“Yerghk.” Salima made a face. They had gone to the butcher after the music store, and he was making leg of lamb, “gigot,” with lots of garlic. Blaise could smell it in her room and was annoyed, but she washed her face and hands and walked back to the kitchen, just as he took the soufflé out of the oven. She looked surprised. And the table was set for all three of them. He had Salima do it. She said she hadn’t done that since she was a child. Probably before she went blind, he guessed. For the past eleven years she had done no chores at all. That was clear.
“You made soufflé?” Blaise was stunned, and warmed up a little as they sat down at the table together. And she had to admit, the cheese soufflé was superb. They all had second helpings. And the gigot was just as good, maybe better. He had made mashed potatoes to go with it, and tossed a salad. It was a spectacular meal, with fresh fruit for dessert. “This is like eating in a four-star restaurant,” Blaise complimented him. It was an absolutely delicious dinner, which put all of them in a good mood. They sat around the table afterward, looking relaxed. And he made an infusion of fresh mint for Blaise. “Where did you learn to cook like that?” She was intrigued. He was a man of many faces, talents, and skills, and all of them pleasant so far. She knew she had been less than nice to him. And she noticed that Salima seemed to have eased up on him that day. She hoped she wasn’t falling for him. But at least she couldn’t see his good looks. Blaise was grateful for that. He was a very handsome man.
“I went to cooking school in Paris,” he told her, “after college and before I went to grad school. It’s something I always wanted to do. Cooking is fun.”
“Where did you do it?”
“Cordon Bleu,” he said shamelessly, and she laughed.
“No wonder. You should be opening a restaurant, not teaching at a school.”
“I like both,” he said easily. “I like cooking for my friends. It relaxes me.”
“Well, it certainly was a spectacular meal.” She stood up, as Salima helped him clear the table, and her mother looked surprised. She suspected that was Simon’s doing too, and she didn’t comment. It wouldn’t hurt her to put the dishes in the sink, and she looked happier than she had the day before. Blaise was sure she still missed Abby terribly, but at least she wasn’t fighting Simon, for now.
Blaise was about to leave the kitchen, when he turned from the sink to ask her something. “I see that you have a piano. Do you mind if I play?” She looked surprised again.
“No, that’s fine. As long as you don’t play too late, or my neighbors will have a fit.”
“I won’t.” He finished loading the dishwasher with Salima, and she thanked him for dinner and went to her room, while Simon quietly walked into the living room and sat down at the piano, opened it, and began to play. He didn’t play anything in particular, he started with show tunes, and played some of his favorites from the sixties, including a number of Beatles songs, and by the time he got to them, he saw Salima appear like a ghost. Blaise was listening in her room too. You could hear his playing throughout the apartment, and he was good. Maybe not as good as he was a chef, but it was close. And before she had reached the piano, Salima was singing to what he played. She knew all the songs, which was what he had hoped. He didn’t know her favorites yet. But once she heard the music, she couldn’t stay away. And Blaise could hear her too, and realized how clever he was. He was using the things Salima loved to establish a rapport with her.
They sat together for an hour while she sang and he played, and then with regret he closed the piano, and said they’d better not play too late or they’d get in trouble with the neighbors and her mom would be mad. Salima was sad to see their musical alliance end.
“Have you ever thought of taking singing lessons?” he asked her as they left the room.
“No. I used to want to be a singer when I was a kid. But I don’t want to be Ray Charles or Stevie Wonder when I grow up. And I don’t write music. You kind of have to if you want to be special.” She looked disappointed as she said it.
“You don’t have to be a pro. Why not just do it for fun?” he suggested. “That’s why I cook. Because I enjoy it.”
“Maybe.” Salima thought about it, and then said goodnight. She stopped in at her mother’s room on the way back to her own. Blaise was at her desk, writing an editorial for the next day, with a stack of research beside her.
“You and Simon sounded great. He certainly has a lot of talents. Music, cooking.” And he was handling Salima well.
“Could I ever take singing lessons?” Salima asked her, and Blaise looked surprised again. It was the first time Salima had ever inquired about it, although she’d had a singing talent all her life.