by Hazel Parker
I lose myself in the flow of my work for a while, and when my phone rings, it’s almost noon. I don’t even look at the return number on the screen, I’m so sure it will be Trent.
Instead, an unfamiliar voice says, “Ms. White?”
“Ye-es,” I say cautiously. The voice on the other end of the line has the businesslike quality of someone who might be trying to sell me something.
“This is LaTisha Gordon, and I’m with the committee overseeing the events of this year’s Great Lakes Regatta. I trust you’re familiar with the event?”
I am. The Regatta is an annual weekend-long celebration of the wealthiest of the wealthy yacht owners that takes place along the southwestern shore of Lake Michigan. To call it a Regatta is perhaps a little too modest, as the ships involved are too spectacularly large to safely race against one another. Rather, it’s a chance for the rich and affluent to showcase their floating palaces.
“Ms. White,” Gordon continues, “this is short notice, but we have a patron who needs the services of an expert chef aboard his yacht during the Regatta two weeks from this coming weekend.”
“A private cooking job?” I ask, thunderstruck. “During the Regatta?”
Daniel, who had been working nearby, hears this, and I worry that his jaw will never fit back into its original position.
“That’s correct,” Gordon confirms. “Lunch and dinner on the fourteenth, aboard the Wavebourne, owned and captained by Mr. Lucas Monroe.”
I didn’t know the name, but when I repeated it to be sure I’d gotten it, Daniel leaped forward and began mock-punching me in the arm, making exaggerated “Wow! Wow! Wow!” motions with his mouth.
“If you’re available, Mr. Monroe would like to speak with you regarding the details a bit later today.”
Daniel is close enough to overhear at this point and begins nodding so hard, he resembles one of those toy drinking birds.
“Er, yes, I think I can fit that into my schedule,” I declare.
“Excellent. I’ll send you Mr. Monroe’s contact information.”
“Thank you,” I say, and hang up.
I stand there, flat-footed, while Daniel practically dances around me. “I can’t believe it!” he rants. “You’re going to be cooking for Lucas Monroe during the Great Lakes Regatta! This is like…like…” He waves his hands and moves faster. “There’s nothing like this; that’s how big this is!”
“I know it’s big,” I tell him, “I just don’t know who Lucas Monroe is.”
Daniel rolls his eyes dramatically. “Get out of the kitchen more, please!” he cries. “Monroe’s on the top ten!”
“The top ten of what?”
“The top ten richest people in the world, that’s what! There’s a rumor going around that he wants to buy up Leonardo da Vinci’s notebooks for his art collection. Not just one or two, Steph, but all of them! Do you have any idea how much that would cost?”
“Not the foggiest,” I admit.
“It makes the biggest yacht in the Regatta look like a rowboat! There’s not even a number for how much money this guy has!”
“I would expect for a guy with that much in the bank to have a private chef on staff twenty-four-seven.”
“Hello!” Daniel calls, cupping his hands on either side of his mouth. “Gift horse, here! Stop examining its mouth!”
I suppose he’s right. This is a massive windfall for me, career-wise. I would do well to be grateful to the powers that be and run with it.
The rest of the day passes by in a blur. I’m thrown for a loop by my good fortune of late, and I keep having to return my attention to my work. When you regularly work with knives, a sense of the here and now is pretty important.
Daniel wants to go out for a drink after we’ve closed for the evening to celebrate. I tell him to have one for me, and I head for home. After the events of the past twenty-four hours, I am officially done in.
I’m in my living room, taking off my shoes, when Trent calls.
“Hi,” I say. “I thought you might call earlier today.”
“Well, I knew you’d be busy all day,” he says. “I didn’t want to take you away from your responsibilities.”
“That was very considerate of you.”
“Do I get points for that?”
I stretch, my back popping deliciously. “You’re already up in the triple digits on the board. I don’t think you need to worry about scoring points any time soon.”
“I don’t know about that,” he says, “I like to keep my leads. How was your day?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” I reply and tell him about my conversation with LaTisha Gordon.
“That’s pretty fantastic news,” he says when I have finished my story. “It couldn’t happen to a nicer girl.”
“Flatterer.”
“Again, I just call them like I see them.”
“I just don’t understand how someone like Monroe doesn’t have a whole platoon of people around him for things like this all the time, though.”
“It’s not so strange. Monroe’s what you might call fickle.”
“Don’t tell me you know him!”
He laughs. “Hardly. Unlike yours truly, Monroe spends a great deal of time jet-setting around the world and rubbing elbows with other members of the Fortune 500 club. I know of him, but I’ve never met the man personally. So I’ve heard things.”
“Like that he’s…what did you call him? Fickle?”
“I guess that’s the word. It’s probably more accurate to say that he’s a huge fan of change. I hear that his personal staff changes pretty regularly. I’m not saying he fires anyone, he just reassigns them elsewhere.”
“You make it sound like government postings.”
