Just a Taste

by Deirdre Martin

  “N-now what?” Natalie asked, hiccupping to a stop.

  Vivi dragged her eyes to her sister’s face. She was exhausted. All talked out. All cried out. Please, she longed to say, just let me curl up on your couch and sleep, waking months from now when this is all behind us. But that would be postponing the inevitable, and if there was anything Vivi hated, it was prolonging agony—not only her own but someone else’s. It was better they face their problem here and now.

  “I still have some questions,” she said.

  Natalie timidly nodded her acquiescence.

  “When did you plan to tell me what was going on?”

  “I don’t know.” Natalie looked desperate. “I kept thinking, ‘I’ll find a way out of this, I know I will.’ But I haven’t.”

  Vivi shook her head. “I don’t understand. Overspending as a way to get Papa’s attention and help made sense when he was alive. But he’s gone, Natalie.”

  Natalie flushed with shame, her voice dropping low. “It’s an addiction, Vivi. It doesn’t matter whether he’s gone or not. I reach a tipping point in my brain and I just can’t stop. Half the time I’m buying things I don’t even need or want.”

  “You shouldn’t tell me things like that,” Vivi replied coolly, “unless you want me to go back to hating you.” Natalie looked stricken until Vivi rolled her eyes. “That was a joke.”

  Vivi rose slowly, testing her legs. They felt solid now, able to bear the weight of her continuing conversation with Natalie. “You need to get help.”

  “I know that.”

  “I’m serious, Natalie. We’re going to take care of this as soon as we can.” Though how they would pay for it was something Vivi hadn’t figured out yet.

  She touched Natalie’s arm. “What I said before? About Papa not loving you and your mother? I didn’t mean it. I was just angry.”

  “I know that.” Natalie was saying one thing, but Vivi could tell she was glad Vivi had apologized. Vivi wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she hadn’t. It was a terrible thing to say to someone.

  “Are you hungry?” Natalie asked meekly.

  “Starving.”

  “I’ll fix us something to eat.” Natalie jumped off the couch, scampering toward the kitchen. But halfway there, she halted. “Vivi?”

  “Yes?”

  Natalie ducked her head. “All I have is champagne and caviar.”

  Vivi stared at her a moment, then burst out laughing. No money, in debt, but they’d come up with plan B over champagne and caviar. It was perfect.

  “I love champagne,” she said with a sigh.

  Natalie returned with a tray of champagne, caviar, and crackers. Vivi had never been a big fan of caviar. When she was younger, she thought it proof of her lack of sophistication, but over the years she’d made peace with the realization that it just wasn’t for her. Even so, she spread some on a cracker and bit into it, hunger trumping taste buds. She followed it with a sip of Veuve Clicquot, which tasted gorgeous, the way she imagined the perfect spring day might taste if you could bottle it. Her spirits revived a little. She would figure a way out of this. She knew she would.

  Natalie took a sip of champagne and sighed. A look of peace had returned to her features, something Vivi hadn’t seen in a long time. “I’m so relieved to have finally confessed to you. But at the same time—”

  “Don’t,” Vivi cut in gently. “Let’s just try to focus on salvaging things.” She had one last question to ask her sister, an important one. She steeled herself with another sip of champagne. “How much in debt are we?”

  Natalie swallowed. “I spent all the hundred thousand that Papa gave me, and twenty thousand more that—that we don’t have—using credit cards.”

  “Oh, Christ.” Vivi’s pressed a hand against her chest. She used to think her grandmaman was being melodramatic when she’d get bad news and her hand would immediately fly to the space over her heart, or when she’d start fanning herself as if she might topple over. But now Vivi understood that it was instinct; shock really could induce a galloping heartbeat that made you feel as if you might have a coronary. Vivi breathed deep and tried to calm down. One hundred twenty thousand plus Anthony’s fifteen thousand meant they were one hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars in debt. Oh, God. Her heartbeat surged again, and she took a gulp of champagne to ease it. There, that was better.

  “Vivi?”

