by Anita Hughes
“I could do both. It doesn’t have to be seven days a week.”
“How often was your mother home when you were a child? Didn’t you have dinner in her office, peanut butter sandwiches packed by Maria and eaten on Diana’s Louis XIV rug? How many times have you told me you did your homework in Fenton’s café?” Aidan swallowed a slice of bread and washed it down with red wine.
“I love Fenton’s, I just don’t have the eye for fashion. But a whole floor of fruits and vegetables!”
“You have that at the Edible Schoolyard. I don’t want you spending all your time in the city.”
“Isabel’s sixteen. She’s hardly here.…” Cassie kept her eyes on her glass of wine.
“I’m here. I need you. Christ, Cassie. I’m not the young genius professor anymore. This paper is very important to me. If it doesn’t get accepted at the conference it will reflect badly on the whole department.” Aidan put his hands on Cassie’s shoulders.
“I’d like to think about it,” Cassie said stubbornly.
“I’d like to put this soup on simmer, take our wineglasses upstairs, and show you how much I need you.” Aidan kissed Cassie gently on the lips.
Aidan put his hands behind Cassie’s head and pulled her against his chest. He caressed her back and then he lifted her skirt and slipped his fingers under her panties. Cassie’s knees buckled and she felt herself opening up, her body tensing, and wanting him inside her.
“Come on,” Aidan whispered in her hair, “I’ve missed you all day.”
Aidan took her hand and led her upstairs. He closed the bedroom door and pulled Cassie’s sweater over her head. He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his shorts. His legs were covered in dark hair; his calves were strong and muscled from years of running. He kissed her again, his arms wrapped around her, guiding them onto the bed. Aidan kept his eyes on Cassie’s face as he entered her, moving like an athlete, wanting to fill her up, not stopping until she shattered against him.
* * *
Cassie and Aidan walked downstairs dressed in terry robes as Isabel slammed the front door. Isabel at sixteen was like a fashion model that stepped off a runway straight into the kitchen. Everything about her was intense and exaggerated. She was the only person Cassie knew who could pull off the clothes designers splashed across the fashion pages. Baby-doll dresses with fishnet stockings and four-inch heels. Cargo pants with lace halter tops and ankle boots. Isabel’s mother gave her an allowance bigger than Cassie and Aidan’s house payment, and Isabel spent it all on clothes.
“Your mother shouldn’t let you out of the house dressed like that,” Aidan observed tightly. Isabel wore a wool dress barely covering her thighs and knee-high boots with suede tassels. Her hair fell to her waist in glossy black waves and she wore a minimum amount of makeup: thick black mascara and sheer lip gloss.
“Come on, Dad, I need to express myself. You’re the one who says it’s important to embrace who you are.” Isabel tossed her bag onto the counter and buttered a slice of sourdough.
“You could embrace who you are more quietly, by wearing a longer skirt,” Aidan muttered.
“Look at you two, you’ve already finished off half a bottle of wine and it’s only six o’clock.” Isabel held up the wine bottle.
“Put that down and set the table,” Aidan said tersely. He put the bottle of wine in the fridge and filled three glasses with water and ice.
“Honestly, you’re supposed to be my cool Berkeley parent. Mom is getting so uptight these days; she walks around in tennis skirts and bobby socks.” Isabel rolled her eyes.
Cassie watched the exchange between Aidan and Isabel silently. The warm flush of sex was wearing off and her head hurt from the red wine. She wanted to curl up in Aidan’s lap in the living room and listen to Prince or U2.
“Discipline is a virtue. The second semester of your junior year is the most important of your high school career.” Aidan placed a bowl of carrots and hummus on the table.
“Like I don’t have that drummed into me twenty-four-seven. Between Mom and the guidance counselor, you’d think if I don’t find a cure for cancer I shouldn’t show up for school. Your generation isn’t making life for our generation easy.” Isabel put her elbows on the table.
“And take your elbows off the table,” Aidan replied.
“I was wondering if you’re going to be around this summer,” Isabel said casually as they ate their soup.
“I’m teaching a summer course on Socrates and Plato. Guaranteed to entice incoming freshmen that’d rather be surfing in Santa Cruz.” Aidan sprinkled a large spoonful of grated cheese in his bowl.