“People like Monroe have a lot of power, and a pretty long reach. They get what they want, simple as that.”
“Kind of like you?” I say, half-jokingly.
“If you don’t remember, you turned me down on a number of occasions when I first tried to hire you.”
“Yes, but you wore me down with your persistence.”
“True, but Monroe usually only has to ask once.”
I meditate on this for a few moments.
“How do you suppose he decided on me? He could have a chef flown in from anywhere in the world, after all.”
“Give yourself some credit, Steph. You’ve got a reputation in this city. You’ve scored more than a few touchdowns, and the name you’ve made for yourself may be bigger than you know.”
“Big enough to reach Monroe’s ears?”
“I don’t see why not. He might have started looking for a chef for the day on a whim, but believe me, you are very, very noticeable.”
“More flattery.”
“Just truth. I think you should follow your friend Daniel’s advice and just accept this as a gift straight from heaven and go with it. Anyway,” Trent says, “what’s going to be on the menu?”
“Oh, god, I haven’t even had time to think about that. The reality of the situation is still sinking in. I don’t want to wait until my back’s to the wall before I get started on the plans, though.”
“Even though it’s two weeks away?”
“Especially because it’s two weeks away.”
“You’re going to be up late tonight, aren’t you?”
I make a noncommittal noise.
“Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll let you go so you can get started and then get to bed before midnight.”
“I just want you to know that this isn’t my idea of a good time when it comes to staying up late.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Admit it. You’re excited about this.”
“Okay. I’m a little excited.” I can’t pull off a cool, casual response. “I’m really excited! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”
“Then get to it,” Trent says. “I know you’re going to score a slam-dunk.”
“Tha
nks for the faith. I guess I’ll go dribble up and down the court some.”
We hang up. I was telling the truth—as tired as I am, even if I were to go to bed right now, I know I’d be tossing and turning into the small hours of the morning. That meant one thing.
I sit down at my kitchen table, open up my laptop and get to work.
Chapter 18 - Trent
I hang up with Steph and regard the dark, silent phone in my hand.
I’m sitting on the couch in my living room, the same one where Steph and I had our first romantic encounter.
“Sir?”
I look up. It’s Curtis, standing in the doorway.
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“You just looked lost in thought for a moment there.”
I rub my eyes. “I suppose I was. It’s been a long day. A busy day.”
“But a good day?” Curtis ventures.
I nod. “Yes, Curtis, a good day, indeed. The days seem to be mostly good ones recently.”
“That’s good to hear, sir.”
“It’s good to be able to say.”
“If you don’t mind my opinion, sir, you’ve been overdue for good days for a long time.”
I smile. “Thank you, Curtis.”
“Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir.”
I bid him goodnight as he leaves.
I wondered how Lucas Monroe could get by without someone like Curtis in his life. Through all my ups and downs for years now, Curtis has been there, like a rock of calm reliability in a sometimes-stormy sea. I can’t imagine going through my day-to-day routine without him.
I think back over my conversation with Steph. I enjoy the back-and-forth banter we seem to have with each other. It’s surprising how comfortable I am already when I’m with her and when I talk with her on the phone.
I also wonder, and not for the first time, about the nature of my feelings for her. My post-divorce expeditions into the world of dating have been halfhearted, to say the least. I suppose I went through with the awkward experiences just so that I could say that I was trying.
Bottom line, I didn’t really expect anything to come out of it. Now here I was, with…something. It’s more than a little vague, and that goes against every facet of my being. I don’t like vague. I like for things to be very direct and laid out.
On the other hand, I don’t feel that things with Steph are so cloudy that I can’t see how well they are progressing. I’m pleased with the developments so far. I suppose the thing that nags at me is the question of how deeply she’s invested in this.
As for myself, I know how I feel. I also feel sure about my short-term course of action, at least.
Keep going, I say to myself, and I activate my phone to make some more calls.
I’m in the gym tonight, even though the hour is late. I need to do something that requires all of my focus. I decide on the free weights.
It’s a solid theory, keeping my attention on balancing the bench press bar so that it doesn’t list to one side or the other, instead of dwelling on the fact that somewhere out there, Steph was no doubt up and about herself, busily working.
Not really somewhere out there, the voice in my head says. You know exactly where she is and can pretty successfully guess what she’s doing.
The bar I’m pressing wobbles at the top of its ascent, and I hastily set it onto its brackets and sit up.
I’m distracted after all, it seems. It’s too seductive, imagining her sitting at her kitchen table, working on her computer, a cup of tea at her elbow, forgotten and growing cold. I find myself wondering what she’s wearing as she stares intently at the computer screen. Has she changed clothes after coming home from the restaurant, or is making the cup of tea the only break she’s given herself tonight?
I look at my phone. I can easily call her. I’m sure she’s up, and I’m just as sure that she’d stop what she was doing to take my call.
