Keitel slipped a Proosdy into my mouth. The cheese was from north Holland and had the characteristics of a really fine Gouda.
“It’s hard on the initial bite, yet soft as the tooth penetrates. The flavor is much stronger than your previous offerings, but I’m a real sucker for muscular cheeses like this one.”
“Really?”
“Yes, my grandmother ran a little Italian grocery, so I grew up on this kind of sharpness: aged provolones, pecarinos, and asiagos. The first taste can be overpowering, but I love a cheese that’s been well-aged.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m tasting some caramelized notes in this product…butterscotch, I’d say…and also some satisfyingly salty bursts—I’m assuming from tiny crystallized curds within the meat. I think that’s what’s so tantalizing about this one. The coarse little bursts provide big surprises. They catch you off guard with these unexpected explosions of intensity. The effect is highly stimulating.”
“Well, then. Open up for more.”
Keitel fed me another slice, and I continued to chew and swallow blindly. “I’d definitely want to pair this one with an espresso.”
“My kitchen doesn’t have an espresso machine.”
“Oh, right. Of course. We’re using French presses exclusively, so I’d fall back on our Italian Roast; that’s the next best thing to an espresso for that dark, caramelized flavor. The Italian is also luxuriously full-bodied.”
“Full-bodied.” He grunted softly. “Now that’s something I can appreciate.”
“And there’s a level of smokiness in the Italian that can take on the power and sharpness that’s present here. Really stand up to it.”
Keitel was quiet a long moment as he fed me another bite. “It’s good to have that bite in there, don’t you think, Clare?” His voice sounded lower and softer all of a sudden. “It’s something I think a woman like you, with such well-developed senses, can appreciate. The pungency awakens that mature palate of yours, am I right? Excites it? Challenges it?”
I swallowed uneasily, my eyes still closed. Up to now, I thought we were talking about cheese. But now I was getting the distinct impression that Tommy Keitel was talking about something else.
Thirteen
I opened my eyes. In this small space, the chef’s larger-than-life presence felt even larger. His muscular forearms appeared sculpted in granite. His confident energy was almost palpable. Without even touching me, I felt an unnerving infiltration of my personal space (but then, of course, the man was hand-feeding me with my eyes closed).
All things considered, I could actually understand why Joy had been so taken with the accomplished chef. He was arrogant, true, but he was intelligent, witty, and extremely magnetic. Unfortunately, he was also completely wrong for my daughter.
“Chef Keitel—”
“Call me Tommy, Clare. You’re not one of my line cooks.”
“Okay, Tommy…I’d like to say something to you that I don’t want you to take badly.”
Keitel laughed. “What? You don’t like my cheese cave?”
“Your cheese cave is magnificent. It’s your taste in young women I’m having a problem with.”
“Oh, is that right?” The chef’s laughing blue eyes suddenly appeared far less amused.
“Joy mentioned to me that you two haven’t gotten together in a while, and I thought that maybe you were having second thoughts about your relationship with her?”
Tommy rubbed his jutting chin and studied me for a long, silent moment. “Clare, do you by any chance remember the night you met me? It was at the Beekman Hotel, during that coffee-tasting party last month?”
“How could I forget?”
Tommy snorted. “You looked like you wanted to slap me—or strangle me with your bare hands.”
“What are you? Psychic? That was my exact thought.”
“I didn’t have to be psychic to know what you were thinking. I could see it in your face—and, to be completely honest, I was shocked at how young your face was.”
“What?”
“When Joy told me we’d be meeting her mother at the party, I expected a little old gray-haired lady, like my own mother back in Phoenix. When I saw how young you were, not to mention how attractive, I started to realize just how young Joy was. I know that probably sounds like a monumental cop-out on my part, but…” Tommy shrugged. “After that night I couldn’t quite see her the same way anymore. I actually got to thinking you were more my speed.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Take it easy. I’m not hitting on you…” He raised an eyebrow. “Not unless you want me to.”
“I want you to end your affair with Joy.”
“Is that so?” Tommy leaned back against a wooden shelf and crossed his arms. “Normally I wouldn’t take a directive like that seriously. I wouldn’t even take an order like that from my wife seriously.”
“Then I feel sorry for you—and your wife.”
“Well, you don’t know my wife, Clare. I’m just a paycheck to her. Not that it’s your business.”
“I know it’s not. But I am Joy’s mother, and even though she’s a grown woman now, I feel I have a right to protect her from—”
“Stop.” Tommy held up his hand. “Don’t lecture me. I’ve already made the decision to break it off. So you can save your sanctimonious speech for Joy’s next inappropriate suitor.”
“Really? You’re going to end the affair?”
“Really.”
I closed my eyes with extreme relief. “Thank you, Lord.”
“You’re welcome, but I already told you to call me Tommy.”
I opened my eyes. The man was smirking again. “You know, Keitel, you may have the biggest ego of any man I’ve ever met—including my ex-husband. And believe me, that’s not an easy feat.”
Tommy laughed. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“Well, it wasn’t meant that way.”
“How do you think I got here, Clare? By being consumed with self-doubt?”
I frowned. How could I argue with that?
“Stop fretting, okay?” he said. “I’m telling Joy today. I actually can’t stand it anymore. She just won’t stop hitting on me. It’s embarrassing.”
Despite my relief at hearing the end was near, I couldn’t help feeling offended by Keitel’s words. “Listen, mister, you’re talking about my daughter, and—”
“You’re taking offense. Don’t. She’s a lovely girl. But she’s just that: a girl. I’m not interested in romancing her. I’m way beyond that crap. Frankly, I forgot how needy young women at Joy’s age are. She wants continual reassurance. She wants constant attention. She wants things I can’t begin to give her…so I’m sending her to Anatomy.”
“What?” My head was spinning with the multiple bull’s-eyes the man was hitting. This guy was way more evolved than I gave him credit for. “Say that again? Where are you sending her?”
“To Anatomy,” he repeated. “You haven’t heard of Robbie Gray’s three-star downtown?”
“Yes…of course I’ve heard of the restaurant. It’s just that…Joy’s been so happy working here at Solange. Are you telling me that you’re firing her?”
“I’m relocating her, that’s all. Robbie’s a good guy and a brilliant chef—not as brilliant as me, you understand.” He gave me a little wink, presumably to take the edge off his unbridled arrogance. “He’ll take over her internship year. I talked to her school an hour ago, told her Vinny’s death was too much of a shock since they were friends. And it’s better for her to relocate. They agreed. I’m going to give her top grades for her work so far. There won’t be any problems.”
I knew this would be very hard for Joy to take. She wouldn’t get the breaks at Anatomy that she’d gotten under Keitel, but then it wouldn’t be the first time in history that the end of an affair on the job would end the job, as well. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world for Joy to learn that early in her working life.
“So.” Tommy smiled. “Are you going to slap me now?”
“No.”
“Too bad. It might have been a turn-on—for you.”