“Or a drink,” the chef pipes in.
“Hear, hear,” his brigade yells out.
“To Aimee,” Andrea says, raising her glass.
“To Aimee,” we all say, sipping.
I return to my table, where Elliot is chatting with Alana and RJ.
“Lovely toast,” he says. Both he and RJ, ever the gentlemen, stand as I arrive, and Elliot pulls my seat out for me.
“Thank you. Public speaking, as we know, is not my thing,” I say.
“Are you sure?” Alana says. “I’d love to have you on Abundance one of these days.”
“We’ll see.” Television scares the crap out of me.
“You should do it, Jenna; it would make for a terrific show,” RJ says.
“I would watch,” Elliot says. “Even if space travel is not involved.” He winks at me. My heart skips a beat.
“You like El-li-ot.”
And so I do. So you can imagine how infuriating it is that he has not made a SINGLE romantic move on me. I thought for sure when we had dinner the other night to debrief about the party, he would go for it. We were at his house; there was wine and candlelight. But same as always, he and Teddy drive me home, he walks me to the door, and kisses my cheek or my forehead.
“You have to make the first move.”
Never gonna happen.
“Fine, stay unkissed.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say, if for no other reason, to shut up the Voix.
The first course arrives, a riff on bouillabaisse, with a deep-fried mussel-stuffed zucchini blossom, a small square of seared rockfish, a crouton topped with rouille, that garlicky red pepper–infused aioli that is the traditional topping, all in a small puddle of saffron-infused fish broth. And we are off to the races.
* * *
Can I get anyone anything?” I ask Elliot, Benji, and Jordan once we get back to my place. Jordan was eager to meet Chewbacca after hearing all the tales from Benji, so Elliot sent Wayne and Noah home with Teddy, and the four of us took the car I arranged for Benji back to my house. “Tea?”
“I’d love some tea, thank you,” Elliot says.
“Me too,” Benji says.
“I’m good, thanks, Jenna,” Jordan says, wrestling on the floor with Chewie, who has already eaten half Jordan’s shoelace, covered his coat with slime, and given his knee a thorough sexual violation.
“You stay, let me get it,” Elliot says, realizing that perhaps Jordan might want a minute alone with me. “Ben? Give me a hand in there?” Elliot moves his head in the direction of the kitchen and the two of them head that way.
“Jordy,” I say. “I’m excited you’re moving to Chicago. And you know, if you need a place to stay while you figure out neighborhoods and stuff, you are welcome here.”
He smiles wanly. “You and Aimee were the only ones who ever called me Jordy.”
“Do you hate it?” I ask, thinking of Wayne calling me Jenny against my will.
“Nah. I always liked it. And thanks for the offer, but I think I’m going to stay with Wayne. At least for the first few months. He asked, and I think it will be better for us both. He seems like he could use the company.”
“That’s very sweet of you. I’m sure he would love to have you around for a while.”
He pauses. And despite my natural inclination to fill silence with noise, I let him percolate. Finally he looks up at me. “I miss her. It’s weird, I mean we weren’t that close, not really, but I always felt like she was the one in the family that really got me. She always looked at me like she knew the contents of my head.”
“She loved you very much. And she always hoped you would move here.”
“Yeah, she said that once, when I was in college. If I ever wanted to come here to live, I could stay with her as long as I wanted.”
“She was very proud of you.”
“Yeah.” His eyes fill with tears. “I talk to her. Is that crazy?”
“Not at all. I talk to her all the time. Every day.” Suddenly this doesn’t seem so insane.
“It’s weird, it’s like she’s my conscience or something.”
I nod. “I know what you mean. I call it the Voix. Like the voice of god. She’s in my head.”
“I like that. The Voix. She would love that, all French and everything.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“I feel like whenever I’m scared about something or making a decision, she’s like both the angel and devil on my shoulders.”
“For me too. She’ll always be with us. And Jordan, she would’ve been very proud of your coming out, how you handled it with the family, your being brave enough to be yourself.”
