½ cup butter (1 stick)
3 squares (3 ounces) unsweetened chocolate
1½ cups sugar
4 eggs
3 tablespoons light corn syrup
1¼ teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 quart vanilla ice cream (optional) or whipped cream
Melt butter and chocolate together in a saucepan over very low heat. Beat in sugar, eggs, syrup, salt, and vanilla with a rotary beater just until blended.
Pour into unbaked pie shell. Bake in a 350-degree oven for 40 to 45 minutes or until a knife inserted between center and edge comes out clean.
Do not overbake. Pie should shake a little. It will firm up in 15 minutes after being taken out of oven. Cool and serve with whipping cream (or ice cream) on top. Serves 8.
A Note from Rebecca Covington
Darlings, yes, it’s true! I am the dessert queen and I have the copper-bottom frying pan to prove it.
Like all of you, I’m mad about chocolate and whipped cream. Such perfect foods on most anything are yummy.
Although I do have my limits, unlike a certain kinky businessman I know.
His favorite recipe for his favorite ladies is whipped cream, cherries, and chocolate sauce, and that’s just for their toes!
In his banquet of love, the more serious body parts are smeared with pâté de foie gras, liver sausage, and caviar.
For this gourmand Don Juan, love is truly a bacchanalian orgy of rich foods. Unfortunately, if rumor be true, he’s gained forty pounds in the last two months!
So, darlings, please be discriminating where you put YOUR whipped cream when serving my prize-winning pie!
Enjoy!
Xo Rebecca
Chapter 13
On Monday morning, Rebecca stomped into Shannon’s office, ready to confront her about the false lead on the senator, her lie to the Culinary Institute, and the dastardly rigging of the celebrity auction. Any of these diabolically bitchy deeds would have pushed Shannon over Rebecca’s line in the sand.
Sorry, Granny. No more acting like a lady. No more mantras. Little white gloves are off. Shannon must pay.
She found Maybella in the office tidying up the desk. “Where is she?” Rebecca demanded.
Maybella tossed her head, but her mahogany-streaked, shoulder length, flipped-up hair never budged. “You won’t be finding Shannon in the office this week. She’s taking a much-earned vacation.”
On Tuesday Rebecca realized David was missing in action from the office. It wasn’t long before she couldn’t control the nagging jealousy rearing its ugly Medusa head. What if it wasn’t coincidence that Shannon and David were both out of the office? After all, they obviously spent time together after work. Like that first night at Allen’s restaurant. What if David has hopped on his jet with Shannon and they’re frolicking on some island paradise?
That scene kept playing through her head like a bad movie no matter how hard she fought to shut it off. It should have been obvious to the most naive female that David, handsome, single multimillionaire, could have any woman he fancied in the slightest.
All the sexually charged moments they’d shared, the looks, the intangible something between them hadn’t been real. It was what she wanted to believe, her story. Like the one she’d told herself about her happy marriage. Not reality. Simple, pure, wishful thinking.
How could I have been so stupid to drop my guard and let David into my heart! Worse, to believe he returned my feelings. So much for the brain-chemical thing scientists swear explains attraction!
Finally, her self-flagellation became too depressing to bear. To help her fully recover from her momentary slip into stupidity and to get back to her normal self, she needed a tad more cheering up. There was no better way to get herself over the last hump than to take Pauline to lunch at her favorite spot, RL’s restaurant.
Indian summer lay in a haze over the city, like a balm before the onset of another windy Chicago winter. The fall sun felt softer but still warm on Rebecca’s bare arms as they sat next to the geranium-festooned half-trellised wall that separated RL’s outdoor dining from the sidewalk.
Pauline swiveled in her chair to scan the dozen or so people seated around them. “Do you remember the time we were having lunch here and Jennifer Aniston was sitting right over there?” She pointed two tables away. “Oh, I just loved her and Vince in The Breakup. Maybe she’s in town again?”
Rebecca shook her head. “Sorry, sweetheart. Not that I’ve heard.”
“Oh, well, maybe we’ll see someone else famous.” Pauline sat up straighter. “You always say RL’s is the place in Chicago to see and be seen.”
