When Jennifer returned to the main floor, Tony had taken a seat at a table for two by the window as he perused a menu. “Are you hungry, Tony?”
It took a concerted effort for his eyes not to rake her body. “I could stand a nibble or two.”
“Great, how much time do you have?”
“I have all the time you need,” he said with that same smile that had convinced her to take off her panties.
“Let me make you something,” she told him as she pulled a chair up to the bar. “Come, sit. Do you like seafood?”
“Sure!”
“Any allergies I need to know about?”
“None,” he said with almost too much excitement.
“Okay, we will start with a cold appetizer,” she said as she seated her chef’s hat back on her head and disappeared through the door to the kitchen. She came back a minute later with a shrimp cocktail. “That’s my own special red sauce on those shrimp,” she said as she scooped up the ice, dropped it into a glass, squeezed in some fresh lemon juice, added a shot of seltzer, and a splash of sweet & sour mix.
Tony could hear her in the kitchen and could smell the wonderful scents emitting from the back room. He wanted to watch her work. Hell, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her again. For a second, his heart had dropped when she did not fling herself into his arms and confess her love for him. What were you expecting? You played lover, dragged her to your room and ravished her until she escaped in the middle of the night. In his mind, the way he saw it playing out was her feeling like Cinderella as he returned her means to buy more shoes. She had not missed either card or identification. Instead, he walked into coldness and her potential shame of what they had done two days ago. But it felt so real.
Jennifer brought out two salad plates, she placed one in front of him, the other at the spot next to him. “My extra special dressing. The recipe is secret,” she winked at him and disappeared through the door again. Next time she returned with Prosciutto-wrapped asparagus, seared scallops and a perfectly portioned serving of brown rice. Or at least he thought it was brown until he tasted it. But before she even let him sink his fork into anything, she blessed the food. “Bon Appetit.”
He tasted the rice and his eyes rolled up into his head. “What is this yummy deliciousness that is dancing in my mouth?”
Her brow was furrowed. “You do have a creative way with words don’t you?”
He chuckled. “I’d better, considering it is what I do for a living.”
Her eyes grazed him. “I would have thought you were a fitness model or personal trainer with that body.”
“You make me blush. Um, thanks, I think,” he smiled as he cut into the scallops. He was chewing and staring at her. “This is amazing.”
His eyes got wide as he plopped another scallop into his mouth, and he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “You are perfect! This is perfect! Oh my goodness! This is just too perfect to be real!”
Jennifer stopped chewing. “What are you talking about?”
“You just may have saved my life,” he told her as he hummed his way through the rest of lunch.
Tony Peay was a single father of an unusual 12-year-old with a refined palate. So refined that junk food, pizza and anything processed did not go into her mouth. He was partly to blame because he ate a rather natural and wholesome diet that sometimes bordered on bland. At the wonderful age of 8, Sasha, his little angel, began a small herb garden in the backyard and used the contents to season the foil wrapped fish her dad insisted upon serving every Friday night.
Fresh rosemary was harvested to go on the grill with the dry chicken breast he used to cook. As she aged, so did her adventure in the kitchen. Try as he may to keep up, he just was not able. Her growth in four years was astounding. His sister, Cleo, has been an angel with the care and assistance in raising Sasha, but last week, she threw in the towel. Two weeks before Sasha’s 13th birthday party, Cleo refused to lend a hand.
“Tony, she is too spoiled. No one is going to spend that kind of money on food for a bunch of 12 and 13-year-old girls who can’t even pronounce half of the stuff she wants to serve,” Cleo said with firmness.
“There has to be a compromise, Cleo. Will you try to find one?” he pleaded with her.
“No. You and Mom can deal with this nonsense, but I, for one, am not serving buffalo mozzarella to a bunch of teenagers! It is indulgent, expensive and honestly, just ridiculous. She has too much control in your life, Tony. It has to stop,” Cleo said as she picked up her things and walked out of the door.
