Hungry for More (2012)

by Chelsea Scott

  Bridget filtered out the cursing as she eavesdropped on Paul’s conversation.

  “LOOK, Tad. We’re in the Bronx,” Bridget said loudly, hoping to drown out his father. She tried to keep the boy occupied until they got to their stop.

  The fish market wasn’t directly off of the subway line. Paul had to hail a cab. It was a difficult task, which led to more swearing. He continued yelling into his cell phone until the car came to a stop in front of a gigantic, but otherwise unremarkable metal building.

  At least, it was unremarkable until she got out of the car.

  “Oh, my God!” Bridget gasped, nearly reeling from the smell that assaulted her nostrils when she stepped onto the sidewalk. It was disgusting- like a trash bin left out in the sun!- but Paul didn’t seem to notice. Tad appeared delighted.

  “Ewww!” he cried, clapping his hands happily as Paul led them inside.

  Bridget was amazed at what she encountered when they stepped through the doors: row after row after row of crates and counters. Shoppers buzzed around like a hive of angry bees and hawkers’ voices cried out over the crowd.

  A quick glance at the sellers closest to the entrance showed Bridget nearly every kind of seafood that she could imagine: mussels, clams, shrimp, lobsters and fish of every shape and size. Paul ignored them.

  “This stuff is crap,” he pronounced, and looked worried. “I hope that we aren’t too late.”

  He started to turn down one of the pathways, but took a minute to check himself. Bridget was delighted when he turned to scoop up Tad again. “You don’t want to get lost in this place!” he told the boy. Then he set off again, leaving Bridget to trot in their wake.

  Bridget was far less pleased with Paul’s parenting skills once they reached their destination: the booth which appeared to be Paul’s supplier of choice. There was an irate exchange about the quality of the seafood that was in the case. Aspersions were cast about the provenance and age of the current offerings and then there was a heated disagreement about the price. She could understand those things- but wished that there was some way for him to get his point across without swearing so badly. Tad had already picked it up.

  Her young charge gleefully yelled a curse word at a passing stock boy.

  That, at least, gave Paul the grace to flush.

  “Uhm…why don’t you stand over there with Nanny,” Paul said to Tad, as he approached another counter. “Daddy will just be a minute or two.”

  Bridget held Tad a tactful distance from his father while the man went to barter for some swordfish to be delivered to the shop. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but from the angry gestures that accompanied the conversation, that was probably a good thing; but Tad was clearly itching for Paul to return. It made her smile to see just how excited Tad was when Paul bent down to scoop him up again.

  “All done?” Bridget asked hopefully. She assumed that the last transaction had ended well, because money changed hands, and she mouth-read Paul’s directions for the purchase to be delivered to the restaurant.

  “Not quite…” he said apologetically. He explained that, when it was first opened, the market had only been for fish, but now there were fruits and vegetables too.

  “The fu-…uhm…stupid,” he corrected himself before swearing in front of Tad again, “sous chef didn’t fill our vegetable order this morning, so I have to go and see if there’s anything decent left. I promise it won’t take long! I just need some eggplant and zucchini…and salad greens…and tomatoes…and cherries and….er…” He looked sheepish. “Actually, why don’t you and Tad go to the café? They have some muffins and stuff that is decent.” He handed Bridget some money. “I’ll catch up with you both in a bit.”

  Tad was heartbroken to be abandoned, although Bridget understood why it was done. She tried to console him with a chocolate donut and the bubble-popping game on her mobile phone until his father returned.

  Paul actually didn’t take as much time as she expected. Tad was having his face wiped clean of frosting when the chef poked his head inside the café.

  “All ready to go?” he asked.

  Bridget nodded, but Tad began to shake his head. “Not yet! Oh, please Daddy! Can’t I see the fish up close?”

  Bridget was sure that Paul was going to say “no” and had already started gently letting down Tad’s hopes, “Daddy is very busy, darling, he has to go into work…”

  Paul surprised her again.

  “Just for a little while…” he said, and led them back onto the market floor.

