by Jess Bentley
I stop reading for a moment. This isn’t an invitation to the launch party. Not really. One more face like mine won’t make a difference. My heart pounds, and the ache that’s been there for weeks now is suddenly acute again. I stare at the screen, not actually reading anymore, just wishing it said the things I most want her to say.
But I get it. The email is in code. There’s no telling whether I might forward it straight to the press, or if someone will intercept it. God knows I’ve worried my father has my email accounts hacked. If he did, he’d never say so—he’d just wait until the right moment, well after some critical intel comes across his lap. It could be years before I learn Reginald knew about my squirreling away money the whole time. There’s just no telling with that man.
If he is getting my emails, and if he does see this, it’ll tip him off that things are not going as smoothly between me and Janie as I’ve led him to believe. There’ll be consequences.
Then again, so what if there are?
I read over the rest of the email, but it’s more of the same and only confirms that what she’s really doing here is opening the door for me. And she’s doing it without my needing to introduce lawyers to the situation—which has crossed my mind.
That door is a chance for us. A chance for me to make all of this up to her. And I intend to take it.
For the first time in my life, I feel free.
Chapter 30
Janie
It’s go time.
I haven’t heard from Jake, but I can’t be worried about that right now. Saturday has come, and Red Hall is packed with high-profile guests and swarming with cameras. The bottles are in, the logo is brilliant, Lacey has outdone herself with a spread of globally inspired dishes incorporating each of the hot sauces into appetizers and entrees themed by the origins of the peppers used in them.
Before I even walk out into the lounge, my phone is blowing up with the buzz. I take a moment in my office, alone, to breathe and indulge myself in a moment of elation. Already, we’re doing nearly three times the business we did at our peak over two months ago. We’re on every foodie blog, we’re in the local paper, and we are, for the moment, the talk of the town.
“It’s finally happening,” I tell my baby, one hand resting on my stomach. “Whether your daddy comes around or not, we’ll have each other, and you’ll know what it’s like to see someone go after their dream and catch it.” How many times have I wished I’d had that myself? More than I can count or remember.
Right alongside the stories coming out about Red Hall are other, less impressive—I’m happy to say—stories about the recent scandal surrounding Reginald Ferry and his wife, Toia. Rumors that there could be a divorce, entirely unconfirmed. But it’s good for me, whether it’s true or not. The last thing I need is anyone in that family disrupting or undermining the launch.
They even put out a weird, hastily edited reality TV-style webisode following Toia around during her “typical” day that’s so ridiculously staged I can’t believe there’s not a cardboard set involved that just tips over when the wind blows. She goes on and on about how she and Reginald have a relationship that goes beyond just sex and physicality. They’re soul mates, and she knows that he’ll always come back to her at the end of the day.
She of course doesn’t mention how she isn’t allowed to have male company of her own, while Reginald can do pretty much whatever the fuck he wants. They call the series Power Couples and Sidechicks. It makes me want to throw up to see Reginald’s wife degrade herself like this, even though I’ve never met the woman and don’t plan to. Nonetheless, I can’t stop watching.
What a pathetic stunt. It’s sad that Toia had to be the butt of the joke, but I can’t help feeling like all of that is happening because Ferry Lights can’t maintain steady numbers. The place is impersonal because it’s just another Reginald Ferry project that he set up and then moved on from. It’s a cash grab, it’s inauthentic, and everyone knows it and can smell it a mile away.
That sort of publicity stunt is exactly what Gloria would have me pulling if she got her way, too.
Which is why I’ve decided to announce my pregnancy.
Which is why I’m still in my office, scared shitless instead of going out to the lounge where I need to be tonight.
The best thing I can do is act with integrity, and make sure that I’m ahead of the story—that I’m the one that gets to spark the narrative. Once it’s out there, there’s no reeling it back in. There are no second chances on something like this. But there are best-case scenarios and worst-case scenarios.
Gloria leaking the story is the worst-case scenario, and it’s practically inevitable. The only reason she’s played this game with me the past week or so is that she wants to be front and center for the launch party. After that, the media attention will dwindle, and she’ll start looking for some other way to cash in. Probably that way will be offering to sell it to Reginald Ferry because she’s right—he’d pay a fortune for the chance to spin the narrative of my pregnancy however he wants.
I’m not going to play these games. There is no way to play in which I don’t lose in the end.
A few more deep breaths. I can’t hide forever.
Confidence is not what I feel when I leave the office, but I do have determination and a simmering rage that Gloria helps stoke when she makes a big deal about greeting me as I come out. She even asks, loud enough for everyone within a few yards to hear, “There you are! Feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, Gloria,” I tell her, and try not to give away the punchline of the night by smiling. After this, the bitch is gone. I don’t care if her mother and mine become lesbian lovers—I am done with Gloria, and I’m even considering firing her publicly, tonight, in front of everyone.
All right, maybe those are the hormones talking.
But it would be satisfying.
I make my way through the thick crowd, accepting praise for the dishes, compliments for the chefs, and answering a few questions about how we chose the different peppers. I’m trying to be focused, and present, and attentive… but I can’t help looking for Jake. So far, I can’t see him.
