“You did?”

“Yes. It was a part of a culinary exchange program between the restaurant I worked for and its sister in Barcelona.” He paused. “The experience really reconnected me with my culinary roots.”

“That sounds profound.”

“It was. You see, I spent every other summer in Spain. My parents would send my older brother Thomas and me to visit our grandparents. That's where I found my love for cooking and Spanish food. I'd spend hours in the kitchen cooking with my grandmother, and then my grandfather would teach me about grapes and wine making.”

“Did you work in your father's store?”

“I did. My father taught me how to choose the best produce, and I can haggle with the best of them. I guess I was destined to go into food. I was lucky to have found my passion early in life. But I will tell you I thought I'd lost it after years of breaking my neck in countless restaurants trying to make a name for myself.”

“So the Olympics re-lit your torch.” She regretted the sentence the moment it left her lips. “Sorry, that was totally corny.”

“That's okay, I appreciated the effort.” He chuckled.

“Thanks.” She sipped her water. “So did you go to culinary school in the States or Europe?”

“I went to the Hyde Park, New York, campus of the Culinary Institute of America.”

“That's great. A lot of terrific chefs and personalities graduated from that school.”

“I know. I graduated with some of them.”

“Really, anyone I know?” Her curiosity was piqued.

“I went to school at the same time as Michael Chiarello and Todd English, even though they were ahead me. Then there was Rocco DiSpirito, but he graduated a couple of years after I did.”

“Those are some really big names. Did you know them well?”

“We spoke and everyone was really friendly in spite of the ‘me-ism' of the eighties.”

Lauren was taken off guard by the mention of the eighties. “When did you graduate?”

“In 1984. Why?”

“No reason. I thought I was older than you.”

“When did you graduate?”

“The same year.”

“We're both forty-six years young.” He winked.

“I like the way that sounds.”

“Okay, now it's my turn to ask the questions.”

“All right, shoot.”

“Are you a native New Yorker?”

“As a matter of fact I am. I grew up in Bayside, Queens. I'm a bridge-and-tunnel girl.”

“Does that mean you're a Mets fan, too?”

“I don't really follow baseball, but I'm a traitor. I like the Yankees.”

“Me, too.” He paused. “You said last night you were in television.”

Lauren nodded as she tried to recall their conversation.

He chuckled softly. “I take it our conversation was bathed in pomegranate.”

“I'm sorry, but it was. I don't remember much of what we talked about last night. I could have told you I was the queen of England.”

“That's all right. You'll just have to take my word for it.” He paused. “But I have to ask, is everything from last night a hazy memory?”

“Not everything.” She smiled knowingly.

“That's good to know,” he said, satisfied. “To get back on track, were you always interested in a career in the media?”

“Yes, although I never wanted to be in front of the camera. To me the real power and action was behind the scenes.”

“That's why you became a producer.”

“Exactly.”

The waiter returned with their dinner. “Here you go,
madame et monsieur
.” He put the plates down. “Careful, the plates are hot.
Bon appetite
.”

“Thank you.” Lauren inhaled the aroma. “This smells wonderful.”

“Dig in.”

She curled the pasta around her fork and took a bite. “Oh, this is heavenly.”

“I told you the French were pretty good at pasta.”

“I'm a convert.” She smiled.

They ate quietly for a few minutes.

“So continue with your journey to successful television producer.”

Lauren put her fork down and wiped her mouth. “I don't know if there's much more to tell. I majored in film and television studies at Dartmouth, and after I graduated I got a job in public television as a lowly gopher, but it helped me learned the ins and outs of producing.”

“You went to Dartmouth. That's a long way from Bayside, Queens. It must have been a culture shock.”

“I suppose it would have been if I hadn't gone to Miss Porter's Boarding School in Connecticut for high school. After four years there I was ready for anything.”

“Connecticut? That's practically another country.”

“You have no idea how right you are.” She picked up her fork again.

They continued eating until they both finished.

“This was a real treat. Thank you, Randy.”

“You're welcome, but the night is not over yet. There is still dessert.” He raised his eyebrows.

Lauren felt warm. “I don't know if I have any room for dessert.”

“Then we'll share.” He picked up the dessert menu. “Let's see. The chocolate mousse is incredible, although the Belgian chocolate gelato gives it a run for its money. Do you like gelato?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He called the waiter over.

As the waiter cleared the table, he asked, “Would you like to order dessert?”

“Yes. We'll have the Belgian chocolate gelato with two spoons, please.”

“Very good, sir. I'll be back with your dessert momentarily.”

“Thank you.” Randy reached over and took Lauren's hand in his again.

“How are you enjoying life on the other side of the kitchen tonight?”

His eyes locked on hers. “I love it.”

