Sugar: A Novel Part 12

"Actually, I want to talk with you about the contract." I swallowed, getting ready for the nitty-gritty. "You'll remember I have an escape clause I can invoke at any time."

"An oversight, I'm afraid," Margot said, looking at me over her gla.s.ses. "Every person on set has signed an airtight contract that commits them to all thirteen episodes but you, Charlie. We were willing to waive it for the first few weeks because Avery insisted you'd be more comfortable if we gave you some s.p.a.ce. Less likely to be scared off, if you will." There was the tight smile again. "Now that we've gotten to know you, we know that you are certainly not a fearful woman."

Vic snorted.

"In fact," Margot continued, one eyebrow up, "I know now you are a woman who has worked a long time to get to this level and you're not about to throw it all away."

I reached for the much-rehea.r.s.ed phrases I'd practiced that morning in the shower. Something about work-life balance? Or the bit about needing time and s.p.a.ce for true creativity? Working only between the hours of noon and midnight, no more fifteen-hour s.h.i.+fts, or extra takes at the end of the night? My thoughts bounced and ricocheted too long because Vic chimed in.

"Charlie, I'll put this to you plainly. You are the star of this show, and Network wants to fast track what we're doing so publicity can get a solid jump on a fall release."

I felt Avery tense next to me.

"The success of the show going forward hinges on you. You drive the plot line, you interest the audience, and the camera loves you."

"Avery is fantastic, don't doubt it." Vic's tone was placating. "You're brilliant, Avery, really."

Avery gave me a wry smile.

"However," Margot interrupted, "Avery plus Charlie equals something altogether different. In fact, Network specified that shooting can continue only if you, Charlie, are on board and committed to staying there."

Avery slumped in his chair. I felt my breathing becoming shallow.

Margot removed her gla.s.ses and leaned toward me. "You have the potential to do something spectacular here, Charlie. This contract spells it all out." She pointed to the doc.u.ment topping the pile resting on her clipboard. "You agree to another month of filming and a selection of promotional events a.s.sociated with marketing the show, and, in return, you receive a hefty check, an opportunity to renew for a second season depending on the ratings, and my personal favorite: an initial investment and licensing for a personal line of bakery products." She turned to Vic. "Wouldn't she be perfect on little cupcake liners or scone mixes? The earning potential is huge here."

"Hold on," I interrupted. "What about my job? Here, at Thrill? The work is what brought me to Seattle, not a TV show."

"Of course," Margot said with a shrug. "You can keep your job. You'll need it for the show. And," she said more carefully after seeing the set of my jaw, "after this contract expires, you are free to continue in your role as head pastry chef. You can think about a second season when the time comes, but you can work all the hours you want at Thrill when we are not filming. Correct, Avery?"

"Yes. Absolutely." His voice shook slightly before he cleared his throat. "Charlie, you know your job here is secure. It can be the beginning of something big, or the final piece. Whatever you want." Then, as an apparent afterthought, he added, "You and I are a team. A great team. No strings attached."

I let my eyes linger on him, troubled anew at his willingness to be a chameleon, to change according to whatever wind blew through the room.

"It's only a few weeks," Margot said more quietly. Her gaze locked onto mine. "A few weeks of hectic schedules, long hours, lots of hair and makeup, and hoops to jump through." She leaned toward me. "But think of where you've been, Charlie. Think of where this exposure will take you. If you sign this contract and play by our rules for just a short time, at the end of this tiny tunnel you'll be able to make choices you never could have faced otherwise. After all these years, Charlie." She paused, taking in my expression. "After all your sacrifices, you are standing on the brink of having it all be worthwhile."

I stared at the paper. Long days, long years felt heavy on my shoulders. I felt their c.u.mulative weight and the pa.s.sion with which I had pressed on, through exhaustion, sickness, Felix and his tirades, Alain and his empty promises. I thought of the dream I had so long nurtured and cherished, the hope that I could run my own kitchen in the way I wanted, the accolades that would come, the ability to set my own standard and my own pace.

And I thought of Kai. His face, his hands, his patient phone calls and texts. I thought of his easy laugh and the way he made me feel happy and cared for. I thought of the way he looked at me ... and I knew he would be willing to wait.

