“He hasn’t ever given a positive review. I’ve even heard a few of the restaurants he reviewed had to close.”
“I don’t buy that,” said Devlin. “No one review could close a restaurant that was good.”
“It could if they were struggling to begin with,” Lou said softly, frowning. She opened her mouth to continue, but Devlin nudged her with his elbow. She nodded and stayed silent as the conversation flowed back to clients and billable hours. Lou flicked open her rhinestone-studded clutch and pushed a button on her phone. No new messages. She closed the bag.
A waiter appeared with drinks for the group. Lou looked at his name tag, then into his face and said, “Thank you, Tyler.” He startled a little, then nodded in acknowledgment. Lou smiled. The rest of the small group continued talking about upcoming trials and the difficulties of finding good nannies. Lou watched the waiter flit into the crowd toward the bar, empty glasses appearing on his tray as he crossed the room, bobbing swift nods as he took new drink orders efficiently. He served without interrupting, moved quickly without rushing. Lou had turned to follow him when she felt a tap on her arm.
When Lou looked, Bill’s wife stood too close, radiating musky perfume. “So how did the two of you meet?”
Before Lou could answer, Devlin turned toward them. “Elizabeth used to work at Giuseppe’s years ago.”
“They had a made-to-order-pasta station where people could sit and watch the chef,” Lou added, smiling at the memory.
“I was there for a lunch meeting, but they canceled last minute, so I sat at the counter in front of this cute little cook.” Devlin put an arm around her shoulders. “I came back every day that week.” Devlin looked down at Lou and smiled.
“On Friday, he left a single red rose and his business card with the tip.”
“She called the next day and soon she’ll be my beautiful bride.”
“Beautiful and she can cook,” Bill said. “No wonder you closed the deal.”
“I always close.” Devlin wrapped her arm around his and said, “Excuse us; I see Susan and I need to ask her about a deposition she did for me.” He guided Lou away, merging into the crowd and toward the French doors.
“I’m going to hit the restroom before dinner starts. I’ll meet you at the table?” Lou turned and eased open the six-paneled bathroom door with her gloved hand, letting the silence melt some of her tension.
• • • • •
In the tiny room doubling as a bathroom stall, Lou struggled, realigning her undergarments to their original positions, trying to get her emotions under control. Devlin didn’t understand what her restaurant meant to her. He seemed to think he was rescuing her from a life of hard labor, a life his mother endured as she worked two waitressing jobs to feed and clothe her academically gifted son. She touched her ring, a pristine rectangle like an ice cube that could melt into nothing. She tried to find comfort in Devlin’s symbol of love for her. She shimmied her hips to slither the dress into place, picked up her purse, and left the sanctuary. As she scrubbed her hands, a slender young blonde emerged from another stall and joined her at the sink.
Lou smiled at her in the mirror and said, “Don’t you hate having to use the ladies’ room in these outfits? I feel like the Incredible Hulk in Catwoman’s bodysuit.”
The fresh-faced girl looked startled and tilted her head to one side. She must’ve been a summer intern, eager, ambitious, and idealistic. She wore a simple black cocktail dress accented with a pearl necklace and matching earrings, the uniform of the young and preppy. There were a dozen like her at the party, all with chin-length hair, minimal makeup, clutching small bags containing lip gloss and too many business cards. Probably not a superhero fan.
“Are you Mr. Pontellier’s fiancée?” The young woman squinted her eyes, emphasizing her question.
“Yes, I’m Lou.” She extended her unclad hand toward the pretty girl.
“Oh, I thought your name was Elizabeth.”
“It is, but all my friends call me Lou. Devlin prefers Elizabeth.” Lou half smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
“I’m Megan.”
She shook Lou’s hand, but instead of releasing after the appropriate number of pumps, Megan pulled Lou’s hand closer, examining the skin. Lou looked at the shiny scars dotting her pale hands and forearms. It looked as if a makeup artist had been testing for the perfect shade of pinky-red.
“Occupational hazard.” Lou pulled her hand back.
“What do you do?” Megan’s face looked curious.
Lou rubbed the marks, feeling the smooth bumps.
“I’m a chef. My pastry chef says the more battle scars, the better the food.”
“You must be the best chef in the city. It must be nice to come to events like this and get waited on for a change.”
“You’d think.” Lou’s grin shook a little, the muscles tired from too much forced use. Her purse buzzed, and she almost sighed out loud with relief. “Excuse me.”
• • • • •
Lou rushed out of the bathroom, pulling her phone from the purse. Devlin waited in the hallway holding a wineglass. She held up a finger while answering the phone and walked outside, Devlin following her.
“What’s up?” she said.
“Need to be rescued?” said the confident voice of Sue, Lou’s sous chef and best friend. Lou looked up at Devlin, cringing as she observed his tapping foot and raised eyebrow.
“Not yet. Something wrong?”
“No, just checking in. I know how much you love those events. I thought we could fake a catastrophe if you wanted to get out.”
“I’ll survive. At least the company is good.”
“The lawyers and their spouses are good company? How much have you had to drink?”
“Not them. Devlin.” Lou smiled at him as he pointed back to the building.
“Really?”
Lou sighed. “I gotta go. Text me later to let me know how the rush goes. Bye.”
She slid her phone back into her purse and turned to Devlin.
“Sorry about that. Thanks for the wine,” she said as she took the glass he offered.
“Can you not be a chef tonight?”
“I can try.”
“You should hire someone to cook for you. Then you’d have more free time.”
“I can’t afford that. Besides, cooking is the best part.”
“I’d think you would enjoy a night off.”
“I do. But my idea of pampering doesn’t involve high heels and elbow-length gloves. At least not with a gown.” Lou gave him a gentle hip bump and a smile.
“The night is young.” With a placating smile, Devlin held the door open for her and followed Lou back inside. “Soon you won’t need to work anyway, and I can spoil you all the time.”
Lou turned to look at Devlin, her eyes pleading with him to listen. “Business is improving. I love it. Why do you keep bringing this up?”
“Elizabeth, you work too hard and you’ll need more time once we get a house and have kids. You’ll still get to cook amazing food, but you won’t need to worry about staffing and rent and bills. It’s the ideal situation for you.” Devlin gave her a kiss, took her hand, and walked right over her plans. Lou struggled to breathe under the weight of his version of their future.
• • • • •
After dinner, Lou escaped outside into the prematurely warm April night. She peeled off the gloves and stepped out of her shoes onto the cool grass of the practice green, moaning with relief as she texted Sue.
Steady night?
Lou looked up at the stars, waiting for the reply ping.
We hit a new record. 102 plates. Need another server.
Lou let out a whistle of appreciation.
From behind her, she heard voices beyond the edge of the green. Lou walked toward the sound to see a handful of white-coated waiters smoking cigarettes and rehydrating. One of them was Tyler, the waiter she had noticed earlier.
On it.
Keeping her eyes on the servers, Lou slid the phone into her bag, picked up her shoes, and walked toward the group, stepping gently as the soft grass switched to rough pavement.