The waiter returned with dessert. “Here you are.” He handed them two spoons. “Enjoy.”

They each raised their spoon. “Here's to more nights on the other side,” he said.

“I second that.”

They toasted with their spoons before digging in. It was obvious that dessert time was far from over.

* * *

A little while later Lauren and Randy were locked in an ardent embrace outside her apartment door. Keys in hand, Lauren struggled to get the key in the door.

Randy pulled away and put his hand over hers. “Allow me.” He opened the door.

A moment later they continued where they'd left off.

Lauren could barely breathe as he kissed her neck and shoulders. “Oh, my,” she said breathlessly. Her body trembled as he slowly undid her blouse while never missing an inch of her skin with his lips until he reached her breasts. Soon her blouse and bra were on the floor. He reached around to the back of her dress and unzipped it so that it joined her blouse on the floor. He stood back to admire her. “You're so beautiful.”

Although she was touched she felt a little shy. Even though they'd been together before, she put her hands over her chest.

“Let me see all of you.”

Slowly she lowered her hands to the side and he took his tie and shirt off. His body was firm and chiseled. Lauren was wracked with anticipation.

“You're all mine and I'm all yours tonight.” He lifted her up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom.

Randy laid her on the bed and lowered himself onto her for a kiss. Before she could wrap her arms around him, he worked his lips and tongue down her body until he reached her stomach. Then he purposefully removed her last barrier and tossed the panties on the floor. Lauren could hear her heart pounding in her ears as he removed his pants. He was as lean and muscular as a thoroughbred. Soon their bodies came together as one. The passion Lauren thought she'd lost in her life was there, pulsating through every inch of her being.

A little later Lauren had her head on Randy's chest while he gently stroked her shoulders. All the noise that usually filled her head about work and her failed relationships had vanished. She was content to live in the moment and not worry about what was to come.

“What's the going rate for thoughts these days?” Randy asked.

“Considering what the dollar's worth right now, I think a penny for thoughts still works.”

He quietly chuckled. “A penny for your thoughts.”

“I was just thinking how nice it feels to be in the moment.”

“Me, too,” he sighed. “It's nice not worrying about what's going on with the restaurant all the time. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do, but sometimes I need a break.”

“I hear that.” She rubbed his chest. “This is nice.”

“Yes, it is.” He stroked her hair. “I could get used to this.”

“Me, too.”

As soon as their eyes locked they kissed again. It was going to be a busy night.

Chapter 6

Although she hosted a nationally syndicated lifestyle show and was the creator/editor-in-chief of a wildly successful magazine, Alicia didn't consider herself to be a real celebrity in the classic sense. She didn't have an entourage, didn't fret about the paparazzi and rarely used security. In fact, she lived her life under the radar and frequented many local businesses, especially Mrs. Green's Natural Market, where she shopped early every Sunday morning.

George, the manager, walked down the produce aisle.

“Good morning, Ms. Archer. How are you?”

“I'm fine. How are you?”

“I can't complain.” He turned to Harrison. “How about you, Harry?”

“I can't complain either.”

Alicia examined a pint of blueberries.

“What's cooking this morning, Ms. Archer?”

“I think I'm going to make blueberry muffins. I've had an idea in my head for a new twist on the recipe and I'd like to try it out today.”

“I'd like to be at your house this morning.” George rubbed his stomach.

She smiled. “I tell you what. If they turn out the way I want them to, I'll have Harry here bring you a couple.”

“I'd like that.”

Suddenly Nathaniel appeared and rushed by them without a word.

“Long night, I guess.” George shrugged.

“There's nothing surprising about that,” Alicia said dryly.

A few minutes later Nathaniel emerged from the coffee aisle with a pound of Kona and the largest cup of brewed coffee he could get.

“Forgive my earlier rudeness. Good morning, all.”

“Good morning, Nate.” Harrison pushed the shopping cart to the side.

“Hey, Harry.”

“Good morning, Dr. Becker,” George said as he continued to stock a shelf.

“Hey, George. How's the family?”

“They're doing well, thank you. My wife's allergies are under control, thanks to you.”

“I'm glad to hear that. How's Allan? Is he ready for college this fall?”

“He's ready. Theresa and I, on the other hand, not so much. They grow up fast.”

Nathaniel was George's family doctor and had been good friends with him since the birth of his son seventeen years ago.

“They certainly do.” He turned to Alicia. “And a special good morning to you, Ms. Archer. You look lovely.”

She looked down at her black slacks and denim blouse.
What the hell is he talking about?
“Good morning, Mr. Becker.”

Nathaniel looked at the clock. “Scarsdale's own domestic doyenne is out and about already. Where do you find the energy?”

“Clean living.”

“I tried that. It almost killed me.”

