Kai kept guessing. “I can’t believe I didn’t say this before. Of course. Mario Batali.”
I could hear Kai evaluating his most recent theory, but I was too distracted to respond. All I could think about were the promises I’d made myself on the plane from Seattle to New York; how I’d told everyone—Carlo, Manda, even my mother—my singular goal with this cross-country move was to put myself in the position to be a recognized pastry chef. Kai’s voice seemed suddenly distant, our little game something that was charming and sweet but that would also have to wait. I cleared my throat and took my hand off the phone. “Kai, I’m sorry, but I think I’d better go.”
“Too close to the truth?” he asked, sounding victorious. “Can’t hold your tongue any longer, eh? I knew it was Batali. Wow, I can’t imagine having him stop into my restaurant. Did you freak out?”
“No,” I said, hurriedly. “I mean, yes. I’m a little freaked out. But it wasn’t Batali. And I can’t really say any more.”
“Oh,” he said, subdued. “All right. I get it. What happens at Thrill stays at Thrill, right?” The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable and sudden.
I bristled. “That’s not fair. You know I’m in a tough spot here.”
He exhaled long. “You are. That’s true. We both are.”
We were quiet a beat, and I saw Avery do a little twirl with his fingers, prodding me to wrap it up.
“Listen,” Kai said, more gently, “maybe discussions like this aren’t best on the phone and after midnight. Let’s shelve it and talk tomorrow. Sound good?”
“Sounds really good,” I said, already letting my finger creep around to end the call. “Sleep well,” I said and hung up while Kai’s goodnight still sounded in the quiet air.
“They want us?” I turned fully to Avery and felt my eyes widen at the thought of such a personal request. “Don’t they have their own chef?”
Avery shrugged. “Probably. But when you’re that rich and famous, you don’t need to get bogged down by little details like loyalty. They are having about seventy people, they said. The party is at their house in Medina. The place was in Architectural Digest last month, Charlie! They play backyard bocce with their neighbors, Bill and Melinda Gates! This is huge!”
He didn’t need to tell me that, of course. We’d had our fair share of celebrities popping into L’Ombre when I lived in New York, and they always received undivided attention and set Alain into a dither every time. But the end of the meal was always the end of the relationship. Nobody had ever asked Alain and Felix over for a playdate.
I felt a quickening in my pulse that pushed aside the clouds of my exhaustion.
“Well, come on, then. Let’s talk menu.” I grinned at him. “I’m never going to fall asleep now.”
He grinned back. “Who says workaholics don’t have any fun?”
17
MANDA waved to me from under a giant, red metal sculpture. Actually, she shimmied while jumping up and down in some conspicuously new running shoes. Her hair bounced with each return to earth.
“Isn’t this fantastic?” she said as she gathered me into a quick hug. “What a beautiful day! The sun is so warm! The Sound looks amazing! I love my new shoes! And there are no children anywhere around here that have passed through my birth canal!”
I rubbed one clammy hand over my eyes. “I’m really trying to be awake right now, but last night was not my longest night of sleep. I’ll just keep sipping and listening to you talk about this very large, very bright focal point of the Olympic Sculpture Park.” I cupped my Grande Caffé Americano and let its caffeinated loveliness seep into my bloodstream. Manda could have launched into a dissertation on insects and worms, for all I cared. I was having trouble rousing myself after menu planning with Avery until four that morning.
Manda frowned. “Ten in the morning is not early. Your life is so bizarre.”
“Agreed,” I said gruffly into my coffee.
“This is called The Eagle. Iconic to this part of Seattle.”
I squinted and gave it time but finally shook my head. “I don’t see it. It looks nothing like an eagle to me. Not even remotely.”
Manda nodded. “Me either. But I love the color and the shape. Plus, if you stand between his legs, you can get a great photo of the Space Needle. Let’s do it!” She pulled me over to a space between two red supports.
“This is vaguely obcene,” I muttered.
“Oh, stop being so difficult. Let’s try a selfie. I’ve never done it but I know all the young people do these things.” She held her iPhone out in front of her and started rotating it very slowly, smiling the whole time.