Freedom Fries and Cafe Creme (23 page)

A quick glance around and I became convinced that everyone looked like everybody else.

The three friends were skeletal. Their skintight tops and trousers showed even more of their stringy figures, which would have looked better in looser-fitting clothes. They looked terrible! What did they eat? Or, more appropriately, what did they not eat?

After ritual hand-shaking,
so nice to meet you and your food was exquisite
, Robin turned to me with a serious face.

‘Well, after our chat, I really did a lot of thinking …'

Our chat, our chat … What are you talking about?

‘Victoria, please, have a glass of Kir Kennedy,' offered Mrs Brown, my employer for the evening, who had just come over, with Steve, one of my waiters, following in her wake. ‘You deserve it!'

They all toasted my fantastic dinner. I had to admit that these little celebrations after a meal I'd cooked made me quite proud. What a difference from the reproaches I used to get from the parents of children at the school I used to work at. It had been ‘kindly' explained to me that the healthy food I was cooking for their offspring was unsuitable.

‘Cook them fries or pasta instead of veggies! At least then they'll eat something!' had been the strong suggestion made to me, accompanied by a broad, hypocritical smile. I had never regretted quitting on the spot.

Robin looked me straight in the eye, which was a little disconcerting as I was still trying to remember what kind of talk I'd had with her, and when, and where.

After Mrs Brown had left us to circulate among her other guests, Robin, her identical friends and I sat down on comfortable chairs with our glasses of Kir Kennedy.

‘Well, I finally dumped Lancelot. And it's thanks to you!' Robin said.

I was dreading having to ad lib, but luckily the name ‘Lancelot' brought it all back. How could anyone forget such a name!

‘And I met Gabe, who is gorgeous and …'

Yes, just like all the others: gorgeous, smart and, of course, most importantly, loaded!

By then I'd remembered everything: that was the night in spring when the Winchesters had been celebrating their tenth anniversary on their private yacht.

Robin had caught my attention because she'd been crying her eyes out the whole time, a drink in one hand, a box of tissues in the other, looking out at the ocean on the upper deck. I'd gone up there to take a little break. It was one of those warm, dry, beautiful spring days when New England looked so special.

I'd asked her if she needed anything, and she'd started to tell me that she had just found out that her boyfriend, Lancelot, was cheating on her. Of course, she could have confessed this to anyone, but it was I who was lucky enough to be right there when she needed to talk.
Yes, lucky me!

Lancelot – I remembered thinking – what a name! I pictured him on horseback, valiantly following a narrow woodland path that led to another Guinevere. Just then, Robin, with her packet of tissues, certainly hadn't looked much like a queen, but I'd kept my thoughts to myself. I had given her a couple of Coeurs Noirs, which I always carried with me in my bag, and then said something to her about the benefits of chocolate and that you could actually have a better time with chocolate than with men.

Robin had liked what I said, managed to smile, and even laughed. I'd then told her that I was sure she would meet someone else soon, and she'd seemed to believe me. The remainder of the conversation had been about Robin's future.

Although I liked to spend a lot of time by myself, if I saw a soul in pain I would try to offer some comfort. Since
I usually didn't know the people I gave advice to, I could be more objective and less judgemental than their friends or family would be.

My parents and my two sisters had been amazed that I'd decided to train to be a cook. They had thought I would become a kind of Mother Teresa, a sort of saviour of lost souls. ‘But food has the power to comfort, doesn't it?' I'd said.

When I witnessed people in such turmoil because their relationships were going badly, it strengthened my conviction that I'd rather be by myself, eating some Coeurs Noirs with a glass of cranberry liqueur, sitting on my porch looking out at the ocean, with my devoted Chipolata at my side, than suffering with a man.

Robin and her friends Daphne and Adriana could not allow themselves to be alone, although not for economic reasons. They had to have boyfriends even if they weren't really happy because, for them, being in a relationship was all that mattered.