“That figures.”

“Clean living is nice and all, but it's boring. What you need is something else to help you expend your excess energy.”

Alicia chuckled. “What excess energy? All I do is focus on what I have to do and that's it.”

“Do we need anything else, Alicia?” Harrison asked.

She looked through the shopping cart. “I think we're done.”

George walked over to the register. “I'll take you over here, Harry.”

Alicia, Harrison and Nathaniel followed George to the register.

Nathaniel stared at Alicia. “I just realized what's different about you. You're wearing your hair down.”

Instead of her usual updo, Alicia had her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.

“It's a ponytail, Nathaniel,” she replied dryly. “I didn't have the patience to deal with all those bobby pins this morning. I'll pin it up when I start baking.”

“Is that the main reason you always have your hair up?” He was curious.

“It's one of the reasons.”

”And here I thought it was because you're uptight.”

Harrison and George looked uncomfortable.

“Pardon me?”

“I didn't mean that the way it sounded,” he backtracked.

“What did you mean?” Alicia folded her arms.

“Nothing bad, I promise you.”

Harrison knew from Alicia's stance she was about to let Nathaniel have it with both barrels, so he jumped in. “It looks like we're all done, Alicia. We can head back and get started on those muffins.”

“Good.”

Harrison looked relieved as he picked up the tote bag they'd brought.

“You have a great day, George. I'll see about sending you a couple of muffins.”

“Thanks, Ms. Archer.”

“Have a good day, Mr. Becker.”

“Same to you, Ms. Archer,” he called after her as he put the coffee down on the conveyor belt.

“Have a good one, Nate,” Harrison called out.

George rang up his order. “Is that all, Dr. Becker?”

“No.” He watched Alicia walk by the window. “I need a bowl and a spoon.”

“Excuse me?” George was perplexed.

“For Ms. Archer.” He grinned.

George smiled. “I'm afraid we can't help you there.”

“It's barely seven in the a.m. and she looks amazing.” He continued to stare.

“I'm no medical professional but I'd say you've got it bad, Dr. Becker.”

“I know. Believe me, I know.”

* * *

In pursuit of blueberry muffin perfection Alicia worked her muffin technique for two hours. Finally, she and Harrison sat at the kitchen table with coffee and muffins. More specifically, Harrison actually ate his muffin while Alicia dissected hers.

“What's wrong, Alicia?”

“Are they moist enough to you?”

“Yes. They're delicious.”

“You're not just saying that, are you?”

“No. I've been with you a long time, Alicia. You know I would tell you if I thought there was something wrong.”

“Okay.” She took a bite. “A little bit of almond extract went a long way here. I think it balances the vanilla and orange extract flavors out nicely.”

“You're right.” He sipped his coffee. “Would you like to me to take a few to George? Lord knows, we have plenty to spare.” He looked at the counter.

“I over-baked again.” She paused. “I think we have nearly two dozen muffins. Go ahead and box up a dozen for George. He has a teenage son, so I'm sure they won't go to waste.”

“Good idea.” He got up. “Why don't you send a couple over to Nate?”

Alicia nearly choked on her coffee. “Why?”

“It would be the neighborly thing to do.”

“If he were a nice neighbor, he wouldn't have called me uptight in the store this morning.”

Harrison knew it was a lost cause to continue. “Have you heard from Lauren or Gabby today?”

“Lauren had a hot date so I don't expect to hear from her for a little while. As for Gabby, it's Sunday, which means tea with Bunny, and then she has a date tonight, too.”

“It's nice that things are moving along for them.”

“I think so, too.”

“Things could be happening for you, too, if you would slow down and let them.”

“Please don't start about the dating thing again, Harrison. I'm happy with my life, and that's the end of it. I'll be in my office if you need me.” She made a dash for her office before Harrison could say another word.

“That woman can't get out of her own way.” He shook his head. “I know what I'll do.” Harrison boxed the muffins for George and then walked over to the pantry.
I know she has baskets
in here somewhere
. He scanned the party. “Ah, here they are.” Alicia kept an assortment of baskets and accoutrements on hand. Harrison grabbed a basket and a couple of jars of strawberry preserves. He thought for a moment. “I've seen her do this a thousand times. Let's see if I picked anything up.” He lined the bottom with a fresh white linen cloth and then placed the muffins in the center, flanked by the preserves. It was pretty as a picture. “Not bad, if I do say so myself.” After admiring his work he walked over to Nathaniel's place.

Harrison rang the doorbell.

“Hey, Harry, what brings you by?”

“Hi, Nate.” He handed him the basket. “Alicia asked me to bring you these muffins to go with the coffee you bought at Mrs. Green's earlier.”