Half an hour later, even Pauline had to concede they were mostly seeing little girls with their moms or grandmas going into American Girl next door and inevitably coming out carrying multiple big red shopping bags.
“Look at that one coming now.” Pauline pointed toward a happy little girl, clasping a redheaded doll while skipping along beside her mother. “She reminds me of my two girls.” Pauline’s eyes got misty. “They were just that thrilled when you bought them their American Girl dolls last Christmas.”
Rebecca shivered at the memory. “Then it was worth my agony waiting in line outside to even get into the store. Did I mention it was snowing that day?”
“Rebecca, you should start shopping now. Christmas is just around the corner,” Pauline said brightly.
Confused, Rebecca stopped dipping her grilled cheese sandwich into her tomato soup to look up at Pauline. “What are you talking about? You know I love last-minute Christmas shopping. It’s only the middle of October.”
“Oh, I know how much you love Christmas. You’re always your happiest then. You should be thinking about Christmas, Rebecca. Remembering how much you love all the lights on Michigan Avenue, and going to all the fancy holiday parties, and shopping for your friends and just making people happy, like you did the girls.”
Pauline did not have a poker face like Kate. Every emotion was written in bold, neon red letters across her pretty freckled features.
She thinks I’m depressed. Hoping to reassure her, Rebecca laughed. “Stop worrying. I’m fine.”
Pauline’s lips quivered as she pointed to the bowl of soup Rebecca was wiping clean with the crust of her sandwich. “Look what you’re eating.”
Rebecca had to defend her choice to feed her stress just a few more carbs. “My granny always said starve a cold, feed your stress. It’s comfort food.”
“Oh, I knew it!” Pauline leaned across the table, her curls falling around her stricken face. “I know you’re trying to hide it, but I’ve never seen you so down. Not even when you got . . . fired.” She dropped her voice on the last fateful word.
“I’m not down,” Rebecca insisted, feeling rotten for lying to one of her dearest friends. No way was she going to burden Pauline’s gentle soul with this mess. “I’m frustrated.” As always, when she had no choice but to fib, Rebecca kept it as close to the truth as possible. “I need to talk to Shannon about a work-related problem, but she’s out of the office all week.”
“Mr. Sumner’s gone this week, too.” Pauline went into deep-whisper mode. “That’s just a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Hoping the pain in her chest was heartburn instead of heartache, because she would have no more of that foolishness, Rebecca shrugged. “I guess it’s possible they’re together.”
“But he paid twenty thousand dollars for you!” Pauline said, her voice loud with excitement.
The man at the next table looked up, a peculiarly interested gleam in his eyes.
“That was a business deal.” Rebecca lowered her voice, hoping Pauline would do the same next time. “Great publicity for him. It made him look good because I was up for bidding. It was nothing personal.”
Obviously Rebecca hadn’t kept her voice low enough. The man at the next table leered at her and actually scooted toward her in his chair. She stopped him with a scathing don’t-you-da
re glare.
He hastily paid his bill and fled.
Pauline had totally missed his crude behavior because she kept staring, like the Sphinx, toward Rush Street. “It should be just a few more minutes, and then I’ll find out the truth about Mr. Sumner and Shannon. This is one of those moments that I need to be here for you,” she declared, perching on the edge of her chair. “Look, Maybella!”
Wearing black cat-eye sunglasses, Maybella was slowly strolling along Chicago Avenue, sipping a venti Starbucks.
Waving, Pauline bounced to her feet. “Oh, Maybella, hi!”
Maybella stopped to stare in their direction.
Even from a distance Rebecca could see she didn’t look happy to obey Pauline’s eager gesture to join them.
Clutching her Starbucks in both hands, essence of caramel frappuccino clinging to her, Maybella hovered on the other side of the flower-festooned barricade. “Hi, y’all. It must be nice to get such a nice long lunch break.”
Pauline nodded. “For you, too. We were just talking about how lonely it must be this week for you. With everyone gone in the executive hallway.”
