Turtle Soup

by Danielle Thorne

  She nodded. "I called that girl of Conner's who runs the soup place."

  "She's not my girl," Conner argued.

  "Turtle Soup?" Jack frowned. "You called Sara Hart?"

  "You said you didn't want barbeque."

  "I don't want soup!"

  "Why not?" mumbled Conner as if it were a good idea.

  Trudy narrowed her wide eyes. "She makes other things besides soup. Haven't you eaten there?"

  "Everyone's eaten there." Jack wadded the top sheet off his notepad and threw it across the room. He missed the trashcan by a foot.

  "She doesn't like him." Conner motioned back over at Jack.

  "I don't like her," Jack said firmly.

  "She's a darling, and she makes great cheesecake," Trudy insisted. "You said you didn't want a three course meal."

  "I should have gone with celery sticks," said Jack, mildly angry but thinking about cheesecake.

  Trudy looked him over to gauge whether or not she should cancel. "I think she's nice."

  "Nice? She's a femme fatale. And that little friend of hers?"

  "Niece," Conner corrected.

  "She needs her tonsils tied together."

  Conner and Trudy both laughed then Trudy said, "Femme fatales invade happy marriages, offer something the wife won't give up and the man can't refuse."

  "You've been reading the tabloids again," Jack sighed. The idea of Sara's cooking made his stomach rumble, but she'd be in the next room while he was trying to lecture, hanging on his words so she could throw them back at him later. He jerked his chin as if motioning to some unseen witness at the door. "Make sure she knows I didn't want anything to do with it."

  Trudy shook her head at him. "You're ridiculous."

  "She's a shrew."

  Conner defended her. "You would be too if you'd been left at the altar."

  "Really?" The gossip gene in Trudy sparked and she moved closer, her eyes sharp with interest.

  "It was like a childhood sweetheart, day before the wedding, and a Jerry Springer confrontation on the courthouse steps with his femme fatale."

  "You're kidding?" exclaimed Jack, thoroughly riveted and not ashamed. "When was that?"

  "A few years ago."

  "Oh my," crooned Trudy trying to look appropriately sad, "the poor thing."

  "Poor thing?" shot Jack. He stuttered for something but couldn't think of anything more original than any of his earlier insults. Still, the thought of her stranded in a wedding dress surrounded by dainty finger foods filled him with happiness.

  "Sure," he said looking at Trudy with an approving grin, "Turtle Soup will be perfect."

  ****

  In the appointed conference room a few days later, Jack stood with his back to the wall running his presentation. The accordion doors to his left began to sway gently as if a door somewhere had opened. An hour later, he heard the murmur of voices and lost his train of thought. Sheepish, he asked a coed to repeat her question. By thirty minutes until noon, there was the unmistakable smell of food waiting to be eaten. Jack had now lost the audience, everyone salivating rather than examining his nesting charts. He called for an adjournment.

  When they opened the doors, he realized he was starved. He hated fast food, and potlucks were nightmares, but for all of his appreciation of fine cuisine he had never bothered to learn to cook. At least this would be one lunch he would enjoy, and if Sara tried to ruin it for him, he had plenty of ammunition.

  Three long buffet tables covered with food lined the far edge of the room. Trudy had set it up with circular tables big enough fit five or six chairs under. They were draped in checkered tablecloths with baskets of bread in the center. In the baskets swam little turtle rolls with dough shells and raisins for eyes. He almost fainted in horror but the guests dove into them, laughing, as if they weren't painfully cliché.

  Across the room, Sara raised lids off chafing pans and administered a stir here and there. Jack looked away. He would eat and go right back to the conference room. Better to stare at laminate desks then ruin his digestion.

  The first line was an assortment of salads. He chose a fluffy concoction with cherry chunks, and some greens with pecans and mandarin oranges. The next table offered casserole dishes with vegetable and meats in appetizer portions. Finger foods. There were also loaves of different kinds of breads—pumpkin, banana, a pineapple and carrot, and a blueberry loaf.