Nathaniel's face lit up as he lifted the cloth. “Ooh, blueberry muffins baked by her little hands. I'm touched. Please tell her thank you.”

“I will.”

“Would you like to come in and join me for some coffee and one of these heavenly treats?”

“I'll have to take a raincheck. I need to run some errands, but you enjoy.” He started to turn away.

“Okay. I'll see you around, Harry.”

“Okay, Nate.”

Nathaniel still had a grin on his face when he closed the door.

He looked like a kid on Christmas morning who just found a big, bright, shiny red bike. There is something between these two and I know it. Now all I have to do is get the lady of the manor to come around.
Harrison walked back home.

* * *

While Sunday afternoon meant work for Alicia, it was usually high tea with Bunny at four p.m. sharp for Gabby. However, she'd told her mother she had an early dinner engagement with a patron in order to move tea time to one p.m. It hadn't raised any questions.

Dressed in a simple royal blue sheath dress, Gabby watched as Rosie set a vase of tea roses on the table.

“Thank you, Rosie. The living room looks great.”

“You're welcome, ma'am.”

“Are the scones and tea sandwiches ready?”

“Yes.” Rosie straightened her apron out.

“Sorry about wearing your uniform on Sundays. My mother is very old school.”

“That's okay, Ms. Blanchard, I understand.” Rosie continued fussing with the table.

Gabby's style of running a household was more relaxed. Her mother, on the other hand, was a full-time socialite and had a formal staff of maids, butlers and cooks to manage the house. She ran a tight ship. As a child, Gabby had heard the staff refer to her as General Patton in black pumps, an apt description that still applied.

Gabby looked at her watch. “My mother will be here shortly. I'm going to make a call.”

“Okay.”

Gabby dialed as she walked onto the terrace.

“Hello?” Lauren whispered.

“Lauren?”

“Hi, Gabby. Can you hold a minute?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” Lauren looked over at a sleeping Randy and slid out of bed. “Just one more minute,” she whispered.

“Okay.” Gabby's interest was piqued.

Lauren put her robe on and went into the living room. “Thanks. How's it going, Gabby?”

“Fine. Are you all right? It sounds like you have a sore throat or something.”

“I'm okay. I had to keep my voice down.”

“I see. You have company.”

“Yes. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Not at all. It's not high tea with Bunny, but it's a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.”

“Oh, my God. Is it four o'clock already?” She rubbed her eyes.

“No. I'm having tea with Mom a little earlier today because I have my own plans for later.”

Lauren sat on the sofa. “Plans you don't want Bunny to know about. I'm intrigued.”

“I'm sure you are, but first I want to hear about Randy Rivera.”

“Alicia has a big mouth.”

“Honestly, she didn't tell me much. She actually said I should call and have you fill me in.”

“What's to tell?”

“I would say there's a lot to tell, considering how it all got started with that ass Ken.”

Lauren's face fell. “Don't say that name to me.”

“I'm sorry, but he is a jackass.”

“You won't get an argument with me about that. Although if it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have met Randy, had too much to drink and wound up in bed with him.”

“Jesus, Lauren, that's hardly the romantic tryst we talk about.”

“I know, but last night was.” She grinned.

“Oh, you got a chance for a do-over.”

“And what a do-over it was,” she announced.

“I'm happy for you, Lauren, but that was a little too much information.”

“Speaking of information, what's happening with you?”

“I'm going out with an investment banker/artist. His name is Nigel Clark.”

“He's an investment banker and an artist? That's not a combination you hear every day.”

“I know.” She sighed dreamily. “He's talented and he seems to have a good head on his shoulders.”

“Yeah, that's nice and all, but what does he look like?”

Gabby closed her eyes. “He's tall with a chocolate brown complexion, he has dark brown eyes and he's very fit.”

“Fit like a weight lifter or fit like Lance Armstrong?”

“Like Lance Armstrong, only a little meatier.”

“He sounds much better than those hair club refugees your mom tries to fix you up with.”

“Alicia said the same thing.”

“She's right.”

“He is definitely head and shoulders above them. I'm sure she has at least one candidate in mind for me today.” She sighed. “Jane said it best: ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.' God knows my mother certainly believes that.”

“It seems she believes a woman in possession of a good fortune must be in want
and
need of a husband, too. So it looks like you're getting it from both sides.”

“Aren't I lucky?” Gabby said sarcastically.

“I know.” Lauren walked to her kitchen. “Have you talked to Alicia today?”

“No. You know she's probably working at home.”

“I would say something but it would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.” She got a glass from her cabinet and went over to the counter.

“We're all guilty of that.”

Lauren picked up her Blackberry. “I think she got roped into a charity luncheon on Monday.” She looked through her schedule. “I don't have anything Tuesday afternoon. Maybe I'll go up.”