Jean-Pierre the sommelier was watching her as she helped herself to an orange, and sat down at the counter to look at some bills. There had been some irregularities in their butcher bills recently, and she wanted to stay on top of it and make sure they hadn’t been cheated. She had already spotted a charge for a leg of lamb they’d never gotten, and several pork loins. She didn’t like that at all.
“Can I make you a cup of tea, April?” Jean-Pierre asked her, and she nodded, distracted by the bills she was poring through with infinite precision.
“That would be nice, thank you,” she said, and when he handed the cup to her, she looked up and smiled. It was a cup of the vanilla tea that she ordered from Paris and their customers loved. And it was decaf, which was even better.
“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly. She had told no one about the pregnancy yet. It didn’t show as long as she kept her apron on, although she knew it would any day. And if you looked closely, there was a noticeable bump. Those who had observed it just thought she was gaining weight. Her face was rounder too. But nothing else had changed.
“I’m fine,” she answered the sommelier, and thanked him for the tea. He had added a cookie to it, which she ate.
“You work too hard, April,” he scolded gently.
“We all do,” she said honestly. “That’s what it takes to run a good restaurant. Constant attention to detail and being on deck at all times.” She did both, and she really liked the way he worked with the customers and the suggestions he made. He already had a deep respect for her ability to buy great wines at good prices. He thought she was brilliant at what she did, and he loved the atmosphere of the restaurant, and her theories about it, and passion. He thought she was a remarkable woman. And he hadn’t seen a chef he respected more, since France, and he had worked with some very good ones. He had a strong case of hero worship for her, and they were the same age. He had grown up and trained in Bordeaux, and had been in New York for five years. His English was surprisingly good, and he had married an American and gotten a green card, which was important for April. He and his wife had just gotten divorced. They had a three-year-old little boy. She had left Jean-Pierre for someone else, a waiter in another French restaurant, this one from Lyon.
“I know you’re not telling anyone,” he said softly, as April sipped her tea. “But I’ve noticed the changes lately.”
“In the restaurant?” She looked worried. She didn’t think anything had changed. That was never a good sign, when the staff saw that things were slipping before you did. She was panicked by what he said. What did he mean? Theft? Taking money from the cash box? Poor service? Sloppy food or presentation?
“I meant the changes in you.” He pointed to her belly, and she was instantly relieved. “You look sad, April,” he said boldly. “This can’t be an easy time for you.” She didn’t know what to answer him. She didn’t want to admit to it, but if she denied the pregnancy, in a few weeks he and everyone else would know it anyway.
“I guess I just have to look at it as an unexpected gift,” she said with a sigh. “Please don’t say anything to anyone yet. I didn’t think it showed. I don’t want to tell them for a while. Nothing’s going to change here, but it’ll worry them anyway. Maybe they’ll think I won’t care as much about the restaurant, but I will.” She tried to reassure him, but he looked sorry for her. He was a nice man, and a good employee, but she had no other interest in him than that. She never got personally involved with her staff, and didn’t intend to start now. And she could sense that he was personally interested in her. She didn’t welcome it from him.
“And who is going to care about you, not just the restaurant?” he said pointedly.
“I can take care of myself.” She smiled. “I always have.”
“It’s not so easy with a child, especially now.” She nodded, not sure what to say to him, and uncomfortable with the conversation. “The baby’s father?” he asked, and she shrugged.
“He’s not involved.”
“I thought so.” He had also guessed that it was Mike. He had seen the way she looked at him, and he had come to dinner with her family on Christmas Eve. He also knew that he hadn’t been back since, which wasn’t a good sign. And the sadness in her eyes said the rest. He knew she was alone, and he felt sorry for her.
“If there’s anything that I can do for you, I’d like to help you,” he said gently. “I think you’re a wonderful person, and you’re very good to everyone. We all love you.” He didn’t tell her that he did, but he could have gotten there with ease, with a little encouragement from her, which she was careful not to provide. She didn’t want to mislead Jean-Pierre. She wasn’t interested in him. And with his divorce, he was vulnerable now too, and probably lonely without his wife and child.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “I’m fine,” she reassured him, and wanted to get off the subject. She tried to make that clear to him.
“I’m here if you need me,” he said again, and then disappeared into the wine cellar. He had said enough. He had let her know that he cared about her as a person, and would be happy to as a woman, if she let him. She didn’t seem to be open to it now. He hoped she would be one day. Maybe when the baby was born. He wasn’t going anywhere, and it touched his heart to know that she was pregnant and alone. He was a good man. But April didn’t want him that way. Right now, she wanted Mike or no one. She couldn’t think about getting involved with anyone while carrying someone else’s child. That was too complicated for her. It was convoluted enough as it was, without adding someone else to the mix. She was better off alone now anyway, she told herself. She had enough on her mind.