Robin went on to relate how she'd followed my advice: she had taken a few months off, away from everyone, and ended up in Tokyo, working part time for her father's firm, which had an office there.

‘And then I met Gabe, who was also living in Tokyo for a while …'

She told us that they were getting engaged, and that she wanted me to cook for their engagement party since she believed I'd brought her good luck. I was also invited to the wedding, but strictly as a guest. I wouldn't have to cook for that.

Wow, that was fast! She didn't waste any time after our conversation on the yacht
.

I should have been flattered that Robin was asking me to cook for her engagement dinner and that she'd invited me to her wedding, but I didn't really know what to say besides ‘That would be lovely', since I wasn't part of Robin's social circle at all. I resolved to make the effort to attend her wedding, though, as it could be good for business.

After another toast to this news, Daphne cleared her throat hesitantly.

‘Um, so tell us. You're known as someone who likes being single – is that really true?'

What
was
really true was that some chefs were as famous as Hollywood stars. I doubted I would like that. By then, I was refusing to speak to any journalist, a decision I'd made immediately after reading the only article ever written about me in a food magazine. I didn't like reading about myself in the least, or seeing the phoney picture of me in my kitchen. The article was entitled ‘The Stardom of the Famous Chef who Doesn't Want to Be Famous'. Unfortunately, these women had evidently read and remembered it.

‘From what we read about you,' Adriana said through a mouthful of chocolate, ‘you really seem to enjoy living by yourself. A bit like a hermit really?'

I'd got the feeling that Daphne and Adriana were trying to challenge me a little. I looked at the two of them. Daphne was waiting anxiously for my answer. Adriana hadn't stopped eating sweet titbits. Robin, meanwhile, had
tuned out, giving the impression that she was dreaming about her wedding to Gabe as she gazed at a gilt-framed Italian painting on the wall next to her depicting a group of jolly, plump cherubs.

‘What works for me doesn't necessarily work for others,' I answered calmly.

‘Of course not,' Daphne mumbled. ‘I, um, I'm curious because I've never met anyone like you before.'

‘Jeez, Daphne, get to the point,' Robin said, taking her eyes off the cherubs and winking at me as if we were friends sharing a great secret. ‘Actually, Daphne would really like you to tell us about your everyday life by yourself, since the article didn't really say much about it,' she explained apologetically, as if slightly embarrassed for her friend.

‘Your truffles are my favourite! What's in them?' Adriana interrupted loudly, helping herself to more from a new tray that Steve had discreetly brought up from the kitchen.

She looked as if she was the type of person who made sure she always had food within easy reach, no matter where she happened to be sitting. The amount she ate didn't equate at all with her thinness. Either she had the most astonishing metabolism, or she wouldn't be eating for the next week – unless, of course, she was bulimic.

‘Chocolate, pecans, cranberries and Bourbon,' I answered.

‘Wow! You're a genius! I'm so thrilled to meet the great Victoria Prescott!'

I said nothing.

‘I'm quite amazed that you like to live by yourself.'
Daphne evidently couldn't drop the subject. ‘You see, I can't spend a minute alone. But if I do happen to be by myself, I take my cell phone and work through my phonebook until someone answers, or I send emails, or chat online with strangers from all over the world.'

Oh dear, I feel so sorry for you
.

Unfortunately, this was how people had begun to live, vicariously, through a myriad of communication gadgets, which seemed to give a purpose to their lives. I wondered if they were actually afraid to be by themselves, even if only for a little while.

‘Daphne thinks that you're very shrewd since you advised Robin so successfully,' added Adriana, gazing at the last truffle in her hand.

Robin nodded in agreement.

Jeez, I'd had no idea my words would be so convincing that she'd take them so literally.

Adriana was beckoning to Steve to bring her another Kir Kennedy. Her glass was already empty. I'd hardly touched mine. Even though it was quite good, I didn't feel like drinking it after the wine I'd been sipping so peacefully in the kitchen until I was called upon to present myself.

