First Class Menu Page 9

“Sounds like there’s some regret in there.”

  Lindsey shook her head. “Not with Lewis. We weren’t right for each other. And I’m glad he’s happy, it’s just that sometimes…”

  “Sometimes?” David prodded.

  “Nothing. Let’s start on the chicken. I’m hungry.”

  *****

  As they sat down to their meal, David was once again in awe of his teacher and the meal that lay in front of him. She made everything seem so easy; like making these velvety, creamy potatoes was nothing.

  “You know, I have to admit that I’m glad we made enough for there to be leftovers,” he chuckled, as he cleaned his plate.

  “Well if you can cook once and eat twice, that’s a no-brainer in my book,” she smiled.

  “More wine?” David lifted the bottle.

  “Thank you,” she smiled. “This has been a really nice evening.”

  “It has. I’ll get the tart.”

  “I’ll clean up.”

  “No!” David exclaimed. “Let me. Sit and enjoy the wine. I’ll be right back.”

  David gathered their plates and walked to the sink. Then he pulled the tart from the fridge and grabbed a knife and a couple of plates and headed back to the table. He carefully sliced two pieces and scooped them onto the plates. As the fork hit his tongue, his taste buds came alive.

  “Wow! This is delicious,” he said.

  Lindsey grinned and took a bite. “Yep! I think you’ve passed the dessert class.”

  They finished off their tart in silence, enjoying every last crumb from their plates.

  “I cannot believe some lucky guy hasn’t snatched you up,” he shook his head as he spoke.

  “Maybe I haven’t found the right guy yet,” she whispered, head down, sneaking a peak at David.

  He was licking his fork.

  “Or maybe I’ve already met him and he’s unavailable,” she added.

  “Unlucky bastard,” he said to his fork.

  “Yeah,” she sighed.

  “Do you want another piece?”

  “No thanks,” she said. “I’ll help you clean up and then I should get going.”

  “Oh no, you don’t have to clean. I can do that.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll go then.”

  “Okay. Thanks Lindsey. See you next Saturday?”

  “Yep,” she sighed and walked to the door.

  *****

  The July 4th weekend came and went and the Lathem family had celebrated with a barbecue. David had made another chocolate tart and had dazzled his mother and the rest of the clan. He had no idea that praise for a dessert could fill him so full of pride, and he owed it all to Lindsey.

  “Seriously dude, you should marry her,” Tim had said as he finished his piece.

  “She’s my instructor,” David had frowned.

  “Fine! Take her out then.”

  “I can’t. She says it wouldn’t be professional.”

  “Why?” Tim asked.

  “I asked her if she’d help me with my homework assignment and she said no…that it wouldn’t be professional.”

  “She gives you homework?” Tim was astounded.

  “Well not now, but when I was in the class at the college.”

  “Aren’t private lessons like a date…every week?” Mark chuckled.

  “No!” David was offended. “I’m taking this seriously.”

  “I can see that,” Mark grinned.

  “Well then I’m gonna ask her out,” Tim had laughed.

  “No you’re not!” David snapped.

  “Oooh. A little possessive are we?” Tim teased him.

  “Shut up,” David replied.

  12.

  Lindsey stood in her kitchen in a pair of cut-off jeans and a blue tank top. Her feet were bare and her hair clipped in a claw on the top of her head.

  It had been a long week. A long couple of weeks in fact. She’d lost a chef at The Bourbon and she still hadn’t been able to nail the food cost issue at Aaron’s. The numbers were only off by a couple of percentage points, but that added up over the course of the month. Nobody was stealing. The chefs and line cooks were all working their butts off. The problem was probably right in front of her. She just wasn’t in the right mindset to see it.

  In the past four days she’d already put in sixty hours. She was tired. She was exhausted. But she’d hired two new cooks and they’d hit the ground running. She was glad to finally be home.

  She’d been asked many times what she did to relax. She cooked. The answer surprised most people. Why would a chef, who worked in restaurants all week, come home and unwind by cooking? Because it made her happy; it was calming; and it’s what she loved to do.

