by Pat Henshaw
“Gentlemen.” He stood and looked at each one of them. “I’m David Fairbanks, the Silver Star house manager. I think before you decide how well the restaurant will fit into your vision of Stone Acres, you should consider what the restaurant will do for the community and its economy. Historic towns dot the landscape from Colorado and Wyoming west. Unfortunately, in the last few decades, most of them have been dying as young people move out, and their downtowns have been abandoned and the windows boarded up.
“We’re lucky here in Stone Acres that new people are moving in, bringing their money and patronage with them. These aren’t hobos or vagrants, but men and women with cash who are willing to spend it in town as long as there is something of value to buy. If they can’t find it here, they’re perfectly happy to go to the mall outside town or drive to the nearest bigger town.
“The Silver Star will be a destination restaurant, open four nights a week, charging somewhere between Bay Area and Tahoe prices. It will showcase the cooking that made Adam famous when he starred on his television show. The restaurant also embraces the history of Stone Acres and will add to the authentic Old West theme. Since the Bistro is closed during the winter, it will be a reason for out-of-town skiers and Tahoe residents to visit Stone Acres.”
Everyone except Tommy looked interested in what David was saying. He was being so fucking nice to them when they didn’t deserve it. And he wasn’t finished.
“For the restaurant’s grand opening, I’ve lined up the four major networks as well as cable outlets like CNN to cover Adam’s return as a celebrity chef. In addition, reporters from People, Us, the Huffington Post, and other national outlets will be here. They will put Stone Acres on the map as a quaint Western town for not only the rich and fashionable but also everyone else to visit. Stone Acres will become a destination for Bay Area and Lake Tahoe residents and visitors. If the town is compelling enough, diners will want to stay and explore Old Town. But that’s up to you. Do you want their revenue or do you want Stone Acres to go the way of Bodie?”
David smiled and looked them over. The quiet pulsed. The mention of California’s legendary ghost town rose before the council’s eyes. Tommy’s frown and glare punctuated his thoughts on the matter.
“Gentlemen, we will open with or without your approval,” David continued. “What we say to the media about the town is still open. Do you want it to be positive and bring in business? Or negative and pass up needed revenue? It’s your decision.”
He glanced at me, nodded, and held out his hand. I stood and put my hand in his.
“Thank you, Mr. Fairbanks.” Bernie looked at the other council members, all of whom had furrowed brows and thoughtful frowns. Again, all except Tommy, who, if he were a cartoon character, would have been spewing fire from his ears.
They huddled for a few minutes, Tommy arguing fiercely, then broke back into file.
“We appreciate you gentlemen coming in today for this discussion. We enjoyed hearing your side of this problem. Thank you.” Bernie didn’t say, “Now get out of here. We have a lot to talk over,” but his meaning was clear.
David and I left.
“WHAT THE fuck?” I didn’t yell, but I wanted to. “You were damn nice to them!”
“Yeah.” David grinned. “Set them back a step or two, right? Suddenly the idea of a fancy restaurant where an abandoned building used to be doesn’t sound all bad, does it?” He started laughing. “And now they know you’ll only be open four nights a week. How long do you think it’ll take for them to be begging you to open all seven?”
He was gleeful. I was pissed off.
“What? You wanted a fight? You wanted high school shenanigans again?” He shook his head. “Here’s the way I figure it. We can stay in high school all our lives and battle our way through every step we take. Or we can grow up and out-maneuver them. Yeah, they know they’ve lost, but they can’t fight it this way. We win twice.”
He made sense. It was time to walk away from the petty teenage answer of knocking heads and start going at this like adults.
STONE AND I ended up having coffee one morning before the madness of the restaurant openings. He called and said he wanted to talk about how I was doing in town, I guess trying to reassure himself that he hadn’t led me wrong about buying the Star.
But I had something of my own to ask him.
We were again in the private Penny’s, upstairs away from the regular coffee drinkers. He was slouched like always on the couch, and I was in the club chair I was seriously thinking of stealing from Jimmy.
“So how do you know it’s forever?”
He turned his head at the question. “What? What’s forever?”
“Love.”
He smiled, a soft lift of his lips. “You don’t.”
“What do you mean? What about you and Jimmy? Don’t you feel like that’s forever?”
He shrugged. “Hell, I hope so, but you never know.”
“So you’re not in love?”
“Oh, yeah. We’re in love all right. Just, see, love isn’t the end.”
“It’s not?”
“Naw. It’s the beginning.” He stopped and furrowed his brow. “Love’s a little like getting over an addiction. You gotta take it one step, one day at a time.” He grinned at me. “I’m not sure which one David’s gonna have to fight harder for. To stay clean or to make your relationship work.”
“But won’t love take care of everything?”
His smile turned a little sad. “Nope. Love’s what makes you hang in there when you really would just like to walk away. When you’re so pissed at him or so tired of his bullshit or just fucking want to be alone only he won’t let you. Love’s what keeps you together when he’s all over the place excited and you’re about to drop dead of exhaustion. Love’s a commitment and a lot of work, so when the fuck high wears off, it’s what makes you take a look at the guy over the long haul and say to yourself, ‘This guy’s worth fighting for.’ And you do.” He glanced away from me and sighed. “Love’s not easy, but it’s fucking great.”