‘So tell us about your hermit life,' Daphne implored.

‘What can I say? I guess it all started when I realised that I didn't want to be like my parents or other couples around me because they were always engaged in a power struggle. I came to the decision to only rely on myself in order to be truly independent and to try to have a peaceful life. I don't like conflict.'

‘But you need a man. You know what I mean; we are
human, after all,' asserted the bold Adriana, popping the last truffle into her month in a very sensual manner.

‘You mean, for sex?'

Robin and Daphne reddened. Adriana took a sip of her drink.

‘Well, of course we're animals too, aren't we? And we all have basic instincts and needs. But I like to think that, being human, we are also very emotional – at least I am – and therefore I can find more refined pleasures in life.'

‘Like eating chocolate,' Adriana exclaimed, ‘or enjoying your delicious food! I don't blame you. For me that's how it works. No sex for a while, no big deal! I've just had a nice meal with champagne, and some chocolate for dessert. I don't need anything more to enjoy myself!'

I suspected she must have sex more often than food, as she was as skinny as a rake. Was she eating tonight to compensate for going without sex for a week?

They were making me feel a bit defensive with that tired old cliché: no sex, but an addiction to food. But that wasn't it at all! I didn't agree but it wasn't worth trying to explain to them. They probably wouldn't understand.

‘Where do you live?' Daphne asked, willing at last to change the subject.

‘In a pretty little house near the ocean, with my faithful Chipolata.'

‘You have a cat. I'm allergic to them,' Adriana rushed in.

Another cliché. Single women have to live with cats, don't they?

‘Chipolata is a dog, a darling cocker spaniel.'

‘But what about having a family?'

I could see from her face when she asked this question that Daphne was dying to meet a man to father her future children.

‘Well, when I said that I didn't want to be like my parents or other couples because they were always engaged in a power struggle, that applies to the entire family as well. I don't believe in family harmony. At least, I've never met a family that would make me want to have my own. Besides, I've got friends and relatives who have children. I see them once in a while. It's good enough for me.'

‘I want three or four children,' Daphne stated.

‘Yeah, sure,' Adriana laughed.

I didn't pay any attention to her.

‘You know, I simply enjoy looking after my garden, and plants are much quieter than children …'

‘My nieces and nephew are cute but they cry all the time!' Adriana told us all. She always had to have her say even when her mouth was full of yet more of the chocolate truffles that Steve had just brought out. ‘But I heard that when they're your own, it's—'

Robin frowned and shushed her.

‘I work a lot, like we all do nowadays. So when I have some free time I really want to appreciate it my own way. For example, in winter, I usually sit by the fire in my living room, just watching the flames, or if the sun is shining I'll sit on the porch where I also have a fireplace. In summer I sit on the beach and watch the ocean, and just listen to the waves and wind. I love hearing the sounds of nature. The ocean is what fascinates me the most. I love everything
about it: its sounds, its smells, its colours and textures.'

‘That sounds, er, interesting,' whispered Daphne the dreamer, who I was sure had never experienced such a simple existence, and who wouldn't ever have much time for one with the big family she intended to have.

‘Sounds boring to me,' confessed Adriana.

Of course!
Adriana was obviously like so many young people, constantly listening to her iPod or talking on her cell phone, even while walking on the beach. I'd be willing to bet she never even heard what was going on around her.

Robin was pensive again, looking once more at the
gilt-framed
Italian picture with the plump cherubs.

‘You know, it's quite important for a cook to be able to smell the essence of what Mother Earth gives us: aromas and perfumes that I take from my garden to the table.'

‘You are quite sensuous,' Robin remarked.

‘And sensual as well,' added Adriana. ‘That's why your cooking is so delightful, and so full of flavour. You cook with your heart and soul.'

You should try it sometime, I was tempted to say.

‘Don't tell me that you don't have relationships with guys at all?'

I don't know why I even bothered to reply, since I was not in the mood to discuss my private life. I must have been very tired.