Visibly preening, Maybella flashed a toothy grin. “Mr. Porter’s in and out so much this week, too. He left me in charge of everything. I’m so exhausted I had to have another frappuccino to make it through the afternoon.”
“Poor you.” Pauline looked wounded on Maybella’s behalf. “When do you expect everyone back to relieve you?”
Rebecca watched Pauline in mounting disbelief, reminded of a special she’d seen on how a spider hypnotizes a fly into its web.
“Mr. Sumner comes back on Friday. Shannon not ’til Monday. Dear thing needs a break with all her new notoriety.” Maybella smirked in Rebecca’s direction.
She schooled her face for fear any sign from her might lead Pauline to inflict further torture on Maybella.
Pauline glanced down at her watch and her eyes widened in mock horror. “Oh, my gosh. It’s almost two. If you’re in charge, shouldn’t you be back by now? What if Mr. Porter calls in? Or worse, Mr. Sumner. You might get fired!”
Maybella’s lips, lined lightly with whipped cream, twisted into a frown. “I have five minutes left on my break. Don’t you worry, I’ll be back at my desk on the dot of two like always.” With a last glare, she swung away.
Watching Maybella flutter frantically back toward the Daily Mail building to make that two o’clock deadline, Rebecca felt a twinge of sympathy for her. She turned to her always kind, sensitive, gentle friend. “Clearly I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.”
A fiercely protective look came over Pauline’s face. “Oh, stop! Just because I’m not a mean-spirited person doesn’t mean I’m not capable of defending my loved ones from those that are mean-spirited. Maybella deserves it for the way she sometimes treats you. I always tell the girls what goes around comes around. Besides, we got the truth. Trust me, if Mr. Sumner and Shannon were together, Maybella would give up a week of double caramel frappuccinos for the right to tell us. So see! You can be happy again!”
Rebecca wasn’t so sure she knew the truth, and she was nearly positive she wouldn’t be truly happy for quite some time, if ever, but who was she to burst Pauline’s bubble?
She left Pauline content at the switchboard in the lobby. By the time Rebecca climbed the stairs to deliver Kate’s promised treat of RL’s Chopped Waldolf Chicken Salad, the nagging need to have the truth confirmed got the better of her. Before pride stopped her, Rebecca blurted it out. “Kate, do you know where David has been all week?”
Kate peered up over the top of her tortoiseshell half-glasses as she opened her lunch. “No. But I’m grateful his absence gives me a few more days to decide about the finance column.”
“Shannon is gone this week, too.”
Kate looked as startled as Pauline had earlier. “Surely you don’t believe they’re together?”
Rebecca shrugged. “They were together that first night at Allen’s. And sort of together at the cook-off. So, yes, I think they might be together now.” Unable to muster another fib, Rebecca flung herself into Kate’s soft new black leather chair, which had replaced the hard, old, ugly one, and prepared to confess. “I know it’s really none of my business if they’re together. And I know it’s my own stupid fault for thinking about it at all.”
Kate was watching her with so much sadness and concern on her face, Rebecca had to look away. She intently studied her fingers twisting together on her lap, or she’d burst into hot, painful tears. “Pretty dumb, huh? For a woman of my age to so misunderstand his actions. To start believing my own publicity. Never a good idea.”
She forced a smile before looking up, her eyes welling with tears despite her best efforts to hide her feelings.
“I’m sorry,” Kate said quietly, her face etched with sorrow. “My instincts tell me you’re wrong about David and Shannon being together. However, you’re obviously in pain. How can I help you?”
“You can’t, Kate.” To Rebecca’s horror, her own voice cracked a little. “As my granny taught me, ultimately, we all must save ourselves.”
By Thursday night, nesting in her condo to lick her wounds, surrounded by scented candles and music, Rebecca called on all her years of practice in saving face. It wasn’t quite as good as saving herself, because inevitably there was extra baggage that needed to be lugged around on a daily basis. Lately the baggage had become heavier than usual.
To get back to where she needed to be—confident, devil-may-care, able to lift her heavy baggage in a single hand, emotionally unattached, focused on getting her identity back—she went through her recipe for survival.
