What Brings Me to You (23 page)

              “I’m sorry…I…umm…,”
God, Charley! Get it together!
“I smelled food,” I blurted, which I seemed to do a lot of around him. When he smiled at me and my stupidity, cute little lines formed around his eyes that made him look a lot less scary.

              “Come on, why don’t you try some. Are you hungry?”

              “I’m always hungry,” which was not a lie. I hoisted myself up onto the counter and he handed me the delicate dish. “What is it?”

              “It’s something I created. It’s a dessert. Be honest and tell me what you think.” He seemed so vulnerable when he asked, like a little kid asking you to critique their art project. It was endearing and confusing.

              “Okay,” I was a little apprehensive but I knew better than to refuse free food, especially free dessert food, from a man whose fist was the size of a bowling ball and could probably inflict as much damage. Marcus described it as a peach, honey and rose petal tart, topped it with a star anise crème. I didn’t know what any of it meant but it tasted heavenly. I could feel his eyes on me as he watched me take bite after bite –each time I let out in involuntary moan because it was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. He smiled widely at me when I told him so.

              “Honey, you didn’t have to tell me that, it was written all over your face. Damn! You practically made love to it!” He didn’t give me any time to be self-conscious before he took the dish from me and held my hands in one of his. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said with a smile. We became fast friends after that. I made sure to stay late and he made sure to make double of his inventions.

              I learned soon that Markus was not the hard as nails tough guy that he projected to be. He was so young when he ascended the ranks in the kitchen that the only way he could get any respect was to rule by fear. He was actually like a giant teddy bear once I got to know him. Markus kept me around because I was so excited about his creations which were all simply celestial. Citrus crème Brule with cardamom; wood-grilled parmesan, eggplant and artichoke heart tartlets; lemon-tarragon sorbet, things I’d only read about in books, ingredients I never knew existed. I learned a lot about food preparation from watching Markus. I always knew I liked to eat –that was a given, but Markus helped me to see how a dish is created. How a meal is built. How flavors are layered to create complexity.  The way he would describe each ingredient’s interaction with the other ingredients –like he was talking about beloved family members, reminded me of Mrs. Holmes’ description of the menu she designed. I wanted to learn more. I’d started showing up earlier and earlier for my shifts, sometimes when I wasn’t even scheduled to be on, to get these private lessons from Markus. I’d never used a stove or oven before –not even to boil water, but Markus was patient and I was eager. He even took me with him to the distributors to pick out ingredients. I started practicing in the kitchen on our floor and soon I had admirers from all over the dorm, not just from six, angling to get a taste of Markus’s recipes. The collaboration was a natural transition for us. We’d come up with dream menus –things we’d serve at lavish dinner parties for our friends or for the University President or the celebrity of the week.

              “Fall foods. Go!” I said excitedly one night while we gorged ourselves on fried zucchini blossoms dipped in a tangy, garlic-y dipping sauce.

              “Everyone does pumpkin soup this time of year. Boring! I’d want to do something different. What about a savory pumpkin sformato?”

              “You could add that aged balsamic vinegar that I loved so much –it would set it off so nicely!”

              “My dear, you’re a genius. What’s your major, again?”

              “I’m still undecided.”

              “Well, honey, if I didn’t want to crush your dreams I’d steal you away from here. You’re my food muse!”

              “Really?”

              “I’ve done some of my best work since we’ve started hanging out.”

              “And here I thought you were a genius all along.”

              “Oh, don’t get me wrong I
am
a genius. You’ve just brought the genius out in me,” we laughed.

              “So if you’re such a genius, what are you doing working here? I mean you can’t exactly spread your epicurean wings when all the head honchos want are burgers and fries.”

              “I’m biding my time. Saving every penny to open my own place.”

              “That’s so cool. Tell me about it.”

              “I’ll take you.”

*****

              Markus took me to an old, dilapidated house with a worn “foreclosure” sign in front not too far from Mom and Paul’s place. The house was on prime real estate facing Tampa Bay, but it was obvious it needed work and with the economy the way it was, no one would even consider it. It was enormous, no doubt, and typically southern looking with a porch that wrapped around the entire first floor. Even though it was in bad shape it exuded charm and character, and I fell in love with it, as I’m sure he did, instantly.

              “I’m going to buy this. I’m going to fix it up and make it a restaurant.”

              “Markus! This place is phenomenal.”

              “You think?”

              “Ohmigod yea! I can see it all now!” I ran around the side of the building and peeked in. “You could knock down that wall for a more open seating plan. Each room could have a different theme. No more than four top tables. Upstairs could be really intimate –candles the whole works. You could even have an open flame out back to roast vegetables and mmm, racks of lamb, you could even wood fire your own pizzas.”

              “It’s like you’re reading my mind.”

              “I want to help,” it was sudden but I’d never been more sure of anything. Seeing the potential of the building and in Markus’s talent, it was like my future laid itself out for me.                             “Markus, I believe in you. I believe in your gifts –and trust me, they’re gifts. I’ve put on about ten pounds since meeting you. I’m going to help you. I happen to know someone who’d be very interested in your business and would be willing to invest. Even bring in high end clientele. You’ll be on the cover of
Bon Appetit
for sure.”

              “Do you really mean all of that, Charley?”