  He wanted a slice of everything but his pride wouldn't allow it. He grabbed a pumpkin piece and picked up a few tortillas rolled with lettuce, cheese, and what looked like grilled chicken. At least there wasn't any soup. But there were two pots of chili, one the traditional kind with a sign claiming it was made of turkey, and the other, a southwest chicken fare with pimentos and kidney beans and tomatoes. He sniffed the air and detected cumin for sure, probably cilantro, and the onion and garlic were unmistakable.

  The third table he decided to visit later. He took a seat beside Conner who was chatting up a brunette in a UGA sweatshirt. "What do you think?" Conner asked, stabbing his fork in his plate and grinning. "Better than finger food, right?"

  "This is finger food," Jack grumbled.

  "Hmm," said the brunette, munching on a piece of the blueberry bread.

  "Good for me," Conner grinned. His plate was heaping over with salad and bread, and he had a bowl of the chicken chili on the side. Beside his soda was another platter topped with cookies and cake.

  "No cheesecake?" Jack asked, and he sighed aloud his disappointment.

  Conner shook his head. "No room for it."

  "You better hurry or there won't be any left," the girl said. Jack looked around. She was right. The desert table, the most important in the room, was being obliterated by the crowd. He didn't see any cheesecake and asked the girl again. She said through a mouthful of food, "Peach and raspberry fudge," so he jumped up to get his share, throwing Conner a look of disgust at her manners.

  As if waiting for him, Sara watched someone balance an impossible pyramid of treats on a small plate. When their eyes met, he thought he saw her back stiffen just as he stuck out his chest. Like a rooster, he thought, but he looked forward to sparring with her.

  "You're going to eat dessert?" She said it in an artificial voice, but he didn't miss the glance down at his gut.

  "Thinking about it," he said gruffly. "Depends on who made it."

  "Only two people bake in my kitchen so you don't have to worry."

  He looked her up and down remembering their previous conversation. Casually he leaned over the platter of remaining cheesecake, inhaled, and was surprised at the tingle that started in his stomach and spread itself throughout the rest of him. Peaches and cream bubbled in his bloodstream. "It's too bad you put all of your sugar into your baking," he murmured.

  "What?"

  He repeated himself and reached for a paper plate, daring her to stop him.

  "As opposed to? Where else should I put it?"

  Jack tried to be artful with the silver pie server; to flip the cheesecake over on its back would ruin the moment. "You could try sweetening yourself up for starters."

  "You really have no room, you salty old dog."

  "Old?" Jack laughed. He held the cheesecake up in front of her eyes. "Salty, yes, but old? No. I happen to be in my prime."

  Sara crossed her arms over herself. She scanned the room behind them as if concerned someone might hear their conversation. "You're about two decades past your prime, sailor, and if you had a palate of any kind you'd be able to tell that I'm as sweet as they come."

  "If you were as sweet as they come, sweetheart, you'd be married by now. Nobody can resist a southern girl that knows how to cook."

  "As long as they're barefoot and pregnant, right?"

  Jack stuck his finger in his cake and sucked the residue off. "Barefoot, anyway."

  Sara snorted. "As long as you keep thinking like that you're going to be eating takeout for the rest of your life."

  "What makes you think I can't cook?"


  "You showed up at my door didn't you?"

  "I was checking the place out."

  "Right," she said and victory flashed in her eyes. Jack drew back as if he'd tasted something revolting. "Not you, honey. A man would be crazy to want a sample of you."

  "I assure you, Jack," Sara retorted, "there are plenty of crazy men out there."

  "Where?" He looked around. "No ring on your finger. Or was there?"

  She glanced down at her hand and Jack saw the memory of her failed marriage shadow her face. "Why don't you go stuff yourself?"

  "Thank you, I will." He did and found the satisfaction tasted better than the cheesecake.

  Chapter Six

  Besides one quick stop, Sara didn't see Jack in the shop for weeks after the lecture, but Conner e-mailed her several times from the Caribbean. She actually began to look forward to spending more time with him when he returned to Atlanta. When he invited her to an awards banquet at the aquarium, she accepted without hesitation.