  She mindlessly stirred the soup in the saucepan in front of her. The oven buzzer pulled her from the zombie-like state she was in. She pulled out the cheesy bread and plopped it on a plate. Then she carefully poured the hot soup into a bowl, grabbed a spoon, a napkin and her bread and headed for the sofa and the television.

  She flipped channels with the remote until she came to a movie she instantly recognized. Colonel Brandon, Alan Rickman, was reading poetry from a small leather-bound book to Marianne, Kate Winslet, as Elinor Dashwood, Emma Thompson, pretended to concentrate on her needlework.

  “Oh Colonel Brandon, I know how you feel, buddy,” she sighed as she tossed the remote on the sofa next to her. She lifted a spoonful of the hot roasted butternut squash soup to her lips and blew ever so softly before it entered her mouth.

  She’d given David eight private cooking lessons. They had one more scheduled for the following day. It was the last one. She’d enjoyed getting to know him. He was intelligent and funny and kind and sensitive; all the things she was looking in a partner; all the things that she found attractive. And yes. He was hot too, but that wasn’t the first thing that had drawn her to him. In fact, it actually unnerved her. In her experience, good-looking guys were often jerks. But not David. No. She would miss him. Terribly. But she had one more day. One more chance to share her love of cooking with him. One more chance to share her love with him. And then they were done.

  *****

  “Thanks son,” said Mr. Borsten, as David wheeled him into the apartment building. “I didn’t know who else to call. Lou is in the park painting for that big salon in Los Angeles and I didn’t want to disturb her.”

  “You call me anytime,” David offered. “I’m just glad I was at home.”

  “I’m such an idiot,” frowned Mr. Borsten.

  “Not at all!” laughed David. “I’m not going to tell you how many bottles of aspirin I’ve dropped in the sink. And those bottles are much bigger than the little prescription bottles you’ve got there.” David pointed to the small paper bag Mr. Borsten gripped in his hand.

  “Well, I appreciate you going with me to the pharmacy to pick it up. I can’t go out yet by myself.”

  “When does your new wheelchair get here?” David asked.

  “Anytime. Your brother Paul and Nic got it all taken care of so now we just wait for it to be delivered. It’s got a motor on it so I’ll be able to go wherever I want. It even has reverse!” he chuckled.

  “Sounds like I’d better get you a helmet,” laughed David. “Or me a helmet!”

  Brian, the doorman, arrived to help Mr. Borsten up to his apartment. David said his goodbyes and headed onto the sidewalk for the short walk home. He was happy they Borstens only lived a couple of blocks away. He enjoyed helping out on the odd occasion when they needed him. It was nice to feel useful.

  David was one of seven sons, all of whom were real go-getters. None of them ever needed his help. In fact, over the years, he was the one that had needed their help at one time or another. And even though his parents were aging, they were still quite capable of taking care of themselves. His dad, Peter, had finally hired out the tiny bit of yard work a couple of years ago. During the spring and summer, a landscaping company showed up twice a month to cut the small grass area. It took longer to start the lawnmower
than to actually cut the grass. They weeded and pruned a little. They pulled the dead annuals out at the beginning of spring and planted a few new ones and they sprayed weed killer in the slate patio.

  Maureen had a cleaning service come to the house every Tuesday. Being a four story brownstone, and now only her and Peter living there, they rarely went up to third and fourth floors. But Maureen loved to keep a spotless house. The grandkids came to visit, you know.

  So there really wasn’t anyone that needed him. He enjoyed being able to help people and his trip to the pharmacy with Mr. Borsten had done his soul some good. As he rounded the corner to the front of his building, he saw a cab dropping off Lindsey for their last cooking class. A stab of sadness hit him as he realized this was it; one more meal and then they were done. He’d loved learning to cook, more than he could ever have imagined. And Lindsey was a fantastic teacher. She was kind and patient and extremely informative. He’d valued every lesson.

