Читать книгу A Taste Of Pleasure - Chloe Blake - Страница 15

Chapter 3

New York

One year later

“Service!” Dani screamed from behind the chef’s counter where she was meticulously preparing Andre’s special plate—veal shank with saffron infused risotto. The waitstaff within earshot paused at her shrill voice, then quickened their pace to grab the two entrées sitting idle under the heat lamp. She understood the confusion; technically she was “off,” allowing Michele, her sous-chef, a crucial step in his training—running a Friday night dinner service.

“Feel the rhythm of the kitchen, Michele. You’re behind, which makes them—” she pointed to the servers “—behind. Step it up.” The young man gave Dani a solemn nod and a “yes, Chef,” then barked his own orders.

Chef Andre Pierre may be the owner and famous face attached to the restaurant, but Dani had built the kitchen of Via L’Italy into a two-star Michelin rated powerhouse of culinary masterpieces, and wasn’t going to stop until she got a third star.

Of course, if she and Andre landed the TV show they pitched to the Food Network, she’d no longer be worrying about that star. The world would see her cooking beside Andre, instead of behind him. Ghost chef... Dani could barely stand the term. Andre was the great and powerful Oz of the culinary world, while she was the little guy behind the curtain making it all happen.

She had tried to leave and pursue her own restaurant once, but Andre increased her salary and made it worth her while to stay. When they got their first Michelin star, she got paid even more. On paper, she was successful. In real life, she felt like she was achieving none of her goals.

Dani no longer wanted to be a ghost chef in Andre’s kitchen, or in his bed. They’d become more public with their relationship, meaning some of the staff knew, but she still got the feeling Andre was fighting boyfriend status. Her schedule was more grueling than his and they never saw each other much outside of the restaurant. But they made sense together. Slowly but surely, Dani knew that Andre would one day see that they made a good team.

“Is that for Andre?” Michele said, his voice always turning a bit acid when he mentioned Andre’s name.

“Yes, I’m going to the office to cheer him up. He’s been sulking since he got back from the network. I’m nervous he got bad news.”

Dani slipped off her apron and ventured toward the dining room, skirting whizzing servers and bussers. All greeted her with a respectful “Chef.” Andre’s back office was empty. She passed by the storage alcove where the coats were lined and found a few had fallen from the rack. A muffled sound came from the closed storage door.

She moved forward, her hand on the knob when an audible moan was heard. He heart hammered, afraid to see what she knew was coming. Quietly she turned the knob. Andre was inside with Bette, their hostess. His back was to the door, pumping hard as she lay on the cluttered desk with her dress raised and her legs spread.

“You’re going to be a star, baby girl,” Andre gritted out in between thrusts.

The young hostess’s eyes were closed, and then they fluttered open and found Dani. The girl yelled in horror, which didn’t stop Andre’s furious thrusts until she hit at him and pushed away.

He was breathing heavily when he snapped his head around to gaze at Dani. The hostess shoved her dress down and scurried past Dani into the hallway. Andre’s shoulders slumped and he zipped up his pants. But what she saw in his eyes was not an apology. It was resignation. “I’m sorry you saw that. But what did you expect?”

Dani’s eyes narrowed. “I expected loyalty.”

“We never see each other. I can’t even remember when we kissed last.”

“We kissed this morning in bed.”

“That goodbye kiss you gave me at 4 a.m. when you went to the fish market?”

Dani took in a deep breath. “Your customers are loving the fish.”

“All you care about is the kitchen. Anywhere we go, anything we do, you end up at the kitchen.”

“This is a 24/7 job as you well know. And it’s not my kitchen, Andre, it’s your kitchen. I am doing this for us!”

“No, you’re not. Your focus, your drive...it’s for you, Dani. You have no insecurities in the kitchen.”

Insecurities? Dani’s hands perched on her full hips. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means all you think about is the kitchen. It’s where you have control.”

Dani rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to listen to psychobabble from a cheater and a liar. What she did need was to find out what happened at the network.

“And what about the show, Andre? Does that get thrown away along with our relationship too?”

“They want to do it—” he paused “—but they want someone else to cohost. Someone with a millennial appeal.” He had the decency to look apologetic.

“I’m thirty-three, Andre. I am a millennial.”

