by Zuri Day
“Your ability to adapt is impressive, especially after such a horrific experience. And you were how old? Nineteen, twenty?”
Pierre looked sheepish as he answered, “Fifteen.”
“Didn’t that go against child labor laws?”
“It may have, had they known it. But I could easily pass for seventeen at that point and that is what I put on the application.”
“Did your boss ever find out?”
“When he took me in and I had to change high schools, I also had to come clean about my real age.”
“So you went to live with your mentor? Why?”
“Wasn’t working out where I was.”
“With your mom and sister?”
“Things always remained cool with my sister. It was me and the rest of the household that didn’t see eye to eye. Marc saw I was troubled and wanted to know why. When I told him, he offered me his spare bedroom. Taking him up on that offer was the best decision I could have made. Undoubtedly changed my life.”
“Katrina, though devastating, led you to your destiny.”
“I guess so.”
“So you believe you survived because the restaurant gave you focus.”
“Focus. Family. Goals. Motivation. Marc was like a father figure to me. Still is.”
“Did you know your father?”
Pierre shook his head.
“Did your family situation ever smooth out in Houston?”
After a long pause, he nodded. “Yes.”
“Does your mom still live there?”
“No.”
He hadn’t meant for the word to come out so harshly, but he didn’t want to discuss his mother.
“Where do you think you’d be had Katrina not happened and you’d stayed here in New Orleans?”
“That’s a good question,” he replied. One that Pierre had never asked himself. When the answer floated into his mind it surprised him, but he looked at Roz and answered truthfully. “Probably dead.”
Instinctively, she reached over and placed her hand on his forearm. “The streets can be dangerous. I’m glad you escaped them.”
“Me, too. I plan to pay it forward by doing for others here what Marc did for me in Houston. By teaching some of this city’s young men the joy of cooking, a lesson that teaches many other skills, as well.”
“What are you going to call it?”
“I don’t know yet. The idea is just a dream right now. I have my hands full getting this new business up and running.”
“Well, whenever it happens, the program sounds wonderful. Tell me more about it.”
Pierre did, becoming more talkative and animated as he expounded on his passion for cooking and for mentoring young men. Aside from Marc and Lisette, he hadn’t mentioned his dream to anyone, not even his sous chef, Riviera, who he planned to recruit to be a part of his mentoring team. It also helped that talking about the program took them away from speaking about floods and family.
They talked for two hours, leaving only when Ma threatened to make them help her clean up. Once outside, the two became quiet. Surprising, but Pierre knew what was on his mind. He wanted more conversations with this probing reporter, ones when she was not on the clock. Did she feel the same way?
“So, Mr. LeBlanc, was that as painful as you thought it would be?”
“Not at all. For a supposedly socially awkward sister, you’re not so bad.”
Roz gave him a look. “You’re not what I expected either.”
“What did you expect?”
“Someone more shallow and self-absorbed. I mean, you may very well possess those traits, but I thank you that tonight at least you’ve kept them to yourself.”
“Ha!”
Roz held out her hand. “Seriously, it was a good interview. When it’s up online, I’ll send you a link.”
“You can do me one better,” Pierre replied, returning Roz’s handshake and once again noticing her soft skin. “You can bring a copy over to the restaurant and then stay for lunch or dinner, whichever works, on the house.”
“I thought you were sold out.”
“We are. But I’m the boss. I can make exceptions.”
“Thank you, but...I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“What, eating?”
“Accepting your invitation for a free meal. There may be strings attached.”
“Will you feel better paying for it? Seems rather disingenuous to write about a restaurant you’ve not even visited.”
“I thought that was settled. The article will be about you, not the food. But put that way, I guess it would be advantageous to come to your establishment and find out what all the hype is about, a visit that could lead to a follow-up story.”
“What about Wednesday evening, around nine?”
“This Wednesday?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t nine o’clock rather late?”
“Yes, but the kitchen isn’t as slammed at that hour. I could put all my focus on tantalizing your taste buds.”
Pierre watched Roz nibble the side of her lip as she thought. “Okay, Wednesday at Easy Creole Cuisine.”
“Cool. See you then.”
She reached her car, opened the door and then turned around. “Oh, and Pierre?”
“Yes.”
“I won, so thanks for my parent’s reservation, as well.”
Roz’s smile was mischievous, smug even. Pierre started toward her but she slid behind the wheel, started the car and sped away. Clearly, she wanted to have the last word.
Pulling away from the curb, he played back those last few minutes. The devilish glint in Roz’s eye as she boldly proclaimed victory regarding the bet. How her brow scrunched each time she nibbled her lip. How before saying yes to his invitation she’d darted her tongue out to moisten those tempting, cushy lips. He wondered how soft they were, and how long he’d have to wait to find out. A kiss was definitely in their future. That and much more. Roz may have won the food bet but after tonight Pierre was clear about the next thing he wanted to win. Her.