A pinch of self-pity. Granted, she’d allowed herself a smidgen more than she should have these past months since David fired her, and in the last days because of David himself, but she was still well under her recommended daily allowance.
A really healthy dose of anger. Yes, anger was good. When mixed with determination, focus, desire, and tenacity, it was incredibly delicious. She’d been feasting on it for years.
So why do I suddenly feel like I’m starving to death?
The phone’s shrill ring startled her up off the plump pillows on the couch.
“Mr. Sumner to see you, Miss Covington,” Malcolm, her doorman, announced.
Delight zinged through her body in a burst of bubbles, like too much champagne, making her giddy and reckless.
No, my survival needs anger now!
“It’s late, Malcolm,” she said coolly into the awkward silence that had fallen on the other end of the line during the time she was remembering who she was and what she needed to do to save herself.
“Miss Covington. Mr. Sumner to see you,” Malcolm repeated, strain echoing in every syllable.
For a moment she’d forgotten the other half of the anger cup. Don’t dump it on those who don’t deserve it. She couldn’t put Malcolm in the middle of her need to tell David to get lost to protect her heart. Pride demanded she do it herself.
“I’ll see Mr. Sumner. Thank you.” Once Malcolm hung up, she slammed down the phone and zipped the hoodie of her navy cashmere Juicy Couture sweat suit so tight around her neck she nearly choked.
Boss or not. Twenty-thousand-dollar date or not, David is not getting in here tonight.
She flung open the door to tell him so.
Directly across the hall, the elevator doors slid slowly open. There he stood, looking more casual than normal, wearing a black leather jacket and with a light scruffy shadow along his square jaw.
Their eyes met and his face became more alive, like some switch had been turned on. His blue eyes blazed and his long mouth curled in a deep dimpled smile. She was reminded of all the lights being turned on along the Magnificent Mile for the holidays, and she felt the same warm, joyous wonder.
Clearly I need another drink from the anger cup.
Crossing the hall in three strides, he held up the two frosty bottles of Cristal he was carrying. “Celebrate with me. I’m going t
o be a grandfather.”
Determined to be strong, she fought her instant connection to his happiness. “Why little old me?” She put every ounce of sarcasm she could muster into her voice. “Your young girlfriend thinks being a grandpa makes you too old for her now?”
Watching the light go out of his face was like a kick straight to her heart. When he took a step back she had to bite her lip not to call out to him.
“I thought you’d understand. After the way I saw you with those little girls.” His voice became firmer. “My mistake. I apologize for bothering you, Rebecca.”
He turned away but not before she glimpsed his face.
I’ve hurt him. “David, wait!”
He turned back, his face guarded, but he couldn’t hide the emotion in his eyes. “No. You’re right, Rebecca. This was a mistake. It’s late. I’ll see you at the office.”
Determined to control whatever happened if she let him in tonight, she met him halfway in the hall. Without the advantage of her usual stilettos, she had to tilt her head back slightly to watch his expression.
“I’d like you to come in, David. I’m sorry. You caught me off guard. Besides, I can’t bear the thought of wasting these fabulous bottles of champagne.” As always, she tried to defuse the tension with humor.
Solemn, he stared down into her face. She knew these next few moments could change everything.
She put every ounce of her desire for him to stay into her eyes, willing him not to go. She backed to the door and pushed it wide open. “Please come in,” she whispered.
Expressionless, his back stiff, he walked into her condo.
She closed her eyes for an instant in gratitude. Now she didn’t have to hate herself or keep being eaten alive with remorse for her cruelty. She knew that was more baggage than she could handle.
She shut the door. “Please go on into the living room. There are champagne glasses on the library table next to the bookcase. I’ll get the ice bucket and join you.”
She needed the private time in the kitchen to try to understand why David had appeared at her door so late. She tried to tell herself the reason she let him in tonight was because since childhood she’d always taken in strays, feeling an affinity for their loneliness and need for love. My God, she’d even married one, and look how that turned out.
Talk of the Town Page 12
