And Then There Was Her

by Tagan Shepard

  Kacey strapped her bag of knives across her back as she posed the question, so she didn’t see Madison’s forced smile.

  “Of course. What time?”

  “It’s a little informal, since it’s just the soft opening. Come whenever you’re hungry and I’ll get you the best seat in the house.”

  “Every seat’s the best,” Madison replied, pecking her girlfriend on the lips as way of goodbye. “Because they’re all in your restaurant.”

  “Damn straight. See ya, baby.”

  On her way out Kacey slid past Boots. He set down the box he’d carried in and checked his watch.

  “It’s early isn’t it? Dinner service doesn’t start for hours.”

  “The cooks start working hours before a restaurant opens,” Madison said, picking the box back up and moving it into the corner out of the way. “Chopping vegetables and braising things that take a long time. She uses some French word for it, but I can’t…”

  “Mise en place,” Gatekeeper said as he passed. “She’s meticulous about it. Everything where it needs to be, then you don’t waste any time.”

  “How do you…Oh. Top Chef.”

  “I was one of the few who watched it live with the kitchen staff. Love that show.”

  Boots must have caught Madison’s look before she turned away to sort the contents of the box, because he said, “Don’t you have some work to do, Gatekeeper?”

  “The cart’s empty. We’re all done.”

  “Good. Then you can head back to the gate.”

  “What about the cart?”

  “I’ll take it back to the stable. Go earn your paycheck.”

  The sounds of the crew grew more and more distant as Madison shuffled her tools from one side of the box to the other. She didn’t really have the energy to unpack. Maybe if she made a pot of coffee and relaxed for a bit, she’d feel up to it.

  “Need help unpacking before I go?”

  “No, thanks, Boots. I think I’m gonna make some coffee.”

  “It’s the middle of the day.”

  “So?”

  She waved him into the kitchen and he followed, saying, “Coffee’s a morning thing.”

  “Okay, man,” she said, pointing to a barstool and giving him her best angry-mom look. “I like you. We could be friends, but I can’t have you talking about coffee like that.”

  “It’s just that…”

  “Stop!” She pointed at him angrily, but his exaggerated look of fear made her attempt at a straight face break into a grin. “A morning thing? I don’t need that sort of negativity in my life.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  He gave her a little salute, and she switched on the pot. “You want something else instead? I’ve got…water. From the tap.”

  “Coffee’s great in the afternoon.”

  “I knew you’d see it my way.”

  “You don’t like her food, do you?”

  It was the first time Madison heard anything like a serious note in his voice, but it wasn’t quite enough to earn a confession that easily. She set the mug on the counter in front of him and cradled hers in her hands.

  “Of course I like her food. She’s incredibly talented.”

  “Then why do I get the feeling you’d rather not go up there for dinner tonight?”

  Madison sighed, her shoulders not just slumping, but dragging down nearly to the countertop with the weight of her worries. “Am I that easy to read?”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “She was too stressed and distracted to notice.”

  “That’s good at least.”

  She sipped her coffee. It was a good roast.

  “It’s just…” She stared into her cup, hoping the words she was trying to find would materialize. The words didn’t appear, only steam. “You know how there’s, like, a great taco from a hole-in-the-wall place or just really good spaghetti at a friend’s house and you eat it and it’s amazing. I mean, no one would write an article in Food and Wine about it, but it’s just really good. Then there are those restaurants where every mouthful is delicious, but you’re exhausted by the end of it.”

  “You have to think about Kacey’s food too much.”

  “Exactly.” She shrugged and turned away to lean against the counter. “Most of the time, I don’t want to have to think about my food. I just want to eat it. Even if it’s fine dining.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. Yesterday at family dinner, my fish had parsley foam on it. I mean, I’m not a big parsley guy anyway, but I am definitely not a parsley-foam guy.”

  Madison laughed. Then she pictured the look on his face when he saw parsley foam, and she laughed even harder. She had to set her mug down and bend over with it. He was laughing with her and it felt good, so good, to laugh. She hadn’t laughed like this in a long time. After a moment, she sobered, wiping a tear off her pink cheek and picking up her coffee cup again.

  “Please don’t tell her we talked like this.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’m so proud of her and she’s so talented.”

  “I understand.” He stood up, pushing his untouched mug toward her on the counter. “You can be too exhausted for someone’s art and still love it and them at the same time.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  She walked him to the door.

  “You know, Boots, you’re a lot smarter than people give you credit for.”

  “No I’m not. I’m just intuitive.” He gave her a wink and stepped out the front door. “I’m also gorgeous, so if you have any single, straight, female friends who come to visit, send ’em my way.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” she said as she closed the door and went back to her studio to unpack.

  Chapter Seven

  Madison now had her full wardrobe, all tucked neatly away into the left side of the walk-in closet so large it could be rented out as a studio apartment. She wore her favorite dress, a shade of ghost-pale gray that made her skin look darker and her hair brighter red. It also made her legs look longer and her butt pop like a firecracker, which was why she’d bought it in the first place. It still didn’t make her feel beautiful in this crowd, not with the scent of Chanel and money so thick in the air she could barely breathe.