In some instances, he knew his sister was right. Tony had not dated in years because he was always too concerned about his daughter’s feelings. It was at his sister’s insistence that he was even in the hotel on Saturday night. Cleo booked the room for him for the weekend and told him to go and get lucky. Friday night, he sat in the bar on that same stool nursing a similar drink only to be approached by several ladies that even in his lonely, horned up state, he wasn’t willing to deal with. Just as he was about the wrap up the leftovers and head to his room to order a movie, Jennifer approached him with a lovely offer too good to refuse.
“Jennifer, I am a single dad of a 12-year-old with a sophisticated palate.” He waited for her reaction and the million questions that normally followed that statement. Silly questions about his relationship with the child’s mother. Insipid questions about whether or not he was still seeing her, or if they were they romantically involved. The kind of questions from women that supported his reasons to remain single.
This lady said nothing, but waited for the rest of his statement. He went on, “In two weeks she is celebrating her 13th birthday. I am throwing her a party with 15 to 20 of her braces wearing, acne prone little friends and she wants a specialized menu.”
“Okay, what is your budget?” Jennifer asked.
Tony stared at her. He didn’t really know what to say. Where were the rest of the crazed personal questions? “I guess about $500 on the high end,” he said as he swallowed hard.
“If you want me to cater it, I will need to see your kitchen so I can determine how much I prepare on site and the set up space. I will also need to meet with your daughter to see what we can come up with that fits your budget and her vision,” she said as rose to go to the kitchen to get a slice of cheesecake and some coffee for them both. “I drink decaf, what about you?”
“No coffee for me. I am a tea drinker,” he said, still in a bit of shock.
“Herbal or decaf tea?” she called from the kitchen.
“Herbal,” he said as she returned with a box for him to make a selection and a mini pot of hot water.
She placed a piece of paper in front of him. “I am off on Wednesday. I can stop by your house then and meet with her. Write your address and number here.”
He complied with the request, but he was so floored, he pulled her into his arms, his mouth against her ear, and said, “Jennifer, I love you.”
Her breath caught in her throat, but she would not buy into it. “That was almost as good as mine on Saturday night. I think I was more convincing, though,” she said as she looked into his eyes. Her fingers came up to his lips, running tentatively across the bottom lip and down his neck. “No, Tony. I love you.”
She twisted her mouth a little to the right, making a wiseguy impression. “See, if you’re gonna do it, it has to be said with feeling.”
“I guess I will have to practice a bit more,” he said as he looked at her. She is an amazing woman.
“You do that,” she told him as she took a business card from the bar and wrote her cell phone number on the back. “Now get out. I have a dinner service to set up.”
“Jen,” he said softly.
She answered without looking up as she stacked their dirty dish plates. “Yeah, Tony, what’s up?”
“May I kiss you again before I leave?”
“Hell no! The last time you started kissing me that led to something else, which left me walking sideways all
day yesterday. You need to take your ass on home or somewhere else,” she told him as she collected the dirty cups, mumbling to herself.
He rushed to her side. “Jennifer, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“Yes, you did,” she told him with a look of incredulity on her face. It was the twinkle in her eye that prompted his next question.
“But did you like it?”
“Yes, I did. Now get out, before I start wanting seconds,” she said with a grin.
That was all he needed. His hand went to her cheek. “Anytime... anyplace... any moment of the day or night, I will be yours,” he told her as her heartbeat increased. He planted a feathery kiss on her lips with just a tad bit of tongue and he left.
“Well, shoot!” Jennifer said as she went into the kitchen and went back to work. Tony, on the other hand, was reeling with thoughts and ideas. At times, he wished he had a brother in which to talk things over with, share stories or even adventures. Yes. Having a brother would be nice, then I could tell him all about Jennifer.
Tino Boehner was thinking the same thing. It would be nice to sit and have a conversation with his brother. Now that he was aware that he had one in Tony, he really wanted to get to know him. Right now, he sat at the kitchen table with his new girlfriend Ebony Miller wondering how in the world he was going to pull this off. How do you show up on your mother’s doorstep and yell, “Hey Mom, I’m home?” Especially after she gave you away to be raised by someone else.
