Simmer Down (15 page)

H
AVING
resolved not to call the police, I went on to formulate my New Year’s resolution, which was to become a social superhero: an individual selflessly dedicated to fighting atrocities on the planet Earth. Today, however, was December 31, so I could enjoy doing my hair and makeup and dressing up for dinner without feeling ashamed that I was already breaking the resolution, not to mention neglecting the world. I filled a bowl with the steaming kielbasa and sat down in front of the television. After all, Naomi’s high level of social awareness might have driven her to commit murder. To save myself from homicidal fanaticism, I had to counteract Naomi’s influence with some truly socially unaware
Laguna Beach
reruns.

Doug showed up at five wearing a red T-shirt announcing: Gays Do It Better. Between that and the black leather pants and jacket, he wasn’t planning a don’t-ask-don’t-tell kind of night. He’d let the hair on his formerly shaved head grow back an inch, and I wondered whether his New Year’s resolution was to stop looking like Mr. Clean. Doug’s appearance made me hesitate to ask his advice about what I should wear tonight, but I took a chance and stood him in front of my closet.

“No black,” I instructed. “I’m sick of always wearing black to dress up.”

Posed there, Doug was staring at hangers full of black clothing. “Sexy but not rude, since Josh will be busy all night, and we don’t want him distracted by a plunging neckline, do we?”

I disagreed. “Plunging and distraction are fine. Go nuts. And don’t
Mommie Dearest
me about all the wire hangers.” I flopped onto my bed and flipped through
Us Weekly
while Doug plowed through my wardrobe options.

“What about this top?” Doug suggested, waving around a sleeveless red top that tied at the back of the neck.

“Have you lost all of your gay aesthetic?” I shrieked. “Doug, redheads have no business wearing red. Heather gave that to me after she had Walker and her breasts tripled in size and she got rid of all her clothes. Are you feeling ill?”

“No, I’m not feeling ill. Redheads can totally pull off red if it’s the right shade, like this is. It’s not like it’s stop sign red or anything. This is a gorgeous deep red, and the material is just right for a holiday—sort of linen with a shimmer thing. Try it on. But you’ll have to wear black pants. Oh, leather ones! We’ll match!” Doug grinned and tossed me my pair of leather pants that I’d worn only once before, to my five-year high school reunion, where I’d hoped to run into Andy Peyton, who’d stood me up for a spring dance and left me single while all my friends were making out with their dates to Savage Garden and Chris Isaak. And he didn’t even bother to show up at the reunion. I was still pissed about that.

I made Doug turn around while I squeezed into the pants, which after about forty-five knee bends, I decided would stretch out enough to fit. I put on the red top and said, “Okay, turn around. What do you think?”

“I told you. You look hot. High-heel boots and some earrings, and you’ll be good to go.”

Good thing we’d be sitting down most of the night, since the odds of my successfully walking too far in the tight pants and heels were slim to none.

“Is Owen coming with Adrianna?” Doug called to me as I was in the bathroom fiddling with my hair.

“Yup. And, no, he’s still straight.”

“Damn.” Doug and Owen had met a few months earlier, and Doug was still harboring a secret crush on Ade’s boyfriend. “Anyway, how did your semester end up?”

“Fine, I guess. But I need some advice. Come in here and keep me company.” I filled Doug in on my list, on the conversation I’d had today with Naomi, and on my general inability to take to the streets to riot for justice. I didn’t want to involve him in my obsession with Naomi as a psycho killer. For one thing, he might decide that I was crazy. For another, the more I talked about my obsession, the worse it would become, which is to say, the more possible and even likely.