  The main corridors of the hall were so busy that Tad risked being trampled. Paul’s arms were full of packages now, so he couldn’t carry the child, but Paul quickly led them off into a quiet side hall where Tad could stare goggle-eyed at crustaceans crawling over one another in tanks, eels wriggling in barrels, and giant shark carcasses dangling from hooks.

  “What’s that, Daddy?” Tad asked, jabbing his chubby finger at a pile of silvery fish so fresh that they were still oozing blood onto their beds of crushed ice.

  “Mackerel…” he said, “And those are plaice…sea bream…trout…”

  Bridget was interested in what Paul had to say- and also amazed with his patience as he explained, not only what things were, but how they were served.

  “We use that mainly in soup…” he said, picking up the limp tendril of an octopus arm to let Tad touch it.

  “Do you cook the sucker parts?” Tad asked, fascinated. He actually listened to Paul’s explanation before moving on to gawk at salted anchovies and then packets of fresh smoked kippers.

  “Oooh! We eat those at home, Tad!” Bridget exclaimed, pleased to have something to add to the conversation.

  “Would you like to try them?” Paul asked his son, and then handed over some cash.

  By the time they left the market, they had purchased nearly as much for themselves as for the restaurant, or so it seemed to Bridget. She didn’t see how they were ever going to have time to prepare all of the little morsels that Paul had promised to let Tad try before everything spoiled, but she held her tongue. She was really pleased that Paul had found a way to connect with his son- even if it did make her jealous.

  “Are we REALLY going to eat shark, Daddy?” Tad asked as they rode back into Manhattan. He didn’t wait for his father to answer. Instead, he turned to the nanny. “Did you see that man chop up the shark? It was a real shark, Nanny!”

  “I know!” Bridget said, making sure that she sounded impressed. “I can’t wait until Daddy has lunchtime off so he can cook it at home!”

  “Actually,” Paul said, looking thoughtful, “We could have it today.”

  Bridget arched a brow, trying not to get too hopeful. “Oh? I thought you had to go in…”

  “I do,” Paul told her, “But we don’t have lunch service on a Tuesday. The guys are just doing prep. The restaurant should be nice and quiet if you’d like to stop by.”

  “Oh, but I- aren’t you going to be busy?” Bridget said anxiously. The thought of going to the restaurant instantly made her feel ill. Not only might she be expected to eat, but also people who knew Paul would see her!

  “I’m not too busy to cook lunch for the pair of you,” he said, casting a strange look in her direction.

  Bridget thought that he was probably remembering how she had laid in wait for him that morning to hound him into spending some time with his son. Now that he was offering his time of his own accord she was acting like a ninny.

  “Please can we go, Nanny? Please?” Tad begged. “I want to see where Daddy works.”

  Bridget couldn’t possibly refuse that plea. “Of course we can go. If it’s really okay with your dad.” She glanced at Paul, almost praying that he would change his mind, although she felt guilty for her wish. Tad looked so excited to get to spend more time with his father.

  “Of course it’s okay!” Paul gave the cab driver the new directions and sat back in his seat until they reached the Chatterly.

  Bridget’s stomach was in
knots by the time they arrived, but Tad was practically bubbling over with excitement.

  “Is this your restaurant, Daddy?” he asked in awe, as Paul lifted him out of the cab.

  “Yeah…”

  Bridget thought she detected an odd inflection in Paul’s voice as he gave his answer, but then decided that she must have been imagining things.

  “In we go then,” he said, paying the driver after collecting all his bags.

  Paul took them in through the back entrance. For one horrifying moment Bridget thought they were going to have to walk straight through the busy kitchen, but to her relief the door opened onto an empty corridor.

  “Why don’t you go on ahead to the dining room? It’s that way. I’m just going to drop this stuff off in the kitchen and make sure the co-, bas-…er… guys in the kitchen haven’t f- …uhm…messed up anything I can’t fix.”

  Bridget giggled softly as Paul struggled to tone down his language. Bless him. He was trying.

  “All right. Come on, Tad,” she said, taking the little boy’s hand.