At 30 years old, Valentino Boehner was a self-made man and one of the best real estate gurus in the greater Raleigh area, but he knew something was missing inside of him. He was shocked when he asked his adoptive parents about his birth mother, only to find that he knew her. She had remained a part of his life and showed up at all of his major life events. The only issue was that for the majority of his life, his birth mother masqueraded as his cousin.
He looked at his graduation picture from college. She stood beside him with a smile and the young man he also called cousin, Tony. Ebony sat next to Tino on the couch and rubbed his thigh. “I think – and this is just me talking – that if you want to get to know your birth family, start with him.” She pointed at the boy in the picture.
“You think I should start with Tony?”
“I would. He is your brother after all, and maybe,” she paused for a minute, “I dunno, maybe if you get to know him first, it may be easier to understand why she kept him and not you. You know, see how he was raised.”
Tino gave it some thought. His mother also said that there was a girl. “I also have a sister, based on what my mother said.” His eyes glazed over as he stared at the photo he had been holding for nearly a month.
“Well, if you want answers, we start with your brother. Which one of you is older?”
“He is. I think. By two years,” Tino said.
Ebony looked over his shoulder at the photo, “You think he has any kids? His kids would also have an uncle now. Wouldn’t that be cool?”
Tino only smiled at her a bit as he looked at the photo again. It would be cool to get to know his brother. There were some properties he was interested in seeing in Atlanta, as well. Maybe he would schedule a trip to meet his family.
A thick soup...
Change can come slowly, subtly, and ease its way into your life like an addiction to fried foods. At first it is the crunch of that chicken skin that gets you, then the salt, and before you know it, it’s two in the morning and you are riding through town looking for an all-night KFC. Kids have the same effect on women. Tony’s daughter was very similar to her father, subtle, yet a force that worked its way into your life and lodged in your throat like a sideways chicken bone.
The first thing Jennifer noticed about Sasha Peay was that she was very protective of her father. The second thing Jennifer understood was that the girl had her father wrapped around her finger. This resonated loud and clear, because women had said the same thing about her after her mother passed.
Women can be like vultures. One body may not even be completely dead before they start to come in and pick at what remains. Her mother was battling cancer in the upstairs back room of their home while well-wishing women were in the front of the house making a play for her husband. Jennifer’s sister, Gloria, who was older by two years, considered herself to be a devout lesbian, full of anger and resentment, who made it clear to any of the women, that if they moved into the home, they would have to contend with her first. The second point of contention was Jennifer. If she didn’t like you or want you around her father, then the front door was the way you needed to go. Unlike Gloria, who had the spirit and demeanor of their mother, Jennifer was an easygoing soul like her father.
Well, he used to be until he retired and had nothing to do all day. The sadness in his daily phone calls to her was what prompted Jennifer to leave her job in Los Angeles and return home to Atlanta – a cushy job as a personal chef to one of the biggest talent agents in the Hollywood game. If you wanted it, Laney Myers was the person who got it for you. She was heartbroken when Jennifer left, but she understood. Family is everything. She also knew that Jennifer’s dad was everything to her as well. Moreover, Jen missed the old fart.
Or at least she thought she did until she moved back home. Being around your dad as a young girl, you see your daddy with stars in your eyes. Your dad can do no wrong. Being around your father as a grown woman, Jennifer began to believe that he gave her mother cancer. Her mother accepted it as a means of escape from Johnny Taylor, who could worry the stank off a poop pile. Right now, he was a proverbial albatross around her childless neck that was dead, reeking and worrying the shit out her. After meeting with Sasha Peay, she was beginning to think maybe her dad and this little girl would be perfect companions to each other.