  “I’m all right. I was just doing figures in my head. We owe more than that—Anthony loaned us fifteen thousand dollars this morning to pay off the DiDinatos.”

  “Thugs,” Natalie sniffed.

  Vivi’s jaw dropped. “We owed them money, Natalie! They are not ‘thugs’ for wanting to be paid for their hard work!”

  Natalie hung her head. “You’re right.” She reached for her champagne flute and took a tiny sip. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why did you break up with Anthony Dante? I thought”—she seemed to be searching for the right word—“he was what you wanted.”

  “I decided I couldn’t handle the complication right now.” A dry shard of cracker stuck painfully to the back of Vivi’s throat, and she swallowed hard, struck by how close she was to fighting back tears. “I need to focus on the restaurant.”

  “It’s the dead wife, isn’t it?” Natalie asked with a knowing expression.

  “Yes,” Vivi admitted, feeling a sharp jab to her heart, “but it’s also me. I realized I can’t have it all, Natalie, at least not at once. Maybe later, once the bistro is up and running, I can learn to juggle, and by then, Anthony will have sorted his feelings out. But for now, I have to concentrate solely on Vivi’s.” If there’s even going to be a Vivi’s, she thought but didn’t say.

  Natalie looked surprised. “He lent you money even though you broke up with him?”

  “Yes.” A sense of shame washed over Vivi as she recalled it. “He’s a good person. A much better person than I am, clearly.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Natalie replied with a loving squeeze to Vivi’s shoulder. The peaceful expression on her face faded, replaced by a more appropriate look of unease. “So what are we going to do?”

  Vivi briskly wiped cracker crumbs off her lap and turned to her. “We’re going to call Bernard Rousseau.”

  Vivi hadn’t seen Bernard Rousseau since the cook-off at Dante’s, and she’d forgotten how handsome he was: tall, with regal bearing and thick black hair graying slightly at the temples, contributing to his wise and sophisticated look. He seemed delighted that Vivi and Natalie had asked him to meet them for dinner, though the choice of where to eat had been agonizing. Vivi wanted someplace quiet yet not too expensive, with delicious food and good service. She settled upon Zusi’s, where she and Anthony had dined with Michael and Theresa.

  Walking into the restaurant, she felt a small sting of melancholy as she remembered that night and how close she felt to Anthony, the laughter the four of them shared still ringing in her ears. It seemed so long ago, when in reality it was only a matter of months. Funny how quickly things could change. She sent the melancholia packing, since she was its author. If she was missing Anthony, she had no one to blame but herself.

  Natalie had looked horrified when Vivi told her they were taking the subway to the restaurant, but in the end she complied, knowing she had no room for complaint. Vivi wondered if bringing Natalie with her was a bad idea, but she had no choice—Natalie knew Bernard well, and she didn’t. As long as Natalie didn’t break down and admit that she’d thrown away their inheritance and then some, all would be well, or so Vivi hoped. She had no problem securing a restaurant reservation: all she had to say was that it was for one of the French ambassadors to the UN, and—voila!—a free table magically appeared at the exact time Vivi had asked for. Position indeed had its privileges.

  Bernard rose as Vivi and Natalie approached the table, his expression warm and open. “Bonjour,” he said, kissing each of them on both cheeks. “It’s not often I get to
dine with two beautiful women.”

  Vivi and her sister accepted the compliment with graceful smiles, though inside, doubts were jockeying for position in Vivi’s mind. What if he turned them down? Was this the right action to take? Would he be insulted that the first time they socialized together, she’d be making a loan request?

  Bernard was taking in the restaurant as he pulled their chairs out for them, head bobbing with approving nods. “Very nice. I’ve heard about this place. It’s new, yes?”

  “Yes,” said Vivi. “The food is very good.”

  Natalie looked at her, surprised. “You’ve eaten here?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  What does it matter? Vivi wanted to snap. “With our neighbor, Anthony.”

  “Huh,” said Natalie. She seemed insulted. Vivi ignored it.