Eventually, after the first wave of guests disperses, Gloria corners me. “So, I was thinking we could do the announcement of my new position around ten.”
“Why?” I ask, innocently.
“Why ten, or why the press release? Because you’re looking just a little extra chubby tonight, aren’t you? I wonder who else thinks so? I should ask—” She turns as if to wave down the nearest blogger she can identify.
I put a hand on her arm. “No need for that,” I tell her. “I’ll make the announcement at ten.”
“Good,” Gloria says. “I’ll keep an eye on the clock. You know, to make sure we stay on schedule. Would hate for you to miss your cue, right? I’ll announce you! Oh, that’s a good idea, don’t you think? Introducing the wonder Janie Hall! Don’t worry, folks, she’s just had an extra muffin or two before gracing us with her presence. Promise she’s not preggers!”
“Keep your voice down,” I snap, though my face says we’re just having a friendly conversation. “Make it simple. If this gets out because you slipped up announcing me, the deal is off and you’re out of a bargaining chip. Understand?”
Gloria waves my warning off as though I told her she needs to be careful to look both ways when crossing the street. “Calm down. I’m well aware of all that. Just don’t fuck me on this, Janie. Or… you know… I’ll fuck you.” She giggles. “But I guess I’ll be getting sloppy seconds.”
I cannot wait to spring my surprise.
I only wish Jake was here for it.
If he doesn’t show…
Well, that’ll be a sign, at least, of what’s to come. Confirmation that he doesn’t want to make nice, and that I’ve damaged that relationship—both of us have, I suppose—beyond repair.
And if I know Jake Ferry and his father, the next thing I’ll hear from either of them will be delivered by lawyers. A request
for a DNA test, a protracted legal battle over custody… and if they won—which I can’t help but imagine they would, given that I can’t possibly match their resources or, hell, pay off a judge—Reginald at least would almost certainly push for child support. He’d get it. And I’d be ruined for good, both financially and publicly, because there would be cameras on me day and night, and all over the trial and…
Calm. Deep breaths.
Focus on now.
As I make my way through the crowd again, though, the thing that hurts the worst about all of that uncertain future is that there would be no Jake in it. Not with me, anyway.
And honestly, at this point, I can’t help feeling like that’s the worst-case scenario.
Chapter 31
Janie
Nine thirty. Gloria is keeping me apprised, about every ten to fifteen minutes or so. Every time I meet with a blogger, she magically appears—I really think she could pull off the appearing-in-a-cloud-of-sickly-yellow-sulfur-smoke look. I expect her to cackle like the wicked witch of the west every time she leaves me.
It could just be my imagination, but is her dress gradually showing more and more cleavage?
When she’s not haunting me and posing for bloggers, she’s fawning over every man in the room with a nice outfit and no woman. And some that do have a woman with them. Shameless, that girl. It actually does amaze me how she can occupy herself with flirting like that and still manage to intercept every blogger and journalist that approaches me. If she weren’t such a horrible person, she might actually have made a decent personal assistant.
It’s 9:35. Still no sign of Jake. Chester keeps asking me if I need anything to drink, and I keep telling him “not yet” as though I’ll eventually want one. Once I make the announcement it won’t matter, I suppose.
Lacey emerges from the kitchen at last, and I take that opportunity to direct all the attention her way.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” I call out, approaching her. “Please put your hands together for the real hero behind tonight’s extravagant spread—my partner in crime and my guardian angel, Chef Lacey Ming!”
Cheers sound from every corner of the lounge, and cameras flash, and I make sure to stand just a little bit behind Lacey so that I don’t look too pregnant at that very moment. Can’t jump the gun on this.
Lacey is utterly embarrassed, but she endures. We talked about this well before the event. Lacey prefers the kitchen; it’s part of the reason she didn’t open her own restaurant. Being in front of cameras makes her nervous, and she’s already sweating and blushing, but she’s a trouper.
Gloria, of course, manages to swoop in like a vulture and perch to Lacey’s other side, smiling for the cameras and playing the part of “one of the girls.”
Once the pictures are taken, the bloggers all start filing in to talk with Lacey about how she came up with the dishes, and what it’s like working in a female-run establishment as a female executive chef, questions both of us abhor but which we’ve already talked about because it’s inevitable.
Luckily Gloria is there to give her two cents.
“These days it just, like, so important for women to take charge of their own lives, you know? And I think what we’ve accomplished here is so important for women everywhere, right? I tell all my girlfriends that you just have to, like, surround yourself with powerful women because we all have to stick together. And when we do, look what happens.”
The look on Lacey’s face is almost certainly going to make it onto someone’s blog as Gloria heaps praise upon herself as part of the “we” in that statement—as if she had anything to do with making Red Hall successful.
Unfortunately, she’s the pretty one between the three of us, and the one with the most cleavage, and we’re being interviewed almost exclusively by men. Guess who steals the attention?
Lacey and I do manage to get a few questions answered the way we’ve discussed, much to Gloria’s chagrin, and of course, she makes sure to drop her opinion in the bucket afterward whether the questioner is still taking notes or not.