  A new hostess, young and perky in a starched white shirt and a black skirt short enough to leave very little to the imagination, met her at the door and asked for her invitation.

  “She doesn’t need one.”

  CS approached from the crowd, sending the hostess skittering off.

  “Hi.” Madison held out her hand to shake, but CS was already turning to usher her into the crowded restaurant. She skipped to catch up. “Thanks for that. I just assumed I’d be expected.”

  CS didn’t say anything, just led her to the bar.

  “What would you like?”

  “Nothing. Thanks. I’m not in the mood for wine tonight.”

  The moment the words were out of her mouth, Madison cringed. She’d just told the owner of a winery that she wasn’t in the mood for wine. Not her smoothest moment, but one CS seemed willing to overlook. She nodded and the bartender deposited a glass of water in front of Madison, who sipped it more for something to fill the silence than anything else. She looked around the room, trying to spot Kacey, but the first seating had begun and she was busy in the kitchen.

  When they were here for family meal that first night on the vineyard, the restaurant had only been partially decorated, but now the full bloom of Kacey’s vision was on display. The restaurant was set up on multiple levels, each terrace a few steps below the one above. Lining the walls were simple abstract paintings that Madison loved because they evoked emotion rather than told a story. At the far end of the lowest level was a wall of windows looking out onto a large stone patio dotted with tables and covered by a high awning dripping with string lights. Most of the tables afforded a breathtaking view, even if it was second to the view from the tasting room next door.

  “You look nice.”

  Silenc
e had stretched so long between them, Madison had nearly forgotten CS was there. She turned quickly, sloshing a little of her water on the bar.

  “Thank you.” She took a moment to look at the woman standing next to her stool. She wore neatly pressed khakis and a flowing, thin white shirt, half-buttoned and showing a black tank top beneath. “So do you.”

  She smelled good too. Not the heavy perfumes of the other diners but a simple, clean scent like fresh cotton dried in the sunshine. Her hair fell in feathery waves softening the lines of her face and shoulders.

  “I hate how pretentious all of this is,” CS said, indicating the room with a dismissive wave of her wineglass.

  Just then, a woman so thin she must pay people to deprive her of food laughed so loudly half the room turned to look. Her head tilted back ridiculously as she continued the show, wrapping her fingers around Kacey’s forearm. It was standard chef schmoozing, but it made Madison’s skin crawl to see Kacey smile back at her indulgently, like she enjoyed being treated as the prize pony on show for all to see. She caught Madison’s eye and winked through her toothy grin. Madison forced herself to remember that Kacey had worked hard. She deserved a little attention.

  “It’s a bit over the top, but then restaurant openings always are,” Madison said, forcing her gaze away from Kacey.

  “I’ve never been to one.”

  “No? I thought you’d be invited to all the big events around here. Being so close to Portland and having a thriving winery.”

  “I’m invited. I just don’t go.” CS turned away again, scanning the crowd and sipping her wine.

  “Oh. I suppose you couldn’t skip this one. As the owner?”

  “No.”

  This conversation was going well. Madison got the impression CS would rather just leave. Perhaps she disliked Madison’s company. She hadn’t exactly had the impression CS liked her, though she couldn’t imagine why.

  Maybe she didn’t like the idea of Madison living on the estate, free of charge without contributing to the business. It was perfectly reasonable to dislike someone taking advantage of your hospitality, but she had written up Kacey’s contract. She could have refused the living arrangement. Of course, that might cost her the celebrity chef she wanted. Then again, there wasn’t anything Madison could do about it now, especially since the arrangement was essentially her life’s dream coming true. She wasn’t about to give it up because some stranger was grumpy.

  While they both stewed in their resentful silences, an older man with a broad chest and silver hair strutted up to them. He looked vaguely familiar, but Madison couldn’t place him. The radioactive orange of his fake tan amplified the artificial white of his prominent teeth. He held his chin so high it was in danger of scraping against the ceiling and his suit fit so well it may have been painted on, which did him no favors as it highlighted the odd arrangement of his extra pounds.

  “CS Freeburn,” he said, his hand held out palm down as though he was expecting it to be kissed rather than shaken. “This is a masterpiece. A work of art. Absolutely exquisite.”

  The avalanche of adjectives finally clued Madison in on the mystery man’s identity. John Snow of Food and Wine magazine. He had gushed over Kacey on Top Chef, though she’d never met him in person. He fancied himself a kingmaker, and that was fine by Madison. She was a full-time artist now because of him.

  “Hello, John. Glad you could make it.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Not for the world.” CS did not kiss his hand, but shook it at an awkward angle. “Any small assistance I might give to improve the culinary map of these lovely United States is the very least I might do.”

  “John Snow,” CS said, stepping aside to indicate Madison. “Madison Jones.”

  Snow stepped forward, crowding into Madison’s space alarmingly. He took her proffered hand in both of his. They were cold and soft, and it felt like sticking her hand in a bowl of chilled pudding.

  “Ah, Madison, Madison, Madison. All that I’ve heard of you and to think this is our first meeting. Hello. Welcome. You are most welcome.”