  “Can’t I go with you and see the kitchen, Daddy?” Tad asked desperately.

  Bridget was so sure that the answer would be no that she let herself relax. Perhaps she had been silly to be so worried about coming to Paul’s restaurant? If she and Tad came and left by the back door and ate in a deserted restaurant no one would see her after all.

  However, after what appeared to be a monumental internal battle, Paul finally answered Tad’s question.

  “You can peek from the doorway if you clean your plate.”

  “Okay!” Tad nodded quickly.

  Bridget’s stomach churned again, even though peeking didn’t sound too traumatic.

  She took Tad through to the luxurious dining area. The tables were covered in fine linen, but the place settings were missing. Bridget let Tad select a table and sat down with him. He eagerly chatted away about everything that he had seen that morning. Bridget made a mental note to get him some books about fish.

  “Pardon me, mademoiselle, but Chef Devoe asked me to set your table.”

  Bridget jumped in surprise when a stranger appeared at her side. “Oh? Oh! Thank you,” Bridget flushed with embarrassment and quickly removed her purse from the table. “I can do that really, it’s no trouble-”

  “Absolument pas!” the man replied in French, looking mortally offended.

  “What does that mean?” Tad asked curiously. He was looking adorable and angelic. Bridget was glad to have the man’s attention diverted away from her.

  “It means I would not dream of a guest of the restaurant setting her own table,” he smiled.

  “Wow, it means all that?” Tad goggled. “Do you work here like my daddy?”

  “I am the maitre’d. I look after the customers who come to eat your father’s food,” he nodded, obviously charmed by Tad. Bridget was glad; she couldn’t believe that the maitre’d himself was setting their table. “Can I get you anything to drink?” he offered, having finished with the utensils.

  “Could Tad have a glass of water, please?”

  “Of course. And for yourself, Mademoiselle?”

  “Oh, nothing for-”

  “She’ll need a glass of the good Australian Chardonnay, the Millamolong Reisling, Georges-Pierre.”

  “Of course,” the maitre’d nodded at Paul and then disappeared.

  “Is that the shark, Daddy?” Tad gasped gleefully, peering at the plates that his father had just carried to the table.

  “It is,” Paul grinned. “Basted with lemon juice, garlic and butter, and grilled over charcoal.”

  Bridget was pleased that Paul was learning to use words that Tad could identify, even if she was beginning to panic at the sight of two plates of food.

  “I hope you both realize that these have to come back to the kitchen empty if I ever hope to show my face at work again.” Paul winked, setting the mouthwatering dish in front of Bridget and Tad.

  Bridget stared down at the steaming platter and tried to stop the rumbling in her stomach. She swallowed hard, and then looked up at Paul, who was watching her with rapt attention.

  “Go on!” he said.

  Bridget used her knife to cut off a tiny piece, which she held on the tip of her fork. She stared at the flaky meat. She was hardly a gourmet, but she could tell that it was cooked to perfection, and the smell was amazing.

  Paul was still staring. His eyes were tracing the path from the fork to her mouth, urging her to take the bite. It hovered, indecisively- and then she saw her way out.

  “Oh! Tad! I’m sorry- Nanny needs to cut it for you!”

  In truth, the fish was flaky enough that he might have managed, but she seized the distraction.

  “Is it really shark, Nanny?” Tad asked, practically quivering with excitement.

  “Yes,” she told him as she loaded a bite into onto his fork. “Aren’t you a lucky boy? You get to bite a shark instead of having a shark bite you.”

  She popped the morsel into his mouth, and then watched for his reaction. Thankfully, it was a good one.

  “It’s YUMMY, Daddy!” Tad said and opened his mouth like a baby bird, begging another bite.

  “I think you have another hit,” Bridget said, smiling as she obligingly fed the child. Paul smiled tightly, “Well, that’s half of you I’ve pleased then,” he said and looked at her intently. “Now, what do you think?”

  “What do I? Oh…I…I’m just…” Bridget fumbled for an escape. She knew from Tad’s reaction that the food was going to be good. She’d never be able to stop at a delicate mouthful, and she’d simply die if Paul saw her stuff her face. “I…er…had so much breakfast…I never dreamed…maybe I could just take it home?”