              “Are you kidding me? I’m going down to academic advising first thing in the morning to declare my major.”

              “You can’t major in culiary, Charley, not here anyway.”

              “You don’t need another cook, you’re the chef. Besides, I can’t be in the kitchen with all this hair; it’d get all in your beautiful creations.” At this we laughed, but then I got deathly serious: “You do need a business partner; someone to handle the paperwork and to hustle for you, so you can be free to express yourself creatively. I’m going to major in finance or marketing or both, whatever; I’ve got time to figure it out. The thing is I want to do this. I didn’t really have a purpose before you brought me here.  Now it makes sense. We’re going to make this happen, Markus. Will you let me help?”

              I’d barely gotten out the last word when he enveloped me in his grizzly bear sized arms. 

*****

              “I’m so glad to see that you’re excited about something, Charley. That shows real progress,” Collette said warmly. She was still distant in that patient-doctor way but a small smile played at the corners of her mouth, so I knew she was genuinely happy for me. Happy that instead of isolating and withdrawing into myself, I was focusing on someone else. I had to agree with her, it was a big step for me.  That made me happy, too. The bonus for me was I was making Collette proud. I had a distinct desire to please this woman like she was my older sister or something. The thought of disappointing her kept me coming back to the sessions. I rambled on about my plans with Markus while she scribbled in her little notebook.

              “Thanks, but it’s really all Markus. I mean, he’s the genius. He has all these ideas. I’m just the one doing the grunt work to help make it all happen.”

              “Don’t diminish your role, Charley. You’re being a good friend and supporting his dreams.”
Nice Collette-ism to tuck away for later.

              “I guess, but they’re kind of becoming my dreams, too. He’s going to take me on a ‘food road trip’ soon to get ideas for the restaurant and menu. I’m pretty excited about it.”

              “Are your feelings for him changing?”

              “What? Markus? No. No. No, no, no, no. We’re just friends. I’m pretty sure he’s gay, anyway. I’ve never known a straight guy to use the word ‘honey’ that much.”

              “Fair enough. You’ve always shied away from talking about your dating history. Can we go there now?”

              “I guess. There really isn’t much to tell. I’ve never dated anyone,” which was only a half lie so I didn’t think it counted.

              “Have you ever been interested in anyone that way?”

              “Yes.”

              “What happened?”

              “Nothing.”

              “Tell me about them.”

              “There isn’t much to tell. It’s not like it was love at first sight or anything, I don’t believe in that shit. To be honest, I’m not even sure if I believe in love.”

              “Why is that?”

              “The people that ‘claim’ to love you are always the ones who hurt you the worst.”

              “You mean to say ‘me’.”

              “Pardon?”

              “Replace the ‘you’ in that last sentence with ‘me’.”

              “Fine. The people who claim to love
me
are the ones who hurt
me
the most.”

              “So they loved you?” I figured out too late she was trying to be polite by not assuming I was heterosexual. She was playing the pronoun game, waiting for me to reveal a gender. I wasn’t going to just let her think I was gay by being evasive so I told her.

              “He said he did.”
              “That doesn’t sound like nothing to me.”

              “Well nothing happened. We’re basically from different planets.”

              “I see.” Scribble, scribble, “who else?”

              “Who else, what?”

              “You said
everyone
who claims to love you hurts you, so who else?”

              “Well, the only other person to ever claim to love me is my mother.”

              “Your father never told you he loved you?”

              “My father has never spoken to me.”

              “I see” her eyebrows knit together like they had a tendency to do when she was holding back giving her own opinion. I learned early on not even to ask her to. She’d start in on a lecture about professional protocol and yada, yada. It would just waste time and we only had fifty minutes. “You never gave me a detailed history. Is your father present?”

              “He’s alive, but not in my life.”

              “Did your mother remarry?”

              “Yes.”

              “Is he your step father?” No one had ever asked me that before. They always assumed he was my step dad even though I never thought of Paul that way. He certainly never treated me like a step daughter. Thinking about calling him “dad” turned my stomach inside out.

              “Charley, are you okay?”

              “I’m fine.”

              “Tell me about your step-father.”

              “He is NOT my step father.”

              “Okay, then, what shall we call him?”

              Scum of the earth?
“Paul.”

              “Alright. Tell me about Paul.” I hesitated only for a second before I spilled everything about my fucked up life. I told her everything up to that point. The trumpet player, Mom, Paul, Adam, Teddy, the panic attack. All of it. Maybe it was the freedom I felt from finally having a purpose that allowed me to do it, but when I was done it was like I could take a full breath for the first time in my life. I didn’t cry. I was relieved not to be carrying around the weight of my past. Right as I finished, I saw Collette’s face. She was blinking. Rapidly blinking. I thought she was having one of those silent seizures because the rest of her was so uncommonly still. Her eyebrows were almost touching each other but she didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t scribble on her little pad. She just stared at me. It was unnerving to say the least, but when she finally opened her mouth to say something it was flat and cold.

              “I’m sorry, Charley. Our time is up. I’ll see you Friday, right?”

              “Yes.” I was so used to having her walk me to the door that I didn’t move when I stood in front of my chair. She didn’t get up. She didn’t even look at me, just stared blankly at my empty seat. I stood there awkwardly for too long before trudging out of the room.