“Chloe, you’ve got to relax. This Naomi character has got her own style, her own niche in the world of social work. You’ve just got to find yours. And your professional style will probably be very different from hers, but you can be equally effective in working with people. Naomi is totally dedicated to fighting sexual harassment, but I don’t think that is
your
calling. I know you care about the women you’ve been working with, but don’t feel bad that you aren’t Naomi. The field placements are designed to give you insight and experience into social service agencies in general. It’s part of a process of learning about yourself and what you want to do. Look, when you graduate, you might want to work for a nonprofit, but you might want to try to get into private practice, or work for a large corporation doing organizational psychology work. Whatever you want. There are a million different opportunities.”

“So I won’t flunk out of school? Go look at my list. It’s on my laptop in the kitchen.”

“No, you won’t flunk out,” he said from the other room. “But I agree that your list was pathetic.” Doug returned to the bathroom and looked at me with well-deserved irritation. “I know you’re a more caring person than that list suggests. I mean, come on, ‘People who stand too close to me in line,’ is not what Naomi was looking for.”

“It’s an infringement on my personal space, and I find it highly upsetting!” I snapped back.

“And, ‘Mail that comes from Delaware because it will be a credit card offer with ridiculous interest rates’? You don’t like the way Naomi pushes you, right? Instead of letting your interests and concerns come out naturally, she expects you to voice your outrage at the world the same way she does. Why don’t you try giving her a little more on a daily basis, and maybe she’ll lay off these stupid exercises.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. She just expects me to walk around constantly proclaiming my opposition to sexual harassment. Like I should be carrying banners and protest signs with me everywhere I go!”

“Why
did
you go to social work school?” Doug asked.

“You know why! I had no choice!”

“Yeah, I know your uncle’s will required you to get a master’s degree in something. You could have picked anything. Business school, broadcasting, art history? But you didn’t. You chose social work. Why?”

“I don’t know. It seemed like it would be, uh, okay,” I stammered.

“That’s not a reason, and that’s what you need to think about. You’ll work it out. But for now”—Doug pushed me aside to get a glimpse of himself in the mirror—“remember that even negative experiences are part of learning. It’s important to know what you
don’t
want to do so that you can figure out what you
do
want to do. Hurry up so we can go. It’s already six, and it’s going to take forever to get downtown tonight. I’m a gay man, and
I
get ready faster than you.”

“Yes, but you practically don’t have any hair,” I pointed out. “Anyhow, I’m ready.”

I realized that I was fussing over my hair and makeup more than usual tonight, probably because that stupid Hannah had reappeared in Josh’s life and I was feeling threatened and insecure—dumb of me, because until she showed up, everything between Josh and me had been going great, and there was no reason to imagine that Hannah could come between us. Right? Even so, I double-checked my lip gloss and added another spritz of eucalyptus spearmint body spray to my wrists.

Boston’s chronically nightmarish traffic always became unbearable on New Year’s Eve, so Doug and I had ruled out driving ourselves or taking a cab. We left my condo and walked the short distance down the hill to reach a T stop in the middle of Beacon Street. This section of the Green Line ran above ground and descended to become an actual subway as it approached Kenmore Square. Public transportation ran for free tonight, and, even at this relatively early hour, the cars were jammed. We pushed our way to the middle, grabbed onto a pole, and clung to it as the car lurched forward. As I’d neglected to mention in my list of anger-inducing items, the unflattering lighting in the subway cars irritated me. Under the fluorescents, Doug looked positively jaundiced. When we dove underground and reached the Kenmore stop, a mass of people attempted to board the already crowded car, and I found myself smashed up against Doug in a position that under other circumstances might have been considered pornographic.

“I’m not enjoying this any more than you are,” Doug assured me.

The two of us practically gasped for fresh air when we emerged from subterranean Boston. “Thank God I used extra deodorant.” Doug sniffed his underarms. “What a revolting form of transportation!”

“Funds were running low for my private limo service,” I said, winking at Doug. “Sorry.”

I pulled my date along the sidewalk toward Simmer. Lights were strung up on lampposts, wreaths hung suspended over the streets, and everywhere were large signs wishing everyone a happy New Year. The sidewalks were full of families and students eagerly admiring ice sculptures and applauding street performers, and the whole city had a wonderfully magical feel to it. Tonight was going to be so exciting! Josh was going to astound everyone with his superb culinary skills. By midnight, he’d be on his way to fame and glory as Boston’s hottest new chef!