“Mom and the dreaded Peter are taking a six-week cruise around the Arctic Circle, Scandinavia, and Norway, and other impossibly boring places.” Isabel dunked a bread crust into her soup.
“I may not be fond of your mother’s husband but he clothes and feeds you pretty nicely. Not to mention bought you the little sports car in my driveway. Don’t call him ‘dreaded,’” Aidan replied.
Cassie concentrated on her soup. The turnip had been even sweeter than she expected and Aidan had added just the right amount of spices. She thought about some of the other vegetables the co-op clerk had suggested: yellow squash, zucchini, shiitake mushrooms. Tomorrow she’d go back and get some more recipes and try a vegetable crepe or an egg white omelet.
“Those cruises are fine if you’re over forty and want to play shuffleboard and learn swing dancing. Mom wants me to go with them and I’d rather be stranded at a Justin Bieber concert.” Isabel looked at her father.
“You’re asking if you can stay with us.” Aidan put down his spoon.
“Yes, if you plan on being around. Mom won’t let me stay at the house by myself,” Isabel mumbled.
“Of course you can stay, but you have to live by our rules: a reasonable curfew and some sort of productive labor during the day. You can get a job or help Cassie at the Edible Schoolyard.”
“I’m not ruining my nails in all that dirt.” Isabel inspected her bloodred fingernails.
“The Edible Schoolyard doesn’t do much during the summer,” Cassie said. She felt a big lump in her throat. She thought about the meeting with her mother and the architect. She wanted to say she wasn’t sure what she’d be doing this summer but she knew it was important they present a united front.
“Then any kind of job, at Peet’s or the yogurt store. I don’t want you sitting around texting your friends,” Aidan replied.
“It’s summer before senior year,” Isabel muttered. “Doesn’t anyone remember you’re supposed to have fun in high school? Cassie, you didn’t go to high school that long ago.” Isabel looked sideways at Cassie.
“I worked at Fenton’s every summer.” Cassie got up and put her soup bowl in the sink.
“Then we’re all in agreement.” Aidan smiled. “We’re happy to have you stay with us. I’ll call your mother and let her know.”
After dinner Isabel grabbed a Häagen-Dazs bar from the freezer and announced she had to meet her calculus study group. She kissed her father on the cheek, grabbed her bag, and flew out the front door. Aidan put two bowls of ice cream and the slice of red velvet cheesecake on the kitchen table and handed Cassie a spoon.
“Remember when Isabel would sit with us after dinner and eat a bowl of vanilla ice cream?” Aidan asked.
“No,” Cassie said. “I remember her running up to her room and slamming the door while we ate her bowl of ice cream.”
“That’s why I’m getting soft in the middle. I’ve been eating Isabel’s dessert for sixteen years. She’s not getting any easier.” Aidan ate a bite of cheesecake.
“She’s sixteen.” Cassie shrugged. “When Alexis was sixteen she dated identical twin brothers. Her parents never knew. She said she liked getting double the attention, and double the presents. Sixteen-year-old girls like to push the envelope.”
“Except you.” Aidan grinned. “You were the model Catholic schoolgirl.”
“I just didn’t fall
in love,” Cassie mumbled.
“That’s why I got lucky.” Aidan kissed her on the lips. “I’m guessing Isabel has a new boyfriend she doesn’t want to leave unattended. Even a cruise to the Arctic is more attractive than staying home unless there’s a boy involved.”
“You’re probably right.” Cassie got up and put the dishes in the sink. She was suddenly tired. It seemed like ages ago she had lunch with her mother and took the yoga class with Alexis.
“I’m glad you’ll be home to keep an eye on her.” Aidan stood beside her and filled the sink with soap.
Cassie wanted to reply, but she kept silent and watched the dishes disappear under the bubbles.
4.
It was turning into the wettest January the Bay Area had experienced in years. The Berkeley hills were emerald green, the sky was heavy with rain clouds, and the streets were muddy and windblown. Cassie hadn’t worked at the Edible Schoolyard for a week. She picked up fresh produce from the co-op each morning and spent her afternoons in the kitchen trying different recipes. She pictured herself presiding over a gleaming marble counter, handing out samples of asparagus crepes, mushroom tarts, and spinach soufflés on red plates inscribed with Fenton’s signature.