I squared my shoulders to Margot's tiny frame. "I need a day to review the contract before I sign."

Avery let out a quick rush of air and Vic did a fist pump. Margot looked bemused, which I supposed was the closest she came to being pleased.

"You know what?" she said, c.o.c.king her head to one side. "I knew, Ms. Garrett, that you would. Fearless women finish first and finish best." She seemed not to care that half the people in the room couldn't possibly qualify in that grouping. Standing, she lowered the clipboard with a jolt onto my lap.

"You remember that," she said and turned to go.

16.

THE following night, a Sat.u.r.day, made every person working at Thrill feel as though we were moments away from self-destruction. We were stacked from the first minute of the first seating. Avery strode in and out of the kitchen, muttering about the reservationist being on crack and how could any sane person think we could cook for all those people out there? Apparently even he had a limit for the amount of exposure he could take in one evening.

The servers looked frazzled and totally spent by eight o'clock, which was a very bad sign since we weren't even halfway through the evening. One woman, Gigi, who had come on board with others in Tova's pretty brigade, began crying hysterically, her mascara running in chunky rivulets down her cheeks. The salmon was overdone, she cried, and she really needed that table's tip for her rent, due the following day. Six f-bombs and a hushed, back-rubbing conversation with Avery later, she touched up her makeup and soldiered back into the dining room with Salmon, Take Two.

Of course, the cameras caught the entire debacle, one of them coming so close to Gigi's head at one point that she pushed it out of her way with an impressive shove and naughty word (F-Bomb #4). I was neck-deep in my own troubles after one of the gas burners in the pastry kitchen quit working just as I was building the heat for a finicky caramel. So I heard Gigi's tirade loudly and clearly, but I didn't watch closely enough to decide whether she'd been put up to histrionics like Tova had. When things had returned to the noisy but familiar chaos of the kitchen, I did see Vic nod once at Margot. I looked away, determined to know as little as I could about what happened behind the lenses of the black cameras that loomed everywhere around us.

Minutes after the Gigi debacle, Avery flew into our area, his eyes bugging, chef's cap shoved to one side of his head.

"Charlie," he said, his voice barely controlled. "We have a situation."

I looked up from plating a slice of deep-dish peach blackberry pie, one hand over the dessert with a sifter of powdered sugar. "What kind of situation?"

Avery nodded, rhythmically, up and down, up and down. "We have in our dining room," he said, still nodding, "some very special guests." He paused, his gaze flickering to the camera above my head. "TiffanTosh is here."

Tova let out a squeal and dropped the ramekin she was holding, nicking an edge on the counter.

I scowled at her and then turned back to Avery. "I'm a.s.suming this person is famous since her name is so ridiculous."

Avery's mouth opened slightly, clearly disturbed I wasn't dropping ceramics, too. "TiffanTosh is not a person. TiffanTosh is a people. The newest power couple in Hollywood."

"Tiffany Jacobs and Macintosh Rowe?" Tova was talking and applying lip gloss at the same time. Her eyes kept darting to the door to the dining room, as if any moment a celebrity might walk through and want to discuss lip plumping. "They are amazing. So, so talented. And both of them are so gorgeous, I couldn't possibly decide which one is prettier." She looked to be considering this dilemma when she swiveled in my direction. "Ooh! And Charlie! They give truckloads of money to poor people in Africa or Asia or something. You like that kind of thing, right?"

I didn't have the heart to say what I wanted to say in that moment, her puppy eyes were so hopeful. I settled for just staring while she went back to glossing.

"All right," I said, returning to the pie. "What have they ordered?"

"No, no, no, no," Avery said, shaking his head vigorously. "I just met them." He stopped and nudged Tova with his elbow. "I met them!"

She sighed.

"We chatted a while," he said, "and I did not allow them to order. Not off the menu." He made a face. "Those are all desserts that regular people have eaten. No. You have to make something new, something different and just for TiffanTosh."