Chapter 7
There was more to Pierre’s story. Roz saw it in his eyes, could feel it in her gut. What he’d shared was interesting and would make a great piece. She had a feeling that what he didn’t say would make an even better one. Avoiding questions about his mom. Reluctance to talk about his family at all. Vague answers when asked about his early life in New Orleans... Those gorgeous green-flecked copper eyes tinged with a type of sadness that made her want to wipe it away. That fleeting look of vulnerability that, dammit, slipped past the armor around her heart and touched her soul. That made her want to tell him everything was going to turn out fine. Hadn’t that happened already?
It was as though she could still see that teenager inside him. The one uprooted by a storm, forced to navigate a new city and move in with a stranger. What had happened in his home life to cause that drastic action? Roz realized she’d ended the evening with more questions than answers. She wanted the rest of the story, had an opportunity to get it on Wednesday night. Dinner at Easy Creole Cuisine. He said there were no strings, but was there more to that, too? Another question popped up as Roz stopped for a red light. Did she want there to be?
Her phone rang. As the light turned green and she eased through the intersection, Roz tapped the car’s Bluetooth.
“Hey, Biff!”
“What’s happening, Biff?”
It’s what Roz and childhood pal Stefanie Powell had called each other since their preteen years, after hearing the term “BFF” in an episode of Friends. They’d added an i to be unique.
“Same old, same old. Are you in town?”
“Just touched down and headed to baggage claim as we speak. Want to come get me?”
“I’d love to, but I’m on deadline.”
�
�Aren’t you always on deadline?”
“Pretty much.”
“Working on the anniversary articles?”
“Absolutely, and guess what. I just finished an interview with Pierre LeBlanc.”
“After turning down his invitation for a private dinner? I’m surprised he invited you back.”
“He didn’t. We ate at Ma’s.”
“Quit playing.”
“What?”
“Tell me you did not take that man to the hood.”
Stefanie sounded so righteously indignant that Roz had to milk the moment.
“Why not? It’s my favorite place!”
“Because you can’t mix caviar with crawdads, that’s why!”
“He calls them crayfish and loves them even more than me.”
“So let me get this straight. You interviewed the owner of the city’s hottest restaurant where it’s almost impossible to get a table not at said establishment but in a matchbox of a house with an old woman serving up gumbo in her living room.”
“I wanted him to experience the best Creole cooking anywhere. Ma’s is it.”
“Only you,” she said with a sigh so dramatic Roz could almost feel Stefanie’s breath.
Roz guffawed.
“I don’t find this funny. You may not have wanted to eat there but you have friends...”
“Oh, I’ll eat there. I have a reservation for Wednesday.”
Stefanie squealed. “Now there’s my smart biff! I wondered where the alien I’ve been speaking to had taken her. The rez is for me, you and who else?”
“Not so fast,” Roz said, laughing. “I didn’t exactly secure a table. Pierre invited me as a result of the interview. He didn’t say I could bring a guest and I didn’t ask.”
“But you will now.”
“Stefanie, this is work.”
“Tell him it’s work for me, too. I’ll bring my camera.”
“Now there’s a thought. It would be great to get a few shots to accompany the article.”
“Perfect. The magazine might even be interested in doing a spread on him. He’s not a model, but he’s got a body built for fashion. That Intense Energy commercial is really popular. I’m sure our fitness addict editor-in-chief is a fan. She might even give him the cover.”
“Listen to you, living your photography dreams, and with a major magazine. I’m so proud. How’s New York?”
“Big. Crowded. Loud. Dirty. Expensive. Hot as hell right now. And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
“Ha! Okay, that’s more like it.”
“I’m so excited about going to Easy Creole Cuisine!”
“Calm down, chickie. You’re not confirmed yet!”
“I’m still excited. But let’s talk about what’s really important. Is he as gorgeous up close as he is on TV?”
“I’ve only seen the Intense Energy commercials, and no.”
“You’re kidding.”
“He looks even better.”
“Ooh, I’m so jealous. So...did you two hit it off?”
“Our meeting wasn’t like that. It was an interview.”
“I’m not your boss. You don’t have to be Miss Professional with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Roz, I know you. There’s no way you were around that guy and didn’t feel a flutter somewhere. Your kitty probably started doing Kegels on its own.”
A laugh flew out of Roz’s mouth. “You’re stupid!”
“That means I’m right.”
“It means you’re stupid and if things don’t work out at the magazine, you should try comedy. Maybe amateur night at the Apollo.”
“You, on the other hand, should stick to writing stories, not jokes. Now, act like I’m your best friend and share your secrets about the chef.”