  “Here! Let me help you,” he offered, running to the cab and taking the bags as she tried to pull them from the backseat.

  “Hi David,” she smiled brightly. “Thanks.”

  He hauled the bags from the car and the doorman held the door as they entered the lobby. Lindsey ran ahead and called the elevator and David wrestled with the bags.

  “These are heavy,” he chuckled. “Are you trying to get me fat?”

  “Not at all,” she laughed. “I’ve brought some equipment that’ll help us today.”

  “But I already got a Kitchenaid,” he said, confusion in his voice.

  Lindsey grinned. “That is not the only appliance you need in your kitchen.”

  “So I have more shopping to do?”

  “Well, that’s up to you,” she smiled as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.

  In the kitchen of David’s apartment, they unloaded the bags, David’s confusion growing as he looked at all the things now on the counter.

  “Well, I still have no idea what we’re making today, even after studying everything here,” he said, hands on his hips, surveying the food and pans and gadgets in front of him.

  “Fish tacos with slaw and salsa,” she informed him. And we’re going to make our own tortillas for the tacos, and tortilla chips to eat with the salsa. And then we’re going to have flan for dessert. A real Latin theme today.”

  “Well it sounds great,” David grinned.

  “This is my comfort meal,” she confided. “This is what I make when I need to be both physically and emotionally recharged. I’m glad I get to share it with you.”

  “Me too,” he smiled.

  They began with the slaw and then the salsa. They chopped and diced and mixed and tasted and then put the bowls of the finished tasty food in the fridge. Then they made the flan; heating and mixing and straining and pouring and set the tray in the oven letting it work its magic.

  “Now we make tortillas,” Lindsey smiled.

  “But you can buy them already made. Why make them?”

  “Because they are way cheaper to make and they taste so much better,” she explained.

  “Well okay then,” he grinned. “Teach me, chef!”

  They laughed and told jokes as they made tortillas. Lindsey had brought her press from home, making the job significantly easier than rolling them by hand. With David’s upper body strength, he had those tortillas thin and perfect with ease.

  “You’re quite handy to have around,” she smiled.

  “Well, thank you,” he grinned. “Anything for the lady.”

  Lindsey blushed as he winked at her and as he placed the last tortilla on the counter, their hands touched briefly. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm at the contact and she quickly pulled away. She sneaked a look at him and he didn’t seem to notice. She stepped over to the stove top, checking the heat of the griddle.

  “Let’s…get those…on…here,” she stuttered.

  David followed her, bringing the stack of dough.

  “They don’t take long,” she managed to say as his arm brushed hers again.

  David threw a couple on the griddle and watched the centers bubble up. He grabbed a spatula and pushed them down so they connected with the hot surface.

  “Like this?” he asked.

  Lindsey smiled and nodded. “Perfect,” she whispered.

  As the tortillas were done, she wrapped them in aluminum foil and then they fried the cut dough to make chips. David knew what he was doing, requiring very little instruction and making Lindsey feel quite proud of the work they’d accomplished over the past few weeks.

  “Let me know if you’re ever in need of a job,” she smiled. “I’d hire you.”

  “Really?” David was shocked. “I don’t believe you,” he grinned.

  “Really!” she smiled. “You learn quickly. And your knife skills are impressive.”

  “Well thank you,” he beamed. “I’m feeling like quite the cook.” He smiled at Lindsey. “Oh, shit!” he yelled as he turned back to the bubbling oil. “I burnt these.” He scooped out the dark chips and tossed them in the sink. “You distracted me,” he laughed.

  “Oh, sorry,” she winced.

  “Nope. My fault. I shouldn’t look at you for too long. I get lost in your smile.”

  Lindsey blushed eight shades of red and turned her attention to the burnt chips in the sink.

  “You don’t take compliments well,” he said softly. “You should. You’re a very attractive woman, Lindsey. You’ll make some lucky man very happy.”

  And then the moment was over and he was scooping chips and moving on to the fish.