“There’s Simmer,” I said excitedly, pointing out the restaurant to Doug.

“Good. I’m dying for a drink. Do you think they’ll comp our drinks for us?”

“They better.” I laughed. “Because after enjoying an incredible dinner, I plan on getting happily wasted on expensive cocktails. And then dragging Josh home to make drunken love all night long!”

We crossed the street and opened Simmer’s front door. Just inside the entrance, Gavin was welcoming a couple and directing them to the hostess. He was dressed in a formal suit and practically oozed pride at the opening of his restaurant. Tonight was the result of months, if not years, of dreaming and planning. Furthermore, Gavin had sunk a tremendous amount of cash into Simmer. He deserved the pleasure he was radiating.

“Welcome, welcome, Chloe! Can you believe it’s happening?” Gavin enthusiastically shook my hand and introduced himself to Doug.

I said, “Congratulations, again. This is wonderful. I can’t believe all of that work got done on time. You’ve really pulled it off.” Looking around, I saw that the installation of the ceiling light fixtures was complete. Now, everything basked in exactly the kind of flattering glow that would have boosted the morale of T riders throughout the city. The lighting brought out the earth tones of the textured walls and the tiled floors. Behind the bar, the bottles shone. The glasses in the racks and in people’s hands twinkled. The tables were covered with linens in a shades of cream and pale rust. Best of all, people were everywhere. Customers! Diners here to enjoy my Josh’s genius!

“You know,” said Gavin, “I really think this place was meant to be—that Simmer was meant to be mine. Somehow we got the lease and everything just came together. I thank God for that! So let’s get you two to your table.”

“We’re meeting a couple of my friends here. Are they here yet?” I looked around the room, trying to spot Adrianna’s blonde hair in the almost full dining room.

“You have a whole table of people waiting for you.” Gavin gestured to a large table in the front of the room, right by the window.

I couldn’t believe it. “What the hell are they doing here?” I muttered to Doug. Why did my family have to turn every event into a great big fat family reunion? Seated at the table, with bemused expressions on their faces, were Owen and Adrianna, with both of my parents and Heather and Ben and Walker and, incredibly, baby Lucy. What twenty-five-year-old wants to spend New Year’s Eve with her family? Her
entire
family! And what had possessed Heather and Ben to bring the kids here? Of all the nights not to get a babysitter! Walker was seated in a booster chair and hanging sideways off the arm clutching a blue train. A giant bowl of Cheerios sat in front of him, which led me to believe that at least my sister wasn’t going to ask to see a children’s menu.

“Surprise!” My mother beamed at the family’s success in having snuck in here without my knowledge.

“Yeah. Surprise!” I smiled weakly. “I had no idea.”

No idea that I’d be doomed to celebrate the New Year’s Eve opening of Simmer by laboring to make conversation with my relatives. So much for a night of ogling my boyfriend in an alcohol-induced haze. Now I really needed a drink.

A
DE
had done her best to rescue me by saving two seats between hers and Owen’s for Doug and me. At least I wasn’t pinned between my parents. Doug immediately grabbed the seat next to Adrianna’s boyfriend.

I scooted in next to Ade and whispered, “Did you know they were coming?”

She stifled a laugh. “No. I swear I didn’t. Holidays with the Carters. Who knew?”

“We just had dinner together the other night! I wanted tonight to be about Josh. Well, Josh and me. Anything but a night with my entire family staring at me and analyzing my relationship. Can I have a sip of that?” Without waiting for an answer, I picked up Adrianna’s glass of wine. It looked untouched, but I didn’t care whether it was or not; I needed a quick gulp.