They hadn’t discussed the food emporium again. Aidan was caught up in the first week of classes. On Tuesday morning, Cassie served Aidan whole-wheat toast, soft-boiled eggs, and organic coffee.
“I’m having dinner with my mother at Boulevard tonight,” she said, filling a jug with cream.
“It’s going to pour.” Aidan looked out the window. He wore a ribbed sweater, thick cords, and his black leather jacket. His hair was damp from an early morning workout, and he had a shaving nick on his chin.
“I’ll be careful. I might be a bit late.” Cassie stirred cream into her coffee.
Aidan scraped the last bite of his egg, grabbed a stack of papers, and kissed the top of her head. “I’m knee-deep in research at the library. I’ll meet you in bed.”
* * *
Cassie stood in front of her closet, wondering what to wear. She debated between a Burberry dress bought years ago for Fenton’s Christmas party, and a brown turtleneck and mid-length skirt. She thought the Burberry was dated; her mother could discern its vintage in a minute. She pulled the turtleneck over her head and brushed her hair so it fell in thick waves to her shoulders.
Cassie looked at the Fenton’s box on her dressing table. She opened the box and put the pendant against her throat, turning in front of the mirror. She placed the pendant back in the box, and chose a Tiffany heart necklace. She rubbed on some lip gloss and walked downstairs.
Cassie arrived at the restaurant late. The Bay Bridge traffic moved like a snail and parking near Boulevard was impossible. She finally gave up and handed her keys to the valet. She saw her mother through the window, dressed in all white like a snow queen. Diana wore a cashmere cardigan over a quilted skirt and white boots with steel tips. A silk scarf was knotted around her neck, and she tapped her cigarette holder against the bar.
Diana waved at Cassie. “There you are, darling, we were beginning to worry.” Cassie handed her London Fog to the maître d’ and straightened her skirt. The man standing opposite her mother was about thirty-five, with wavy brown hair and green eyes. He wore a blue button-down shirt, pleated slacks, and a wool blazer. He shook Cassie’s hand and made room for her at the bar.
“This is James Parrish. He’s been filling me in on his preliminary work on the food emporium.” Diana beamed.
“Your mother tells me you’re involved with Alice Waters’s projects. She’s one of my gurus.” James smiled. He had a smattering of freckles on his cheeks and a dimple on his chin. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shifted from foot to foot.
“Let’s get our table.” Diana swooped up her martini glass. “I can’t hear a thing over this din, and I don’t want to miss a word.”
They sat at a window booth and Cassie sipped white wine. The gold-trimmed menu written in spidery cursive was intimidating.
“The lamb comes in a reduction sauce. And the clay pots of whipped potatoes and garlic butter are one-of-a-kind.” James leaned across the table and pointed to Cassie’s menu.
“How do you know their menu so well?” Cassie asked.
“San Francisco is an amazing town for a foodie. I could eat out every night: Bix, The Waterfront, One Market. People here are passionate about dining. That’s why I think the food emporium will be a success.” James leaned back against the booth.
“You have to hear James’s ideas for the design. Did you know he works for the top interior design firm in Chicago?” Diana ran her fingers down the menu, stopping on poached salmon with cut green beans.
“My mother grew up in San Francisco, so I’ve always had a soft spot for the city. She used to sing Tony Bennett songs while she cooked dinner.” James broke a breadstick in half and dipped it in olive oil.
“We’re very lucky to steal James away from Chicago for a few months.” Diana stirred her drink with her olive.
James blushed and Cassie frowned and shook her head. “Mother, I’m not sure I can commit to running the venture full-time.”
Diana stopped stirring and stabbed the olive with a toothpick.
“Cassie, you have to! James’s designs are in Gourmet Magazine, Architectural Digest, Restaurant Monthly. Every page shouts boy genius! He’s going to rocket Fenton’s into the twenty-first century.”
“Mother, you’re talking about James as if he’s not here.” Cassie kept her eyes on her wineglass.