Sasha opened the door when Jennifer rang the bell. She was cute as a button with dark brown hair, large expressive eyes and braces that were brightly colored in a rainbow of hues. What struck Jennifer immediately was the muscle tone of the child. Gymnast? She thought as she walked past the girl into the front room of the house. The home was located in Brookwood Hills off of Brighton Road. It was a modern home with lots of windows and plenty of natural light.
“You must be Sasha? I’m Jennifer Taylor, your chef for your 13th birthday party.” That kind of an introduction immediately put her in good standing with the child, who welcomed her into the home amid a flurry of ideas. Ideas that started with where she wanted the food displayed. “I’m thinking we can move the dining room table out and maybe use a couple of eight-foot tables to set up the food,” she told Jennifer.
“I am Sasha Peay,” she said as if it were an afterthought. To the empty space that fed into the living room, she yelled, “Hey, Dad. The chef is here. Can we take out this good rug so no food is spilled on it?” She showed Jennifer the galley kitchen, never missing a beat. “There is plenty of room in the fridge for storage of cold items like the sushi, and of course, we have a double oven for the warm foods and appetizers that will be served.”
Jennifer asked, “Do you have a theme for your party?”
Sasha stopped mid step. “I haven’t thought about that. A theme?” she asked as she stared up at the ceiling.
“Let’s sit down first, discuss your budget, a party concept and then take a look at where we can go from there,” Jennifer said as she pointed at the kitchen table. Tony said nothing as she walked by him, briefly shaking his hand and acknowledging he was actually in the room. She pointed at a chair for him to join them at the table. From her satchel, she took out two notepads and two calculators, passing one of each to Sasha.
“From what your father told me, you have a budget of $500, which doesn’t include my fee. You are also expecting 15-20 of your friends so sushi for that many people, even if you were serving California rolls, is labor intensive and will eat up $300 right off the top of your budget.” She watched Sasha’s face drop.
“But I have an idea,” she told the girl with a smile. “You seem to be h
ealth conscious and physically fit. How about a Wii Fit party?”
Sasha looked confused. “I’m not understanding.”
“Some teen girls do makeover or makeup parties. I was thinking since you are health conscious, you could do something different, with like maybe a Wii Fit yoga session, a bowling tournament or even a tennis match with some group dance,” Jennifer said and noticed Tony smiling. “That way, your menu can be cost effective by having a smoothie bar, crudités and healthy food choices without shoving your healthy lifestyle choice down your friends’ throats.”
The girl sat quietly for a minute. She tapped the pen against her cheek, squinted her eyes and said, “If I go with this option, can we work in some buffalo mozzarella?”
“If I do it as a small appetizer on beefsteak tomatoes with fresh basil, then we can get away with about $30 worth,” Jennifer replied.
The girl was cheery. “I have tons of fresh basil growing in the backyard, so you won’t have to buy any of that.”
“My next question, Ms. Peay. Are any of your friends staying over?”
“Yes, at least seven will spend the night,” she said as she looked at her dad.
Jennifer began to scribble down some notes on the pad, made some calculations and started calling out food, figures and facts to Sasha, who scribbled away on the paper. “Your total now, Ms. Peay?”
“$375!”
“Great,” Jennifer told her. “What you must factor in as well is some sort of starch. I would suggest we do a grits station.”
“A what? Grits? Like in for breakfast?” Her face was scrunched up in distaste.
“Hear me out,” Jennifer said as she explained the idea. The grits would serve as a base to add in cheese, Andouille sausage, shrimp, mushrooms and scrambled eggs. “This way, any leftovers will be perfect for breakfast the next morning.” She called out a few more numbers. “Your total now, Ms. Peay?”
“$487! Dad. We did it! I’m bringing it all in under budget!” She ran around the table and flung her body at Jennifer, throwing her arms around her neck and placing a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “OMG I love you! You’re the best!” She asked to be excused and her voice could be heard down the hall on her phone with her BFF Emily as she bragged about the cool chef her dad had hired for her party. “It is going to be a Wii Fit party, so we need to coordinate our games, okay, Em?”
A Menu For Loving Page 3