“So you must be Doug?” Heather introduced herself and the rest of the nut jobs at the table. I wasn’t sure if I was dreading an evening with my family because they irritated me on an individual basis or if it was the collective group of them that had the capacity to drive me insane. Well, I reasoned, dinner would last only so long, and I would still find some alone time with Josh late tonight.

For reasons beyond me, Heather had tied a gigantic red silk scarf into a headband and sat across from me with a mammoth bow on top of her head.

“What are you? Cindy Lou Who?” I couldn’t help myself. “You look like you hopped right out of a Dr. Seuss book.”

“Lovely to see you, too, my dear sister.” She lifted a glass of what looked suspiciously like a martini to her mouth.

“Heather! You’re still nursing! You shouldn’t be drinking,” I scolded, looking at Lucy to see whether the baby was intoxicated—although how anyone could tell, I had no idea, since babies had no muscle control to begin with.

“Your sister stopped nursing this morning,” Ben informed me. “And now she’s drunk.”

“That is correct. I am.” Heather reached into her glass and removed an olive, which she peered at intently for a moment before throwing it up in the air and catching it in her mouth. “And it’s wonderful.” She smiled happily.

Oh, goody! With one sister loaded, no one would notice if I had a few too many drinks myself. Better yet, with any luck, Heather would make a spectacle of herself for the rest of the night and leave me alone. On second thought, if she did anything to ruin the night for Josh, I’d kill her.

“Look, there’s Dora.” Adrianna pointed to the entrance.

“With Barry and Sarka,” I said as the couple entered behind Dora.

Gavin was politely shaking Barry’s hand while at the same time gloating over his acquisition of the prime Newbury Street spot that Barry had coveted, or so I suspected. Dora was monstrously overdressed in a long ivory gown with sequined patches—tacky, if you asked me, but it was probably some Badgley Mishka million-dollar design. Gavin showed the trio to a small table in the center of the restaurant.

“So, Doug, tell us,” my father began, “as one of the few male students at social work school, you must be quite busy dating, I would guess. Anyone special?” Dad smiled innocently.

“No, not at the moment. Although”—Doug stood up and took his jacket off to display his T-shirt—“I’m keeping my options open.”

My family leaned in and slowly read his shirt. I watched their faces as the realization sank in.

“So, probably no girlfriends, then?” Heather removed herself from her martini long enough to ask.

Our waitress came to the table, took drink orders from Doug and me, and left all of us with the menu.

APPETIZERS

Seared Shrimp with Corn Polenta and Sweet Corn Sauce

or

Grilled Lobster Tail

with Black Beluga Lentils and Truffle Oil

or

Seared Scallops with Chanterelles

and Pineau des Charentes, Served in Puff Pastry

SALAD

Baby Greens Wrapped in English Cucumber

with Sesame-Honey Dressing

ENTRÉES

Grilled Steak with a Stilton Potato Cake,

Roasted Baby Vegetables, and Peppercorn Sauce

or

Pan-Seared Salmon Roulades

with Saffron-Tomato Coulis, Served over Jasmine Rice

or

Roasted Vegetable Wellington

with a Red Pepper Vinaigrette and Balsamic Reduction

DESSERT

Layered Chocolate Torte with Fresh Raspberries

or

Banana Three Way

One look at the mouthwatering menu made me mind my family’s presence less. Josh’s food made even Heather’s comments less grating!

“This looks like heaven,” my father crooned. “What a way for Josh to open the restaurant!”

“Sure,” Heather said, ignoring Walker, who was busy folding a menu into a paper airplane, “but everyone seems to be forgetting the fact that this isn’t Josh’s restaurant. He just works here.”

I was about ready to grab her son’s paper airplane and fly it into her eye when our drinks came. I swallowed some wine and focused on deciding which mouthwatering entrée to have. Doug and I consulted with each other and agreed to order different things so we could share. When our waitress returned, I ordered the shrimp appetizer, followed by the steak and the banana dessert.

Heather giggled. “A banana three way!”