  “Surely you can try one bite? It won’t taste as good heated up.”

  “Oh, but I…” Bridget twisted her fork, salivating as she looked at the delicate morsel it held. “I’m…er…allergic.”

  “You’re allergic to seafood?” Paul asked. He plucked the fork out of her hand and started to reach for the plate, when he paused, “But…the kippers?”

  “Only some seafood…” Bridget said, knowing that she must sound foolish.

  “You didn’t mention it before.”

  “But…it’s really not that big of a deal…” She was starting to feel idiotic, “You know…er…I just get a little rash…I’ve never had shark and maybe…”

  She averted her eyes from Paul, concentrating instead on Tad, who had nearly wolfed down his entire portion.

  “I see.”

  Paul didn’t see. She could tell from his brooding expression. He thought that she simply didn’t want his food. Nothing could be further from the truth, but she didn’t know how to tell him that.

  “It smells delicious.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Paul said tersely, and picked up her plate. Tad had a few bites left, but Paul picked up his plate too.

  “Hey!” the little boy exclaimed.

  “You’re finished.”

  “Are we going to have dessert?”

  Bridget was glad that Paul shook his head no, even though Tad began to whine.

  “I’m sure you have something important to do back at the apartment,” Paul said in a piqued tone that let Bridget know just how badly she’d stung him.

  “Mr. Devoe…” she said quietly, regretting that she’d hurt his feelings. “I just-!”

  “Don’t let me keep you!” he snapped, and then turned on his heel, dismissing them just like that.

  Chapter 7

  “Unbelievable…” Paul muttered under his breath as he returned to the kitchen.

  He slammed the two plates onto the counter, and then looked up- only to discover that the sous chef and a couple of commis were looking at the untouched shark.

  “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU STARING AT?” Paul roared, in even less of a humor than usual to deal with their curiosity or pert remarks.

  The sous chef smirked, “What’s the matter, Devoe,” he said in the carefu
l sneer of a man who knew that the dog that he was taunting was trapped behind a fence, “Your kid didn’t like it?”

  “Tad loved it,” he answered, without thinking to yell back that it was none of his business.

  “It was the nanny who didn’t eat it?” one commis asked in disbelief.

  The man beside him snickered, “That has to be the first meal that she’s missed in her entire life!”

  All three of the men started laughing, but two of them stopped when they saw Paul’s face. It had turned completely purple.

  “WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?” he growled so loud that it hurt his throat. The two commis chefs stumbled backwards, but it didn’t take them away from his wrath. “You think that’s funny? It’s funny to you worthless jerks to make jokes about my friends?”

  “Er…yes, Chef! I mean-! No, Chef!” One stammered. It was too little, too late.

  “You sniveling little piece of vomit!” Paul hissed, grabbing the man by the chef coat and then ripping the garment off. He reached for the other man, but was evaded. “Get out of here!” he bellowed

  Even the sous chef looked pale. Somehow he gathered the courage to speak, “Er…Chef Devoe…”

  Paul whirled around, “Don’t think I wouldn’t throw your sorry ass out too if you weren’t so far up the investors’ butts!” He shot the man a withering glance, and then turned his fury back on the hapless pair of commis. “Get out!” he screamed again, waving his arms and practically herding them out the door.

  At least the service went smoothly after that.

  There was loads more prep work to do- after all, they were two men down- but Paul’s violent explosion of temper and the continuance of his vile mood worked like a tonic on the rest of the crew. Paul had never worked a smoother dinner in all of his life!

  Bridget didn’t have to deal with any screaming, but her afternoon wasn’t precisely ideal. Tad made a scene before they left the restaurant. He was confused by his father’s disappearance and heartbroken that he didn’t get to see the kitchen after all. Bridget couldn’t help but feel responsible for the situation, and so she was extra indulgent all afternoon. They stopped at F.A.O. Schwartz on the way home. She bought Tad a plush shark and a box of dominoes. They spent the evening learning how to play.