  *****

  Their lunch tasted as good as it looked. David admitted that the tortillas did taste better than store bought and he’d absolutely from now on make his own salsa. “It tastes so fresh,” he’d said as he inhaled chip after chip piled high with the spicy deliciousness.

  The flan plopped out of the ramekins onto the plates without any sticking and David ate two for dessert. Lindsey put the extra one in the fridge for his evening meal treat.

  “I am in your debt,” David bowed to her as if she were royalty. “You have changed my life Ms. Dardin. I’m kind of sad to see my lessons end.”

  Lindsey was just about to offer an extension…that they could just make this a regular thing…she would gladly spend her Saturdays with him…any day in fact. But David’s cell phone rang and interrupted them.

  It was Lou.

  13.

  “He wants me to do a mural!” she screamed into the phone.

  “Who?” David asked.

  “Alex!”

  “Alex who?”

  “Alex Robeson! The stylist! For his new salon in Los Angeles.”

  Lindsey quietly tidied up the kitchen and packed up her things. She put all the leftovers in plastic containers and stacked them in the fridge.

  “A mural, huh? How big?”

  “The entire rear wall of the salon. It’d be huge!” Lou screamed making David pull the phone from his ear.

  “That’s an amazing offer, Lou.”

  As he continued talking on the phone, Lindsey had cleared the dishes from the table and put them in the dishwasher. David had walked to the window and was looking out over the street.

  “If I agree to do it, I’m gonna need to go to L.A. for a while. But he’s gonna pay a shitload of money for it.”

  “It’s the exposure I’d be excited about,” replied David. “If you want to sell your art and make a really good living, this isn’t something you should pass up.”

  “That’s what Dad said.”

  Lindsey had her bags in her hands and stood by the front door staring at David’s back. He was deep in conversation so she let herself out and silently closed the door behind her.

  As she got to the elevator, she looked back, silently saying goodbye. The lessons were over. She was done. Somehow she needed to move on and stop allowing him to invade her thoughts and her dreams.

  Like I have any control, she shook her hea
d and frowned.

  As the cab drove her away from his building, an overwhelming sadness ripped at her heart and she wondered if it would ever heal.

  *****

  Paul Lathem had arranged for Mr. Borsten to have a caretaker come to his apartment every day while Lou would be gone. His new wheelchair had arrived, but he was still requiring help bathing and getting dressed every day. The rest he had under control.

  David took Lou to the airport. Alex Robeson was paying for everything so Lou’s mind was only thinking about the creation of a spectacular mural. The only guideline Alex had given her was that it needed to have lots of red in it. Lou didn’t have any problem with that.

  He hugged her goodbye at the curb in front of the terminal and she skipped her way inside. David grinned as he watched her disappear in the crowd.

  Lou was his first real success story. He loved the idea of being able to launch the career of a struggling but talented artist. Audrey continually badgered him about launching his own career but he wasn’t interested. He would keep his art for those he loved. And even though all four pieces he’d shown at the gallery opening sold quickly, he had no intention of ever doing it again.

  He drove back into the city and parked in the parking garage of his building. He took the elevator up and entered his apartment. Freckles stood ready to greet him.

  He needed to go back to work but first he fed the cat and then opened the fridge. There were leftovers stacked from the evening before. He’d made a roasted chicken with lemon, garlic and rosemary and mashed potatoes with gravy from the pan drippings. He’d roasted carrots and squash too. He couldn’t help but smile as he pulled a ready-made meal from the shelf and placed it carefully in a brown paper bag.

  He scratched Freckles behind the ears and left. As he walked the couple of blocks to the gallery, lunch in hand, he thought about all the Saturdays he’d spent with Lindsey. He missed them. It’d been a few weeks since his final lesson. He’d been on the phone when she’d left. He felt bad he didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. He missed her. He should send her flowers.

  *****

  Katy Lathem was in Boston. Her surrogate little sister, Shelby, was starting college and Katy had flown to Wisconsin the week before and driven with her to her dorm on campus at Boston College.