So much for getting love advice from my best friend. I was looking for easy, and all he could give me was hard. Oh well, whatever. Like he said, life itself was one step at a time.
13
BEFORE WE knew it, the time to open the Star had arrived. We’d lived through four dry runs to make sure the waitstaff felt comfortable with the three special dinners we were premiering. The second one proved to be the one that put all of us to the test.
For some reason the gas cut off abruptly right before I threw the lamb chops on the grill. I hadn’t noticed right away because of the earsplitting crash of dinnerware coming from the dining room and an equally shrill yell, the kind heard as the monster corners the beautiful young woman in horror movies.
David had run into the kitchen shouting at me, “First-aid kit. Quick!”
Things went right downhill from there with one disaster after another, ending with our test group of friends eating off paper plates at around midnight after JoAnn, the cute young waitress, had been carted off to the emergency room with a large glass cut.
John and I’d been slumping against the freezer when the stomping and shouting began.
“Chef! Chef! Chef!” The chant boomed through the entire building, probably waking anyone trying to sleep downtown.
Wearily I stepped out into the front of the house feeling like I was past wilted and had already started to compost.
When they saw me, my friends started clapping and catcalling. I raised my hands for silence.
“We want to thank you all for coming out to dine with us tonight.” This was as close to my usual spiel as I could get. “We’re open Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights. So tell your friends and come back to join us for a unique dining experience.”
Everyone laughed. As they got up and started to leave, Stone and Jimmy walked up to me.
“Well, it was unique, all right.” Stone slapped me on the back. “I’d say break a leg, but
you might actually do it.”
He was still laughing as they left.
That night in bed, David and I were too exhausted to make love.
“Will JoAnn be okay?” I asked. I could feel my back melding with the mattress. I was a limp piece of month-old lettuce.
“Yeah. When Kevin dropped the stack of plates and Marie banged a glass on the table, Jo turned and Marie cut Jo’s arm. She needed a few stitches, but the doctor said she was fine. I think they all feel awful that they messed up so badly.”
I turned to look at him even though my head and neck were killing me.
“Thanks. I couldn’t have gotten through tonight without you.”
He huffed a laugh. “Yeah. You did good too. Hardly any swearing.”
I didn’t need to swear anymore. Crap happened. We took care of it and we moved on. The operative word was “we.” I didn’t have to do everything all by myself anymore. As I looked at him, I realized how lucky I was. My life had evened out. My boyfriend and I had walked through hell. And even though we were both scarred—me physically as well as mentally—we’d made it to the other side.
Not only that, but I didn’t care what he or anyone else thought. He was still my Pretty Boy. Even after the disaster of this evening, he still looked young and fresh and beautiful. Only this time he was someone I could share nights like tonight with, not someone who was flitting around me trying to make me feel better about all the mistakes.
Falling asleep, I knew the real reason I hadn’t been swearing as much. I was living a dream I hadn’t even known to dream.
THE SUNDAY of the family opening dawned cold and crisp. I was serving a buffet-style early evening dinner of local handmade hot dogs and potato chips. John was making his special Sloppy Joe recipe, renamed Sloppy John for the occasion, and his favorite baked beans. We had handmade condiments, fruit drinks, chips, dips, crudités, and a host of kid-favorite delights on the menu.
David had planned a bunch of kid-friendly games and a craft table. He’d split the waitstaff between those keeping an eye on refills and cleanup and those working the fun tables. He’d also lined up a guy who made balloon animals. The guy’d made all of the staff, including me, balloon hats. I could honestly say I’d never worn a balloon hat in my life—and neither had David, but we looked and felt great as we strutted around in them.
The opening was drop-in between four and six, so I’d decided to keep the kitchen going until David told me to stop. I could hear the kids and parents, most of whom had driven in from the Bay Area and Tahoe, the popping of balloons, and the opening and closing of the front door as I plopped another dozen dogs on the grill. David had flitted in, grabbed a stack of towels, laid a kiss on the back of my neck, and hurried out again before I could say anything to him.
When I looked up again, Sheriff Lloyd Campbell stood in the doorway.
“Knock, knock. Is the kitchen open?”
“Sure. But don’t touch anything. Health inspectors get real touchy about things like that.”
Lloyd laughed. “I had a complaint about you the other day.”
“Yeah? What’d I do now?”
“Speaking of the health department, seems Tommy thinks either you or David called them about the steak house.”
I looked up and grinned. “So just because they close him down until he cleans the place up, that warrants a call to you? What’s the charge?”
“Harassment.” He looked at me with raised eyebrows and we laughed. “I told him he’d not only have to prove it was you, but he’d also have to prove that you’d been doing other evil things to him and his business.”
“Bet he’s not too fond of you now, huh?”
Lloyd shrugged. “Far as I know, he was never fond of me.”
“So how’s it going out there?” I asked, nodding to the dining room.