  “Um…thanks?” Not the most impressive greeting for a man to whom she owed so much, but she was shocked that CS remembered her last name and was left thrown. She would surely make a better impression if only she could survive this part of the evening, fade into the background and eat a quiet dinner.

  He ignored both her confusion and her discomfort, moving closer to her still and adjusting the grip on her hand to cradle it between his own, pressed against his chest.

  “I cannot tell you how I have thought of you in these months since filming ended. That terrible, bleak day when Kacey received your phone call.”

  Every muscle in Madison’s body stiffened. She fought the urge to shout at him to shut up and go away. Perhaps the only thing that kept her rooted in place was the look on CS’s face just over his shoulder. It was somewhere between confusion and annoyance, but, then again, that was the only expression Madison had seen there.

  “The pain in her voice. The love. The despair for your pain when she was separated by time and space that felt no less than infinite. It was that moment, when everything was so dark and she felt at the bottom of anguish, that Kacey shined like a supernova.”

  He sighed and closed his eyes, holding the pose just long enough to enhance the dramatic effect. CS turned on her heel and walked away to the hostess station, abandoning Madison to his mercy. “I determined, the moment I tasted her food and she explained her tears at the judges’ table, that I would do everything in my considerable power to support her. To support you.”

  He stopped abruptly, smiling down at her like a grandfather. She painted a smile on her face and gently extracted her hand from his grip.

  “You’re too kind.”

  “It’s the least I could do.”

  He wore his condescension like a cloak, and she really thought he might bow.

  “Our table is ready, John.”

  “Oh yes, of course.” He patted CS’s hand where it rested on his arm. “Will you be joining us, Miss Jones?”

  “Thank you, no. I’ll eat here at the bar.”

  CS turned her cold stare on Madison. “There’s a seat for you.”

  “I appreciate it, but…”

  Kacey charged up into the group like a bowling ball, her grin rooted in place and her shoulders high. “All my favorite people in one place!”

  She shook Snow’s hand enthusiastically, CS’s a little less so and then made for Madison like a bullet out of a gun. She slipped off her barstool just in time to be swooped up into Kacey’s arms.

  “Congratulations, sweetheart,” Madison said, Kacey’s collarbone pressing into her windpipe in the crushing hug. “This is amazing.”

  “Wait’ll you taste the food.”

  Kacey turned back to the group. Madison pulled tightly against her side with her arm hanging low on Madison’s hip. In any other setting, she’d appreciate the possessiveness of the gesture, but it seemed a bit too provocative for the night and the audience. Maybe she only thought that way because of how CS averted her eyes. Snow reached out for Kacey’s free hand again, gripping it as he’d gripped Madison’s—too tight and too close. Kacey didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

  “A smashing success. Just glorious.”

  “Well, this is just the soft opening,” Kacey said with practiced modesty. “We can’t expect every night to be like this.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt that we can, with you at the helm, am I right CS?”

  She didn’t respond, just offered a half-hearted laugh and shrugged before stuffing her hands into her pockets and standing off to the side like a coatrack. Snow and Kacey chatted merrily about their brief time together during filming and the tribulations of finding Kacey the perfect restaurant. Madison and CS stood in their respective corners, waiting to be included in the discussion.

  Snow admitted, with much the same pretense of modesty that Kacey had shown, that the whole setup here at Minerva Hills
was his idea. He turned to CS for support, and she acknowledged the truth of it with a shrug before he launched into the story of coming here to try the wine and falling in love with both the bottles and the land. The winery was in a smaller building then, with only a simple, always-crowded tasting room.

  He had planted the bug in CS’s ear about the idea of a resort winery that day and nagged her about it for over a year. He even went so far as to hire an architect. It was the drawings that finally won her over, and she agreed to look into it.

  “When CS decides to do a thing, she does it right. This is even more extravagant than my initial plan. The cottages, for instance, were all her brainchild. I will admit that I see myself retiring to one of them when that sweet day of rest comes, but the one I had my eye on was heartlessly given to another.”

  “You mean our cottage?”

  “Of course. By far the best. You’ve done well to secure it.”

  “Oh, I had no idea we…”

  “Don’t listen to him,” CS said, cutting into Madison’s regrets. “It was never his cottage.”

  “It may have been,” he replied with a cheeky grin. “I am quite persuasive.”

  “Not as persuasive as me,” Kacey said, releasing Madison at last. “This has been fun, but I have to get back to the kitchen.”

  She scampered off with one last peck on Madison’s stunned cheek. Snow held out his elbow to her.

  “Now you must join us. I absolutely insist.”

  Madison held her head low, taking his arm and allowing herself to be led off. CS did not even turn to see if she was coming.

  Chapter Eight

  Mist hung heavily on the landscape, pooling in the valleys like bedsheets draped over a sleeping body. Its tendrils reached for the mountaintops, straining to reach the summits, but only managing a wispy caress of the slopes. Madison could see it receding as she walked through the vines, making her way slowly toward the high point of the hill where the rows suddenly changed direction and tumbled down into the fog. By the time she crested the hill, the mist was out of sight, perhaps still lingering in the shadowy places below, but its battle was lost for today.