I rolled my eyes. "That name is such a joke. Do they introduce themselves like that? And did they order in third person or something? Like, 'TiffanTosh does not care for Key lime squares with brown b.u.t.ter crust.' Or 'TiffanTosh will need low-dust-emitting toilet paper this evening.'" I snorted when I laughed.

Avery and Tova stared. She wrinkled her nose. "That's so disgusting. Why did you have to go there?"

"They ordered together," Avery said, clearly trying to rise above my gutter talk. "They want to share a dessert."

"That's so romantic." Tova shook her head and actually sounded choked up. I was in TMZ h.e.l.l.

"What can you do?" Avery asked. He worried his lower lip with his teeth. "Oh, and I forgot to say they're both gluten-free."

I groaned.

"But not sugar-free or dairy-free." Avery sounded triumphant, as if it shouldn't bother me that I couldn't use flour, but milk and sugar were no problem.

"My best GF work is already on the menu," I said, looking to the ceiling and tapping my fingernails on the counter while I thought. "The panna cotta, the budino ... "

"Both delicious options," Avery said. The ingratiating tone wasn't moving me.

"No crusts, no crumbles, no cakes, no cookies that are worth the effort," I thought aloud. I closed my eyes, rummaging around in my mind for what I could offer these TiffanTosh people. Unbidden, the thought came to me. I pictured Forsythia Farms and the day Kai and I spent there among all the fruit careening to the sweet peak of summer's bounty. I wanted to capture that-the warmth, the sun, the vibrant flavors that jumped off the plate.

I opened my eyes. "Got it." I looked at Avery. "Get them a nice Moscato and come back in thirty minutes."

Tova and I worked double-time to complete the orders from "regular people," which were already in and gathering dust before TiffanTosh's interruption. When we had things in relative order and the remaining garnishes were ones she couldn't foul up, I turned to my empty works.p.a.ce. Moving slowly and carefully to avoid bruising the fruit, I combined handfuls of plump raspberries and deep purple blueberries, a healthy cup of sugar, and some spring water into a heavy saucepan. It climbed slowly to a gentle boil while I stirred and folded it carefully onto itself. I lowered the heat and let it form a syrup before adding another handful of raspberries and a splash of raspberry brandy.

Avery came back to hover as I was finis.h.i.+ng the dish. I puddled the warm berries into the bottom of a bowl and added a scoop of my house-made vanilla bean ice cream. Nestling the bowl onto a white rectangular dish, I added two ceramic shot gla.s.ses and poured in the final piece.

"What is that?" Tova asked, her voice hushed.

"Something I've been tinkering with. It's kind of a hot chocolate meets a pot de creme. Silky, espresso-laced chocolate sauce with a touch of cream and a pinch of freshly grated cinnamon. They can sip it, like a mini-c.o.c.ktail. I think it will go well with the berries." I stood back, evaluating the finished product.

"So brilliant," Avery said to interrupt my thoughts. "Simple and absolutely stunning on the plate."

"Yeah, but I want to eat it all right now." Tova reached over to me for a fist b.u.mp. "If they send it back, I want it."

Avery swallowed hard. "Let's hope they don't send it back." He lifted the plate carefully into his hands. "Let's hope they think simple is good."

My heart was beating faster than I wanted to admit. I watched Avery go through the swinging door to the dining room and stood with my arms crossed, settling in to wait for a verdict.

The clock on Thrill's kitchen wall was barreling toward two in the morning by the time I used my shoulder to heave open the door to the outside world. The arches of my feet were throbbing, and I swore I could feel each individual, aching bone in my body. And, I noted, my cheek muscles felt the tremble of fatigue after having smiled for the better part of the last few hours.

My impromptu dessert for TiffanTosh was a coup. They had asked to see me, regaled me with compliments, and then insisted I sit at their table for a chat.

My grin widened again to remember what they'd said.

As an exclamation point to my euphoria, I just wanted to hear Kai's voice. Fumbling for my phone in my bag, I stopped outside the restaurant and lowered myself to a bench nestled between two lush planters filled with mutant coleus and pink impatiens. I pulled up Kai's number but decided to text. No need to wake him with a phone call, especially since he was due to get up in a matter of hours to open Howie's. But I could text him that I was thinking about him and let that be the first thing he saw in the morning.