Jack called Valerie in her office that afternoon. She sounded busy, and said she was interviewing someone and would call him back. He assumed it was for her show, but as she hung up, she was sitting across her desk from a young woman the Human Resources office had sent her as a possible assistant to replace Marilyn, and Valerie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her name was Dawn. She had a nose ring, and a diamond stud just above her lip. Her hair was dyed jet black with a royal blue streak in it and spiked with gel, and she had colorful tattoos of cartoon characters up and down each arm. She also had tattoos of a red rose on the back of each hand. Other than that she was neatly dressed in jeans, high heels, and a short-sleeved black sweater. She sounded intelligent, had gone to Stanford, and she was twenty-five years old. She was a far cry from the beloved assistant Valerie had worked with for years.
Dawn said she had been working in London since she graduated, first at British Vogue and then at a decorating magazine, but life in England had become too expensive, so she had come back to New York. She had never worked in television before, but her mother was an interior designer in Greenwich, Connecticut, and Dawn had worked for her in the summer all through high school and college, so the world of decorating wasn’t unfamiliar to her. She had been assigned to the Home section of British Vogue, and had eventually moved to The World of Interiors. She had majored in journalism in college, and Valerie could see she was a bright girl. She tried not to focus on the way Dawn looked, although the diamond stud above her lip kept catching Valerie’s eye. She certainly didn’t look like a girl from Greenwich. But she answered everything Valerie said, directly and intelligently. By the time the interview was over, Valerie couldn’t think of a reason not to hire her, other than the way she looked, which she knew was not politically correct or a valid reason, but it made her miss Marilyn more than ever.
“I’m sorry about your assistant,” Dawn said quietly as she stood up. She had good manners, as well as being bright, and seemed very poised. Valerie would have loved her if it weren’t for the pierces, tattoos, and hair. “It must be hard for you to change after working with her for so long.”
“Yes, it is,” Valerie admitted with a sigh. “The whole thing was terrible and very sad. We lost eleven.” Dawn nodded respectfully and shook Valerie’s hand as she was preparing to leave. Her handshake told Valerie that she was confide
nt but not forceful. She liked the fact that Dawn seemed sure of herself without being overbearing, and Valerie wondered. Maybe it didn’t matter how she looked. She was clean and neat, although her style was as far from Valerie’s as you could get.
“I don’t mind working long hours, by the way,” Dawn volunteered. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I live in the city, and I love to work. Weekends are okay too.” She was very appealing in a lot of ways. She was quick, bright, and willing, even if Valerie thought she looked weird. She wondered what April would think about her, and suspected she might like her. But April could afford to have someone who looked like that in her kitchen, a lot more easily than Valerie could, meeting guests on her show. But if Valerie liked her, which she did, maybe others would too. She was trying valiantly to be open-minded about it, and told Dawn that the Human Resources office would let her know. Valerie made no commitment to her before she left. She needed time to think about it.
Half an hour later, Valerie picked up the phone with a sigh and called HR.
“So, what did you think?” the head of HR asked her. Dawn was the first candidate Valerie had seen, but she had to admit she was a good one. And her work credentials and references were excellent.
“I think she’s smart as a whip even if she looks like a freak. I hate the pierces and the hair, and the tattoos.”
“I know. I figured you would. She’s about as opposite from Marilyn as humanly possible. But I liked her too. I figured you wouldn’t take her, but I thought I’d give it a shot. She’s everything you want, just the wrong look.” It was true. She was young and fun and dying to work. She had watched Valerie’s show before the interview and made intelligent comments about it. “Don’t worry about it, Valerie. I’ll tell her no. She knew it was a long shot too, and said it to me. Not everyone wants an assistant with cartoon characters up and down their arms, although I thought Tweety Bird and Tinker Bell were pretty cute.”
“She’ll be sorry about those when she’s fifty,” Valerie said sensibly, and then stunned the head of HR. “Hire her. I’ll take her. I like her. She’s smart. I can live with Tinker Bell and Tweety Bird. I need someone who can do the job, and I think she can. She knows nothing about weddings and entertaining, but she knows decorating. I can teach her the rest.” She had taught Marilyn everything from scratch—she had been a schoolteacher before she went to work for Valerie, and had been the best assistant Valerie had ever had till now.
“Are you serious?” the surprised head of HR asked, impressed by Valerie’s decision. It showed an openness to new ideas she didn’t know Valerie had.
“I am,” Valerie said firmly. “When can she start?”
“She said tomorrow if you want. If you don’t mind, I’d rather start her next week, so we can process her and get all the paperwork done.”
“That’s fine,” Valerie said easily.
“I think you made a good decision,” the head of HR complimented her.
“I hope so. We’ll see,” Valerie said optimistically, and she called Jack back the moment she hung up, a little shocked herself by her decision. Jack apologized for having interrupted her earlier.
“It was fine,” she reassured him, as she leaned back in her chair and sighed again, trying not to think of Marilyn and miss her as much as she did. “I was interviewing a new assistant.”
“That must be hard for you,” he said sympathetically. “They’re interviewing here for Norman’s job. We haven’t found anyone yet. It’s too depressing even thinking about it.”