“They want someone...like...a model or something.”

“Ohhh, now I get it. I’m too fat to be on your show.”

He slowly shook his head. “It’s not my decision, Dani.”

She cut him off. “And who is going to cook for you? The model that... Wait a minute, is Bette going to be on the show?” If anyone wanted to be a star, it was that woman that ran out of the room with her skirt up.

Andre’s eyes hit the floor in answer.

“How long have you been screwing her?”

“Does it matter? We weren’t exclusive.”

She didn’t think her heart could sink any lower. She refused to cry, replacing the emotion with pure anger.

Andre’s voice turned to syrup. “Look, let’s be adults about this. The show still needs you. I still need you. She’ll be the face, but it will be your food. You’ll get paid more than her, I’ll see to that.”

Her gaze went hazy. He wanted her to be a ghost chef for his new girlfriend?

“Fuck you, Andre.” She threw the plate of food at his feet.

He jumped as it crashed and spilled, his gaze holding a challenge she wasn’t interested in meeting.

He was predictable. She mused that she had been waiting for this moment, and now that it had happened, she had a kitchen to run. She turned and let the door close behind her, muffling whatever rant he was shouting at her back. She no longer cared. Actually she felt relieved. Wondering when he would screw up was a drain.

Her mother had always told her she played the game of love wrong, that she loved the men more than they loved her. She had fallen in love with Andre, she thought.

Michele was waiting for her when she walked back into the kitchen. His eyes fixed on her face. Did he know? A quick glance around the room caught raised eyebrows and concerned gazes. Did everyone know?

“Everything all right, Chef?”

She nodded with a neutral expression, alluding to nothing. Images of Andre and the hostess flashed in her mind. The other woman stood at her post smiling, welcoming a couple and ushering them to their table. Her dress was in place and her makeup was flawless. The man checked out her size four frame as she walked.

Dani cringed, fighting the urge to pull Bette’s weave out in the dining room.

She decided to leave instead. Her presence was undermining Michele’s practice. This was his night, his initiation into the wonderful world of chefdom. Should she tell him he’ll never have a life? That his partner will get mad and leave him? Because running a kitchen was like being the head of a family, and you don’t abandon your family, not even for love.

Dani made busywork of tasting the sauces. She turned to find the pasta and almost walked straight into Andre.

Get out of my kitchen! She cleared her throat. “Yes?”

“Since my dinner is on the floor, I’d love a plate of...whatever.”

“Of course.” Dani loaded a plate with penne, then drizzled the garlic and oil. “I suggest a white wine with this.”

Andre looked at her for a long moment, and then scanned the room of staff that were working and simultaneously watching under their lids.

“Thank you.” He nodded, then jammed a fork into the pasta and into his mouth. “Mmm” came from his throat. Then his face scrunched. “That’s too much garlic.”

A tidal wave of anger hit her.

“How dare you come into my kitchen and insult this food! Do you have any idea what I have done for you? Do you think you could have made two stars with that bull you were serving three years ago? You would have been closed had it not been for me!” Her voice cracked. The staff stilled. She grabbed the plate from his hands and tossed it on the counter. “I hope she was worth it,” Dani spit.

Dani turned on her heel and found her bag under the counter. Then she stomped to the wall and grabbed her coat. She hugged Michele and held him at arm’s length. “Michele, you’re ready.” Dani had to look away when his face drained of all color. He’d be fine. They all would. She trained them well.

She stepped toward the door but stopped when she saw movement in the dining room. It was Bette, opening a bottle of wine, laughing with a young couple. Dani found herself next to the hostess, startling the girl midpour.

“Your pour should be just less than half the glass.” Dani grabbed the stem of the glass and tossed the ruby liquid in the girl’s face. Her squeal mingled with the collective gasp of the room. Rivulets of red dripped from her chin. “See, too much.” Dani set the glass down in front of the gawking couple and executed a perfect pour, then held it up. “Now, this is a glass of wine.” Dani splashed the second glass in Bette’s face, this time hitting the dinner guests.

“You fat bitch!” The girl’s tears were pink.

Dani shivered with rage at the word. “I’d rather be fat and smart, than skinny and stupid.”

Andre appeared, wrenching the wineglass from Dani’s hand and apologizing over and over to the couple.