“She’s the only one who knew. I told her when I was in high school.”
I’m shocked. I didn’t think there was anything in the world Aimee ever kept from me, but she never shared this. “She never told me.”
“I asked her not to. I wasn’t ready for it to be anything major, I didn’t want a cheerleading squad, no offense.”
“None taken. You’re right. If I had known, it would have been impossible to prevent the two of us from trying to get you to come here and go dancing at Berlin and try on our clothes,” I tease him. He laughs.
“It does make me feel better to know she kept my secret. I mean, I know she told Wayne. But I expected that, considering.”
That bastard. What a faker at Christmas, and on the way home, acting all surprised. “Considering what?”
“You know, how they were. So connected. In tune. In love.”
“True enough.”
“I didn’t like him at first,” Jordan admits, almost sheepish. “I was a freshman in high school when they got married, had barely figured out I was probably gay and certainly had no idea how to deal with it emotionally. Wayne just reminded me of all the guys in my high school that were the reason I was staying firmly in the closet.”
“I can see that.”
“And he was a little weird.”
“Still is.”
“But the thing is, I don’t know anyone with a bigger heart. I always used to hang back at holidays, you know, they reminded me of Mom and Dad, and I used to feel very guilty about how little I actually thought about them, how fuzzy my memories were getting. And Wayne would always come find me, figure out something to do away from the bustle, we’d offer to go pick up last-minute stuff, or he’d say he needed a burger and ask me to go with him. He was always really good about sensing when I needed to get away for a little while.”
“That sounds like Wayne.”
“Of course, then he’d come home and knock over the punchbowl of eggnog into the fish tank.”
“He only did that once.” I laugh, remembering.
“Poor fishies,” Jordan snorts.
“You seem to be doing okay. But if you ever need anything, anything that you would have gone to Aimee for, I hope you know you can come to me.”
“Thanks, Jenna, I know. And I will. Promise.”
He gets up off the floor, and comes over and gives me a hug.
“So you and Benji?” I ask.
He blushes. “Early days. We’re getting to know each other. I like him. He’s a very good cook.”
“I’m delighted for both of you.”
“Tea for four?” Benji says, carrying a tray back in from the kitchen.
“We brought one for you just in case, Jordan,” Elliot says.
“Well, if you all insist,” he says, taking a mug.
The four of us sip our tea, Elliot and I on the couch, Volnay snuggled between us, Benji and Jordan on the chairs facing us, Chewbacca on the floor demolishing a plush toy like it hurt his feelings. We wax poetic about the meal, about how much fun everyone had, especially when we sent some bourbon back to the chefs and we all got in the kitchen to play.
“I have got to figure out how they did that PB&J dessert. That was INSANE,” Benji says.
“The chef says you are welcome to stage there when you are done at Conlon,” I say, having arran
ged that for him earlier.
“Seriously?! Jenna, that ROCKS!”
“Well, I expect it to be easier to get reservations in the future.”
Suddenly he and Jordan both get very quiet. Elliot nudges my hand.
“Um, guys, if you want to take the car, I know it’s been a long night. I’ll have Teddy come fetch me,” Elliot says, giving the youngsters an opening to leave.
“Thanks El, that’s awesome,” Benji says, jumping up.
We all get up to say good-bye, sending them off into the night. Elliot comes back in to help me tidy up.
“He seems okay,” Elliot says.
“Jordan? Yeah. I think he is.”
“Is it weird to see him with Benji like that?”
“A little. But good weird.”
“They are sort of adorable together.”
“Yeah, they are. Young and pretty and new.”
“Well, young isn’t anything to be excited about. New either, when you think about it.”
“I suppose.” I look over at him. He’s wearing dark jeans, a blue button-down shirt under a sweater vest. His hair is feathered perfectly, shiny clean. He’s washing out the tea things in my sink, and I like the way he is so at home here. Now if only he would just kiss me already!