“Cassie is married to an ethics professor,” Diana said dryly. “He doesn’t believe in commerce and he doesn’t like Cassie to leave the house. He wants her waiting at home with a casserole on the stove and slippers by the fireplace.”
“I’m right here, Mother,” Cassie said. She was beginning to regret that she came. It was raining even harder outside; the wind blew umbrellas into the street. She wished she were lying in bed with Aidan, gray down comforter pulled up to her chin.
Diana finished her martini and signaled the waiter for another. “James, show Cassie your sketches.”
James moved aside the bread plates and put four storyboards on the table. They were more detailed versions of his earlier sketches: shoppers carrying red Fenton’s bags of fruits and vegetables, glossy red stools at small round tables, crystal vases holding long red roses.
“Red will be the predominant color: red ceramic bowls of cherries, plums, apples. Giant sketches of tomatoes and red peppers in red lacquer frames. The floors are quite beautiful, they just need a bit of polish, and the ceiling is the perfect height for hanging pots and pans.” James talked with his hands, making sweeping gestures over the artwork.
“Brilliant.” Diana sipped her second martini. “Neiman’s will be green with envy, Gump’s will be furious they didn’t think of it first. We’ll be the talk of San Francisco.”
“It’s beautiful.” Cassie nodded.
James sat back against the booth and smiled like a schoolboy. “I’m glad you like it,” he said to Cassie.
* * *
The lamb arrived on a white porcelain plate. Each slice melted in Cassie’s mouth. Scooping the potatoes from the earthen pot and eating them with a forkful of lamb, Cassie felt two steps closer to heaven.
Her mother switched from martinis to a Chateau St. Jean Pinot Noir and regaled James with a history of Fenton’s.
“My father was stationed in Italy during World War II and fell in love with fashion. No one cut a dress, made a shoe, created a bag like an Italian. After the war, he convinced his father to loan him money to open a department store on Union Square.” Diana sniffed the rim of her wineglass.
“Fenton’s was an immediate success. Women were tired of wartime fashion: drab dresses designed to wear in a factory, coats made to keep warm without an ounce of sex appeal. My father filled the racks with ball gowns, silk scarves, and stiletto heels. I went to work with him every Saturday since I was five years old. He
let me use the cash register and ring up the customers.” Diana paused and ate a bite of salmon.
“I married Gray, Cassie’s father, and the three of us ran the store together. Then my father died of cancer and it was just Gray and I. One afternoon Gray dropped dead on the squash court. That’s when I started bringing Cassie to work. I wanted her to feel the pulse of Fenton’s, because one day the store would be hers.” Diana put down her fork and looked at Cassie.
“I don’t have your eye for fashion,” Cassie mumbled.
“Maybe not, but you have an innate love of fruits and vegetables.” Diana drank her wine. “Cassie was born with a gardening shovel in her hand.”
“My mother said her earliest memory is of shopping at Fenton’s at Christmas,” James interjected. “She was sure Santa Claus and the elves lived on the top floor because the merchandise was stunning.”
“We’re fortunate to have instilled that kind of loyalty,” Diana replied thoughtfully. “The food emporium will win over a new generation. Food is the new fashion.”
Cassie ate the last slice of lamb. She put her napkin on her plate and glanced at James’s storyboards leaning against the table.
“Wouldn’t it be cool to showcase a local grower each week? I know a Japanese family in Stockton with an asparagus farm. They deliver asparagus to the Berkeley Co-op in bundles tied with bamboo,” Cassie said quickly.
“And we could package samples in red boxes. Not the kind of boxes that get soggy and fall apart the minute you put them in your bag, but more like Tupperware containers made especially for Fenton’s.” Cassie stopped to catch her breath.
“I think those are brilliant ideas.” Diana smiled at Cassie. “Let’s order dessert.”
James suggested the poached pear in apricot brandy liquor. He placed his storyboards on the table and they pored over them again: adding a bench where customers could rest, putting in a circular display in the center of the floor. Cassie felt her cheeks flush from the warm pear, the brandy, the excitement of seeing the emporium come to life. When she looked outside and saw taxis honking, she realized she had forgotten it was raining.
