The Saturday Night Supper Club

by Carla Laureano

  Alex was studying her with that searching look, the one that made her think she had given too much away. “Is that why you don’t drink anymore?”

  “No,” she said carefully. “I don’t drink anymore because it was so easy to drink too much. And I got too good at it.”

  “Hmm.”

  “See, you do that, and then I’m left here wondering what you’re thinking. Was that hmm a shrink version of ‘that’s interesting’? Or is it that you’re sorry you asked the question?”

  He glanced at her, the pops of color and light alternately shading and illuminating his face. “I realized I was prying. And you don’t like that.”

  “No, I don’t.” She heaved a sigh. “But I guess it’s no big secret. My life has been various shades of stress, and it was too easy to look for escape in a bottle. I wasn’t an alcoholic, but I could feel myself traveling down that road, and I’d already seen what was at the end of it.”

  “So you, what? Decided to stop drinking one day? What did you replace it with?”

  Rachel went back to working her thumbnail with her teeth. “You promise you won’t laugh?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Bible study.”

  He laughed.

  “I told you not to laugh!”

  “I know, but I expected you to say yoga or meditation or chewing gum. I didn’t expect Bible study!”

  Rachel cracked a reluctant smile. “I know. Neither did I. So, this one dinner service was a total disaster. We were in the weeds from the time we opened—that means we couldn’t keep up with the orders—and I had way too much to drink to unwind afterwards. I dragged myself out of bed early, still a little drunk, promising myself that I could grab a cup of coffee and a breakfast sandwich from the diner down the street, pull myself together before I showed up at the restaurant. I was already the chef de cuisine, so I was in charge, you know? I couldn’t wander in looking like a hungover line cook.

  “But when I got to the diner, it was packed. Not a single table open. I was taking my food to go, feeling pretty depressed about the whole thing since eating on the subway is not exactly my idea of a relaxing breakfast, when these ladies flagged me down. They offered me a spare seat.”

  “Ladies’ Bible study?” he guessed.

  “Exactly. Which in itself was crazy—a group of Baptist ladies holding a Bible study at 7 a.m. in a diner in Harlem. But it was a seat, and they seemed nice, and to be honest, they seemed to be having such a good time that I wanted to soak that up for a few minutes. So I sat down.”

  “Was this your ‘Saul on the road to Damascus’ moment?”

  The question, though he meant it to be light, struck an inexplicable feeling of longing in her. “Not quite. I was actually raised in the church. For a long time, it felt safe. After my mom got remarried, we switched churches, and then it was all about being on my best behavior and making sure I kept up appearances. When I left home, I guess I left that behind too. It’s not like I ever had the opportunity to go once I started working weekends. But when I sat down with those women, it felt kind of like I remembered, back when it was only my mom and me.”

  She smiled at the recollection. “I sat there and listened, and they invited me back the next week. I didn’t think they meant it, but when I went in the following Wednesday, they were so excited to see me. After that, I dug up my old Bible from the bottom of a box and did the readings so I could join the discussion. It became a regular thing. I saw a few of them around the neighborhood from time to time and they asked me how it was going and how I was feeling, and I didn’t want to admit I was hungover, so I quit drinking. And went to Bible study instead.”

  “That is the best story I’ve heard in a long time,” Alex said. “I’d venture to say that more people need a Harlem Ladies’ Bible Study in their life.”

  “Your turn. You sound like you had a church upbringing if you’re throwing a Pauline conversion at me.”

  “Russian Orthodox.” He craned his neck. “You can probably see our church from here if you look hard enough.”

  “Like, services in Russian, Russian Orthodox?”

  “Da.”

  “Everyone knows ‘da.’”

  “Da, ya govoryu po-russki. Is that better?”

  “I have no idea what you said, but yes. So, church. Russian Orthodox. Do you still go?”

  “I still go to church, but not there. I’ve been going with Bryan’s family since I lived with them. It’s in English and everything.”