“Somebody cut her off,” I begged.

Adrianna excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. The rest of us struggled to achieve relatively normal conversation.

My father cleared his throat and whispered conspiratorially, “Did everyone see who’s here? The restaurant reviewer, Mishti Patil. I recognize her from her picture.”

Josh was going to be more than unhappy about her presence. As this woman should know, it’s unfair to subject any restaurant to a review on its first night. It was obvious even to me, an outsider in this industry, that you cut a new place a lot of slack early on; you wait until it works out its kinks before you tear it apart. So far, nothing had gone wrong, but the evening had just started, and we hadn’t tasted any food yet. As confident as I was in Josh’s skill as a chef, I was worried that his food wouldn’t come out of the kitchen the way it was supposed to. It’s one thing for a chef to come up with fantastic dishes, but the quality of the food that actually gets plated and served depends on many other people besides the chef. Even with Josh and Snacker cooking on the line tonight, I was still afraid that some incompetent person had left bones in the salmon or had oversalted the salad dressing. I glanced around to see whether anyone was puckering or making faces. So far, everyone looked happy and festive. I tried to comfort myself by remembering that since Mishti had evidently been bribed to write a review, she’d presumably do a good one, no matter what. Furthermore, Josh had been so insulted about the bribe that I knew he’d outdo himself by proving that there was no need to
buy
good reviews of his food. Mishti and her dining companion were five or six tables away. Although I couldn’t get a good look at them, they seemed to be doing all right for now.

Our appetizers began to arrive, and I lit up as I saw Josh coming to the table carrying mine.

“Hi, honey. Oh, this looks beautiful,” I said, gazing with admiration at my plate. Four huge shrimp, delectably butterflied, rested on a fluffy polenta circle dressed with a creamy yellow corn sauce. Josh shook hands all around and accepted praise and congratulations from everyone—well, everyone except Heather, of course, who busied herself with her napkin.

Josh leaned in to me and said quietly, “So, you decided not to come to
my
restaurant with Sean, huh?”

My stomach dropped. “What?” I whispered back.

“Check your cell phone messages once in a while,” Josh snarled angrily. “Like I really needed this shit right now, Chloe.”

He left the table. I immediately pulled my phone out of my purse and punched in my codes. The only message was the extremely pissed-off one from Josh: “Chloe. Glad you had a good time last night with Sean at Eclipse. Seems like a great guy.”
Click
.

That damn Hannah! She obviously
had
seen me at the bar with Sean. So much for my covert getaway. That bitch had probably waited all of thirty seconds before scampering back to Josh with news of my supposed infidelity and luring him back to her lair to cook her a romantic dinner. Although Josh had no reason to be jealous, I hadn’t planned to tell him about my harmless date-that-wasn’t with Sean. I mean, the conversation had centered around Hannah and the murder. Still, I’d been spotted out with an ex-boyfriend. And what had Josh himself been up to with Hannah? I still didn’t have an explanation about the shopping list in his handwriting. Not that I’d asked him yet.

“What was that about?” Doug asked me.

“Long story,” I answered.

I sampled my shrimp and, as cranky as I now was, knew that it was one of Josh’s best dishes ever. The sweetness of the polenta and corn were a delectable match for the spiciness and saltiness of the shrimp. Josh had taught me that to make flavors balance out in a dish, you needed to combine opposites.

Our salads arrived. Long lengthwise slices of cucumber were wrapped about brightly colored greens to form low cylinders. Enoki mushrooms sprouted out of the tops of the salads, which were covered in a glistening sesame-honey dressing. I took a taste. My salad was as delicious as it was beautiful.

But until I’d straightened things out with Josh, I was going to be crabby and upset for the rest of the night. And where was Adrianna? She still hadn’t come back from the ladies’ room, and I needed her. In situations like this, I had a tendency to blow things out of proportion and act rashly, whereas Adrianna had a contrasting tendency to retain her sanity.