Me: I know you're asleep and probably all warm and drooly right now, but I want you to know I'm thinking about you and the way you get superscratchy with whiskers by the end of a day. I like the whiskers. And you.

I paused, thumbs hovering above the phone. The cool, damp air made me s.h.i.+ver more deeply into my cardigan.

Me: Sleep well. I'll try calling tomorrow?

I was still sitting on the bench, feeling regret that I had stopped moving and would therefore have to resume moving if I were to get home, when the phone rang and made me jump high enough to send my bag in an arc off my lap and onto the ground.

"Kai!" I said, breathless with adrenaline. "I'm so sorry. Did my text wake you?"

"It's fine," he said, his voice rumbling a few notes below normal. "It's good to hear from you, even at an unG.o.dly hour. How are you?"

"Really, really great," I said, trying to tone down my very-awake state in the face of his interrupted sleep. "We had an unbelievable night at work."

"Hit me," he said, still yawning. "I mean, hit me gently. Not too many details. Don't want you to go to prison."

I groaned. "That blasted nondisclosure. I can't wait to be able to tell you everything. When I signed up, I didn't really think the life of a pastry chef would be one of secrecy. Not that I haven't harbored a teeny tiny aspiration that I could be a Navy SEAL, but that pretty much ended in seventh grade. I got the impression it would be much more wait-in-the-desert and less Nancy Drew. I loved Nancy Drew." I bit my lips together, abruptly aware I was rambling.

His voice was deep and rough with sleep. "How about you talk in really broad terms? Or in a sort of code? Like, 'Tonight I saw a red item and a blue item,' and then I'll know we're talking about purple."

I closed my eyes. "This is so pathetic. Why don't we just resort to haiku? 'The pastry rose high. I did not make anyone vomit.' Wait, that's too many syllables, isn't it?"

"Um, the last poem I read was by Shel Silverstein, and I'm positive it had something to do with a unicorn that never made it on to Noah's ark. So, no poetry. It depresses normally happy people."

"Okay," I said, laughing. "No haiku. But I think I am cleared to say that I had a celebrity sighting tonight."

"Oh, let's play that game." I could hear a jolt of enthusiasm as he woke up. "I'll guess who and you just stay silent until I hit on the right celebrity."

"Sounds good."

"Joan Rivers."

"Do I have to stay silent if the proposed celebrity is deceased?"

"Dang. I thought I heard something about that. Okay, what celebrity would be hanging out in Seattle? Here's where I have an advantage because I grew up in Was.h.i.+ngton and I know the famous people list." He paused, and I heard a door creak shut behind me. Avery waved with one hand as he locked up with the other.

"I'm a.s.suming you wouldn't be wowed by Paul Allen, even though he founded Microsoft with Bill Gates. No, probably not. Okay, how about Rainn Wilson from The Office?"

"No, but that man was not born with that name." I nodded when Avery gestured a request to sit next to me on the bench. He sat heavily and with the same Ches.h.i.+re grin I still sported.

"I have it," Kai said. "Stephen S. Oswald."

"Who?"

"You're supposed to be remaining silent. Stop breaking the rules."

"Sorry," I said.

"Shh. And Stephen S. Oswald happens to be a very famous astronaut. I'm surprised you haven't heard of him."

I snorted and got called out for nonverbal rule breaking.

Avery nudged me. When he spoke, his voice was lowered. "I'm so glad you're still here. I have news."

I raised my eyebrows and covered the phone with my hand. "What?" I whispered.

"Sir Mix-A-Lot!" Kai sounded triumphant.

Avery turned toward me, draping his arm around the back of the bench. "TiffanTosh loved you. I mean really loved you." His eyes, though bloodshot with fatigue, danced with excitement.

"I can't believe it," I whispered. "They said I was remarkable and just what the dessert world needed. They called me 'a revelation'!"

Kai made another guess. "Kenny G? And if it was him, can you please describe the hair?"

Avery moved closer. "They said they really appreciated how simple but killer their dessert was, and that they were totally into paring down their lives. Fewer ingredients definitely spoke to them."