  The cream of society would be present. It would be a Who's Who for the city and making a few friends wouldn't do her business any harm. She knew the socialites would see her as a climber, but if she played her cards right, they might find her quaint when they learned about Turtle Soup.

  "Can I pick you up or do you want meet there?" Conner asked when he called from his hotel.

  "Let's meet. We're just friends, right?"

  "Right," he choked back.

  "I'm a better friend than anything else," Sara confessed.

  "You cook, you take care of your niece, you let Jack in your place."

  "My place?"

  "Turtle Soup."

  "It doesn't help business to turn people away."

  "You have a loyal following at the aquarium."

  "Only a small one. Now if I can just get the rest of Atlanta to notice."

  "If you can't make waves, make ripples," Conner said cheerfully.

  "Is that your philosophy?"

  "No, it's Jack's. I always make waves. See you there." He cut off with a loud click.

  Waves, ripples, water. Sara studied her dressed-up self in the mirror, and tried to push away melancholy thoughts invading her reflection. She had not gone to her prom. Her parents had drowned that week in a car accident off a north Georgia bridge.

  "You look great," Carly said with sincerity when she burst into the room. "Try smiling."

  "You forgot to knock," Sara muttered. She turned and showed Carly her front. "Too much cleavage?"

  The younger girl grinned and shook her head. "Wish I had boobs like that."

  "You will someday." Sara studied herself from the side. "My butt's getting bigger every year."

  "Too much bread. It's full of carbs and when you get more than you burn it stores itself as fat."

  Sara held up a hand for her to stop. Carly frowned.

  "I just need to get some exercise."

  "Why don't you take dive classes with Conner? He's offered."

  "A, he wouldn't be here for the whole course, B, I'd get stuck with Jack Brandon, and C, I'd get stuck with Jack Brandon."

  "He doesn't teach, does he?"

  "I don't see how he'd have the time, but I'm sure he'd make some if he found out I was there."

  "I don't think he's a bad guy," said Carly. Her eyes danced around the room but her tone turned serious. "I think he just works hard and is tired and gets his feelings hurt easily."

  Sara looked sideways at her from the mirror.

  "Whose feelings get hurt?" Ellen asked, striding into the room.

  "Jack's," Carly answered.

  Ellen glanced at her watch and looked Sara over. "Don't you look nice?"

  "Thanks. It's the best I have for now." She did a full turn so Ellen could admire the satin dress cut low in the back.

  "I like red on you," her sister approved. "Makes your baby blues pop."

  Sara smiled and checked her swept up hair from the back. "Thanks for letting me take your car."

  "You can't show up in a Blazer."

  "What's wrong with a Blazer?" She took Ellen's keys before she answered and swept out of the apartment in a cashmere wrap.

  ****

  The aquarium glowed like a luminescent sea creature. Sara parked in the two story parking garage behind it and walked the long sidewalk that wrapped around to the front doors.

  Once inside, a dark hall opened to the right, where walls on either side swam with large fish. She walked the same direction, until the walls fell away and she stepped into a giant mall. Inverted white sails, egg-like, hung from the dome ceiling. A large waterfall with rocks and tropical foliage took center stage. The different exhibit halls branched off from this main atrium, with enticing titles such as River Scout, Coldwater Quest, and Tropical Diver.

  Sara pictured Jack in his swim trunks in a Tropical Diver exhibit, but then recalled the sea turtles had been shoved to the back of a children's play area beyond the touch pools. It must have chafed his ocean-sized ego.

  She made her way up a grand flight of stairs suspended over an eatery. Although she had to concentrate not to slide in her heels, she could feel the coolness of her long pearl earrings every time they brushed her cheeks and knew her face was flushed with anticipation.

  People milled about in expectation outside the doors to the ballroom. Women who noticed her, stood up taller. Men caught her eye. It was with relief she felt a hand wrap around her elbow. "Hey, Scarlet!"

  Conner, a bit sheepish, did a full turn so she could admire him in his tux.

  "Where'd you get that?"

  "At the mall. Only $99 for the whole night."

  "And I thought I was cheap."

  "What're you saying?"