I excused myself from the table, but everyone was too occupied in savoring the food to notice. It’s amazing how quickly complete confidence in the solidity of a relationship can change to incredible fear that everything is about to collapse. I just hoped that Josh would believe me when I assured him that nothing nefarious had transpired between Sean and me. I also hoped, of course, that Hannah hadn’t taken advantage of Josh once she’d made him doubt my devotion.

As I hurried through the restaurant, I was so focused on finding Josh that I barely noticed any of the other diners. Reaching the doors to the kitchen, I suddenly realized that I couldn’t just barge in. This was opening night, the tension was high, meals were now being prepared and served, and, for all my sense of involvement with Simmer, I didn’t work here. For a moment, I stood there helplessly. Then one of the doors flew open, and I nearly collided with a server carrying an overloaded tray of food.

“Sorry,” I muttered apologetically and ran off to the bathroom to figure out what to do. I was such an idiot! Why hadn’t I just told Josh about meeting up with Sean? Now it just looked like I was hiding something.

I pushed open the bathroom door to find Adrianna in front of the mirror shaking her hair out and applying lipstick.

“Where have you been? I need your help,” I whined. “It’s Josh.”

“Sorry. Just preening, you know. What’s going on?” Ade leaned toward the mirror to get a close-up view of her perfectly applied makeup.

“Cheater.”

Ade stood bolt upright. “How do you know?” She stared at me in the mirror, disbelief running across her face.

“That’s what Josh thinks.” I explained Hannah’s dirty deed and went on to say that not only did I look like a cheater but that Hannah had probably tricked Josh into cheating on me.

“Oh.” Her face relaxed a little. “That’s ridiculous. You did nothing wrong, and we both know Josh wouldn’t touch that little rat girl again. You’re being silly. Go find him and straighten this mess out. Is our food there yet? I’m starved.”

“The appetizers came. And the salads. I’ll be back at the table in a minute.”

“See you then.” Adrianna left me alone.

Everything was going wrong! The last thing I wanted was to fight with Josh at Simmer’s opening. As I’d gathered from Isabelle when she’d called me, Josh had been in a foul mood all day. Poor Josh! Instead of being free to devote himself exclusively to the preparations for opening night, he’d been plagued by thoughts of my hooking up with Sean! Was it narcissistic to imagine that Josh would be so overwhelmed with misery over me that he wouldn’t be able to function? So what if it was narcissistic! I didn’t care. I had to fix everything right now.

Determined to clear up the misunderstanding, I pushed open the restroom door. As a server returned to the kitchen, I followed him into the madness. Josh and Snacker were moving at warp speed, finishing plates that were lined up across one of the counters. The two chefs garnished dishes with herbs, wiped drops of sauce off the edges of plates, and adjusted the positions of food to give the most artful effect. Snacker had a dish towel in one hand and was cleaning sauce off the edges of the dishes, and Josh was glaring at the plates as if daring them to be more outstanding than they already were.

“Okay, Chef. These are ready to go.” Snacker stood back proudly.

“And they would’ve been ready to go sooner if you hadn’t kept disappearing on me.” Josh didn’t even look at Snacker. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you tonight, but get it together.”

Snacker had the decency to look ashamed. “Gotcha. Orders are up!” he called out.

“Thank God. What took so long?” growled a waitress.

I slipped out the door. This was not, after all, the time to explain myself to Josh. I returned to our table at the front and sat down.

Our appetizer and salad plates had been cleared. Doug was raving about his lobster tail. “That was ridiculously good. You better watch yourself, Chloe, because if I get the chance, I’m going after Josh myself.”

I willed Heather not to applaud, but she was too busy chugging down a glass of water to celebrate the possibility that my gay friend would swoop in and steal my boyfriend. By the time my steak arrived, I felt significantly more positive about resolving this misunderstanding with Josh. He was under monumental stress today; his snapping at me probably had less to do with me than with the pressure to pull off opening night.