“No supposition about it. Would you go back? Be twenty-three again? You couldn’t pay me enough to even consider it.” He laughs.
“I suppose.”
“So,” he says, turning to me as he wipes his hands on the dish towel. “Where are you with the whole business plan? Do you think you are going to do this with Wayne?”
I sigh. “I change my mind ten times a day. On the one hand, I do genuinely believe in the potential of the idea. On the other, it is a tremendous amount of work, and I don’t know if I’m really up for the energy it takes to have a start-up. When I launched Fourchette, I was twenty-four. I don’t know if I’m up for all of that again. And Wayne and I have finally seemed to figure out what we are supposed to be to one another; it hasn’t been easy. I’d genuinely hate to go into business with him and have that screw up our friendship.” I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth, and even more than that, that I really mean them.
“But?”
“But, it would be nice to feel productive again, to have someplace to go, problems to solve.”
“To be cooking again, literally and metaphorically.”
I smile at him, this odd man who somehow really gets me. “Exactly.”
“Well, I know you’ll figure it out.” He looks at his watch. “Pumpkin time for me. I’m going to call Teddy.” He wanders out of the kitchen to make his call. And as much as I want to yell out for him to stay, to follow and grab him and kiss him, my feet are cement, my tongue lead.
Elliot comes back into the kitchen. “You’ll have me out of your hair in ten minutes.” He smiles.
“You aren’t in my hair.” My heart, maybe.
“You’re kind to say so. And I know that we’ve just eaten half of Chicago tonight, but I’ve been having a craving for my Burgundian stew. It’s a long, slow cook. Thought if you were up for it I’d grab the makings in the morning, bring them here and we could cook? Maybe watch an old movie while it simmers?”
“Absolutely, I’d love that.” Thinking of the two of us all morning in my kitchen, cooking together, hanging out all afternoon while the house fills with homey scent. Eating together. And suddenly I think that maybe, after a whole day together, maybe one of us will have the courage to take things to the next level.
“Great! And it makes a vat, figured I’d invite Wayne and Noah to come eat with us, there’ll be plenty if you wanted to include anyone else.”
Sigh. So much for romance. “Sure, that would be great. I’ll see if Andrea and Law want to join us.”
“Great.” I hear a dim honk outside.
“My coach is here.” We walk out onto the porch together and Elliot slides his coat on. “Good night, Jenna. Thank you for everything. I’ll see you around eleven tomorrow.” He leans in to kiss my cheek, and suddenly a totally-out-of-nowhere uncontrolled force spins my head around, and I catch his lips on mine. And I lean into the kiss, just enough to make him know that I’m kissing him on purpose.
Elliot pulls back, a look on his face that I’ve never seen, shock? Disgust? I’m an ass. I could kill the Voix, this is all her fault.
I have to cover. “Gosh, neck spasms are a bitch.” Yeah, that sounds believable.
“Jenna.”
I can’t, I just can’t hear that he doesn’t think of me that way, or doesn’t want to ruin the friendship. “So, yeah, stew party, that will be great! Thanks Elliot, see you tomorrow!” And I turn and nearly run back into my house, closing the door on my mortification.
“At least you tried!”
I am going to fucking kill you.
“Too late.”
My doorbell rings. Crap.
I open it, and Elliot is standing there, that look still on his face. I stare at my shoes. “Jenna?”
Oy. I look up. And suddenly the look doesn’t really look like horror. It kind of looks like something else.
And Elliot takes a large step toward me, grasps my face in his hands and kisses me like I am the cure for everything that has ever ailed him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Eight Months Later
Last month, on my birthday, Wayne shared with me the letter that Aimee had left him. Much of it was very personal, and made me somewhat uncomfortable, even though I knew how much they loved each other. But the part that surprised me was at the end.