Eventually, it’s over. And it’s 9:58.
Gloria touches my arm. “Almost time. Better make your way up to the limelight. Big news, am I right? We’re going to be on every blog and paper in the city tomorrow morning! There are even some people live tweeting right now.”
It doesn’t surprise me. Everyone here has a phone out. There are probably more pictures of Lacey’s dishes in existence right now than there are dishes prepared.
At one end of the lounge, a stage has been set up displaying all the different hot sauces and the peppers they’re made from. There are also dishes sprayed with resin and meant to simply look gorgeous, which they do.
The clock is ticking, so I make my way up there before Gloria decides to follow through with her promise. Along the way a few people stop us to make conversation or ask for a picture, but Gloria is, for once, entirely focused on one task—getting me to the stage. She runs interference with remarkable alacrity and efficiency. It really is a shame.
When we get to the edge of the stage, Gloria goes up ahead of me and, for once, she’s not a complete failure of a human being.
“If I could have your attention, please!” she says, and she gets it. The lounge quiets down. “Thank you all so much for being here. For those of you that don’t know me, I’m Gloria Price, and I work for one of the most amazing women in this city.
“Now, I bet a lot of you don’t know that Janie Hall came from next to nothing. She wasn’t born rich like some people on this street were,” she jerks a thumb in the direction of Ferry Lights, and that gets a rueful chuckle from a few of the more in-the-know folks in the crowd. “But she was born with grit, and determination, and a dream—and a little bit of badass bitch!” She laughs, and so do some in the crowd, but my face is simply frozen in a professional smile that might read decently in a picture.
“And she took those things,” Gloria goes on, “and used them to hog-tie the life she wanted for herself. She graduated a semester early after paying her own way through college and taking a workload that most of you men would probably crumble under, frankly. She opened up Red Hall just a year after she graduated, and can you believe what this place has become?” More cheering. Gloria waits. “So it is my honor and privilege to ask her to come up here and stand with me now to celebrate this incredible, momentous step forward for the Red Hall Lounge! Come on up here, Janie Hall!”
The gall of that girl. Even if I fire her after this, everyone will assume that she’s the spokesperson for the lounge, whether I renege on the deal and make my own announcement or not.
She offers me her hand to help me up on stage, but I ignore it, and walk up and past her.
Gloria doesn’t miss a beat, though, and follows me to the display, where she stands beside me, smiling and waving to the crowd.
Now that all eyes are on me, I turn to her, smiling as pleasantly as I can manage. “Let’s have them get a few shots of just me for the announcement, and then I’ll call you back up. Make it look like a surprise.”
Her smile falters just a bit, and she looks uncertain. Then she looks suspicious. “Don’t fuck me,” she mutters. “I’ve got Reginald Ferry’s people on speed dial.”
“Didn’t I mention?” I ask. “Jake knows. Now go wait offstage until I call you back up.”
We shake hands, and even hug, but as she leaves me there I can see murder in her eyes. Maybe she guesses what I’m planning, and maybe she doesn’t. Frankly, it won’t matter a minute from now.
When she leaves, the photographers begin calling my name, and I have to spend a few painful minutes staring at flashes and holding up bottles until everyone’s got their shot. It leaves me light-blinded, and the track lights pointed at the stage don’t help either.
Once they’re done, I laugh a little. “All those flashing lights!” I say to the crowd. “They don’t prepare you for that in college, that’s for sure. Thank you all so, so much for being here. I can’t even begin to sa
y what it means to me—”
The lights clear a bit. Just enough. I never look directly at the crowd when I do these public-speaking things. Instead, I look a little over them, sweeping my gaze so it seems like I’m looking at everyone directly. At that moment, I’m looking out over the crowd and at the door.
My heart skips a beat, and I suddenly forget everything I’d planned to say. I mean to pick up where I left off, riff a little, get myself back on track, but when I try to speak the only thing that comes out as I see, even from the stage, those smoldering eyes, is:
“Jake…”
Chapter 32
Jake
“Jake…”
Janie breathes my name over the microphone, and as one every face in the Red Hall Lounge turns to me. I hear my name echoed in whispers. “Jake Ferry.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Get this on video.”
“Oh, shit…”
Even as I make my way toward her, I can see how her face lights up. I wasn’t sure it would happen like this. I thought that maybe when I got here I’d find out she just wanted to discuss some kind of arrangement. And for all I know, that’s what she intended.
But now that we’re in the same room, looking at one another, my heart swells. I can see in her face that she feels the same way I do.
Which is a very good thing, because I came here intending to put everything on the line. There are bloggers and journalists here, and already cameras are flashing. What will Jake Ferry do? Does Reginald Ferry know about this?
He will soon enough. It’ll be too late by then. I wish I had time to discuss all of this with Janie, but frankly no one can possibly doubt that she made all of this—Red Hall, the launch party, this hot sauce line—happen on her own. I had nothing to do with the building, or the popularity of the place and I’m more than willing to say that here and now, on camera, for all the world to see.