“He’s all yours,” Dani said to the girl.

Dani felt the eyes of the room as she marched toward the front door. Skirting waiting couples, she pushed through the door and hailed a cab downtown, watching the city smear by.

She walked into her apartment like seeing it for the first time. It was a mess, like her life. She picked up her phone and dialed Nicole, but got no answer. Then Liz, again no answer, but a text came through saying she was on a date and would call later. Her father, a fashion photographer turned tattoo artist, was backpacking through Asia. She scrolled through her phone and stopped at Mom. Her thumb hesitated. It was almost ten at night in LA. She was sure her mother would be getting ready for bed, if not in bed already. The woman had a regimen stricter than a marine. Dani dialed, sure her mother wouldn’t pick up.

She’s not going to answer, Dani thought, debating if she should hang up. Maybe it was a sign, emotional conversations with her mother didn’t usually make her feel better. She’d thrown that tidbit in her mother’s face once during an argument, to which her mother had calmly replied, I’m not like other mothers.

The second her mother answered, the tears she was holding back slid down her face in hot streaks. “Mom,” she choked out.

“Danica, you know I’m about to go to bed. I need twelve hours or...” She paused. “What on earth—” A half sigh. “Are you crying?”

It was the exasperated sigh that pulled Dani from her fetal position on the couch. She dabbed at her eyes and wiped her nose with a tissue, then took a calming breath. Her mother never stood for such theatrics, even though she was still the most dramatic woman Dani had ever known.

“Yes.” Dani swallowed. “It’s been a rough night.” Dani heard rustling in the background and imagined her mother in a face mask and silk head wrap resting in her king-size bed.

Although her mother was still considered a supermodel, at fifty-five years old—sixty-five if you paid attention to birth certificates—Francesca Watts was rarely offered work anymore, but she still treated every night like she was waking for a photo shoot the next day.

“Well, do I have to guess what happened or are you going to tell me?”

“I quit the restaurant.”

“Good, now you can start your own. I’m sure Daddy would give you the money.” Dani noted that her mother didn’t offer. She also wasn’t sure either of them had that type of cash just lying around anymore.

Dani sniffed. “That’s not all.” Dani made it through the abbreviated story of her breakup with Andre without another wave of tears.

“He wasn’t strong enough for you, dear, I told you that. Not many men can handle women like us.”

It was the same thing she said to Dani after her father had left and moved back to Sweden. Dani began to think the call was a mistake.

“Mother, just once I’d appreciate a little sympathy. I just want a virtual hug and for you to tell me it’s going to be okay.”

“Well, if you had moved to California with me instead of choosing to be nearer to your father, then I’d be able to hug you in person and do all of that.”

“That is not the reason I stayed, Mother. I chose my career over the both of you—it just happened to be in New York.”

“And now you’re crying.”

“There is no correlation.” Dani quelled her rising voice and shook her head. “God, why can’t we have a conversation like normal people?”

“Normal people?” her mother sneered. “We are not normal. Normal people aren’t Michelin-starred chefs, Danica. I made love to David Bowie, for God’s sake.”

Dani chuckled as she cringed, feeling a little better. Her mother actually sounded proud of her. “Please, I can’t handle that story now.”

“Yes. Yes. Now stop this crying. Did you get the dress I sent you?”

“It’s too small.”

“Well, did you gain more weight?”

And that lovely feeling came crashing down. “I don’t know, Mother, I don’t weigh myself on a daily basis like you do.”

“Well, that designer runs a bit bigger, I thought it would fit.”

“I’m fat, Mother, get over it.”

“You’re not fat, you’re full figured. Lots of women would kill for your hourglass shape. Women are paying thousands of dollars to achieve your natural breast size, my dear. But now that you’re done with that backbreaking job you can go back to Pilates.”

Her mother’s personal trainer had almost killed her one summer. She’d only lost a pound.

“No, thanks.” Dani sipped a glass of wine, trying to ignore the fact that her mother still thought of her as someone who just needed to work out a little more and poof, she’d be a size four. “She called me fat.”

“Who did?”

“The hostess Andre is cheating with.”

“And did you tell that hood rat that she was just a sex toy?”

Dani laughed then. She knew her mother had issues about her weight, but she never allowed another person to say so.