  “That’s kind of a big deal, isn’t it? Leaving an Orthodox church? Don’t you get excommunicated or something?”

  “You can only excommunicate someone who is still a member. Being around Bryan’s parents, I realized I was going through the motions, doing what was expected of me without really developing a faith of my own. Mitchell—Bryan’s dad—made me see that if what you believe doesn’t impact the way you live and the way you treat other people for the better, then maybe your faith isn’t genuine. For me, that meant leaving the Orthodox church. I didn’t mean it to be an indictment on everyone I left behind, but my parents took it that way. It tops their list of ways I’ve disappointed them.”

  Alex smiled, but she could hear the twinge of hurt in his voice, the sense of betrayal that his family hadn’t understood his crisis of conscience. Rachel smiled back, pushing down an uncomfortable quiver inside her. It was the first time she’d opened up about matters of faith to anyone but Ana and Melody, mostly because she could barely articulate where she stood to herself, let alone to someone else. And yet she suspected Alex of all people might understand her ambivalence, were she to tell him the whole story.

  But she barely knew him, so instead she turned forward to face the fireworks and pushed darker memories aside, if only for tonight. She watched the bursts of color with their staccato pops of sound, sipped her ginger ale, and allowed the pleasure of an unscheduled evening to wash over her. Only then did she realize she’d been talking with Alex for some time without any thought to her friends. She twisted and looked for their familiar silhouettes, momentarily wondering if they’d abandoned her. But no, there was Melody laughing with a group near the food. And Ana looked to be in an animated discussion with Bryan, who was hanging on her every word. Interesting.

  “So what’s his story?” Rachel asked, inclining her head toward Bryan.

  Alex glanced at his friend. There was something guarded in his expression when he looked back at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what does he do? Besides make excellent burgers.”

  “He’s a professional rock climber.”

  Rachel started to laugh. “Way to go breaking type, Ana.”

  “Not into athletes?”

  “Not unless you count making money as a sport. Don’t get me wrong, that’s not what she’s after. She just doesn’t like having to deal with guys’ insecurity about not making as much as she does.”

  Alex relaxed visibly. “Well, Bryan could be a partner in the family business, but he doesn’t care all that much for that sort of thing.”

  Rachel propped her feet against the railing, puzzled by Alex’s flash mood swings. Was he that protective over his friend’s reputation?

  Then it dawned on her that he’d thought she was interested in Bryan herself. The idea that Alex might be jealous brought an irrational rush of pleasure. She stole a look at his profile, letting herself imagine for a moment that it was her right to lean over, run a hand through that artfully mussed hair and brush her lips against his. The mere thought made her catch her breath.

  Alex heard it and turned toward her. “Problem?”

  “No. No problem.” Not as long as she kept her mind on the fireworks beyond this balcony and not the ones going off inside her. Best she keep her focus where it belonged: getting her career back on track and finding an investor for a new restaurant. This was a rare, brief reprieve from her real life, not a new start. Within six months, she would be as focused on her work as she had always been, and the steam a
nd clatter of dinner service would replace warm nights on a rooftop deck.

  Probably better not to get used to it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “SO TELL ME AGAIN how I got roped into doing this?” Bryan lifted one of the aluminum patio chairs and moved it in the direction Alex indicated, casting a smirk over his shoulder.

  “I told Rachel I would have this ready before she gets here to prep for the supper club tomorrow, and she’s already stressed enough. Not having it done might throw her over the edge.”

  “So what’s the deal with her? You looked pretty cozy on the Fourth. You still trying to tell me this is a business arrangement?”

  Alex thought back to the party and gave a sharp shake of his head. Rachel had opened up a little to him, but there was so much about her still to unpack: the real reason she left home so young, whatever bad experiences had led her to leave her faith behind. She was as protective of her personal beliefs as she was of the Bible she’d whisked out of sight, almost as if she were afraid they’d be used against her.