“I know. I hired her,” Valerie said, and then she laughed. “She’s right out of a sci-fi movie, with pierces all over her face and blue hair. Brave New World. I figured what the hell, she’s a Stanford grad, she’s got great references, and she’s willing to work long hours and weekends. She’s got tattoos of Tweety Bird and Tinker Bell on her arms in living color and didn’t even wear long sleeves to hide them. You have to give her credit for that.”
Jack laughed at the description. He couldn’t imagine Valerie with an assistant like that. “Good for you. She might turn out to be terrific.”
“I hope so,” Valerie said, and then he invited her to see another movie at his apartment that night. It was one she had wanted to see but had missed in the theaters. She was enjoying the time they spent together, and had seen him only three days before.
“I’m off until the Super Bowl and I’m bored stiff,” he complained. He still had trouble getting around on his crutches, and he was supposed to stay off the leg, at least for a few weeks. He said he felt like a shut-in and had been watching soap operas and agony talk shows all day.
“You may be bored,” Valerie said to him, “but I’m working my ass off here. Christmas is over, but we’re already working on our Valentine show, and I start working on weddings right after the new year. We’re busy as hell.”
“Does that mean no?” He sounded disappointed. He had had a good time with her and wanted to see her again. She hesitated, and then shook her head. It was about opening those doors to a new friend, and making time. He was right.
“No, it just means that I’m whining about all the work I have to do. I just had lunch with April. She said to say hello to you,” and had commented on his ten million young girlfriends, which Valerie didn’t say to Jack. He was more than willing to admit to them himself.
“Say hello to her from me. I need to go in for some of her magic healing mashed potatoes. Maybe I should just spread them on my leg.” He never complained about the pain, which Valerie thought was brave of him, although she knew he had been used to some pretty brutal injuries during his football career.
“I can have her send you some, like she did in the hospital,” Valerie suggested.
“If I sit here, watching TV and eating mashed potatoes and mac and cheese for the next three weeks, I’m going to weigh four hundred pounds by the Super Bowl, and I won’t look so good on air. It’s driving me nuts that I can’t do any exercise, but the doctor says not yet.” He was normally a very active man, although the herniated disk two months before had slowed him down too. He worried about getting fat. “So how about dinner and a movie?”
“I’d love to. Can we make it a little bit late?” She had been planning to work at home that night, but if she stayed late enough at the office, she could get a lot done. Sometimes it was hard juggling a social life and work, and her priority was always her job. “Does eight-thirty work for you?”
“That sounds fine. I was going to suggest that anyway. I have a physical therapist coming at seven to work on the leg.”
“Perfect. Do you want me to pick something up for dinner?” she offered.
“Don’t worry. I’ll order in. I’m good at that.” He laughed. “See you later,” he signed off, sounding happy, and so was she. It was fun having a buddy to spend time with. She knew a lot of people, but they were busy too. And normally, he had a very active social life, but now that he was housebound he had more time on his hands than usual, and after what he had done for her, she was more than happy to visit him while he convalesced. It seemed like the least she could do. And she enjoyed his company.
She picked up some magazines and a book for him at a newsstand, leaving work. She didn’t have time to go home and change. And she arrived at his apartment promptly, looking slightly frazzled and a little bit out of breath. She hadn’t combed her hair or put on lipstick since noon. She hadn’t had time to think of it all day. She was wearing casual slacks and a sweater, a parka, and flat shoes, since she hadn’t been on air that day. She’d been at her desk since early morning, except for her lunch with April. It had been a full day of making decisions and plans for future shows, selecting samples, guests, and topics they wanted to cover. She always did that at this time of year, mapping out the shows. It was going to help her a lot when Dawn started the following week. Valerie just hoped she’d be as efficient as she had seemed in the interview.
Jack opened the door, perched on his crutches in sweatpants and bare feet. The nurse didn’t se
em to be around. And odors of something delicious were wafting from the kitchen. He had ordered Indian food, spicy for him, and mild for her in case she preferred it.
“Something smells great,” she commented as she took off her jacket. He had music playing on the stereo, and she followed him into the kitchen as she had on New Year’s Eve. He had ordered a ton of food, and it was still warm enough to eat. So they sat down at the kitchen table quickly after she set it.
“I’m beginning to feel like I live here,” she teased him, since she knew where everything was now. And they talked about her day and what she’d done. He told her about a football scandal he’d been following all day. He was planning to do a show about it once he was back on his feet. It was a lively exchange. Then they discussed network politics, which were always complicated. There were rumors that the head of the network was leaving, which was a concern in terms of the impact it could have, but both of their situations were secure. No one was going to get rid of Valerie Wyatt, and he was the biggest sportscaster on TV. But nothing in television was ever totally sure.
There was a lot of talk too about the recent terrorist attack. It was still all over the news. Official groups all over the Middle East were in an uproar about it, and wanted no association with it. They were furious over the damage it had done to their image and worried about the impact on their relationships with the U.S. They had all expressed sympathy over the lives that had been lost. And the president and governor were trying to reassure the public that nothing like it could ever happen again, but they knew it could. No one was safe anymore. And hardest for those who had lived through it were the friends and co-workers they had lost, like Jack and Valerie with their assistants.
Happy Birthday: A Novel Page 16