“I’m glad you’re laughing. Now, pull yourself up and take one step forward. You’ll figure out what to do. I have to go.”

Dani frowned. “Early breakfast with that old Persian billionaire?”

“No, darling, that ended months ago. I’m on my way to Milan tomorrow.”

At the mention of Milan, Toni’s firm lips and lean body popped into her mind. She ran a hand over her hair and shook the vision away. “Oh. Why?”

“I’m in a campaign for Chanel. Ageless, timeless, something or other. It was a cat fight between Naomi and me, God forbid they have two African American models in the campaign, but they chose me.” She waited a beat. “I was the first black model to walk in Paris, you know.”

Dani knew. She’d heard all of her mother’s groundbreaking stories. Had seen all of the pictures of her slim, satin-skinned mother gracing magazine covers.

Her mother’s success had been a series of highs and lows, with more and more lows as the gracefully aging beauty got older.

“That’s great, Mom. Why didn’t you mention anything?”

“You know how this goes. I’ll get there and they may not even use me.”

“So it’s like a test thing?”

“Mmm...something like that.”

Dani couldn’t imagine the blow to her mother’s ego. It was a go-see. An audition.

“They’ll be idiots not to use you.”

“Yes. They would.” Her mother seemed to hesitate. “Would you like to come? It’s been a while since we were in Milan together. I can get us a suite at the Baglioni.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“Well...yes. Why not? You’re not working.” Dani blinked, intrigued, but unsure if that was a good idea. The last time Dani had been invited to one of her mother’s shows had been during Milan Fashion Week when she was eight. The nanny canceled and the hotel staff couldn’t watch her, so her mother had to take her along.

You do not make noise or speak, Francesca had insisted in the limo to the photo shoot. I’m going to put you in my dressing area. And if anyone asks you who you are, you do not say a word. You run and hide. They might think you’re a homeless Italian child and just leave you alone.

But I want to see the cameras.

No. Francesca had sent her a look that could melt steel.

Why?

Because your mother needs to protect her image. Dani hadn’t known what that meant, she’d just known Mom meant business.

As the pair ran unnoticed into the dressing room, Dani thought of the whole thing as a game. But when Dani had laughed a little too loud, she had seen that look on her mother’s face and shut it down. Dani didn’t know how long she had been in the dressing room by herself, but the thought of the cameras was too enticing. She’d tiptoed behind some tall equipment in her little Keds and ran into a king’s spread of food. Sandwiches, cheeses, grapes and...cookies!

Dani was stretched over the lip of the table when her mother’s makeup artist had found her with her fingers curled around a macaroon.

Bella? Dov’è tua madre? Dani had turned to run but she knocked over a microphone stand. Francesca, do you know this child? I asked her where is her mother, but I think she’s mute.

Heads swiveled between Dani and her mother. The little girl flinched when Francesca’s eyes sparked with split-second rage. Her mother turned to her makeup artist.

Robbie, do I look like I’ve had a child?

Roberto waved his brushes in the air. Of course not. I doubt your baby would be so...robust.

The room laughed.

That is just baby weight, her mother had quipped, but... I’m sure she must be with one of the production managers or something. She’d narrowed her eyes at Dani. Would you like an autograph, sweetie? How about you sit quietly in my chair over there and I’ll give you one when I’m done. Okay?

Roberto had left Dani by the table. You are so charitable, Francesca.

I try to give back whenever I can, Robbie.

Never would Dani forget that day, or ask to go to work with her mother again. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, maybe this time it would be fun.

“You’ll be able to see Marcello,” Francesca sighed. Dani heard the jealous sound of her mother’s voice. Not long after Dani’s first and last time going to a photo shoot, her mother again couldn’t find a sitter, and dropped Dani off in the hotel restaurant.

Chef Marcello Farina, her old mentor and owner of three-Michelin-star rated Via Carciofo where she trained, had found her in the corner, put her in a white coat and gave her odd jobs around the kitchen. She had loved it. Marcello was like a second father, and probably the reason she was a chef.

“Just say yes already. I have to sleep,” Dani’s mother said at the tail end of a yawn.

Maybe talking to Marcello would give her some perspective, Dani thought. What could it hurt? “Okay, I’ll go.”