  It was such a stark contrast to the capable, fearless demeanor that it only made him want to dig deeper. Learn her entire story. Get to know her in a way that was decidedly unbusinesslike.

  “That’s how she wants it,” Alex answered finally.

  “But not how you want it, obviously.”

  “Is this how we’re going to play it?” Alex threw back. “Do you want all my innermost feelings now, or should we wait until we paint each other’s toenails later?”

  “Look who’s deflecting now, Dr. Alex. You’re usually the one prying.”

  “Then I’ll pry. What’s up with you and Rachel’s friend Ana?”

  Bryan made a face. “Absolutely nothing. And not for a lack of trying. I asked for her phone number; she said no. I offered my phone number; she said no. I told her if she wasn’t interested in dinner, I’d be willing to skip straight to dessert, and for some reason she still said no.”

  “I can’t imagine why she would have said that. Don’t take it personally, though. I guess she’s more into the banker type.”

  “She seemed plenty interested that night. And the feeling was mutual, believe me. Hot, smart, and doesn’t take any garbage from anyone. I like it.” Bryan carried the chair cushions and arranged them on their proper chairs, then added and removed outdoor pillows a few times. “What am I supposed to do with these? Fluff them or something?”

  “I think you’re supposed to karate chop them. You know, to put that divot in the top.” Bryan looked at him like he’d lost his mind, so Alex walked over and demonstrated. “Like that.”

  “Dude, you shouldn’t even know that.”

  “I watched HGTV last night hoping for some ideas,” Alex admitted. “I might have oversold my ability to put this together myself.”

  “And you think Rachel won’t figure that out? I’ll bet you a hundred bucks she shows up on the night of with a bunch of extra stuff in tow, in case you screwed it up.”

  “I’m not dumb enough to take that bet. But I have a secret weapon. I have my sister.” Alex looked at his watch. “In fact, I need to pick her up from the airport. Can you finish here without me?”

  Bryan pegged him with a look that said he would pay for this later, hundred-dollar bet or not, but he didn’t make tracks for the door, so Alex assumed that was a yes. The advantage to having friends who were more like family—they did stuff like this to store up credit for their next heinous favor. Making Bryan rearrange and redecorate his roof deck would most certainly come back to haunt him.

  “Okay, I’ll be back. I owe you one.”

  “Five,” Bryan said, but he was laughing. Alex climbed back down to the main floor, grabbed his keys from the hook by the door, and headed for the airport.

  Twenty minutes later, he was driving past the massive blue mustang statue that marked the entrance to Denver International Airport. Some Denverites called it “Blucifer,” which wasn’t too far off the mark—it had become a local legend when a chunk of it fell off and killed the sculptor before installation. Those glowing red eyes gave even Alex the creeps.

  He glanced quickly at the text message Dina had sent him five minutes ago—I’m at the fourth United sign at arrivals—and got in the proper lane for the United terminal. Three minutes later, he was pulling up at the curb on the arrivals deck, spotting Dina’s hot-pink, owl-emblazoned luggage long before he saw her. He threw the car into park and jumped out to open the hatch for her things.

  “You’re on time!” she said. “I can’t believe it!”

  “So are you.” He enfolded her in a hug and gave her hair a tug. “Purple this time?”

  “I get bored.” She handed over the luggage for him to load, picked up her handbag, and circled around to the passenger side. Alex slammed the hatch and gave himself a second to process. He expected the wild hair, even the undercut with the purple streaks, and it wouldn’t surprise him if she’d gained another tattoo or piercing in the three months since he’d seen her. But he hadn’t expected her to be so thin. Too thin.

  But you did not talk about a woman’s weight without good reason, even when it was your sister, so he climbed in the driver’s seat and beamed a genuine smile her direction. “It’s nice to see you, Dinasaur.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So, tell me about this girl.”