I’m not going to do that, though. I know that she is on the brink of a life-changing experience, professionally, and how much that will mean to her. I’m not going to interrupt her plans for that, as absurdly burning the midnight oil as they are.
Instead, I incline the weight bench for some dumbbell presses. I can continue to work my upper body and not have to worry about crushing my own head as the result of a stray thought here and there.
Because it’s pleasant to think about her, to remember the way the moonlight looks on her bare shoulder, the way her voice speeds up the slightest bit when she speaks about something she’s passionate about, or the way she doesn’t seem to be all the way asleep even when I know for a fact that she is.
I lightly tap the dumbbells together at the top of their arc. I’m told you’re not supposed to do that, because it takes away from the effectiveness of the lift. I do it anyway tonight because the heavy clacking sound snaps my attention back to the present, the here and now.
That’s one of the secrets to my success, the focus I place on what’s happening right now and what’s going to happen in the future. Dwelling on the past, either its successes or its failures, has never been of much use to me.
I suppose that’s the reason I can look back on some things like Sharon’s bailing on our marriage without bitterness. I remember being hurt when I had been in the thick of it, even angry. Now, though, I have a calmness about it. She was here for a long time; now she’s not and never will be again. I could rant and rave about that, but what would that accomplish? She’d still be gone.
It would be easy enough to find out where she is and what she’s been doing with herself all this time. Like most other problems, a simple phone call can set the wheels in motion towards my enlightenment.
Again, though, what purpose would the knowledge serve? None that I could see, so it would be wasted energy. I’d rather focus my energies on the things I can affect right now, or in the near future.
Steph is right now. She is also the near future.
I end up working out for the better part of an hour, somehow managing to balance the weights against my wandering thoughts. My body and my mind are working overtime, and so both are thoroughly exhausted by the time I finally finish, shower off, and head for bed.
Sometimes, turning in for the night feels like surrendering. It’s tempting to wish that the rest of the world was awake and still as eager to get things done as me, but, like dwelling on the past, there’s not much use in that. Everyone else has long since gone to sleep, so now there’s nothing else but for me to do the same.
I can, however, hope for good dreams. I’ve had some success with lucid dreaming, where you’re aware that you’re asleep and can control what you dream about. It’s a handy technique for continuing to think about a problem or challenge even when you’re asleep, or for continuing a pleasant experience through the present moment.
I focus on the sensation of Steph’s arm through mine, and the smell of her hair, as I switch off the light and drift quickly off to sleep.
Chapter 19 - Steph
There was a movie that came out in the nineties, I can’t remember the name of it or who was in it, but it was about a man who manages to clone himself multiple times to deal with the pressures of his busy and demanding life.
I never actually saw the movie itself. I also can’t remember the last time I watched a movie in its entirety. To be honest, I’m not even sure if I still have cable.
That movie reoccurs to me now, though, because I recall the cover of the DVD, with a row of copies of the protagonist lined up behind the oblivious heroine. It sounds appealing on the surface, the idea of several versions of me all attending to the more pressing aspects of my everyday life.
I would need one for each of my restaurants, and another three to oversee the planning behind the scenes. Then another one to handle all my non-work responsibilities. Seven of me, and my life would be so much more manageable.
As I step out onto the dock, I realize, though, that I
could never send a clone to do any of my work for me. I want to be there in person, doing everything myself. For another thing, I wouldn’t miss a firsthand look at the monstrosity before me for the world.
The Wavebourne floats tied up to the dock before me like a luxury hotel tipped on its side, which somehow has forgotten to sink. I would find out later from its proud owner that, at a hundred and sixty-four feet, it was the largest yacht in the Regatta. It was also the most expensive—valued at two hundred million dollars.
There’s a point where luxury just starts coming across as silly, though, so to me, the ship just seemed grotesquely excessive.
At my side, Daniel intoned, “Good thing it’s springtime…I hear boats this big don’t do so well around icebergs.”
I shush him, and we head for the retractable walkway that will allow us to board the Wavebourne.
Time flies when you’re having fun, so they say, but I’m here to tell you that it positively screams past when you’re getting ready for a huge, important job. I had been up until three in the morning today, checking and re-checking plans, the same way that a mountain-climber would check his gear. This is a more apt analogy than you might think—one misstep could lead to disaster, and this was one big, expensive stage to have a disaster befall you.
Daniel is clearly nervous. He hasn’t been out on many private gigs like this one. Actually, I don’t think many people at all have been out on private gigs like this one. It’s like cooking for the American equivalent of royalty.
Surprisingly, we’re met by the owner and captain himself, Lucas Monroe, as soon as we are on board. Even more surprisingly, at least to me, Monroe hasn’t decked himself out in a pretentious captain’s hat. On the contrary, he seems very pleasant and accommodating.
“Ms. White,” he says, stepping forward to shake my hand. “Mr. Jeffreys. Thank you for making yourselves available on such short notice.”