“Hate to disappoint you but there are none. You know I don’t mix work and pleasure. Yes, he’s very attractive and yes, I was very attracted, but I’m not interested.”
“Why not? Is he married, engaged, gay, off the market?”
“He’s off-limits for me.”
“Please don’t tell me this is about Delano, and you swearing off prospects met during working hours. You’re working 90 percent of the time.”
“I’m not a workaholic.”
“You’re not a nun either, but you’re acting like one. When is the last time you got some?”
“I can’t believe you just asked me that.”
“That long, huh? Look, if you’re not interested I’ll take a shot at him.”
“You’ll do no such thing. Have you forgotten you’re engaged?”
“Almost. That man is fine enough to make me forget my name!”
Roz shook her head, chuckling as she pulled into her bungalow’s detached garage. “I’m home now and getting ready to work. I’ll call you later.”
“You’d better. I’ll need to know the time of our reservations. Okay, bye.”
“Bye. Oh wait, Stef—”
All that talk about Pierre, and Roz had forgotten to share her plans to include Stefanie’s family in the Katrina series, too, and pay tribute to Aaron, Stefanie’s brother who died in the flood. There you had it. That Pierre was a major distraction had just been proved.
Roz entered the house and after taking her Yorkie for a quick walk and talking with her mom, settled in front of her laptop to write Pierre’s story. It was a perfect blend of fact and fantasy, stats and story of turning lemons into lemonade, or in the case of an Orleanian, lemon ice. She looked up the New Orleans restaurant in Houston, found Marc Fisher’s contact info and sent an email requesting a promotional photo of him, preferably doing his thing in the kitchen, and asking if he happened to have any of Pierre from his early days there. Those juxtaposed with a couple that Stefanie could shoot of him in and around Easy Creole Cuisine would make a perfect journalistic package.
After a few revisions, Roz sent a copy to the proofer and another one to Andy. She sent a text to Pierre requesting a Friday night reservation for her parents and permission to bring a photographer with her on Wednesday. A two-letter reply came back almost immediately: Ok.
Roz forwarded the answer to Stefanie, and while she laughed at the Omggggggggg that her BFF sent back in response to meeting the man many called Easy, Roz secretly admitted that a part of her was excited to see him, too.
Wednesday came and Roz found herself navigating the Quarter, a part of town where locals rarely ventured. In summer it was always crowded, but as the oversize yet stylish sign reading Easy Creole Cuisine came into view, traffic slowed to a standstill. People were everywhere. Ten minutes and she’d barely moved a car length.
Roz tapped speed dial on the car’s Bluetooth. Stefanie picked up before the second ring. “I was just about to dial you.”
“Are you here?”
“I’m standing across the street from the restaurant, and it’s madness!”
Roz was seeing that firsthand. And she could barely hear. She turned up the volume. “Did you valet?”
“No, and you won’t be able to either. I hear that the Drakes showed up, the entire family, and have basically shut the place down!”
“Who are the Drakes?”
“As in Drake Wines?”
“I don’t think I’ve had it.”
“Maybe not, but you know them. One of the brothers, Reginald, lives here. He’s a co-owner of the New Orleans Brass baseball team! You can’t not know the Drakes. The family’s a frickin’ dynasty.”
“If you say so.”
“Remember Ace underwear, that fine chocolate drop with the brightly colored boxers?”
“Who doesn’t remember those commercials? He’s there?”
“Yes, with his wife, London, the model. Maiden name, Drake.”
“Oh, I know who you’re talking about now. She
dated that weird director and then got married to the designer. I never connected that Ace to the underwear ads. No wonder there’s a crowd.”
“Not just them. It’s a family of stars. One sister is a dancer on Broadway. One of the brothers is a big-time politician, a senator or governor or something.”
“Niko Drake! The one who faced off with the president and got the health bill amended to where basically no American could be denied treatment for any reason.”
“Told you that you knew them. The family has businesses all over California—brothers, cousins, in-laws who together run several successful companies, including a seven-star winery and spa.”
“No wonder traffic’s backed up. But listen. Stay where you are. A friend of mine manages a hotel two blocks over. I’ll park my car there and meet you. Right across the street from Easy Creole Cuisine?”
“Yes, but I don’t think we’ll be able to get in. There’s a guy resembling a boulder at the door and a line of people waiting that I haven’t seen move.”
“Our invitation is from the owner of the company. We’ll be fine.”
Roz parked her car and found her friend. It had taken less than fifteen minutes to do so, and in that short time, the crowd had swelled even more. With Stefanie at her heels, she maneuvered around hawkers and gawkers, feeling special as she bypassed the line and walked to the door. A big, bouncer-type dude wearing shades at night blocked it.