  Alex navigated his way back out into the through lanes toward the airport exit. “Didn’t I tell you about her on the phone? Her name is Rachel. She’s a big-time chef, James Beard Award and everything.”

  “So what does she need you for?”

  “Finding investors,” he said. “Like I said, I owe her.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I looked her up online. She’s pretty. Or she would be if she dressed herself up. She’s like one of those plain girls in a teen movie, where you can see they’re actually gorgeous, but they stick them in big glasses and overalls.”

  No point in lying when Dina would see for herself soon enough. “You’re right; she is pretty.”

  “How long have you guys been going out?”

  “Going out? We’re not.”

  “You’re going to all this trouble for a girl you’re not even dating? Why?”

  “It’s called being a decent human being.”

  “No one is that decent of a human being. You’re into her.”

  Alex sighed. He clearly wasn’t going to convince his sister that his interest had nothing to do with wanting to date Rachel, probably because he didn’t have a good argument against it. It was all he could do not to be jealous of the interest he saw in other guys’ eyes, though Bryan clearly had locked in on Ana. A good thing, because the rush of jealousy Alex had felt when he thought Rachel was asking after his friend was neither pleasant nor welcome.

  “So tell me about all the auditions you’ve been on since we talked last.”

  Dina waved a hand. “You know how it is. Cattle calls, a million girls for the same role. Ever since I changed my look, I’m getting more callbacks, but they’re not all roles I would want to do, you know?”

  Alex let out his breath carefully to conceal his relief. Dina had never been one to blend in, even if their parents managed to curb her edgier tendencies when she was still under their roof. She’d definitely developed her own sense of style since moving to LA, but Alex was always a little concerned that she would abandon their parents’ conservative morals along with their dress code. He didn’t want to see her make decisions that couldn’t be undone.

  “So what’s next?”

  “I’ve got a couple of auditions next week and a callback for a big commercial, so we’ll see. All rebellious teenager roles, so I figure I’ve got at least one of them locked. Talk about typecasting.”

  “That sort of thing happens when you have purple hair and neck tattoos.” Alex reached out and ruffled her hair, then laughed when she smacked his hand away. “Did you bring clothes to wear for tomorrow night?”

  �
�Black pants, white button-down. I don’t have an apron, though, so if she wants me to wear one, she’ll have to bring it.”

  “I’m sure she’s got that all figured out. I really appreciate you doing this.”

  “And I really appreciate you paying me five hundred dollars for it.”

  “What? The deal was three hundred plus your airfare, and that was to cover your lost tips for the weekend.”

  “You can’t blame me for trying.” She grinned at him and nudged his arm. “You know, your poor, struggling actress sister and all.”

  “Fine, five hundred.” In truth, Alex had already planned on slipping an extra two hundred or so into her pay to help her out without hurting her pride.

  “I knew you’d come through for me. You must be rolling in it. How’s the book coming?”

  “It’s coming.”

  “Which means you haven’t even started.”

  “Exactly.” Unfortunately, Dina knew his process too well. He was either on or he was off, inspired or completely dead to his muse’s nudging. There was no plugging along for him, which was why he had gone back to magazine writing. That, at least, he could produce on demand. An entire book of essays with a cohesive style and some sort of overall thematic arc? Not so much.

  “So maybe we’re both washed-up artistic failures.”

  A laugh barked out of him. “Thanks, Sis. I appreciate that.”

  “I call them like I see them. Can we stop and get something to eat?”

  “Somehow I knew you’d say that. Food trucks?”

  “Definitely.”

  Alex took the highway exit that would get them back to the north side and darted a surreptitious look at his sister. It was good to see Dina. They were so far apart in age—ten years—that they practically hadn’t been raised together. At seven, she’d moved to Russia with his parents while he completed his senior year of high school. When they’d come back, he was already in college. He’d never lived at home again, and though he checked in frequently while he was living on campus, it wasn’t the same.