  Bernard insisted on ordering the wine. God forbid a man doesn’t order the wine, Vivi thought, but both he and Natalie let Vivi order the food, since she’d been here before. Their meal was pleasant as they discussed life in America, life back in Paris, and the plans for the restaurant. Vivi found herself slightly envious of Natalie’s easy rapport with Bernard, especially since it was Vivi who was going to be asking for the loan. Were she here alone with Bernard, she had no doubt he would think her a pest as she plied him with questions about her father: How long did you know him? What was he like at work? When did you know about my mother and me? Did he talk about us to you? Have you ever met my mother? What is Natalie’s mother really like? Did she love him?

  Eventually, dessert was ordered: apples braised in butter orange sauce for Vivi (too much butter, not enough sauce), chocolate mousse for Bernard, a slice of apple pie for Natalie. Vivi had watched Natalie with amazement the entire evening. She didn’t seem in the least nervous or worried. In fact, at several points over the course of their meal, she had flashed Vivi a small enigmatic smile, which Vivi wasn’t sure how to interpret. Did it mean, “Don’t worry, there won’t be any problem”? Or “Ask now, now, while he’s laughing at my joke or interested in your cooking”? Vivi hadn’t a clue.

  They lingered over dessert, Bernard ordering some port as a final digestif. Vivi could understand how he and her father could be friends; both were witty, warm, and solicitous. She wondered if he had ever married, or if he was divorced. She would ask Natalie after dinner.

  “This has been wonderful,” Bernard sighed, looking with affection at both of them. “I’m so glad you invited me out this evening.”

  Vivi looked down, brushing her fingertips back and forth against the lip of the table. “I hope you still feel that way after you hear what I have to say.”

  She felt Natalie stiffen beside her, and looked up. Bernard’s head was cocked quizzically to one side as he asked, “What is it, Vivi?”

  Vivi took a deep breath. “Natalie and I need your help. The expense of opening up the bistro is far more than we anticipated. I know this is very sudden, and most certainly unexpected, but we wanted to ask if we might borrow two hundred thousand dollars from you.” The floodgates in her brain opened. “Before you say anything, know this: I’m not talking about doing business on a handshake. I’m talking about a real loan, with signatures and a monthly payment schedule. I’m hoping that within a year—”

  “Vivi.” Bernard’s voice was almost chastising. “Don’t get yourself all worked up. Of course I will give you the loan.”

  Vivi fought the urge to vault over the table and kiss him.

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Bernard.” She blinked back tears. “If you’d said no—”

  “But I didn’t.” He topped off her glass of port.

  Natalie reached for Vivi’s hand beneath the starched white tablecloth, clutching it hard. “Are you certain?” Vivi asked.

  “Of course. I owe my diplomatic career to your father. We can go to my attorney and make the arrangements tomorrow if you’d like.”

  Vivi swallowed. “That would be wonderful.”

  Dinner finished on a quiet note. Bernard insisted on paying, but Vivi refused. She and Natalie had asked him to dinner, not the other way around. So what if she had to put it on her credit card? Vivi still had some pride. She was not going to let this man save her dream and foot the bill for the meal where they’d asked him for money.

  They took their time strolling out of the restaurant, Natalie slightly ahead of them, talking to someone on her cell phone.

  “You know,” said Bernard as he held the restaurant door open for them to leave, “there is a way you can thank me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Have dinner with me Friday night. You’re a chef, Vivi. You must know which restaurants in the city are best. Pick one, and we’ll go.”

  Vivi glanced quickly at Natalie. She seemed not to have heard. She looked back at Bernard. Was he asking her on a date? She couldn’t tell. He was wearing the same confident expression he’d worn all evening. She thought it over. Accepting his invitation would give her a chance to prove to him she was serious about Vivi’s, and she could ask him about her father without worrying about possibly offending Natalie.

  She said yes.

  Chapter 24

  “Feel free to kiss my feet. I got Lorraine a job.”

  Anthony glared at Michael and continued chopping fresh basil for that day’s batch of gravy. Michael had just breezed into the restaurant with little Angelica in tow, despite Anthony’s repeated requests he not do that anymore.