“My love, you know that Jenna is the other half of my soul, same as you. And I know that you guys have nothing in common, but I need you to be her best pal for me. To fill that space that I am leaving in her heart. She doesn’t have the support system you do, and she’ll turn in on herself and be sad for way longer than she should unless you make it your mission to keep her out in the world, to give her some purpose. I’m putting her in charge of a lot of your finances, Brian will explain the details. I’m doing this so that she can’t avoid you or blow you off. In the beginning it will probably be really annoying for both of you, but at the end of the day I know that the more time she spends with you, the better her life will be. Don’t let her off the hook. Don’t edit yourself. Bring her every harebrained scheme, every wild thought that crosses your mind, all the things you would have told me about. You guys will find your way, together, I have faith.”
And so we have.
* * *
Well, hello there,” Nathan Fillion says, as I open the door.
I step aside so that he can come into the studio space Wayne and I rented. “Thanks for coming.”
“How can I resist a gig that brings me to one of my favorite cities, AND requires that I get ordained?” He laughs. Damn this is a good-looking man.
“Well, we thought that no Firefly-themed wedding would really be complete unless the happy couple were married by Captain Mal himself.” Our fifth event since launching Dagobah Productions, this wedding for three hundred is following the Firefly theme to the nth degree. And at a cool 500K, we’ve spared no detail. Including the fifty grand, plus first-class travel, to hire Mr. Fillion to come serve as clergy. He was an enormously good sport when I asked Elliot to reach out to him to see if he was up for it, and apparently said yes in a heartbeat. I think Elliot may have sweetened the deal with a piece of memorabilia or two; no matter how I needle him, he won’t say.
“Well, the Captain is here, officially ordained by the Universal Life Church of the Interwebs, and ready to rock.”
“Shiny,” I say, winking at him.
“She learns fast, this one,” he says, looking behind me.
“So she does.” Elliot walks up behind me, kisses my cheek and shakes Nathan’s hand. “Good to see you, man. Thanks so much for this.”
“Happy to help.”
I interject. “Chloe over there with the headset? She’ll show you to your dressing
room. You should have everything you need there, but if not, let her know and she’ll take care of you. I’d say we are about three hours out,” I say, waving at Chloe, our floor manager for the event, and she comes over to take Nathan to his dressing room.
“Everything looks terrific,” Elliot says. “You should be very proud.”
“I think we did good, partner.” After another month of waffling back and forth, Elliot and Wayne both realized that the thing holding me back was the enormity of being half responsible for the business. So Elliot came in as a third, mostly silent, consulting partner. It took some of the financial burden off of Wayne and me, and allowed us to put some key staffers in place from the beginning that eased the time pressure on me. Elliot handles the technical business aspects, Wayne does client relations and theme consulting, and I do food and basic event organization.
We took three months to research getting our team together, set, lighting, sound, and costume designers we poach from the thriving local Chicago theater scene, makeup artists we fly in from LA. I put Naomi at TipsyCake on monthly retainer that allowed her to hire a cake artist who is also a serious sci-fi and fantasy fan, and she will be in charge of all cake design. I attended the big Comic Con in San Diego with Wayne and Elliot, and we had a booth where we both solicited new clients and had a small recruiting station, finding some really terrific staff to help get us up and running.
“I think we’re finding our stride.”
“I’m off to get some other work done, but I’ll be back later. Late dinner after?” He knows that I never eat at events, so we’ve taken to grabbing a bite and debriefing at the end of the evening.
“Absolutely.” I lean over and kiss him.
“Knock ’em dead, sweetheart.” And he heads out. It’s still early days for our relationship. Despite the lovely kiss, and all I thought it meant the night of the EL Ideas dinner, it took three more weeks before he kissed me again for real. And another few weeks before we did more than kiss. Apparently Elliot is a gentleman who believes in taking things very slow, especially when embarking on a romance with a slightly broken, still-grieving, often-confused good friend. And throwing the whole business partnership into the mix was a wrinkle neither of us anticipated. But we are officially together, and so far, it’s been well worth the wait.
Out to Lunch Page 28