“Great. Haven’t had to arrest any kids yet.” He jumped and turned, then swiveled back to me. “Well, looks like I’ve got to go. Warren says the boys are getting rambunctious.”
I nodded and went back to the dogs that were about ready to be taken off the grill.
Lloyd’s head appeared in the doorway again. “Warren wants to know if you can share the double fudge brownie recipe?”
I nodded and laughed when I noticed the ring of brown frosting around Lloyd’s mouth. Right. Warren wanted to know the recipe.
THE SIT-DOWN dinner for the adults in the area ran much more quietly and smoothly. At least no balloons popped and none of the new dishes were broken.
When Melissa Thompson walked in alone and sat at a table for two, David came into the kitchen with a worried frown.
“I can’t stand to see her sitting there all by herself,” he fretted.
“So go sit with her and eat.” I shrugged. I didn’t have time to talk, what with all the last-minute prep I had to do.
We were serving a simple four-course meal—soup, salad, entrée, and dessert. Unlike a lot of the times when a few of these people had come for samplings and dry runs, tonight was a paying crowd. David and I were adding the receipts from tonight to the money we’d already donated to LGBTQ organizations with his check to me, just like we would with the profits of the gala.
So I wanted to give them a gourmet dining experience. Sure, I felt bad about Melissa, but I couldn’t talk to David about it right now.
The dinner went off without a hitch. John and I were exhausted by the end of the evening, but I was overcome by an exhilaration I hadn’t felt in years. This was why I became a chef. The smiles and compliments told me I’d given everyone a one-of-a-kind experience. My thanks when they called me into the dining room came from the heart.
Even Bernie Phillips’s slap on the back and murmured “The council knew having you downtown was the right decision” didn’t upset me too much. I nodded, smiled, and walked away quickly before David had to pull my fist from his face.
NOW ONLY the six-course gala dinner stood between us and the official opening of the Silver Star, Stone Acres’s premier dining experience. I was excited to get back into the game when David showed me the guest list. Big names from leading reality shows and even a couple of blockbuster stars had paid to eat here.
David, being devious, had invited a number of Bay Area LGBTQ organization directors and advocates as guests and had concocted a seating plan so one of them would be at almost every table.
“Might as well give them a chance to get donations, right?” he asked me, all innocent eyes and mischievous smile.
“Sure. Why not?” I wondered how receptive to being hit up all the big names would be. Still, it was the holiday season and everyone was mouthing “Peace on Earth” and “Good will to men.”
The night started at tornado speed and ramped up as it went along. John and I were feeding the front of the house and had set up a buffet of sorts in the kitchen for photographers, reporters, and camera people who were covering the event. I figured if they had to work through dinner, then they should be able to eat too. David thought that was sweet of me, but I knew the press traveled on its stomach like the rest of us.
David had hired a Western swing trio to play during the meal, and I could hear them in the lulls between courses. I let him introduce each course and only peeked my head into the dining room at the end to say a few thanks. I gave interviews afterward, mostly answering that David had changed his name and we were back together. Nobody asked about the food, not even the reporters from the Food Network or the personality shows.
One starlet came back to the kitchen as everyone else was leaving.
“Chef.” Her eyes told me she was much older than her packaging. “Are you interested in backers?”
“No, not really. Why? You offering?” I was trying to be light, but the question probably sounded a little belligerent.
“Yes,” she twittered. “I love your cooking and would like to get in on the ground floor with this wonderful place.”
David was walking in the door as I took off my toque and my apron and wiped my forehead w
ith a spare towel. Before I could answer her, he stood next to me. I smelled like sweat and raw lamb, not an appealing mix, but he snuggled closer and put his arm around my waist.
“Angel,” he said in a delighted voice, “thank you so much for the offer. We’re flattered.” He looked up at me with adoring eyes and a tiny wink. “But we’re only doing this because we love the business, not because we need the money. In fact, we’re donating the money from tonight to a lot of our favorite causes.”
At her puzzled look, he broke away from me and hustled her out of the kitchen. I could hear his “I have someone special I want you to meet. He’d be interested in talking to you since you’ve been so generous in your other pursuits.”
I dragged myself to the corner table and sat heavily next to John, who was also wiping his face in between putting a glass of ice water to his brow.
“Fuck,” he said, “she’s one hell of a lot taller than she looks in the movies.”
“All the women are tall, and all the men are short.” We laughed. “Go figure.”
“Maybe I should become a movie star.” John sighed. “Can’t be harder than this, can it?”
I shrugged. “Don’t know. I’m thinking those action stars must put in a tough day or two doing stunts.”
We were both running on our last spoonful of adrenaline.
“Look. I want to talk to you about sharing the chef duties here. What do you think?” I wanted to go away somewhere with David, somewhere we could cement our relationship without the Star or the community interfering. Who better to take my place when I was gone than John?
You would have thought I’d given him a James Beard award. His eyes lit up and ten years were erased from his face. He looked like a teenager.
“Oh my God! Yes! Thank you.” His sudden spurt of energy caught me off guard. My smile must have been less than he expected, because he looked at me and then sat back down. “Yes, thank you.” His voice was much more subdued now.
