“Listen, if this is about the contract, I’ll pay my way out. I can—”
She sniffed. “Trust me, my dear. You cannot pay your way out of that contract. Not on a chef’s salary.” She shook her head and took another pull on her cigarette. “But it’s not about the contract. It’s about you.”
I stood, unable or maybe unwilling to move.
She nodded at the chair. “Sit. Your feet won’t make it far anyway, and the least you can do is hear me out.”
I waited a moment, weighing her words. “Fine,” I said finally, in what sounded like the voice of someone on Saved by the Bell. I sat carefully on the edge of my chair, as if my body were reserving the option to bolt at any moment.
“I understand you’re upset.” Margot’s voice was measured. “It is unfortunate that the photos caused such an issue in your relationship with Kai.”
Hearing her say his name made me newly angry. “Was that an apology? ‘It is unfortunate’ does not count as an admission of guilt.” I tapped my fingers on the top of the table until her stare made me stop.
“I did not apologize.” She pointed at me with her cigarette. “And neither should you.”
I started to protest, and she shook her head, long earrings swinging into her cheeks.
“Charlie, I allowed those photos to be released because I was doing my job. I’m very, very good at my job.” She fixed her eyes on me. “And so are you.”
I sat up straighter. “Thank you. But a compliment won’t fix this mess.”
Margot leaned her slight frame over the table. “Are you feeling guilty, Charlie? I can see on your face that you are. But why? Why should you feel guilty? What have you done wrong? You were working long hours at a job you love, you were tired, and you repelled the advances of an old flame.” Her eyes widened. “No offense, honey, but that is not exactly the makings of a sweeping scandal. You’re clean as a whistle from my perspective.”
Her words hung in the air between us. I rolled them around a bit in my head, testing them for soundness. “I haven’t been a very good girlfriend,” I said, more meekly than I intended. “I’ve been working a lot.”
At this Margot erupted. “Do you hear yourself?” She stubbed out her cigarette with a vindictive twist. “You work sixty hours a week at a job that is your passion. You have put in years—years, Charlie—getting to this spot in your career. You have defied social norms by excelling as a woman in a profession long dominated by men. Believe me, I know exactly how that feels and the kind of commitment it takes.” She pulled one of my hands into both of her small ones. I didn’t know where to look, so surprised by her uncharacteristic closeness. “Charlie, let me ask you this. What have you dreamed about for the last ten years?”
I answered without hesitation, my response as automatic as the way in which I piped frosting or whipped a mousse. “I’ve dreamed about having my own pastry kitchen in a premier restaurant.”
She nodded slowly, letting me hear my own voice. “Right. And you are so, so close. So close, you should be able to taste the accolades. To feel the power of crafting your own career from here on out. To touch the ink on the menus that bear an embossed imprint of your name. To hear that name bantered about for the next James Beard award, the next Michelin star.” She watched my face. My breathing had become shallow.
Her smile was a knowing one. “I can read the desire and the competitiveness on your face as if it were an op-ed in the Times.”
I didn’t even try to deny it. “I’ve wanted those things for so long. Many, many years.”
“And how long have you been dating this Kai?”
I felt my stomach turn. “Three months.”
Margot didn’t move. She just looked at me and waited for me to know what she already did.
The light had begun to wane, and the cool of a summer evening seemed suddenly chilly. I shivered, wishing I had a sweater. My thoughts turned to the never-used soaking tub in my apartment, and I knew where I wanted to be.
I stood but couldn’t find the words to end our meeting.
Margot saved me the trouble. “Sleep on it.” She nodded to the other side of the street. “You go ahead and take that cab. I’ll call another for me.”
I glanced at the waiting taxi and wondered how long it had been sitting there.
“Thank you,” I said. I moved away from her, but she had one more thing to say.
“You’re welcome. And Charlie?”
I turned.
“You’re smart and talented and beautiful and strong. Those are not empty compliments. They are facts.” She reached over to my untouched coffee and took a sip. “See you tomorrow.”
I walked gingerly on my worn-out feet, and I knew without any further reflection that she had nailed it. After a bath and a good cry and maybe even a movie based on a Nicholas Sparks novel, I would sleep and then, yes, without a doubt, I would see her tomorrow.
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