  Michael sighed, readjusting Angelica in her baby seat, which was perched on one of the long, stainless steel tables in the kitchen. “Don’t you want to know where she’ll be working?”

  “You can tell me right after you fire her.”

  Michael frowned. “Can’t you—”

  “No way,” Anthony cut in. “You hired her, you fire her.”

  “But you’re her boss.”

  “You’re her boss, too, Mister ‘Half Owner.’”

  Michael scowled, sidling up to Anthony at the cutting board. “I got her a job at one of the concession stands at Met Gar.”

  “I guess that explains why you’ve been going there all the time.”

  Michael narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  Idiota, Anthony cursed himself. He wasn’t supposed to know that little nugget of info that had come his way courtesy of Little Ant.

  “What?” Anthony asked back innocently.

  “How do you know I’ve been going in to Met Gar?” Michael asked, popping a sprig of basil in his mouth.

  Anthony played it cool. “Little Ant told me on the phone the other day.”

  “You talk to Little Ant on the phone?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes we e-mail, too. What are you, in the FBI?”

  “No.” Michael looked peevish. “I just didn’t know, that’s all.”

  “Is that why you’ve been going into the city?” Anthony tried again. “Trying to rustle something up for Lorraine?”

  “Yeah,” Michael said evasively, picking up another sprig and studying it as he rolled it between his fingers. His eyes cut to Anthony’s, then looked away. Madonn’, thought Anthony, he really is hanging at Met Gar with his ex-teammates, strolling endlessly up and down Memory Lane.

  Anthony plucked the sole remaining basil sprig from his brother’s hand, chopped it, then tipped the whole cutting board of chopped basil into the stockpot bubbling on the stove. “Suppose Lorraine doesn’t want to jackass into the city for work?”

  “Why wouldn’t she? People do it all the time.”

  “Some people don’t like it. And she’s, um, what’s the word I’m looking for here?” Anthony snapped his fingers as if trying to recall something. “Oh yeah, insane.”

  “She’ll take it,” Michael replied in an overconfident voice that really grated Anthony’s cheese. “I got her a full-time job without her even having to be interviewed. She’ll be so grateful she won’t be able to turn me down.”

  “You better be right,” Anthony warned, “because if I lock up here
one night and she comes flying out of the shadows at me wanting to play Adam and Eve, you’re a dead man.”

  “Have a little faith.”

  Anthony frowned. “I’m not too big on that word these days.” He leaned over to kiss the tip of his niece’s nose on his way to fetch some onions to chop. He could feel Michael watching him.

  “What? Vivi?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  Michael looked concerned as Anthony walked back toward him. “It didn’t go well? Your talk?”

  “It didn’t go at all. I did just what you advised: laid it on the line, was honest with her, asked her to be patient, told her I loved her, told her about the dreams, yadda yadda yadda.”

  Michael picked up a wooden spoon nearby and began stirring the sauce. “And—?”

  “She thinks I’m not over Ang. Also, she can’t handle a relationship right now while she’s trying to get ready to open the restaurant. It was like, ‘Oops! Sorry to fuck up your life, but I’ve changed my mind! Au revoir, Pasta Boy!’” Anthony peeled the spoon from his brother’s fingers, putting it down on the steel counter with a resounding clap. “I told you I never should have gone for it, Mike. My life was perfectly fine as it was.”

  “No, it wasn’t. You were a moody, pain-in-the-ass workaholic, just like you were before Angie entered the picture and showed you there was more to life.”

  Anthony wasn’t listening. “I should have known this would happen. All chefs are fucking nuts. I of all people should know.”

  “Listen to me.” Michael’s voice was firm. “Maybe she’s just feeling overwhelmed right now, okay? Why don’t you wait until Vivi’s opens, and then see what happens?”

  “And what?” Anthony snapped. “Go crawling across the street and say, ‘Think you can handle a relationship now?’ No way. She doesn’t want me? Fine. Whatever. Have a nice life, Mademoiselle Nutball.”