  "That you're no Rhett Butler."

  "And where'd you get that little number, your momma's closet?"

  "New York," Sara answered in mock horror, although she felt a surge of insecurity. "I look okay?"

  "Okay?" Conner looked around as if he was going to whisper something intimate but let out a low whistle instead. "Reminds me of my sister at the senior prom."

  "Thanks a lot!" Sara laughed. He took her arm as the crowd began to push past them.

  The glamorous ballroom had two viewing windows that opened into the beluga whale exhibit. Canned lights made the low slung ceiling starry. Turquoise velvet chairs radiated around linen-draped tables. It seemed as if Wolfgang Puck had dropped his dining room into a magical cloud at the bottom of the sea.

  They found their table, left of the stage. Of the eight chairs, four were already filled, two women and two men. Conner made introductions after pulling a chair out for her.

  She had just begun to relax when the empty chair beside her eased out.

  Jack seemed startled to see her, although he must have known she was coming. His eyes passed quickly over her before seating a woman on his other side. She had auburn hair and a string of diamonds around her slender neck.

  "Conner." The beauty inclined her head and Conner grinned back. Since Jack made no move to introduce her, his buddy did.

  "Sara, this is Jessica Waters." Jessica smiled and one of the women across from Sara gave Jessica a little wave. They nodded at each other. Sara pressed her lips together into what she hoped was a smile and thought she saw a sliver of curiosity in Jessica's examination.

  The small talk was excruciating. Sara wanted to relax and enjoy herself but the tension of being seated beside Jack, who everyone stopped by to greet, put knots in her stomach. Besides, he smelled good. Not overpowering, but in a clean, soapy way that made her heart skip. She took note of her reaction with appall.

  "We went to Hell's Kitchen the night before we left," the woman on Conner's left side said.

  "How was that?" someone asked.

  "We waited for over an hour for the appetizer's but after that it went very well."

  "Was the food good?" Jessica asked. The woman nodded.

  "Did you see Gordon Ramsey?" Sara's question burst out before she could stop it. The table tur
ned to her in surprise. She'd been as quiet as a mouse the entire night.

  "That guy," began Jack.

  "No," the woman said before he could finish.

  Obviously Jack didn't want Sara injecting herself into the conversation. He muttered a few choice words about the L.A. chef.

  Sara glared. "You're burning my ears."

  His eyes were black in the room's ambience. "If you're a fan of his, your ears should be extra crispy."

  "I didn't say I approved of his etiquette. I have a couple of his books. He's brilliant."

  "And that makes it okay for him to be an idiot?"

  Sara picked up her fork and began scraping the remains of rice pilaf on her plate.

  "It works for you," Conner said cheerfully, and everyone laughed.

  "Aren't you a waitress downtown?"

  Sara looked up, surprised to find Jessica addressing her.

  "A cook?" The redhead gave a lazy flick of her wrist as if they were one and the same.

  "I own a deli on Williams Street."

  "Turtle Soup," Jack winced, though he must have been the source of information.

  Everyone laughed. Jessica chewed on her ruby lip as if trying to place it then shook her head. "Haven't heard of it." She put her glass down and looked bored.

  "It's also a bakery," Sara explained clumsily. She felt her face grow warm.

  "It's doing great," Conner interrupted. He motioned at Jack. "We eat there all the time. So does half the aquarium."

  "What do you have?" asked a man across the table who had stared at her all evening. Sara ran quickly down the menu. "I'll have to check that out."

  Jessica opened her mouth to say something more but Jack said, "You should. It's good stuff."

  The tapping of silverware against glass brought the room's conversations to a halt, keeping Sara from having to acknowledge his kindness. Truthfully, she was confused but she appreciated the save. As waiters began removing dishes, a gentleman at the podium with long white whiskers asked for everyone's attention.

  The host for the evening, as it was announced, was James Byron, chairman of the aquarium board. He read over a list of goals for the next fiscal year. She tried to ignore Jack beside her. Every time his elbow brushed against her, he looked as if wanted to say something but then he looked away. He didn't just smell nice, Sara admitted, he felt nice.